“But woe to you who are rich, for you have received your consolation. Woe to you who are full now, for you will be hungry. Woe to you who are laughing now, for you will mourn and weep. Woe to you when all speak well of you, for that is what their ancestors did to the false prophets.”
Today, we gather to remember the saints, not only the great and shining examples whose names like Peter and Paul, but also those whose names are carved into our hearts. We remember parents and grandparents, teachers and mentors, friends and fellow church members, ordinary people through whom we caught a glimpse of God’s love.
All Saints’ Day is not just a day for remembering those who have gone before us; it’s a day to remember who we are, the saints of God, here and now.
When Jesus speaks in Luke 6, he’s not describing some far-off heavenly ideal. He’s describing the life of the kingdom, the life of the saints, living right here on earth. This passage also appears in Matthew’s Gospel and is called the Sermon on the Mount or the Beatitudes.
Jesus begins, “Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God.”
That’s not how most of us would define “blessed.” We usually associate blessings with comfort, security, and success. But Jesus turns the world upside down, or maybe right side up. He blesses those the world overlooks: the poor, the hungry, the weeping, the hated.
Why? Because these are the people who are open to God’s grace. They have learned to depend on something beyond themselves. They know that true blessing isn’t about wealth or power, but about being known and loved by God.
The saints we remember today lived in that kind of trust. Some faced suffering, poverty, or loss. Some gave themselves away in service. Some simply lived quiet, faithful lives of love and compassion. In their weakness, God’s strength was made visible.
To be a saint is not to be perfect; it is to be blessed in dependence on God and to be of service to others.
Then Jesus gives a warning: “Woe to you who are rich… full… laughing… when all speak well of you.”
Jesus isn’t condemning joy or prosperity; he’s warning us against the illusion that those things can satisfy the deepest hunger of the soul.
The saints teach us that the values of God’s kingdom often stand in sharp contrast to the values of the world. While the world says, “Look out for yourself,” Jesus says, “Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you.” While the world says, “Get even,” Jesus says, “Turn the other cheek.”
In the kingdom of God, greatness is found in service, wealth is measured in generosity, and joy comes through compassion.
As you may be aware, SNAP benefits ended yesterday. Unless something changes, 41 million Americans will be left without food assistance. Forty-one million of our neighbors will go hungry. I am not pointing a finger of blame, but rather, I am asking: how did we let this happen?
Before we rise to judgment about one side or the other, those 41 million are the least of these: elderly, veterans, active-duty military, single parents, and children. Most of the 41 million work or receive other income, but not enough to make ends meet.
Wal-Mart is the largest employer of people who receive SNAP benefits. It has been estimated that 25% of Walmart’s workforce receives SNAP benefits. By the way, Wal-Mart is also the top retailer that benefits from those very same SNAP benefits.
Let’s take a quick look at some numbers. The average Walmart employee in Massachusetts makes between $15 and $17 an hour, which works out to $31,200 on the low end and $ 35,360 on the high end, before taxes and any other deductions. According to Data from the MIT Living Wage Calculator, a household in Massachusetts with one working adult and two children needs an hourly rate of $51.04 just to cover basic needs, food, clothing, housing, and medical expenses.
There is a lot wrong with the system, but the 41 million Americans worrying about how they will feed their families is not one of them.
For more perspective, the Walton family, which owns Walmart, is the wealthiest family in the world. Combined, their wealth equals $432.4 billion, that’s billion with a “B,” and they amassed that fortune in part because they pay their workers below the poverty level, while at the same time reaping benefits from tax breaks and 25% of SNAP shoppers.
This is precisely what Jesus was talking about! The problem is not the single mother or the elderly lady down the street who receives SNAP; the problem is the inequity of the system that created the gulf that now requires 41 million of its citizens to rely on benefits just to buy food. Why is there not more outrage about that?
Someone recently asked me why I take all this so personally. I take it personally because it is a personal matter. I know many, many hard-working people who are just trying to survive, and they are vilified by some politicians and used as props by others. I take it personally because my Lord and Savior fed people; he did not vilify them and use them as props. He did not check their papers to see if they were worthy; he just rolled up his sleeves and fed people because they were hungry.
