Sharing some thoughts

The silence that takes place on Remembrance Sunday is never empty. It echoes with stories, with sacrifice, with love. Today, on this Remembrance Sunday we gather not just to remember the fallen but to ask what their memory calls us to become. In the shadow of war, we seek wisdom. In the pain of loss, we proclaim hope. And above all, we stand firm in the love of Christ—a love that no battle, no grave, no sorrow can ever overcome. Our readings this evening invite us to remember with sadness and sorrow, but also to do so with wisdom (1 Kings 3:1–15) and with the assurance of God’s unbreakable love (Romans 8:31–39). Remembering isn’t something we simply do—it’s something that shapes us. It’s not passive, but active. It’s not just about looking back, but about learning, growing, and being transformed. And from our readings, we are called to live wisely and love boldly. In our Old Testament reading, Solomon, the successor of King David, is portrayed as wealthy and powerful, yet he seek...

  Today we celebrate All Saints Day—a feast not just about remembering, but about mission. It’s a day when the Church is called to say, “This is what we’re made for.” And here, in this patronal festival, we’re reminded that this church—this community—is part of that great group of saints. We are not just remembering saints today; we are called to become them. There’s a story about Richard Wurmbrand, a Romanian pastor. He spent 14 years in prison under a brutal Communist regime—four of those years in solitary confinement, locked in a box underground. When he was finally released, his son asked him what he had learned.  Wurmbrand replied, “I forgot much of the Bible. But I remembered three things: there is a God, Jesus is His Son, and love is the best way.” That’s the gospel in its simplest form. And it’s the heartbeat of sainthood. We often think of saints as distant figures, perhaps seen most clearly in stained glass windows—people like the gospel writers or sometimes St Paul ...

  As children, the view of good parents often shifts dramatically. In those early years, they’re often trusted completely. We might cry for them when we’re hungry or upset, and we believe that any problem can be solved simply by their presence. They are our heroes, our source of comfort and safety. But then we grow. We begin to question their decisions — perhaps over pocket money, or the rules they set. Suddenly, those once-infallible figures seem hopelessly out of touch. And yet, as we mature, we often come full circle. We begin to see their wisdom, their love, and their desire to do what’s right for us. They may not be perfect, but they wanted what was best for us. In many ways, our relationship with the Bible can follow a similar path. As children, we may have enjoyed Bible stories — singing songs, acting out dramas, and learning about things like Noah’s ark, David’s sling, and Jesus’ miracles. But as we grew older, we may have grown bored or skeptical. Perhaps we were told it h...