Sharing some thoughts

  Today we celebrate All Saints Day—a feast not just about remembering, but about mission. It’s a day when the Church is called to say, “This is what we’re made for.” And here, in this patronal festival, we’re reminded that this church—this community—is part of that great group of saints. We are not just remembering saints today; we are called to become them. There’s a story about Richard Wurmbrand, a Romanian pastor. He spent 14 years in prison under a brutal Communist regime—four of those years in solitary confinement, locked in a box underground. When he was finally released, his son asked him what he had learned.  Wurmbrand replied, “I forgot much of the Bible. But I remembered three things: there is a God, Jesus is His Son, and love is the best way.” That’s the gospel in its simplest form. And it’s the heartbeat of sainthood. We often think of saints as distant figures, perhaps seen most clearly in stained glass windows—people like the gospel writers or sometimes St Paul ...

  As children, the view of good parents often shifts dramatically. In those early years, they’re often trusted completely. We might cry for them when we’re hungry or upset, and we believe that any problem can be solved simply by their presence. They are our heroes, our source of comfort and safety. But then we grow. We begin to question their decisions — perhaps over pocket money, or the rules they set. Suddenly, those once-infallible figures seem hopelessly out of touch. And yet, as we mature, we often come full circle. We begin to see their wisdom, their love, and their desire to do what’s right for us. They may not be perfect, but they wanted what was best for us. In many ways, our relationship with the Bible can follow a similar path. As children, we may have enjoyed Bible stories — singing songs, acting out dramas, and learning about things like Noah’s ark, David’s sling, and Jesus’ miracles. But as we grew older, we may have grown bored or skeptical. Perhaps we were told it h...

Before the collapse of the Soviet Union, the Russian author Alexander Solzhenitsyn endured years in the brutal prison camps of Siberia. Day after day, he worked in the fields under extreme conditions, facing starvation and exhaustion. His suffering eventually led him to despair. One day, overwhelmed by hopelessness, Solzhenitsyn gave up. He dropped his shovel, walked to a bench, and sat down—fully expecting a guard to beat him to death for refusing to work. He had seen it happen before. But as he waited, head bowed, a fellow prisoner quietly approached. Without a word, the man drew a cross in the dirt with a stick, then returned to his labour. That simple act changed everything. As Solzhenitsyn stared at the cross, he was reminded that there was something greater than the Soviet regime, greater than the suffering around him. The cross represented hope—for him and for all people. Strengthened by that truth, he picked up his shovel and returned to work. Outwardly, nothing had changed...

  One year, while on holiday, I had the opportunity to stand at the spot where  Martin Luther King Jr.  delivered his iconic “I Have a Dream” speech. I’m not going to bore you with holiday stories, but I do want to reflect on that speech this morning  -  and how it connects with our gospel reading from Luke  ( 17:11–19 ) . King’s speech is often remembered for the repeated phrase “I have a dream.” He says it nine times, painting a vision of a better, more equal, more just society. But there’s another phrase he uses just as often: “Let freedom ring.” And I want to suggest that perhaps this speech should be known not as the “I Have a Dream” speech, but the “Let Freedom Ring” speech. Because while dreams speak of the future, freedom speaks of the present. “Let freedom ring” is a call to action, a cry of victory, a declaration that transformation is possible now  -  not just someday. In our gospel reading, we see a story of healing and freedom. Ten le...