"A Big Big Table"
John 14:1-7
Rev. Emily Labrecque, Westmoreland UCC
November 1, 2026

[Pray.]

As we turn our hearts toward All Saints’ Day, we are reminded of all the people who have gone before us. We are reminded of our family members, our mentors and teachers, congregants, neighbors, those whose lives ended too soon, those who lost their lives due to violence ... the list goes on. We remember them today not because we ever forgot them, but because this day gives us a chance to intentionally pause and consider their lives and legacies in a new light. We remember them on this day so that we can take time to turn toward what it means to be human. Being human, unfortunately, requires us to face mortality, ours and others, with some regularity. None of us make it out of this life alive.

Being Christian, then, we also face the question of life after death. In the sacred scriptures we are promised eternal life. But what does that mean? What does that look like? What does that feel like? Is there anything after death or are we simply at peace? Are we reunited with loved ones or are we ushered into the abyss? There are a variety of allusions made in scripture about what the afterlife might look like and your perception of this may or may not agree with any of them – and that’s okay. Today we hear in John 14 that God’s realm is made of many dwelling places; a place where Jesus goes to prepare for us, like the ultimate host. This vision reminds me of a song I grew up listening to.

Many of you likely know this about me, but if you don’t, I was raised in Christian Reformed elementary schools. This meant that my school days were shaped by prayer and theology in both overt and subtle ways. As I grew older and started to learn about contemporary Christian music, I came to hear the theology I learned in school reflected in, what seemed to me at the time, popular culture. One of the songs we learned in chapel and sang along to was called “Big House” by the band Audio Adrenaline. The lyrics are derived from our text today. They go like this:

I don’t know if you feel love at all
But I bet you wish you had
Come and go with me
To my father’s house ...
It’s a big big house
with lots and lots of room
A big big table
With lots and lots of food
A big big yard
where we can play football
A big big house
it’s my father’s house

It’s a nice image, right? Especially for a 10 year old grappling with life after death. I imagined a mansion with endless food, lots of green space (though for golf, not football), and all my favorite people. But more than that, it was a destination. A place I was going after I died. There was a concreteness about it. Like much of evangelical theology, it provided me an answer to a question. I live as a Christian, I die, I go to God’s big house. Cool. But as you and I both know, what happens after death remains to be seen.

We hear Thomas asking about this as well in our scripture. “Lord, we don’t know where you are going so how can we know the way?” I imagine him pulling out a notebook and pencil ready to write down the directions to God’s dwelling place. That is, until he hears Jesus say: “I am the way.” Uhhh. Ok? Not exactly like you’d find on Google Maps.

The disciples wanted an answer to their question. How can we know the way? And instead of a road map, they’re provided a different kind of reassurance. That wherever Jesus goes, wherever God resides, we will be there too. God has prepared a place for them, for us, and nothing we do can separate us from God. This was an especially crucial message for the disciples at this time. When the Gospel of John was written his community had been expelled from the synagogue by the authorities. So the message, ”Do not let your hearts be troubled. Believe in God, believe also in me ...” was a powerful one. John’s community was being encouraged to double down on their faith and keep moving forward, even if they didn’t know the way.

We don’t know the nature of what comes next: some of us call it heaven, and some the afterlife and others still the Great Beyond. Who knows! It might be a big big house, with lots and lots of rooms and a yard where we can play football. But on this day, I’d like us to consider the idea that since God is always and everywhere present, that future at least for today, is here. On a day when the veil between worlds is thin, on a day when we celebrate those who have gone before us, may we be reminded that we can experience glimpses of God’s realm here and now.

The beauty of the ofrendas you helped us create, is that they remind us of that. An ofrenda is, after all, a table we set for those we love. It’s not that the saints come to visit us here but rather that we are meeting in the middle –

between heaven and earth,
between this life and the next,
between the now and the unimaginable future.

Look at the ofrendas for a moment. Among the photos and candles are cards bearing the names of people who died in ICE detention this year, and those who were killed by ICE personnel. They too were mothers, fathers, children, and friends. They came from El Salvador, Mexico, Vietnam, Afghanistan, and numerous other places around the world. They died of violence, illness, and suicide. I can only hope that this promise we’ve been talking about, that God is always with us, holds true for their families. It’s one thing to consider that God is with us in our challenges, but very few of us have experienced this level of betrayal, cruelty, and neglect of human dignity. I pray that God’s promise can help these families to rest in the eternal Love of God here and now. For the love of God abides even in the midst of our deep grief.

While we may feel the grief more acutely today, we can access this feeling of comfort anytime we think of the kindness of a family member, or reflect on a piece of wisdom shared by a late mentor, or quote someone whose writing meant a lot to us. That liminal space where we feel connected to something bigger than ourselves is always and already at our fingertips.

We may feel it in the pews, we may feel it at our family gatherings, we may feel it at this [communion] table. So today, when Jesus says, ‘Do not let your hearts be troubled,’ and yet, your heart is troubled because of who is missing from your table, remember that no matter what the after life may hold, the saints are never far from us, and neither is God.

Amen.