John 8:31-36

Then Jesus said to the Jews who had believed in him, ‘If you continue in my word, you are truly my disciples; and you will know the truth, and the truth will make you free.’ They answered him, ‘We are descendants of Abraham and have never been slaves to anyone. What do you mean by saying, “You will be made free”?’

Jesus answered them, ‘Very truly, I tell you, everyone who commits sin is a slave to sin. The slave does not have a permanent place in the household; the son has a place there for ever. So if the Son makes you free, you will be free indeed.

A little over 20 years ago, Rolling Stone magazine published its first list of the 500 greatest albums of all time. They did so because people were talking about the death of the album, probably in large part thanks to Napster and young teens downloading songs from limewire on the family computer and burning cd’s with random songs. Rolling Stone has updated that list a few times since the original release, most recently just last December, 2023. According to them, Blue by Joahnie Mitchel came in at three, followed by the Beach Boy’s Pet Sounds at number 2, and taking the top spot at number 1 was Marvin Gaye’s “What's Going On”.

I am not here to argue about what albums should have been on there or which one’s they got wrong, though I feel I should mention not one Indigo Girls album made the list making one of your pastor’s very sad. The list is quite arbitrary, mainly because it was simply ranked choice voting by a variety of artists, producers, and critics. I think many would argue that like beauty, good music lies in the ear of the listener. And while I agree, there are some things I think great music does to or for a person. Now I am just a pastor who played the Tuba for five years, so take this with a grain of salt, but for me Great music proclaims a truth that we experience in our lives. Through storytelling, the melody, or the art of its composition, It can tell us something that we need to know, a truth we might not have otherwise understood.

On this Reformation Sunday we focus on music and the good it does in our lives and faith, because this year we celebrate the 500th anniversary of the first Lutheran Hymnal. In 1524, Luther took four hymns he had written and four from his friend Paul Speratus to make what was called Acht-lie-der-buch, or in english the “Eight Songs Book”. It was nothing crazy to produce a hymnal, but Luther and the reformation as a whole changed the way the church engaged with music forever.

Luther wanted songs to be written with simple words, words that everyone would know, not just the highly educated. And he wanted the music to be familiar, something people might already know. So he often borrowed popular folk tunes of the day and set lyrics to them that people would understand, making it easy to sing along with.

This was revolutionary, because at the time the catholic mass was done entirely in Latin, most church goers didn’t know the music, and therefore no one but the priests sang in worship. Luther’s approach to music changed all of that. He wanted everyone to sing since that’s how people would not only understand the gospel message, but because the music was catchy and familiar, the good news of Jesus Christ would always be on one’s lips, praising God morning, noon, and night.

He wrote on multiple occasions that next to the Word of God itself, music is the greatest treasure in this world. When done right, it helps one’s heart, quiets and cheers the soul because it teaches the gospel and praises God.

That’s why Luther loved music. You see Luther suffered from terrible anxiety throughout much of his life. In his early years of being a monk, he would fall into these dark episodes of despair. He felt like God didn’t love him, like God couldn’t love him. He wasn’t good enough, he didn’t keep all the commandments like he should, and didn’t do all the things the Bible says Christians should do. He writes about this feeling in one of those hymns from that first hymn book 500 years ago, saying “life had become a living hell, so firmly sin possessed me. My own good works availed me naught, no merit they attaining; my will against God's judgment fought, no hope for me remaining.”

My guess is at one time or another, or maybe even right now, you’ve felt hopeless because you aren’t good enough: not smart enough, not fit enough, not successful enough in the eyes of the world, and certainly not good enough in the eyes of God.

You try so hard to get it right, to pray more, get less angry, be more generous, or even care about all the suffering in this world. And you may for a time, but you can never quite rid yourself of whatever it is that makes you feel like God could not and should not love you.

But then Luther read again what we heard this morning from Romans 3: “No one is justified by what they do. We are justified, we are made right with God only by God’s grace as a gift, through the work of Jesus Christ”.

Later in that same hymn, Luther shares this good news from Jesus’ perspective, “Your ransom, I myself will be; for you I strive and wrestle. For I am yours, your friend divine, and evermore you shall be mine.”

In other words, Luther remembered that it’s not what he says or does or how much money he pays the church or how many prayers he lifts up, none of that takes away his sin or puts him in the right relationship with God.

Only Jesus does that by his work on the cross, taking our sin in exchange for his grace. Only a God who loves me more than I can fathom would do such a thing. And that's something worth singing about. Now there are plenty of songs that proclaim that truth, from ancient hymns to albums on that top 500 list. Yet, recently I heard or more like we heard a new song that shares the heart of the gospel, +Mark and I, I mean.

