Saints in Transition

Sunday after All Saints’ Day
Cathedral Church of St. Paul, Burlington, Vermont
The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling. Theologian in Residence

I am delighted to be with you this morning at St. Paul’s Cathedral in Burlington, Vermont, although I must say, it is a hard act to follow your recent Dean Jeanne, and a Bishop with a lovely British accent. To Bishop Ely and your wardens, Lisa and Paul, as well as your Canon Precentor Mark, and Deacon Stan, I am most grateful for their invitation to be among you during this time of transition, and for your wonderful and warm welcome. To the vestry, thank you for the “oh so good” Vermont food basket. Our daughter graduated from medical school at the University of Vermont, and Megan has told me that Burlington is the best place in the whole world to live! And here I am! Loving, exploring, and serving with you today.

 I have a long and checkered past history, both with cathedral ministries and with people and places named Paul; and so it seemed a good and right and joyful thing for me to be with you at your cathedral of the same name. I am also delighted to be here on this particular Sunday morning, when we celebrate the major feast of All Saints’ Day and the recent ingathering of your stewardship offerings.

I must confess to you at the beginning of our short relationship of two months, I am a person who loves content more than process, and so I am someone who is often thanked for my “full and thoughtful” agendas, or my sermons that give you “lots to think about.” In fact, I was once accused of being like a fire hydrant on a hot summer afternoon. And so, like you and your own discernment process, I try to remember space, pace, and grace. Besides, it’s almost winter in Burlington.

In preparation for today, I started with a question for God. Oh Lord, where do I begin, and what do I say, with such a cornucopia of blessings  spread before me, with such a beautiful feast to behold in this special place, and my temptation to do too much? I decided to start, and maybe even limit myself (ha ha) to focus on the feast of All Saints; and yet I have to start with that beautiful name of Paul.

I've have been married to Paul Gossling for 44 years, and because of him, the churches in which I have served, and the author of so much of our new testament scripture, many of my sermons have involved thoughts about St. Paul. Despite his sometimes unfavorable ratings, I do love St. Paul. In his theology of the cross, he claims, along with Martin Luther of the Reformation, that we are both sinners and saints, simultaneously condemned and forgiven. Through our God named Jesus, whose home was among mortals, we become justified, that is made right with God. We are sanctified through the Holy Spirit and in baptism, we are raised to new life. In Christ, we all become saints, new creations, reclaiming the inner landscape and beauty of our goodness.

Now, there’s my “theologian-in-residence” message for the day, maybe even for the next two months, although I sincerely doubt it! So back to St. Paul and all those saints that we remember today. My particular Paul, that is my husband Paul, loves the hymn, “I sing a song of the saints of God” in which different kinds of saints are named: one was a doctor, and one was a queen, one was a shepherdess on the green, one was a soldier, one was a priest, and one was slain by a fierce wild beast.

As a doctor in the newborn intensive care unit, our daughter sees death at the very beginning of life, which is heart-wrenching, and grief-producing. Our son, who works with homeless communities in Boston, sees lives that end far too soon because of addiction, mental illness, and poor health. Both of our children attended Sandy Hook School, long before the tragic shooting in December of 2012, when so many young lives were slain by a fierce wild beast. My father, God bless and rest his soul, left a legacy of both faithfulness and humor, when nearing his own death at age 86, quipped, “Only the good die young.”

Understandably, we often console ourselves with images of saints in heaven, imagining them singing songs of joy under the able leadership of someone like your canon precentor. We console ourselves with words, saying that they’ve “gone to a better place”, and yet, why is it that no one is in a rush to get there? We describe these saints through many hymns. They are watchers and holy ones, angels and archangels, patriarchs and prophets, first-responders and martyrs, who now from their labors rest. In the wake of yet another tragic shooting in Pittsburgh, today we sing a song of the saints of God with tears streaming down our cheeks.

 People were weeping in today’s gospel. Jesus was disturbed in spirit, not only once but twice, because he loved, explored, and served with all God’s people. Grief is grief. Understandably, and realistically, we are sad when someone dies, regardless of their length of time here on earth, and most definitely with tragic endings. Often times we complain as Mary did, "Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died." Like the Jews in today’s gospel, we might ask, "Could not he, who opened the eyes of the blind man, have kept this man from dying?"

