SERMON  All Saints Day 2004    

Readings:     Daniel 7: 1-3, 15-18        Psalm 149        Ephesians 1: 11-23              Luke 6: 20-31

In the name of God, who calls us to the journey. Amen. 

Over the last couple of weeks I have been quoting a saying of Kahlil Gibran that appeals to me enormously. Gibran said, ‘Faith is an oasis not reached by the caravan of thinking’. The thing that I really like about this saying is that it acknowledges that faith is not wholly rational – thinking alone will not get you there. Faith is much more than intellectual assent to a set of propositions about the nature of God. The heart, the spirit and even a willingness occasionally to suspend reason, are also involved. You may not agree with this but even if you don’t agree, the saying is worth some consideration. You might also like to think through what it is about the saying that you dislike. It is often in reacting against something that we can clarify some of our own thoughts. 

Within the richness of its imagery Gibran’s saying contains the thoughts of life as a journey, and of faith as a wellspring bringing ease and fruitfulness. It conjures up pictures of deserts, camels, palm trees and refreshment. I do, however, quibble with the idea of faith as a destination. Faith is also part of the journey, something we practise, something we learn as we go. We carry the water of faith with us. Indeed, it is as much a verb as it is a noun. It is in being faithful that we become more faithful, just as a child learns to walk by walking. 

And it is not something that we do alone. Although we tend to think of our spiritual lives as intensely personal and intensely private, they are deeply rooted in our relational lives and, therefore, deeply rooted in the life of the community or communities in which we are. We might think we are alone with God in the sacred space of our inner life but the reality is that we are accompanied on our spiritual journey by a cloud of witnesses. And what a cloud it is!  

My guess is that each one of us has a list of saints – some of the them might be the great heroes of the church: St Paul, perhaps, Martin Luther, the Virgin Mary, the gospel writers. People whose witness to God through their lives and work has stood as a beacon of godliness across the centuries. But each one of us also has a list of people who have had a direct and lasting impact on our own spiritual journey. There could be well-known figures on the list: Nelson Mandela, for instance, or Mother Teresa; but there will also be the unknowns – the lady down the street, a member of the extended family, a teacher, someone at church.  

It is often these people who reach us most profoundly. One of my abiding memories of childhood is of a book given to me by my grandmother. It told the stories of the lives of a number of saints. I loved the stories but was left with the strong impression that saints were weird people who led utterly abnormal lives and were probably very difficult to live with. I am sure that this was not the message I was meant to get – which just underlines the need to choose children’s books carefully! I read the stories but I didn’t make any connection between those lives and any life that I might think about leading. 

Last week, as I prepared for today, I asked a number of people about saintliness. It was not a good week to wander in to the parish office – the chances of being put on the spot by the Rector were quite high. ‘What’, I asked, ‘does sainthood mean to you? When you think of people that you would call saintly, what is it that you are identifying?’ It was clear from that small sample that they shared my experience: the saints who had the greatest impact were not the ones we celebrate through the church’s year – the great heroes of the faith – but the ones who have touched our own lives and, at significant moments, have helped us to connect to God. These are people that we know as people, people we can question, people with whom we can argue, celebrate, cry; people who show us how to live, how to meet particular points of challenge with godliness. 

My question about the qualities of saintliness elicited a range of responses. The answers I got pointed to saintliness being a little like love – we all know what it is when we see it or feel it but it’s very hard to define. The sorts of qualities that were discussed were deep spirituality, selflessness, humility, wisdom, faith, love of humanity and god, and a preparedness to undertake difficult, loving tasks without seeking any reward or glory. A saint is the sort of person who would get down in the mud with someone, help them out, receive no thanks and then not say anything to anyone. A saint is someone who can reveal a little more of the nature of God to you through their own being but would be horrified to think that you were likening them to God. True saints, knowing their own weaknesses, follies and sinfulness, will not see their own holiness.  

Saintliness is not like pregnancy or virginity. You are either pregnant or you are not. You are either a virgin or you are not. Saintliness, on the other hand, is a sliding scale. Inasmuch as we succeed in living lives of godly love, as such love is so wonderfully described for us in chapter 13 of the first letter to the Corinthians, we too reveal something of the nature of God. Some days we might do better than others. In our journey of faith, as we seek to move ever closer to God, both the saints of the church and our individual collections of personal ‘saints’ act as encouragers and as exemplars of godliness for us.  

We should remember that they too are human, they too have feet of clay and we should resist the temptation to think that they were, or are, perfect. But they are companions on the journey. To push Gibran’s metaphor a bit, the saints act as signposts to the oasis, offer us water bottles when we become parched along the way, and remind us of the beauty and refreshment that await us.  

And so, let us celebrate with deep gratitude all those who have modelled holiness and saintliness to us, however perfectly or imperfectly, however patchily or consistently. Let us celebrate all the saints.  Amen. 

Sarah Macneil        October 2004