Not Even Death

Not Even Death

Rev. Dr. Tom Sorenson

February, 2019

Scripture: Romans 8:38-39

Let us pray: May the words of my mouth and the meditations of all of our hearts be acceptable in your sight O God, our strength and our redeemer. Amen.

OK. I get it. I’m old. I suppose that the truth of that statement necessarily depends on what you mean by old. I mean by it that I’m 72 years old. That’s not old compared to some people I know. I know two women who are over 100 years old and are still mentally quite sharp. I’m not old compared to them, but at least I’m getting there. Sure. Everyone is aging; but at least by the time we’re in our 70s, if we’re lucky enough to live that long, age gets to be more of an issue than it was when we were younger. Or at least it does for me. We learn when we are still quite young that we’re all mortal. Everyone dies. We know that for most of our lives, but when we’re old mortality becomes more real. At least, it does for me.

I’ve been thinking about mortality a lot recently. The other day I wrote this in my journal: “Everybody you love dies. Every animal you love dies. Everyone who has been important in your life dies, and eventually you do too. I [can] feel the despair creeping in….” I have lived through the deaths of so many people who were important to me and whom I loved or at least respected a lot. My first wife, who is the mother of my children, died far too young over 16 years ago. Both of my parents are gone. Every dog or cat I’ve ever had and loved has died. (Why by the way is losing a pet so hard? I don’t know, but I find it so hard that I’m reluctant ever to have another one.) My major Ph.D. professor has been dead for many years. A Presbyterian minister who was a friend and mentor of mine died a while back. So did a UCC pastor who had given me great pastoral care when my first wife’s cancer was diagnosed and surgery on it performed. Everyone you love dies. Everyone who was important in your life dies. It can just become overwhelming. It is so easy to think: “What’s the point of living? Everyone dies.” Everyone who is important to you dies. Sooner or later everyone still alive who loved you or to whom you were important loses you. That reality has been hitting hard these days. After all, I’m old.

I feel the threat of despair over the reality of death creeping up on me, but every time I start to feel it one of two things comes to my mind. The first is some of the lyrics of the old hymn “Abide With Me:” “When other helpers fail and comforts flee, Help of the helpless, oh, abide with me.” “ Change and decay in all around I see—O Thou who changest not abide with me.” “Where is death’s sting? Where, grave, thy victory?” “I triumph still if Thou abide with me.” Then there’s this final verse:

Hold Thou Thy cross before my closing eyes;

Shine through the gloom and point me to the skies;

Heaven’s morning breaks, and earth’s vain shadows flee;

In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me.

I’ve always said, and I say again now, that I’m agnostic about life after death. I don’t know if there is any life after death or if there is what it looks like. Still, I find “Abide With Me” to be powerful and comforting. I hope they sing it at my memorial service. I find them to be profoundly true: “I triumph still if Thou abide with me” They express my deepest hope: “In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me.” They call God “help of the helpless,” and we’re all ultimately helpless in the face of death Those words were written over 150 years ago. They spoke divine truth then and they speak it now.

That God will abide with me—and with you and everyone—is my deepest hope. Yet in Christ Jesus I know that it is more than a hope. In faith it is a certainty. It is the promise of Christian scripture and tradition. We see the promise clearly and powerfully in these words from St. Paul: “For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.” Romans 8:38-39 NRSV. In these ancient lines Paul speaks the greatest truth there ever was or could be. Nothing ever has, does, or ever will separate anyone from the love of God. We Christians know that unfailing love in Jesus Christ. People of other faith traditions know it in other ways, but the truth is still there. Nothing, absolutely nothing, can or ever will separate anyone from the love of God. Thanks be to God!

What is speaking to me with particular power these days is that Paul specifically includes death in his list of things that cannot and never will separate us from the love of God. Death so seems to have the last word. Our deceased loved ones are gone—from this plain of existence anyway. Almost everyone who ever lived is dead, gone, and forgotten. One day we will be gone and forgotten too. Gone from this life, that is. Forgotten by people in this life. The deceased just aren’t here anymore, and one day we won’t be here either.

That’s where Paul’s inclusion of death in his great list comes in. All of our dead loved ones are gone from us, but they are not gone from God. We’ve forgotten most of the people who ever lived, but God hasn’t. We never knew most of the people who’ve ever lived, but God knew them and still does. Death has separated them from us, but it hasn’t separated them from the love of God. Death won’t separate any of us from that love either. That’s the assurance our Christian faith gives us. We don’t know what not being separated from the love of God after death looks like. We just know that whatever it looks like, even if it is only the oblivion of nonbeing, we are held in it in God’s love.

That old hymn “Abide With Me” speaks to that truth, or at least we can legitimately hear it speaking to that truth. Despair over the reality of death is what the Christian tradition calls a temptation. It is a temptation to the sin of giving up on life and giving up on God. So “Abide With Me” sings: “What but they grace can foil the tempter’s pow’r?” Indeed it is by trusting and resting in God’s grace that we can overcome the sin of despair. Indeed, I am convinced that it is the only way to overcome the sin of despair. So when despair comes knocking on your door close the door with prayer. Close the door with scripture. Close the door with faith. Close the door with trust in God. Close the door knowing that not even death can or ever will separate you, me, or anyone else from the Love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord. Thanks be to God. Amen.