Sermon: God the thief (Nov. 27, 2022)

 Advent 1 (A)
November 27, 2022
Matthew 24:36-44

INTRODUCTION

Always on this first Sunday of Advent and the new church year, we get a lot of, “Pay attention, and look at this new thing that God is doing! Don’t miss it!” We’ll see that theme very strongly in both Paul’s letter to the Romans and in the Gospel reading. In Isaiah, we get a glimpse of what that new thing might mean for our broken world – it could be a world in which all people will gather on God’s holy mountain, and there will be no more weapons or war. This comes as good news to a nation that is, in the 8th century BCE, being pummeled by the army of the Assyrian Empire; Isaiah speaks these words of hope and new life into a context of suffering, anxiety, and imminent imperial conquest. 

The Psalm also reflects on this world of peace. And in all four readings, we’ll see bits of the persistent Advent themes we think about every year: we wait, we watch, we hope, even as we anticipate the light of God breaking into the darkness of our lives.

This year, our Advent theme is “Out of the Blue,” about the ways God shows up, sometimes where we least expect it, and pulls us into the future of hope and promise – even if it wasn’t a part of our original plan. So as you listen today, watch for those surprising moments in the texts, words or themes of the unexpected – and think about the ways God has shown up in your life in unexpected ways. Let’s listen.

[READ]

Grace to you and peace form the one who is and who was and who is to come. Amen.

Several years ago now, when our kids were babies, we had an apparent break-in at our home. It was winter, and we had noticed as we were sitting in the living room that it felt very drafty. Sure enough we found a window open that leads into the back porch. The window frame was slightly bent, and upon further exploration, we also saw footsteps out in the snow leading to the porch door. We were surprised – nothing seemed amiss other than this, and we hadn’t noticed anything missing, but now we went to take a look. Michael had had a wad of cash in his dresser drawer from some recent Craigslist sales that was gone, as well as a jewelry box in that same drawer that had some cufflinks, and also a single laptop we seldom used was missing – though not my MacBook or any of my far more valuable jewelry. We had had a young man who we knew and was looking to earn some money painting our bedroom that week. He would have had easy access to the house and our bedroom – had he stolen these things while on the job, and then staged a break-in as a cover? He swore his innocence. The police were no help. To this day, we don’t know what happened, or when the theft even occurred – though we are pretty sure it was someone we know. But whether it was an unknown intruder, or this young man, or someone else who had access to our home, the fact remains: we felt violated. Both our space and our trust had been invaded and taken. 

This incident came to mind this week as I read our Gospel lesson. “Keep awake therefore,” Jesus advises, “for you do not know on what day your Lord is coming. But understand this: if the owner of the house had known in what part of the night the thief was coming, he would have stayed awake and would not have let his house be broken into.” It is such an unsettling image, isn’t it – thinking of God breaking into our homes, our safe havens that hold our memories, our photos, our cherished possessions, and creeping about in stocking feet without us even knowing. It’s creepy, but it’s also, like my story, violating. Right? Our homes are our safe place, where there are plenty of things, stories, and behaviors we might like to keep hidden from the outside world. But without warning to first clean up our act, God comes right on in and sees the sink full of dishes, the stack of unopened mail, the stains on the carpet. He sees the empty wine bottles, and the candy wrappers. He sees the piles of clutter, things you never should have bought in the first place, and the embarrassing prescription drugs you take. He sees it all, and just when your defenses are down. He creepily comes like a thief in the night, and sees all those things you would rather have kept hidden – from God, and from the world. 

Yup, it is definitely an unsettling image for God. I don’t like it nearly so much as say, the mother hen, who promises to gather and protect her chicks. Because protection – now that is something we very much like, isn’t it? It’s why we spend so much energy seeking it out. Certainly in physical ways, like our homes and our super safe cars, but also emotionally and spiritually. We don’t let people too far into our hearts, lest we get hurt. We don’t let down our guard, lest we get judged. We don’t let go of the illusion that we can do it ourselves, lest we dare trust another person or even God, and are disappointed once again. 

And yet, if the season of Advent tells us anything, it is that God doesn’t want to be removed from our mess – the one in our homes nor the one in our hearts. God wants to be in it with us, so much that God chooses to come to earth, even in the least expected way imaginable. And so, given that, is it any surprise that the Lord comes to us like a thief in the night? If God sent us a letter saying, “Hello, beloved child of mine, I have intentions to arrive at your home on Thursday at 3pm. I have some life-changing matters to discuss with you,” then what would be our response? 

