I heard from my dead mother the other day.

It was in a dream. I couldn't believe how vivid and authentic her voice, cadence, and wisdom came across. I had no idea my clumsy memory was able to store such detailed recollections, and then assemble such precise projections. The words and advice were spot on, I awoke with an errie yet oddly fulfilling sense of presence and accompaniment. And was quickly alerted to the fact that, more than likely, this also happens to you.

Since humans have walked the earth, we've been trying to make sense of who we are and why we're here, and an integral component has been the fate and presence of the beloved who have gone before us.

The image accompanying this essay is the Pantheon in Rome. It is by far the best preserved of all the ancient Roman wonders because it was built to house the 12 major dieties of the time, and subsequent conquerors were too spooked and superstitious to touch it. So there it stands, now converted by the Christians, yet in keeping with an original principal: it is the Church of St. Mary and All Saints. Gone are the gods, present are His messengers. The Pantheon continues to serve as a monument to our lingering desire to make sense of the world with the help of forces beyond us who await our bidding.

On All Saints Sunday you and I pause to consider this distant yet eerily proximate other world: who's there, what's being said, and how might it concern us today?

The Church has always been clear here: the saints are unseen allies. Among their duties are to encourage, inspire, and better equip you and me for the Work. Amidst our frequent feelings of fatigue, confusion, insignificance, and just plain overwhelming, they come to us at strange times and weird places to remind us of a vision of something bigger, better, and far more purposeful than we allow ourselves to imagine.

So go ahead and be confident. Dream. Dare. Let us open ourselves anew to our higher calling, take risks, and chance it. Go with your intuition. It's usually right.