FOR WHOM THE BELL TOLLS Sermon Presented to St. Paul’s Church All Saints’ Sunday, Luke 6:20-31, Year C November 7, 2010 Thack Dyson

“Perchance he for whom this bell tolls may be so ill, as that he knows not it tolls for him; and perchance I may think myself so much better than I am, as that they who are about me, and see my state, may have caused it to toll for me, and I know not that.

The church is Catholic, universal, so are all her actions; all that she does belongs to all.

When she baptizes a child, that action concerns me; for that child is thereby connected to that body which is my head too, and ingrafted into that body whereof I am a member.

No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main. If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, . . . any man’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.” 1

This famous passage from John Donne, a 17th Century English poet and Anglican Priest came to mind as I reflected on All Saints’ Day. In 1623, during a dangerous illness, John Donne, then Dean of St. Paul’s Cathedral in London and already famous for his poems and sermons, wrote this piece as a part of a collection of meditations published in his book entitled Devotions

Upon Emergent Occasions . These meditations were his reflections on his physical and spiritual

condition at the time. The reference to the tolling of the bell referred to the tradition of ringing

the church bell when someone dies or is near death. The striking theme that runs through this

particular meditation is that we are all connected with each other, especially through our

1 John Donne, Devotions Upon Emergent Occasions, XVII, (University of Michigan Press, 197), pp. 108-09. baptisms—connected both to the living, as well as the dead.

You may be asking yourself, “Connected with the dead? What does that mean?” Well, that’s the whole point of All Saints’ Day. On All Saints’ Day we remember the “named” saints who have gone before us. By “named” I mean known saints like St. Paul, St. Peter, and St.

Teresa of Avila. The day after All Saints’ Day is All Souls’ Day where we remember the less known saints like Cousin Joe, Grandma Jane and Aunt Ruby—those obscure saints known only to us who have passed into the next life. On the Sunday after All Saints’ Day we usually conflate the two days together and remember both the popular and obscure saints at the same time. And why do we remember them? First, as John Donne believed, because they are a part of us by virtue of our baptisms. Also we are inextricably connected with anyone who was a part of our life. And finally, we remember them because they are still with us.

In fact, I communicate fairly regularly with some of these saints. Recently I communicated with Sam Harris, my maternal grandfather. Granddaddy was a newspaper man and journalist from the old school, having worked as a stringer for the Associated Press in

Mississippi during the Depression in the 1930’s. He later served as a war correspondent on the battleship U.S.S. Nevada during the Second World War. He went on to become the managing editor of the Arkansas Gazette in Little Rock, Arkansas. Granddaddy knew and interviewed

President Truman as well as a succession of notable and notorious governors in both Mississippi and Arkansas. A Yellow Dog Democrat, he had a keen political mind and could quickly size up the character of most politicians. He could be unmerciful to democrats and republicans alike and skewer them in his editorials if he thought they lacked integrity. I thought about him the other day as I was as I was pondering who to vote for last Tuesday, trying to assess the character of a particular politician on the ballot. I could almost hear Granddaddy’s colorful description of what he thought.

I spoke to another saint last week as well. Last Sunday we had an All Hallows’ Eve service at St. Paul’s. We began the service by gathering in the Garden of the Resurrection, our memorial garden, and said prayers for the souls of the departed. Prior to the service I went to the

Garden and looked at the memorial plaque displaying the names of those interred there. One name that stood out was the name of the first bishop of our Diocese, The Rt. Rev. George

Murray. I have warm memories of Bishop Murray beginning when I was twelve years old. I first met him as a confirmand at St. James’ Church in Fairhope. All the candidates for confirmation were seated in the parlor and Bishop Murray was asking us questions to see what we learned (or not) in confirmation classes. When he was through, he stood up, laid hands on our heads and offered a blessing. I can still feel the warmth of his hands on my head and hear his soft, pastoral voice as he prayed, “Heavenly Father, please bless this child of yours . . . .” I never forgot that moment and shared that memory with Bishop Murray during a visit I had with him after I became a priest. I remember that blessing each time I bless someone, especially a child.

