July 20, 2008 - 10th Sunday after Pentecost
Readings: Isaiah 44:6-8; Psalm 86:11-17; Romans 8:12-25; Matthew 13:24-30, 36-43
Questions: Do dogs go to heaven?
What about people who never get the opportunity to hear of
Christ – where do they go when they die – heaven or hell?
Pastor Julie Webb
Today, through the Sacrament of Baptism, Edwin James and Raquel Diane become members of the community we call church. Today, we hear promises, and respond by making promises. We proclaim that God loves, and forgives, and claims these two children forever, no matter what. God promises. Their families and sponsors respond by solemnly promising that they will raise these children in a community of faith, will teach them about God’s love and the traditions of Christian faith, and will regularly bring them to be fed at Christ’s table: the parents and sponsors promise. We all promise that we will support them in doing that: the whole community promises. On behalf of Edwin and Raquel, we say “no” to some things, and “yes” to others. We allow God to knit us into a life-long relationship, together. It is a very big deal, when you stop to think about it.
Does that mean Raquel and Edwin won’t go to hell?!
Some people—and I’m not talking about Edwin and Raquel’s families, here, but just about something we pastors have to deal with—some people think of baptism as fire insurance. They think that if they get their kids baptized, then the kids won’t go to hell. –And I have to say that some of the church’s historical teachings and preachings about limbo, and purgatory, and sinners in the hands of an angry God, and so on, haven’t been too helpful in this regard.
But to say that baptism is about where you go when you die is like . . . is like . . . I don’t even know if I have a simile for this! It’s like saying an invitation to a party is all about how you’re going to get home at the end of the night. It’s like saying that a delicious, lovingly-prepared meal is only about ingesting the correct amount of proteins and carbohydrates. It takes all the life, all the possibility, all the joy, all the relationship out of the picture. It’s just sad.
Today, we don’t just baptize these two people Out of something; we baptize them Into something. We baptize them into a life-long relationship with God through this community of faith.
Does that mean they’re going to heaven?!
Oops. See what happened there? I just short-circuited the whole thing again.
Today, I’m supposed to preach about two of your questions: (see above). These both seem to be heaven-and-hell-related questions, although I guess the doggy one is kind of about whether salvation is for humans only, or for other creatures, too.
[I feel pretty lucky to get these questions, because the dogs-in-heaven question is turning out to be one of the most popular ones of the summer. Pastor David and I have received so many e-mail stories, jokes, and cartoons about this topic! Last week, we even got a note from Pastor Grams (notorious writer of notes), which suggested he hopes this Sunday’s sermon will also address the future for cats!]
Dogs, cats, babies, and everybody else—we’re all thrown into the mix, today. And under it all, I hear the questions, “What is heaven?” and “What is God like?” I hope you’ll see why—humor me for a minute, here.
What is heaven? Go on—it’s your turn. Anyone have a word or two to describe heaven? . . . There are a few fancy apocalyptic visions in scripture, but otherwise, nobody really knows all the details for sure. Does it exist? If so, is it a place? Is it a state of being? Jesus seems to have talked about the kingdom of heaven, but he didn’t seem to mean pearly gates, or seeing your dead relatives again, as wonderful as those things might be. He talked about the reign of God happening on earth, with love and justice, mercy, and peace.
And for Paul, the word “heaven” just seems to have been insufficient to describe the glory of what he anticipated. In his letter to the Romans, he gets so excited about God’s grace that he just goes off! We have been adopted by God, he says. Let that shape your whole life! Don’t fall back into worrying about following the right rules, or who’s in and who’s out, but feel the forward momentum of God’s Spirit. That very Spirit cries out within you—and not just within you, but within the whole creation. And nothing can separate us from God.
And what is God like? Earlier this year, in one of our little sermon dramas, Pastor David used a phrase from some favorite teachers of mine, the Linns. The Linns say, “God loves you at least as much as the person who loves you the most.” And they have a really profound story they use to illustrate that.
Their story involves humans. This morning, though, I want you to think of dogs. Go on--think of dogs as gifts from God, and imagine the way they love the people they live with. “God help me to be the person my dog believes me to be,” says the bumper sticker. But dogs don’t only see the good side of people, do they? Often, they see the grumpy or even the abusive side. But they forgive, and offer love, sometimes so much more readily than humans. Sure, they’re a different species than us, and their brains are smaller, and they’re pack-oriented; but could it be possible that God sometimes uses them as agents to teach us about grace? I think so. So often, they can get through to us when no human can. (And this is a cat person saying this!) And whether we nurture them or abuse them, they tend to reveal to us our deepest selves. Dogs are all about relationship—they are not much concerned with the future, or what happens when you die; they just want to be with you. So, for today, imagine that God loves you at least as much as the animal who loves you best.
