The Saints

When I was in third grade, I had to take a test to see if I was gifted and talented. We were all told what the test was about. I remember it so well. I wanted desperately to be gifted and talented and the test was going to tell me I was. I sat at my desk with my super sharp pencil.

The directions said to draw a house. I thought to myself, “What would the examiners want my house to look like?” So I drew a house just like the pictures I had seen in books: a box, two windows a front door, a roof. I made my lines very straight and my corners sharp. That must be what they want me to do! I thought with a smile. And I handed in my paper.

The results came back. I was not invited into the gifted and talented group. My friend Jacob was invited. I asked him how he drew his house. “I went wild!” he said. “I drew three chimneys, a round roof, and I put candy canes on the front door.” Oh, no! I thought. They didn't want me to make my house straight and clear and like everybody else's. They wanted originality! I wanted so bad to take the test again, but it was over. And I was not gifted and talented.

I didn't know that they were looking for creativity. I thought that they were looking for conformity. So every Tuesday afternoon, Jacob went to the gifted and talented program and I had to go home. Even though we had spent every afternoon of kindergarden making up candyland games, I had to go home and he got to stay. I still feel bad about it.

As the days grow darker and the light dims, the church remembers those who have died. And we particularly celebrate our saints.

Most of us think of sainthood as some kind of an elite Christian club. Only people like St. Francis get in, people who perform miracles, give everything they own away and start monasteries. Most of us think that we could never be good enough, holy enough, pray enough to get in. Like my third-grade self, we keep thinking about what God would want us to do, how God would want us to act, rather than who we really are. We try to guess the criteria for sainthood and then we often fail to meet the criteria that we have made. We draw simple houses when God is really asking us to be creative and think outside the box. One thing is for sure. No two saints are alike. In fact, maybe sainthood is not a club at all. Maybe it is something much different.

I think that we have all been accepted or rejected to so many groups that we cannot conceive of sainthood as anything other than an elite Christian club. So we go to extremes. On the one hand, we have the Roman Catholic Church, where the requirements for sainthood are so intricate and detailed that Mother Theresa is still not in. Or we have some of the more liberal Protestant denominations who simply don't have saints or denominations that say that every Christian is a saint. But that is like having a gifted and talented program where every child gets in. Though nobody's feelings are hurt, the meaning of having the club in the first place is lost. There is no group if everybody is in automatically. It is no longer special, it no longer means anything. If grouchy Mr. Nelson who told me to shush every Sunday as a child is as holy as Mary the mother of God, then what does that mean? What incentive do I have to strive for goodness?

Neither tough requirements nor universal acceptance into the club seems right to me. Sainthood must be something more.

The Anglican Church wisely does not nail down all the requirements for sainthood, but it does proclaim that there are requirements and there are standards. However, those standards and requirements are known to God alone. It is God who determines sainthood. We do not have all the criteria because we are not the judges. Sainthood is a gift from God and God alone. It is not the church's reward for good behavior.

And this is very important…

All baptized Christians are invited to become one with the communion of saints. But not all baptized Christians will accept that invitation.

When we baptize Christians, they are marked as Christ's own forever. God declares them invited to the great banquet. A place is reserved for them in heaven. They are given a key to the greatest gifted and talented program of all time. And their lives will be spent answering that invitation.

A baby who is baptized will grow to about age five or so, and somewhere along the way, they will realize that a friend stole their toy or some other disturbing thing happened. The child will run up against the fallen, broken nature of our world. And, as their innocence begins to fade, that child will hear two voices: one voice of anger, resentment and frustration will tell them never to be friends with that person again, that this has ruined a friendship. The other, sometimes quieter voice, will be the invitation that occurred at their baptism. God will be quietly saying, “Come to me. You are mine. Behave as you are, made in my image. Forgive and live as I lived.”

For their entire lives, they will be given the choice between the voices of this world and the voice of the Risen One, who calls them to be holy.

