My brothers and sisters in Christ,
Today, on this feast of All Souls, we enter a sacred stillness — a time when the Church invites us to pray in that tender space where memory and hope embrace one another. Here, in the quiet of our monastery, we remember not only that death touches every life, but that love endures, prayer continues, and the communion of saints stretches far beyond what our eyes can see.
For our Abbey — now united from the beloved communities of Mount Melleray, Mellifont, and Mount St Joseph, Roscrea — this moment of remembrance carries a unique depth. There is a richness in our shared story, a tapestry woven from three great monastic lineages, each with its own history of silent labour, patient endurance, Eucharistic devotion, and profound seeking of God’s face. Not to mention Cistercian College, Roscrea, where many have gone before us, marked with the sign of faith.
We gather not only as one community, but as the living continuation of many. Our cemetery paths now cross unseen with those at Roscrea, Melleray, and Mellifont. Our voices in choir are joined by voices that once prayed in other choirs; our silence rests upon the silence of generations before us.
And yet — we stand, unmistakably, in a time of holy flux.
We do not yet know what God will shape from this union.
We cannot yet see the contours of our future.
And now, there is no fear here.
There is anticipation.
There is confidence.
There is quiet joy.
There is surrender.
For we are in the hands of the Holy Spirit.
We walk gently, trusting that the same Spirit who founded Mellifont in the twelfth century, who raised up Mount Melleray in exile, and who nurtured Roscrea with education and hospitality, is the Spirit who now guides Our Lady of Silence Abbey into its next chapter — whatever form it may take.
Our uncertainty is not emptiness; it is expectancy.
Our silence is not resignation; it is invitation.
Our vulnerability is not weakness; it is faith.
Today, we remember with love those who built each of these monasteries with prayer, toil, and trust in God. The young monk who died full of zeal; the old brother who wore his rosary smooth with decades of vigils; the quiet soul who struggled but persevered in grace; the men who kept fields and refectories and libraries; the confessors, the novices, the abbots, the silent workers hidden to all but God.
We hold also in our prayer the lay faithful, friends, benefactors, guests, neighbours, and seekers who supported and were blessed by our communities across the centuries. They form part of our lineage, part of our love.
The Rule tells us: “Keep death daily before your eyes.”
Not with dread, but with clarity.
Not as defeat, but as a doorway to Christ.
And so today, in humility and hope, we commend our dead to the mercy of God — trusting that death is not the end, but a homecoming. We pray not only for their peace but for our own perseverance. For as long as breath fills our lungs and prayer rises from this choir, we walk with them — and they walk with us.
May our remembrance strengthen our charity toward one another, deepen our peace in this time of transition, and fill our hearts with confidence that God is weaving our future as lovingly as He wove our past.
We are held.
We are guided.
We are loved.
And we are on pilgrimage — together with all who have gone before us.
May the souls of all the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace.
And may we, in God’s time, join them in the great silence of glory, where love is all in all and every longing is fulfilled in Christ our Lord.
Amen.