Ecclesiasticus 44:1-10, 13-14
Revelation 7:2-4,9-17
Matthew 5:1-12

"The only tragedy is not to be a saint."I forget which Frenchman said that, but I say "Amen" to it. And I mean it, God helping to be one, too. That line was written by a woman with the wonderful name of Lesbia Scott, for the Living Church magazine, and made into a hymn for the Hymnal 1940. She wrote that "You can meet them in school, or in lanes, or at sea, in church, or in trains, or in shops, or at tea." Our ditty doesn't mention that you might find them headless in Herod's dining room, or machine-gunned like Archbishop Romero at the altar of a convent in San Salvador, or shot-gunned to death like Jonathan Daniels by a county sherriff in Alabama. Or murdered by a sniper at the Lorraine motel in Memphis.

The church has always enjoyed domesticating the saints, like taming stray cats and teaching them to sit on our laps and nibble kibbles and bits. Before the Reformation of the 16th century they were always closer to everybody than were God the Father and Jesus Christ the Son, whom patriarchal religion had made remote and unapproachable. So in the middle ages the cult of the saints became Christianity's form of polytheism, baptizing the richly varied pagan pantheon of Western Europe. They assisted with everything domestic and lists are indeed still consulted for the patrons, and nowadays matrons of every trade, vocation, or lifestyle, from Joseph of Nazareth, patron of those engaged to be married, to Joseph of Arimathea, patron of funeral directors. St. Anne, legendary grandmother of Jesus, was called upon throughout the languages of Europe by young women old enough to marry:

I beg you, holy Mother Anne,
Send me a good and loving man.

St. Anne's eve, July 26, was a time for debutante parties, and both Johann Strausses composed "Anne Polkas" for the festivals. I've had remarkably good luck with an incantation that's easy to memorize, when accompanying friends in big cities looking for a place to park their cars:

Hail Mary, full of grace,
Help us find a parking space.

And afterwards, you must remember to sing:

Hail Mary, full of grace,
thank you for the parking place.

I'm not sure this will work in Manhattan, because of their unbelief.

And so forth and so on. You see I believe in the invocation of saints, or at least the convocation of saints. Other ages knew better how to deal with polytheism than the one we're living in, which has turned to New Age folderol instead. I was handed a mottled pebble at a recent ecumenical "devotional service" in Managua. Everyone was handed one by a neighbor, drawn from a large fishbowl in which they were carried round the gathering. We were to rub the beautiful little perfectly oval pebbles and think spiritual thoughts. It was revealed that these were "dream stones." We would be inspired by them.

A hush fell over the lush green patio in the cool of the day.
At once I fell asleep, a dreamless sleep. A dreamless stone.

In olden times, saints relics were everywhere available for veneration and provided a kind of continuing incarnation of divine power, and a bit of bone or a hank of hair or a drop of the saint's blood was a First Class Relic, which could work miracles. A bit of a habit, hankie, or underpants was a Second Class Relic, and not quite so holy, but still venerable. I knew a young gay priest in the Vatican who got me a First Class relic of the Cure d'Aars, St. John Vianney. And a second class relic of John XXIII, a smidgen of his soutane. They both burned up in the Incendio that destroyed my house in Managua a few years ago. But I'm sure both Johns are still my friends.

Miracles could be expected, and are still required for the Good Housekeeping seal of approval for Roman Catholic canonizations. Mother Theresa won't be canonized until she can dazzle the Curia with a few of her own. Anglicans follow a more ancient method of looking to the consensus fidelium.

Our first reading from "Ecclesiasticus", in English, "The Church's Book", is a reverencing of the most illustrious of our former human neighbors. Mentioned are rulers, strong men, sages, prophets, counsellors, teachers, musicians, rich people--people honored by their contemporaries; celebrities, you might say: people who are "famous for being famous." And then the poem also holds up briefly the thought of "those who have left no memory, and who disappeared as though they had not been." What about those others--those saints that this feast day honors swith its companion haunted time of the dead in the cemeteries, All Souls Day, when these other poor souls come once again out of their graves and let us deliciously terrorize ourselves on All Hallows Eve. Who are they? Where are they now? What are they up to?

