Nov. 3, 2002
Revelations 7:9-17
All Saints Day
During the course of earning her master's degree,
[a woman] found it necessary to commute several times a week from
Victory [Vermont] to the state university in Burlington, a good hundred
miles away. Coming home late at night, she would see an old man sitting
by the side of her road. He was always there, in subzero temperatures,
in stormy weather, no matter how late she returned. He made no
acknowledgment of her passing. The snow settled on his cap and
shoulders as if he were merely another gnarled old tree. She often
wondered what brought him to that same spot every evening -- what
stubborn habit, private grief or mental disorder. I wonder if she
didn't sometimes begin to doubt her senses, or believe in ghosts.
Finally, she asked a neighbor of hers, "Have you ever seen an old
man who sits by the road late at night?" "Oh, yes," said
her neighbor, "many times." "Is he ... a little touched
upstairs? Does he ever go home?" "He's no more touched than
you or me," her neighbor laughed. "And he goes home right
after you do. You see, he doesn't like the idea of you driving by
yourself out late all alone on these back roads, so every night he
walks out to wait for you. When he sees your taillights disappear
around the bend, and he knows you're okay, he goes home to bed.".
(Garret Keizer, "Watchers in the Night," Christian Century,
April 5, 2000, 381.)
When I wonder who helps us during the trials and
tribulations of life, I think this story sums up my understanding of
how we are always being watched and guarded by the saints in
heaven. This week I took my own advice and spent the extra hour I have,
due to daylight savings, and reflected on who my saints are, those who
have touched my life, and those who continue to inspire me. One of
these persons was my Grandfather, Walter Marshall, who died when I was
only 11. My Great-grandparents, John and Martha Jane came across the
ocean in the 1920’s first to Nova Scotia, and then to Orange
Massachusetts, Walter was born in England and then grew up here in the
states. Eventually, he would work as a painter and wall paperer. In his
spare time he studied to become a certified lay speaker in the
Methodist Church. I am fortunate to have many of his sermons, and this
week I was reading through them and found one he preached on March 1,
1931 entitled “Fountains of living water”. This sermon was
based on Chapter 7 vs. 7 from our scripture passage this morning in
Revelation: “For the lamb in the midst of the throne will be
there shepherd, and he will guide them to the springs of living
water.” My grandfather writes, “ In the metaphorical use, a
fountain is the emblem of any source of spiritual blessing. In the
prophecy of Joel 3:18, “The mountains shall drop down the sweet
wine, the hills shall flow with milk and all the brooks of Judah shall
flow with waters, and a fountain shall come from the house of the Lord
and water the valley.” Again in Zechariah 13:1 “There shall
be a fountain opened in the house of David and to the inhabitants of
Jerusalem for sin and for uncleanliness.” My grandfather
concludes, “Every man can paint God into his own life; for God is
the fountain of life.”
This is the message of Revelation, God rules over
every nation, over all the tribes and peoples and tongues. God does not
see the world as we see it with national boundaries dictated by
political ideologies. In God’s eyes there is no borders, no
Canada, no USA, no Mexico. No, John writes having experienced social
upheavals and dislocations resulting from the various military
conflicts in which the Roman Empire was engaged, national boundaries
offer arbitrarily imposed by military overlords were of no significance
in the cosmic drama being played out before the creator of all people.
As I read through my grandfather’s sermons ,
I see he preached not only in Methodist Churches in Orange and South
Athol, but in the Universalist Church, in an Odd Fellows service, the
Congregational church and several devotions for the Guidians. I see my
grandfather practiced what he preached, God was the fountain of his
life, God is the fountain for all our lives, whether we be United
Methodist or Catholic, United States Citizens or call Africa our home.
The second message of our scripture passage is
John’s insistence that all believers need to continue to be
faithful even in the most dire situations of life, because in the end,
our future is with the Lord. In the back of our conference journal,
there is a section dedicated to all those of our pastors, missionaries
and spouses who have passed away in the past year. In 1991, I lost
several very dear friends, and so this week in honor of all saints
week, I was reading the tributes submitted by their families. One,
written by Pastor Debbie Fiske, the spouse of Steven Fiske, who died
from complications of A.L.S. A few weeks before he died he wrote,
“I believe that life is not always fair. It has certainly been
true in my case. It is not fair that I should have wonderful, caring
supportive parents who raised me right, and brothers and sisters that
are there when I need them, not to mention the aunts, uncles, cousins,
nieces, and nephews who are all so special. It is not fair that I
should be blessed with a beautiful, talented wife and together we who
make us proud daily. No, life is not fair. Whey should I have had so
many years of good health and the energy and good friends to camp and
backpack with through the years, and how I could be so fortunate to be
accepted into such a giving loving congregation as we found at
Aldersgate? ALS is a terrible disease, but it does not negate the rest
of my life.” Even under the most trying circumstances of going
through a terrible disease, Steve remained faithful. Life is not fair,
we have been blessed by the saints of our lives, those who inspire us,
who are flesh and blood examples of how the love of God is present in
our lives.
