All Saints Day Sermon: November 3, 2013

All Saints Day Sermon: Nov. 3, 2013

PREACHER: Pastor Carrie Smith

Grace and peace to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

On Tuesday afternoon, I took a deep breath as the hearse I was riding in pulled up to Crystal Lake Memorial Park. We were arriving for the committal of Linda Heisler’s dad, Vince, after a lovely service in celebration of his life. It had already been an unusual day, being the first time I had ever presided at a funeral on my own birthday! But it got even stranger as I stepped out into the crisp fall air and my eyes fell on the grave marker just in front of me. The inscription read: “John Michaels and Carol Michaels.” The sight stopped me in my tracks. I stood there for a moment, and no kidding, my first thought was: “Wow, isn’t that funny, another couple named John and Carol Michaels! What are the odds?” And then it hit me: This was our John and our Carol. I know it seems a little silly, since I was there with Pastor Paul the day John was laid to rest next to Carol last December, but on that that October afternoon, it just didn’t seem possible to be meeting John again in this way, in this place.

It was a moment so heavy with emotion and memories that it literally took my breath away.

But then, it’s just been that kind of week. In the last eight days, I’ve celebrated my best friend’s wedding, Reformation Day, my oldest son’s Confirmation, my birthday, Vince’s funeral, Halloween, and now All Saints’ Day, topped off with the baptism of little Colton Charles Johnson (at the 10:30 am service today). What an emotional whirlwind! I suddenly want to sing something from the Lion King, something like:

It's the Circle of Life

And it moves us all

Through despair and hope

Through faith and love

Till we find our place

On the path unwinding

In the Circle…The Circle of Life!

After so many emotional conversations and memorable moments, truly experiencing the whole circle of life in just one week, I found myself many evenings just sitting quietly, unable to do anything but be still. And now, here we are, gathering as a community for All Saints’ Day, the day the church sets aside once a year just to be still and remember. On this day, we carve out space in the midst of our busy lives (and just before an even busier holiday season), to fully embrace the weight of our mortality; to remember loved ones who have gone before us; and to rejoice in the communion of saints. And we gather to sing—not from the Lion King, but from our hymnal, “For All the Saints”:

Oh, blest communion, fellowship divine,

we feebly struggle, they in glory shine;

yet all are one in thee, for all are thine. Alleluia! Alleluia! 

We often speak about that “blest communion”, the communion of all the saints, without thinking much about what it really means. We say it every week, in fact, when we confess the creed: “I believe in the Holy Spirit, the holy catholic church, the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, and the life everlasting.” Most of the time, though, the phrase “communion of saints” remains just that: a phrase. A doctrine. Church-talk. At best, it is something we expect to experience far off in the future, when all of us will be reunited with our loved ones at the heavenly banquet that never ends.

And then…you have a week like the one I just had, in which birth, life, love and death all seem to collide in the here and now. Or we have a morning like this one, when we are surrounded by the light of our beloved saints who have died, and at the same time bring to the water one of our newest saints, Colton Charles, rejoicing as he joins us in the Body of Christ and in the mission we share. These are the days which, as Jan Richardson wrote, “remind us that in the body of Christ, death does not release us from being in community with one another.”

Death does not release us from being in community with one another! Have you ever had the experience of wanting to tell someone something important, so you pick up the phone and dial, only to be hit with the knowledge, once again, that they are gone? This is similar to what happened to me at the cemetery the other day. I was shocked to see John’s name etched in stone, because on a day to day basis, I see John’s name etched into the bricks of this place. I see John whenever Pastor Paul helps us to hang the banners on the highest hooks of the sanctuary. I see John when volunteers step up to do things here at church without being asked, or when the choir sings a particularly good number. John’s faithful witness—like the witness of Carol, Buck, Alice, Pauline, Bruce, Dorothy, and Bill—lives on, not just in these candles we’ve lit today, but in the way we live out God’s call as the Body of Christ in the world.

Sisters and brothers, in baptism we are joined with all the saints, past and present, young and old, in Crystal Lake and across the world, to become the one Body of Christ. This is what the communion of saints means to me: It means we are a community that today continues to be changed, transformed, and blessed by the witness of all the saints: the newest ones like Colton; the far away ones like the Christians my husband Robert is meeting with in South Korea; the unnoticed or forgotten ones, like the elderly, the disabled, the immigrant, or the homeless; and, yes, the saints who have gone before us. The phrase “communion of saints” is just a way to describe the awesome one-ness we have in Christ, across culture and geography, age and gender, and yes, even across that thin veil between life and death.

