The Bishop of Edmonton’s sermon at the Diocesan Confirmation Service, All Saints Day, Saturday 1 November 2025, St Pauls Cathedral
(Being) Saints in the Scrum
We’re going to talk about saints today. Now, I’ll confess, back when I used to lecture on Early Christianity, I tried to gauge the spiritual pulse of my students. So, I innocently asked them to define a “saint” and name a few. Their collective wisdom? A saint, they confidently declared, is someone who is either dead or weird!
And honestly, I get it. The moment we hear the word “saint,” what pops into our heads? Stained glass windows—always so much purple and gold. Images of men—mostly white men—staring intensely into the middle distance, usually topped with a really fantastic, glowing halo or fancy headwear.
Now, when we look at this “dead or weird” list, we can really divide them into two categories.
First up, you have the Hall-of-Famers (With Great Lighting). These are the ancient superstars, the first-string players of past church holiness. Their stories are so old they’re practically myths—they seem utterly godlike, and we automatically slap a halo on their heads. They’re easy to spot because “Saint” is baked right into their name: Saint John, Saint Mark, Saint Augustine, Saint Francis. They’re so far removed from us by this massive, intimidating gulf of time and seemingly unmatchable holiness that they might as well live on a different planet. They’re the ones you look at and think, “Yeah, I’m never going to achieve that level of righteousness.”
The second group, though, is where things get interesting. These are the folks who didn’t just die in the faith; in most cases, they died for the faith. They were the ultimate rebels—individuals willing to go completely against the ordinary flow, to put their bodies on the line, and literally be killed for what they believed. They are the rebels and the realists
This list includes the heavy-hitters like Saint Stephen and Saint Peter, but also more modern, less-haloed heroes like Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Saint Teresa, Oscar Romero, and—get this—the recently sainted Carlo Acutis, who is literally the patron saint of the internet! (So yes, if your Wi-Fi is struggling, you know who to pray to.)
We’ve lifted these people up in our memory because, in a moment, some of their actions were wonderfully Christ-like. But here’s the good news: If we stop squinting at the stained glass and look closely at the actual person behind the legend, we quickly discover the most shocking truth of all: They are just like us.
Today’s Gospel (Luke 6: 20-31) isn’t just a quaint moral lesson—it’s a blueprint for making a saint.
Imagine the scene: Jesus, surrounded not by a peaceful gathering, but by a chaotic, desperate crowd. Disciples, the sick, the troubled—all of them jostling, pushing, and clamouring for a healing touch. It’s a moment more alarming than inspiring! And it’s right in the middle of this real-world mess that Jesus pauses and shares his radical view of what it means to be “blessed” to be a “disciple”.
The word Jesus used is key: Makarios. It doesn’t mean the shallow, fleeting happiness marketed by our society. It is more than just happy. It means a deep-down happiness that flows directly from an intimacy with God.
Jesus didn’t give a self-help seminar: He didn’t tell them, “Look out for number one, stand up only for your own rights and throw a tantrum if you don’t get them, and make life easy for yourself, keep out of trouble and mind your own business…hope other people will be decent to you, regardless of how you treat them…compromise your principles to make life easy… forget about the rights and dignity of others… and so on.
On the contrary, Jesus called his followers to a life that looks completely different. He calls us to be content in heart, to be humble, to prioritize sense of duty and service over self-interest. He asks us to hunger and thirst for righteousness, to be merciful, pure in heart, and to be the peacemakers.
This isn’t a template for how the world is; it’s the pattern for how saints are made.
Make no mistake: the Beatitudes are not just nice poems. They are political virtues. They force us to question the rightfulness of every action taken in the public square. Sainthood is a Political Act
Saints, at their core, are simply those who turn to Jesus Christ, grow in His likeness, and in doing so, are inevitably drawn into the lives and well-being of their fellow human beings.
The real, New Testament title for a saint is “forgiven sinner.” Forget the stained-glass window status—if you read the early life stories of some of these holy heroes, many were pretty dodgy!
The difference is this: saints are people who relish that life is a gift. The only way to truly honour that gift is to give it away, just as today’s Gospel demands.
This means that we—imperfect, deeply flawed human beings that we are—are called by God through Jesus Christ to be saints in the making. Not future saints, but “sanctified sinners” (as Martin Luther called us) right now.
As we gather today to baptize, welcome, and confirm new saints in the making, we celebrate the good example that reminds us of Jesus’s great imperative: to love God and love our neighbours.
The extraordinary lives of past saints inspire us, but they also give us a divine corrective to hatred and loveless action. Their stories call us to an awareness of God’s presence here and now.
But don’t miss the saints of everyday. Look not just at the stained-glass windows, but at those walking past you quietly.
Hear them speaking peace amidst the loud noises of fear, hatred and anger.
See them speaking truth to power, finding ways to feed the hungry.
See them patiently helping the vulnerable.
See them serving food and giving a warm hug in food banks.
See them in hospital emergency rooms, serving with skill and embracing with compassion.
And yes, see them quietly cleaning your parish church, making coffee, and arranging flowers when nobody sees them.
Dear friends, Saints were and are ordinary people like you and me, who simply show the love of God in their lives.
In essence, there is a saint, potentially, sitting next to you. So, take a look around!
Today, we welcome those who have been grasped by Christ—a day we allow ourselves to be pierced by the Gospel and transformed. We share this moment with the big-name saints and with those who have laboured in obscurity, bringing hope within their own sphere of influence.
We are challenged by all the saints around us to match their obedience and dedication, here and now. As we leave this place, dear friends, let us be saints to one another and bring hope and love to this world crying for help. Amen.