The Season of Advent – Holy Waiting and Watching

Picture courtesy of Liturgy.co.nz

A new liturgical year begins this coming Sunday, November 29, 2009, with the First Sunday of Advent. The Season of Advent consists of the four Sundays before Christmas. The liturgical color for Advent is purple or sometimes blue. We will begin a new liturgical cycle of seasons, feasts and fasts, and scripture lessons. This year the gospel will focus on the Gospel according to Luke with The Gospel according to John interspersed throughout the year but primarily in the Easter season.

The liturgical cycle is not, however, simply about passing time. The liturgical cycle tells the story of God’s life in the world. But it is more than just reciting the story. We are participants in the story not simply spectators or listeners. It is a ritual re-living of the life of Christ. Liturgy is the means by which we tell, live, and experience the story. It becomes real. It becomes our story not in the sense that we own it but in the sense that the liturgical cycle tells the story of our lives.

It has been said that liturgy is humanity’s yearning for God and grace is God’s yearning for humanity. Liturgically, this story of holy yearning—God’s and ours—begins in Advent. Advent means coming or to come. Advent is really about two comings. It is waiting and watching for the coming of the Christ child—new life, new birth, new hope coming into our world and our lives. It is the fulfillment of God’s promises. It is also waiting and watching for the coming of the eschaton—the end times when the fullness of God’s kingdom will be present. These are both future events and at the same time a present reality. They are already and not yet. Both of these advents are about the coming together of humanity and divinity.

The four Sundays of Advent are too often seen as the countdown to Christmas, as the time when we get things ready for Christmas. Santa Clause has been out since well before Halloween. Shopping lists are growing and the number of shopping days is shrinking. Menus are being planned. Travel is being arranged. Families are gathering. Expectations and hopes are growing. The countdown is well underway. Trees need decorating and presents need wrapping. Somewhere in all that is the stuff of everyday life – work, school, car pool, sports, paying bills, and running errands. There is so much to do and time is running out. The temptation is to live a “hurry-up, get busy, Christmas is almost here,” Advent. That is not the liturgical understanding of Advent. That kind of Advent can only lead to a “hurry-up, get to church, open the presents, take down the tree, Christmas is over,” Christmas.

The four Sundays of Advent are not the time when we prepare for Christmas but the time in which we are being prepared for Christmas. Advent is a time when the Church stands up in the face of the busyness of life, shopping, parties, cooking, traveling, and decorating and asks us to slow down, be still, and be quiet. We are to keep awake, looking and listening for the God who is always coming to us. We are called to prepare the way of the Lord. We watch and reflect on who we are. We look for the Christ in all the unexpected places – in the stuff of everyday life, in the poor, the hungry, and the needy. We live with expectancy and anticipation of God’s presence in our lives. We wait for the angelic messenger that promises us that the womb of our humanity will bear a child named Jesus.

That is hard work any time but especially in one of the busiest times of the year which may just mean it is even more necessary. Advent reminds us that waiting and watching are holy work. So how do we do this? Silence is the key. Silence is a way of waiting, a way of watching, and a way of listening to what is going on within and around us. We come to self-knowledge through stillness and silence, through attentiveness and watchfulness.

The desert mothers and fathers knew well the practice of waiting and watching. Abba Arsenius said he heard a voice say, “Arsenius, flee; be silent, pray always.” And Abba Poeman said, “Be watchful inwardly; and be watchful outwardly.” These practices are not just for the ancient desert dwellers. Living as we do in a culture of excessive distraction, noise, busyness, comfort, and instant gratification the wisdom of the desert should not be ignored.

So I wonder what we would discover if for the Season of Advent we took five minutes, ten minutes, thirty minutes even an hour each day to just sit in silence and stillness waiting and watching. What would the Coming One show us, say to us?

 

The Feast of Christ the King

Today is the Last Sunday in the Season after Pentecost. Although, it is not a formally recognized feast day in the Book of Common Prayer, today is often celebrated as the Feast of Christ the King. The collect and readings for today focus on Christ’s kingship. The gospel appointed for today is John 18:33-37.

