All Saint's Sunday - My Time to Grieve

When Vicar Lorraine and I talked out the preaching schedule for the fall, Vicar Lorraine had asked to preach today.  This is the only week that she presented that she is not preaching.  The decision had nothing to do with her. My confession to you is that this was a completely selfish action.

This is the Sunday that I take as my day to grieve; preaching, presiding, saying something, is part of my process.  Pastor’s carry the burden of other’s grief, along with there own; often putting their own grief to the side to pastorally walk with others.

The blessing is that Pastor’s also get the pleasure to gather tidbits when people reflect on their life, to hear peoples’ God stories, miracle or faith moments; and of course, the hope instilling moment --- the beautiful moment when one experiences the intimate moment of death.

 Today is the day that the whole community purposefully gathers with the great cloud of witnesses to bear each other’s burdens, sadness, griefs; and to proclaim a hope that is deeper than the world can give, a hope that ventures through infinity.

While participating in clinical pastoral education, I had some opportunities that, before starting, I would not have guessed would have been included in the course.  My class was taken to see knee surgery -live- and a cataract removal.  We were also exposed to an autopsy.  The thought – and it was very good – as I have returned to these experiences many times; was that chaplains who had witnessed surgery where able to share with the patient or family how surgery goes.  The idea was to relieve some of the fear and nervousness on the part of the patient and family, from someone who was not medical staff. As to autopsies, he chaplain’s roll was to share with family how the body is treated with respect, how items are recorded for information to assist medical professionals moving forward.  The idea was that in the time of crisis, life change, medical transition, -- facing life and death situations – people involved were offered someone to share their burden with, given space to reflect, and administered a dose of hope.

The passage from Revelation, read earlier, works in a similar manner for the people of John’s time.  It is written to a group of faithful believers who are being persecuted for that same faith, for living a life that brings hope to a troubled time. The book is craftily written with a myriad of images and phrases.  The images and phrases to a casual reader would seem but a story.  To those, for whom it was intended, the images and phrases brought much to life--- the work was a reminder of their heritage of faith, how God was in covenant with them from time before time, how the kingdom (what comes after the world as we know it) was created and ready.  The passages grew hope – a hope that was so desperately needed as the world spiraled out of control.  This said, tension was not relieved by the removal of sufferings, persecutions, or circumstances.  It was faithfully continuing to live as a community- bearing each other’s griefs, in hope, amidst the tension and strife.

The past few weeks I have had people reflect to me that this time of year feels precarious; that life is tenuous.  Perhaps you have felt discombobulated too: with it unnaturally warm, the days growing darker, creation going to sleep, the # of people dying that you know, a more tangible realization that life includes death.

It is not just us. From times long ago, people recognized this time of year as a precarious season. Moving from the end of October into the first two days of November is Hallowtide. Hallowtide has been observed by various religions and pre-religions, by cultures and peoples the world over.  The similarity of all, is that each utilized rituals and customs to articulate the tensions felt in the season.  The season was precarious in nature as there was thinness between the physical world and the world of spirits/the world of the dead. Within the Christian calendar it is marked by All Hallow’s Eve, All Saints Day, All Souls Day. 

This is a precarious season. Life is tenuous.

I have always been fascinated by Mexican traditions around the day of the dead.  Visiting some year is on my bucket list.  One tradition I appreciate is bone art: skeleton forms drawn, or crafted, and then painted or dressed in bright colours; flowers and feathers abounding. The art includes skull art.  Show colouring page.  There are some take home colouring pages at the back of the church for those interested. 

Skull art is important.  It decorates peoples’ homes, is part of everyday life, and collections tour art galleries around the world. Some people find the art morbid, skull tattoos ridiculous, and the art verging on sacrilegious.  For the Mexican people skull art has been part of their culture from long before the time of Christianity --- skull art is viewed as a positive symbol of resurrection. Something dead comes to life – the symbol contains the tension of death and life; living in the precarious.

A quote from a bone art web-site reflects that, “the idea of the tradition is that the Mexican family choose to celebrate the lives of their dearly departed friends and relatives as an opposite to most cultures that tend to mourn their dead.”

Don’t miss hear me this morning….there is something sacred in the tension of our lives: the pull between death and life, mourning and celebration, darkness and light. Yet, the attitude of celebration as the stance for mourning saturates the process of death – through death a person doesn’t vanish, rather they remain close.

There is an understanding in Mexican culture of communion once a year at the time of thin space, where families go to the cemetery with chrysanthemums, candles, and potluck suppers.  To go and feast amongst the dead – along with the great cloud of witnesses.

 Is that not what happens here most Sundays?  At communion we feast with the great cloud of witnesses.  We don’t wait until the first Sunday of Nov. to feast – it is continual, mourning and celebration. Often, we forget that the table is larger than our communion rail.  Today does feel different, because of the attitude which we bring to the service, the theme and focus of worship is directed at specifically remembering with whom we eat.

We are reminded of the tenuousness of our own life.  We are reminded that our energy, our light, is short lived.

I take to heart the words from John.  Remembering life as light – In his letter John writes about light: Dearly beloved, we are God’s children now; what we shall later be has not yet come to light.  We know that when it comes to light we shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is.  In his other writing John expounds on Jesus as the light of the world, that the Word was in the beginning -when light was set in its courses.  The hope to be heard is that we are God’s children, right now.  We live in the light now and are asked to shine this light in the world. In the future we will be enveloped in God’s light --- however that looks or feels is unknown. It may be like living in a vacuum, whelmed, overwhelmed in the light of God.  Remembering life as light, has us remember our loved ones in the twinkling of candles.  Moving hope for what is yet to come.

Before closing today, let us make note that there is great tension to be found in the beatitudes as written in the Gospel of Matthew.  The beatitudes are seemingly full of opposites.  A Catholic resource says: “It is a series of acclamations, a song of praise, a declaration of freedom and a portrait of Jesus the Christ.” Imagine the beatitudes not being about us, about human beings, at all.  Reading, Jesus the Christ, as the focus, directs our attention to the heart of the matter.  God entered human life -to live in the tensions of the everyday—to experience all that God was not; so as to share with us in suffering and death --- so that this too may be redeemed.

Jesus, Blessed are you when you are persecuted… be glad and rejoice for your reward in heaven is great.

And in Christ we share in this blessedness of God.  Thanks be to God. Amen.