We Are the Saints of the Present
Today, I’m going to try to do something that I rarely do.
I’m going to try to weave together all three readings and connect them to this All Saints’ Day.
I usually focus entirely on the gospel.
It is, after all, the good news that we come to hear.
Today, we have a lesson from Habakkuk, a book we rarely read.
Technically speaking, we wouldn’t have had one today either, but I decided to go with the alternate reading.
Habakkuk is one of the so-called minor prophets.
The tradition comes, not from Israel in exile like many of the prophetic writings, but from a time when Israel was a sovereign nation.
Habakkuk is wrestling with a question we can all identify with: why does God allow evil and injustice in the world?
Habakkuk laments about oppression, injustice, and tyranny.
He shouts, “Outrage and violence—this is all I see!”
Sound familiar?
God’s response is that the Kin-dom is coming.
God says, “If it is slow in coming, wait for it—for come it will, without fail”.
It is a promise that we hear Jesus echo in Matthew 4:17, “Change your hearts and minds, for the Kin-dom of heaven is at hand!”
We trust in that promise but that doesn’t mean that we don’t lament what is almost but not yet.
We lament that children will go hungry because SNAP benefits are discontinued.
We lament that attacks on our transgender siblings continue to mount.
We lament that some of our neighbors are being harassed, beaten, detained, and deported—not because they are criminals but simply because they are black- or brown-skinned. We have learned that some are even citizens but that hasn’t been enough to protect them.
We lament that our military is being used to police civilians and commit criminal acts in international waters.
We lament that environmental protections are being rolled back to generate profits for corporations.
We lament that a resumption of nuclear weapons testing is being considered.
God, have mercy.
Christ, have mercy.
Say it with me. Dilo conmigo.
Dios, ten piedad.
Cristo, ten piedad.
We trust in God.
That is our faith.
But, God have mercy, sometimes it is hard.
It can be hard for us to carry on in the face of so much despair.
So how do we do it?
We rejoice in being beloved children of God.
That seems counterintuitive but we have to find joy, despite the despair.
We have to seize the unconditional love that we receive from God.
We have to let that love fill us up to overflowing.
And we have to reflect that love out into the world—share it with all of our human siblings.
Somos hijos amados de Dios.
Necesitamos reconocer nuestro amor.
Necesitamos dejar que el amor de Dios nos llene por completo.
Y entonces, necesitamos compartir ese amor con el mundo.
In today’s second reading, the author tells us that as our faith grows, our love for each other increases.
That sums up our Christian mission in the world.
As we grow in faith, we claim our belovedness.
We open ourselves up to God’s presence in the world.
We acknowledge the belovedness of our human siblings.
We open ourselves up to the divine presence in our siblings.
Our love for the world increases.
And our willingness to accept pain and cruelty decreases.
The author of 2 Thessalonians says that God will make us worthy of God’s call to do the work of the Kin-dom.
God will fulfill our desires for goodness, lifting our despair about the evil and injustice in the world.
And God will empower to do the work that is needed.
So, what has this to do with Zacchaeus?
Zacchaeus was a tax collector—a Roman collaborator, traitor to his people, and universally hated.
Well, almost universally.
Jesus saw this short man, easy to overlook.
He saw the tax collector, hated and ostracized by his community.
Zacchaeus climbed a tree, desperate to see this great teacher that he had heard so much about.
But the important part of this story is not Zacchaeus seeing Jesus.
It’s Jesus seeing Zacchaeus.
Despite his stature, despite his collaboration with the oppressors, despite his being an outcast, Jesus saw him.
And not only saw him but invited him.
He invited Zacchaeus to be his host.
There is a lesson in there for us.
When we struggle to claim our belovedness—that knowledge that we are loved by God unconditionally.
Called by name and claimed as God’s own.
When we are overcome by the evil in the world and the cruelty we inflict on one another, remember Zacchaeus¬—a hated tax collector who was excluded from his community.
Zacchaeus—who Jesus saw and welcomed in.
Zacchaeus—whose salvation Jesus proclaimed.
Because we are Zacchaeus.
It doesn’t matter if we’re overlooked.
It doesn’t matter if we are disliked.
It doesn’t matter if our community doesn’t accept us.
Because Jesus sees us.
Jesus loves us.
Jesus calls us by name and claims us as his own.
Jesús nos ama.
Jesús nos llama por nuestro nombre y nos reclama como suyos.
Jesus challenges us to do the work of the Kin-dom.
To love one another.
To feed people who are hungry.
To welcome the stranger.
To help every person that feels excluded or doubts their worth—to help them to claim and embrace their belovedness.
On All Saints’ Day, we tend to focus our attention on the saints that have gone before us—all the faithful people who have done the work of the Kin-dom and now rest from their labors.
In our Lutheran tradition, the “great cloud of witnesses” includes all saints: past, present, and future.
Recordamos y honramos a los santos del pasado.
Pero debemos asumir nuestro papel como santos del presente.
Dios nos ha llamado dignos.
Dios nos ha capacitado para realizar la obra del Reino.
We remember and honor the saints of the past.
And, although we are also sinners, we must step up and into our role as saints of the present.
God has called us worthy.
God has empowered us to do the work of the Kin-dom
To love one another.
To include those who have been excluded.
To let the love of God fill us up to overflowing.
And then to share that love with the world.
Gratefully.
Joyfully.
And may our example—with the work of the Spirit—help us to form the saints of the future.
Amen.
May this contemplation on God’s word keep our hearts and minds on Christ Jesus.
Amen.