It was a standard joke for Dean Martin, as he walked from behind a curtain and onto a stage. Martin would put his hand above his eyes and peer over the footlights. And in the voice of one who has had one Scotch too many, he would say in mock dismay, "How'd all these people get into my room?"

We read a bit this morning from the mysterious Book of Revelation. With picture language St. John pulls back the curtain to give us a glimpse of heaven, the Kingdom of God, "After this I looked, and there was a great multitude that no one could count." Whatever else heaven might be like, evidently it's not going to be a lonely place. "How'd all these saints get in my room?" Jesus would have an answer: "They, of course, are invited. My Father excludes no one. With my life I validate the invitation. My Father excludes no one. If heaven has empty seats, it is only because some people exclude themselves. Or perhaps, you did not share with them the invitation!" On this All Saints' Sunday, the Church proclaims those saints in our lives will be there to greet us on the far side of the grave.

In a whimsical way I wonder if it's ever happened on an All Saints' Sunday as people scan the names of those listed in our bulletin. The person in the ninth pew, pulpit side sees the name John Doe, for instance, and the name tugs hard at the heartstrings. At the very same moment, someone in the eleventh pew, lectern side is thinking, "Saint? That guy will get to heaven when hell freezes over."

Might that happen? Who knows? But this is what our faith proclaims: it is not for you or me to select the saints; we merely list them. You and I don't name the saints, we don't designate the saints, we sometimes don't even recognize the saints. It is Almighty God, though the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ Who names, designates, and recognizes the saints. So don't be surprised some far off day, if William Ayers and Sarah Palin share conversation in the Kingdom; a conversation of how God has wiped every tear from their eyes..

I've learned never to try to second-guess God, especially in terms of who it is God counts among the saints. I just give thanks there are people in my own life that have been supportive of me and have lifted me when I'm down. Now that might be as good a definition of a saint as any. One who supports those whose knees begin to buckle. One who stoops to lift up those who are down - emotionally, spiritually, financially, and even spiritually.

Various organizations have what they call "Secret Santas" when Christmas rolls around. What a blessing in our lives to have "Secret Saints" all around, all the time. There is no season more or less appropriate than any other, to be a secret saint. Anonymous saints lift up and support, merely because it's the right thing to do. As for you and me, we don't require the ruminations of the Roman Church to stand among the secret, anonymous saints. We merely need to go about supporting those whose knees are buckling; lifting up those who are down!

I shared Dean Martin's comic query, "How'd all these people get in my room." Let me share something similar ... but deeply more profound. Maya Angelou often gives public readings of her poetry. She walks onto an almost empty stage. Perhaps there is a stool, a small table with a glass of water, a microphone. As she greets the audience, she sometimes remarks about how crowded the stage is. She pauses to let her words sink in. And then Maya. Angelou goes on to explain that the stage is crowded because gathered around her, and pushing in upon her, are the ancestors upon whose shoulders she stands, and the family members who encouraged her, the friends who lifted her, even the critics who helped her grow in her craft. Although she may not use the language, the implication is that these are among the saints of her life.

I'm a preacher and not a poet, but I share the observation of Maya Angelou. This narrow pulpit step upon which I stand is awfully crowded; standing room only. But I feel crowded by those who have supported me throughout my life: My grandmother and especially my Mom. My wife and my children; the staff her at Grace and so many of you, if not all. Pastor Mumford and Pastor Zimmann and Pastor Goehle and Mr. Glassbrenner, and Mr. Gainer. And Dr. Lawler. Dr. Lawler who wrote on my very first college essay, "Kennedy, you can write well. Do it!" This pulpit step is crowded - so many people uplifting me. So many willing to support me even, and maybe especially, when my knees begin to buckle.

That's why, for me, All Saints' Sunday is the most meaningful Sunday of the year. Almost more so than Easter. Having said that, I am aware that it is Easter that makes it so. Without Easter, the saints in my life who have died - are memories. Only memories. Because of Easter, there will one day be a reunion! How'd all these saints get in my room?

It was 1933 and six-year-old Frederick Buechner was in the lobby of the Mayflower Hotel in Washington, along with his mother and his younger brother. Why they were in the hotel lobby, Buechner couldn't remember. To use the restroom? To get out of the rain? What he does remember is the sudden murmuring in the crowded lobby, "He's coming. He's coming." When he asked his mother who they were talking about, she said. "It's the president. President Roosevelt is coming." And the attention of everyone was drawn to the gilded elevator doors.

And Buechner writes, "Even all these years later I can still remember the moment when the double doors of the elevator rumbled softly apart and there was Franklin D. Roosevelt framed in the wide opening. He was standing between two men, the taller of whom, my mother whispered, was one of his sons. Each of them had hold of him under one of his arms, and I could see that if they let go of him, he would crumple to the ground on legs as flimsy as the legs of (a Raggedy Ann doll). He was the most important man in the Mayflower Hotel. He was the most important man in the world. But I could see with my own eyes that if he didn't have those two men to help, he would be helpless."

Is there a person among us who has not had Raggedy Ann moments when our knees seem about to buckle ... so shaky are they? Are there identifiable saints in our lives who have been willing and able to support us? To lift us? It is our own gift to ourselves when we can identify the saints of our lives, and to thank them this side of the Kingdom ... before they are names on an All Saints' prayer list. We all need support - from the weakest among us to the seemingly most strong. Even FDR, the mightiest man on the face of the earth - maneuvered on Raggedy Ann legs - and needed constant and continual support.

A final story, told to me by my friend Marv. Marv's brother-in-law Fred lives in Fort Lee and would be in touch with Marv's wife, Kathy, two or three times a week. Last month, after several days of not being able to get hold of Fred, and Fred not calling them, Marv and Kathy drove to Fort Lee. Fred's car was in the driveway, but no one answered the doorbell. Marv called the police. Two officers arrived, broke a window and went in. With a sense of foreboding, Marv and Kathy waited outside. In less than a minute the officers came back with the news that Fred had died. In tears, Marv and Kathy embraced. Kathy said, "Marv, my knees are buckling; don't let me fall." And Marv told me, "What Kathy didn't know is that she was already holding me up."

What a wonderful thing and a worthwhile goal to be mutual saints, one to another. It is a wonderful gift and surely the grace of God, as we find ourselves in a community of saints. After all, we confess in the creed, "I believe in the holy catholic church, the communion (that is, the community) of saints...." I thank God for this community, and the wider community in which my saints reside in abundance. I feel fortunate if I've been uplifting to any of you; I feel blessed to have been supported by so many of you. Why, can you even begin to imagine trying to walk through life alone, supported solely by Raggedy Ann legs?