Revelation 7:9-17

All Saints Sunday is my favorite Sunday in the Christian year.  I know, that may sound a little crazy.  What about Christmas Eve?  Or Easter?  But no, for me, it’s All Saints Sunday.  Why is that?

All Saints Sunday is the Sunday that gives me the courage to make it through the rest of the year, because that is the day that I get to think about the “great cloud of witnesses” in heaven that is watching over me, encouraging me, praying for me, and inspiring me with the memories of how they lived and how they died.  I remember family members, friends, and many, many church members, and I think about them all gathered around up in heaven, just cheering me on.  I think about their courage, their Christian witness, their joy, their generosity, and I know that I can carry on.  No matter what is weighing me down, thinking of these folks always raises me up.

When I still lived in South Carolina, our Annual Conference was held at Wofford College, a United Methodist college in my hometown of Spartanburg.  It always started in the evening of the first day with the memorial service, where we honored clergy and laity who had died during the past year.  That is where I first heard the powerful hymn, For All the Saints.  We always had a guest preacher for that service, and the sermons were always very meaningful and uplifting.

Since my parents still lived in Spartanburg, one year I invited my mom to attend the memorial service with me, and it became a ritual for us over the next years.  The first year we attended, when we were singing For All the Saints, I suddenly became aware that my mom had stopped singing.  I looked over, and tears were streaming down her face as we sang the words of verse 5:  And when the strife is fierce, the warfare long, steals on the ear the distant triumph song, and hearts are brave again, and arms are strong.  Alleluia!  Alleluia!, I knew that my mother was hearing the voices of her mother and father, and other loved ones, singing that distant triumph song, along with the multitude of the saints, the great cloud of witnesses, gathered around the throne of God.  And I also hear those voices, including my mother’s voice, whenever I sing this hymn.

I wonder, whose voices do you hear singing that distant triumph song?  Who is in your great cloud of witnesses?  Are they singing Alleluia right along with you?

I don’t know about you, but this year I am especially in need of hearing that distant triumph song.  This year I need to hear those voices singing, praising, and encouraging and cheering me one.  I need to be reminded that this world is not all there is, but after this life there is heaven.  I need to be reassured that there is more to life than what I see around me, and that one day I will become part of that great cloud of witnesses.

I am tired.  I am bone-weary.  I am exhausted.  I have grieved to the point where I can’t even stop, for all the hundreds of thousands who have died in the pandemic, for all the jobs that have been lost, for all of life that we have not been able to experience.  I have begun to wonder if – not when – life will ever get back to anything resembling normal. 

I am disillusioned with my country.  I look around and I don’t even recognize this place anymore.  People are behaving in selfish ways, with little regard for the safety and well-being of others.  Racism has reared its ugly head in troubling ways that I thought were a thing of the past.  Political division is deeper and nastier than I have seen in my lifetime. 

And more than anything else, I am saddened by the changes we have had to make in order to be able to meet for worship.  Don’t get me wrong, I am grateful that we can gather together on Sunday mornings at all.  But I miss seeing your faces, I miss the handshakes and the hugs, I miss the coffee hour, and more than anything else, I miss the singing.  I want to not just listen to music, I want to sing music.  I want to sing the hymns and songs that have shaped and nurtured and encouraged and comforted me in my life.   I want to hear the choir again.  I want to participate in that distant triumph song here on earth in this sanctuary.  But it can’t happen, at least not yet, if we want to be safe.

And so, I can only remember and be patient.  And I can listen out for the voices of the saints ringing out loud and clear from heaven’s distant shores.  I can hear in my mind my mother’s rich alto, my grandmother’s quavering soprano, and my grandfather’s deep bass.  I can imagine that heavenly choir made up of all the church members I have known through the years.  And I can even make out the sound of the organ/piano duets my mother and grandmother used to play. 

On this All Saints Day, I hope that you can hear that distant triumph song, too.  I hope that it gives you encouragement and hope during these difficult days.  I hope that you sing along with it in your heart.  And I hope that your great cloud of witnesses gives you courage and faith to continue your journey through this life until that wonderful day when you can join them in person.  I love life, but I am glad that this world is not all there is.  After this, there will be heaven.  Thanks be to God!