forgot the batteries

but that's the old me

 

 

The Holy Gospel according to St. John, theeleventh chapter!

It is All Saints Sunday!

It is the time of the church-year where we gather to remember those saints in our lives & in the life of the church who have passed, and who now rest in Christ.

 

This is a very significant time in the church-calendar. Let us say it again, it is a very significant time in the church-calendar.
This feast is important, it is about much more than just singing "When All the Saints," and saying some folks name and hearing a bell toll afterward.

 

While those parts of All Saints Sunday are nice and meaningful, they do not encapsulate the importance of this church-day, they do not tell about everything that All Saints is about.

All Saints is a day to reflect, it is a day to let ourselves grieve over the loss of those we love.

 

But All Saints day is also about doing something much more absurd.

All Saints is a day to move forward, it is a day to celebrate the incredible work of God!

On All Saints day we come again to that promise of God, the promise that the stone which seals our tomb will be moved, the promise that the shroud of death will be unbound.

 

Admittedly, though, it is much easier for people like us to reflect and grieve - both of which are perfectly normal and healthy things to do.

For an example of our tendency to focus on death, just look at today's Gospel. When Jesus calls for that stone over the tomb to be removed, Martha protest. "But, but Lord - there is already a stench. The dead man has been for four days."

Even as we encounter God's work, the celebrating is difficult, while the grieving comes much easier. All too often when Jesus confronts us with a promise, like Martha, we protest. The stench of death is too strong, we say. Yes, we're much better at giving death the final-word.

I have a story for you:

When I worked as a chaplain in Missouri, all the chaplains would have to take turns being on-call all night. It amounted to spending a little more than a day at the hospital about twice a month.

Well, one night had just been one of those nights. At about 11:30 pm I got a page from a nurse, it was looking like one of the patients in the cancer ward would probably pass that night.

So, I went to the fourth floor to be with the family. While I was there I got another page from a nurse in the ER - it looked like a patient there was going to pass. So I spoke with the family in the cancer-ward, told them if they needed anything to have the nurse page me & that I would visit them throughout the evening.

While I was on my way to the ER I got another page. It looked like another person in the Intensive Care Unit was going to pass.

 

All night I bounced from one room to another. Helped families make final preparations, navigated my way with the nurses, praying & simply being present.

Around 2 am, it looked like the patient in the ER and Intensive Care Unit would pass around the same time. So I tried to be with both as best I could. Then something happened; something that stopped everything.

The hospital staff had made the gentleman in the Intensive Care Unit comfortable, and removed the machines that were helping him breathe. Suddenly this man said, "Help me, help me - I'm dying."

We were all in shock. This man hadn't said anything for days. He had been in the hospital dying for any number of days. But now, suddenly, at the end; he was speaking. And the words he had to say were hard to bear.

Help me, help me - I'm dying.

 

Surprised, one person in the family looked to me and said, "what did he say." But we all knew what the man said. Shortly thereafter, he passed. We prayed, the family left.

I spent the rest of the night being with the other folks who were dying. I didn't get back to the on-call crash-room that night until after 4 am. Around 8 am I got up, had breakfast and went to meet the other staff for morning check-ins.

 

After that, I was free to go.

 

It wasn't until I was driving home that I realized how deeply that man's words affected me. In a moment I was crying, and in another I had to pull the car over.

I let myself sit there and cry...

 

I have thought a lot about those man's words since that day, and I have come to realize something. I have come to realize that this man was truth-telling, that he was making a perfect, complete and honest confession.

 

Help me, help me - I'm dying.

 

The man was finally admitting his nature, and admitting that he needed someone to save him.

That man's words, true as they were for him that night, are also true for me, and they are true for you too.

His confession is true for all of us. But for as true as that confession is - like that man - we are rarely so candid. For as true as that confession is - like Martha - we spend so much energy keeping death hidden from view, behind that stone.

 

Why is that?

What are we rarely so honest about our condition?

           Yes, there are plenty of ads telling us we can pretend otherwise, or perhaps even stay young forever.

            Yes, there is the fear of discomfort at death.

            Yes, there is the fear of uncertainty.

