Luke 21:25-36
It was Halloween night and I saw the sign. This sweet toddler, no more than a year and a half old, dressed up as ice cream came to my door. Her parents, dressed as ice cream scoopers, were enthusiastically standing behind her. (Clearly they were first time parents!) It was all very cute.
Thanksgiving Eve
Do any of you like board games? I really enjoy them: my family and friends play a lot of them, especially during the holidays. And I was imagining recently how a Thanksgiving game might work. You could have different colored turkey meeples as your playing pieces, moving around the board and trying to fill their baskets with food items: meat, potatoes, pecan pies, chocolate — you know, all the essentials. Along the way, they could land on special tiles that give them extra cash, like you got a bonus at work or you cleaned your daughter’s room while she was at college and found $300. And then there would be special event cards you could collect, like your favorite football team won or your family made it through dinner without having an argument. And at the end of this turkey trot, you would convert all the food, cash, and special event cards int0 Thanksgiving victory points. And whoever has the most victory points wins. Put simply, the more good stuff you have, the more thankful you are. And the most thankful person comes out on top.
I don’t know if such a game would be any fun, but I do know it would completely miss the point of thanksgiving, at least from a Gospel perspective. Now, I know we’re supposed to focus on abundance. The collect we prayed at the beginning of this service emphasizes it, the prophet Joel talks about it in our first reading, our altar embodies it. And our society says as much. It’s like our civic duty to indulge in copious amounts of food and drink, and just in the plenitude we enjoy. And certainly most of us here have an abundance of material goods. And of course we should be grateful for what we have, but that is really not what giving thanks is primarily about. Because that would just be too transactional: I get good stuff, I say thank you. I don’t get good stuff, I don’t say thank you. Such an approach does not account for Jesus, who teaches even the poorest people to be thankful and who himself gives thanks on the night before he knows they will torture him and crucify him. Such an approach does not account for the Apostle Paul, who having been beaten, starved, shipwrecked, vilified, and imprisoned, tells the Thessalonians to give thanks in all circumstances.
What’s that about? Well, you know what it’s about. In our heart of hearts, we all do. What I am about to say is the simplest thing in the world, a truth we swim in as a fish swims in the sea. It’s like the air we breathe: the very source of life and yet so easily taken for granted and ignored. Here’s the truth: we are created by and for a God of infinite love, a God who cherishes us and will hold us close forever. In the light of Christ, we know that thanksgiving is not transactional at all, it’s not a response that some circumstances call for and others do not. Thanksgiving is a way of life; no more than that, thanksgiving is a state of being. Our very existence is — or can be — a continuous act of thanksgiving. We could look to great saints like Julian of Norwich or Fancis of Assisi who demonstrate this, but we don’t need to. I am guessing, I’m hoping, that most of us here have seen this for ourselves, or at least glimpsed it in moments of being fully alive.
I had one such moment just recently. After a hard and challenging day, I was out walking our dog and looked up and saw Jupiter, brilliant in the darkening sky; and I felt a surge of joy and gratitude that seemingly came out of nowhere. I knew God’s love enfolded me and all of creation, and that was enough. In such moments we realize that all the good things we enjoy do not actually cause us to feel thankful; they simply unlock and give expression to a deeper gratitude that is always there. I exist, and wow, God, I also have food! I have family and friends! I have a church! I can listen to beautiful music, read good books, look up in awe at the night sky. And it’s not just positive things that can channel this gratitude energy. Wow, God, I failed miserably and yet here I am, the apple of your eye. There is so much anger and animosity around us, and yet here we are, awash in your love, which is stronger than any hatred. I’m sick, but there you are, right with me to strengthen and heal me. I’m dying, but I will rise to new life and be with you and all whom I love forever. Thank you. God’s love and goodness are infinite: there is literally no end to thanksgiving.
And we don’t have to make ourselves feel this; we don’t have to force it. To experience the kingdom of God is to be thankful, and that kingdom is within each one of us. When Jesus tells us, as he does in the Gospel tonight, to seek that kingdom, doing so begins by simply opening our eyes and our hearts and saying yes to its presence. That kingdom, like our existence, is a gift, and all the magnificent beauty of God comes with it. We have it all, or at least as much as we can bear, right now.
In a few moments, Mother Kathleen will stand at the altar and, on behalf of all of us, she will say, “It is right, and a good and joyful thing, always and everywhere, to give thanks to you, Father Almighty, Creator of heaven and earth.” And that great preface to the Eucharistic prayer will not continue by saying, “Because you give us all this really good food” or “Because you bestow on us lots of money, houses, and cars.” No, the Preface appointed for Thanksgiving will go on to say this: “For with your co-eternal Son and Holy Spirit, you are one God, one Lord, in Trinity of Persons and in Unity of Being; and we celebrate the one and equal glory of you, O Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.” God is a perfect community of unending love, and we share in that divine life. Every genuine act of thanksgiving flows from that wondrous reality.
