**Revelation 21:1-6**
New Revised Standard Version Updated Edition
Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more. And I saw the holy city, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying,
"See, the home of God is among mortals.
He will dwell with them;
they will be his peoples,
and God himself will be with them and be their God;
he will wipe every tear from their eyes.
Death will be no more;
mourning and crying and pain will be no more,
for the first things have passed away."
And the one who was seated on the throne said, "See, I am making all things new." Also he said, "Write this, for these words are trustworthy and true." Then he said to me, "It is done! I am the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End.
**Matthew 5:1-12**
New Revised Standard Version Updated Edition
When Jesus saw the crowds, he went up the mountain, and after he sat down, his disciples came to him. And he began to speak and taught them, saying:
"Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
"Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.
"Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.
"Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.
"Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy.
"Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.
"Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.
"Blessed are those who are persecuted for the sake of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
"Blessed are you when people revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you.
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**Revelation 21:1–6a; Matthew 5:1–12**
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Today in the life of Trinity Presbyterian Church is when we celebrate All Saints' Day.
We remember the saints of our life together as a church, and we remember the saints of our own lives.
These are people who have died, and who now live with God in heaven.
The saints gather around Christ's heavenly table.
And it is a feast.
We gather around Christ's earthly table, on earth as it is in heaven.
We remember.
We hope.
We feast.
All Saints' Sunday arrives quietly, like a soft hymn through an open church window.
It's not flashy.
It doesn't come with fireworks or parades.
You could be forgiven if you didn't remember it.
You could also be forgiven if you didn't know Trinity Church has a memorial garden in the courtyard.
It's where we place the ashes of those who choose to be buried there.
From a distance, you'd think the Memorial Garden was just a place to sit, to enjoy the shade, to have a conversation.
Our church member caretakers take such good care of it, you might not see what it is until you get right up on it,
right beside the bricks with names engraved along the path.
I really love that the Garden is near to the children's playground.
As you contemplate life, you hear the sounds of life – kids being kids, playing, squealing with joy.
I grew up with a huge cemetery right behind our backyard.
I'd climb the wall and my dog and I would go run and play, mainly in the vacant fields yet to be filled.
We were always respectful.
The empty fields of the cemetery was a great place to fly kites and play army.
If that seems irreverent, bear in mind that nobody there ever complained.
I stayed away during burials, of course.
My dad and I used to take walks and read tombstones in the evening.
I learned to drive a stick shift on the cemetery roads.
Personally, I'd have no problem being buried near a place where kids run, and squeal, and fly kites, and grind gears, and go on evening walks with their parents.
In fact, I might look for one.
I don't think of those days very often.
Maybe they taught me more about life and death than I realized.
But I remember the cemetery.
Some people find cemeteries spooky.
Especially around Halloween.
I find cemeteries and memorial gardens to be beautiful.
Peaceful.
They're places of memories, good memories. Hope.
All Saints' Day is the Church's way of saying, "We treasure our memories. We remember."
"We remember who these blessed souls were."
"We remember who we are."
And even more than that — "We remember WHOSE we are."
We remember to whom we ALL belong.
All Saints' is a day to lift our eyes up.
Up from the ground.
To turn our gaze from graves and grief and the relentless bad news cycle —
and focus on a different horizon.
"Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth," says the book of Revelation, "for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away."
Sometimes people think of end-times as apocalyptic.
But the book of Revelation isn't a prediction of destruction.
Or spookiness, or grief.
A new heaven and a new earth is a promise of re-creation.
Which can also be pronounced, "recreation."
In the end, God doesn't throw away the world;
God renews the world.
All the broken, weary, unjust, grief-torn pieces —
get taken up and made whole again.
"See," God says, "I am making all things new."
And you can see new things with new eyes, like the eyes of a child.
Like one who is born anew.
Laughing at troubles.
Playing, singing, rejoicing.
That's the heart of All Saints' Day.
Not that death wins.
But that love is the final word.
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When John of Patmos (not John the Baptist and most likely not John the Beloved Apostle)
when a new John from the Greek island Patmos wrote those words, people were scared.
The world around them was falling apart.
Rome was powerful.
Christians were few.
Their friends were dying, sometimes violently, for believing that love had the last word.
The Book of Revelation wasn't written to predict the end of the world;
The revelation was received, and the book was written to help believers hold on to hope IN the world.
Revelation John paints this picture of a city coming down out of heaven, not people escaping up to it.
The holy city descends.
God moves IN.
Heaven comes HERE.
It says, "See, the home of God is among mortals."
That's the gospel in miniature: God refuses to stay distant.
God refuses to remain in theory.
Or only in memory.
Or in a dream.
God moves into the neighborhood —
into the world as it is —
and begins to make it new from the inside out.
God-with-us, God-in-us, Emmanu-el.
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This new life is also what Jesus is describing on that hillside in Matthew 5.
