Sermons

“Building Our Hopes on Things Eternal”

Luke 12:13-21; Psalm 146 – Rev. Rebecca Littlejohn

Vista La Mesa Christian Church (Disciples of Christ), La Mesa, California – November 4, 2018

All Saints Memorial Sunday

 Holy God, bless the speaking and the hearing of these words that we might give our lives to that which will last and build our hopes on things eternal.  In Jesus’ name we pray, Amen.

Just the other day, one of my Facebook friends, Mohamed Elnakib, who is a PhD student in Psychology, posted something about aging, which he called an “existentially threatening life change.”  He then asked people for their thoughts.  As you might imagine, when asked about aging, and especially aging defined as “threatening” to our existence, our thoughts turned to death. It was an interesting conversation, touching on what people are and aren’t afraid of, and the choice to focus on living rather than dying, and the importance of leaving a legacy by sowing seeds in younger people to ensure the things you care about will continue after you’re gone.  It made me realize how grateful I am to have this annual excuse to talk about death. It’s good for us to consider these things once in a while.  And it’s easier to do so outside the context of an actual death of a loved one when our emotions are often so raw they get in the way of honest reflection.

We humans have a complicated relationship with mortality.  Many of us try not to think about it too much.  Many of us are haunted by it.  Those of us who are Christian have a tradition that offers us hope of life beyond life, but some of us have trouble swallowing the details of all of that.  There are some basic human instincts, I believe, that come out when we’re confronted with death, that are somewhat in conflict with what scripture teaches us.  The two I want to mention today are how memory relates to death and how we relate to our ancestors, whether familial or spiritual.  These two aspects – memory and ancestors – are central to religions we might consider less “sophisticated” than Christianity.  We can think of the Vikings for whom immortality was based on the level of fame you achieved; becoming the subject of an epic poem was your surest path to life everlasting.  And we can name countless traditions, both religious and cultural, where ancestor worship or perhaps just attentive reverence is central to daily practice. Christianity has often dismissed such things as primitive or small-minded.

But if we’re honest, these tendencies are also very mixed in with the way we practice our faith.  I believe that God shaped our humanity, so there’s no reason to assume we must eradicate these “human weaknesses”.  But it’s also important to make sure we’re balancing our instincts with the wisdom we receive from our tradition, which is one that is continually pointing us to things bigger and beyond ourselves.  In a sense, concern about mortality is a self-centered instinct. It’s not that God isn’t concerned about you.  “His eye is on the sparrow,” and I know he watches each and every one of us, with care and compassion.  But following Jesus is also about becoming part of something bigger than ourselves, transcending our own needs, sacrificing our own desires for the greater good.

We see this contrast spelled out in Psalm 146. We are told not to put our trust in mortal princes, whose plans perish the day their breath departs.  Instead, we are encouraged to put our hope in God, who made heaven and earth and the sea and everything in it.  And something very interesting happens in the psalm right after that.  At first glance, we might assume that the writer has shifted focus, from thoughts of mortality and eternity, to describing God’s mercy for the suffering and oppressed.  But what if we didn’t assume that is a shift?  There is nothing there, not even a sentence break, to imply we’re moving in a new direction.  What if the description of God’s righteousness to those in need is part of the answer to the comparison being made between mortal princes and the Everlasting God?

What if food for the hungry and sight for the blind are part of what is eternal about God?  What if caring for the stranger and the orphan and the widow, and bringing justice to the oppressed and freedom to prisoners are the things that lead to life everlasting?  Not simply because they are virtuous actions that win us a place in heaven, but because they are part of the nature of God, who was and is and ever more shall be? What if immortality is about becoming part of something bigger than ourselves when we’re alive, that will continue long after we die?  What if life abundant is joining our life in with the universal desire of Life itself to live, by giving our lives over to making life easier for others?

What does it look like when a church understands immortality this way?  There is a song I’ve been wanting to teach you for a while now.  It was written a number of years ago by the PSWR’s own Bill Thomas, as the theme song for one of our General Assemblies.  It’s the kind of song we might sing at camp, because each verse just adds something to the verse that came before, so it gets longer and longer as you go.  But today I just want to sing you the chorus, because there’s a line in there that I want us to consider.  It goes something like this: “I see a church with a vision; I see a church on a mission. I see a church that has made up its mind, and we’re building our hopes on things eternal.  We’re holding to God’s unchanging hand.”

What does it mean for a church to build “our hopes on things eternal”?  I think this call is a reflection of Psalm 146.  It’s a reminder that our faith is larger than us, larger than our families, and larger than our own congregation even.  It’s an invitation to think about legacy a little differently.  Yes, we’re going to light candles to remember those we’ve lost today, because of who they were in their lives, who they were for us, and who God created them to be.  But our faith calls us to build legacies that are broader than personality or relationship. Following Jesus is not about achieving individual immortality.  It’s about joining in with the everlasting Life that God is continually nourishing in our universe.

I’m sure some of you, in anticipation of this service, have been thinking about those who have gone on before you.  I wonder if I could push you to think a little deeper about one of those people.  What was it about them that sticks in your memory?  Beyond who they were, what was the legacy they left?  When we consider these things more deeply, we begin to see how those who made an impact, did so because they gave their lives over to the bigger thing that God is doing in our world.  I often light a candle during this service for my paternal grandfather, Rev. Donald E. Littlejohn.  And I do that because I miss him, and because I want to remember him in a context other than super clean windshields or scalding hot soup or burnt toast, which are just some of the things that remind me of him.  Today, I want to remember his legacy of tenacity for justice, using the gift of stubbornness that God had given him to, among other things, write letters in support of political prisoners in partnership with Amnesty International, for years and years.  He didn’t build bigger barns; he built a longer table.

What does it mean for a church to build its “hopes on things eternal”?  What does legacy look like in that context?  It’s a challenge in a small-membership church like ours, because we know each other so well and come to cherish each individual for who they are. That’s why it’s important that we occasionally step back and reflect on the bigger thing we’re about here.  It’s about the people, but it’s also not. More importantly, it’s about the fact that the people are gathered together to engage in the life-giving work that God is doing here in this place.  It is the nurturing of life that will be here long after all of us return to dust.  We are not here to worship our ancestors, but to look to their example for inspiration about how to live our lives.  We call out their names as a way of praying we can join our efforts in with theirs in helping God’s will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.  That is what it means to build our hopes on things eternal, to hold to God’s unchanging hand.

I need to say a final word though, lest we exclude part of our human experience of mortality.  We call this “All Saints” day, and that can be misleading.  Some of the people we need to remember today may not be the types we would call “saints”.  Some of our loved ones have gone on without leaving a legacy of faithfulness.  Shall we light candles for them too?  And what does it mean when we do?  Part of building our hopes on eternal things is living as testimonies to God’s mercy. When we can forgive those who’ve gone on for the things they did, the things they wouldn’t ever do, the ways in which they failed and missed the mark, we increase the amount of mercy and love in the world, and that, too, is a legacy of faith.  Sometimes the only gifts we receive are lessons on how not to live; God can redeem these kinds of legacies too.

As we remember our dead this day, whether they were righteous or merely human, let us build our hopes on the things God has shown us are everlasting: mercy, compassion, justice, generosity, and kindness. Let us dedicate our lives to carrying on the legacy of faithfulness that has been handed down to us, that God might truly be praised.  Alleluia and Amen!