Faith as partnership in a world that feels upside down.
Scriptures (Sunday, Nov. 2, 2025)
- Habakkuk 1:2-4; 2:1-4
- Psalm 119:137-144
- 2 Thessalonians 1:3-4; 11-12
- Luke 19:1-10 (Zacchaeus)
The world feels upside down sometimes
The loudest voices drown out the wisest ones. Those with the worst intentions seem to rise to the top, while those who try to do good are left wondering if it even matters.
Like the prophet Habakkuk, we find ourselves standing there, hands on our hips, frustration spilling over, asking:
God, what’s going on?
Why is there all this pain and injustice?
Why is destruction everywhere?
Why does it feel like justice never wins?
It’s exhausting. It’s heartbreaking. And still we cry out:
Where are you, God?
Why don’t you step in?
Fix it all.
Make things right again.
Save us, save us all.
And then comes God’s reply, not the one we want, but maybe the one we need. It lands hard:
No one is coming to save you.
Not because God has abandoned us, but because God has already placed the power to act within us. The Spirit moves through human hands, through courage and compassion, through the small, steady work of love.
We are not alone in this work. We never have been.
We live and move and breathe in God’s world, a world where every act of goodness ripples outward. So God says:
Write the vision. Make it plain.
Make it so clear that even someone rushing through their day, the parent juggling too much, the teen lost in the endless scroll, will still see it.
Hold on to your good vision for the world. Believe it can come true. Keep working for it.
And beneath the command, there is a message:
You’ve got this, because I’m with you. I believe in you, just as you believe in me. Faith, then, isn’t waiting for rescue. It’s partnership, a living, breathing collaboration between divine love and human hands.
We don’t stand alone under an empty sky. We stand in the light of a God who works through us every time we choose compassion, every time we act with courage, every time we keep hope alive when the world tells us not to.
This is also about the personal injustices
This isn’t only about the world’s injustices, it’s also about the personal ones.
When everything feels against us, when it seems everyone else is moving forward while we stand still, we’re still called to hold that inner vision of what’s good and right.
Think of someone in a painful relationship. They know, deep down, that this isn’t love, not the kind that nurtures or uplifts. They hold a quiet vision of something more whole, more true. One day, courage rises, and they reach out for help, take a step toward healing, and slowly move into a new life shaped by freedom and self-respect. Their vision, born of truth and faith, becomes their new reality.
Or think of someone in a job that drains their spirit, where their gifts feel unseen and their heart feels small. Still, they keep showing up with integrity, trusting that there’s something better ahead, a path that fits who they really are and what they’re meant to bring to the world. And when that new opportunity arrives, one that aligns with their values, their light expands again.
This is what Paul meant when he wrote to the Thessalonians: we give thanks for your faith that grows, and for your love that increases among you.
Faith that grows. Love that endures. The steady, quiet kind, not the loud declarations, but the small, daily acts that keep the world from collapsing in on itself.
Faith that shows up to plant hope in tired soil. Love that persists even when it’s not returned.
That’s what living the vision looks like. Not perfect, not easy, but alive with grace.
Holding the vision when the news is heavy
Last week, I learned something that truly stopped me.
Across Canada, vast areas of forest are being lost each year, millions of hectares to logging and wildfire. Since 2001, Canada has lost around fifteen percent of its tree cover, one of the highest totals in the world, not far behind Brazil.
It’s heartbreaking to know that some of our old-growth trees, the elders of the forest, are still being cut, sometimes for things that last only a moment: tissue, packaging, convenience. The loss feels overwhelming.
And yet, a week later, I heard another voice, Diana Beresford-Kroeger, reminding us that healing can begin close to home.
If each of us planted just one native tree a year for six years, we could help restore ecosystems and buy time for the planet to recover.
Imagine that. Such a simple, tangible act within reach of every one of us.
That’s what it looks like to hold the vision and act on it, to meet despair with devotion.
The same is true for the wider suffering of our world. When we hear of hunger in South Sudan, or families displaced in Gaza, or Ukraine, the pain can feel too vast, too heavy to bear.
But still, we give what we can. We pray, we contribute through Mission and Service, we keep compassion alive in a world that too easily forgets it.
And in doing so, we keep faith in motion. Because every act of care, no matter how small, joins a larger pattern of healing. And God’s love, flowing through willing hearts, is what turns vision into reality.
Zacchaeus and the courage to see clearly
Then we come to Zacchaeus, a man whose life had grown small, even as his wealth had grown large.
He was a tax collector, a collaborator with empire, a man whose choices had cost others dearly. He wasn’t well liked, and perhaps he knew why.
And yet, when love came close, when Jesus passed by, something in him stirred.
He wanted to see, truly see, what this love was about. So he did the most unexpected thing: he ran ahead and climbed a tree.
A grown man, climbing like a child, driven by a longing he couldn’t yet name.
And from that higher place, he finally saw clearly.
That moment of seeing changed everything.
He didn’t just believe, he acted. He gave back what he’d taken. He repaired what was broken.
That’s what faith in action looks like. A shift of heart that becomes a change in life.
When we see clearly, we live differently.
All Saints and living the vision forward
And this is where All Saints Day meets us.
Because today, we don’t just remember who has passed, we remember what they modeled.
The saints, both the well-known and the everyday ones, showed us what love looks like in action. They held their vision of goodness, even when the world was cruel. They believed that faith and justice could stand together.
We remember those who planted trees whose shade they’d never sit under, those who built bridges of kindness, those who loved without applause.
We remember them, and we live their vision forward.
The saints lit the flame. Our calling is to keep it burning, steady and bright.
Hold the vision.
Be the light.
Live the love.
Amen.
Threads to carry into the week
You are not alone under an empty sky. Tend your weariness with compassion, and let hope become a practice, not a mood.
Faith is partnership. “Write the vision, make it plain.” Keep it clear enough that it can guide you on an ordinary Tuesday.
The world can feel upside down, and we do not deny that. We name harm honestly, and we refuse to let cynicism have the last word.
Choose one small act that makes the vision real: repair what you can, give what you can, plant something that will outlive your fear, and keep compassion moving through your hands.