All Saints
I hope you had a good Halloween… We didn’t get as many trick-or-treaters on our street as we used to, but those who did show up wore wonderful costumes, and we enjoyed greeting our neighbors and handing out treats to them.
I know some churches are against celebrating Halloween. Yet, when the church started observing All Saints’ Day, the church also started observing Halloween - or All Hallows Eve - the night before, as a time to acknowledge death that is part of life.
It was a holiday begun by the church, a day when we acknowledge death as real; and then, at midnight, when Halloween becomes All Saints Day, we then acknowledge that the lives of God’s people continue even beyond death.
Our scripture this morning makes several mentions of the saints, by which it means all the people of God. The scripture also makes several mentions of the inheritance that is ours through Christ. Specifically, it talks about the riches of God's glorious inheritance among the saints.
We have received an inheritance from God, through Christ. We have received an inheritance that has been passed down to us from the generations of saints and ancestors who have gone before.
All this, we acknowledge on All Saints Day (or, in our case, All Saints Sunday).
We acknowledge that death is real. This is important, because we live in a society that tends to ignore death, to deny that death exists. But ignoring death only makes it harder for us to find healing in grief.
Rip Currents
At the past couple of funerals I’ve led, I’ve told a story about how, when I was a kid, I learned about the rip currents on our local beaches. Every kid or adult who swims in the ocean should know about rip currents.
A rip current - sometimes called a rip tide - is when the ocean’s waves create a current that pulls you out to sea. Before you know it, you’re in deep water, and your feet can’t touch the ground.
I don’t know about you, but for me, that’s what grief feels like. It feels like you’re being swept away by a current, and your feet can’t touch the ground; there’s no solid ground beneath you.
As you get pulled out to sea, your instinct is to swim as hard as you can back toward the shore; but you’re swimming against the current. You won’t make it; the current is too strong. You’ll just wear yourself out.
That’s what it’s like when you try to fight against your grief, or ignore your grief.
What you need to do when you’re caught in a rip current is to let it carry you. Just go with it.
Then, swim parallel to the shore, not toward the shore. This way, you’re working with the current, not against it.
Eventually you’ll get free of the riptide, and then you can swim to shore. In fact, the current will help carry you there.
That’s how you work through grief. You can’t fight it. You can’t try to swim against it. You’ll only wear yourself out.
You need to go with it - let it carry you - until you can swim parallel to the shore, and then, eventually, find your way back to solid ground. Eventually, your feet will touch solid ground again - but not until you’ve floated along with grief for a while.
When my parents died, it was family, friends, and the church that helped me carry my grief. They were like the current that carried me, until I was able to reach solid ground and stand on my own.
Grow Around Your Grief
That grief is still there, still with me, just as the grief you experienced when you lost a parent, or a spouse, or a child, or a relative, or a friend, is still there. Grief never goes away.
Some people expect grief to go away or get smaller over time. I saw an image of a jar with a ball inside. The ball is grief, and the jar is us. And the ball filled the jar; it barely fit in the jar. The ball filled the jar the way grief fills us. It fills us, and there’s no room for anything else.
Most people expect that, over time, the ball will get smaller; and as it gets smaller, it makes room for other things in life. Happiness. Joy. Laughter.
But that’s not true. The ball stays the same. The grief remains. It doesn’t get smaller over time.
But what does change over time is that the jar gets bigger. The grief doesn’t shrink, but we grow around our grief. We find that we become stronger and more capable of carrying that grief.
Transform or Transmit
I’ve started reading a book about the Advent scriptures. It’s actually the second Advent book I’ve read this fall. (Hey, Advent is only three weeks away!)
This current book is by Kelly Nikondeha, and it begins by talking about the years leading up to the time of Jesus. That was a time of grief and mourning, as the Jewish people suffered tremendously under oppression from various rulers and empires.
Kelly Nikondeha writes that it’s important to acknowledge the tremendous grief that was present in that time. She writes that “grief work is the seedbed for Advent hope.” Advent begins with grief.
As I’ve already said, we don’t want to talk about grief or death or dying. Why can’t we just jump in to the birth stories and the shepherds and the angels and the star? And “Joy to the World?” Why should we start Advent, or the weeks leading up to advent, acknowledging grief and sorrow?
Because, she writes, “only the pain we name is available for transformation.”
That statement reminds me of another quote, this one by Richard Rohr:
“If we do not transform our pain, we will most assuredly transmit it.”
We don’t have very many opportunities to acknowledge our grief, or to talk about those we miss, and what they meant to us. The world doesn’t want to hear it, we think. The world wants us to move on. The world wants us to be happy.
Healing Grief
But taking time to acknowledge our grief is healthy. It brings healing. Grief has tremendous healing power, if we allow it to work through us, and if we don’t fight against it. We need opportunities to name our grief, and let that healing transformation begin.
What is it that you miss about those who have died?
I miss the way my dad often told me how proud he was of me. And I wonder how he learned to do that. We’re not very expressive in my family. I don’t feel I tell my own sons enough how proud I am of them, or how much I love them. Yet I know how much it meant to me to hear it. I miss hearing it; and one of the ways my dad still inspires me is by encouraging me to do better at telling those I love that I love them, and telling my sons, especially, how very proud I am of them.
What do you miss? Not what do you miss most, but what do you miss now, right now, about someone you loved? Turn to a neighbor, and tell them. Right now, turn to someone near you and tell them one thing you miss about someone who has died. Online? Turn and tell someone. No one there with you? Write it in the comments.
I’ll give you two minutes…
