THE CHANGING OF THE GUARD
The Rev. J. Donald Waring
Grace Church in New York
All Saints’ Sunday
November 6, 2011
Let us now sing the praises of famous men, our ancestors in their generations. The Lord apportioned to them great glory … But of others there is no memory; they have perished as though they had never existed. (from Ecclesiasticus 44)
Late last summer my family and I took a big road trip, and pulled into Washington DC just a day or so ahead of Hurricane Irene. I had always wanted to see the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, so among the other sights we took in, Arlington National Cemetery was one place we headed. The Tomb of the Unknown Soldier dates back to ninety years ago this week, when in November of 1921 a World War One American soldier whose remains could not be identified was laid to rest in the plaza of what was then the cemetery’s new Memorial Amphitheater. Atop the grave is a magnificent marble sarcophagus that reads: HERE RESTS IN HONORED GLORY AN AMERICAN SOLDIER KNOWN BUT TO GOD. Also in front of the sarcophagus are now three more marble slabs, covering crypts holding the remains of unknown soldiers from World War Two and Korea.
Most moving of all is that these unknown fallen soldiers receive an honor guard that keeps vigil twenty-four hours a day, every day of the year, no exceptions, not even for a hurricane. The sentinels are members of a special unit of the Army called “The Old Guard.” As we watched, an immaculately dressed soldier carrying a rifle walked twenty-one paces in one direction, waited twenty-one seconds, then turned and walked in stately stride twenty-one paces back from whence he came. It’s like a perpetual 21-gun salute.
Every half hour the changing of the guard is something to see. With military precision a relief commander walks onto the plaza, salutes the tomb, and announces the simple ceremony. A new sentinel soon comes into view, and presents himself with his rifle. With meticulous care the commander inspects the rifle and the soldier to assure that every button and bolt is in place. Then he escorts the new guard to salute the tomb and begin his watch. It’s as if the guards are saying to the unknown soldiers, “We sent you into war. You made the ultimate sacrifice, and we forgot who you were. We failed you in life, but we will never fail you in death. We will never leave you again, not for one minute.” The Tomb of the Unknown Soldier is indeed a mysterious and strangely beautiful place.
Today is a mysterious and strangely beautiful day. Today is All Saints’ Sunday, the day we celebrate the wonderful and sacred mystery known as the Communion of Saints. If you’re like most people, the word saint conjures up stained glass images of great and holy people who toiled and fought and lived and died for the Lord they loved and knew. But the word that the New Testament uses for “saint” can refer to any Christian, not only the remarkable few. And in various other passages the Bible suggests that the people of God consist also of the unknown dead who have left behind no memory, who perished as though they never existed, who have become as though they had never been born. So among the communion of saints we celebrate today could be people you have known and loved: the mother who dried your tears, the father who taught you to throw and catch, the sibling you fought and defended, the spouse you lost and long for still, the Grace Church member who kept the faith through some dread disease. God remembers them all. And on this day, we too try to remember. Perhaps we weren’t always there when they needed us. We failed them in life, but we will not fail them in death. We will not forget them. We will salute them, if you will, by reading a list of their names in a moment, trusting that they are in heaven.
Something else we do on this mysterious and beautiful day called All Saints’ is welcome new Christians into our midst through baptism. One way to think about baptism is that ultimately it is a changing of the guard. Mind you now, the work of this generation is hardly done. But in the same way that we grasped the baton from the known and unknown saints who ran ahead of us, so today we see in sight the next watch, the new guard coming into view. To press the analogy, the Baptismal liturgy even features a presentation of the new recruits, and a rigorous examination of arms. You can think of Assistant Rector, Ted Pardoe, who led the grilling, as the relief commander testing the worthiness of the incoming guards. Are you really ready for what it takes to be a Christian? Are you really ready to contend with Satan, the spiritual forces of wickedness, the evil powers of this world, and all sinful desires that draw you from the love of God? Will you be ready for duty on Sunday mornings? Will you persevere in resisting evil, proclaim the gospel by word and example, seek and serve Christ in all persons, love your neighbor as yourself, strive for justice and peace, and respect the dignity of every human being? It’s quite an inquisition to undergo before beginning or renewing the Christian walk. The implication here is that the life of faith is to be forever on guard against the forces of decay, if not the very barbarians at the gates.
