Solemnity of All Saints

 Lectionary: 667

The reason the world does not know us
is that it did not know him.
Beloved, we are God's children now;
what we shall be has not yet been revealed.

On Tuesday I reflected on the hiddenness of God. I return to that thought on this Solemnity of All Saints. I refer to the frustrating fact that we can prove so little about God; everything we know of God relies on the Mystery who speaks in silence and shines in darkness. 

First, there are our beliefs about Jesus: 

In the beginning was the Word,

and the Word was with God,

and the Word was God.

He was in the beginning with God.

All things came to be through him,

and without him nothing came to be.

None of that is obvious or demonstrable. That the Lord God of heaven and earth was born of a virgin and laid in a manger; that he was an exile in Egypt; homeless in Israel; died like a common criminal; has no grave; and finally disappeared like Elijah into the sky: these memories demonstrate the obscurity of the Object of our faith. (Elijah had least had the decency to be taken aloft in a fiery chariot with angelic horses, while Elisha and the guild prophets watched.) The whole story of Jesus is pretty ludicrous when you think about it, and we think about it often. Did anyone see his resurrection? And where exactly is his risen body anyway? 

Secondly, God's hiddenness is manifest in the Sacrament of the Eucharist, when the Lord is consumed by the devout under the forms of bread and wine. "Look at the humility of God!" Saint Francis shouted as he pointed to the Eucharist. Skeptics see nothing, while the devout bow down in worship. 

Finally, there is the hiddenness of God in the Church. We might be tempted to point, as proof of God's presence, to our cathedrals, basilicas, churches, and chapels ranged all over the world. (Many are neglected, collapsing, or in ruins.) And many of the grandest churches are architectural wonders, but -- again -- they prove nothing to skeptics. Our God is hidden; and is discovered only by faith. 

As we celebrate All Saints Day, we have only a few who measure up to the world's standards of greatness. Some, like Theresa of Calcutta, had their fifteen minutes of fame, but none have the instant, universal recognition of a Hitler, Stalin, Mussolini, or Putin. 

Our Saints do their best work in silence and darkness, unnoticed and unrecognized. Like Jesus, they often withdraw to a deserted place to pray. They do not let their left hands know what their right hands are doing. And when we ask them about their mystical experiences of God -- expecting some wonderful stories because they are heroic after all -- they speak only of the dark night of the soul! Well, who needs that?

But All Saints Day is a great feast for us. We observe it (those who remember) as a holy day of obligation, and hope more than the usual suspects will appear for this weekday Mass. 

The Church does its best work in silence. The miraculous cures of organized religion are not often recognized by organized health care. Our prayers are not usually heard in the streets like the "thoughts and prayers" of the hypocrites. Our sacrifices are routine, often habitual, and are taken for granted. That's as it should be. 

Because, our Church with its many saints and innumerable sinners, is holy as the Lord our God is holy.