God Will Wipe Away Every Tear
Psalm 30:11-12; John 16:22; Revelation 7:9-17
It is rare that “All Saints Day” falls on a Sunday, but it has today. What is All Saints Day about? This morning, we have an opportunity to focus on a topic most people like to avoid- death. I saw many churches and cemeteries connected in my visits to Scotland. As I came out of worship on a Sunday, I often found myself walking past gravestones. At first, it felt a bit strange, almost morbid. Why be reminded of death after an uplifting service?
You may have noticed that on most church campuses on the West Coast, there are few cemeteries connected to the sanctuary. For centuries, Christian tradition linked worship and burial in the same place. Early Christians buried their dead near churches, both for practical reasons (convenience for funerals) and theological ones — burial near the place of worship symbolized the hope of eternal life and the belief that death is not the end.
That tradition continued as colonists arrived in the 1500s, resulting in many older church facilities on the East Coast having cemeteries next to the sanctuary. However, as the church expanded westward, that tradition faded. The East Coast’s earlier and more concentrated colonial settlement, combined with the deep-rooted Christian tradition of burying the dead near places of worship, led to a higher concentration of churches with attached cemeteries than on the West Coast, where such integration was less common and later urban development often separated the two. I also think that for reasons I cannot fully understand, as the church came west, focusing on death and the hope of heaven faded. We have few church-affiliated cemeteries in the West. I can count on one hand the few times I have officiated a funeral in a sanctuary with a coffin. At my last congregation in Fort Bragg, we had to figure out how to remove the metal center bar between the two swinging doors at the sanctuary entrance so that we could fit a coffin in. Most often, when someone dies, I am asked to lead a memorial service to give thanks for their life. The coffin is saved for a shorter graveside ceremony. We seem to have lost that connection with death as a part of faith and the Church. All Saints Day is an opportunity for us, as a church, to focus on death and remember that death does not have the last word.
Today is an opportunity for us to reconnect the cemetery with the sanctuary, to remember and give thanks for loved ones who have died, and to support each other as we grieve. Yet All Saints’ Day is not only about remembering the dead, but about affirming the living Church’s identity in Christ and its hope in eternal life. And it is about remembering the saints in our lives and honoring them. So, my focus for this morning will be on the hope of heaven and on the identity of the saints (Here’s a clue- they are NOT just an NFL football team in New Orleans).
I have three passages to guide us to the hope of heaven and the remembrance of the saints, beginning with Psalm 30:11-12.
The overall scope of the entire psalm is from the depths to the light, from despair to joy. In verse three of the psalm, David writes, “O God, You have brought up my soul from the place of death (Sheol), restored me to life, from among those who have gone down to the pit,” telling us of God’s rescue from grief, trials, and despair.
In this morning’s small section of the psalm, David writes, “For you have turned my mourning into dancing; you have taken off my sackcloth (that is my grief) and clothed me with joy, so that my soul can praise you and not be silent.” There is a promise of renewal in this psalm. God will bring us up from the pit. In time, perhaps after a long time, God will faithfully restore and redeem us, bringing us hope and joy.
C.S. Lewis wrote a journal about his experience of grief after his wife, Joy, died from cancer. He was in the pit. In the midst of that darkness, he wrote, “in grief nothing stays put… everything repeats,” and that the “death of a beloved is an amputation. The loss is not just emotional — it’s a physical and existential rupture, like a limb removed.”
To me, in my own grieving, death has felt almost like a long-lasting sucker punch. The loss hits, followed by the ongoing, repeated ache. And yet, we do not remain there.
What lifts us from the pit of mourning is hope, the promise of heaven. There is more than just the pit, more than just the sucker punch of grief, more than just death. Life goes on in a way we cannot fully comprehend.
I have very fond memories of when both of our children were younger and of reading Harry Potter books to them at bedtime. I felt it was important to read the stories using the characters' voices. So when Hagrid had something to say, why he’d go and say it then! Or Professor Dumbledore, when interacting with Harry, would speak as the great and wise wizard he was.
In the book The Sorcerer’s Stone, Dumbledore and Harry discuss death and loss. Finally, he tells Harry, “To the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure.” Here, Dumbledore expresses his belief in accepting mortality and hoping in eternity. (Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (Chapter 35). We find that hope clearly expressed by Jesus in John’s Gospel.
In John 16:22, Jesus tells the disciples, “So now you are sad. But I will see you again, and your hearts will rejoice, and no one will take away your joy.” He speaks these words during the Last Supper, knowing his death is imminent. The disciples’ sorrow is real and immediate — they are grieving the loss of their Teacher and Friend. Yet He assures them of a concrete reunion: “I will see you again” — not a vision or memory, but the living, risen Christ appearing among them.
