All Saints Sunday

All Saints Sunday is the day in the Life of the Church, which we call “the liturgical calendar,” in which we remember the faithful departed; specifically those who have died in the last 12 months.

We pray for them; for you; for all of us—that heaven may be opened wide. 

There are two choices of Gospel readings for today. The Beatitudes of St. Luke in which Jesus does not stand on a mountain as he does in Matthew’s telling; but rather Jesus stands equal to the people—for this reason it’s called, the sermon on the plain. 

This is a way in which Luke’s story of Jesus consistently says there’s “no hierarchy in the kingdom of God…” Jesus’ mother Mary is the first to say it, he humbles the proud and the poor he lifts up. Jesus says it this way, Blessed are you. 

Unlike In Matthew’s version, the Sermon on the Mount, where it’s one blessing after another; in Luke says Jesus says as he finishes blessing, “woe unto you”

Hmmm. 

The other choice of a gospel is the story of Zaccheus the tax collector. 

The story is often told as, Zaccheus having had a conversion experience with Jesus, changes from taking money as a tax collector, to giving money as a follower of Jesus. Recent scholarship has said we have mixed up the verb tenses in the telling…which sounds like something scholars might say. 

Here’s what it means: Zaccheus does not say what he will do. He says what he is already doing. 
Let me say it even plainer; it’s the what Zaccheus is already doing that Jesus says rehabilitates him to the community; or don’t make assumptions about people based on things you know nothing about, “well you know how tax collectors are; or you know how politicians are or soldiers or widows;” experience the kingdom of heaven not in the future…experience the kingdom now, by what you and others are doing. 

Ok.

That biblical tutorial might make some sense of Jesus to those who come every week and have been coming every week for a long time. 

This might make more sense. 

“Good morning,” I said this to a group of people I had never met three weeks ago, “welcome to a funeral.”

I told the grieving that I was not their Chaplain, their Priest, their Pastor or their Rabbi. 

In fact, I did not even know the deceased in life. I wish I had. she sounded wonderful. Her name was Anneke. Anneke was an artist. She was a philanthropist. Anneke was a historian. She was a teacher and a tender-hearted woman who called Jersey City home. She called her friends, family. 

I was at the cemetery burying a woman I had never met because in January a man I have only met twice named Martin, a member of Grace Van Vorst, formerly a member of St. Paul’s; had asked if I would preside at a wedding for he and Anneke. 

The couple were both seniors, in their 70’s; and I assumed, wrongly, that this was a late in life romance. 

In fact, it was not. It was an almost 40-year love affair between Martin and Anneke. During their years of love for each other they laughed and talked and lived with one another. As winter gave way to spring and summer gave way to fall the wedding they planned for decades would not happen. Instead, Martin said somberly, he was planning a funeral. 

“You know” says a pastor friend of mine to couples who seek his counsel before they’re married, “if you do this thing right; one of you is burying the other.”

Well, Martin, you did it right. 

May Anneke’s memory be a blessing. 

Let me tell you a secret says St. Paul; “Listen, we will not all sleep, but we will all be changed in a flash, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet...”

Let me tell you another secret. The graveside burial was not an approved Episcopal Book of Common Prayer service…that in part was at Martin’s request. 

Anneke was Jewish; Orthodox; and though her faith was farther, rather than closer to her, it still meant something. 

“Would you,” he asked, “say something for her; and for me; and for all of us?”

I smiled. 

Little did Martin know but that’s my favorite way to talk about faith; for her; for him; for all of us. 

You may or may not remember that I talked about faith and Jesus this way 4 years ago during my first Sunday as your clergy in charge. I talk about faith in part by inviting you to bring pictures of your family and friends—those who have been important in your life and are no longer among the living.

Today we display pictures not as a metaphor but literally on the ledge of stain glass windows. Our sanctuary is illumined, light up, not just with candles but with windows of saints—saints who you call by first name; because they are not distant venerations but present family and friends who you have eaten with. 

May your beloved’s memory be a blessing. 

