Isaiah 25:6-9; Revelation 21

When I was a young woman, I saw a film called Longtime Companion. The movie chronicled the lives of several gay men during the AIDS epidemic. What I remember about the movie was the final scene. It was a dream sequence, a vision of a party on the beach, just like the characters used to have before so many got sick. As the main character approached the party, he saw all the friends he had lost to the disease. Everyone was there, like a big reunion. They greeted him with cheers and hugs, a welcome home.

By 1989 when this film was produced, the AIDS epidemic had ravaged the gay community. Beyond the pain of being disowned from family, they endured the lack of effective treatment, the loss of whole friend groups, and the hysteria and prejudice against anyone with the disease. Their ordeal, however, faded away in this last scene of the movie, and was replaced by the hope that the connections of love forged in this life persisted beyond the boundary of death.

As the scene unfolded before me, I recognized it: The Great Promised Feast. I had heard about The Great Promised Feast in church. In the communion prayer, to be exact.
   Therefore, O God, with this bread and cup
   we remember the life our Lord offered for us.
   And, believing the witness of his resurrection,
   we await his coming in power
   to share with us the great and promised feast.

I hadn’t thought about the Great Promised Feast until that moment, though I’d heard it in worship every week. Deep within me there was a desire, a need for a whole and mended universe. When I saw the scene with all the beloved gathered on the beach, I suddenly understood what we are praying for: a place beyond separation and sadness, where our losses and vain attempts would be gathered up and healed; place where wrongs would be made right and community restored; a time when we would be with those we love, when we would be with God.

The vision of the Great Promised Feast comes from scripture. The Old Testament prophet Isaiah boldly proclaims from exile:
   On this mountain the LORD of hosts will make for all peoples
   A feast of rich food, a feast of well-aged wines…
   He will swallow up death forever…
   [and] will wipe away the tears from all faces.
The psalmist sings, You spread a table before me in the presence of my enemies.

And at the end of the bible, John of Patmos picks up the theme in the book of Revelation,
speaking people who were disowned, jailed, even killed for their faith. Despite their suffering, John defiantly proclaims that God’s home is among mortals. He paints a picture of heavenly celebration, where God will wipe every tear from their eyes and death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more. It’s a vision of the end of time, the full arc of salvation—it is the final feast of victory.

Today on All Saints Day we remember members of Epiphany whom we have laid to rest this past year. We remember those whose lives touched ours who have died are now with Christ at his Great Promised Feast. As we lift up their names silently and aloud, as we light candles in their memory, we join the scriptures’ witness in proclaiming that death does not end love. Death does not sever us from the community of God’s people. In Christ we share a continuing connection to our beloved dead, and we expect to share in fullness of life with them when Jesus comes again.

On my dad’s last full day of life, I got to feed him his final meal. He was propped up in bed, so I carefully scooped a few bites of chocolate ice cream and a mini cream puff into his mouth. He smiled at the rich taste. Then he looked me in the eye and said, “Julie, I love you so much.” And his eyes were so full of that love. It was a glimpse into the love that awaits us all at the eternal banquet where there is no more crying or pain, just one big reunion, the Great Promised Feast.

This is what we do in our communion liturgy every week: for just a moment, we join that celestial party. It’s already in progress because God is outside of time! We join with the host of heaven and believers of every time and place:
My dad
The gay men on the beach
The people you are remembering today
The whole communion of saints
We rock the house singing:
Holy Holy Holy Lord, God of Power and Might
Heaven and earth are full of your glory!

And when we come forward to the Table for communion, we get a foretaste of the Great Promised Feast. We catch a glimpse of God’s work made complete in fragments of prayer and praise, in tiny tastes of bread and wine. Our loved ones are here with us at this Table, and when we join with them, we sustain our hope and our vision of life made complete with God, wiith those we love, with a world mended and made whole.
One day we will all be with Christ at the Great and Promised Feast, the whole creation mended and whole. Until then we remember with gratitude those we love and the gift of their lives, and we fervently pray for that day: Amen. Come, Lord Jesus.