³³Then Pilate entered the headquarters again, summoned Jesus, and asked him, “Are you the King of the Jews?” ³⁴Jesus answered, “Do you ask this on your own, or did others tell you about me?” ³⁵Pilate replied, “I am not a Jew, am I? Your own nation and the chief priests have handed you over to me. What have you done?” ³⁶Jesus answered, “My kingdom is not from this world. If my kingdom were from this world, my followers would be fighting to keep me from being handed over to the Jews. But as it is, my kingdom is not from here.” ³⁷Pilate asked him, “So you are a king?” Jesus answered, “You say that I am a king. For this I was born, and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth. Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice.”

Last spring I went back to school. There are about fifteen students in the program in which I am enrolled. At our fall session in September students from another program were also present. Though we did not have classes together we did share meals. One evening at supper I sat with a woman from the other program. I introduced myself and she asked, “Where are you from?” “Texas,” I said. She asked, “What do you do?” I responded, “I am a priest in the Episcopal Church.” Her very next question was this, “Are you one of those liberal priests?”

As we talked I realized she was asking not so much about me but for herself. She really was not interested in learning about me. Although she did not come out and say it, what she really wanted to know was whether I would challenge her beliefs, values, and opinions; was I a threat to her self-identity and understanding of God, herself, and the world; would I upset the status quo of her kingdom. At a very basic level she wanted to know “are you for me or are you against me?” It is a question we all live with and answer with every new encounter.

That question and the concerns she expressed are at the core of Pilate’s encounter with Jesus in today’s gospel. “Are you the King of the Jews,” he asks. What he really wants to know is if Jesus is a threat to his identity, his power, his rule. “What have you done,” he inquires.  Behind that question lay his real concern. “Have you upset the status quo I seek to maintain? Are you changing the usual way of doing business and life – our beliefs, values, and relationships?”

Whether spoken or unspoken, conscious or unconscious, those concerns get triggered every time we encounter another person, a different idea or belief, a new decision or event that might affect us. Like Pilate we want to know what we have to do in order to defend our kingdom. The kingdom we most often defend is the kingdom of our status quo. We do not want someone to mess with our self-identity, values, beliefs and opinions. They should not question our understanding of God, self, others, or the world. And we certainly do not want them taking away our power, privilege, control, or comfort. We have worked hard to build that kingdom and we do not want someone coming along making changes.

And yet Sunday after Sunday that is exactly what we ask for. We ask that those very systems would be changed. We gather and together we pray, “thy kingdom come” – thy kingdom in which you are king; thy kingdom of love and  compassion; thy kingdom of mercy, forgiveness, and reconciliation; thy kingdom of justice and concern for the poor; thy kingdom of humility, surrender, and self-giving; thy kingdom of peace and holiness. Thy kingdom come. We are praying that God might rule our hearts, lives, and world. We are asking for change – that this world, our lives, and relationships might be different.

If we really mean that prayer – “thy kingdom come” – then we must live, speak, and behave consistent with what we have prayed. We must change the way we see, think, hear, act, and speak. The status quo must go. There is a different way of living and being. If Christ is king then we are not. And the other systems and structures of power in this world are neither the first nor the final voice to which we listen. They are not determinative of our decisions about or encounters with one another.

If we truly mean “thy kingdom come” then we must also pray, “Our kingdom go.” Our kingdom of power, domination, and greed must go. Our kingdom of violence and oppression must go. Our kingdom of fear, prejudice, and resentment must go. Our kingdom of judgment and labeling must go. Our kingdom of individualism and indifference to the other must go. We must stop defending the kingdom of status quo.

In defending our kingdoms we tend to live as if the truth belongs to us. We live as if we know the mind of God and, therefore, we know what is right and best, who is in and who is out. And in that moment we are no longer listening to the voice of Jesus. We have become as deaf as Pilate. The truth does not belong to us. Instead, we are to belong to the truth. Only then will we be able to hear and listen to Jesus’ voice.

I must, in all honesty, tell you that the lady I met that night at supper was not the only one protecting her status quo. I too had my little kingdom. And with each question or accusation I retreated a little further and reinforced the walls, insuring that nothing was changed or lost. Perhaps the greatest tragedy of that night is that we never spoke about the Christ, the one who had called us both there to pray, study, learn, and be changed. I cannot help but wonder if we both were so sure that the truth belonged to us that we were unable to hear the voice of Jesus in each other.

