“Communion of Saints”
By Rev. Dr. Jason Byassee
Sunday, November 3, 2024
Reading: Revelation 6:9-11
You never forget your first encounter with death.
There were two older kids at my high school. I never knew either personally, but I admired them both from afar. They died within days of one another in separate car accidents. One was a pedestrian hit by a drunk driver, the other died in a joyride gone all wrong. There was plenty of blame, court cases, and survivors’ guilt in both cases. That’s not our concern here.
One was an early hero of mine. He was the captain of the football team even though he was smaller than I was, and I was three years younger than him. I’d heard him preach a sermon on student day. He taught me the first Greek word I ever learned: Nike. Not the shoe brand, but conqueror. The other victim wasn’t religious. She was just cool. Friends of mine never got over either death. Even I clearly still haven’t.
There was a joint memorial service at our school’s evangelical fellowship group. Our leader said the football player knew his hope was in Jesus Christ. We all nodded, yes, he’s in heaven. But wait a minute, I worried, what’s he going to say about her? She wasn’t religious. Is he going to say she’s in hell? Surely not. How would he know that? How could anyone know that? But wait a minute, how does he know that the other kid’s in heaven? How could he know that? How could anyone know that? In a way, our assuming the football player was in heaven was just as dangerous as assuming we knew the eternal fate of the young woman. Only Jesus Christ knows. And he is more merciful, and more righteous, than anyone can bear.
So, what did he say? This speaker who was sure he knew people’s eternal destinies better than God does.
He went safe. He preached her straight into heaven. “Her hope was in Jesus Christ too,” he said. In one way, thank God he chose to lie. What he really thought was too awful to say out loud. In another way, if you lie about that, why should I trust you about anything else?
Someone wise said ‘live your life in such a way that the preacher doesn’t have to lie at your funeral.’ I remember praising one man up and down at his memorial. ‘He was at church every Sunday. He gave until it hurt. He served every poor person in this community. His children loved him.’ All true. One of his friends whispered in my ear on the way out: you forgot the part about him being a total jerk to everyone else. No, sir, I did not forget. It is forbidden to lie. But we are not required to tell every truth.
Another time I preached a funeral for an eminent member of our community, well-known and widely loved. And I said “for all she accomplished, none of that matters today. What matters today is the grace of Jesus Christ who forgives sinners, including her.” Her son, not a churchgoer, asked me the best theological question I’ve ever heard. “Well then why should she have bothered to do all that good?” You feel the weight of that question, right? The answer: Christians don’t do good to avoid hell or earn heaven. Christians do good because Jesus Christ pours grace on us that we don’t deserve. After that, who could ever stop giving thanks by doing good.
Today we mark All Saints Day. It’s a day when ancient Christians honoured all the saints we’d missed. St. Nicholas’ Day is December 6th—when European Christians originally gave treats to children. When Hans and Margaret Luther baptized their son on November 11th, 1483, the priest looked at the calendar and saw it was St. Martin’s Day, and so was named one Martin Luther, architect of the Protestant Reformation, without which you and I would not be sitting in this room right now. But what about saints no one knows about who do their work in quiet? Like many of you whom I admire most: if I tell you you’re a saint, you’re the first to object: not me. The church appointed All Saints Day for such anonymous ones who denounce the very word. It was Martin Luther who taught us that it’s not only special people called to be saints. We all are. Every last one of us.
We’ve just celebrated a liturgy for all saints. We’ve invited many of you to come knowing you are grieving a loved one, to light a candle and thank God for their memory. I lit my candle for my mother, who died 19 years ago, may her memory be a blessing, as my Jewish friends say. My mother was a little bit of a disaster, bless her heart. Lifelong alcoholic and drug abuser, died of an overdose in her 50s. She was also the only one in my family who ever prayed. Took me to church sometimes. I hated it. She believed in Jesus. He didn’t fix her addictions. So where did she go when she took those pills? Heaven? She believed in Jesus. Hell? She was a genuinely terrible person, ruined, I mean ruined, people’s lives. Who knows? Who could reasonably be trusted to answer that question? Only one. Jesus Christ. As the ancient funeral liturgy says that I always use: He alone holds the keys to death and hell. And he’s more merciful and more terrible than any of us, his creatures. We can trust him, can’t we?
