Sermons

“At Home with God”

I Corinthians 15:35-42; Revelation 21:1-5; 22:1-5 – Rev. Rebecca Littlejohn

Vista La Mesa Christian Church (Disciples of Christ), La Mesa, California – November 5, 2017

All Saints Memorial Sunday

Holy God, bless the speaking and the hearing of these words that we might be filled with your Spirit of peace and share that comfort with your world. In the name of Jesus we pray, Amen.

I’d like you to take a second and think about your impression of the idea of heaven, as a place. I’m not asking how assuredly you believe that heaven is a place, where we’ll all end up when we die; I just want you to think about what kind of place heaven is, the heaven that is generally referred to when people talk about heaven. What are some words you would use to describe it? Would anyone like to share a word about what heaven is like? One word descriptors?

Okay, those are all very nice words. I wonder if any of you thought of the word “crowded”. Do you think of heaven as a place that is crowded? No, of course we don’t. Even if you’re hoping, as I think most of us are, that pretty much all of God’s people are going to end up there, you’re unlikely to make the leap to assuming there’s barely room for everyone. First of all, crowded is not a good thing, and heaven is supposed to be place that we could only describe with positive words. And secondly, I think most of us assume that heaven occupies infinite space, somewhere outside our earthly conceptions of space, so the idea that it might feel crowded simply doesn’t compute.

But if I were to ask you to describe the differences between a city and the countryside, I’m guessing the word “crowded” might come up, right? A city is, by definition, more crowded than the countryside. For those of us who love cities, that’s part of their charm – there’s so many different people there, all in one place. And yet, even people who love cities often love the little pockets of those cities that aren’t teeming with people. Even people who love crowds wouldn’t necessarily choose to be immersed in one for eternity.

I mention all this by way of introduction to the observation biblical scholar Eugene Boring makes in his interpretation of the book of Revelation. Dr. Boring points out that, in marked contrast to the idyllic garden presented in the book of Genesis as paradise, the book of Revelation has time blessedly coming to an end in the context of a city, the new Jerusalem. It’s not that there is no garden at all; there is, after all, that river flowing through the middle, with the double tree of life on either side with its twelve kinds of fruit. But it is most decidedly a city, despite these green patches. And that makes all the difference.

This is not simply the redemption of creation; this is the salvation of humanity, an integral part of creation, an ingredient that makes a difference. Nor is it an individual deliverance, where each of us goes off to our own private heaven, with all our most favorite aspects of nature and reunions with just the people we want to see again. It is a communal salvation, represented by the culmination of what happens when humanity comes together – a city.

That is the sort of observation about heaven that has implications. Now before we get too deep into those implications, let’s give a few more moments to considering visions of heaven in general. The ones we’ve been discussing here, those included in the Revelation of John of Patmos, the concluding book of the Bible, are, of course, just one perspective. Anyone who makes statements about heaven is indulging in speculation, conjecture, even hope, we might say. We simply don’t have any way of knowing what happens after we die. But Christians have a long history of imagining what it will be like, and it’s not simply baseless wishful thinking. Christian traditions about heaven are rooted in our understanding of God as the animating force of the universe, a force we recognize as Good and Loving, if for some people, also the Ultimate Judge.

One of the most common ways we make sense of death is through the use of metaphors. That’s what Paul is doing in I Corinthians 15 when he talks about how a seed has to die before it becomes the plant it’s going to become. The plant is an entirely different sort of form than the seed, but without the death of the seed, the plant can’t come into existence. He also compares the differences between the “glory” of the sun and the moon and the different stars to talk about the differences between earthly existence and heavenly glory. He contrasts the “perishable” with the “imperishable.” Christians are also fond of the caterpillar-butterfly metaphor, with the chrysalis stage representing death and the butterfly beautifully illustrating that new and different resurrection body Paul talked about. We know we can’t fully explain death and what happens next, so we use metaphors to talk about what we hope it will be like. These metaphors give us something to hold onto.

But the truth is no one really knows, and there’s no requirement that you buy into the entire book of Revelation. To be honest, I pulled out 2 passages today of about 4 in the whole book that I might ever preach on, because most of Revelation is full of graphic imagery and bizarre visions of destruction. It’s important for us to name that our hopes about heaven are largely shaped by what we’re experiencing on earth. John was living under an oppressive occupying regime. And you can see that reflected in his apocalyptic visions. We all do this. Death is the ultimate problem for all of us, but when we’re fixing death with our imaginations, we like to fix our other problems too.

