3rd Sunday of Advent (C) – December 15, 2024

St. Paul – Lyons, KS

Zephaniah 3:14-18a; Isaiah 12:2-6; Philippians 4:4-7; Luke 3:10-18

Memento Mori

I want to start today with a little thought experiment. Something simple. First, I want you to think about, “What do I think about when I first wake up in the morning?” Like, on average, on a Tuesday morning, on a Thursday morning—what is the first thing you think about? Try to name it; I’m not going to ask you to say it. But literally, think of what it is. Ok. Now, imagine you’re there, thinking about that thing, and your phone goes off, like amber alert goes off. But this time it’s an alert from the government: nuclear war has begun, bombs are inbound, fatalities will be more than 95%—t-minus 8 minutes until it hits Lyons. Ok: what were you just thinking about that morning?

Now, even though that’s a real possibility—the reason I use that example is to make a simple point: everything could end tomorrow—today even! But there are 100 examples you could use: getting in a car wreck, heart attack, work accident, on and on. I get calls regularly to go to the hospital to see someone I didn’t think I would see in a hospital. Life is fragile, so, so fragile. We aren’t guaranteed anything.

As Christians, we have known this for a while—duh! But we have known it and not been afraid of it. Christians weren’t afraid to think about it. In fact, there was an ancient tradition to greet people by saying, “Memento mori”—memento mori, which is just Latin for “Remember death.” “Hey Phil!” “Hey Dave!” “Memento mori.” “Memento mori!” Seems weird. And yet, it’s not.

We’re here in Advent. Advent, the season of hope. Remember, our desire is that we would be renewed in hope, full of hope! But the question is: what is it that we are hoping for? Because the “normal answer” is something like, “Well, I hope I have a good life. That I’m healthy, and happy. That things go well. I hope that my plans and ‘hopes’ and dreams can happen—as much as possible anyway.” Right? That’s kind of the answer. Our hope—our hope is for a good life for us, a good life for our kids. Right? Think: what do you think about when you wake up on a Tuesday morning, on a Thursday? And then also think: what if you were to die today? What if your “hopes and dreams” get cut short? Because logically—logically, knowing that life could end at any second—that is a hopeless life, a life without hope.

The early Christians, though, they said, like St. Benedict, “Keep death before you daily,” memento mori. And yeah, one reason is because they recognized the fragility of life. But also—and more importantly—memento mori focuses our attention, it helps us to see clearly.

As Americans, death is our greatest fear—that’s when the American dream ends. For some, death is also a fearful thing because of the threat of judgement (“I don’t want to go to hell.”) But the early Christians would greet each other by saying “memento mori” because of their hope. Their hope, hope, true hope—hope isn’t the “hopes and dreams” you want to accomplish one day. Hope, true hope, Christian hope, is a certainty that we have now, here in the present, of the future—what future?—of Christ’s return, being with him forever, the fullness of happiness and joy and peace; completely fulfillment; total satisfaction; unending happiness. Christian hope is a certainty that we have now that this promise is going to be fulfilled. It’s not a “hope and dream.” It is a certainty. And because of that—well, regardless of the circumstances of my life, rich or poor, healthy or sick, accomplishing my plans or never really seeming to get anywhere—because of that hope, my life is full of hope. Again, not a naive optimism where we say stupid platitudes like, “It’ll all work out in the end,” or, “Everything happens for a reason,” or, “Things will get better,” no. Like no, things can always get a heck of a lot worse! So no, hope is not a naive optimism. Hope is a certainty we have now of the future, that Christ’s promises will be fulfilled. Christ will come again. And, like we stand up and pray every Sunday, “He will come again in glory to judge the living and the dead.” Memento mori.

The Two Arrivals

But here’s the thing: for some of us, that’s not a real comforting thing to hear. And to be fair, part of that is because of what I said last week: yes, Jesus will come to judge. When most of us think of Jesus showing up as a judge, we go back to an experience like being left alone at home—your parents aren’t home, so you do whatever you want, get into things, do stuff you shouldn’t do. But then your parents show up. And you get that sick feeling in your stomach, stomach sinks. That’s what usually comes to mind when we think about Jesus showing up as judge.

But think of this: imagine that you are home alone, it’s night, and someone begins breaking into your house. You hear them get in. And so you call the cops, lock yourself in your room. This intruder, though, starts banging on your door. You know he’s going to get in. But then you hear sirens, and soon the cops arrive. Ok, how do you feel? Once you hear the sirens, your mood shifts. Once they arrive, everything changes. Right? Ok.

