1 Thessalonians 4:13-18

1 THESSALONIANS 4:13-18

A sermon for a memorial service

It is good to be here and to remember.

We are not very good in our society at grieving. Yes, people are supportive at the time of death and funeral - and in the days that follow. But after a month or so - well, they've got to get on with their life, haven't they. And we're expected to pick up the pieces and to carry on: life gets back to normal.

But of course life does not get back to normal. How can it - when we've lost someone who is either genetically part of us, or with whom we have shared in the utmost acts of intimacy, or who has been part of our life for one, five or fifty years.

And I guess that two of the words that might sum up how we feel are the words confusion and despair.

Confusion: how is it that the person who I loved, who was part of my identity, who was once so physically strong and active and significant, who lived and worked and fought and laughed - is now a memory and a photograph. And in 100 or 200 years, they may still be a set of digits on a CD - or whatever it is that is used to record in those days - but the memory will have gone.

It is no wonder that we grasp at whatever is offered to us: reincarnation - the idea that the spirit lives on and that I can contact them - the idea of a better place. Anything that seems to give us an answer.

And the second word is despair: it is not just the physical pain and the irrational fears - but it all seems so meaningless, empty and hopeless.

There is a poem that many people have read at funerals. It is the poem by Scott Holland. It is a good poem: it speaks about how we should continue to speak of the person, to treat them as if they were in the next room, to laugh at the things that they would have laughed at and to weep at the things that they would have wept at. But it begins with a line that is just not true. It begins with the line: "Death is nothing at all". That is just not true. Death is devastating. It rips people apart. It is the full stop that makes a mockery of dreams and achievements and loves and life. It really is the final enemy.

The first reading that we had today is from a letter that Paul, one of the first followers of Jesus, wrote to the Christians in a town called Thessalonica. And in it, he addresses head on those two words - confusion and despair.

He says to them: We don't want you to be ignorant or confused about those who 'fall asleep' (that is an interesting phrase). And we don't want you to grieve like the rest of people, who have no hope.

He is not saying that they are not to grieve. Of course we grieve - but we do not need to be people who grieve with no hope.

And he goes on to say why. You see, at the very heart of the Christian faith is a fact. V14: "We believe that Jesus died and rose again". About 2000 years ago, this time of year, a man was led out to die. He was going to be crucified. They put nails through his hands and ankles. And they hoisted him up on a plank of wood - to hang until he was dead. Then, to make sure that he was dead, they thrust a spear into his side.

But unlike everyone else - something quite extraordinary happened. This man did not stay dead. Three days later he rose from the dead. Unlike others who might go into death, and then come back, only to die later on, Jesus went deep into death, smashed through death, and came out the other side. And he was seen, not just by one or two people, but by many on many different occasions. And their lives were changed - and he gave them hope.

The resurrection of Jesus Christ is the basis of our understanding and of our hope.

If Jesus did not rise from the dead, then death in its naked reality, has the final word.
If Jesus rose from the dead, we're in business.

And Paul goes on to encourage the Christians of Thessalonica

1. He tells them that this Jesus, who died and who rose again, will come back one day. He talks about the Lord coming down from heaven with trumpet calls and archangel's voices - I don't think that the geography and details are so important. What is important is that it will be a coming that no-one can miss, and that will bring space and time as we know it to an end. And Jesus will come to bring justice, to make right what is wrong. There is a tremendous vision at the end of the last book of the bible: John writes, "And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying: "Now the dwelling of God is with men, and he will live with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God. He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away".  

1. Paul tells us that those who are 'asleep' in the Lord, will return with him. Whoever has died in the Lord is now with him. Whoever has received that free gift of forgiveness and eternal life that he offers to every single person will come back, and if we are alive on that day we will meet them, and if we ourselves have died, we will return with them. But maybe we don't know if those whom we have lost did receive that gift. All I can say to you is leave that with God. He alone knows our drives and inner desires. And he made the person that he gave to you, and he loves that person more than anyone could possibly imagine. So we trust him to judge justly and mercifully.

1. We are told: "And so we will be with the Lord for ever". Elsewhere it is written, "No eye has seen, no ear has heard, no mind has conceived what God has prepared for those who love him".

How does Paul know all this? Why should we believe him? Why shouldn't we believe those who tell us about reincarnation, or spiritualists who tell us we can speak to the dead now?

It is very simple: Paul is only reporting what Jesus said - and when a man has risen from the dead, you listen very carefully to what he has said.

I am not sure that a Christian faith means that we are less confused or that we grieve any less than anyone else. When Jesus went to the tomb of Lazarus, even though he knew he was going to bring him back to life, Jesus wept. Jesus wept because he knew what death does. He wept with and for Martha and Mary, Lazarus' sisters. He weeps with and for you and me.

A Christian faith does not mean that we will be less confused or grieve less, but it does mean that we do not need to grieve without hope. There is a hope - not in some beautiful ideas dreamed up by a Hollywood director - but in the historical fact that a man who lived 2000 years ago, died, and rose from the dead. Death is not the end. Christ is risen.

The Good Samaritan

LUKE 10:25-37

This is a very well known but deeply challenging passage: and I think that as we look at this together you will realise that it is saying slightly more than we might think on first reflection.

The situation is this: A lawyer comes to Jesus. He asks, "What must I do to inherit eternal life?"