We heard about this last night, when Glenda read us the poem, “The Cremation of Sam McGee.” My summary isn’t going to be nearly as dramatic and entertaining as her presentation, so forgive me. The poem is about a man from Tennessee who’s moved to the Yukon to prospect for gold. The thing about the Yukon territory, up in northern Canada, is that it’s cold. Bone-chilling cold, especially for a Tennessee boy like Sam McGee. Sam spends his life up there, freezing his behind off. And so he pleads with his friend to make sure that when he dies, his body will be cremated. Sam’s idea of heaven is simply never being cold again. The poem ends with a vision of dead Sam, happily sitting in the flames, declaring he hasn’t felt warm like this in ages. Our experiences in life influence our ideas and hopes for what happens next. Death isn’t the only problem we’re interested in solving. And it’s not the only problem we’re hoping God is planning to fix.

This brings us back to exploring the implications of John’s vision of paradise as a new Jerusalem. If heaven is a city, the city where God lives with God’s people, what does that mean for us? What does it tell us about God, and God’s desires for humanity? What does it tell us about all those problems other than death? And what do our other understandings of death and life after death imply we should be doing now? I’m going to pull out just a few hints that I see in these scripture passages, and I invite you to consider them yourself and see what you find.

First of all, the idea that heaven is a city tells me that we must remember that we’re in this together. The redemption of humanity happens in community. And because of what I know about God, I trust that this will happen in a way that even the introverts and nature-lovers will give thanks for. If we’re going to be a people of “on earth as it is in heaven”, this means that we need to stay connected now too. Community makes all the difference. Isolation is the opposite of paradise. When we fail to help others integrate into our community, we are condemning them to hell, at least temporarily.

Secondly, and this is also inspired by Eugene Boring’s commentary, the incarnation continues to matter. Dr. Boring points out that the voice from the throne in chapter 21, verse 5, says “I am making all things new,” not “I am making all new things.” It’s not that creation is being replaced; it’s that we’re being redeemed. God is not wiping everything out and starting over. God made this creation and pronounced it Good. God cherishes this beloved creation, and so we must also cherish it and do what we can to mend what is broken.

Thirdly, about that tree that grows on both sides of the river. I could go on and on about that tree (trees?) and those twelve kinds of fruit, but for today, let’s just notice the leaves. “The leaves of the tree are for the healing of the nations,” it says. What a beautiful and mysterious proclamation! Whatever could it mean? Apparently the nations are still somehow a thing. And their pain matters; the discord, the conflict and war and oppression they contain requires healing. This certainly seems like it should have earthly implications. Somehow, God’s creation itself contains renewable resources – for what are leaves if not something that comes back continually, year after year? – renewable resources that can bring healing to all that ails us as peoples and nations. This has to make a difference in how we approach the problems we face as a global community. As Paul showed us, nature itself is full of lessons for us about the meaning and purpose of death and life after death. Things are not always what they seem on the surface. Life has a remarkable capacity to surprise us and emerge out of the most seemingly desperate of circumstances.

There are those who know that this is true because they’ve seen it happen in their own lives. What seemed like an experience of dying somehow gave way to new life in the most unexpected of ways, as Paul described when he was talking about that seed. If we are to be church, a church that believes in God’s capacity to bring life out of death, part of our calling must be to cultivate these possibilities. We must surround those who are living in what feels like death and surround them with the good soil – the love, the encouragement, the hope – that will help them emerge into new life. Life after death isn’t always after death, sometimes it’s happening right in midst of our lives. Not everyone needs to be re-born, but the church must be here for those who do, who need deliverance into new life. This is also one of the implications of being a resurrection people.

We gather today to remember those we have lost. Though we may not have thought of heaven as crowded, certainly the air in this room will be crowded with the memories of those whose names we will lift up together. The abstract problem of death, in this situation, is made more pressing by the fact of love. If we did not love, we would have no need to remember; indeed, we wouldn’t experience loss. But thank the Lord we do love, and in doing so, we take on the burden of loss, willingly for we know it’s worth it. We remember today, together, for our salvation, here and now and eternally, is communal. We remember with hopeful imagination, for we know that God is good. And we remember with conviction, for our hopes for our loved ones help us discern what we should be about while we’re still here in earthly form. God has invited us to be part of the redemption of creation, by virtue of making us part of the body of Christ. The voice from the throne says, “These words are trustworthy and true.” May it be so. Alleluia and Amen.