After Death, Life
Sermon
The death of someone you love, causes perhaps the worst pain known to human beings. No matter whether that death is expected or unexpected, the shock is still immense. There's a period of disbelief and numbness. There are those terrible, unanswerable questions which churn round and round in your brain, particularly at night. Questions like: Why? Why him? Why her? Why us? Why now?
And those awful questions can be accompanied by feelings of guilt. Mostly irrational guilt, but the feelings are still there. Like: Could I have done something to prevent it? Maybe if the diet had been different or if I'd stopped him smoking. Or, Oh God, I was so nasty to her only two days before, if only I'd known. Or, I never said goodbye.
Sometimes there are feelings of intense anger. Anger which may be directed at the medical profession: They didn't do their job properly. They should have prevented this. Someone's to blame. Or it maybe directed at God: I prayed and prayed, but you took no notice. You never answered my prayer. Or it may be directed at the one who's died: How could you leave me alone like this? Why didn't you look after yourself properly? How can you leave me with so many problems, so many decisions to make? How can you leave me so lonely?
Sometimes that anger is turned inwards, and becomes depression, anger against yourself. And you feel too fed up and miserable and low and lonely to do anything. There's no purpose to life, nobody really cares, not even the family, and you wish you could pack up and die yourself.
And all this may be accompanied by still not quite believing it. At least, not all the time. That person you catch sight of in the distance, and for a moment, your heart skips a beat and you think it's them. Or waiting for them to come in at the usual time, and realising they're not going to.
All these after-effects, the effects of bereavement, which everyone suffers to some degree, can last for a long time. As no doubt you've all discovered, the immediate effects can last for months. If they're not resolved, they can become deeper effects which may last for years.
When my favourite aunt died, I was sad at the time. But I wasn't terribly close to her. She lived a long way away, and I didn't see much of her. So I told myself nothing had changed. It was just as though she was still living a long way away and I didn't see much of her. It was four years later before I could begin to allow myself to feel the real depths of pain that my aunt's death caused me. Meanwhile, from time to time, I'd feel oddly fed up or miserable for no apparent reason. It wasn't until I was able to deal with the loss, was able to finally let her go, that those vague feelings of misery disappeared.
When the death happens, even if it's expected, most people are stunned. Perhaps unable to think clearly or to concentrate on anything. Nothing feels quite real. There's a great deal to do in those first few days, so until after the funeral, there's not much time to think. And everybody is usually so good. Supportive and kind and ready to help out in any way they can.
But a few weeks down the line, and all that seems to change. Suddenly, there's too much time to think. For many people, there's hour upon hour spent alone, longing for some human company. Clinging to the television or the radio or a well-loved pet. Anything to fill the hours and blot out the emptiness, the dreary agony.
And it tends to be then that all sorts of uncomfortable emotions come crowding in. Anger, resentment, fear, loneliness, grief, guilt and so on.
Where does God fit into all this? After all, isn't it God who causes all this misery? Isn't it God who takes us when our time is due, whether or not that time seems too early to us humans?
I'm never convinced God takes us. I think we die because our bodies become too weak or too sick to sustain life any longer. Or we die as a result of a terrible accident. Or occasionally, because of a sickness of the mind, when life becomes just too much. In years to come, we'll live much longer, because medical science will eliminate many of the diseases which now result in death.
So I don't think God takes us. I think he's just as hurt and devastated and upset at death as we are. But I do think he receives us after we've died. No matter what we've been like in life, I believe he's waiting there for us, with arms outstretched, ready to cuddle us.
What then, is life after death like? I don't think of heaven so much as a place, more as a state of being. In the reading from Corinthians, St Paul says there are no diagrams for this sort of thing. All you can do is look at pictures, at parallel experiences. And that's what the Bible does, gives us pictures, glimpses, of what life after death might be like. All the pictures contain people, so heaven isn't a lonely state. And all the pictures are of something superbly good.
