An "In-the-meantime" King?

An “In the Meantime” King?

Revelation 1:4b-8

Reign of Christ B

1. Intro

Well, this is the second time I’m preaching a sermon from the book of Revelation-- which I swore I’d never preach on at all.  (God has a marvelous sense of humor...)  But yet again, as I consider the world we live in--I fall in love with words that were meant to bring me comfort.  Somehow they grab ahold of me, and offer me something that none of the other passages quite will: a word of very deep and real hope, even in the midst of turmoil. 

Today is Christ the King Sunday, a day which is celebrated on the last Sunday of the Christian year, and it’s a place where we may stop and consider both a beginning and an ending.  As we look at the end of our Christian year, we celebrate all that Christ’s reign on Earth and in Heaven means for us.  Maybe it’s like a high point: a final chapter in Christ’s book of days, before we start reading the story all over again next Sunday.  Next Sunday, we will begin to be presented with pregnant women, anxious father’s to-be, a world with no room, and all the other things with which we are flooded during the time of ardent waiting during Advent.

But today, we see not only who that tiny little baby grew up to be, but what his life here on Earth meant for us.  The man who lived like us, and died in a way that we will learn to do-- but today, we envision him on a great and glorious throne and we hail him “King of Kings, and Lord of lords.”

II. A troubled world

Oh, I can speak the language as well as anybody can.  I could quote divine liturgies that talk about Christ’s rule in creation.  But as I look around, as I hear about people starving to death, or mothers who sell their five year old daughters into prostitution, or about gunmen who are teased to their breaking point,  my heart becomes heavy.  

I’ve told you that I’m not so great about keeping up with the news. Partly, it’s because I’m busy and am never around the TV during news time, and I sure don’t have time to read the paper.  (Though as I say this, I have several preacher’s voices in my head, reminding me that Karl Barth said I ought to be preaching with the Bible in one hand and the newspaper in the other.)  But as much as the busyness keeps me away from the news, that’s also partly a defense mechanism.  Truthfully, I can’t bear to watch it, and have more or less adopted the mindset that “No news is good news.”  I can’t bear to watch how awful human beings are to one another: the ways that we literally kill each other, and the ways that we make another person’s life a little less worth the living. 

When I do happen to catch a news blurb, or my news-saavy husband tells me something that’s going on, my prayers/cries of anguish alternate between “Lord, rend the Heavens and come down!” and “Hey! Who’s in charge here?”

Oh yeah, I can “talk the talk” like anyone.  But as I look around, it doesn’t feel like there is a King.  In fact, it feels more like it’s kind of a “free for all” for anyone who wants to take charge.

1. Kings, Kings, Kings

I went to the movies for the first time in forever, and we went to see a movie based on a beloved children’s book, Where the Wild Things Are.   This is the story of a boy who doesn’t feel like he is loved enough.  His sister and her friends are mean to him, and his mom is too busy worrying about money to worry about him as much as he’d like. 

So he sets off on a wild adventure, and happens upon this place full of wild beasts who are nothing like he has ever seen.  He’s about the wildest thing they have ever seen too, and their first instinct is to eat him.  But, being a little boy with a great imagination, he makes up this long list of conquests which are somewhat impressive to the wild things.  Finally, he tells them he’s a king.

At first, they look at him a little skeptically.  After all, he’s only a small child. But the wilder his tales become, the more they believe him.  And besides that, they’ve been desperately looking for a king.  (The fact that they’ve eaten all the kings they’ve had, notwithstanding.) But they’re looking for someone who will right all the wrongs that have come into their land.  They suspend their criticisms of him and why he doesn’t look like a king, and suddenly they’re his most loyal subjects. In return for their loyalty, he promises to make them a brave new world where only happy things can be. 

