“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven” … and all the rest of Jesus’ “Blessed are” declarations. Such familiar words. Most Christians have heard them a zillion times. In fact, they’re so familiar that they can even be satirized. In the movie The Life of Bryan, the Monty Python crew shout, “Blessed are the Greeks” and “Blessed are the cheesemakers,” knowing their audience will catch the joke.
Although the Beatitudes, these “Blessed are” declarations are so familiar, we might be surprised to hear them today. It’s All Saints Sunday, the day when we thank God for those who’ve gone before us in faith, especially those who’ve been recognized by the church. It’s year A in our three-year cycle of Scripture readings, the year when most of our Gospel readings are from the Gospel according to Matthew. If a Gospel reading for All Saints is required, wouldn’t the parable of the Sheep and the Goats be more appropriate? Or perhaps we could hear about the saintly women who bankrolled Jesus’ ministry and were the first witnesses of his resurrection. Yet, every third year, on All Saints Sunday, we hear this passage from the fifth chapter of Matthew.
If you think about it, this passage is even a surprise in the world of the gospel itself. The very first words in Matthew’s gospel are, “An account of the genealogy of Jesus the Messiah, the son of David ….” (1:1). Right away, we are set up to expect an encounter with the one who, like his ancestor David, would deliver Israel from Roman oppression. As the story progresses, we see aging King Herod so terrified about the birth of this Jesus that he orders the massacre of all boys in Jerusalem under the age of two. Then, as Jesus, as an adult, is poised to begin his ministry, along comes the fiery John the Baptist proclaiming of him, “I baptize you with water for repentance, but one who is more powerful than I is coming after me; I am not worthy to carry his sandals. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire” (3:11). After hearing all this, we are sure we will meet the Jesus who will be a cross between David and Elijah, who will oust the Romans, and who will bring down God’s wrath on all the sinful.
So when Jesus makes his first public address – up on a mountain no less, like his forebear Moses – what do we hear? We hear that you’re blessed if you admit that you’re dependent on God, even for your very life. You’re blessed if you lament the current state of the world and long for the day when you can live in God’s realm. You’re blessed when you actively, hungrily and thirstily, pursue justice. You’re blessed when you engage in mission, in concrete acts of mercy and charity. You’re blessed when no one but God has a claim on you, and when you can do God’s work with gladness and singleness of heart. You’re blessed when you actively pursue peace. You’re blessed when you stand in the shoes of the prophets and speak out against hatred, war, and injustice, even though you know that speaking truth to power will bring down on you the wrath of the rulers of this world. You’re blessed if you’re prepared to suffer Jesus’ fate of execution as a common criminal. You’re blessed if you can hold fast to God’s promise, that God’s realm will become real, and that all of us will be part of that great community worshipping God eternally.
Jesus’ first followers must surely have gasped, hearing these words. They were expecting a conquering king. Was this the way of life to which God’s anointed one, their savior, was calling them? Do we too gasp when we hear Jesus’ declarations? Do we even hear them? Isn’t it much more exciting to worship superheroes? Don’t the leaders of victorious armies, even Super Bowl heroes, command more of our attention than a messiah who calls us to depend on God, engage in service to others, and actively work for peace and justice?
My brothers and sisters, God’s ways are always different from our ways. God always astounds us. God always does the unexpected. Eight centuries before Jesus, the prophet Isaiah warned his followers that, “For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts” (55:9). Jesus’ proclamation of the good life went against everything that his followers expected. And yet, throughout the centuries, a few have caught that vision, and have followed Jesus into unexpected places.
Today, on All Saints Sunday we remember especially those who gained public recognition for being willing to follow Jesus’ vision, to let God overturn all theirs and others’ expectations for their lives. The Episcopal Church, in its wonderful volume Holy Women, Holy Men, offers an entire year’s worth of such followers of Jesus. Some were officially recognized by the undivided church, and some have been added to our calendar since the Reformation. If you’ve ever come to a Tuesday evening Eucharist, you’ve helped us remember these extraordinary individuals.
And what a surprising and wonderful “cloud of witnesses” these holy women and holy men are! Take, for example, Benedict of Nursia, who in the chaos of the sixth century, when the Roman Empire had all but fallen apart, brought together a group of monks and wrote a rule for their common life. His rule, emphasizing work, prayer, and study, endures to this day. Read it sometime with Joan Chittister’s commentary. It will surprise and inspire you. How about Francis and Clare of Assisi? In twelfth-century Italy, they turned their backs on their families’ wealth to found communities dedicated to serving the poor. In sixteenth-century Spain, Teresa of Avila also abandoned her wealthy family to found communities dedicated to contemplative prayer. Closer to our own time, William Wilberforce heard Jesus’ call to defy his contemporaries’ expectations and vigorously worked for the abolition of the English slave trade.
At the beginning of the twentieth century, Vida Dutton Scudder joined the Episcopal Church after hearing Philips Brooks preach in Boston. She too heard Jesus’ call, to risk her position as a faculty member at Wellesley College by supporting striking textile workers in 1912. For the rest of her life, she continued to pursue both justice for workers and world peace. Or how about an Albanian nun named Anjezë Gonxhe Bojaxhiu? When she began teaching wealthy girls at a school in the foothills of India, few would have predicted that Mother Teresa, as she came to be known, would spend her life on the streets of Calcutta, found numerous orders dedicated to care of the poor and dying, and be awarded the Nobel peace prize. Dietrich Bonhoeffer? Born into a secular family in Germany, he followed Jesus’ call, becoming a Lutheran pastor, theologian, anti-Nazi dissident, and founding member of the Confessing Church. In April 1945, at the age of thirty-nine, Bonhoeffer followed his master and was hanged by the Nazis.
The cloud of witnesses to God’s power and grace also includes many who are not on our calendar. Msgr. William O’Brien, a Catholic parish priest in New York City, became painfully aware of how the “war on drugs” was failing the addicts in his parish. Against all the prevailing wisdom of the day, he founded Daytop Village in 1963, one of the first and most successful drug and alcohol treatment programs in the U.S.
