Unbinding

sermon preached at Church of the Good Shepherd, Federal Way, WA

by the Rev. Josh Hosler, Rector

The Feast of All Saints [transferred], November 4, 2018

Isaiah 25:6-9; Psalm 24; Revelation 21:1-6a; John 11:32-44

There were once three brothers who were traveling along a lonely, winding road at twilight. In time, the brothers reached a river too deep to wade through and too dangerous to swim across. However, these brothers were learned in the magical arts, and so they simply waved their wands and made a bridge appear across the treacherous water. They were halfway across it when they found their path blocked by a hooded figure.

And Death spoke to them. He was angry that he had been cheated out of three new victims, for travelers usually drowned in the river. But Death was cunning. He pretended to congratulate the three brothers upon their magic, and said that each had earned a prize for having been clever enough to evade him.

So the oldest brother, who was a combative man, asked for a wand more powerful than any in existence: a wand that must always win duels for its owner, a wand worthy of a wizard who had conquered Death! So Death crossed to an elder tree on the banks of the river, fashioned a wand from a branch that hung there, and gave it to the oldest brother.

Then the second brother, who was an arrogant man, decided that he wanted to humiliate Death still further, and asked for the power to recall others from Death. So Death picked up a stone from the riverbank and gave it to the second brother, and told him that the stone would have the power to bring back the dead.

And then Death asked the third and youngest brother what he would like. The youngest brother was the humblest and also the wisest of the brothers, and he did not trust Death. So he asked for something that would enable him to go forth from that place without being followed by Death. And Death, most unwillingly, handed over his own Cloak of Invisibility.

Then Death stood aside and allowed the three brothers to continue on their way, and they did so, talking with wonder of the adventure they had had, and admiring Death’s gifts.

In due course the brothers separated, each for his own destination.

The first brother traveled on for a week or more, and reaching a distant village, sought out a fellow wizard with whom he had a quarrel. Naturally, with the Elder Wand as his weapon, he could not fail to win the duel that followed. Leaving his enemy dead upon the floor, the oldest brother proceeded to an inn, where he boasted loudly of the powerful wand he had snatched from Death himself, and of how it made him invincible.

That very night, another wizard crept upon the oldest brother as he lay, wine-sodden, upon his bed. The thief took the wand and, for good measure, slit the oldest brother’s throat. And so Death took the first brother for his own.

Meanwhile, the second brother journeyed to his own home, where he lived alone. Here he took out the stone that had the power to recall the dead, and turned it thrice in his hand. To his amazement and his delight, the figure of the girl he had once hoped to marry, before her untimely death, appeared at once before him.

Yet she was sad and cold, separated from him as by a veil. Though she had returned to the mortal world, she did not truly belong there and suffered. Finally the second brother, driven mad with hopeless longing, killed himself so as truly to join her.

And so Death took the second brother for his own.

But though Death searched for the third brother for many years, he was never able to find him. It was only when he had attained a great age that the youngest brother finally took off the Cloak of Invisibility and gave it to his son. And then he greeted Death as an old friend, and went with him gladly, and, equals, they departed this life.

Does anyone know where this story comes from? That’s right: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. I was thinking about this parable of the Three Brothers this week. In it, death seems like an enemy at first but becomes a friend. So I wondered, “Should Christians regard death as an enemy, or as a friend?”

Almost uniformly, the biblical writers viewed death as an enemy. In Jesus’ time and certainly beforehand, the majority opinion among Jews was that death is simply death, with nothing afterward. To be sure, God had authority over death, and the prophet Isaiah spoke of a time when God would “swallow up death forever.” He didn’t say it would happen at a specific point in the future—he didn’t even really think in those terms. Rather, Isaiah’s prophetic concern was that God, the giver of divine justice and mercy, must surely destroy the shroud of death and wipe away everybody’s tears.

