The Feast of All Saints, Year B.
Donna Joy

 Revelation 21:1-6A; John 11:32-44

As you are likely aware, The Feast of All Saints occurs each year on the first of November. As we enter into this celebration, I am reminded that when most of us think of a ‘saint’ we think of a person who is (or was) a shining example of God’s love and truth. We think of the extraordinary person who lived an exemplary life – who always managed to love those around him or her perfectly. Well, I don't know about you, but I find this definition somewhat depressing, because if this is the standard to which sainthood aspires, then I'm pretty sure I would not qualify.

The Feast of All Saints, in its earliest form was directly connected to a day set aside to remember all of those who lost their lives in the name and in the service of God – those who would be identified as martyrs. And then later, this was expanded to include all those whose extraordinary Christian discipleship was revered by others. The Anglican Church of Canada's book, 'For All The Saints' says, defines saints as “Christians who in various ways, often against great odds, showed an extraordinary love for Christ.” (p. 328)

I would say that one of the trademark characteristics of this extraordinary love for Christ is seen through the profound sense of hope in which they live. Their faith in the crucified and risen Christ is so deep and so true, that whatever pain and turmoil they may experience today, they trust in the hope that God will work through it and create something new and better; maybe not something they think they want, but something surprising; something new. And, these saints, by the faithful ways in which they live their lives... they help build the kingdom of God and become a piece of God's hope for the future; they embody the promise of God's hope for a better tomorrow. In the hope that God will feed the hungry, they feed those who are hungry. In the hope that God will find homes for the homeless, they find homes for those who need them. In the hope that God's promise of forgiveness will be fulfilled, these saints embody forgiveness. These saints find hope even in death – physical death.

I still have in my phone the text I received from Ian, my friend and colleague just after his oncologist told him that there was nothing more they could do for him other than try to make him as comfortable as possible, and that he had anywhere from about 2 – 6 weeks to live... His text went on to say... “I’m hoping to hang on longer so I can see the new grandchildren, but whatever finally happens, the light that shines through the gates of glory is growing brighter.”

Ian’s faith and profound sense of hope challenges me to raise the bar of my own faith; I think that makes him a saint. Anyone who knew Ian... family, friends, or colleagues, none of us would say that he was perfect. But he lived his life in faith and in hope.... and, again, I think that makes him a saint.

These saints, in various ways, have an extraordinary conviction in the hope of God’s faithfulness – against all odds – in the midst of that web of debilitating feelings of fear, doubt, frustration, hopelessness... they believe (trust) that God will act. And in that way, all of us are capable of living and being identified as saints, because God can and will act in and through us. As we face the challenges of seemingly impossible situations of interpersonal conflict, challenging financial realities, personal losses and disappointments, and needs that go way beyond our visible resources – we are called to remind ourselves and each other that God sees us as ‘saints’ – trusting that even though God’s presence may not be abundantly clear in this moment . . . God will act. While we may not know how or when – we are called to believe not only that God will act, but that God is acting. We, God’s saints, need to be constantly stretching our gaze to see it.

Our readings this morning offer great wisdom as we live into/grow into a greater understanding of this call to trust that God will act. Our first reading from the Book of Revelation (as a matter of fact, the whole Book of Revelation) is all about seeing the vision of God beyond present day trials. This was written in the midst of the first century church, during which time Christians were suffering tremendously and being put to death for the sake of their faith, and the Book of Revelation was written in order to offer hope in the midst of their suffering. In this complex work, we discover that the faithful, suffering church is to become the focus and fulfillment of God’s community of heaven on earth. Yes, there is suffering today, and there was extraordinary suffering at the time this text was written, but the church is to live in constant hope, trusting that God is acting in the midst of the turmoil, and God will continue to act in the future.

In the midst of the greatest of turmoil, the God we worship says, “Behold, I make all things new.” Saints are those who have lived or are living according to this trust and hope and inspire us to follow the same path. Our Gospel this morning speaks of a God who offers hope, even in the midst of death. Death is real; and death is harsh. Yesterday, at a meeting with the Worship Planning Team we were making the point that this culture in which we live is so terrified of death we avoid speaking about death in whatever creative ways we can possibly manage. Instead of saying that someone has died, we say that person has "passed"; or has "passed away"; or has not really died, but has simply "moved into the next room". Or, we say that someone we know has "lost" their loved one...

We don’t like to acknowledge the harshness, or the reality of death. Therefore, we have found creative ways to avoid even saying the word. But this morning’s Gospel forces us to confront this reality. And no resuscitation of Lazarus from the dead should sentimentalize or simplify that truth.

I read an article this week about a person who was personally acquainted with two clergy who were killed by a gunman in a church in Charleston last June, and therefore feels the intense personal pain of some of the nine people who were killed. The writer of this article is also dealing with end of life decisions with her mom. Death is not easy, and often when we are faced with this reality within the context of our own lives, we may find ourselves speaking as Mary has spoken in this morning’s reading, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not be dead!” How many of us have also cried out to God with similar words, “If you loved us, you would not have let my loved one die!”

