By the simple words of Christ, a dead man came out of the grave. Mary had wished that Jesus had come sooner. Martha was worried about the stench. The on-lookers probably ranged from thinking Jesus was nuts to those that were looking for a parlor trick to those that were simply astounded. Jesus was concerned for the man, but probably even more, Jesus was concerned that God be glorified. Yes, God can and does make dead men come out.

Obviously Lazarus's life would be different, he had one. But think how changed Mary and Martha's lives must have been. Or the people that thought Jesus was possessed or insane. And that doesn't even begin to touch the people who would interact with the witnesses to this resurrection.

The stone rolled back and the dead man came.

The stench of death replaced by the fragrance of life.

Tears wiped away by a loving God.

God who created. God who wept. God who called death out.

In the light of eternal day, the darkness fades.

In the grasp of eternal love, death slips away.

The dead man came out .

Dead no longer, but alive.

Alive to grieving sisters. Alive to waiting crowds.

Alive for now. Alive for then.

Call us out, O Lord. Out from the grave of our discontent.

The grave of cynicism. The grave of fear. The grave of sin.

Call us out O Lord for the rock has not been moved.

We cannot with out you. The stench of a dead spirit masks the perfume of hope.

Until the light, breaking through the edges reveals its Holy Brightness.

The dead man came out into the arms of his friend and Savior.

Call us out, O Lord, into your arms of eternal life.

Jesus had a specific purpose for interfering in the created order. Of course, since he was there when the order was made, he could interfere any time he wanted. And he chose this moment to give us all a foretaste of the Kingdom of God. The place described so vividly in John's Revelation. A place where tears are wiped a way and death has itself been destroyed.

As people would look upon Lazarus, for the rest of his life, they would see the promise of eternal life. The promise that the grave would never hold us. The promise that God would call us out into the arms of his mercy. Every time someone would look at Lazarus, they would see a glimpse of the Kingdom of God.

That to me defines a saint. Someone who, by their life, their words, their example, give us a glimpse of the kingdom of God. That was the point of Lesbia Scott's hymn, "I sing a song of the saints of God." She wanted her children to know that saints weren't just names out of ancient books. Old dead guys that seem distant and somewhat other-worldly, pieced together with bits of glass and lead.

"the saints of God are just folk like me, and I mean to be one too."

I am sure that we have all met people whose manner of life radiated the love of God. Maybe not always, but on the whole one could see a glimpse of the kingdom in them. Knowing these saints touches our lives and makes us different. Makes us want that light a little bit more.

Every time I hear that great hymn, "I sing a song of the saints of God", I find myself stifling a chuckle. I've never shared this before, even to my sister Martha around whom this story takes place.

Martha and her husband David were to be married in our family parish by Fr. Tom Frisby. (I've spoken about him before.) We had an organist who has since developed an international following. Between him and Fr, Tom, they had some very set ideas about music in the church. Well, Martha wanted her entrance hymn to be that very hymn, "I sing a song" and requested no trumpet stops.

When the day of the marriage came Martha entered to the familiar trumpet piece, I believe by Elgar. Martha wasn't happy. Fr. Tom told me later that he had nixed the song. He told me that he had visions of Martha skipping down the aisle to this children's hymn and that was just a tad bit much. I can't imagine Martha skipping,

I loved Tom Frisby, even if he could be a bit inflexible. He showed me how to give love through the sacraments. He showed my how to maintain integrity even in the face of ridicule. He also showed me how to laugh at ourselves and our own sense of self importance.

He died without knowing that I had become a priest. His widow said that he would have been proud. That was one of the most important things I have ever heard. Fr. Tom would be proud of me.

I sing a song of the saints of God … and one was a doctor and one was a priest …

Most of you remember Frankie Edgar. He was often quiet, until someone brought up the topic of daughters and then he would launch into a very politically incorrect discourse on the evil of women. Of course there was never a man who truly loved and respected women more than he. Frankie had a quiet faith, but it was incredibly deep.

As an African American man in the 30's, 40's and 50's life wasn't always fair. However, he served his country in the military and the people of New York as a street cop. He said to me that his faith and the love of Jesus pulled him through. We all miss Frankie.

And one was a soldier. . .

I have the privilege of meeting saints nearly every day. I'm a lot more likely to hear faith stories than most of you. I have seen the dark light of evil and I have seen the Christ light of a saint. Naming people would embarrass them, so I won't. But I will tell you that when you can see the glimpse of the kingdom is often in the moment of a person's despair. Perhaps after a bad diagnosis or perhaps even more difficult the inability to make a diagnosis.

The saints among us display a love of God and trust in God when the rest of the world shakes it's collective head.

Saturday morning, while I was staring at a blank computer screen having no idea what to say this weekend, I was asked to visit a woman whose 46 year old son had died of an apparent heart attack. I gave last rites to the man and although mom was not of a faith tradition that prayed for the dead, I know she appreciated it.

This woman lost her husband at 45 of cardiac disease and now her son. As I was leaving the house, I gave my usual, "God bless you" and she responded, "Yes, he has". Even in the midst of unimaginable grief, she saw a way to acknowledge God's love.

I had a glimpse of the kingdom in the faith of a grieving mother. I have no idea if she was a nice person or not. But at that moment, God's light of love shone through her.

The saints of God are just folk like me. . .

Sainthood isn't about being recognized by the church or even the world. It's not about being super Christians. It is certainly not about being perfect. Just read the Confessions of St. Augustine, or read some of the works of Luther. I have a favorite old guy saint - St. Jerome. He translated the Greek old and new testaments into Latin. One of his biographers said about him, "Seldom was he pleasant, but never was he dull."

Being a saint is about being a bearer of the light of Christ. It is about being a dark glass through which perhaps only a sliver of light passes. But it is those slivers of light that prove the promise of the kingdom of God..

"let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven"

"They were all of them saints of God and I mean, God helping, to be one too."