I am reading a fascinating book by Madeline Miller called Circe, which tells the story of that nymph and witch who famously detains Odysseus on his journey home after the Trojan War and turns his men into pigs. It’s a compelling read, narrated by Circe herself. And it’s terrible; literally, filled with terror. The various gods and goddesses who enter the story embody so much malice and cruelty. What matters to them is asserting their power over others, often with horrific results. And at one point, Circe says this:
Mortals had their own stories, after all, of what happened to those who mixed with gods. An ill-timed glance, a foot set in an impropitious spot, such things could bring death and woe upon their families for a dozen generations.
It was like a great chain of fear, I thought. Zeus at the top and my father [Helios] just behind. Then Zeus’ siblings and children, then my uncles, and on down through all the ranks of river-gods and brine-lords and Furies and Winds and Graces, until it came to the bottom where we sat, nymphs and mortals, each eyeing the other.
I’ve got some good news and some bad news. Let’s start with the bad news which is that all temples eventually crumble and fall. Now that may not sound like particularly bad news to you because none of us live around temples. But to the ears of the disciples it was frightful.
Frightful because they had a temple in Jerusalem. And it was beloved and it was massive. Over a quarter of a mile long and roughly nine stories high with stones that weighed anywhere from 20 to 600 tons! It really is hard for us to imagine how big and grand and seemingly indestructible this temple appeared. And yet even more than being an immense building and the center of Jewish worship, this temple provided the people with identity, security, and meaning. It was the anchor of their life. So, understandably, it sounds like the worst news ever when Jesus calmly declares that it’s all going to fall. "Do you see these great buildings? Not one stone will be left here upon another; all will be thrown down."
But when he says that Jesus isn’t talking about one particular temple in Jerusalem, which did fall in the year 70 at the hands of Roman powers, he is speaking about all types of temples. Not just the ones we build with brick and mortar but the temples we work so hard to build in our lives. For we expert builders of temples: personas, families, beliefs, institutions, reputations, accomplishments, hopes, and dreams. We build these temples hoping that they will provide us with identity, security, and meaning. That they will anchor our lives. But over time, the structures that we work so hard to build and maintain, Jesus tells us, eventually crumble and fall. Now by saying this Jesus isn’t really predicting the future nor forecasting doom and gloom. What he’s really doing is stating the reality of life. Because life changes, loved ones die, institutions fail, people disappoint, relationships break up, bodies get sick. And when such things happen the great stones of the temples that we have erected are all thrown down - and it can feel like our world is coming to an end. That is the bad news.
But here’s the good news. When this happens - when the temple you built, the one that you depend on, the one that means everything to you - when that temple crumbles and falls, as difficult as that can be, Jesus tells us that we need not fear. For a while it may feel like the world is coming to an end, it is not. In fact it is just the opposite. It is the beginning. The beginning of the birth pangs, Jesus explains. Now that’s not to minimize what’s going on. Everything isn’t rosy and bright. When temples fall there is often pushback with wars and rumors of wars, earthquakes and famine, false prophets and various forms of chaos. Which makes it so easy, and even natural, to get caught up in all of the turmoil and miss the very point of it. The point that all the woe, the sense of loss, the temples falling, all of it is actually a natural part of giving birth to something new. In a sense Jesus is saying, “Everything in life must give way. And, yes, it is painful. But that is the way of birth. New life has come to you. Birth is happening.”
Jesus is revealing the way of change and transformation, the way of new and resurrection life. As God’s people we are meant to live in the throws of birth. We are called to live a life of ongoing change and growth. Our life, from our first breath until our last, is a series of such births. God calls us into one way of being and, for a time, we live into that deeply. We build various temples in our lives and make them grand and glorious. They feel stable. But, eventually, they fall, in one way or another. And in such moments it doesn’t feel like the birth of something new because all we can feel is the squeeze and that hurts. But Jesus says, “Do not be alarmed…[for] this is but the beginning of the birth pangs.” So we breathe and breathe and eventually find ourselves birthed into a new way of being, of loving God and loving our neighbor ever more deeply. And we begin again in the construction of a new temple. Until the time comes when things change, the temple starts to crumble, the birth pangs return and again something new is born.
Now this is not to say that God causes the temples of our lives to fall or that God makes bad things happen in order to teach us an important lesson or make us better Christians. That is not how God operates. Instead God is always present with us in the midst of the turmoil reminding us that whatever we are going through, it is not the end: it is the beginning. For the truth is temples falling and new birth are woven into the very nature of what it means to live. And through it all, Jesus is a trustworthy midwife, guiding us and delivering us through our birth pangs into new life.
So what temples in your life are falling? What things are changing or in transition right now? What would it be like to reframe the experience of upheaval or loss not the end of things but the beginning? How might God be using a falling temple as an opportunity to be birthing something new? Because ultimately fallen temples are not about loss and destruction but about birth and creation. The good news is that our God is the God of life, not death. The God of creation, not destruction. We need not be afraid and resist with wars or rumors of war, famine or earthquake. We need only to trust. Trust in God. Trust in Jesus. Trust that we are being born into steady hands. Trust that we are being born into new and resurrection life.
