Pull up the fences of our ordinary days and ponder the what-if’s … dare the what’s-beyond’s … and muse the how-it-all-came-to-be’s.

Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds found me during my senior year of high school. Over the years, I have loyally brought Cave’s long-players to my home stereo [some more than once, given my weakness for re-issues and re-masters and deluxe editions]. During one tide of the pandemic, I took a months-long deep-dive into his expansive catalogue. Through all the stylistic turns and strange characters, “Into My Arms” – from 1997’s, The Boatman’s Call – has remained a favorite for both its reassurances and its challenges. I mean, a pop song that begins with a demanding theological claim? You had me at hello, Mr. Cave.

Having watched stoplights here in Boston and people running red lights like they don’t exist, I am not under the illusion that the solution to the world’s problems would be if we could control time.

And yet, as people of faith we live in space where we are able to stop.

On this All Souls Day, even as our hearts are heavy with grief, we remember with joy the faithful departed. We read their names aloud, entrusting them one by one to God’s eternal love and care.

It’s like we’re eating while we’re driving: Filet-O-Fish in hand, working the steering wheel with a knee and realizing suddenly we have to slam our brakes. And, when we do, the fry we had just squirted with ketchup breaks in half, the heavier, ketchup side falling right on our shirt – bloop. And, man, we are maaadddd as double-hockey-sticks.