All of our readings today—today, Gaudete Sunday, the Sunday of rejoicing—all of our readings are about rejoicing because someone is arriving soon, the Lord, the Christ, Jesus is coming, he is present: “The LORD is in your midst,” “Among you is the…Holy One of Israel,” “The Lord is near,” “One mightier than I is coming.” All of them are about the hope of the arrival of the Lord, of Jesus. They are a call for rejoicing!

But then think: Is our reaction more like when our parents show up unexpectedly? Is it a sinking in the stomach sort of feeling? Or, are we relieved, excited, rejoicing? And why?

“You have died with Christ”

I think one big reason is because of what you were thinking about when you woke up on a Tuesday or Thursday: our hopes and dreams, the things we get caught up on. Ask it a different way: Are you hoping that Jesus doesn’t return today? Are you hoping that you have another five, ten, fifteen, twenty years? Are you hoping that you have time to achieve your “hopes and dreams”? Or yeah, even because you know that you are in a bad position with God, you have sins and things you are carrying with you—you’re on that wide road leading to destruction? Is the reason we don’t rejoice at the prospect of Jesus arriving soon—is it because our hope (if we’re honest with ourselves) our hope is for something else?

I’ve told you they sorry about my mom. When my oldest sister was a little girl (four or five), a young girl, only nine years old, was kidnapped in Wichita. It was the early ’90’s, and she was just walking to the convenience store on the corner. While she was walking, she was kidnapped by a man, assaulted, and murdered. Seven months later her body was found. Now, when my mom read this story in the paper—my mom has described it as a real turning point in her life. She told me that that was when she realized, “I can’t guarantee anything for my kids in this life.” My mom, who has a young girl at this time as well—“I can’t guarantee anything for my kids in this life. Even if I do everything, even if I give them everything and support them in everything, what’s to say that something terrible doesn’t happen to them? What’s to say that it all comes to an end overnight?” Memento mori. And as my mom says, that’s when she realized, “All I can do, my number one goal has to be to get them to heaven. That’s the only guaranteed happiness that exists.” And everything changed. Yeah, she still educated us, fed us, helped us prepare for our futures—yeah! But her vision had changed. Think, if you have kids, or think when you were raising kids: is your hope (was your hope) for your kids that they have a “good life”? That they accomplish their “hopes and dreams”? Or is your hope something even more? Do you recognize that there is only one true hope, one hope that cannot fail?

One of the other reasons the early Christians would greet each other by saying memento mori—yeah, sure, to remember they would one day die, this future death—but also because they had already died, it was a reference to the past. Yes, if you say, “Memento mori,” it means reflect on your future death, but also on the fact that you have already died. What does St. Paul say? “I have been crucified with Christ…and the life I live now” is no longer mine, it is Christ living in me; I’m dead, it is Christ alive in me that matters. Memento mori—remember death, you have already died, the life you live now is not your own. Your life has been purchased at a price! And the fact is you have already died. If you are Christian, if you have been baptized—you have already died. And so remember your death. Why? 

Two things: one is that we experience so much fear and anxiety in our world. What if you had already died? Dead men fear nothing, dead men are anxious about nothing. I have already died. My life now, the life I have now is not my own. Imagine the freedom of that! So, so, so much anxiety and fear come from not getting our “hopes and dreams,” of something “going wrong,” of “my life” not going according to “my plans.” But what if you remembered death, memento mori? It’s like St. Paul said in our second reading, “The Lord is near. Have no anxiety at all.” 

Two, the second thing: then we begin to look to look to the future with hope. Our hope is no longer on achieving our “hopes and dreams” (which again, is a hopeless way to live, because you can’t guarantee those things, not at all!). When we remember death, our past death in baptism and our future death, we begin to hope for Christ, for his arrival. Why? Because he is our hope, he is everything, he is the one we hope for.

What do you think about when you first wake up in the morning? We can only truly have hope, real hope, be full of hope if our hope is in Christ. Everything else fades, everything else is not promised.

The Christians also had one other thing they would use as a greeting, and as a way of saying goodbye: Maranatha. Maranatha is an Aramaic word that means “Come, Lord Jesus.” Remember death. Come, Lord Jesus.

Do you pray, “Hold off, Lord Jesus”? Or do you pray, “Come, Lord Jesus”? Do you “hope” that you have five, ten, twenty, thirty more years to fulfill your hope, your dreams, your life? Have you forgotten your death: you death in the future, and your death in baptism? Have you forgotten that life is only about Christ? OR—or do you wake up anticipating his arrival, looking for his coming, hoping it is today? Do you embrace each day with thanksgiving, ready to live the life you have now for Christ? Do you long for his coming? Rejoice. Rejoice. He is coming soon. Come, Lord Jesus. Remember death.