Rev. Danielle K Bartz October 30, 2022
Isaiah 25:1, 4a, 6-10a Wisdom in the Midst of Grief
The celebration of All Saints Day in the church is an opportunity for us to not only acknowledge the losses we have sustained throughout this last year, but it is also a time when, inevitably, questions about life and death arise. Grief, whether it is a fresh, raw grief, or an old ache that periodically hurts anew, grief inevitably raises for us questions about the nature of our lives and the role of God in the midst of them. These questions, questions which can never be answered to any degree of satisfaction, are reminders that our lives are ones that are enmeshed in an ultimate mystery. For some, this mystery of never truly understanding God and God’s role in our lives can be a source of comfort – a comfort in knowing that there is something greater than us. For others, that mystery is nothing but a source of consternation – a reminder of our human desire to understand the world and its forces around us and our inability to fully do so. So, on this All Saints Day, when we leave space for grief and remembrance, we also leave space for the questions that arise.
It is fitting that the words of the prophets are often drawn on to help us navigate this great Divine Mystery. Of all the prophetic wisdom in the Bible, Isaiah is my favorite. His words have the drama of an epic poem and the hope that comes from a fundamental belief in God and God’s great love for creation. Throughout the text Isaiah is grappling with the same questions we often ask in moments of grief or upheaval. Why do bad things happen to good people? What is the nature of suffering? What role does God play in the good and the bad that happen in our lives and in our world? Is hope for a better tomorrow naïve? Isaiah considers these questions and offers us wisdom from the learned experience of living through a time of tremendous pain – the time before, during, and after the Babylonian exile, when the people were removed from everything they thought they knew. And even after they returned to Judah following the exile, it was a place they no longer found familiar. It was home, but it was a strange land.
Throughout it all, the wisdom of Isaiah casts a vision of hope rooted in the belief that God does not abandon God’s people, that God’s favor falls upon those who suffer, and that God’s vision for humanity is not one of despair – but one of joy and flourishing. That vision, Isaiah said, can still be seen no matter what is happening around and to us. The grief, pain, and trauma of today cannot obscure that vision, because God does not give up on us and God will continue to guide us towards the realization of the God’s Kingdom for all.
The period that Isaiah writes in and casts God’s vision in is an apt metaphor for grief. The upheaval of life right before the exile carries with it similar emotions to what we experience during the upheaval that death brings. Even if it is expected, it still feels shocking, overwhelming, and confusing. The ground under us doesn’t feel solid anymore. Moving into the time of exile is much like the deep well of grief we experience following a death. It is hollow and time moves differently. There is a hole in our lives that we are sure will never be filled up again. That time of deep grief is a spiritual exile. And even when the exile is over, and the sharp pain of grief fades, the return to what is familiar can leave us confused. Our lives before and our lives after the exile of grief are nothing alike. The ground may be more stable, but it is unfamiliar. We must learn anew to live in a world that has fundamentally changed.
This is why it is such a gift that we have the wisdom of the prophets like Isaiah who can provide words when words don’t come easily to us. Isaiah does not shy away from acknowledging the pain and the loss, but he also does not waver in his belief that through it all God continues to provide comfort, that God does not turn away in shame at our tears, that God instead pulls us closer and whispers to us the reminders that our condition of today is not our cage of tomorrow. “God will swallow up death forever,” Isaiah says. “Then the Sovereign God will wipe away tears from the whole earth, for God Whose Name is Holy has spoken.” Isaiah, no stranger to grief, points to God and urges us to look through the veil of our tears and reminds us that God is “a refuge to the poor, a refuge to the needy in their distress, a shelter from the storm and a shade from the heat.”
On this All Saints Day, as we grief, remember, and ask our questions, we also hold with us the promise of God as Easter people. We remember that God is a source of life, of new life even in the spaces that feel heavy with death. God is a constant presence and shelter when we are feeling raw and exposed. God was there yesterday, God is here today, and God will be there tomorrow providing comfort and the conviction we need to cry alleluia. Those we remember today who have gone before us and are now a part of that great cloud of witnesses are reminders of this. Their lives were a gift and their memory is a blessing. As we move to a time of ritual to remember them, we do so certain of God’s presence.
Today we have candles lit in memory of those we have lost in this last year. Each flame represents the living memory of their lives. Here now the names of those we have lost:
NAMES
Let us pray
Holy One, Creator of all
To You, we give thanks
For every blessing, for You
Are generous, O lover of souls.
Form within us,
Wisdom,
Sustained and nurtured by your
Holy Spirit
That we might, have the grace to listen
deeply and respond with compassion
May we be filled with gratitude
For every gift of life,
For family, friends,
And the Saints who have gone before us.
From those who are peacemakers,
May we learn, and follow their example
From those who are pure in heart
May we become likewise, Christ-like.
Holy One, Creator of all
To You, we give thanks
For every blessing, for You
Are generous, O lover of souls.
For those who suffer, we ask for comfort
For those who are ill, we ask for healing
For those who struggle, we ask for peace
For those who worry, we ask for guidance
For those who are anxious, we ask for solace
For those who are hungry, may we give food
For those who are homeless, may we provide shelter
For those who are poor, may we bring sustenance
For all the worries and cares of this earth,
May we be your heart and hands
May we be generous as You.
Holy One, Creator of all
To You we give thanks for every blessing,
for You are generous, O lover of all.
God of every nation, tribe, people, and language,
God of all creation, this great multitude of life
We give you thanks.
Bless us, that we may be a blessing in return.
As we pray in memory of those we have lost in this last year, we also hold within us the losses from all points in our lives. So, I invite you, as you wish, to come forward and light a candle on either side of the altar in memory of those you have lost whose name we did not read aloud. Place the lit candle in the containers and then before returning to your seat, I invite you to reach into the bowl of water and remove a small stone to carry with you as a physical reminder of God’s constant and enduring presence in your life. These stones are submerged in water from the Whitewater River, a reminder of the life-giving sustenance of our faith. As the music plays, come forward as you wish.
Let us close this ritual by saying together the prayer we were taught and share with Christians around the world:
Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name.
Thy Kingdom come. Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread.
And forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors.
And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.
For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, forever. Amen.