Hello Saints! No, it’s not still Halloween, and I’m not pretending you are all dressed up as saints. I’m addressing you as “Saints” because that’s exactly who you are in God’s eyes. That’s exactly how God sees you. When we hear the word “Saints” we tend to think of people like Mother Teresa, St. Francis of Assisi, or the apostles, like St. Paul. So when we hear the word “saints” we tend to think only of the giants of the faith who cloistered themselves away from everyday life, dedicated themselves to Holy things, and achieved a kind of spiritual and moral perfection. So to call ourselves “saints” feels a bit like playing dress-up for Halloween. But long before we celebrated Halloween with costumes and candy, Christians around the world have remembered the dead, All the Saints, the Great Cloud of Witnesses who have gone before us. We have called these people “saints” because we have deemed them “holy.” The word Halloween comes from the same root word as “hallowed” or “halo” meaning Holy. Throughout the centuries we have grown accustomed to hallowing other people as Holy—people who we think can sacrifice things we can’t, or pray in ways we can’t, or love and serve others in ways that we feel we can’t. We put these Holy men and women on spiritual pedestals and revere them for doing God’s work, while we look on and talk about how Holy they are. It’s difficult for most of us to imagine that we could ever be counted among the saints.
But the truth is, in each of your baptisms, you were anointed with just this identity. You were sealed in the Holy Spirit and marked as Christ’s own forever. You, or your parents on your behalf, agreed to uphold a covenant— promises to continue in the apostles teaching, in the breaking of the bread, and in the prayers. You promised to persevere in resisting evil and whenever you fall into sin, repent and return to the Lord. You promised to proclaim by word and example the Good News of God in Christ. You promised to seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving your neighbor as yourself. You promised to strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being. But more important than all of these promises is the promise you made to do all of these things with God’s help. See, what makes us Holy, what makes us saints in God’s eyes, is not our perfection (for none of us can ever be perfect), and it’s not our moral purity (for we all know that we are human and will always struggle against our own brokenness and selfishness). What makes us saints is not how much we can isolate ourselves or separate ourselves from the world. What makes us saints has nothing to do with what we are able to do. What makes us saints is what God can do through us. Singer-songwriter Leonard Cohen says, “There is a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in.” Saints, you and I and the great cloud of witnesses throughout history are all cracked, imperfect vessels. Spoiler alert: we will never be perfect or pure. We will never be without doubt and anger, without questions and fears. What makes you saints, what makes me a saint, and what makes our brothers and sisters and friends and family and heroes of the faith saints, is not our perfection, but God’s gracious love for us. What makes us saints is God’s gracious claim on our lives. God does not call us to “dress-up” as perfect, pure, people, unscathed by the tragedy, struggles, and challenges of this life. God’s claim on our lives calls us to hear His cry for healing, justice, and restoration of the world and to respond—to rise and to work with Him for that healing, justice and restoration, even when it seems futile; even when it seems that the odds are stacked against us; even when we think we are too powerless to make a difference. You see, “Holiness” is as much of a verb as it is a noun. Holiness happens whenever we are willing to sacrifice in order to love as Jesus loved and serve as Jesus served, even in the most seemingly hopeless circumstances.
Today’s gospel reading seems perfectly timed for Halloween. Lazarus, one of Jesus’ closest friends, and the brother of Mary and Martha, dies, and Jesus comes and raises him from the dead. When we first hear this story it sounds like something straight out of a fantasy or horror movie. Lazarus was dead. We are told that he had been dead for 4 days. The Jews believed that it took 3 days after a person’s death for their soul to leave their body. After 4 days, Lazarus’ soul had most certainly left his body and, as if that weren’t enough, we are told that there is already a stench. The gospel of John does not mince words here. John wants us to understand that Jesus’ power is greater than even the most futile, most hopeless, and most final losses of all. There is no “science-ing” our way out of this. This is no less than a miracle.
