The Pastor's Pen
All Saints Day
“Oh, fiddlesticks.”
My grandmother used to say that whenever she heard something she just didn’t believe or something that sounded a bit ridiculous. I can still hear her saying it – the words, the tone, the unmistakable sound of her voice.
There are people I cannot think about without hearing their voices. A familiar expression. A particular laugh. The way they said my name. They have been gone for years, perhaps, but something brings them close again – a song, a story, a moment when I catch myself saying something they used to say.
This Sunday, as we observe All Saints Day, we will remember those who have died during the past year. We will speak their names with gratitude and sorrow, trusting them to the God whose love holds us in life and in death. Although I will be away, my heart will be with you in that remembrance.
In the church, “saints” includes ordinary people whose lives have helped us recognize God’s grace. People who sometimes lost their patience, worried about the future, and wondered whether they were getting things right. People much like us, who nevertheless found ways to love faithfully.
Some taught Sunday School. Some sang in the choir. Some quietly noticed who needed a ride, a meal, or someone to sit beside them. Some lived their faith around a kitchen table, making sure there was always room for one more. We may struggle to remember the exact words they said, but we remember how it felt to be loved by them.
The book of Hebrews describes the faithful who have gone before us as a “great cloud of witnesses.” Their stories encourage us to keep going. When our faith feels thin, we can remember someone who trusted God through hardship. When we wonder whether small acts of kindness matter, we can recall one that changed our own lives.
And gradually, we realize that we are becoming part of that story, too.
Our legacy is taking shape in the ordinary choices of our days: the attention we give, the promises we keep, the forgiveness we offer, the people we make room for. We rarely know which moments someone else will carry with them. A conversation we barely remember may become a source of courage for another person. A kindness that seemed small to us may arrive when it is needed most.
Someday, we hope our names will be spoken with the same tenderness with which we speak the names of those we remember now. We hope someone will be able to say, “I learned something about love from them. They helped me keep going. Because of them, I found it a little easier to trust God.”
For now, we have time to offer that love. We have people beside us who need encouragement, neighbors who need care, and a faith to share through the way we live.
As we give thanks for the saints who have blessed our lives, may God help us carry their gifts forward – and add something faithful and loving of our own.
I’ll see you next Sunday.
“Oh, fiddlesticks.”
My grandmother used to say that whenever she heard something she just didn’t believe or something that sounded a bit ridiculous. I can still hear her saying it – the words, the tone, the unmistakable sound of her voice.
There are people I cannot think about without hearing their voices. A familiar expression. A particular laugh. The way they said my name. They have been gone for years, perhaps, but something brings them close again – a song, a story, a moment when I catch myself saying something they used to say.
This Sunday, as we observe All Saints Day, we will remember those who have died during the past year. We will speak their names with gratitude and sorrow, trusting them to the God whose love holds us in life and in death. Although I will be away, my heart will be with you in that remembrance.
In the church, “saints” includes ordinary people whose lives have helped us recognize God’s grace. People who sometimes lost their patience, worried about the future, and wondered whether they were getting things right. People much like us, who nevertheless found ways to love faithfully.
Some taught Sunday School. Some sang in the choir. Some quietly noticed who needed a ride, a meal, or someone to sit beside them. Some lived their faith around a kitchen table, making sure there was always room for one more. We may struggle to remember the exact words they said, but we remember how it felt to be loved by them.
The book of Hebrews describes the faithful who have gone before us as a “great cloud of witnesses.” Their stories encourage us to keep going. When our faith feels thin, we can remember someone who trusted God through hardship. When we wonder whether small acts of kindness matter, we can recall one that changed our own lives.
And gradually, we realize that we are becoming part of that story, too.
Our legacy is taking shape in the ordinary choices of our days: the attention we give, the promises we keep, the forgiveness we offer, the people we make room for. We rarely know which moments someone else will carry with them. A conversation we barely remember may become a source of courage for another person. A kindness that seemed small to us may arrive when it is needed most.
Someday, we hope our names will be spoken with the same tenderness with which we speak the names of those we remember now. We hope someone will be able to say, “I learned something about love from them. They helped me keep going. Because of them, I found it a little easier to trust God.”
For now, we have time to offer that love. We have people beside us who need encouragement, neighbors who need care, and a faith to share through the way we live.
As we give thanks for the saints who have blessed our lives, may God help us carry their gifts forward – and add something faithful and loving of our own.
I’ll see you next Sunday.
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