Sermon for the Feast of All Saints
Overflow Space
The Feast of All Saints
Revelation 7:9-17
November 1, 2009
Dear friends in Christ: Grace, mercy and peace from God our Father, and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.
Despite his theology, one of my more liberal seminary professors preached one of the best ordination sermons I have ever heard.
He spoke of the angelic hosts gathered to watch the evening’s events, and the saints and martyrs met to ratify what was done in the Wartburg Seminary Chapel. He spoke of the smoke and the incense surrounding the throne of God, and its wafting and swirling and reaching from the heights of heaven down to the little congregation in the chapel. He spoke of angels waiting on tiptoe to behold the wondrous event of a servant of the eternal Word being commissioned to carry the Gospel into the world, and the apostles and martyrs gathered together to give their blessing to their successor. He evoked Augustine and Ambrose, Polycarp and Athanasius, St. John Chrysostom and Justin Martyr, Luther and Melanchthon and all the great theologians of history, all gathered together with us to join in on the sending of Don to proclaim the same message they had proclaimed, and to impart the same truths they had imparted.
He painted the scene so skillfully that we could imagine the heavens opened, and all those he named looking down upon us, and upon Don, and the very universe holding its breath as God sent His servant to bear His Word into the world. And at the very height of his rhetoric, he paused.
“But wait a minute,” he said. “It’s just Don!”
Yes, it was just Don- the guy we’d had classes with, and eaten our meals with, and socialized with, and seen unshaved more times than we could mention as he stumbled out of bed to grab breakfast before the refectory closed. It was just Don- just plain, ordinary Don- a nice enough guy, to be sure, but no august personage or dazzling celebrity. Just Don, our friend and classmate. Just everyday, ordinary Don.
And yet, the professor pointed out, all of the other things were also true. This was an occasion every bit as momentous as he had implied, and the saints in light did indeed join their voices to ours in praising God for sending another witness into the world.
Today is the day when the Church celebrates the saints. To be sure, Augustine and Ambrose and Polycarp and Ignatius and Perpetua and Luther and Chemnitz and Gerhard and all the other heroes of Church history are among them. So are the Apostles. So are the Prophets. But wait a minute! So are Grandpa and Grandma, and Mom and Dad. So is that Sunday School teacher who taught you all those Bible stories, and perhaps the pastor who confirmed you. So are the every-day, unglamorous, unremarkable and- if the truth be told- imperfect saints whom God has sent into your life to set your feet upon the path of grace.
Yes, all those glorious heroes of the Faith are among those we commemorate today. But not a single one of them earned their place in the heavenly chorus by their profound theology or compelling witness, by their personal virtues, or even by the shedding of their blood. The source of the holiness of all the Holy Ones is the same and His Name is Jesus.
It is not merely the great saints of history the Church remembers today, Nor is it even the unsung heroes of our own spiritual lives. It’s also you and me- all of those who, baptized into Christ and living their baptism in daily contrition and repentance, nourished by the body and blood of Christ received in the Sacrament and sustained by Holy Absolution and the support of their fellow saints, have Jesus within them, living His life and doing His work, making them holy by the imputation of His own holiness by grace, received by faith.
There are many who down through the years have claimed a place among the high and mighty host who join their voices to ours this and every Sunday in the praise of that grace and in giving glory to the Lord Who loved us and gave Himself for us on the basis of their own wisdom, their own struggles, there own moral discipline, their own holy lives, and their own remarkable qualities. But they are absent from that Host on high. No, on the contrary, those who belong to the heavenly chorus that joins its praises to ours this morning are the poor in spirit, not those who put themselves forward; those who do not glory, but rather mourn- and so receive the comfort which can only come from the One Who bore in His own body the sins and sorrows of the world; not the bold and assertive, but the meek; not those who are full of themselves, but those who hunger and thirst for righteousness. They are those who have loved mercy, and who have single-mindedly sought not their own glory or their own agenda, but God’s Kingdom and God’s will. They are those who have been hurt, and who have every reason to strike back, but instead turn the other cheek, and seek not revenge or even justice, but peace. They are the insulted and the mocked and the spoken against and the despised and the persecuted. They are people remarkable for how unremarkable they are, and imposing precisely in their insignificance, as the world measures such things.
But they shine like the stars, imbued with the righteousness of Another, the holiness of Another, the power of Another, the glory of Another. They are those who, like their Master, have humbled themselves, and walked the path of the cross.
