St. John’s Episcopal Church
Tallahassee, FL

Luke 6:20-31

So there I was at the FSU game last night.
You never know who you’ll end up sitting near
when seats get rearranged each season,
but behind me this year are Bruce and Elaine.
They’re a good time.

As we headed into halftime,
things were going pretty well: 14-0.
Bruce said,
“The guys just need
a good old-fashioned
Bobby Bowden halftime talk:
‘If they don’t score, we win!’”

Elaine responded,
“Well, Bruce, you know it is All Saints Day.
Perhaps St. Bobby is with us even now!”

I turned around and said,
“Lady, if we win,
I’m putting this moment and y’all
in my sermon tomorrow!”
So . . . here we are.

Today is All Saints Sunday,
one of the Seven Principal Feasts of the Church year,
and on this day
we find ourselves surrounded
by the great cloud of witnesses,
by stained-glass heroes,
by the colors, shields and stories,
of all the saints of old.

And yet, on this day, there is another
equally important truth to tell,
and that is that
you, also, are the saints of God.

Back when I was growing up
at Christ Church in Valdosta, Georgia,
our priest Henry Louttit
would have someone go to Burger King
and snatch up a stack of those cardboard crowns.

On All Saints Sunday
they’d get passed around to everyone—
young and old alike—
and we’d wear them on this day
to remind us that we are all
the saints of God.

(Let that be a lesson:
as kooky as I am as your priest,
I’m not as kooky as I could be!)

But in all seriousness . . .
every one of you,
right here, right now,
are saints.

When the Apostle Paul wrote his letters
to the early churches,
he never addressed them
to “the sinners in Ephesus”
or “the half-faithful in Corinth.”

No, he would start his letters,
“To the saints who are in Ephesus.”
“To the saints who are in Corinth.”

He was talking about ordinary people
with bills and babies,
arguments and anxieties . . .
people who loved Jesus
and were learning, one day at a time,
what it meant to belong to him.

That means you.
You are the saints in Tallahassee.
You are the saints of St. John’s.
You are the saints next door.

* * *

That sort of changes things
when most of us picture
marble statues,
gleaming halos,
or stories so heroic
they sound impossible.
Yes, those folks are saints:
holy women and men
who lived extraordinary lives
and died extraordinary deaths.
But the Communion of Saints
is not just our version
of the Hollywood Walk of Fame.

Saints are the ones
who keep showing up.
Saints are the ones
who remember
that God is God
and we are not.
Some of the greatest saints in history—
perhaps all of them—
would never have called themselves that.
They simply thought they were doing
what God asked of them.

That means the saints of today
are right here among us—
living, breathing, laughing, praying.

They are the ones
who rock babies in the nursery.
The ones who show up
with soup when you’re sick.
The ones who send a text that says,
“I’m praying for you.
I haven’t forgotten you.”
They are the ones
who keep the light burning
when life feels dark.
The ones who forgive
when forgiveness feels impossible.
The ones who keep singing
even when the tune turns to tears.

Saints are the ones
through whom God keeps on loving the world,
and God knows we can use as much of that right now
as we can possibly get our hands on.

That’s why today’s Gospel
sounds so upside down.
“Blessed are the poor.
Blessed are the hungry.
Blessed are you when people hate you.”

Jesus isn’t glorifying suffering.
He is promising
that even in our weakness
we are held by something
so much larger than ourselves.

The saints are not the strong who never falter.
They are the ones who trust
that God’s mercy runs deeper
than our failures ever will.

* * *

And now—today—
we get to see all of this made visible
in the baptism of two
tiny saints among us.

In just a few minutes
we will gather around that font.
We will pray the ancient prayers.
We will pour the water.
We will seal them with the sign of the cross
and say the words that never lose their power:
“You are sealed by the Holy Spirit in Baptism
and marked as Christ’s own forever.”

And in that moment
right there,
heaven and earth will collide in our midst.
The saints of every time and place
will crowd in close:
Peter and Paul,
Mary and Martha,
Francis, Patrick, Joan, and Clare,
your Meemaws and your Pawpaws,
your godparents,
all the saints from back then and now,
all of you, the saints of Tallahassee,
all who have loved us into this faith.

And then,
as if that weren’t enough,
there’s more.

When we come to this table,
the same thing will happen again.

You will stretch out your hands.
You will receive the Bread and the Wine.
And around you—
as they ever do,
though you may not see them—
will stand angels and archangels
and all the company of heaven,
singing their forever song:
“Holy, holy, holy Lord,
God of power and might.”

I don’t know why you think
you came to church today,
but that’s it.
That’s why you’re here.

Because, my friends,
this feast today proclaims
that the veil is thin,
that heaven is near,
and that the saints are not far away.
They are here,
God is here,
and we are here,
all bound together
in the love of Jesus Christ.

* * *

So today and every day
when you hear the word saint,
don’t go looking far.
Look around.
Look beside you.
Look within.

Put on a Burger King crown
and praise the Lord,
because you are part of the great cloud of witnesses:
ordinary,
wonderful,
regular ol’ saints
through whom God is still
blessing the world.

For Christ has gathered us in.
He has called us his own.
And the saints—living and departed—
go marching on.

Alleluia, and amen.