Revelation 21:1-6a
Rev. Caela Simmons Wood
First Congregational UCC, Manhattan, KS
October 31, 2021
As we gather on All Saints’ Sunday to honor those beloveds who have departed us this past year, it might seem - at first glance - a little odd to turn to the book of Revelation. I won’t ask for a show of hands, but I know some folks don’t even like to crack this book open because it can be so scary and weird.
Revelation is filled with horror, to be sure, but there are also parts of the book that cast a vision of what things might be like some day when the horror has passed. John wants his hearers to look forward to the time after the great battle. He paints a picture of a new heaven and a new earth where pain will be no more. There will be no more hunger, no more thirst. All will worship God and God will wipe away every tear from the eyes of those who weep and mourn.
There has been a lot of weeping and mourning this past year. We have so many people in our congregation who have lost loved ones. And, of course, there are many other things that can cause grief, too: job losses, divorce and other estrangements, loss of direction, health and ability changes and more. Many of us have shed tears this year. Or sat with others as they’ve cried.
When I was in seminary and did the required residency as a hospital chaplain, I received detailed instruction on the use of Kleenex from our instructor. She told us, “When someone starts to cry, do not hand them a Kleenex! If you hand them a Kleenex, you are basically saying, ‘Stop crying. It makes me uncomfortable when you cry.’” Those of you who have cried in my office may have thought I was strange because I didn’t offer you Kleenex but now you know why. I try to keep it conspicuously available, right there next to the couch, so you can reach it if you need it. But I try not to hand it to you. We need to know it’s okay to weep together.
I don’t think God wiping away every tear is supposed to be about a vision of God saying, “Stop crying. Pull it together.” Instead, I think this is a vision of comfort. A vision of a time and place where those who mourn are held secure in the arms of Love. A time and place where all who grieve will find solace and relief.
Of course, John’s vision was cosmic and way beyond the constrictions that we deal with in the real world. Since it’s doubtful we are going to be worshiping at the feet of the Lamb anytime soon, what are we called to do and be as people of faith living in the here and now? It seems we have to draw upon all of the Holy within us to love those who are grieving well.
This isn’t easy. It’s really hard to know what to do or say when we are confronted with a person who is hurting. One of the things that makes offering support so challenging is that no two people handle grief the same way. Some might want their tears wiped and others do not. Some might not even shed a tear. But even with our differences, there are, I think, a few things that are almost universally helpful if we want to comfort those who mourn.
First, be aware of your place in the drama. A few years ago there was an article in the L.A. Times about this. The authors talked about concentric rings around the person or persons who are going through a trauma of some sort. So let’s imagine a scenario where a person has experienced a miscarriage. They are at the center of the circle. Others surround them – perhaps the person’s partner, if they have one, and then other children, if there are any; parents or other close relatives; closest friends; the medical staff that provides care; coworkers and acquaintances; strangers on the street.
Being around someone who is suffering can bring up all kinds of our own stuff….bad memories, anger at injustice, frustration with God. There’s nothing wrong with that. But the rule is this: you can only say those things aloud to the people in the bigger circles. So the person at the center? They can complain to everyone. But the people who surround them need to work to comfort those who are in the interior circles. “Comfort IN, Dump OUT,” is the rule of thumb.
Another thing we can do: show up. Be there. Sometimes we don’t ask how a person is doing after a loss because we don’t want to “bring it up.” Most grieving people have told me, “Don’t worry about that. You aren’t going to reopen a wound by acknowledging it.” And we shouldn’t stop asking after a week or a month. I’ve often heard that it can be a powerful thing to have a friend remember the anniversary of loss. A simple note in the mail saying, “I remember your mom died a year ago and wanted to say I am thinking of you” can bring comfort. Or how about a text saying, “I know this Friday is the anniversary of your divorce. Want to get together for dinner?” Showing up matters. One of the ways our congregation does this is by offering a series of grief books to people in the first year after their loved one has died. I am grateful to our Ministers of Care for offering this important ministry.
I think we are often nervous about showing up because we don’t know what to do once we’re there. We are so scared we will say the wrong thing, we say nothing. We are so aware that there is nothing we can do to fix the pain...so we do nothing. But the ministry of presence - showing up - is doing something. It matters.
One of my clergy colleagues who is also a dear friend lost her mother to cancer a few years ago. Recently, she shared a beautiful poem called “The Guest” by Patricia Fargnoli. I’d like to share it with you:
In the long July evenings,
the French woman
who came to stay every summer
for two weeks at my aunt’s inn
would row my brother and me
out to the middle of the mile-wide lake
so that the three of us
would be surrounded by the wild
extravagance of reds that had transformed
both lake and sky into fire.
It was the summer after our mother died.
I remember the dipping sound of the oars
and the sweet music of our voices as she led us
in the songs she had taught us to love.
“Blue Moon.” “Deep Purple.”
We sang as she rowed, not ever wondering
where she came from or why she was alone,
happy that she was willing to row us
out into all that beauty.
My friend said she was so thankful for her friends who showed up after her mother’s death and kept showing up…to row her out into beauty. She has no memory of what these people said. In fact, it often seems to be best to show up and say very little. For those who like to talk or fill the silence, this can be a real challenge. But having an awareness of this can help us find a quieter way to accompany.
It seems to me that we worship a God who sent a guide for us when it comes to all of this. Jesus not only walked the way of suffering and showed us how to march steadily through terror with grace. He also walked alongside those who mourned. When the crowd threw the stones at the woman, he moved into the sand – between the woman and the crowd – he placed his body right there in the midst of the ugliness. He showed up. When his dear friend Lazarus died, he rushed to be with him. He stood at the door of his home and cried with his sisters, Mary and Martha. When he neared death, he wasn’t afraid to talk about it with his friends. He talked about it openly and pushed them to recognize what was happening. Jesus was unafraid to sit in the midst of sorrow – to row that boat out to the middle of the lake and simply be with those who were grieving.
Our faith in Christ makes it possible for us to “bear each others burdens and share each other’s joys.” We have a model and we have a calling – to comfort those who mourn, to care for each other in times of distress. We await the day that John describes - when there are no more tears.
But here and now, in the in-between time, we are the hands that comfort, the ones who come and sit. We row each other out into beauty. We lean into Love by showing up and refusing to hide from grief. Thanks be to the One who makes us brave.
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