Every year at the Great Vigil and First Mass of Easter, we either welcome someone into the Body of Christ at the font, or we renew our own baptismal vows. It happens in the dark after we’ve heard the ancient stories of God’s saving actions among his people, all by the small but piercing light of the Paschal candle. For those of us who know how the liturgy goes, we’re aware that, by the time we’re at the font, we’re quite close to proclaiming the first Alleluias of Easter. The suspense is thick. The water in the font has been blessed, baptism has happened, and then there’s a wonderful procession from the font to the altar, all still in the dark, with hints of candlelight.
As the procession moves to the altar, a litany is sung by the choir. It’s the Litany of the Saints. As the congregation is aspersed with holy water, we call on the prayers of those we believe are in the nearer presence of God. Holy Mary, Holy Peter, Holy James, Holy Joseph, Holy Lancelot Andrewes, Holy Jonathan Myrick Daniels. . . Pray for us! We sing it with great enthusiasm as our hearts beat faster. The effect of this chanting is ethereal, a cascading effect of names of those who have gone before us. Some gave their lives at the stake or at the teeth of lions in Roman arenas, and some died peacefully in their beds. But all believed in Christ. All believed in the resurrection from the dead. All let the light of Christ guide their lives.
In the dark, after a long Lent and a patient waiting for Easter to break, the Litany of the Saints is a powerful reminder that we’re not alone. It’s yet one more affirmation that we can’t be Christians without the help and aid of others. We can’t be Christians without swallowing our pride and asking for the prayers of our friends in Christ. And it’s our job to pray for them as well.
Just seven months after the Easter Vigil, we celebrate All Saints’ Day. Now, unlike spring, the days are getting shorter. We encounter more darkness with each day that grows closer to December 21. But in addition to the physical darkness outside, there’s a metaphorical darkness around us in this nation as we approach the divisive election of a new president. We’re surrounded by bitter rancor, hateful rhetoric, and searing anxiety from all kinds of people. We seem to be in a state of intractable conflict and division. Is it any wonder, then, that many of us might feel alone, beleaguered, hopeless, and anxious? It’s into the midst of this time of political turmoil and national disunity that the Church has a word to say from her ancient tradition. We’re not alone, and there’s a holy alternative to this state of affairs.
All Saints’ Day affirms these things. We’re not alone. If the Church is truly being the Church, we’ll testify to this in word and deed. We need each other, and the world needs us and the Gospel’s beautiful message of peace and love. On All Saints’ Day, when the veil is peeled back for a time between this world and the next, we catch a glimpse of how things should be, a holy alternative to our present lack of peace and unity. It’s found in the worship of heaven, which is wondrous and glorious, full of united song and praise. There’s more to our existence than anxiety, worry, fighting, and hate. There’s the joy of being in communion with one another, just as on All Saints’ Day, we celebrate our deep union with those who are in the nearer presence of God. They pray for us, and we pray for them. They sing with us, and we sing with them.
As we approach Election Day, remember that we’re meant to be working together, not against one another. The Gospel truth is reconciliation not division. If we’re fostering divisiveness in any kind of way, then we’re missing the Gospel truth. We may not always agree (and that’s okay), but we must love sacrificially. We must always look out for those who will be trampled on by this world. This is who we are as the Church. I pray that the Church across the world in this divided age might have the courage to speak this truth. The world needs to hear it. On Tuesday, November 5, the church will be open all day, as usual for prayer. Stop by if you can to pray Morning Prayer at 9 a.m. or Evening Prayer at 5:30 p.m. We will also offer Low Mass at 12:05 p.m. with prayers for the nation and for a peaceful election process.
But before then, and to remember our Gospel call to unity, come and celebrate All Saints’ Day. This evening, come to Mass at 7 p.m. on this Principal Feast to remember your baptism (or look forward to your future baptism!). Come to rejoice in song and glorious worship with those beloved saints who are still alive in Christ and are experiencing the perfect unity that we can only dream about here. Feast with our parish community after Mass in our retreat house as a visible sign of our dear fellowship. And then come to Mass again on All Souls’ Day, November 2, to pray for those beloved of us who are still making their pilgrimage to the throne of God. Finally, come to Mass yet again on Sunday, because it’s the Lord’s Day. There’s no day like it. For over two thousand years, Christians have gotten up on the first day of the week to remember that we’re never alone. We need each other. And nothing can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus, as St. Paul tells us. And this is so because on the first day of the week, Jesus broke the bonds of death and defeated once and for all the evil that still rears its ugly head among us in our own day. But the victory has been won, and in this time of great division, it’s our job—our bounden duty—as Christians, to get up on the first day of the week, every week, to proclaim that what unites us is greater than what divides us. Hope is always present to us if we dare to see it. The Mass is where we find our deepest communion with God and one another.
If you’ve been away from the church for some time, it’s never too late to come back. If you know someone who’s been away from church for a while, bring them to church with you. The Church is our mother, our true home on this side of heaven. In this time of darkening days, physical and metaphorical, let’s celebrate the light that always shines in the darkness. And nothing can put it out.
Yours in Christ,
Father Kyle