When I was called to Daniel’s bedside, it was quiet — one person there, and the calm that often comes when the soul begins to let go.
I prayed the words of the Church:

“Through this holy anointing may the Lord in His love and mercy help you.”
They are simple words, but powerful.
They remind us that even at the end, we are never abandoned.
The Lord Himself enters the room — not to frighten or to accuse, but to comfort.
And that is the truth behind every Christian funeral: God never forgets His own.

Isaiah gives us that beautiful promise:

“On this mountain the Lord of hosts will prepare a banquet of rich food… He will destroy death for ever, and wipe away the tears from every cheek.”

Isaiah was looking far ahead — to a day when sorrow would end and love would last. That promise is not poetic comfort; it’s prophecy fulfilled in Christ.
At the Cross and the empty tomb, God did exactly what Isaiah foretold:
He destroyed death’s claim and opened a place at His table for His people.

Today we trust that promise again for Daniel.
He has walked through the valley of death, and we commend him to the Lord who welcomes His guests.
The mountain banquet is not just a picture of heaven — it is the Mass made perfect: the feast where every hunger is satisfied, every tear wiped away, every wound healed by mercy.

Our psalm says, “The Lord is my shepherd; there is nothing I shall want.”

Those words were not written for the young and strong; they were written for those who need guidance, for those who walk through valleys.
Daniel knew something of that valley in his final years — the limits of age, the quiet routine of life in the care home.
But he was not forgotten.

Week by week, Maureen came bringing him Holy Communion — the Lord Himself crossing the threshold, coming close to His sheep.
That is the tenderness of God.
Even when we can no longer come to church, the Church comes to us.
Even when strength fades, grace still finds a way in.

Every visit, every prayer, every small act of faith was part of the Shepherd’s work — keeping Daniel close, even when his world grew small.
And when I anointed him, that same Shepherd gathered him again, marked him with oil, and whispered through the Church: “You are mine.”

In the Gospel Jesus says:

“The hour is coming when all who lie in the tombs will hear the voice of the Son of Man, and those who have done good will rise to life.”

That is our Christian hope — not wishful thinking, but the promise of the One who conquered death Himself.
We believe that Daniel, who heard Christ’s voice in Holy Communion, will one day hear it again — this time calling him not to an altar, but to the resurrection.

Notice how Jesus puts it: “Whoever hears my word and believes has already passed from death to life.”
For the believer, eternal life doesn’t begin after death — it begins with faith.
Each “Amen” we say to the Body of Christ is a small rehearsal for that final call.
And so we pray that Daniel, who received the Lord so often in faith, may now be received by the Lord in mercy.

At every funeral we hold two truths together.
The first: that God is just — He sees our lives honestly, with nothing hidden.
The second: that He is merciful beyond our imagining.
Both are true.

So we don’t canonise; we commend.
We place Daniel in the hands of the One who knows him best — the God who understands the whole story, not just the ending.
Judgement, for the Christian, is not a courtroom to fear but a truth to be healed by love. The same Christ who judges is the Christ who died for us.

Funerals are also for the living.
Isaiah’s words are for us: “Let us rejoice and be glad, for He has saved us.”
We are invited to hope — not vaguely, but personally.
The Shepherd who guided Daniel guides us.
The Christ who will raise the dead walks beside us now.

And as we pray for Daniel, we also pray for ourselves — that when our own time comes, we too may be ready to hear that voice and rise to life.

So today we thank God for Daniel’s life — for the care he received, for the sacraments that nourished him, for those who remembered him with prayer and kindness.

We commend him to the Shepherd who never forgets His sheep, and to the banquet of life prepared from all eternity.

May that same Lord give peace to his soul, comfort to those who mourn, and hope to all who still walk by faith.