Remember Me

Revelation 7:9-17

Although I have been both a student and a teacher of the book of Revelation, I cannot claim to have any facility with it. Overwhelmed by the symbolism and just plain weirdness of it, I find myself unable to keep track of what’s going on. The members of the roundtable asked, “what are these four living creatures that are mentioned in verse 11?” I should know, but I have to flip back through the previous chapters to find out.

Seems like the only time I preach from Revelation is for All Saints Day, that one day of the year when we look beyond our small lives on earth and consider the life beyond death. We try to remember that we are connected with all lives, past and future. Most especially, we like to remember the ones we love who are no longer here.

At Faith, we light candles for those ones we miss, whose loss is deeply felt. Everyone participates. I sit in my front row seat and watch as they all come forward, knowing that they are all remembering their personal losses, but also that they are all remembering the two or three members of our congregation who have gone on to the Church Triumphant this year.

Yet we didn’t find it easy to connect our experience of All Saints Day with the reading from Revelation. Struggling to comprehend this image of a diverse multitude too great to count standing before the throne loudly praising God, with all the angels and the elders and those four living creatures, we were disconcerted.

I asked, “If this is a vision of heaven, what do you think of it?”

For reasons that were hard to articulate, it didn’t seem very appealing to people. It seemed to be the general sense that it’s crowded and noisy and, well, just unfamiliar. And something seemed to be missing.

We often think about the importance of remembering those who have died. We have special days set aside to do just that: Memorial Day, for example, and of course, All Saints Day. But something I had not considered before is our need to feel that we are remembered by them too.

Is there a fear that our loved ones have gone to heaven and feel such constant joy in the presence of God that they never think about us? Is there a concern that now that they are free of pain and sorrow they no longer care about our pain and our sorrow? We can’t really bear to think of our loved ones that way. Surely, they must remember us.

By sarah alfinito - Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=44949358

Worry

Philippians 4:1-9

Last Sunday morning I woke up to the news that there had been a reported shooting at the local high school homecoming dance – but that it had been a false alarm. What actually happened was a kid got angry and slammed a table on the ground, someone thought it sounded like a gunshot and yelled out, “Gun!” Then all hell broke loose.

Calls flooded the 911 dispatchers, more than 50 police cars arrived at the school within minutes. But there was nothing there. No one had been hurt. No shots had been fired. There was no gun. Thanks be to God.

But it almost didn’t matter. People were really rattled. The conversation on social media centered on the dangers all around us, the need for tighter security, even though nothing had happened. It didn’t matter, because it got people started thinking about all the things that potentially could happen.

Things should have calmed down Sunday and returned to normal Monday. But instead, they intensified. Someone took to social media and suggested that students should stay home Monday for fear of a bomb threat. Fact: there had been no bomb threat. No matter, though; someone thought it was an idea worth tossing out there anyway.

And parents started checking in of social media, of course, saying it just wasn’t worth the risk of sending their kids to school. After all, the authorities might be trying to hide something. Maybe there actually was a gun at the school. And maybe there has been a bomb threat that they are hiding from us.

Attendance was down Monday by a significant amount.

This is worry, and what it will do to us sometimes reaches the point of absurdity. But it goes back much further than the Saturday night homecoming episode. We have been living in a state of fear for years; fear which is exacerbated by suspicion of others and fabricated news stories.

Where is the true, the honorable, the just and commendable? Where do we find those things that are excellent and worthy of praise?

In recent days I have been asking myself the question: what does it mean to be the church in the world at times like this? We must draw the courage from our faith to continue to be light in a world darkened by fear and hatred. We must keep our sight on Jesus, whose presence is never far. We must not let worry guide our thoughts and words and actions.

Let the peace of God, which is all surpassing, guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus. Amen.