Saintly Runway Lights

Sermon 369

St. Martin’s 125

11/3/24

All Saints

So, today is All Saints’ Sunday—one of the high holy days on our church calendar. For us, that means baptisms, festive music, and usually a somewhat cheesy sermon from me about how all of us are saints…which we kind of are…but not really…but we are.

This isn’t a one-and-done celebration though: All Hallows’ Eve (i.e. Halloween), and our All Souls’ service last night are connected to the festivities of All Saints’ Day.

Many other parts of the world take it even more seriously than we do. Megan and I were in Italy a few years ago around this time, and Rome pretty much shut down for All Saints and All Souls' Day. That’s very different from our culture, but it reminded me that this is a holy season that we are all participating in—whether the tricker-treaters at our door realize it or not.

We are marking holy time.

All Saints in particular reminds us of the eternal nature of our faith in God. There is life, there is death, and we believe that there is life after death. We have to reckon with all of it—the good, the bad, and the deadly—if we are to begin to grasp the work of Jesus on the cross and his victory over the grave.

Christians need to talk about it because we actually have something to say about this. There is more to this life than what meets the eye. We have a destiny of immortality.

That can be a sobering subject to consider, but it’s much better than sweeping it under the rug and ignoring it. No wonder people in Rome take a few days off for All Saints, that’s a lot to ponder. 

The 21 A couple of years ago, I read a book about some modern-day saints.[i] You may or may not remember the 21 Egyptian Christians who were marched onto a Libyan beach by ISIS soldiers and met their grim fate.

For some time after that, the image of those Coptic Christians in their orange jumpsuits was the emblem of what ISIS hoped to do globally. It was terrifying.

An American journalist became curious about the men in that iconic picture, and so he decided to travel to Egypt to talk with the families about their loved ones who had died for their Christian faith.

What were they like? What did they enjoy doing? How would they describe their faith?

He was hoping to paint a fuller picture of these men and tell their story, but he was surprised at how their families responded. For some reason, these families were not interested in telling him what they were like growing up or what their hobbies were.

It was as if, the moment that their loved one became a martyr they instantly were bigger than life. These men had ascended into almost mythic proportions within their communities because of their sacrifice. They became gold medalists of faith who had secured the greatest prize.

Images of them were printed onto posters next to Jesus and they were distributed throughout the Coptic neighborhoods they were from. Family and friends talked about them with reverence rather than familiarity, as if they were talking about St. Peter or someone from long ago.

This says a lot about their profound faith, but it also says something about the cultural context in which they find themselves.

Standing up for one’s faith may have more consequences in their situation than for most of us. Especially when ISIS was seemingly taking over large portions of that part of the world, to be a Christian did not guarantee a person’s safety.

When Christianity is forced underground; when there is a profound risk for talking about Jesus, I think the longing for saints becomes a key characteristic for those communities.

We all need heroes and role models to look up to. And when life is hard and you need a little hope to keep going, those role models can be a beacon of light to an otherwise hopeless situation.  

That’s what saints are for in the church: small flashes of hope in uncertain times. Through their faithful living— not their perfect living but their faithful living— they orient people to where ultimate hope can be found.

A saint’s purpose is not to point people to themselves but to that which is Eternal and to the One who has all things in his hands.

Runway Lights This made me think of a conversation I recently had with a buddy of mine. He’s lived quite the life. For years he played bass at a honky-tonk in downtown Nashville—this was while he also led the music for our church youth group—but now, of all things, he’s a pilot for Delta Airlines.

If you are on a Delta flight and the pilot gets on the intercom and says his name is Jacob Courtney, it’s probably safest you get off the plane.

He’s a great guy and a great pilot—and a saint in his own right—but he and I were talking about what it’s like to land a plane at night. It’s gotta be a terrifying experience when you can’t fully see the runway.

He said they train you that if your engine fails and you’re gliding along, and right before you are about to land in who knows what, flip on your landing light, and if you don’t like what you see, turn it off real quick and close your eyes!

Sometimes reality is hard to look at, and it's better to be in the dark. But that’s another sermon for a different day.

For a standard airport landing, pilots are not just relying on their instruments, but they are looking closely at the runway lights, specifically the approach lights that help direct the plane in the right direction, and then there are four lights: two white lights and two red lights that will guide them safely in. Without them, the pilot is landing blind, and it can appear like the runway is just floating in the darkness.

Those simple lights that outline the tarmac can be the difference between life and death.

Talking to my friend, I got the sense that saints are like the church’s runway lights. They are lights in the darkness that help lead people to safety and to our ultimate destination. They don’t light up the whole path for us, but they light up their little area, and with others, the path becomes abundantly clear.

If Jesus is “the way, the truth, and the life” then saints are guiding us toward him, keeping us within the bounds that will lead us to his safe harbor.

I think the American journalist learned through his conversations with those Egyptian families that their loved ones were no longer on the journey, they were now a light to the rest of them, encouraging them onward in the faith.

Those Coptic neighborhoods needed a little flare of hope—and honestly, we all need that. Sometimes we get so wrapped up in the darkness that even the smallest light can get us back on track.

The Role of Saints Communities, regardless of location, need lights to rally around—we need saints to help us keep the faith. Looking around the world, my heart weeps for those who are suffering: for Gaza and Israel, for Ukraine and Russia. And I know your heart is heavy too—I’ve had so many conversations with many of you about the state of the world. 

I think about the young girls in Afghanistan, I think about the countless children who are growing up in refugee camps in Sudan, and the families climbing through the Darian Gap as we speak.

It doesn’t take much for us to feel helpless these days. We need saints to rise up in all of these countries. They are there, and we need to pray for them. They are like lost coins waiting to be found; like treasure hidden in a field; as small as a mustard seed but whose faith will move mountains.

And we need saints in this country to help show us the way. To give us an example of living a sacrificial life, filled with grace, love, and humility.

We need to pray for those people who will help inspire us to be who God has called us to be. And they are quietly scattered among us, because they don’t bring attention to themselves but point people to the Lord through their words and deeds. They are rarely featured on the news—you’ve got to really look for them.

Saints help us see the sacred in the ordinary. They are brave and hopeful when looking at the unknown because they see that God is bigger, God is holier than the present uncertainty. Saints point us to the thing we wish to see but don’t have quite enough faith to get there on our own. 

We need people like Paul, Perpetua, Felicity, and Francis; Augustine, Anselm, Mother Teresa, and Oscar Romero to show us the better way that leads to Jesus. And they are there…they are most certainly there.

Baptism And today, as we baptize baby Abi, we are reminded that saints and sinners are made from the safe stuff, we’re cut from the same cloth, and washed in the same baptismal waters. All of us are meant to be lights in the darkness.

 Listen to the baptismal liturgy that we’ll pray in a few moments because it’s infused with the hope of the life to come that we heard in our reading from Revelation 21.

This sacrament reminds us of our destiny, but also calls us to start living that resurrection-life in the here and now, “on earth as it is in heaven.”

Saints are those who have gotten a head start on living in a heavenly way while on earth…and that is the call of each baptized person. 

Until that final day, when the One seated on the throne says, “It is done! I am the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end,” we’ll need saints—both the ones in heaven and on earth—to help illumine the path.

But may we join them in the call that was given to each of us at our baptism, and live in a heavenly-inspired way amid our present uncertainty; to be a beacon of hope for our communities, this country, and the world.

[i] The 21: A Journey Into the Land of Coptic Martyrs by Martin Mosebach Photo by Jordi Moncasi on Unsplash