In The Face Of Death
Sermon
Many years ago in the rural area where I was living, a monastery set up an experiment. Two young monks wanted to live a kind of hermit existence, living within the local community yet somehow set apart from it. They wanted to develop a sort of open house, where people could come from miles around and talk or receive advice or simply share spirituality.
In order to do this, they bought an old caravan. They lived in this caravan all year round, but I got to know them through Julian meetings which they started in the local redundant church. A Julian meeting (named after Mother Julian of Norwich, who also lived a hermit-like existence in a small cell in the 13th century) is half an hour of silence, in which people are together, but pray within themselves.
I used to find it a half-hour haven of peace and refreshment, and it was good to share it with other people and with the young monks. We usually went back to the tiny caravan for tea or coffee afterwards, and got to know the monks quite well as friends.
But one day, to my complete shock and horror, I heard that one of the monks had committed suicide. The other monk had immediately packed up and disappeared, presumably back to the heart of the Order, and we never heard any more about either of them.
Suicides upset the whole community, and although I hadn't been close to either of the monks, I was very upset. I found it very confusing that a man of God such as a monk should take his own life. Nobody seemed to know why such a spiritual and Christian person should have done such a thing, and the inquest merely said what inquests always say, that he took his own life while the balance of his mind was disturbed. But upon a lot of reflection, I wondered whether he had simply wanted to be closer to God and so had chosen the quickest route to God, looking forward to living and loving with God in a much clearer relationship after death. "Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face," said St Paul in that famous chapter 13 of the first letter to the Corinthians. "Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known." (1 Corinthians 13:12.)
In one of the trilogy of books, "Conversations with God" by Neal Walsche, God makes it very clear that none of us can ever die, but that we do change from one sort of life to another sort of life. God says that although the physical body can obviously die, life itself cannot be destroyed, so the real "us" - our essence - goes on to a new sort of life in a different dimension.
Those who really believe this to be true can look at both life and death with new eyes. If it's a fact that we never die, life takes on different priorities. It no longer matters whether or not we make money, whether or not we live in big houses or work at fabulous jobs. The most important thing about bringing up our children ceases to be whether or not they have a good education and begins to be whether or not they can make their own relationship with God.
It also makes physical death much less important. Instead of being the one life event to be dreaded and feared all our lives, death begins to be eagerly anticipated, and this is the way some elderly people look upon death. Those who grow very tired in this life often look forward to the next life with eager anticipation. And any who are convinced of the truth of life after death are able to look upon those who take their own lives with much more compassion, understanding, and perhaps even to some extent, envy. Those who take their own lives have, after all, made the important decision to be with God forever.
It sounds from today's reading from the letter to the Philippians as though St Paul would have huge sympathy with the dying, even with those contemplating suicide. It sounds as though he himself knew something of the inner struggle of the dying, the struggle between choosing life in this world and longing for death. He says, "For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain. If I am to go on living in the body, this will mean fruitful labor for me. Yet what shall I choose? I do not know! I am torn between the two: I desire to depart and be with Christ, which is better by far; but it is more necessary for you that I remain in the body."
St Paul was clearly aware of the pain and suffering caused by bereavement and wanted to avoid that for his friends and all those new Christians who to a large extent relied on him, but he also knew he needed to further nurture them in the faith before he finally departed from them. He goes on to say, "I know that I will remain, and I will continue with all of you for your progress and joy in the faith, so that through my being with you again your joy in Christ Jesus will overflow on account of me."
There is, of course, a black and unhealthy side to the desire to be with God at all costs, and we see this clearly in suicide bombers. Rowan Williams, Archbishop of Canterbury designate, in his small book, "Writing in the Dust", which is a reflection on 11th September and its aftermath, warns against the temptation of using people as symbols. It's one thing, he says, to protest against the American flag, but once you begin to see Americans in the same symbolic terms, evil ensues. And he points out that this is equally true for the West when they look at Al Quaeda or Saddam Hussein and see all Muslims in those terms. If the desire to be with God opposes the principles of love, then it must be a warped and skewed desire. Killing other people because you object to their life-style, cannot be an act of love, even though suicide bombers are led to believe that such an act leads them straight into God's presence. They might find more than they bargained for when they reach God's presence.
For Christians, the overriding principle must always be love. Paul was writing from prison in Rome, and in AD 61 when the letter is thought to have been written, conditions in prison in Rome resulted in many deaths. St Paul seems to have been at a low ebb when he wrote and perhaps his life was hanging in the balance, but even then he was thinking of his friends in Philippi with great love. This principle of love apparently convinced St Paul not to let go of this life, because he knew those people in Philippi needed him.
St Paul goes on to say, "Whatever happens, conduct yourselves in a manner worthy of the gospel of Christ. ..... This is a sign to (those who oppose you) that they will be destroyed, but that you will be saved--and that by God. For it has been granted to you on behalf of Christ not only to believe on him, but also to suffer for him..."
As well as being about joy and belief, Christianity has always been about suffering. We all suffer in this life to a greater or lesser extent, and Christianity gives us the tools to handle that suffering and to make some sort of sense out of it, for after crucifixion comes resurrection.
Christianity is a religion of hope. Hope for a good outcome from suffering, hope for complete and utter forgiveness, hope for the deep peace of Christ no matter what the external circumstances, and hope for a brilliant new life after death, lived in the presence of God himself.
