We look for the resurrection of the dead,
and the life of the world to come. Amen.
As we’re gathered here on All Saints Sunday,
we have stories of life in God
and life in particular
in God’s work in Jesus.
There’s “the souls of the righteous are in the hands of God”
in Wisdom
Jesus calls Lazarus forth,
and directs those around him
to unbind Lazarus.
Today it’s the end of time,
that place we look
for when all has been made well.
The Reign of God begun by Jesus’ incarnation
moves from close at hand,
already-not yet
to “It is done.”
Many of us are rightly skeptical
of the Book of Revelation,
particularly as it’s used
to warn queerfolk like me
about lakes of fire
or find the exact day and time
of Jesus’ return
or cast politicians
as the antiChrist.
However, I love Revelation.
It’s like if Rogers and Hammerstein,
Stephen Sondheim, and
Andrew Lloyd Webber
took a crack at retelling a synthesis of the gospels
in the most dramatic way possible.
More Cats, less Godspell…
in a dream sequence.
In her book Baptized in Tear Gas,
the Rev. Elle Dowd writes,
“The stories in the Hebrew Bible
and in the New Testament
tell us something about the way
that God works
and who God is.
God brings forth life
in pure resistance
to empires that wage death.
And the way that God brings forth these hope-children
says something too.”
“Hope-children” is a great way
to think about the big-S saints we celebrate today
and pray for the little-S saints
we hold close in our hearts.
When John is writing Revelation
he’s imprisoned on the island of Patmos.
Christianity is being persecuted.
It’s not the state religion of the Roman Empire.
In this 80s musical drama of the gospel,
John writes,
“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;
mourning and crying and pain will be no more,
for the first things have passed away.”
John has grown up
hearing about what Dowd calls hope-children
as he’s grown up learning the stories
of the Hebrew scriptures.
He or those close to him
who have formed him to follow Jesus
walked with Jesus.
He knows the hope
of the Christian story:
Christ is risen from the dead,
trampling down death by death,
and upon those in the tombs
bestowing life.
He sees this in his vision:
death is no more.
The New Jerusalem comes from heaven,
and the whole of the earth hasn’t been obliterated.
It’s been renewed and restored.
Heaven comes to earth
God’s being is among mortals again,
and God says “See, I am making all things new.”
“See, I am making all things new.”
All Saints Day was begun as a feast
to remember all the martyrs:
Hope-children who’d followed Jesus
and lost their lives for it.
It expanded to celebrate those who discipleship
was so deep
that they stand as spiritual examples
for all the faithful.
All Souls, or All Faithful Departed,
grew to remember everyone who had died,
everyone whose deaths
had brought tears to our eyes,
tears we need God to wipe away.
In the Reformation All Souls was suppressed,
and the New Testament understanding
that all the baptized are saints
through God’s grace,
was pushed on All Saints.
The English and their descendants revolted.
What we are doing today
is a mashup of All Saints and All Souls.
It’s well and good to celebrate
all the big-S saints.
We can believe that all the baptized
are saints.
That’s the theology.
Fine.
But there’s a pull to remember,
to pray,
to hope,
for that guy from our high school class
or that family friend
or that work colleague
who will never be in Lesser Feasts and Fasts.
While the theology of
being made saints in baptism,
facing a watery death and the grave
is solid
we resist raise those folks we knew
to the level of big-S saint.
They’re folks like us,
saved by God’s grace,
but who still cussed a little.
They’re hope-children too,
but not as perfect
as we idealize the saints to be.
So on this mashup of All Saints and All Souls,
the church wants to reiterate what we believe.
Embracing grace is hard,
but Jesus has taken care of
that little bit of cussing
and much bigger things.
As we celebrate All Saints,
the church reminds us
that this isn’t the end,
that death as we know it
isn’t the end.
In Surprised by Hope NT Wright writes,
“Death is the last weapon of the tyrant,
and the point of the resurrection,
despite much misunderstanding,
is that death has been defeated.
Resurrection
is not the redescription of death;
it is its overthrow
and, with that,
the overthrow of those
whose power depends on it.”
Neither the US Code
nor the Liturgical Calendar
consider US election day
when saying when we vote
or when we celebrate the saints.
We’re all anxious,
and we’re all fatigued.
Yesterday friends were posting a meme that said,
“Next week has been exhausting.”
The texts we have today, though
from Wisdom, Revelation, and John,
encourage us to keep hope.
Regardless of what happens on Tuesday,
whether our preferred candidate wins or loses
none of them is Jesus.
Neither Kamala Harris,
nor Donald Trump,
nor Jill Stein,
nor Cornel West,
nor Robert F. Kennedy, Jr.
will wipe every tear
from the eyes of the mourning.
And undoubtedly there will be tears
on Tuesday night
and Wednesday morning.
Whether you’re celebrating or grieving,
the Church is here today to remind us —
using the witnesses of the saints who’ve got before,
big-S and little-S —
that it is God through Jesus
who is making all things new.
However this week goes,
we look for the resurrection of the dead
and the life of the world to come. Amen.