Jesu Juva
Revelation 7:9-17
November 2, 2025
All Saints’ Sunday
Dear saints of our Savior~
As a young seminarian I used to dream of being the pastor of a big church—preaching to multitudes at multiple services every weekend. But the Lord had different plans for me; and my entire ministry has been spent serving congregations of this size. And for that I thank God.
I have learned to love congregations of this size. One of those reasons is that this church is a family. It feels like a family. Whenever we talk about the “Our Savior family” it rings genuine and true—not like in one of those bigbox mega-churches where any talk of “family” sounds like some slick slogan from the marketing department. We are a family indeed—brothers and sisters in Christ.
On this All Saints’ Sunday it’s worth noting that this family was not diminished by death during the past year. This is the Sunday when we always toll the chimes for all those who departed in peace during the past twelve months. But in this family—among these members—there’s been not one such departure.
But this day also reminds us that the Our Savior family is not nearly as small as it seems. What we learn about our Christian family today is similar to what I used to learn in the family gatherings of my youth. My immediate Henrichs relatives were a small group indeed. In fact, I’m down to three first cousins. But every so often in my childhood there would be a family reunion—at which all manner of relatives would seemingly emerge from the woodwork—people I had never met or seen or heard of before—people to whom I was related—a whole clan of kin. Suddenly, I felt strength in those numbers. My little family had hope—a lively history and a promising future. My only question was, “Who are all these people; and where did they come from?”
That question is not unlike the question that will be asked at the end of time when all the children of God are gathered together around the throne: Who are these, clothed in white robes, and from where have they come? That reading from Revelation is a beautiful, hope-filled reminder that we are—each of us—on our way to a grand and glorious family reunion.
St. John describes a great multitude that no one can count, from every nation, tribe, people and language, standing before the throne and in front of the Lamb. They are wearing white robes and holding palm branches in their hands—a symbol of victory. And this family is not a quiet family, but in a loud voice they declare: Salvation belongs to our God, who sits on the throne, and to the Lamb. Together with angels and archangels, they lift their voices in song: Blessing and glory and wisdom and thanksgiving and honor and power and might be to our God forever and ever. Amen. The Lamb who was slain has begun His reign. Alleluia.
Beloved in the Lord, my brothers and my sisters, this is your family being described—your church—one, holy, Christian, apostolic. This is the family reunion to which you are being drawn—and in which you already participate every time you gather around this altar. Who is this host arrayed in white? These are the ones coming out of the great tribulation; they have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb. No more hunger or thirst. No more scorching sun. God will wipe away every tear.
It sounds too good to be true; but it is true and better than good. You might think of these words as a heavenly, family portrait. Have you ever posed for a family portrait?—smiling faces, color-coordinated clothing, scenic backdrop. A beautiful family portrait somehow manages to bring out the very best in us.
But there’s no better family portrait than the one in which all of us are dressed in white robes, with eyes that weep no more, and voices that sing for joy. That’s the family portrait—that’s the family reunion—which is not too good to be true. It’s our family. It’s our reunion. And all this is thanks to our Savior, Jesus the Christ.
It’s Jesus who makes it possible for sinners like us to stand among the white-robed saints of God. Jesus is our brother. He shares in our humanity—bone of our bone and flesh of our flesh. We know that when He appears we shall be like Him, because we shall see Him as He is.
The beatitudes that Jesus spoke in today’s holy gospel are first and foremost descriptions of Himself—the holy life He lived as your substitute. We are not always meek, merciful, pure-hearted, peacemakers. We are none of those things by nature. Not in and of ourselves. Jesus alone is the total package. He embodies these beatitudes beautifully. Jesus is poor in spirit. Though He was rich, He became poor so that by His poverty you are rich. Jesus mourns. He weeps over our sin as He did over Jerusalem; and He weeps over our death as He did at the tomb of Lazarus. But by that mourning He brings us comfort and joy. Jesus hungers and thirsts for our righteousness, and out of His hunger you are fed. Jesus is merciful, pure-hearted, peace-making. He showed mercy by laying down His life for the sin of the world. He made peace by the blood He shed. He offered His pure and holy life as the sacrifice for your sins. He was persecuted, insulted, and falsely convicted. But by that conviction you have been acquitted, justified, declared righteous before God. On the cross Jesus hung bloody in nakedness and shame. But by that blood you have been washed and cleansed. Your sins are forgiven.
This is who you are in Christ. You are one faith-filled family. This is true already here and now, today! It’s now . . . and it’s not yet. For us who walk as yet by faith, there remains hunger and thirst and tears and the ongoing struggle with temptation and sin and death. The wages of sin is death, and that’s a payday none of us can avoid for long. Death is the consequence of sin. But today and every Sunday we celebrate the fact that Jesus has done something remarkable with death. He has taken this feared and dreaded enemy—this monster with an insatiable appetite—and He has hijacked death by the power of His own resurrection from the dead. Death no longer gets the last word.
This is why it also says in Revelation, “Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord from now on.” Yes, you heard correctly, “Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord.” The Lord Jesus has gone the way ahead of them. He Himself has gone to death and the grave; and those who follow Him, trusting Him in faith, are called “blessed” in their death. They are blessed because those who die in the Lord are with the Lord. There’s no waiting around at the pearly gates—no standing in line—no “yukking it up” with St. Peter. When you close your eyes for the final time in this world you will immediately open them in paradise with Jesus. Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord.
Paradise is the place you are headed, with all the family of God, dressed in white, standing shoulder to shoulder with the very people you see around you this morning. No chimes are tolled here today. But one day that chime will sound in memory of you. For you will have taken your place with that multitude that no one can number. To say that you will be happy when you join them would be an understatement. “Blessed” would be more accurate. Blessed are you, my brothers and my sisters, my dear family, fellow children of God. Blessed are you in Jesus, now and forever.
In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