But the real miracle isn’t simply a dead body coming back to life. The real miracle is far more powerful. You see, this act is the final straw for Jesus. It is the healing that causes the Roman authorities to sentence Jesus to death on the cross. And Jesus knew, before agreeing to do it, that this would seal his fate. So the real miracle here is so much more than a man being brought back from death into life. The real miracle is Jesus’ willingness to use his power to bring life to another when he knew that it would mean giving up his own life. The real miracle is that, when Jesus heard Martha and Mary’s cries for healing, justice, and restoration, he responded. He knew that Lazarus’ death would leave Mary and Martha destitute, without any social status, and vulnerable. So he weeps with them. He grieves with them. He faces all of Martha’s questions, accusations, and doubts, and then asks her to “roll away the stone.” Faced with the stench of hopelessness and grief she confronts Jesus at the end of her faith. Like each of us, when we are faced with unbearable loss, she wants answers and guarantees. Like each of us, when we are faced with unspeakable tragedy, she longs for promises and comfort, but finds herself hanging onto her faith by a thread. Through blinding tears she finds herself begging Jesus for hope. But the hope Jesus offers—the real miracle—can’t be completed by Jesus alone. The real miracle requires that Martha and Mary, and the gathered community obey Jesus’ command and participate in the miracle. Lazarus cannot find new life until they roll away the stone, unbind him, and let him go.
See, our calling as saints is not to be perfect, pure, or certain. Our real work as saints is to respond to cries for healing, justice, and restoration in the world with God’s help. Our work as saints is to roll away the stones of oppression, poverty, loneliness, and hopelessness wherever we may find them—in our communities, in our families, or even in our own hearts. Our work as saints is to call out to Christ even in the midst of anger, doubt, discomfort, and despair, and to ask him to help us make a space for healing, justice and restoration there. Our work as saints is not to avoid pain and suffering, but to recognize the presence of God in the midst of our pain and suffering so that God can use us to heal the pain and suffering of others. Our work as saints is to recognize that bringing life to others will always cost us something of our own life. To trust another always costs us something of our independence. But the great good news of the gospel is that, when we obey our calling to roll away the stones of hopelessness, by fulfilling our baptismal promises, we will be forever changed. It will come at a cost. We may have to lay down our own ambitions, and lay aside our allegiance to some of the world’s values. But when we believe—when we love as Jesus loved and serve as Jesus served—we will see the glory of God.
We will see it in the eyes of a child when we volunteer at her underserved school to teach her how to read. We will see it in the eyes of the woman who has not had any visitors in a long time, and whose face lights up when we walk in the room. We will see the glory of God in the grateful hands of a neighbor who receives a warm meal after a an exhausting chemotherapy treatment. We will see it in the relieved eyes of a young single mother when we offer to take her children to the park while she takes a much-needed nap or gets a long-post-poned haircut. We will hear it in the voice of an estranged family member when we tell them that we forgive them.
The true miracle of the resurrection is that God invites to share in it, participate in it, nurture it, create space for it, and proclaim it. The true miracle is that, in Christ, every day is All Saints Day. Every moment is a precious gift in which God’s love, healing, justice and restoration is possible. Every encounter we have with another person presents us with the opportunity to roll away the stones of hopelessness, suffering, and loneliness and to speak hope, healing, and community into those spaces. You don’t need to be perfect or pure to do this. In fact, you need to be cracked to let God’s Light in. So as you celebrate all of the saints in your own lives today, remembering the big and small ways they nurtured love and hope in you, remember that you are Holy. You are a saint. You don’t need a costume. You have everything you need. You are everything God needs. As our prayerbook’s funeral rite reminds us, “For none of us has life in himself, and none becomes his own master when he dies. For if we have life, we are alive in the Lord, and if we die, we die in the Lord. So, then, whether we live or die, we are the Lord’s possession.” Saints, you are the Lord’s possession. So roll away the stone. Believe. You will see the glory of God. Amen.
