Sermon: All Saints 1 November 2025

Preacher:

Bob Cooper

Date:

Saturday 1st November 2025

Venue:

Guildford Cathedral

Service:

7pm Choral Eucharist

In the name of the Father and of the Son and of The Holy Spirit. Amen.

In the year 651, the great missionary bishop Aidan lay dying on the island of Lindisfarne. This Irish monk, who had brought the Gospel to Northumbria and established a monastery that would light the lamp of faith across northern England, spent his final moments not in the church he had built, but leaning against a wooden buttress on the west wall, exposed to the elements. When a young boy named Utta found him there, Aidan blessed him with his final words: "Remember, my child, that I leave you my peace, my blessing, and my prayers." Within moments, the saint departed this life. The remarkable thing is this: nearly fourteen centuries later, we still invoke Saint Aidan's prayers. That young Utta grew to become a priest, and the prayers of Aidan – far from ending at death – continue to rise before the throne of God.

This All Saints Day, as we celebrate the Feast of All Saints with this Eucharist, we gather to reflect on the great doctrine of the Communion of Saints, and particularly on that powerful and often misunderstood gift: the intercession of the saints. In our readings from Ephesians and Luke's Gospel, we find the theological foundation for this ancient practice and our own calling to join that glorious company.

Saint Paul writes to the Ephesians of an inheritance that is ours in Christ – that we are "marked with the seal of the promised Holy Spirit" and destined for the "praise of his glory." This is no mere individualistic salvation. Paul speaks of a cosmic reality: that in Christ, God is gathering up all things, things in heaven and things on earth. The saints in glory and we who still struggle on earth are united in the Body of Christ. Death has been defeated. The veil between heaven and earth, torn at Calvary, remains open.

The doctrine of the intercession of the saints flows naturally from this understanding of the mystical Body of Christ. If we believe that we are members one of another, and that this membership continues beyond death, then our prayers for one another need not cease when some pass through death's door into fuller life. Indeed, their prayers become more powerful – for they have been purified, perfected, and brought into the very presence of the Lamb who was slain.

But we must be clear about what we mean when we speak of praying to the saints or asking for their intercession. We do not worship them – God forbid! Worship belongs to God alone. What we offer the saints is veneration, a profound respect and honour for those whom God has already honoured. When we ask Saint Aidan, or Our Lady or St Michael, or any of the blessed company of heaven to pray for us, we are doing nothing different than when we ask our brother or sister in the seat beside us to remember us in their prayers. We are simply acknowledging that death has not severed them from the Body of Christ.

Scripture itself bears witness to this truth. In the Book of Revelation, we see the saints in heaven offering up the prayers of the faithful like incense before God's throne. The writer to the Hebrews speaks of "so great a cloud of witnesses" surrounding us. These are not mere spectators, but active participants in the ongoing drama of redemption, cheering us on, praying for us, interceding for us before the Father.

But here we must turn to our Gospel reading, for it presents us with a profound challenge. Christ pronounces his blessings upon the poor, the hungry, the weeping, and the persecuted. This is the job description, if you will, of sainthood. The saints are not distant, ethereal beings who never knew struggle or suffering. They are men and women who lived the Beatitudes – who knew poverty, hunger, sorrow, and persecution, and yet remained faithful.

Consider again our beloved Aidan. He could have remained in the comfort of Iona, but instead chose to minister to a pagan people, learning their language, walking their roads, sleeping rough, and giving away everything he possessed to the poor. He lived the Beatitudes. He embodied the blessings of Christ. And it is precisely because he did so that his prayers now carry such weight before the throne of grace.

The call of All Saints Day is not merely to honour those who have gone before us, but to recognize our own vocation to sainthood. Every baptized Christian is called to be a saint. The word itself simply means "holy one" – one who is set apart for God's purposes. When Paul writes to "the saints" in Rome, Corinth, or Ephesus, he means ordinary Christians, people struggling with sin and doubt, yet claimed by Christ and called to holiness.

When we invoke the prayers of the saints, we are not trying to bypass Christ. Christ is the one mediator between God and humanity. Rather, we are joining our prayers with theirs, adding our voices to the great chorus of prayer that rises before the throne of grace. We are acknowledging that we are part of the mystical Body of Christ, which spans time and eternity.

Moreover, by asking for their prayers, we are asking for their example. We are saying: Saint Aidan, you who gave everything for the Gospel, help me to be generous. Saint Mary, you who pondered all these things in your heart, teach me contemplation. Saint Peter, you who denied and were restored, give me courage to return when I have fallen.

When we celebrate the Eucharist on this All Saints Day, we join our worship with the worship of heaven. The Sanctus that we will shortly sing – "Holy, holy, holy, Lord God of hosts" – is the song that the angels and saints sing eternally before God's throne. In the Eucharist, the boundary between heaven and earth becomes gossamer-thin. We stand with one foot in time and one in eternity. We gather around this altar and around the throne of the Lamb. The saints are here with us, though we cannot see them.

We do not come to church as individuals seeking personal blessing. We come as part of the whole Body of Christ, joining our prayers with all the faithful, living and departed. Every Mass is a communion with the saints. Every Eucharist is a foretaste of the heavenly banquet.

So what does this mean for us? First, that we are never alone. In our struggles, our doubts, our sorrows, we are surrounded by that great cloud of witnesses. They have fought the fight; they have kept the faith; and now they pray for us.

Second, we must take seriously our own call to sainthood. The question is not whether God has called us to be saints, but whether we will answer that call. Will we live the Beatitudes? Will we hunger for righteousness? Will we show mercy? Will we make peace?

Finally, our prayers matter – not just for ourselves, but for others. One day, God willing, we will join that company of the blessed. And if the saints in heaven pray for us now, then surely we on earth must pray for one another, and for those who will come after us.

Let us then, on this All Saints Day, give thanks for all the saints, known and unknown, named and unnamed. Let us ask their prayers. And let us, by God's grace, seek to join their number, that we too might one day stand before the throne and sing with them: Holy, holy, holy, Lord God Almighty. Amen.