All Saints’ Sunday - 2025

Sermon for All Saints’ Sunday, Year C
St. Paul's Episcopal Church
The Rev. Andrew McLarty

“Tell out my soul the greatness of the Lord!”

That’s the first line of the hymn we’ll sing in just a few moments—a hymn inspired by the Song of Mary, the Magnificat. It’s a hymn of joy, of gratitude, of holy proclamation. It’s also, in many ways, a hymn for today. Because All Saints’ Day is exactly that: a feast of praise, a feast of gratitude, and a feast of proclamation. We gather to “tell out” not only the greatness of the Lord, but the greatness of all that God has done through God’s people — the saints, known and unknown, who have lived the life of Christ in this world.

Our readings today are speak to that life. In Daniel’s vision, we hear of “the holy ones of the Most High” receiving God’s kingdom forever. In the Psalm, we are told, “Let the faithful rejoice in triumph; let them be joyful on their beds.” Paul’s letter to the Ephesians reminds us that we are marked with the seal of the Holy Spirit in baptism and “made citizens with the saints and members of the household of God.”

And then in Luke’s Gospel, Jesus paints a picture of that household — not with stained glass, but with life:

“Blessed are you who are poor, are hungry, who weep, and when people hate you.”

And then, right after, the inverse:

“Woe to you who are rich, who are full now, who laugh now, and when all speak well of you.”

It’s strange, isn’t it? A reshuffling of what we consider what is honorable or shameful. The people society lifts up, the wealthy, comfortable, and admired, are warned. And the people the world pities, the poor, the grieving, the outcast, Jesus calls blessed. It’s the same theme from the Song of Mary, where she “tells out her soul” that

[The Lord] has brought down the powerful from their thrones
    and lifted up the lowly;
he has filled the hungry with good things
    and sent the rich away empty.

It’s an upside-down Kingdom. A holy reversal.

The theologian Fred Craddock once said that these words of Jesus are performative. That is, they do something. They’re not advice for good living; they are God’s creative speech. When Jesus says, “Blessed are you,” he is not describing a distant possibility—he is making it true.

Just as God said, “Let there be light,” and light burst into being, so too when Jesus speaks blessing, the kingdom of God takes shape in real time. His words create a world where the poor are honored, the grieving are comforted, and the hungry are filled.

And then comes verses 27-28, which could be the whole sermon by themselves.

"But I say to you that listen Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, … Do to others as you would have them do to you.”

That “but” matters—it makes us read everything in light of both the blessings and the woes, and through the lens of the Kingdom of God. Those who are the “woes” – the powerful, comfortable, and admired – Jesus is telling us to love them.

This is the shape of sainthood.

Now, when we hear the word "saint" our minds often go to the famous ones: St. Paul, St. Mary, St. Peter, St. Francis — names carved in stone and adorn churches. But the truth of today, the heart of All Saints’, is that you and I are part of that same company.

You and I may not have feast days on the calendar or cathedrals bearing our names, but sainthood isn’t about fame or perfection. It’s about faithfulness.

It’s about living into your baptismal promise, about choosing, again and again, to live in Christ’s light even when the world around you seems dim.

Being a modern-day saint might not look dramatic. It might look like leading a church activity when no one else volunteers. It might look like cooking for someone who just got home from the hospital. It might look like making time to listen, really listen, to a friend who’s struggling. It might look like giving generously, praying faithfully, or forgiving someone when you’d rather not.

Those things may seem mundane—but in the Kingdom of God, the mundane is holy.

Every small act of love, every bit of mercy, every quiet faith-filled choice is a way of saying, “Tell out my soul the greatness of the Lord!”

And none of us do this alone. That’s part of the beauty of being church.

When we baptized little ones or adults into this community, like we will with Taylor and Oliver today, don’t just splash a bit of water and say a few words. We are welcoming them into the Life of Christ, as well as the Body of Christ.

We are saying, “You are not alone. We’ll walk with you. We’ll help you grow into the full stature of Christ.”

That’s why the church exists—not as a building, but as a body of saints. To carry one another when the journey is hard. To celebrate when the Spirit moves. To remind each other who and whose we are.

Amen.