And then there are those who could not be considered “saints” by any stretch of the imagination and yet were able to become instruments of God’s grace. Bryan Stevenson tells the story of his first visit to death row.1 He was visiting a convicted murderer. He began by apologizing to the man for being only a student. Continuing to apologize, he told the prisoner that, because no lawyer had yet been appointed for him, he would not be executed any time in the next year. Astonished, Stevenson heard the prisoner say, “Thank you, man. I mean, really, thank you!” Now the prisoner knew that he could arrange a visit for his wife and children without fear that he would have an execution date before they could get there. Then Stevenson and the prisoner began talking. Their lives were remarkably similar, and they ended up talking for three hours. When the guard finally signaled an end to the conversation, the prisoner asked Stevenson to come back and see him again. As Stevenson struggled to say something appropriate, the prisoner smiled. Then he astonished Stevenson. He closed his eyes, tilted his head back, and, with a strong baritone, began to sing, “Lord, lift me up and let me stand,/ By faith on heaven’s tableland;/ A higher plane than I have found,/ Lord, plant my feet on higher ground.” It was an old hymn that Stevenson had sung growing up, and the prisoner continued to sing it as he was led away. Contrary to all Stevenson’s expectations, the prisoner had shown him generosity and compassion. Stevenson never forgot the man or the hymn.
And so, my friends, on this day of remembrance, on this morning when we remember those whose lives are known to many, and this evening when we remember those whose lives are known only to us, whom we loved and see no longer, we give thanks to God for surrounding us with a great cloud of witnesses. With that multitude that no man can number, we give thanks to the God of surprises, who works God’s transforming power in all our lives. Even now, God’s transforming power is at work in us, and we too can trust that we will join the saints in feasting at the heavenly banquet.
1. The High Road,” New York Times Magazine, October 26, 2014, 74.
Showing posts with label All Saints Sunday. Show all posts
Showing posts with label All Saints Sunday. Show all posts
Tuesday, November 4, 2014
Sunday, November 3, 2013
A Great Cloud of Witnesses
Who are the saints? Are they those shadowy figures from a distant past, the ones depicted with glowing haloes in medieval paintings and Orthodox icons? Are they the ones officially declared as saints by the Roman Catholic Church, or the ones deemed worthy by the Episcopal Church of inclusion in Holy Women, Holy Men? Who are they, and why should we even think about them? When we have any number of sports heroes and headline-grabbing celebrities, why do we even need saints?
In 1373 in Norwich, England, a thirty-year old woman lay mortally ill. The parish priest placed a crucifix on her chest. All of a sudden she had an intense vision of Jesus on the cross. She immediately began to recover. As she recovered she had more visions. She decided to dedicate her life to trying to understand the gift that God had given her. By her own request, and with the permission of her bishop, she was enclosed in a small room on the side of the Church of St. Julian. The room had a window and a small door that led into the church, through which she could hear mass and receive communion. It also had a small window that face the churchyard, through which she could offer spiritual direction to others. With the help of a monk, she wrote up brief versions of her initial visions. She continued to meditate on her visions, and at some point wrote longer, more detailed versions of them. It is thought that she died about 1415 and may be buried near the church where she lived.
We don’t know much about Julian of Norwich, as she came to be called. We ourselves may not feel called to lead an anchorite’s life, as Julian and others like her felt called to do. But we can still read Julian’s book, either in the 15th century English in which she wrote or in modern English. Through Julian’s colorful and detailed visions, we get a glimpse of the reality of the Trinity, and we learn the importance of single-minded devotion to God. We come to know Jesus as our loving Mother, and we realize that we are first and foremost God’s most beloved children. We discover – if we don’t already know it – that we may – and do – sin, but, broken, dusty, and lost as we may be, we can never lose God’s love.
A century after Julian’s death, a thirty-nine year unhappy Spanish Carmelite sister also looked at a crucifix. Immediately she felt disgusted at how idly she and her fellow sisters lived and at how dull and lackadaisical their spiritual lives had become. She vowed to devote herself more seriously to a life of prayer. She then almost instantly had a deep sense of God’s love, almost lighting her up and transforming her from deep within her soul. She decided to found a new reformed community of Carmelite nuns, who would live simply, on alms and the work of their own hands, and maintain a rigorous rule of prayer. She went on to found sixteen other communities in Spain. As her prayer life continued to deepen, she had many other mystical experiences. In an age when few women wrote, she instructed her fellow sisters in the journey towards union with God in a book titled in English The Interior Castle. She also wrote an autobiography, and left a collection of mystical poetry.
We may not feel called to follow Teresa of Avila into a Carmelite convent. The Interior Castle is not easy reading. Nevertheless Teresa also has much to teach us. She stresses our need to know ourselves, both our strengths and our weaknesses. She reassures us that God is always with us. Consequently, she also emphasizes the importance of regular disciplines of prayer, even as she assures us that, “Prayer … is nothing but friendly intercourse, and frequent solitary converse, with Him who we know loves us.” Most important, Teresa also gently reminds us that attention to prayer and service of others are not mutually exclusive. Rather, prayer and service are integral to each other. All prayer must eventually lead to good works, Teresa tells us, while our service of others must be grounded in our prayer. Ultimately, we are called to be both mystics and prophets.
Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove knows well the fundamental connection between prayer and service of others. Not long ago, padding around the first floor of his house on a cold, dark night, he heard feet shuffling at his door and an insistent knock.1 Jonathan lives with his family in Walltown, a neighborhood in west Durham, North Carolina, in an intentional community called Rutba House. The house is named after a place in Iraq, where Jonathan and his wife had experienced hospitality while traveling as witnesses for peace. The front door knocker is engraved with the words, “I was a stranger and you welcomed me.” For the last ten years, Rutba House has been offering hospitality to all comers. Some stay for a few days, some move in virtually permanently. Some were once homeless. Some are fleeing abusive partners, some come straight from prison, and some are suffering from PTSD. Some are former drug addicts seeking a fresh start.
