After this I looked, and there was a great multitude that no one could count, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages, standing before the throne and before the Lamb, robed in white, with palm branches in their hands. They cried out in a loud voice, saying,
Revelation 7:9-17
“Salvation belongs to our God who is seated on the throne and to the Lamb!”
And all the angels stood around the throne and around the elders and the four living creatures, and they fell on their faces before the throne and worshiped God, singing,
“Amen! Blessing and glory and wisdom
and thanksgiving and honor
and power and might
be to our God forever and ever! Amen.”
Then one of the elders addressed me, saying, “Who are these, robed in white, and where have they come from?” I said to him, “Sir, you are the one who knows.” Then he said to me, “These are they who have come out of the great ordeal; they have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb.
For this reason they are before the throne of God
and worship him day and night within his temple,
and the one who is seated on the throne will shelter them.
They will hunger no more and thirst no more;
the sun will not strike them,
nor any scorching heat,
for the Lamb at the center of the throne will be their shepherd,
and he will guide them to springs of the water of life,
and God will wipe away every tear from their eyes.”
My sermon from All Saints Day (November 1, 2026) on Revelation 7:9-17.
So Halloween is always a little intense for me since I live on the street everyone comes to visit. My neighbor is relatively flat, easy to get to, and the homes are very close together. Kids and families know this is the place to be if you want to fill up an entire pillowcase with candy. And so we spent most of yesterday afternoon and early evening with a line of kids stretching down our driveway and into the street. A few years ago, we changed our candy delivery system by using a large plastic pipe as a kind of candy chute. This encourages kids – as well as their parents – to wait patiently in line rather than swarming our front door. The sight of all these costumed kids hanging out in our driveaway is always amazing to see. The creativity; the colors; and the bags of deliciousness they’re holding radiates an incredible amount of joy. This year we saw Marios and Lugis; disco balls and ninjas; demon hunters and tons of video game characters I don’t even recognize. And it didn’t matter how old they were, if they came in a group, or if they were by themselves – everyone was united by an experience that is so much bigger than themselves. They, together, pondered if a bag of Skittles, some Sour Patch Kids, or Kit-Kats was all they needed. But when they realized we were also giving out large brown potatoes, their sweet tooth and their curiosity didn’t know what to choose. The multitude of colorful characters in all kinds of robes and waiving a variety of props in the air is a Renaissance painting come to life. And that vision is, I think, a good representation of the divine vision we heard in today’s reading from the book of Revelation.
Now, as I’ve said in the past, Revelation is a kind of graphic novel. Its author, John of Patmos, used words to paint pictures that spiral and cascade into one another. For centuries, these symbolic words have inspired our own imaginations when we think about what it looks like when God’s kingdom comes near. The images within its pages of heavenly throne rooms, four grisey horsemen, fantastic beasts, and terrifying dragons seems fitting on a weekend when so many skeletons, monsters, and ghosts came to life. Revelation can feel like a book meant to scare us into the arms of God. Yet its primary purpose was, and always has been, to help us explore deeper truths about living faithfully in the here and now. And it does this by knowing words aren’t the only tools God has given us to unveil what God is up to in our lives and in our world. God has also given us art – which has the power to change our life by connecting to us in ways we can’t always explain. If we’ve ever had the opportunity to visit any kind of art museum, we know there’s lots of information we can learn by reading the little white square covered in black text telling us the pieces’ title, its author, and what other people think this art might mean. But when we take the time to sit with the art – to ponder, wonder, listen, and dream – we grow in unexpected ways. Revelation isn’t meant to be read as an instruction manual for what comes next. It is, instead, an ever expanding piece of art tugging at our minds and our souls.
And one way we see this come to life is here in the 7th chapter of its story. After several chapters that read as a Mad Max inspired comic book, we suddenly find ourselves in the so-called commander center of the kingdom of God. We’d expect the center of this holy space to be filled with all kinds of divine beings showcasing power, strength, and might. But what we meet instead is a wounded lamb and a “we” who do not really resemble divine ministers or generals. The “we” aren’t rushing too and fro, issuing commands, holding meetings, or doing whatever we’d imagine a holy bureaucracy to do. Rather, they are a choir wearing robes and holding a prop in their hands. This isn’t, I think, meant to be an image that feels formal, proper, and what we might witness in a reverent sanctuary. The “we” in this space is filled with joy – a joy that can get a little rowdy. The branches in their hands are being waved out of sync and the song they sing comes from people who, on this side of heaven, wouldn’t be able to understand one another. Yet they – a multitude from every time, place, and speaking every language – are at the very center of the kingdom of God and they are united in song.
So it’s at this point, I think, when we should do what we do with all pieces of art – and ask the kinds of questions a tour guide in an art museum might want us to share. As we sit among the multitude – what do we see? What do we feel? And who is there? Do we imagine this scene as a crowd full of extras like we would see in any movie or, since this is All Saints’ Day, is it filled with faces we know? Does this holy choir compartmentalize people into their families, nations, races, and ethnic groups or is God’s community intermingled so that their distinctiveness and their unity also shine? The picture Revelation paints isn’t rigid enough to help us visualize exactly what John of Patmos saw. But we are given enough to recognize how we are part of God’s vision too. Those gathered around the lamb aren’t, I think, those faithful few who never made a mistake. They aren’t the ones who always responded to God’s love exactly as they should. The diverse group who sings God’s song are, like the wounded lamb, those who experienced everything that life can bring. Yet what carried them through wasn’t their traditions, culture, wealth, power, or all the stuff we put our trust in. What held them through every ordeal was the promise that God’s love really was for them. The community around the lamb wasn’t shielded from the fullness of life. Rather, they were protected from the empty promise that they had to live this life entirely on their own.
And so I like to imagine God’s heavenly throne room to be less a silent cathedral and more like a group of kids in their favorite costumes showing each other their favorite treats. They aren’t required to look or sound exactly the same nor is there only one kind of candy they’re supposed to like. They are, instead, wrapped in a joy that’s big enough to let them be exactly who God made them to be. And since that joy is a gift from the One who has claimed them as God’s own, the only thing we can do is share that same joy with others. It’s a vision of life as God imagines it can be – a vision lived out by those we’ll remember later on in worship today. That doesn’t mean every candle we light will be for those who made every moment feel like it’s a trick-or-treat sugar-induced kind of night. Rather, we light candles for those who showed how we have a place within God’s divine choir too. They’re the ones whose kindness, care, support, and presence reflected a God who wasn’t afraid to live the life we do. And they were, in their own ways, works of art revealing the song of holy love that is truly at the heart of who we are.
Amen.