Nov. 5, 2023

I speak to you in the name of God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen.

“What do you think you’re doing?”  How many of us have had a parent, or partner, some other person ask us that?  It’s a question that almost always puts us on the defensive.

So I was startled when our worship instructor in the diocese’s School for Formation asked our class – when we’re in worship, what do we think we’re doing?  But once I got past my initial hostile reaction to the question, I realized how hard it was to answer.  When we gather on Sunday mornings, what DO we think we’re doing?  Why are we here?  What does our being here accomplish?  I think our celebration of All Saints Day today gives us an opportunity to think about this.

I want us to do this in the context of our reading from Revelation.  Which is, frankly, a bold move, because Revelation is really weird.  It falls in the genre of apocalyptic literature – a genre that’s hard for us 21st century Christians to understand because it disappeared after the Middle Ages.  Its pessimism about the present can be downright scary.  Its symbolism is tied to a 2,000-year old culture.  With its strange and grotesque imagery, its confusing storyline, and its jumbled order of events, Revelation has been described by one theologian as “something Dr. Seuss might have thought up after a sleepless night reading Stephen King.”

So here’s one of two things I want you to walk away with this morning.  Even though it treats the end-times as something just around the corner, “apocalyptic” doesn’t necessarily refer to some frightening tribulation or to the end of the world.  Apocalypse, in fact, comes from a Greek word that means “to pull the lid off something”.  There’s a sense of unveiling or uncovering.  And so if we set aside Revelation’s symbolism and sheer weirdness, at its heart, it’s intended to unveil reality – to show Christians the truth about God and the world we live in.

With that as context, I want to turn to this great uncountable multitude in the reading today.  Who are these people that have come from all the tribes and people and languages of the world to stand before the throne and before the Lamb?  Are they the rich and the powerful?  Are they holy rollers who devoted hours and hours each day to Scripture study and contemplative prayer?  Are they the “Saints” through whom miracles are worked and for whom churches are named?

Maybe some of them are.  But my sense is that this multitude is made up of ordinary people.  They’re not perfectly sinless.  They’re not especially powerful.  They won’t have been the best and brightest.  In fact, I think we’d see ourselves in almost all of them. 

This multitude will have lived ordinary lives.  Overflowing with trials and temptations.  Filled with the pitfalls of distractions and interruptions.  They will have been pushed, and pulled, and maybe even pounded into powder by the events of their lives.  No different than you or me.  The “great ordeal” they’ve come through are things like job losses.  Marital problems.  Conflict near and far.  Homelessness.  COVID and other illnesses.  Loneliness.  Because the things we struggle with in our day-to-day lives are often “great ordeals”.  It doesn’t have to be the end of the world to feel like it’s the end of the world.

But what these worshippers do have are profound connections.  In the midst of everything, they’ve done their best to remain close to God through prayer and praise, acts of simple service and Scripture study.  Life has bloodied them, but their continued devotion to God has washed them clean.  And as they stand before the throne and worship God in God’s own presence they are connected.  In a world known for six or sixty or six hundred degrees of separation, they stand out.  Because in the New Jerusalem, they are a vibrant community with an unbreakable connection to the Lamb who is also the Shepherd.  And through the Shepherd, they have an unbreakable connection to each other.

Revelation is often read as a prediction of the future.  But it’s also already happened.  And it’s happening right now.  With its jumbled series of events, time has no meaning in this story.  Revelation unveils the reality that time has no meaning in God’s kingdom.  No meaning for those who have passed before us.  Time is as meaningless for the uncountable multitude as the walls of the womb are for you and me.

So.  What do we think we’re doing?  Here’s one answer, and it’s the second thing to remember today.  All Saints Day is a beautiful reminder that WE are saints.  WE are part of an unbroken community of the living and the dead, ordinary people who worship the Lamb together.  When we gather around this table and celebrate what Jesus has done as the Lamb of God during our Eucharist, we’re not just connected with each other.  Our worship resembles that of those who have gone before us, who are worshipping like us and with us right now, but in God’s awesome timeless presence.  And this connection sustains that most precious thing of all.  Our hope.

This morning Revelation reminds us that every church is called to be a sign and foretaste of the Reign of God.  Our worship here gives us the chance to lift a bit of the veil, if only for the briefest of moments, to glimpse the reality.  The reality that our connection through the Lamb who has defeated death means that we’re members of an unbroken community.  The reality that our celebration is just the palest shadow of the New Jerusalem that is our destination.  Where the water of life runs cool and refreshing for each of us.  Where, in the midst of all the saints, we will worship as God washes us clean from our great ordeals, too.  We see all that when we gather around this table.  Amen.