I can think of two possible responses. One is that I would be too darn busy. “Oo, Thursday at 3 isn’t great for me. I have a haircut scheduled then. Could we look at the following week? I think I can squeeze you in there.” Squeezing God in, especially during this busy season, is all too often our reality, is it not? 

The other possible response, assuming I can indeed squeeze it in, is I would for sure clean the house, at least shove the clutter in a closet and tidy the couch cushions. I’d make sure all my ducks were in a row. I’d make sure my hair was combed, teeth brushed, clean dress on. I would definitely not want God to see the mess that I am behind closed doors! And so, I would put my best face forward to prepare for God’s arrival! 

This doesn’t sound so bad, right? We talk a lot about bringing our best to God – and we should do that! But if God only ever wanted to see us at our best, then why would God come to us at an unexpected hour, when we don’t have the notice we need to prepare, to wash our faces and clean the house? I think it is because while we do want to bring our best to God, we also need to be willing to let God see us at our not-best. Are we willing to let God see us exactly where and how we are when we are not trying to present to the world something that is polished and put-together? 

Preacher and author Barbara Brown Taylor has a wonderful sermon on this text called “The Beloved Thief.” In it, she describes Jesus as a thief who sneaks into our homes at night, when we are least prepared, when our defenses are down, when he can truly come in and see us and be with us at our most vulnerable. She writes, “Like any other thief, this one is after your valuables, but unlike any other, this one knows what they really are: not your silver and your stereo but your heart, your soul, your mind. Those are the treasures this thief’s own heart is set on, at no small risk to his life.” 

You see, if we, the homeowner, had known what time the thief was coming, we would not have let the house be broken into – and then that beloved thief, Jesus himself, would not have had access to our hearts, souls and minds. Jesus would have been kept out. We would have guarded those things, kept them hidden, kept them safe, and put forward only what we want the world and even God to see. 

But that’s not all that God wants to see. God wants all of us, our true selves. That is what this Advent season of waiting and watching, and the joyous gift we celebrate at the end of it, is all about: It is about God wanting so badly to be let in, let into our truest, least protected, messiest, and most vulnerable selves, that God becomes one of us, becomes vulnerable and powerless like us. If we will not let down our guard enough to receive him, then he will still find a way – by coming as a thief in the night, without warning so that we can’t make sure the security alarm is set. We can’t keep him out. He will come to us. He will come at an unexpected hour, probably when we most need it. He is not an adversary or a villain, but he will come to steal our hearts, souls and minds, to make them his. 

So prepare yours hearts, dear friends, for his unexpected entry. Prepare them by leaving the door unlocked, so that the beloved thief may enter freely. For by entering our waiting hearts, he is coming to set us free.

Let us pray… Unexpected God, our hearts and our homes are messy as all get out. We would rather keep our mess protected, even from you. Unlock the doors that would try to keep you out – and enter in, bringing your love, your peace, your grace, and the hope of your promise. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Full service HERE. 

Sermon: Trusting God in the "not yet" (Nov. 20, 2022)

 Christ the King/Reign of Christ, C

November 20, 2022

Jeremiah 23:1-6

Luke 23:33-43

INTRODUCTION

On this last Sunday of the church year, we celebrate Christ the King Sunday, sometimes called Reign of Christ. Interestingly, this is a fairly new addition to the church year, instituted by Pope Pius XI in 1925 (and adopted by Lutherans some 50 years later). In a world then ravaged by World War I, and the emergence of communism in Russia, secularism in the west, and fascism in Spain and Italy (with Germany close behind), it was hoped that raising up Christ’s humble kingship would offer a counter, a needed alternative to these scary regimes. Now almost 100 years later our circumstances have changed, but the need for this alternative sort of reign has certainly not! We are still constantly reckoning with the goals and ways of earthly leaders versus the way that God rules.

Today’s texts offer us some different pictures of what a godly rule looks like. You will see a God who protects, and gathers together, and rescues, and reconciles, and forgives – even, we will see in our Gospel reading which takes us to Jesus’ crucifixion, forgives criminals with his last breath. Ours is certainly a remarkable king! As you listen to these texts, listen for what else you notice about the nature of our king, and what his nature says about what we are called to be and do. Let’s listen.

