We’ve been doing Wednesday noonday Eucharists for about a month now at Hope. I like to use
these occasions to share information and inspiration relating to the believers who’ve gone before
us—those people who we call the Saints. Today is All Saints’ Day, the day on which we
commemorate the faithful who’ve trod the ages from the time of our Lord himself right up to the
present time.
When we think of saints, different images may come to mind. Often this has to do with the tradition
we were brought up in. Some have churchmanship so high that someone like me would have to
take the tram to get there. And others’ is as low as a snake belly in an arroyo. I count myself a little
closer to the latter. Many of us perhaps think of saints as the statues & stained glass renderings of
all of those larger-than-life figures who showed extraordinary purity in their lives and extraordinary
bravery at the moment of their deaths. We’ve seen them in the great cathedrals of Europe and
America, and from their perches they seem to tower over us.
Others may think of the people in our own time who’ve shown extraordinary service and humility,
dedicating their lives to God and to relieving the suffering of their fellow human beings. Mother
Teresa comes to mind, although there’ve also been countless others, known and unknown,
throughout the world.
But in the stained glass collage of my own mind, I see some other people as well. To most of us
these would seem a little more run-of-the-mill. For example, l see the Altar Guild worker of many
decades faithfully showing her devotion Sunday after Sunday by making sure that the Lord’s Holy
Table is presented with beauty and respect. I see the little Norwegian grandmother in the small town
of my childhood bringing the hot dish (that’s Norwegian for ‘casserole’) and the ubiquitous lime Jello
down the storied steps to the inner sanctum of hospitality known as the church basement. If there
are any former Midwestern Lutherans here you’ll know immediately what I mean. I see the quiet
veteran who draws no attention to his heroism, and shares with the needy without question or
fanfare. Measured this way, there are more saints who’ve walked the pathways of history than we’ll
ever know this side of heaven.
So, what is it that sustains the saints? What is it that impels a simple human being to live a life of
purity and service? Well, there are some pretty obvious answers to this question, I think. One
thread connecting all of them is the knowledge that they’re loved by God in a stunning,
unimaginable way, and that the only possible way even to begin to requite that love is to share it
back with God and with others human beings, just as Jesus commanded us. They also have in
common a conviction that all good things in this life and beyond this life come from God himself.
And our scripture readings this morning point out another great factor that all the saints have in
common, which will be my main focus this morning. And that is the Christian reality of hope. Hope
that all the hardships and sacrifices of this life will one day be compensated beyond our wildest
dreams. Hope that good will one day reign supreme in God’s creation, and that those who confess
that Jesus is Lord will be admitted to the eternal banquet which God in His love has prepared for us.
As Bishop Kelshaw said at Bev Maxwell’s memorial service, if you believe that Jesus died for you and
then rose from the dead, victorious over sin and death, there’s a chair at that table with your name
on it.
If the Bible is nothing at all else, it’s surely a document of lavish hope. Listen again to the imagery
from the prophet Isaiah we heard a few moments ago. He writes: “On this mountain the Lord of
hosts will make for all peoples a feast of rich food, a feast of well-aged wines, of rich food filled with
marrow, of well-aged wines strained clear. And he will destroy on this mountain the shroud that is
cast over all peoples, the sheet that is spread over all nations; he will swallow up death forever.
Then the Lord God will wipe away the tears from all faces, and the disgrace of his people he will take
away from all the earth, for the Lord has spoken.” I don’t know about you, but that gives makes the
hair on my arms stand up.
What Isaiah is talking about here is the final victory of good over evil—the new order of God’s
kingdom on earth, and the lasting reward of God’s people. St. John echoes some of this language
in our reading from the Revelation: “I saw a new heaven and a new earth… and I saw the holy city,
the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her
husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, ‘See, the home of God is among
mortals. He will dwell with them as their God; they will be his peoples, and God himself will be with
them; he will wipe every tear from their eyes. Death will be no more, for the first things have passed
away.’ And the one who was seated on the throne said, ‘See, I am making all things new.’”
This theme of the coming new heavens and new earth runs throughout the New Testament writings.