The reign of Christ the King frees us to step outside the status quo and not just live in a new kingdom but to be and become a new kingdom – the Kingdom of God. If Christ is our King then the status quo must fall. If Christ is my king then next fall at school I will look for my new friend and begin a new conversation.

 

Are You Saved?

Although it offers an Orthodox answer I think this video also represents The Episcopal Church and the Anglican Communion at our best – when we return to our patristic roots.

Thanks to The Country Parson and Byzigenous Buddapalian

 

Apocalypse – When the Temple Falls

The collect and readings for yesterday may be found here.

The appointed gospel is Mark 13:1-8:

As he came out of the temple, one of his disciples said to him, “Look, Teacher, what large stones and what large buildings!” ²Then Jesus asked him, “Do you see these great buildings? Not one stone will be left here upon another; all will be thrown down.”

³When he was sitting on the Mount of Olives opposite the temple, Peter, James, John, and Andrew asked him privately, ⁴“Tell us, when will this be, and what will be the sign that all these things are about to be accomplished?” ⁵Then Jesus began to say to them, “Beware that no one leads you astray. ⁶Many will come in my name and say, ‘I am he!’ and they will lead many astray. ⁷When you hear of wars and rumors of wars, do not be alarmed; this must take place, but the end is still to come. ⁸For nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom; there will be earthquakes in various places; there will be famines. This is but the beginning of the birth pangs.

I remember the morning of my divorce. I remember the afternoon my younger son called and said, “Dad, I just joined the marines!” I remember the night my older son died. With each of those events one of the great buildings of my life was thrown down. Stones that I had so carefully placed and upon which I had built my life no longer stood one upon another. Temples of my world had fallen. My world had changed and my life would be different.

We all build temples – personas, relationships, beliefs, institutions, roles, reputations, dreams and sometimes even illusions. Stone upon stone we build them with the idea – sometimes spoken and sometimes unconscious – that these great structures will provide us meaning, direction, identity, security, value, and order to our life and world. The temple into today’s gospel is more than just a building in Jerusalem, more than the place of worship. It was the center and anchor of Jewish life. It provided identity, structure, and meaning – the same as do our temples of today.

The disciples are pretty impressed with the large stones and large buildings of the temple complex. They draw Jesus’ attention to them. Jesus responds, “Do you see these great buildings? Not one stone will be left upon another; all will be thrown down.”

I suspect each of you could tell a story about the day your temple was destroyed. Maybe it was your own divorce or the loss of a loved one; a story about cancer; the day you became a parent and caretaker to your own parent; the time someone betrayed and hurt you; the loss of a job or business; the realization that your life or the life of one you loves is controlled by addiction, fear, anger, or resentment. Or maybe it was the day your recognized your own powerlessness and lack of control. Perhaps beliefs that had sustained you for years suddenly became a rubble of doubts and questions.

Regardless of how it comes about the day our temple falls is the day of apocalypse – a day when our great buildings are thrown down and not one stone is left upon another. Our life and our world have forever been changed. Too often we think of apocalypse as the end of the world. It certainly feels that way – earthquakes shake the foundations of our world, famine leaves us empty and denying us any sense of satisfaction, wars divide and fragment the unity of our life and relationships, and all the voices that tempt us – but it is not the end. Apocalypse is not so much about the end of the world as it is about the end of the many worlds, temples, and great buildings we have created for ourselves.

Our spiritual work in those days is to not be alarmed or afraid, to be faithful and not be led astray, to be watchful, present, and attentive. Apocalypse means to reveal, to pull back, or to uncover. So it is much more about revelation than destruction. And yet there is always a falling away associated with true revelation – the falling away of illusion. Most often apocalypse holds before us a truth and reality about our self, life, or world that we have denied, ignored, forgotten, or simply refused to see. It is always a painful process to see our great buildings fall and be confronted by the reality and truth revealed in that fall.

The apocalypse of my divorce set me upon a path of self-examination, personal growth, and the discovery that the inner world does not follow the rules of the outer world’s appearances of success. “Dad, I just joined the marines” made me face the fact that my son was no longer the little eight year old boy I carried around in my head and heart. He had become a fine young man more than capable of leading his own life and making his own decisions. And the death of my older son has stripped me of an innocence and naiveté about life that I am still trying to understand.

