Hebrews 9:11-28 · The Blood of Christ
Death by Chocolate
Hebrews 9:11-28
Sermon
by Leonard Sweet
Loading...

"Death by Chocolate."

Just the words put moisture in your mouth. [If you can bring out here some parishioner's recipe of Death by Chocolate, and tease them with its deliciousness, so much the better.]

Almost every upscale, elegant restaurant seems to offer their own version of this extra rich, extra decadent, extra artery-clogging delight they dub Death by Chocolate. For committed chocoholics this dessert offers the ultimate attempt to sweeten the bitterest reality life offers all of us the plain and simple fact that...

Everybody in this room is going to die.

No exceptions.

Everybody in this room will one day walk through the valley of the shadow of death.

No one gets a free pass through this valley.

Everybody in this room is going to die.

There are two ways this is going to happen, two ways life can end. Either through age or accident.

It doesn't matter if you spend two hours a day sweating at the gym . . . It doesn't matter if you take every vitamin found in a drug store . . . It doesn't matter if you never let a cholesterol-laden tidbit cross your lips . . . It doesn't matter if you obey every safety regulation ever written for any product . . . It doesn't matter if you drastically reduce the stress factors from all you do . . .

One day you and I will die.

Whether we will suffer death by chocolate or death by violence, accident, illness, or simply a wearing out from old age, death will ultimately find each and everyone of us. It is the one sure event in our lives the one experience, without question, which we all have in common.

Rich or poor, black or white, sophisticated or simple, educated or illiterate we all will die.

This great common denominator hasn't made contemplating our end any easier or ideas about death the least bit homogenous. Pop culture is currently making death sexy. Look at CSI, CSI:Miami, NAVY NCIS, etc. We are almost obsessed with the moment of death . . . as television re-creates the death moments that a bullet makes as it makes its way through a body, or the anatomical explorations of a knife that punctures a heart . . .

But in terms of what happens after death, there is "a kind of acceptable pandemonium regarding the subject," says John Killinger in his book God, The Devil, and Harry Potter (NY: Thomas Dunne, 2002), 134. Although probably most of us would concur with the observation made by John Denmark of Seminole, Florida who remarked: "When I die I want to go like Grandpa; peacefully and in his sleep. Not yelling and screaming like the passengers in his car."

Thinking about our own death had confounded the greatest minds.

As he lay dying, the great writer Tolstoy said "I don't understand what I'm supposed to do." Helping people know what to do when they die has generated a huge literature in the last half of the twentieth-century. In the giant stack of advice and insight generated by the genre of death literature, scholars warn that denying the reality of death is a stage that many of us get stuck in. It is as though, if we refuse to acknowledge death, it will loose its ability to catch us up in its grip.

There is an old story about three friends one afternoon who were vaguely contemplating the inevitability of their own deaths. They posed the following question to themselves: "When you are in your casket and friends and family are mourning upon you, what would you like to hear them say about you?"

The first guy said, "I would like to hear them say that I was a great doctor of my time, and a great family man."

The second guy said, "I would like to hear that I was a wonderful husband and school teacher who made a huge difference in our children of tomorrow."

The last guy replied, "I would like to hear them say: 'LOOK!!! HE'S MOVING!!!'"

There is an old Hasidic tale about a woman of great wealth whose child died and she went to a Wise Man of the village who was known to perform miracles. The woman offered to give away all of her wealth if the child could only be brought back to life.

The Wise Man told her that in order for her wish to be granted, she would have to journey through the land and bring him a coal from the fire of one house that death had not touched a house in which no one, not master or servant, and grieved for the loss of a loved one.

The woman went from house to house, and at the end of a year returned to the Wise Man without the coal but with a heart that had finally accepted the obvious fact that death is a part of life and no one is exempt from the sorrow that moves in its wake.

The Hebrews' author in today's epistle lesson accepts the reality of death not only for each of us but for Jesus Christ as well. He acknowledges simply and succinctly that "it is appointed for mortals to die once, and after that the judgment" (verse 27). Because God chose to incarnate the deity in humanity, even Jesus had to experience death along with all men and women. By willingly participating in that great commonality, in the death that awaits all human beings, Jesus experienced the totality of human frailty and fallenness.

What an astounding thought. Each of us will ultimately have death in common with Jesus Christ.

But if it is the specter of loss, incompleteness and depletion that makes human death appear so bitter and wasteful, the Book of Hebrews' reminds us today that with Christ's own death our perspective on death must be radically changed.