The joy and challenge of All Saints Day is to truly recognize and remember all the saints. Jesus’ sermon on the plain in Luke chapter 6 gives us this to consider: “Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God. Blessed are you who are hungry now, for you will be filled. Blessed are you who weep now, for you will laugh. Blessed are you when people hate you, and when they exclude you, revile you, and defame you on account of the Son of Man.” This passage asks us to stretch our idea of sainthood. It challenges us to notice that Jesus does not limit blessedness or sainthood to the very good, the very brave, or even to the ones who have already died. Jesus opens our eyes to see saints in the check-out line, in the middle school lunchroom, and in the cubicle next to ours. Jesus opens our hearts to recognize members of our community—the communion of all saints—in places we wouldn’t expect: among the hungry, the grieving, the excluded and the oppressed, who are blessed simply by virtue of being loved by him.

Once again, on this All Saints Day, Jesus introduces the kind of radical reversal of values that will be the hallmark of the kingdom of heaven—and then invites us to live as citizens of that kingdom right here, right now. He says: “Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you. If anyone strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also; and from anyone who takes away your coat do not withhold even your shirt. Give to everyone who begs from you; and if anyone takes away your goods, do not ask for them again. Do to others as you would have them do to you.” In other words: don’t just believe in the communion of saints, BE the communion of saints. Treat everyone you meet as carrying the light of Christ—the same light which illuminates our space today in remembrance of the saints. The same light which Colton Charles Johnson will receive at his baptism today. The same light which is carried by Christians across the world. The same light, the light of Christ, which our beloved saints of old see now in its full glory, but which we see only through a glass darkly.

Let us pray:

God of the generations,

when we set our hands to labor,

thinking we work alone,

remind us that we carry

on our lips

the words of prophets,

in our veins

the blood of martyrs,

in our eyes

the mystics’ visions,

in our hands

the strength of thousands. Amen. 

(Jan Richardson)

All Saints' Day: November 4, 2012

ALL SAINTS’ DAY SERMON 2012

John 11:32-44

PREACHER: Pastor Carrie Smith

"Unbind him, and let him go!"

Grace and peace to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

Last November, as I stood here before you as your new senior pastor, I was remembering a beloved member of my former church. Iva had died just a few days before All Saints 2011 at the age of 98.5. On that All Saints Sunday, I was mourning not only that she had died, but also that I would not be the one to preach at her funeral. The truth is, I was mourning the fact that I was no longer the pastor of a community I loved. It was a gift for me, on that All Saints Day, to remember Iva’s life by sharing her with you in a Sunday sermon.

This year, I’m no longer the “new pastor” at Bethany—someone else has taken that role, thanks be to God! And in the year I have been your pastor, together we have walked through grief we could not have imagined twelve months ago. When I interviewed for this call last summer, I asked Gene Bengston how many funerals the church averaged per year. “Six” said Gene. And that was the truth—he promises me that he checked that figure. Bethany is demographically a young congregation, and funerals are generally few and far between.

But since January of 2012, in defiance of statistics and breaking our hearts, the Bethany community has already suffered the loss of seventeen beloved members.

We’ve mourned the tragic deaths of not one, but two, teenagers; the father of 3 young children; a star teacher who was a lover of music and the arts; our church librarian; a nurse who spent her career caring for others; a young mother of unwavering faith who fought cancer for 14 years; and a host of other saints who lived long, full lives, but who nevertheless leave gaping holes in our hearts.

When I stood before you on this day last year, all of these saints were still among us. One year ago, we couldn’t have imagined the loss and the grief that was in store.

 On days like this, it can seem that All Saints is nothing more than a day for us to join in the chorus with Mary, the sister of Lazarus, who cried out, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died!”

This morning, as we light candles, read names, and ring bells, it can seem that all we are doing is remembering how Jesus didn’t save our loved ones. Jesus didn’t answer our prayers. Jesus didn’t show up when we needed him!

And if that’s what All Saints is about, then these candles feel very empty. If today is about death, and failure, and promises not kept, then these rituals are just that—rituals, traditions, and empty actions, designed to make us feel better, but holding no meaning beyond comforting our broken hearts.
And it that’s the case, then I think All Saints Day is no different from Halloween.

Halloween has its rituals, which we know well: On October 31st we all dress up, go outside, parade around, light candles in pumpkins…and hope to get something good to eat.

