Unbind Us to Experience God’s Glory - All Saints Day--Year B--Nov. 1, 2009 - The Reverend David R. Williams

Eternal God, you have always taken men and women of every nation, age, and color and made them saints; like them, transformed, like them, baptized in Jesus’ name, take us to share your glory.  Amen.

Yesterday evening, Sarah and I had the pleasure of experiencing Halloween with our one-year-old grandson, Thomas.  It has been a while since we have seen Halloween through a child’s eyes. 

The doorbell rings.  We answer the door.  Thomas is in our arms.  Out in the darkness of the evening we see youngsters dressed in funny clothes…most are wearing eerie masks. 

Thomas is not so sure about this.  He looks cautiously at these characters of the night.  He likes the candy part.  But he is unsure as he peers into the night drama unfolding before his innocent young mind. 

Like Thomas, we have momentary, unplanned views into life’s shadows. Illness and loss knock on the doors of life.  We are caught off guard, at least uncomfortable and perhaps frightened.  What is the meaning of this turn of events?  How can I cope?

In this morning’s Gospel, Martha and Mary think they have lost their beloved brother Lazarus.  Being unmarried women, Lazarus is their protector, their strength in a patriarchal culture. 

Their brother has died.  The women are not prepared, and they are angry with Jesus for not coming sooner. 

The lesson from the Book of Revelation refers to the “sea.”  Oceans and seas are complex forces of nature for the ancient people of Jesus’ day.  The sea is dangerous, a dark enemy of sorts.  The sea is unpredictable.  People fear high water, crashing upon rocks, strange sea creatures, unexpected shipwrecks and drowning in the abyss. 

These images are informed by Greek and Latin mythology. There is great respect, as well, for the grace, bounty and power of the waters. 

In times of grief and loss, the metaphor of a rough and ugly sea overtakes the soul.  It is dark and fierce with no horizon in view.

This  morning, we hear the names of our recently-departed: Larry, Peggy, Pauline, Lorraine, Walter, Susan, Marie, Nancy, Frank, Judy, Frances, Dodi, Jim, Libby, Bettie. We feel transported back to the dark tomb.  The rough sea in our soul leaves a wake of sadnesss, especially as family still reckoning with unspeakable grief. 

The door opens, we look out into the dark.  We draw back, the lighted foyer our safety. 

Somewhere in the backs of our minds, though, we know this party is not yet over.  Something sweet and more bearable is being exchanged here. However, the emptiness of the loss cannot be undermined. 

Theologian Frederick Buechner says, “Before it is good news, the Gospel is ‘bad news.’  It is life in the raw.  Life portrayed on the evening news.  Life in which bad things happen to good people – or even to bad people.”

As we hear the Lazarus story, we sense his death is no blessing – Death as villain, a cold trespasser, an icy reality, its severing unexpected. The death of Lazarus death is a powerful sting. We look for Glory…. God’s Glory. 

Martha and Mary are “stung”.  The cave is so dark.

The doorbell rings.  We open the door, exposing the night.  Thomas cringes, turns his head. 

Today, one of our special celebrations of the Church year, we celebrate, through Eucharist and music, the Glory of God in the lives of His Saints. The music style changes from year to year – this year we celebrate the glory of the Saints through a genuinely American genre, classical jazz.  With its sometimes-syncopated rhythms, different harmonies, and improvisation, the music moves us from the cave of darkness to the Glory of God. We know the shadows of All Hallows Eve before we can rejoice the fullness of All Saints Day.   Our jazz ensemble “Four for One” and our own talented choir – prepared and conducted by Laurie Ryan--comfort us as we journey to the altar for our Lord’s Eucharistic food.  We find reassurance.  Glory wins.

In the passage from Revelation, John makes an astounding statement as he witnesses a new heaven and a new earth. The sea, that metaphor of awesome power to destroy, is no more. The fierce force of the sea is no more.  The shipwrecks, the drownings, the danger, the darkness are no more.  The sea we call tears are no more. 

“God will wipe every tear from their eyes.”

Jesus knows.  Jesus also respects the darkness of death and the unrelenting, difficult seas of life.  Jesus weeps.  Jesus knows sadness and loss.  Lazarus is one of Jesus’ closest friends. 

“Did I not tell you that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?” Jesus says through is own tears to his dear friend, Martha, brother of Lazarus. 

“Lazarus, come out!” Jesus commands.

We stand not outside the cave with Jesus.  We, as Lazarus, are in the cave.  And we hear Jesus’ voice, “David, Tom, Luzette, Cherry, Janine, Jackie, Steve, Diana, Mel, Peggy, Betty, Richard--all people of faith, all people deeply grieving--come out.  Our loved ones are in loving hands.  They have become part of the Saints in Light.  We now have the Glory of God to guide us and direct us.  Let us now be unbound.”

As Sarah, Thomas and I close the front door for the last time on Halloween, Thomas grabs a lollipop from our bag of sweet candy.  And we all break into smiles of joy.   

Then the voice from heaven says, “It is done!  I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end.”

Amen.