All Saints' Sunday

"God Will Wipe Away Every Tear"

Do you remember the first funeral you ever attended?

One of the first I remember was for my Uncle Carson.
He was a farmer, working 160 acres of hilly and rocky
ground in Appalachian foothills of southeastern Ohio.
I would spent part of each summer at my uncle's farm,
helping with various chores: feeding, milking,
sometimes, I even got to drive the tractor.

I was ten when my uncle died suddenly, leaving six
children and my aunt behind. I clearly remember going
to the funeral. At my age I was trying to get a handle
on grief and what it meant. I can see the small town
funeral home. Most of us were sitting in a large room,
but my aunt and cousins had been placed in a small
room off to the side, the family room. I could barely
see around the corner to where they sat. I remember
thinking that if they needed to cry, they could do so
without the rest of us seeing them too well.

My cousins Lorna and Donna were near my age, one about
six months older and the other six months younger. I
could see them fidgeting before the service began, and
I thought of how I would feel if it were my daddy we
were burying. "They must feel terrible," I thought.

Then I saw the minister come in. I was used to pastors
wearing clerical collars. This fellow just had on a
black suit, white shirt, and dark tie, but still, I
knew he was the minister. I thought, he has a hard
job. He has to say just the right words, and make
everybody feel all better.

Well, that minister said some very nice things about
my uncle. He said some nice things about God too. And
he said some real nice things about heaven.

I could peek around the corner and see that my cousins
and aunt were crying. My mother was crying too, and
pretty soon, so was I. We were supposed to be feeling
all better, but we were sad instead.

Then, the service was over. We all filed by the coffin
on our way out, got into our cars, and drove up the
steep hill to the cemetery. It was called mount
something or other, I forget what. As we gathered
around the grave, I looked back to the village below.
It looked like a little toy village, and reminded me
of my model railroad layout at home. A train came
through just at that time, a long freight of red
boxcars, pulled by a steam locomotive. The whistle of
the engine sounded long, low, and mournful, as if even
it were crying for my uncle. These funerals, they
were sad occasions, for sure.

After the service at the graveside, we drove on out
the country road to my uncle's farm. It seemed so
strange to be at the farm, everybody all dressed up.
Farms were for blue jeans and flannel shirts. The
kitchen table in the old farm house was piled with
more food than I had seen in a long time.

After we had eaten, we kids pulled some kitchen chairs
out onto the front porch and started talking. But
conversation did not come easy. Normally, when all the
cousins got together, you couldn't shut us up, but
that day there were long lulls in the conversation.
Then my cousins Lorna and Donna got out a Mr. Potato
Head and started playing with it.

For some reason that didn't seem right to me. This was
a funeral. We had left the cemetery scarcely an hour
before. Their father, my uncle, had died. We were
supposed to be sad. And here they were, playing on the
porch with Mr. Potato Head. I got angry at them and at
that stupid Mr. Potato Head. I wanted to take it, and
throw it down the hill and into the creek that ran
through the farm.

I learned some things about grief that day. I learned
about sadness and tears, certainly. I grasped that no
words can take away the sting and pain of grief. I
realized that we can be strong in faith, fervent in
our love of God, and still know the emptiness of
grief, the aching loss of a loved one.
I learned that grief can make us angry.

I wondered if my cousins had noticed me when I was
watching the train from the hilltop cemetery, rather
than paying attention to the graveside service. Maybe
they had been angry at me too.

I began to understand that life does go on, even when
a loved one has passed away. But there are also
changes. My aunt and her children could not keep up
the farm on their own. They had to sell it and move
into a small house in town. The summers on the farm
were to be no more.

Those are among my earliest memories of a funeral. I
share them with you this morning, because the readings
appointed for this All Saints' Sunday are all ones
that we use from time to time at funerals.

The first reading, from the Book of Isaiah, is a
beautiful glimpse of the coming kingdom. "On this
mountain, the Lord of hosts will make for all peoples
a feast of rich food, of rich food filled with marrow,
of well-aged wines strained clear." Death is to be
destroyed forever. "The Lord God will wipe away the
tears from all faces." "It will be said on that day,
Lo, this is our God; we have waited for him, so that
he might save us. This is the LORD for whom we have
waited; let us be glad and rejoice in his salvation."

The second reading, from the Revelation of St. John,
the Divine, is a magnificent image of the kingdom of
heaven. "And I saw the holy city, the new Jerusalem,
coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as bride
adorned for her husband."

There is the beautiful image of God being with us,
wiping away every tear from our eyes. "Death will be
no more; death and crying and pain will be no more,
for the first things have passed away."

Our Gospel today is one of the most poignant accounts
in Scripture. Our Lord Jesus has been called to the
home of his dear friend Lazarus, who is seriously ill.
Jesus is delayed in arriving; Lazarus died before he
can get there.

It is Mary, the one who had sat attentively at Jesus
feet while her sister Martha busied herself with much
serving, that comes to Jesus, and says with sadness
and anger in her voice, "Lord, if you had been here,
my brother would not have died." Mary was weeping, as
were all those around her. Jesus is deeply moved, to
tears.

Then comes a sign of Jesus' power, his power over
death and the grave. Jesus asked that the stone be
taken away from the entrance of the tomb. Martha, the
practical one, resisted. She knows of death, of decay,
of decomposition. But Jesus says, "Did I not tell you
that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?"

Jesus offers a silent prayer to God, a prayer that
those gathered might believe. Then he says the
powerful words, "Lazarus, come out." What happens
next defies common sense, defies logic. Yet John
records that it happened.

Lazarus, the dead man, comes forth from the tomb, he
stands outside as a sign, a sentinel. He stands there,
burial cloths flapping in the breezes, the crowd
gasping in astonishment. He stands as a sign of
victory of life over death.

Christ Jesus has called the dead man Lazarus forth,
and he lives. Christ Jesus lay in the tomb three days
after his crucifixion, and he rose to new life. And
Christ will call us forth from our graves to new life,
to be resurrected with him to life everlasting.

A few verses before our Gospel accounts opens, Jesus
said to Martha, "I am the resurrection and the life,
those who believe in me, though they die, yet shall
they live, and whoever lives and believes in me shall
never die." In faith, hope, and trust, we say these
words, a part of our funeral liturgy, as we gather at
the grave sides of our loved ones.

Today is All Saints' Sunday. As has been the custom of
our parish for many years, we have invited to this
service all those who have been bereaved in the past
year. In a few moments, we will read the names of
those who have been called to their heavenly home this
last year, tolling the bell as we do so.

We name our loved ones in joy and happiness,
remembering the joy and love they shared with us in
this life. We also recall them in sadness and sorrow,
for we know also that we miss them dearly.

Today, we thank God for the joyful memories we have.
We thank God for the never-failing love that sustained
our dear ones throughout their earthly journey. And
most importantly, we thank God for the precious gift
of Jesus Christ, our Lord and Saviour. For God so
loved the world that he gave the only begotten son,
that whosoever believes in him should not perish, but
have everlasting life.

Let us pray:

God, the generations rise and pass away before you.
You are the strength of those who labour. You are the
rest of the blessed dead. We rejoice in the company of
your saints. We remember all who have lived in faith,
all who have peacefully died, and especially those
most dear to us who rest in you. . . Give us in time
our portion with those who have trusted in you and
striven to do your holy will. To your name, with the
church on earth and the Church in heaven, we ascribe
all honour and glory, now and forever. Amen. [Prayer
from "Occasional Services," copyright 1962, with
permission]

James R. Garey
Trinity Lutheran Church
London, Ontario, Canada



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James R. Garey of London, Ontario, Canada
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