This is a resurrection promise, but it is much more. As Christ promised in John 14 that he went to prepare a place for them and for us in heaven, that in God’s house are many rooms, and that he would come again and take us to the place he was going, this passage a couple of chapters later speaks of a reunion in heaven. One day we will see those who have died before us, and it will be a day of great joy, when no one can take away our joy.
The wonderful poem by Rev. Luther F. Beecher in your bulletins speaks of this reunion so beautifully, when we meet on the distant shore. We will hear it in just a bit when we remember the dead and give thanks for the saints. I hope you at Central Point also have this poem.
So, while the immediate promise is Christ’s resurrection, the verse also points forward to the final reunion when believers will be with Christ in the eternal presence of God and with those we love and miss. In that “day of great reunion,” we will see our loved ones who have gone before us. There will be no more sorrow, no more separation — only the fullness of joy all together and the perfect fellowship with the risen Christ. This is the ultimate fulfillment of Jesus’ words: “I will see you again” in the eternal state.
What might that life look like? Now, Revelation is a strange book, to say the least, full of visions that often require historical context and interpretation. In this morning’s passage, I think what we have from the author, John, is a vision of what may be. John, who calls himself a servant of God and may or may not have been one of the twelve apostles, has a dream of what heaven could be like one day as we move on to that next great adventure in life.
Revelation 7:9–17 presents the “great multitude,” the Church triumphant after being reunited, praising God before the throne. These are the saints in heaven. They are “from every nation, tribe, people, and language.” What a beautiful image, demonstrating the universal scope of God’s salvation. They are clothed in white robes, a symbol of purity, and washed in the blood of the Lamb, reminding us of the cost and grace of redemption. NOW you know why I am wearing a white robe today;) The Lamb is at the center: Both the Psalm and this vision from Revelation center on God’s saving action — in the Psalm, God lifts; in Revelation, the Lamb redeems and sustains.
Who are these saints in heaven? Here is the little plot twist I mentioned. The saints are us. A saint is someone who is “set apart.” It is someone who has faith in Christ and has worked on the earth to demonstrate Christ's love and teachings. Our sainthood is connected to our inclusion in Christ, which means that, from the greatest saint (say, Mother Teresa or Desmond Tutu) to the least, we are all saints in a global community of saints.
Have you ever thought of yourself as a saint? This identity matters. Our sainthood does not come from what we do. It comes from our faith, and from what God has done for us in Christ. But what we do matters. As we pray every Sunday, we are to do our part to make it “on earth as it is in heaven.” We saints have been set apart, meant to live holy lives in service to God and others. We saints are called to demonstrate during the Great Tribulation (more on that in a minute) that we can live lives of faith, even as the world constantly tries to derail us.
In John’s vision, we read that the saints in heaven have come from a time known as the great tribulation. They have gone from present struggle to eternal glory. The great tribulation (Rev 7:14) is the Church’s present reality; the white-robed multitude in heaven is the future reality.
Theologian Kimberly Wagner, in reflecting on this passage and the current state of our world, writes, “In a time marked by excessive hunger and thirst, by war and worry, by violence and vitriol, by climate change and corporate corruption, by acts of hate and hurt done by one child of God to another, these images and promises might feel like a fantasy. In such formidable days, we, even as people of faith, may find our imagination limited. It is sometimes hard to have any imagination for something beyond our present circumstances.”
Yet, as we gather this morning on All Saints' Day to remember the dead and give thanks for the saints who have demonstrated their faith for us, can we imagine more? God offers these visions of hope to guide us beyond our present circumstances. Therefore, as you leave this place this morning, may you imagine the unlimited glory of life that lies ahead. May you hold on to hope and the following truths.
- We may be in grief. We may find ourselves amid a time of great tribulation and difficulty. In time, God will lift us from that pit into a time of dancing and joy.
- Death does not have the last word. We will see our loved ones in a great reunion on the other shore. Light a candle of hope!
- Heaven will be wonderful, unexpected, full of worship, with Christ the Lamb at the center. There will be no more suffering, no more hunger or thirst, and God will wipe away every tear from our eyes.
Alleluia. Amen
Gone From My Sight
Poem by Rev. Luther F. Beecher
I am standing upon the seashore.
A ship, at my side, spreads her white sails to the moving breeze
and starts for the blue ocean.
She is an object of beauty and strength.
I stand and watch her until, at length,
she hangs like a speck of white cloud just where the sea and sky
come to mingle with each other.
Then, someone at my side says, “There, she is gone.”
Gone where? Gone from my sight. That is all.
She is just as large in mast, hull and spar as she was
when she left my side.
And she is just as able to bear her load of living freight
to her destined port.
Her diminished size is in me — not in her.
And, just at the moment when someone says,
“There, she is gone,”
there are other eyes watching her coming,
and other voices ready to take up the glad shout,
“Here she comes!”