When the great buildings begin to shake the temptation is to shore up the foundation, add some, mortar, make it stronger. Yet Jesus says that all of this is necessary. He can see in those moments what we are not able to see. And I am not suggesting that God causes or allows bad and painful things to happen to us in order to teach us an important lesson or make us better Christians. That is not the God I know or trust. The God I know stands with us in the midst of the apocalypse reminding us that this is not the end; it is the beginning of new birth.

Too often our temples are built on some form of illusion. Apocalyptic days confront us, forcing us to decide between reality and illusion, between life and death. They ask us hard questions about where we put our trust. The day our great buildings fall is the day we begin to face our corruptibility and impermanence in order to know the incorruptibility and permanence of God. We face our temporal nature in order to discover God’s eternal nature. We must know our own barrenness and emptiness before we can know the joys of the birth pangs.

Jesus announces the apocalypse but he does not provide the disciples a nice summary or wrap up to his teaching. Rather, he tells us that the great buildings will fall, they need to fall. He leaves us to ponder questions not answers. So I wonder

• What are the temples of your life that need to fall?
• What truth and reality do you most need to face?
• How might God be working a new birth in you?

 

The Feast of St. Gregory Palamas

Today, November 14, is the Feast of St. Gregory Palamas, monk, archbishop, and eminent theologian. He dedicated most of his active life to theological argument focused on one central truth: The living God is accessible to personal experience because he shared his own life with humanity. He taught that humanity’s true knowledge of God comes about through the transfiguration of humanity by the Spirit of God.

In his incomparable love for men, the Son of God did not merely unite his divine Hypostasis to our nature, clothing himself with a living body and an intelligent soul, “to appear on earth and live with men” (Baruch 3:38), but O incomparable and magnificent miracle! he unites himself also to human hypostases, joining himself to each of the faithful by communion in his holy Body. For he becomes one body with us (Ephesians 3:6) making us a temple of the whole Godhead – for in the very Body of Christ “the whole fullness of the Godhead dwells corporeally” (Colossians 3:9). How then would he not illuminate those who share worthily in the divine radiance of his Body within us, shining upon their soul as he once shone on the bodies of the apostles on Tabor? For as this Body, the source of the light of grace, was at that time not yet united to our body, it shone exteriorly on those who came near it worthily, transmitting light to the soul through the eyes of sense. But today, since it is united to us and dwells within us, it illumines the soul interiorly.

- The Triads I, 3 §38.

Since the incarnation our bodies have become temples in which the Holy Spirit dwells. God is not exterior to us but is now found within us. The light of transfiguration which the apostles beheld by exterior, physical, vision on Mount Tabor is now within ourselves. By assuming the fullness of humanity the Second Person of the Trinity became in his Body the source of our deification. St. Gregory says, “Christ has become our brother, having shared flesh and blood like ours, and so having become like us.” There is a sacramental link between our body and the deified flesh of Christ. Our participation in the deified humanity of Christ through the Holy Eucharist in the form of bread and wine, body and blood, reveals and affirms this link. So it is now, as Father John Meyendorff says, “within our body, grafted on to the body of Christ by baptism and the Eucharist, that the divine light shines.” (John Meyendorff, A Study of Gregory Palamas, p. 152).

Kontakion for the Feast of St. Gregory Palamas

“With one accord, we praise you as the sacred and divine vessel of wisdom and clear trumpet of theology, O our righteous Father Gregory of divine speech. As a mind that stands now before the Primal Mind, do you ever guide aright and lead our mind to Him, that we all may cry: Hail, O herald of grace divine.”

• Gregory Palamas: Knowledge, Prayer and Vision
• “Prayer without Ceasing” is necessary for aAll Christians

 

Detachment – Opening the Way to Salvation

A brother came to see Abba Macarius the Egyptian, and said to him, “Abba, give me a word, that I may be saved.” So the old man said, “Go to the cemetery and abuse the dead.” The brother went there, abused them and threw stones at them; then he returned and told the old man about it. The latter said to him, “Didn’t they say anything to you?” He replied, “No.” The old man said, “Go back tomorrow and praise them.” So the brother went away and praised them, calling them, “Apostles, saints, and righteous men.” He returned to the old man and said to him, “Did they not answer you?” The brother said, “No.” The old man said to him, “You know how you insulted them and they did not reply, and how you praised them and they did not speak; so you too, if you wish to be saved, must do the same and become a dead man. Like the dead, take no account of either the scorn of men or their praises, and you can be saved.”

