All Saints' Day 2015 Preached by John Harris

One day a few months ago, Sam, Maddie, Hannah, and I were driving home down Kenmore Ave. We were chatting about families. Sam and Maddie, like lots of kids their age, tend to think that the way their family is is the way that all families should be. So we pushed them on that a little bit. We asked them, who do you know that lives just with their mother? What about kids that live just with their father? They thought about each question, and they came back with good examples. Their minds were expanding, we hoped. Then we tossed in another question, who is a woman you know that is married to another woman? Maddie was putting a lot of thought into this, and then she piped out at her customary full volume, “St. Cathy and Pete.”
Now that you know about the saint in your midst, let’s talk a bit about All Saints Day and about our gospel passage. I find these readings, and this holy day, particularly poignant in light of our parish’s current situation. As we all well know, Mother Cathy will be leaving for a role with the diocese in a bit less than two months. I’ve talked to people this week about our rector’s departure, and they are talking about how much they will miss her sermons, her writing, and especially her presence, the full force of her personality that was always so much a part of, and a guiding force in, our congregation. That departure puts us in a time of transition. At times of transition, we, individually and as a congregation, have choices to make about how to approach the future.
We can, if we choose, meet the future with fear and trepidation. That is always an option, and it is an easy, natural option to turn to. Notice the first part of our gospel passage today. Mary sees Jesus, and she is in tears. She rebukes Jesus, reminding him forcefully that if he had been there, Lazarus would not have died. Something has changed, something terrible, and Mary is scared and angry.  Look at Jesus’ response, too. He doesn’t lash out at her for her tears or her rebuke. Instead, he seems to accept the naturalness, the perfectly reasonable nature, of her response.
The readings from Isaiah and Revelation highlight what Mary is going through. To pick out the language of Isaiah, a shroud is cast over her, a sheet spread over her mind, because all she is seeing is death forever. She has waited for the Lord, and he didn’t come until it was too late.
I think we should also notice that the onlookers joined in as well. They also questioned Jesus, wondering why he didn’t show up in time. In a similar manner, as Good Shepherd moves into its time of transition, we can safely assume that many in the diocese foresee problem after problem besetting our parish, just as a number of other churches in this very diocese have gone through difficult transitions of their own.
But the gospel passage doesn’t stop there, much as our parish does not stop with the departure of a well-beloved rector. In the passage, Jesus goes to the tomb of Lazarus and asks them to roll away the stone. Lazarus’ sister Martha cautions against it, because she has no hope. She knows, she knows, that the stench of a man dead 4 days will be overpowering. Jesus tells her this, though: “Didn’t I tell you that if you believe, you will see God’s glory?”
If you believe, you will see God’s glory. Imagine that. When all quite reasonably seems to be lost, when Mary has rebuked him, and Martha has reminded him that bodies start stinking after they die, Jesus calls for faith. Jesus calls for hope. And Jesus promises the glory of God.
Because our gospel passage does not end with Mary’s rebuke. And it does not end with Martha’s practical concerns about the smell. In fact, it does not end with a dead man staying dead. Rather it ends in faith, hope, amazement, and life. And I cannot think of a better metaphor for a church in transition.
To be honest, my metaphor might be a bit shaky. I think at times, this church, and even me personally, are Mary, or Martha, or Lazarus. Mother Cathy seems to slot into the role of Jesus, which is probably none too comfortable for her either. She probably feels like she is on much safer ground just being her usual saintly self. It is a metaphor with a lot of options. It’s almost as if this gospel reading was still alive, as if Jesus truly was the word of God still finding different ways to speak to us today.
But how does All Saints’ Day fit into all of this? I mentioned way back at the beginning that I was going to talk about more than just the gospel passage; I was going to talk about All Saints’ Day too. Well, the time is now. Despite the fact that my daughter has only named one person here today a saint, let me throw the window open a bit wider. We are, all of us, saints. The New Testament has a striking tendency not to use the term Christians to refer to the church. The term that St. Paul, in particular, uses with regularity is saints. Saints are the people of God in heaven and on earth. So we have gathered here today a group of saints that has to decide what this church will be like after our rector moves on to the next position to which God has called her. But as a body of saints, I think we can all say in confidence that we can move forward in the hope that Christ outlined for us, the hope of God that has power over everything, including death itself, and who can make all things new, including this church.
In the end, I think Franklin Roosevelt, quoting Jesus, put it best. To paraphrase, to some generations, or parishes, much is given. From others, much is expected. This parish has a rendezvous with destiny.