And now, as the glory of the world turns to riches and the achievements and boasts of those who cut a figure in his world turn into dust, it is their turn to shine. It is their turn to rejoice, and to dazzle the universe with a light that is no less brilliant for its being reflected from the One Who is the source of their joy and their glory, just as He is the source of their righteousness and their holiness. Today, the ordinary, the everyday, the insignificant, the expendable, and the unremarkable who forever bask in the glory of the Son of God- and reflect it, too- are in a very real sense here with us this morning.
That’s one of the neat things about belonging to one of the liturgical churches. As I pointed out last Wednesday night during Confirmation class, the liturgy with which we worship had its origins in the Catacombs during the earliest days of the Church. The language may be different, and the surroundings may be different, but when we chant or recite the words of the liturgy we are using the very same words the martyrs used to worship God. Justin Martyr not only used these very words, but wrote down one of the earliest accounts of their use. Athanasius and Augustine and Ambrose and Luther all used these very words- and so did Grandma and Grandpa, and that Sunday School teacher, and that pastor.
In my previous parishes, it has been my custom to either decorate the pulpit and the font and other convenient spots in the church with small and very crude banners I’ve made, or with much more attractive ones more artistically talented members of the congregation have made, commemorating members of the congregation who have transferred to the Church Triumphant the previous year. Each of them has borne the title “Saint,” their first name, and the day of what has been traditionally treated as a saint’s real birthday, the date of their entrance into eternal life. Each banner has also borne some appropriate symbol of their vocation or their life.
Part of the idea has been to celebrate their presence among the saints in reflected Light, shining, no matter how ordinary and familiar they may have been, with the holiness and glory of Christ, and sharing in His joy to all eternity. But there’s also another purpose those banners have served. They also have served as a visible reminder that those very people, though absent from our eyes, are nonetheless with us in the Divine Service.
There has been talk of cutting a hole in the wall and using the space next store as “overflow space.” But there is plenty of overflow space here this morning, as small as this building is. And it’s no less real for being unseen.
It’s an amazing and comforting thought: when we lift our voices in worship on this and every other Lord’s Day, those who occupy that unseen “overflow space” join their voices to ours. Grandpa and Grandma are among them, and Mom and Dad, and beloved aunts and uncles and cousins and friends and Sunday School teachers and pastors.
The Apostles are there, too- and Augustine and Athanasius and Polycarp and Ignatius and Luther and Walther. We who worship in the same words the Western Church has used down through the ages have special reason to bear in mind that it is no empty conceit that every Sunday the pastor prays in the Preface, “Therefore with angels and archangels and all the company of heaven we laud and magnify Thy glorious Name.”
The mystery we celebrate today- the mystery of the Communion of Saints- tells us that simple, ordinary, unprepossessing people like the ones who have nurtured our bodies and souls and been our companions on our pilgrimage here on earth are none other than the very saints of God, who shine with the reflected glory of the One Who has made His righteousness theirs by grace, through faith- and they shine with a splendor for which words cannot be found. But more than that, it tells us that even though we continue to struggle and to suffer in this veil of tears, for all our mourning and our poverty of spirit, for all that people laugh at us and take advantage of us and look down upon us and treat us badly, we, too, are among that company. In our weakness and our daily struggle with sin, we nonetheless share in Christ’s righteousness and Christ’s holiness. Through the Word, through the Sacraments, through Holy Absolution and through the mutual conversation and consolation of our fellow saints, Christ is being formed in us just as He was formed in them- and some day, if we remain faithful, we will shine just as they do.
Scripture does not tell us that they are aware personally aware of the events of our lives, and even hints that they are not. Far less does it teach us to pray to them. Yet they are with us even so, these saints who have gone before us. They join their voices to ours in worship and praise, across the ages and across the great divide between heaven and earth. And one day we will fully share their joy, and faith will give way to sight, and reunited to our loved ones who have gone before us we will sing the praises of God and the Lamb throughout eternity.
But the mystery of the Communion of Saints has another comfort for us: the knowledge that even as we continue to walk our dreary path thorough this sad and sorry world, their voices are already joined to ours in praise and worship, and the righteousness and glory with which they shine are ours, too, through our common faith in the One Who has included us all in His one Church, and through the everlasting life of the One Who binds us together even when time and death itself seem to separate us.
May the peace of God, which passes all understanding, keep your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus. Amen.