[READ]

Grace to you and peace from the one who is and who was and who is to come. Amen.

It is 600 years before Christ’s birth. God had given Israel some very clear directives on how to live in right relationship with God: namely, love your neighbor, care for the vulnerable, and live in holiness, so that God can bless the whole world through them. If not easy, at least straightforward, right? But they have fallen far short. The worst offenders have been the kings and leaders, who were supposed to be a divine representative on earth, but instead, despite numerous warnings from God’s prophets, they have chosen over and over again to pursue wealth, fame, power, and short-term status and security over God. And God has had it with these wayward kings!

So, at this point in the history of Israel, here’s where things stand: the people of Judah are living in a vassal state under Babylonian rule – in other words, the Babylonian Empire is in charge, but has allowed the people of Judah to stay on their land as a vassal state, as long as they are loyal to Babylon. But, they weren’t. They tried to rebel against Babylon, and Babylon was not impressed. So now, the conquering Babylonian army is at their doorstep, ready to deport them far, far away, and for a long time. That is, the Israelites are about to be scattered into what we now call, “The Babylonian exile,” or, “the diaspora.” 

It's a scary time! So naturally, the people cry out to God to save them! They had a habit, you see, of having little interest in God until they needed help, needed something from God – something that isn’t altogether unfamiliar to many people of faith today. And, well, this time? God doesn’t save them. At least, not in the way they envisioned or expected. 

And that’s where today’s reading from Jeremiah comes in. God calls those bad kings and leaders – the bad shepherds – to task. “This is your fault,” God says. “You are the ones who have scattered my people. You have not taken care of my sheep,” and then, God adds, menacingly, “So I will take care of you.” It’s like a God as mafia boss vibe. 

Yeah, it’s not looking great for Israel right about now. This is not the response they were hoping for from God. They were hoping for salvation right now, a defeat of the enemy army. Instead, God observes the broken nature of God’s people. They are scattered, and it is their own doing.

It’s a situation that may seem familiar to us. This is the result that bad leadership can bring about – bad leaders turn us against one another, and create division. They do not seek righteousness and reconciliation. Their interest is in their own power, not the well-being of the sheep, the people they’ve been charged to lead and care for. And the result is pain, fear, and separation from God. The community is dis-membered.

Of course, God doesn’t leave them there forever. We know that – but that likely doesn’t bring the Israelites in Babylon much comfort at that moment! God offers a promise, but speaks to them in the far future tense: “I will gather the remnant of my flock, [whatever’s left of them after all this,] and I will bring them back to their fold. I will raise up shepherds over them who will shepherd them, and they shall not fear any longer.” That’s all very hopeful – but it doesn’t come for at least 70 years! And the shepherd king they are really waiting for, the righteous Branch of David, won’t come for another 600 years! 

Now, safely in a place of knowing the end of the story, I actually love this moment of tension, because it is something I can relate to. I see my own experience echoed in this story – of asking for help, and getting the response, “Yep, you got yourself into a bit of a mess… and I will help you, save you… but not yet.” And as much as I hate getting “not yet” as an answer, I also know that sometimes that answer must come because if the trouble is removed prematurely, then I will not have the opportunity to learn how to trust God. I will too quickly return to trusting myself. Now, we want to trust ourselves to some extent, of course – to trust that God has equipped us with the particular gifts and skills we need to endure the challenges life brings – but ultimately, it is God’s providence that we are trusting, not our own. God will give us what we need, in God’s own way and God’s own time. 

As we draw closer to the end of the year, we are talking once again about stewardship. There are so many approaches a preacher can take to discuss stewardship in a congregation, but the one that resonates with me most each year, and especially as we imagine a world in which Christ is indeed our king, is stewardship as an act of trust. Because giving away money, even large sums of money each year to God through the church, is often the most trusting act we can do. It is a very concrete way of saying, “I truly believe that Christ is the shepherd king who was promised to us. I believe he will gather us, and attend to us, and care for all our needs. I believe he is my salvation. I believe that his reign will be better than anything else I can imagine. And so, I will let go of this bit of my property that tries to promise my security, and put my trust in God.” 

