Readings: Matthew 16:24–28, Psalm 34:1–8, and Revelation 18:14–18.

Why be a Christian? Ultimately, the answer is Jesus—to live this life as He intended. A life transformed by love and for love, which will endure when the world passes away, in heaven with Him for eternity.

C.S. Lewis wrote; “There is no good talking of the soul as if it were a thing. You don’t have a soul. You are a soul. You have a body.” St Anthony of Padua is quoted as saying, “The life of the body is the soul; the life of the soul is God.”

The concept of the soul has an ancient and complex history, with roots stretching across multiple languages and cultures. For as long as we have been alive and wondering at the mystery of our existence, we have felt deep within our hearts a sense of eternity and holiness—a perception without understanding. As Christians in the cathedral, we recognise a holy space where worldliness is set aside, and in silence, we contemplate the raw experience of being-in-the-world: human, created, and loved.

Our scripture today says: “For what profit is it to a man if he gains the whole world and loses his own soul? Or what will a man give in exchange for his soul?” (Matthew 16:26).

In this context, the Greek word for soul, psychē, refers to the core essence of a person’s life or being, encompassing their inner self, consciousness, or the seat of their identity and existence. It is not merely physical life but carries a deeper sense of the eternal, spiritual self that is at stake in relation to salvation or divine judgement. This aligns with the Hebrew ‘nephesh‘ in its broader sense of the whole person or life force, but in the New Testament, psychē often takes on a more spiritual or eschatological nuance, especially in Jesus’ teachings, pointing to what endures beyond physical death.

Throughout history tales of ghosts, demons, and heavenly visitors—the angels who walk among us—are found in ancient writings, and across cultures. These encounters have pointed humanity toward an afterlife, with different cultures often depicting ghostly ‘souls’ as imprints of those unable to let go of worldly attachments, and lost in sorrow without the prayers of the living. 

What then becomes of those who rely on worldly things and appearances, those who chase the desires of the flesh? What is the final end of the souls who turn inward, who have not loved or stored up for themselves the treasures of heaven?

John’s vision in Revelation 18 reveals their end, akin to that of Babylon—a life unprepared for death and judgement, like the rich fool in Luke 12:16–21, held captive by pleasures and all that passes away. If we could see the fate of such a soul, would we not lament with the merchants who traded and gained their wealth from her? For “in one hour such great wealth has been brought to ruin!” (Revelation 18:17).

Would we weep for these souls who turn away from God’s goodness, as the merchants weep for Babylon? Compassion, care, faith, and humility call us to mourn the spiritual ruin of those who chase the world—not with judgement, but with a desire for their redemption. Even the wayward are bearers of God’s image; their souls remain sacred despite their choices.

“The voice of the bridegroom and bride will never be heard in you again” (Revelation 18:23) signifies that the Wisdom of God, speaking to us through conscience, will be taken away. The Catechism teaches that when we listen to our conscience, the prudent can hear God speaking. (CCC 1777).

The kingdom of God came to earth with fire in His eyes, uniting divine and human natures. Jesus came with the truth that reveals a blazing light, the raging flame of His eternal love, stronger than death—a fire that refines our hearts, transforming us daily into His likeness.

In the Jewish tradition, names are not arbitrary; they define identity, connecting to a person’s origins in their family, sometimes revealing prophetic or character insights, for example between fathers and their sons. But Jesus came with a flaming sword, a sword of truth, disrupting this continuity. Bringing truth that turns us toward the heavenly, away from conformity to the world, with our eyes fixed on outward appearances, following familiar patterns and habits. Jesus calls us to turn away from chasing status and worldly desires, urging us instead to live the kingdom in the present, in the here and now. This is the division (Luke 12:51): turning from the patterns of the world to Him—letting Him become the expression of our identity, a process of becoming divine-like.

What could be more precious than a soul, an emanation of God, His very breath? The gifts of the Spirit and the abundance of heaven are within us; we lack nothing, we are unique and more precious than any jewel.

Pope Leo XIV said, “In short, everything in God’s plan that makes each of us a priceless and unrepeatable good, a living and breathing asset, must be cultivated and invested in order to grow. Otherwise, these gifts dry up and diminish in value, or they end up being taken away by those, who like thieves, snatch them up as something simply to be consumed.”

“Taste and see that the Lord is good; blessed is the one who takes refuge in him” (Psalm 34:8).

The words of the Lord taste sweet in the mouth. In heart and mind, we grasp the inherent beauty of His love, and being Christian holds a wonderful promise. Yet, in the stomach, where words are metaphorically digested and it is understood that we must control our ‘lower’ bodily nature and its fleshy desires, this is bitter—illustrated by St Augustine who is quoted as saying, “Lord, make me chaste, but not yet.”

St Paul, as a scholar of ancient Scripture, understood the flesh as that which is spiritually dead, symbolised by the defilement of disobedience (Numbers 19:11, Haggai 2:13–17). But the body consecrated to the Lord—the body that has become the temple of the Holy Spirit—by grace, lives and breathes in harmony with the Holy Spirit. Through our unfolding—our being and becoming through time—His works are made known and visible to the world.

The Church’s response, through charity or evangelisation, is an act of restoring the soul’s alignment with its divine purpose, just as healing restores the body’s capacity for life.

The pastoral care of the Church versus its doctrine reflects how the Church balances truth and mercy. We are called to be like the open arms of Christ on the cross, who embraces the entire world from its beginning to its end. Yet love does not accept wickedness or affirm lies. Jesus came for us all, with a heart ablaze with love for humanity, but in our time, we have confused welcome with acceptance, openness with a lack of boundaries. 

To affirm lies is to be lawless; to be lawless removes all freedom. To say people can act without bounds is to bind all people, and life is not a zero-sum game. Justice is not about gaining whatever a person wants. Love protects the freedom of the other; it respects boundaries, which exist for a purpose that is good.

The call of the Church then is the call to radical community. In this call, humility is our superpower, grounded in care and compassion while acknowledging that not all suffering can be resolved. Compassion entails meeting people where they are—sick, suffering, or lost in worldly pursuits—without judgement. It is not just about physical healing but fostering hope and dignity, even for those who have turned from God.

It is possible at all times to treat people with dignity, regardless of what they have done, yet, having dignity does not grant a transcendence of laws that seek to govern the wellbeing and safety of all people. No one can see the end of a person—their true condition or state of grace—it is only revealed at the review of our whole life, at its end, when the infinite reality comes fully into view. 

If all being is true, then sacred beauty lies in the gift of life, in being here, transcending feeling or reason. This transcendence requires an unknowing, for it is not bound to the lines and surfaces of our vision; it is a perception of truth inherent in all creation. Our humanness stands apart because other animals do not examine, consider, or look up [in wonder] at the things they see (Plato’s Cratylus 399c). Life is a privilege gifted to us, a natural necessity—for we are either alive or not. 

Survival is instinctive, honed over billions of years of evolution. Therefore, in these times the culture of death is fundamentally opposed to God, who is the giver of life. In the trials of our days, we must decide: whom are we listening to? For God says, “Choose life” (Deuteronomy 30:15–20), and we fulfil this scripture when we answer the call, “Come, follow me,” (Matthew 4:19). Not an easy path, but one that leads to life everlasting.

We respond in prayer: Soul of Christ, sanctify me, sanctify us, sanctify the whole world. Amen.