In August, we went to an Avett Brothers concert together at Gainbridge Fieldhouse. A few weeks before the show, I reached out to a stranger selling her tickets on Facebook only to then check the family calendar and realize we were booked. On the day of the concert, the woman reached back out and said I could have the tickets, no cost, completely free. We canceled our plans, but couldn’t find a sitter so short notice, so Katelyn graciously agreed to stay behind with Clive if I could get someone to go. And I know of no one who likes concerts more than Pastor Mark Havel.

So we went and about halfway through, Scott and Seth, took the stage with nothing but an acoustic guitar and their voices. And they sang a new song. Each verse juxtaposes the many ways we go through life, whether we speak up or are silent, if we are willing or we are done. If we’re courageous or cowards. All the verses go through a series of these conditions, but each one ends with proclaiming the truth “we are loved”.

And the chorus goes, “Every stitch and seam, every wish and dream, even in tragedy, there lies divinity. Even as hope seems lost, it may be found again. I have felt alone, but I have never been.” Their voices filled the fieldhouse and in that moment, I believed them. It was as if they were telling me again for the first time, the heart of the gospel, that no matter what you do in this life, it does not earn you grace. You are loved, and nothing in this life can take that away from you.

As the song came to a close, I turned to Mark and said “don’t even think about it, I'm using that in a sermon first!”

On this reformation Sunday, I invite you to sing, not just today but everyday. To lift your voice, your instrument, and praise God through the gift of music. Find a song, whether it’s 500 years old or brand new, whether it’s on the top 500 albums or not, find a song that proclaims the truth of the gospel, that no matter what, we are loved.

And then sing that song every day over and over again, thanking God for the gift of grace and music. Amen.

John 11:32-44

When Mary came to Jesus and saw him she said to him, “Lord, if you had been here my brother would not have died.” When Jesus saw her weeping and the other Jews with her also weeping, he was greatly disturbed in spirit and deeply moved. He said to them, “Where have you laid him?” They said to him, “Come and see.” Jesus began to weep. So the Jews said, “See how he loved him!” But some of them said, “Could not the one who opened the eyes of the blind man have kept this man from dying?”

Then Jesus came to the tomb. It was a cave with a stone lying against it. Jesus said to them, “Take away the stone.” But Martha, the sister of the dead man, said to him, “Lord, already there is a stench because he has been dead four days.” Jesus said to her, “Did I not tell you that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?” So they took away the stone.

And Jesus looked upward and said, “Father, I thank you for having heard me. I know that you always hear me, but I’ve said this for the sake of those standing here, so that they may believe that you sent me.” When he had said this, he cried out with a loud voice, “Lazarus, come out!” The dead man came out, his hands and feet bound with strips of cloth, and his face wrapped in a cloth. Jesus said to them, “Unbind him, and let him go.”

Death and dying have been hanging heavy on my mind lately – and I know that’s true for many of you, too. We had Steve Ellenberger’s celebration of life last Saturday. I had another funeral last Sunday afternoon, for the father of a college friend, down in Southport. We’re getting ready to do the same for Dick Bowen this weekend. On Monday night, our Stephen Ministers did some “continuing education” about what it means to pre-plan your funeral – a session we scheduled months ago. And Wednesday, a group of us wrapped up a seven-week conversation about what it means to die well – to approach, and even embrace, the gravity of getting old … and the nearness and certainty of our own demise.

All of these things, each in their own way, were pointing me toward what we’re up to on this high, holy, festival we call “All Saints Sunday” in the Church. We’ve already read our names and tolled our bells toward that end. We’ve been reminded about the power of baptism and we will receive the power and blessing of Holy Communion, in light of it all, too – as we should.

But the catch to all of this, of course… the thing that sometimes gets lost in the mix, or glossed over, or denied by the rose-colored glasses of Sunday morning worship; by the bright lights and the white paraments; by the pretty flowers and the rousing music of it all… is that in order to be the kind of saint we’re commemorating and celebrating… in order to become the kind of saints we’re remembering and honoring this morning… a person first has to be dead.

And Jesus reminds us this morning, with the help of Mary and Martha and their brother Lazarus, that death and mortality are sad, scary, messy, and mystifying parts of life in this world. But part of life, nonetheless.

