The Thinning of the Veil ©
Reverend Janet Parsons
Gloucester UU Church
October 29, 2023
In the fifth Harry Potter book, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Harry and his friends find themselves dueling with wizards from the dark side, called the Death Eaters. In the mysterious room where the fight is taking place, there is an ancient archway with a ragged curtain hanging from it. Harry can hear voices faintly coming from beyond the curtain. Minutes later, his godfather is killed by a Death Eater, and his body goes soaring through the curtain and out of sight. Harry tries to follow him, to rescue him, but he is stopped by others. “There’s nothing you can do, Harry…nothing…he’s gone.”
Gone beyond the veil, never to return.
This time of year we hear the veil mentioned often. The veil can be thought of as something of a shield between what can be seen and known, and what cannot. Across different cultures, people believe that the barrier between the worlds, the worlds of the living and the dead, becomes thin so that people can sense one another’s presence, can possibly communicate across it. Earth-centered religions celebrate this thinning of the veil by commemorating the ancient holiday of Samhain at this time. The holiday was passed down in Christian practice as All Souls Day – a time to commemorate and remember our departed loved ones.
Here in autumn, it’s our human response to this liminal period we live in: when plants appear to die but in fact are still alive, and when animals and birds disappear for a time. We feel the mystery of life and death. People might be visited by spirits, might feel or even see the presence of loved ones. But as so many people can tell you, the drawing aside of the veil can take place during any transitional time. I can easily imagine that many of you have your own stories, and I always enjoy hearing them.
Our fascination with communication between the worlds arises from our sense of mystery, our desire to explain natural phenomena. But perhaps more importantly, this desire for contact emerges from our grief; our great sense of loss at the death of a loved one, and the wish for continued relationship.
Two weeks ago I offered you a glimpse into the Spiritualist movement; the belief that took hold in the United States in the 19th century that it was possible to communicate with those who had passed through the veil. We saw repeatedly how great love led to intense feelings of yearning, and hopes for contact. The newspaper publisher Horace Greeley, a Universalist, shared his deep grief over the death of his young son with Margaret Fuller in a letter, writing, “The world grows dark with us. The one sunburst of joy that has gladdened my rugged pathway has departed.” (in Radical Spirits, by Ann Braude, p. 49.) Greeley and his wife were so despondent that they invited a medium into their home to try to reach their little son. They longed to hear his voice and to make sure that in some way, he was safe and that his life was continuing. It appeared that the seances were helpful for their peace of mind.
“Did someone say that there would be an end,
an end, Oh, an end to love and mourning?
What has been once so interwoven cannot be raveled,
not the gift ungiven.” (May Sarton, All Souls)
In the end, life is about faith as much as it is about facts. And of course, that can be a difficult message for those of us who found our way to this religious tradition because we had rejected the miraculous beliefs from our childhood religions.
I have heard many stories about the sense of a presence from beyond over the years. Are they true? Absolutely. Are they factual? I have no idea. I do believe the stories, but I don’t pretend to understand, or to have an explanation. I have learned that all these memories of love, this sense of connection, this sense of continued relationship, is not based in fact. It emerges out of great love, and of longing.
I would not pretend to offer any kind of scientific explanation for what takes place between people once someone has died. What I do offer you this morning is simply faith: faith that relationships do not die. They change, but they do not come to an end.
Our faith tradition, Unitarian Universalism, can be described as a belief that there is one great Love from which we all emerge, and when our lives end, we all return to that Love. One Love, or force, or God, or Creation, or Christ. One destiny for all souls. We are part of that eternal love, that life force, from the beginning of time. We emerge from that Love, we nurture it and expand it throughout our lives, through our relationships, and we return to it when we die.
We say ancient words at funerals: “Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.” The words remind us that we are part of the creation, part of the eternal rock and the stardust. But we are more than ashes and earth. We are more than stardust. We are energy, part of the living creation, or God, that brought us into being. And so, when we die, do we ever really leave?
For all those left behind, yearning for a touch, to hear a beloved voice, our faith can tell us that love never dies, that people who have loved one another will love each other forever. The poet May Sarton put it this way:
“What has been once so interwoven cannot be raveled, nor the gift ungiven.
Now the dead move through us still glowing.
Mother and child, lover and lover mated,
are wound and bound together and enflowing.
What has been plaited cannot be unplaited –
and the strands grow richer with each loss
and memory makes kings and queens of us.” (May Sarton, “All Souls”)
May it be so.
Amen.