Over time, a new idea began to form that when the Messiah came, the dead would be raised. The raising of Lazarus is a foretaste of that story of Resurrection—a dead man walking out of his own tomb after four days of decomposition, to hear Jesus say, “Unbind him, and let him go.” The story tells us that Jesus is our Resurrection and Life even in the presence of the enemy who comes to steal our breath, our spirit, our ruach away.

Paul, also, treats death as evil when he writes to the Corinthians: “The last enemy to be destroyed is death.” This quote from the Bible appears on the gravestone of Harry Potter’s parents, James and Lily. And it leads Harry to wonder whether the evil ones in his story, the Death Eaters—the ones who make it their mission in life to avoid death at all costs—whether they might actually be in the right. How can death be a friend? And so Harry Potter, with the Apostle Paul, most of the other people in the Bible, and most of us, recoils from death and cannot imagine shaking his hand.

Yet I want to propose that while we may never see death as a friend, we can choose whether to view death as an enemy, or as an adversary.

How does an adversary differ from an enemy? An enemy only wants to destroy us. But an adversary is one we contend with and work against, whether or not we should. Indeed, when Jesus calls me to do something, and I run in the opposite direction, I have made Jesus my adversary! But this does not make Jesus my enemy.

An enemy only wants to destroy us. But what if death doesn’t destroy us at all? What if God created death in the first place, and only our fear of death is the enemy?

Most Christians will tell you they believe that when we die, we go to heaven. I do, too. But there’s a bigger story here: Jesus is the Resurrection right here, right now. C. S. Lewis once said, “Die before you die. There is no chance after.” Once we have taken our final breath, we will never die again. But did we prepare ourselves? How do we let go of our fear of the death that none of us can escape?

What if death is less of an ending and more of a difficult transition, on the other side of which we can look back and say, “Oh, is that all that was”?

What if death is something we can practice and prepare for?

What if preparation for our death is a project of unbinding?

It seems to me that this is how Jesus dealt with death. For a time, early in his ministry, he managed to avoid it. He prevented people from throwing him off a cliff, for instance, and this gave Jesus more time to live his life and fulfill his mission. But then something changed. Jesus knew that the cross awaited him. In John’s gospel, the raising of Lazarus was the trigger for Jesus’ arrest. And so Jesus walked right into death.

In the Harry Potter parable, the first brother couldn’t let go of his need for power and control. But Jesus didn’t conquer death through force. He didn’t seek a military revolution and a throne. So Jesus is not like the first brother.

The second brother’s situation is more complicated, and he may seem like Jesus at first because he brings someone back from the dead. But he couldn’t let go of his fear of death and clung desperately to a past that was not his to claim. Jesus, however, at his friend’s tomb, didn’t conquer death through denial; everyone knew Lazarus would someday die again. Jesus only sought to give comfort and a sign of hope to those who fear death. So Jesus is not like the second brother, either.

Instead, Jesus conquered death by dying. He put on the cloak of humanity, the cloak that makes us all invisible to death for a time. But when the right moment came, Jesus unbound the clasp of his cloak and, without resisting, allowed death to take him. As Andrew Lloyd Webber once put it: “To conquer death, you only have to die.”

I hope that when my death comes, I can do it like Jesus did: not fighting it, not fearing it, but simply enduring it. This is a mark of the saints of God, and becoming one of the saints takes practice. So I keep practicing. I practice by letting go of little things I don’t need: my foolish pride and control-freakishness … my entitlement and arrogance … my rage and fear of the future … and ten percent of my salary! I let these things go. Each letting go is a practice run at death. And as I practice, I find the Resurrected Christ right here with me, offering surprising little resurrections.
 
“The home of God is among mortals!” Perhaps this quote from the revelation to John is the most Christian statement we can make. God would rather hang out with those who die. Because of this, the dead are those who have endured the great ordeal and are still, like all of us, held eternally in God’s embrace. But they are also those who have gone on ahead of us. And we practice for our own death when we learn to unbind them … and let them go. Amen.