This has been rattling around in my brain as I’ve been working on this sermon.  One of the things that grabbed my attention is to what an extent all of us are so willing to settle for a king.  In fact, it doesn’t much matter whether or not that person, or thing, or institution even has any credentials.  We’re just nervous enough about the state of the world, that we’d happily let anything that even hinted that it might be powerful have our undivided attention.

Oh sure, we know that Jesus is our Lord.  But, we reason, that’s a much more spiritual thing.  It’s kind of one of those things that works fine for contemplation, but if we were honest with ourselves, perhaps we’ve relegated Jesus’ lordship to only one of those spiritual things.  Practically, a king like Jesus is no good.   Really, we think to ourselves, Jesus doesn’t do anything.  Now, of course, we would never intentionally let anything take away from the ways that we serve Christ.  We definitely don’t mean to.  We’ve just created for ourselves a nice dualism where we have Earthly kings and a Heavenly king.  And we’d even go so far as to tell ourselves that that’s ok, never meaning any harm.

1. What Kind of King?

I wonder if we’ve created all these other “Kings” because more than once, we’ve been disappointed in the sort of King Jesus has turned out to be.   He never came charging in on a big white horse with his battle sword drawn.   The closest he came was riding into town on a little, tame colt, in a small parade.  He wasn’t born into a palace greater than we can imagine.  Instead, he was born in a place meant to house barnyard animals.  He’s never once made our lives any easier.  Instead, he complicates them infinitely as he subverts “the norms” that we’ve come to appreciate.   He’s not vanquished the ones who hurt our feelings.  Instead, he’s told us to consider all better than ourselves.  He’s not rewarded us for our careful accumulation of wealth and accomplishments.  No, he’s told us we can be the greatest by giving ourselves away. 

I’ve been thinking about what makes it hard for us to trust in Christ’s lordship, and I’ve come up with two things.

First of all, movies and books have told us what we’re supposed to think about Kings. We know what kings are supposed to look like and do.  And Jesus hasn’t met any of the criteria.  Just what kind of king is this Jesus guy anyway?  Well, surely not the kind we thought we were looking for.

So instead, we settle for the kinds of earthly “kings” that promise to make us a brave new world with only things that make us happy.  We’d choose a king named “Sir Stuff”, or “Prince Power” or whatever else.  We seek first those kingdoms, and hope they live up to their campaign promises.  Things are great for a while, until we realize we need more and more and more, and that instead of resting easy as beloved children in the arms of the One who loves us, we’re mean-spirited, power-hungry, possession-loving little monsters.   And then we turn and look at our “kings” with wide-eyed wonder and can’t believe that we have been let down. 

Maybe, if we’re lucky, we turn back to Jesus.  But then we’re back to the problem of Jesus not behaving the way we think he ought to.

Another scene that grabbed my attention in Where the Wild Things Are, was when the wild things realize that Max is just a little boy, and not any sort of king at all.  One character, Carol, was particularly hoping that Max would turn out to be a great king, and is wildly disappointed when Max doesn’t do anything that Carol thinks he should.  Carol, the wild thing, complains about this fact to Max.  And Max hangs his head and says, “I’m haven’t ruled the Vikings, and I’m not a king.”  Carol is quiet for a while, then wonders exactly what Max is.  Max says simply, “I’m a Max.  I’m just me.”  And Carol reminds Max of his earlier fear that he wasn’t much loved by saying, “Well that isn’t very much, is it?”

I wonder how many times we’ve been disappointed in the things of the world, and finally in our frustration turn to Jesus, only to find him standing there staying that he’s not going to slay our dragons for us, that he’s not larger than life, and that life with him isn’t only going to “cookies and milk” moments.   Then like Carol, we ask Jesus what he is, and when he says, “I’m just me”, we turn our backs thinking that that’s not very much at all. 

The other thing, I think, that is a hinderance to us trusting Christ’s reign is that we’re used to fads.  If you don’t know what I’m talking about, think back to the 1980’s.  I don’t know about you, but I’m kind of glad I don’t dress now like I did then.  Or think about all those Christmases where you stood in line waiting to get “The Toy” of the year-- which was nothing like the previous year’s “Toy.”  We’ve gotten used to the fact that things don’t last.  They either break, or they go out of style.   