It’s as if Bishop Murray is blessing that person through me.

I have conversations with other “saints” as well. I do this whenever I visit a cemetery.

I’ll stop and look at headstones and monuments and try to imagine who the people were that are buried there. Then I’ll look at that dash between their dates of birth and death and wonder about their lives. Were they good people? Did they have a loving family? Did they have fulfilling and productive lives?

I will also stop by cemeteries where family and friends are buried. I visited Roselawn

Cemetery in Decatur, Alabama several of years ago while traveling through the area to say “hello” to Arthur “A. B.” Brown, my best friend and college roommate who died in 1989.

Now some of you may be thinking, “Wow, I never realized what a nut Thack was— talking to dead folks and wandering around in cemeteries. Maybe he should take another Sunday off!” Well, if you think I am a nut, then I have a surprise for you. So are you! You see, we all communicate with the dead—the saints who have gone before us. We do this whenever we look at a family photograph album, read old love letters written between our grandparents, or open a history book. In fact, we have been doing that here since the processional hymn this morning.

It’s like a story Will Willimon once wrote about a predecessor of his in a small Methodist

Church he pastored. Willimon’s predecessor said, “One of the strangest requests I ever received was from a woman who wanted me to accompany her to the cemetery. There, I was to say a prayer or something, and I was to be with her as she attempted to contact her recently deceased father. She had hired a professional ‘medium,’ someone who offers to help people contact the dead. The medium was to offer some sort of incantation, or close her eyes in a particular way, or move her hands or something that would enable us to hear the dead person speak.

I never got to see the medium work. I told her that I was a Christian minister. We don’t do this sort of thing. So, she went on out to the cemetery without me. I visited her a week later.

She was very disappointed. She did not hear the voice of her dead father.”

The minister went on to observe, “Now, I don’t care much for charlatans or hocus pocus.

Yet I did at least come to understand some of her desire. This dear woman had been totally dependent upon the love, the guidance, and the care of her father. When he died, she was terribly alone. She had all sorts of decisions to make, problems to solve, and she longed for his parental advice. She wanted, more than anything, to hear his reassuring voice again—she longed to be the recipient of his wisdom again.

After thinking it through, I came to realize that communicating with those who have left us is really not hocus pocus, because that’s sort of what we do on All Saints’ Day. We reach out to the witness of the saints. We once again try to hear them speak to us. I came to realize that as a Christian minister, we really do this sort of thing.”

That retired Methodist minister had it only partially correct. We in the Church not only remember the saints on All Saints’ Day, we remember them each time we gather for worship.

What did we do before I got up to give this sermon? We read several passages from the Bible.

We turned to the Scriptures to hear the testimony of those who have been physically dead for many centuries. When we do, we are behaving as if the prophet Daniel and Apostle Paul, authors of our first two lessons, knew God more than we do and have something to teach us this morning that we could not learn any other way. And, of course, there is our reading from the

Gospel. No believing Christian can deny that Jesus speaks to us daily through his word and the sacraments.

Yes, we talk to the saints, both known and unknown, practically every day. We do this because we are connected to them by time and by virtue of our baptisms. At our baptisms we became a part of a larger community of saints. The feasts of All Saints’ and All Souls’ are therefore reminders of the gift of the saints. They are reminders that we as the Church move forward by looking back to those who have gone before us. They are trustworthy guides who have walked before us—people like Jesus, Paul and Daniel—Cousin Joe, Grandma Jane, Aunt

Ruby, A. B. and Granddaddy—and the others who form the communion of saints. They will show us the way if we have the courage to listen. This morning a new person is about to join the Christian community through his baptism.

As we join with James Pittman, III, and renew our own baptismal covenant, let’s remember who we are and that we are connected to that great could of witnesses who comprise the communion of saints. Sometimes we speak of a need for Christians to be givers. But on this

Sunday, let us speak of our need to be receivers. We need to be the sort of people who are willing to listen, to receive what the saints have to teach us, and to have our own discipleship judged by their example. Today, let those who have gone before us graciously show us the way.

AMEN