Creekside Church Sermon of November 2, 1997 "The Dearly Departed " Isaiah 25: 6-9 Revelation 21: 1-6a	Rev. David Bibbee
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"I would be at home in any cemetery." This rather odd sounding statement was written by the Dutch historian John Motley in a letter to his family. In contrast to people's whose attitudes, actions, and relationships were focused primarily upon the here and now, and who lived as though the present moment was the only moment that mattered, Motley said he didn't know all that many living people. He studied the deceased, which led him to feel right at home in any cemetery.

November 1st is the day the church sets aside for listening to the dead. Please relax. We are not going to hold a seance. This is All Saints Day, a time for remembering not just the famous ones whose lives and faith inspire lives today, but the lesser known saintsþthose known to you and me who have departed, but are very much linked to us across the gulf of life and death through Jesus Christ.

The saints were not super human. What distinguished them was their super awareness and receptivity to God, and their extraordinary capacity for sharing it. When my son John was four, he asked, "Dad, what's a saint?" I said, "A saint is someone who helps us see God." "You mean like St. Fred Busse?" Fred was his Sunday school teacher, a man in whom John saw God. He showed that he understood the concept. All Saints Day tells us we belong to a communion of living saints, but that we are also surrounded by, watched over, witnessed to, and prayed for by a communion of dearly departed saints. On our great journey through life and to life with God.

In churches for whom All Saints is a major celebration, it is customary to read the names of all those who have died during the past year. It is a way of saying that though by death we are parted, we are still bound to them because, in the words of a prayer, "Life is ever Lord over death and God's love can never lose its own."

Last Sunday I mentioned some indicators that signal the arrival of middle age. Another sign for me is that I am spending more time thinking about the past than before. I remember going through the phase when I thought nothing from the past could possibly be as good as what we had in the moment. I would roll my eyes when someone said, "When I was your age..." or "Those were the good old days..." or "Give me that old time religion..." I thought, "I don't have time to hear about yesteryear when I've got tomorrow to take care of." There were new discoveries and truths to be learned.

Now I'm starting to put things into perspective. I'm realizing that lessons learned from the saints in my past are my compass for tomorrow. It is sheer ignorance to think that we know more about life with God than those who lived before us. I recently read a statement that really struck me. It said, "Technology renders the older generation ignorant." It used to be that living skills and the basics of belief were passed down from the older generation to the younger. The cumulative wisdom of the years given to guide the next generation. But it seems that this has broken down.

I think the breakdown began with the VCR. How many of your kids knew how to program the video recorder before you did? While you were only half way through the instruction manual, your kids rendered you obsolete. What can the older generation teach the younger that has the internet at its fingertips? Plenty, when you realize we are following a vast procession of saints whose lives can save us from the tyranny of trying to shape our lives all by our little selves.

To alter a popular song from the seventies, "Don't it always seem to go that you don't know WHO you've got till they're gone?" I've been thinking a lot lately about my grandpa, Seymour Bibbee. As I grow older, I find myself appreciating him more. I think of all the things he taught me...how to sharpen a knife, how to plant a garden, how to do a hard days work. He taught me how to dress a rabbit and clean chickens. He showed me what chickens do when you cut their heads off. He introduced me to the culinary art of eating Limburger cheese and onion sandwiches, squirrels, sardines, beef tongue, head cheese, and sorghum. He taught me to never give up hope for the Cleveland Indians. He taught me that Sunday means church and church means we give ourselves to Someone bigger than ourselves. He and grandma closed each day with the Upper Room and began each meal with a prayer which taught me the importance of daily devotion.

Grandpa Bibbee has been gone for twenty-eight years, but he is still with me in lessons learned and memories cherished, and still with me in relationship to Jesus Christ. I can go back to my home church and see him still sitting at the end of the Bibbee pewþright side, fifth row from the back next to the window. I go back and see all the departed members of my first church family. I see the Bartons, the Holingers, Bob and Bill Young. I hear Wildia Ballinger singing off key. I see her son Ray directing the choir. All of these people were part of my life. They helped give my life direction and coherence and meaning. History is bunk? That was then and now is now? The further we go the better we are? The dearly departed are dead and gone? Hardly.

