The Rev. Laura Howell
October 29, 2006
The Cathedral Church of the Nativity
Collect for the Dead + Wisdom 3:1-9 + Revelation 7:9-17 + John 11:21-27
In the name of the Father (+) and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
From the most ancient times, the church has honored those who have died in faith. As a matter of fact, early Eucharists were celebrated on the flat, table-like tops of the tombs of the martyrs. Around 200 AD—1900 years ago!—Tertullian wrote that Christians offered prayers for the dead as part of the Eucharist. And St. Augustine in the 4th century wrote: “The souls of the pious dead are not separated from the Church, which even now is the Kingdom of Christ. Otherwise there would be no remembrance of them at the altar of God in the communication of the Body of Christ.”
At Trinity Bethlehem, we offer a Requiem quarterly. Sometimes folks who have come to us from other denominations ask why we pray for those who have died. They say, “If people are dead, our prayers for them don’t mean anything, do they?” I have several answers. First of all, praying for those who have gone before, helps ME—it’s kind of selfish, actually. It helps me remember them, it helps me to maintain spiritual contact with them, and there is comfort in that. When I am troubled, prayer helps anchor me. How much more do I need the balm of prayer when I am grieving?
But more importantly, I wonder what those questioners mean by the word “dead”? Do they mean that the physical body is now gone from my sight? That the person’s being is extinguished? That they are no longer in existence? St. Paul writes to the Romans with some incredulity in chapter 6 (3-4): “Are you unaware that we who were baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death? We were indeed buried with him through baptism into death, so that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, we too might live in newness of life.” You can hardly put it any clearer than Jesus does: “I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die.” For us, as Christians, it’s a perfectly acceptable human thing to grieve greatly when someone we love dies—even Jesus grieved for his friend Lazarus. But we also recognize that grief is not the end of the story, because the person who is gone has been made anew in Christ.
Let me remind you about the collect we have chosen for this service: “Eternal Lord God, you hold all souls in life: Give to your whole Church in paradise and on earth your light and your peace; and grant that we, following the good examples of those who have served you here and are now at rest, may at the last enter with them into your unending joy.”
This collect harkens back to Augustine’s reflection. The church does not function just on this earth. Nor is it just in heaven. The church exists in that mysterious perpetual NOW which is God’s time. It straddles both time and eternity. It exists in that LIFE in which God holds all souls. I would hazard a guess that most of you are part of the church. Who else would come out to pray both in words and music at 5:00 on a blustery Sunday evening? As we enter into this Eucharist, without even realizing it, we step into eternity. It’s nice to have our bodies along, and to sit in the pew with our friends and family, who have also brought their bodies along. What is most important, however, is that your eternal souls are here inside those bodies. And at this Eucharist, all the rest of the church is present, too, with their eternal souls. It is in worship, in prayer, that we all gather, even if we can’t all see and hear each other with our physical eyes and ears.
There was a lady who was at Morning Prayer every morning for years and years. She had a particularly wonderful intonation when she said Canticle 1: “O all ye works of the Lord, bless ye the Lord. Praise him and magnify him forever.” Every Monday morning I hear her saying with me, “Praise him and magnify him forever.” I pray for her and give thanks for her whenever I hear her voice. She has been living in God’s larger world for several years now. My mother is ill in another part of the country. I pray for her health and happiness several times a day. I can still travel to see her a couple of times a year, but she is as close in moments of prayer as my Canticle 1 lady. If we are all eternally present in God’s church now, wouldn’t it be a little silly of me to think that I could pray for one of them, but not for the other?
In part, prayer is a conversation between our spirits and God. In this requiem, we pray for those who have died. In other words, we talk with God about them. We express to God our hopes that they are well and filled with joy at being in God’s presence. We remember their lives and give thanks for what they have meant to us. We receive the comfort of knowing that the One who created the universe, and who cared so much that he would die for us, is looking after them. And maybe, if we are very blessed, we receive back a whisper of the peace that they are enjoying, and a reflection of the pure love in which they are now immersed.
I suppose that this could sound like sentimentalism. Or even some kind of emotional wish-fulfillment. But for 2,000 years, the church has recommended that we turn our minds to eternity and pray for and with those who have died. As we prepare to enter the 8-day celebration of All Saints and All Souls, I invite you to remember those who have gone ahead of us, who live in Christ, and with whom we, too, will live in eternal joy. AMEN.
