Rector's Sermon - Sunday, November 3, 2003

First Reading	Psalm	Epistle	Gospel
Isaiah 25:1-9	24:1-6	Revelation 21:1-6a	John 11:32-44

    Welcome again to the celebration of All Saints, in this old building, built in the 1860's in a type of Gothic style to remind people of an age even older. Welcome to a liturgy whose origin goes back thousands of years. Welcome to the experience of being surrounded by things deeply traditional. Indeed we cannot escape the sense of history that practically permeates the air. Over the Altar are pictures in glass of Peter, Jesus, and John. Facing in the opposite direction are the shields of the apostles. Behind me on my left are windows of St. Francis of Assisi and Hugh of Lincoln. On the plaques on the walls are the names of some of the founding families of Ithaca-Ogden, Treman, and Connor. The white marble altar was given in memory of Jeannie Fisk. At the beginning of the Prayer of Consecration we ring a bell cast in the 1820’s, likely the very bell which hung in the wooden tower of the first church of this parish and which has sounded every Sunday to all who have ever worshipped here. We sing hymns accompanied by an instrument that developed in the ancient circuses of Rome. These vestments, this costume as it were, dates back to the roman toga and the stole to the prayer shawl of pious Jews in the synagogues of early Israel. The very spot where you and I sit has been the seat for several generations.

    The wonderful gift of history, tradition, and ancientness, is precisely what give Christians roots, stability, breadth, and depth. It is what gives us a whole spectrum of options, which so many in contemporary society sadly do not have. For so many in the world religion is just an individual private affair, just a little small voice telling one right from wrong. It is not surprising that it is quite common for people on the street to say something like “I had no other choice, I had to do this or that.” That’s the tyranny of modern society, a lot of talk about alternatives but in reality the closing of options and vision is its dominant characteristic. All Saints tells that little selfish voice inside us to grow up, or pack up, clear out. In its place, All Saints surrounds us with the voices that liberate us from the narrow and completely humorlessness of political correctness and trendy opinions of the moment, cyclones of despair and frustration, and the narrow whims of our personal experience. All Saints’ opens to us a flexible and astounding larger life.

    In the reading from John's Gospel today we read of one of the great signs of the good news that Jesus brings. Jesus cries with a loud voice, "Lazarus come out!" The dead man comes out and Jesus says, "Unbind him and let him go. "Unbind him and let him go!!!" Jesus was not calling Lazarus from the tomb of the world so that he could go back to an old way of life, but to call him forth. The raising of Lazarus is a sign that the resurrection is a transformation of our life and not a repeat of the same old script. It is a sign that God unbinds us from our old life, from the oppression of the present, and frees us to live into the citizenship of a new commonwealth.

    There is a story about a woman who after thirty years returned to visit where she had grown up. She went into the small county church where every Sunday she had worshiped. Outside, the church looked the same, but inside she noticed there were several new stained glass windows where there had just been clear glass before. Under each window were the names of those in whose memory the windows were given. But the strange thing was that she had known every family in her small town, and she recognized none of the names. So she stopped by and asked a neighbor about who the people were whose names were on the windows. “Oh, we really have little idea”, was the reply. “Those windows came from a church in St. Louis that was being torn down. We got a great deal on them at an auction.” “But why don’t you remove the names?” asked the woman. “Well, we thought about it, but we are such a small community and no one ever moves here any more. Those names were those of someone's loved ones. So we like to sit here on Sunday morning surrounded by the names of people other than ourselves.”

    That’s what All Saints is all about too. Carved on these wall plaques, engraved on brass and bronze plates, painted in glass and worked into the woodwork are nearly two hundred different names of saints past. Most of them are strangers to us. Yet they remind us that we are surrounded by the witness, the prayers, the wisdom and the love of people other than ourselves. We have that great gift of years of tradition and history which frees us from the one-dimensional tyranny of the contemporary, and bonds us to a large family, many who in their journey have suffered, endured, questioned and overcome what we in our life of discipleship must deal with too. It is a great gift to learn not only about their virtue and endurance but also their failings and shortcomings. They help to give us balance and a more mature perspective in a teetering world. They tell us we are not alone. Others have been in our spot before. Don't give up, nor reject or despise the community of faith in our time, despite its failings. Truly this is an old place, full of names and dates, full of memories, full of God’s grace of the ages. It's not just old varnish or frankincense in the air. Enjoy!

    And I offer this to you in the name of the Living God, Amen.