In self-reflection or outward blame, we may ask, “Was there anything else I could have done? Or the doctors? Or the politicians? Or the schools or the faith communities or our law enforcement to help protect us from these untimely deaths? Is God just a distant king of glory, riding his horse around heaven, like a certain bare-chested president in a foreign country, aware of human suffering, and yet doing nothing about it? Or is God now here, at home among us mortals?  And if so, is God wearing a flak jacket too?

Saints have many vocations, not just doctors, priests, queens, and soldiers; and these vocations are as diverse and beautiful as our humanity. Indeed, every vocation is equally important to our health and our well-being as a society, and we need to celebrate and honor all vocations with equal voice and song. Together, as sinners and saints, we can love, explore, and serve in Christ’s name; for baptism is our primary vocation. Through discernment, we can ask, “What part will I play in this unfolding drama of life?”

Vocare: Latin, to call. When I was called to serve as the rector of St. James’ Episcopal Church in Glastonbury, Connecticut, their  #1 goal was mutual ministry. In Connecticut, Bishop Ely was known as a forerunner of collaborative ministries among small parishes there. Around the city of Hartford, we were a cluster of saints, from various church communities, who were committed to serving God in different locations and through various vocations, sharing our resources for the greater glory of God. The Cathedral Church of St. Paul is called by God to love, explore, and serve. How will you continue to do that now and into the future as an urban cathedral?

As you know from these current political and ecclesiastical times, transitions of any kind can bring out the worst and the best in ourselves. Like transitions at childbirth and at death, and every transition in between, whatever size or shape, however big or small, transitions are hard and holy work. Especially during this time in your cathedral, I encourage you to name and claim your gifts, both as individuals and as a cathedral community. During this time of stewardship ingathering and outpouring, you become a visible witness to the love and power of God. With a variety of gifts and the same Spirit, you are the saints of God past, present, and future. We are saints alive! Imagine that!

As Paul and I grow older, we are ever more aware of the fragility and shortness of this life. Long ago, I attended an adult formation offering based upon a book entitled “Ready to Live. Prepared to Die.” When we are living our lives consciously and faithfully, and fully prepared to die, we are ready to live. I recently spoke with a friend from Connecticut, who is, as she describes it, “on her way out”, because of a tumor that has spread throughout her brain. She spoke to me about the importance of her legacy to her children and grandchildren. She wants to faithfully model her transition from this life into the next with courage and grace. Despite the cruelty of this disease, and the impact on her family, I am amazed at the legacy that she is living and giving right now. I know that our memories will fade; and yet I trust that the bonds of our love, and God’s love, are stronger than death. See how Jesus loved Lazarus. See how Jesus loves us.

In a meditation for young adults, Chris Roberson writes, “There’s nothing fun about pain and suffering. If we could avoid it most of us would, choosing instead to live in a world with nothing but unicorns, rainbows, and butterflies. But unfortunately, that’s not how life works. Everything belongs: good and bad, light and dark, hope and despair, heaven and hell. It’s all there, right in front of us, all around us. And so is God, which is why we have nothing to fear.” (www.d365.org 10/28/18)

"See,” explains the author of Revelation, “God will be with us. Death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more.” Babies are born, people get married, new clergy are called, and people will die, and yet, each day is a new beginning. Ruth Casey writes, “I’ve come to believe in the ‘Sacrament of the Moment’ which presupposes trust in the ultimate goodness of my Creator. Each breath we take is Spirit-filled. This moment and all moments are sacred.” (Each Day is a New Beginning, July 16)

On this Sunday after All Saints’ Day, it’s a time to reflect upon our own developing sainthood and the transitions in our lives. Sinners and saints of the Cathedral Church of St. Paul, YOU are sacred, YOU have gifts to share, and YOU have legacies to leave. YOU are saints alive! So unbind yourselves, and let your selves go. For the One who is seated on the throne is making all things new, and did Jesus “not tell you that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?”


Psalm 24: 1-10
Revelation 21:1-6a
John 11:32-44