In her book, Dakota: A Spiritual Geography, Kathleen Norris tells of being a visiting author in an elementary classroom located in the desolate landscape of western North Dakota. She was trying to help young students learn to tell their own stories. Without much enthusiasm, one little girl wrote, "When my third snail died, I said, I'm through with snails." And with the heart of a poet, Norris was taken by the pain of that little girl. "When my third snail died, I said, I'm through with snails." "How devastating," Norris writes, "how devastating it is to commit to something, or to someone, to invest one's time, one's heart and soul, one's best effort, one's love, only to have the person or the enterprise die. Why go on?"

The sisters, Mary and Martha. Confronted with the death of Lazarus. Was that also their question, "Why go on?" Lazarus was not only their protector, he was their breadwinner. But of course, most important, he was their brother! "Why go on?" In the seasons of your own pain, in the depths of your own losses, was that ever your consideration? Perhaps there is a name on our All Saints' prayer list this morning - a loved one whose passing caused you such grief that you also questioned, and perhaps still do, "Why go on?"

I don't want to minimize those feelings, or gloss over them. St. Paul calls death an enemy - and we ought not take enemies lightly. In no way do I want to downplay feelings of grief and sorrow on this day when we name the names of those whom death has claimed. Nevertheless, I do want to do what preachers are called to do, and that is share the heart of our Christian faith. A faith that is crystal clear, nothing, not even the grave, can separate us from the love of God, through Christ Jesus our Lord.

This story of Lazarus - what a marvelous text for an All Saints' Day! The reason being - Lazarus is you. Lazarus is I. We share his destiny in death, even as he shares our destiny - resurrection. Four days dead he was. Four days dead and sister Martha, and you may recall she is the practical one, Martha is reluctant to have the stone blocking his tomb rolled away. To put it crudely, if not accurately, "death stinks." Oh, on so many levels, death stinks. But the stone is rolled away. Jesus raises his voice, and like one friend calling to another a good distance away (and what greater distance is there than the gulf between life and death), Jesus shouts "Lazarus, come out!" And one imagines Lazarus, dazed by the daylight, as he came forth from his grave.

If the preacher does not have a resurrection message on All Saints' Day - then really, shame on the preacher. We'd end up like that jaded little girl, "My loved one died; I said, I'm through with loved ones." But we do have a resurrection story. To be honest, my homiletics professor was always quick to remind us student wannabe preachers, "Gentleman, Lazarus was not resurrected. Only Jesus Christ was resurrected. Lazarus was merely resuscitated." I don't know about you, but I think Lazarus was so happy to hear his name called that day in Bethany, that nuances between resuscitation and resurrection weren't overly important to him. All he knew that he was out of breath - for four long days - and now he was so giddy that he could hardly catch his breath.

Maybe. Maybe Lazarus was happy to hear his name; maybe he was giddy to have another chance at life. The more I read and hear stories about people who have crossed over the Jordan and crossed back again, the experience has been described as a beautiful one. I've read that those who have died and have been resuscitated are a bit disappointed to wake up only find themselves on this side of eternity and not the far side. Have you head of stories like that. One further thing they all seem to share: these people no longer fear the grave.

All Saints' Day, and God be praised, the story of Lazarus is perfect for this day. Next to the resurrection reality of Easter - the story of Lazarus and his ninety-six hour journey into death is music to aching hearts. I'm pretty sure that during the lifetime of Lazarus, there was nothing on Yom Kippur, listing the names of those members of the Temple who had died in the previous year. But pretend that there was. And on Monday, the Temple secretary laboriously writes the name of each person on parchment, only to be told on Thursday that she needs to remove Lazarus from the list. And how we would like to remove names from our own All Saints' list of those who have died. But we cannot. The promise though is this: God shall give new life to the saints. And on that glorious day ... there will be no more tears and no more pain and no more mourning ... and no more listing of those who have died.

There are an even sixty names listed in our All Saints' insert. Five dozen men and women chosen by the members of this congregation to be named aloud. As you scan the three columns, perhaps your eye catches a name or two who were extra special saints in your lives! These saints have touched us - and their touch lingers. They have names and faces, these saints. A parent through whom God gave us the gift of life. A spouse who nurtured our lives and loved us - even at those private times we seemed most unlovable. A friend who stuck with us through thick and through thin. A casual acquaintance who shared a pew at worship or coffee in the well-named fellowship hall.

No, these are not anonymous saints - generic saints: these are "loved ones." We have loved them - and they have loved us. We remember them before God this day ... and in the presence of this congregation. We do this, not to remind God. Just as Jesus, our God dwelling among us, just as Jesus called Lazarus by name so does our God know each name on our list. After all, God died for each of them ... that each of them might live forever.

All Saints' Day is one of the great festivals of the Church Year. In a sense every sermon that is preached throughout the year, is pointed toward this day. We might call today "the anti-Ash Wednesday." You know - Ash Wednesday, when the pastor says, "Remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return." The message of All Saints' Day is one that reverses that reality! All Saints' Day is the great promise of our God that the grave is no dead end.

All Saints' Day points us to the Baptismal font, to that bowl of water. The water of Baptism is like Teflon and smudge on our foreheads - reminders of sin and mortality - the ashes cannot stick. And so, what a special day for Lindsey and Alexander to be Baptized! Any day is a good day when God publicly adopts you as a child-of-God. But the promises of Baptism are intensified so beautifully against the backdrop of Lazarus walking into a brand new life! Baptism is the promise of a brand new life for Lindsey, and for Alexander too. Both will share in the death of Jesus, that one day they might share in his resurrection.

This is a day of for encouragement and hope. "Lazarus, come out," shouted the Lord. And Lazarus, I picture, shuffling out of the tomb, all bandaged up in his shroud. He is moving slowly, at a snail's pace. Or just maybe it wasn't like that at all. Maybe Lazarus came forth from the tomb dancing. Dancing, dancing, dancing, to the beat of his own resuscitated heart.