A few years ago my husband and I had a holiday in Ireland, and stayed in a wonderful hotel in Dublin. It’s a unique place – the owners designed the décor of each room to be wonderfully, crazily different. The room we stayed in was all dark green velvet and white lace. The one next door was art deco, and the one opposite was pine and pastels – with over fifty rooms, it was amazing that they’d managed to make every one so different. The hotel owners believed that no two guests were alike and that each room in their hotel should be just as individual. We thought it was fantastic.
In today’s reading from John’s gospel, Jesus makes a promise:
‘In my father’s house
there are many dwelling places.
If it were not so,
would I have told you
that I go to prepare a place for you?’
When I read this passage, I sometimes think back to that hotel, and the image I get is that God has lovingly prepared for each of us a place where we can feel really at home – whether we like green velvet and lace or pine and pastels. God made us all individual and unique. There are no two human beings exactly the same. Some of us look similar, maybe – and we may have many things in common – but none of us is identical in body, mind and spirit. Those of us who have lost loved ones during recent years will know all about that uniqueness - that nothing or no one else can ever completely fill the gap their death has left. God knows that we come in all shapes and sizes, because he made us that way.
We can’t ever quite fulfil our unique potential in our earthly lives – because of the limitations of age and illness, and because of our mistakes and failings. The eternal life to which God calls us is a life in which we become more fully who we really are, the unique people God created us to be. The idea of God’s house having many dwelling places gives us hope that there is a place set aside for us where we can really fulfil our potential, we can become fully ourselves, with no limitations.
But on the other hand, a hotel - even a really nice hotel - isn’t really the right image at all – a hotel is somewhere that, however lovely, isn’t really home. What makes a home a home? I suppose it’s the place where we really feel we belong, and where we feel safe. Take a moment to think about what that means for you. It’s a very precious thing indeed. For some of us it might mean a particular place – perhaps the part of the country where we were brought up. For some it might mean being with our families. For others it might mean being among the people we trust enough to really be ourselves. For some it might be our own house, perhaps being indoors in front of an open fire on a dark stormy night – whatever it is for each of us, ‘home’ is where we can come back to and feel safe.
For many of us, the idea of being reunited at our death with those close to us who have died is the greatest homecoming we can imagine. It’s the sum of all earthly homecomings, to know that, when we die, those we love will be waiting to welcome us to our eternal home. In a sense, the best reunions, the very best homecomings on earth are only shadows of that great homecoming. Jesus promises that he has prepared a place for each of us to come home to if we will only follow him there.
Our first hymn – a version of psalm 23 – speaks powerfully of our desire to dwell in God’s house for ever.
And so through all the length of days
Thy goodness faileth never;
Good Shepherd, may I sing thy praise
Within thy house for ever.
Heaven is the place where we find our home, and it’s also the place where we can genuinely be at rest – for Jesus also made another promise: ‘everyone who comes to me I will never drive away.’
Our reading started by saying,
‘do not let your hearts be troubled’.
Tonight of all nights, our hearts may well be troubled; as we remember those close to us who have died, many of us are reliving the sadness and hurt of separation. To express our ongoing grief is natural, and it is OK: it is not for others to tell us when the time has come for us to put our grief behind us. But tonight is also about hope, and our hope comes not from denying death, and the pain that it causes, nor from pretending that death is anything other than the last great enemy to be overcome. Rather, Christian hope in the face of grief comes from the fact that Jesus Christ conquered death, treading the path through death to eternal life, making it possible for us to follow him to God’s house and dwell there for ever. Jesus is the way, the truth and the life – the way through death to eternal life - a life where we can be fully at home, and become fully the people God created us to be.
That life is for ever. But we don’t have to wait to start living it, and the hope that I’ve talked about isn’t just for the future, it’s for the present, too. Jesus invites each one of us to follow him, and by following him, to start living our eternal life here and now. St Augustine once prayed to God:
you made us for yourself and our hearts are restless until they find their rest in you.
When we follow Jesus, our hearts begin to find their home with God, a home to which God welcomes us with open arms, both now and for all eternity.
Amen.