What’s Next – Sermon Oct 31, 2010
Oct 31, 2010
Scripture: Wisdom 2:1-8, 21-24 and 3:1-7,9
For they reasoned unsoundly, saying to themselves, ‘Short and sorrowful is our life, and there is no remedy when a life comes to its end, and no one has been known to return from Hades. For we were born by mere chance,
and hereafter we shall be as though we had never been, for the breath in our nostrils is smoke, and reason is a spark kindled by the beating of our hearts; when it is extinguished, the body will turn to ashes, and the spirit will dissolve like empty air. Our name will be forgotten in time, and no one will remember our works; our life will pass away like the traces of a cloud, and be scattered like mist that is chased by the rays of the sun and overcome by its heat. For our allotted time is the passing of a shadow, and there is no return from our death, because it is sealed up and no one turns back. ‘Come, therefore, let us enjoy the good things that exist, and make use of the creation to the full as in youth. Let us take our fill of costly wine and perfumes, and let no flower of spring pass us by. Let us crown ourselves with rosebuds before they wither.
Thus they reasoned, but they were led astray, for their wickedness blinded them, and they did not know the secret purposes of God, nor hoped for the wages of holiness, nor discerned the prize for blameless souls; for God created us for incorruption, and made us in the image of his own eternity,* but through the devil’s envy death entered the world, and those who belong to his company experience it.
But the souls of the righteous are in the hand of God, and no torment will ever touch them. In the eyes of the foolish they seemed to have died, and their departure was thought to be a disaster, and their going from us to be their destruction; but they are at peace. For though in the sight of others they were punished, their hope is full of immortality. Having been disciplined a little, they will receive great good, because God tested them and found them worthy of himself; like gold the furnace he tried them, and like a sacrificial burnt-offering he accepted them. In the time of their visitation they will shine forth, and will run like sparks through the stubble. Those who trust in him will understand truth, and the faithful will abide with him in love, because grace and mercy are upon his holy ones, and he watches over his elect.*
Sermon: What’s Next
By Rev. Doreen Oughton
Look at these candles, these bright lights that shine to us of the love that has come to us over the years. The people these candles were lit for live on for sure in our memories and in our hearts. And we can’t help but wonder, or flat out believe, that they continue to exist beyond that, in some form, on some plane, in some very real way. It seems that it is part of the human condition to carry a deep concern about death. The archaeological evidence from prehistoric times is that the concern, even fascination about death existed even then. We wonder, what happens to the dead? Do bodies merely deteriorate in the grave, or do they journey on to some place of rest or punishment? Do the dead continue to have a relationship with the living, with others who have died? What is the relationship of the dead with God? What is God’s relationship with them? If they go to a place, what is that place like? Do souls ever reincarnate? These are questions that most religions seek to answer, and some would say they are the questions that religions were invented to answer.
As I expect is quite normal, I’ve wondered quite a bit about what’s next. I loved the segment of my theology classes about eschatology, the theories about individual death as well as the ultimate destiny of humankind. I have critiqued or appreciated various literary or Hollywood depictions of the after life. But all my musings have been from a detached place. In some ways, I am still speaking from that detached place. Before I go on I have to tell you that even now in my middle age, I have not been socked by that particular punch of life, the death of someone intimately close to me. And so I still may not get it in a way that those of you who have been hit get it. I ask for your patience, your forgiveness if I offend, and I ask for your insights if you are moved to share them with me.
When I was a child, what I heard about life after death was that a soul went to one of three places, heaven, hell or purgatory. Heaven was up in the sky, with lots of angels playing harps and sitting on clouds. A soul was greeted at the gate by St. Peter, name checked off and gate opened. If your name wasn’t on the list, or maybe it was the book of life, not a list, it was a mistake you were there and you were sent elsewhere. Hell was of course below, maybe under the earth, with burning fire and hard labor. It was where you went if you committed a mortal sin or were just overall a really bad person. Purgatory was a place of waiting, a place for people who committed other types of sins and needed a time out before going to heaven. It was also a place for people who died before they had a chance to be baptized. You had to be baptized to get into heaven. So it wasn’t a terrible place like hell, but it wasn’t nearly as beautiful and wonderful as heaven.
