The saints praise God’s glory in heaven for ever. In their lives on earth they lived out the Beatitudes preached by Jesus. We are called to model our lives on them so that where they are we may one day be. Like them we will see God face to face.Who are these like stars appearing; these before God’s throne who stand? Each a golden crown is wearing. Who are all this glorious band? Alleluia! Hark, they sing. Praising loud their Heavenly King.I love the book of Revelation. It’s mind-blowingly strange, apocalyptic, full of imagery but at the same time chock full of hope. St John, while exiled on Patmos, was treated to a raft of strange visions and tasked with writing everything down. This forms the Revelation of John – God revealing the culmination of His plan of salvation. It’s filled with many mysteries about what is going to happen in the future. There’s rebuke, bizarre visions and the final chapters are of such beauty that one can only hope, and indeed know, that it all turns out all right in the end.The first reading today is a section which combines warning with that hope. And it so beautifully references the saints, that great multitude that no-one could number. Makes me think about the great cloud of witnesses that Paul refers to in the book of Hebrews. That great cloud of witnesses we are united with the as fellow members of the body of Christ. This tells us that stories of the saints are stories for us; encouraging us to continue our walk with Christ, inspiring us and strengthening us when things get tricky. So ‘who are these like stars appearing?’ These can only be the saints as seen by John in his vision, the faithful who have gone before us and who are not simply historical figures but living members of the body of Christ. John mentions the multitude that no-one could number, from every nation, tribe, people and tongues. This is the universal character of God’s people and underlines God’s promise to Abraham that from him, Abraham, all families on earth will be blessed. And it also emphasises that saints come from any nation, race or people. And what is the church if not the assembly of all the saints – the communion of saints. In the Eucharist we see represented, and brought about, the togetherness of believers who form the one body of Christ. Communion with fellow Christians, fellow pilgrims, brings us closer to Christ and communion with the saints joins us to Christ. Who are these of dazzling brightness; these in God’s own truth arrayed? Clad in robes of purest whiteness, robes whose lustre ne’er shall fade, ne’er be touched by time’s rude hand? Whence come all this glorious band?John writes of the ones coming out of the great tribulation having washed their robes in the blood of the Lamb. It is difficult to understand how blood can make any cloth white but here we are hearing about the blood of the Lamb – Jesus – the world’s greatest purifier because it removes the stain of sin. White signifying sinless perfection – the great multitude of saints and martyrs, faithful Christians emerging from their struggles and entering into their heavenly rest of sinless perfection. These are they who have contended for their Saviour’s honour long; wrestling on till life was ended, following not the sinful throng. These who well the fight sustained, triumph through the Lamb have gained.The way of perfection passes by way of the Cross. We will inevitably face trial and tribulation – we will encounter spiritual battles great and small. We cling onto God’s love for us; we pray and keep our eyes upon Jesus with the hope that we will gradually encounter the peace and joy of living the promises of the Beatitudes which we heard in our gospel reading today. These are paradoxical promises that sustain hope in the midst of tribulation. They proclaim the blessings and rewards already secured for us as disciples of Jesus Christ and they have begun in the lives of the saints. These are they whose hearts were riven, sore with woe and anguish tried. Who in prayer full oft have striven with the God they glorified. Now, their painful conflict o’er, God has bid them weep no more.The process of canonising saints proclaims that they have lived holy and virtuous lives; living in faithfulness to God’s grace. The power of the Holy Spirit is at work, sustaining the hope of all believers by holding up the saints as people to aspire to and as inspirational intercessors. The process of canonisation can take many, many years and certain criteria need to be met in order for the process to be complete, not least miracles associated with the prospective saint. But anyone has the potential to become a saint. Two very diverse examples are Joan of Arc and Carlo Acutis. Both teenagers when they died but so very different. St Joan was a female warrior; St Carlo was a computer geek who played video games. Granted, there were a few hundred years between them, but that does not take away how very different they are. And not all saints feel the presence of God all the time. Mother Teresa experienced a profound, nearly 50-year sense of God's absence, darkness, and emptiness from the late 1940s until her death in 1997. And yet she continued her work of service throughout all this time. God uses ordinary people to do extraordinary things.These, like priests, have watched and waited, offering up to Christ their will. Soul and body consecrated, day and night to serve Him still. Now in God’s most holy place, blest they stand before His face.During the Eucharist as we partake in the body and blood of our Lord, in communion with each other – this is where we fulfil our true vocation. We receive His grace which will sustain us along the paths of our lives. We join with the long history of the saints who have gone before us, who are now at rest in God’s most holy place, and who we celebrate collectively today. All Saints Day allows the church to honour and celebrate all known, and indeed unknown, saints who have, during their lives and beyond, faithfully served Christ throughout history. Biblical figures, martyrs, canonised saints, unrecognised saints and our own family members who have gone before us to join that great cloud of witnesses, cheering us all on as we make our own way though this life. Those who we will remember especially tomorrow at All Souls. The work of salvation and the holiness of the Spirit is manifested through the lives and witness of the saints. ‘The Spirit is truly the dwelling of the saints, and the saints are for the Spirit a place where He dwells as in His own home, since they offer themselves as a dwelling place for God and are called His temple.’ (St Basil the Great) All Saints’ Day is a time to honour past Christians and be influenced by their examples. We can learn from the saints’ virtues, like faith and courage, and apply them to our own challenges. We are reminded of the communion of saints, encouraging us to support each other as believes. We are given hope and a sense of purpose. And ultimately, we are called to live lives of faithfulness, love, and service, following the saints’ footsteps and sharing God’s love in the world.
