With the first congregation I served with out of seminary, there was Alice. Alice was one of those church individuals who must have been under the impression that God was nudging her to keep tabs on her second family of sorts, her siblings in Christ, as they walked in the main entrance doors into the narthex area. She would sit on that pew in that socially delicate area with those who just wanted to get to their seats in the sanctuary, as well as those who wanted to verbally process all the life events from the week before. And although Alice had her quirks and her fair share of gruffness, to be sure, she cherished each one who came into those entrance doors just the same. So maybe she was under the impression (even if she pulled it off in her own…unique way at times) that she was called by God to not only be the church’s welcoming committee, of sorts, but to embody the Divine hospitality to all who entered that holy/delicate space: those who had been coming every Sunday for decades, and those who did so with some hesitation and curiosity for the very first time.
One of the other vivid memories of good ‘ole Alice was hearing for the first time that she insisted “Oh, When the Saints Go Marching In” be played (and sung with gusto) at her funeral. I remember initially thinking that might have been a bit of a stretch for a woman who prided on her German-Lutheran heritage, but even relatively new-pastor me knew not to question Alice on such matters. And so, a few years later, we honored good ‘ole Alice’s request. We did so at the end of her “celebration of life.” And we attempted to do so with gusto, with a trumpet’s enthusiastic jolt to assist. That choice may have been rather irreverent for most such somber occasions, but we figured that’s exactly how Alice would have wanted it, as she was moved not only from the sanctuary for the final time, but into all eternity:
Oh, when the saints go marching in,
oh, when the saints go marching in,
O Lord, I want to be in that number
when the saints go marching in…
That may end up being my favorite rendition for that hymn for a lifetime, but I also have this feeling that what made quirky, sometimes gruffy, Alice all the more special, was that she was under the impression that all the people who walked into that socially delicate/holy area of the narthex, no matter if it was their first or 100th time; Alice was convinced they were all saints already. And Alice didn’t think such things because she heard a pastor say that, or she read it in a religious book, and she ended up intellectually agreeing with it. No, Alice just knew it in her heart. She knew God had already gotten to them from the beginning. She knew God thoroughly cherished them. She knew God had reeled them in, and that’s how they got the title often reserved for the earthly departed.
Granted, I have a feeling Alice wanted the song because she loved it with the words and the tune and the joy it’s meant to unleash even in the face of death; and, of course, Alice just had to be different anyway. But maybe there was something to the “saints [walking] in” on a weekly basis as she was stubbornly perched on that narthex pew: saints who were ready to hear about God’s love, yet again, saints who needed spiritually fed with the bread of everlasting life meant to be enjoyed in this very life, saints who needed perhaps another nudge of their calling. God (nor Alice) never envisioned the title to be an intimidating one to hopefully live up to with countless good/perfect works, but just another reminder of the entirety of the Holy Spirit being gifted into the depths of our being; a reminder that even if we don’t believe in ourselves, God does and always will. So, for Alice and all the saints, who never stop believing in us either, thanks be to God for them indeed!
In Christ,
Pastor Brad