My picture today comes from Greece. It was given to me by Deborah; in part at the insistence of her Jewish husband Dave. 

It’s a portrait, not of a direct family member; but of Mother Mary and Jesus. I take this image as a both a universal picture and a particular picture because that relationship between mothers and their children isn’t just Christian or Jewish or Buddhist or Hindu. It’s not even strictly speaking, when it comes to icons at least, Catholic or Orthodox.  The image of family is something every continent and culture and faith can hold close. 

That’s at a macro level; and maybe a metaphor level; and certainly, a literal level what both the gospel story of Zaccheus and the story of Jesus on the plain have in common. We can’t always see Jesus or see the blessings he says are in store for us. Sometimes we need a different way of seeing; like when we are hungry or crying and Jesus says; we are blessed. Or we need a different way of seeing Jesus like Zaccheus shows us by climbing a tree. 

Something for her—they’re all Jewish every single one of our Christian Bible heroes are Israelites Jewish men and women who yearn for God’s kingdom may their memories be a blessing. 

Something for him—this Christ. He’s showing us something that the prophets have overlooked. Jesus says, the kingdom is not out there. It’s among you and inside you—the kingdom is here…

The something for all of us. Or let me say it this way. No single person discovered all the planets; ancient civilizations knew of Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn through naked-eye observation. 

Did you know it was not until 1781 that other planets were discovered by Episcopalian William Herschel.  He detected Uranus with a homemade telescope. This space fact came to me courtesy my 6-year-old son.  He was an astronaut for 4th time for Halloween. He came armed with knowledge that he quizzes me and his mother with. Part of our job as parents is to teach him faith—to see better and bigger. 

This October we used Cultural Rabbi Stephen Spielberg to help him see Jesus. At least I did. His mom was trying to expand his attention span. 

The story we used for our developmental purposes was set largely on Halloween— ET. 

Neither my wife or I had seen the movie in years and as we watched we said out loud, at the same time; “The pacing is super slow… it’s been an hour and nothing has happened.” For many who no longer attend church or temple they agree yes; the pacing and storytelling are slow. “And overly emotional. Or not emotional enough. “

Noah focused on something else. “Hurt,” he repeated the word, in an extra-terrestrial's voice over and over.

“Hurt.” The little boy Eliot had cut himself and ET’s finger light up and healed him. 

4 years ago, at my first service here I told you the story that I also shared at the graveside of Anneke. 

When I was a hospital chaplain I visited the bedside of a woman who was dying. 

I sensed the heaviness in the room. So, I asked each person how they knew her. 

After many tears I said, “I can lead you in prayer if you’d like.”

The family was hurting and sad and consoled by the idea of prayer.

So, I lead them in an approved service.

Sigh. All of the energy left the room. 

I knew this in part because I was literally patted on the back and thanked, “for the little religious thing you did back there. It was real nice…”
I was so disappointed. I knew that my prayers and faith in Jesus hadn’t connected with the family at all.

So, as I left to leave the room I took one last look, as I did, I blurted out, “her finger.”

Remember what Noah said, “Hurt.”

I said, “her finger it’s Just like ET.” 

Then I told the story of an Extra Terrestrial who befriended a lonely boy. The alien was abducted and died. He was dead, really dead. He was sealed on a coffin… and then his heart light up…and his finger light up…and he kept saying, “ET phone home.” 

A whole neighborhood of kids on bikes flew into the sky. ET left the earth to ascend to the heavens of outer space in a spacecraft.

That story made sense to a grieving family; “hurt,” indeed.

The story of Jesus. Along with prayers and an official service. It didn’t work. 

Why?

I left that question hanging in the air at the burial. 

I reminded that faithful this service was for her; for him; for all of us. 

All Saints Sunday is for all of us to be reminded that there is something much bigger than any of us. We use candles in part to light not just the way…but perhaps to illuminate our fingers and remind us of Jesus’ promise of our heavenly home, which is not just sometime or somewhere but is now and here. 
May God bless Anneke. 

May God bless you. 

May God bless all of us. 

Amen.