So then, this Jesus guy, who doesn’t look or act much like the King we think he ought to be, shows up.  And while we know we’re supposed to think of him as an Eternal King, we don’t, because we can’t really contemplate anything that lasts forever. 

I think this passage where a people like us finds a hope that we won’t always be like this. 

1. The not yet, the already

We love the pieces of this passage that talk about Jesus who is going to come.  While we don’t yet know what to do with ourselves, we trust that Jesus is coming to reign and that he’ll “sort everything out”.  That gives us a hope for a future beyond ourselves, and that’s easy for us.

What causes us to stumble is that Christ might already be reigning.  The world doesn’t feel that way.  I don’t feel that way.  When I ponder the coming of Christ, I’ve envisioned myself being made whole, and perfect...or at least nice.

I wonder if it might dash our hopes to really realize that Christ already reigns.  Does that crush our dreams of being able to love like Christ loves one day?   Does that make us hang our heads, and send us back to our original thought that maybe we should have an “earthly” King, and a “heavenly” one, you know, just in case? 

Or does it give us hope that the process is both long, and ongoing?  And that we are being made new over and over again? 

I don’t know how you feel about it, but here is what I can offer you.

This passage isn’t about a backup plan.  In fact, it’s about the beginning and end, and every piece of bliss, and every road of turmoil in between. 

1. A Revelation

This whole book is about a revelation (one revelation, not lots of them) of who Christ is, what Christ has done, and what that means for us.

The book is about more:  more power, more transformation, more dignity for God’s children.  More than we can see presently, more than we can dare dream. 

And this book is about promise:  things are not as they seem.  The things that seem so final and sure turn out to be neither one.  The earthly kings which we are so willing to give so much power turn out to be mere pretenders. 

This passage begins with familiar words, “Grace and Peace to You”, words which are a rare commodity these days.  But the promise in this passage is that the days when those words are the first on our lips are being ushered in by the one who is both already here, and still yet to come. 

This passage is not about a king for “the meantime”.  In fact, if we take the words we see today seriously, it negates our need to even bother with the “in the meantime” thoughts. 

The one we worship and celebrate today is the “King of King and Lord of Lords.”  Even if the world says otherwise. Even if we accidentally let our allegiance roam to other beings.   The promise I see is that Christ is still king, and king over even the “even ifs”. Can your “in the meantime kings” say that?

Didn’t think so. 

As you’re waiting for the days when the clouds are rolled back, and everyone knows just what sort of king Christ is, may you not look at the ways that Christ doesn’t match up with the world’s expectations.  May you instead stare with wide eyed wonder at the ways that Christ is changing the expectations, and giving you a hope for more.

Coca-Cola has taught us that their product is the “real thing”.   But if you had to choose a “real king”, who would you pick? The ones who make all sorts of “campaign promises” and who are here today and gone tomorrow?  Or would you pick the One who tells you that the road might be tough, and filled with potholes, but that the journey will be so worth it?  If I had to guess, I’d think that this last choice is the one that has some staying power.

A king for “the mean time”?  Or the King of Kings, Lord of Lords-- who has dominion over all things? 

Glory be to the one in whom we have our beginning and  the one in whose hands is our ending; the one who is, and who is to come. 

Amen. 

Give Yourself Away

“Give Yourself Away”

Isaiah 55:1-6, Mark 12:38-44

Nov 15, 2009 (Ord 33B?)

