All Saints' Sunday

I have an announcement to make: I’m going to start a movement.

(And no, I don’t mean that I’m going to eat lots of fibre and lock myself away for the rest of the service with the latest issue of the Examiner.)

I’ve been keeping track, over the news and internet, of the ‘Occupy Wall Street’ movement. You’ve probably heard of it: around the rallying cry of “we are the 99%!” people created a tent city in New York to try to raise awareness of the growing gap between the rich and the poor. The movement spread, to other American cities and recently to Canadian ones, too. If you’ve been through downtown Edmonton lately, you’ve seen the little tents at Churchhill square. I kind of think, though, that a tent city has a slightly great chance of staying up in protest in California or Vancouver through the winter than it does in Edmonton.

That cry of “we are the 99%” is a reference to the economic reality that 1% of the world’s population are billionaires and thus disproportionately influence the lives of the rest of the population. And the protestors blog about it on their iPads and text each other on their iPhones and enjoy the close proximity to Starbucks.

And they call us hypocrites?

As I said, I’m going to start my own movement. I’m going to call it “Occupy Church Street,” and we’ll rally around the cry of “we are the 1%!”

And we are the 1%. Seriously; it’s not that we’re billionaires, but the population of Spruce Grove is around 23000 people; there are probably 250 people today worshipping here and at St. Augustine’s down the road. So, we really are 1% of the population.

So come on, and Occupy Church Street! Come for All Saints’ Sunday!

Flesh out that figure a little bit more to include the other churches in the city, and I think we could say that between 2500 and 3000 people are in churches here this morning – that’s a little better, more like 10% of the population.

And that’s really not all that bad. I read somewhere that on an average Sunday about quarter of any given churches’ membership comes to worship. So, 40% of people in our city would be members of some church in the area. How does that sound?

You’re either an optimist or a pessimist: either you thought hey, that’s not bad, or oh my goodness we need to do more evangelism!

But you know what? I think both are all right. After all, today is All Saints’ Sunday – a day when we remember that we take seriously that line in the creed about believing in the “communion of saints.” Today we are reminded by John’s letter that we should look and, “see what love the Father has given us, that we should be called children of God.”

Yup. Children of God, because God loves us. That should be enough, right? Then, we shouldn’t be spending too much time thinking about the 99% or the 1%, because we are truly all in this, together. This great work of life that will end when Christ returns again and bring peace and order to this troubled world…why can’t we all just get along?

Except…you all know that I’m not that naïve. And I know that you’re not. The world doesn’t work like that – we have rules, and boundaries, and we know that we have to work for what we have. We know that there are some people – some saints – who will have it better when Jesus comes again. And we may know who those people will be.

Certainly us. We, who are the 10%. And from that point, the list varies depending on who you talk to. But rest assured, there will be a list! There will be a list of ‘us’ and ‘them’. The ‘us’ go to heaven, and the ‘them’ go to hell. That’s something everyone can agree on.

Even the OWS people. Looking through pictures of the movement, I have seen some people bearing signs that say ‘blessed are the poor’, even some that say ‘the rich man went to hell’, referencing the parable Jesus tells about a rich man and a poor beggar.

Then, there are the people who protest the protestors, and they have signs decrying the behaviour and beliefs of those: “repent, or burn”, “Jesus can save you from hell”. You’ve seen some of those signs, yourself. Hell is a useful tool. It can cut through the chit-chat; it can end arguments quickly. It’s also a oddly comforting idea: knowing that hell exists means that those people who harm or oppress others, or believe differently than us are going to get their just desserts.

And today I’m certainly not going to debate the existence of hell. It’s in the creed; Jesus descended into it. I don’t think that Jesus descended into a metaphor; hell is a fact.

You can go to it, burn in it, roast in it, drive like it, preach like it, endure it, walk though it…like hell you will, like hell you won’t; like hell you could, but simply don’t. There’s a lot of hell out there.

In fact, there’s so much hell it’s a bit of a wonder that we can actually set aside a day and call it All Saints. Is there anyone left who may actually enjoy the pleasures of the resurrection? If it were up to us to judge, do you ever get the feeling that the list of saints would be a pretty short list?

But on all Saints’ Sunday, we need to reimagine our conception of hell. Yes, it exists. Yes, it is a frightening place. But our Saviour went there. And let me ask you this: have you ever looked at the creed, and wondered why, in fact, we confess that Jesus descended to the dead, or in the old language that he descended into hell? After all, what did Jesus do in his life that he deserved that?

The problem with thinking like that is that you imagine that Jesus descended to the dead as a victim. Jesus didn’t. Jesus descended to the dead as a conquerer, to drive open the very gates of the law and condemnation and preach to those souls that could never save themselves. Christ went to the dead for you; that death would have no dominion over you. For you, Christ damned death; for all the saints that have lived and will ever live Christ endured the cross and grave so that you may know what it is to be children of God.

To be children of God.

To be, children of God. See what great love the Father has for us, that we should be so-called.

Are you saved? I don’t know. I’ll tell you what a good Lutheran answer probably should be: Not yet. You have no need to fear hell; Christ has been there for you. But you are not in heaven, yet. Today we celebrate and remember the lives that have touched ours, however briefly, and who now rest. We know they rest with their Lord and Saviour, because of his great love for us.

Blessed are we. Blessed are those who mourn, who cry, who are poor in spirit, who are reviled, who are persecuted, who fear. Blessed are you, because now you are free. Free to live as a child of God, free to know that you are one of the multitude at the throne of the lamb, knowing that there is a day when mourning and crying will cease, that hatred and war will end, that persecution and struggle will be no more. Blessed are you.

Live like that’s true. Our Saviour tells us to rejoice, and be glad. There is no fear of death, no sting of hell. Rejoice, and be glad.

There’s a story told about a man who went swimming in the ocean with his two young children. They were laughing and splashing, and it wasn’t until it was too late that he noticed they’d gotten caught in a current that had pulled them far, far away from shore.

And the man began to panic, because he knew that he wasn’t strong enough to save both his children; he couldn’t swim to shore with both on his back, and by the time he made it back to shore with one, the other would be too far out to sea.

But he didn’t let his panic show. He said to his daughter, who was older: “sweetie, do you remember when daddy taught you that starfish float? You do? Good. Now here’s what I want you to do: I want you to float here, while daddy takes little brother back to shore. I’ll come back for you quick, you understand? Now go ahead, and float.” And the little girl said okay, and did just that.

And the man let his son grab onto his back and he struck out for shore, which seemed so very far away. And no matter how hard or fast he swam, it kept getting farther, and he was getting weaker. Finally, he reached the shore, and collapsed on the beach. He couldn’t rest, though, and he began to run down the beach yelling, “someone, help me! My daughter’s back out there on the water!”

And finally he found someone with a boat who was willing to help, but by this time his daughter was so far out to sea he desperately feared that he wouldn’t be able to find her. But they kept looking until, between the swells, he saw his little girl, still floating. And they moved to boat to her, and he swept her up in his arms and cried “my girl! Daddy’s so proud of you!” And she looked at him as said, “well daddy, I was just doing what you asked me to do, and when my arms got tired and I didn’t want to float anymore, I just remembered that you were coming.”

Blessed are you, children of God, for your Father is coming.

Let the people of God say amen.