The Feast of All Saints
Revelation 7:9-17
November 1, 2009
Dear friends in Christ: Grace, mercy and peace from God our Father, and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.
Despite his theology, one of my more liberal seminary professors preached one of the best ordination sermons I have ever heard.
He spoke of the angelic hosts gathered to watch the evening’s events, and the saints and martyrs met to ratify what was done in the Wartburg Seminary Chapel. He spoke of the smoke and the incense surrounding the throne of God, and its wafting and swirling and reaching from the heights of heaven down to the little congregation in the chapel. He spoke of angels waiting on tiptoe to behold the wondrous event of a servant of the eternal Word being commissioned to carry the Gospel into the world, and the apostles and martyrs gathered together to give their blessing to their successor. He evoked Augustine and Ambrose, Polycarp and Athanasius, St. John Chrysostom and Justin Martyr, Luther and Melanchthon and all the great theologians of history, all gathered together with us to join in on the sending of Don to proclaim the same message they had proclaimed, and to impart the same truths they had imparted.
He painted the scene so skillfully that we could imagine the heavens opened, and all those he named looking down upon us, and upon Don, and the very universe holding its breath as God sent His servant to bear His Word into the world. And at the very height of his rhetoric, he paused.
“But wait a minute,” he said. “It’s just Don!”
Yes, it was just Don- the guy we’d had classes with, and eaten our meals with, and socialized with, and seen unshaved more times than we could mention as he stumbled out of bed to grab breakfast before the refectory closed. It was just Don- just plain, ordinary Don- a nice enough guy, to be sure, but no august personage or dazzling celebrity. Just Don, our friend and classmate. Just everyday, ordinary Don.
And yet, the professor pointed out, all of the other things were also true. This was an occasion every bit as momentous as he had implied, and the saints in light did indeed join their voices to ours in praising God for sending another witness into the world.
Today is the day when the Church celebrates the saints. To be sure, Augustine and Ambrose and Polycarp and Ignatius and Perpetua and Luther and Chemnitz and Gerhard and all the other heroes of Church history are among them. So are the Apostles. So are the Prophets. But wait a minute! So are Grandpa and Grandma, and Mom and Dad. So is that Sunday School teacher who taught you all those Bible stories, and perhaps the pastor who confirmed you. So are the every-day, unglamorous, unremarkable and- if the truth be told- imperfect saints whom God has sent into your life to set your feet upon the path of grace.
Yes, all those glorious heroes of the Faith are among those we commemorate today. But not a single one of them earned their place in the heavenly chorus by their profound theology or compelling witness, by their personal virtues, or even by the shedding of their blood. The source of the holiness of all the Holy Ones is the same and His Name is Jesus.
It is not merely the great saints of history the Church remembers today, Nor is it even the unsung heroes of our own spiritual lives. It’s also you and me- all of those who, baptized into Christ and living their baptism in daily contrition and repentance, nourished by the body and blood of Christ received in the Sacrament and sustained by Holy Absolution and the support of their fellow saints, have Jesus within them, living His life and doing His work, making them holy by the imputation of His own holiness by grace, received by faith.
There are many who down through the years have claimed a place among the high and mighty host who join their voices to ours this and every Sunday in the praise of that grace and in giving glory to the Lord Who loved us and gave Himself for us on the basis of their own wisdom, their own struggles, there own moral discipline, their own holy lives, and their own remarkable qualities. But they are absent from that Host on high. No, on the contrary, those who belong to the heavenly chorus that joins its praises to ours this morning are the poor in spirit, not those who put themselves forward; those who do not glory, but rather mourn- and so receive the comfort which can only come from the One Who bore in His own body the sins and sorrows of the world; not the bold and assertive, but the meek; not those who are full of themselves, but those who hunger and thirst for righteousness. They are those who have loved mercy, and who have single-mindedly sought not their own glory or their own agenda, but God’s Kingdom and God’s will. They are those who have been hurt, and who have every reason to strike back, but instead turn the other cheek, and seek not revenge or even justice, but peace. They are the insulted and the mocked and the spoken against and the despised and the persecuted. They are people remarkable for how unremarkable they are, and imposing precisely in their insignificance, as the world measures such things.
But they shine like the stars, imbued with the righteousness of Another, the holiness of Another, the power of Another, the glory of Another. They are those who, like their Master, have humbled themselves, and walked the path of the cross.