I. Intro

  I wonder how many sermons you’ve heard on this particular story.  Perhaps, every three years or so, as it rolls around on the lectionary, during what is traditionally “stewardship season”.  Perhaps, it’s about as predictable as having turkey on Thanksgiving.  And I’d almost be willing to bet that every preacher has hailed this poor woman up as a model for giving, because she gave all that she had.  Perhaps, they’ve told you how you need to be more like her, and really dig deep in your pockets, trusting that God will provide. Or perhaps they told you to quit giving God the leftovers, and give as Abel did, from the best of what he had.  And while the finance committee pats your preacher on the back, because they just know that pledges will go up, you go home with a heavy heart, because it’s just not possible for you to give everything you have.  

Yeah, I’ve heard that one too.  I don’t know.  Maybe it’s on the checklist of what every “good” preacher should do.

And as the session is getting ready to sit down with the budget in the next couple of weeks, some part of me is going to wish I could preach that sermon.  As we look at the ways our budget has been or has not been met, perhaps I’m going to wish that I had said something brilliant to make our contributions go up. 

I was pretty excited upon finding this text in my group of lectionary choices for the week, because I had planned to do some sort of stewardship thing in November.   It looks like it ought to be every preacher’s gift.  It looks like there ought to be a neatly packaged sermon in there somewhere that both challenges its hearers and uplifts them for the things they are already doing.

But the problem arises in really digging deep in both the text and commentaries around it.  

1. The Context

It’s definitely an interesting pairing that Jesus talks about the priests in their long flowing robes in just the couple of verses before he praises the woman that nobody would otherwise notice.  He’s condemning their hypocrisy for saying one thing, and really thinking other things.  They’re all about looking like they care about doing God’s work, but what they’re really interested in is padding their own pockets.

I wonder if it’s possible that instead of just holding the woman up as a role model, that he is also using her to point a finger at an institution that is ok with a widow giving all she has so that same institution can keep worrying about itself.  

As far as I can tell, Jesus isn’t worried about the amounts people are giving.  I don’t think he’s even worried about how much people are giving in proportion to what they have.  I think he’s drawing a sharp contrast between the hearts of the givers.  The ones that give are worried about who is watching them give.  They’re worried about what giving gets them.  And not only that, but these folks are giving out of their excess-- they probably don’t even notice as the money leaves their wallets and their lives.  No, with them, it’s not about the giving at all.

III.  The one to Watch

But for the woman, these coins are all she has.  Because she is a widow, she is a nobody.  She has no power, no status, and certainly no money she can call her own.   We commend her for giving all she has, but it’s also worth noting that these two coins wouldn’t have changed her life.Any tremendously poor person would tell you that that having a buck or two in their pocket won’t get them off of welfare or change their world. 

Both Mark and the early readers would have known that.  Yet Mark, the man of few words, chose to bring this detail out.  Maybe what we were supposed to take from it is she gave up anything that even resembled independence, willingly making herself fully dependent on God, and others around her. 

I’ve thought about this a bit, and I’ve realized that this woman is our direct opposite, just not in the way we’re taught we are.  The problem is not that she gives out of her need and we give out of our excess.  What’s different is that as she gives, she gives away her claim.  

I think, the more we give, the greater our claim becomes.  It’s almost like we’re buying a piece of the church as if it were a company on the stock exchange.  The more we give, the greater the piece of it we own.  I’m not even really talking about this church in particular-- I am, however, quite aware of just how much consumerism affects not only our lives, but that even permeates our churches.  We’re taught that you “get what you pay for”, and of course, since that works everywhere else, it must work in the church too.  As far as we’re concerned, putting our offering in the plate means we get to put our proverbial “two cents” in, because by golly, we’ve bought the rights to do at least that.

And here is this woman who probably literally has nothing freely giving what little she has away.  In some ways she reminds me of the people I met in Africa.  While I was there, I was, comparatively, quite wealthy.  Yet, these folks wanted so badly to be hospitable, that they tried to give me anything they had.  If they had a mango, then they wanted to take the whole thing, and felt offended if I tried to say no.  It was their great joy to give it away. 

