Formed for better and worse
Clare L. Hickman
St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Ferndale
November 3, 2019—All Saints
“Star Market” by Marie Howe; Luke 6:20-31
The feast of All Saints was originally celebrated in May, but the Western Church moved it to October 31 in the seventh or eighth century “to replace the persistent celebration of Samhain … in Gaelic speaking cultures.”[i] We did this all the time: laid a Christian feast on top of a popular local festival. And yes, on the one hand, this functioned to suppress and/or Christianize these pagan observances. But it was more complex than that, because the wisdom and meaning of those older feasts also then informed the Christian festival, deepening its significance.
And so the festival of Samhain, a Celtic feast that recognizes the way that the veil between the living and the dead thins at the time of the autumn equinox, adds richness to our celebration of the continued influence and presence of the saints. Their instinct not only to commune with the beloved departed, but also to protect themselves from less friendly spirits, enriches our understanding of what we are doing.
We come here to celebrate our connection to those faithful who precede us, to acknowledge that the Body of Christ includes the living AND the dead, across the world and across time. We are mystically, powerfully connected. They are still here with us, in ways that defy our explanation and understanding.
Some of them raised us. Some of them loved us through our hardest times. Some inspired us to be better. They FORMED us, and we gather them to us today to honor and remember that.
But the fact is, as the Celts knew on a very deep level, not all of the spirits are friendly. But they are all here, nonetheless. If the veil between the living and the dead is thin; if the connection between the living and the dead continues; then we’ve brought everybody here with us today. We can give thanks for those who cared for and formed us in all the best ways. But we also have to acknowledge those who formed us in less helpful ways. We need to figure out how to accept that, how to make sense of it in a way that will help protect us from those malign spirits that are also present to us.
Let’s begin, though, by gathering to ourselves those who have formed us in good ways. Let us remember and give thanks for those who were life-giving examples to us. Those who healed us from the many ways in which we have been wounded, from scraped knees to broken hearts to self-destructive behaviors of all kinds. Let us give thanks for those who cared for and raised us and helped us along. Let us give thanks for those who challenged us to be better, to try harder, to see beyond our own wants and needs to a larger picture; those who taught us so many things about kindness and competence, about self-reliance and self-sacrifice, about honesty and compassion. Let us remember those who taught us how to change a tire or bake a pie. Let us remember those who inspired us to do all these things for others; those who gave us an example of what people can do and be in this world to make it lighter, warmer, stronger, and more vital.
To all of those people, whether close to us or separated by centuries: we welcome you. You helped to form us, and we thank you. We gather you to us now, grateful for these times when the veil thins and you seem even closer to us than ever, and we hold onto that promise as we move into our future.
At the same time, we know that not all of our dead are benign. Not all of those powerful influences are friendly. And so we are more careful with these, as we acknowledge the dead (or those who will be dead someday) who formed us in more complicated ways.
The veil is thin. So they are all here. Here, now, the less perfect examples. Those who perhaps showed us the way not to help a child thrive. Those who denied love and compassion; those whose discipline taught nothing useful; those who simply were not there. Those whose moral compass spun wildly, leaving us no center on which to base our sense of right and wrong. Those who hurt us, physically, emotionally, spiritually. Those who put limits on us, because they valued us so little, or denied us opportunity, or needed us to fit into their narrow boxes of what is expected.
They formed us. But they do not have to have the last word. We can reject their example and throw away their script. We can climb up and over the ruins they made of our childhood, or our marriage, or our last job. We can use them as guideposts, pointing toward “what not to do.” We can, that is, recognize them as unfriendly spirits, and put on a new reality that protects us from their influence.
To all those people, mostly close to us, but some of them separated by centuries (because evil people fill our history and torture our imaginations): we acknowledge you, and welcome you not because we want you here, but because we know that pretending you don’t exist will only allow you to lurk in our shadows and put down roots. We admit (much as we don’t want to) that you helped form us, and we commit to finding ways to heal the damage that you did to us. And we commit to use your story (the bad parts of your story) as an ever-present caution for ourselves and for future generations.
The veil is thin. And they are ALL here with us.
We get to choose who we gather closest in, though. And on this feast of All Saints, we are encouraged to gather in those who show us the best ways to follow Jesus. We gather the saints, those who are well known and those who are less known. We gather all those who care for the sick and the hungry, and talk gently to the lonely. We gather those who think of the needs of others before their own. We gather those who care little for self-advancement, and are unimpressed by money or status. We come close to those who are capable of giving and receiving forgiveness, and we reach out an awe-struck hand to touch them.
The veil is thin, and they are RIGHT HERE. These shining examples of love and mercy are here to brighten our eyes and guide us on.
But they are not the only ones guiding us to the path of Christ. As He himself told us, the needy themselves will show us his face. And so we welcome and gather the examples of faithful living to ourselves. But we also welcome those whose vulnerability and need calls up the presence of Christ in us. They too are here. They too are always with us.
We gather to ourselves the poor and the hungry. We gather to ourselves those who weep. We gather to ourselves the outcasts, and those who are mocked and reviled for living by kingdom values. They are here, showing us the true face of Christ. They are here, kindling the true love of Christ in our hearts.
We light candles, to honor their presence.
A candle to welcome those who showed us the good.
A candle to acknowledge those who showed us the bad.
A candle for those saints who light the way of Jesus for others to see.
And a candle for all those who hunger, and weep, and are persecuted; who invite us into the very heart of God.
You are all here with us, as a great throng of witnesses. Forming us in ways that go beyond easy explanations. Showing us what it means to be the Body of Christ. We are grateful to be a part of it all, on this feast of All Saints and for all time. Amen.
[i] Kimberly Patton, https://hds.harvard.edu/news/2015/10/29/who-are-dead-and-what-do-they-want