I wonder how you would answer that question. I would probably say to people: You need to realise that God loves you and has a purpose for your life, but that you have rejected that purpose and that we have sinned.  You need to repent of your sins and turn to Jesus and receive his free gift of forgiveness and eternal life.

But Jesus doesn't.
First of all, Jesus is much wiser than me. He is not in the business of giving people a list that they can tick off. 'Yes, I believe that; I've done that and I've prayed the prayer - so now I have eternal life.'
Jesus knows our hearts: he knows how easily we kid ourselves. He wants to take us deeper.

The lawyer comes to test Jesus. He wants to make sure that Jesus is cosher. He gets a shock, as do all of us when we come to Jesus. It is not us who examine Jesus; it is Jesus who examines us.

So Jesus turns the question back to him, back to his area of expertise: "What does the law say?" It was a standard debate in first century Judaism. Some refused to summarise the law. Others pointed to Psalm 34:11-14.
Others, like this lawyer, summed up the law in the words that we quote in most of our communion services: "`Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind'; and, `Love your neighbor as yourself.'"

And Jesus says, "That's it. Do it and live!"

The problem is that it is too open. What does love mean? Who do I love? How much do I have to love in order to get into heaven? Because if I am honest, although I might seek to do so, I do not love God with all my heart, soul, mind and strength.

So the lawyer goes deeper. "But he wanted to justify himself". He wanted to justify the reason he asked the question - or did he actually want to justify his lack of love by qualifying it, limiting it. And he asks, "Who is my neighbour?"

And in reply, Jesus doesn't give the answer - don't we love giving the answers - but he tells a story. He tells the story of the good Samaritan who, unlike the priest and the Levite, has compassion on the man who fell into the hands of others. And then Jesus turns the question round.

The man asked: "Who is my neighbour?" He is in the centre and his looking for his neighbour. Is it the person next door to me? The person who lives in the same town as me? The person who is of the same faith as me?
Jesus answers, "Who was neighbour to the man who fell into the hands of robbers?" In other words, Jesus is saying: "The question we need to ask is not who is my neighbour, but who can I be a neighbour to?"
In other words, the neighbour is not them, but me. And I show compassion to you not because you are my neighbour, but because I am your neighbour.

It strips away any patronising elements in showing mercy: There is a nice quote, "She was the sort of person who went round doing good to others. You could tell the others by their harassed look"
And it also blows open the borders of who might be our neighbours: we can be a neighbour to anyone who we come into contact with.


I do not choose who my neigbours are - they are given to me
But I can choose who I become a neighbour to

The Levite and priest chose not to be neighbours to the beaten up man.
The Samaritan, although he came from a different place and a different race chose to become a neighbour to the beaten up man.

One of the people who most helped us in my previous church when we were setting up a centre for asylum seekers was a lady called Ann Morisy. She has written a book called, "Beyond the Good Samaritan".

In it, she talks about circles of comfort and of compassion

The inner circle is myself and my family and friends. I love, I choose to become a neighbour to (and here we are talking practical love, in terms of compassion for, service of and giving to) those who love me or who like me.

The next circle out is more risky. We move towards the edges of our comfort zone. I love those people who I do not necessarily like, but who do not pose a risk to me. Perhaps we share a similar interest: I get involved in service in church, in a club, in a choir, in a political party, in a parent and toddler group, in a lunch club, in the hospital or hospice - or it might be visiting or shopping for a shut-in neighbour. The test, I guess of our service, is what we do when the people we are involved with do things that we don't like: Do we still serve? Do we still give?  

The final circle is more costly. It is good Samaritan stuff. It is when we go beyond our circles of comfort. It is when I love people - not because I like them, not because they like what I like or are like me - but simply because they are in need. Indeed their very existence may seem to threaten my self interest. Their existence threatens my well being, my sense of who I am and what I stand for: an asylum seeker family, a committed Moslem, a practising homosexual with full blown AIDS, an ex convict, someone who has paedophile tendencies. Would we choose to become neighbours to them? Would we be prepared to step out of our circles of comfort in order to love them?

Please don't think that I am having a go at anyone. This is as much a challenge to me.
We usually shake our head at the priest and the Levite in this story: how awful. But I'm with them. The beaten up man in the gutter may have been drunk. He certainly had not taken sufficient precautions and is partly to blame; I probably could not do anything for him anyway, and I really do have more important things to do: things that will help many more people.

Jesus is not telling us a little morality tale that is suitable for school assemblies.

When he says at the end, "Go and do likewise", he is saying to this man: "There are no limits to who you can be a neighbour to. Go beyond your boundaries. Love people as God loves them. Love people who I love. Love them to the point that - if they were in need - you would be willing to be crucified for your enemy."

I wonder what the Lawyer thought as he walked away from Jesus. Did he think, "I'll try harder?" Or did he see the gates of heaven closing on him as he thought, "I can't live like that".

I'm so grateful that eternal life does not depend on my love for God and others. If it did, I'm stuffed. It depends on God's love and mercy. The church fathers used to interpret this passage by saying that you and me are the beaten up man, and Jesus is the good Samaritan, who picks us up, and who at great cost to himself, takes us to the inn. He is the one who loves us, who died for us and who lives for us.

"Lord Jesus Christ. Look on us with our self-centred pitiless and pathetic love. Have mercy on us. Forgive us and change us. Fill us with your compassion and your love - that we might LIVE"