I’m not sure I would have connected this had I not just been working on it, but last Tuesday our Celebration of Discipline Study discussed the Spiritual Discipline of Simplicity.   The author of the book contends that to live a life of simplicity is to live a life that is much more free from anxiety than most of us know. He says that simplicity is gained when we do three things.

1. Believe that all we have is a gift from God.
2. Believe that God, not us, is responsible for caring for those gifts.
3. Make all that we have available to others.

We live in a culture that does not value simplicity.  In fact, if we’re not buying into “new and improved”, and “bigger is better” then something must be wrong with us.  I guess that’s why these three things would be so hard for us to do.  First of all, we see little, besides maybe our health and our family, as a gift.  Everything thing else, we more or less reason we’ve earned.  And because we’ve earned it, it’s our job to take care of it.  We could simply reason God out of that picture, saying “God, you watch out for our hearts, and we’ll take care of the STUFF”.  And then, because we’ve earned what we have, and because we feel obligated to care for it, we are unable to make it available to others.   We sound like the little birds on the Pixar short who all want a piece of the wire to sit on, going “Mine! Mine, mine! Mine”.

But today, we bump into a woman who is an absolute radical.  She’s not radical because she gives so much when she has nothing to give.  She’s not radical because she can mark 100% in the tithing column on her checklist of what a good Christian should do.  No, those things make her different.  She’s radical and subversive because she is not bound by the things that bind us.  It doesn’t matter who is watching her, because her two coins would, if anything, underwhelm them instead of overwhelming them.  Perhaps, if she were being watched, she’d even be the object of scorn because she couldn’t give more.  She’s radical because she is so free to “Seek first the Kingdom of God”, and trust that everything will fall in place afterward.

In some ways, I envy this woman.   I know that doesn’t sound very intelligent.  After all, who of us with many material blessings would willingly change places with someone who has nothing?  But to live a life without the anxiety that comes from needing to hang on and protect what’s mine-- wow, that’d be great.  She’s not worried about what people will think of her.  She’s not anxious that she’s giving in her last two coins.  She’s not worried that her next meal is questionable. In this act of worship, we see a woman putting in all her chips.  She could be the posterchild for faithful giving.  But she could also be the posterchild for practicing the discipline of Simplicity.   What a freeing thing that must be!

1. Do it anyway

But what surprises me is that she’s not giving to a worthy cause. Before you sit there fuming in the seats saying, “But she was giving to the church!” I know that.  But the church she was giving to hasn’t exactly been hailed as a model.  In fact, Jesus calls it a den of robbers!  I think this woman must’ve known.  I don’t see her as some teary-eyed sentimental who could say nothing bad about the church.  She knew that it was corrupt.  She knew that if it was really seeking first the kingdom of God that it wouldn’t expect her to give out of her poverty to pad the priest’s pockets.  Yet she gave anyway.  And not just that, but she gave all she had...to an institution that was thoroughly corrupt. 

How different is that attitude of giving from what we do!  Our first instinct, when we see something we don’t like in the church is to cut our pursestrings.  We say to ourselves, “That’s not MY church.  When it straightens itself out, then I’ll put more in.  When it is worthy.” 

But we don’t just do it with money. We even do it with our participation.  We say “When they stop this or that, I’ll go back.  When such and such a person leaves, then I’ll resume my participation.”  Not just in this church, but in all churches.  It’s a widespread thing!

I couldn’t swear to it, but maybe those attitudes are because we feel like we own the church.  One of the things of which I was reminded as I was preparing for last week’s study on Simplicity is that “The Earth is the Lord’s and all that is in it.”   The church, the coins in our pocket-- they’re neither mine nor yours.  They’re the Lord’s. 

I wonder what Christ would say to us if we were seen holding ourselves back, because the church isn’t worthy?  I think he might hang his head, and say, simply, “Do it Anyway.”