Now it didn’t take long as I got older to have trouble with these ideas. At first my objections were sort of legalistic or practical concerns, similar to when a child starts to wonder how Santa can get to every house in the world. Could there really be a list of everyone’s name? How long did a person have to wait in purgatory? Things like that. But more importantly, I think, in time I started to understand the shades of gray, how difficult it was to tell a good person from a bad person, to question whether a God I could believe in would only love and fully accept someone who’d been baptized. I have struggled with the notion of eternity – how can a being exist forever – and with finality – how can a force like life just end? Both ideas still boggle my mind.
I’ve tried on the idea of souls merging with the cosmos, like a story I used once as a basis for a sermon: A salt doll journeyed for thousand of miles and stopped at the edge of the sea. It was fascinated by this moving liquid mass, so unlike anything it had seen before. “What are you” asked the salt doll. “Come in and see” replied the sea with a smile. So the salt doll waded in. The further it went, the more it dissolved till there was only a pinch of it left. Before the last bit dissolved the doll exclaimed in wonder, “Now I know what I am “. But at this point, though the losses in my life have not been deeply intimate, they are close enough for me to value the continuation of individuality, to hope that there still exists somehow, in some way, the spark that is my grandmother Millie, the light that is my beautiful cousin Brian.
Hope is what it is all about, isn’t it? We can’t know what it is like beyond this life. As Paul says, we can now only see through a glass darkly, not yet face to face. But we have hope. As the note on the insert says, our hope as Christians centers around the death of Jesus, and his resurrection, the hope of new life for all of us through him and with him.
I chose the reading for this morning because of the way it moved from this very shallow hope only in momentary pleasure, from what I consider to be a painful and sad belief in random existence that dissolves into nothingness, quickly forgotton; and into assurance of life created and given with purpose, with love, to never be corrupted, not dispersed, annihilated, or sealed up. No, we are loved before we are born, cared about and guided while living in this world, and received and embraced in the next. I do still struggle with qualifiers like “for the righteous,” or “God’s elect.” I still wonder if really and truly everyone could be received and embraced fully. Part of me wants to believe that and hopes for that, but part of me recoils. I lit a candle today for Olivia Marchand, the girl killed by her father, and considered but couldn’t bring myself to light one for Brian Marchand, who took his own life as well.
I am not certain what to believe. I don’t even know what to hope for. But I know the words of hope that fill our scriptures fill my heart as well. From Psalm 103: “Our days on earth are like grass; like wildflowers, we bloom and die. But the love of the Lord remains forever with those who revere him. His salvation extends to the children’s children.” From the gospel of John: “Don’t let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God, and trust also in me. There is more than enough room in my Father’s home. If this were not so, would I have told you that I am going to prepare a place for you? When everything is ready, I will come and get you, so that you will always be with me where I am.” And “I have come down from heaven to do the will of God who sent me, not to do my own will. And this is the will of God, that I should not lose even one of all those he has given me, but that I should raise them up at the last day.” From Paul’s letter to Corinthians: “Our bodies are buried in brokenness, but they will be raised in glory. They are buried in weakness, but they will be raised in strength. They are buried as natural human bodies, but they will be raised as spiritual bodies.” And his words to the Romans: “I am convinced that nothing can ever separate us from God’s love. Neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither our fears for today nor our worries about tomorrow—not even the powers of hell can separate us from God’s love. No power in the sky above or in the earth below—indeed, nothing in all creation will ever be able to separate us from the love of God that is revealed in Christ Jesus our Lord.” Words of promise, words of hope indeed.
Our days on earth are like grass. The days on earth for the people we lit candles for today bloomed and died. I know that grandparents were included, but I don’t know if there were great-grandparents, and I’m quite certain no one went further back than that. And yet the days of those people mattered, not only to God but to us. The days of all our ancestors, whether biological, cultural, or religious, have shaped this world and have shaped us. It is right and good to honor these ancestors, to ponder their stories whether told to us or only intuited. Likewise our days matter, our stories will shape the stories of our descendants, whether biological, cultural or spiritual. Within each of us is a sacred thread that ties us to everyone in our ancestral past and connects us to new souls to come after us. In another century or so there will not likely be anyone to light a candle for us, but still our stories, our lives will have meaning. So let us honor our lives now, recognize them as a precious gift, even as we hold fast to the hope that death is but a new beginning. May it be so.