And, if we do, really and truly believe that, then we must also be drawn into asking ourselves, “In what ways am I finding protection by my own means? What ways am I living my life that show that I may trust God… but not completely?” For me, this shows up fairly consistently in the way I view money. Every time the budget gets tight, or we need a little extra to pay a large bill that came up, it flits through my brain, “Well, I could decrease my offering this month, so we have a little more cash.” To be clear – I don’t do that, at least not intentionally (though it has happened on accident), but I almost always consider it. And then I try to use that fleeting thought as a heart check, asking, “Why was one of my first inclinations to trust God less?”

Now, mathematically speaking, I know why. There is money there that can be used differently, and simple arithmetic tells me I can cover this expense with that money. But spiritually, it is way off. Because when times are such that we need a little more, that is exactly the time when we are called to trust God more fully, not less! And while there are many ways we can live into trusting God, how we use our money is one very concrete way that we can. 

I have sometimes wondered, what would happen if, next time I am worried about something, instead of thinking to decrease my giving by a few bucks, I tried doubling it. It would probably hurt at first, I’ll be honest, but I have a sneaking suspicion that this would go a long way toward reorienting my heart in the direction of trust, rather than worry. Increasing my giving by a few dollars won’t do much to change my heart, but doubling it? That’s enough to feel a change! 

Speaking of worry… how does our story here end? God’s “not yet” to the people of Israel is difficult for them to hear, no doubt. It is a clear sign that in Christ’s rule, things don’t work as we would expect them to. Sometimes being saved from something means we have to go through it, rather than around it. Sometimes being fruitful and multiplying means first decreasing and reducing in some areas, so that fruitfulness can follow. Sometimes “with Christ all things are possible” means that even the unthinkable is possible – not because God will spare us from difficulty, but because God will bring us through it. You see, the reign of Christ turns all our expectations on their head, just the way God has always done, throughout salvation history, and most especially with the birth of God’s son, who is born to peasants, without military power, and serves the poorest and weakest, rather than catering to the powers that be. This is how our shepherd chooses to lead, to gather us and bring us back together, to re-member us. 

And so we pray, with the criminal on the cross, “Jesus, re-member me, when you come into your kingdom.” And Jesus’ response is, “It is already the case. You are re-membered, and one with me in paradise, on this very day.” We already can trust in God with all that we have. We already can step out in faith to serve the vulnerable, love the neighbor, and live in holiness for the sake of the world. Today, we will be with Jesus in paradise.

Let us pray… Reigning God, help us to trust you fully, so that our hearts would be reoriented toward your kingdom. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

View the full service HERE.

Sermon: When temples are falling (Nov. 13, 2022)

Pentecost 23C
November 13, 2022
Luke 21:5-19

INTRODUCTION

Always on this last Sunday before Christ the King Sunday, we hear texts about the end of the world. The idea here is that this week we hear about how the end is coming, then next week we hear about Christ’s second coming, when the King will come and reign over all, and then the next week we begin traditional Advent, when we turn our hearts toward remembering Christ’s first coming, even as we still wait in hopeful expectation for that day when the Prince of Peace will come again. Cool, right? Lectionary for the win.

Our first reading today comes from Malachi, the very last book of the Old Testament. After Malachi’s prophecy, there is a 400-year gap before Jesus (aka the Sun of Righteousness) comes to save us from our sins. Our reading from Thessalonians takes us to just after the resurrection, when believers expected Jesus to return at any moment. As a result, they had ceased to work or do anything, thinking, what was the point anyway, if Jesus was coming back soon? Paul tells them this is the wrong attitude; instead, they should always strive to do the right thing, whether Jesus comes in 5 minutes, or 5000 years. 

In our Gospel lesson, Jesus warns the disciples about the end of the world, and the signs that will make clear this is about to happen. Some of the signs sound uncomfortably like what we can see looking around the world today. But, Jesus assures them, even in this, God has a purpose, so trust in that.

It’s not a particularly warm-fuzzy message, from any of these texts, but then again, neither is life always full of warm fuzzies. As you listen, remember a time in your life (or it may be right now!), where it felt like life as you knew it was crumbling around you, and consider: where did God show up, or where did God’s purpose become clear in that? Let’s listen.

[READ]

Grace to you and peace from the one who is and who was and who is to come. Amen.

These end of the world texts we always get in November are always so unnerving. Every single year, I read them and look around and think, “it could be describing today!” And you know what? Every generation has felt that way. Every generation has had its own tragedy that they are sure is worse than any other generation’s. Remember, Luke was writing actually a bit after the events he is describing, after the Temple fell in the year 70 – that surely felt like the end times to that generation! And since then, every time period has had wars and insurrections and signs from heaven, and charismatic people claiming to be the one who knows “just what God is saying by this act!” and so people across time have thought, “This must be the end times!” Well so far, no one has been right. But it doesn’t keep these texts from feeling very unnerving.

