I’ll never take my wife for granted again. OK, I’ve probably pledged that many times in the 31and half years of our marriage. But this time I mean it. I announced to the staff last week that I was barely competent as a dad. As a mom I was a washout. It was hard keeping up with all the various things that need doing and I’m sure I forgot some things along the way.
At least we are alive to this point anyway. The house is a wreck, the dogs have slipped into uber-crazy dog mode and it smells like I am burning lunch. But we are still alive. After this weekend, I might have things back in shape for her return. The delicate balance that I need to find between making her proud that we could maintain a well lived life and the subtle evidence that we needed her desperately. We’ll find it. Hang on, I really have to go check lunch.
OK, not burned. Just crisp. And that’s just what I’m talking about. I’m just a little bit slow, a little bit off, a little bit uncertain. Like when Maddie came down with her crying baby last night. (All right, don’t panic, it is a class assignment from Child Development that she is taking at Homestead this year - It must be working, after getting up 5 times last night she said, “I’m not having kids for a long, long time!”) But she looked at me and then sighed. “I need mom.”
Me too, Sweetpea, me too.
In my defense, I’ve always tried to be appreciative. And tried to participate with her in all sorts of household activities. But what’s that old saying? “You don’t what you’ve got ‘til it’s gone.” Being aware and knowing aren’t necessarily the same thing.
Which, I think, is what John the Evangelist was facing in our reading for this All Saints Sunday. At least a part of what is going on here. Take a look:
Revelation 7:9 - 17 After this I looked, and there was a great multitude that no one could count, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages, standing before the throne and before the Lamb, robed in white, with palm branches in their hands. 10 They cried out in a loud voice, saying, "Salvation belongs to our God who is seated on the throne, and to the Lamb!" 11 And all the angels stood around the throne and around the elders and the four living creatures, and they fell on their faces before the throne and worshiped God, 12 singing, "Amen! Blessing and glory and wisdom and thanksgiving and honor and power and might be to our God forever and ever! Amen." 13 Then one of the elders addressed me, saying, "Who are these, robed in white, and where have they come from?" 14 I said to him, "Sir, you are the one that knows." Then he said to me, "These are they who have come out of the great ordeal; they have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb. 15 For this reason they are before the throne of God, and worship him day and night within his temple, and the one who is seated on the throne will shelter them. 16 They will hunger no more, and thirst no more; the sun will not strike them, nor any scorching heat; 17 for the Lamb at the center of the throne will be their shepherd, and he will guide them to springs of the water of life, and God will wipe away every tear from their eyes."
The “this” that our passage comes after is the numbering of the saved (or the “sealed”) from the twelve tribes of Israel. The one hundred forty four thousand that you might have heard referred to a time or two before. (In fact I have heard some say that there are only 144,000 in heaven. Which is why you have to pay attention and make sure you got your number! Those folks obviously stopped reading before verse nine of chapter seven. “A great multitude no one could count” seems to be pretty inclusive.)
Then we have the question from the elder. “Who are these?” Did he not know? Was it a device to test John? Or was it just a way of starting a conversation? “Who are these?” Turns out they are those who have found their way into the Kingdom. But it wasn’t a walk in the park. It took some doing, some effort, some struggle on their part.
The elder, when we at last recognizes them, or checks the program, or reveals what he know all along, says that this multitude has come through a great ordeal. Older versions called it the tribulation. Some say it points to a specific event, having to do with the end times. The last battle, or the suffering that comes along with it. Others say, and I tend to believe that it is the ordeal of living in uncertain times. Maybe something cataclysmic and world-encompassing, or maybe it was the ordeals we read about in our newspapers or see listed in our prayer chains. Ordeals of illness or infirmity, ordeals of abuse or victimization, ordeals of hunger and poverty, ordeals of ... well, you fill in the blank. There are so many ordeals, so many struggles out there in the world, large and small. So it may be the sum of all of them that add up to the great ordeal that the elder speaks of in verse fourteen.
But wait, you say, it has to be more than just survival. More than just getting through whatever the struggles are. And you would be right. They came through, the elder tells us, and they washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb. Which is one little indicator that you can’t take this literally! Washing robes in blood won’t make them white. So, what does it mean?
Blood, in the Bible, usually means life, sometimes a life of sacrifice. This multitude, then, are the ones who put on the life of the Lamb. St. Paul is always telling us to put on our faith, to put on the attributes of Christ, to put on the fruit of the Spirit. These are the ones who put on Christ. Put on his life, lived it as though it were their own. Lived it in front of any and all, particularly those in need. Who lived and worked for the benefit of others.
The ones who cared for you. Who loved you. On All Saints Day that is who we remember, those who loved and cared and now are no longer there to do so. In just a few days now, La Donna will be back home and things will return to a semblance of normalcy. But there are many of those white robed saints who aren’t coming home. And they have left a hole in our midst, they have left tasks for others to do. They have given an example that someone has to pick up. Caring that others need to do.
In other words it is our time in the laundry room. We wash our robes in the blood, in the life and witness and example of the Lamb and then we put it on and begin to look like Him. And act like Him. And love like Him.
