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.
