Going to Graceland

Going to Graceland

Nov 8, 2009 (Celebrating All Saints-- a week late)

Revelation 21

I swore I wouldn’t do this-- I wouldn’t preach from Revelation because it’s just too often misunderstood.  But as I started looking at the texts for All Saints Day, I fell in love with the passage.

If most of us were honest, a casual reading through the book is enough to “scare us straight”-- and if we’re not scared for ourselves, we’re scared for someone we know-- who either doesn’t know Christ, or who isn’t doing the job of walking the Christian walk that we think they ought to be.

But at it’s heart, the book of Revelation was intended to be a comfort.  It was written by John of Patmos during a time of severe persecution-- intended to bring hope and comfort to seven churches who were also undergoing this persecution.   It was never intended to be the book of damnation that we’ve come to believe it is.

Scholars look at the book of Genesis as a story of beginnings-- a story of how we got here.  In the same sort of way, they look at Revelation as a promise of where we’re going.  I don’t know about you, but I’m a lot better at thinking about how I got here than I am about figuring out where I’m going. 

One of the things I immediately love about this passage is that the writer is given the opportunity to step back from the world, and view life from the perspective of eternity. 

Do you ever have the feeling that you have so many things to deal with that you’re only seeing such a small part of the world? I often have the “can’t see the forrest for all the trees” sort of sensation.

But what if you were given the opportunity to step back, way back, from all these things?  

When I was a kid, my neighborhood seemed pretty big.  I could hop on my bike and ride for an hour and still not see all of it.  And by the same token, my town seemed huge (though I’ve since learned that town is barely a “map dot”). I remember the first time I got on a plane that I was old enough to see out of the window.  As I was waiting, I couldn’t even comprehend what was “out there”.  I mean I just knew I’d see my house, and my church, and my school-- but then couldn’t really imagine what else I’d see as we flew to florida.   Imagine my surprise when I didn’t even get to see my house or church or school or any of the things that seemed so huge in my world.  By time we were off the ground, those things, had I even been in the right place to be able to see them, would have been no bigger than ittty bitty legos. 

So what if you had the opportunity to view your life from the perspective of eternity?  What would you see? I don’t think you’d see the bills.  I don’t think you’d see your infernal, ever growing todo list.  I don’t think you’d see the things that worry you so much.  Even if you’ve been stuck in bed for what seems like the longest  two weeks like I have,  I can’t imagine that in the grand scheme of things, that would even be noticeable.  

The things that seem so huge, and so overwhelming, and so all consuming  wouldn’t even be noticeable. 

I can’t put my finger on why it is, but that thought is so incredibly freeing to me. 

Maybe it’s because it reminds me that I’m but a speck in the world, and I guess that takes some of the pressure to be and do and have away.  But it also reminds me that my speck of existence is connected to your speck of existence.  My world has more or less been the walls of my house for almost two weeks-- and maybe my yard if I felt really daring.  I didn’t watch news, and I couldn’t really connect with anybody.   It’s like I was vaguely aware that a world existed “out there”, but that’s all it was-- a vague existence.  But finally, I got out-- and I remembered what it was to be in the world: I saw little Grays Creek, and some of Fayetteville.

How easy it is to forget that we’re only part of a world, and that the world is so much bigger than the little itty bitty thing that we think it is.  At least for me, it’s really helpful to be reminded that I’m a community member, and that how I interact with other people is really important. 

I guess, thinking about these “getting the big picture” sort of ideas leads me to wonder something else: what do our lives look like from God’s perspective?

 I’ve been thinking and praying about that for a while-- and though I believe that our God is intimate enough with each of us that no detail escapes God’s notice, and I definitely believe that some of the things we do make God weep,  I also believe that God sees us and says, “Yup, there’s one I can redeem with my love.”

Today, we’re celebrating All Saints Day-- it’s a day that carries generations of traditions.  It’s a day when we’re specifically pausing to remember those saints in our lives-- the ones that have somehow made us the people we are-- and have shown us the people we hope to one day become.   For the church, especially in the middle ages, All Saints day was a huge feast day, that carried all the festivities of even Easter and Christmas.   And fittingly enough for us in this congregation today, it was also a traditional day for Baptisms, because at one’s baptism, he or she is officially counted among the Company of Saints as he or she publicly joins Christ’s family. 