So, I pray for my mom. I figure God still had work to do on her soul to bring her healing.
Catholics call that “purgatory.” It’s a hopeful teaching. Not heaven–because you’re being purged of your sins, like fire purifies gold. Not hell because this suffering is purposeful. Hell is meaningless suffering. Everyone gets out of purgatory eventually in Catholic land. They base this on St. Paul in 1st Corinthians 3.
11 For no one can lay any foundation other than the one that has been laid; that foundation is Jesus Christ. 12 Now if anyone builds on the foundation with gold, silver, precious stones, wood, hay, straw— 13 the work of each builder will become visible, for the day will disclose it, because it will be revealed with fire, and the fire will test what sort of work each has done. 14 If the work that someone has built on the foundation survives, the builder will receive a wage. 15 If the work is burned up, the builder will suffer loss; the builder will be saved, but only as through fire.
Most Protestants, like our guy Luther, say purgatory is not what that verse is about. I’m not so sure. It sounds like a purging with fire after death. I find that hopeful.
You won’t be surprised to learn that we in the church took that hopeful teaching and turned it into a moneymaker. If you want a priest to say a mass whose merits will transfer to your dead loved one, we’ll do that for money. I don’t blame the church alone. I blame human nature. We’ll corrupt anything, won’t we? Martin Luther begged us to stop. Grace is never earned. Only given freely. We technically never charge anyone for any sacramental ministry here in the church. Because it’s all a gift, and it’s all for you. Now if out of gratitude you want to say thank you, the offering plate will be by shortly.
I don’t know where my prayers for my mother go. I’m not trying to spring her out of anywhere. There is someone else who has already done that: Jesus Christ. He has made a raid on hell and hollered, “Who’s with me?” In icons of Easter like this one, he is lifting out Adam and Eve. We are all in Adam. They’re everyone’s mum and dad. If Jesus rescues them, there is no one beyond hope.
Furthermore, God is not stuck in time like we are. If I pray “now,” God can “hear” it for my mom, even though she’s been dead two decades. Plus, it helps me feel better. Pastor Dayle points this out to me: if my prayer for my mom goes nowhere, what harm is done? I often advise you who mourn to pray for your lost beloved, for the same reasons.
A student taught me about praying for the dead. I was teaching about the communion of saints. That’s the belief in the Apostles’ Creed that the saints aren’t gone. They’re with God so they’re more alive than we are. This is why the church has said you can ask saints to pray for you. You’re not praying to them. That would be idolatry. You’re asking for the saint’s prayers to God for you. Martin Luther points to how St. Paul uses the word “saint”: not for spiritual royalty, but for spiritual peasantry. Sainthood is a staircase, and it only goes one way. We’re all called to be elevated by the Holy Spirit to holiness. In most of our cases that will take a long time! Not as long for many of you, longer for me, longer still for my mom, longer still for . . . we could go on all day. But the process of growing closer to God, more radiant with love must never stop, even after death. Because there’s always more of God to love. So, I’m teaching away on that, and she says: “So I can pray for the suffering of St. Joan of Arc in her martyrdom, right?” Come again? I’ve found St. Joan particularly inspiring since I’m preaching in a church that’s against women in ministry. I need a warrior’s help. So, I ask St. Joan for her prayers. Isn’t it fair for me also to pray that God would alleviate her suffering in the flames in France on May the 30th, 1431?
Uh, yeah, that checks out, I guess.
Who’s the student and who’s the teacher now?
Here's something else about the communion of saints. They’re always here when we worship. I learned this from the Eastern Orthodox Church. If you ask an Orthodox when Christ is coming back, they’ll look confused: next Sunday at the Lord’s Supper. Every time we gather to worship all the angels and saints are here.
We sometimes lament that we don’t have more people in this building. This room seats about 1200 before the fire department takes an interest in our gathering. I always respond the same way: Jesus says you only need two or three gathered and he’ll be here. But then I will give another reason not to worry: there are a lot more people here than we can see with our physical eyes. This is why our west chapel has all the angels and saints in profile in stained glass, facing that altar. Anytime we’re worshiping, they’re here to cheer us on.
