This morning we have come together to celebrate the lives of those who have been witnesses for us to the love of God. They are the saints of our lives … saints in the classic sense that they are the sons and daughters of God. While each one of us makes up part of that great cloud of witnesses that are the saints of the church, we celebrate particularly the "new" saints of our community – those we have baptized into the faith this past year; and the saints that have gone before us – those who have finished their earthly lives.

Our celebration is bound up in remembering and in ritual. The importance of which were evident to me at the 9/11 observances this year. This year's ceremony at Ground Zero began with three siblings who had lost their father on that day. One of them spoke so eloquently about the need for remembering and retelling of our stories saying, "Dad, I'll remember you always … but I wish I could remember more … I was too young when you died." This boy's remarks are a reminder of why we tell and re-tell and then tell again the stories that weave the fabric of our lives together. Ritual too is bound up in that. Coming home on the train that day we sat across from an older man. He seemed engrossed in his newspaper, oblivious to anything else until we approached the Raritan River. There he pulled out a well-worn wallet and flipped through a bunch of pictures, finally pulling out what looked like a mass card with a picture of someone on it. He held the picture up to the window, so it overlooked the Raritan Bay and repeated some words. He did this twice. I know nothing about the specifics of his actions, except to see this was a familiar ritual to him and kept someone alive in his memory.

Ritual and memory – each Easter we remember our baptisms, the moment when were publicly marked as a child of God and began our faith journey as part of the great cloud of witnesses. For those of us baptized as infants we are dependent on others to tell us the story of our baptism. It is for that reason that I will often ask the parents of our confirmation classes to come and talk about the day their children were baptized. I encourage all of you with children to go home and tell them about their baptism day … what the day was like, what you hoped and dreamed for them at that moment. Those memories become especially important as our children get caught up in life and seem to be straying far from that lovable, adorable infant they were. Tell them their stories!

Baptism, beginning, is the one "bookend" we celebrate this morning … the other bookend is more difficult to celebrate for it is an ending. W. S. Merwin's poem, "Separation," describes this bookend well:

Since we last gathered to celebrate All Saints our congregation has experienced the death of sixteen church members, and many other deaths in our extended family. Some of the deaths have been "simpler," more in what we consider the normal course of life's flow. While their loss is no less difficult it is easier to remember with a smile the stories of their lives. I can chuckle at the fact that Verna Stout who died in her 90's used to babysit for my husband when he was an infant. It is much more difficult to remember with comfort the stories of Joseph Harwood who died in his early 20's last New Year's Eve. As we name those saints who have gone before us this morning there will be a range of memory wrapped up in that naming. Again, some "easier," and others much sharper, as the unfairness of their deaths stings bitterly.

In our remembering we find a challenge for our living. As the people of God, saints call us to better living, they challenge us to be the people God created us to be. We find that call and challenge in the gospel text this morning … a text that challenges us to live the blessed life as defined by Jesus. We are called and challenged by the lives entrusted to us … we have all made promises to those whose baptisms we have witnessed and celebrated. How will we live them out. The saints who have gone before us have also taught and called us to more blessed living … how will we honor their memories by doing that?

In all of our remembering of beginnings and endings we are also reminded that we do so in the context of God's love for us … giving thanks that all we do even on this day is woven through with the love of God, that we know is big enough to contain our griefs and sorrows, our joys and celebrations. We have the promise of God with us … an incarnation we prepare for in a few weeks: Emmanuel, God-with-us. A promise that is bigger than anything that life brings, a promise that overcomes the deepest evil of our world. It is finally a promise that we know will bring us a time when we know the promise contained in the book of Revelation: "See, the home of God is among mortals. He will dwell with them as their God; they will be his peoples, and God himself will be with them; he will wipe every tear from their eyes. Death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more, for the first things have passed away … To the thirsty I will give water as a gift from the spring of the water of life." And together we will sing the words of this song: (Written by Darrell Evans)