One of the questions I get asked by people is, “What is life like after death?” And the answer is, “I don’t really know.” The Bible doesn’t say a whole lot about it, and most of what it does say is strangely metaphorical.
A lot of people think that Jesus’ teachings about the kingdom of God refer to life after death, and the fact that Jesus sometimes refers to it as the kingdom of heaven further confuses them regarding this; but actually, when Jesus talks about the kingdom of God or the kingdom of heaven, he’s talking about the life that is possible now. And when scripture talks about eternal life, a more accurate translation would be “life of the ages,” which is available starting right now. And when the New Testament speaks of “salvation,” it’s talking about finding healing and wholeness; being saved from a life of meaninglessness, being saved from a life without purpose, being saved from a life without God. “To be saved,” in ancient Greek, means to be healed, to be made whole.
Nevertheless, I was thinking about death the other day. Actually, as one who has officiated at many funerals over the years, thoughts and ponderings on death do dwell within me from time to time. And one thing I think I know about death is that in that life to come, “I” will be a lot less important. That is to say that the self, the individual, will give way to the community, that the collective life will rise above the individual life, that all people will truly live as one, for all eternity.
In fact, to be honest, I’m not sure that there will even be much of the individual left, at least not in terms of desires or emotions. On the one hand, that’s kind of a scary thought – especially for an introvert like me who often finds comfort hiding away within himself. But I think the main reason it’s scary is primarily because I have lived my whole life in the most individualized society the world has ever seen. It is this highly individualistic culture which has shaped who I am. In our society, the greatest evidence of parental success is seeing our children leave home when they become adults. That’s how we know we’ve succeeded as parents: our children leave home and go out on their own.
Not every culture is like that. In fact, in most cultures, many generations live together. But for us, for our culture, it is important for one to strike out on one’s own, and not rely on anyone else.
Furthermore, in our society, an individual’s right to do something is often more important than one’s obligation to the greater good. We may not come right out and admit it, but our actions often demonstrate that this is true. And our current economic and environmental problems can be traced to this need to place “me first.” We live in a society that says “my comfort and prosperity is more important than the greater good. I’ll help society, I’ll serve the community, but only to the extent that it doesn’t interfere with my own prosperity, my own right to live the way I want to live.”
In no other society, past or present, is the balance skewed so far toward individual rights and away from social obligation than it is in 21st century America.
On the other hand, I do know that when I release that tight grasp I have on my individual self, when I come out of my shell, my cocoon, and allow myself to become one with others on some level… it feels good. It feels good to be in community with others. It feels good to live for others. It feels good to recognize the common bond of humanity.
It is quite apparent to me that God created us to live in community, and I believe that all our efforts to create true community lead us to life in God’s kingdom. God gave each of us different gifts and abilities. We know that, right? We see it every day. God did this so that we would learn to work together – as one body. There are needs that I have that you can meet, and there are needs that you have that I can meet. Individually, we can never meet all of those needs, but together, we can.
I once heard heaven and hell defined this way: in hell, everyone is seated at a large banquet table containing an abundance of the finest food; however, no one can bend their elbows to feed themselves, and so everyone can only look at, but not eat, the feast. In heaven, there is also a large banquet table at which everyone is seated, and again, no one is able to bend their elbows to feed themselves. But that’s okay, because in heaven, everyone has learned to use their outstretched arms to feed the person next to them.
Last week, I received the newsletter of the South Coast Interfaith Council, in which executive director Milia Islam-Majeed wrote an outstanding article. She wrote that “for unity to truly exist, we must embody something vital within ourselves and practice it with those around us – and that thing is – compassion.”
She went on to say that “the principle of compassion … calls us always to treat all others as we with to be treated ourselves. It not only impels us to work tirelessly to alleviate the suffering of our fellow human beings, but it also asks of us to dethrone ourselves from the center of our world and put another in our place.”
Milia Islam-Majeed continued her article by writing that “in the philosophical study of this powerful emotion, it is believed by many that compassion arises from our intuitive perception that there is a metaphysical reality – and in that ultimate reality – we are all one. This feeling of compassion is an automatic, unconscious impulse that springs from that ultimate reality of all living things. Compassion penetrates the apparent distinction between oneself and others and enables us to perceive the true interdependence and interconnected nature of the world.”
