by Ken Sehested
Invocation. “When the Saints Go Marching In.” —Louis Armstrong
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Like most, my early memories of holiday festivities are varied and (mostly) pleasant. But Halloween stands out, with the most distinct memories, since it involved an evening of roaming (without adult supervision) in homemade costumes throughout the small town where I lived, collecting sweet treats in decorated paper bags.
Then came the much-anticipated sorting of the evening’s haul: the keepers (the really good stuff), the giveaways (won’t eat even though it’s free), then everything else for trading with friends, which could go on for a week or more.
In Southern-flavored baptistic territory, All Saints Day—following “All Hallows Eve” (part of the origins of Halloween)—was never mentioned, much less observed. We didn’t believe in saints. Though we did have Annie Armstrong and Lottie Moon, namesakes of bi-annual mission offerings—a surprisingly feminine pantheon for a body with severely circumscribed leadership roles for women.
I now believe there is no observance in the liturgical year in greater need of recovery than All Saints Day. In turbulent times and turgid circumstances, we need the sustenance of resilient memory.
Remembrance of those gone before us provides the buoyancy to continue the struggle despite bleak prospects. Such stories perform vivid reminders that (a) we are not the first to encounter hard times and (b) the assurance that sustenance (beyond our own ingenuity) will be provided.
Even more: Telling stories of faithful witness—with faces and names and details—is far and away the most effective means of catching courage and transmitting hope. We need a horizon beyond market reports, electoral predictions, and the cacophony of broken-hearted headlines.
The work of imperial powers over a conquered people always begins with the suppression of indigenous language and, thereby, the people’s ancestral stories.
Jesus’ primary mode of communication was stories—not because he was pre-modern or philosophically illiterate, but because he knew stories have an animating power that propositions and apologetics lack. It’s still true.
Resilient communities are storied communities who do the work of hallowing, of naming and memorializing its redemptive moments and characters—filled with faces and names and details—and connecting such memory with that of the Beloved’s Name and Presence.
The preamble to the Ten Commandments required the injunction to memory: “I am the Lord your God, who brought you out of the land of slavery” (Exodus 20:2). Jesus’ model prayer began with the hallowing of God’s name, thereby unleashing the consecrating power to invoke the Blessed One’s reign over creation: “your will be done on earth” (Matthew 6:10).
Hallowing is declaring allegiance to what we revere and honor and stake our lives and fortunes on. Its practice is the harbinger of death’s demise amid joy’s full embrace. Hallowing is the asset that sustains us, wounded but poised and resolute, in the face of history’s brutal affront.
Memory renewal is among our most important spiritual disciplines.
May the poise of the saints—however famous or inconspicuous—be yours. Such poise, such aplomb, is the seedbed of insurgent faith: faith that is not cowed by ominous circumstances, does not buckle in the face of intimidation, is not impressed by parades of vanity and pomp and sheer brawn.
For the saintly practice of insurgent faith knows a secret: that there is a power made perfect in the very thing the world considers weak. And nothing threatens imperial power more than fearless subjects, who live as if death were not.
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Benediction. “For all the saints: New lyrics for an old hymn”
From earth’s wide bounds, from ocean’s farthest coast*
We praise the Name alone in which we boast
Seal our unity around Thy Host
Alleluia! Alleluia!
We stand amid the wonderment and woe
Caressing each other, as You our hearts console
Break forth in song, all creatures here below!
Alleluia! Alleluia!
Ringed by this cloud of witnesses divine
We feebly struggle, they in glory shine
Yet in your love our faithful lives entwine
Alleluia! Alleluia!
This mercy circle longs to shine your Light
Attend our yearning, restore to us our sight
By your grace, our hearts with hope incite
Alleluia! Alleluia!
O love the Lord, with all your heart and mind
And welcome neighbors, make them kin and kind
Then to our Christ we’ll ever be resigned
Alleluia! Alleluia!
Hasten the day, when tears no longer stain
All then shall rise to sing that great refrain!
Enliven our lungs to shout Hosanna’s Reign!
Alleluia! Alleluia!
The saints are living still, their voices heard
Speaking, reminding, of Heaven’s dream deferred
Hasten to hear, that earth’s woe may be cured
Alleluia! Alleluia!
No greater love hath any than to yield
Privilege and pow’r to welcome and to shield
The least, the lost, the whole creation healed
Alleluia! Alleluia!
—Ken Sehested
*first line from William W. How
Recessional. “O strength of Wisdom / who, circling, circled, / enclosing all / in one lifegiving path, / three wings you have: / one soars to the heights, / one distils its essence upon the earth, / and the third is everywhere. / Praise to you, as is fitting, / O Wisdom.” —English translation of “O Virtus Sapientiae (O Strength of Wisdom),” St. Hildegard Von Bingen, 12th century German Benediction abbess, performed by St. Stanislav Girls’ Choir of the Diocesan Classical Gymnasium
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For more see:
- “Halloween 2025”, a fascinating account of the ancient history of Halloween and All Saints Day
- “Quotes and notes about saints”
- Want to expand your personal All Saints Day imagination? Visit Dan Buttry’s “Global Peace Warriors” blog for brief profiles of peace-wagers and justice-seekers from every age, every part of the world, and of every religious tradition.
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