We’ve come to the final question of the series we have heard the last few weeks – the last put by the Lord’s many critics to undermine His authority, to challenge His knowledge of the Law of Moses. In the verses immediately preceding, Jesus has finally silenced the Sadducees in a resounding affirmation of the resurrection. Now it is the turn of the scribes and Pharisees. They, too, will be silenced. Christ shows His mastery of sacred Scripture in arriving at these two principles under which the many other laws and traditions are subsumed. Jesus first cites Moses’ command to Israel in Deuteronomy (6:5) “to love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul”, words from the Shema, a prayer as familiar to his questioners as their own hands. The command to “love your neighbour as yourself” can be seen to précis the many passages of the Law like that in today’s reading from Exodus urging our concern for the stranger, the widow (or single parent), and the orphan (or children in care). Jesus is not replacing these more detailed requirements of social justice and compassion, however adept we may be at ignoring their needs. Where, then, does this leave us? Put bluntly, the authority which Jesus here displays cannot be ignored. Is it to be rejected or accepted? Is this not the authority of One who is Himself the Author of Sacred Scripture? The questions are no longer for Jesus, but for the rest of us. If the Gospel reading today stops at this point, Matthew does not. Jesus at once turns the tables, puts the question Himself: “While the Pharisees were gathered round, Jesus put this question to them, ‘What is your opinion about the Christ? Whose son is he?’”.If we place these questions in their dramatic context near the opening of the Gospel’s passion narrative, we see something of the terrible ironies that play around this scene. All seemingly agree upon what love of God and neighbour should be, but how does that love appear in the life and death of Jesus of Nazareth? Whatever their knowledge of the Law, these people are about to engineer the execution of Him who is both Son of God and Son of Man. It has ever been thus, and Christians today will find ways to peddle hatred as well. “On these two commandments”, Jesus says, “hang the whole Law, and the Prophets also.” There are painful echoes here of other texts, of the accursed man who hangs on the tree in Deuteronomy. The Greek verb was used by St. Paul in writing to the church in Galatia when he applied that text of Deuteronomy to the death of Christ. In the death of Christ we see the gap between what we know about love and what we do without it. The cross reveals us to be the kind of creature that can torture and execute even the Son of God. That is one of the most painful truths of the Christian faith, lost or denied when a false theology attempts to shift the blame onto outsiders in racism, hatred, misogyny or some other kind denial of our common fallen state.Christ’s cross just is, in this fallen world, what love of God and neighbour leads to and looks like. Packed away in this short scene is the unpalatable truth that we too must take up our crosses if we are to love, and so worship God in spirit and in truth. We can expect scorn and even persecution because that’s the reaction love sets up in those who abuse power. We must not under-estimate the forces of evil that confront us. We shall need God’s grace, the power of the Messiah at work in our lives, through the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, in the Church and its sacraments. We shall need the divine life communicated to us in the holy humanity of Christ, in His precious body and blood, which is our Eucharist; and we shall ultimately need His judgement and with it, the vindication of the martyrs and the courage of the Saints gone before us who were killed, not because they were in a fight, but because they challenged the status quo, as does Christ here. We can see again why this last question put to Christ leads to his questioning of the Pharisees. If we are really in the business of loving God and neighbour, we shall need the power and victory of the Messiah. It is not enough to have a humanistic ethic. It is not enough to mean well. The ‘great and the good’ in our secular materialistic society grossly under-estimate the forces of evil which confront us and indeed in some cases create it, or at least encourage it, themselves. This comes from fear - a fear of their own political impotence in the face of a society which has largely not voted for them, a fear of losing their livelihood which is maybe ill suited to the present age, and a fear of the people they govern who, largely, are unknown to them and vice versa. Our true governor is not voted for by us, nor is He negotiable, and He knows each hair on our heads. In a world of fear, evil and hatred, only reliance on the love of God will be sufficient, only faith will remain when principalities and empires have collapsed, what shall remain of us is faith, hope and love, and the greatest of these is love. Love your God with all your heart and your soul and love your neighbour as yourself. The only question remaining, then, is which side are you on?