A few weeks ago, I used the illustration of pulling people out of the water. We pull people out of the water because that is the easy part. Asking why they are falling in the first place is hard.
Archbishop Hélder Câmara served as an Archbishop in Brazil during the brutal Military Dictatorship from 1964 to 1985. He was called the Archbishop of the Slums. One of his most famous quotes is, “When I give food to the poor, they call me a saint. When I ask why the poor have no food, they call me a communist.” Archbishop Câmara has been declared a “Servant of God” by the Roman Catholic Church, a significant step in the formal process of his canonization as a saint.
That’s what holiness looks like, not otherworldly perfection, but everyday acts of mercy and love that reveal God’s presence in the world.
The problem is we are so divided that we cannot even agree that feeding hungry people is the right thing to do.
A pastor shared an experience that occurred in her congregation shortly after a particularly tense election season.
Like many churches, some members had voted very differently, and people weren’t just disagreeing; they were avoiding one another. Families who used to sit side by side in the pews were seated on opposite sides of the sanctuary.
So, one Sunday, during the passing of the peace, the pastor paused and said:
“Today, I invite you to do something brave. When you share the peace of Christ, cross the aisle. Go to someone you know you disagree with, politically, socially, whatever it may be, and remind them that Christ’s peace is bigger than your differences.”
At first, there was silence. Then, slowly, people began to move. One man, wearing a veteran’s hat, walked toward a young activist who had marched in protests he didn’t support. They hesitated, then hugged. Across the sanctuary, two women who hadn’t spoken in months smiled through tears.
That day, something holy happened, not because anyone changed their opinion, but because they remembered who they were.
They remembered that before they were Republican or Democrat, conservative or progressive, they were children of God.
That’s what Jesus is talking about in Luke 6. “Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you.” He’s not telling us to agree on everything; he’s calling us to a higher loyalty, the loyalty of love.
The saints we remember today weren’t people who escaped the divisions of their time; they were people who lived differently within them. They loved across boundaries. They built peace amidst conflict. They refused to let fear or anger define their faith.
In a world that rewards outrage, the saints practice compassion.
In a culture of revenge, the saints practice mercy.
In a political climate where winning seems more important than loving, the saints remember that Christ’s kingdom doesn’t fly any flag but the cross.
So maybe being a saint today means crossing the aisle of the heart, to see the image of God in someone we’ve been told to despise. And maybe, just maybe, it means giving a sandwich to someone who is hungry.
That’s the kind of holiness that changes the world.
In a few moments, we will read the names of those who have died. As we do, remember that the line between the living and the dead is thinner than we think. The ancients believed that the veil separating our world from theirs was very thin this time of year.
We are surrounded by “a great cloud of witnesses.” Their faith strengthens ours. Their prayers mingle with ours. And together, they and we, form one communion of saints, one body in Christ.
When we live as Jesus calls us to live in Luke 6, we join that communion not only in memory, but in mission. We become part of God’s living blessing in the world.
All Saints’ Day is not a museum of spiritual heroes. It’s a roll call; it is a reminder that our names belong on that list, too.
You may never have a feast day or a statue dedicated to you. But when you forgive someone who’s wronged you, when you feed someone who’s hungry, when you speak kindness into a cruel world, you are living as a saint.
The saints of old changed the world not by wielding power, but by embodying love.
The saints of today, maybe the ones sitting right here, will do the same when we take Jesus’ words seriously: “Do to others as you would have them do to you.”
That’s the true power of the saints: turning blessings into justice and faith into love.
So, as we remember those who have gone before, may we also hear Jesus’ words to us:
“Blessed are you…”
“Love your enemies…”
“Do to others as you would have them do to you.”
These are not commands for the few; they are the path for us all.
May we walk it together, surrounded by the saints who cheer us on, until we join them in that great company of love that never ends.
Amen.
