The Risk of Saints - All Saints Sunday 2025

Luke 6:20-31

Then Jesus looked up at his disciples and said:

“Blessed are you who are poor,

    for yours is the kingdom of God.

 “Blessed are you who are hungry now,

    for you will be filled.

“Blessed are you who weep now,

    for you will laugh.

“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 on that day and leap for joy, for surely your reward is great in heaven, for that is how their ancestors treated the prophets.

“But woe to you who are rich,

    for you have received your consolation.

 “Woe to you who are full now,

    for you will be hungry.

“Woe to you who are laughing now,

    for you will mourn and weep.

“Woe to you when all speak well of you, for that is how their ancestors treated the false prophets.

“But I say to you who are listening: Love your enemies; do good to those who hate you; bless those who curse you; pray for those who mistreat you. If anyone strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also, and from anyone who takes away your coat do not withhold even your shirt. Give to everyone who asks of you, and if anyone takes away what is yours, do not ask for it back again. Do to others as you would have them do to you.

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There is a patron saint for almost anything. If you have a fear of caterpillars, meet St. Magnus - the Patron Saint for Protection against those creepy crawlers. Work at a gas station? St. Eligius is your saint. He was the patron saint of horses and blacksmiths, until cars came along and someone decided he should cover gas stations too. 

If you are a beer lover, Arnold is your saint. The tradition goes, some thirsty people prayed to him to give them what they lacked and a pot of beer appeared. And if the morning after gets rough, there’s even St. Bibiana,  the patron saint of hangovers. I’m not making that up. 

Then, there’s Drogo, patron saint of unattractive people, not that any of you need to pray to him. I think you get the point. There is a saint for nearly every situation. 

One of my favorite saints, and the one I think we need inspiration from today, is Saint Aelred of Rievaulx, the patron saint of friendships. You’ve probably never heard of him, which is part of why I love him. Aelred wasn’t known for miracles or dramatic conversions, but for the way he understood and practiced friendship as a path to God.

He was born in northern England, the son of a married priest before that became outlawed, and he was well-educated and well-liked from an early age.In his twenties, he served in the Scottish court under King David I: respected for his intelligence, diplomacy, and trustworthiness. 

But at age twenty-four, he walked away from what was surely a promising career and entered the monastery at Rievaulx in Yorkshire. I’m sure his parents were thrilled since monking makes such good money. 

He quickly became known for his warmth and wisdom. He eventually rose through the ranks and became the abbot of the whole monastery, overseeing more than 600 monks. But he didn’t lead the way we usually imagine leaders do—commanding, strict, or heavy-handed.Aelred was gentle and empathetic, rarely a harsh disciplinarian, and always attentive to the spiritual and emotional needs of the people entrusted to him.

He’s best known for his writing and preaching on friendship. Aelred had a gift for befriending the people others overlooked, those who were weak, temperamental, or thought to be less than holy. In his most famous work, Spiritual Friendship, he describes a true friend as:

“the guardian of my very soul” the one who  protects all the secrets of my spirit in loyal silence, the one who bears and endures anything wicked they see in my soul. For a friend will rejoice with my soul rejoicing, grieve with its grieving, and feel that everything that belongs to a friend belongs to themself”. 

That kind of definition might make us rethink who we call a friend.  Aelred’s idea of friendship isn’t casual or convenient; it sounds more like the love of a spouse, a parent, a sibling, or that one person who walked with us through the best and the worst. And for many of us, that’s the person we remember today on All Saints Sunday.

Today is unusual in the church year. Instead of primarily giving thanks to the God we know in Jesus Christ, this Sunday is set apart to remember the people we have known and loved in Christ, the ones who have gone before us and now rest in him.

And whether we realize it or not, we’re also honoring the love shared between us: the risk of loving and being loved, or as Aelred might say, the holy work of friendship.

On All Saints Sunday, we remember not just the people we loved, but the risk it took to love them  and the risk they took in loving us. Every real relationship carries the possibility, maybe even the certainty, of hurting and being hurt.

And that’s true of the saints we remember today. Some of them were anything but saintly. Some were difficult. Some were wounded, and some were wounding. Even the best of them didn’t consistently love their enemies, pray for those who hurt them, or give generously all the time.

But in the Lutheran tradition, that’s not what makes a saint. A saint isn’t someone who got it right. A saint is someone who tried, failed, and is forgiven by God. That is what makes a saint: a forgiven sinner.

Which means this loving and being loved is risky business, no matter who it is. C.S. Lewis puts it this way:

“To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken.  If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe and dark, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable.

To love is to be vulnerable.”

Is there anyone who knows this risk — this vulnerability — more than the God we know in Jesus Christ? He left heaven, only to be betrayed by his own people, abandoned by his friends, and to have his heart beaten and broken until it stopped on the cross. And he did it so that we might be made into saints — forgiven sinners. Truly, there is no greater love than that.