So, what do we do then with texts like these? Ignore them? Stick our heads in the proverbial sand? Last week we talked about what happens at the end of our personal, earthly lives, but the end of humanity as we know it is, well, a much bigger concern, one that I know I have a very hard time wrapping my head around. And so yeah, I’d sometimes rather just shrug it off, turn the other way, and ignore it. But I don’t think that is faithful. So instead, let’s lean in, because there is something important to take from these end times texts; Luke’s account of Jesus’ words to a traumatized first century audience speak also to us in our own context. 

Let’s start with the first move Jesus makes. After he describes the destruction that will happen, the disciples immediately want more information: “When? How will we know? Explain this to us!” We get that, right? Especially in very emotional times, as tragedy always is, we want more information, believing that if we could just know more things, that will help us understand and move past it. But Jesus doesn’t let them stay there in that false belief. “Beware that you are not led astray,” he goes on, “by those who promise to know everything.” Hmm. I know I am susceptible to following whatever or whomever will give me what I most crave at the time, and in times of immense pain or uncertainty, what I most crave is almost always understanding. Though if I’m honest, more understanding seldom actually helps. In these times, it can be all too easy to fall into despair, into feeling helpless in the face of something so much bigger than us. 

But Jesus changes the question: he instead moves the disciples not to think, “When, why, and how?” but rather, “What does this struggle mean for my life of faith?” 

And this is where we can find a way to move from falling into despair, to moving toward life. Since the end of the world is such a huge topic, let’s make it more personal: imagine with me that the destruction of the Temple, the loss of this consistent beacon of God’s presence with us, is a sort of metaphor for the ways our own hopes and visions for how we expected life would be sometimes crumble. With that image, a couple of questions come to mind: 

First, are we willing to sit with the fact that sometimes things we had planned and counted on and trusted in… fall apart? I doubt there is a person in the world who can say, “I made a plan for my life, and everything has fallen exactly into place and turned out how I planned it.” Right? Even if you eventually get to where you hoped you would, undoubtedly the path had some unexpected twists and turns. Plans falling apart is a part of life, always. And yet if you’re anything like me, you fight against it when it happens, trying desperately to force things once again down the path you had previously laid out so thoughtfully and carefully. 

So, what would happen if, instead of looking always to understand and fix, we were willing just to sit with this unexpected reality, and accept that sometimes things do fall apart… and consider that maybe God is using that to put us on the path we need to be on? If ours is a God whose purpose is to show us that death leads to life, then it seems pretty consistent with God’s character that things falling apart might be a necessary step toward building something new. 

The other question that comes to mind is, can we accept and even embrace this journey of faith, this one that includes rubble, ruin, and even failure? Can we embrace that sometimes faith means saying, “I thought I had this figured out, but I don’t,” and then putting our trust not in our own skills and understanding, but in God’s own providence and wisdom? 

If the answer to each of these questions is, “Yes, I can accept that. I can embrace that ruin and failure and plans fallen apart are a part of living a life of faith,” if we can admit that our carefully made plans are not always aligned with God’s plans… then we experience a little apocalypse. I don’t mean the world ends – though it may feel that way! “Apocalypse” does not mean “the end of the world,” so much as it means, “the end of the world as we have known it.” An apocalypse is an unveiling, a pulling back of the veil to reveal what was hidden beneath. And yes, sometimes, this process is incredibly painful. It shatters our perceptions, sets us off our balance, changes how we see everything. It disillusions us. But disillusion is not, finally, a bad thing. To be disillusioned is to be freed from an illusion, freed from a false truth that was doing more damage to us than good. An apocalypse frees us from these lies, and places our trust squarely where it belongs: in the one who always brings us truth, hope, and life, Jesus Christ our Lord.

What’s tricky about this is that sometimes, the illusions from which we need to be freed are the very behaviors that we thought were keeping us safe and doing us good. They are the coping mechanisms and approaches to life that we developed even as children to get through the difficult things life throws at us. For example, maybe you have told yourself that if you can always crack a joke and find the fun in any situation, then you can avoid pain indefinitely, and eventually the pain will just disappear. Or you’ve told yourself that if you strive always to be good, and do the right thing, and finish everything on your list, then you will find peace. Or that if you always put your needs aside in favor of serving others, you will be loved. Or that if you are prepared for every possible scenario, then you will feel safe. 