We’re all in the mix together, on this planet. We all suffer—not just humans, but dogs and cats and all other creatures, and the planet itself: the whole creation groans, says Paul, like a woman groaning in labor, with pain that is sometimes terrifying. And we groan, too: maybe we see what our dogs reveal to us—we’re self-involved; we fail to feel their pain; maybe we’re neglectful, or we’re smothering; we break promises; we’re scared or suspicious of them; we need forgiveness. We see what we have done to our dogs, and to one another, and the planet, and ourselves. And sometimes, through no apparent fault of our own, we just suffer. We long for something we cannot see—is it heaven? Is it the
Here’s the dog story I want to share: A man and his dog were walking along a road. The man was enjoying the scenery, when it suddenly occurred to him that he was dead. He remembered dying, and that the dog walking beside him had been dead for years. He wondered where the road was leading them.
After a while, they came to a high, white stone wall along one side of the road. It looked like fine marble. At the top of a long hill, it was broken by a tall arch that glowed in the sunlight.
When he was standing before it, he saw a magnificent gate in the arch that looked like mother-of-pearl, and the street that led to the gate looked like pure gold. He and the dog walked toward the gate, and as he got closer, he saw a person at a desk to one side. When he was close enough, he called out, “Excuse me, where are we?”
“This is Heaven, sir,” the person answered.
“Wow! Would you happen to have some water?” the man asked.
“Of course, sir. Come right in, and I'll have some ice water brought right up.”
The person gestured, and the gate began to open.
“Can my friend,” gesturing toward his dog, “come in, too?” the traveler asked.
“I'm sorry, sir, but we don't accept pets.”
The man thought a moment and then turned back toward the road and continued the way he had been going with his dog. After another long walk, and at the top of another long hill, he came to a dirt road leading through a farm gate that looked as if it had never been closed. There was no fence. As he approached the gate, he saw a person inside, leaning against a tree and reading a book.
“Excuse me!” he called to the person. “Do you have any water?”
“Yeah, sure, there's a pump over there, come on in.”
“How about my friend here?” the traveler gestured to the dog.
“There should be a bowl by the pump.”
They went through the gate, and sure enough, there was an old-fashioned hand pump with a bowl beside it. The traveler filled the water bowl and took a long drink himself, then he gave some to the dog. When they were full, he and the dog walked back toward the person who was standing by the tree.
“What do you call this place?” the traveler asked.
“This is Heaven,” came the answer.
“Well, that's confusing,” the traveler said. “The person down the road said that was Heaven, too.”
“Oh, you mean the place with the gold street and pearly gates? Nope. That's Hell.”
“Doesn't it make you mad for them to use your name like that?”
“No, we're just happy that they screen out the folks who would leave their best friends behind.”
Weeds and wheat—evil and good—humans and dogs—Who will sort it out? Will dogs go to heaven? Will people who don’t hear about Jesus go to heaven? Will those people who don’t do things the way I think they should, or even those evil people, get welcomed by God just the same as the good people are? Will God accept me, with weeds and wheat growing up all tangled together in my soul?
We hope, says Paul, we are full of hope. We hope in the same way that a laboring woman hopes for the birth of her child. We cannot see the child to come, or claim we know much of anything about that child, but we trust and hope that what is coming is a gift of joy. Picture a dog waiting by the door for his person to return: the eyes fixed on that door in anticipation, the bark of joy when the beloved footsteps are heard.
Be patient, says Jesus. Don’t be rash. Let go of judgement—whether about weeds and wheat, or about anything else—and leave that in God’s hands. Things are all mixed together in this world, but God will sort it out.
And remember what you have learned about God. God loves you at least as much as the one who loves you the most. And God loves your dog, and the person who hasn’t heard about Jesus, and this whole groaning creation. Nothing can separate us from that love.
Raquel and Edwin, and everyone here—God offers you, not some heavenly fire insurance, but a life in relationship with the one who loves you best of all. God invites you to tend that relationship. With Jesus, enter into the suffering and groaning of creation as an agent of patient hope. You can let your dogs help you! One day, we’ll all be drawn into the glorious fullness of God. It’s a promise.
