All Saints A2017
Revelation 7:9-17
by Sarah Stadler
Far from a book of doom and gloom, fire and brimstone, fear and terror, the book of Revelation offers hope.
“Revelation is not meant to be read literally but to be understood through its metaphors to say something profound about its historical context.”
Because Revelation is apocalyptic literature, it employs fantastic images and bizarre metaphors similar to the science fiction of today. Biblical scholars now recognize that, as apocalyptic literature, Revelation is not meant to be read literally but to be understood through its metaphors to say something profound about its historical context: that of the Christian community during the Roman Empire. The beast and the dragon which show up throughout Revelation, they represent the empire and the emperor, forces that at the moment of Revelation’s writing threatened the lives of early Christians. In this sea of fantastic images and bizarre metaphors, readers of Revelation happen upon passages such as the one read this morning, a vision of worship, community, and care from the Lamb at the center of the throne. This morning, we enter into this vision and share in the hope Revelation offers.
A multitude
From every nation
From all tribes and peoples and languages
Robed in white
Palm branches in hand
Worshiping God
Angels singing:
Amen! Blessing and glory and wisdom and thanksgiving and honor and power and might be to our God forever and ever! Amen.
From the great ordeal to the throne of the Lamb
Now, the multitude hungers no more
Thirsts no more
For the Lamb is their shepherd who guides them to springs of the water of life and wipes away every tear from their eyes
These are the saints gathered at the throne of the Lamb
It is us, here, now, and from the vast church on earth, all who sing and pray and gather in community this morning
It is those gone before us, our parents and grandparents, sometimes our children and friends, the most ancient of our ancestors
It is those yet to come, God’s people of a time and place unknown by us but known intimately by God
These are the saints gathered at the throne of the Lamb
“ The moments surrounding death and the precious seconds of birth, when time seems to stop and the world to slow down, it is here that we can almost reach out and touch those gathered around the throne of the Lamb.”
I do not pretend to understand in its entirety the mystical nature of the revelation received by John of Patmos. But the mystics of generations past, Julian of Norwich, Teresa of Avila, Hildegard of Bingen, teach that, when we gather in liminal spaces, in the thin places between heaven and earth, between what was and what is and what shall be, we connect to those of other liminal spaces, of other thin places. And among those liminal spaces and thin places are the table at which Christ sets his own body and blood and at the water where we are reborn and claimed by the God who created us in God’s image. The moments surrounding death and the precious seconds of birth, when time seems to stop and the world to slow down, it is here that we can almost reach out and touch those gathered around the throne of the Lamb. Defying time and space, defying reason and logic. In these thin and liminal spaces and places, we gather with all God’s people, all the saints of old, the saints of now, the saints yet to come. We are the multitude of John’s vision, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages, robed in white, palm branches in hand, worshiping God.
On this All Saints Sunday, there is perhaps no better news than news of thin places and liminal spaces in which we connect to those gone before us. The whys and the hows, we do not know. The details of the life beyond this life, the physics of our gathering together at God’s table from all tribes and nations and languages, we do not know. But John had a vision of a multitude. And as we gather at the table where Christ sets his own body and blood, we gather not just with us in this room but gather with all the saints across all time and space to feast upon the very life of God broken and shed for us. We stand around the table, and the eyes of our hearts see the communion of saints gathered. We stand around the table, and we feel in our bones the presence of the communion of saints. We stand around the table, and the Lamb at the center of the throne guides us to living water and wipes away our tears.
In a few minutes, we will read the names of those who have been baptized in the last year and the names of those who died in the last year. You may add the names of others. And later, as we gather around the table, we will pause and remember all those gathered at the table with us.
The good news of All Saints Sunday is not hard and fast, nor neat and compact but mystical and deep, news that gathers us into community, a community that reaches beyond the grave. How and why, we do not know. The details that confound physics, we do not know. And still, we find hope, hope in which we may rest, hope captured by St. Augustine of the fourth century who wrote:
All shall be Amen and Alleluia.
We shall rest, and we shall see.
We shall see, and we shall know.
We shall know, and we shall love.
We shall love, and we shall praise.
Behold our end which is no end.
Alleluia! Amen.