Benedicta Ward, The Sayings of the Desert Fathers, 132.

The Abba’s wisdom reminds us that our ultimate identity is neither enhanced by another’s praise nor diminished by their insults. Until we know and trust that we are not determined by another’s evaluation of us we seek approval and reassurance that we are enough and we can never get enough of being told we are enough. Part of our spiritual work then is to detach from praises and insults, seeking our identity in God alone. Detachment does not mean we separate from others or ignore what they say; rather, it allows the freedom to be with others in an authentic way, one that allows for truth and sincerity. And when we can do that we have a new freedom to be with God.

Abba Macarius

 

 

The Feast of Leo the Great

Today, November 10, is the Feast of Leo the Great (Bishop of Rome 440-461). He was involved in one of the great Christological controversies. The question dealt with the relationship of divinity and humanity in Christ. Eutyches argued a form of monophysitism, the idea the Christ has only one nature. He conflated the two natures in Christ arguing that there was only one nature “after the union” in the one person of Christ. Further he denied that Christ’s humanity is consubstantial with ours. In 449 Leo wrote a letter, known as the Tome of Leo to Bishop Flavian of Constantinople, in which he affirmed that Christ has two natures, one human and one divine, that the two natures exist in one person, and that Christ’s human nature is consubstantial with our humanity. The letter was read in 451 by the Council of Chalcedon and judged by them to be sound doctrine. It contributed much to the creedal statements of that council.

Here is an excerpt from Leo’s tome:

So without leaving his Father’s glory behind, the Son of God comes down from his heavenly throne and enters the depths of our world, born in an unprecedented order by an unprecedented kind of birth. In an unprecedented order, because one who is invisible at his own level was made visible at ours. The ungraspable willed to be grasped. Whilst remaining pre-existent, he begins to exist in time. The Lord of the universe veiled his measureless majesty and took on a servant’s form. The God who knew no suffering did not despise becoming a suffering man, and, deathless as he is, to be subject to the laws of death. By an unprecedented kind of birth, because it was inviolable virginity which supplied the material flesh without experiencing sexual desire. What was taken from the mother of the Lord was the nature without the guilt [of original sin]. And the fact that the birth was miraculous does not imply that in the Lord Jesus Christ, born from the virgin’s womb, the nature is different from ours. The same one is true God and true man.

Collect from the Book of Common Prayer

O Lord our God, grant that your Church, following the teaching of your servant Leo of Rome, may hold fast the great mystery of our redemption, and adore the one Christ, true God and true Man, neither divided from our human nature nor separate from your divine Being; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.

 

The Treasury of Poverty – Mark 12:38-44

The collect and readings for today can be found here. The appointed gospel is Mark 12:38-44.

Teaching in the temple, Jesus said, “Beware of the scribes, who like to walk around in long robes, and to be greeted with respect in the marketplaces, ³⁹and to have the best seats in the synagogues and places of honor at banquets! ⁴⁰They devour widows’ houses and for the sake of appearance say long prayers. They will receive the greater condemnation.”

⁴¹He sat down opposite the treasury, and watched the crowd putting money into the treasury. Many rich people put in large sums. ⁴²A poor widow came and put in two small copper coins, which are worth a penny. ⁴³Then he called his disciples and said to them, “Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put in more than all those who are contributing to the treasury. ⁴⁴For all of them have contributed out of their abundance; but she out of her poverty has put in everything she had, all she had to live on.”

Today’s gospel reminds me of my 34^th birthday. I sat down with Cyndy and our boys to open my cards and gifts. Our younger son, Randy, jumped up and said, “Wait, not yet!”  He ran to his room. He came back a few minutes later. He was excited, bouncing off the walls. He was beside himself as he gave me his present. It was a sandwich baggie with one hundred pennies. He had taken a black magic marker and had written on the baggie, “$1.00.” He was thrilled with his gift to me and could not wait to give it to me.

He thought he was giving me $1.00. But the truth is he gave me everything he had. And I do not mean the contents of his piggy bank. That little baggie contained more than just pennies. He gave his love, presence, bounciness, excitement, joy, life. He gave me his very being. For what else does a four year old boy have to give? What else do any of us really have to give?

