Revelation 21.1-6a
Psalm 149
Colossians 1.9-14
Luke 6.20-36
St. Thomas's Anglican Church
Toronto, ON
+In the Name
of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.
Permit me, if
you will, a chance to have a mild indulgence. I am a big Star Wars fan, and I
would like to share with you one of my favourite moments in the series:
It is an
early scene from the recent Star Wars film, The Last Jedi. Rey, the audience
surrogate and protagonist, after a long journey she meets Luke Skywalker, the
Luke Skywalker, the Jedi Master who saved the galaxy, defeated the evil
Emperor, and saved his father from darkness. She stands before this person,
more myth than man, and she extends and gives Luke his old lightsaber. The
audience waits, will Luke venture forth once again to save the galaxy from
evil? Will this legend continue to build new legends? It is so exciting to be
in the presence of such a legend.
And after
that moment that seems like an eternity, he casually tosses the lightsaber
away. Instead of the legend, Rey discovers a bitter and regretful old man who
unbeknownst to her has done seemingly unforgivable things and may have helped
to create the evil that the galaxy is facing.
My friends,
what does this have to do with the saints, and what does this have to do with the
annual celebration of All Saints? After all, these are fictional characters, and
Star Wars is just a film series and franchise owned by Disney to make lots and
lots of money. Nevertheless, I introduce this to help frame how we might want
to think about the Saints, the people who they are, the lives they lived, and
the legends about them that can help us understand the role they can play for
those of us who are Christian and how we conceptualise these seemingly
legendary figures in our minds.
Consider this
my friends, there are some who hated this scene and hated this movie. A reason
for this is that they expected a legend and found a person, and that was
disappointing. And I think we often approach the saints in similar ways. We
hold them up as exemplars of faith, workers of miracles, great martyrs who
stood resolute in the face of oppression, wise teachers of the mysteries of
God, and these near perfect beings that appear as more legend than human.
We
memorialise them in art, in film, in music, and in our churches in stained
glass windows, icons, statues, and reredos. In the midst of our Mass, even though
we are drawn up before the throne of God to worship alongside them, we cannot
conceive of them to be like us both because they are super-human, and because
we are just ordinary-human. After all, they have the title of saint, and we do
not.
And yet, how
many of us have read the stories of the saints? How many of us have scratched
even somewhat deeper to consider the history, context, or consequences, both
good and evil, of the saints, and what that means for us? For many saints,
underneath the legends and iconography there is a human being who lives,
breathes, and works just as we do, a human being who has doubts, regrets,
fears, and pains just as we do. Even though we sometimes treat them like gods,
they are not. We like the aesthetics of the saints, but we don’t often think
about that, nor do we consider the consequences of their actions following
their lives and the actions done in their names.
Whether we
our considering the whole shared canon of saints or holy peoples, or the
individual saints of Roman Catholicism, Eastern and Oriental Orthodoxy,
Anglicanism, or the Protestant churches, when we look to the Kalendars of
saints, ancient, medieval, and modern, we can find a number of skeletons in the
closets. How do we think about S. Augustine of Hippo, S. John Chrysostom, or
Martin Luther and their writings about Judaism in the aftermath of the
Holocaust? How do we consider Junipero Serra, the founder of the California
missions, the Jesuit Martyrs of Canada, or the first Canadian bishop, Charles
Inglis in the light of colonialism and continued oppression of indigenous
peoples here and throughout the world? How do we honour the witness of the
martyrs of Uganda when such saints are being used to legitimise the
dehumanisation of LGBTQ+ peoples in the Anglican Communion? Why do some call
Charles I of England and Nicholas II of Russia saints and martyrs despite the
violence, and war they brought to the world?
If those of
us who are Christian believe that those we call saints are present before God
and praying to God on our behalf, how do we reconcile their successes and
failures as they stand before God, just as we ourselves will be judged for our
own successes and failures.
These are
hard and difficult questions to ask. And when we first hear them, we might
recoil, and say “how dare you! How dare you even mention these things and
besmirch the saints!” while clutching onto these stories as if they are Sacred
Texts! But again, how many of us have read the stories, because many of them
are not page turners. But when we look into those stories, we see people who
have heard the message of Jesus and tried their best to live it out to the best
of their ability, to love their enemies, to pray for those who persecuted them,
who turned the other cheek when struck, who gave their shirt and coat to those
who asked, and served the needs of others ahead of their own needs. It is their
humanity that gives us hope that we too can live out the message of Jesus to
the best of our ability.
The stories,
the hagiographies, the legends, they all point to a reality that we can aspire
to, work towards, and build, they teach us, just as Jesus teaches us, how to
live our lives in faith, hope, charity, and love towards one another. We ask
for the saints to pray for us, to petition God to give us the strength we
otherwise would not always have to do unto others as others would have done
unto us. They give us hope for the truth of Christ’s redemption, there is no
sin that is so great that cannot be forgiven by God.
When we look
the stories, hagiographies, legends, lives, and consequences of the saints, we
must also look at when there was failure. The saints are not gods or demigods,
they are human, and like us they made mistakes, sometimes grave ones, ones that
do not materialise until later in their lives or well beyond them, and that
have repercussions for generations. But as we learn from the saints and pass on
their stories and the teachings of the church, we must, going back to a line
from Star Wars, pass on their and our own “weaknesses, follies, and failure
also. Yes, failure most of all, [because failure is the greatest teacher of
all].”
Those that have
held to the faith, those whom we consider to be the Communion of Saints, pray
for us to be “filled with the knowledge of God’s will in all spiritual wisdom
and understanding, so that we may lead lives worthy of the Lord…as we bear
fruit in every good work.” And just as they pray for us, we pray for those who
have died and gone before us into that communion to be pardoned of their sins
and perfected into the fullness and likeness of God. And the church, united in
heaven and here on earth, we honour the triumphs of the saints, we mourn the
failures of the church, we teach all that we have learned good and bad to those
who come after us, and we remember those who came before. And together, we
worship the true and living God until God makes all things new and lives among
us, wiping away every tear, and bringing sorrow and death to an end.
Amen.