Sometimes Jonathan and his family get discouraged. They know they can’t help all in need. They know that some take their hospitality and their spare change and go out for another fix or another drink. As he listened to the knocking Jonathan knew that it could be Jesus knocking. It could also be drunken Greg, or Larry trying to sell him a stolen toaster, or Patrice wanting respite from her loudmouth husband. He knew that sometimes miracles happen, but sometimes they don’t. Ten years’ worth of stories flashed through his mind as he stood in his kitchen waiting. Another knock. He thought, “Is this Jesus, a guide from beyond, come to save me, however inconvenient his timing may be? Or is it the beginning of another long night in the ER?” He went to the door. He went to the door, he says, “because the Jesus I want to know is the Jesus who comes knocking at midnight, bringing his tired and homeless friends with him.”
A little after midnight, about four years ago, Steve Stone, the pastor of Heartsong Church in Cordova, Tennessee, received a telephone call from a group of Muslims in Kashmir, Pakistan.2 They had been watching CNN when a story about Heartsong Church aired. They were dumbfounded at what they saw. Pastor Stone had discovered that the Memphis Islamic Center had bought land next door to the church. Did he rush to the city council and protest the plans for an Islamic Center next door, as pastors in other cities had done? No. Pastor Stone put up a large red sign in front of his church that read, “Heartsong Church Welcomes Memphis Islamic Center to the Neighborhood.” The local Muslim leaders were astounded. They had hoped that their coming might be ignored. They never ever thought that they might be welcomed. They met with Pastor Stone. The two communities came to know each other. Children began to play with each other, and adults shared meals. They talked about their respective faiths with each other. While the Islamic Center was under construction, Heartsong allowed the Muslims to hold Ramadan prayer services in their sanctuary. They began to plan joint ministries to feed the homeless and tutor local children.
CNN picked up the story. The cooperation and mutual respect demonstrated by the two faith communities stood in sharp contrast to the controversy around the so-called “Ground Zero mosque” and the threatened burnings of the Qur’an that were dominating the news. As the Pakistani Muslims heard the CNN story, one man said, “I think God is speaking to us through this man.” Another man went right to the little Christian church near their mosque and proceeded to clean it, both inside and out with his own hands.
Who are the saints? They are Julian and other mystics. They are Teresa and others who have sought union with God through contemplative prayer. They are Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove and all those who extend the hand of hospitality to those on the margins of polite society. They are Steve Stone and all those who take seriously Jesus’ command to love our neighbors as ourselves. They are all those who know themselves beloved by God and who strive to make God’s love real in the world. They are all those who inspire us and model for us the many ways of following Jesus.
As baptized members of Christ’s Body, we too are called to follow Jesus. We too are called to holy living. We too are called to prayer and holy silence. We too are called to welcome the stranger. We too are called to share God’s love with all our neighbors.
Almighty God, you have surrounded us with a great cloud of witnesses: Grant that we, encouraged by the good examples of all your servants, may persevere in running the race that is set before us, until at last we may with them attain to your eternal joy; through Jesus Christ, the pioneer and perfecter of our faith, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, forever and ever.
1. “School for Conversion,” October 18, 2013.
2. Jim Wallis, On God's Side, (Grand Rapids, MI: Brazos, 2013), 138-9.
In 1373 in Norwich, England, a thirty-year old woman lay mortally ill. The parish priest placed a crucifix on her chest. All of a sudden she had an intense vision of Jesus on the cross. She immediately began to recover. As she recovered she had more visions. She decided to dedicate her life to trying to understand the gift that God had given her. By her own request, and with the permission of her bishop, she was enclosed in a small room on the side of the Church of St. Julian. The room had a window and a small door that led into the church, through which she could hear mass and receive communion. It also had a small window that face the churchyard, through which she could offer spiritual direction to others. With the help of a monk, she wrote up brief versions of her initial visions. She continued to meditate on her visions, and at some point wrote longer, more detailed versions of them. It is thought that she died about 1415 and may be buried near the church where she lived.
We don’t know much about Julian of Norwich, as she came to be called. We ourselves may not feel called to lead an anchorite’s life, as Julian and others like her felt called to do. But we can still read Julian’s book, either in the 15th century English in which she wrote or in modern English. Through Julian’s colorful and detailed visions, we get a glimpse of the reality of the Trinity, and we learn the importance of single-minded devotion to God. We come to know Jesus as our loving Mother, and we realize that we are first and foremost God’s most beloved children. We discover – if we don’t already know it – that we may – and do – sin, but, broken, dusty, and lost as we may be, we can never lose God’s love.
A century after Julian’s death, a thirty-nine year unhappy Spanish Carmelite sister also looked at a crucifix. Immediately she felt disgusted at how idly she and her fellow sisters lived and at how dull and lackadaisical their spiritual lives had become. She vowed to devote herself more seriously to a life of prayer. She then almost instantly had a deep sense of God’s love, almost lighting her up and transforming her from deep within her soul. She decided to found a new reformed community of Carmelite nuns, who would live simply, on alms and the work of their own hands, and maintain a rigorous rule of prayer. She went on to found sixteen other communities in Spain. As her prayer life continued to deepen, she had many other mystical experiences. In an age when few women wrote, she instructed her fellow sisters in the journey towards union with God in a book titled in English The Interior Castle. She also wrote an autobiography, and left a collection of mystical poetry.
We may not feel called to follow Teresa of Avila into a Carmelite convent. The Interior Castle is not easy reading. Nevertheless Teresa also has much to teach us. She stresses our need to know ourselves, both our strengths and our weaknesses. She reassures us that God is always with us. Consequently, she also emphasizes the importance of regular disciplines of prayer, even as she assures us that, “Prayer … is nothing but friendly intercourse, and frequent solitary converse, with Him who we know loves us.” Most important, Teresa also gently reminds us that attention to prayer and service of others are not mutually exclusive. Rather, prayer and service are integral to each other. All prayer must eventually lead to good works, Teresa tells us, while our service of others must be grounded in our prayer. Ultimately, we are called to be both mystics and prophets.
Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove knows well the fundamental connection between prayer and service of others. Not long ago, padding around the first floor of his house on a cold, dark night, he heard feet shuffling at his door and an insistent knock.1 Jonathan lives with his family in Walltown, a neighborhood in west Durham, North Carolina, in an intentional community called Rutba House. The house is named after a place in Iraq, where Jonathan and his wife had experienced hospitality while traveling as witnesses for peace. The front door knocker is engraved with the words, “I was a stranger and you welcomed me.” For the last ten years, Rutba House has been offering hospitality to all comers. Some stay for a few days, some move in virtually permanently. Some were once homeless. Some are fleeing abusive partners, some come straight from prison, and some are suffering from PTSD. Some are former drug addicts seeking a fresh start.
Sometimes Jonathan and his family get discouraged. They know they can’t help all in need. They know that some take their hospitality and their spare change and go out for another fix or another drink. As he listened to the knocking Jonathan knew that it could be Jesus knocking. It could also be drunken Greg, or Larry trying to sell him a stolen toaster, or Patrice wanting respite from her loudmouth husband. He knew that sometimes miracles happen, but sometimes they don’t. Ten years’ worth of stories flashed through his mind as he stood in his kitchen waiting. Another knock. He thought, “Is this Jesus, a guide from beyond, come to save me, however inconvenient his timing may be? Or is it the beginning of another long night in the ER?” He went to the door. He went to the door, he says, “because the Jesus I want to know is the Jesus who comes knocking at midnight, bringing his tired and homeless friends with him.”
A little after midnight, about four years ago, Steve Stone, the pastor of Heartsong Church in Cordova, Tennessee, received a telephone call from a group of Muslims in Kashmir, Pakistan.2 They had been watching CNN when a story about Heartsong Church aired. They were dumbfounded at what they saw. Pastor Stone had discovered that the Memphis Islamic Center had bought land next door to the church. Did he rush to the city council and protest the plans for an Islamic Center next door, as pastors in other cities had done? No. Pastor Stone put up a large red sign in front of his church that read, “Heartsong Church Welcomes Memphis Islamic Center to the Neighborhood.” The local Muslim leaders were astounded. They had hoped that their coming might be ignored. They never ever thought that they might be welcomed. They met with Pastor Stone. The two communities came to know each other. Children began to play with each other, and adults shared meals. They talked about their respective faiths with each other. While the Islamic Center was under construction, Heartsong allowed the Muslims to hold Ramadan prayer services in their sanctuary. They began to plan joint ministries to feed the homeless and tutor local children.
CNN picked up the story. The cooperation and mutual respect demonstrated by the two faith communities stood in sharp contrast to the controversy around the so-called “Ground Zero mosque” and the threatened burnings of the Qur’an that were dominating the news. As the Pakistani Muslims heard the CNN story, one man said, “I think God is speaking to us through this man.” Another man went right to the little Christian church near their mosque and proceeded to clean it, both inside and out with his own hands.
Who are the saints? They are Julian and other mystics. They are Teresa and others who have sought union with God through contemplative prayer. They are Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove and all those who extend the hand of hospitality to those on the margins of polite society. They are Steve Stone and all those who take seriously Jesus’ command to love our neighbors as ourselves. They are all those who know themselves beloved by God and who strive to make God’s love real in the world. They are all those who inspire us and model for us the many ways of following Jesus.
As baptized members of Christ’s Body, we too are called to follow Jesus. We too are called to holy living. We too are called to prayer and holy silence. We too are called to welcome the stranger. We too are called to share God’s love with all our neighbors.
Almighty God, you have surrounded us with a great cloud of witnesses: Grant that we, encouraged by the good examples of all your servants, may persevere in running the race that is set before us, until at last we may with them attain to your eternal joy; through Jesus Christ, the pioneer and perfecter of our faith, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, forever and ever.
1. “School for Conversion,” October 18, 2013.
2. Jim Wallis, On God's Side, (Grand Rapids, MI: Brazos, 2013), 138-9.
Sunday, November 4, 2012
Blessed Assurance, Blessed Invitation
Five days ago, Hurricane Sandy roared out of the Caribbean and up the east coast of the United States causing horrific destruction from Haiti to the Lake Erie shore. Still devastated by the earthquake that struck in January 2010, Haiti yet again experienced the destruction of homes, schools, businesses, and healthcare facilities. As the hurricane charged up the east coast, making landfall in New Jersey, millions of people suffered loss of electric power. Over eighty people died. Transportation networks were destroyed. Great cities were shut down. Even our own state, on the Lake Erie shore felt the hurricane’s effects. Right now, the economic impact of the hurricane is unfathomable, and it will be years before those affected by it fully recover.
Of course we in southern Ohio are no strangers to destructive weather, having suffered our own prolonged loss of power in this past summer’s derecho. Perhaps some of you lost food and trees or sweltered in the late June heat. In August 2011 Hurricane Irene visited destruction on, of course, the Caribbean. However, after making landfall in southern New Jersey, it turned inward, causing cyclonic winds and flooded rivers in Vermont and New Hampshire, areas mostly immune to the dangers of hurricanes. And who can forget the destruction brought about in New Orleans by Hurricane Katrina in 2005?
We could go on and on with hurricanes, earthquakes, tornados, cyclones, and tsunamis. To so-called “natural disasters” we can easily add those caused by human folly. Who can forget the BP Gulf oil spill or that of the Exxon Valdez? Add to them, on the macro level famine, war, ethnic cleansing, and violent political dictatorships, and, on the micro level, rape, illness, addiction, domestic abuse, and accidents. In the face of so much human need, our elected officials often seem to be handcuffed by extreme partisanship and totally unable to reach agreement on even the smallest steps. No wonder some of us want to cry out, “Where are you, God? What are you doing about our messy, broken, sinful world? Are you totally disconnected from all these disasters?”
And yet, we are also people of faith. We trust that there is more to human destiny than one disaster after another. Our Scriptures, so full of God’s promises, tell a different story than that of the daily news. Today’s Scripture readings in particular give us an assurance, a “blessed assurance,” that God is with us in all the disasters that crash in on our lives. What is more important, in the midst of these disasters, God offers us hope for the future, for a restoration of creation, and for life lived on a new plane. Addressing a people in exile, the writer of the first part of the book of Isaiah assures his readers that God knows their plight and sorrows with them. Although their world had been turned upside down, in much the same way as for those now suffering from the hurricanes, Isaiah suggests that God will ultimately bring about a different future for the exiles. Can you picture that heavenly banquet? All the wonderful food and the best wine? Wouldn’t you be comforted to hear that God will perfect creation, and that a future without death, of joyful abundance, and open to all, is part of God’s plan?
