All Saints 2025

Today we celebrate All Saints Day. This practice has been part of the early church for centuries as a way to remember the martyrs of faith and has been observed on November 1st since the mid 700’s. For most, it is a day to celebrate and remember the lives of loved ones we have lost over this past year or in years prior. We light candles and we speak the names of our loved ones and we tell their stories. We gather around this table and invite God to be present as we break bread and drink juice and receive words of grace. And somehow in all of that we believe that it isn’t just God who meets us at this table but what we call the great communion of saints as well.

But what do we mean when we say saints? Who qualifies as a saint? What does a saint look like? Can one have such a thing as a saintly appearance and demeanor?Is there a certain aura? A halo effect? Do you think of life-size stone statues or churches that carry their name. Aren’t we called St. Luke after all? Or is saintliness purely related to one’s character? Are they generous? Humble? Trustworthy? What aspects of someone’s everyday life do you ascribe to saintliness?

But Paul said he had heard of their faith toward all the saints. Not some. Not a few. Not a little. Not just their love towards those they liked but all. Didn’t we just sing the words “for all the saints” a moment ago? Perhaps when I asked you about what you thought of with the term saint, you thought of someone you loved who had died. And that is certainly appropriate for today. But Paul seems to think the term is a bit broader here, like it includes everyone who is following Jesus. Not just the cloud of witnesses but all of us, here and now. I love how Nadia Bolz Weber coined it in one of her books, Accidental Saints. Maybe you have known a few accidental saints in your day. People who didn’t have that glow but whose saintliness surprised you. The shock of everyday faithfulness from someone who doesn’t even appear that they would be even regularly faithful.

Luke’s gospel today tells us about some other saints. They might not make Time Magazine’’s most influential, but they make the Beatitudes. Here in Luke 6:20-31, the gospel reading for today, we are reminded of who Jesus says is blessed, of who Jesus ascribes sainthood to. It isn’t the rulers of the day or the most wealthy or the influencers or the tech billionaires. Instead he says “blessed are you who are poor. Blessed are you who are hungry now. Blessed are you who weep now. Blessed are you when people hate you and when they exclude you, revile you, and defame you, … for surely your reward is great in heaven.”

In Paul’s prayer for the Ephesians, he prays that they will know the hope to which they have been called to, the riches of the glorious inheritance of the saints, and the greatness of his power. Think about the phrase “the riches of his glorious inheritance among the saints. What kind of riches do the saints have? Riches of glorious inheritance. Doesn’t seem to fit who Jesus is talking to in the Beatitudes, so saintliness must mean more than our net worth. Jesus talks about this richness when addressing the very least of these in saying “yours is the kingdom of God, you will be filled, you will laugh, and surely your reward is great in heaven.” The rich inheritance of the saints, of each of us, is the inheritance of hope and life and identity as children of God.

And this rich inheritance of hope acts as a sacred thread that knits us together. Across the table. Across the aisle. Across our lives. Across the page. Nadia Bolz Weber says “These are thin places in which the veil between here and the heart of God is translucent. I am no expert in the afterlife, but all I know is that when we die, we somehow return to our divine source. And because God is love, the love we shared here on Earth is the connective tissue that unites us eternally with everyone who loved us. In some inexplicable way, we are all - every single one of us - held together in the heart of God.”

When we say the names of those we love and light candles, we bring more than our big hearts and big grief, we bring life-sized stories. Like the rings of a tree, we carry stories upon stories inside ourselves. We stand on the shoulders of all the names who have gone before as we live out our own stories that others will one day speak and stand upon. In her book Everything Is A Story, Kaitlin Curtis shares how “Stories never really die. They become compost, moving from one kind of existence to another, transforming from one form to a different one, given back to the earth.” In the book We Survived the End of the World, Chickasaw author Steven Charleston says we remember intergenerational wisdom that brings us here “pandemics, environmental destruction, corrupt governments, war, and natural disasters: my ancestors have been through it all before. They have survived, and they have returned to the land of the living. They bring a message of hope and transformation. They offer a vision of healing and restoration.” This is important because if we ever think we are living through a difficult season or that we are facing it alone, we aren’t. We have an entire communion of saints gathered with us cheering us onward- “with angels and archangels and all the company of heaven.”

We continue to tell the stories of the great communion of saints: stories of perseverance and grit, of faithfulness and truth, of determination and setbacks and laughter and stubborn hope. Stories of people who stood up, offered a kind word, welcomed others, gave what they had, prepared food, provided transportation, and opened their heart.

You have your own stories of saints that you keep from here at St. Luke. Stories of people who showed up when it mattered, who invited you to church, who made you feel welcome, who cooked the spaghetti sauce, who volunteered to chaperone, who made sure the bills could be paid, who gave their friend a ride, and who kept showing up to teach and to sing.

I bring the stories of my best friend Drew’s sense of humor and living a full life even though he died far too young. I bring stories of Merilla who lived with grace even when faced with immense personal hardship and Alzheimer’s. I carry the stories of Duncan who taught me what it meant to serve others quietly. I carry stories of Peggy who was a saint to the grieving, always inviting the bereaved to her table and throwing lavish parties because she new that the table of loss is also the table of life. I carry the stories of George who couldn’t see but would sit for hours and listen to me read the Bible and who served children and youth with more energy than I ever had. I carry the stories of Elizabeth and Mary Lois whose presence was a pillar at their local churches. I carry the stories of my grandmother Ubbie who was the patron saint of fried okra and homemade biscuits. I carry the stories of Cliff who kept opening up the trunk of his car to feed people. I also carry the stories of saints like Martin Luther King and Dorothy Day and Henri Nouwen and John Wesley. Stories that cry out with me “how long?” Stories that remind me of Christ as the wounded healer. Stories that tell me there is no holiness except social holiness. Stories that urge us on towards our life in Christ.

Pastor Karyn of FUMC in Portland, Oregon was reflecting upon the heartache of the potential for 42 million families, brothers and sisters and neighbors and fellow saints, to have to face hunger this week. She says “It is heartbreaking for us- and it breaks the hearts of the saints, too. The saints of God are those who have fed and fought for the hungry. They are also those who themselves were fed, who themselves were fought for. Grandma Luz is a saint, but not because she was perfect or miraculous by any means. When we say ‘saints,’ we’re not talking about the superhuman or perfect faith of a select few. Rather, we are talking about God’s ability and choice to use flawed human beings to do divine things. Through our ordinary acts of love, the vision of heaven is brought closer to earth.” As we celebrate All Saints Sunday, I can’t help but to imagine that great communion of saints looking upon our communities and urging us on toward that vision of heaven” that we proclaim together- “until we all feast together at God’s heavenly banquet.” How might the saints you name and the stories you carry urge you on towards the hope to which you have been called, the riches of your glorious inheritance, and the immeasurable greatness of God’s power? How might these names and stories be more than memories and grief but love that propels you forward? For we are not alone. The communion of saints is a communion of hope.