Isaiah 25:6-9; Psalm 24; Revelation 21:1-6a; John 11:32-44
The Rev. Candice B. Frazer
In the name of the one Holy and Undivided Trinity, Amen.
A couple of weeks ago, while I was scrolling through my social media feeds, I came across a meme posted by a friend that was meant to be derogatory toward the other political party. Though it wasn’t particularly nice, I didn’t pay it much attention until a few minutes later when I saw another friend’s feed which featured the exact same meme aimed at disparaging the first friend’s political party. These two friends stand on opposite sides of the political spectrum, yet they both used the exact same meme to express their fears and concerns about each other’s party. This made me pause and reflect on where we are as a country right now and how we have become so polarized.
I often hear from many of you, as well as from other friends and peers, about the difficulty of maintaining relationships with those who hold an opposing political view. Over the years our ability to communicate has unraveled, which is ironic given that technology has exponentially increased our options for connecting with others. It seems that the more accessible and rapid our means of communication have become, the less responsible we are in how we engage one another. We no longer follow the rule our mothers taught us, “If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all.” And we certainly struggle to agree or disagree.
Disagreement is nothing new in society. We’ve been at odds for a long time. Many of the saints we honor on All Saints’ Day were martyred because people could not agree to disagree; instead, they silenced or attempted to silence one another through influence, power, and murder—many in the name of God and the church. Sadly, this drive for domination stems from our human ego, not from God. God doesn’t desire domination; God desires connection.
Our readings today remind us of the profound connectivity of life eternal. Isaiah describes heaven as a feast of rich food and well-aged wine prepared for us on God’s mountain—a feast made for all peoples. There is no discrimination; no clarification that some will feast, and others will not—the Lord of hosts prepares a banquet for everyone. Not only will he make a feast for all people, Isaiah assures us that God will swallow up death forever. The Revelation to John emphasizes this further, declaring that all things are made new in God, who is the beginning and the end, the Alpha and the Omega. God’s eternal home will be among mortals, dwelling with us as our God, and we will be his people—connected for all time. Even the Gospel of John conveys this message of connectivity. Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead, but those gathered must liberate him, “Unbind him, and let him go.” Whether we live or die, we are the Lord’s, bound to one another in this life and the next.
Sometimes, we forget this great interconnectedness that weaves our lives together. When I go to the grocery store, I am often overwhelmed by the countless people who make it possible for me to live. It is not just the food that has been planted, grown, harvested, transported, packaged, transported again, and displayed; it’s all the people involved in each step along the way. From scientist and engineers who create farming equipment to workers who transport and sell gas and oil, from bankers who loaned the money to but the equipment or build the store to truckers, stock clerks, and cashiers—the list goes on and on and on. Hundreds of people were involved in my ability to buy a single loaf of bread.
We often take for granted how interconnected we all are. This interconnectedness extends beyond simply putting food on our tables or participating in a market-driven society; it is the way we encourage one another, give each other hope, and build one another up. We spend too much time trying to tear one another down because we feel threatened by someone who thinks or looks different from us or because we disagree. This behavior stems from a deep-seated fear of losing something we believe shapes our identity and life. That fear makes us easy targets.
All Saint’s Day reminds us that whatever we rely on for our identity lacks truth if it is anything other than God. God alone is the source of who we are, the foundation of our hope is in this world, and the strength to persevere. No matter how the tides shift or the winds change, God remains our constant.
God knows that pain and suffering are part of our earthly existence. He promises that in the life to come, he will wipe away every tear from our faces, that death will be no more, mourning and crying and pain will be no more. God does not make this promise lightly; as the divine made incarnate, he experienced profound grief, weeping and being greatly disturbed at Lazarus’ grave. He knows that suffering that binds us. This is why he tells those gathered at Lazarus’ grave to unbind him and let him go. It is how we are called to build one another up rather than binding one another. We are to work to liberate one another, to free one another, allowing each person to be who God calls them to be in the world—even if it is a bit scary or threatening. Lazarus cannot unbind himself; others bound him in his death and now he must rely on others to unbind him for his life, just as they rely on him to realize that the possibilities of God are greater than their sufferings and fears.
This is the great work of the saints. They have unbound us through their witness and life. Some we have known, while others remain unknown to us. Some have been distinguished by the church and beatified into sainthood. Others have simply been as saints to us in our personal experience. We are who we are because of all of those who have gone before us—that is the gift of our interconnectedness—the living to the dead and to one another.
When we are intentional about recognizing our interconnectedness—family, friend, and stranger alike—we can begin to relate to others from a different perspective. Instead of judgment or control, we can recognize our similarities. Maybe it is football or a hobby or life circumstances, but what ultimately draws us together is our common humanity deeply rooted in the desires we all yearn for in this life. Just like me, you wish to be free from suffering. Just like me, you wish to be free from fear and anger. Just like me, you want to know peace. Just like me, you want to know joy. Rest for a moment in the deep truth of these statements, regardless of race, gender, nationality, or political persuasion. We all desire to be free from suffering and fear and anger. We all desire to know peace and joy. Trust in this interconnectedness, for it lies at the root of being human; if we lose that, we lose our own humanity.
My two friends posting their memes on Facebook, despite their opposing political views, are not fundamentally different from one another—or from you and me—at the core of their being. Both wish to be free from suffering, fear and anger and both wish to know peace and joy. That is our common desire—we all wish to be free from suffering and fear and anger. We all wish to know joy and peace.
Be kind to one another this week and in the weeks to come because our true hope does not rest in the outcome of an election, but in the moments that testify to God—the promise of the heavenly banquet, the assurance that God will wipe away every tear, and the hope of resurrection. If more of us remembered this, we might find ourselves sharing the same memes on our social media feeds in pursuit of the same joys—love God, love your neighbor, love yourself.
Amen