Gloria Dei Lutheran Church

Luke 6:20-31

The fifth verse of For All the Saints breaks me open almost every time.

Picture of verse on screen. Images are included in the livestream recording, link below.

The golden evening brightens in the west; soon, soon to faithful servants cometh rest; sweet is the calm of paradise the blest. Alleluia! Alleluia!

Maybe it’s because it’s often the verse when the organ takes a verse-long inhale of breath and leaves us suspended in air, all on our own. Breathing in sync. In harmony at Gloria Dei. The verse is about the end of the day, the evening sky flaming into reds and golds, purples and indigoes. The threshold between day and night, what the Celts called a thin place, the veil between the spiritual and the earthly is so gauzy that one can slip into the other. In fact, they also believed that it was at its thinnest right now, at this threshold between the end of the harvest and winter darkness, Samhain (SOW-en), when the spirits were able slip into this world. Sometimes the earthlings dressed up in costumes because there was a relative or two, or a few bad spirits, that you didn’t want to recognize you. In the hymn, however, it’s those who have died who slip through into paradise the blest.

Verse Six returns to another page in the hymnal in unison again, “a yet more glorious day”. The trumpets find their way back. The organist is frantically pulling stops and kicking presets near the pedals, and we’re headed to verse 7, “From Earth’s Wide Bounds,” and we’re in fullness of God’s glory, still needing to rhyme with host, praising Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Alleluia!

But it’s verse five that gets me. I used to think maybe I was just sad about those who have slipped away, or was just overcome by the a capella singing, maybe even nostalgia. But that’s not quite all of it. Some floodgate that’s down there opens just enough to flow into tears. Do you ever cry in church, and you’re just not sure why? When the emotions well up from a phrase in a hymn, repeated so many times that the words could appear in a dream, it’s the thinnest of places. Wonder. Transcendence. You end up feeling that there’s blessing in the tears.

We saw Luminescence at the Basilica of Saint Mary in Minneapolis. It’s described as an “immersive celebration of light, sound and story.” The story of the basilica is told with gorgeous music, a spectacular light show, and narration that you don’t always understand but sometimes you REALLY understand.

Play video or go to picture, the one with the darkest blues

After video, go to blue ceiling picture, the one that doesn’t show the altar in the front.

When it was over, there were so many “wows” around us that it felt like an Anne Lamot prayer. She prayer is really summarized in three words, “Help, Thanks, and Wow.”

Change to one with Mary circled.

There was, of course, a lot about Mary. You can see her presiding in the circle. At times it felt like it was Mary’s voice that you heard in the narration. Near the end, the statue of Mary above the altar glowed in a golden light. The voice said, “Don’t get distracted by all the beauty in here, the grandness of the stone and glass, the organ and trumpets. All of this is to remind you that you bear the image of God. You are the true beauty, the basilica, the house of the divine. You carry the peace that will save the world; in this glory you will recognize one human family, all different in so many ways–all in the image of God.

Remove picture, return to leaves.

The speech was so direct that it felt Jesus saying, “Blessed are you. Remember these words when you go. Poverty cannot lessen it, even when others and or the government itself says, “Not only should you have no blessing–or with the snap of its finger, no food–you’re a loser. Get a job.” Jesus says, “Blessed are you.” When everything is falling down around you, grief at so much loss, it will not kill God’s blessedness. If everyone hates you for going a different way, or for inhabiting a body in more colorful ways, or for dancing on a spectrum, well, blessed are you. Be strong. If you are one of those who sees no guile, whose purity of heart, assumes goodness in everyone, we’re blessed by you. And all y’all who just aren’t sure what’s going on: it’s not over. There is always more to the story than meets the eye. Blessed are you.

Or, and by the way, look out if you’re rich now or stuffed now. You may get a bit of reward now, but you won’t really because you could always be richer, or because the kind of hunger you have can’t be satiated. Your consolation is going to be a treadmill that never reaches its destination. Look out. Look out if your laughter is unleashing cruelty. If you start it, your reward is that it comes back at you more relentlessly. Look out. If you need everyone to praise you, look out, not everybody will mean it even if they say it, and you’ll know that. Each of those things is a cycle that simply builds until there’s hardly any blessing to be had.

It’s when the blessing captures you, as it always does, you can reverse the curse, step off the treadmill, there “cometh rest.” That was what washed over me in that space of light that was, ironically, at night on the thinnest night, November 1^st. The sunset brightens; there is another kind of light that is coming. It’s this great reversal that breaks through in Luke’s gospel over and over again: peace and love flowing back into time, the peace that passes all understanding. It’s not far off; it’s coming; it’s here.

The Transfiguration on the mountain was just a big light show.

Picture on screen, the most colorful one. Leave it up until the end in the sanctuary; for a short time on live stream.

All the love, the peace, the joy, the blessedness of God’s thumb print within us, Jesus carries, holds out so we can glimpse behind the veil. In the sound of a sound of a human voice, “Blessed are you. You bear the image of God; the sign of the cross, a saint already.” Sorry to ruin the suspense. You’re in. You’re all IN.

Friends, this is what the world needs right now, a people, captured by such wonder, such glory, that they leave their gatherings to say, “Blessed are you.” There is another way. A golden evening, brightens into a golden rule: Do unto others as you would have them do until you. Or, if you want to step back on the treadmill for just a moment. The platinum rule: Do until others as you they would have you do unto them. This week, I read a new one. Rule is the wrong word. Jesus didn’t come to give another set of rules to follow, guidelines for sainthood. It’s more like the golden love of God. Love is the guide for all things.

Jesus brainstorming some creative solutions, a few examples of what love looks like in relationships and in public. Pray for your enemies. Do good to those who hate you. This could be where the prayer is helpful, “How exactly do I do good to my enemies who hate me? God, you’re going to have to change ME first because the ideas aren’t coming fast.” Imagine if all we started praying about how we can do good to those on the other side. It’s going to take praying without ceasing, I suspect. While we’re at it, we might as well pray for the fortitude to say words of blessing to that one who is most likely to speak to us with words you can’t even say in church. If you’re gut punched, know that revenge won’t heal the red mark on your soul, and is likely wound even deeper. (Caveat: the point isn’t to take Jesus literally here, as if allowing an abuser to keep hitting someone is what’s being asked here. Love would not allow that.) Another example. With stuff. In a world fuzzes the line between greed and “just being comfortable,” give treasured things away. Not one coat, but another, then another, then another. Don’t give until it hurts, give until you, and even the earth, are healed. If someone steals your silver candlestick and gets caught, give them the other one and say they forgot to take it when they left. You will not only save that soul, you will set an entire musical into motion.

Well, maybe not “the songs of angry men.” But a song where all of it ends, which is beautiful. The bigger story that we sometimes lose in daily headlines. There is a blest communion that will gather around you with that very witness. Daniel gets to see it in his dream. The beasts don’t win. They join the unending hymn at the table, Blessed is the One who comes; Blessed are you. The communion of saints crowding in around us, some with stories that give us hope and some good ideas, but mostly they come to give witness to the story that is still being written.

It’s never over. Rejoice and be glad. Even at the grave, we shall make our song.

Alleluia! Christ is risen. Christ is risen, indeed. Alleluia!