Sermon for Sunday After All Saints. All Saints reading used.

The Rev. Aron Kramer 

All Saints Sunday 

November 2, 2025

Daniel 7:1-3,15-18; Psalm 149; Ephesians 1:11-23; Luke 6:20-31

The Kingdom of God has always been found in the cracks. The broken places where tears and weeping, fear and despair are more poignant than the joy of being found. In the scriptures the stories are simple, widows sharing their last bit of financial security, Mary pouring the last of the oil on Jesus, disciples gathering loaves and fish, a woman challenging Jesus for crossing cultural boundaries.

We find the Kingdom of God at St. Edward’s in a Garden restored and a bridge built. Medians filled with rocks, dirt, mulch and the hope of new plant life. Laughter and conversation after church. We find it in the songs that give us memories of time with our loved ones, those who are still here and those who have died. We hear it in the stories shared at Bible study about how the mysticism of the Gospel has impacted us.

The Kingdom's inbreaking can be found in our history, not just words on a page but in the actions of people who have lived. From Martin Luther King Jr. to the Rev. Paul Nancarrow. From Dorothy Day and Mother Theresa to Joan and Jeff Dow and Kathy Pilkington. From the first recorded glyphs scratched into a cave to the complex science of the brain breaking open new ways to understand human behavior.

The Kingdom of God is breaking into the world all around us, and despite the dire warnings that we hear daily about our country, about our world, the Kingdom of God whispers to us, “You are loved.” The moments may not be like the heaven breaking open and a booming voice declaring us beloved, but they are just as important in the small broken spaces that dot our landscape.

People in power today, so many members of our current political administration, so many talking heads in the media we watch, want us to believe fear and isolation is inevitable. They want us to feel small and insignificant as if the actions we take to help the Kingdom of God come into the world aren’t enough. But in the face of those lies and that hostility, community starts by refusing fear as a solution, by refusing isolation as a solution.

I’ve been reflecting a great deal about the beatitude that says, “Blessed are you when people hate you, and when they exclude you, revile you, and defame you on account of the Son of Man. Rejoice in that day and leap for joy, for surely your reward is great in heaven; for that is what their ancestors did to the prophets."

I’ve thought about the hundreds of thousands of people who marched a couple weeks ago in support of No Kings Day. The response across social media and political commentators was how insignificant it is to protest. To gather and express displeasure was seen as small on one hand or domestic terrorism depending on what kind of media you happen to consume.

But what was important in that moment was how people came together. It reminded us not of the global problems that seem to be so heavy, but the power of the local community, the power of people gathered to make change and bring hope to the places where they live. Jesus says we are to rejoice and leap for joy when we are reviled and persecuted, for we will see the Kingdom of God.

The political and media’s tantrum over protesters gathered is older than Rome. Pharaoh told the midwives to report every newborn cry, concerned about a potential political threat. Herod demanded registration papers after being told about a King born near his dominion. When power feels itself cracking it tries to seal the fissures with curses and indignities and of course with loyalty oaths.

In place of loyalty oaths, our work as Christians is to create covenants with one another, to bless the space between us as John O’Donohue says. We can begin with the smallest of promises, the most minuscule covenant: eating together. A couple of people concerned about individuals who will be hungry because they can’t afford food in the coming weeks. Neighbors, one pot of soup, a promise to show up when hunger becomes a problem. Share tools, share childcare, share the risk of speaking truth at public meetings.

I was listening to a podcast the other day and the host’s guest said, “The powerful weaponize scale; we must answer with relationship”. The wealthy and powerful create inequality by shifting the board by talking in billions, a vision too vast to picture, too heavy to lift, the goal is that the rest of us drop our buckets and walk away feeling small.

Our response then is to raise up as loudly and clearly as we can, the relationships we have. When I sit at the side of a hospital bed while nurses and machines whir around caring for one of our own. When people gather at Crossroads to tell stories and hear the latest news. When laughter rings through the Gathering Room because someone fondly remembers a moment in their life that brought joy. These may seem small and insignificant, but these moments humanize our reality, take us away from our screens, TV, phone, computer, whatever they may be.

And for all your math nerds out there, think of how relationships multiply. One table, four chairs, six dishes becomes a potluck gathering on a Tuesday night where people of all stripes gather to be fed. Nobody comes with a grant proposal; nobody comes with a vision of World Peace, we just got hungry at the same time.

So in the midst of some of the craziest headlines we have seen in years, "tariffs; inevitable layoffs, market forces, fake terror plots, really, it’s nothing personal”, in the midst of wild headlines and weary hearts, we answer by making it personal. We gather today to remember the loved ones who have left us a legacy of one kind of another. We gather to remember the people, the names of the people who have loved us, shaped us, supported us through the broken and thin places in our lives. The people who are our Saints, our loves, our people. You are my saints. You are the ones through whom the Kingdom shines.

Say the names. Lift up the moments. Listen to the Spirit. You aren’t small, you aren’t insignificant. The powerful’s tantrums are loud, but we have to remember, Easter morning was much louder. We are Easter people, alive, beloved, and called to keep that resurrection song going.