Today’s gospel, in which Jesus’ enemies, who therefore are our enemies as well, try to entrap him by asking whether they should pay tax to Caesar or not, is often read as making a distinction between politics and religion. There is Caesar’s world and that of God. The Church should keep out of politics and stick to spirituality, but happily for us, the two are inseparable, and even Andy Burnham wants a go at choosing Bishops, so I suggest that the bishops choose the next PM, at least Bishops tend to hang on for longer than Prime Ministers. All of this is to misunderstand what Jesus is saying. Every human being is made in the image of God and so belongs to God, whether they know it, or indeed like it, or not. For Christians, politics is building the polis, the community, in which God’s own children can live in dignity and happiness, as we await God’s gift of the heavenly city, in which all politics will be finished. Isaiah shows God immersed in the great events of his time, the rise of Cyrus, the Persian ruler who transformed the political map of the Middle East and enabled the exiled Israelites to go home. Religion cannot be reduced to politics, but it has consequences for how we understand the point of politics, and how the eternal city is governed by God for the good of every person who has ever lived. So what is this clash between Jesus and his and our enemies about? They give us the clue: ‘Teacher, we know that you are sincere and teach the way of God in accordance with truth, and show deference to no one; for you do not regard people with partiality.’ They contrast two ways of seeing the world: God’s true way, and a human way, in which everything is viewed through the hall of mirrors of wealth and status. Jesus’s -our- opponents are caught up in that human way, speedily producing Caesar’s coin from their pocket, although that image would have polluted them, as they live under his conquering rule and exist by his decision alone. The Herodians especially belonged to the world of wealth and power. They are so blinded that they do not see that the man they are trying to trap is himself the very image of God made human.If one sees the world through the spectacles of status and money, the poor disappear. Etienne Grieu SJ wrote: ‘A world dominated by competition engages in a formidable task of classification, not only of performances but also of people. Right at the bottom of the chart are those who are not efficient enough. They thus become invisible to others, as they are unable to demonstrate their usefulness in any of the various exchanges we take part in… They also feel humiliated because they scarcely can have the means to say who they are or to make people notice the unique treasure they bear.’ This is picked up by Fr Adolfo Nicolas, when he gave a seminal speech some years ago when he became head of the Jesuit Order and I would like us to see his words as a description of our own community and world ‘“Today all nations are gathered here. However, nations continue to appear. I ask myself today who are these ‘nations’, these non-geographical communities, these human communities which ask for our help: they are the poor, the marginalized, the outcast. In our globalized universe, the number of absolute outcasts is increasing. The outcasts are failing, because in our society there is only room for the great and not for the little ones. All those who are disadvantaged, manipulated, all these are perhaps for us these ‘nations’: nations which need the prophetic message of God. Do not forget the poor: they are our ‘nations’. They are the nations for which salvation is still a dream, a wish. It may be in their midst, but they know it not. And what about the others? The others are our collaborators, if they share this viewpoint, if they have the same heart as that which was given us by Christ. And if they have a heart still greater, and an even vaster vision, then we shall be their collaborators. What matters is the health, the salvation, the joy of the poor."We are all, in varying degrees, bifocal. Sometimes we are bewitched by the Caesars of our time, the wealthy and the famous, and lose sight of the beauty of those who do not count. Let God’s grace cleanse our eyes of the defilement of status, wealth and position and open them to His word and His Kingdom. In this world of Caesar’s coin, perpetuated by the demands of capitalism and finance, the people living on the street and in tents under the overpasses, seem like aliens from another world. After the Grenfell Tower fire in London when I lived there, there was violence and looting. The people there are no more necessarily saintly than the wealthy in mansions are wicked. But everyone with whom I talked was more concerned with other people who, they claimed, had suffered more. No one put themselves first. There was humour, laughter, and hope for a few days, a week maybe. I felt that my eyes had opened a tiny bit and I saw not destitute victims but people marked with the image of God. I left feeling that if I spent more time in such places, I would see more clearly, clearly enough at least to know that religion and politics must mix, and contain the character of Christ as their foremost mark, and not Caesars, because we will, at the end of our lives, render to God what belongs to Him, and all that is Caesars will remain here, and it is the Kingdom of God we seek, not the Temple of mankind.
