Not all saints wear halos—some wear aprons and sensible shoes.
We are still within the Octave of All Saints, which is a period generally known as All Hallowstide. There are several lesser observances during that octave like Saints of the Reformation Era, or Saints of the Old Testament, that help to keep our focus on giving thanks for those who have kept the faith alive for us, and often for keeping the faith alive IN us.
If the saints in stained glass are the Church Triumphant, then the saints in the church kitchen are surely the Church Indispensable. Every parish has them: the ones whose names are rarely on the front of the bulletin but whose fingerprints are on everything from the altar linens to the percolator. They are the saints who keep the coffee hot, the casseroles coming, and the community quietly stitched together by faith, humour, and a deep, practical love of God’s people.
You know the type. Mrs. Thompson, who has chaired the funeral lunch committee since before Vatican II (and she’s Anglican). Or Dave, who always shows up early to set up the chairs but insists he’s “not much of a church person.” Or those mysterious elves who somehow replace the Advent candles exactly when needed, as though by liturgical osmosis. They are the ones who don’t ask for recognition — indeed, they’d run for the broom closet if you tried to give them any — but without them, the whole ecclesiastical contraption would grind to a halt by Epiphany.
It’s fashionable these days to talk about “servant leadership,” but these saints have been quietly modelling it for decades — without ever attending a seminar. They embody the theology of the towel and basin, the sacrament of the coffee pot, and the holiness of the humble chore. They may not have halos, but they do have dishcloths, and they wield them like sacred instruments.
Sometimes I think the Kingdom of God looks less like a celestial throne room and more like a parish hall after a potluck: plates clattering, laughter echoing, everyone pitching in, and someone calling out, “Who took my spatula?” In such holy commotion, grace abounds.
So, in this All Hallowstide season, as we celebrate the saints known and unknown, let’s give thanks for these everyday apostles of hospitality and hope. Their creed may be simple — “someone’s got to do it” — but it’s as Christ-like as any sermon ever preached.
And when the last hymn is sung and the last light switched off, and there’s still one last stack of coffee cups to wash, you can be sure there’s a saint somewhere humming “For All the Saints” under their breath, faithfully finishing the job.
After all, the Church was never meant to run on perfection — it runs on grace, good humour, and a steady supply of caffeine.
A Prayer for the Saints Anonymous
O God of the towel and the teapot, we give you thanks for the quiet saints among us — the ones who arrive early, stay late, and make Your love known through casseroles, coffee, and kindness.
Bless their hidden labours and merry spirits. May they know that in serving others, they serve You. Grant us grace to follow their humble example, that in all things—great and small—Your glory may shine.
Through Jesus Christ, who came not to be served, but to serve.
Amen.