Go much higher

All Saints A 2008
(Rev 7: 9-17; Ps 34: 1-10, 22; 1 John 3: 1-3; Mt 5: 1-12)


“Did the rabbi go up to heaven?” The question wasn’t even nice.

A Jewish congregation in old Europe had a very humble rabbi. Every Sabbath after the evening prayers, the rabbi would disappear and not re-emerge until the next day. The village was small and everyone knew everyone else’s business. So rumors flew. “He breaks the Sabbath and works for the Gentiles.” “He has a mistress and he goes to her.” “He drinks until he is drunk.” “Maybe he goes up to heaven,” whispered one innocent soul. The others howled with laughter. “Right, to heaven!” Finally they sent one young man to follow the rabbi after the Sabbath prayers. “See if he goes up to heaven.”

The young man followed the rabbi that Friday night as he left the synagogue and walked quickly down the darkened street. Once out of the village, the rabbi took one of the paths up the mountain. After a long climb, they came to a small clearing. The young man watched as the rabbi entered a tiny shabby shack. He crept close to the window and watched with wonder as the rabbi bent over an old Gentile woman, lying sick and alone on a straw mattress. The young man saw the rabbi stack wood for her fire, boil some soup, and feed her from a bowl he held close to her lips. When the rabbi began to clean up the shack, he crept away.

Back in the village a bunch of men were drinking wine and waiting. When they saw the young man, they shouted, “Hey! Did the rabbi go to heaven?”

The young man stood and thought in silence. Finally he said, “No, the rabbi did not go to heaven. The rabbi went much higher than that.”*

Today we know that we too are called to go much higher than heaven.

Today we heard the text that we call the Beatitudes. We hear who is to be called blessed in the reign of God. It’s an intimidating list: the poor in spirit, those who mourn, the meek, the merciful. Some people call Christianity the great untried idea, and today we hear why people may not even try. “Beatitude” is a churchy word. We could also translate it “happy.” Here is what will make you truly happy: to be poor in spirit, to mourn, to hunger and thirst for justice in an unjust world…Try turning them upside down and see if they work. Happy are the rich, happy are those who never know sorrow, happy are those who pay no attention to the suffering of others? The choice between the reign of God and the dark thoughts of this world are more obvious when we do that.

We are called to this strange, intoxicating happiness, the joy of God which flips the world’s pleasure upside down. We are meant to find our joy where the world does not look.

But is it possible to live this life?

On All Saints a great crowd gathers that says “yes.” On Thursday night I asked, “Have you ever stood in this church by yourself and felt like you weren’t alone.” Benjamin LeBlanc answered, “Yes, and it feels a little weird.” Today’s weird, wonderful news is we are part of a multitude that has gone before, that is scattered over the wide earth now, and is yet to come. They are not all “people like us”: only a few are Episcopalians, or white, or North American. All colors and languages, all cultures and customs are represented. We are blessed that we are invited to join them.

And the best news of All Saints is that we can join them. We cannot follow Jesus with our own strength alone. To follow Jesus is a gift. That gift is freely given today.

John says that we are the children of God, through the Father’s love. We are part of the mystery, part of the multitude. There is a place for us. All we need to do is accept the gift, and in one another’s company start our own climb up the mountain. We may climb up our own ideals, or up our own weakness and frailty. It may be a path we choose, but it’s more likely a path that’s given to us. The climb may be seen by others, but it will probably be silent and secret, as secret as a hidden shack in a forest on a mountainside.

But we too may go much higher than heaven.

One writer said it all: “There is only one tragedy in life: not to be a saint.”

*taken from Welcome To The Wisdom Of The World by Joan Chittister