Saint Somebody
Matthew 23:1-12

November 2, 2008


All Saints Sunday is a good day to break a lot of rules because that’s what saints usually do. I have been a professional saint-watcher for a long time now - not that I am paid to watch saints, but I find them the most intriguing of human beings worth attempting to comprehend. The first thing about saints, however, is that they are “Ain’ts” - no saint fits a mold, anything you expect a saint to be and do, he or she isn’t and doesn’t.

Today I am going to break the rule by not preaching from the Lectionary, but instead offering an example of an unlikely saint. I love that hymn “I Sing a Song of the Saints of God” - “and I mean to be one too.” It’s not that easy to be a saint, but it’s even harder to try to be a saint. Since each one of us is an unlikely saint, it’s worth it to see what our roles models might be.

Besides trying to be a saint the deeper dilemma of a saint is publicity. There are very few people running around with the title of Saint attached to their name, and for good reason. Can you imagine what it would be like to be called Saint Somebody and try to lead a normal life? Everyone would look at you with a curious smile, or a pious grin. You would never be able to tell a naughty joke, and my God, you’d probably have to be rooting for both the Riders and Calgary, and you know that isn’t right. Most saints only become saints once they’re dead and society and the church have had time to think about them. Trust me, you wouldn’t want to know that you are a saint while you are alive! Too much ego, and then you wouldn’t be a saint anymore, would you? Anonymity tends to be a safer, more genuine route, and indeed, most saints are unknown.

In the early 400’s a young man was born into a wealthy Roman family. He had all the advantages - doting parents, good food, clothing, wealth, education, and opportunities for advancement. He was an only child and his parents wanted him to be happy, but he was not interested in worldly pleasures. A big wedding was arranged and it seemed the whole city turned out. On the first night of the feast, he tricked one of his groomsmen into accompanying him down to the harbour. There he jumped on a ship bound for Syria, and eventually found his way to Edessa where he stayed the rest of his life.

This Man of God, as he was known, lived around the precincts of the cathedral with the other poor and homeless. He would pray all day and beg for alms in the evening until he received what he needed, giving away anything extra to the other poor. He slept with the other poor and would help them whenever necessary, but pray during the night. He never mentioned or hinted at who he really had been.

Back at the wedding, when the groomsman found out that he had left on a ship, he went back and told the party what had happened. No one was pleased. One of his Christian servants decided to go in search of him and made it all the way to Edessa where he went to ask the local bishop Rabbula if he knew where the Man of God might be. At first the bishop did not believe him because the case was so extraordinary, and the servant finally gave up and returned home without seeing his master. His master, however, saw him, but his dress and demeanour had so radically changed that his servant had even given him alms, but did not recognize him.

The cathedral custodian kept noticing this unusual beggar praying into the night and decided to interrogate him, asking him who he was and from where he came. The Man of God refused to say anything until the custodian craftily accused him of being a heretic. Anything but that, so he revealed who he had been, though not a word was to be said until after his death.

The Man of God became deathly ill and while the custodian was willing to nurse him back to health, again he was rejected. Take me to the hospice for poor strangers, and the custodian did so, and eventually he died, and was buried in the pauper’s lot. The custodian meanwhile went to the bishop and told him everything. They came looking for the body, but it was already gone, just his rags left behind. Bishop Rabbula, overwhelmed by this, devoted himself from that point on to the care of the poor and homeless in Edessa, for one would never know when such a holy person might be there.



Such is a saint’s story, the kind of which told on many an All Saints Day, except this one was different. We never do learn his identity; he is anonymous to the bitter end. It’s hard to call someone a saint when you don’t know who he is. But as I have mentioned, some would-be saints have a PR problem: they like being seen doing good and holy things, and somehow then what they do is not so holy. The Man of God of Edessa may not have been as perfect as his saint’s tale, but he was not concerned to have anyone give him credit and reward and fame for his holiness. What is interesting is that his story circulated around and there was a Greek version that simply could not stand not knowing who he was, for someone without a name has no power. So the author gave him a name, Alexius. Kind of ruins the story. Rabbula had the right idea, if not novel, to treat every poor person as if he or she were Christ, or at least as if she or he were this holy Man of God. Who among us has looked at people that way?

Most of the saints I have met and known do not have names I cannot remember. Usually, they are men or women who have been kind to me or someone else for a moment or a day and I have lost track of which person they were and which name they went by. In my Grade 11 year, there was a businessman who took over our small high school class in the downtown church I grew up in. Situation ethics was the popular buzz then, but he captivated us by giving us sticky cases and inviting us to work our way out of them. He wouldn’t let us off easy. I was bit and in retrospect, the conversations in his class and the concern he genuinely showed us were among several things that led me to consider the ministry. The trouble was, I couldn’t remember his name. Years later, I returned to the congregation as the associate minister and one day asked an older member, “Who was that guy?” He responded, “Oh yes, that was --- he died a few years ago.” I heard the name and I was not able to retain it. I don’t believe now I was supposed to remember.

Saint Somebody. That’s us, by the way, whenever we act in a saintly way without knowing it. “I sing a song of the saints of God... and I mean to be one too.” Let us gather around the Lord’s Table with all the saints, named and unnamed.

Preached by Robert Kitchen
Knox-Metropolitan United Church
Regina, Saskatchewan