In the name of God ☩ Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
When I was in Israel a few years ago, I saw many memorable archeological and religious sites. But of the things that most stuck in my mind was a modern exhibit at the Israel Museum in Jerusalem. They have a 1/50th scale model of the city of Jerusalem as it stood in the 1st century. At over 20,000 square feet, it provides an incredible way to visualize the ancient city. As our tour guide was using a laser pointer to show us different aspects of the city, he came to a part of the city wall and said “Now, ignore that wall; it wasn’t there during Jesus’ lifetime.” But yet, as we stood there looking at the model, that wall was very clearly there.
Immediately and ever since then, that comment about ignoring the wall has been central to the way that I understand what happens in death. Beyond the wall that we were supposed to ignore was a set of houses, it was a small neighborhood. And the people who once lived there were very much citizens of Jerusalem, just not in the era that we were talking about. Isn’t that what we profess death is like? That one day we will live in the heavenly Jerusalem with God and with all of the faithful departed? But right now, there is a wall that separates us from them. That wall gets in the way of our vision; it makes us forget that we, along with the all faithful souls, are citizens of the Kingdom of Heaven. It has been said that death is a horizon, and a horizon is nothing except the limit of our sight. There will indeed come a day when we will be able to ignore that wall, but for now it does seem to get in the way.
All Souls’ Day is a day on which we remember all of our loved ones who now live on that other side of the wall, and we anticipate that final day on which God dismantles that wall. But in the meantime, we can take solace in knowing that the wall is not permanent. Scientists and philosophers have long noted that time really is a construct, nothing more than illusion that is inescapable from our vantage point. But from God’s perch of eternity, time isn’t quite the absolute that we make it out to be.
This is why in Scripture we have these images like we do in Isaiah. The prophet paints a picture of a banquet in the heavenly Jerusalem – and it’s a splendid feast of rich food filled with marrow and well-matured wines. Isaiah notes that this feast is for all people and takes place on the mountain on which God will swallow up death forever. From our perspective, this feast takes place in the future and so we treat it as we do any other fanciful wish. I wish I’d win the lottery, I wish my favorite team would win the championship, I wish my loved one’s cancer would go into remission. We wish these things, but we have no idea if they will happen or not.
That is not the nature of Christian hope. Hope is not about wishing. Rather, what God invites us into is remembering the future. I know it sounds odd, but we are to remember the future. In the worldview of the Bible, to remember is not an intellectual exercise. When you remember something, it’s not reminiscing or having thoughts. Instead, Biblical remembering is about enactment, about making a past, or future, event to be present.
This understanding of memory and making present is what the Eucharist is all about. In Eucharist, it’s not that we conjure up memories of Christ, it’s that Christ really and truly is present with us – just as he was present with Moses as the Passover, and as he was present at the table with his disciples on the night of his betrayal, and just as he is a the heavenly banquet that takes place at the end of time. And gathered with Christ at the table are all the saints and the faithful departed. Our loved ones who have preceded us in death are feasting on that mountain of well-aged wines and rich food. So when we celebrate the Eucharist, we share a meal with them that transcends space and time, even life and death.
I realize that might sound like nice theology, but maybe it’s a bit too much about wishful thinking. Remember though, we’re stuck on our side of the wall. We can’t see what’s happening on the other side. But the Eucharist though is our window through that wall. St. Paul talks about this in his letter to the Corinthians – he says it is a mystery. Quoting Isaiah, he reminds us that “Death has been swallowed up in victory.” And by saying that, Paul is remembering the future. He’s remembering that through the Death and Resurrection of Jesus, the dividing wall has been broken.
The mysteries of God are not like an Agatha Christie mystery novel – the mysteries of God are not cases to solve. Rather they are hopes to rest in. You can see Paul struggling with this – how will the perishable inherit the imperishable? In a sense, it doesn’t really matter. How is it that God unites the living to the dead through the Eucharist which foreshadows and remembers the great banquet? We don’t know, but we put our whole trust in God’s mercy.
All Souls’ Day is a day of mercy. In the midst of things that we cannot understand, God mercifully gives us the faith that we sometimes cannot ourselves muster to believe and trust in the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, and the resurrection to life everlasting. We know that God is merciful to us when we cry to God out of the depths of our sorrows and grief over the loss of our dearly departed. It is a day of mercy because we acknowledge that in our own deaths, we will depend on the grace of God. It is a day of mercy because we remember that we have commended our loved ones to the love of God. It is a day of mercy because God gives us hope in helping us to remember the future in the Eucharistic feast.
And so after we pray to God in hope, we will gather at this altar, being surrounded by our loved ones. Some of you have brought photos and mementos of your loved ones, and those tokens will help us to not just recall them to mind, but to trust that they are actually joining us in this meal. They may be on the other side of the wall, but they are feasting with us tonight all the same. They are praying for us and with us, they are joining their voices with ours in singing God’s praises, they are continuing in the love that we have for them and the love that God holds us all in. May God grant to our dearly departed peace, to us comfort in a reasonable and holy hope, and mercy to all the faithful. So even if it is only for a few moments this evening, ignore the wall.
