For All the Saints
Rev. Emily Wilmarth, First Presbyterian Church of Highlands
Sunday, November 1, 2015
Revelation 21:1-6a
One day, a friend of mine was driving her young children home from school. Seemingly
out of the blue, her four-year-old son declared emphatically, “Before I was born I was
dead.” Before my friend had a chance to thoughtfully respond, her six-year-old daughter
offered her own wise response.
“No, before you were born, you were without form, and void.”
Clearly, she had paid attention to the Sunday school lesson about the creation story in
Genesis, which starts, “In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth. And the
earth was without form, and void; and darkness was on the face of the deep.” (Gen 1:12)
Her answer to her younger brother spoke to a wisdom beyond her years. The story of
Genesis falls under the genre of etiology. It is a story of origin, or a narrative of our
beginning, and tells us where we came from. The word “etiology” derives from the
Greek word for “cause.” The creation story in Genesis is not a scientific explanation of
the earth’s beginning. It is a figurative account that describes a truth: in the beginning
was God, and in that beginning, God brought forth life. God is our origin.
In contrast, the book of Revelation, and particularly the passage we read on this All
Saints Sunday falls under the genre of eschatology. Derived from the Greek word for
“last,” eschatology is the story of “end things” or “end times.” Revelation seeks to
describe, through the visions of its writer, John of Patmos, our eternal destination, in a
hoped-for future.
Neither etiology nor eschatology describe a temporal reality. They don’t indicate a fixed
place in time, much to the disappointment of those who have failed on countless
occasions to predict the exact date the world will end. When we read Genesis and
Revelation, we must keep in mind the purpose behind the stories. Rather than a finite
description of the beginning and end, they provide us with a bigger picture, a fuller
understanding of where we have come from and where we are heading. And that, of
course, is God.
Our lives begin and end with God. In John’s vision, God declares, “I am the Alpha and
Omega.” Alpha and Omega are the letters at the beginning and end of the Greek
alphabet. God is the beginning and end of our language, the beginning and end of
human knowledge, and all that falls in between. God is our origin and our destination.
What an amazing thing to consider: whether we’re four years old or ninety-four, before
we were born, we were without form, and void. Yet we were with God. Before our
birth, our reality belonged to God. And when we die, in whatever form we pass on, we
remain with God. To echo Paul’s letter to the Romans: “If we live, we live for the Lord;
and if we die, we die for the Lord. So, whether we live or die, we belong to the Lord.”
(Rom. 14:8)
Today is All Saints Day, a day the church remembers all those who have lived lives of
witness and who have now entered the church triumphant, that is, have died and
entered eternal life with God. Originally, All Saints Day commemorated the deaths of
specific Christian martyrs. But, as the numbers of martyrs grew, the celebration was
broadened to remember all the saints, known and unknown.
In our Reformed tradition, the remembrance is even broader. All Saints is a time we
celebrate all who through the ages have faithfully served God. We remember that we
are part of one continuing, living communion of saints. This communion includes those
who worked in the earliest days to start the church and spread the gospel, as well as
those prophetic voices that through time have called the church to be faithful in life and
service throughout the world. In many churches today, the names of those who have
died and passed on to eternal life during the last year will be read, just as we read those
names at our Kirkin’ O’ the Tartans service in August each year.
And in many churches today, as it will here, the verses of one of my favorite hymns, “For
All the Saints” will echo through the sanctuary. This hymn didn’t always sit at the top of
my favorites list. But one difficult summer, during which several members of my
congregation died, we sang it a lot. As I came to know them well, the words came to
comfort me. This phrase: “For all the saints, who from their labors rest…” brought me
peace as I remembered David’s suffering with excruciating pain in his final days. The
words brought me hope as I thought about Carolyn’s tireless work on behalf of
oppressed women around the world. They made me smile through my tears as I
watched Jerry’s huge family stand arm in arm after having listened to them tell tales of
his long, rich life.
The words of the hymn carry such a strong impact because they tell the truth of our
faith. All Saints is about more than simply remembering the lives of those who have
gone before us. We also celebrate the truth that those who have died have entered a
new realm with God. This is the realm described in the 21st chapter of Revelation. It is
John’s vision for the early church, for those first saints who suffered persecution from
the Roman Empire. Those saints, as have countless saints who have come in the ages
after them, suffered the consequences of serving God and only God.
Thou wast their Rock, their Fortress and their Might;
Thou, Lord, their Captain in the well fought fight;
Thou, in the darkness drear, their one true Light.
Alleluia, Alleluia!
When I sing this verse, I think of the saints in my life who shared their faith with me. So
many were the elders of my church growing up. I remember them telling me the story
of how they chartered our congregation and built our church sanctuary. I remember
them telling me about the early days of starting Sunday school classes and the first
church choir. And I remember sitting at one particular bedside, as this dear saint closed
in on her final days. “I’m not afraid,” she proclaimed.