Something that is simply unimaginable awaits us. Yet it’s our imaginations that the New Testament
writers stimulate with these images. They’re encouraging us not just to hope, but to revel and
luxuriate in hope. St. Paul uses the word “hope” well over 50 times in his letters alone. And he
would be the first and most enthusiastic to proclaim that this hope is rooted in the person and
actions of Jesus Christ.
We have just a taste of this in John’s Gospel, in which Jesus raises his friend Lazarus from the
dead. He tells the people who are there to take away the stone from his grave. And in her
despondent state Martha says to Jesus that Lazarus has been dead for four days, and that his body
will have decayed and will stink. But Jesus meets her gaze with eyes sparkling with the hope that he
embodies, and says gently, “Did I not tell you that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?”
While they’re removing the stone he prays to his Father in heaven, and then he cries out, “Lazarus,
come forth!” Lazarus walks out of the grave, wrapped in his burial cloths. And in a foretaste of our
own coming freedom, Jesus tells those present, “Unbind him, and let him go.” With his victory over
sin and death, Jesus does the same for each of us. We, too, now live in the hope that we are
forever unbound and set free. The grave no longer holds us.
So this morning we have a little sampling of reassurances from Holy Scripture that have sustained
the hope of the saints through history, and continues to sustain our hope today. Paul writes that
“everything that was written in the past was written to teach us, so that through endurance and the
encouragement of the Scriptures we might have hope.”
But there are times when even this can be hard for us to receive unconditionally. People have
criticized the Christian faith for offering pie-in-the-sky promises for those who believe. Some to this
day ignore abundant evidence to the contrary and assert that the Bible is a collection of fairy tales.
Karl Marx sneered that religion is the opiate of the masses, offering a false sense of security in the
midst of the real suffering so endemic in the only life we have. The response to that accusation
would require an entire sermon in and of itself.
But haven’t many of us, in fleeting, dark moments of doubt, also wondered if all of this upon which
we base our hope is really too good to be true? Well, I’d like to respond by closing with a simple and
personal vignette or two to bring this home to here and now.
It has to do with evidence from my own family. It’s especially appropriate that my mother is here this
morning as a couple of these little stories have to do with women on her side of our family.
Is there personal evidence in this day and age to support the promises of scripture? Well, my
grandmother, my mother’s mother, passed from this earth in 1984 from cancer. After baking a pie
for one of my aunts, she was brought to the hospital for the final time. She eventually went into a
coma, and awoke from it only once for a brief moment, at which time her eyes opened wide and she
said simply, “Hallelujah!” If I’m remembering correctly, that was her last word in this life.
And her mother, my great-grandmother, passed from this life when my mother was a child. Mom tells
that she and her sisters were together when my great-grandmother called out from the room in
which she was lying. She said, “Girls, come here, quick!” They all trotted to her bedside, where she
pointed upward and said, “Look girls, here comes Jesus!” And then she died.
I could share a few similar stories from both sides of our family, but time doesn’t permit. Now some
may attribute these things to some kind of random brain firing at the moment of death. My own gut
response to that is something like, “Give me a break.” I believe in the old adage, “Where there’s
smoke, there’s fire.” And there are enough of these kinds of stories from other believers that point
to some pretty amazing evidence that something wonderful awaits when we pass from this life, and
occasionally we get just a little glimmer of evidence of this to augment our faith.
In fact the very saints whose lives we celebrate are peppered with dramatic stories from the final
moments of their lives, in which many reported wonderful visions of the blessed beyond at the
moment of their passing. We are asked to reach out and trust God’s promises with faith. Yet God in
His mercy has often given us these windows of reassurance into the blessed future He has for His
saints, which, by the mercy of God, includes all of us who share at the table of the Lord this
morning.
So if you’re ever prone to take your eyes off Jesus and turn toward the shadowscape of doubt, I
encourage you to remember and follow the example of the saints who came before us, who learned
what it means to stand firm and steadfast. I encourage you to let go of your fear and indulge in the
lavish hope encouraged by the writers of Holy Scripture, for it was they were there and saw firsthand
the reason for our hope.
