Sermon: Quilted Together
Texts: Revelation 7: 9-17; Matthew 5:1-12
Date: November 2, 2008
Rev. Dee Eisenhauer, Eagle Harbor Congregational Church
In "The Secret Garden," Mary Lennox is a ten year-old, proper British child whose parents and servants and entire known world of acquaintances die in the cholera epidemic in colonial India in 1906. She is sent to live with her Uncle Archibald at the foreboding, haunted Misselthwaite Manor on the moors of Yorkshire, England. Just as young Mary is grieving terribly, so is her uncle. He has never recovered from the death of his wife Lily ten years earlier – Mary's aunt Lily who died in childbirth. In this scene from "The Secret Garden" (adapted from Hodgson Burnett's novel by Marsha Norman), Mary comes upon her uncle in the ballroom where we have just seen him utterly lost in a dream of his wife, and boldly asks him about the afterlife:
MARY: But I want to know what happens to dead people.
ARCHIBALD: Yes. Well. Quite natural that you should wonder that. (A moment.) We bury them. We put their things away, we remember things they said. We… talk to them sometimes . . . in our minds, of course…
MARY: Can they hear us?
ARCHIBALD: (And now he seems angry at himself.) And then one morning, when we think we're over them at last, we find ourselves in the ballroom, knowing full well we have been here all night, and we draw the painful conclusion that we have been dancing with them again.
MARY: I don't understand.
ARCHIBALD: Nor will you ever. They're not gone, you see. Just dead.
I clipped out his bit of dialogue from a sermon I was reading on the internet because I have been “dancing with the dead” as I have prepared for All Saints Sunday this week. I have been thinking about the members of our church community that have died since last year, and thinking about other people I have loved who have died. I don’t think I would have understood when I was young, but now that I am in mid-life (as far as I know) I am coming to understand how the dead are not gone, and how we are joined together forever.
A poem May Sarton wrote, titled “All Souls” put it so beautifully:
Did someone say that there would be an end,
An end, Oh, an end to love and mourning?
Such voices speak when sleep and waking blend,
The cold bleak voices of the early morning
When all the birds are dumb in dark November -
Remember and forget, forget, remember.
After the false night, warm true voices, wake!
Voice of the dead that touches the cold living,
Through the pale sunlight once more gravely speak.
Tell me again, while the last leaves are falling:
''Dear child, what has been once so interwoven
Cannot be raveled, nor the gift ungiven.''
Now the dead move through all of us still glowing,
Mother and child, lover and lover mated,
Are wound and bound together and enflowing.
What has been plaited cannot be unplaited -
Only the strands grow richer with each loss
And memory makes kings and queens of us…
I am grateful that Mother Church in its wisdom has a tradition of setting aside a day to remember all the saints that have gone before us so that we may come here and once again join in the dance with our beloved dead. The Christian church has always had a vision about the communion of saints that includes both the living and the dead. The Church, visible and invisible, is made up of souls currently living and those who have gone through the passage of death and are dwelling in some form unknown to us with God. The text from Revelation is a little snippet of John’s vision that includes a glimpse of post-Earth, post-history life. A great multitude of people from every nation is gathered around a throne celebrating God. Those in the white robes are identified in the vision as “they who have come out of the great ordeal.” There is a particular ordeal that the visionary had in mind, but since the language is non-specific, we might think of those folk as those who have gone through any kind of ordeal, including the ordeal of death itself. Now they worship God day and night, relieved of any hunger or thirst, untouched by miserable weather, ministered to by God who has wiped away every tear from their eyes. A comforting vision.
There are so many people there in this picture that they cannot possibly be counted. This “great multitude from every nation, all tribes and peoples and languages” is not the All Star team. You know how in our Bainbridge 4th of July parades there are usually a few truckloads of kids who are the current All Stars of their age bracket in baseball and softball? They are dwarfed in number by the great multitude watching the parade, not to mention all the other kids who played alongside them but were not selected for All Stars because their athletic talents were of the more ordinary sort. “Heaven’s” occupants or “saints” in general are sometimes thought of as All Stars, but I think on this particular Sunday we are talking about everyone. The All Star saints—those who have special days named for them, and have their portraits painted and biographies written--may be mixed into the multitude but they’re just part of the crowd at the foot of God’s throne.
