A Special All Saints Eve Sunday

It wasn't a perfect Sunday. It was better.

Yesterday, All Saints Eve, was a special Sunday at my Anglican parish.  That even though the “All Saints” hymn board card was missing, so I reluctantly put up “Reformation Sunday” on the board.  (Our cards might be an old Lutheran set.)  And we did not sing “For All the Saints”.  I will lobby for that to be corrected next Sunday, since we will still be in the Octave of All Saints.  I like octaves.

So it wasn’t a perfect Sunday. 

It was better.

I was revved up for this All Saints Eve Sunday, as some may have noticed over at Stand Firm.  Since I became Anglican, All Saints has been among my favorite holy days.  And this one would be even more special as the bishop was visiting, and we would have three baptisms and three confirmations.

But before the baptisms and confirmations I read the Epistle lesson from Revelation 7. Sitting before me was a friend in his early 20s who had suddenly lost his father.  I have often seen his dad out in the waves when we were out catching them in the mornings.  I must confess that he was better at catching them than me.  And I saw him last Sunday at church as well.  The son I have known and frequently taught since he was in his single digits, and we still spend a lot of time together, particularly since I let him park his vintage Corvette in my garage.

As I read I remembered how the verse at the end of the lesson helped me when I suddenly lost my mom at 13.  So as I read “and God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes” I looked right at him as he looked right at me.

Then after the Gospel came the baptisms.  The bishop performed them, which I did not expect.  Even more unexpected was the reaction of the children.  The two babies gave not even a yelp as the holy water was thrice poured on their heads.  And the slightly older girl, aged about 2 or 3, who is usually taciturn, had a smile of joy upon being baptized.  Sometimes I think small children know something holy is going on better than we do.

Much could be said of all the parents.  I’ve known two of the fathers and taught them often since they were around 10.  One is now a paratrooper who had of necessity been away from his wife and kids for months.  Now they will move close to his assigned base and be together more though far from us.  Yes, a bittersweet time.  Maybe that is part of the reason I got a bit teary-eyed.

Then the service moved back to the East end of the church for the confirmations.  One of those confirmed was a man of about 20, who has become a great friend.  Our friendship is evidence of God’s work in his people because one would not expect we would have that much to do with each other.  He is an aspiring tattoo artist who helps run a vape shop; I am a curmudgeonly amateur church historian interested neither in getting any tattoos nor the late hours of youth and who can’t recall taking a puff of anything for that matter.  Yet when we met a year or two ago, we both immediately enjoyed each other’s penchant for discussion of the odd and the intellectual.  I was amazed by his creative and inquisitive intelligence.  And we have gotten along famously.  When he expressed his desire to be confirmed, I was the logical choice to be in charge of his catechesis.

When he kneeled before the bishop to be confirmed, I am not at all sure to whom it was more meaningful, him or me.

I haven’t yet mentioned how many people were there.  The baptisms and confirmations and the bishop’s visit – but mainly the baptisms – had attracted so many friends and family that we had the biggest attendance in many years by my memory.  We almost thundered as we sang the hymns, particularly the last one, “A Mighty Fortress is Our God.”  (It was Reformation Day, too, after all.)  I hope many of them liked what they experienced and keep coming.

I wondered if we would have enough food for all of them at the celebratory lunch afterward.  It wasn’t quite as miraculous as the feeding of the 5000, but we did.  Only a dish or two ran out.

I followed my 20ish newly confirmed friend out as he left.  When he was about to get in his car, he paused and thanked me for my friendship and assistance, not a perfunctory thanks, but clearly heartfelt. 

I don’t know why I didn’t get teary eyed again.  But I probably floated back into the church.  Yes, don’t forget to thank those who invest time in you.  You don’t know how meaningful that can be.

And thanks be to God for such a glorious Sunday.  All Saints Day (as well as All Saints Sunday if your church cheats a little as we do) reminds us that among the places God reveals his glory is in his people.  I am so thankful I got to experience that in a remarkable way this past All Saints Eve Sunday.

And, if I may echo my Stand Firm piece, if you are missing church, you don’t know what you may be missing.