John 11:32-44
Unbind him, and let him go. Over the years, I’ve read many accounts of people who have had near death experiences. These are stories of individuals who have been medically dead for minutes or hours or, in some cases days, but have then revived or been resuscitated. But during their time of being dead, they have had amazing experiences. Many recount seeing light composed of indescribable colors; meadows, trees, mountains beautiful beyond anything in this world; deceased relatives looking whole and happy; heavenly beings, benevolent and powerful. They report feeling completely accepted and fully at peace. And not a few of them describe direct encounters with the Divine. One man, named Peter Panagore, expired from hypothermia on an ice climbing trip in Canada in March of 1980. Before coming back to life, he had a remarkable experience of God. In his book, Heaven is Beautiful, he recalls feeling utterly loved and hearing God speak:
God said, “I love you more deeply than your imagination could ever have conceived. I know you and love you, Peter. You are my creature. Because you are here, now you know how much I love you, and you know how great my love is.” . . . And God continued, “In the way I love you now, and you know that I love you, I also love everyone, every human being, every person on earth, right now, always.”
Reflecting on this, Panagore writes,
God’s love was so wide and deep, so full and sweet, so safe and eternal. It was so much greater than any love I had ever felt before, and yet somehow I knew I had always been loved in this way by God for my entire life, even when I was in my physical body and could not feel the fullness of that great love. I knew I was always beloved.
The whole experience radically changed this man and has shaped his life in the decades since it happened. His is one of many similar and awesome stories, and I share it with you because I wonder: Do you think Lazarus had a near death experience? He certainly qualifies: he’s been dead four days and then is restored to life. What do you think happened to him during those four days? What did he see? What did he hear? How did he feel?
This Gospel passage clearly illustrates the power and authority Jesus has as God’s Son. And so we can easily focus on that, and consider how this miraculous event touched Martha and Mary and all the people around them who witnessed it, and how it inspired faith in them. But me, today: I’m thinking about Lazarus. This must have had a huge impact on him. The Gospel, frustratingly, offers us no details of his reaction or his life after this happens, but the final words may give us a clue: The dead man came out, his hands and feet bound with strips of cloth, and his face wrapped in a cloth. Jesus said to them, “Unbind him, and let him go.”
Lazarus certainly needs to be freed from his funeral wrappings, but John’s Gospel is not so simple: it is always operating on multiple levels at once. So when Jesus says, Unbind him, he d0es not just mean untie those pieces of cloth. I believe that Lazarus, having been to the other side, is set free from the fear of death itself, and, as a result, set free to share the love he encountered there, the love which Jesus embodies. Lazarus is now a man spiritually unbound.
The Letter to the Hebrews says that Jesus came to free those who all their lives were held in slavery by the fear of death (Heb. 2:15). And in light of that, on this All Saints’ Sunday, I would invite you to reconsider your ideas of what makes someone a saint. When we look back over 2,000 years of Christian history, we can say with certainty that saints are not morally perfect people. They are not sickly sweet do-gooders. They are not necessarily pious or obedient or heroic: saints are free. They are not bound by the fear of death. And because they are unbound, they are free to love fully and generously in the Spirit of Christ.
And so we are called to be. The opposite of love is not hate: it’s fear. Our greatest fear, of course, is the fear of physical death, but it casts a long shadow. In addition to the fear of actually dying, it can take many other forms: fear of disappointment, fear of failure, fear of change, fear of loss — all the little deaths we don’t want to die. And throughout the Bible, Old Testament and New, people who live in fear do not fully live at all. But we don’t need the Bible to tell us this: we have all experienced the truth of it. I know for myself that my worst days are days when I allow the fear of death in any of its various forms to take hold of me. When that happens, and I am caught up in anxiety and trying to protect myself and control everything, then I am not present, I’m not available to God or to others, I’m not at peace, I’m not happy, I’m not loving.
But perfect love casts out fear (1 John 4:18), and it’s the perfect love of God, which Lazarus, Peter Panagore, and countless others have experienced that sets us free. Each one of us will share in the resurrection of Jesus: we get a foretaste of that resurrected life even now. We are and will be embraced by God’s life and God’s love forever, and so will everyone we love. It’s a sure thing. So we can practice dropping our fear. Life in this world is beautiful and challenging and wondrous. And we are free to live it, really live it. Learn what it means to love. Take risks for the sake of goodness. Create beauty. Discover grace in the midst of pain and heartbreak. And when we fail or forget, we can count on God’s forgiveness and help — and get on with the joy of living. We are eternally safe. Even if we die today, we are safe. God’s love is the beginning and the end of everything. If we are really going to follow Jesus, then we will practice living as if this were true. Think for a moment: how would your life be different this week, today, if you lived without fear and chose to trust that you are and will be safe in God’s love forever? If we can live like that and trust like that, however haltingly or imperfectly, then we are unbound, and we will be what Jesus calls us to be, the light of the world. We will be saints.
