Beginning and Endings

Yesterday, I went to see the special effects laden movie, "2012" -- in which the viewer is treated to a two hour smorgasbord of destruction and mayhem, in which the world as we know it comes to an end. The earth's crust shifts and tears. Tsunamis crash. The infrastructures of a civilization built on its technological prowess are obliterated. And for all of the apocalyptic mayhem, at the end of the movie, the writers cannot help but hope in the power of humanity to survive -- to rebuild, restore and repopulate the earth all over again.

I was particularly intrigued by one scene in which thousands have gathered at the Vatican for a last ditch, desperate prayer meeting. The Pope leads the public service from his balcony. The College of Cardinals are praying fervently in the Sistine Chapel. Suddenly the ominous rumbling of an earthquake is heard, The shaking begins. The cracks in the ceiling appear. Predictably, one crack carves a path right through the space between the finger of God and the finger of Adam. The entire ceiling collapses onto the the clergy below. Then, the dome of St. Peter's itself topples and rolls over the panicked crowd like a gargantuan bowling ball.

The message seems to be clear. When the end of this world comes, not even God can save us. Prayers are a waste of time. Trust in the human spirit. Have faith in a technological solution. Somehow, we will survive by our own ingenuity (and a healthy dose of Darwinian luck) alone.

Tonight, as the first day of Advent draws to a close, I can only think of the very different message we Christians have to offer. Our tradition tells us that the world is passing away -- maybe not in the stunning way film directors can imagine, but passing away nonetheless. Bit by bit. Species by species. Moment by moment. Breath by breath. A time to be born. A time to die.

Our tradition tells us that the God who opened the book on creation will, in God's own time, close the book as well. And when the fullness of time comes, no amount of technological whirligigs will afford a way out. And yet, confronted with the consummation of creation in what the Hebrew prophets called "The Day of the Lord", Christians proclaim a hope -- the hope that even in the End there will be a New Beginning. Our task in the meantime is to keep alert and keep awake; guard our hearts and our minds; stay faithful to the Good News of God in Christ.

We wait. We watch. We work. We pray. The old is passing away. The new beginning is here already. The new beginning is already on its way. A blessed Advent to all!

Almighty God, give us grace to cast away the works of darkness and put on the armor of light, now in the time of this mortal life in which your Son Jesus Christ came to visit us in great humility; that in the last day, when he shall come again in his glorious majesty to judge both the living and the dead, we may rise to life immortal; through him who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen. -- Collect for the First Sunday of Advent

Leo the Great -- Reflection

Incarnation. The idea that in the one person of Jesus the Christ there existed two "natures" -- one human and one divine has been a part of Christian dogma for the better part of 1500 years. But this concept was not a given. The Church argued about it for centuries after Jesus' death and resurrection. Eventually, agreement (though not unanimous) was reached on language to articulate theologically what the Church accepted devotionally. Leo was a significant contributor to that effort. But Leo's contribution to an understanding of this fundamental doctrine of Incarnation was not merely an intellectual one.

Leo understood that, at its core, the Christian faith is an embodied religion. Christians do not worship a God who remains "out there" in some metaphysical ether called "the spiritual world". The God of the Christian faith demonstrates a connection with all of life by living a life within a particular place and time as a particular individual. At the very least, this understanding of God's action in the Incarnation can serve as a reminder for us that the life each of us lives in the "here and now" is of a piece -- it cannot be separated into compartments. We are living our "spiritual" lives simultaneously with our "regular" ones.

In the Gospel reading assigned to the commemoration of Leo, Jesus tells his disciples that they are to be the "light of the world'. Leo embodied that Gospel light, not simply by saying his prayers or keeping himself occupied with designing a new liturgy. He could not ignore the events taking place outside the walls of his cathedral.

The Gospel compelled Leo to take everything he had -- his intellect, his resourcefulness, his office as the Bishop of Rome, his prayers, his study, his worship, his faith...his entire self -- and employ it all in the service of the people who were most in danger of suffering and loss at the hands of two waves of invaders. In doing so, Leo reminds us that shining our Gospel light isn't simply a Sunday morning activity. My guess is that when Atilla the Hun finished his meeting with Leo, he knew he had met not only a Bishop in the Church of God, but one shrewd negotiator possessed of a great deal of personal and political power.

