Grace to you and peace from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.
All of the saints, both living and asleep in Christ, all who are waiting or who waited faithfully for Christ’s return, all the saints belong to Jesus.
But I do have to admit it is an odd festival day. It doesn’t have lights and decorations like Christmas, or the same joie de vivre of Easter. It’s odd, too, in it being a generic day for all saints. While many saints canonized in either the Western or Eastern tradition have a day set apart particularly for them, the early church wanted a day to remember all the faithful men and women, all saints of God, who died confessing Christ as Lord. So, while St. Andrew will always have November 30 as his day of commemoration – Advent always begins on the Sunday closest to his day. April 25 will always be the Feast of St. Mark; for me, it’s the day my Dad died. My Dad, Saint Walt of Walburg, will never have his own day. Neither will you or your loved ones. Thus, All Saints Day allows the church a time to remember and thank God for the innumerable faithful who have gone before us. We remember their lives of faithful love and service to friends and neighbors and the Church. We consider them as models of Christian living and we strive to model that in our own sanctified lives as children of God.
Thus, while we thank God for our loved ones, All Saints Day often feels less joyful than the great festival days because of the memories and the recollection of our loss. There are no two ways around it: losing a loved one hurts. If that’s you today, especially if those tears are shed in memory of a father or mother, a son or a daughter, a husband or a wife, or a dear, close friend; or even someone who died alone and anonymous known only to God, it’s OK. Jesus Himself wept while He stood outside the tomb of His dear friend Lazarus. This is Jesus, who only moments before, when talking to Lazarus’ sister, Martha, declared Himself the resurrection and the life and that those who believe in Him, though they die, yet they shall live; Jesus, who deliberately delayed after getting the message of Lazarus imminent dying; Jesus, who was there with the Father and the Spirit when Adam received his first breath and will soon draw His own final breath, this same Jesus stood outside the tomb and wept. Real tears, real sadness, real sorrow because death robbed Lazarus of life.
If Jesus can weep, then it is perfectly fair to weep today. It is appropriate to have a flurry of emotions today: sadness for those not with us, joy for the gifts of God in Christ, hope for what is to come. Tears flow freely for all these reasons and more.
I have to admit; All Saints Day gets me every year. The Scripture texts set the stage. In his first Epistle, St. John tells us that we are all children of God - not just called His children, but we are His. You are adopted into sonship and daughtership. He surrendered His only-begotten Son to pay the adoption price. Paid in full, completely through the merits of Jesus, God sees you as little Christs, Christian. The Revelation - it’s truly a wonderful book, so misunderstood by so many. They think it’s a roadmap filled with secret truths to deduce and hidden messages to try to get you to the end, sort-of the BIble’s version of Candyland. It’s not. It’s the Revelation, the revealing, a glimpse of what eternity will be like in the resurrection of all flesh, as God sits on His throne, and the Lamb, Jesus Christ. And then there’s the Church. The word used in the Greek New Testament for “church” literally means “the called-out ones.” John says that the Church is called out from everywhere - all peoples, tribes, nations, languages, backgrounds, family histories and genealogies. They’re in white - there it is again - waiving palm branches. Palm Sunday is reversed: Jesus isn’t entering in humility to die, surrounded by misunderstanding people waiving palm branches; this time, He enters in resplendent glory surrounded by those who rejoice that sin, satan and death are destroyed and they no longer need to fear, or weep, or mourn, or shed tears because those they love are suffering and dying. Revelation paints this magnificent picture of what awaits us on that great and glorious Easter of Easters when Jesus returns and renews creation.
But, we’re not there yet. Now, we’re still on this side of heaven. And we want to see Jesus. Ralph got it. He had been battling cancer for at least a decade. I don’t remember where it started, but by the end, it was everywhere. He had fought the fight, mentally, physically, spiritually. And, he was tired. Someone had given him a little hand-held wood cross, for those difficult days when he needed a physical reminder that even if He was too weak to cling to Jesus, Jesus clung to Him with His entire life. He was dying. His wife called me; it was late. If you can come, Ralph would appreciate it…and so would I. So, with a lump in my throat, I drove to Ralph and Ethel’s house, was greeted by the family, and then was ushered into his room. Ethel said, I’ll let you two talk and she shut off the monitor. He had his cross in his hand. He said, “I’m tired, Pastor. I’m so tired. I just want to touch His robe.” I prayed the commendation of the dying. “Now may God the Father, who created you; may God the Son who redeemed you with His blood, and may God the Holy Spirit who sanctified you in the waters of Holy Baptism, bless and keep you until the day of the resurrection of all flesh.” And, with me, he said “Amen.” St. Ralph of Sheldon died a few short hours later, confident in the promise of Jesus that there will be a day when he won’t need to touch Jesus’ robe any longer.
That night, though, that night was heavy with mourning for Ethel and her kids and grandkids and great-grandkids. And me. Oh, they knew those promises of God in Christ and they were clinging to them with empty-yet-full hands, empty of anything they had to offer, but filled with faith in Jesus. When everything is stripped away, there is Jesus and they were hanging onto Him.
That’s what it means when Jesus says, “Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.” He was speaking prophetically, early in His ministry, but already pointing ahead to the purpose for which He came. The comfort is in the death and resurrection of Jesus because His resurrection guarantees our own resurrection. For the church, this side of heaven, we have that promise of a day of comfort that will be complete when Jesus returns. You know this: you will say it in just a moment. “I look for the resurrection of the body and the life of the world to come.” But, I want you to notice, Jesus doesn’t scold: shame on those who mourn, for you should know better; there is no need to mourn because your feelings aren’t valid. No, He says, Blessed are those who mourn.
So, today, if you mourn the death of fellow saints of God, mourn in faith knowing that they are already experiencing the peace of God which truly passes all understanding. Their body is at rest but their soul is already experiencing the beginning of the fulness of eternity. Jesus calls it “being asleep.” That’s a good way to think of it. Mourn in hope - remember, hope with a capitol H that is Jesus - in the sure and certain hope that you, too, will have your resurrection day. Mourn and give thanks to God for those whom you love who have died in the faith that they shared with you. Mourn knowing you will see them again.
When we conclude this morning’s service, the last verses of the hymn will sing of that day. As you sing it, envision what that day will be like. Sing it loud, sing it bold – I don’t care if you can’t carry a tune in a bucket, today, belt it out. It’s our confession, it’s our hope, it’s Christ’s promise put to music. And, if like me, the tears get in the way and your throat gets tight and you can’t sing, it’s OK. Every year, it gets harder for me to finish the hymn as I remember those whom I have buried and transferred from the church militant to the church triumphant. And I remember those whom I love who have fallen asleep in Jesus. But, even as I wipe the tears from my eyes, I see what is to come.
But, lo, there
breaks a yet more glorious day:
The saints triumphant rise in bright array;
Thye King of Glory passes on His way,
Alleluia, Alleluia.
And, on that day, we will fully receive Jesus’
blessing as our mourning becomes dancing. Amen.
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