The church has come under a lot of pressure in the last few
years to catch up with the culture. We have sent Synod officials to Disney Enterprises
to learn the ways of hospitality. We have hired ad agencies to develop a campaign
for outreach materials. Poor old church, so out of step, so discordant with
the tune of the times. People are always accusing the church of being old fashioned,
antiquarian. You can see their point. Our preachers dress in the fashion of
centuries long passed. The music is not generally on the “top ten"
chart. And the Bible—this old, very old book with its old words and old
ideas.
Now truly some of this push is not unfounded. It has been said the saddest seven
last words of the church are “We never did it that way before.” Sometimes
our traditionalism gets the best of us. We stagnate and petrify and die.
This Sunday we celebrate All Saints Day, that festival when we give thanks for
the saints who have walked the way of faith before us. But in a way, every Sunday
is all Saints. Whenever we sing a hymn, read from scripture, even pray and preach,
we are doing so with the saints. We are dependent on those who have gone before
us to give us the words, tell us the stories, and teach us the tunes whereby
we praise God, grow in our faith and commitment and find the way that leads
to God.
Today’s lesson from Revelation, the last book of the Bible, speaks of heaven
as a great multitude so large no one could count them. They are those who having
sung God’s songs on earth in their lifetimes, now sing that song before
the throne of the lamb for all time. When asked, “Who are these?”
John is told that they are the ones who passed through great ordeals and yet
were faithful. They kept believing and hoping, witnessing and giving, even when
the going got rough. Now they rest from their labors. Now they are in the presence
of the great shepherd who wipes away all tears and guides them to the waters
of eternal life. Note that these saints are in a great
processional, a great parade moving around the throne of God. Years ago Martin
Bell wrote his version of this great processional.
I think God must be very old and very tired. Maybe he used to look splendid
and fine in his generals uniform but no more. He’s been on the march a
long time you know. And look at his rag tag little army! All he has for soldiers
is you and me. Dumb little army. Listen! The drumbeat isn’t even regular.
Everyone is out of step. And there! You see? God keeps stopping along the way
to pick up one of his tinier soldiers who decided to wander off. He’ll
never get anywhere that way. And yet the march goes on.
Do you see how the marchers have broken up into little groups? Look at that
group up near the front. Now, there’s a snappy outfit. They all look pretty
much alike—at least they’re in step with one another. That’s
something! Only they’re not wearing their shoes. They’re carrying
them in their hands. Silly little band they won’t get far before God will
have to stop again. Or how about that other little group over there? They’re
all holding hands as they march. The only trouble with this is the soldiers
on each end of the line. Pretty soon they realize that one of their hands isn’t
holding anything—one hand is reaching empty alone. And so they hold hands
with each other and everybody marches around in circles. And so God must stop
again.
If God were more sensible he’d take his little army and shape them up.
Why, whoever heard of a soldier stopping to romp in a field? It’s ridiculous.
But even more absurd is a general who will stop the march of eternity to go
and bring him back. But that’s God for you. His is no endless, empty marching.
He is going somewhere. His steps are deliberate and purposive. He may be old
and he may be tired, but he knows where he’s going. And he means to take
every one of his tiny soldiers with him. Only there aren’t going to be
any forced marches. And even though our foreheads have been signed with the
sign of the cross, we are only human. And most of us are afraid and lonely and
would like to hold hands or cry or run away. And we don’t know where we’re
going, and we can’t seem to trust God—especially when it’s dark
and we can’t see him! But he won’t go on without us. And that’s
why it’s taking so long.
Listen! The drumbeat isn’t even regular. Everyone is out of step. And there!
You see? God keeps stopping along the way to pick up one of his tinier soldiers.
He’ll never get anywhere that way! And yet the march goes on…
You and I are part of that long, more than 2000-year processional moving toward
the lamb. The saints are those who walk before us, those who show us the way.
We start our anniversary celebration today. I’m thinking about all the
saints who have touched the life of Holy Spirit church—who moved us this
far in our journey. I’m looking at Grace and and Madison and Ryan and thinking
of all the saints who will help them along in their journey. I would not be
here today if it were not for all the saints who put up with me in Sunday School
and told me the stories of Jesus, who cared about me and guided me when I was
confused and challenged me when I got whiny and weak. I’m thinking of a
multitude that I could not possibly name today. I expect that you are also thinking
about the people who put you here today, the saints who nurtured you in this
faith and to whom you owe your commitment to Christ.
Today is the day we give thanks for these saints, all of them, and acknowledge
our indebtedness to them. Today we give thanks for the saints who surround the
throne of the lamb. Name them, claim them, give thanks to God that they are
there for you.
Today is the day we recommit ourselves to carry on that parade, to be for others
what they have been for us.
Thanks to William Willimon for sermon ideas. Pulpit Resource 2002 and To Martin
Bell, The Way of the Wolf “Rag Tag Army.”
Amen.