Our Gospel reading puts “skin” on Isaiah’s vision, so to speak. Do you have any doubts that God knows our pain? Jesus’ visit to Bethany is the last of the signs that John’s Gospel offers us that Jesus is the Word made flesh, that Jesus is sent by God to be God in our midst. And what does God with us do? He weeps! He knows our pain and loss and grieves with us – then and now. And then, pointing forward to his own resurrection, he releases his friend Lazarus from the bonds of death and assures the crowd, the gospel readers, and us, that eventually all of us will be set free from the bonds of death, that all of us will, with the readers of Isaiah, feast at God’s great banquet.
Surely the writer of the book of Revelation also understood God’s promises of restoration and wholeness. Writing to Jewish Christian communities that had suffered martyrdom at the hands of the Roman Empire, he used different images to capture his vision of God’s future. In the image of the new Jerusalem, he gives us a wonderful symbol for perfected creation. Can you picture that perfect city, so different from any known on earth? Shining, sparkling, gem-encrusted, perfect in its dimensions, a place where all is new, where death has been banished, where the gates are open to all? And more: in this newly perfected Jerusalem, the compassionate God who comforted the exiles and wept over Lazarus knows all of God’s people intimately. And lest we think all this is a vain hope, John declares that, “It is done!” God has already acted decisively, and, despite our doubts, God is even now bringing God’s plans to fruition.
At this point you might be asking, “Wait, isn’t this All Saints Sunday? Aren’t we celebrating all those saints ‘who from their labors rest?’ Why do we hear all these readings outlining God’s compassion for us and God’s promises of a restored creation? What about all those holy women and men?” Here’s the answer. To begin with, by saints we do not mean only holy people who lived centuries ago and are now enshrined in icons and stained glass windows. The true saints, both those on the official calendars, and those known only to a few friends and relatives, are those who have caught the vision. The true saints are those who have experienced God at work in their own lives and who trust God’s promises. The true saints are those who can see past the grief and pain of this life and can glimpse God’s future with their own eyes. The true saints are those who, seeing this future in their mind’s eyes, have accepted God’s invitation to help bring nearer the day when God’s future will be fully realized.
The saints do indeed constitute a “great cloud of witnesses” for us. Certainly the saints of history, those ancient martyrs in whose memory this feast day began, are among their number. So too are those like Francis and Clare of Assisi, who turned their backs on wealth and adopted a life of service to the poor. Who can forget the scholars among them, Dominic, Thomas Aquinas, or Catherine of Siena? Or the mystics, Hildegard of Bingen or Julian of Norwich? Or Brother Lawrence, who knew God’s presence with him in the pots and pans of a monastery kitchen? More contemporary saints are also alive in that “cloud:” people like Philander Chase, the founder of the Episcopal Church in Ohio, Julia Chester Emery, the founder of the United Thank Offering, Mother Ruth, the founder of the Community of the Holy Spirit, Thomas Merton, Trappist monk and teacher of mysticism to all of us, or Martin Luther King, Jr., whose martyrdom helped break down the walls separating the races. And then there are the saints known only to you: those relatives, friends, and teachers, who shared their vision of God with you and led you to trust in God’s promises. Truly the saints are beyond number.
And what of ourselves? What is our call on All Saints Day? Certainly, we are called to remember the saints with gratitude, to give thanks to God for the courage they showed in their day in sharing their visions of God. And are we among the saints? When our time is past, will we be among that “cloud of witnesses?” You and I could not stop Hurricane Sandy in its tracks. We cannot solely by our own individual efforts stop war and erase poverty. But can we too catch the vision? Can we deepen our relationship with God? Can we see ahead to God’s future and accept God’s invitation to join in bringing that future nearer? Lane Denson reminds us that in our readings from Mark’s Gospel this fall we have been called to be servant leaders. On All Saints Sunday, we are charged with accepting that call and falling in with all the rest of the saints, with the apostles, martyrs, and mystics, all the founders of communities, all those who have gone to the aid of those suffering in disasters, all those who gave their lives for racial and ethnic justice, all those who care for God’s creation, and all those who seek to eliminate poverty and injustice. On All Saints Sunday we too are called to proclaim the good news and to “walk the talk.” We too are called to see beyond the limitations of this life in the present, beyond the disasters, beyond the social inequity and racial discrimation, beyond the abuse and destruction that we have visited on nature. With the saints we too are called to claim the promise of God’s reign now and forever.
O blest communion, fellowship divine! God grant that we may know ourselves to be numbered among them!
Of course we in southern Ohio are no strangers to destructive weather, having suffered our own prolonged loss of power in this past summer’s derecho. Perhaps some of you lost food and trees or sweltered in the late June heat. In August 2011 Hurricane Irene visited destruction on, of course, the Caribbean. However, after making landfall in southern New Jersey, it turned inward, causing cyclonic winds and flooded rivers in Vermont and New Hampshire, areas mostly immune to the dangers of hurricanes. And who can forget the destruction brought about in New Orleans by Hurricane Katrina in 2005?
We could go on and on with hurricanes, earthquakes, tornados, cyclones, and tsunamis. To so-called “natural disasters” we can easily add those caused by human folly. Who can forget the BP Gulf oil spill or that of the Exxon Valdez? Add to them, on the macro level famine, war, ethnic cleansing, and violent political dictatorships, and, on the micro level, rape, illness, addiction, domestic abuse, and accidents. In the face of so much human need, our elected officials often seem to be handcuffed by extreme partisanship and totally unable to reach agreement on even the smallest steps. No wonder some of us want to cry out, “Where are you, God? What are you doing about our messy, broken, sinful world? Are you totally disconnected from all these disasters?”
