Friday, November 01, 2019

November 1 is All Saints Day.

We live in a football crazed and crazy town--Columbus, Ohio, home of the Buckeyes. I think I went to a Buckeye game in 1967. But we don't live far from the stadium-- the sounds, the tailgaters, the traffic, and of course, the games are always televised so it's even in my house, and there's usually a comment the next day along with the pastor's sermon. The "Horseshoe" holds over 100,000 screaming, adoring fans (only Michigan and Penn are larger).

That's how I picture All Saints Day. We run on to the field with our God and coach, and when we look up, there they are--all the saints who have gone before us, cheering, waving, singing, rocking the stadium. We look into the stands and see Mom and Dad, or that special Sunday School teacher, or the elderly man who came to the food pantry when we were serving, or our baby who died at birth now perfect and well, and they are so happy to see us, encourage us, and pray for us in our difficult and joyful times, both.

“Holy, Holy, Holy! all the saints adore thee,
Casting down their golden crowns around the glassy sea;
Cherubim and seraphim falling down before thee,
Who were and are and ever more shall be!”

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