On All Saints Sunday, we also have our rituals: we dress up, go to church—and then parade around, light candles, and hope to get something good to eat!

But if this day is only about death and rituals to commemorate the dead, then the end result will likely be just like Halloween:  we’ll all go home with a stomachache.

In other words, there must be something more. This All Saints Day, set apart by Christians since the earliest days of the church, must hold something else for us besides being a commemoration of death and the dead.

We need only look to the Gospel of John to see what that “something else” is.

In John chapter 11, the story begins where we began today, with Mary crying out to Jesus, “Lord! You forgot us! You weren’t here! I was counting on you, and you didn’t show up. And now my beloved brother is dead. It’s been four days, and he’s already beginning to smell.”
But then Jesus, greatly disturbed, arrives at the tomb and yells, “Lazarus, come out!” And out walks the man, still wrapped in his burial cloths. Jesus tells the others to “unbind him and let him go.”
Unbind him, and let him go.

First, it’s important to acknowledge that if I were grieving the loss of my child, or my husband, or my mother, or my dear friend today, I might not like this Jesus story at all. I might ask the question the Jews were brave enough to say aloud: “Could not he who opened the eyes of the blind man have kept this man from dying?” And could not this Jesus, who raised Lazarus after four days, also raise my loved one? If he could do it after four days for Lazarus, why not after 4 months, or 4 years—or 40 years?
But then, seen in this way, we might be putting ourselves in the wrong place in the story.
For on this All Saints Day, it seems to me we hear the story of the raising of Lazarus not to be reassured that Jesus can, indeed, if he chooses, raise the dead to life—but so that we can be reminded that Jesus does indeed, in all times and places, call each of us out of our tombs, unbind us, and set us free to live.

Sometimes, when I look out at you, my beloved congregation, I don’t see people, but a rather…a herd of turtles. Much of the time we are all just large turtles, going through life carrying not shells or our houses, but our tombs on our backs. Fear seems to be the most popular model: we go through life weighed down and closed off by fear of death, fear of something bad happening to loved ones, fear of foreclosure, fear of disappointing someone. Fear keeps us from the life we were created to live, and the stone blocking the entrance is most often too large for us to move on our own.

Other times I think we walk through life like a character in the best Christmas movie of all time, “A Christmas Story.” I hope you know the movie I’m talking about—if not, never fear, because it’s November, and I imagine we’ll start seeing it running on a continuous loop on cable in a week or so!
There is a scene where the little brother, Randy, is being dressed by his mother to walk to school in the snow. He is first stuffed into a snowsuit, and then a hat, boots and gloves, and then a scarf is wrapped completely around his head. Finally, in desperation, he cries out: “I can’t put my arms down!”

Sisters and brothers, consider how you, like Randy, are bound up, wrapped tight, even immobilized by your fear, your grief, and your pain. You, like Randy, can’t put your arms down, much less raise them to praise God, reach out to serve others, or to wrap around the ones you love. And you, like Randy—and Lazarus—long to be set free.

But on this day, we come together to remember how a merciful God, through Christ Jesus our Lord, has called out, unbound, and raised all the saints to new life. All. The. Saints. Yes, Jesus has called our departed loved ones by name, and we give thanks that Robert, Richard, Jean,  Lox, Eileen, Wayne, Jennifer, Jody, Paul, Robert, Sheldon, Connor, Ruth, Richard, Wendy, Grayce, and Frank have found their permanent places at the table, and are even now sitting at the heavenly banquet that has no end. They have been unbound and set free from every sin, every indignity of cancer or old age, every struggle of mental illness, every injury from terrible accidents, and every imperfection of this life on earth. Amen! Thanks be to God!

But we also rejoice on this day that Jesus, our brother, who knows our pain and suffers with us, stands at the door of our tombs and calls, “Come out!” You, who are grieving—come out and live! You, who doubt that you are loved—come out! You, who live in the darkness of depression—come out! You, who deny your true selves—come out!

 You don’t have to wait to die to be a saint.

For God, who loves all of creation, desires that we would have life, and have it abundantly. God, who is slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love, has set us free from the bonds of sin and death through the cross of Jesus Christ.

Sisters and brothers, fellow saints, Jesus stands at the door of your tomb today, and invites you to be free. He has looked sin, pain, grief, and fear in the face and said, “Unbind her, and let her go!” 

By all your saints still striving, for all your saints at rest, your holy name, O Jesus, forevermore be blessed! Amen!