+ Gwendolyn Carol Leifheit +

After this I looked, and behold, a great multitude that no one could number, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages, standing before the throne and before the Lamb, clothed in white robes, with palm branches in their hands, and crying out with a loud voice, “Salvation belongs to our God who sits on the throne, and to the Lamb!” And all the angels were standing around the throne and around the elders and the four living creatures, and they fell on their faces before the throne and worshiped God, saying, “Amen! Blessing and glory and wisdom and thanksgiving and honor and power and might be to our God forever and ever! Amen.” (Rev 7:9–12)

Dear family and friends of our beloved sister in Christ Gwen Leifheit, but especially, Tom, Cary, Cathy, Bill, Jane, and Sara — and all the grandchildren: May God’s Grace, Mercy and Peace be yours as we commemorate the homecoming of this departed sister in Christ to the place prepared for her by Jesus Himself in the Father’s house.

You heard the reading from the Revelation of Jesus Christ to St. John the apostle. So Jesus revealed, and St. John looked, and what did he see? “Behold,” a blessed vision, a great multitude that no one could number, a crowd so wondrously big, clothed in white robes, standing before the throne and the Lamb. Standing there, with Him! And what did John hear? Crying . . . but a joyous cry, the kind of crying with no tears, ever!

That is the situation around the throne of God that John witnessed. But, what we see and hear on this side of heaven a different

We see remains and hear crying.

On this side of heaven we still mourn. At this service we see the urn containing the remains of our dear mother and grandmother, dear Gwen—a sad reality before us. It is normal that tears flow, because on this side of heaven death is with us. Our bodies grow weaker, where all our powers slowly leave us and our systems shut down, where hospice is a help and a very welcome care.

If we are wise, we also see our own end and learn to number our days—that there is death and a burial to come. We wish we could make it softer or “manage” it somehow, some way, so the sting is not as sharp. Alas, we cannot. John’s beautiful vision revealed from Jesus, however, is a different story. But what we see this afternoon causes us to weep and cry.

We do because this is not what God intended, but is our lot because sin and death entered the world. So we cry out for salvation from death and sin and the curse. And we do! For we are not like those who have no hope. No, but with the pledge fixed because of our Lord Jesus, a confidence, a certainty, the kind Gwen had even as she knew this time drew closer and closer: so her readiness and her hope, because her Christ was waiting.

But we also see John’s vision and hear crying with a no-tear voice.

St. John “looked” there and saw what he saw, the beautiful vision. Now you look too! Because it is real! And the cry?—listen to them standing around the throne before the Lamb, clothed in white robes with palm branches in their hands.

Oh, they cry out with a no-tear voice, voices loud and firm with the worship of heaven’s glorious song and chorus, their certainty, their guarantee, their confidence: “Salvation belongs to our God who sits on the throne, and to the Lamb!” (Rev. 7:10), they say. It belongs to him . . . and he has given it to us!

And all of heaven joins in—the angels and archangels and all the rest, the entirely heavenly host—which your Dad, Don, and now your Mother, Gwen—are now worshiping and “crying out” their happy “Amen! Blessing and glory and wisdom and thanksgiving and honor and power and might be to our God forever and ever! [Yeah!] Amen” (Rev. 7:12). A crying out with a loud voice, an eternal, no-tear exclamation of joy . . . because the Lamb was slain—he died.

Jesus is all too familiar with the sting of death you experience today, and the blood he shed from the cross washed Gwen and you, the whole heavenly host arrayed in white: ransomed, healed, restored, forgiven.

For we’ve seen the Lamb slain, our God dead.

For the Lamb was slain (back to him, always)! His chest was “still” after no more reaching for air, pinned to the wood of the cross. No breath. No pulse in him. That’s what the thinning crowd on Golgotha saw. Now that seems like the worst, most horrible, vision of all, that there is no hope at all! One of our Lenten hymns puts it so bluntly and truly, “O sorrow dread! Our God is dead,” (LSB 448:2).

But let St. John preach this Revelation vision right—this must be preached! And faith will come by hearing!—and it is beautiful. It is trust and hope made certain, and life even over and past death achieved . . . by the forgiveness of your sins. “Salvation belongs to our God,” and he gave it to Gwen, baptized into Christ’s death and life. “Salvation belongs to our God,” and he brought it to this place and altar and, in the last few weeks to Gwen in the ministry of God’s promises in the Lord’s Supper and the love of and care of her children. For “Salvation belongs to our God” . . . and he serves it to you!

Therefore, we see Gwen in John’s vision.

I visited the ever-gracious Gwen Monday afternoon the 4th—her attention on God’s words, a psalm prayed, a hymn spoken, “Comfort , Comfort Ye My People”—a hymn of the peace for Gwen, where she heard these words: “Tell her that her sins I cover And her warfare now is over” (LSB 347:1). She prayed. She spoke her thanks. For the Lamb who was slain, whose blood was shed in death, is alive. Then she partook of the body and blood of her Lord Jesus.

What promises Jesus gives! “For who are these?”—these white-robed palm-branch holders, standing before the Lamb—one of the elders asks John; we can ask! And where are they “out of”? These are the ones coming out of the great tribulation—all this, this side of heaven, this vale of tears. This is Gwen, baptized, and all those who have robes washed white in the blood of this Lamb, Jesus. And now there she stands with the heavenly host. They are before the throne of God. They serve him day and night in his temple. Alive in Christ forever. She hungers no more, thirst no more, and no more burdens to bear, or to have the day strike them hard no more.

This is what St. John “looked and saw,” and this is what God is declaring to you all this day. And

There Is for Gwen, for You, and for All the Blessed Dead, This Vision of St. John Fulfilled, and Gwen in It.

And more . . . you will see the Lamb coming on the clouds, no longer hidden.

And more . . . still, even more! For with eyes wide open in resurrected life—a life in Christ, a life way past this death where hearts that have long stopped will beat again in the resurrection of this body on the Last Day, and with the stain of sin washed off and the sting of death no more—you will see the Lamb, Christ, from the right hand of God, coming on the clouds.

You will see him—all of creation will see Him!—no longer “hidden” in his words and preaching or in bread and wine at the altar. Where the sufferings and tears and crying of this present time—which are great!—are still not worth comparing to the glory that will be revealed.

For you will see Jesus who was slain for only sinners. Jesus who destroyed death . . . by dying. Jesus who makes Gwen’s and your graves holy by his own three-day rest in his. Jesus, who by his own bodily rising—victory over death and the sting!—ensures Gwen’s own on that great day. For “from the grave will Christ recall me. Brighter scenes will then commence; This shall be my confidence” (LSB 490:1). And ours; I heard you sing it! It is Gwen’s.

So St. John looked, and behold, a great vision. Now Gwen has it, for she has Christ, or better said, Christ has her. You have heard it. And you will see it too.

In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.