Sunday After All Saints Day

Sunday After All Saints Day
Ecclesiasticus 44:1-10, 13-14; Psalm 149; Revelation 7:2-4, 9-17; Matthew 5:1-12
I sing a song of the saints of God…

Hope Episcopal Church, Houston, Texas
5 November 2006
by The Rev’d William E. Dunn

It’s great to see everyone here today. Where we live out in Atascocita near Lake Houston, Halloween has been the only celebration this week. I know we had our own Halloween Carnival her at Hope and many have had their annual wrestling with the propriety of celebrating Halloween. In most places I have lived, people have taken their Halloween fun seriously. I’ll never forget the first year I was a priest, I went into a bank in Conroe where we were living on Halloween morning to take care of an account… everyone was dressed up as you can imagine. One of the employees who was dressed as the devil came up…took one look at me in my black shirt and collar and said… ”Wow, what a great costume!”

I have to admit, that for a moment, the woman’s comment threw me off-stride. When the laughter died down, I found myself pondering even more deeply the occasion we celebrate today, in particular, the question of what it means to “sing a song of the saints of God.”

In my life I have come to treasure those occasions when time itself stands still. Times when things eternal merge with things temporal. When I was in Seminary, a classmate who was a gifted Greek student, used to speak of two Greek words for time that we use in studying scripture:

Kairos which generally translates “God’s time”

Chronos which generally describes “our time”

Today we commemorate the blessed saints—those the writer of Ecclesiasticus writes, who ruled kingdoms, who were renowned by their power…the leaders, the rich, the wise, the prophetic…who received glory and were honored during their time on earth—and those who died without memorial, those who died as though they had not lived. Today is the day for these righteous men and women of mercy, too, for the souls of the faithful departed through the mercies of God not only rest in peace, but their names live to all generations.

One of the customs associated with All Saints Day that I remember from childhood in my hometown parish is that we would be invited to write down on cards the names of loved ones and friends who had died, so that they could be lifted up in prayer. Now, of course, we pray for the departed every Sunday. We are, after all, Easter people, who believe that because Jesus was raised from the dead, we, too, shall be raised.

But our prayers for the dead are typically general in nature. The simple custom we observed on All Saints Day was an intentional way for us to remember specifically, those who had gone before.

Even in a small parish like St. Paul’s in Freeport, you can imagine how large the list would grow. As the names were read, stories…the old stories would form in people’s minds…and during the coffee hour, there were always those who would share something about the people behind the names. For a few moments they seemed to live again. It was an outward and visible sign of the memories, the stories that sustained us in our small Christian community. How important and powerful the stories were, because they connected us with THE STORY…THE CHRISTIAN STORY. It was Kairos and Chronos coming together.

There are more than 4,000 saints known by name and nearly 200 listed in the official calendar of the Episcopal Church. What I love about the custom of gathering the names is that it takes the idea of Sainthood—which often gets reserved for the traditional heroes of the faith…Abraham, Isaac, Jacob; the Martin Luthers and John Wesleys…and the modern-day saints, the Desmond Tutus and Mother Teresas—and makes it accessible to common folks like you and me. “For the saints of God are just folk like me, and I mean to be one too.”

In remembering the stories of our life in Christ, we are reminded that the gospel has power to transform lives. Real lives. Of real, everyday people like you and me. For every “hero of the faith” like Mother Teresa, there have been thousands of lesser-known saints, whose lives were transformed and empowered by God through Jesus Christ in the power of the Holy Spirit. Let me tell a story this morning that I first heard from Bishop Bill Frey to illustrate.

More than 100 years ago, up in the Wyoming Territory, there were battles between the Native Americans and the White settlers. Some of the Indian chiefs were rather war-like.

But there was one whose name was Washakee, who was a very wise man, and was attempting to persuade the other Indian chiefs to come to some agreement with these White invaders. And Washakee walked a tight rope, trying to be a peacemaker, without too much success.

One day, however, Washakee’s son was killed in a barroom brawl, in a saloon, in a little village near where he lived. Killed by a White man. And Washakee announced publicly that the next morning, he was going to saddle his horse and ride into town with his gun, and begin killing White men until he himself was killed.

There was a young Episcopal priest in that village whose name was John Roberts. Young man, fresh out of Seminary. He heard what Washakee had said, saddled up his own horse, rode out to the Indian encampment after dark. Found the chief’s tent in the middle of the encampment, walked up to it, silently scratched on the tent flap. The tent flap was pulled back and there was Washakee, face-to-face, six inches away from John Roberts. And there was silence.

And Chief Washakee said, “Have you not heard what I said I was going to do to White men tomorrow?” And John said, “Yes, that’s why I’ve come. I’ve come to offer my life for the life of your son.”

And Washakee said, “Why would you do this?” And John said, “Well, I’m single. I have no family. I’m new in the community. No one would miss me. I’ve come to give my life for the life of your son.”

And Washakee said, “What makes you braver than the other White men?” And John said, “If you have a few minutes, I would be happy to tell you.” And the Chief invited him in.

Somewhere between perhaps three and four o’clock in the morning, Chief Washakee gave his heart to Jesus Christ and was baptized in the teepee. And there ensued nine years of peace, real peace, between the Indians and the White men until Chief Washakee died.

In a very real sense, God did an act of new creation there. Washakee had had an old name, which was “Warrior” and “Wise Man.” But God gave him a new name, through telling him the story of Jesus. And letting Washakee discover in that story his own true identity. Once you were called “Warrior,” even “Wise.” Now you shall be called “My Son,” and “Peacemaker.” How blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be the Children of God.

To tell the story of Jesus has the power to transform lives. That’s one of the most amazing things about the gospel. God’s ability to give us new names, new identity. Once you were called Simon, now you will be called Peter…”For the saints of God are just folk like me, and I mean to be one too.”

Do you see what the gospel does? Veneration of the saints is wonderful, but it’s not enough. It’s not enough to simply praise heroes of the faith. You and I are called to be saints as well. This morning’s reading from Revelation gives a good working definition of sainthood as those “who have come out of the great ordeal…[and] are before the throne of God, and worship him day and night within his temple.”

And if we are called to be saints, then the gospel gives us the way to live into our sainthood. Blessedness comes from righteousness, mercy, peacemaking. It takes courage. Doing right, showing mercy are not popular…they go against the grain in every generation. But it is the life to which we are called. And it is a life that cannot be lived without God himself leading the way.

We all have our stories of how each of us has endured one ordeal or another. And we know that there are many in this commnunity we call Hope who are living into this calling. People who regularly give time to feed the hungry or visit the sick. People who speak out when they see injustice. People who work to produce goods and services that sustain our lives in a responsible way. People who take the time to mentor children. People who mourn with the bereaved. The saints of God are alive and well and touching lives every day.

And our number is growing! New people are coming through baptism and confirmation. As an inclusive community, we are called to embrace this community with open hearts, open minds and open doors so that we may spread God’s transforming love to all people. For them and for us, let us declare anew this day our faith in Christ crucified, our willingness to proclaim his resurrection, and our desire to share in his eternal priesthood. “For the saints of God are just folk like me, and I mean to be one too.”

AMEN+