This morning we don’t just remember the saints in our lives, we remember the love it took to be in relationship with them, and the risk that love always requires. Saint Aelred reminds us that to love is to risk. And to follow Jesus is simply to keep risking love again and again. Which means this life of faith is never without risk.

Today is not only All Saints Sunday; it’s also the launch of our capital campaign. You’ve seen the plans, the pictures, and you’ve given feedback along the way. And today we want to show you where all of that has led us.Because at the heart of this campaign is not just more seats in a sanctuary, or a bigger building. At the heart of it is more relationships. Buildings don’t make a church. Relationships do.

But buildings can give us the space where those vulnerable, holy friendships can take root. That’s what we’re after: a sanctuary that makes room for more people to experience the grace of Jesus Christ, and one that finally allows everyone to enter, serve, and participate fully in worship. And a Community Hub: a space where neighbors can connect, where learning and conversation can happen, where kids can play and grow, where anyone can meet, make, or find a friend.

Does this involve risk? Absolutely. Not just financial risk, though that’s part of it. The deeper risk is opening ourselves to the people around us.

We risk people coming into our space simply to use it — and nothing more. We risk people learning what we believe about God’s grace and deciding they want nothing to do with it.

And we risk forming new friendships that will stretch our hearts and our community to make room for the people God sends our way. We could get really attached to these people. We could give our hearts to them. And that requires vulnerability.

But that’s the life Jesus calls us to — a life of risk, of friendship, of love.

And if that is not at the heart of why we’re doing this — if all we want is a bigger building with more empty chairs and tables — then this campaign can be damned. But if we are willing to take the risk — to open ourselves, to make the kind of friends Aelred made, the ones others overlook and dismissed, and to share the love of Jesus with a community who needs to see it, hear it, and feel it — then we are truly rooted in grace and growing in mission.

Since there’s a saint for nearly every situation, let Aelred be our saint for this moment. 

Not because he built anything, but because he loved people others ignored. Because he believed friendship was holy work. Because he knew the work of grace was making room for the overlooked and the imperfect.

This campaign is not about numbers or square footage. It is about making more room for that kind of love: the kind that turns strangers into friends, and friends into saints.

Because as Aelred wrote, “True friendship draws us right up to the edge of what it means to know God and experience God.”

Amen

Building the Church, Bringing the Kingdom

Mark 13:1-8

As Jesus came out of the temple, one of his disciples said to him, “Look, Teacher, what large stones and what large buildings!” Then Jesus asked him, “Do you see these great buildings? Not one stone will be left upon another, all will be thrown down.”

When he was sitting on the Mount of Olives opposite the temple, Peter, James, John, and Andrew asked him, privately, “Tell us, when will this be and what will be the sign that all of these things are about to be accomplished?” Then Jesus began to say to them, “Beware that no one leads you astray. Many will come in my name and say, ‘I am he,’ and they will lead many astray. When you hear of wars and rumors of wars, do not be alarmed; this must take place, but the end is still to come. For nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom; there will be earthquakes in various places; there will be famines. This is but the beginning of the birth pangs.”

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Hooray for a Gospel text about the impermanence and seeming unimportance of temples, stones, synagogues, and buildings on Commitment Sunday for the Building and Outreach Fund. All of this, will indeed, be thrown down and turned to dust someday.

But I hope you agree with Jesus, of course.

As focused and as fierce as we’ve been about building this place and paying off our mortgage and all that has gone into that, over the course of our congregation’s short life together, we’ve always tried to be faithful about the truth that the Church is not a building; that our identity and purpose isn’t always, ever, or only about having an address, or about merely what happens inside these walls. We were very much “the Church” before we called any of this home and we are very much “the Church” when we’re not gathered here. We are very much “the Church” even when – especially when – we’re doing our thing, living our lives out there in the world, for the sake of the world.

And horray for a text that taps in to so much of the fear, angst and anxiety that so many are feeling about life in the world these days – wars and rumors of wars; nation rising up against nation; earthquakes, famine, natural disasters and more that make you think maybe the beginning of the end might actually be right around the corner.

Because of all that, our call is to bring the Kingdom – to see and to celebrate what God has already begun, in Jesus – and work to make God’s will and God’s way come to life among us and through us and for the sake of the world … here on earth as it is in heaven; to make the Kingdom of this world look and be more like God’s Kingdom, on the other side of heaven.

Which is why our Building and Outreach Fund matters, as we wonder about and make commitments to support it this morning and in the days to come. Yes, some portion of it all is about the bricks, the mortar, the “stones” that will, one day, all be thrown down and turned to dust, as Jesus promises. But the rest of it is about bringing the kingdom, doing the work, sharing the life and grace and mercy of God wherever and however we are able.