The crowds have gathered — tired people, hungry people, worried people.
The kind of people who wouldn't be elected to anything, who barely had a penny to their name – but the people who always seem to be nearest to God's heart.
Jesus looked at them, and said,
"Blessed are you."
And Jesus looks at US, and says,
"Blessed are you."
You might not feel blessed on a particular day, but
"Blessed are you."
Blessed are the poor in spirit.
Blessed are those who mourn.
Blessed are the meek.
Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness.
Blessed are the merciful, the pure in heart, the peacemakers.
Blessed are those who are persecuted for doing what's right.
That's the vision – the revelatory vision of sainthood Jesus gives us —
not a stained-glass saint with perfect holiness and perfect faith,
but people who are hungry for something better,
who still believe love matters – even when it hurts.
The saints, in other words, are not the ones who have "arrived."
Saints are the ones who keep showing up —
showing up with grace, handing out forgiveness,
and doing it all with faith that's sometimes more like a whisper than a shout.
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If you think about it, that's what the Beatitudes and Revelation have in common.
Both are about God's new world —
the new world that begins not after everything ends,
not after the end-times,
but right here in the middle of THIS time,
the middle of OUR time.
The poor in spirit receive the kingdom NOW.
Those who mourn are comforted NOW.
Those who hunger for righteousness get a taste of it in acts of mercy NOW.
And even when we don't see it yet, we trust that God is still building that holy city — one forgiven sinner, one act of courage, one small kindness at a time.
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I think about the saints we've known – the saints that you've known –
the saints of this congregation.
Their pictures may not be on the wall, but their fingerprints are all over this place —
on the hymnals,
on the offering plates,
on the hearts of the people they loved.
The saints who showed up early and stayed late.
The saints who sit with the grieving,
The ones who bake casseroles and deliver flowers when no one asked them to.
The saints who pray for people who would never know they were being prayed for.
Every church has its saints like that.
You can feel them in the pews.
You can almost hear them humming along when we sing.
Or maybe you CAN hear them. If you listen very closely.
Standing at the communion table –
sharing the bread and cup together –
being one body on All Saints' Sunday, we can see the veil between heaven and earth lifting just a little.
The saints are here —
not in some far-off realm of clouds and halos, but right here, woven into our worship.
An enduring part of our life together.
The saints aren't gone.
They've just gone on ahead.
And we're still on the way.
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We remember our saints on All Saints' Sunday.
But the saints also remind us.
All Saints' Day isn't only about the ones we've lost.
It's also a reminder — maybe even an elbow nudge —
that we're called to be saints, too.
Not perfect people, not stained glass saints,
but living saints,
sinners but also witnesses
to a God who refuses to give up on the world.
To be a saint is to live as if Revelation 21 were already true.
As if God IS making all things new — all things – and us, too.
To be a saint is to live the Beatitudes when the world tells you you're a fool for doing so —
to keep showing mercy when cynicism is easier,
to make peace when outrage gets more attention,
to hunger and thirst for righteousness even when you feel small and tired and unheard and wonder what kind of difference you can possibly make in such a big and bothered world.
That's the kind of sainthood that doesn't wait for heaven.
It starts here.
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There's a line from an old Celtic prayer that says,
"Heaven is not up, it is within."
And that's really the mystery of the saints —
heaven glows through them.
When saints laugh, when they forgive, when they endure, heaven shines out a little.
You can see traces of the new creation burning through the old.
Maybe that's what Jesus meant when he said, "You are the light of the world."
Not you should be, or try to be, but you are.
Because God has already lit something in you.
And when you shine — even quietly —
you can help someone else find their way home.
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So today, when we name our saints,
name them aloud or whisper their names in our hearts,
we're not just remembering who they were.
We're remembering who they ARE.
Who they are to US.
Who they are IN us.
We remember who WE are, in them.
They remind us
that the world is not as lost as it looks,
and that love always has more to say.
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Revelation ends with a voice saying, "It is done. I am the Alpha and the Omega."
That's not the sound of finality; it's the sound of fulfillment.
It's the same voice that spoke the first word of creation —
and it's still speaking – and it is still good.
Still calling.
Still making all things new.
Still blessing the poor and the merciful and the ones who refuse to give up.
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The best way to honor the saints is not just to remember them,
but to remind ourselves of their work.
To continue their work.
To keep living the "blessed are yous," one small act of blessing at a time.
To believe, even in this world of heartbreak and hurry,
that God has moved into the neighborhood —
and refuses to leave until love has the last word.
And when that day comes —
when heaven finally meets earth and God wipes every tear from every eye —
maybe we'll all hear the saints laughing together.
Singing together.
Dancing in the graveyards together.
Not because they've escaped the world,
but because they can finally see it whole.
"See," says the One seated on the throne,
"I am making all things new."
We are all saints.
And we are all sinners.
And God makes us all new, forever and ever.
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