A sermon preached on All Saints Day at Church of All Nations, Carlton, Sunday 1st November 2009
Wes Campbell
Isaiah 25: 6-9; Psalm 24; Revelation 21; 1-6a; John 11: 32-44
Halloween Pumpkins have been on sale in the supermarket. In our street we were encouraged to join in trick or treat.
Are you turned off by the American commercialisation? What is Halloween, anyway? Holy evening? All Souls? All Saints Day?. Some congregations take All Saints Day as an opportunity to remember those in the congregation who died in the past year. In Germany at this time this time of the year you see people tending graves, planting bulbs which will lie dormant during winter and bloom in spring. They are participating in ‘Alle Heilige’ commemoration –in English, All Saints, or All Souls.
Australians prefer to dwell on death as little as possible. Our best medical efforts keep us alive for as long as possible. Then when death comes we bury quickly and are urged to move on.
But Greek families not only gather for the funeral, the return to the grave time and again. To eat, to remember and to pray. At the funeral, as the coffin is lowered into the grave, bread, wine and grains of wheat are also tossed into the grave, elements of the Lord’s Supper. The person being buried has the church’s food with them; and here is the reminder that at the heart of the church’s life is a meal that celebrates both death and resurrection.
Do your Protestant hackles rise? Or your humanist ones? Prefer to keep it simple? Yes, it is wise to avoid a maudlin hankering after the person who has died. You may have seen an extreme case of this in the first part of Wuthering Heights last Sunday evening on ABC TV, where a grieving Heathcliff digs open the grave of his long-since deceased lover, and (thinking that he is with her preserved body), lies down with a skeleton! Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho is in the same territory, where a son is unable to let his mother die.
Fortunately, now, funeral directors, pastors and even medical staff (!)do have more understanding now of the way death and loss affects us. We know that grief is sometimes so acute it feels as though we are going crazy – whereas we are going through a normal human response to death.
All Saints Day is an opportunity to take time to remember those who have died, and their continuing part in our life Those whose parents have died know what a gap their death leaves, as we discover that we are always the child of our parents. Perhaps even more devastating is when a parent experiences the death of a child. This reverses the order of things, and leaves the parent grieving the lost child.
Why would we want to forget who they are to us? It has been wisely observed that those who forget the dead will soon no longer remember the living.
That mix of forgetting and remembering goes on around us: with the apology to the Stolen Generations, and now a second apology to those people separated as children from parents and family. And consider, too, survivors of sexual assault, who remember the abuse and seek acknowledgement, reparation, healing.
That mix of forgetting and remembering also takes us to the mass murders and concentration camps and detention centres which seem to fade into the past, then suddenly re-emerge.
The perpetrators of such crimes do not want memory. It is being played out in the trial of Radovan Karadzic; but the victims will not be forgotten! See this in the animated film, Walz with Bashir, which tells of middle aged men who were soldiers, whose repressed memories of violence in their youth are resurfacing. The victims refuse to be forgotten. Although for some so great is the pain suffered, the survivor will be tempted to silence the memory in an effort to forget.
We seem to be on the horns of a dilemma: either remember and be overcome with deadly and immobilising grief; or forget and have your own spirit diminished by that amnesia.
Mary’s grief for her brother Lazarus shows how acute such grief is. The mourners stand, as they must, outside the tomb of death. Notice this strange fact about death. The person who dies undergoes their death; but it is living who experience their death, watching the loved one pass from breathing to stillness; it is the living who remember the act of dying. Those who continue to live, experience the death as they remember! They live on, as Robert Frost said in his poem: Out, Out. A young boy has his hand cut off by a circular saw and dies. But the parents: ‘since they were not the one dead, they turned to their affairs.’
Are these the two options? Being crushed with the weight of grief in a living death; or, living on the surface, denying death, trying to cover it over with tinsel.
Some try a religious path: deny that death really happens.
Be like the Egyptian Pharaohs who treat death as another step on a spiritual journey. The Pharaohs are not alone.
You may hear it said at funerals that the dead person is now a star watching over us; or perhaps you have heard the poem saying that the person in the coffin has not really died: they are just in the next room’! This has become very popular. In fact the Anglican Canon, Scott Holland, who was responsible for those words, was not endorsing such views; he was reporting on what people wee saying at funerals –he was saying that such statements were evasions of death’s reality. I have noticed that many films these days are exploring a sort of time-shifting, where time travellers fall in love though they belong to different times. I wonder it is another way of trying to beat death’s power, with its way of leaving things unfinished.
