There is a line in the wonderful hymn by Ralph Vaughn Williams, For All the Saints, that goes:

O blest communion, fellowship divine! 

We feebly struggle, they in glory shine;

All are one in Thee, for all are Thine.

Alleluia, Alleluia!

In a family gravesite in Mississippi, I have my own little communion of saints.  Not saints in the sense of perfect people who all got it right and did it all the right way, but saints in the sense of having made it home, having completed their course and now rest from their labors.  Most prominent for me is my father, a good man and an even better father who made a significant down-payment on my future in my four short years with him. He died far too young.  But he lives on in memory and story and in the two sons he claimed and did his best to “raise right” in the short time he had.  Each year I give special thanks for him and for all those who, in spite of their imperfections and shortcomings, their trials and tribulations, are, for me, saints nonetheless.   I recall my maternal grandfather and grandmother, Van and Grace Boutwell.  They were dead long before I was born.  I was named after him and I have been told that she was the glue that kept the family together during the depression, working at the cotton mill and keeping watch over a household that included an invalid grandmother and two small girls, my mother and my aunt, along with two of her sisters who occasionally lived with them. There was Sally, my great-aunt, who married Pete, an enlisted airman and moved to St. Louis.  They travelled the country and have pictures to prove it, but eventually divorced and she moved back.  She died of lung cancer and is buried in the family grave.  And then there is Maggie, the great-aunt who lived her life in the spirit of Mae West who always said, “When I’m good, I’m very good, but when I’m bad, I’m better!”   Aunt Maggie was a tall woman with beautiful red hair, a salty vocabulary and a questionable reputation who lived well into her 80’s.  She often told stories of her glory days owning a restaurant with her first husband during World War II.  She relished in describing the colorful characters who found their way to The Sunset on Highway 51.   What she never owned up to though, was running moonshine during the days of prohibition which was, I have been told,  the real reason so many colorful people frequented this establishment.   Later in life, she married a cop and moved to Louisiana.  Talk about a change of heart.  She made great gumbo and amazing spaghetti and meatballs.  Perfect by no means, but part of the communion and fellowship, nonetheless.  It is a small group, a shapshot of history and heritage, both good and bad, the fabric of my life.  Every year I reflect on this colorful communion of saints that in ways both great and small shaped my life.  And I say a prayer of thanks for them all.  

Who are the saints in your communion? Those you are glad are there and those you wish were not.   Who have been the people who have shaped your life in meaningful ways? Who have been those who have formed you by teaching you how not to live?  Take the time to remember them and offer a prayer of thanks for them all, even the ones who barely made it in.  They are a part of the communion as well.

This is a statue in Treptower Park in Berlin.  It is a wonderful illustration of the great fable The Wolf and The Crane.  I have included it below.  I have been reflecting on the story of Job, the why questions and the risks entailed in both life and faith,  and this fable came to mind.  While it does not offer all the answers, it does offer a way of approaching the questions. 

THE WOLF AND THE CRANE  (Aesop’s Fables)

A wolf swallowed a bone which got stuck in his throat. The pain was excruciating, so the wolf started looking for someone who could be induced to remove the accursed thing in exchange for a reward. The wolf asked each of the animals if they would help him and finally the crane was convinced by the wolf’s solemn promises. Trusting her long beak to the wolf’s gaping maw, the crane carried out the dangerous cure. Yet when the crane demanded the promised reward, the wolf simply said, ‘You ungrateful creature! You extracted your head unharmed from my mouth and still you ask for a reward?’ 

Life is about risk with no guarantee of reward, trust without certainty and sometimes simply being thankful for having escaped alive. 