A modern paraphrase of today's reading from the book of Revelation says this: I heard a voice thunder from the throne, "Look! Look! God has moved into the neighbourhood, making his home with men and women! They're his people, he's their God. He'll wipe every tear from their eyes. Death is gone for good - tears gone, crying gone, pain gone." (Revelation 21:3-4 - "The Message" by Eugene Petersen)
The 23rd psalm, which we sang earlier, describes a wonderful banquet, where everyone has ample to eat and drink, and there's an atmosphere of celebration. Jesus picked up this idea and told a story about a banquet where all sorts of different people were warmly invited.
Some parts of the Bible describe an awesome city, where people live together in happiness and harmony. And some people picture a glorious landscape or pastoral scene, or a beautiful garden, like a return to the Garden of Eden, where even total opposites like lions and lambs live peacefully together.
All these are images for some sort of life in some different dimension, which we're unable to reach from this life on earth.
So does everybody go to heaven? What about bad people? Or even, not terribly good people? I think God opens his arms and welcomes everybody. In his story of the great banquet, Jesus said everybody was invited in. Some decided they didn't want to be there, and refused to go. Just one wasn't wearing suitable clothes, so was asked to leave.
Jesus said one quality was more important than any other. The quality of love. He said those who love a lot, are forgiven a lot. God knows we're human. He doesn't condemn us for making mistakes. He doesn't judge us for getting it wrong. But we're here on this earth to learn to love, so that when the time comes for us to pass into the next life, we'll have suitable clothes. Without love, we wouldn't recognise heaven if we found it, for we need love to be able to appreciate God and heaven. So the more we've learned to love in this life, the more likely we are to enjoy the banquet.
Jesus also said: "I am the way, the truth and the life. No-one comes to the Father except through me." He showed us the way to love. He showed us what real love is all about. He showed us it's about caring so deeply, that you're prepared to sacrifice yourself for those you love. So those who love in this life, will find themselves close to God in the next life, living and loving with him.
And God loves each person here more deeply than you can ever imagine. Even when at times, it feels as though he's disappeared. He loves you like this:
Footprints in the Sand poem
And those awful questions can be accompanied by feelings of guilt. Mostly irrational guilt, but the feelings are still there. Like: Could I have done something to prevent it? Maybe if the diet had been different or if I'd stopped him smoking. Or, Oh God, I was so nasty to her only two days before, if only I'd known. Or, I never said goodbye.
Sometimes there are feelings of intense anger. Anger which may be directed at the medical profession: They didn't do their job properly. They should have prevented this. Someone's to blame. Or it maybe directed at God: I prayed and prayed, but you took no notice. You never answered my prayer. Or it may be directed at the one who's died: How could you leave me alone like this? Why didn't you look after yourself properly? How can you leave me with so many problems, so many decisions to make? How can you leave me so lonely?
Sometimes that anger is turned inwards, and becomes depression, anger against yourself. And you feel too fed up and miserable and low and lonely to do anything. There's no purpose to life, nobody really cares, not even the family, and you wish you could pack up and die yourself.
And all this may be accompanied by still not quite believing it. At least, not all the time. That person you catch sight of in the distance, and for a moment, your heart skips a beat and you think it's them. Or waiting for them to come in at the usual time, and realising they're not going to.
All these after-effects, the effects of bereavement, which everyone suffers to some degree, can last for a long time. As no doubt you've all discovered, the immediate effects can last for months. If they're not resolved, they can become deeper effects which may last for years.
When my favourite aunt died, I was sad at the time. But I wasn't terribly close to her. She lived a long way away, and I didn't see much of her. So I told myself nothing had changed. It was just as though she was still living a long way away and I didn't see much of her. It was four years later before I could begin to allow myself to feel the real depths of pain that my aunt's death caused me. Meanwhile, from time to time, I'd feel oddly fed up or miserable for no apparent reason. It wasn't until I was able to deal with the loss, was able to finally let her go, that those vague feelings of misery disappeared.
