Our Inheritance Among the Saints

Scripture Lessons: Daniel 7: 1-3, 15-18 and Ephesians 1: 11-23 Sermon title: Our Inheritance Among the Saints Preached on 11/6/22 I’ve heard it said that there is no sweeter sound to any person than the sound of her own name. We love to be recognized and called by name. Elaine Brennan, Doug Carter, Carol Davis, Ralph Farrar. What does it mean to you to hear those names today? We call today All Saint’s Sunday. I will read from the list of names in your bulletin. We call by name the 19 members of our church who died since last year’s All Saints Sunday, and when I say: Jeri Field, Claude Gilstrap, Tim Hammond, what do you feel? Michael Hill, Lon Jenkins, Margaret Lawless, Jim Lyle. When I say these names what do you think of? Loss? Love? Grief? Surely, but also hope. For today, as we remember the friends, brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers, husbands, and wives we’ve lost, we go so far as to call them “saints,” believing that while their earthly life is over, they have not disappeared. They are not lost, nor are they gone. Instead, they remain. They remain in our hearts even while they dwell in the house of the Lord, and in the house of the Lord, there we will meet them when our time comes. This morning, among the others, when I say Hayden McLean, Mark McNabb, Andrew Peterson, Ted Ramsey, Wanda Reese, you’ll hear the bell toll. A member of the family will be invited forward to collect a white rose. When that happens, I ask you to think, not just about what has ended, but what has begun, what will last forever, and what has yet to come because, my friends, we gather today, not just to say their names or to grieve the loss, but to remember them for the gift of God that they were and to remember again what we have always known: that by rising from the grave, Christ opened the way to eternal life, and having been baptized in His name, Bill Rohner, Joan Ward, Woody Wollesen, will be united with Him in His resurrection. Here in this place, where they worshiped beside us, we remember that today. Here, in the church, where many of them were baptized or married, we remember. Here was the funeral and here we remember that death has lost its sting. This church is one of the places we come and feel close to them again, like my grandmother’s closet. My grandmother, Peggy Bivens, died 10 years ago. After her funeral, I walked into her closet. It felt like part of her was still in there, and it makes sense that a part of her would still be there in her closest as her clothes were important to her. Growing up, I’d unload her luggage from the trunk when she came to visit. She packed three or four bags whether she was staying for a week or just the afternoon. If we left the house, she’d change, so I’d be walking with her in the mall or a restaurant. She’d be wearing animal print with a giant golden belt-buckle shaped like an elephant, and people would stop her just to compliment her outfit. Very rarely did she dress down. Once, I saw her in a sweatsuit, and I remember her apologizing for it. One Christmas Eve, late at night, I saw her in her bathrobe without her makeup: It was the only time I ever saw her before she had drawn on her eyebrows. That was a surprise. Yet, more than that, much more than that, I carry with me today, not only these memories, but a million memories. The memories accumulate in making me who I am, for all her life, I was the recipient of her pride. Every nurse she worked with for the 50 years she worked in labor and delivery at Roper Hospital recognized me. They had all been forced to admire my most recent photographs and had to hear all about whatever mediocre achievement of mine she wanted to tell them about. I never felt like I had done anything to deserve her being so proud of me. As a matter a fact, I know I hadn’t done anything to deserve her being so proud of me, so her pride often embarrassed me because I couldn’t understand what it was about me that she thought was worth bragging about. She would be there to watch my baseball games, even though I rarely played. She would make the six-hour trip just to watch my middle school band performances, even though I was fourth chair trombone. I remember new student orientation at Presbyterian College. All the new students were there with one or two parents. I, on the other hand, was there with both my parents and two grandparents. I couldn’t understand it then. I was embarrassed, but today such pride as hers provides me a framework to understand God’s grace. In our second Scripture lesson, the Apostle Paul refers to the inheritance. This is an inheritance not unlike other inheritances given and not earned, and the One who gave it, He gave it not because we did anything or we could have done anything, yet in Christ, we have riches, a glorious inheritance among the saints. It is not deserved but comes to us by grace and the love of Christ, who said to the crucified man next to Him, “Today you’ll be with me in paradise.” For generations, people have been mulling over this statement. How could a thief who deserved to be punished go right to Heaven along with Jesus? That’s the wrong question. The better one is this: How could I, a sinner, be so loved by God that He would lay down His life for me? Have you ever asked yourself that question? I have. That question reminds me of one of the most embarrassing things my grandmother ever did. She took a picture of me in my baseball uniform and had it turned into a baseball card at a photo shop. Then, she had it blown up to poster size. She gave it to me for my birthday. Then, later, when we went to visit, she drove me by the photo shop where she had it made. There I was hanging in the front window. She thought it was wonderful. I said, “But you know, I’m second string.” Not to her. Not to Him. None of us are second string to Him. That’s our inheritance. It’s grace. It’s not earned. It’s like my grandmother’s love. God’s love is like the love of the one whom loved you beyond measure, beyond logic, beyond your understanding. That’s what the love of God is like. In our first Scripture lesson from Daniel, we heard it the way we too often think of it. We think of death as this great judgement, so Daniel woke up from his dream terrified. That’s not how Paul tells it. That’s not how I believe it will be. I say death is more like this: A young boy fell asleep on the way to his grandmother’s house in the backseat of his parents’ car. When they reached their destination, his dad, who was driving, gently pulled into the driveway, cut the engine as his grandmother came out to greet them. Not wanting to wake the boy, his father lifted him out of the backseat and carried him into the house. He laid the boy down in the bed his grandmother had prepared, and the next morning, having fallen asleep in one place, he woke up in another. This is our inheritance. This is their inheritance. Halleluiah. Amen.