ALL SAINTS THROUGH THE BEATITUDES
For weeks, we’ve been standing in the temple with Jesus.
We’ve heard questions about his authority, parables about sons and tenants and a wedding banquet, and attempts to trap him with questions about taxes. We’ve heard him identify love of God and neighbor as the commandments on which all the Law and the Prophets hang. The tension has continued to build, and we know where this is going.
Then suddenly All Saints Sunday takes us all the way back to a mountain in Galilee.
Jesus sits down. His disciples come to him. And he begins to speak.
“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” Jesus is no longer talking of blessings as material things but as who we are.
It feels like a flashback. And as with a good flashback, we return to an earlier scene carrying everything we’ve learned since. Here, nine months after the first time, we hear familiar words differently because we’ve seen what happens when
In Matthew’s narrative, the Beatitudes introduce Jesus’ first extended teaching: the Sermon on the Mount. To this point, he has been baptized, endured temptation in the wilderness, announced the nearness of the kingdom, and called his first disciples.
Immediately before this scene, Matthew describes Jesus travelling throughout Galilee, teaching, proclaiming the good news of the kingdom, and healing. People bring him those experiencing illness and pain, and large crowds follow him from across the region (4:23–25). The disciples approach him on the mountain, while the conclusion of the sermon makes clear that the crowds have also heard his teaching (7:28–29).
These blessings are spoken into a gathering already marked by human need. People have come seeking relief, healing, and hope.
But listen to the reasons Jesus gives for calling them blessed. Those who mourn will be comforted. The meek will inherit the earth. Those who hunger and thirst for righteousness will be filled. Each blessing directs us toward what God promises these people.
They’re still mourning. They’re still hungry for righteousness. Much of what Jesus promises remains beyond their present experience.
Yet the first and eighth blessings both announce that the kingdom of heaven already belongs to those he names (5:3, 10). They can trust that they belong to God even while they await what God has promised.
The rest of Matthew’s Gospel will give them plenty of reasons to wonder whether they can believe that.
While in the Philippines, I preached at St Mary's, Data. During the service, I saw something I can't forget. In the morning, the sunlight shines through the stained-glass windows and illumines the people in the pews.
Down each side aisle are stained-glass windows. One window for each apostle. Underneath them is their shield. Above them is the instrument of their death. But through them, the church is illumined on Sunday morning. Those who sit near these saints are colored in blues and reds and golds. Strangely, the saints in the windows help us see the saints in the pews. They colour our lives in a different light.
In a sense, this is what happens on All Saints' Day. We remember the saints who have gone before us, and this memory illumines who we are.It is a day of joy, hope, and deep spiritual reflection. We honour not only the canonised saints whose names we know within the Canon of the Church, but also the countless unnamed saints who lived holy lives in the sight of God. They are our ancestors, our neighbours, perhaps even our family and friends. Today, we celebrate the great multitude “from every nation, race, people, and tongue” who now rejoice in the presence of God.
The Saints show us the way of God’s divine path, that long, straight, narrow path, that many of us fall and trip upon, but we need to have the courage and the faith to climb back onboard, and carry on. The examples of the Saints encourage us and spur us on, telling us that our future is with God, since we are his adopted children.
The difficulty with remembering saints is we can often look at them rather than see through them. For most people, the word saint evokes images of people who have done great good in the world. They care for lepers, perform miracles, and give witness while they are beheaded or burned at the stake. Because of that, when people hear talk about saints, they tend to stand reverently at a distance and look at the windows.
Our appointed reading from Matthew’s gospel, however, changes our perspective. It invites us to look through the saints and see Jesus, the One who blesses them, who does good for them and then does good through them in the world. In the Beatitudes, we hear Jesus, with a radical word of blessing, make us saints in a different kingdom, breaking forth in the world.
“Blessed are the poor in spirit,” Jesus says, and suddenly things change. Jesus is not in the temple. He is out in the world. An indiscriminate crowd surrounds Him. Some are poor. Others are mourning. Some are struggling for righteousness. Others are fighting for peace. Yet, on this day, this mountain becomes sacred, and these people hear themselves to be holy, set apart by God. Set apart for God. To be poor in spirit is to recognize our dependence on God. The saints were not self-sufficient; they were humble. They knew that everything they had was a gift. St Teresa of Calcutta, for example, lived among the poorest of the poor, yet she radiated joy because she relied entirely on God’s grace and love.
