A saint is not only a canonized individual recognized for extraordinary holiness but includes all who are baptized. In Scripture, the term “saint” refers to those set apart by God, living in relationship with him through faith. Every believer is on a journey of sanctification—being made holy daily by the transformative work of the Holy Spirit. Saints are those who trust in the promise of eternal life with Christ, who are called to reflect God’s love and grace in the world. Though imperfect, we’re continually renewed and empowered by God’s presence, growing in holiness as we walk with Christ. And so today is just as much a celebration of our own sainthood as it is a celebration of life for those who have died in Christ.
Let us pray. May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable in your sight, O Lord, our rock and our redeemer. Amen.
We know how special meals bring people together. Think about the last holiday meal you shared—a table filled with familiar dishes, faces you love, stories that have been told and retold over the years. Thanksgiving turkeys, Christmas roasts, birthday cakes—these feasts remind us of where we come from, who we belong to, and what we value. Often, those meals also remind us of who isn’t at the table anymore—loved ones whose absence we feel. But we honor them by telling their stories, by setting out the foods they loved, by remembering them at the table. Holiday feasts aren’t just meals—they are sacred moments of connection between past, present, and future.
And that word, “holiday,” comes from “holy day.” Even the most ordinary family meal has something sacred about it—something that hints at a deeper meaning. Just like our family gatherings, the church’s holy days—our feast days—invite us to step into moments of memory, connection, and hope. Today, we celebrate one of the church’s oldest feast days—the Feast of All Saints. This day reminds us that we’re connected with those who have gone before us and that we are bound together in Christ—alive in him now and forever.
Feasting has always been part of the church’s rhythm of life. From the very beginning, Christians set aside days not just to fast, but to feast—to gather, to rejoice, and to celebrate the mighty acts of God. Over time, these became the great feast days of the church: Christmas, Easter, Pentecost. But one of the earliest feasts the church observed was the Feast of All Saints. It grew out of a time when Christians were experiencing persecution, when many gave their lives for the faith. Communities would gather to honor these martyrs—first individually on the anniversaries of their deaths and later on a shared day to celebrate all the saints, both known and unknown. It was a way to say, even in the face of death, “We are not alone,” to say “God is with us.” And today, as we remember those who have died, we proclaim the same truth: we are still part of one family, still joined together in Christ—God is still with them, and God is still with us.
Isaiah gives us a powerful image of what this unity will look like when God’s promises are fulfilled. “On this mountain,” Isaiah writes, “the Lord of hosts will make for all peoples a feast of rich food, a feast of well-aged wines, of rich food filled with marrow, of well-aged wines strained clear.” It is a banquet of abundance, prepared by God for all peoples. But it is more than just food and drink. At this feast, God “will destroy on this mountain the shroud that is cast over all peoples, the sheet that is spread over all nations; he will swallow up death forever.” This is the ultimate holy day, the final feast, when death itself is defeated and every tear is wiped away. This is the feast of victory for our God.
At the heart of this vision is the promise of resurrection—the promise that death doesn’t have the final word. Isaiah’s vision isn’t simply a poetic image. It points us to a reality where God raises the dead, wipes away grief, and ushers us into the feast of victory. This is the feast where the brokenness of this life will be healed, and where those who’ve been physically separated by death will be reunited—in wholeness of body and spirit. The promise of resurrection proclaims that death isn’t the end, but a gateway into life made new by the power of God’s love.
And this promise is for us, not just as an idea for some distant future, but as a living hope for our loved ones who have gone before us, and for us right now. The promise is personal—it’s for the ones we miss, for those who have entered the church triumphant, and for all of us who still walk this life’s journey. “Nothing,” St. Paul reminds the Romans and us, “can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.” That love binds us to those who have died in the faith, and it binds us to Christ, now and forever. Nothing—neither life nor death, not sorrow or joy—can break that bond. This is the promise we cling to at All Saints and at all times: our loved ones are alive in Christ, and we are too. And we will all feast together one day at the table God is preparing for us.
Every time we gather for communion, we already share in that feast, in a foretaste of the feast to come. The meal we celebrate at the Lord’s table each Sunday is a family dinner. It is the feast of God’s love, where Christ meets us in bread and wine and feeds us with his life. This isn’t just a symbolic meal, but a living encounter—a time when we connect not only with one another, but with the whole body of Christ, including those who have gone before us, and even those yet to come after us. At this table, we are joined with all the saints, who we believe are alive in Christ, just as we are alive in him—now and forever. The communion we share is a holy day every week, a holiday of grace, where the past, present, and future come together in the presence of Christ.
And so, as we celebrate today, we look forward with hope to the feast that Isaiah promises. We live between the feasts—between the meals we share now and the banquet that is to come. But even now, we get a taste of what is to come. Even now, at this table, we experience a glimpse of the joy, the abundance, and the life that God has prepared for us. When we break the bread and share the cup, we proclaim that death doesn’t have the final say. We proclaim that those who have gone before us are still part of our family. And we proclaim that a day is coming when all sorrow will end, and we will gather with the whole body of Christ at God’s table, where death will be swallowed up forever, and every tear will be wiped away. We remember the saints and give thanks for their witness. We celebrate that we are still connected with them through Christ. We rejoice that we are alive in him, just as they are. And we look forward with hope to the day when we will all feast together at the banquet that has no end, the great and final holy day, when God will make all things new. “This is the Lord for whom we have waited; let us be glad and rejoice in his salvation.”
In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
The Rev'd Daniel W. Spigelmyer, Jr. 