What happens after we die?  It’s the kind of question most of us tuck away, hoping we won’t have to face it until absolutely necessary—until life, or a random headline, brings it out of hiding. That happened not long ago when Keanu Reeves’ name started trending—not for his latest film, but because he’d been asked this very question on The Late Show. Most people expected a joke. Instead, Keanu paused and quietly said, “I know the ones who love us will miss us.”

Thank you for taking the time to read this homily for FIFTH SUNDAY OF EASTER (May 18, 2025). Your support means a great deal to me, and I’m deeply grateful for the many who share these messages with their friends, families and social media followers. If you’ve found meaning in these words, I’d be grateful if you’d share them with others who might benefit.

And for those who prefer listening, you can find the audio version on SoundCloud HERE or subscribe to the podcast on iTunes HERE. Your comments, messages, and the way you’ve embraced these homilies continue to inspire me.  Sincerely in Christ -Father Jim

The entire audience went quiet. It wasn’t the answer anyone anticipated. That answer—the honesty, the vulnerability—struck a chord. It was a moment of real humanity in a world that often moves too fast for reflection.

If you know Keanu’s story, you understand why. He’s walked through deep loss—his daughter, his long-time girlfriend friends. He’s carried grief in public, retreated with it in private. So when he says, “the ones who love us will miss us,” it’s not just a platitude. It’s something true, born out of pain.

 

Maybe that’s why so many people felt seen by his words. Death unsettles us all. It brings memories of loved ones we’ve lost, and stirs up fears about those we still hold dear. Even as Christians—people who profess hope in resurrection and eternal life—death makes us uncomfortable. Too often, we put our faith on a shelf, taking it down only for funerals or when words fail us. We say what we’re supposed to say, but deep down, we wonder: do we really believe it?

This Sunday’s readings take us right to the heart of that tension and  refuse to let us settle for vague hope. In the second reading from the Book of Revelation, Saint John writes to a community battered by suffering and confusion. They’re wondering, like we sometimes do, if God’s promises are real. Into that darkness, God declares: “Behold, I make all things new.” Not someday, not just after we die, but here and now. It’s a pledge that nothing—not grief, not pain, not even death—has the final say.

Think about the power of that promise. God isn’t offering us just consolation, or a way to numb the pain. He’s promising transformation. “Behold, I make all things new” means that every broken place can become a place of hope. That even in our hardest moments, God is already at work, renewing, restoring, resurrecting. The victory over death has already begun.

Jesus brings that promise down to earth at the Last Supper. In this Gospel, even though we’re in the Easter Season, we have this flashback to Holy Thursday. On the eve of his own suffering, he tells his friends: “Love one another as I have loved you.” In that love, selfless and relentless, God’s new creation breaks into the world. Every time we love—when it’s hard, when it costs us something, when it’s inconvenient or exhausting—we partner with God in making all things new.

You can see it if you know where to look. It’s there in the spouse who keeps vigil at a hospital bedside, in the parent who finds hidden strength for a sick child, in teachers and nurses and neighbors who refuse to give up on someone, in the stranger who offers kindness without expecting anything in return. These are not just random acts of goodness. They are glimpses of resurrection. They are proof that love wins.

That’s what we’re called to as followers of Christ: to be people of hope, people who see past the darkness, people who believe that even the deepest wounds can be healed. “Behold, I make all things new” is not just a line from scripture—it’s the heartbeat of our faith. It’s the reason we can face loss with courage, and live with joy even when life is hard.

So what happens after we die? We meet the God who is love, the God whose specialty is new beginnings. We discover—finally and fully—that love is stronger than death, that Christ’s resurrection is not just an event but a promise for each of us, and that every tear, every sorrow, every loss will be gathered up and made new.

Let that promise inspire you. Let it give you courage to love without holding back, to hope when hope seems foolish, to trust that your story is not over. The God who makes all things new is writing a story of renewal—in this world, in your life, in every act of love. May we embrace that story, and let it shine through us.