Now, safety, and love, and peace, and lack of pain – these are not bad outcomes. But the stories we are telling about how to achieve them? These are, in the end, lies we are telling ourselves. They are – illusions. And living those lies will not bring us what we most dearly crave. Maybe sometimes, for a short time, but more often, they will cause us to suffer all the more in the long term, because – and we know this – we will never get what we need by our own devices. And as soon as we can recognize that the stories God wants us to live are stories of grace, stories in which God loves us and provides us exactly what we need – even when temples are falling – the sooner we can rest in the peace, love, and safety Jesus promises us. 

I know from personal experience that when those stories we tell ourselves begin to crumble and fall, it can be painful and disorienting. It does feel apocalyptic! I’m sure you know it too, from your own experience. But it is also, finally, life-giving! That is the story of our faith – that whatever our temples are, they will fall. Our carefully made plans will crumble around us. And, that likely will shake us, even to our core. We will feel disillusioned and maybe even abandoned. 

But know this: we are not abandoned. The Sun of Righteousness will arise with healing in his wings, and not a hair of your head will perish. Even when we sit in the midst of the ruin of our hopes, the shards of our broken stories, Emmanuel, God-with-us, shows up, weeps with us, and then takes us by the hand, and shows us the new life that exists just beyond the veil.

Let us pray… God of grace, when life is falling apart, when things no longer make any sense, when we are faced with uncomfortable truths, make us certain that with you as our God, not a hair of our heads will perish. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen

Full service can be viewed HERE. 

Sermon: On the incomprehensibility of life after death (All Saints, Nov 6, 2022)

Pentecost 22C (All Saints Day)
November 6, 2022
Luke 20:27-38

INTRODUCTION

All of our readings today deal with the question of resurrection, of life after death, salvation after suffering, of the newness that follows endings – all very appropriate themes for All Saints Sunday! 

I’m going to focus on our Gospel lesson, which requires some background to fully understand what’s going on. It begins with the Sadducees trying to trick Jesus. The Sadducees, as Luke will tell us, are an elite sect of Judaism that does not believe in the resurrection. And so, they are trying to trap Jesus by describing a scenario and carrying it to its logical and absurd conclusion, thus disproving resurrection. The scenario uses levirate marriage as the premise, so let me explain first what that is. In some patriarchal societies (such as 1st century Judaism and some still today), the levirate law says that if a woman’s husband dies childless, she should marry her husband’s brother. At its best, this is a practice that protects the vulnerable widow, because she cannot support herself and this law requires the family to take her in and provide for her. But it is also a property issue because it keeps the wealth in the family, allows for the possibility of heirs, and keeps the blood line going. The scenario the Sadducees describe pushes this law to its max, imagining seven brothers who all die childless. In this case, they ask, to whom does the women belong in the resurrection? It’s a clever question, but Jesus of course has an even more clever response. 

The question of resurrection, what happens when we die, and what this all means for life right now, is a question central to the life of faith. So as you listen, think about how you would answer that question: what does all this resurrection talk mean for your life right now? Maybe our readings will offer you some insight. Let’s listen.

[READ]

Grace to you and peace from the one who is and who was and who is to come. Amen.

I’ve thought a lot about death this week. Between Halloween on Monday, the novel I just finished about beings who don’t know they are dead and stuck in an in-between place, and multiple visits with people at the end of their life, I can’t seem to get away from thinking about what happens when we die.

But the end-of-life moment that was particularly meaningful to me this week was when I heard from Michael’s cousin, asking if I would Facetime with her mom, Michael’s beloved aunt, who was very near the end of her life. We chatted, and I sang to her, “Shall We Gather at the River,” including these beautiful words in the final verse: “Soon we’ll reach the shining river / soon our pilgrimage will cease / soon our happy hearts will quiver / with the melody of peace.” And indeed, I could see peace fall upon her beautiful face. She entered life eternal just over 48 hours later; we lit a candle for her this morning.

Each year on All Saints Day, we face the reality of death – this mysterious thing that is at once foreign to us, and also all too familiar. This day is a gift, really – a chance to confront this inevitable part of life at a time when we are not, at least usually, in the throes of grief, and able to see with broader vision what part death plays in the story of our life and faith. 

