In the name of Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.
I was at a clergy conference some years ago down in England. At the end of the evening meal one evening, someone suddenly said, “what is the most stupid prayer you ever heard”.
And I have to say that there then followed a very funny half hour as the various clergy from all different kinds of churches put their bids in for the most stupid prayer that they had ever heard.
The winner was – “And Lord, we pray for Beirut… which is in the Lebanon”
And perhaps inevitably, and perhaps more uncomfortably for clergy, the evening went on to a further discussion when someone asked – what is the most stupid sermon you ever heard?
I wonder how you would answer.
I can think of a number of contenders. Very high on my list is a sermon that I heard whilst on holiday some years ago when the preacher began with the words, “In this sermon, I want to explore the question of whether there is resurrection on the moon”.
It didn’t get better than that. The preacher argued amongst himself about whether or not there was resurrection on the moon. And then ended with the words, “…there is of course so much to say that it is impossible to answer this in one sermon, so think of this as part 1. I’ll come back with a definitive answer next week. Amen”.
I never heard the second sermon.
I still don’t know the answer.
I still don’t know whether there will be resurrection on the moon.
And I never really knew what that question meant in the first place.
Which maybe brings us to the Sadducees and the story they brought to Jesus.
Now, one of the extraordinary things about Jesus is the stories that he told.
In just a few lines of text, he left behind him stories which still have resonance with the world today. Some stories which seem perplexing, many which are enlightening. The parables. The prodigal child. The good Samaritan.
They are phenomenal stories which still have the capacity to stop us in our tracks.
And a lot of the gospel readings that we get in church are Jesus telling a story and sometimes we get to hear of those around him talking about the story.
In this Sunday’s story, that dynamic is turned on its head.
Other people tell Jesus a story and ask him to interpret it.
The Sadducees spun him a yarn and asked him to interpret it as a bit of a test.
I’m not sure that we know that much about the Sadducees other than that they were a religious group that didn’t accept that resurrection happened. And in telling their story they are setting Jesus a test. Was he one of them or one of their enemies?
There was this woman who married her man and then he died before they’d had children.
So his brother married her. And he died.
And the next brother married her. And he died.
And his brother married her. And he died.
And the next brother married her. And he died.
And his brother married her. And he died.
And the last brother married her. And he died.
And then she died.
Presumably exhausted.
Whose wife will she be in the resurrection they say.
(They were being sarcastic remember – they didn’t believe in the resurrection anyway).
How would you answer them.
You might have something to say about this woman being treated as the property of a bunch of men.
Patriarchy is strong in this one!
I think if I’d been Jesus I’d have been tempted to roll my eyes and just say, “Well they are all deid anyway. What does it matter.”
And in a way, he does kind of say that. But he does affirm that he believes in a resurrection – but seems pretty clear that his view was that human ordinances are for our earthly existence. And that our being with God will so dominate our heavenly existence that such questions simply die away.
It is a bit like asking whether there is resurrection on the moon.
The idea of resurrection isn’t about sorting out who is whose husband. We have this life to do that – if that is what we are looking for. Some of us doing rather better at it than others.
It is the case that now as then, there are religious people who manage to worship together who have different views about what will happen when we die.
Right at the focal point of this building is a piece of art which clearly addresses what some people were feeling. The reredos behind the High Altar is our Second World War memorial. And the painting on it puts three women at the tomb looking for a body and an angel with rainbow wings is very clearly saying – he is not here he is risen.
It isn’t difficult to see why those who had experienced war at first hand and who were themselves mourning those who never came back wanted to place such an image centre stage in a church such as this one.
They had been to hell and back.
An experience that is not confined to war.
The reading from the second letter to the Thessalonians that we have this morning is the first of several that we get as we approach the end of the church year in a couple of weeks time.
The world for the author of 2 Thessalonians is falling apart. Lawlessness is rife and deception is all around. If feels as though the end times are just around the corner.