Shining the light of the Gospel is about more than singing a few songs or saying a few prayers on a Sunday morning. Shining the light of the Gospel is about more than "telling someone about Jesus". Shining the light of the Gospel means LIVING as followers of Jesus, the One who shows us the God who will not remain separated from the human condition. Leo's life reminds us that, to be the Church -- the Body of Christ, we cannot wall ourselves off, remaining separated from the world around us. To be the Body of Christ is to share in God's love for the whole world --even those parts that don't strike us as "spiritual". In fact, those "unspiritual" parts might be the places that most need to light of the Gospel.

Leo the Great, Bishop of Rome, 461 -- Biographical Sketch

O Lord our God, grant that your Church, following the teaching of your servant Leo of Rome, may hold fast the great mystery of our redemption, and adore the one Christ, true God and true Man, neither divided from our human nature nor separate from your divine Being; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen

2 Timothy 1:6-14
Psalm 77:11-15
Matthew 5:13-19

Leo was born in 400 as the Western Roman Empire was disintegrating from within and without. Despite the tenuous nature of his surroundings, Leo received a good education and was ordained deacon and entrusted with the significant administrative tasks of managing Church possessions, supervising the grain distribution and overseeing finances. In 440, while on away on a mission to Gaul, Leo was unanimously elected Pope.

Leo’s abilities proved to be far beyond that of a first rate manager. His leadership in the controversies surrounding the doctrine of the human and divine natures of the One Person of Christ are evidenced by the document produced by the Council of Chalcedon in 451. (This document may be found on page 864 in the Book of Common Prayer.) His sermons (96 of which still survive) were both expositional and encouraging in character, as he dealt with a range of pastoral and doctrinal issues (from almsgiving to persistent heresies).

Because of the crumbling Roman infrastructure, Leo became the de facto leader of the city — negotiating with Attila the Hun and preventing the further ransacking of Rome. Three years later, when the Vandals came town, Leo was unable to prevent the pillaging, but was able to keep them from burning Rome to the ground and slaughtering the citizens. After the second barbarian invasion, Leo spent the rest of his ministry working to repair the damage to churches and restore the morale of the citizens of Rome.

Willibrord -- Reflection

While little is known about Willibrord, we remember his ministry, not because he did such extraordinary things -- though it is no small accomplishment to carve out a smidgen of a ministry presence in the midst of a foreign country. Imagine the daunting nature of the task! Willibrord wasn't in the Low Countries competing with other brands of Christians for pledging units to support his particular strain of the Church. No, he was bringing an entirely new religious outlook into a land whose inhabitants were, most probably, completely content with the religion they already had.

And yet, what seems to have happened is that Willibrord persisted. Day after day. Week after week. Month after month. Year after year. And by the time of his death, Christianity had taken a bit of a root in the countryside. In our culture, infatuated by the quick fix and the instant result, Willibrord's ministry would, no doubt, prove frustrating to the any judicatory wishing to see a greater return on investment. But Willibrord simply kept plugging at it.

The Gospel lesson assigned to the remembrance of Willibrord is the Sending of the Seventy in Luke 10:1-9. In that passage, Jesus sends out his followers, two by two with instructions to, "carry no purse, no bag, no sandals" (in other words, live off the hospitality of others). "Preach peace and the kingdom of heaven" Jesus says. And if people welcome you into their homes, stay there until your work in that community is done. Not very high tech. Not too exciting. And yet, there was something about the way Jesus issued the commission, that encouraged the Seventy to actually leave the presence of Jesus and go out into the countryside. And given the relative speed with which the Good News took root in the first century, one can only imagine that the Seventy's witness to Jesus was received by enough people to make a difference over time.

However it was that, seven centuries later, Willibrord heard the same voice of Jesus, he obeyed it. Left his homeland. Left his friends. Left security. Left social station. Went to a completely different culture. Sat up shop with scant resources. Went about the business of proclaiming the Gospel in word and deed. Blazed a trail for those after him so that their work in proclaiming the Gospel wouldn't be as difficult as his had been.

All of a sudden ordinary persistence seems powerfully extraordinary.

