Scripture:
Perhaps you're familiar with this passage from Ecclesiastes because you remember the rock group called The Birds from the 1960s. Perhaps you've heard it at Memorial services. Although it is familiar, its wisdom can continue to inform us in new and surprising ways. I read from the third chapter, beginning with verse 1:

For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven:

[2] a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted;
[3] a time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;
[4] a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
[5] a time to throw away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
[6] a time to seek, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to throw away;
[7] a time to tear, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
[8] a time to love, and a time to hate; a time for war, and a time for peace.

Having done all he could to address the many issues that were splintering the Christian community in Corinth, Paul concludes his letters by urging them to show one another a sign of peace.

Wherever division is found amongst Christians, this sign, which we show one another each Sunday, indicates that we are called by God to rise above those divisions. Hear these words from Paul's second letter to the Corinthians, chapter 13, vs. 11 13:

Finally, brothers and sisters, farewell. Put things in order, listen to my appeal, agree with one another, live in peace; and the God of love and peace will be with you. [12] Greet one another with a holy kiss. [13] All the saints greet you.

The final reading is the conclusion of the Gospel of Matthew. After the resurrection, the disciples discover that death has lost its power over Jesus, and that the promise of eternal life is for all believers. In this passage -- Jesus' final words to the disciples -- he transfers to them his authority -- before he departs. It bears mentioning that they are not perfect recruits. After all that they have gone through, some of the Disciples still have their doubts. Nevertheless, Jesus entrusts to them the most important mission of all: to go out into the world and make disciples. His final promise to them is the assurance that through it all, he will be with them. Hear now the gospel of Matthew, chapter 28, verses 16-20:

Now the eleven disciples went to Galilee, to the mountain to which Jesus had directed them. [17] When they saw him, they worshiped him; but some doubted. [18] And Jesus came and said to them, "All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. [19] Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptising them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, [20] and teaching them to obey everything that I have commanded you. And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age."

Sermon:


We have just heard three eloquent statements which focus on departure.

In a few minutes, we will enter into a litany of prayers which we will use to acknowledge the departure of two of this congregation's most beloved families: the Mosses and the Rosenberrys. Having just moved myself, I have great empathy for them, during this time in which everything which is thought to be stable is overturned. And there is another area where their circumstances and my recent experience are joined: both of these families are also struggling with death -- Tom's father, who died last week; and Carolyn's father, who is very ill. And so we hold them in our prayers for many reasons.

Let me ask for a show of hands:

• Over the past year, How many of you have been touched by the death of a loved one, or someone you knew fairly well?

That's a lot of hands . . . . However much we surround ourselves with symbols of permanence, fortresses of stability, our lives are filled with goings and comings. . . . It is the way of all flesh, even though most of us work rather hard to avoid facing up to this reality.

Timothy Leary bid final farewell two days ago. Whatever you may think of the values he proffered, and the events he precipitated, he has joined the ranks of those public figures who have intentionally sought to encourage each of us to give adequate attention to death -- be it the small death's we experience when friends are called to move away, or the "great death" we contemplate when we are reminded of our mortality.

Many feel that death is so terrible or absurd the we are better off not thinking or talking about it. Others regard it as so unconnected with life that we are better off treating it as if it were not real. But inevitably,

• friends and loved ones leave, and we must face the fact that our lives are diminished by their absence. . . .
  
• Friends, and loved ones die, and their death cries out to us to reconcile our attitude towards the end of life.

Is it possible to befriend dying? It is possible to embrace our mortality and live our lives, open to it, trusting that we have nothing to fear? Is it possible to prepare for our death . . . Even to give it the same attentiveness that our parents gave in preparing for our birth? Can we see death waiting for us, like a friend who wants to welcome us home?(1)

These are questions raised by my friend Henri Nouwen -- the man whom many of you heard preach when I was installed 6 weeks ago. With him, I believe that by exploring our faith more and more deeply, we will be led to a place where we can embrace even death itself as part of a package which God makes available to us -- a package far more grand than anything we will ever experience this side of twilight.

