Revelation 21:1-4; John 14:23-27; November 3, 2024; All Saints’ Sunday
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“Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth; for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more.” — Revelation 21:1
Today, my friends, we celebrate and remember our saints.
Our loved ones who have passed, who now stand on another shore. In a new heaven and upon a new earth. In a new world and reality, where we have hope that there is no longer any sea; no more a great horizon separating the land of the living from the sands of the dead, but a place where all stand and live as one, eternally, on the same beach.
And so, in that hope, in that trust and faith, we remember today those who stand on that shore, who live and wait, not alone, but with the rest of the saints triumphant. In holy community, in eternal company. Dressed in white, in the adornment of angels, for their former shells and things have passed away.
We remember then and celebrate today those amongst our own number here at Grace who died in this past year. Whose names are familiar to us. Who were friends and family so loved by us. We remember in particular:
Don Alderfer — (bell tolls)
Mimi Craig — (bell tolls)
Linda Herwig — (bell tolls)
Wayne Thompson, Jr. — (bell tolls)
Fran Webb — (bell tolls)
We celebrate and remember their lives. The touch of their embrace. The memories they leave with us. But, we also acknowledge that they are now across the sea. Where there is no longer any mourning nor crying, neither anxiety nor pain, for God has wiped away every fear, and tear, from their eyes.
And so, in that same hopeful breath, we also remember and celebrate today all of our loved ones who are no longer here. Our dear friends and family, our pets even who we knew as family; all of God’s creatures, big and small. We read their names too on the insert before us, just as we remember the names printed elsewhere on our hearts. And in the silence of this moment, we give thanks to God for the lives they lived, and the reality they now experience in the splendor of Heaven.
Let us remember them in silence.
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“Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth; for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more.” — Revelation 21:1
Some faithful readers, throughout time, have listened to this text and have come away believing that the “sea” was literally the Mediterranean. That when John was writing this letter from that little island of Patmos, while in exile, he was simply looking out upon the water, and envisioning a future, in a moment of apocalypse, when the sea would be gone.
Others have come to believe that the “sea” was more figurative, and that what John was saying, as he wrote from that island separated from the mainland, was that he sees a world coming where there is no longer a barrier that divides us. A day when all divisions will be destroyed, when all distortions will be wiped out; when we will be one, restored and together, in unity and in harmony. A revelation to behold!
Truth be told, I’ve always liked this latter interpretation more. Not just because it preaches better, but because it speaks to the totality of the gospel message which sings of hope and praises inclusivity.
Such that even when all the signs around us point towards doom and gloom — to a nation and a world that is finding itself in increasing disarray — that we might trust in a hope that one day there will indeed be symmetry. A day, upon a new land, when there will no longer be any sea, this great gulf between us.
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Very recently, I was asked directly, “Aren’t you going to speak about the election?” “After all, you don’t shy away from other challenging topics.” “And, why are you posting so many photos of Winterthur on Facebook when you could be better using your time encouraging people to vote?”
Well, first of all, Winterthur is like Heaven on Earth, and a new one to me at that. So, I’m going to keep posting (though I’m out of photos for now).
Second of all, most of you, likely, already know my thoughts on the candidates, as well as my affiliations. But that’s better left outside of the pulpit, in a different setting and conversation, I think.
Third of all, and most importantly, I have been speaking about the election. Every. Single. Week.
For I have vocally named my support for electing the gospel, our Gospel, also known as the Good News, which spreads hope and not terror. Which condemns evil and the voices of the wicked in their violent rhetoric. The gospel, which spreads truth, defends truth, and believes in the truth that all of us are created equal in the likeness of God, no matter our gender, race, or island nation from which we come.
And more, that this gospel teaches us that behaving with decency, humility, and civility will always be better and Godlier than stoking the flames of chaos and cruelty.
And, that the Spirit always blows forward rather than going backward.
Jesus says in John today, “those who love me will keep my words, and that whoever does not, will not.” And “keep” here doesn’t mean just for yourself to keep. But it means an outward obedience, a visible adherence, in practice and sharing. Such that, those people who practice and share Jesus’ words, in thought and deed, are those who love him. And those who will not, do not.