Willibrord, Archbishop of Utrecht, Missionary to Frisia, 739 -- Biographical Sketch

O Lord our God, you call whom you will and send them where you choose: We thank you for sending your servant Willibrord to be an apostle to the Low Countries, to turn them from the worship of idols to serve you, the living God; and we entreat you to preserve us from the temptation to exchange the perfect freedom of your service for servitude to false gods and to idols of our own devising; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen

Most of what we know about Willibrord’s life and missionary work in the late 7th and early part of the 8th centuries comes from the Venerable Bede’s book Ecclesiastical History and a biography by his younger kinsman, Alcuin. We know that he went into the monastery as a child (age 7). At the age of about 20 he traveled from England to Ireland and studied there for twelve years.

In 690, Willibrord and twelve companions set out for Frisia (Holland), a part of Europe that was not yet Christianized, but was coming under the domination of the Christian Franks. There had been previous missionary efforts in the area, but with little success. With the assistance of the Frankish rulers, Willibrord established a base at Utrecht. In 695 Pope Sergius ordained him to the episcopate and gave him the name of Clement.

In 698, he established a monastery near Trier. Frisia continued to be a land of significant unrest and Willibrord’s work was frequently interrupted by the conflicts between the Frisians and Franks. For a while, he was assisted by Boniface, who at a later time returned to Frisia to strengthen the mission there. In a very real sense, it was Willibrord’s steadfast commitment to “staying put” in a difficult environment that prepared the way for Boniface’s more successful achievements later on.

Sense and Senselessness...

When you're in the readiness center
preparing to go to war...
No one expects a war zone
to break out all around you.
While you're trained
to recognize the enemy...
No one expects the enemy
will be outfitted a uniform like everyone else's.

Without warning a routine afternoon
is transformed by violence...
and lives are taken,
and bodies are wounded
and friends are lost, and families are left...
to grieve,
to hurt,
to suffer
and to wonder, "Why?"

Plenty of people (including me)
will struggle to wrap our minds around the tragedy.
But explanations are too thin.
Emotions are too deep.
Wounds are too ragged.
The loss is too great.

Cain is alive and well.
Able's blood cries out.
And there's still no way
to make sense out of senslessness.

William Temple -- Reflection

"Freedom is a great word, and like other great words is often superficially understood. It has been said that to those who have enough of this world's goods the claim to freedom means, 'Leave us alone,' while to those who have not enough it means, 'Give us a chance.'"
-- from Christianity and Social Order

Overtly Christian and overtly political -- these are qualities that William Temple embodied in his life and ministry. Wait a minute! Every good clergyperson knows that religion and politics don't mix, right? Apparently Temple did not receive that memo.

His book, Christianity and Social Order published in 1942 was his last and most provocative. Written in the midst of World War II and just two years before his death, this text is Temple's articulation of "the principles which had guided his political activity". The book also challenged many popular assumptions regarding the place of the Church in the political conversations of the day. (Glorious Companions, p. 257) Temple's ministry gave witness to his belief that the Church wasn't simply some sort of archaic devotional society devoted to the perpetuation of anachronistic rituals of piety. In Temple's mind, the Church mattered in society because the Church could call forth the best in society's citizens and speak toward the injustices and oppressions in light of the Gospel of Jesus Christ.

Temple had honed his political skills during his eight years as the Bishop of Manchester -- a sprawling industrial diocese with a myriad of social ills exacerbated by sharp class divisions. But previous to that appointment he had, time and time again, spoken out on behalf of the poor and those who were on the fringes of British society. In Christianity and Social Order, the Archbishop outlined the three principles he saw as absolutely necessary to the betterment of society as a whole: personal freedom (maximum individual choice), social fellowship (strengthening family, national and international ties) and service (wider loyalties taking priority over narrow ones). (Glorious Companions, p. 257)

As one who routinely spends my days managing the small-time politics that are endemic to parish life, Temple's charge to the Church to take an interest in the society (and its politics) beyond the Sunday morning liturgy is a stinging rebuke. Temple also raises important questions for me. How can we possibly "proclaim by word and example the Good News of God in Christ" (BCP, p. 305) to the world and not ever touch upon the societal issues that will require political willpower -- of a big-time sort -- to address? Can we simply be in the business of saving "souls" for the next life, while tacitly allowing systems to continue that, intentionally or unintentionally, result in the deaths of people's hopes, aspirations and dignity in this life?

