Saints with a lowercase s
I’d be willing to bet that you all know the first line of the Bible, at least more or less. “In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth, and God said ‘let there be light;’ and there was light. And God saw that the light was good.”
In the beginning. The beginning is easy.
I’d be equally willing to bet that not too many of you know exactly how the Bible ends. At least, I hope you don’t, because I had to look it up myself.
The last book of the Bible is the book of Revelation. And the very last line of the book of Revelation reads, “the grace of the Lord Jesus be with all the saints. Amen.”
The passage we hear a few minutes ago from Revelation isn’t quite the last word, but it’s close. It’s from the second-to-last chapter. And it’s quite an ending. “I saw a new heaven and a new earth; for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more… The home of God will be among mortals. He will dwell with them; they will be his peoples, and God himself will be with them; he will wipe every tear from their eyes. Death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more, for the first things have passed away.”
In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth, and saw that they were good. And in the end, God will wipe every tear from our eyes, and mourning and crying and pain will be no more. If there’s a broad brush narrative to the entire Bible, that’s it.
Of course, there’s a lot that happens in between—including the lives of every one of us, and of all those we love.
Today we’re observing the Feast of All Saints. It’s a day when we remember the saints of the church, the famous ones, the apostles and martyrs, but also the saints we know, the people we love.
What does it mean to be a saint?
Most of us get our understanding of sainthood from some combination of Hollywood and the Roman Catholic Church. If you stick with the popular understanding, you might decide that you have no real hope of ever being or becoming a saint. Sainthood, as that word is often used, seems to require some great dramatic gesture of faith, some superhuman feat of heroism and devotion. Maybe even a miracle or two.
But our prayer book defines the communion of saints differently—and makes sainthood sound a lot more achievable: “The communion of saints is the whole family of God, the living and the dead, those whom we love and those whom we hurt, bound together in Christ by sacrament, prayer, and praise.”
Listen to that again. “The communion of saints is the whole family of God, the living and the dead, those whom we love and those whom we hurt, bound together in Christ by sacrament, prayer, and praise.”
That’s a club we might just manage to be part of. “Saints with a lowercase s,” let’s call it.
Those “bound together in Christ by sacrament, prayer, and praise.”
I do think that Hollywood gets one thing right about saints that the prayer book leaves out. There is an element of action to even small-s sainthood, at least in this life. A life grounded in Christ usually implies at least some active ministry.
I think of the famous line of Mister Rogers, who created the children’s TV show “Mister Rogers Neighborhood.” It’s something he said to comfort children when bad things happened: “Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.” Did you know that Mr. Rogers was an ordained Presbyterian minister? He didn’t use much traditional religious language, but his entire life was a ministry.
“Look for the helpers.” That’s a comfort to children, an assurance that they’re not alone, a promise that points to hope in difficult times. But it’s also a call to us as adults. Because we’re the ones who are supposed to be the helpers—we saints with a lowercase s.
Sainthood, whether with a lowercase s or a capital S, isn’t about one dramatic gesture. The mark of sainthood is more often quiet endurance, dedication, perseverance grounded in Christ’s love. Sainthood is about persisting in sacrament, prayer, and praise in a way that leaves no room for fear.
When we celebrate the Eucharist in a few minutes, listen carefully.
We’ll sing the hymn of praise to God that we sing every Sunday. “Holy, holy, holy Lord, God of power and might, heaven and earth are full of your glory. Hosanna in the highest.”
It has long been the faith of the church that when we sing those words, the whole company of saints sings with us. As the prayer says, we join our voices with angels and archangels and with all the company of heaven.
I love the image of all those who have come before joining us in praise of God, as we all speak in one voice, all the famous saints, and all those we love and see no more, all crowded together.
God who is alpha and omega, the beginning and the end, loves with a love that encompasses all space and time, and that unites us with those who have come before.
And so on this Feast of All Saints, in these anxious times, may we pray with all confidence in that very last line of scripture: May “the grace of the Lord Jesus be with all the saints.” May the grace of the Lord Jesus be with all the saints. With all those we love. And with us.
May that grace give us the courage to act when we’re called to act. May we be the communion of saints “bound together in Christ by sacrament, prayer, and praise.” And when we’re needed, may we be the helpers—we saints with a lowercase s.