Lesbia Scott’s “I sing a song of the saints of God” probably is being sung this morning in more Episcopal churches than any other All Saints hymn—well, maybe “For all the saints” would give it a run for its money. And that popularity runs beyond All Saints’ Day! In a 2003 survey of ‘desert island’ hymns run by the website Anglicans Online, the hymn was voted number 14! (Full transparency: “For all the saints” was #6!) But there are some good reasons for “I sing a song’s” popularity.
1. It has a catchy melody. (John Henry Hopkins, also composed the tune for “We Three Kings!”)
2. It has fun, while oh-so British, references: “You can meet them in the lanes or at tea”. (By the way, I would hope we would never “update” that verse, as has another hymnal: “You can meet them in school, on the street, in the store, in church, by the sea, in the house next door” [The United Methodist Hymnal, 712]).
3. Singing about a “fierce wild beast" makes most of us smile—the more so when some jokester’s changes in word order linger in the backs of our minds: “And one was a soldier, and one was a beast, and one was killed by a fierce wild priest”.
“I sing a song” is also a good teaching hymn. Ms. Scott thought her children could learn about some of our notable forerunners in the faith. In the first two verses we sang of a “doctor” (St. Luke the Physician), a “queen” (St. Margaret of Scotland), a “shepherdess on the green” (St. Joan of Arc), a “soldier” (St. Martin of Tours), a “priest” (the poet—and Dean of St. Paul’s Cathedral in London—John Donne), and that poor fellow “killed by a fierce wild beast” (St. Ignatius of Antioch). “And I mean to be one too”. Really? I’m not sure that I’m up to that “fierce wild beast” thing.
But the hymn’s most important teaching, it seems to me, is found in that third verse which, in some ways, runs counter to the idea that “being
slain by a fierce wild priest/beast” is the entry-ritual to the club of sainthood. “They lived not only in ages past; there are hundreds of thousands still . . . for the saints of God are just folk like me, and I mean to be one too”. We’ve gotten so used to the idea that “to be a saint is do something remarkable, or die horribly” that, I think, we’ve lost something critical. We’ve lost much of what it means to be a saint.
In a few minutes, we will join together to renew our baptismal covenant. Our baptism—and what we promise, or what is promised on our behalf—is our entry-ritual into sainthood; we are baptized into the household of God. (And to those of you have not been baptized, you will get a sneak-peak into what sainthood is really all about). “Sainthood”—at least in the broader biblical understanding—is not primarily about what we do. It is about Whose we are; it is about our relationship to the One who grants us the status of being a “saint” and how we live out that relationship. So what does it mean that God declares us “saints”?
“Saints” translates two different words in the Hebrew Bible (I’ll try not to get too geeky, but bear with me—you know I’m a teacher at heart!). The first is “chasidim”—a phrase, today, associated primarily with an extremely orthodox/observant group of Jews. But the word—in general—has to do with faithfulness to the Covenant. The“chasids”—the “saints”—then and now— are those who are bound closely to God in love. The second word translated “saints” is “kadoshim”. Kadosh is the Hebrew word we translate as “holy”. “Holiness” has to do with being set apart and dedicated to the service of God; the kadoshim are those individuals with that mission. In the Hebrew Bible, then, the “saints” are the faithful of Israel; their “sainthood consists in the relationship they bear to the God who has destined them for righteousness and salvation” (Harper’s Bible Dictionary, 892).
The same idea carries over, of course, into the New Testament (e.g., Ac 9.13, 32; Rm 15.25-31; 1 Co 1.20; Hb 6.10; and Jd 3), where “saints” translates the Greek word for “holy ones” (hagioi). But in the New Testament, “saints” simply refers to Christians, as distinct from non-believers. That is, those who have bound themselves to—or, who have a relationship with—Christ—they are the hagioi, the saints. That central
importance of relationship is what we heard in our reading from 1 John,: “Dear friends, now we are God’s children . . . .and all who have this hope in him purify themselves even as he is pure” (1.1, 3). (And just to point out, it isn’t until we reach the last book of the New Testament—Revelation—that we find “saint” referring to martyrs [Rv 5.8, 8.3, 13.10]).
“Sainthood”, therefore, is based on our relationship to God. That has to do with baptism. A declaration of relationship was central at Jesus’ baptism. All of the Gospels report God declaring that Jesus is God’s Son (Mt 3.17, Mk 1.11; Lk 3.22). We, who are baptized, are brought into a similar relationship through adoption (Rm 8.15, 23, Ga 4.5, Ep 1.5). As Jesus was bound closely to God in love, so are we. As Jesus was set apart and dedicated to God’s service, so are we. It is that entry into the household of God and that mission— that is, the description of who we are—being one of God’s “saints”. And that has implications.
Those implications are suggested in the “Beatitudes” we just heard. (I’ll save the translation of the Greek word makarios . . . is it “Blessed”? “Happy”? “Fortunate”? . . . for another time.) The Beatitudes are not addressed to the crowds “from Galilee, the Decapolis, Jerusalem, Judea, and from the areas beyond the Jordan River” . . . to those who came to Jesus, because he “[taught] in their synagogues . . . [announced] the good news of the kingdom . . . [healed] . . . every disease and sickness among the people . . . [demon possession, epilepsy, and paralysis]” (Mt 4.23-25). The crowds flocked to Jesus because of what he promised them, and what he did for them—especially those in dire straits. The Beatitudes are addressed to those who had chosen to answer Jesus’ bidding to follow him—to be Jesus’ first “saints-in-training”.
The Beatitudes help define our relationship to the Kingdom; they don’t establish the relationship. Saints are not called to be hopeless, grieving, doormats, or only longing for right to prevail. Saints—by virtue of being saints—are merciful, exhibit pure hearts, make peace—we hear echoes of that in our baptismal covenant. In Matthew’s recounting of the Beatitudes, there is a distinct future cast to each one: “Happy are the people who . . . for they will . . . “ “Blessedness” or “happiness” is not “happy-clappy”, though it may be. It is a state of being fortunate, of peace,
of being rooted in God at the deepest level, in the most challenging situations. The Beatitudes describe an on-going, living, relationship that begins at baptism and continues through the remainder of the saints’ life.
Sainthood, bestowed by our baptism, really defines the ideal for all of us. I’m reminded of something we learned a few weeks ago in our discussion of hymns . . . in particular the contribution of Martin Luther. Luther firmly believed in the “priesthood of all believers” (I Pt 2.9): "The priest is not made. He must be born a priest; must inherit his office. I refer to the new birth-the birth of water and the Spirit. Thus all Christians must became priests, children of God and co-heirs with Christ the Most High Priest” (“First Sunday after Epiphany" from Complete Sermons of Martin Luther, vol. IV [Grand Rapids, MI: BakerBooks, 2007] p. 9). Because of that conviction, he believed that all church attendees ought to sing the hymns; not just the “professional musicians”. All members of the “household of God” have a role to play as singers, priests, and as saints.
The Feast of All Saints reminds us of some Christians who, through the particular graces given to them, were able to bear witness to their relationship to God in notable ways. But I believe that the Feast of All Saints also ought remind us—normal folks—of who we are, and then invite us into a living out of that relationship—through everyday acts of service, generosity, hospitality, mercy, peace-making and more.
“There’s not any reason, no not the least, why I shouldn’t be one too” concludes that beastly/priestly second verse. All Saints is not asking us to become who we aren’t yet, but to claim who we are now. At our baptism, we are added to the “countless host” that “goes marching in” “through gates of pearl”. March on!
Amen.