May 22, 2011
Acts 7:55-60
Psalm 31:1-5, 15-16
1 Peter 2:2-10
John 14:1-14
Jesus is saying goodbye to his friends. And goodbyes are hard. Their faces reveal the trouble in their hearts. “Do not let your hearts be troubled,” he says, looking around at them gathered there in the dim light of the oil lamps in that upper room. But they are afraid. Why is he going? Where is he going? Can’t they come too?
This Gospel lesson is, I believe, the one most used at Episcopal funerals. It is about goodbye’s and about the pain of goodbyes. And it is also about hope and reassurance in the face of loss, separation, and death.
I once had a conversation with a fellow clergyman who recounted to me his experience of helping the surviving member of a couple plan a funeral.. Reviewing the options, the priest suggested that the Gospel lesson be this one -- the one where Jesus says, “In my Father’s house there are many dwelling places.” “Dwelling places?”the partner said. “Dwelling places?” “You knew John. How gracious and tasteful he was. John would not want just a ‘dwelling place! John would want a mansion. Can’t we give him a mansion – like it said in the older Bible?” And so they did.
When it came time to read the Gospel at the funeral, my friend read from the translation we heard this morning, but, looking warmly at John’s partner as he read, he proudly proclaimed, “In my Fathers’ house are many ‘mansions’. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you? And if I go to prepare a place for you, I will come again and take you to myself.”
Jesus is taking the part of the servant of a nomadic tribe who strikes out ahead of his companions, who rushes ahead to the oasis to set up the tents, to draw the cool water, light the lamps, lay the carpets, and fluff up the pillows. That work done, he will return to the caravan to accompany them, to usher them toward the familiar comfort of their now awaiting home.
And this is his promise to us, too. To go ahead and prepare a place, a dwelling place, a mansion, for each of us.
What do you imagine that home, that dwelling place, that mansion will be like for you and those you love? For desert nomads, it would have been just what I described. A tent set firmly in the sand, providing refuge from the cold desert winds and shade from parching desert sun. Ornate rugs unrolled on the ground, great pillows all plumped up and shaken free of sand, oil lamps lighting the way to the life-giving water of the oasis.
That’s probably not your picture of your mansion in the sky. For you and me, maybe there are rich oriental rugs on the floor, and maybe there are chandeliers hanging from high ceilings. For me, those chandeliers would be full of real candles blazing in hospitable welcome. And they would never burn low or need replacing – or drip wax on the floor! There would be books and books and books. And a great big leather chair with the biggest ottoman in the heavenly furniture store. And a reading light that knows just how to focus itself so that even without my glasses, every word would leap off the page.
And there are pictures on the wall, pictures of beloved memories, pictures of Hawaii – and Rome pictures which, when you looked at them, would be full of the sound of crashing waves, and the smell of frangiapanne or the smell of pizza and the “honk, honk” of Vespas. What pictures will hang on the wall of your mansion in heaven?
But there will be no need of pictures of the people you love. Because all of them, ALL of them, will be coming for dinner. The dining room in that house will be big enough to hold them all, and they will all be there, and there will always be enough time to tell them all the things you ever wanted to. And to hear them tell you in return all the wonderful adventures of their lives. And you will never forget to tell them how much you love them. And they will never forget to tell you the same thing. And you will hear it. And know that it is true. And the food will be fabulous. And the desert tray will never be empty. Now that’s a mansion I could move into. A mansion worth dying to inherit.
But will it really be that way? Well, yes and no.
Jesus has indeed gone before us to that other land to prepare a place for us, and it will not be just a dwelling place. It will be the mansion of your dreams. Will it have comfortable furniture and leather-bound books? I do not know. But Jesus promises it will have all the good things we ever really longed for or needed.
It will be place with the doors flung wide open in welcome. A place in which you are truly known and truly loved. It will be the place you belong. There will be no shame there. No nagging sense that you are not what you ought to be. There will be no condemnation there, no accusing voice finding fault. Only acceptance, understanding, and love. There will be no regret there, because all sins are forgiven and wiped away. No sense that you’ve got to do more than you can, only sincere gratitude and thanksgiving that you have done what you could. And there will certainly be a banquet, where you can wear whatever you want, and stay as long as you need, and share in meal that fills your deepest hunger.
But wait. It seems we’ve stopped talking about furniture and photographs. And started talking about the fruits of God’s love for us. Acceptance, forgiveness, understanding, encouragement, compassion, and love so delicious you can taste it, love so comfortable you can feel it wrap around you and hold you up. This is the furniture of the Kingdom of God. This is the nature of the place Jesus has gone ahead to prepare for us.
And, dear friends, there is no reasons that place should be just there and then. It is the place we are called to live in right here and right now. If we are not busy furnishing this place, this world with those things, then we’ve got it all wrong. A church, a parish church, must be that place where acceptance, and forgiveness, understanding, compassion, and love so delicious you can taste it, may be found. Insofar as it is, then we really are that community Jesus calls us to be. Insofar as it is not, then we’ve got work to do.
Churches do not exist to build real mansions on earth, but to build on earth our very best attempt at that heavenly place where God would have us live. A place where all God’s children learn and know that they are forgiven, are accepted, and are loved. A place where we do not fear condemnation and judgment because we learn and know that in God’s eyes all is forgiven, every debt has all been paid. A place where each one’s gifts are celebrated and shared to the good of everyone else. A place where we can truly, deeply, passionately be at home. That is what we need to be building here. The furniture of love, acceptance, and forgiveness, and mutual support are the stuff we need to be setting about us in this place. Anything else is a waste of our time.
And what about that banquet, what about that great dinner party at which all those we love, those whom we see no longer, are gathered together? The tears wiped from their eyes and ours? Just what about that circle that will “be unbroken? “
Dear friends, that too is here. Right here and right now. Gathered around us at this table are all those we love and who love us. This table only appears to be limited to time and space. In reality, only one end of this table is here. The other end stretches to the skies; and gathered around it is the whole company of Saints basking in the light of a million candles -- a million candles which all together do not burn nearly as brightly as God’s love lighting every face in that fabulous company. The bread there never runs out, and the wine is always flowing. That bread, that wine, that table are right here. Right now. There is indeed a mansion prepared for us, a dwelling place in God’s Kingdom. Open your eyes and see it. In our Father’s house are many, many mansions, and this place is called to be one of them. That doorway flung wide open in welcome to all God’s children must be right here.
And the party has indeed already begun, right now. And all goodbyes were only temporary. Everyone is here already. Even those we see no longer. They are here, and we are with them and they are with us.
Come, let us keep the feast.
No comments:
Post a Comment