Last week, one of my favorite preachers invited us to do a few things in response to the state of things following our country’s recent election, regardless of how we may be feeling about all of that. Pastor Cogan suggested that, if things didn’t go our way, we should share our fear, our anxiety, and our sadness about that with those who did get what they wanted. And he suggested that, if we are the latter – if things went as we hoped they would – we should listen to the concerns and needs of our struggling neighbors who are feeling scared, unseen, and worried about the days to come.

In other words, some of what I heard from Pastor Cogan last week was an invitation to listen to each other and get to work.

And I’ve done that. I’ve received texts and e-mails. I’ve had sit-downs over lunch, spontaneous conversations in the library, seen tears in my office, felt the anger expressed – in passing – in the hallway and at the drug store, because there just aren’t enough of the right words sometimes.

Now, I haven’t and I won’t have all the answers for all of that at every turn. But I will risk playing both sides against the middle – or something like that, this morning – in order to find a middle-ground of grace and hope no matter where we find ourselves with regard to all of it.

See, as I wondered about today – searching for some hope in light of all of our collective mixed emotions (happy/sad, relieved/anxious, victorious/lost, hopeful/despairing) – I came away grateful for this place, for our ministry, and for the work we do that responds with action in real time to the things that can and should concern all of us these days. In an otherwise divided, fractured country, the mission and ministry of this place calls us to some common ground and some holy work.

For instance, if it was “the economy, stupid” that informed your vote last Tuesday … if the price of groceries and gas was enough to make you vote a certain way, I’m so glad we have a food pantry that is meeting that need for so many of our neighbors. (Don’t forget, our Mission Sunday this month is to provide Thanksgiving dinners for people in our community. $50 bucks will help provide a meal with all the fixins for someone who might not otherwise be able to celebrate.) That is the Lord’s work, regardless of your politics.

Or if abortion care, abortion access, and the health of women and babies was an issue that inspired your vote – one way or the other – whether you got what you wanted, or not – I hope you noticed that we gave $5,000 to the Milk Bank with our Outreach Grants this year. This is money, and they are an organization, that supports the health and wellness of women and infants, in crisis, in powerful ways – no matter the politics that lead to their distress or need – and that will hopefully help to mitigate more of that distress or need, come what may.

If you’re concerned about the status of immigration in our country, please know that we gave $10,000 to Exodus Refugee Immigration this past year, thanks to our Outreach grants, too. (And some of us helped at their headquarters on “God’s Work. Our Hands.” Sunday, in September.) Exodus protects the human rights and dignity of refugees fleeing persecution and war, and helps them get settled safely in central Indiana. This is faithful, Biblically-mandated, Christ-centered work. And our generosity helps make it happen.

If you are concerned about the quality of public education and the equity with which it is offered in our state or in our nation – and some of my favorite teachers have told me that we should be – I hope you’re encouraged to know we also gave $10,000 to Brightlane Learning’s “School on Wheels” this year. They offer tutoring, academic support, and advocacy to kids and families – grades K through 12 – who are struggling with homelessness and housing insecurity, while trying to get a quality education.

If you feel like the status and place of women in our culture has taken a hit again in recent days, I hope you’re encouraged by our $10,000 grant to Talitha Koum’s recovery house for women. That money and that ministry over in Greenfield helps women, specifically, recover from addiction and trauma, and get back on their feet to become healthy and whole again, for their own good, and for the good of our world.

So, again, if our call is to bring the Kingdom of God to bear in and upon the kingdoms of this world, we are doing that in real time, for real people, in real, practical, tangible ways, that really matter.

And there are beautiful, faithful, inspiring, intangible ways to facilitate and accomplish that through our life together, too.

Witnessing the love between two people – in marriage, as we did this morning already at our first service – is a glimpse and a gift of that, for sure. It speaks to commitment and love and hope in ways that can’t be measured, but practiced, nonetheless. Making our confession, receiving our forgiveness; sharing the sacraments in bread, wine, and water and all the good news they portend; passing the peace; loving our neighbor; forgiving our enemy. None of these things can be quantified like so much grant money, but they can be witnessed, felt, received; and they are our life blood, purpose, and inspiration for all the rest.

All of this is to say, I see a lot of platitudes and clichés about how we’re supposed to get along – as friends, as family members, as neighbors, and as people in the Church in the days ahead – in spite of the differences that threaten to divide us. That is so much easier said, than done – which is something else I hear and feel when I listen to my neighbor, and to many of you.

But it’s been said that the local church is the hope of the world – and I believe it. It is a tall order. It is a daunting task. It can feel like an impossible, exhausting expectation, for sure. But it is nonetheless why we do what we do – if not to redeem the lot of it, then to point to the hope of the only one who can, who does, and who will, one day – Jesus Christ, our Lord.

Amen