Caution: This post is one of those in which I am not sure where I am going. I have some kind of feeling that I can’t quite identify and am trying to write my way through it. Often when I do this, the result is startling in its clarity. Sometimes, the result is just silly and self-indulgent. I leave it to you to decide where on the spectrum this one falls.
This past weekend, we celebrated All Saints’ Day. All Saints’ Day is an example of the concept that the Kingdom of God is both “now” and “not yet.” We celebrate the lives and examples of the saints who have gone before us- the famous ones, the everyday ones, the ones we know, and the ones known only to God. We also celebrate our own inclusion in that family of saints. Being a child of God, a disciple of Christ, and a follower of the indwelling Holy Spirit is what makes a saint. There are plenty of us walking imperfectly through life, praying for the best and knowing that God is ever loving even in the worst. On All Saints’ Day, we rejoice in the knowledge that there will be a great reunion of us all one day in the “not yet” part of God’s Kingdom.
All Saints’ Day is a uniquely beautiful concept, rich in spiritual maturity. It is an opportunity to celebrate, yes. However, in our current state, it is also a time of poignancy. Over the past several years, I have come closer to reconciling those two truths. I love All Saints’ Day. I love All Saints’ Day because it makes me cry- from both grief and joy at the exact same time. I listen to the names of the people I have lost in this life, and it is hard emotional work. The tears that escape my heart rip something open. Those tears also clean and bandage the wounds. The love I feel when I hear those names sears my soul. It is painful, but it is good. It clears the thicket of mourning to make room for another planting- a new, robust kind of love not limited by the brokenness of this world.
This year, I noticed a broader kind of grief. I heard the names of the people I lifted in prayer, but I also found myself musing over many other names that were not my family members or close friends. We, as a community, shared each other’s love and grief. Maybe it is selfish of me not to have seen it before now. Living in each other’s grief is a ministry of its own.
I reviewed the list of names of saints that we, as a church family, remembered this All Saints’ Day. I was amazed to realize that I knew twenty-two of the people on the list. I realized that they- and even the ones that I didn’t know- are ALL my family. The loved one of my brother or sister is my loved one, as well. That is a lot of loss to carry.
For some reason, this realization did not multiply my grief. I did not feel overwhelmed by the number of lost lives. I did not feel old and fading. I did not feel hopeless. As a matter of fact, my heart somehow expanded to make room for extra love. The experience might well have been the very definition of bittersweet- that extra love felt clumsy, tentative, and unwieldy at first. It soon settled into my soul and became soothing balm. Suddenly, “uncomfortably full” was “humbling and joyful.” The “now but “not yet” was happening to me right in that moment.
There have been many seasons in my life when I have hidden and protected myself from community. Because I was afraid of hurting, I did not engage. This All Saints’ Day, I learned that engaging is the best way to bear the hurting. I rejoice in the blessing of my family of saints, both in this world and the next!