Carrying On

At Convocation 2026, our first morning was spent on ‘Mission Hill,’ a place deeply rooted in Oblate history. We were invited to wander, wonder and ponder the sacred stories that had been
enfleshed on this ‘holy ground.’ As I reflected on the shared charism that brought us here, I found myself deeply moved at seeing how so many of us ended up lingering in the Oblate
cemetery, walking silently and reverently among the graves of Oblates who had gone before us.

These graves span over a century and each holds an Oblate life given in missionary zeal and service. Often great hardship was involved and always, much love. Some names are historically
well-known, others less so. Certainly, for those of us pausing there, we gravitated to the resting places of the men we had known personally — men whose lives had touched ours and whose faith and spirit shaped us. There was, for me, a deep sense of connection and belonging. The Oblate charism these men carried was alive and well, being lived today in me and the people surrounding me.

Soon, the church will be celebrating two feast days: All Saints’ Day and All Souls’ Day. These days celebrate our belief in the communion of saints, the understanding that we are still deeply
connected to those who have gone before us. On these days, we are especially asked to remember that love does not end with death. In faith, we hold those who have gone before us in love, recognizing the bonds that continue to unite us across generations.

Perhaps I was especially aware of this because, even as we gathered to celebrate our Oblate family, we were confronted by the reality of loss. We grieved the sudden and tragic death of an
Associate’s husband, while another part of our Oblate family was keeping vigil with an elderly Oblate who lay dying. In the midst of discerning, sharing and celebrating our life together, we
were reminded of the fragility of life and how deeply we are connected to one another.

There is comfort to be found, I think, in the many ways people keep the memory of loved ones alive. One Associate I know creates a special prayer corner each November, placing there the
funeral cards of those who have died during the year. Another couple creates a Día de los Muertos altar in their home, honouring their personal ancestors and keeping their stories close.
These simple but meaningful practices remind us that remembering is itself an act of love. We make space for those who have died, not because we cannot let them go, but because they
remain part of who we are.

Perhaps this is also what we experienced on Mission Hill. We came to wander, wonder, and ponder, but we left with a renewed awareness of the sacred stories that connect us. In the Oblate spirit, we are a people shaped by relationships, called to stand with others in their joys and sorrows, and invited to carry forward the gifts of those who came before us.

Remembering is more than looking back. It is giving thanks, grieving together, celebrating lives well lived, and allowing the love we have received to shape the way we live and serve today. As
an Oblate family, may we continue to honour those who have gone before us, accompany one another through loss, and keep their stories alive in the mission we share.

By Sandra Prather, HOMI