I encourage you to take courage and believe. And as you do, you too are assured by the promise
of our Lord, “Did I not tell you that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?” Amen.
these occasions to share information and inspiration relating to the believers who’ve gone before
us—those people who we call the Saints. Today is All Saints’ Day, the day on which we
commemorate the faithful who’ve trod the ages from the time of our Lord himself right up to the
present time.
When we think of saints, different images may come to mind. Often this has to do with the tradition
we were brought up in. Some have churchmanship so high that someone like me would have to
take the tram to get there. And others’ is as low as a snake belly in an arroyo. I count myself a little
closer to the latter. Many of us perhaps think of saints as the statues & stained glass renderings of
all of those larger-than-life figures who showed extraordinary purity in their lives and extraordinary
bravery at the moment of their deaths. We’ve seen them in the great cathedrals of Europe and
America, and from their perches they seem to tower over us.
Others may think of the people in our own time who’ve shown extraordinary service and humility,
dedicating their lives to God and to relieving the suffering of their fellow human beings. Mother
Teresa comes to mind, although there’ve also been countless others, known and unknown,
throughout the world.
But in the stained glass collage of my own mind, I see some other people as well. To most of us
these would seem a little more run-of-the-mill. For example, l see the Altar Guild worker of many
decades faithfully showing her devotion Sunday after Sunday by making sure that the Lord’s Holy
Table is presented with beauty and respect. I see the little Norwegian grandmother in the small town
of my childhood bringing the hot dish (that’s Norwegian for ‘casserole’) and the ubiquitous lime Jello
down the storied steps to the inner sanctum of hospitality known as the church basement. If there
are any former Midwestern Lutherans here you’ll know immediately what I mean. I see the quiet
veteran who draws no attention to his heroism, and shares with the needy without question or
fanfare. Measured this way, there are more saints who’ve walked the pathways of history than we’ll
ever know this side of heaven.
So, what is it that sustains the saints? What is it that impels a simple human being to live a life of
purity and service? Well, there are some pretty obvious answers to this question, I think. One
thread connecting all of them is the knowledge that they’re loved by God in a stunning,
unimaginable way, and that the only possible way even to begin to requite that love is to share it
back with God and with others human beings, just as Jesus commanded us. They also have in
common a conviction that all good things in this life and beyond this life come from God himself.
And our scripture readings this morning point out another great factor that all the saints have in
common, which will be my main focus this morning. And that is the Christian reality of hope. Hope
that all the hardships and sacrifices of this life will one day be compensated beyond our wildest
dreams. Hope that good will one day reign supreme in God’s creation, and that those who confess
that Jesus is Lord will be admitted to the eternal banquet which God in His love has prepared for us.
As Bishop Kelshaw said at Bev Maxwell’s memorial service, if you believe that Jesus died for you and
then rose from the dead, victorious over sin and death, there’s a chair at that table with your name
on it.
If the Bible is nothing at all else, it’s surely a document of lavish hope. Listen again to the imagery
from the prophet Isaiah we heard a few moments ago. He writes: “On this mountain the Lord of
hosts will make for all peoples a feast of rich food, a feast of well-aged wines, of rich food filled with
marrow, of well-aged wines strained clear. And he will destroy on this mountain the shroud that is
cast over all peoples, the sheet that is spread over all nations; he will swallow up death forever.
Then the Lord God will wipe away the tears from all faces, and the disgrace of his people he will take
away from all the earth, for the Lord has spoken.” I don’t know about you, but that gives makes the
hair on my arms stand up.
What Isaiah is talking about here is the final victory of good over evil—the new order of God’s
kingdom on earth, and the lasting reward of God’s people. St. John echoes some of this language
in our reading from the Revelation: “I saw a new heaven and a new earth… and I saw the holy city,
the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her
husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, ‘See, the home of God is among
mortals. He will dwell with them as their God; they will be his peoples, and God himself will be with
them; he will wipe every tear from their eyes. Death will be no more, for the first things have passed
away.’ And the one who was seated on the throne said, ‘See, I am making all things new.’”
This theme of the coming new heavens and new earth runs throughout the New Testament writings.
Something that is simply unimaginable awaits us. Yet it’s our imaginations that the New Testament
writers stimulate with these images. They’re encouraging us not just to hope, but to revel and
luxuriate in hope. St. Paul uses the word “hope” well over 50 times in his letters alone. And he
would be the first and most enthusiastic to proclaim that this hope is rooted in the person and
actions of Jesus Christ.