My fear isn't that as the Church we have nothing to add to the political debate in our own day in our own country. My fear is that we seem to lack the courage to deliver that sort of message humbly, directly, clearly and without apology. My fear is that I don't have the courage to say what my understanding of the Gospel may be calling me to say. My fear is that the relative security of a stipend, health insurance, rectory and pension fund may have more of a collar (and muzzle) on me than the Gospel of Jesus.

The witness of Temple's passion for social justice is a powerful one. There are others in our own day and time who have taken up the Cause for those whom our society (and even our own Church) would too easily ignore. I give thanks for their courageous witness and pray for them daily.

I also pray that God will deliver me from the fear that would cause me to sell out the the glorious Good News of the Gospel for the security of small-time politics in the church-of-business-as-usual.

William Temple -- Archbishop of Canterbury, 1944 -- A Biographical Sketch

Philosopher, theologian, apologist, teacher, evangelist, ecumenist, reformer and archbishop — these are a just a few of the adjectives used to describe William Temple, Archbishop of Canterbury from 1942 until his death in 1944. The second son of Archbishop of Canterbury Frederick Temple, one biographer has noted that the question of William’s life was not, “Shall I follow Christ?”, but rather, “How shall I follow Christ?”

Temple was a scholar of the classics and a renowned preacher and teacher. Perhaps his two best known books are Christianity and Social Order and Readings in St. John’s Gospel. An advocate for the poor and a leader in ecumenical relations, Temple was convinced of the necessity of living the Gospel practically and not simply at worship on Sundays. For all of his work in England, though, the events on the international stage overshadowed everything. As war loomed on the horizon, Temple took to the airwaves of British radio and offered the following words to the English people in 1939:

"No positive good can be done by force; that is true. But evil can be checked and held back by force, and it is precisely for this that we may be called upon to use it. If it be so, let us do it in calm but unshakable resolution, trying, in spite of all the agony, to bear no ill-will to those whom we must resist, seeking to inflict no more suffering than is inevitably involved in the resistance that we must offer, bearing with patient courage the suffering that comes to ourselves. And while we do our utmost to secure the triumph of right as it has been given us to see the right, let us steadily look beyond the conflict to the restoration of peace, and dedicate ourselves to the creation of a world order which shall be fair to the generations yet unborn.”

Collect for the Commemoration of William Temple

O God of light and love, you illumined your Church through the witness of your servant William Temple: Inspire us, we pray, by his teaching and example, that we may rejoice with courage, confidence, and faith in the Word made flesh, and may be led to establish that city which has justice for its foundation and love for its law; through Jeus Christ, the light of the world, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.

Richard Hooker -- Reflection

Anglo-Catholic or Evangelical? Liberal or Conservative? Traditionalist or Progressive? Democrat or Republican? Pro-Life or Pro-Choice? Capitalist or Socialist?

The more I watch the so-called "news" (and admittedly, I am watching such programs less and less these days), the more I recognize the predilection toward binary thinking. A person is either this or that -- with no middle ground. No room for nuance or paradox. Clean. Clear. Simple.

Ask enough questions so that the appropriate label can be affixed, and then, presto! No further effort need be expended to engage a person as an individual. We can simply relate to them as we would anyone else we have stamped with the same label. No fuss. No muss. No need to trouble ourselves with engaging the complexities and inconsistencies inherent within each human being.

As our politics (of both the secular and ecclesial sort) have become more and more polarized, reasoned debate is sacrificed on the altar of supposed certainty. Impugning another's character and value system takes the place of reflective listening and engaged conversation. We no longer debate issues with the understanding that debate can lead to stronger relationships and more cogent solutions. Instead we engage in a conversational scorched earth policy in which the end result is the decimation of our opponent's character. The implication of this sort of "debate" is, of course, that if our opponent had any character at all, then she/he would unquestioningly agree with our particular position in the first place.

Of course, "either/or" thinking isn't the invention of twenty-first century cable news networks. At the end of the 16th century, a priest by the name of Richard Hooker was engaged in a debate about the quality and character (some might even venture "charism") of the Church of England, from which the Episcopal Church is descended. Within the Church of England at that time there were still those who wanted to reestablish communion with the Bishop of Rome, which had been finally severed during the reign of Elizabeth I. Their criticism was that the English Church wasn't "Catholic enough". There was another group of people who felt that the reform of the Church, which had happened in fits and starts for decade after decade, was being held back by recalcitrant, near-heretical bishops and ignorant politicians. Their criticism was that the Church wasn't "Reformed enough".