And yet, we are also people of faith. We trust that there is more to human destiny than one disaster after another. Our Scriptures, so full of God’s promises, tell a different story than that of the daily news. Today’s Scripture readings in particular give us an assurance, a “blessed assurance,” that God is with us in all the disasters that crash in on our lives. What is more important, in the midst of these disasters, God offers us hope for the future, for a restoration of creation, and for life lived on a new plane. Addressing a people in exile, the writer of the first part of the book of Isaiah assures his readers that God knows their plight and sorrows with them. Although their world had been turned upside down, in much the same way as for those now suffering from the hurricanes, Isaiah suggests that God will ultimately bring about a different future for the exiles. Can you picture that heavenly banquet? All the wonderful food and the best wine? Wouldn’t you be comforted to hear that God will perfect creation, and that a future without death, of joyful abundance, and open to all, is part of God’s plan?
Our Gospel reading puts “skin” on Isaiah’s vision, so to speak. Do you have any doubts that God knows our pain? Jesus’ visit to Bethany is the last of the signs that John’s Gospel offers us that Jesus is the Word made flesh, that Jesus is sent by God to be God in our midst. And what does God with us do? He weeps! He knows our pain and loss and grieves with us – then and now. And then, pointing forward to his own resurrection, he releases his friend Lazarus from the bonds of death and assures the crowd, the gospel readers, and us, that eventually all of us will be set free from the bonds of death, that all of us will, with the readers of Isaiah, feast at God’s great banquet.
Surely the writer of the book of Revelation also understood God’s promises of restoration and wholeness. Writing to Jewish Christian communities that had suffered martyrdom at the hands of the Roman Empire, he used different images to capture his vision of God’s future. In the image of the new Jerusalem, he gives us a wonderful symbol for perfected creation. Can you picture that perfect city, so different from any known on earth? Shining, sparkling, gem-encrusted, perfect in its dimensions, a place where all is new, where death has been banished, where the gates are open to all? And more: in this newly perfected Jerusalem, the compassionate God who comforted the exiles and wept over Lazarus knows all of God’s people intimately. And lest we think all this is a vain hope, John declares that, “It is done!” God has already acted decisively, and, despite our doubts, God is even now bringing God’s plans to fruition.
At this point you might be asking, “Wait, isn’t this All Saints Sunday? Aren’t we celebrating all those saints ‘who from their labors rest?’ Why do we hear all these readings outlining God’s compassion for us and God’s promises of a restored creation? What about all those holy women and men?” Here’s the answer. To begin with, by saints we do not mean only holy people who lived centuries ago and are now enshrined in icons and stained glass windows. The true saints, both those on the official calendars, and those known only to a few friends and relatives, are those who have caught the vision. The true saints are those who have experienced God at work in their own lives and who trust God’s promises. The true saints are those who can see past the grief and pain of this life and can glimpse God’s future with their own eyes. The true saints are those who, seeing this future in their mind’s eyes, have accepted God’s invitation to help bring nearer the day when God’s future will be fully realized.
The saints do indeed constitute a “great cloud of witnesses” for us. Certainly the saints of history, those ancient martyrs in whose memory this feast day began, are among their number. So too are those like Francis and Clare of Assisi, who turned their backs on wealth and adopted a life of service to the poor. Who can forget the scholars among them, Dominic, Thomas Aquinas, or Catherine of Siena? Or the mystics, Hildegard of Bingen or Julian of Norwich? Or Brother Lawrence, who knew God’s presence with him in the pots and pans of a monastery kitchen? More contemporary saints are also alive in that “cloud:” people like Philander Chase, the founder of the Episcopal Church in Ohio, Julia Chester Emery, the founder of the United Thank Offering, Mother Ruth, the founder of the Community of the Holy Spirit, Thomas Merton, Trappist monk and teacher of mysticism to all of us, or Martin Luther King, Jr., whose martyrdom helped break down the walls separating the races. And then there are the saints known only to you: those relatives, friends, and teachers, who shared their vision of God with you and led you to trust in God’s promises. Truly the saints are beyond number.
And what of ourselves? What is our call on All Saints Day? Certainly, we are called to remember the saints with gratitude, to give thanks to God for the courage they showed in their day in sharing their visions of God. And are we among the saints? When our time is past, will we be among that “cloud of witnesses?” You and I could not stop Hurricane Sandy in its tracks. We cannot solely by our own individual efforts stop war and erase poverty. But can we too catch the vision? Can we deepen our relationship with God? Can we see ahead to God’s future and accept God’s invitation to join in bringing that future nearer? Lane Denson reminds us that in our readings from Mark’s Gospel this fall we have been called to be servant leaders. On All Saints Sunday, we are charged with accepting that call and falling in with all the rest of the saints, with the apostles, martyrs, and mystics, all the founders of communities, all those who have gone to the aid of those suffering in disasters, all those who gave their lives for racial and ethnic justice, all those who care for God’s creation, and all those who seek to eliminate poverty and injustice. On All Saints Sunday we too are called to proclaim the good news and to “walk the talk.” We too are called to see beyond the limitations of this life in the present, beyond the disasters, beyond the social inequity and racial discrimation, beyond the abuse and destruction that we have visited on nature. With the saints we too are called to claim the promise of God’s reign now and forever.
O blest communion, fellowship divine! God grant that we may know ourselves to be numbered among them!
Sunday, November 6, 2011
A Great Multitude Which No Man Could Number
The deep blue sea sparkled and the bright sunlight dazzled his eyes as day after endless day John of Ephesus stared out of his makeshift home on the island of Patmos. The government of the Roman emperor Domitian had exiled him here, because, as a forceful leader of a fledgling Christian community, the government considered him a dangerous agitator. Patmos wasn’t exactly a barren rock – there were a Roman garrison and imperial temple here – and a few members of his community had been able to come with John. Like so many of the Hebrew prophets, whose writings he knew so well, John had always been something of a visionary. He had had dreams and visions of God, Jesus, heaven, and even of the end times, when God’s victory would be complete. Now, about sixty years after Jesus’ triumph on the Cross, as John stared out into the sea and sun, he began to collect and organize his visions. As he began to write them down on long scrolls, he also had new visions, and he came to an even deeper understanding of God’s promises and purposes. Sometime after his release from Patmos, in the late ‘90s, he made his scrolls known not only to the Christian community in Ephesus, but also to all the other churches in Asia Minor. The scrolls containing John’s visions came to be known as the Apocalypse of John, or Revelation, from the first word of the very first scroll.