We all know this text as the “widow’s mite.” We’ve read the commentaries and heard the sermons – “The poor widow is an example of generosity. You should be generous like her.” I suspect most of us have heard that one or something similar more than once. Sometimes I think that we are so familiar with this story that we no longer hear or even look for another meaning. So we expect and settle for the usual interpretations. We are not surprised when this text is used for the annual stewardship campaign. Or we anticipate its use to criticize the rich for not giving more. And it holds before us the fact that there is an unequal and often unfair distribution of the world’s resources reminding us that the majority of the world lives without enough – without enough money, food, shelter, education, healthcare.

All of that is valid. There is truth in those interpretations. But there is also something else going on in this story. This gospel is not simply about the treasury of money. It is, rather, about the treasury of poverty. Hafiz, the great Sufi poet of the fourteenth century, offered this prayer:

God, grant me the riches of poverty for in such largesse lies my power and glory.

The riches of poverty. Most of us, I suspect, have not see or experienced the riches of poverty very often. Instead we tend to view poverty as a problem to be fixed and not as a source of power and glory. Poverty is often a problem to be eliminated and solved but not in today’s gospel. The poverty of the poor widow is not a problem to be fixed but rather a virtue to be interiorized. The poor widow becomes our teacher and we her students.

She embodies the virtue of spiritual poverty. She has no need for the money of the rich, the long robes of the scribes, or marketplace respect. She has no need for the best seat in the house or even the appearance of holiness. The absence of the widow’s need to have becomes her need not to have. So she does what makes no sense. She gives her last two coins. “She out of her poverty has put in everything she had, all she had to live on.” For what else does a poor widow have to give? She has no abundance, only the riches of poverty

The riches of poverty come not from acquiring but from letting go. All authentic spirituality is about letting go: letting go of comparison, competition, expectation, judgment; letting go of status, reputation, and appearances; letting go of the need for power, to control, to succeed, to win, to be right; letting go of our need for approval and perfectionism; letting go of all the illusions we create or buy in order to make ourselves feel better. Ultimately it means letting go of ourselves and the ones we love most.

Spiritual poverty begins with letting go and it always reveals the fragility of life. It takes us to the border between life and death where there are no guarantees – only hope, where there are no answers – only faith, and where there is no security – only love. This is where the poor widow lives. This is where God lives. And they live in union as one. In the face of the poor widow – the face of spiritual poverty – the Christ sees and recognizes himself.

The Poor Widow (thanks to Liturgy)

 

Love Came Down – St. Symeon the New Theologian

“Love came down, as is its way,

in the appearance of a luminous cloud.

I saw it fasten on me and settle upon my head.

And it made me cry out, for I was so afraid;

and so it flew away and left me alone.

Then how ardently I searched after it;

and suddenly, completely,

I was conscious of it present in my heart,

like a heavenly body.

I saw it like the disk of the sun…

It closed me off from the visible

and joined me to invisible things.

It gave me the grace to see the Uncreated.”

- St. Symeon the New Theologian

 

A Sermon for the Feast of All Saints

Today, November 1, is the Feast of All Saints. The collect and scriptures for today can be found here. The lectionary appoints John 11:23-44 as the gospel. As permitted by the rubrics of the Book of Common Prayer I lengthened the gospel to begin at verse 17.

¹⁷When Jesus arrived, he found that Lazarus had already been in the tomb four days. ¹⁸Now Bethany was near Jerusalem, some two miles away, ¹⁹and many of the Jews had come to Martha and Mary to console them about their brother. ²⁰When Martha heard that Jesus was coming, she went and met him, while Mary stayed at home. ²¹Martha said to Jesus, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died. ²²But even now I know that God will give you whatever you ask of him.” ²³Jesus said to her, “Your brother will rise again.” ²⁴Martha said to him, “I know that he will rise again in the resurrection on the last day.” ²⁵Jesus said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, ²⁶and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?” ²⁷She said to him, “Yes, Lord, I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, the one coming into the world.” ²⁸When she had said this, she went back and called her sister Mary, and told her privately, “The Teacher is here and is calling for you.” ²⁹And when she heard it, she got up quickly and went to him. ³⁰Now Jesus had not yet come to the village, but was still at the place where Martha had met him. ³¹The Jews who were with her in the house, consoling her, saw Mary get up quickly and go out. They followed her because they thought that she was going to the tomb to weep there. ³²When Mary came where Jesus was and saw him, she knelt at his feet and said to him, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.”

