25 Pentecost

November 14, 2010

Isaiah 65.17-25


+ Today is the two month anniversary of my father’s death. In that time, I have been trying, as we all do when we are dealing with pain and hurt, to find some source of consolation. And I have actually found one. No, it’s NOT cocktails. Trust me. Rather, it is the poems of an Israeli poet by the name of Yahuda Amichai.

I have been reading Amichai’s poetry almost obsessively in these last few weeks and have truly been consoled in them.

What I have found particularly true in Amichai’s poetry is that he truly is a poet of the Resurrection. Now, by that I don’t necessarily mean “Resurrection” in the same way we might understand that term. Amichai was Jewish and had a very Jewish understanding of the Resurrection in his poems.

But again and again in poems, I have read a very subtle sense of hope in the Resurrection. His poems are filled with images of cemeteries and scriptural references and a few point-blank references to the Resurrection. One of the most powerful images he used was in a poem he wrote titled “A Letter of Recommendation.” The poem ends this way:
I remember my father waking me upfor early prayers. He did it caressingmy forehead, not tearing the blanket away.
Since then I love him even more.And because of thislet him be woken up gently and with loveon the Day of Resurrection.
I love that poem and have been reading and it re-reading again these past several weeks.

It seems somewhat strange to be talking about the resurrection now on this second to the last Sunday before Advent begins. Or is it? We can say that is perfectly appropriate to be talking of the resurrection so soon after All Saints Sunday. And, as Christians, it’s always good to be talking of the Resurrection.

And no doubt poor Yahuda Amichai would find it strange that, ten years after his death, a Christian priest (and poet) would be holding him up as one of the best poets of the Resurrection.

But, to some extent, all these paradoxical things only show us, even more acutely, what the resurrection may be like.

In our reading from the Hebrew Scriptures this morning, we find a glimpse of what that paradoxical resurrected life must be like. God, peaking to the Prophet Isaiah, shows us a beautiful glimpse of what awaits us. God says,

“The wolf and the lamb shall feed together, the lion shall eat straw like the ox…”

What we see as enmity and separation here will be destroyed in our resurrected lives. There will be no divisions, no war, no natural enemies. Rather we will be reborn in a new and wonderful life. Or, as God speaks earlier in the reading from Isaiah,

“For I am about to create new heavens and a new earth;
the former things shall not be remembered or come to mind.
But be glad and rejoice forever in what I am creating…”

To some extent, this is what is being promised to us in the resurrected life. This is our glimpse of what we will awaken into when we rise from out deaths. Our whole Christian life is filled with glimpses of this perfected Resurrection life. We see it, first, in Baptism. Baptism is really our first glimpse of what awaits us. It is, in its purest sense, the great equalizer. All of us, no matter who we are or what we do in our lives, are all washed in the same waters at baptism. We are washed in the same way. No one, in the baptismal life, is greater than anyone else. Issues of marriage and parenthood, simply don’t exist in those waters. All that does is our common life with one another and with God in Jesus.

The other glimpse we get is, of course, in the Eucharist. Here we see the Resurrection in the flesh, so to speak. Here we experience an incredibly spiritual event but with very physical elements. We eat the bread. We drink from the cup. We experience the Body and Blood of Jesus and by doing so, we experience each other as well. Again, are equal at the Eucharist. No one is greater than anyone else at this altar. We all eat—because we need to eat to live—and we all drink because we need to drink to live. And this very basic action binds us together. But, what eat and what we drink is the physical Body and Blood of our Resurrected Lord. And by eating and drinking, we also participate in his resurrection. We actually get to get a glimpse of what glorified bodies are.

The Resurrection, for us, is not some apocalyptic, futuristic event. It is something we celebrate now, again and again. We celebrate it every time we renew our baptismal vows and rejoice in thanksgiving at our baptisms. And we live into the Resurrection every time we come to this altar and share the Body and Blood of the Resurrected Jesus together.

As I said last week in my All Saints Sunday homily, I truly believe that what separates us who are alive from those who are gone is a very thin veil. I believe that so intensely. And I also believe that what does bind us to those who have gone is this hope in that glorious Resurrected life that has been presented to us.

There are new heavens and a new earth waiting us. We don’t know what it will be like. We only know they are there, because God has promised them to us.

As we near to Advent—that time of hope and expectation—we find our own hope and expectation arising with us. We are drawing near to a wonderful mystery in our lives. Let us live fully into that mystery and let us be renewed in that hope.