From the very beginning, Revelation was considered a strange book. It was only included in the New Testament canon in 397, and that was despite questions about its character, symbolism, and authorship. In the 16th century, Martin Luther initially considered it to be "neither apostolic nor prophetic," and he said that "Christ is neither taught nor known in it,” though he did retract this view in later life. In the same century, John Calvin considered the book canonical, yet he declined to write a commentary on it. To this day, Revelation is the only New Testament book not read in the Divine Liturgy of the Eastern Orthodox Church, though it is included in Catholic and Protestant liturgies.
Why is Revelation such a strange and difficult book? The first reason may be that it is addressed to people experiencing a socio-political context unfamiliar to most Americans, that of severe oppression and martyrdom. It offers a strong critique of the source of that oppression, i.e., the Roman Empire, and warns people to follow God’s ways instead. “Salvation belongs to our God, who is seated on the throne and to the Lamb, not to Caesar,” shout the multitude. In addition, Revelation contains all sorts of violent, disruptive, and frightening images, and its narrative thread is difficult to follow. Even more than the Gospels, it offers contradictory statements on the nature of God, and on who is saved. What makes it even more suspect is that it depicts one person’s visionary experiences rather than the historical record preserved by those who first interacted with Jesus. No wonder most of us shy away from it!
Yet Revelation has much to offer us. Indeed, some seminarians have spent an entire semester chasing down its Old Testament allusions and fleshing out its many themes. We do have to be careful not to try to apply the book of Revelation to the contemporary church or to current events. With that caveat, this morning I want to pull out just one thread. Many passages and much of the imagery of Revelation seem black and white. Reflecting Christians’ unremitting struggle with the Roman government, which is symbolized by Babylon, the text seems to make it crystal clear, who is the oppressor and who is the victim, who is saved and who is damned. Even so, underneath all those seemingly black and white allusions, Revelation also strongly suggests that the Lamb has triumphed over evil and death, and that, consequently, all will ultimately be saved.
We hear that suggestion clearly in this morning’s passage. In the first eight verses of this chapter, which we did not hear, John has witnessed the salvation of the 144,000, i.e., the representatives of all the twelve tribes of Israel. Now he has turned around, and suddenly he beholds, “a great multitude that no one could count, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages, standing before the throne and before the Lamb….” The vision echoes those of the prophet Isaiah and the message is clear: no longer is salvation available only to God’s initially chosen people, now all people have access to God’s love. As one scholar reminds us, though the imagery and mood of Revelation is often dark and somber, John continues to offer us “the God whose victory does not depend on ours, who loves us when we do not love him or ourselves, who believes in us when we do not believe in him or ourselves, who saves us when we do not believe that we need saving or are worth saving.”1 God’s judgment has been spoken from the Cross, and, ultimately, all people are both judged by the Cross and included in its saving power.
And here’s the even better news: you and I are included in the salvation wrought by God and the Lamb! All of us here, past, present, and yet to come, are included in God’s salvation. Is that an odd proclamation for All Saints Day? The observation of this day began in the ancient church, when martyrs like those whom Revelation mentions were remembered and praised. Gradually, Christians included in that number all whose lives in the faith were especially heroic or exemplary. Many of these heroic Christians are included among the official list of “saints” maintained by the Roman Catholic Church, and many more are included in our Holy Women, Holy Men. However, finally we have come to realize that the “saints” we commemorate today include all baptized Christians. Indeed, this is exactly the way most of our New Testament writings understand who the “saints” are. Paul, for example, regularly refers to the “saints” in the Christian communities to whom he writes.
From Paul’s time right through to ours, the saints, that multitude whom no one could count, include all baptized people. That uncountable multitude includes the members of the Body of Christ in all places, and in all times, past, present, and yet to come. It includes not only Teresa of Avila, the Curé D’Ars, and Mother Ruth. That multitude also includes all the less exemplary Christians, Renaissance popes, Spanish inquisitors, Henry VIII, and all those who grieved God through their vanity, anger, pride, lust, greed or any other sin. When we are honest with ourselves, we know that we too are among the unworthy saints. Even so, worthy or unworthy, no one escapes God’s saving embrace. You can probably all say John 3:16 from memory (“For God so loved the world….”). But the next verse is equally important: “Indeed God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him.”
Every time we liturgically remember one of the more exemplary saints, we pray a collect associated with that person. It’s instructive to look at those collects, for they almost all follow the same pattern. After thanking God for the life and witness of that person, the collects pray that we might follow their good examples and ourselves witness to God’s goodness and love. If today were not All Saints Day and Sunday, we would be privileged to remember William Temple, a former archbishop of Canterbury with a passion for social justice, who died on this day in 1944. Here is the collect for his day, November 6: “O God of light and love, you illumined your Church through the witness of your servant William Temple: Inspire us, we pray, by his teaching and example, that we may rejoice with courage, confidence and faith in the Word made flesh, and may be led to establish that city which has justice for its foundation and love for its law; through Jesus Christ, the light of the world, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever. Amen.”
As we give thanks for the life of William Temple and all those whom we remember this day, here are our tasks for this day and this week. First, sometime today, take a moment to reflect on who has been an exemplary saint or person in your life in the past, or who is an exemplary saint for you now. Pray for that person and thank God for that person’s witness. Ask God to help you be more like that person. If that person is still alive, call him or her or write a note of thanksgiving. Second, pray that you might be an exemplary saint for someone else. To whom and in what way does your life witness to God’s great love in Christ? Who might be touched by your witness? And, finally, rejoice that, as we welcome four more people into the blessed company of all the saints, we know that we are not only surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses, but that we ourselves are a part of that “great multitude which no man could number.” Thanks be to God!
