Today, we observe the Solemnity of All Saints and All Souls. Today - in the dying of the year - we speak of death. As darkness envelops light, as cold consumes warmth, as dry leaves fall lifeless to the ground, we speak of death.

It's true that we speak about death from a Christian perspective - a perspective of faith, and of hope. Nevertheless, death (at least for me) remains a difficult topic, one that engenders a certain "dis-ease." I suspect this is fairly common in our culture. Indeed, I suspect that's why there's a T.V. program entitled, "Six Feet Under," and there are so many humorous stories on the subject of death.

I recently came across one such story that I would like to share with you this morning - in part, perhaps, to relieve my own discomfort, but also to make a point. Please bear with me if you've already heard it.

The story concerns a woman who has lost her husband. The woman telephones the newspaper to place an obituary. When asked what message she would like to place, the woman responds succinctly, "Joe is dead." Surprised, the person at the newspaper advises the woman that most people prefer a more "fulsome" tribute to their loved ones. The woman replies that Joe was a simple man - a man of few words - and that "Joe is dead" was wholly satisfactory. The newspaper person accepts the woman's explanation, but suggests to her that she can purchase six words for the price of three, and that perhaps she would like to add something to her text. The woman mulls this over for a few moments, and replies that, "yes," she would like to use six words. The obituary, she states, should read: "Joe is dead. Toyota for sale."

I thought that was a very funny story when I first heard it. I found myself smiling as I recalled the story - while driving to work, or ironing my clothes, or waiting in line for the bank machine. Indeed, I found myself smiling quite often until one day - for no apparent reason - I changed the words just bit. One minute I was thinking, "Joe is dead. Toyota for sale." The next minute, I thought: "Sharon is dead. Honda for sale." The humor of the story evaporated quickly, and the smile left my face. This was serious business now.

The contemplation of death - our own, or that of another - is serious business. Serious, sad, and sacred. I, for one, experienced a sense of sadness - and of the sacred - as I read the names of the departed this morning from our Book of Remembrance. As you know, we do this each year at St John's to remember, and to honor, those persons from this community who have died this past year. We speak their names aloud and, for a fleeting moment, they are present with us. In a special way, we are surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses - witnesses whom we have known, and whom we have loved.

Gertrude Doyle, for example, attended St John's for over five decades. Gertrude sat right there (near the front, on the aisle) almost every Sunday. If I close my eyes, I can still see her - with that wonderful smile, and just a little twinkle (a little mischief) in her eyes. It's good that we pay tribute to Gertrude this day - and to the other saints whom we remember with gladness, and for whom we give thanks.

It's good because we are their spiritual children, and these women and men have bestowed upon us an exceedingly rich heritage. We are reminded of the legacy that has been passed on to us, and that we will pass on to future generations. We are reminded that we hold this sacred place in trust, and that we are called to exercise faithful stewardship in every respect.

We are reminded also of a principal tenet of Christianity. We are reminded that these folks - these ordinary people, who lived lives of faith and commitment - are not really dead at all.

The Scripture readings appointed for today make this abundantly clear. In our reading from Isaiah, it is written that God will "swallow up death forever." (Isaiah 25:7) As Paul suggests in his first letter to the church at Corinth, this was accomplished in the death and resurrection of Jesus. (1Corinthians 15:54) In the lesson from Revelation, John of Patmos describes a vision of the New Jerusalem, where death and the companions of death - tears, and mourning, and crying and pain - "will [simply] be no more." (Revelation 21:4). In this heavenly city, the people of God will live with God, and their new life will be characterized by unending, inexpressible joy.

In our gospel for today, we hear the story of Lazarus - a friend of Jesus whom Jesus raised from the dead. The story anticipates the resurrection, and underscores the power of Jesus to restore life. Most scholars agree that the language and structure of the passage suggest that Jesus is distraught, and that Jesus weeps, not because Lazarus is dead; but, rather, because no one seems to grasp the truth - that Jesus has the power to overcome death, that Jesus has the power to defeat death.

In this regard, my reading this week led me to a play by Eugene O'Neil, entitled "Lazarus Laughs." The play is based on today's gospel, but follows Lazarus after he leaves the tomb and Jesus has left the scene. As the play's title suggests, after rising from the dead, O'Neil's Lazarus laughs - indeed, O'Neil's Lazarus laughs all the time. On one occasion, he must explain his joy-filled demeanor to Emperor Caligula. Lazarus says, quite simply: "Death is dead, Caligula, death is dead."

Before concluding my remarks, I would like to reflect briefly on our experience of Christian living, and the various intersections of life and death that form part of that experience. It seems to me that, each and every day of our lives, we suffer any number of small deaths. We experience what I have described from this pulpit on a previous occasion as "existence pain." We are buried in a tomb of hopelessness - of depression perhaps, or sorrow, loneliness, or fear. The Jesus of my faith, and of my experience, stands before this tomb of despairing (as he did at the tomb of Lazarus), and shouts "Come out." The Jesus of my faith and experience seeks to raise us from every form of "living death," and restore us to fullness of life. The Jesus of my faith and experience is calling us from death to new life, constantly calling, now and always, in this world and the next.

When I first thought of the phrase - "Sharon is dead. Honda for sale." - I must confess that I experienced fear. Faith, it seems, is always intermingled with some measure of un-knowing and some degree of doubt. At that time, I also came to a stark realization - the realization that (some day) my name - indeed, all of our names - will be read aloud in a place such as this, on a day such as this. In the interim, it seems good to me to strive always to live an intentional life - a life transpierced with love of God, of self, and of neighbor.

In his play, Murder in the Cathedral, T.S. Eliot places these words on the lips of Thomas Beckett as Beckett faces imminent death. "I have had a tremor of bliss, a wink of heaven, a whisper. I would no longer be denied - all things proceed to a joyful consummation."

This day - in the dying of the year - we speak of death. Death is dead, I say. And all things - all things - "proceed to a joyful consummation." Amen.