You think
of clouds normally as blocking the light, but these ones shine instead. To see
them you might almost believe they can somehow make their own light, but of
course they can’t: they just take the light that is offered them, and then share
that light with us the cloud watchers, somewhere far below.
Another
cloud image that came to me as I was thinking what to speak about today is
this; my particular story is located in the little northern market town of
Glossop between Manchester and Sheffield, on a cold and grimy and grey winter’s
day a few years ago. I’d gone there to walk up into the hills and take part of
the Pennine Way. I arrived by train, walked from the station to the town
centre, and couldn’t help but feel rather depressed, because it was one of
those days when everything just seemed grey and dismal. Glossop was completely
covered by clouds that seemed to start somewhere around chimney pot level. And
everywhere was dripping wet, water dripped from every telegraph wire, down the
drain pipes and the awning of the shops and the market stalls, and you got
showered every time you happened to knock the branch of a tree. I trudged up
out of the town and onto the Pennines, and as I did so, I reached a point at
which the world was utterly and completely transformed. I came out of the
clouds and into a magical and sunlit world on the hill tops, looking down now
on the cloud in the valleys changed from dull grey into dazzling white.
On All
Saints’ Day we celebrate and remember those who, as the Book of Revelation
reminds us, are clothed in dazzling white. They have washed their robes and
made them white in the blood of the Lamb. Like those noctilucent clouds, the
light with which they shine is not their own, they shine with the light of
Christ.
Another
image that always comes to mind on All Saints’ Day is the stained glass window.
Most stained glass windows contain pictures of saints, I suppose, and our
ancestors would have learned about the saints from the stained glass and the
wall paintings in their church. I remember that in one of my previous churches
we had a very large and lovely stained glass window at the east end, behind the
altar, and we thought it was a bit of a shame that at our biggest service of
the year, the Christmas Eve carol service, all you could see of it was a big
black shape behind the altar. So my churchwarden had the bright idea of
installing temporary floodlights to shine up at the window from outside; the
whole scene was transformed into the
Victorian equivalent of glorious Technicolor.
Like
stained glass windows and noctilucent clouds, saints shine with a light that
isn’t their own, it’s been given them by God. We think of saints as people so
irradiated with God’s love that they glow, and that glow touches those around
them. Each stained glass window glows in its own special way, with colours and
shapes and designs that you only see when the light shines through - in the
case of our big East window, a rich display of purples and reds and gold.
Saints also each shine in his or her own special way; their stories are all
different, their skills and talents and loves, so each saint we encounter will shine
in a special and unique way.
But all of
them shine because of the one light they have been given, the love-light gifted
them from above; and so the one true light of God shines into the world in a
myriad different ways. Each shard of saintly light bears witness to the
loveliness of God in a new and special way, and all form part of the one
unbroken glory that is God’s alone.
I love to
read about the saints, and their stories both encourage me and challenge me. I’m
encouraged by their stories of kindness, constancy, valour, and steadfast faith.
But I can’t help but be challenged when I think, would I have done that? Could
I have done that? Would I have remained true, or would I have drifted away?
It’s easy to be a saint when the road is clear and everything is sunny; much
harder when there are rocks about and the road is dark. I’m all right till
tested, but how would I cope with the test?
Saints are
not super-heroes, but they are people who know the truth about themselves. Saints
aren’t specially good and perfect, but they are honest: honest in admitting
their weakness, honest in owning up to their mistakes, honest in accepting the
discipline they needed, and honest in opening their hearts to God’s forgiving
love and healing touch. Peter the foremost of the apostles denied his Lord
three times, and then burst into tears when he realised what he’d done; and
like him, many of the greatest saints were and are men and women who’d been
brought face to face with their own weakness. Saints don’t set out to be heroes
of the faith, it’s something that happens to them. And it happens because these
are people who’ve said yes to God and who’ve gone on saying yes to God, even
when the world told them it was a foolish thing to do, even when the world
attacked and persecuted them for doing it. At its simplest, that’s what makes a
saint – a saint is someone who, when God calls, keeps on saying yes.
And so we
all get our chance to be saints. There’s no pre-qualification. It’s not like
the Olympics, where you only get into the team when you’ve beaten a certain
time or won a certain race. God calls, and we say – Sorry, what was that again?
Or – Not just now, thanks; or – Isn’t there someone else who could do that? Or
– Yes, sure, I would, but I’m doing my hair tonight. That’s what we say, or is it just me? But the
saints we honour today didn’t say any of those things, or any of the hundred
and one other excuses we come up with to justify being lukewarm or part time in
our faith. No – these guys said “Yes” – maybe not straight away, but once
they’d said it they went on saying it; they persevered in the faith.
Getting
back to clouds for a moment, bits of the song “Both Sides Now” started playing
in my head as I sat down to write these words. Judy Collins, I think, singing this
about clouds: “Now they only block the sun, they rain and snow on everyone; so
many things I could have done, but clouds got in my way.” Some last,
cloud-based thoughts, then. Firstly, that when we’re not part of the solution,
we may well be part of the problem. Saints shine to lead people to the Lord, but
we could be blocking the light, and barring the way, or concentrating on
looking good ourselves, instead of pointing the way to Jesus’. Let’s be
noctilucent clouds, that shine God’s love where otherwise it would be dark.
And
finally, thinking of my day in Glossop, maybe saints are those who even while
they live in the grimy and grey world trapped under the clouds, can see the
glory above the clouds, and bear witness to that glory. They’re not restricted by
the ordinary and the everyday, and that’s why they could do such amazing
things, all the time saying, with St Paul, “Yet not I, but Christ at work
within me.”
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