You. Are. Saints.

 

Sermon, 31 October 2021

All Saints Sunday

Brothers and sisters, it is good to be back with you. We know each other. For the most part, we know each other. At least, I remember you. Not only that, I remember your priest-in-charge-soon-to-be-rector. Not only that, I remember his predecessor. Not only that, I have met his predecessor’s predecessor. And I have heard tell of other predecessors.

 

What this means is I have a fair sense of some of the themes you may have heard, over the years, on All Saints Sunday. I think one such theme may just be: you are saints. You. Are. Saints.

 

This is at least is how St Paul would see it. St Paul (previous preachers will have reminded you) typically addressed the churches he was writing to as “those called saints in” or “to the saints who are in” the place in question. Concretely, he or his disciple wrote to

·        “those called saints in Rome” [Rom 1.7];

·        “those called saints in Corinth” [1 Cor 1.2];

·        “the saints throughout Achaia” [2 Cor 1.1],

·        “the saints” in Ephesus [Eph 1.1];

·        “the saints in Christ Jesus in Philippi” [Phil 1.1];

·        “the saints” in Colossae [Col 1.1].

So, following St Paul, you, surely, are “the saints in Little Ilford”, or among the saints in Little Ilford.

We who are used to marking out our greatest heroes as Saints-with-a-capital-S sometimes struggle with the idea that we too are called to be saints / called saints / saints. Now, we don’t quite know what St Paul meant. He certainly wasn’t just flattering people. Paul doesn’t flatter; he tells it as it is. The idea may be this: if you are drawn to holiness, then the core of you already is holy. Your vocation in life is to get your behaviour to catch up with this truth.

 

If you are at all drawn to holiness, the core of you already is holy. Your vocation in life is to get your behaviour to catch up.

 

And, by the way, knowing you as I do, I will say you are doing pretty well.

 

Hagioi is the Greek for “saints”. Ayii in the modern pronunciation. It is also the Greek for “holy ones”. It’s an accident of history that in English we have two ways of expressing the one thing: sanctity or holiness, holiness or sanctity. The Hebrew is Kedoshim. That too means “holy ones”, but also “holy things”. In later Hebrew, you’d probably talk about a holy person as a “tzaddik”, more literally a “righteous person”. St Paul writes tois hagiois, to the saints, or “kletois hagiois”. The translation you and I use takes this to mean: “to those called to be saints”, implying that they might not quite be there yet. That’s a possible translation, but so is the simpler “to those called saints/called out as saints” – saints, already.

 

You might have guessed I would bring in a bit of the biblical languages into this reflection. It’s what I do. I did not want to disappoint you. Let me, then, play further to my stereotype. Let me bring some other things I was once known for. I am thinking of:

·        something from the Eastern Orthodox tradition;

·        something from the Jewish tradition;

·        and a failed attempt at a joke.

(You do remember me, isn’t it?)

From the Eastern Orthodox tradition. Within the principal liturgy is a phrase which is easily overlooked: “Christ amazing among the saints”. Christ is amazing among the saints, or amazing in the saints. Surely, we are meant to find the great array of saints amazing. Surely, that array of saints itself shows us Christ. (It doesn’t show us something about Christ; it shows us Christ.) The diversity - the sheer difference of saints - is part of what is amazing. Think about it. If we were to look for one personality type or even one core characteristic or trait that is true of every saint… we’d fail. We’d always fail.

From the activist campaigner to the contemplative hermit,

from the bishop or the statesperson to the holy fool in rags,

saints come in all shapes and sizes.

Staying in the Orthodox tradition,

·        there is Saint Silouan, who had a vision from Christ, who spoke and said to him: “Keep your mind in hell, and despair not”.

·        And we have our old friend (I hope he is still a mutual friend), St Seraphim, who greeted everyone, on every day of the year, with: “My joy, Christ is risen!”

There’s a universe of space between the most austere refusal to despair, and the exuberance of constant Easter joy and fellowship. There’s a space for you. (There is a space for me.)

 

This in turn leads to another truth: sainthood is not repeatable. 

No saint became a saint by rigidly imitating another saint. Not one.

You cannot be a Silouan; I cannot be a Seraphim.

You can only be the saint you are called to be.

Which is to say:

only you can be the saint you are called to be.

The diversity is meant to be, and meant to last.

Christ is amazing in all the saints.

 

And, by the way, knowing you as I do, I will say you are doing pretty well.    

 

From the Jewish tradition. 

From the Jewish tradition I bring you a saying from the Talmud:

“On the day of judgement, a person will be called to account

for every good thing which they might have enjoyed, but did not.”

I think that, too, may be hard for us to take fully on board. We might be called to account for every good thing we might have enjoyed and did not. 

When we think of the saints we record, know, and celebrate, then ascetics take up quite a lot of the list. Ascetics are those who go without, go without excesses and even normal amounts of food,  and even water and sleep,

·        the better to pray,

·        the better to be open to Gd

·        the better to be open to those Gd sends to them,

·        the better to see what happens when you know yourself totally dependent on Gd, cut off from comforts and status.

Well and good. A noble tradition. (I have no word to say against it.)

A tradition that we in the West may be in danger of losing, and that we may need to rediscover, in a way that works.

But!

But it’s not true that to be a saint, you have to be an ascetic.

I say again: saints come in all shapes and sizes; sainthood cannot be repeated. Another way of being a saint is to enjoy good things, truly to relish good things, to make your own good things while praising Gd, as a way of praising Gd. Here is then another invitation: why not become a saint by relishing good things?

 

By the way, knowing you as I do, I will say you are doing pretty well.

 

And so to the joke which fails. I am told the saying I am going to share began life as a joke. But the punchline has been lost. So, in truth, it is a joke no longer. It is now something serious, solemn, and I offer it as such. It’s a question and answer:

“What is the difference between a good person, and a holy person (a saint)?”

“In the presence of a good person, the rest of us feel worse about ourselves. In the presence of a holy person (a saint), the rest of us feel better about ourselves.”

Do you see what this is saying?

It is saying that whatever the (manifold) virtues of the saint, the holy person, the difference the holiness makes is that these don’t come across as competition, as threat, as rebuke, but are swallowed up, are swallowed up in the warmth of the saint, the love – the loving - of the saint, lost in the saints will to comfort, to console, to help, to encourage you.

Saints are always encouragers, never finger-waggers.

“In the presence of a good person, the rest of us feel worse about ourselves. In the presence of a holy person (a saint), the rest of us feel better about ourselves.”

 

Sisters and brothers, here, here too, knowing you as I do, I will say you are doing pretty well.

 

Keep on doing what you are doing.

In all the changes you are making,

in all the changes you are facing,

keep on doing what you are doing.

You, you who are called saints in Little Ilford,

you, you who are amazing in Christ,

you, you who are called to enjoy good things,

you, you who, by being who you are,

make the rest of us feel better about ourselves,

you, you who have been and still are my joys,

keep on!

My joys, Christ is risen!

Amen.