As the debate raged, Hooker (see yesterday's post) stepped into the fray. He sought, through his work to demonstrate that a via media (middle way) -- a Church both catholic and reformed would embody the best of both perspectives without succumbing to the eccentricities of each. To read his Laws of Ecclesiastical Polity is to be confronted with a mind that was passionate, reasonable and incisive. Hooker did not argue for the Church of England as some sort of politically necessary compromise, rather he looked at the Church of England as a pointer toward a greater comprehension of the "wonderful and sacred mystery" that is Christ's Church.

Hooker's contribution to the conversation was both his "sound reasoning" and his "great charity". In holding both of those qualities together, Hooker's arguments had to be taken seriously (even by those who would reject those arguments as insufficient). As I think about the general tenor of the debates within our own Church and in the culture at large, I think we would do well to remember these words from the Preface of the Laws:

"There will come a time when three words uttered with charity and meekness shall receive a far more blessed reward than three thousand volumes written with disdainful sharpness of wit."

Amen.

Richard Hooker -- Priest, 1600 -- A Biographical Sketch

Today, November 3, the Church Calendar commemorates Richard Hooker, one of the "Anglican Divines" -- so named because their lives, work and ministries are at the headwaters of the grand stream of Anglican thought and piety.

Educated at Oxford College and a lifelong parish priest and scholar, Hooker exemplifies the quintessential Anglican theological mind at work. His magnum opus, Laws of Ecclesiastical Polity, was written as a comprehensive defense of the Reformation settlement, engineered by Elizabeth I, over and against Puritan detractors. Beginning from a strong Aristotelian philosophical base (and the emphasis on "natural law"), Hooker constructed an argument in which Scriptural revelation, ancient tradition and reason were foundational.

Book Five of the Laws is a massive defense of the Book of Common Prayer. While his arguments are supported by enormous amounts of patristic learning, Hooker draws effectively from his own twenty year experience of using the Book in the context of his ministry as a priest. The combination of intellectual depth, quality of style and moderate, patient character contributed to the formidable nature of Hooker's writings.

(Material for this sketch drawn from Lesser Feasts and Fasts and Glorious Companions)

Collect for the Commemoration of Richard Hooker

O God of truth and peace, you rasied up your servant Richard Hooker in a day of bitter controversy to defend with soud reasoning and great charity the catholic and reformed religion: Grant that we may maintain that middle way, not as a compromise for the sake of peace, but as a comprehension for the sake of truth; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

All the Faithful Departed

O God, the Maker and Redeemer of all believers: Grant to the faithful departed the unsearchable benefits of the passion of your Son; that on the day of his appearing they may be manifested as your children; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.

In an Op-Ed piece for the New York Times published on All Hallows' Eve, preaching professor Thomas G. Long eloquently describes our cultural ambivalence toward death...and how, this ambivalence translates into our seeming inability to deal with the dead themselves.

He writes, "For the first time in history, the actual presence of the dead at their own funerals has become optional, even undesirable, lest the body break the illusion of a cloudless celebration, spoil the meditative mood and reveal the truths about grief, life and death that our thinned-out ceremonies cannot bear."

"A corpse is a stark reminder that human beings are inescapably embodied creatures, and that a life is the sum of what has been performed and spoken by the body -- a mixture of promises made and broken, deeds done and undone, joys evoked and pain inflicted. When we lift the heavy weight of the coffin and carry the dead over the tile floor of the crematory or across the muddy cemetery to the open grave, we bear public witness that this was a person with a whole and embodied life, one that, even in its ambiguity and brokenness, mattered and had substance."
"To carry the dead all the way to the place of farewell also acknowledes the reality that they are leaving us now, that they eventually will depart even from our frail communal memory as they travel on to whatever lies beyond." (You may read the piece in its entirety at:
( http://www.nytimes.com/2009/11/01/opinion/01long.html )

Long's assessment is particularly striking to me on this day when the Church remembers its dead and looks with hope toward God's promise of a life beyond this one. I suspect that as long as we can fill up our lives with activities and banish the dead from their own funerals, we can keep up the pretense that we will not die. Certainly, we all "know" that the grave awaits, but we spend much of our time distracting ourselves from a visceral understanding of this sobering reality.

