Today’s readings speak to people living in the in-between—between what was and what will be, between fear and faith, between despair and hope. They speak to us.

In Haggai, the people have returned from exile. They’ve come home to ruins. The temple—the heart of their worship, their identity, their connection to God—is gone. And though they’ve begun to rebuild, their spirits are low. The new foundation looks nothing like the former glory. They remember Solomon’s temple, and this… this feels like a pale shadow.

And into that discouragement, God speaks: “Take courage… for I am with you… My spirit abides among you; do not fear” (Hag 2:4–5). And then this promise: “The latter splendor of this house shall be greater than the former… and in this place I will give peace” (v.9).

It’s not a promise of replication—it’s a promise of transformation. God is not restoring the past—God is doing something new. And the glory to come will not be measured in gold or grandeur, but in presence and peace.

Psalm 145 echoes this assurance. “The Lord is faithful in all His words, and gracious in all His deeds… The Lord is near to all who call on Him” (Ps 145:13,18). This is not a distant God. This is a God who upholds the falling, who hears the cry of the broken, who draws near to the weary.

And yet, we know how easy it is to lose heart.

In 2 Thessalonians, Paul writes to a community shaken by fear. Rumors are swirling. Some believe the day of the Lord has already come. Others are paralyzed by anxiety. And Paul says, “Do not be quickly shaken in mind or alarmed” (2 Thess 2:2). He reminds them of the truth they’ve received, the faith they’ve inherited, the calling they’ve been given.

And then he offers this prayer: “May our Lord Jesus Christ Himself and God our Father… comfort your hearts and strengthen them in every good work and word” (v.16–17). Not just comfort—but strength. Not just belief—but action.

Because faith is not passive. It’s not just waiting for glory to arrive. It’s building the temple, even when it looks small. It’s holding fast to truth, even when the world is swirling. It’s showing up, again and again, with courage and compassion.

And then we come to Luke.

The Sadducees come to Jesus with a question—not because they’re curious, but because they want to trap him. They don’t believe in resurrection, so they pose a hypothetical: a woman marries seven brothers, one after another, each dying without children. “In the resurrection,” they ask, “whose wife will she be?” (Luke 20:33).

It’s a question meant to mock. But Jesus doesn’t take the bait. He says, “Those who are considered worthy of a place in that age… neither marry nor are given in marriage… for they are like angels and are children of God, being children of the resurrection” (vv.35–36).

Jesus isn’t dismissing marriage—he’s expanding the vision. Resurrection life is not a continuation of the old—it’s a transformation into something new. Something beyond our categories. Something rooted not in law, but in love. Not in death, but in life.

And then he says something even more powerful: “God is not the God of the dead, but of the living; for to Him all of them are alive” (v.38).

That’s the heart of All Saints’ hope. That’s the promise that sustains us when we stand at gravesides, when we face loss, when we wonder what comes next. God is the God of the living. And in him, all are alive.

So to recap, the lessons today talk to us in many ways.

They say: Take courage. Even when the temple looks small. Even when the future feels uncertain. Even when the glory seems far off.

They say: God is near. Not just in the sanctuary, but in the rubble. Not just in the triumph, but in the rebuilding.

They say: Hold fast. To the truth you’ve received. To the grace that has claimed you. To the hope that will not let you go.

And they say: Live as children of the resurrection. Not with fear, but with faith. Not with cynicism, but with compassion. Not with nostalgia for what was, but with trust in what will be.

Because the glory of this house—the house of God’s people, the house of your life, the house of the world God is redeeming—will be greater than the former. Not because of what we build, but because of who dwells within it.

So let us live as saints-in-the-making. Let us build with courage. Let us pray with hope. Let us love with abandon. For the Lord is near to all who call on him. And the God of the living is not finished with us yet.

Amen.