Grace to you and peace from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.
I can’t speak of other Christian denominations, but Lutheran
funerals seem to consist of three parts. The first part is the funeral service
that takes place in the sanctuary or the funeral home chapel as the bereaved
gather for reading of Scripture, preaching, hymns and prayers all the while
thanking God for the gift of the loved one who has fallen asleep in Christ. It’s
a proclamation of Christ Jesus, pointing the bereaved to the Lord of Life, Who
alone is able to make sense of death and loss. The hymns, the Scriptures, the
sermon all pointed to Christ’s own death and resurrection as the answer to
death’s question, the confident hope against death’s confusion, the victory
against what seems to be only loss. The pastor, hopefully, led you from
Christ’s cross to His grave and spoke of both as being empty. Christ the victor
over sin, death and the grave; Christ, the firstborn from the dead. And, your
loved one, having been baptized into Christ, the dear Christian has already
died and have been raised with Christ. This is what is confessed every week in
the Creeds: we believe in the resurrection of the body and the life
everlasting.
After the benediction is spoken, the casket and remains are
escorted to the hearse and transported to the cemetery for the second part, the
burial, where the body, created by God, redeemed by Christ, sanctified by the
Holy Spirit, is laid to rest until the resurrection of all flesh. This commendation
of the body, the burial, puts into practice what was preached. The one who
died, Christ died for him; the one who is buried, she is buried with Christ. We
lay the body to rest – temporary rest – for that body, a fallen and sinful
human being redeemed in the blood of Jesus, will also be raised in Christ. And, in the resurrection of all flesh, that
body will be raised whole and holy. The baptismal blessing will be consummated:
Sin will have been buried with the body but not raised. The new Adam and the
new Eve will be restored to new life with Christ into eternity. Christ, the
first-fruits – yes! But those who die in faith will likewise be raised. Christ
is risen! He is risen indeed! We are risen! We are risen indeed, Alleluia!
Do you ever wonder what is the resurrection going to look
like? Too often, we hear descriptions like this: “I bet Grandpa is fishing,
catching the biggest catfish he’s ever seen.” “You just know Grannie is
whipping up a pie for St. Peter this afternoon.” “He’s one under par on every hole.” “She’s
floating in the clouds with the angels.” Respectfully, none of those are
Biblical. At best they are sappy and sentimental; at worst, they are a complete
misunderstanding and total displacement of what the joy of eternity with Christ
is.
When you want, when you need a glimpse of what the resurrection
will be like, look to Isaiah. He gives us a heavenly picture, a Godly promise
of what the feast of victory will look like.
God’s people of old needed a glimpse, a picture, a shadow of
God’s mercy to cling to in their world of death and chaos. The chapter previous,
Chapter 24, is strong and it is stern as God describes the consequences that He
will deliver upon Israel for their unfaithfulness. It’s as dire and dark of any
Word of the Lord. It begins, “Behold, the Lord will empty the earth and make it
desolate, and He will twist its surface and scatter its inhabitants,” (v1).
Layer upon layer, the words and sentences build, describing curse upon curse as
the Lord makes clear of His wrath at the people’s sins. “A curse devours the
earth, and its inhabitants suffer for their guilt…the wine mourns, the vine
languishes, all the merry-hearted sigh,” (v. 6a, 7). If that’s all Isaiah said,
it would be a terrible situation for people trapped in their a hopeless,
hapless situation of their own doing. How could – how would! – their God save
them from the doings of their own damning fault?
In the midst of death and decay, God’s people need that
picture, that shadow, that glimpse of God’s graciousness and His mercy. Those
destroyed cities and conquered nations? God will use them as a foundation for
what is to come. “On this mountain, the Lord of hosts will” act (v. 6). In
glowing, brilliant contrast to the darkness of the previous verses, God speaks
of what is to come for His beloved. The remnant will celebrate with feasting,
food, wine, and rejoicing. He will not abandon but will rescue and save a
remnant of the faithful. God’s promises, made to previous generations, to
Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, and David, will endure. It’s the description of a victory
celebration. All of God’s enemies, and all the enemies of God’s people –
including death – will be destroyed.
The act of rescue will not happen on a mountain, but a
short, stubby hillside called Golgatha outside the city of David. No food will
be offered to the dying Man, and Jesus will be given only sour wine vinegar to
drink. The Son cries against the reproach of His Father: My God, My God, why
have you forsaken me? Tears will flow as His friends and even His own mother
hears His final words. Death seems to
swallow Jesus as He breathes His last.