As I was driving in to the office on Tuesday morning, comfortably exceeding the speed limit, I was passed by a black Honda Civic with tinted windows and a smashed in passenger side. Apparently the wreck had not limited the car’s ability to run, nor had it hindered the driver’s desire for speed.  As the car sped by me, I happened to notice two bumper stickers on the rear, but could only make out one.  It read, “Excuse me officer, I thought you wanted to race.”  I could see the truth in that one.  The young woman inside the car was “dancing behind the wheel”; she appeared to be singing at the top of her lungs oblivious to the clear crisis that had befallen her or the potential consequences of her speed.  And the state of her automobile was apparently the last thing on her mind. Intrigued, I sped up so that I could perhaps read the other bumper sticker.  As my speed exceeded 85 mph:( with no gain in site, I decided to back off and wait for the inevitable slow down that would occur up ahead.  It did and I as I approached the car, the dance had not ended, nor had the singing.  I was able to read the other bumper sticker.  With apologies to all, it read, “It’s such a nice day, don’t f*** it up!”   I must say that I was thrown back, not by the language, but by the spirit of bold defiance.  A wrecked car, a cloudy day, and who knows, maybe even a few outstanding tickets, but a day filled nonetheless with a song and a dance and a spirit of hope for what was yet to be.   All of a sudden, the worries of my day seemed a bit less important.  I turned up the radio and decided to do my best to have a nice day and not mess it up for anyone else.  Sometimes, life requires a bold defiance to face up to the challenges and persevere with hope and confidence. 

Paul wrote in his letter to the Romans,

Therefore, since we are justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have obtained access to this grace in which we stand; and we boast in our hope of sharing the glory of God. And not only that, but we also boast in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint us, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us.  (Romans 5:1-5)

Every fall my church hosts a pumpkin patch.  Several thousand pumpkins are delivered and placed amid the trees and fountains of the church grounds.  People come from far and wide to search for just the right pumpkin.  Children of all ages are captivated by the awe and wonder of the setting.  It is a time of memories recalled and memories made.  Cameras are ubiquitous and smiles are ear to ear.   I meet friends I have not seen in a while, see children that I first saw when they were born or baptized some years ago.   I watch as people give of their time and energy to help raise funds for important ministries of the church and community.  I watch as some people encounter the church in a new way, some for the first time.  I hope and pray they sense the spirit of thanksgiving and hope that undergirds this special place and time.    I hope and pray that they might come to experience some deeper sense of God’s presence in this place and connect that with the church.  

I must confess that I love the church.  I love church buildings and church architecture.  I love what they represent and the beauty they add to the landscape of life.  I love what they stand for and the divine mystery they represent and the human journey they facilitate.  I came across this meditation by Edmond Browning, former presiding bishop of the Episcopal Church.  It spoke to me in a special way.  He writes,

“When I visit an old church, I often think about what life was like for the people who first built it.  How much hard work it took to build the church.  What a different country they lived in from the one in which we live: a country in which uninhabited areas went on for miles and miles, a country in which people lived lives hard, lonely, and short.  A country in which families lost children often, to diseases for which there was no remedy.  A country in which a man in his fifties was old and so was a woman in her forties. A country in which, at this time of year, everyone who could carry a hayfork was in the fields bringing in the harvest.  We drive by the roadside vegetable stands and see the pumpkins, the squashes, the last tomatoes and beans.  We buy some of these things and decorate our homes with them, hang ears of corn on our doors, buy a couple of bales of straw and arrange them on our front porches with a pot of two of chrysanthemums.  We think they are beautiful.  They looked at those things and thanked God they wouldn’t starve in the winter to come.  And yet they found the energy and wood and trust enough to build God’s house.  Something in them knew that their trust rightly resided in God.  In a time when life was harder and more precarious than our lives are, they found the courage to trust in God”   (A Year of Days with The Book of Common Prayer, October 7).

Though we live in a much different day and age, may we find the courage, amid our awareness of God’s bounty and blessings, to trust.  May this be a season for us all to renew our faith and place our trust in the God from whom all blessings flow.

The world-renowned psychotherapist, Carl Jung (1875-1961) displayed this Latin phrase above the front door of his home in Zurich, Switzerland.  It is a powerful statement of faith and  strength for those times when we feel God’s absence in our lives because of a crisis of faith, a family tragedy, or personal loss.  Seasonal changes are happening all around us.  The warmth of summer is being chased away by the cool of fall.  The green of growth is being slowly replaced by the multi colored hues of life going dormant.  Changes in the landscape of our world remind us of the seasonal changes that take place in our lives.  I have found this phrase to be especially helpful and encouraging during times of seasonal change, especially when that change is personal. Vocatus atque non vocatus Deus aderit   (Bidden or not bidden, God is present)  Whether we call upon God or not, whether we believe in God or not, God believes in us and is always present in our hearts, in our daily lives, in our world, and in our universe.   Thanks be to God!