Isaiah 25:1, 6-10a 1 O Lord, you are my God; I will exalt you, I will praise your name; for you have done wonderful things, plans formed of old, faithful and sure. 6 On this mountain, the Lord of hosts will make for all peoples a feast of rich food – a feast of well-aged wines,of rich food filled with marrow and well-aged wines strained clear. 7And he will destroy on this mountainthe shroud that is cast over all peoples; the sheet that is spread over all nations; 8he will swallow up death forever. Then the Lord God will wipe away the tears from all faces, and the disgrace of his people he will take away from all the earth,for the Lord has spoken. 9It will be said on that day: Lo, this is our God; we have waited for him, so that he might save us. This is the Lord for whom we have waited; let us be glad and rejoice in his salvation. 10For the hand of the Lord will rest on this mountain.
I Thessalonians 4:13-18 13But we do not want you to be uninformed, brothers and sisters, about those who have died, so that you may not grieve as others do who have no hope. 14For since we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so, through Jesus, God will bring with him those who have died. 15For this we declare to you by the word of the Lord, that we who are alive, who are left until the coming of the Lord, will by no means precede those who have died. 16For the Lord himself, with a cry of command, with the archangel’s call and with the sound of God’s trumpet, will descend from heaven, and the dead in Christ will rise first. 17Then we who are alive, who are left, will be caught up in the clouds together with them to meet the Lord in the air; and so we will be with the Lord forever. 18Therefore encourage one another with these words.
Isaiah 25:1, 6-10a and I Thessalonians 4:13-18
11/05/2017 – Saginaw First U.M.C.
“Present”
Rev. Amy Terhune
“In the late 1980s, a team of Christians from the United States visited war-torn Nicaragua. While there, a young man on their mission team was killed by the Contras, and the group was unexpectedly plunged into confusion and grief. On the next Sunday a memorial service was held. From the altar the priest said, "The peace of the Lord be with you" and people from the congregation, Nicaraguan people, began to embrace these Americans and say, "Paz" or "peace."
“After passing the peace, the priest moved into the Communion liturgy, which the Americans couldn’t really understand since it was in Spanish. About 2/3 of the way through, he suddenly stopped and bowed his head. The congregation was silent. Then someone called out a name. In one voice everyone responded, "Presente!" Another name was called out. Once again, a thundering "Presente!" During the service, at least twenty names were called out and each time the same response: "Presente!" Ron DelBene, the pastor leading the American team did not understand what was happening until he heard the name Oscar Romero. Then he realized that all the names were those of persons who had died. From that moment on he joined in resounding, "Presente!"
“‘Presente’ is used by school children to answer roll call. At the Lord's table the word "presente" means "in our midst" or "present with us." Calling out "Presente!" in this worship service was a way of proclaiming the reality of the communion of saints. Although those persons named had all died, they were not lost—their presence and influence was still felt.
Today we celebrate All Saints Sunday. We remember those persons who have influenced our faith development, whose presence is still felt in our lives even thought they now rest from their labors.” [previous 3½ ¶s adapted from From The Heart by Ron DelBene. Nashville: Upper Room Books, 1991, pp. 60-61; as used in “Roll Call” by King Duncan, esermons.com.]
It is one of the oldest rituals of the church, dating back to the very earliest days of Christianity, when the church struggled to survive persecution and torment by worshipping secretly in caves and basements, remembering those loved ones who had paid for faith with their lives. Still today, All Saints Sunday serves a very specific purpose—it reminds us of who we are and who we are called to be. Our stewardship campaign this fall has reminded us that we are rooted in grace to grow in faith. That refers, in part, to what we’ve studied regarding the reformation these past few weeks—the roots of our church and of the Biblical witness of grace that enables us to begin each day anew. Today, the roots we examine are closer to our own hearts and lives. We celebrate those who have labored with us, those we have loved and learned from, those who have helped us become who we are today.
We remember our loved ones, but we embrace with the confidence of faith the fact that our relationships with our loved ones have not yet run their course. Listen to the Apostle Paul’s words to the church at Thessalonica again: He says, “we do not want you to be uninformed, brothers and sisters, about those who have died, so that you will not grieve as others who have no hope.” Let’s be clear here: Paul is not saying that we should not grieve. Grieving is vital. It is said that the one who does not cry outwardly, bleeds inwardly.
What Paul says is, “do not grieve as those who have no hope.” Bite into that a bit. Think about someone who has no hope. Someone who has no hope has given in to despair, faithlessness. Someone who has no hope doesn’t think things get better. Someone who has no hope is stuck. Last Christmas, I had a strange experience. I felt like everywhere I went, I saw mother. My rational mind rebelled. My mother was gone. She wasn’t in passing cars, or walking around the mall, or on the other side of the auditorium at the school concert. And yet, my eyes played tricks on me. Because my heart looked for her. At the time, I remember knowing that this was part of the grieving process, and almost wishing it would stop, because the experience of the momentary glimpse and following reality check was emotionally draining, when Christmas was already so difficult. But as I look back now on that time, I wonder if it wasn’t, at least in part, my faith working with my grief, to remind me of the hope to which I have devoted my life. Even as her face grows a little fuzzy in my memory, I know that the heart doesn’t forget. The image of her love is impressed upon it, and my heart goes on looking, trusting, believing that we will meet again.
And every time we sing #711 “For All the Saints”, I choke up at those words of the 5th verse: and when the strife is fierce, the warfare long, steals on the ear, the distant triumph song… It’s faint, barely discernable among the din of the world we live in. But I hear it, and I believe the saints are singing it to us—that they see the hope we’re still working to realize. We are called to hope. There is reason to hope! Do not grieve as those who have no hope! Grieve? Yes. We miss their touch, their smell, their idiosyncrasies, their turn of phrase. But stop and listen, as well. The very air we’re breathing is alive. Those whose memories we honor today—they gather around the table with us. They whisper of the future, of the coming Kingdom, of hope. We call the roll of names, and their voices echo in the vaults of our souls: “Presente!” “Presente!” Amen.