For Orthodox Christians, Jesus Christ comes back in every celebration of the eucharist. Yeah, but when’s he coming back for real, like for good, bringing his kingdom in full? Even Jesus insists he has no idea. Most of the church has said since then, uh, he knows, he’s just not talking. But if he claims not to know, how can we claim someone’s in heaven for sure? Someone’s in hell for sure?
When some I love have died, I’ve deeply wished I could talk with them. Have their reassurance that they’re okay. Just one word. Mom? Could you wink at me? Grandmother, just a little spiritual fist bump? Nothing.
In the early 20th century, a whole spiritual movement rose up called spiritualism claiming you could connect with the dead. For a fee of course. After the avalanche of deaths in the First World War, spiritualism became very popular. You’ve heard of seances? That’s spiritualism. I do think some people are particularly sensitive to spiritual things. I’m jealous. But to manipulate that for money is low. It’s the same thing Martin Luther objected to. So, I think we can pray for the dead: that God would speed them to the heavenly vision. I think we can ask them to pray for us, we could sure use it. But the saints won’t help us manipulate reality. Only demons claim to do that.
Here's what I mean. In scripture, the wicked king Saul summons the dead prophet Samuel for advice. And Samuel turns up. But he scolds the king. Hey, I’m dead, leave me alone, you can’t use me to get what you want. Saul’s army is doomed. So is his family. We got better ghost stories in the bible than anywhere, don’t we?
But the dead can also be looking for hope. Remember when Jesus raises Lazarus from the dead? One of you reminded me of this: when Jesus comes to get Lazarus from death, the first thing Lazarus says is, “I knew you’d come.”
All we know about the dead is the same thing we know about the living: our only hope is in Jesus Christ, conqueror of death, Nike over hell.
One of our saints had not a near death experience recently. She technically died, heart stopped on the operating table for 60 seconds, woke up with broken ribs from compressions. Her doctor—not her minister—her doctor asked her if she’d seen a light. Is there a word from the beyond? No. I just woke up and saw you guys all sweaty and shaky. I told I could get her a book contract tomorrow, claiming she’d been to heaven and come back to tell the tale. There will never not be a market for such books. Just a little white lie and you’re rich. She laughed. Thank God for her integrity. She will need less time in purgatory than most of us, me especially. You can bet I asked for her prayers.
Here's the thing. Her “death” of 60 seconds. The various people revived in the Bible by Elijah, Elisha, Jesus. Lazarus’ death of four days. They offer no fresh data on what death is like. That’s how you get a bestseller: there was a light, and clouds, and my relatives. None of that in the Bible. Jesus doesn’t offer us information about death either. He just destroys death. Undoes it. Remember I said we are all in Adam? There is a new Adam. He reverses the fall of the first Adam by rising. Now there is nothing to fear. Do you hear me? Nothing.
Usually I start sermons with the biblical passage. Today I’m ending with it. The martyrs are under the altar. In Catholic Churches they have actual relics under the altar—you can ask, hey, who’s your saint under there? That’s a wonderfully literal interpretation of Revelation 6. I sometimes tell people that though Sir Jack Eaton’s name is inscribed in stone in our chancel he’s not buried here. He’s in Mt. Pleasant in the family mausoleum, bless him. At the Tuesday Bible study y’all told Pastor Dayle you were worried the saints want vengeance. They pray, “Hey, Jesus, why don’t you give to them what they did to us?” Shows they’re not yet fully baked yet as saints. When we are truly saints one day we’ll be entirely like Jesus, no more desire for revenge, just mercy.
For our purposes today, please notice something: the martyrs under the altar are praying. And Revelation tells us their prayer: how long, oh Lord? Not a bad prayer. A prayer of the dead that we can all join in, especially with Tuesday’s election down south. Especially with all the pain in your life and mine. Especially with the agony of saints in flames, misery in Gaza and Ukraine. Especially for my poor mom, and the loved ones you mourn today. How long, oh Lord? Jesus says I’m coming “soon.” When exactly? He doesn’t even seem to know. But don’t buy green bananas. Don’t get too comfortable. And when he comes, we and all creatures will say to him, “I knew you’d come.” Amen.