Against the backdrop of our own demise, does someone cutting us off in traffic really warrant a clenched jaw, shouted obscenities and a raise in our blood pressure? When measured against the daily shrinking of our lifespan, does the argument with a friend or loved one really necessitate a grudge held for decades? How many of the "really important items" on our precious to-do lists are really that important? When it comes time to breathe our last, will we really regret not spending more time at the office? Time in a cemetery could put some of our quick-temper, prejudice, arrogance, narcissism, pride and stubbornness into its proper context.

I understand all of this talk about death could seem morose or depressing. But as I look out my window into a cloudless, blue Wisconsin fall sky and see a tiny sliver of God's creation in the brilliant yellow leaves hanging onto their branches in the gentle breeze, I am overwhelmed by the realization that this life, even with all its difficulties, pains and disappointments is a true gift. I am also more aware than ever that today won't come around again. This is life. Right here, right now.

The Psalmist asked God to "teach us to measure our days". I suspect we need to take the measurement so we don't take our days for granted. Pausing to remember some of the Faithful Departed we have known and loved might provide a starting place. There's no time like the present to begin. In fact, right now is all the time we really have.

Sine Nomine

Earlier today, I read the Facebook status update of a friend of mine who is the rector of a parish on the East Coast. She posted (with some bit of resigned dismay) the greeting she received serveral times this morning from well meaning parishioners, "Happy Day-After-Halloween!"

All Saints' Day, a Major Feast in the Church (like Christmas, Easter and Pentecost), reduced to also-ran status. Squashed, like a rotten Jack-o-lantern, by the commercial success of ghouls, goblins and bags of candy.

This isn't anyone's fault, really. It's not that clergy haven't done enough teaching -- though I suspect we could always do more. It's not that congregants haven't paid enough attention -- though I wish there weren't so many distractions. The simple fact is our cultural calendars are better established in our day to day lives than our ecclesiastical ones.

But for me, for today, I have been profoundly aware of our interconnections with one another (family and friends; strangers and enemies), with those who have gone before us in this life and with those who will, God willing, come after us. All Saints' Day simultaneously reminds us that none of us will get out of this life alive, and that none of us can live life fully in isolation from others. As a Johnny-Come-Lately to the glories of All Saints' Day, this idea that each of us is, at every moment, a recipient, a steward and a benefactor of the Faith means more and more to me with every passing year.

As one of the opening anthems in the Burial Office starkly states, "For none of us has life in himself, and none becomes his own master when he dies. For if we have life, we are alive in the Lord, and if we die, we die in the Lord. So then, whether we live or die, we are the Lord's possession." (Book of Common Prayer, page 491)

Halloween may be about getting dressed in a costume to either hide our identity or reveal a portion of our identity we keep hidden from view. All Saints' Day is about coming to terms with the identity given to us at Baptism -- the identity of a people set apart by God's grace and surrounded by a community to travel with us through this life until we leave it for the destination known only to God. Halloween may be about dealing with our collective fear of death, but All Saints' is about encouraging us to fully embrace a life that is eternal. Halloween may be about the darker side of the human psyche, but All Saints' is about the light of God's glory shining through imperfect people; people who leak a bit of that light onto every person they encounter.

I've spent some time today thinking about all the people who have shed God's light on my life -- people whose names many will never know. But these people -- people who prayed with me, taught me Bible stories, encouraged me in my walk with God, challenged me when I was rebellious, supported me when I was discouraged, surrounded me with love when I was unloveable, stuck with me when I had given up on myself, walked with me through many a dark valley -- these are the people who taught me what it means to be a follower of Jesus. They are not sine nomine -- without a name -- because I carry their memories, their stories, their voices, their names with me each and every day of my life. I am the beneficiary of their witness to the Faith. I have inherited their stories and those stories have become intertwined with my own.

Nothing too glamorous, this life of faith. Pretty mundane really. But the brightness of the saints -- in all of their imperfections -- shines like the stars. And that beats a Jack-o-lantern any day.

O God, the King of saints, we praise and glorify your holy Name for all your servants who have finished their course in your faith and fear: for the blessed Virgin Mary; for the holy patriarchs, prophets, apostles, and martyrs; and for all your other righteous servants, known to us and unknown; and we pray that, encouraged by their examples, aided by their prayers, and strengthened by their fellowship, we also may be partakers of the inheritance of the saints in light; through the merits of your Son Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. (BCP, p. 504)