Sermon: Presente!

Text: Revelation 7:9-17; 1 John 3:1-3

Date: November 6, 2005

Rev. Dee Eisenhauer, Eagle Harbor Congregational Church

There is a beautiful liturgy in the Reform Jewish prayer book that is read at funerals: “In the rising of the sun and in its going down, we remember them. In the blowing of the wind and in the chill of winter, we remember them. In the opening of buds and in the rebirth of spring, we remember them. In the blueness of the sky and in the warmth of summer, we remember them. In the rustling of leaves and in the beauty of autumn, we remember them. In the beginning of the year and when it ends, we remember them. When we are weary and in need of strength, we remember them. When we are lost and sick at heart, we remember them. When we have joys we yearn to share, we remember them. So long as we live, they too shall live, for they are now a part of us, as we remember them.”

It’s lovely, isn’t it? I like the way it encircles all the seasons of the year and all the seasons of the heart. You never can tell what will remind you of one of your loved ones who has died. I was surprised to be thinking of my brother, dead now more than 30 years, when I was eating in a little restaurant last week. There was a cute blond toddler with blue-green eyes in a high chair near me who looked at me and smiled when I picked up his toy off the floor. His hair reminded me of Chris, and I remember my parents telling the story of Chris learning his first word right before the family had a rare night out in a restaurant. They got excited about him talking, naturally, and made a big fuss, so he spent the whole mealtime hollering “ball” from his high chair, much to their embarrassment. In the odd moments of ordinary days, we remember them.

I like the liturgy, but at the same time it comes up short. “So long as we live, they too shall live, for they are now a part of us, as we remember them.” That’s true enough, but is that all there is? Do the dead live on only in our memories? Is immortality limited by the memory of the living? Would you think of a famous person like Abraham Lincoln having a longer “after life” because people still think of him, whereas my great uncle Eric will be gone as soon as his last descendant forgets him?

I must be a Christian or something. Because I believe there is more to life after death than merely lingering in the memories of the living. The dead are more real than memory. William Wordsworth wrote a poem titled “We Are Seven” that comes closer to my belief and experience. The poet met a little girl on his travels and asked how many people were in her family. Seven, she replied. Besides herself, two were at home and two had gone to sea. “But that means only five,” said the poet. “The other two are in the churchyard,” said the eight year old, “but they are only twelve steps from my mother’s door. Sometimes I knit my stockings and sit upon the ground and sing to them. At other times I take my porridge and eat my supper at the grave.” Then she goes on to tell how Jane departed, and how John and she played around the sacred spot until, in the season when snow came, John too was forced to go and join his sister Jane. The visitor again interrupts: “But they are dead; those two are dead,/ Their spirits are in heaven./ `Twas throwing words away, for still/ The little maid would have her will,/ And say, ‘Nay, we are seven.’”[1]

I get what she’s saying. I’ve had a hard time answering questions about how many siblings I have all these years. A child might not understand the permanence of death, which may make the little girl keep counting her dead brother and sister. But it’s just as true to say that a materialistic world may not understand the permanence of life. It has always felt more accurate to me to say “I have an older brother” than to say “I had an older brother.” I don’t think this is naiveté or wishful thinking; it’s a faith statement about the endurance of life, a faith statement based on texts like the reading from Revelation and on intuition.

The Christian church has long taught that the church is made up of both the living and the dead. Have any of you students done some of your homework using “Venn Diagrams”? You draw two (or more) overlapping circles and write how two individuals are different in the parts of the circles that are not touching and what they have in common in the part of the diagram that overlaps. (Karen did one last week comparing two literary works.) If you were to think of the living people in the church in one circle and the dead people in the church in the other, who or what would be in the part that overlaps? Jesus Christ would be. We living people have a connection with the resurrected Christ, as do the people who have died. We have communion in Christ. The living spirit of Christ bridges the gap between we who are living on earth and those who are living in the unseen part of God’s realm.

The text in Revelation—assigned for All Saints Day—paints a picture of the huge company of souls gathered in God’s realm, singing God’s praises. They are drawn from every nation and tribe; we can imagine every conceivable sort of person, every age, every shape, every race. The question is raised about who those in the dazzling white robes are. The answer: they are the ones who came through the great tribulation. Some readers of the Bible think this means the capital-T Tribulation that is part of the dramatic vision of John in Revelation. Others think any tribulation applies. Martha Greene says of the Greek word, “The word tribulation means literally "grinding"--derived from the Latin Tribulum, which was a threshing sledge for beating the stems and husks of grains.” We might think of martyrs first as those who really got thrashed by life—Saint Stephen, Perpetua, Martin Luther King, Jr., Bishop Oscar Romero. But just about everyone goes through some experiences that feel like getting threshed or thrashed during the course of human life. These verses are a promise that there is relief, healing, rest, joy on the other side of whatever tribulation we may face on earth.

Some tribulations humans experience are random, accidental—cancer, hurricanes, that sort of thing. Some are tribulations chosen. There are tribulations that follow bad decisions, like getting into a bad marriage for the wrong reasons. And there are tribulations that follow good decisions, chosen by people who stand up for what is right in spite of social pressure or punishment. The movie “Good Night and Good Luck” which chronicles Edward R. Murrow taking on Senator McCarthy during the communist scare is an example of tribulation following a difficult decision to do what was right.

For Christians, Jesus is the prime example of the person who did not let the threat of suffering make him back down. Jesus Christ as role model has given countless Christians courage to stand up in their own struggles for justice and peace. Wanting to be like Christ, pursuing the promise we heard in 1 John—“when he is revealed, we will be like him”—has given strength and gumption to millions of disciples through the ages. Whether tribulations chosen have been large or small, the hope of growing into the likeness of Christ has kept many a Christian going. We can only imagine the joy of complete communion with Christ when we cross over the finish line of this life and meet Christ face to face.

Do those who have died retire? Are they like the atheletes in a marathon who disappear immediately into a soft bed somewhere? Or are they like the atheletes who gather around the finish line and cheer the other racers on as those still in the race churn toward the end? Listen to what one of our generation’s martyrs, Archbishop Oscar Romero who was assasinated during a celebration of Mass because of his unrelenting advocacy for the poor, had to say: “Let us not think that our dead have gone away from us. Their heaven, their eternal reward, makes them perfect in love; they keep on loving the same causes for which they died. Thus, in El Salvador the force of liberation involves not only those who remain alive, but also all those who others have tried to kill and who are more present than before in the people’s movement.”[2]

Sometimes when the church gathers in Central America the names of the saints who have gone before are called out in the congregation. The response of the living congregation is “Presente!” That word, “present” like you’d hear in a school roll call, reminds Christians that we still have communion in Christ. It says that though they are dead, they still live. And it reminds those still living that the dead are encouraging us along with our brother Jesus Christ to grow into the likeness of Christ, to do and be our best.

Whether it’s your dead grandmother reminding you to sit up straight and wipe your nose or Rosa Parks reminding you that an ordinary person can spark an extraordinary change, listen to the dead who have not really left us. Let those who have passed through their tribulation give your courage and strength as you pass through yours, especially the tribulation you choose as you grow to be like Christ.

Beloved, beloved, we are the children of God, and it does not yet appear what we shall be. But we know that when God appears, we shall be like God, we shall be like God; we shall see God face to face.

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[1] The Golden Book of Immortality New York: Association Press, 1954, p. 7-8

[2] Romero, Oscar The Violence of Love: The Pastoral Wisdom of Archbishop Oscar Romero translated and compiled by James R. Brockman, S.J. San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1988, p. 235