Lucia Lloyd’s sermon: Change and Fear of Loss
Nov 10, 2019
Proper 32, Year C
Luke 20:27-38
She felt happy and she felt loved. And so, when our daughter was two years old, she informed me that she was going to live at home with her father and me for her entire life. I said that she would want to go to university, and then she could get a home of her own in whatever part of the country she liked best, or really whatever part of the world she liked best. She would have her own job. She might meet someone she wanted to marry and she might start her own family.
“No!” She said. “I don’t want to leave! I don’t want to move away ever! I love you!” When I said that she might want to accept a job offer in some other place, she said she would stay home and play instead. When I said that she might want to get married, she said her husband would decide to move into our house with us. She was adamant that she would not be happy anywhere else on earth than Tappahannock and she would never want to live with anyone other than her parents. When I made the mistake of trying to suggest otherwise, she said miserably: “No! I love you! Don’t you love me?”
Her response has a lot in common with the way we feel about the prospect of leaving this earthly life and moving on to heaven. We like where we are now, we like who we’re with, and it is hard for us to take in the possibility that we will ever like something else more than we like what we already have.
There is a quote from the book Adaptive Leadership that shifted my thinking on a variety of things. The book referred to the conventional wisdom that people are afraid of change, and said this: People are not stupid. It is not change people are afraid of. What people are afraid of is loss. There is a lot of truth in that. When my daughter, at that age, thought about living anywhere else with anyone else, she saw it as the loss of her home and her parents, and that is a terrifying thought to a small child. How could I tell her that pursuing her dreams would take her well beyond Water Lane in Tappahannock, that her capacity for love would extend far beyond me and her father? How could I tell her that these were not losses; they would be gains, and that what she would gain would be her full self?
It was difficult for her at that age to wrap her mind around life and love beyond Water Lane and her parents. And it is difficult for us to wrap our minds around life and love beyond this mortal life. We see death primarily in terms of loss of our home and family, and it is hard for us to see that what is ahead are the gains of fuller life and deeper love and the complete selves we were always meant to be.
This is why we have a hard time understanding what Jesus is telling us about life in the resurrection. When we come to Jesus’ statement that “those who are considered worthy of a place in that age and in the resurrection from the dead neither marry nor are given in marriage” we may at first do what a young child might do, and see it primarily in terms of loss. At first, it can sound like the loss of a cherished relationship and the loss of sexuality. But I expect that someone who knows what resurrection life really feels like sees it as an immeasurable gain rather than a loss, that all our relationships have become perfect and complete so there is no need for a marriage contract in heaven, and there is no need for the limits of monogamy when all our relationships expand to complete intimacy and complete pleasure. We do not fully understand what that will be like because it is so far beyond our experience, but what matters is our attitude, that just because something is a new experience does not mean it is a loss. As one of the ancient prayers in our prayer book puts it, “For to your faithful people, O Lord, life is changed, not ended.”
I couldn’t explain to my young daughter that as she grew up there would be even more ways that she would love and be loved. It was not the kind of thing she could get from words; she would have to experience it for herself. If I brought up this childhood conversation with her years later, maybe in a toast on her wedding day, she would probably laugh. It may be that when we get to heaven we laugh sympathetically at all the anxiety we used to have about death.
Since I could not explain the future to her, what I did tell my little daughter is that I will always love her. Always.
Even when we don’t fully understand heaven, God tells us the good news of the gospel, the good news of the resurrection, which is that he will always love us. Always. We will love and be loved. Always.
“No!” She said. “I don’t want to leave! I don’t want to move away ever! I love you!” When I said that she might want to accept a job offer in some other place, she said she would stay home and play instead. When I said that she might want to get married, she said her husband would decide to move into our house with us. She was adamant that she would not be happy anywhere else on earth than Tappahannock and she would never want to live with anyone other than her parents. When I made the mistake of trying to suggest otherwise, she said miserably: “No! I love you! Don’t you love me?”
Her response has a lot in common with the way we feel about the prospect of leaving this earthly life and moving on to heaven. We like where we are now, we like who we’re with, and it is hard for us to take in the possibility that we will ever like something else more than we like what we already have.
There is a quote from the book Adaptive Leadership that shifted my thinking on a variety of things. The book referred to the conventional wisdom that people are afraid of change, and said this: People are not stupid. It is not change people are afraid of. What people are afraid of is loss. There is a lot of truth in that. When my daughter, at that age, thought about living anywhere else with anyone else, she saw it as the loss of her home and her parents, and that is a terrifying thought to a small child. How could I tell her that pursuing her dreams would take her well beyond Water Lane in Tappahannock, that her capacity for love would extend far beyond me and her father? How could I tell her that these were not losses; they would be gains, and that what she would gain would be her full self?
It was difficult for her at that age to wrap her mind around life and love beyond Water Lane and her parents. And it is difficult for us to wrap our minds around life and love beyond this mortal life. We see death primarily in terms of loss of our home and family, and it is hard for us to see that what is ahead are the gains of fuller life and deeper love and the complete selves we were always meant to be.
This is why we have a hard time understanding what Jesus is telling us about life in the resurrection. When we come to Jesus’ statement that “those who are considered worthy of a place in that age and in the resurrection from the dead neither marry nor are given in marriage” we may at first do what a young child might do, and see it primarily in terms of loss. At first, it can sound like the loss of a cherished relationship and the loss of sexuality. But I expect that someone who knows what resurrection life really feels like sees it as an immeasurable gain rather than a loss, that all our relationships have become perfect and complete so there is no need for a marriage contract in heaven, and there is no need for the limits of monogamy when all our relationships expand to complete intimacy and complete pleasure. We do not fully understand what that will be like because it is so far beyond our experience, but what matters is our attitude, that just because something is a new experience does not mean it is a loss. As one of the ancient prayers in our prayer book puts it, “For to your faithful people, O Lord, life is changed, not ended.”
I couldn’t explain to my young daughter that as she grew up there would be even more ways that she would love and be loved. It was not the kind of thing she could get from words; she would have to experience it for herself. If I brought up this childhood conversation with her years later, maybe in a toast on her wedding day, she would probably laugh. It may be that when we get to heaven we laugh sympathetically at all the anxiety we used to have about death.
Since I could not explain the future to her, what I did tell my little daughter is that I will always love her. Always.
Even when we don’t fully understand heaven, God tells us the good news of the gospel, the good news of the resurrection, which is that he will always love us. Always. We will love and be loved. Always.