³³When Jesus saw her weeping, and the Jews who came with her also weeping, he was greatly disturbed in spirit and deeply moved. ³⁴He said, “Where have you laid him?” They said to him, “Lord, come and see.” ³⁵Jesus began to weep. ³⁶So the Jews said, “See how he loved him!” ³⁷But some of them said, “Could not he who opened the eyes of the blind man have kept this man from dying?” ³⁸Then Jesus, again greatly disturbed, came to the tomb. It was a cave, and a stone was lying against it. ³⁹Jesus said, “Take away the stone.” Martha, the sister of the dead man, said to him, “Lord, already there is a stench because he has been dead four days.” ⁴⁰Jesus said to her, “Did I not tell you that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?” ⁴¹So they took away the stone. And Jesus looked upward and said, “Father, I thank you for having heard me. ⁴²I knew that you always hear me, but I have said this for the sake of the crowd standing here, so that they may believe that you sent me.” ⁴³When he had said this, he cried with a loud voice, “Lazarus, come out!” ⁴⁴The dead man came out, his hands and feet bound with strips of cloth, and his face wrapped in a cloth. Jesus said to them, “Unbind him, and let him go.”

- John 11:17-44

Today’s gospel hits close to home for me – too close. I know this story well. My son, Brandon, died one month ago today. I do not just know about Mary, Martha, and Lazarus. There is a part of me that is each one of them. I am Mary – the one who stays at home, not wanting to get out, go anywhere, or do anything. I just want to hide from it all.

I am Martha with all my “if onlys.” If only I had done…. If only I had said…. If only I could turn back time. If only you, Lord,…. There are so many ways in which I fill in the blank that follows “if only…..”

And I am also Lazarus stuck in the tomb of my grief, tied up and surrounded by the stench of death, unable to free myself and escape.

I hope you know, however, that this is not about only me. Today’s gospel is as much about each one of you as it is me. It is about every human being who has ever lived – including the saints. Today’s gospel highlights the reality of loss, grief, and sorrow. And it is not just about the death of a loved one. Loss and grief come to us in many other ways as well – the loss of a dream, the loss of a marriage, the loss of direction, the loss of meaning and significance, the loss of a job, the loss of health, the loss of one’s identity, and sometimes the loss of hope and faith. I suspect that every one of you can name the losses and deaths you have suffered and how you too are Mary, Martha, and Lazarus.

You see, Mary, Martha, and Lazarus embody the human response to death, loss, and grief in whatever form it comes to us. Like Mary we hide from the present. Like Martha we live in the past. And like Lazarus we can see no future. But Jesus will not leave us where we are just as he would not leave Mary, Martha, or Lazarus where they were. He calls each of us out into a new place.

St. Mary is called out of the house to the feet of the one who is resurrection and life. St. Martha is called out of the past to see the glory of God here, now, in this present moment. And St. Lazarus is called out of the tomb to see the light of a new day. With each calling out all things are being made new.

Mary, Martha, and Lazarus stand before us today as saints. Through their lives they bear witness to our own experience of sorrow and loss. Through their lives they bear witness to the Christ who called them out into a new place. And they now join him in calling us out into a new place. That is what saints do. Through the power and love of Christ they call us out of our grief and loss wherever that may have taken us. They guide us to the one who is resurrection and life, to see the glory of God and the light of a new day. All along this journey we are supported by their prayers and encouragement.

On this journey of mine I see St. Anthony of Egypt trusting the silence and solitude and I take a step forward. I hear St. Julian of Norwich remind me, “all shall be well, all shall be well, every manner of thing shall be well” and I take another step. I feel the hug of St. Brandon of Texas and I take still another. We never walk alone. The saints are with us every step of the way – calling, guiding, comforting, encouraging, loving, and praying.

And so this All Saints’ Day we remember with thanksgiving and honor all the saints who have gone before us, all those with whom God has knit us together in one communion and fellowship in the mystical body of his Son Christ our Lord.

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For All the Saints