1. M. Eugene Boring, Revelation, Interpretation (Louisville: John Knox, 1989), 228, quoted by Wilfrid J. Harrington, O.P. Revelation, (Collegeville, MN: The Liturgical Press, 1993), 231.
From the very beginning, Revelation was considered a strange book. It was only included in the New Testament canon in 397, and that was despite questions about its character, symbolism, and authorship. In the 16th century, Martin Luther initially considered it to be "neither apostolic nor prophetic," and he said that "Christ is neither taught nor known in it,” though he did retract this view in later life. In the same century, John Calvin considered the book canonical, yet he declined to write a commentary on it. To this day, Revelation is the only New Testament book not read in the Divine Liturgy of the Eastern Orthodox Church, though it is included in Catholic and Protestant liturgies.
Why is Revelation such a strange and difficult book? The first reason may be that it is addressed to people experiencing a socio-political context unfamiliar to most Americans, that of severe oppression and martyrdom. It offers a strong critique of the source of that oppression, i.e., the Roman Empire, and warns people to follow God’s ways instead. “Salvation belongs to our God, who is seated on the throne and to the Lamb, not to Caesar,” shout the multitude. In addition, Revelation contains all sorts of violent, disruptive, and frightening images, and its narrative thread is difficult to follow. Even more than the Gospels, it offers contradictory statements on the nature of God, and on who is saved. What makes it even more suspect is that it depicts one person’s visionary experiences rather than the historical record preserved by those who first interacted with Jesus. No wonder most of us shy away from it!
Yet Revelation has much to offer us. Indeed, some seminarians have spent an entire semester chasing down its Old Testament allusions and fleshing out its many themes. We do have to be careful not to try to apply the book of Revelation to the contemporary church or to current events. With that caveat, this morning I want to pull out just one thread. Many passages and much of the imagery of Revelation seem black and white. Reflecting Christians’ unremitting struggle with the Roman government, which is symbolized by Babylon, the text seems to make it crystal clear, who is the oppressor and who is the victim, who is saved and who is damned. Even so, underneath all those seemingly black and white allusions, Revelation also strongly suggests that the Lamb has triumphed over evil and death, and that, consequently, all will ultimately be saved.
We hear that suggestion clearly in this morning’s passage. In the first eight verses of this chapter, which we did not hear, John has witnessed the salvation of the 144,000, i.e., the representatives of all the twelve tribes of Israel. Now he has turned around, and suddenly he beholds, “a great multitude that no one could count, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages, standing before the throne and before the Lamb….” The vision echoes those of the prophet Isaiah and the message is clear: no longer is salvation available only to God’s initially chosen people, now all people have access to God’s love. As one scholar reminds us, though the imagery and mood of Revelation is often dark and somber, John continues to offer us “the God whose victory does not depend on ours, who loves us when we do not love him or ourselves, who believes in us when we do not believe in him or ourselves, who saves us when we do not believe that we need saving or are worth saving.”1 God’s judgment has been spoken from the Cross, and, ultimately, all people are both judged by the Cross and included in its saving power.
And here’s the even better news: you and I are included in the salvation wrought by God and the Lamb! All of us here, past, present, and yet to come, are included in God’s salvation. Is that an odd proclamation for All Saints Day? The observation of this day began in the ancient church, when martyrs like those whom Revelation mentions were remembered and praised. Gradually, Christians included in that number all whose lives in the faith were especially heroic or exemplary. Many of these heroic Christians are included among the official list of “saints” maintained by the Roman Catholic Church, and many more are included in our Holy Women, Holy Men. However, finally we have come to realize that the “saints” we commemorate today include all baptized Christians. Indeed, this is exactly the way most of our New Testament writings understand who the “saints” are. Paul, for example, regularly refers to the “saints” in the Christian communities to whom he writes.
From Paul’s time right through to ours, the saints, that multitude whom no one could count, include all baptized people. That uncountable multitude includes the members of the Body of Christ in all places, and in all times, past, present, and yet to come. It includes not only Teresa of Avila, the Curé D’Ars, and Mother Ruth. That multitude also includes all the less exemplary Christians, Renaissance popes, Spanish inquisitors, Henry VIII, and all those who grieved God through their vanity, anger, pride, lust, greed or any other sin. When we are honest with ourselves, we know that we too are among the unworthy saints. Even so, worthy or unworthy, no one escapes God’s saving embrace. You can probably all say John 3:16 from memory (“For God so loved the world….”). But the next verse is equally important: “Indeed God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him.”
Every time we liturgically remember one of the more exemplary saints, we pray a collect associated with that person. It’s instructive to look at those collects, for they almost all follow the same pattern. After thanking God for the life and witness of that person, the collects pray that we might follow their good examples and ourselves witness to God’s goodness and love. If today were not All Saints Day and Sunday, we would be privileged to remember William Temple, a former archbishop of Canterbury with a passion for social justice, who died on this day in 1944. Here is the collect for his day, November 6: “O God of light and love, you illumined your Church through the witness of your servant William Temple: Inspire us, we pray, by his teaching and example, that we may rejoice with courage, confidence and faith in the Word made flesh, and may be led to establish that city which has justice for its foundation and love for its law; through Jesus Christ, the light of the world, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever. Amen.”
As we give thanks for the life of William Temple and all those whom we remember this day, here are our tasks for this day and this week. First, sometime today, take a moment to reflect on who has been an exemplary saint or person in your life in the past, or who is an exemplary saint for you now. Pray for that person and thank God for that person’s witness. Ask God to help you be more like that person. If that person is still alive, call him or her or write a note of thanksgiving. Second, pray that you might be an exemplary saint for someone else. To whom and in what way does your life witness to God’s great love in Christ? Who might be touched by your witness? And, finally, rejoice that, as we welcome four more people into the blessed company of all the saints, we know that we are not only surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses, but that we ourselves are a part of that “great multitude which no man could number.” Thanks be to God!
1. M. Eugene Boring, Revelation, Interpretation (Louisville: John Knox, 1989), 228, quoted by Wilfrid J. Harrington, O.P. Revelation, (Collegeville, MN: The Liturgical Press, 1993), 231.
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