Blessed are those who mourn: The saints were not indifferent to suffering. Monnica, the mother of Augustine of Hippo, prayed tirelessly for her son—not just to live a respectable life, but to discover God’s truth. Her tears came from a mother’s deep longing for her child to find life in God. Augustine eventually embraced Christianity and became one of the Church’s great theologians.
Her witness speaks to anyone grieving, worrying about family, or hoping for healing. Christian hope doesn’t erase tears; it teaches us to bring them to God and trust that sorrow will not have the final word. Sometimes the holiest act is simply to keep loving, praying, and hoping through our tears.
Blessed are the meek: Meekness is not a weakness. It is a strength. The saints were not aggressive or domineering; they were gentle and patient. Jesus Himself said, “Learn from me, for I am meek and humble of heart.” Meekness allows us to respond to others with love.
Saint Aidan of Lindisfarne was an Irish monk and missionary bishop who helped spread Christianity in Northumbria through preaching, teaching and a life of humble service. Known for travelling on foot and giving time to ordinary people, he showed that meekness is not weakness but strength expressed through gentleness. His example teaches that Christian leadership is not about inspiring fear, but about walking with people and helping them grow. In parish life, at home and in public, patient love often transforms more deeply than forceful demands; the strongest leaders are those who walk beside their people.
Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness: The saints were passionate for justice, truth, and holiness. They did not settle for common ground. They longed for God’s will to be done here on earth. This hunger drove them to prayer, to service, and to sacrifice.
Florence Nightingale became known for her nursing work during the Crimean War, improving sanitation and care for wounded soldiers. She later used research, statistics and advocacy to push for major reforms in hospitals and public health. For her, compassion meant not only caring for the sick but also changing the conditions that caused their suffering.
To hunger for righteousness is to long for things to be set right and to refuse to accept preventable suffering as normal. Nightingale united practical compassion with a commitment to institutional change. The Church’s concern for justice must likewise move beyond words into the real conditions in which people live and seek dignity. Compassion notices suffering; righteousness asks what must change so that suffering is not repeated.
Blessed are the merciful: Mercy is the beating heart of the Gospel. The saints were merciful because they had experienced God’s mercy themselves. They forgave, they healed, they welcomed. St John Vianney spent hours in the confessional, offering the mercy of God to sinners, giving people spiritual comfort.
lorence Li Tim‑Oi, born in Hong Kong, answered a call to ministry during wartime, serving Anglican Christians in Macau where many refugees needed pastoral care. When no priest could reach the congregation, the Bishop of Hong Kong ordained her on 25 January 1944, making her the first woman priest in the Anglican Communion. Her ministry was followed by years of hardship in China, where she could not freely serve, but she remained remembered for her faithfulness and perseverance, later continuing her life in Canada.
Her story shows that mercy responds to human need, especially in crisis. The Church must ask who requires pastoral care and find faithful ways to provide it, particularly for those who are displaced, vulnerable or overlooked. When people hunger for God’s presence, the Church is called to bring them the care of Christ.
Blessed are the pure in heart: Purity of heart means having a single focus, a focus on the Lord. The saints were not divided in their loyalties. Their hearts were undistracted by worldly ambition. They saw God in prayer, in the poor, and especially in the Eucharist. Purity opens our eyes to the divine presence of all those around us.
Julian of Norwich was an English mystic who lived as an anchoress in Norwich, devoting her life to prayer and contemplation. During a severe illness in 1373 she received visions of Christ, later recorded in Revelations of Divine Love, where she emphasised God’s compassion, love and sustaining presence even in suffering.
Purity of heart means centring our lives on God rather than being divided by fear, pride or anxiety. Julian’s writings reveal a heart deeply grounded in God’s love. In a world full of pressure and worry, we need space for prayer, silence and renewed trust. When fear tries to rule our hearts, we are invited to return to the love of God that holds us.
Blessed are the peacemakers: Peacemakers are not just those who avoid conflict, but those who actively build bridges. The saints reconciled enemies, healed divisions, and brought unity. They were children of God because they reflected the Father’s love for all His children.
Archbishop Desmond Tutu was a South African Anglican leader known worldwide for opposing apartheid and later chairing the Truth and Reconciliation Commission, which created space for testimony, accountability and healing after decades of injustice. He insisted that reconciliation must be rooted in truth, drawing on his Christian faith and the African principle of ubuntu, which affirms our shared humanity.