The reality of death is made clear at the tomb of Lazarus: he stinks!
Today’s verses from John’s Gospel are part of a longer passage. The dispute between Martha and Jesus seems to veer away from Lazarus to into a discussion about the future and resurrection at the end of time – only to have Jesus to cut across this discussion, and to call Lazarus from the tomb. But Lazarus is not being resurrected. This is merely (!) resuscitation; Lazarus will face his death again later. This episode points us to Someone who goes into the place of death, and its stink. Lazarus points to the resurrection of Jesus: Jesus, who says he is ‘the Way, the Truth and the Life will go into a godless death, to conquer its power. Not by sidestepping it, but by going directly into the emptiness and darkness of the grave.
John wants us to hear this:
Jesus who died in the name of God is given the future. Raised from death’s power he is the last word on life and death. Condemned by religion and politics, he now has the claim over all rulers, authorities, systems and empires.
That is the point of the Book of Revelation. You know it was a sort of secret pamphlet, Apocalyptic writing for early Christian communities undergoing persecution. It makes a claim that is offensive to the powers that be; it was offensive to the Roman Empire; after all, Jesus had been crucified by the Empire, but this vision declares he is at the centre.
If some talk these days of a clash of civilisations in the strife between Islam and the West, here in this Vision is a clash of loyalties and of empires. Here is a sharp contrast: a contrast between the world where Caesars describe themselves as divine and hold games bathed in blood, where the crushing boots and weapons of soldiers are expected to take the lives of others, and to sacrifice themselves; and in opposition – the vision of the new city of light, the new Jerusalem, where peace reigns, at its centre is the throne of God. And surrounding the throne are the crowds of matyr-saints, dressed in white holding palm branches and singing. At their centre is a slaughtered Lamb.
This clearly takes us into the world of the Twin Towers and the aftermath of their destruction. So, there are strong political themes here.
The claim is this: the future does not belong to those who hold political power and oppress their subjects, and crucify those who rebel. The future belongs, not to the eagle, to the lion, to the rampaging serpent, but to the Lamb that is slaughtered: Jesus, who refused of his followers desire to defend him by taking up swords; now surrounded by a great choir of voices, who hold in their hands palm branches. And from his mouth comes instruction to love your enemy, to do good to those who hurt you; to forgive those who offend you. These are the weapons of the New Jerusalem; and this is the place where the unprotected person receives a welcome, where those who are strangers are invited in, where the voices of curse are replaced with words of blessing.
The future belongs to him. At present other rulers do not see it – but his followers and witnesses live by this claim. Those who gather at his throne in John’s vision are those who witnessed to Jesus, at the cost of their lives. The martyrs in white who sing along with the rest of creation are his witnesses. And he is worth dying for. For with him comes the promise of a renewed Creation.
I was listening to an ABC Radio National interview with Linda Neil, a musician, on Saturday morning. In the course of the conversation, as she spoke about her mother, a singer who contracted Parkinson’s disease, she said something like this; a love song defeats death!
A love song defeats death.
Today we are being told of the love song Jesus sang; and then the answering love song that comes from his witnesses who gather around him.
John’s vision makes the amazingly bold claim that the choir of martyrs and saints around the Lamb is in tune with the deep structure of the universe; their choir sings along with the living beings of the entire creation; their love song is the very music of God who created the universe, and who is now engaged in saving all life: though Jesus the slaughtered Lamb.
Now he seeks witnesses who admit his claim on them and put themselves in his choir, in his corps.
We know some of them. And in our All Saints commemorations, we will name some of them. This very action recalls the New Testament’s claim that we are surrounded by a large community of faithful people, the ‘communion of saints’, who lived and died under the rule of Jesus Christ.
Some are in our family, others in congregations we know, others are known to us by reputation. For some it is as stark as Bonhoeffer stepping out of his cell towards the hangman’s noose, saying. ‘For me to live is Christ!’ Others live a quiet, hidden, loyal witness without any fanfare. They remind us that the word ‘saint’ is at root the same as the word, ‘holy’. Both have the sense of those who are called.
With them we are members of the ‘holy’ church – that is, to be part of that community called out to follow Jesus Christ.
When we gather around the table today, before we receive bread and cup, we will take a moment to recall the saints we know. To remember, and to name them. They are not forgotten and, what is more, their very names reassure us that we are not forgotten, but are called and claimed by, Jesus, crucified and risen. He claims us; now he wants us to live in his new life and, to help us, he surrounds us with the ‘communion of saints’.
Thanks be to God.