Probably most of you have heard the country song, “Do it anyway.” Martina McBride talks about praying and believing and loving when it doesn’t make sense.  It’s a great song, but I think she might have based it on a poem that was found written on Mother Theresa’s home for Children.  Hear these words: 

People are often unreasonable, irrational, and self-centered.  Forgive them anyway. If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives.  Be kind anyway. If you are successful, you will win some unfaithful friends and some genuine enemies.  Succeed anyway. If you are honest and sincere people may deceive you.  Be honest and sincere anyway.  What you spend years creating, others could destroy overnight.  Create anyway. If you find serenity and happiness, some may be jealous.  Be happy anyway. The good you do today, will often be forgotten.  Do good anyway.  Give the best you have, and it will never be enough.  Give your best anyway.  In the final analysis, it is between you and God.  It was never between you and them anyway.

Mother Theresa, it seems to me, is telling us to give ourselves away, even if we don’t think the recipient is worthy.  That’s a tough thing to do, until we start to realize that nothing we have is ours alone.  Not ourselves, not our money, not our love.  All is a gift, and all will be cared for by God. 

The woman who literally puts her two cents in is quite a role model. Not because she gives 100%, but because she literally gives herself away, without worrying about the consequences.  Can you imagine the freedom that must bring?

What if the church did that? Gosh, what if we loved recklessly, without regard for the consequences? What if we didn’t worry about what was in the bank, what if we didn’t worry about what people might think of us, what if we didn’t worry about our property and how it might be misused? That’d be downright dangerous!  Here more words of calling: 

The Church is called to be Christ’s faithful evangelist 

(1) going into the world, making disciples of all nations, 

baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son 

and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all he has 

commanded; 

(2) demonstrating by the love of its members for one 

another and by the quality of its common life the new 

reality in Christ; sharing in worship, fellowship, and 

nurture, practicing a deepened life of prayer and service 

under the guidance of the Holy Spirit; 

(3) participating in God’s activity in the world through its 

life for others by 

(a) healing and reconciling and binding up wounds, 

(b) ministering to the needs of the poor, the sick, the 

lonely, and the powerless, 

(c) engaging in the struggle to free people from sin, 

fear, oppression, hunger, and injustice, 

(d) giving itself and its substance to the service of 

those who suffer, 

(e) sharing with Christ in the establishing of his just, 

peaceable, and loving rule in the world. 

The Church is called to undertake this mission even at the risk 

of losing its life, trusting in God alone as the author and giver of 

life, sharing the gospel, and doing those deeds in the world that 

point beyond themselves to the new reality in Christ. 

The church is called to do these things, even at the risk of losing it’s life.  Just as we’re called, like the woman, to put in all our chips because we’ve been freed to do that. 

My apologies to the finance committee who thought I’d preach a sermon to raise the pledges.  Tithe more, give as much as you’re able.  That’s fine and good.  But I’m asking you to pledge to give yourself away, even at the risk of losing those things that are most comfortable for you. Give it away, give it all away-- because the Earth is the Lord’s and ALL that is in it.  Our only task is to be faithful stewards of what we’ve been given, and we do that best, by letting it go. 

Amen. 

Going to Graceland

Going to Graceland

Nov 8, 2009 (Celebrating All Saints-- a week late)

Revelation 21

I swore I wouldn’t do this-- I wouldn’t preach from Revelation because it’s just too often misunderstood.  But as I started looking at the texts for All Saints Day, I fell in love with the passage.

If most of us were honest, a casual reading through the book is enough to “scare us straight”-- and if we’re not scared for ourselves, we’re scared for someone we know-- who either doesn’t know Christ, or who isn’t doing the job of walking the Christian walk that we think they ought to be.

But at it’s heart, the book of Revelation was intended to be a comfort.  It was written by John of Patmos during a time of severe persecution-- intended to bring hope and comfort to seven churches who were also undergoing this persecution.   It was never intended to be the book of damnation that we’ve come to believe it is.