Humans have always been fascinated, intrigued, if not also fearful, of what happens when we die in our bodily form, and it has long been the cause of theological debate. We see it in our Gospel reading today. Some Sadducees approach Jesus, with the intent to expose the absurdity of all his talk of resurrection. At this point in Jesus’ story, he has just entered Jerusalem and is in the last week of his life, and the authorities are trying to bring Jesus down. So they present this question to trap him: a possibly hypothetical woman marries a man, but he dies before having any offspring. According to levirate law, this widow is then given to the man’s brother, for the purpose of producing an heir. But this man, too, dies childless. And so it goes, for all seven brothers. When the woman herself dies, whose wife will she be in the resurrection? In other words, if there is a life after death, as the resurrection promises, this woman can’t possibly be the wife of all seven brothers; therefore, the belief in resurrection makes no logical sense. 

Now, you might be surprised by what I say next here: but I agree with the Sadducees! The resurrection does not make any logical sense. We are not the first generation of humans to be sophisticated enough to find life after death implausible. The resurrection has never made sense in human terms! It’s odd, and unlikely, and frankly, bizarre. Where the Sadducees point out here the discrepancies between resurrection and the laws around marriage, our generation points out the discrepancies between resurrection and the laws of biology and physics. Easter morning is baffling for someone who believes in science, and as good as it sounds that death is not the end, that there is a hope beyond the finality of death, our concrete, fact-based brains have a hard time grasping this possibility. This struggle is nothing new for humans! 

Jesus gets that. Notice, he is not angry with the Sadducees. He engages their questions, and challenges them not to change their views, but to think about it differently. He invites them to think beyond the entrenched categories of what is possible and impossible. Because in the end, nothing is impossible with God!

I find this a comfort. And I love that Jesus’ response is to meet them right where they are. “You are right,” he acknowledges, “that this is how it works in this age. People marry and are given in marriage. That is how things work. These are the laws we follow. But,” he goes on, “that is not how things work in that age.” In other words, we cannot try to understand the resurrection, or the afterlife, or heaven, or eternal life, or whatever you call it – we cannot try to understand it within the same constraints and systems that we use to understand this world. Things like the laws of marriage, or biology, or physics – they help us make sense of things in this earthly realm. They’re important. They might even get us part of the way to a spiritual realm. I remember studying physics in high school and being drawn into theological reflection by the things I was learning, asking, “What does this law or revelation mean for my understanding of God and God’s action in the world?” But in the end, trying to understand the resurrection, eternal life, using the same laws and systems we use to understand this world – it might be interesting, but will ultimately get you nowhere.

My clergy study group had a lively discussion about this topic this week. We shared some of the questions and assumptions we have encountered about heaven over the course of our respective ministries. Whether or not pets will be in heaven is a common question, as is the question of who gets in. One wondered if heaven would be like a bunch of golf courses, while another said adamantly, “That doesn’t sound like heaven to me!” Most people want a chance to ask God all their pressing questions, most of which start with, “Why?” Everyone wants to be reunited with loved ones, something that is very much on our minds today. 

The truth is that my answer to every question I’ve ever gotten about the specifics of heaven or eternal life is: I don’t know. We don’t, and can’t, know or comprehend the fullness of the resurrection, nor the joys and blessings of life eternal. 

What we do know is this: 

God knows. 

And God is love.

And God loves us. 

And God promised us, in our baptism, life everlasting. 

To me, as much as I’d like to know more, it is a relief to let go of this need to know more, and just to trust Jesus on this one. And in my more peaceful moments, it is enough for me simply to accept what Jesus says today to the Sadducess: that the part of eternal life that comes after our pilgrimage on earth has ceased is quite apart from human, earthly laws. Indeed it transcends them. But we can trust that those who have gone before us in faith – Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, and all those we named this morning, and countless more – they are alive in the resurrection. Because “God is God not of the dead, but of the living; for to him all of them are alive” – alive, and basking in the loving glow and joy and peace of Christ’s shining light. That, my friends, is all we need to know.

Let us pray… God of light and peace, we want so badly to understand your ways, to grasp the truth of eternal life for ourselves and our loved ones. Make us content to trust you, to trust that whatever the case, you are the God of the living, and that all of your children are alive in you. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen. 

Full service can be viewed HERE.