All Saints Day draws attention to the whole multitude, not just the superstars. We may honor those we admire, those who were remarkable in their walk with Jesus, as we did by naming Paul and Francis and Julian of Norwich a few moments ago. But we ought to honor the saints we have known personally as well, people who have been part of our lives who have helped us in large and small ways learn what it means to be good.
Since I borrowed the idea of having the congregation bring quilts for All Saints day from my colleague Walter John Boris, I have been musing on the idea of each life being like a quilt to which everyone with whom we have a significant association contributes a scrap of fabric. There are scads of beautiful, orderly, symmetrical quilt patterns, but I think most of us, at least while we’re alive, would have to say our quilts are more like crazy quilts than anything else—fabrics of varying types cut into any-which shape and sewn into a higgledy-piggledy pattern. Maybe a more elegant pattern emerges after life is complete, or maybe our Creator can see a pattern all along from the Divine point of view; but for now, for most of us, it’s beautiful but jumbled.
Old family quilts often have fabrics from clothes that have been worn by members of the family. One quilter whose reflections I read said that her quilts are like her family albums, which she takes out instead of photographs to reminisce about her loved ones. So what if we thought about the quilt of our lives in those terms? I have been remembering what some of my dear ones have worn, and am imagining a crazy quilt of my life that would include scraps from their clothing to be a symbol of the scraps of their hearts and souls that have changed me.
Looking again at the gospel text assigned for All Saints day, the Beatitudes, I’ve also been giving some thought to how some of the folks I’ve known have embodied the blessings Jesus laid out in his Sermon on the Mount. The Beatitudes are blessings, announcements of God’s favor. The announcements of God’s favor are both present and future; those who are being addressed are being blessed now and will be even more blessed in the future, as God’s realm is fulfilled. They are not exhorting people to be a certain way as much as they are descriptive of a certain kind of people who are already all these things. And we might notice that God’s people are identified as those who society regards as the ones left behind: the poor in spirit, the meek, the mourners, the merciful, those hungering for justice, the makers of peace, those who are mistreated for the cause of justice. To these “losers” comes the good news of God’s grace. This is another reminder that we are not necessarily celebrating the “All Stars” here; the Beatitudes portray regular folk who are just plugging along, doing small things with great love, being steadfast in the face of their difficulties.
I’m going to go through them one at a time and suggest someone I have known, one of the multitude of saints, who have epitomized these blessings. I’m going to give you a little time to think of someone you have known who may have illuminated these beatitudes for you. The person you think of may be among either the dead or the living, since we all know saints in both categories.
“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” These people are, according to one scholar I read, those who know their lives are not in their own control and who therefore depend utterly on God. They aren’t the folks at the top of the heap but those who have little reason to hope for success or comfort in this life; therefore they trust in God. I think my metaphorical life quilt would include a little dark green scrap of wool from the sensible wool blazers dear old Grace, a member of our church in University Place, would have worn. She was an extremely gracious, humble woman, bent over with severe osteoporosis, who never complained about anything. She lived a simple life, didn’t express worry, and always seemed cheerful. Can you think of anyone who taught you about being poor in spirit? What kind of fabric did they add to your life’s quilt?
“Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.” This is not just about people who are mourning personal losses. It is also for those who are lamenting the present condition of God’s people and God’s program in the world. It’s for those who recognize that God’s Kingdom has not yet come, that God’s will is not yet done. For my quilt I will clip a swatch out of one of my dad’s stinky old stocking caps. My dad was not religious, but he regularly pondered how the world could be a better place. He taught me early on that we should see the world not just as it is, but as it should be, and that we are all responsible for making the world a better place in our own ways. Who has taught you about mourning? What kind of fabric did they add to your life’s quilt?
“Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.” The meek are those who are humble or gentle; in this blessing they may also be those who are powerless, those who have been walked on in the course of their life. I’m remembering Sister Mary Margaret, a nun who served the Roman Catholic parish in Kaltag, Alaska; the cuff of one of her mittens is in my quilt. She energetically held the parish together between the rare visits of a priest. She was always kind and sparkling with fun. She was a great leader in spite of the restrictions placed up on her by the hierarchy of the Catholic church. Is there someone who taught you about the blessings of the meek? What kind of fabric did they add to your life’s quilt?
“Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.” These who hunger and thirst may be in that state because they are yearning for things to be set right, or because they themselves have been deprived of justice. I’ll clip a patch out of a sober grey suit from one of my teachers, John C. Bennett. He devoted his considerable intellect to writing and teaching about Christian ethics. He was one of the architects of the World Council of Churches. I met him when he was quite elderly, and he was still striving to use his gifts to help others become truly ethical people. Is there someone you know who hungered and thirsted for righteousness? What kind fabric did they add to your life’s quilt?
“Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy.” Mercy can have a broad range of meanings, but they all involved concrete acts, not just attitudes. Those who show mercy might forgive sins, heal the sick, help the poor. They are people who seek to put right everything that has gone wrong. I will add two patches here, from a well-worn cotton blouse and a soft chambray shirt, for Polly and Bob Holmes. She was a writer and Montana state legislator, and he a minister who served as our chaplain when we were in college. They were the kind of people whose enormous generosity was evident in everything they did. They offered up incredible hospitality to those they met, and worked tirelessly to make the world a more hospitable place. Who do you know who has shown you what it means to be merciful? What kind of fabric did they add to your life’s quilt?
“Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.” The pure in heart are those who live with integrity, who have an undivided heart, a single-hearted passion for God. They lack pretentions, and are truly themselves. They don’t say one thing and do another. I will clip a back pocket off of the blue jeans of Tom Hunter for this blessing. He was a joyful soul, who brought a sense of wonder to his life and sparked wonder and joy in others. He consistently said what he meant and meant what he said, or sang, since music was his great gift. Looking into Tom’s eyes felt like looking into his soul. Who reminds you of the blessing of being pure in heart? What kind of fabric have they added to your life quilt?
“Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called the children of God.” Peacemakers are those who are actively working for the wholeness and well-being God wills for a broken world. They are engaged in positive actions for reconciliation. Though I didn’t know him well, I think I would snip a swatch of the scruffy polyester slacks of Felix Manley, a one-time UCC minister who had retired in Claremont when were living there. He worked tirelessly for the nuclear freeze movement. When he was diagnosed with terminal cancer, he expressed his deep disappointment that he wouldn’t have another 15 years to give to the peace movement as he had planned. Who has taught you about being a peacemaker? What kind of fabric have they added to your life quilt?
“Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” These are the folk who are so committed to the kingdom of God that they will not falter even when they are criticized or persecuted for their work. Here I have a patch of one of my (still living, thank God!) brother Steve’s T-shirts. I so admire the way he stands up for what he believes about a myriad of social causes, even when speaking out about controversial issues has hurt his “advancement” in his United Methodist clergy career. He has always been the kind of person who sticks to his principles, no matter what. Who do you know that has been so committed to God’s work that they are willing to suffer for it? What kind of fabric did they add to your life’s quilt?
As we reflect on how all these saints in our lives have left their mark on our lives, we might recollect that we, too, will perish at a time unknown to us. How might we each add beauty to the many lives we touch? What kinds of “swatches” will those whose lives are stitched together with ours remember us by? It’s not that we should be obsessed with how we will be remembered, but as Tagore once wrote, “Death’s stamp gives value to the coin of life, making it possible to buy with life what is truly precious.” Knowing that our time is limited may inspire us to make the most of the time we have to be loving, to seek justice, peace, and mercy.
Until that moment when we draw our final breath, we may celebrate all those who have taught us to love and live faithfully. Rev. Dick Fewkes, who served a church named All Souls, said this of his church: "On All Souls, we remember our beloved dead not as ghosts who haunt, though haunt our imaginations they may do, but as members of the Beloved Community, whose precious life is Life of our life, Soul of our soul, Heart of our hearts, lingering thought of our minds. We count up the treasures they have left – gifts of life, and love and wisdom – and consecrate them to our continued use and progress, that we in turn may add them "to the ever-growing treasures of the common life." [1] May we likewise treasure all those who have added such beauty and color to our lives.
[1] http://www.firstparishnorwell.org/sermons/souls.html