Green Blades Preaching Roundtable

In high school I spent two summers working at a Bible camp. One summer, a relative of another staff member stopped at the camp for a few days. He was a missionary in Mexico and offered to show us slides of his work. I was excited—I loved seeing pictures of faraway places, places very different from my everyday life. I think I expected a kind of National Geographic program, complete with photos of unfamiliar flora, fauna, scenery colorful and exotic. I was sorely disappointed.

The missionary introduced each slide by saying “We went to name of town and held a service. Here is one half of the congregation, next slide, here is the other half of the congregation. Next slide Then we went to name of town. Here is one half of the congregation, next slide, here is the other half of the congregation.” And this went on for more than an hour. I was not just disappointed, but angry. Didn’t this man know we weren’t interested in seeing a bunch of pictures of people we didn’t know?

I think of that experience nearly every year on All Saints Day. My 17-year-old disappointment has long given way to the realization that I had not just seen unknown faces, I had seen God’s children. Surely among those pictured, were the forgotten and forsaken in society—the poor in spirit, mourners, the meek, those who hungered and thirsted for righteousness, the reviled and persecuted. And just as surely, among those pictured, were the merciful, pure in heart, peacemakers. All of them were God’s children and my siblings in faith.

Given the passage of time, most of those pictured stand now before the throne of God—sheltered, fed, comforted, shepherded to springs of living water, their ordeal over and their tears wiped away.

Once again, this year I have found myself thinking of that same experience from yet another perspective. Why do we have to choose between the faces of the faithful—known and unknown—and the beauty of God’s diverse creation—mountains and lakes, rocks and trees, amazing flowers and even funny-looking animals. We have learned that we are inextricably linked to the web of life. It is our hubris that privileges human beings and seeks to separate us from God’s transforming presence in every place.

I imagine that in addition to the multitudes, all tribes and peoples, and languages gather around the throne of God, all of creation is gathered as well. Together we worship God day and night, not only on earth but also in that heavenly temple. I wonder if, for those Mexican congregants, the scene around God’s throne didn’t just involve white robes and palm branches, but bright colors and orchids and even a mariachi band to accompany the singing angels! Surely the new heaven and the new earth will be dazzling in its diversity.

In his book, Contrast Community: Practicing the Sermon on the Mount, by James Bailey (WIPF & STOCK, Eugene, Oregon) the chapter on the Beatitudes is titled “Who Are the Blessed?—the Unlikely Ones.” Bailey (along with other scholars) points out that Matthew designed a pattern of two sets of four beatitudes each. The first four describe the blessed recipients as empty and lacking what only God offers; the second set implies the fullness God provides. Bailey goes on to say, “the Beatitudes are designed for a community, not individuals. Their cumulative effect … puts a divine imprint on the community—how the community understands itself and views what God values and whom God honors. Jesus’ Beatitudes point to the deep wisdom of how life works in the world God creates and reclaims. They shape how the community imagines and acts out the kingdom of God.” (page 12)

If the Beatitudes are designed not for individuals, but a community, that community includes creation. Communities of faith are called to be blessed communities, living under divine blessing, and as such, cannot help but seek ways to be a blessing to others and a blessing to creation. But we also cannot help but reflect on ways that creation blesses us. It is a gift of the eco-faith network to call us to honor what and whom God honors.

All Saints Sunday so often focuses on the humans who are the “unlikely ones” to be blessed. We name those who have died and remember them. We light candles and offer prayers. What would it mean, on this day, to name the “deaths” of creation—what has become extinct or is endangered, is empty and lacking, poor, mourning, hungering and thirsting for wholeness? What would it mean to pray for blessings on creation and to commit ourselves to be instruments of God’s fulness? If the Beatitudes were to be rewritten with creation in mind, where would you place monarchs and whales, ocean tides and rainbows, the dark of night and the brilliance of stars, the heat of the desert and the threat of flood, endangered species and family pets, wind and clouds, fields and mountains?

I have a refrigerator magnet, purchased at a bookstore in Tucson, that depicts Jesus giving the Sermon on the Mount (but looking like an illustration from a 1950s Sunday School book). Jesus says to the crowd gathered at his feet, “Okay everyone, now listen carefully. I don’t want to end up with four different versions of this!” But why not? There is so much that needs God’s blessing and so many called to be instruments of that blessing. There are so many opportunities to hear a familiar text from an unfamiliar point of view.

This year I find myself looking at blessing, not just in the saints remembered on this day, but in and from all creation.