At first, I was flustered at the idea that being sick last Sunday would pile too much on this Sunday.  When we originally scheduled the Baptism, I carefully looked at my calendar and thought, “that will be great-- the Baptism will be the only thing going on, and we won’t even be doing communion or anything!”  Ha! “The best laid plans of mice and men often go awry.”  But as I’ve been thinking about everything, I discovered it couldn’t be more perfect if I’d planned it that way. 

What does it mean to be welcomed into the Company of Saints?  I don’t think that’s the high pressure title I used to think it was.  It doesn’t mean that you have to be a saint.  Rather, I think, it means that you join the rest of us ragamuffins who rarely get it right, but whom Christ is working to redeem. 

As I was putting together the slide show, it was quite a holy experience for me.  I quite literally felt like I was holding Saints in my very hands.  I know, I know.  The pictures you submitted were of brothers and sisters and cousins and mothers and fathers and grandparents and friends.  And the folks who submitted the pictures are the only ones who know the stories behind the pictures.  You might chuckle to yourself when you hear me call them saints, because you know they weren’t-- you know they got mad, or that they forgot your birthday, or gosh--maybe they even pulled your hair.  Yet, out of all the people you know that have died, these are the ones you picked for me to include.  Not, I think, because you were under the impression that they were perfect, but  because you know that your love for them erases most of their shortcomings, at least in your mind.  And not only that, but something you saw in these people makes you want to be a better person. 

I wonder if the same principle applies with Christ looks at us with eyes brimming with love?  Even though we rarely get it right, Christ doesn’t just give up on us.  Rather, Christ loves us so much that it makes us want to be better people.   And the promise that grabs hold of me, especially on this day when we’re celebrating All Saints Day, is that Christ won’t stop working for my newness of life until I really am a saint.

I said earlier that we were a lot better at thinking about the places from which we’ve come, and not so great at thinking about the places we’re going. But being a Christian takes a lot of the work out of it-- we’re not just going anywhere.  We’re going back to God.  The picture we saw in the words of Revelation today is our ultimate destination.   It’s a picture of what it will be like when humans and God dwell together in complete communion, just as we did before the fall.

One of my favorite songs is “Graceland” by Paul Simon.  It was a tradition that every time we took a family car trip, we would listen to this album.  At first, I probably loved it because my dad loved it (and it was one of the few songs he’d sing to.)  Then maybe I loved it because it had engaging rhythms.  But as I’ve grown, it’s kind of become a piece of who I am and what I believe.  In fact, the name under which I do things like writing and photography is Going to Graceland.

The song I’m talking about is a story of a very broken man and some of the broken people he’s encountered. And this man, and his little boy “a child from my first marriage” are going to Graceland, in Memphis Tennessee. 

One of the choruses says this,

 In Graceland Graceland,

I'm going to Graceland,

For reasons I cannot explain

There's some part of me wants to see

Graceland,

And I may be obliged to defend

Every love every ending

Or maybe there's no obligations now,

Maybe I've a reason to believe

We all will be received

In Graceland

I guess the reason this has become so much a part of who I am is that I know it describes me, and I’m guessing it describes most of humanity.   We’re a people broken apart, and we’re all on this incredible journey.  We don’t know exactly what we’ll find when we get there, but we keep on going.  We don’t know what will be asked of us, we don’t know which decisions we’ll be asked to defend.  But still we go-- and we like the man in the song, trust that despite our brokenness, we will be gathered up and received in Graceland. 

This beautiful passage from Revelation never talks about Saints.  It doesn’t talk about even talk about sin.  What it does speak of is a glorious gathering up, when God redeems those who have been unlovable.  And God himself comes and dwells among them. 

But here’s the amazing part.  This passage isn’t just a “One Day” passage-- it’s a passage that started when Christ died for us.  The redeeming and making new is something that has already started.  We get to participate in the ongoing reclamation of creation.

“Write these words down, for they are trustworthy and true. I am the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end. ... He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.

I AM makING all things new.”

When God looks at us,  I think he sees neither sinners nor saints.  I think what God sees is a whole world of people that can be made new.

Sinners? Yeah.  Saints?  Yeah.  Broken people? Sure.  Those barely old enough to have sinned, those who’ve had a whole life time to miss the mark, Whoever you are, c’mon. 

We’re going to graceland, and maybe I have reason to believe that we will be received.  Amen.