Sermon, All Saints B

Nobody gets out of here alive. From the very beginning of creation, where there was life, there was also death. From the very beginning, all plants and animals (including us) were created to be mortal. And being mortal means we die.

Over the course of late summer and early fall, I officiated at four funerals in six weeks. Those services ran the gamut from 89-year old Lowell to 3-month old Harmony. Every time I do a funeral, I am reminded of three things. First, I am reminded of our own mortality. Second, I am reminded of what a privilege and honor it is for me to be invited into one of the family's most personal moments. And third, I am reminded of both the hope and assurance we have of life everlasting, as well as our being a part of the fellowship of believers, the communion of saints.

Two of the three readings today are part of the recommended readings for our burial service. If you want to be reminded of your own mortality, read through that service sometime. In that service we hear about death and mourning. In that service we hear readings that remind us people die, but life goes on. And in that service we are reminded we were mortal from the beginning; earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

Funerals, I think are one of the most personal moments for families and individuals. Baptisms and weddings are big deals, but they are celebrations in the midst of life. Funerals are a celebration of life in the midst of death. In the course of a funeral we laugh and we cry; we laugh at memories of what was, and we cry for what is no more. And when someone trusts you to be present at that moment, to be there in the midst of tears and fragile emotional states, when someone is willing to call you at 2 o'clock in the morning because they didn't know who else to call, that is a privilege and honor.

As I do those funerals, whether it's for people who went to church every Sunday, never, or somewhere in between, I am always grateful for the assurance we have in life everlasting and for the fellowship of believers, the communion of saints. At a funeral, the family is surrounded and comforted by a whole host of friends and others who want to express their support. We saw this at Lowell's funeral where, because of his longevity here, people came to pay their respects. And we saw it at Harmony's funeral where, because of her short life, people came to offer support.

As I stand up front and lead people through an oftentimes unfamiliar Episcopal liturgy, I am thankful that this isn't all there is. When we were driving out to the cemetery to bury Harmony, my driver said, "I don't know how you guys do this."

Well, aside from this being my calling and part of the job, I can do this because I know God is with us. I can do this because people have died in the past and will die in the future. I can do this because the funeral liturgy is an Easter liturgy; it is a liturgy of hope. I can do this because my faith tells me that we are surrounded by a heavenly throng, a great cloud of witnesses of men, women and children who have gone before us and are now living life eternal in the heavenly kingdom.

Our faith tells us that we will live again. Our faith tells us that our souls, and the souls of all the righteous, will be in the hand of God. Our faith tells us that these mortal things will pass away to be replaced by a new heaven and a new earth, where death is no more, neither pain nor sorrow nor crying. Our faith tells us that we will be joined with those who have gone before. That is the good news of the funeral liturgy.

And it's not just funerals that tell us this, but it is our whole liturgy that points toward God's kingdom, our resurrection, and the fellowship we have with all believers, the communion of saints, past, present and future. We hear it in the lectionary. We proclaim it in the creeds. We sing it in our hymns. We affirm it in the Eucharist. We are part of that great apostolic tradition of prophets, apostles and martyrs, and with those in every generation who proclaim God's glory.

As we continue through the liturgy today, pay attention to those places that bind us with Christ in his death and resurrection. Hold onto those places that unite us to the saints in God's kingdom. Remember those who went before us, and pray for those who come after us.

Nobody gets out of here alive. But as for us, we know that our Redeemer lives and that, even though we die, our faith tells us we shall not die forever. This is the hope of the resurrection, and this is the comfort of being part of countless generations of faithful believers.

Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Yet even at the grave we make our song, "Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia." And this is the promise of All Saints' Day.