I watched the musical "On the Town," the other night. Three sailors have a twenty-four hour shore leave in Manhattan, and the movie follows them from 6:00am as they skip down the gangplank to freedom, all the way to 6:00am the next morning when they slowly trudge back onto the ship. The three did a lot of living during that twenty-four hour pass. And they must have marveled that the time slipped away so quickly; too brief in retrospect. Kind of like I've been feeling these past few days, anticipating the retreat I'll be at the next few days in North Carolina. The retreat is designed for pastors who will be possibly retiring within the next five years. Most of us attending are approaching middle age ... if you accept sixty as the new forty. At any rate, among the fifteen participants, five are seminary classmates. The last time I saw most of them was May 31, 1974 - the day we graduated. We were all in our twenties, just starting out ... and now we're gathering thirty-three years later, to discuss finishing up. The years didn't pass as quickly as a twenty-four hour shore leave ... but in the rearview mirror they seem to have whizzed by; too brief, in retrospect. And given the theme for All Saints' Sunday, and the context of my retreat, I've been reflecting a lot about the congregations I've served (two), and the saints I've encountered (too numerous to enumerate). And I use the term "saints" intentionally.

Ephesus is a city located on the Aegean coast n what is now Turkey. It was a cosmopolitan city in the first century, and our second reading this morning was a letter to the church written, presumably, by a former pastor. And while pride is one of the seven deadly sins, this former pastor is as proud as a peacock as he recalls the saints he once served. Again, the intentional use of the word "saints." Listen again: "I have heard of your faith in the Lord Jesus and your love toward all the saints...." And who were these saints? The people sharing the same pews, serving on the same committees. These were the saints. They were the people who shared their faith with others in the community and those who set up the chairs in the fellowship hall for the Turkish coffee hour after worship. The church in Ephesus is not so different than our church. It is our church. They are we ... and we are they in this wonderful community we call church. We say it intentionally in the words of the Creed, "I believe in the Holy Spirit, the Holy catholic (universal) the Holy catholic Church, the communion of saints ..." the communion of saints, or community of saints, is the likes of you - you in the pew.

Now you might feel a bit unworthy, or embarrassed, at being labeled a saint. But preachers have a fine precedent for sticking that kind of label on parishioners. Often in his letters to the various churches of the Mediterranean region, churches which he himself founded, St. Paul will begin something like, "To all the saints at Rome, or Corinth, or Philippi…." Of course, as William Willimon points out, "then Paul spends the rest of the letter bashing them over the head, telling them what miserable failures they are as Christians. Still, their failures to be all that they ought to be doesn't keep Paul from calling them 'saints.' A saint is any Christian, anybody whom God has called out to be blessed, baptized, different, distinctive. Saints are those ordinary people who have had their little lives caught, commandeered by Christ in rather extraordinary ways." And yes, even in ways that are ordinary. Saints like ... well, like those thirty-two on our All Saints' list, including Vera, accidentally omitted from our cut-and-paste insert.

I knew six of these saints quite well: Marge and Marge and Martha, as well as Vera, Robert and George. Truth-be-known, they were saints in my life: ordinary, garden-variety saints in my life. To be sure, people tend to be on their best behavior in front of the pastor - and the pastor tries to be on his best behavior in front of the parishioners ... and so if you know Marge and Marge and Martha, and Vera, Robert and George better than I, the label of saint might fit better some times than others. But here is where one of Martin Luther's most enduring ideas comes into play. Simply stated, it is this: Simul Justus et Peccator. If like me, you are not up on your Latin, Luther is saying that the Christian is both saint and sinner simultaneously. And so, using Luther's understanding of sainthood, Marge and Marge and Martha, as well as Vera, Robert and George, are indeed all saints. Not perfect ... but nonetheless, saints.

A priest in a hurry waits in line to have his car filled with gas just before a long holiday weekend. The attendant works quickly, but there are many cars ahead of the priest. Finally, the attendant motions him toward a vacant pump. "Father," says the young man, "sorry about the delay. It seems as if everyone waits until the last minute to get ready for a long trip." The priest chuckles, "I know what you mean. It's the same in my line of work."

"... everyone waits until the last minute to get ready for a long trip." All Saints' Sunday is a reminder of sorts to us all, as if we needed one, that eventually we are going to be making a long trip to a distant shore, and many of our loved ones have already made the journey. Beyond that, All Saints' Sunday is a reminder that there is a heavenly Father seeking a closer relationship with us, God's children. A relationship God has fostered even before the moment of our own Baptisms. Finally, and most importantly, All Saints' Sunday is a reminder that the grave is not our ultimate destination.

I once shared that in 1997, I was a part of a group from Grace touring the Holy Land. On a beautiful Sunday morning we had walked from our hotel, into the old walled city, and over to the Church of the Redeemer. During the announcements, the pastor addressed the crowded congregation, "if there are any pilgrim groups in Jerusalem this morning, please tell the rest of us where you are from." I stood and introduced myself, "I'm Pastor Tim Kennedy, and our group is from New York." I sat down. A voice a few pews back says, "I'm Pastor John Meisenheimer from North Carolina, and I haven't seen Tim Kennedy since our seminary days." A voice from across the aisle says, "I'm Pastor Allen Cavenaugh from Indiana, and I haven't seen Tim since a conference in the mid-seventies." It was quite a moment. I imagine a lot of people who filled those pews wondered, "Who in the world is Tim Kennedy?"

After worship the three of us had a great reunion at the coffee hour. As we were chatting, a vivid image came to me: this is what the Kingdom of God must be like! I picture having journeyed through the Valley of the Shadow of Death and discovering, "It is true! It is only the shadow of death." I arrive at the far side thinking I must be somewhat the stranger; alone in a foreign and faraway place. All of a sudden, people are calling out, "Tim, for heaven's sake, it's great to see you." Maybe they wouldn't say "for heaven's sake ...," but hey, it is the Kingdom of God. I'm just hoping God won't be thinking, "Who in the world is Tim Kennedy?"

And now when that day comes, there will be additional folks to greet me at heaven's door. Who might they be? You have your names and I have mine and for me, they include Marge and Marge and Martha, as well as Vera, Robert and George. These are the saints of our lives ... no longer with us. They have passed from this life. Their lives, however long, were too brief in retrospect. We are saddened and, in some cases, devastated. However. However, "but then there breaks a yet more glorious day: the saints triumphant, rise in bright array; the King of glory passes on his way. Alleluia. Alleluia."