Where Are They Now?

 

Texts: Revelation 7:9-17; 1 John 3:1-3; Matthew 5:1-12

To begin with here is a sad story about one of my earliest heroes.  When I was about 10 I became a fan of Bolton Wanderers football team.  I can't quite remember why now, but anyway they were my team; and they continued to be my team all through my youth until I went to Sheffield University and became a Sheffield Wednesday fan.  One of the star attractions of Bolton Wanderers in those early days – in fact, to be honest, the only star attraction – was their centre forward.  He was also centre forward for England, and he had the marvellous name of Nat Lofthouse.  Nat was the only soccer hero I have ever had who was not a goalkeeper.  That's how special he was for me back in those wonderful days when all games were played on a Saturday afternoon, and the results were broadcast on the BBC at the same time every Saturday evening.

Well, of course, the years passed and both Nat and I grew older.  He retired from playing, I went to university, and there our story might have ended.  But one day there was an item on the sports page of the Sheffield paper about Nat Lofthouse.  The writer thought there might be a few readers who remembered Nat, and if so, they would be pleased to know that he was coming to Sheffield soon.  It turned out that he was now coach of the Bolton Wanderers Second XI who were due to play the Sheffield United Second XI.  How exciting was that?  But it got better.  The first 10 people to send in a coupon with the year of the cup-final in which Nat Lofthouse scored the winning goals would get a free pass to see Bolton Wanderers Second XI play Sheffield United Second XI.  Easy-peasey!!!  I duly received my free pass and went to the match in high excitement – I even went early so as to secure a front row position near where the coaches sat during the game so as to get a good view of Nat Lofthouse.

You can guess the rest.  The entire crowd must have won free passes because there was only about 8 of us present; and when the teams came out, with their coaches, I took a while to recognise him.  The years had not been kind to him.  He looked much older than his years, and he was already beginning to roll a bit as he walked.  I tried to tell myself that none of that mattered; he was still Nat Lofthouse, childhood super-hero, scorer of the two goals that won the cup for Bolton against Manchester United in 1958.  I wanted to tell him that I had not forgotten, but I was too shy.  Besides, he looked as though he might have forgotten by then!

That's the problem with fame, I guess.  Whenever there is a magazine article, or a programme on T.V., called "Where are they now?" I brace myself.  And yet, I'm always curious, especially if it turns out to be about someone I once admired.  And in some ways, it doesn't matter if they have now run to fat, and are eking out a living in a fish-and-chips shop or something.  We all need heroes, especially heroes we share with others.  We remember the greats of our own past, and we are thankful for what they once did for us.  They may be sports heroes, or from the entertainment business, or national heroes.  Think of the great Ed Hillary, for instance.  Of course, he was past his best by the end, but that didn't matter one bit.  We rejoiced again over his triumphs on Everest and in Antarctica, when he was at the height of his powers; even if we had never met him, he had been a very special part of our lives for so long.

I remember when I first started visited homes for the Public Trust Office back in the 60's being struck by how often people still had pictures of Michael Joseph Savage on their wall.  The first time I saw it, I asked the owner who it was; and she went on about her hero for half-an-hour, and nearly made herself cry in the process.  Savage was and always would be a hero to her.

We all need heroes, and we all love sharing stories about our heroes.  Stories like those bind us together as members of our group, our family, our club, or our nation.  They incorporate our values.  We are as proud of what Ed Hillary said when he climbed Everest as we are of the climb itself: it was so Ed, it was so us!

Of course, we often remind ourselves when we're talking about our heroes that he/she was no saint; and we do that because, deep down, we don't like saints.  Saints are ridiculously good people, and they make us feel uncomfortable.  We want our heroes to be more human, more like us.  When one of the Hillary inner circle said Ed could be a bit irascible at times, we were pleased to hear it.  He's real, we thought, good old Ed!  He's no saint.

Which just goes to show that we've got a screwed up idea of saints!  One of the delights I find in flicking through books of saints is how irascible many of them were!  How human they were – how like us – how like Ed!  The saintly Francis often lost his temper, and tore strips off his fellow friars.  After all, he was Italian!  St Teresa of Avila was another with whom it didn't pay to tangle.  And it's not just that some of the saints lost their temper every now and again.  Some of them carried on personal vendettas against people they considered their rivals or even their enemies.  And some of the saints we are remembering today probably never existed.  Even that doesn't seem to matter too much.  What matters is what we say about them and what we learn from them.  St George is a great example of all this: a priest friend in Palmerston North once assured me that the evidence for the existence of St George was almost as strong as the evidence for the existence of his dragon!  What matters is his courage, his desire to protect and save others.

A clue to all this comes in the official title of the Commemoration of the Faithful Departed.  The key word is "faithful".  We don't remember the "good" departed; we remember only the faithful ones, good and bad. That, after all, is what a saint really is according to Scripture – a person of faith, a Christian.  When the Church 'canonised' someone, it meant to indicate that they were the full measure of a Christian, they had reached the required standard of faithfulness, not that they were of impeccable moral standing.

Where are they now, these saints and faithful departed?  Ah, now there's a real question for us today of all days!  And we're supposed to know the answer, aren't we?  Look at our Sentence for the Day: Know the hope to which you have been called, and the glorious inheritance of the saints.  Think about those words for a minute.  Do they conjure up for you a picture of a paunchy, bald man rolling out of the players' tunnel onto a soccer pitch on a cold winter's day in Sheffield; or some faded pop idol trying to earn a few bob behind the bar in a takeaway outlet?

Hopefully, not!  We are assured that "inexpressible joys" await those who truly love the Lord.  Our hope is eternal life with God, a glimpse of which is given to us in our first reading today.  Our glorious inheritance is a future with Christ when he returns, here on a redeemed and transformed earth.  Our heroes of the faith, the faithful departed, are with God awaiting the final consummation of all things.  They shall return when he returns.

In the meantime we are one with them through the Holy Spirit.  We worship with them who surround us on every side, countless as heavens stars.  That's what we mean when we affirm our faith in the communion of saints.  They are "the faithful who rest in him, with angels and archangels and all the company of heaven", and "the blessed company of all faithful people", to whom we will refer shortly.

Today of all days may we be aware of their presence with us, thankful for their example to us, and confident of sharing with them God's gift of eternal life.  Amen.