Last summer, as I watched the guards on duty at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, I wondered what they would do if someone actually made a move towards the great marble sarcophagus itself. Are the guards purely ceremonial? Are the rifle and bayonet just for show? Or would they actually intervene against someone who stepped out of line. Nothing happened while we were there, but if you go online you can see amateur videos of just that: the sentinels’ barking reprimands at silly spectators and irreverent tourists who don’t show the proper respect. One woman was sitting when she should have been standing. A man tried to take a shortcut across the plaza. A group came strolling up the grassy slope on the backside of the tomb. All these quickly learned that the sentinels on duty have no sense of humor when someone even inadvertently crosses the line. Is this what it means to be a Christian? Unfortunately, too many people inside the church think it is. Some of us carry the metaphor of the Old Guard beyond its useful purpose, and convey to the world that life in Christ is all about rigid lines, crisp attire, and precise rituals.
In a rapidly changing society, how easy and understandable it is to fall into the role of a sentinel. But the life of a saint is more than being a sentinel in the Old Guard. For one thing, the tomb at the center of Christian story needs no guard because it is empty. The celebration of All Saints’ and Christian baptism derive all their meaning from the resurrection of Jesus. Easter is what saves this day from sentimentality and imaginary wish fulfillment. Jesus lives, and by the power of his Spirit, he is available for us and accessible to us at all times and in all places. We turn to him and accept him as our Savior. We put our whole trust in his grace and love. We promise to follow and obey him as our Lord. What are his commands that he wants us to obey? What are the weapons he wants us to carry and keep in precise working order? Read what he says in the Beatitudes, the Gospel that for centuries has been assigned to All Saints’ Day. Jesus wants his followers armed with mercy, humility, meekness, and purity of heart. He wants them to hunger and thirst for righteousness and peacemaking. These are the characteristics of a saint that the living Lord Jesus wants to inspire in each of us.
The life of a saint is more than being a sentinel. Because Jesus lives, the family that he presides over also lives. The Communion of Saints is not a solemn cemetery, but a living, helping, purposeful fellowship that death cannot divide. The names we read today is not a list of the dead. It is a list of the alive in Christ. On All Saints’ Sunday, we don’t salute the tomb of a dead hero or departed loved one. Rather, by faith we wave to a living multitude, and dare to believe that they are waving back at us through the window of this wonderful day. St. John the Divine wrote how he looked and saw a great multitude that no one could count, from every tribe, nation, and tongue (Revelation 7:9). The writer of Hebrews (12:1) declared that we are surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses urging us to run with perseverance the race that is set before us.
So being a member of the Old Guard doesn’t capture the full meaning and mystery of the Communion of Saints’. Let me give you another metaphor that I think comes closer to the essence of today. Last spring, just before the close of school, Stacie and I sat in these very pews with a multitude of parents and grandparents for the Grace Church School grades 1-3 concert. To appreciate what happened you’ll have to imagine how the church looks without the scaffolding obscuring the chancel. For a school concert a semi-circular set of risers is set up where the choir pews normally are so that the children can look directly out at and sing to the audience. The early grades come out first. In single file they nervously climb the riser steps and take their places. When the whole class is assembled it always seems as if we still have three or four minutes before the music begins. What happens?
Well, at first you can watch the children adjusting their eyes to the lights and trying to comprehend the sea of people in front of them. Then they start scanning the rows of pews for the familiar faces of parents. And then the waving begins. The children wave to their parents; the parents wave back. They are on stage, we are in the audience. We are all in one church. The rules of the assembly don’t allow anyone to cross the line, but the waving respects no such barriers. With each increasing grade the waving becomes less enthusiastic, until at some point the older children are so grown up and mature that it stops altogether. But the jubilant, unabashed waving of the youngest children is really something to see.
Jesus said, “Whoever does not receive the kingdom of God like a child shall not enter it.” The celebration of All Saints’ Sunday invites us to change our guard, to drop our guard and become like children. It is a day for those of us who dwell in time and space to put aside our grown-up cynicism and realize that in God’s ordering of existence, we are like those children on the risers. We are on stage, the Communion of Saints who have gone before us are in the audience. We are all in one church. At some point school will be over, and God’s endless summer will be ours to enjoy with those we have loved and lost. For now, the rules of the assembly don’t permit the crossing of such barriers. But in heart and mind, today you can adjust your eyes to the lights of heaven, and scan the multitude of saints for familiar faces. And you can wave.
You can save the solemn salute for the cemetery. In the presence of the Communion of Saints, you can wave with the joyful abandon of a child. And you can believe through faith, that amidst angels, archangels, and all the company of heaven, they are waving back.
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