Mourning and grief are palpable in this reading this morning. The NRSV translates the end of verse 33 with, “he (Jesus) was greatly disturbed in spirit and deeply moved.” Some scholars would say that this translation is too weak; that the first verb has a connection to anger; not just a strong feeling, but a sense of passion and pain that comes from anger at the situation. “Greatly disturbed” probably doesn’t even begin to describe the raw, deep, anger that Jesus may have conveyed when confronted with the death of Lazarus.

The root of the second verb is tied to a stirring up of oneself at the very core of their being. It can be used in a physical sense for stirring up water, disturbing the calmness of the still water. In a more personal sense, it signifies both mental and internal disturbance that is similar to almost being physically sickened and disturbed.

About 7 years ago when my son was in Afghanistan serving as a mentor to Afghani soldiers a knock came to our front door at about 11:30 at night. In an instant that I will never be able to fully describe, in an instant that I will never forget, I absolutely believed that I was about to receive the news that no parent ever wants to receive. In that instant I was so deeply disturbed that my whole physical being both shut down and heaved in a way that I was almost sick to my stomach. I was to quickly discover that it was just someone visiting a friend and they had gone to the wrong house. But I suspect this is the kind of anguish that is described in Jesus’ response to Lazarus’ death.

And then, in the shortest verse of this text. Jesus weeps. Jesus has the same reaction that the mourners do – he weeps real tears. Jesus was angry, and groaning deeply in his spirit, he was stirred up in his mind, heart, and body by Lazarus’ death. And he wept. Even the incarnate God is broken in his heart and soul by the death of his friend. God grieves when death occurs. God grieves when the disappointments and pain of this life abound. So also, does death break our hearts and stir up our souls. And it is within this context that we tell the story of Jesus’ offering new life to Lazarus.

Death stings. It stinks. No perfume or pat answers or denying that it exists can remove this. And the miracle is that smelly, dead man comes walking from the tomb at the simple command of Jesus, “Come out.” This death for Lazarus is defeated. He
will need to clean up and take off the grave clothes, but Lazarus gets another chance at life.

However, death is not forever defeated for Lazarus. Like the rest of us, Lazarus will eventually die. This is not the resurrection of Jesus; it is the temporary recovery from death for Lazarus. This is the foreshadowing of Jesus’ death and resurrection, which will (unlike Lazarus) live with us for the whole rest of eternity.

So, what are we to say in the midst of the suffering and reality of death? We are to proclaim the truth of the sting and stench of death. We are to name the reality of death; we are to acknowledge the grief and anger that may never totally depart those who are left in this life. We are to state the reality of the disturbing fact of the brutality of death. Anger, deep disturbing pain, agitation of spirit and body are palpable across South Carolina and every place where tragic death occurs.

But the gospel truth of hope and the possibility of new life does transcend beyond the turmoil and devastation of this life. We have our hope not on things on this earth but in the power of the cross of Christ and the resurrection of those who are his children. Jesus’ words of John 11:25 are the resounding gospel note that we proclaim this day: “I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live.”

Death is a part of what is wrong in the world. This story of Lazarus is a reminder that we who experience the death of those we love, and know this state of mourning and grief are not forgotten. And we who experience any disappointments in this life, are not forgotten, but given new possibilities in their midst. Jesus weeps. And with this weeping, Jesus promises comfort. Indeed, today as we celebrate the Feast of All Saints, we are reminded that saints are those who have lived or are living according to this trust and hope and inspire us to follow the same path. I would argue that those who – with God’s help - have lived and continue to live in this way have made a decision to do so. Knowing these promises made by God, they have decided to live lives of searching for God in the midst of life’s messiness and serving God in ways that offer hope to a pain-filled world.

I think we do God and each other a huge disservice in assuming that saints are always absolutely certain of God’s place or plan. It came as a shock to many of us to learn that Mother Teresa, one of the most famous religious figures over the last century, lived much of her life tormented by a deep longing for God, often born out of a sense of separation from God - but her longing itself suggests a sense of hope and trust – a kind of conviction that God WILL act. (Blessed are they who suffer in faith, the glory of God is theirs.) And, in the midst of this, she held fast to her decision to remain steadfast: to hope and trust and serve a broken world in ways that offered hope and trust to others. Having discovered the pain of her struggles has - in effect - made her an even more important role model for me.

Saints are those who, in the midst of their doubts, choose to trust in God’s promise to act.

Today is a day to spend some time remembering those who have not just been examples of good works (as important as this is) but those who in the midst of fear, doubt, frustration, hopelessness . . . have longed for God, and even on a good day caught a glimpse of God, believed (trusted) that God would act and have been steadfast in being channels through which that hope and trust has been made visible to others. And, as we recall the lives and examples of these saints let us never forget that each of us is capable of living and being identified as saints, because God can and will act in and through each of us.