All Saints Sunday: “A Song of the Saints of God”

11/04/07

We went off Daylight Savings Time last night, of course, and not a moment too soon, in my opinion! We walk our dog about 6:30 every morning, and I don’t like doing it in the dark! The other day I almost tripped; lately I’ve been captivated by the “morning star,” the planet Venus, and I was watching the sky instead of paying attention to my feet—something I’m prone to do, in both the literal and metaphorical senses!

All Saints Day is a festival on the church calendar that calls upon us to look both up and down. We look up at the saints who’ve gone before us, who now surround the throne and sing the praise of God; and we look down—or perhaps better, we look around—at the community of saints here on earth now. For that is what we are—we are the saints—called to be saints. The choir today is singing a song I really love, “I Sing a Song of the Saints of God.” It is mostly about those who have gone before, but it is also so good at pointing out that saints are just ordinary people: “They lived not only in ages past, there are hundreds of thousands still, the world is bright with the joyous saints who love to do Jesus’ will. You can meet them in school, or in lanes, or at sea, in church, or in trains, or in shops, or at tea, for the saints of God are just folk like me, and I mean to be one, too.”

If we were to summarize the purpose of the saints in God’s economy, perhaps we might borrow the phrase from Paul’s letter to the Ephesians this morning: “with the eyes of your heart enlightened.” The saints are those God uses to enlighten the eyes of our heart. When we look at them, our hearts “wake up” to the goodness and the love and the generosity of God.

I’ve been thinking this week about some of the saints I’ve known. You could make your own list, I’m sure, but let me tell you some of mine. Florence McLane was a little old lady in the church where I grew up. She must have been in her 80’s when I was in elementary school. Her job, her joy, was to come around to Sunday School classes and talk about missionaries. I can’t think about missionaries to this day without thinking of her—how she corresponded regularly with several missionaries, told us about their work; even more I remember how she knew the name, it seemed, of every child in that church, and was convinced that every child, in bringing his or her nickels to the Sunday School offering, was contributing to the mission of Christ in the world. She helped enlighten the eyes of my heart.

I’ve been thinking about Bob Buckner. Bob was a missionary, one of the ones Mrs. McLane talked about. He had been a vocational education teacher in a high school, and then heard the call to use his skills overseas to teach others how to do a variety of useful things. He went to Nepal and ran a technical school for young men. He was sponsored by my congregation, and I had heard about him all my life. It was my great thrill to meet him when I traveled to Nepal when I was in seminary, and to see in person what he was doing for Christ in that remote corner of the world. Seeing his work enlightened the eyes of my heart.

I’ve been thinking about Clarence Paulsen. Most of you knew Clarence. He was a pastor who retired here to Nevada county. But he never retired from his vocation of being a Christian saint. He served as interim pastor here for a few months back in the ’80’s, and then he chaired a couple of building committees at Peace, including the one that oversaw the building of this sanctuary. When we began work on the project we’re completing now, he came to me and said, “I think I’ve got one more in me.” He didn’t live to see it happen, but I’ve been thinking about how thrilled he would be of what’s been accomplished—well, how thrilled he is, for I know he can see it, just I know that he enlightened the eyes of our hearts.

Most of all, I’ve been thinking about my father-in-law. It is just a year now since he died, and I still miss him. At lunch today, our choir will be singing a piece they did several weeks ago in church called “Find Us Faithful.” There’s a verse in the song that really moves me: “After all our hopes and dreams have come and gone, and our children sift through all we’ve left behind; may the clues that they discover and the memories they uncover become the light that leads them to the road we each must find. O may all who come behind us find us faithful.”

Many of you no doubt have been in that situation of “sifting through” what someone has left behind. It is really quite a task, like no other. I’ve done it now for both my parents, and also for my father-in-law. One learns things that one never knew. When my own dad died and I was sifting through what he left behind, I discovered quite to my shock that he had been awarded a bronze star in World War II. He’d never mentioned it.

When my father-in-law died, there were also discoveries. Some years ago he had asked me to serve as executor of their estate. I was aware that their will had included bequests to several charities, including Peace Lutheran Church, a couple of church colleges and seminaries, and some other church ministries. But when I took over his checkbook, there were two things that astonished me.

One was the number of different charitable organizations that he supported—everything from local agencies like Interfaith Food Ministry to global ministries like Lutheran World Relief. When I prepared his tax return last year, there must have been charitable contributions to nearly two dozen different groups—most of them not large amounts, but quite consistent over the years, as I learned in looking back.

And then I was astonished even more at his giving to Peace Lutheran Church. When we had our “Building Peace for You” campaign three years ago, Mom and Dad had only been members of Peace for a year or so. We had never discussed what they had pledged. When I saw the checkbook, I could hardly believe it. I think they had always been tithers, but when they made their pledge to “Building Peace for You” it more than doubled what they were giving each week to support the ministry and mission of their church. “O may all who come behind us find us faithful,” the song says, and boy, for this guy coming along behind, that faithful giving was a revelation. It enlightened the eyes of my heart.

And of course it offered a challenge. It made me think about what my checkbook might say to my children one day, when they sift through all I’ve left behind. What will it say to them about me? Will it provide any kind of light for them, any kind of legacy? I hope, when my life comes to an end, that I can leave some money to my children. But I hope even more that I can leave them a witness of faithful living. That’s worth a lot more to me, and ultimately to them.

Paul writes, “In Christ we have also obtained an inheritance . . . so that we might live for the praise of his glory.” In part that inheritance is what comes to us in the lives and witness of the saints, those who have gone before us and those countless saints as well who walk alongside us. Our challenge as members of the body of Christ is to pass that inheritance on to those who come behind us. It is a challenge, yes, a duty. But it is also a delight. “A duty and delight”—that’s a phrase we hear in our liturgy some weeks. I suppose one might say that the saints are those who have found the duty of Christian living to be a delight, and who have shown us how to do it. “You can meet them in school, or in lanes, or at sea, in church, or in trains, or in shops, or at tea, for the saints of God are just folk like me, and I mean to be one, too.” May God grant all of us faith to follow in their path.