On 23 November 1875, Bishop Ullathorne, Bishop of Birmingham celebrated a Solemn Pontifical Mass to bless and open the Church of St Aloysius, Oxford, in the presence of Cardinal Manning and a packed congregation. This Saturday, Archbishop Longley will celebrate a Solemn Pontifical Mass to mark 150 years since that occasion, in the presence of Cardinal Radcliffe and, we hope, a packed congregation.

Anniversaries are always “Janus-like” events, when we look back with gratitude at the past and look forward to hope and trust to the future. And there is much for which to be grateful. The building of our church on the Woodstock Road marked a coming-of-age for the Catholic community in Oxford, after centuries of difficulty. In penal times the Mass and sacraments had to be celebrated in secret, by faithful priests — many of them martyrs — and courageous laypeople at great risk to their lives. With the lessening of restrictions, Catholic worship was conducted with discretion and in small chapels, lest the always-volatile public mood take against them again. When the legal position of Catholics finally permitted the building of the first large church in Oxford since the Reformation, this had to be set back from the road, behind houses and shopfronts, in case it offended Protestant sensibilities. But with the opening of St Aloysius, Catholics could once more celebrate their faith in public, and have a beautiful building in which to pray, to celebrate the sacraments and to visit their Lord in the Blessed Sacrament.

Our church was built and adorned to be a fitting House of God in the city. Holy Mass has been celebrated in private houses and in pubs, outdoors in stadiums or parks, even on beaches. But churches, set aside for God and the things of God, remind us that he is “other”. He is so much greater than anything we can imagine or experience. He is all holy — not only present in us and to us at every moment, but also infinitely above and beyond us. And so we come before him in special sacred spaces, buildings that are themselves holy places, set aside for prayer. Here we come into his presence not to relax or exercise or work or shop or chat, but to worship him. “Truly this is the House of God, this is the gate of heaven” (Gen. 28:17).

But, as St Bernard reminds us, a church is also the house of the people of God, the family home of his children. Our church of St Aloysius has witnessed so many “family” moments — from the commemoration of events of national and ecclesiastical importance and the Requiems of the great and the good, to the funerals of young soldiers who died in the various hospitals around Oxford during the two World Wars, to the baptisms, confirmations, weddings, and funerals of our parishioners. The number of Masses celebrated in our church since it opened number in the hundreds of thousands, baptisms and weddings in the tens of thousands, and we estimate that two million confessions must have been heard here over the years. So many moments of joy. So many heartfelt prayers. So many tearful requests to Our Lady or her Son during the illness of a loved one or before a stressful exam. So much to be thankful for to God.

Our gratitude for our own church should also make us remember all those Christians who still have to celebrate Mass in secret, who face persecution for their faith, or whose own church buildings have been devastated through war or arson, the evil of human sin and hatred. We are so fortunate here, and blessed, and filled with gratitude, but we must remember to pray in solidarity with our brothers and sisters in Christ.

St Paul teaches us that we are God’s building, God’s temple, and that God’s Spirit dwells in us (1 Cor. 3:16). The Church of St Aloysius, built and loved by generations before us, is the outward visible sign in stone, brick, wood and marble; we are the “living stones” of our parish and we look forward in joyful hope to the many years of grace to come — so many more Masses and sacraments, more heartfelt prayers, more family moments. May God bless us, and may Our Lady, St Philip, and St Aloysius continue to pray for our parish.

Since by man came death, by man came also the resurrection of the dead. For as in Adam all die, even so in Christ shall all be made alive.

—1 Cor. 15:21–22

We set November aside to pray for the dead. We remember our own loved ones, our departed family members. But remembering is not always easy. When someone we love dies, even if we have been expecting it for a long time, it is a tremendous loss for us. Dying is something as natural as going to sleep at night, and yet losing someone cuts us to the core — never again will you share that little in-joke which only that person understood, never again will you share a meal, or find them waiting to ask about your day when you get home from work. 

Our love for those who have died remains with us forever, and it is all too easy to get overwhelmed the that sense of loss, even though our faith gives us that great gift of hope in the Resurrection. Our Lord, who himself is the Resurrection and the Life, wept at the death of his friend Lazarus. Our Lady’s faith in her divine Son knew no bounds, and yet a sword of grief pierced her heart when she saw him put to death. 

Is there one who would not weep,
Whelm’d in miseries so deep,
Christ’s dear Mother to behold?

But even while we are still grieving, Christ’s own death and Resurrection gives us hope. Even though the sin of the First Adam causes us to die, and our souls to be separated from our bodies, the New Adam brings us redemption — “death is swallowed up in victory”. Our grief, therefore, is not just pointless anguish. At Requiem Masses, we hear that “Life is changed, not ended;” so it is with our love for those who have gone before us. Our love for them is now focussed on the most important thing we can do for them: praying that God may bring them to dwell in his love in Heaven, as he promised to Abraham and his seed. 

November might seem like a morbid time of year, so focussed on death, even despite our hope in the Resurrection. We have All Souls, Remembrance Sunday, and so many other Requiem Masses besides — it can seem like a whole month of mourning every year. But we must not forget how the month begins: with the feast of All Saints. In a single feast we commemorate all those glorious saints who are already rejoicing at the Wedding Feast of the Lamb in Heaven — and then we spend the rest of the month praying that God might make some more people into saints. 

As we pray for our departed brothers and sisters, let us also remember that God is calling us to be saints, too. Let us pray for a good and holy death for ourselves, so that, set free from our sins, we may merit to be co-heirs with Christ to eternal life. 

King of Majesty tremendous,
Who dost free salvation send us,
Fount of pity, then befriend us!