“Beyond
Fascination with Religious Trivia”
Luke
20:27-38
First
Presbyterian Church
The
Reverend Donald E. Ray
November
7, 2010
Sometime during the
scholasticism of the middle ages, there surfaced the question to ponder: How
many angels can dance on the head of a pin? I
googled the phrase to lend some historical accuracy in my reference to it, only
to discover that this trivia discussion pursued to discredit medieval angelology
has mutated into even more trivia: Was
it from the 14th century, the 17th century. Was
the question, how many angels can dance,
sit, stand; or was it dance on the
point of a needle?
I want to ask: Who
cares? But the answer is
evidently a lot of people do. Today’s
Gospel text tells the bazaar story of some Sadducees who, disparaged the whole
idea of a resurrection, asking Jesus; if you take Moses’ directive that if a
man dies without children, his brother need marry her to conceive children on
behalf of the deceased, and then play that out to the absurd - seven brothers;
whose wife is she in the resurrection? - that we don’t believe in anyway.
What is after death has been and is subject to much
speculation - from nothing to heaven
with mansions and neighborhoods for Methodists and Catholics, Presbyterians and
Baptists, to ethereal, ghostlike, angelic existence, to reincarnation. Poets
and artists have sought to give content to that belief in a life after death
with depiction of angels as dazzling winged figures, elaboration on the mansions
of John’s Gospel - Revelation’s streets of gold and jeweled gates. As
humanity seems prone, poetry and art have been translated literally, making an
afterlife just like this one only more so. In
the Genesis story, after Eve and Adam eat fruit of the tree of knowing good and
evil, they are banished from
When all the speculation about heaven, resurrection
is done, if it ever could be, we have such as the trivia of whose wife will be
the woman who has been bride to seven brothers. No
one really knows. The tales from
persons after near death from cardiac
arrest raise more questions than provide answers. While
all the speculation rolls on, I want to ask? Who
cares? But I know who cares; any
who survive the death of a loved one cares?
Any who live through grieving the death of a loved
one know something of what is after if they move beyond the fascination with
trivia. Jesus’ response to the
Sadducees says it is not like this life. Don’t
take the language limitations of the poetic imagery too seriously. It’s
like angels, not the later embellishment of winged creatures, but children of
God—God of the living.
There
is a line in the United Methodist funeral service committal prayer that if it
were for our beloved Marion Mittlefehldt would read:
For
all that (
Genetically prone skeptic that I am, aware that no
one really knows, I have come to trust, that at the very least, the one who
loved and was loved, lives on in the fruit of that love. And
that in God-- love, that life never ends. If
that is true, we need take the faith leap beyond translating imagery into
reality; transporting one who has died to a far off heaven only to be seen again
when we die; and value the God of the living and the living across time and
space.
Throughout my ministry, three decades of which
involved sharing intensely with the grieving, the tales of those who experienced
the presence in their lives of one who had died stretch beyond all imagination;
no séance or visit to a medium necessary. Most
were reluctant to tell their story. To
speak their experiences of seeing, hearing, feeling the presence of the dead,
fearing they could be considered crazy, mentally disordered. But
to the vivid descriptions of hearing a loved one giving necessary directions, to
see one who has died in a familiar setting, to feel
a touch, a breath, warmth-- I had one question: “How did you feel in
that experience?” Always, always
the response has been, “comfort.” “peace.” Working
with the grieving, comfort, peace, healing are what it is about. Reassured
that it wasn’t crazy and able to incorporate their experience, I watched
persons make great strides with their renewed health and hope in their walk
through the valley of the shadow of death of that one with whom they had shared
and share again in love.
The week my mother died, I had called her on
Wednesday evening just to chat. I
realized quickly that she was sick and that it seemed serious. I
was not surprised to receive a call Friday morning that she had been taken to
the hospital. When I called and
talked to her in the emergency room, in the course of the conversation my mother
said, “I’m going home.” I
could hear a nurse in the background saying, “O no, Mrs. Ray, we’re going to
keep you here so we can treat you.” Though
the nurse was doing medical-speak, I knew what my mother meant. My
mother was too gracious to dispute the nurse. She
knew I was aware of what she meant and it was enough.
As that afternoon Karen and I travelled the 300
miles into
I have had the privilege, the invaluable honor of
being present with people at the time of their death more times than I can
number. There have been times it
seems they have waited for me to come. There
have been times it would seem they have been calling to me because my plans have
taken an unexpected course change that brought me to the bedside. As
I have watched some in their final moments, I have observed on the part of the
dying, an awareness of presence other than family and caregivers gathered by the
bed, a gaze beyond us, a hand reaching into the air. I
have watched as a dying person wait for a family member or special person to
come to the bed side for their final farewell. But
I also know there are times a dying person will wait until all on this plain
have left them alone to take their last breath. I
may not be certain of much in life, but of this I am confident; that no one dies
alone.
The valley of the shadow of death is always longer,
often darker than we would ever want. There
remains the mystical about death, mystery not served by the trivia of expanding
the treasures we covet in this life into the next. It
is mystery served by trust in the God of the living—love that never
dies—love in which we and all live into eternity.
Amen.
(1)
The
United Methodist Book of Worship, p.157