When the death happens, even if it's expected, most people are stunned. Perhaps unable to think clearly or to concentrate on anything. Nothing feels quite real. There's a great deal to do in those first few days, so until after the funeral, there's not much time to think. And everybody is usually so good. Supportive and kind and ready to help out in any way they can.
But a few weeks down the line, and all that seems to change. Suddenly, there's too much time to think. For many people, there's hour upon hour spent alone, longing for some human company. Clinging to the television or the radio or a well-loved pet. Anything to fill the hours and blot out the emptiness, the dreary agony.
And it tends to be then that all sorts of uncomfortable emotions come crowding in. Anger, resentment, fear, loneliness, grief, guilt and so on.
Where does God fit into all this? After all, isn't it God who causes all this misery? Isn't it God who takes us when our time is due, whether or not that time seems too early to us humans?
I'm never convinced God takes us. I think we die because our bodies become too weak or too sick to sustain life any longer. Or we die as a result of a terrible accident. Or occasionally, because of a sickness of the mind, when life becomes just too much. In years to come, we'll live much longer, because medical science will eliminate many of the diseases which now result in death.
So I don't think God takes us. I think he's just as hurt and devastated and upset at death as we are. But I do think he receives us after we've died. No matter what we've been like in life, I believe he's waiting there for us, with arms outstretched, ready to cuddle us.
What then, is life after death like? I don't think of heaven so much as a place, more as a state of being. In the reading from Corinthians, St Paul says there are no diagrams for this sort of thing. All you can do is look at pictures, at parallel experiences. And that's what the Bible does, gives us pictures, glimpses, of what life after death might be like. All the pictures contain people, so heaven isn't a lonely state. And all the pictures are of something superbly good.
A modern paraphrase of today's reading from the book of Revelation says this: I heard a voice thunder from the throne, "Look! Look! God has moved into the neighbourhood, making his home with men and women! They're his people, he's their God. He'll wipe every tear from their eyes. Death is gone for good - tears gone, crying gone, pain gone." (Revelation 21:3-4 - "The Message" by Eugene Petersen)
The 23rd psalm, which we sang earlier, describes a wonderful banquet, where everyone has ample to eat and drink, and there's an atmosphere of celebration. Jesus picked up this idea and told a story about a banquet where all sorts of different people were warmly invited.
Some parts of the Bible describe an awesome city, where people live together in happiness and harmony. And some people picture a glorious landscape or pastoral scene, or a beautiful garden, like a return to the Garden of Eden, where even total opposites like lions and lambs live peacefully together.
All these are images for some sort of life in some different dimension, which we're unable to reach from this life on earth.
So does everybody go to heaven? What about bad people? Or even, not terribly good people? I think God opens his arms and welcomes everybody. In his story of the great banquet, Jesus said everybody was invited in. Some decided they didn't want to be there, and refused to go. Just one wasn't wearing suitable clothes, so was asked to leave.
Jesus said one quality was more important than any other. The quality of love. He said those who love a lot, are forgiven a lot. God knows we're human. He doesn't condemn us for making mistakes. He doesn't judge us for getting it wrong. But we're here on this earth to learn to love, so that when the time comes for us to pass into the next life, we'll have suitable clothes. Without love, we wouldn't recognise heaven if we found it, for we need love to be able to appreciate God and heaven. So the more we've learned to love in this life, the more likely we are to enjoy the banquet.
Jesus also said: "I am the way, the truth and the life. No-one comes to the Father except through me." He showed us the way to love. He showed us what real love is all about. He showed us it's about caring so deeply, that you're prepared to sacrifice yourself for those you love. So those who love in this life, will find themselves close to God in the next life, living and loving with him.
And God loves each person here more deeply than you can ever imagine. Even when at times, it feels as though he's disappeared. He loves you like this:
Footprints in the Sand poem