But death cannot stomach the power of Jesus. In His resurrection,
as the great fish spat up Jonah, death and the grave gives up a living, breathing
Jesus from the tomb. Jesus swallows up death! It’s no small thing that on
Easter evening, after His resurrection, Jesus’ appearances are connected with
food. When He appears, resurrected and whole, to the disciples in the locked, upper
room, He asks for food. When He appears to the disciples on the shoreline, He
provides fish. When He appears to the Emmaus disciples, He breaks bread,
blesses wine. Food gives life; Jesus is the bread of life; Jesus gives life. And,
in the resurrection, you will sit at a mountain-top table with He who is the
Lord of Life. Death destroyed, tears dried, reproach replaced with holiness and
peace. Ah, this is the feast of victory for our God, Alleluia!
Christ’s resurrection stands as a promise of the resurrection
of the faithful, a reunion festival and feast the likes of which we can only
begin to imagine. You look forward to this feast. To sit at table with Jesus,
and Isaiah, and all the faithful who have gone before you. If you want to know
what this feast looks like, Christ gives you a foretaste of it, Sunday after
Sunday, to encourage you and sustain your faith. A bite of bread and a sip of
wine doesn’t seem like much of a feast, but to this humble meal Jesus attaches
His blessing: Take and eat; this is my body. Take and drink; this is my blood. And,
with sins forgiven, your eyes of faith look towards that blessed day of
resurrection.
Earlier, I said that there are three parts to the Lutheran
funeral. You, perhaps, have noticed I spoke of the first and second parts, the
funeral and the burial, but not the third. The third part is when the family
and friends return to the church to gather for food and fellowship, to visit, laugh
and cry.
There is something resurrection-worthy in the feast known as
the funeral luncheon. I’ve been to probably forty or fifty post-funeral
luncheons. While they are all somewhat different, they are all somewhat the
same: the ladies of the church gather in the kitchen over what’s been brought
and they will all wonder if there will be enough. They put out plates of ham
and friend chicken, several casseroles, a meatloaf, maybe a brisket, sausage,
potatoes – mashed or scalloped, potato and macaroni salad, trays of sandwiches,
several different vegetables, and bread, all spread out over three or four folding
tables. Desserts will occupy their own table. It smells like a Luby’s cafeteria,
with the scent of coffee joining in the background. The ladies give directions,
the pastor prays the meal blessing, and plates get loaded and chairs squeak
while the conversations begin. There will be comments about how good this is,
needing to get the recipe for that, wondering who made what was in the blue
bowl, and a warning that the cobbler was almost gone, better get it now.
You, too, have been to many of these meals. You have brought
food, you have visited, you have consoled, you have set up and taken down
tables and chairs, you have promised to call. It’s what the Body of Christ does
– it gathers together to support one another when one is weak, to console one
another when one grieves, to encourage one another when hope is needed, to love
one another when it seems all is lost.
And, for many of us, we have also been the family whose
loved one was laid to rest and who is being honored and remembered at the meal
prepared for us and our family. We have been the guests of honor, so to speak,
not serving but being served. In the midst of loss and sadness and pain, there
is something comforting in that hour or two, gathering with friends and family
around food. Even if it’s only for a short time, the sadness is dulled, the
hurt isn’t quite so strong, the pain is lessened, and there is an inkling of
joy. This is the body of Christ in action, as other Christians bear your grief
with you, walking along side you, sitting next to you, speaking a word of Christ-centered
hope with a smile and, yes, with a tear.
But, gradually, one by one, and couple by couple, the crowd
slowly breaks up to go home. The feast is winding down. There are handshakes
and hugs with the bereaved, comments about how we need to get together for celebrations,
not just funerals, and promises to call soon. The leftovers are packaged,
divvied up, and sent home. With a final wiping of the counter, the ladies give
thanks to God for a modern version of feeding five thousand with a few loaves and
a few fish. As lights go off and the doors close, the air conditioning spools
down, a chair creaks with relief, and the building again waits in near silence.
The building might be silent, the meal may have ended, we may
have gone back to our separate homes, but the song of the church goes on, in
faith and in the sure and certain hope that we shall soon see Isaiah’s feast of
victory that knows no end. “For the Lamb who was slain has begun His reign,
alleluia.”
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