Even Jesus weeps in this bit of John’s Gospel as he makes his way to his friend’s tomb, and when we find him there this morning, he’s still “greatly disturbed,” even though, presumably, he knew what he was going to try to do for Lazarus. And Martha and her sister Mary are so distraught over their brother’s dying, that they have the nerve to blame Jesus for not coming to the rescue sooner.

But Jesus does come. And he’s not afraid of what awaits him there: the mourning of the sisters; the sadness of the crowds; his own deep grief; the improbability of the task before him; the grave clothes; the large stone; the stench of a four-day-old corpse in the Judean heat.

So, I feel like I’m being invited, again this morning – in the light of recent events and on this All Saints Sunday – to get up close and personal with death and mortality – mine, yours, ours – in another new, holy kind of way.

And I think we honor those who’ve gone before us – whose deaths we commemorate, whose lives we celebrate, and whose love we remember – when we open ourselves to connecting the dots between their living and dying and our own more deliberately.

That seven-week class that just ended – the one about the grace and gravity of getting old – was based on a book by Parker Palmer, called On the Brink of Everything. (Some in our group thought that the title was the best thing about the book, so take my recommendation with a grain of salt!)

But, “On the Brink of Everything?” I am captivated and encouraged and inspired by that hopeful perspective about dying and by what it means to inch closer and closer to death and to whatever waits for us on the other side of this life – and to do it deliberately, intentionally, and with your heart and mind and life wide open to God’s possibilities.

And what Jesus does this morning, in a way I thought about differently this time because of it, is he shows us how thin the veil is between this life and the next when he’s part of the mix – and I don’t just mean the “veil” of that stinky cloth that was wrapped around Lazarus head when we stepped out of his tomb.

No, what speaks now to me about all of this is what it means to live with one foot firmly and faithfully planted in life as we know it, on this side of Heaven, and another foot poised and ready to land safely, securely, and fearlessly on the other side of Heaven, whenever that time comes.

And Jesus’ little stunt with Lazarus gives me hope to remember that there are saints on both sides of it all. And it challenges me to remember that I’m called to be one of them – here and now, whenever and wherever and however I can muster it – just as surely as I hope to join saints like Steve Ellenberger and Dick Bowen and all the rest, on the other side of God’s eternity, too.

For some reason, I’ve found myself recounting for a couple of people lately, something my dad’s heart surgeon told me, my brother, and my mom, while my dad was still in the ICU following his second open-heart surgery, more than 20 years ago. After recounting all of the ways my dad was going to have to continue changing or maintaining his lifestyle as a heart patient – eating this, not eating that, exercising, monitoring his stress, and so on – the doctor said, “BUT, it’s also important to remember that the point of living is not NOT to die.”

“The point of living is not NOT to die.”

And that’s great, practical advice when it comes to having a steak or a drink or a cigar every once in a blue moon. But it’s also great, practical, solid spiritual advice, too, if you ask me. “The point of living is not NOT to die.”

I believe when we live our lives pretending or denying or keeping our distance from death – as we are so often inclined to do – it is that much harder to face, or digest, or journey through it in healthy, faithful ways when death comes – for us, for someone we love, or when it shows up in the world around us.

And I believe keeping our distance from death keeps us from living as fully and as faithfully as we should, could, would, or want to be living, if we truly considered what it means to be “on the brink of everything” – on the verge of God’s heavenly, holy ground, more often.

So, I wonder, what if we saw ourselves and others – more readily – as saints already, on this side of heaven, not just the next?

What if we saw all that we experience in this life – the beautiful and the bland, the joy and the sadness, the hopeful and the despairing – as holy stepping stones on a pathway to the brink of God’s great eternity?

What if we lived more acutely aware and accepting of the notion that a sacred, holy communion of saints surrounds us – right where we live, as we make our way through life in this world?

What if we stopped pretending that death was this untouchable thing to be avoided at all costs – that we could or should live forever and always, even though we know that’s not possible and was never the plan?

What if we lived like God’s Kingdom was closer, nearby, within and around – not only in the communion of saints who’ve gone on to glory – but close, nearby, within and around those of us who are called to be saints here and now, just the same?

I think it would impact how we give, how we serve, how we forgive, how we live, and how we die, too.

Because Jesus shows up – if we’re paying attention, and reminds us – like he proved to Lazarus, and like he reminded Martha – that if we believe … if we keep our eyes open … if we invite the presence of God’s grace to live among us – we will see the glory of God in this life, in ways that fill us with hope – now, and for whatever’s yet to come.

Amen

"We Are Loved"

All Saints On the Brink of Everything