One of the lovely things I have come to appreciate about life at St Stephen’s Church is the warmth of people’s hospitality. Important moments of parish life do not only happen here at the altar or within the liturgy itself, but afterwards in the narthex or at social events in the parish hall, people gathered around tables, shared celebrations, harvest suppers, shared meals, cheese and wine evenings, where conversations flow, laughter is shared, and good times are had long after the plates are cleared away. There is something both human and holy about such moments. Fellowship is deepened, friendships are formed, and people who perhaps arrived feeling uncertain or alone discover themselves welcomed and included. We are fortunate to have great cooks and chefs, a social committee and team of volunteers who set up and clear away, serve, organise music and quizzes, and help create these occasions. I think it is fair to say that Father Andrew has a particular gift for the ministry of welcome and hospitality, helping people feel not simply present, but received, seen and included. Perhaps that is why today’s Gospel feels so recognisable and immediate, because at its heart lies an invitation to a feast, a wedding, a celebration. Invitation is important, and yet, like the guests in the parable, we know how easily life fills itself. Diaries become crowded, days slip past with routines, responsibilities, anxieties, obligations and distractions. None of these things are necessarily bad in themselves, but slowly the deeper invitation of God can become just another thing to squeeze in. And so in today’s Gospel we hear that even after receiving an invitation to the wedding feast, one goes instead to his farm, another to his business. The tragedy is not simply hostility towards the king’s invitation, it is preoccupation, busyness, absorption. Other things get in the way. Perhaps that feels rather familiar. We live in a culture and a time where people are often exhausted. Our attention is constantly pulled in a dozen directions. I was in my local library the other day and noticed that even there, silence has become rare. Many people move through life barely having time to notice. Into these situations comes today’s extraordinary image from the prophet Isaiah: “On this mountain the Lord of hosts will prepare for all peoples a feast.” Those who first heard Isaiah knew hardship, uncertainty, displacement and grief. God promises not simply escape from suffering and tears, but that the hand of the Lord will rest upon this mountain. Today’s Gospel and its parable of the wedding feast deepen that picture beautifully. The idea of a feast carries with it celebration, joy and festivity. Christianity is sometimes misunderstood as though faith were primarily about restriction, obligation or moral heaviness, but again and again in the Gospels Jesus speaks in the language of banquets, weddings, vineyards, abundance, overflowing wine, and bread enough for thousands. This is one reason why hospitality matters so deeply in the living of our faith. Every act of welcome, every shared table, every effort to include rather than exclude becomes a small reflection of the Kingdom itself.In a society where loneliness has become increasingly common, where many people feel unseen or disconnected, the ministry of welcome becomes something profoundly sacred. A cup of tea offered, a remembered name, a place made at the table. These things may appear small, but spiritually they matter enormously. Of course, the Gospel also contains its more challenging edge in the figure of the guest without a wedding garment. At first hearing it can feel harsh. Reading around the passage, I discovered that the early Church often understood the garment symbolically, not as a sign of wealth or status, but of the transformation of the heart. In other words, the invitation is freely given, but it is also life-changing. To accept the invitation of Christ is gradually to be clothed differently, clothed in compassion, mercy, patience, humility, forgiveness, generosity and love. This connects beautifully with Saint Paul’s words to the Philippians. Writing from imprisonment and hardship, Paul has discovered a deeper kind of abundance. “I have learnt how to be poor and how to be rich.” His contentment does not come from circumstances but from Christ himself. The feast of God is not simply about having more, it is about discovering that, in Christ, we already possess what matters most. That is why Paul can say, “I can do all things through him who strengthens me.” I think this deeper understanding of nourishment underpins today’s readings. People hunger not only for food, success or distraction, but for community, meaning, belonging and love. This is where the Eucharist gathers all these themes together. Each Mass is itself an act of hospitality. Christ invites us again to the feast. One of the quiet challenges of today’s Gospel is for us to ask not only how we receive welcome, but how we offer it. How do our homes, our conversations, our parish life, our daily encounters reflect the generosity of God? Who amongst us, or our wider community might long to feel more seen, more included, more valued because of the way we receive them? Every genuine act of hospitality, every table shared, every kindness offered, every stranger welcomed, becomes a small sign of the Kingdom. That is one of the beautiful things about parish life at St Stephen’s. In all those ordinary moments of fellowship and welcome, in shared meals and conversations, the Gospel is quietly becoming visible. A foretaste of the feast still to come. Lord Jesus, thank you for inviting us to your feast. Make our hearts generous, our homes welcoming, our parish a place of friendship and belonging, and our lives a sign of your Kingdom. As we gather around your altar today, keep before us the joy of that heavenly banquet where all are gathered in your love. Amen.
