I'm with Hobbes

Early on in this vocation I was in the pulpit every Sunday, so sermon prep pretty much predetermined how I spent my weekday Time. But now in retirement as Helper, and joyfully in an old home parish, I have the pulpit about one Sunday in three or four, with relaxed Time to look over the lectionary and contemplate the season.

Sometimes I start sermon prep early, as I had for my turn in the pulpit this past Sunday when I'd decided to "teach a Sunday school class" instead of "proclaiming the gospel." My next turn isn't until the end of the month, but I looked ahead this morning anyway; and, reading the lectionary for my next pulpit event, I found an intriguing Collect:

O God, the protector of all who trust in you, without whom nothing is strong, nothing is holy: Increase and multiply upon us your mercy; that, with you as our ruler and guide, we may so pass through things temporal, that we lose not the things eternal; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

One of the great joys of life, and I pray that you also live long to partake in reasonable health and happiness, is the privilege of living into your ancient age. In that regard, prompted by the Collect, what jumps out at me, and may also at you as you pass through things temporal, is this business of "lose not the things eternal" - - what's on the other side. I'm pretty sure I was there (on the other side) for a few hours temporal on that Monday morning, January 24, 2011 in the OR at Cleveland Clinic, when I was Not - - and yes, I've wandered down this path before in this blog, but a recent Calvin and Hobbes comic strip took me there again,

Calvin asks the right question, and Hobbes, caught up short as usual by Calvin's total off-the-wall-ness, Hobbes briefly contemplates, and then has the only correct answer. Oh what the heck. I'll take it anyway.

Years ago I knew someone who told me with absolute certainty, "I don't think, I KNOW where I'M going. I KNOW." Well, there's an ignorant damn fool difference Between Biblical faith as confidence and hope (Hebrews 11:1), And "faith" as the arrogance of smug certainty (a problem with religious zealotry in general, but that's down a different path into a different briar patch), and even though many religions try to answer Calvin's question for us, we don't know, we do NOT know. And no amount of Belief makes anything True.

Streets of gold alongside a river lined with fruit trees bearing figs this summer, apples in the fall, peaches next winter, then plums, bananas and oranges in their seasons, is a dream visualized by an ancient writer who was trying to give hope to persecuted Christians. Jesus' allusion to Lazarus feasting at Abraham's table contrasting Dives thirsting in the fires of hell is a damnation of our selfishness and greed. We don't know about eternity, we do not know, our "knowing" is but hope stretched to confidence, but never to certainty. The gospel promise "today you will be with me in paradise" is spoken only in Luke, poetic license, each evangelist quotes Jesus saying different last words from the Cross, and this is Heilsgeschichte, not a high school history class in prep for final exams.

Just so, other, allusions to the Son of Man coming on the clouds of heaven with the holy angels, and Paul's image of the dead being raised and joining with the living to meet Jesus in the air for judgment - - if you are into literal inerrancy, your God is too small, have a look at the night sky! .

What then? Surely not oblivion, and fading memories for those still enjoying things temporal? IDK - - think of it in terms that are not so personal: several millennia ago, some anonymous Greek or Chinese or Roman or Assyrian or Babylonian soldier died in battle along with hundreds of his comrades, and was buried unmarked, in a hastily dug common grave: will he be among those raised to meet Jesus for judgment? Or will it be just us? What about the unknown early cave woman who scribbled art on that cave wall while her mate was out hunting?

In our Rite One liturgy for Burial of the Dead there's an imaginative faith premise that I sort of like:

Give courage and faith to those who are bereaved, that they may have strength to meet the days ahead in the comfort of a reasonable and holy hope, in the joyful expectation of eternal life with those they love.

Sort of, because I have trouble visualizing it, that community of saints. I have an aversion to being with people who don't want me around: suppose there's someone I love who doesn't love me, do they have to be with me anyway? Suppose there's someone who loves me that I can only take in small doses, but this is Eternity, Jiminy. My imagination goes wild: how about the grandparents who want to be with their beloved grandchildren who don't want to be with their grandparents but with their own beloved grandchildren? How about God, whom I visualize chuckling lovingly about our innocent ignorance? Of the thousands of thousands standing around the throne singing praises, what if I'm not in the group singing Anglican Chant?

What do I really "Believe" - - or, better, "Think Maybe"? I believe that, unlike the "lower" animals who did not eat the forbidden fruit and lose their innocence, humans are afraid of the prospect of death. I believe that we fear punishment in Hell if we've been manipulated over the centuries by controlling religious authority. Seeking the Truth, Come whence it May, Cost what it Will, I believe that being disillusioned is better than illusions with their ignorant innocence or innocent ignorance. I believe that we are unable to conceive the notion of our own personal nonexistence. I believe that, in devising hopes for things beyond our control, we tend to cling to what we devise, and become certain of them, as did that person who told me, "I KNOW where I'm going, I don't just think, I KNOW." That person is dead now: are they enjoying what their preacher promised them if they accepted Jesus, or are they looking around and wondering what the hell happened? Or are they beyond all consciousness, as nonexistent now as they were before they were conceived in the womb? IDK. Neither do you.

Me, back to me, what do I hope? I hope for neither pain nor tears nor sorrow nor sighing. I'm with Hobbes: I'll take it anyway. I'll leave everything else to Whoever or Whatever said "yeh-HI" back before there was Time and space.

I'm with Buechner, in that I exist in those who remember me, and whom I remember:

WHEN YOU REMEMBER ME, it means that you have carried something of who I am with you, that I have left some mark of who I am on who you are. It means that you can summon me back to your mind even though countless years and miles may stand between us. It means that if we meet again, you will know me. It means that even after I die, you can still see my face and hear my voice and speak to me in your heart.

For as long as you remember me, I am never entirely lost. When I'm feeling most ghostlike, it's your remembering me that helps remind me that I actually exist. When I'm feeling sad, it's my consolation. When I'm feeling happy, it's part of why I feel that way.

If you forget me, one of the ways I remember who I am will be gone. If you forget me, part of who I am will be gone.

"Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom," the good thief said from his cross (Luke 23:42). There are perhaps no more human words in all of Scripture, no prayer we can pray so well.

Frederich Buechner. Originally published in Whistling in the Dark and later in Beyond Words

RSF&PTL