Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth; for the first
heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more. And I saw
the holy city, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God… And I
heard a loud voice from the throne saying, ‘See, the home of God is among
mortals.
God will dwell with them; they will be God’s people, and
God will be with them; God will wipe every tear from their eyes. Death
will be no more;
mourning and crying and pain will be no more, for the first things have
passed away.’
And the one who was seated on the throne said, ‘See, I am making all
things new.’ Also God said, ‘Write this, for these words are trustworthy and
true.’ Then God said to me, ‘It is done! I am the Alpha and the Omega, the
beginning and the end. To the thirsty I will give water as a gift from the
spring of the water of life.
***
I don’t know much; I don’t know how the universe is
continually expanding, or what the weather will be next week, or whose funerals
will come with the Fall. Likewise, there is not much I fully believe; you’ve
heard my skepticism of miracle stories, and I often skip preaching the yearly
Transfiguration lectionary, I used to wish for, ‘world peace,’ on dandelions
but have since given up. I don't know much, and there is not much I fully
believe, but I believe there is much we don’t know.
Once upon a time a
person could know all written knowledge, and today that amount is produced in a
matter of seconds. Yet, there are there are things which eons will not explain.
These are things I believe.
I believe there this time, counted by clocks and daylight
savings, and the pattern of sunrise and sunset, but I also believe that there
is God’s time, which stretches from everlasting to everlasting, like a
continually expanding universe. I believe it can neither be marked or measured
but that it simply is.
I believe that there this world, with the flat Baker Valley
ground beneath our feet, abutted by alpine ranges, overcast with the morning
clouds’ haze burning off in the sun. I believe in this ground, how could I not,
for it is where I step, but I also believe there are simultaneous other worlds,
that the earth, this dust upon dust, does not merely bury, but is merely a
passage from one world to the next. I believe these passages do not simply come
once, that we die and are raised, instead I believe we are visited, by the
departed and the steps they make among us, through memory, through dreams,
through heirlooms on to which we hold tight, and tears we grieve hard.
Paramountly, I believe that we are visited not just by the
deceased, but by the divine. Like the reverse of a grave, Jesus was born from a
womb, from holy to lowly, from heaven to earth, to walk among us, where we
step, in this Baker Valley, so that we might see a new Jerusalem coming down
out of heaven from God, in the green plants that muddle through summer’s ashen
ground, and the rain soaking this dry, dry earth. I believe Jesus came so that
we might know the justice that seeks out the blind from the crowd, or gives
equality to a myriad of students at Open Door and to those in need through
Backpack. Jesus, this same voice which beckoned the children forward, is still
beckoning, let them come.
I believe if we listen we might hear the loud voice from the
thrown saying,
‘See, the home of God is among mortals.” I see God’s tabernacle in the dark veins of brightly color leaves, and the needles of Western Larch which fall like golden snow. The loud voice says, “God will dwell with them;” and in those times where I would otherwise feel completely alone, I believe I am not, and the presence of God surrounds me like two friends in the lean of a hammock. The loud voice says, “they will be God’s people,” and I believe that no matter who we are or what we do, nothing can separate us from God’s continual leaning in, that, “God will be with them;” in those with a deacons hearts and an elders’ actions, those who keep who know the deep places of others and seek to comfort. The Loud voice calls, “God will wipe every tear from their eyes.” I believe this as I tell a divorcing husband, a now parentless adult, a child on the playground, that though the pain might last, there will come a day when you shed no tear. I believe, just as the loud voice says, “Death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more,” I believe this when in the same season there is both birth and death, when I hear the memories of a loved one and see them perpetuated in their heirs, I believe this when a widower finds love again and a widow kinship in old women. For the first things have past away, but God says, ’See, I am making all things new.’
I no longer wish on dandelions, I have given up on world peace through human effort, but I believe that there is more to the world than what I can know. I believe in the unknown, in its unfathomable ability to make all things new, just as we were made new in the womb of heaven, just as we are made new each morning in this womb of earth, and that someday beyond this present dust we will be made anew. God said to me, ‘It is done! I am the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end. Also God said, to the thirsty I will give water as a gift from the spring of the water of life. This belief is a gift, it has quenched my thirst, and I pray does yours. May we believe beyond knowing and find comfort in the assurance unknown. We don’t know much, but this may we know.
‘See, the home of God is among mortals.” I see God’s tabernacle in the dark veins of brightly color leaves, and the needles of Western Larch which fall like golden snow. The loud voice says, “God will dwell with them;” and in those times where I would otherwise feel completely alone, I believe I am not, and the presence of God surrounds me like two friends in the lean of a hammock. The loud voice says, “they will be God’s people,” and I believe that no matter who we are or what we do, nothing can separate us from God’s continual leaning in, that, “God will be with them;” in those with a deacons hearts and an elders’ actions, those who keep who know the deep places of others and seek to comfort. The Loud voice calls, “God will wipe every tear from their eyes.” I believe this as I tell a divorcing husband, a now parentless adult, a child on the playground, that though the pain might last, there will come a day when you shed no tear. I believe, just as the loud voice says, “Death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more,” I believe this when in the same season there is both birth and death, when I hear the memories of a loved one and see them perpetuated in their heirs, I believe this when a widower finds love again and a widow kinship in old women. For the first things have past away, but God says, ’See, I am making all things new.’
I no longer wish on dandelions, I have given up on world peace through human effort, but I believe that there is more to the world than what I can know. I believe in the unknown, in its unfathomable ability to make all things new, just as we were made new in the womb of heaven, just as we are made new each morning in this womb of earth, and that someday beyond this present dust we will be made anew. God said to me, ‘It is done! I am the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end. Also God said, to the thirsty I will give water as a gift from the spring of the water of life. This belief is a gift, it has quenched my thirst, and I pray does yours. May we believe beyond knowing and find comfort in the assurance unknown. We don’t know much, but this may we know.