Who are these? They are those we remember. And they are us.
Shalom,
Derek
At least we are alive to this point anyway. The house is a wreck, the dogs have slipped into uber-crazy dog mode and it smells like I am burning lunch. But we are still alive. After this weekend, I might have things back in shape for her return. The delicate balance that I need to find between making her proud that we could maintain a well lived life and the subtle evidence that we needed her desperately. We’ll find it. Hang on, I really have to go check lunch.
OK, not burned. Just crisp. And that’s just what I’m talking about. I’m just a little bit slow, a little bit off, a little bit uncertain. Like when Maddie came down with her crying baby last night. (All right, don’t panic, it is a class assignment from Child Development that she is taking at Homestead this year - It must be working, after getting up 5 times last night she said, “I’m not having kids for a long, long time!”) But she looked at me and then sighed. “I need mom.”
Me too, Sweetpea, me too.
In my defense, I’ve always tried to be appreciative. And tried to participate with her in all sorts of household activities. But what’s that old saying? “You don’t what you’ve got ‘til it’s gone.” Being aware and knowing aren’t necessarily the same thing.
Which, I think, is what John the Evangelist was facing in our reading for this All Saints Sunday. At least a part of what is going on here. Take a look:
Revelation 7:9 - 17 After this I looked, and there was a great multitude that no one could count, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages, standing before the throne and before the Lamb, robed in white, with palm branches in their hands. 10 They cried out in a loud voice, saying, "Salvation belongs to our God who is seated on the throne, and to the Lamb!" 11 And all the angels stood around the throne and around the elders and the four living creatures, and they fell on their faces before the throne and worshiped God, 12 singing, "Amen! Blessing and glory and wisdom and thanksgiving and honor and power and might be to our God forever and ever! Amen." 13 Then one of the elders addressed me, saying, "Who are these, robed in white, and where have they come from?" 14 I said to him, "Sir, you are the one that knows." Then he said to me, "These are they who have come out of the great ordeal; they have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb. 15 For this reason they are before the throne of God, and worship him day and night within his temple, and the one who is seated on the throne will shelter them. 16 They will hunger no more, and thirst no more; the sun will not strike them, nor any scorching heat; 17 for the Lamb at the center of the throne will be their shepherd, and he will guide them to springs of the water of life, and God will wipe away every tear from their eyes."
The “this” that our passage comes after is the numbering of the saved (or the “sealed”) from the twelve tribes of Israel. The one hundred forty four thousand that you might have heard referred to a time or two before. (In fact I have heard some say that there are only 144,000 in heaven. Which is why you have to pay attention and make sure you got your number! Those folks obviously stopped reading before verse nine of chapter seven. “A great multitude no one could count” seems to be pretty inclusive.)
Then we have the question from the elder. “Who are these?” Did he not know? Was it a device to test John? Or was it just a way of starting a conversation? “Who are these?” Turns out they are those who have found their way into the Kingdom. But it wasn’t a walk in the park. It took some doing, some effort, some struggle on their part.
The elder, when we at last recognizes them, or checks the program, or reveals what he know all along, says that this multitude has come through a great ordeal. Older versions called it the tribulation. Some say it points to a specific event, having to do with the end times. The last battle, or the suffering that comes along with it. Others say, and I tend to believe that it is the ordeal of living in uncertain times. Maybe something cataclysmic and world-encompassing, or maybe it was the ordeals we read about in our newspapers or see listed in our prayer chains. Ordeals of illness or infirmity, ordeals of abuse or victimization, ordeals of hunger and poverty, ordeals of ... well, you fill in the blank. There are so many ordeals, so many struggles out there in the world, large and small. So it may be the sum of all of them that add up to the great ordeal that the elder speaks of in verse fourteen.
But wait, you say, it has to be more than just survival. More than just getting through whatever the struggles are. And you would be right. They came through, the elder tells us, and they washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb. Which is one little indicator that you can’t take this literally! Washing robes in blood won’t make them white. So, what does it mean?
Blood, in the Bible, usually means life, sometimes a life of sacrifice. This multitude, then, are the ones who put on the life of the Lamb. St. Paul is always telling us to put on our faith, to put on the attributes of Christ, to put on the fruit of the Spirit. These are the ones who put on Christ. Put on his life, lived it as though it were their own. Lived it in front of any and all, particularly those in need. Who lived and worked for the benefit of others.
The ones who cared for you. Who loved you. On All Saints Day that is who we remember, those who loved and cared and now are no longer there to do so. In just a few days now, La Donna will be back home and things will return to a semblance of normalcy. But there are many of those white robed saints who aren’t coming home. And they have left a hole in our midst, they have left tasks for others to do. They have given an example that someone has to pick up. Caring that others need to do.
In other words it is our time in the laundry room. We wash our robes in the blood, in the life and witness and example of the Lamb and then we put it on and begin to look like Him. And act like Him. And love like Him.
Who are these? They are those we remember. And they are us.
Shalom,
Derek
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