ALL SAINTs' DAY
Some of you may have thought you were attending a funeral today…the readings, all three of them, are frequent choices for the Order for Burial in the Episcopal Church.
Well, you are attending a funeral of sorts; a powerful witness to resurrection over death, and a day of doctrine when we are reminded and called to live what we preach and believe: life in the Communion of Saints.
"The souls of the righteous are in the hand of God, and no torment will ever touch them." What a majestic phrase of deliverance and hope. The reading from the Wisdom of Solomon depicts our deep feelings of loss for those who have died, and even uses the word "disaster" to describe their going from us. Then, the writer proclaims how they receive great good and will shine forth, "run like sparks through the stubble." And presumably, as their heirs, we are inheritors of their authority to rule over nations and peoples under God’s most gracious rule forever.
This passage from Wisdom is a description of the Communion of Saints, long before it was worked out doctrinally, long before the ministry of Jesus, and long before the Episcopal Church was formed. This passage embraces all people.
Psalm 24 depicts an entry into the gates of the King of glory, a triumphal entry of great joy to all who have sought to be with him despite the woes of life, the sorrows of war; those who have chosen clean hands and a pure heart. When you look at pictures of people whose lives are shattered by disaster: homeless refugees, those who appear to have no hope or helper, remember the words of this Psalm: "Such is the generation of those who seek him" and know that one day they will experience the deliverance that only the Lord of hosts can give.
In the passage from Revelation we are told, "the home of God is among mortals; He will dwell with them as their God." There now, is a direct connection between us and the saints in glory established by Jesus, and the assurance that "mourning and crying will be no more." So, while we feel great sorrow at the death of those we love, this is not the last word.
Finally, this all gets personalized in the encounter between Mary and Jesus upon the death of her beloved brother and his close friend, Lazarus. "Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died." How many times have we said just such things to God in our thoughts and prayers? If only…if you had just…
Jesus, loving Martha and Mary as he does, moves them to a new place, the place of resurrection.
Now, please think with me for a minute about the choice we have today: This world offers us virtually everything (for a price). But the one thing is cannot offer is something to fill the vacant space in our souls that longs for God. Oh, lots of things are offered as substitutes, but most of us learn eventually that none of them works.
And so, in our loneliness, in our feelings of loss, sorrow and regret we sometimes choose to be isolated from others. We turn away, closet ourselves emotionally (If I don't feel then I can't be hurt again), cut ourselves off from friends, stop going to church, connect minimally with others, and hope the hurt and pain will go away. That is anti-communion, and a denial of the communion of saints. It is also the way of death.
In our study of the book Night Fishing in Galilee, we are studying the last chapter of John's Gospel. After the death of Jesus, his disciples all gather in Galilee but they are estranged from each other. The pain and grief is more than they can bear. Finally they decide to go back to what most of them know — fishing. It still hurts, but at least they're doing something. Jesus comes to them on the shore of the lake, and cooks them breakfast. And as they gather with him their communion is once more restored, their isolation and sense of death removed. But they still struggle with the choice: isolation and death or resurrection and community.
Jesus does not want us in that place. Just as he comforts Martha and Mary in their sorrow, just as he shows them the power of God over death, he calls us to life in the midst of death. He asks us to come out of our tombs of isolation; our spiritually dry places; our feelings of hopelessness at the world's folly. He invites us to be in community with others and by doing that, we are in communion with him. Just as you cannot be a Christian without a faith community, you cannot participate in the Communion of Saints without being part of a community of believers.
On this Feast of All Saints we are reminded that folks just like you and me, with doubts, fears, limitations and missed opportunities, have gone before us and are now feasting at that banquet in paradise. It is never denied to us, but we are always given a choice. The communion of saints has an outpost right here at St. James' in Eureka Springs. And whenever we come to this altar and offer ourselves to the living God, we enter into that mystical body of the saints who are feasting at the other end of it.
Now, our mission is to invite others to this table, and — if at all possible — to rescue those who are isolated and alone. We cannot force anyone to come, but by invitation and example we can show them the way, we can roll away the stone, we can call them forth.
Pat was the building CEO at the Episcopal Church headquarters in New York. She was always smiling and cheerful, even after a day that often involved making tough decisions, placating wounded egos, or managing repairs to a decaying building that hadn't been upgraded since it was built in the 1960s. During her tenure it was decided to totally renovate the interior, making the building safer, healthier and possibly more saleable. She had to manage moving people as floors were re-done one at a time, deal with design changes, architects and union contractors who were seldom on the same page, a management team and 250 employees whose working lives were constantly being disrupted.
Every day I saw her come to work with a smile on her face. She was usually at the noon Eucharist held in the building chapel. One particular day — it had been raining and getting to work had been horrible — I walked in feeling rather low, missing being home in Missouri, facing another trip and feeling a bit sorry for myself…until I saw Pat and received her warm "Good morning, Ben." I got to my cubicle and thought, if that lady can smile every morning in the midst of all she is carrying, what have I got to feel sad about? That was a communion-of-saints moment. She pulled me out of my funk, likely without knowing it.
That story is hardly in the class of Jesus' rolling away the stone of Lazarus' grave. But the teaching is the same. The life of the saints in light invites us all to participate with them. We don't pray to them as though they were distant supermen and women who can fix our woes. No, we participate with them as a people of hope in the midst of great hopelessness. We cannot fix all the world's problems, but we know the one who can, and we are part of the community that is supposed to be about doing just that, one soul at a time.
The Rev. Ben Helmer, Vicar
St. James' Episcopal Church
Eureka Springs. AR
ALL SAINTS' DAY, 2009 11.09