A sermon for All Saints’ Day.
As we look around us today, whom would we name as contemporary saints? Would it be the Black ferns with their stunning success in international rugby? Or might it be Saint Jacinda or Saint Christopher? And many would name Great Thunberg with her courageous global leadership on climate change.
But for the rest of us, whom would we regard as saints today? Maybe a group of women I saw recently, patiently caring for handicapped young adults on a day out?
Or is it the army of overseas aid workers risking their lives to bring food, medicine and shelter to the hungry, sick and dying? Or the hungry, sick and dying themselves, hundreds of thousands of them in seemingly hopeless situations, but continuing to give everything for their children and neighbours?
Or are the saints the ‘Occupy Wall St’ protesters around the world – saying ‘enough is enough’ in the face of unparalleled greed and inequality? All these are people who are not just performing a duty, but are captured by a spirit that drives them to reach out with compassion and for justice for the needy.
It is that spirit which flows through the Beatitudes (Matthew 5:3-12), the eight ‘blesseds’ that Jesus outlined in his Sermon on the Mount. I have visited the Mount. Today there is a modern, open church, on a slope looking down over the Sea of Galilee. It has eight sides – one for each of the Beatitudes.
Commentators see a parallel with Moses and Mount Sinai, but whereas the 10 Commandments are Law, the eight Beatitudes are Grace. The 10 commandments are moral instructions: ‘Love God, respect your parents, do not steal, do not murder’ etc. But the beatitudes show the difference between Law and Love. Jesus ushers in a new age where God’s freely-given love over-rides the rule of Law.
This spirit is evident in each of the eight Beatitudes. The poor in spirit are those who know the core of their life lies not in power and possessions but in their walk with God. As the modern interpretation you have today puts it: ‘Blessed are those who are convinced of their basic dependency on God, whose lives are emptied of all that does not matter, those for whom the riches of this world just aren’t that important’.
Those who mourn lament not only for lost loved ones, but for the loss of God and God’s justice from the heart of society. The humble are not those who choose to be a doormat or stand behind the door, but those who have no need to seek status or preferment because the only status they need is that of being a disciple. Those who hunger and thirst for righteousness focus not just on personal morality but on a wide-ranging social righteousness that delivers justice for all.
The merciful are those for whom mercy is a mindset that issues in compassionate and costly action for others, while the pure in heart are those who are single-minded in their love for God, that love untrammeled by worldly distractions.
The peacemakers set out to heal wounds, build bridges, restore broken relationships, and to join movements that transcend racial and national divisions, and the gaps between rich and poor. They bring about shalom – the peaceable kingdom of God where all live in harmony with one another and with the earth itself.
And finally the persecuted are those who in their love for others, or in striving for justice, have made sacrifices, known rejection or carry the scars of battle with all that is broken or evil.
For all of these, the promise is a whole new state of being, a way of life where people see God, walk with God, feel God’s love and are empowered and sustained by God’s presence and spirit. It is a present taste of God’s final purpose for all creation. To such a life each one of us is called. It is a life and a promise lived and experienced by ordinary people like you and me.
As an example, let me conclude with the story of Emma Woods, that young mother in Christchurch whose 4-year old son Nayan was tragically killed some years back by a teenage driver whose car spun out of control. Which of us was unmoved by her words: “We had had a perfect day at Playcentre, played lots of games together, and had a good time at the mall. I have no regrets about that day – we had fun together”.
And of the young driver of the car: “We are pretty clear we don’t want this to be the defining moment of his life. He is young, only 17. He has got his whole life ahead of him and we hope he will use it to do good things, to be good with people, and maybe eventually to be a good father”.
I do not know what faith she follows, but Emma’s words are an astonishing statement of wisdom and generosity in the midst of unimaginable grief. She has drawn on the deepest resources of the spirit, while acknowledging the extent of her loss and the pain she will feel through long years ahead. It is of this that sainthood is made: the commitment to walk with our God whose love sustains us and brings forth extraordinary love in ordinary and extraordinary situations.