These saints are not ordained by the pope, or by
any body of believers, they are for us faithful believers, who
practiced their faith in the everyday. We are mindful in our
remembering that these saints were not perfect. For example one of the
best known spiritual leaders of modern times was Gandhi. Gandhi walked
barefoot everywhere, to the point that his feet became quite thick and
hard. Even when he wasn't on a hunger strike, he did not eat much and
became quite thin and frail. He also was quite a spiritual person.
Furthermore, due to his diet, he ended up with very bad breath. He
became known as a super callused fragile mystic plagued with halitosis.
All saints have a human side. God dwells in the
midst of us in the form of imperfect, sinful believers. I know from the
stories my father tells, my grandfather was not a perfect human being.
I am sure that all those we remember this day had their faults.
However, their imperfection does not negate the glory of God that shown
through their lives. It is because of their witness that new
generations will come to believe in a God who dwells with us, who is
the source of all life, and who will help us survive tribulations.
Lastly, Revelation declares that God wipes away all
our tears. Taking time to remember my grandfather, reminds me of how
much I have missed him. Recalling those pastors I have worked with like
Katherine Gara, and George Walters, reminds of the sadness I feel from
their absence. However in remembering their love, their ministry, their
legacy, I am soothed by their memory, I am soothed in the promise that
one day, I will be reunited with them in the life everlasting thanks to
the grace of Jesus Christ. I am soothed by the love that I find in
those who continue to work for the gospel.
Recently I read about another Walter. Every Sunday
for nearly three years Walter had a routine. Just before 10:00 a.m. he
would open the doors to Epworth and prepare the church for worship. If
the weather was cold, he would build a fire in the old wood stove. If
it was hot, he would open all the windows and distribute the hand fans
with a picture of Jesus on one side and an ad for a local funeral home
on the other.
Next, Walter would open the Bible located on top of
the wooden pulpit and read the selected Scripture for that week. Then
it would be time for prayer. Often there were folks in the community
included on Walter's list. The latest national and world news would be
mentioned. But always, Walter ended every prayer with a plea for God to
remember and bless his beloved church.
Every Sunday, Walter had a routine, but what makes
this story so unique is that with very few exceptions, Walter began and
ended the Sunday morning worship service ... alone. Alone? Why? Many
years ago, Epworth church was built on land donated by a neighboring
farmer, but if for any reason they stopped meeting regularly, if Walter
stopped opening the church doors every Sunday, the property would
revert to the original owners ... Epworth church would cease to exist.
So what is the big deal? If Walter is the only one
bothering to attend, let him go somewhere else or stay at home. Why not
face the inevitable and allow Epworth to quietly disappear? What harm
would it do? For Walter, it was a big deal. God had a divine purpose
for his life and for the church he loved. But for now, Walter must be
patient, be faithful ... and wait. Wait for what? ...
One Sunday morning a young family, new to the area,
visited Epworth and after meeting Walter joined him in worship. They
found something unique about this little church nestled among the trees
and the old man who faithfully opened her doors. On the following
Sunday they came back and within a few weeks the children were bringing
friends. At year's end a minister was hired.
Today, Epworth is a small family church situated
between several farms and hidden among the trees. Every summer they
offer vacation Bible school for the neighborhood and each Christmas is
celebrated with a pageant performed by the children. Many of the
original family have died and some of the children have moved away, but
the miracle of Epworth has never been forgotten.
On the first Sunday of August, people come from
across the United States to visit the church of their youth and relive
the miracle of the old man who refused to let his beloved church die.
The worship service is followed by a picnic on the church grounds.
While the children are playing and the adults are eating, you may
notice a family wandering over to the nearby cemetery. If you listen
carefully, you'll hear a parent telling her child, "Let me tell
you a story about Walter...." (Larry Davies, "Turning Points:
A Church, the Messiah ... Wait! Why?" December 15 & December
22, 1999, Sowseeds@hovac.com).
We are never alone, the saints surround us, their
lives continue to inspire us as we retell the stories of their love. We
are never alone if we travel to the far corners of the earth. We are
never alone no matter what tribe we belong to, whatever language we
speak. We are never alone, God’ s powerful and compassionate love
continues to pour forth from the fountain of life. We are never alone,
we are nurtured by one another as we seek to be faithful disciples of
Jesus Christ. We are never alone, praise be to God!
Amen.
