In 1970, My Grandparents Built a Vacation Home on the Coast of Northern California. They

In 1970, my grandparents built a vacation home on the coast of northern California. They were living in Mill Valley, just north of San Francisco and they purchased a lot about 3 hours away in a place called The Sea Ranch with the intention of retiring there someday. The blueprints were drawn up and the frame was built by professionals, but my grandma and grandpa did all the finishing work. My parents and my brother and I would go there for a few weeks in the summer for vacation to escape the hot Arizona sun. I remember the year my grandpa put the railing and the banister on the stairs. My brother and I were lucky we had made it through our youngest childhood years without falling over the edge!

My grandfather died almost 20 years ago. In the years after his death, the house at The Sea Ranch often felt imbued with his presence. Maybe it was because there were memories of him in every inch of the house. Maybe because his hands had meticulously cut every corner of every door frame and hammered each plank of the ceiling into place. But I think it was more than that.

The Celtic tradition speaks of thin places. These are places where the divide between heaven and earth seems to almost melt away. The divide is often referred to as the veil and in thin places, this veil seems to have been lifted just enough for us to get a peek of the mystery of God. There are times when the house at The Sea Ranch feels like a thin place. Especially as the sun is setting on the horizon of the Pacific Ocean, the wind becomesstill and a hush seems to settle into the air. Both God and my grandfather seemed a little closer in those moments.

Sometimes thin places are not places at all but seasons. Autumn, and specifically the first few days of November are viewed by many cultures and traditions as a time when the veil between heaven and earth is thin. You heard about the tradition of Dia de los Muertos during the time with young people. In the Wiccan tradition, the holiday of Samhain (pronounced SAH-win) is celebrated from sunset on October 31 to sunset on November 1. It is a time that Wiccans believe the veil is the thinnest and so they pay respect to the ancestors, family members, and other loved ones who have died. In the Christian tradition, we recognize All Saints Day on November 1 and celebrate it in church on the following Sunday.

I often thought that if anyone in my family would be considered a Saint, it would be my grandpa Gilbert. He was gentle, kind, compassionate, selfless, a veteran, a hard worker, dedicated to his family, protector of nature and animals, and simply someone that everyone seemed to love. But like most human beings, he was far from perfect. As I became an adult, I learned about his shortcomings. His staunch ethic of hard work often got in the way of spending time with his family. While he didn’t yell or curse when he got angry, his silence and emotional distance could be just as devastating. But that’s the thing about Saints. They rarely live up to the term Saint. They are flawed and imperfect humans just like us. Our relationships with our own Saints are often complicated. At best, those we love may disappoint us; we may argue and fight. At worst, those we love cause us pain and are even the source of abuse and violence. Our emotions and relationships with these saints are messy and complication, and so our grief for them is equally messy and complicated.

The gospel reading for All Saints Day is the same every year – Matthew 5:1-12. This piece of scripture is what’s known as the Beatitudes. It is the beginning of what is called Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount. As I read this text this year, I wondered to myself why it was chosen as the lectionary gospel for All Saints Day. I know some preachers have interpreted the Beatitudes as a checklist of ways to be a good Christian. So maybe to the people who choose lectionary texts thought this list of circumstances and qualities could be seen as ways to be more saint-like. But the more I have researched other scholars as well as meditating and closely reading the text myself, I don’t think that is what Jesus is doing here. There are certainly qualities on this list that we would attribute to “good Christians” like being merciful, making peace, being pure in heart. But Jesus doesn’t say, in order to be blessed, become meek so you can inherit the earth, or make sure you are merciful, so you can also receive mercy. These Beatitudes are not a checklist for how to be saintly. Jesus is not instructing the crowd or his disciples, or us to be meek or to be mournful, or to be poor in spirit. But what Jesus is doing here is saying – “I know that the world reveres powerful people, rich people, smart people, healthy and good-looking people. But God doesn’t care about those things. God seeks to be present with those who are left out of society’s most-honored list and says to them: ‘I know you are hurting. I know the world feels upside down and full of violence and death. I know that mercy is viewed by those in power as weakness and instead they call for quick and harsh punishments. But my ways are different.’”

God’s blessing is poured out on everyone, not because they met some requirement, but because God and Jesus position themselves in those places of difficulty, despair, sadness and persecution. This is made more clear when we read the verses that come just before our text this morning – Matthew 4:23-25. Jesus has been preaching throughout Galilee and has been healing people with all sorts of diseases and maladies. People who the text refers to as demoniacs, epileptics, and paralytics. As a result, crowds of people have followed him to the mountain. Jesus looked upon the crowd and must have seen a motley bunch of folks who are usually looked down on. Those people who were (and are) considered less than by others in society. Jesus is speaking directly to them and reminding them that even though they are ostracized and in pain, God loves them and blesses them.

But what does it mean to be blessed in this sense? In the midst of grief or pain, the last thing we might feel is blessed. Many of you have likely heard clichés and platitudes like “grief is a blessing; it means you loved them deeply.” I know these people mean well and are trying to help, but in the midst of my grief, I don’t want someone to tell me I’m blessed. I want them to say “I am here for you.” But the word blessed here has a different meaning. We have typically interpreted blessed to mean “rewarded” or “happy.”The Greek word translated here as blessed is the word “makarios.” New Testament professor Margaret Aymer translates makarios as ‘greatly honored.’ This may be bettertranslation of this word because it emphasizes the theme of reversal that is implied in the Beatitudes. The meek and the merciful are not revered by the world’s standards, but they are honored by God and by those who would align their lives with God’s ways.”[1]

On this All Saints Day, these Beatitudes remind us that to be a Saint does not require perfection. Even those who Jesus calls poor in spirit have a special place in the kin-dom of God. Our loved ones whom we love but who are or were flawed human beings, are blessed and loved by God. But also on this All Saints Day, we are reminded that grief is sacred and sometimes messy. In those moments when the grief feels like more than we can bear, God whispers “I am here.”

Our God of love, our God who is Love, is as close as our breath, and yet still big enough to hold our grief in God’s heart. Author and chaplain Kate Braestrup, tells us not to be afraid of grief. She says “Grief is just love squaring up to its oldest enemy. And after all these mortal human years, love is up to the challenge.”[2] I believe love is indeed up to the challenge. May it be so. Amen.

Sermon written and delivered by Rev. Leslie MoughtyNovember 5, 2017

Delivered at First Congregational UCC in Brainerd, MNAll Saints Day

[1]Susan Hylen, “Commentary on Matthew 5:1-12,” Working Preacher (blog), October 2017.

[2]