It's easy to get discouraged by the empty spaces in the pews. Those spaces speak of work left undone and work to be done, but in another sense they aren't empty. In them we see the departed saints who helped build this body. Because of their belief, you believe. The Bible stories that shaped their livesþthose old, old words are read still and take root in you. Though gone these people are still here. On All Saints Day we do a roll call. Do you remember where the departed saints sat? As you see them in your memory, call their names out loud, and every time a name is called, I want everyone in unison to say, "Here!"

In Hebrews 12: 1 it says, "We are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses." This is one of the rich verses of scripture that tell us we are not on our own. Over us is a vast cheering throng, urging us on. Before we ever struggled with living for God in a world that doesn't seem to care, they went through it. Before we ever felt overwhelmed by the powers that oppose our efforts, they went through it. Before we ever dealt with temptation or conflict or difficult relationships, or ever wrestled with the huge questions of life, they went through it. They've been there and done that!

I think there are two things every church should have. One is a cemetery. The greater and lesser saints of the church ought to be buried on the church grounds and the sidewalk leading to the church entrance should go right through the gravestones. Robert Fulghum tells of the woman who made repeated visits to the psychiatrist. At the end of the session he handed her a prescription which she placed in her purse. She went to the drugstore and handed it to the pharmacist who read it and gave it back. "I can't fill this, but you can," he said. It read, "Go sit in a cemetery and reflect upon the meaning of life."

We would profit from walking through the dead on our way to church. It would not only tell us that we will take our place with them, but that we are all part of a vast procession of those who are saints by virtue of their baptism into Jesus. Some are more well known than others, some more gifted than others, some more cantankerous than others, some did more with God's love than others, but all are members of the communion of saints just the same.

To live for God and do his bidding is too much to do alone. The witness of the departed saints tells us we are not alone and they give us a purpose and perspective that helps us find our way through life and feel at home in the graveyard.

Along with the cemetery, I think every church should have beautiful stained glass windows filled with biblical scenes and symbols. They would include Isaiah's rich feast for those who had known only pain and poverty and who longed one day to see the Messiah who would swallow death forever. It would include from Revelation the scene of the new heaven and earth where God will dwell with his people. That procession going on for four thousand years now, will weave its way to a final homecoming where tears, mourning, and death will be no more. We would see Jesus at the head of the procession followed by all the biblical personalities-the prophets and apostles, saints like Augustine, Francis, Ignatius, Teresa-saints who held nothing back, who desired to be vessels of God and gave their lives for this cause. Every Sunday we would look at them looking down on us, the light of God shining through them, lighting the way for us.

In the cause of Christ, we are never abandoned and left to ourselves. It's not on our shoulders to start a scheme from scratch to save the world. All the saints have marked the trail ahead of us. What we must do is take our place and do our part. We must daily make the commitment as parents, grandparents, Sunday school teachers, and baptized Christians, to be saintly vessels of God's love, and in so doing, leave a lasting legacy for others to follow.

When the designs for the Vietnam memorial in Washington, D.C. were submitted, an odd proposal came from a female Asian-American artist. It was a long, partially buried wall of black polished granite...none of the usual soldier statues so typical of war memorials. At first not many were enthused by the design, but it was eventually selected. Some fifty-five thousand names are chiseled into the granite, not by alphabetical order, but in the order of the date on which they died.

If you have seen it, or have seen footage of those who stand before this stark memorial, you know its chilling effect. People search the rows until they find the name of their fallen friend, father, or son. They reach out and touch the name. They weep. Then comes an unexpected effect. As you gaze at the thousands of names, you realize you are also seeing your own face in the polished granite. In the names of the departed, you see your reflection.

"I would be at home in any cemetery," John Motley said. When we look to the lives and legacy of our dearly departed and the ways they have influenced us and will continue to do so through all life's trials, twists, and turns, we feel a wonderful sense of belonging. We realize we belong to a blessed communion. On All Saints Day, we can therefore say, "Thank God we are surrounded by this great cloud of witnesses."

Sources consulted for this sermon include sermons by Barbara Brown Taylor and William Willimon.

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