Names in the Multitude: Reflections for All Saints Day

“It’s so incredibly quiet in here.” That was the main thought running through my head as I helped my dad carry some furniture out of my grandma’s house shortly after she passed away in 2013. That house, which had been the site of countless family gatherings and holidays over several decades, seemed empty. I missed my grandma’s whistling, loud, constant whistling that had echoed through the rooms. Usually, she was whistling hymns and spiritual songs, the same kind of music that she would play on her organ when I was a kid.

Though my grandma's passion for music was perhaps the most outward expression of my grandparents' faith, I had experienced it in other ways as well. It was rare for them to miss a service at the local church they had attended every Sunday for most of their lives; it was at their urging that my siblings and I were often forced out of bed by my parents to join them. Copies of the Bible could be found in almost every room of their house, of all kinds of sizes and translations. 

But when I was a kid, I didn't care about stuff like that. Sure, I loved my grandparents a lot, but the music and the Bibles, the sayings of grace before meals and the occasional references to God or Jesus Christ, were just the background to family visits. To be honest, I was more interested in making sure I ate as much of my grandma's homemade apple pie as I could, than talking to them about their beliefs. I didn't think of my grandparents as individuals who had had their own spiritual journeys and experiences, with unique wisdom and insights about God that I could learn from. They were simply my grandparents. 

By the time I put my faith back in Christ in 2012, my grandpa had passed, and my grandma was pretty ill. I couldn't remember having a single conversation with either of them about God, and I regretted that. I felt like I had taken their stable faith for granted as a child and young adult. I was convinced that I had lost out on some wonderful opportunities for learning from them as Christians. 

After my grandma's passing in March of 2013, I was blessed to acquire many of the Bibles, hymnals, and religious objects that had helped make their home the place of love and warmth that it was. (Including, by the way, the cross that I wear every day.) Leafing through the Bibles, I noticed a few bookmarks, underlined passages, and notes. There weren't too many of these; I got the impression that they had really meant to highlight their favorite verses and passages. 

Almost immediately, I realized what I had in front of me. This was my chance to talk to them, to find out what really mattered to them, what drove them to live out their faith day by day. For the next few hours, reading the verses they had underlined and commented on, I finally got to have that conversation with my grandparents that I had wanted. I like to think I learned a lot about them that day, about their relationship with God, about the comfort and peace they received from Him, about why they chose to live and love as joyfully and passionately as they did. And just like that, any feelings of guilt or regret about my grandparents were gone. 

I believe that this re-encounter with my grandparents was a gift from God. Among other things, the experience helped me to see this week’s passage from the book of Revelation differently. (Revelation 7:9-17) This passage had always seemed so abstract to me. I could never really relate to it on a spiritual or emotional level. But my thoughts about what John describes as a “great multitude that no one could count,” who cry in a loud voice declaring the salvation of God, have changed a lot in the last year or so. 

The reason? That great multitude, those believers who will never hunger or thirst again, is no longer faceless or nameless for me, because I know two of them. Their names are Ruth and Eugene Smith, and they are my grandparents. And standing beside them are some of your loved ones, the family members and friends who have left us in order to sing their never-ending hymn of glory to our God. 

And as much as we may miss them, as much as our hearts may feel close to breaking because of their absence, we can take comfort in two facts:  that God Himself has wiped away all the tears from their eyes, and that the bond of love that connects God’s Holy Church cannot be broken by something as weak as death. In spite of what we humans see as the huge chasm between Heaven and Earth, we are one Church along with the loved ones who have passed. We are all one body, created through the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. We continue to learn from these people, and we attempt to echo their song of praise to God in how we live our lives.

A few months ago, I moved to Philadelphia to start seminary. After driving me here and helping me move in to my apartment, the last words my dad said to me before he left were, “I know your grandparents would be proud of you right now. Me and your mom are, too.” I walked away a bit choked up, feeling grateful and hopeful. Grateful, for the love that the departed saints so often displayed while they were with us, for all the lessons they have taught us and will teach us about discipleship, and for the sure knowledge that they are now under the personal care of our Lord and Savior. And hopeful, that we will be able to live up to the example that they set for us, and that one day we will be able to continue our conversations with them in a place where death will never again be able to separate us. Amen.