His life shows that peacemaking is not silence in the face of injustice. True peace requires confronting wrongdoing, defending human dignity and seeking ways for divided communities to live together. Reconciliation is demanding work: it calls us to speak truthfully about harm without letting hatred or revenge shape the future. Peace is more than the absence of conflict; it is the courageous restoration of relationships and human dignity.
Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake: Many saints suffered greatly, some even gave their lives. However, they did so with joy, knowing that their reward was in Heaven. Persecution did not defeat them; it purified them. Their witness inspires us to remain faithful, even in our darkest of moments.
Archbishop Janani Luwum became leader of the Church of Uganda during Idi Amin’s violent regime. As disappearances and killings increased, he spoke publicly against the abuses and joined other church leaders in challenging the government. He was arrested and died in February 1977; although officials claimed it was a car accident, his death is widely remembered as a killing by the regime. His courage remains a witness to the cost of telling the truth in a climate of fear.
Luwum understood that pastoral leadership sometimes requires defending those who cannot protect themselves. His story reminds us that faithfulness can carry consequences, and that Christian leaders must not confuse silence with peace when people are suffering. There are moments when the Church must speak, even when speaking is dangerous. A Church that protects its own safety at the expense of the suffering has forgotten the courage of the Gospel.
The beatitudes still sound strange when spoken today. They call our attention to people we would otherwise overlook. Enchanted by the bright, shiny object, we often confuse fame and fortune with blessing. We need God’s radical grace to reorient our lives. Those who mourn, who long for the Kingdom, who struggle for peace, who are persecuted in the faith – these are the ones God blesses. Not because of anything they did but because of what God in Christ does for them. Jesus takes upon Himself this world’s darkness, its sin and God’s wrath, that He might rise as the light of the world, revealing God’s grace. Shining through saints. Holy in their helplessness. Sainted in their suffering. God’s people are illumined by Jesus, the light of the world.
On All Saints Day, the beatitudes help us see Christ at work in the pews, blessing those who are gathered. Jessica, with her bag of carrots and colouring books, struggling to keep her children quiet and praying that one day her husband will come with her to church. Ruth Ann, twisting her wedding ring, thinking of her late husband, and wondering when the pain will become bearable. Phillip, struggling with alcohol and depression and wondering whether he belongs here. Nothing would set these people apart in our world. No one would make stained-glass windows of them. But Jesus, in grace, calls us to see. A peacemaker, a mourner, the poor in spirit. All blessed by God.
On All Saints Day, the beatitudes remind us how God in Christ claims people, frail, humble, poor, mourning, and makes them His own. As you read through the beatitudes, what parts of your life are illumined? What people do you now remember to be blessed by God? Sing in praise, cry out in prayer, and remember in love the work of Christ who blesses and who shines through His saints today.
A story is told of a traveling portrait painter who stopped in a small village hoping to get some business. The town drunk — ragged, dirty and unshaved — came along. He wanted his portrait done and the artist complied. He worked painstakingly for a long time, painting not what he saw but what he envisioned beneath that disheveled exterior. Finally, he presented the painting to his customer. “That’s not me,” he shouted. The artist gently laid his hand on the man’s shoulder and replied, “But that’s the man you could be.” –Today’s feast reminds us that we all can become Saints. St. Augustine asked: “If he and she can, why can’t I?”
The saints are not remembered because they lived easy lives, but because they allowed the grace of God to shape the lives they were given. Some served quietly in parish churches. Some cared for the sick. Some prayed through tears. Some challenged injustice. Some paid the ultimate price for speaking the truth.
Their lives remind us that sainthood is not about becoming famous. It is about becoming faithful.
As we celebrate All Saints' Day, may we remember those who have gone before us, give thanks for their witness, and ask for the grace to follow Christ in our own generation. May the poor in spirit, the merciful, the peacemakers and those who hunger for righteousness be found among us, so that the Beatitudes are not merely words we hear, but a way of life
The Beatitudes are a way of life. They are the path to Sainthood. Sainthood is not reserved for a few extraordinary souls. It is the universal call, our common vocation of every Christian. Let us thank God for giving us ‘ordinary folk’, the ability to become Saints in the Kingdom of Heaven. May we one day join that great multitude of Angels and Saints in Heaven, as they sing in one chorus of exultant praise, to the Lamb of God.