Scholars look at the book of Genesis as a story of beginnings-- a story of how we got here.  In the same sort of way, they look at Revelation as a promise of where we’re going.  I don’t know about you, but I’m a lot better at thinking about how I got here than I am about figuring out where I’m going. 

One of the things I immediately love about this passage is that the writer is given the opportunity to step back from the world, and view life from the perspective of eternity. 

Do you ever have the feeling that you have so many things to deal with that you’re only seeing such a small part of the world? I often have the “can’t see the forrest for all the trees” sort of sensation.

But what if you were given the opportunity to step back, way back, from all these things?  

When I was a kid, my neighborhood seemed pretty big.  I could hop on my bike and ride for an hour and still not see all of it.  And by the same token, my town seemed huge (though I’ve since learned that town is barely a “map dot”). I remember the first time I got on a plane that I was old enough to see out of the window.  As I was waiting, I couldn’t even comprehend what was “out there”.  I mean I just knew I’d see my house, and my church, and my school-- but then couldn’t really imagine what else I’d see as we flew to florida.   Imagine my surprise when I didn’t even get to see my house or church or school or any of the things that seemed so huge in my world.  By time we were off the ground, those things, had I even been in the right place to be able to see them, would have been no bigger than ittty bitty legos. 

So what if you had the opportunity to view your life from the perspective of eternity?  What would you see? I don’t think you’d see the bills.  I don’t think you’d see your infernal, ever growing todo list.  I don’t think you’d see the things that worry you so much.  Even if you’ve been stuck in bed for what seems like the longest  two weeks like I have,  I can’t imagine that in the grand scheme of things, that would even be noticeable.  

The things that seem so huge, and so overwhelming, and so all consuming  wouldn’t even be noticeable. 

I can’t put my finger on why it is, but that thought is so incredibly freeing to me. 

Maybe it’s because it reminds me that I’m but a speck in the world, and I guess that takes some of the pressure to be and do and have away.  But it also reminds me that my speck of existence is connected to your speck of existence.  My world has more or less been the walls of my house for almost two weeks-- and maybe my yard if I felt really daring.  I didn’t watch news, and I couldn’t really connect with anybody.   It’s like I was vaguely aware that a world existed “out there”, but that’s all it was-- a vague existence.  But finally, I got out-- and I remembered what it was to be in the world: I saw little Grays Creek, and some of Fayetteville.

How easy it is to forget that we’re only part of a world, and that the world is so much bigger than the little itty bitty thing that we think it is.  At least for me, it’s really helpful to be reminded that I’m a community member, and that how I interact with other people is really important. 

I guess, thinking about these “getting the big picture” sort of ideas leads me to wonder something else: what do our lives look like from God’s perspective?

 I’ve been thinking and praying about that for a while-- and though I believe that our God is intimate enough with each of us that no detail escapes God’s notice, and I definitely believe that some of the things we do make God weep,  I also believe that God sees us and says, “Yup, there’s one I can redeem with my love.”

Today, we’re celebrating All Saints Day-- it’s a day that carries generations of traditions.  It’s a day when we’re specifically pausing to remember those saints in our lives-- the ones that have somehow made us the people we are-- and have shown us the people we hope to one day become.   For the church, especially in the middle ages, All Saints day was a huge feast day, that carried all the festivities of even Easter and Christmas.   And fittingly enough for us in this congregation today, it was also a traditional day for Baptisms, because at one’s baptism, he or she is officially counted among the Company of Saints as he or she publicly joins Christ’s family. 

At first, I was flustered at the idea that being sick last Sunday would pile too much on this Sunday.  When we originally scheduled the Baptism, I carefully looked at my calendar and thought, “that will be great-- the Baptism will be the only thing going on, and we won’t even be doing communion or anything!”  Ha! “The best laid plans of mice and men often go awry.”  But as I’ve been thinking about everything, I discovered it couldn’t be more perfect if I’d planned it that way. 