            Yes, there is the sorrow of life without that one we love.

            And there are other reasons.

 

And, let us be clear - these reasons are, well, reasonable. Having those fears, having those doubts, that sorrow - is normal. Worrying does not make any of us bad Christians.

 

But for as natural and normal as those responses are, they also betray our need to gathering for All Saints day at least once a year.

 

For all of the time, for all of the money, for all of the energy that we spend; and often times waste; pretending we aren't dying, hiding from death, running from that shroud, denying the truth - we need to be freed.

 

It seems altogether too hard to admit our state, that we're dying and need help, so we run from it, we hide it away, we deny it. And in the midst of that tortured death-dance of ours; Jesus cuts-in, calls a new song, changes the tune.

Jesus breaks in the midst of our running, hiding, denying and says, "roll away the stone, unbind that one."

And not only that!

When we can no longer run, we there is nowhere left to hide, when our flesh is rotting from our corpse and so we can no longer deny, Jesus breaks in and says our name.

Jesus says your name!

Jesus says our name, us dead-ones, and we are knit back together. Jesus says our name, us rotting ones, and we recognize the voice of our shepherd and we are raised. Jesus says our name, and that battle with death comes to an end, because Jesus is our victory.

 

That is what All Saints day is about, fellow dying-ones!

Yes, All Saints is an important occasion to remember, but it is also an occasion to celebrate, to hear a promise (again).

No longer must we go through rote pretending,

no longer must we go through tedious hiding,

no longer must we go through exhausting running,

no longer must we deny!

 

Jesus has taken creatures like us, like those we loved who know sleep, like Lazarus, and defeats our final foe - helps us in our death.

 

Given that promise one of the important questions we get to ask on All Saints Day is, "where are those deaths we're bound to, where are those deaths we need to be freed from?"

There is the loss of our loved ones, and not merely those who have passed this year - but those who have passed who we love, who we remember, who we miss.

There is the fear, the uncertainty, of our own approaching death.

There is death in the history of this church - tragically and traumatically losing a pastor. There are the loss of members, of attendance. There is the fear of what our future may look like here.

What else?

 

We dare ask, 'what else,' because we no longer need to hide. We dare ask, 'what else' because we have seen how Jesus breaks into those places of death and says "move the stone."

 

We dare look at those places of death because a promise has grasped us, and that promise is that Jesus brings life to dead things - that Jesus' answers those pleas for help on our deathbed.

We dare look at those places because the stone has been moved,

because the dead have been raised,

because the shroud of death has been unbound!

 

This is what All Saints day is about - not just remembering those who are gone, but remembering that they are held in Jesus' liberation. All Saints is a day to especially remember that in Christ we are all put-together again, that we are membered-again, re-membered with that communion of saints.

But All Saints is about more than just a day to remember.

Listen to the end of this story with Lazarus.

After Jesus says the stone must be moved, after Jesus calls Lazarus' name; Jesus looks to the crowd, and so also us, and says. 'unbind him.'

See that?!

Jesus not only removes the stone from our tomb and calls our name, but Jesus also invites us into his liberation. God gives us life, and invites us to unbind others so they may have life.

 

Yes - it is easy to be like Martha - obsessed with that stone and the death behind it: but Jesus is resolute and when he calls for the stone to be moved and dares say the name of the dead-one. When love has granted life to even things that have died, Jesus looks to us and says, "unbind that-one."

Yes - perhaps we may be small here at Trinity. Perhaps we may have lost members, regardless Jesus looks to us and says, "unbind them." Yes perhaps we may be grieving, and we are dying ourselves, but Jesus says our names and unbinds us.

So not only do we dare to look at those places of death, but we dare to ask, "where is God calling us to unbind that shroud of death?"

            There are the folks who call the church, looking for beds to sleep upon.

 

            There are folks struggling for just enough food for the day.

            Where else?

            Where else is God calling us to unbind the shroud of death?

In light of all that, all that All Saints means, we're going to do our remembrance a little different.

We're going to gather in the center. We have names to read - and we will read them. But there will also be time for us to say the places we need freed from death - and the places we feel called to unbind the shroud of death. After each pronouncement, Hal will sound the bell.