The vision of Revelation proclaims a new heaven and a new earth. The new heaven and
earth are the home of God, who comes to dwell among God’s people. In this new
dwelling, God wipes all tears away, crying and mourning no longer grip our hearts, and
death is conquered once and for all.
As we remember the saints, we also take comfort in knowing that the pain of death
does not have the last word. Though the saints are gone from this earth, they sing in
glory in a new dwelling with God.
From earth’s wide bounds, from ocean’s farthest coast,
Through gates of pearl streams in the countless host,
Singing to Father, Son and Holy Ghost:
Alleluia, Alleluia!
What saints do you remember today? Who in your past walked the road of faith? Who
taught you about the love of God? Who told you stories of Jesus? Whose life or love
brought the presence of the Holy Spirit alive for you? I would like to take this moment
for us to have some silence to remember these saints, so that we can take time to give
thanks for the witness of the saints who helped shape our faith. I’ll end this time of
silent prayer with “Amen”.
……………….
All Saints is not just a time to be sad, to feel how much we miss those we loved. Rather,
it is a day to give thanks for the time between their beginning and end that we were
blessed to share with them. And as much as All Saints is a day of remembrance, it is also
a day to look forward. As we remember those who persevered in the past, we are
reminded to endure against all odds here and now. As we remember that God was
faithful to those who have gone before us, we celebrate that God remains faithful to us
today and to those who will come after us. It serves as a reminder that we are counted
in the great communion of saints of past, present, and future.
O blest communion, fellowship divine!
We feebly struggle, they in glory shine;
Yet all are one in Thee, for all are Thine.
Alleluia, Alleluia!
My friend Chris tells a story about perseverance and the communion of saints. His father
was the pastor of a church, and he remembers attending the funeral of a beloved
church member who had died after a long battle with cancer. Chris was twelve, and had
grown up thinking of the deceased man and his wife as surrogate grandparents. He
remembers watching in fear as the new widow, an adopted grandmother of many in the
church, walked down the aisle alone, sobbing. She wept inconsolably throughout the
service, and Chris wanted to escape the tangible weight of such pain. He went to hide in
his dad’s office after the service. Knowing he had to show his face at the reception, he
eventually entered the fellowship hall, dreading the tears he expected to see on Miss
Lena’s face.
Instead, he says, “I saw something I will never forget. I saw Miss Lena on a metal folding
chair in the corner. She was not alone and she was not weeping. She was surrounded by
her unofficial grandchildren, some of whom were over forty years old. She was laughing
and smiling and kissing cheeks, just as she always had. The pain was real and it was not
suddenly healed. But, in those moments, Miss Lena was lifted up by a community of
faith that held the promise of newness. Those whom she had loved and blessed now
believed for her in a future she could not yet see. And it was beautiful.”i
This is what it means to belong to the communion of saints. It means looking back and
looking forward. It means trusting in the vision that God is Alpha and Omega, beginning
and end. And when those in the communion cannot believe, we do that work for them.
They’ll do it for us on difficult days, too.
Fred Craddock once preached a series of sermons on the book of Revelation at a
conference held Emory University. The conference closed with a final worship service
that concluded as a bluegrass band made up of students played the old time favorite,
“I’ll Fly Away.” The words embrace the heavenly vision of Revelation. You know them:
Some glad morning when this life is o'er,
I'll fly away.
To that home on God's celestial shore,
I'll fly away.
Just a few more weary days and then,
I'll fly away.
To that land where joy will never end,
I'll fly away.
When the song finished, Craddock stood to offer his final benediction. As the words of
“I’ll Fly Away” echoed through the sanctuary, Craddock spoke, “In the meantime.” As
laughter filled the hall, he repeated, “In the meantime, live simply, love generously,
serve faithfully, speak truthfully. And leave the rest to God.”ii
This is what our All Saints celebration is all about.
In a moment, we will gather with all the saints around the communion table. We will
join this holy crowd, from the earliest believers right on down the line to us. We will
remember the very first disciples who walked and talked with Jesus. We will recall the
words Jesus instructed them to tell, “This is my body…this is my blood…do this to
remember me.” We will eat and drink together this meal that points not only to the
past, but to the future of God’s reign among all people of every time and place at the
heavenly banquet feast.
And, nourished by the meal, by the promise of God’s grace, forgiveness, and sustenance
through Jesus Christ in the power of the Holy Spirit, we will go out into the world to live
as saints. To build up the body of Christ, to love and serve and live in joy. And to leave
the rest to God.
I’m grateful to my friend and colleague, Rev. Chris Henry, who wrote about his memory in a paper on the
lectionary text for my preaching group.
ii
Ibid.
i