What steps can we take in this direction? Ironically, if we are to face up to the most challenging--and for many of us, the most threatening--issue of our lives, we must approach it like a child. Jesus said that unless we change, and become like children, we will never enter the Kingdom of Heaven (Matthew 18:3).

The characteristic that is so crucial in all of this is that like a child, we must begin to recognize our dependence. Children have no problem with being dependent. From the beginning, they depend upon their parents, their caregivers, their friends, their teachers. Only as they grow older do they seek independence.

There is another dependence for us to discover as adults. . . . Dependence upon God. My experience is that many of us don't take kindly to the view that we are dependent upon God. Who knows why -- perhaps we recall Freud's suggestion in his book Future of an Illusion, that God is nothing more than a projection of our minds. Still and all, I don't see how acknowledging our dependence upon God in any way undermines our hard won independence. Rather, it places our independence in its proper context: as a small part of a much larger whole.

We get in touch with that larger whole through experiences which give us a fleeting glimpse of the bigger picture.

• Have you ever had a near death experience? -- and seen your life flash before your face?
  
• Have you ever been utterly surprised by the presence of God in a situation you thought was irredeemable -- a situation in which grace somehow became manifest?
  As a minister, many of you tell me about these experiences -- and I believe that they are much more common than we think. But very few of us take these experiences as a compass which we can utilize to navigate the bigger picture. Usually, we seal off such experiences -- calling them "extraordinary", rather than elevating them__and recognizing that they are a window on a much bigger reality.

We gain entrance to that reality by accepting that each of us is a child of God, and that because we are a child of God, we are dependent upon the divine for our very being. Furthermore, as we send down roots deeper and deeper into this reality, we realize that the boundaries which we usually accept as governing our lives limit us for only a short while:

• The Mosses and the Rosenberrys will no longer be physically among us. Those who worked with them on the many activities of which they were a part will feel a great hole.
  
• Those of us who have lost a loved one, or those of us who have moved, feel the pain of a great hole in our lives.
  

Yet we realize too that the blessing we experienced through our contact with these friends is merely on hold . . . . Spiritually, we can access it daily..... (Few days go by that I don't have a conversation with my Dad, though it's been seven months since his death.) And in the greater scheme, our blessing is on hold until, through death, we meet again.

Let me draw this to a close with a story which comes from Henri Nouwen's book, Our Greatest Gift(2). It illustrates the "big picture" in which we are completely dependent upon God.

The story is set in the womb, where twins are talking with one another. The sister said to the brother, "I believe there is life after birth." Her brother protested vehemently, "No, no, this is all there is. This is a dark and cozy place, and we have nothing else to do but to cling to the cord that feeds us." The little girl insisted, "There must be something more than this dark place. There must be something else, a place with light where there is freedom to move." Still she could not convince her twin brother.

After some silence, the sister said hesitantly, "I have something else to say, and I'm guessing that you're not going to believe it, either, . . . but I think there is a mother."

Her brother became furious. "A mother!" He shouted. "What are you talking about? I have never seen a mother, and neither have you. Who put that idea in your head? As I told you, this place is all we have. Why do you always want more? This is not such a bad place, after all. We have all we need, so let's be content."

The sister was quite overwhelmed by her brother's response and for a while didn't dare say anything more. But she couldn't let go of her thoughts and since she had only her twin brother to speak to, she finally said, "Don't you feel these squeezes every once in a while? They're quite unpleasant and sometimes even painful." "Yes," he answered. "What's special about that?" "Well," the sister said, "I think that these squeezes are there to get us ready for another place, much more beautiful than this, where we will see our mother face to face. Don't you think that's exciting?"

The brother didn't answer. He was fed up with the foolish talk of his sister and felt that the best thing would be simply to ignore her and hope that she would leave him alone.

Must we live as if death is "the end" -- and we had better not talk about it? Or can we look at ourselves--even as God looks as us--and claim our divine childhood, trusting that death, and all separation from those we love, is the painful but blessed passage that will bring us face to face with our God? Amen.

Footnotes:
1. These questions, and other parts of this meditation, draw upon Henri J. M. Nouwen's book Our Greatest Gift - A meditation on Dying and Caring (Harper Collins; 1994), p. xiii
2. P. 19ff.