Ephesians 1:15-23 · Thanksgiving and Prayer
The Final Word
John 11:25-26; Ephesians 1:12, 18-19
Sermon
by Scott Suskovic
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Several years ago, I was asked to perform a funeral for a brother of a member of our church. I'll call him Jason. When I don't know the person, I usually gather the family together and ask them about their most vivid memories of the person. Most of the time, the next hour is filled with laughter and tears and fond memories.

When I asked Jason's family about their memories, there was this awkward pause. It was as if they knew what they were supposed to say, but they couldn't say it. They knew they were supposed to say that Jason would have given the shirt off his back to a stranger. They knew they were supposed to say that Jason never said a bad word about anyone. They knew they were supposed to say that Jason had love for his family and loyalty to his friends. Only they couldn't say it. It didn't fit. It wasn't true.

Finally one of the family members broke the awkward silence said, "Jason had made many bad choices, burned a lot of bridges, and hurt a lot of feelings. The stories, images, and memories that we have just couldn't be shared at a funeral sermon."

Funerals bring with them a myriad of emotions — sadness, loneliness, anger, hurt feelings, and unresolved guilt. Most of it remains unspoken.

What do you say at a funeral? It's often awkward, isn't it? The soft smiles and hushed tones. The repetitive phrases, "I'm so sorry for your loss. He was a good man. Good to see you. I wish it were under better circumstances." It's awkward, so you kick the ground, adjust the tie, hold a cup of coffee, or don't say anything at all.

I've been to many funerals. Sometimes the preacher feels as if he must entertain us with off-color stories and funny events. At other times, the words are so flattering that you are sure that the deceased is on the fast track to canonization next to Mother Teresa. Sometimes, they don't know what to say and so they just talk ... just talk and fill the void with words. What do you say at a funeral?

In John 11, Jesus attended a funeral. He got there late — four days late. Didn't matter, though. They were waiting for him. They wanted him there, desperately. They wanted him to say something comforting, something meaningful. Surely Jesus will have something to say at this funeral. After all, Lazarus was a friend of Jesus — as well as his sisters, Mary and Martha. If anyone would have just the right words to say to take away the pain, bring comfort, and get life back on track, it would be Jesus. When he arrives, there is a sigh of relief.

Before Jesus could speak, Martha's the first to break the silence with words of accusation, "Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died" (John 11:21). Do you hear all the questions in this accusation?

"I don't understand. Help me make sense of this one, Jesus. You were two miles away. Why weren't you here? Why did my brother have to die?"

At every funeral there is a Martha who is seeking answers to difficult questions.

Jesus replied by reminding her that her brother would live again. But Martha seems to pass off those words as meaningless, pie-in-the-sky, sweet nothing, church talk better left for a Hallmark™ card, and says, "Oh, I know that he will rise on the last day ... but that doesn't help me here, right now. I want him alive. And you weren't here. Jesus, if you'd a been here, my brother would not have died." Do you hear the anger?

Jesus then shares some words. It isn't a cute story about when he and Lazarus went fishing one day. It wasn't flowery words about how everyone loved Lazarus. He didn't mention what a good Christian Lazarus was nor did he give Martha one of those, "There, there. It'll be okay." He said the only thing to say at a funeral. "I am the resurrection and the life. Anyone who believes in me will live, even after dying" (John 11:25, NLT). Then came the punch line, "Do you believe this, Martha?" (John 11:26, NLT).

"I am the resurrection and the life." Those are the words that need to be said at a funeral. Those are the words that need to be heard on All Saints because they are the final word. The last remaining question is, "Do you believe this?"

There are so many other words and voices vying for our attention at a funeral. The Hallmark™ card wants to summarize our grief in a two-line limerick. The back of the mortuary card tells us the person is not gone but somehow present in the sunrise and the morning breeze. Our neighbor consults the stars, the spiritualist wants to meditate, the palm reader wants to look at your hand, and the atheist has nothing to say. People look and listen in all sorts of places, desperate to hear some answers and so they consult New Age to witchcraft to aroma therapy to a stiff drink. What do you say at a funeral?

The answer is: nothing. At least nothing from us. This is a time for God's word to be heard. Listen to the power and authority and hope and faith that Paul uses to describe the sure and certain hope that is ours in Jesus.

I pray that your hearts will be flooded with light so that you can understand the wonderful future he has promised to those he called. I want you to realize what a rich and glorious inheritance he has given to his people. I pray that you will begin to understand the incredible greatness of his power for us who believe in him....  — Ephesians 1:18-19

Our voice is the last thing that needs to be heard at a funeral. Our voice cannot lift the fog. Our voice cannot restore the hope. Our voice cannot raise the dead. There is only one voice that can do all of that. The voice that told his followers not just to hear his words but to follow him. The voice that did not correct Thomas when he cried out, "My Lord and my God." The voice who said if you have seen me, you have seen God. The voice that made it clear that he gave his life for the forgiveness of sins. The voice that says even through tears, "I am the resurrection and the life; he who believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live" (John 11:25 RSV).

That voice alone has the final word particularly on All Saints when we remember those who have died when each one of us feels this pain, this emptiness, this sadness, and even this anger and guilt from missing that person. Particularly on this day, more than any other day, we need to sift through all the noise, all the voices, all the garbage, and long to hear that one voice of truth and authority that alone can raise the dead.

What is that final word? What is that hope to which we've been called? That word is grace. Jesus came not to make bad people good through his example of purity but to make dead people live through his cross of forgiveness.

We did go through with Jason's funeral — the brother who made all those bad choices, burned bridges, and hurt feelings. We had his funeral. But we didn't list his Eagle Scout badge or mention the little old ladies he helped across the street or recall his generous heart and his deep love, because frankly, it wasn't true. Everyone in that room knew it wasn't true. No one dared say that they wished God would judge him on all the good that he did, because there wasn't much.

On that day, there was only one voice to be heard. The voice that spoke at Jason's funeral was the same that spoke at Lazarus' funeral and the same that spoke through the hope found in Paul's words to the Ephesians. It will be the same voice, the only voice that needs to be heard at your funeral. The voice of forgiveness. The only voice that can raise the dead. The voice of Jesus.

The family needed to hear forgiveness. All those hurt feelings and broken promises and bad choices — it was time to let them go. With death taking away the possibility of reconciling with Jason, they had a choice. They could harbor resentment and let it eat at their heart, or they could hear the voice of forgiveness and let it go.

Jason needed forgiveness. He was not a saint, but Jesus did not come for the saints. He came for the sick, the outcast, and the sinner. Jesus came for the likes of Jason because the playing field is level before the holy throne of God — knee level. We all approach not with a resume of good works, kind acts, and strong intentions but on our knees by faith right next to Jason.

There is only one voice I want to hear at my funeral. It is not a family member reciting how much we loved each other. It's not a friend retelling an embarrassing story about me. It's not a pastor reciting my accomplishments. There is only one voice, one final word that I want spoken at my funeral — the sure and certain hope that comes through the forgiveness of sins.

I pray that your hearts will be flooded with light so that you can understand the wonderful future he has promised to those he called. I want you to realize what a rich and glorious inheritance he has given to his people. I pray that you will begin to understand the incredible greatness of his power for us who believe in him. Amen.

CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Sermons for Sundays after Pentecost (Last Third): A New Resolve, by Scott Suskovic