When I lived in Abilene, Texas, I was deeply involved in the local interfaith group. Which, in northwest Texas, as you may imagine, was largely just many different varieties of Christian traditions and a handful of other religions. At the time, I was in seminary, but was a new Episcopalian the plan was for me to go into hospital chaplaincy, and I was just barely beginning to wonder if I may be called to the priesthood. In fact, it was a woman of the Bahía Faith that first spoke this calling to the priesthood out loud to me. In that work with other faiths and folks from other Christian traditions, I learned a lot about what it means to hold my faith firmly, yet with an openness to engage with others so that we could work together in our small(ish) community. In that group, we had one Buddhist member, and unlike our Bahía and Jewish members who had small communities who practiced with them, this member was the sole Buddhist in our whole town, and for as far as he knew beyond the town limits. And he was the grumpiest person I’ve ever met, and he was so difficult to work with.
And I’m not sure when I had the realization, but at some point, after my obligatory turn of being the leader of this group, I realized that if I had to be the only Christian in my town. . .if I had to uphold the tenants of my faith on my own will and without community, and I would be pretty darn grumpy too. I would also be a pretty terrible Christian. And I don’t think that’s the case just because Christianity is inherently a communal religion – we are called, literally to commune together around a table. I think if I had to follow the Way of the Cross alone, there’s no way that I would have the courage to stand in the messy middle or to live into the radical reversal that we hear about in today’s gospel.
Today we hear the set of Beatitudes from the Gospel according to Luke, and not only is it from the Sermon on the Plain, rather than the more popular Sermon on the Mount in Matthew, Luke’s Beatitudes has a shorter set of blessings, followed by a set of woes. Something about me, is that I am really drawn to black or white thinking. I really love the idea of a checklist of dos or don’ts; that all I would have to do be in the right is to follow one list and avoid the other. So, there is a part of my brain that really responds to Luke’s version of the Beatitudes—not because it’s clearer, but because it feels a little easier. It’s not! But there’s a tiny part of my brain that assumes that things are easier if there is a checklist.
But in Christianity, the goal is not to follow a list, but to follow Christ. Christ preaches this sermon from the “flat place,” or the plain, and we hear this list that he tells his disciples shortly after healing a mass of people who were desperate for God’s healing. And unlike in Matthew’s version, Jesus looks up to his disciples and shares these teachings, not with the third person “blessed are those who are poor,” but rather, “blessed are you who are poor.” It becomes imperative. It is personal. It is undeniable to what it means to be a Christ-follower. Not because it is a list to follow, but because it tells us the truth that God is here and present with us in the pain of this world, and calls us to move beyond the ease of this world, if we are lucky enough to experience it.
Then Jesus lays down an even stronger challenge: love your enemies, turn the other cheek, give abundantly, and do unto others as you would have others do to you. I am a hiker, and as I read and hear this set of scriptures, I visualize this turn from the Beatitudes to this gauntlet of Christian teachings, almost like reaching the false summit, we’ve been climbing up this teaching of blessings and woes, and maybe we’ve begun to wrap our heads around it, and then Jesus hits us with “but I say to you…” and we’ve got more mountain to climb on this Way of the Cross.
Friends, the call of Christianity is no small task. It is not simply something we do on Sundays, or an emblem we wear around our neck, it is a way of life that brings change to this world by proclaiming the good news of these blessings and woes that may not make sense to our world but proclaim the truth that God is present with us and to respond to the call to be Christ’s hands and feet in this world. And because we are not just trying to make this world better, but following the crucified and resurrected Messiah, we proclaim Christ’s love to the world. And this world will know us first and foremost by our love over our words; in this day and age where so many people claim Christianity to cover a swath of actions and inactions, I am convicted that the world will know we are Christians by our love. Here in our gospel lesson today, Jesus calls us to live into a Christian love that doesn’t make sense in our world. And we see over the course of Jesus’ life that we are called to walk in this way of love together because it would be impossible if we tried to go at it alone.
Today we celebrate All Saints’ Day, and I’m especially grateful that in this Christian life, we have each other. Not just yall here at St. Alban’s, or us in the Diocese of Lexington, or even Christians of a variety of shapes and sizes alive today, but for all the saints of God upon whose shoulders we stand. I pray that as the generations that follow us will know us by work to come together to lean into our messy, imperfect, abundant love. Lord, hear my prayer.
A sermon delivered on All Saints’ Sunday, November 2, 2025 to the people of St. Alban the Martyr Episcopal Church in Moorehead, Kentucky on Luke 6:20-31.
Becca Kello 