For All the Saints

All Saints Sunday is my favorite weekend of worship of the entire year (and not just because it always coincides with Daylight Savings Time and an extra hour of sleep on Sunday morning). I countdown all year, preparing to sing with gusto the verses of “For All the Saints,” which is my favorite hymn. While I hold tight to the promise of eternal life throughout the year, on All Saints Sunday I cling to it as I am especially mindful of the saints in the great cloud of witnesses who surround us each time we gather at the Lord’s Table.

As your pastor, I find there to be something especially holy about standing at the font and the altar and naming the new saints—both naming those baptized into the living saints among us and naming those who have died into the great cloud of witnesses. Most years, I read the names through eyes blurry with tears. After nearly 10 years of ministry with you, the saints we have buried this past year people who I had come to know and love deeply. One of my greatest privileges is walking with you and sharing in your grief, too.

As I look at the pictures of all those who surround us in the great cloud of witnesses and out at all of you living saints in the congregation, the memories come flooding back of the saints in my life who have led me to this place. I remember people like Miss Betty Gerwig, the volunteer librarian at my home congregation when I was growing up who taught me how to play the game “dots” one Sunday while I waited for my parents to finish talking. I think about Mrs. Genevieve Manley, too, an older woman at the church who had no family in the area who my mom helped care for by driving her to doctors and checking in on her until her death. These two women taught be about what it meant to be a “faith family” long before I knew the phrase.

It is also the Sunday of the church year when I think about all of the children who I had the privilege to teach back when I was a teenager and sensing this call to ministry. All of those kids are now grown up. Some of them even have kids of their own. One of them, Billy, passed away in a tragic accident this year and I’ll be trusting he will be there in the great cloud of witnesses.

Finally, I call to mind the saints who taught me about generosity and faithfulness to God and the church. One of those saints is my grandfather. I was in my early 20s and visiting him one afternoon when he asked me to get his checkbook. He wanted me to write out his monthly contribution to the church for him so he could sign the check. He was homebound at the time, not getting to church and nearing death. “You are still giving to the church, Di?” I remember saying to him that afternoon. “Of course,” he explained, “you don’t stop giving to the church just because you cannot go.” It is a lesson that took me several years to learn and digest, but my faith journey has been far richer because of it.

I invite you to join me in thinking about your saints this weekend. Call to mind the people who have brought you to this place. We know and trust that they are present with us each and every time we gather at the Lord’s Table. This weekend, in particular, we will celebrate their presence as we cling to the promise of eternal life together.