What does it mean to be welcomed into the Company of Saints?  I don’t think that’s the high pressure title I used to think it was.  It doesn’t mean that you have to be a saint.  Rather, I think, it means that you join the rest of us ragamuffins who rarely get it right, but whom Christ is working to redeem. 

As I was putting together the slide show, it was quite a holy experience for me.  I quite literally felt like I was holding Saints in my very hands.  I know, I know.  The pictures you submitted were of brothers and sisters and cousins and mothers and fathers and grandparents and friends.  And the folks who submitted the pictures are the only ones who know the stories behind the pictures.  You might chuckle to yourself when you hear me call them saints, because you know they weren’t-- you know they got mad, or that they forgot your birthday, or gosh--maybe they even pulled your hair.  Yet, out of all the people you know that have died, these are the ones you picked for me to include.  Not, I think, because you were under the impression that they were perfect, but  because you know that your love for them erases most of their shortcomings, at least in your mind.  And not only that, but something you saw in these people makes you want to be a better person. 

I wonder if the same principle applies with Christ looks at us with eyes brimming with love?  Even though we rarely get it right, Christ doesn’t just give up on us.  Rather, Christ loves us so much that it makes us want to be better people.   And the promise that grabs hold of me, especially on this day when we’re celebrating All Saints Day, is that Christ won’t stop working for my newness of life until I really am a saint.

I said earlier that we were a lot better at thinking about the places from which we’ve come, and not so great at thinking about the places we’re going. But being a Christian takes a lot of the work out of it-- we’re not just going anywhere.  We’re going back to God.  The picture we saw in the words of Revelation today is our ultimate destination.   It’s a picture of what it will be like when humans and God dwell together in complete communion, just as we did before the fall.

One of my favorite songs is “Graceland” by Paul Simon.  It was a tradition that every time we took a family car trip, we would listen to this album.  At first, I probably loved it because my dad loved it (and it was one of the few songs he’d sing to.)  Then maybe I loved it because it had engaging rhythms.  But as I’ve grown, it’s kind of become a piece of who I am and what I believe.  In fact, the name under which I do things like writing and photography is Going to Graceland.

The song I’m talking about is a story of a very broken man and some of the broken people he’s encountered. And this man, and his little boy “a child from my first marriage” are going to Graceland, in Memphis Tennessee. 

One of the choruses says this,

 In Graceland Graceland,

I'm going to Graceland,

For reasons I cannot explain

There's some part of me wants to see

Graceland,

And I may be obliged to defend

Every love every ending

Or maybe there's no obligations now,

Maybe I've a reason to believe

We all will be received

In Graceland

I guess the reason this has become so much a part of who I am is that I know it describes me, and I’m guessing it describes most of humanity.   We’re a people broken apart, and we’re all on this incredible journey.  We don’t know exactly what we’ll find when we get there, but we keep on going.  We don’t know what will be asked of us, we don’t know which decisions we’ll be asked to defend.  But still we go-- and we like the man in the song, trust that despite our brokenness, we will be gathered up and received in Graceland. 

This beautiful passage from Revelation never talks about Saints.  It doesn’t talk about even talk about sin.  What it does speak of is a glorious gathering up, when God redeems those who have been unlovable.  And God himself comes and dwells among them. 

But here’s the amazing part.  This passage isn’t just a “One Day” passage-- it’s a passage that started when Christ died for us.  The redeeming and making new is something that has already started.  We get to participate in the ongoing reclamation of creation.

“Write these words down, for they are trustworthy and true. I am the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end. ... He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.

I AM makING all things new.”

When God looks at us,  I think he sees neither sinners nor saints.  I think what God sees is a whole world of people that can be made new.

Sinners? Yeah.  Saints?  Yeah.  Broken people? Sure.  Those barely old enough to have sinned, those who’ve had a whole life time to miss the mark, Whoever you are, c’mon. 

We’re going to graceland, and maybe I have reason to believe that we will be received.  Amen.