Compassion is at the core of all religions. Last spring, at Chapman University, Marcus Borg said that God’s passion is compassion. And both Jewish and Christian scholars believe that compassion is at the heart of the writings of the prophets. Compassion connects us to God and to one another. A lack of compassion keeps us separated from God and from one another.
Through compassion, we actually get to feel a bit of what another person is feeling. The distinction between “self” and “other” breaks down. In the ancient languages, the word for compassion refers to the bond between a mother and the child of her womb. the connection there is strong, and for a newborn child, there is in fact no distinction between child and mother. There is no recognition of a distinction between the two, no concept of individual identity. Only as the child develops and matures does he or she recognize that child and mother are two distinct and separate beings.
Perhaps that strong bond to another person is one of the things Jesus had in mind when he instructed his followers to have faith like a child. Perhaps he was thinking of the bonds we are to establish between one another and God.
It’s easy to see how God nurtures compassion in us. I’ve already mentioned how God gives us different gifts and abilities, so that we might learn to help one another. Also, the teachings of God stress time and time again that we are to have compassion, to love the neighbor, to stand with the poor, to protect the foreigner, and to treat others as we would have them treat us.
It is indeed as if God planted a garden of compassion, a vineyard. That’s the analogy Isaiah uses. God planted the vineyard, took care of it, but it did not produce the compassion God expected. It did not produce the justice God expected. And in the end, it says, God heard a cry; the cry of the oppressed; the cry of the forgotten; the cry of those who lack healing, wholeness, and salvation.
Because compassion is God’s passion, God’s ears are always open to the cry of those in need or sorrow.
When Moses encountered God at the burning bush, God said to Moses, “I have seen the misery of my people, and I have heard their cry. The cry of the people of Israel has reached me, so I am sending you to lead them out of Egypt.” In fact, in that brief little episode, it says three times that God heard the cry of the people. And upon hearing that cry, God had compassion.
The cry God heard in Isaiah’s time is the same cry. It is the cry of the oppressed. The cry of those who are poor. The cry of those who mourn. The cry of those who cannot find the healing and wholeness they need.
The people in Isaiah’s time did not hear that cry. It was there, but they did not hear it. Isaiah explains further on in chapter five that, instead of hearing the cry of the poor, the people buy up property so that the poor have no place to live. Instead of hearing the cry of the homeless, they build magnificent homes for themselves on great estates. They party all night, drinking and dancing, and while there is nothing wrong with a little celebrating, they get so drunk and make so much noise with their harps, lyres, tambourines and flutes that they never hear the cry.
God calls us to hear the cry, and to respond with compassion.
And so we listen for the cry, and we respond with compassion. We know that God hears the cry of the poor and the homeless, and we hear that cry too, so we participate in ministries that serve them, through Centro Shalom, Christian Outreach in Action, and other organizations, as well as providing sack lunches for the hungry who come to our doorstep.
We know that God hears the cry of the people of Pakistan, who – after years of suffering – are now dealing with a flood catastrophe that has affected 14 million people, more than the tsunami in the Indian Ocean and the earthquake in Haiti put together. God hears that cry, and we hear that cry too, so we support the work of Week of Compassion and Church World Service through several special offerings during the year, as well as offer up our prayers on behalf of the work they do.
We know that God hears the cry of aid workers murdered in Afghanistan, soldiers of all nationalities killed on the battlefield, and young men and women killed on the streets of southern California. God hears that cry, and we hear that cry, too, so we dedicate ourselves to being peacemakers, living up to the commitment this congregation made in 1984 when we became a shalom congregation, dedicating ourselves to studying and making peace.
We know that God hears the cry of three of our VBS kids, Corey, Bryce, and Cylas, whose father, Carlos, is dying of cancer.
We know that God hears the cry of those among us who are widowed, and all those who mourn the loss of a loved one.
We know that God hears the cry of those who have been abused by those they thought they could trust.
We know that God hears the cry of our youth, searching for meaning, for wholeness, for salvation, in our confusing world.
Our hearing is not perfect, but we, too, hear the cry. Living in the kingdom of God, we hear the cry, and we respond with compassion. We respond with calls for justice. We continue the work of building God’s kingdom on earth, so that one day, the cry will be replaced with laughter.
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