Ever notice how when a person of considerable accomplishment dies, the person doing the eulogy is likely to mention how much the world has been impoverished by the person's death: "A bright light has gone out in the world . . . the world will sorely miss her or his many talents . . . humanity has suffered a great loss."

We cannot speak this way about Jesus' death. In truth, the world was not impoverished by Jesus' death but enriched. In truth, it was not until that final moment on Calvary, when Jesus confidently let go, saying, "It is accomplished," that the world took possession of its greatest treasure and our greatest hope.

Jesus' death and resurrection forever altered the meaning of death. His sacrifice made eternal redemption, complete forgiveness, and utter purification available through the power of God's grace. Jesus transformed human death from an ending into a beginning, from failure and defeat into a triumphant new life, an eternal existence in Christ. As the Apostle Paul wrote in his second letter to the Corinthians, "These troubles and sufferings of ours are, after all, quite small and won't last very long. Yet this short time of distress will result in God's richest blessing upon us forever and ever! So we do not look at what we can see right now, the troubles all around us, but we look forward to the joys in heaven which we have not yet seen. The troubles will soon be over, but the joys to come will last forever." (2 Corinthians 4:17-18).

Instead of nervously or pigheadedly denying the inevitability of death, a Christian looks towards death as a fulfillment of all human possibility, as an introduction to the divine reality. It is at the end of this earthly life that the opportunity for our most genuine life may be experienced. In the words of the poet Patrick Kavanagh, "Only those who have flown home to God have flown at all."

If we have confidence in Christ, in the once-and-for-all nature of Jesus' death, then life and death in this world become a synthesis not an antithesis. Our lives become an extension of Christ's death. For Christians our living takes its power and persistence, its commitment and compassion, from our death-to-come. Christ's sacrifice gave both life to life and life to our death.

One of my favorite stories that I often use at memorial services is this one from Norman Vincent Peale. It's a graphic story of a conversation between a mother and her unborn child in the eighth month of pregnancy.

The mother cradled the child with her hands. If she could carry on a conversation, it would go something like this:

"My little one, soon you are to be born. Another month or so and you'll come out of the womb into life. Your father, your brothers and sisters, and I can barely wait for that moment of birth!"

The little one, if it could, would probably argue back, "I don't want to be born. I like it here. All my needs are met. It's dark, warm, moist, and comfortable here. Don't talk to me about birth!"

The mother would respond, "But my little one, it's beautiful out here. There's sunshine, flowers, laughter, dancing, friendship, and music. It's so much better! In fact, it's terrible if you stay in there too long."

And the little one would argue back, "I don't know anything about any of those things. all I know is that in here all my needs are met. I'd rather have what I know than what I don't know!"

The mother would never convince the little one that to stay in there too long would actually be ghastly.

Then Dr. Peale would pause and say, It's now 70, 80, 90 years later. That little unborn child is now a man or woman. The conversation continues. This time, not with his mother but with his Father, his heavenly Father who tells him, "My son, I love you. I've mode provision for you beyond this life. I've come in the person of Jesus Christ to die for your sins. I know life is awesome, but it's only a passageway into my presence. I tried to describe to you in the Bible the life that is better than any life you have experienced on earth. It's a quality life. Although I've used my best descriptions, analogies, and metaphors to somehow help you anticipate it, it goes beyond anything you've experienced. Trust me."

The old argument goes on the same way it did decades before when he was in the womb. "I don't understand what you're talking about. I like it here. I don't want to die. I have a hard time believing that it would be any better!"

Once again he's having a hard time trusting someone who really knows better than does he.

Holding on to things, to your safety, to your self, to your present, to your identity, to your resources, to your security: these are all non-Jesus. The way of maximum security is the way of Satan. The ways of self-expenditure are the ways of Jesus.

Are you, am I, like the child in the womb? Are we prepared to claim God promises? Will you trust God?

(With thanks to John A. Huffman, Jr. for jogging my memory in his "God's Answer to Death," 4 November 2001, St. Andrew's Presbyterian Church, Newport Beach, California.)

Acts 13:36 summarizes King David this way: "For when David had served God's purpose in his own generation, he fell asleep." In the words of my favorite benediction, "May you live until the word of your life is fully spoken."

Would you repeat after me: "May I live until the word of my life is fully spoken."

Would you turn to the person next to you and offer them this benediction: "May you live until the word of your life is fully spoken."

Now What?

ChristianGlobe Networks, Collected Sermons, by Leonard Sweet