We have just a taste of this in John’s Gospel, in which Jesus raises his friend Lazarus from the
dead. He tells the people who are there to take away the stone from his grave. And in her
despondent state Martha says to Jesus that Lazarus has been dead for four days, and that his body
will have decayed and will stink. But Jesus meets her gaze with eyes sparkling with the hope that he
embodies, and says gently, “Did I not tell you that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?”
While they’re removing the stone he prays to his Father in heaven, and then he cries out, “Lazarus,
come forth!” Lazarus walks out of the grave, wrapped in his burial cloths. And in a foretaste of our
own coming freedom, Jesus tells those present, “Unbind him, and let him go.” With his victory over
sin and death, Jesus does the same for each of us. We, too, now live in the hope that we are
forever unbound and set free. The grave no longer holds us.
So this morning we have a little sampling of reassurances from Holy Scripture that have sustained
the hope of the saints through history, and continues to sustain our hope today. Paul writes that
“everything that was written in the past was written to teach us, so that through endurance and the
encouragement of the Scriptures we might have hope.”
But there are times when even this can be hard for us to receive unconditionally. People have
criticized the Christian faith for offering pie-in-the-sky promises for those who believe. Some to this
day ignore abundant evidence to the contrary and assert that the Bible is a collection of fairy tales.
Karl Marx sneered that religion is the opiate of the masses, offering a false sense of security in the
midst of the real suffering so endemic in the only life we have. The response to that accusation
would require an entire sermon in and of itself.
But haven’t many of us, in fleeting, dark moments of doubt, also wondered if all of this upon which
we base our hope is really too good to be true? Well, I’d like to respond by closing with a simple and
personal vignette or two to bring this home to here and now.
It has to do with evidence from my own family. It’s especially appropriate that my mother is here this
morning as a couple of these little stories have to do with women on her side of our family.
Is there personal evidence in this day and age to support the promises of scripture? Well, my
grandmother, my mother’s mother, passed from this earth in 1984 from cancer. After baking a pie
for one of my aunts, she was brought to the hospital for the final time. She eventually went into a
coma, and awoke from it only once for a brief moment, at which time her eyes opened wide and she
said simply, “Hallelujah!” If I’m remembering correctly, that was her last word in this life.
And her mother, my great-grandmother, passed from this life when my mother was a child. Mom tells
that she and her sisters were together when my great-grandmother called out from the room in
which she was lying. She said, “Girls, come here, quick!” They all trotted to her bedside, where she
pointed upward and said, “Look girls, here comes Jesus!” And then she died.
I could share a few similar stories from both sides of our family, but time doesn’t permit. Now some
may attribute these things to some kind of random brain firing at the moment of death. My own gut
response to that is something like, “Give me a break.” I believe in the old adage, “Where there’s
smoke, there’s fire.” And there are enough of these kinds of stories from other believers that point
to some pretty amazing evidence that something wonderful awaits when we pass from this life, and
occasionally we get just a little glimmer of evidence of this to augment our faith.
In fact the very saints whose lives we celebrate are peppered with dramatic stories from the final
moments of their lives, in which many reported wonderful visions of the blessed beyond at the
moment of their passing. We are asked to reach out and trust God’s promises with faith. Yet God in
His mercy has often given us these windows of reassurance into the blessed future He has for His
saints, which, by the mercy of God, includes all of us who share at the table of the Lord this
morning.
So if you’re ever prone to take your eyes off Jesus and turn toward the shadowscape of doubt, I
encourage you to remember and follow the example of the saints who came before us, who learned
what it means to stand firm and steadfast. I encourage you to let go of your fear and indulge in the
lavish hope encouraged by the writers of Holy Scripture, for it was they were there and saw firsthand
the reason for our hope.
I encourage you to take courage and believe. And as you do, you too are assured by the promise
of our Lord, “Did I not tell you that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?” Amen.
The Hope of the Saints
All Saints Day, 2009
All Saints Day, 2009
November 1, 2009
The Rev. Daniel Tuton
The Rev. Daniel Tuton
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