St. John caught a vision of them in his old age, in exile on the island of Patmos. He saw a number impossible to count, people from every nation, race, tribe, and language, all were wearing albs and holding palms in their hands, and all were hollering like Che Guevara, "Hasta la victoria siempre!" And there were angels and messengers among them, and the angels prostrated themselves like Muslims at Mecca, and worshipped the Lamb who was there in the midst of them. And one of the presbyters present there told John that these people will never have to be hungry again, nor suffer from the sun or the wind, nor from plagues, and they will have fresh spring water to drink, and God will wipe away all tears from their eyes.

These folks have been through some trouble. The old presbyter tells old John that these folks have been through the great persecution, through the Great Ordeal. These are not folks who died in bed. The palm in their hands tells us that they did not die in bed. Their tribulations were not administrative annoyances or liturgical irritations, such as my being handed a dreamstone at a "devotional meeting", or having to sit through another petulant speech at diocesan convention, or having been served more spaghetti than meat balls at church suppers on several occasions that I can remember.

These are they who have come through the Great Tribulation.

Which ones were they? Who set them up? What Great Ordeal?

St. John's Apocalypse is an underground tract about imperial power and its temporary victories, and is slaughter of the resistance, and its ultimate everlasting defeat by the Lamb who is the Lord of History. So now we get his vision of how it all turns out for the ones who resist the Empire, and its dragons of military and industrial might which John describes in the same tract. The Ordeal is the struggle of the saints, * la lucha que continua * the ongoing wrestling for life in the midst of death, resistance to the arrogance of Caesar, hoping against hope for a New World where Jesus is Sovereign. The Tsars would not let this book be read in church--it's admittedly too crazy, it does not show respect for authority, it calls government by the name of "Beast" and prays for a catastrophic end to it. Saints are the poeple who have fallen in the struggle against the Empire, and are to be raised to join the Lamb in celebration of its everlasting overthrow.

Now comes St. Matthew with what he says is Jesus' own list of the Blessed Ones:

The ones who have embraced poverty, pobreza.
The gentle, the lowly, the anawim, the marginalized,

the impoverished, the needy,
The ones who are grieving and mourning,
The ones who are hungry and thirsty for justice,
The compassionate, the merciful, the big-hearted ones,
The pure in heart, too.
The peacemakers and the peace mongers,
And those who are persecuted for justice-doing.
To all of these belong the Reign of God in our history.

What about us?

A footnote includes us: "You, too, when you are abused and persecuted, when you are 'buked and scorned' and lied about on account of the name of Jesus. Take everything as a compliment, and know that you are in good company. "

One of my teachers in the 80's was Segundo Galilea (wonderful name! "Second Galilee"), a Chilean priest who wrote a book about the beatitudes called "To Evangelize As Jesus Did". The point of this book is that Jesus lived the beatitudes, and that is his gospel and his mission statement. The gospel of God is not the Chalcedonian definitiion of imperial theology, against the Arians, much as we're fond of it and think it neat.

The gospel of God is Jesus, living the blessings and inviting us to live them with him. It's the list of miracles required for sainthood, as well. They are what canonize the saints, not hat tricks or magic with shrouds and Mandrake sticks. The miracles of poverty and joy, the miracles of gentleness and grief, of hunger and thirst for justice, of compassion and clarity and charity and purity, of peacemaking and suffering persecution. They are all there in the portraits of Jesus of Nazareth.

So Jesus is the first of All the Saints. Our pioneer, our captain, our champion, our hero. The definition of Saint is one who is baptized and tries to do the will of God. That's Jesus -- the model of our own sainthood. He was baptized into that project, and so are we. The only tragedy is not to be a Saint. And I want to be one, too.

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• The Series: Father Gallup's "Homily Grits": http://newark.rutgers.edu/~lcrew/grits.html
• The Series "Joy Anyway!": http://newark.rutgers.edu/~lcrew/joy.html
• Louie Crew's Anglican pages: http://newark.rutgers.edu/~lcrew/rel.html
• Louie Crew's home page: http://newark.rutgers.edu/~lcrew
• Send mail to: lcrew@newark.rutgers.edu

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