I’ve often thought that this world view felt far away. But not so much at the moment.
The author tells their audience to continue to give thanks, stand firm to the traditions they have learned and feel the real comfort of God’s love and grace.
That comfort is not described as being transitory, nor even long lasting. It is described as being eternal.
As all seems to be falling apart the author says, the God who loves us gives us grace and good hope.
Not a stupid sermon.
The only sermon worth hearing.
Grace. Love. Hope.
For ever.
9 responses to “The Episcopal Way of Death”
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The greatest privilege I have ever had in the service of the people of the church was to be the person who received the coffin the night before the funeral and led Compline then. The church was on an island, and the coffins those of people I loved and honoured. It was deeply moving for everybody there. I hope one day that will be done for me and mine.
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I have prayed washed and dressed Sisters who have died and it helped me to see that death is not scary. I have lined a number of Sisters graves with flowers around the inner edge from the inside, also helpful. The body was received at Vespers in Chapel the day before, Solemn Requiem was the next day complete with asperges and incense. We returned from the graveside and when in Chapel sung a very joyful favorite hymn for the Sister we had just buried. It was always a sad, happy, remembering occasion I hope that I will be able to have most of this too.
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This is beautifully said.
When my parents died in a car crash, we knew our Episcopal church would be too small to accommodate all the mourners; but the local Roman Catholic congregation saw our need and graciously offered the use of their space for our Episcopal funeral (including Eucharist led by two Episcopal bishops). They also offered their pall for the second coffin as we had only one. All the churches and the synagogue in town offered choir members and/or food for the feast after the service. An ecumenical, indeed, interfaith foretaste of heaven!
We placed the two bodies in closed coffins in our Episcopal church the night before; we prayed Evensong and Compline, and received a long line of visitors; and then parishioners kept vigil with the bodies all night. In the morning we prayed over the bodies before beginning the procession to the larger RC church where the (Episcopal) funeral was to be held. In this sad, glorious service sang many, many Easter hymns, and I learned that it’s possible to sing and sing even through tears. I’m told that people reconciled that day who had not spoken in years – I’ve heard it from both parties (one now a bishop).
All of which is to say: our Episcopal Way of Death can be a profound grace if we let it. It can be profound too when it’s a simple, small, quiet service for a person who has lived a long life and died of old age (unlike my parents). It’s the same words, the same truth of loss – all of us pass through this life but for a moment – the same mystery, the same words of affirmation and hope at the grave: alleluia, alleluia, alleluia.
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Thank you for posting that – bearing witness to exactly what I was trying to say.
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Thanks Sarah. (Other readers, Sarah is a friend. I was at the Funeral and heard her offer the most profound Gospel Centred and Honest Grief eulogy I have ever heard)
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Dear Michael, thank you for saying that. Your presence that day was a blessing to our family. That gathering, for all the shock and sadness, really did feel like a foretaste of heaven, didn’t it? A great cloud of witnesses singing with us.
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Having attended a few funerals in our parish recently – one of them for our Vicar, who died on Easter Eve – and being nearer to the grave myself (at 85 and still active as a priest) I appreciate, Father Kelvin, the care you take over this special subject. The Church can be so close to families at this special time – giving them a taste of ‘The great love of God as revealed in the Son’ – precious at this time.
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There are sometimes good reasons for having the cremation first, as there was for my brother yesterday especially with people traveling and wanting to be able to bury the ashes on the same day. They key is to talk with the family about what they are looking for and how it can be done.
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Dear Tony, I’m sorry to hear that you’ve lost your brother. May be rest in peace and rise in glory.
There are always reasons why people want to have a cremation first and people always believe that they are good reasons. Every single time there are reasons. My contention is that I’m unpersuaded that any of them justify changing what we believe. (What we do and what we believe being utterly bound up with one another in such circumstances).
My point about funerals is very precisely that the wishes of the family are important but that no tradition will survive if we simply abandon what we believe for reasons of convenience.
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