And now, as the glory of the world turns to riches and the achievements and boasts of those who cut a figure in his world turn into dust, it is their turn to shine. It is their turn to rejoice, and to dazzle the universe with a light that is no less brilliant for its being reflected from the One Who is the source of their joy and their glory, just as He is the source of their righteousness and their holiness. Today, the ordinary, the everyday, the insignificant, the expendable, and the unremarkable who forever bask in the glory of the Son of God- and reflect it, too- are in a very real sense here with us this morning.
That’s one of the neat things about belonging to one of the liturgical churches. As I pointed out last Wednesday night during Confirmation class, the liturgy with which we worship had its origins in the Catacombs during the earliest days of the Church. The language may be different, and the surroundings may be different, but when we chant or recite the words of the liturgy we are using the very same words the martyrs used to worship God. Justin Martyr not only used these very words, but wrote down one of the earliest accounts of their use. Athanasius and Augustine and Ambrose and Luther all used these very words- and so did Grandma and Grandpa, and that Sunday School teacher, and that pastor.
In my previous parishes, it has been my custom to either decorate the pulpit and the font and other convenient spots in the church with small and very crude banners I’ve made, or with much more attractive ones more artistically talented members of the congregation have made, commemorating members of the congregation who have transferred to the Church Triumphant the previous year. Each of them has borne the title “Saint,” their first name, and the day of what has been traditionally treated as a saint’s real birthday, the date of their entrance into eternal life. Each banner has also borne some appropriate symbol of their vocation or their life.
Part of the idea has been to celebrate their presence among the saints in reflected Light, shining, no matter how ordinary and familiar they may have been, with the holiness and glory of Christ, and sharing in His joy to all eternity. But there’s also another purpose those banners have served. They also have served as a visible reminder that those very people, though absent from our eyes, are nonetheless with us in the Divine Service.
There has been talk of cutting a hole in the wall and using the space next store as “overflow space.” But there is plenty of overflow space here this morning, as small as this building is. And it’s no less real for being unseen.
It’s an amazing and comforting thought: when we lift our voices in worship on this and every other Lord’s Day, those who occupy that unseen “overflow space” join their voices to ours. Grandpa and Grandma are among them, and Mom and Dad, and beloved aunts and uncles and cousins and friends and Sunday School teachers and pastors.
The Apostles are there, too- and Augustine and Athanasius and Polycarp and Ignatius and Luther and Walther. We who worship in the same words the Western Church has used down through the ages have special reason to bear in mind that it is no empty conceit that every Sunday the pastor prays in the Preface, “Therefore with angels and archangels and all the company of heaven we laud and magnify Thy glorious Name.”
The mystery we celebrate today- the mystery of the Communion of Saints- tells us that simple, ordinary, unprepossessing people like the ones who have nurtured our bodies and souls and been our companions on our pilgrimage here on earth are none other than the very saints of God, who shine with the reflected glory of the One Who has made His righteousness theirs by grace, through faith- and they shine with a splendor for which words cannot be found. But more than that, it tells us that even though we continue to struggle and to suffer in this veil of tears, for all our mourning and our poverty of spirit, for all that people laugh at us and take advantage of us and look down upon us and treat us badly, we, too, are among that company. In our weakness and our daily struggle with sin, we nonetheless share in Christ’s righteousness and Christ’s holiness. Through the Word, through the Sacraments, through Holy Absolution and through the mutual conversation and consolation of our fellow saints, Christ is being formed in us just as He was formed in them- and some day, if we remain faithful, we will shine just as they do.
Scripture does not tell us that they are aware personally aware of the events of our lives, and even hints that they are not. Far less does it teach us to pray to them. Yet they are with us even so, these saints who have gone before us. They join their voices to ours in worship and praise, across the ages and across the great divide between heaven and earth. And one day we will fully share their joy, and faith will give way to sight, and reunited to our loved ones who have gone before us we will sing the praises of God and the Lamb throughout eternity.
But the mystery of the Communion of Saints has another comfort for us: the knowledge that even as we continue to walk our dreary path thorough this sad and sorry world, their voices are already joined to ours in praise and worship, and the righteousness and glory with which they shine are ours, too, through our common faith in the One Who has included us all in His one Church, and through the everlasting life of the One Who binds us together even when time and death itself seem to separate us.
May the peace of God, which passes all understanding, keep your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus. Amen.
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