Christianity is a religion of hope, as St Paul knew even when facing death in a stinking, rat-infested prison. And if you can still hope and love even under those conditions, then you really have discovered the Good News and you'll be ready to face death when it comes.
In order to do this, they bought an old caravan. They lived in this caravan all year round, but I got to know them through Julian meetings which they started in the local redundant church. A Julian meeting (named after Mother Julian of Norwich, who also lived a hermit-like existence in a small cell in the 13th century) is half an hour of silence, in which people are together, but pray within themselves.
I used to find it a half-hour haven of peace and refreshment, and it was good to share it with other people and with the young monks. We usually went back to the tiny caravan for tea or coffee afterwards, and got to know the monks quite well as friends.
But one day, to my complete shock and horror, I heard that one of the monks had committed suicide. The other monk had immediately packed up and disappeared, presumably back to the heart of the Order, and we never heard any more about either of them.
Suicides upset the whole community, and although I hadn't been close to either of the monks, I was very upset. I found it very confusing that a man of God such as a monk should take his own life. Nobody seemed to know why such a spiritual and Christian person should have done such a thing, and the inquest merely said what inquests always say, that he took his own life while the balance of his mind was disturbed. But upon a lot of reflection, I wondered whether he had simply wanted to be closer to God and so had chosen the quickest route to God, looking forward to living and loving with God in a much clearer relationship after death. "Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face," said St Paul in that famous chapter 13 of the first letter to the Corinthians. "Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known." (1 Corinthians 13:12.)
In one of the trilogy of books, "Conversations with God" by Neal Walsche, God makes it very clear that none of us can ever die, but that we do change from one sort of life to another sort of life. God says that although the physical body can obviously die, life itself cannot be destroyed, so the real "us" - our essence - goes on to a new sort of life in a different dimension.
Those who really believe this to be true can look at both life and death with new eyes. If it's a fact that we never die, life takes on different priorities. It no longer matters whether or not we make money, whether or not we live in big houses or work at fabulous jobs. The most important thing about bringing up our children ceases to be whether or not they have a good education and begins to be whether or not they can make their own relationship with God.
It also makes physical death much less important. Instead of being the one life event to be dreaded and feared all our lives, death begins to be eagerly anticipated, and this is the way some elderly people look upon death. Those who grow very tired in this life often look forward to the next life with eager anticipation. And any who are convinced of the truth of life after death are able to look upon those who take their own lives with much more compassion, understanding, and perhaps even to some extent, envy. Those who take their own lives have, after all, made the important decision to be with God forever.
It sounds from today's reading from the letter to the Philippians as though St Paul would have huge sympathy with the dying, even with those contemplating suicide. It sounds as though he himself knew something of the inner struggle of the dying, the struggle between choosing life in this world and longing for death. He says, "For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain. If I am to go on living in the body, this will mean fruitful labor for me. Yet what shall I choose? I do not know! I am torn between the two: I desire to depart and be with Christ, which is better by far; but it is more necessary for you that I remain in the body."
St Paul was clearly aware of the pain and suffering caused by bereavement and wanted to avoid that for his friends and all those new Christians who to a large extent relied on him, but he also knew he needed to further nurture them in the faith before he finally departed from them. He goes on to say, "I know that I will remain, and I will continue with all of you for your progress and joy in the faith, so that through my being with you again your joy in Christ Jesus will overflow on account of me."
There is, of course, a black and unhealthy side to the desire to be with God at all costs, and we see this clearly in suicide bombers. Rowan Williams, Archbishop of Canterbury designate, in his small book, "Writing in the Dust", which is a reflection on 11th September and its aftermath, warns against the temptation of using people as symbols. It's one thing, he says, to protest against the American flag, but once you begin to see Americans in the same symbolic terms, evil ensues. And he points out that this is equally true for the West when they look at Al Quaeda or Saddam Hussein and see all Muslims in those terms. If the desire to be with God opposes the principles of love, then it must be a warped and skewed desire. Killing other people because you object to their life-style, cannot be an act of love, even though suicide bombers are led to believe that such an act leads them straight into God's presence. They might find more than they bargained for when they reach God's presence.
For Christians, the overriding principle must always be love. Paul was writing from prison in Rome, and in AD 61 when the letter is thought to have been written, conditions in prison in Rome resulted in many deaths. St Paul seems to have been at a low ebb when he wrote and perhaps his life was hanging in the balance, but even then he was thinking of his friends in Philippi with great love. This principle of love apparently convinced St Paul not to let go of this life, because he knew those people in Philippi needed him.
St Paul goes on to say, "Whatever happens, conduct yourselves in a manner worthy of the gospel of Christ. ..... This is a sign to (those who oppose you) that they will be destroyed, but that you will be saved--and that by God. For it has been granted to you on behalf of Christ not only to believe on him, but also to suffer for him..."
As well as being about joy and belief, Christianity has always been about suffering. We all suffer in this life to a greater or lesser extent, and Christianity gives us the tools to handle that suffering and to make some sort of sense out of it, for after crucifixion comes resurrection.
Christianity is a religion of hope. Hope for a good outcome from suffering, hope for complete and utter forgiveness, hope for the deep peace of Christ no matter what the external circumstances, and hope for a brilliant new life after death, lived in the presence of God himself.
Christianity is a religion of hope, as St Paul knew even when facing death in a stinking, rat-infested prison. And if you can still hope and love even under those conditions, then you really have discovered the Good News and you'll be ready to face death when it comes.