I had the honor of doing an All Saints Service at Harbor House. Harbor House is a community of developmentally disabled people right off the Arlington Expressway. They live in Christian community. They believe that God particularly loves and blesses the poor, especially those who are handicapped.

I had had a very busy day. I had been to so many meetings that I felt drained. My stomach hurt and all I wanted to do was lie down and have someone bring me soup. I had that over exhausted feeling that causes you to feel like an overgrown child. My husband drove the boys and me to Harbor House, and I slept in the car, but it didn't help.

I put on my robes and went to the common room to wait for the service to begin, going over the points of my sermon in my head, when a man walked up to me. He had Down Syndrome. He was just five feet tall, his face was wrinkled and red. He was probably about fifty or sixty years old. Old age for a person with Down Syndrome.

He came right up to me and held out his arms. He didn't speak but just gestured. He was telling me to come into his arms. I walked up to him without really thinking and he held me and kissed me on the cheek. Then he took my face in his hands and looked at me. He looked deep into my soul with his bright blue eyes. And he smiled. I felt his love pour over me. We just stood there with him looking into my soul and me looking into his. He gave me something that I cannot articulate that night, a sense of peace, of understanding. He loved me for no reason at all.

I later found out that his name was Robert and that he cannot speak. But he sure spoke to me.

Sainthood is not a club. There is another word that Scripture uses. It is called a COMMUNION. It is the Communion of saints. It is not about Christian perfection. It is about Christian connection. When Robert looked into my eyes that Thursday night, I knew that I was looking into the eyes of a saint. I knew this because he loved me. And his face will be there in heaven, as a part of God's kingdom. Now that I have seen his face, I cannot imagine heaven without it. For a brief moment, his face was part of Jesus' face.

Before he died, my father-in-law gave me a picture of Jesus. It hangs in my office. From a distance, it just looks like any other beautiful painting. But if you move closer, you can see that Jesus' face is made up of many faces: some are faces that we would know: Martin Luther King and St. Francis, Pope John Paul II and Mother Theresa. Then there are unknown faces: little children and old woman, a housewife and a Chinese man. Together, this multitude makes up his face.

The communion of saints is not about criteria at all. It is about connection. If you want to be a saint, don't try to be someone you are not. Be yourself, but connect. Love one another fiercely and not just with words. Act out your love and your commitment to God and to the human race, in your own unique way. If you strive to do this, I trust that you will see the faces of those who you truly love, those who have made you who you are. You will see the faces of those whose love has shaped and formed you. The house of heaven is made up of their faces and it is completely unique to you. Their faces make up the face of Christ.

Who will be there waiting for you in heaven? Who has consistently called for you to be a better person, to be true to yourself? Who has loved you wholly and unconditionally? Those people are your communion of saints. They emanate God's love to you.

Do not spend your life trying to be someone who you are not. When you draw the house of your life, use bold colors and new ideas. Do not try to conform to some kind of a standard that you believe God has for you. Instead, try to connect with those you love. Try to call others to greater, more fulfilled lives. And most of all, try to love God as fully and as deeply as you can. God wants you to be yourself. God already has sainthood in mind for you. Your invitation was made at your baptism. It is an invitation which stands true for all eternity. All that you have to do is live into the invitation. All you have to do is say yes with every part of your being.

And now, before we baptize these children, we will prepare for an ancient liturgical custom. It is called the Necrology. Please get out the paper that can be found on the inside of your bulletin. Pencils can be found in your pews. I want you to write down the names of those people who you love who have died. Try to write legibly. These are the names of your saints. At the peace, there will be a basket passed around. Please put their names in the basket. As we distribute communion, we will read their names aloud. Thus, we are surrounded by the communion of saints as we share in the love of God, the body and blood of Christ.

Speak their names out loud, not just today but all the days of your life. Let their names be heard for all eternity. These are your saints.

- The Very Rev. Kate Moorehead