To me, it doesn’t get any clearer or more direct than this. Words, right out of Jesus’ mouth.
More, he tells us today, “do not let your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid.” And while I am in some way personally afraid, I must also try to limit the amount of trouble it can cause me. That it can cause my family. That it could cause all of you, especially if I abandoned hope. And so, I think, that preaching honestly while looking for good news, in surprising places — left and right, up and down – is at least for today, the correct course of action.
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A little less than a month ago, on one of my bike rides along the New Hope tow path, adjacent to the rocky shores of the Delaware River, I found something. Something improbable. Something wonderful. Something that moved me and gave me incredible hope.
And this is all true. I had gone on for about 45-minutes by that time and was looking for a landmark where I could turn my bike around. For as we all know, we can’t just stop in the middle of a journey somewhere, no, it has to be at some end, at some conclusion, at some sign or destination.
So up ahead I noticed a telephone pole and thought “well, that will do.” And as soon as I got there, the phone in my pocket began vibrating. When I stopped my bike, to look down and answer it, the caller ID said “unknown” and then the call dropped. But that’s not what caught my attention. It was what I saw in the background, beyond my cell, there on the ground, next to the telephone pole. Where I noticed a shell amongst the pebbles. A colorful shell, artfully painted, with the inscription “Shells for Stacey.” This exact shell, in fact, that I hold in my hand right now.
Intrigued, I went to pick it up and examine it. I turned it over, and on the inside was a message saying, “You found me, keep or re-hide.” And next to that was a sticker saying, “please post a picture on the Shells for Stacey group on Facebook or Instagram.”
Without knowing what sort of rabbit hole I would fall into, I cautiously went to Instagram and began to read the short biography under the profile picture, which featured a woman, on a swim noodle, in a pool. The bio read, “Shells for Stacey was started to honor our sweet Stacey who gained her wings on 1/1/24. We hope to spread happiness, love, and kindness in her memory.”
Happiness, love, and kindness: the Gospel.
Immediately I felt my pulse quicken and a tug on my heart.
I went to the Facebook page and read further that Stacey was only in her 40’s when she died. That she was born with Down’s and competed in the Special Olympics. And that she spent 20 years working at the local Home Depot as a greeter, beloved by returning costumers who only knew her kind smile and wave as she welcomed them in.
She also, apparently, loved the ocean. The sea. The shore.
And so, in a way to honor Stacey’s memory, to process and deal with their grief, her family decided to find shells on the beach, to paint them, and hide them. Along trails, parks, and roads. Hoping that whoever might find them, might read Stacey’s story, and be filled with a moment of beauty, kindness, and joy. Not to be kept solely for themselves. But to be shared and spread outwardly to others. By re-hiding her shells again so that they might be found again. And shared again. Again, and again. …Isn’t that beautiful?
On their Facebook page, you can see pictures and read testimonies from all over the country where shells are being found and rehidden and shared. From New Jersey to Pennsylvania, from Maryland, to Georgia. Where Stacey’s name is being remembered across the state lines that separate us, and across the political, economic, and social seas that divide us.
Her memory has become a bridge. Not only from the dead to the living, but from stranger to stranger: the Gospel.
I added my own picture to the feed and wrote: “I found this beautiful shell… in one of those moments of life where an invisible force makes a connection for you. I read the back of the shell, and then the story, and I was so moved to the point of immovability. That great irony when something takes your breath away and yet gives you new air to breathe. May we all find moments of pause, to notice and remember the shells of those we’ve loved and lost still appearing in our lives.”
I wrote that, my friends, because I believe that. Because I hope in that.
So that together, on days like this All Saints’ Sunday, we might not just remember the dead. But also celebrate them by reconnecting with each other. By telling our stories. By sharing the light of our loved ones…
…as well as that of our Savior, who also died, and yet who lives. Whose Gospel elects an unfailing love, and an unwavering hope, that not even the seas of terror, nor the tides of violence, nor the erosion of death could conquer.
Thanks be to God.
The eternal victor.
Amen.
