God Comes Down To Us

 All Saints Day

Luke 6:20-31

November 2, 2025

 

One truth that the Lutheran church holds dear –

the primary doctrine of the Reformation –

and what Luther said he would not give up on,

even on the threat of death and exile.

Is that God comes down to us.

 

For centuries, the Church told people

that if you just prayed enough,

went to church enough,

of course gave enough money,

you could work your way up to God.

 

One of my seminary professors used to illustrate it

with a ladder with God at the top.

The church taught, in essence,

that we could climb our way up that ladder to God.

Just try harder, do more, be better, and then God will love you,

and call you righteous, and get you into heaven, and all that stuff.

 

But Luther said, No. The Scriptures don’t say that,

and that’s not how God works.
We don’t climb our way up to God

God comes down to us.

In Jesus Christ, God descended the ladder

to meet us where we are.

 

Now, originally, All Saints’ Day was a day to commemorate

the people who were thought to have made it up the ladder—

the saints who had attained spiritual prestige

mostly priests, monks, and nuns,

and martyrs and other spiritual superstars,

who were believed to be just a few rungs below Jesus himself.

  

For those of us who grew up Catholic,

we might remember hearing about these saints

in glowing terms on All Saints Day—

stories of extraordinary holiness, courage, and self-sacrifice.

 

I remember as a girl hearing about Elizabeth Seton,

the first American saint. She was canonized in 1975.

so I was seven and they really talked about her a lot.

They talked about her incredible devotion,

the children she cared for, the home she founded,

even the miracle she was credited with.

(cause every saint has to have a miracle)

She sounded perfect.

The stories of the saints were supposed to inspire us,

they told us often we could work towards being like them.

Be like Elizabeth Seaton.

 

But I wasn’t inspired.

As I listened, I thought: I could never be that good.

And I really didn’t want to do any of those things she did.

I’m never going to be that holy or serious or selfless.

And when they got to the miracle part,

I tapped out completely.

That was out of my league.

I knew was never going to be able to

work up to that rung of the ladder.

So instead of being inspired, I just felt left out.

And I don’t think I was alone in that.

 

Luther wasn’t crazy about that idea of saints either.

He didn’t think some people achieved

special powers or higher spiritual status.

He didn’t believe they had climbed up to God.

He didn’t believe that anyone could climb up to God.

Instead, he said we are ALL

both saint and sinner at the same time

not because we’ve earned it, but because

God has come down to us in Christ.

 

That’s what makes a saint: not perfection, but grace.

Not personal achievement,

but being touched by the love of God.

So the day turned into a day to remember all the saints

all loved by God, and whose love touched us.

 

Look at Jesus sermon on the plain that we hear today:

“Blessed are the poor. Blessed are the hungry.

Blessed are those who weep.

Blessed are you when people hate you,”

 

The people listening must have been confused.

Even the poor people listening must have wondered.

The poor were seen as unclean, cursed, hated,

even deserving of their lot in life by some current or past misdeed.

They didn’t look “blessed by God”.

Blessing was supposed to look different:

wealth, warmth, full bellies, security, popularity,

respect from the community at large.

 

But Jesus says blessed are the poor.

Blessed are the hungry.

 

And these words of Jesus 2000 years ago,

And this selection of the readings by the lectionary committee

60 or so years ago, are still so relevant to us today. Of course.

(I’d sometimes like a break from acute relevancy,

but I guess I don’t get a choice.)

Right now, millions of people across

our country are facing the suspension of SNAP benefits -

the federal program that helps

the poorest among us put food on the table.

So people who are already choosing between

rent and medication are potentially now

having one of their precious lifelines taken away.

And yet, instead of sympathy, many people, 

including media and politicians are responding with hatred and scorn:

“Why don’t they just get a job?”

 “How about they work for their food like I do?”

“They’re all just scamming the system”

 

It’s like the theology of the ladder:

It’s as if we believe people can just climb their way

out of poverty by sheer willpower.

 

If it’s any consolation, most cultures

and times have had a hatred for their own poor.

 

The poor are stark reminders of our nations’ failure,

It’s easier to blame them for their situation than to look at

our own shortcomings and privilege and greed, and bad policies

that all work against their mere survival.

 

Unless something is in the news,

most people try to pretend poor people don’t exist.

We shut them out of gated communities,

we try to remain outside of their circles.

We shrug our shoulders at vagrancy laws, fees, fines,

and other rules that stack the deck against them

and prevent them from getting ahead,

and to let them know in no uncertain terms

that they’re not welcome in our world.

 

And we insinuate that if they just worked harder,

they could climb that ladder.

(But, by the way, we’ve greased the rungs and cut

most of them in the middle)

But if you keep trying, you could be like

us up here with our many blessings.

 

But Jesus says otherwise.

Jesus says, “Blessed are the hungry.”

Not because poverty is holy—

but because God is present with them.

Because God comes down to where the need is greatest.

Jesus is turning the ladder upside down.

Blessed are the poor.

 

And “woe to the rich”.

“Woe to you who are full now”

It’s not a condemnation, it’s a warning:

Don’t believe the lie that financial success

and earthly blessings and security

means you’ve climbed closer to God.

Don’t think blessing is something you can earn or hoard.

Don’t look for God on the top of that ladder.

 

Because God is already here—on the ground,

with the poor and the grieving and the broken and the hungry.

God has come down to us and calls us to do the same.

If you want to work your way to God, come down the ladder.

That’s where you’ll find God.

 

The good news is that along with all the cruelty and the

callousness erupting against the poor,

there is also an eruption of compassion and caring.

An outpouring of concern, love, food and gifts

from people to help people that they don’t even know.

Our pantry shelves are fuller this week

because of that compassion.

 

And that’s what All Saints’ Day is really about.

Not about a few people who managed to be perfect.

But about all the ordinary people—past and present—

through whom God’s grace has shone.

 

The ones who prayed for you,

who taught you faith and cared for you,

who forgave you when you didn’t deserve it.

The ones who sat next to you in church,

who made casseroles for funerals,

who gave food to those who were hungry,

who showed up for others quietly and faithfully.

The ones who didn’t try to climb the ladder,

but simply let God’s love come down to them

and work through them.

All the saints.

 

There is no ladder to God. 

There’s only Christ—God with us and God for us.

All of us.

The blessed and the woeful,

the accomplished and the struggling.

The sinners in heaven,

and the saints still stumbling here on earth.

 

We are not loved because we are saints.

We are saints because we are loved.