Sanctification of the Name everyplace

A Reflection for the Sunday of All Saints

On the first Sunday after Pentecost, the Orthodox Church of Jerusalem celebrates all the Saints. The following Sunday is dedicated to the Local Saints—those specific to each land or people, who bore witness to Christ in their lives and often in their deaths.

These saints lived by the power of the Holy Spirit, walking the path first trodden by Christ: “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me” (Luke 4:18; Isaiah 61:1). No one can truly confess Jesus as the Messiah unless called to Him by the Spirit. The Triune action of the One God—the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit—works together inseparably. It is granted to some, whether many or few, to recognize Jesus of Nazareth as the true Messiah who gathers all peoples and generations. To deny any Person of the Trinity is to diminish the fullness of the One God’s reign. It may be confusing for numerous people, challenging at all times.

All who draw breath from the Creator can echo Paul: “No one can say ‘Jesus is Lord’ except by the Holy Spirit” (1 Cor. 12:3). And: “God has sent the Spirit of His Son into our hearts, crying, ‘Abba—אבא—Father’” (Gal. 4:6).

The word Abba (אבא) in Aramaic and Hebrew speaks with rare intimacy, evoking both natural fatherhood and the name of the Heavenly Father. Like “Papa,” “Daddy,” or “Tata” in various languages, it reveals a tenderness often lost in formal liturgical translations. While Aramaic “Abun” (ܐܒܘܢ) means “Our Father” in a reverent tone, Haitian Creole’s “Papa nou ki nan syèl la” and Yiddish’s “טאטיענו, וואס דו ביסט אין הימל” (Tatyenu, vus du bist in himl) recover the loving closeness that Jesus conveyed in His prayer.

The Orthodox Church teaches that holiness is not for the few—it is a path open to all. The saints defy human classification; they live the “unnatural way of being naturally human,” revealing divine likeness in every culture, age, and walk of life.

Thus, the Church is the gathering of all humanity in the bosom of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. Its reach exceeds historical epochs and national boundaries. The Kingdom of God moves outward and onward, surpassing the limits we try to impose. In the Holy Land, walls and checkpoints have long served as symbols of identity. Yet, when Jericho’s walls fell before Joshua, freedom—not restriction—was granted. The same applies to sainthood: all people, regardless of race, language, religion, or status, are called to walk their unique path toward God.

The seal of the Resurrection is so powerful that in extreme cases even the unbaptized can administer baptism—using water or sand—and invoke the Holy Trinity. This act should be confirmed by the Church, but it remains valid. The Church belongs to God, not to our human regulations.

Peter himself recognized this when he met Cornelius, a Gentile and God-fearing person, whom the Holy Spirit had already filled. Holiness, like grace, is not bound by geography or ritual.

As the Church spread, the Orthodox tradition began to honor the “local saints.” But should we say local or native? The nuance matters. Jesus remained within the land of Israel, but He engaged with Samaritans and Canaanites, often breaking social taboos. He even ventured into Gentile regions like Tyre and Sidon (Mark 7:24), associated with idolatry and spiritual danger. This movement challenged purity laws and redefined the meaning of holiness.

The Church became truly universal when, at the Council of Jerusalem (Acts ch. 15), the apostles welcomed Gentiles into the Body of Christ. Unity is not optional—it is essential. The Church is the Body of Christ only if it includes both Jews and Gentiles, all peoples and tongues.

In the time of Jesus, diverse Jewish sects existed. The early followers of Christ saw themselves as fulfilling and enlarging the vision of Klal Israel (כלל ישראל)—the whole Assembly of Israel. The Church moved outward from Jerusalem to Damascus, and then across the Roman Empire, into Syria, Mesopotamia, Persia, and the Caucasus.

Within the Jewish diaspora, communities developed distinct religious customs—Ashkenazi, Sephardi, Mizrahi—each with particular languages, accents, and liturgical styles. Christianity followed a similar path. The Eastern Churches maintained the use of Greek but encouraged the development of local liturgies and vernacular traditions. In the West, by contrast, Rome often imposed uniform rites.

Still, unity in faith allowed for diversity in expression. It took time to define the “creed and how to have faith”. Sainthood took local forms, rooted in the lives of specific peoples. The word “Christian” (χριστιανός) was first used in Antioch (Acts 11:26), a Gentile city. The term is Greek, not Semitic—highlighting the cultural translation involved in following Christ –ܬ݁ܰܠܡܺܝܕ݂ܶܐ ܟ݁ܪܺܣܛܝܳܢܶܐ / talmide keristeyene.

The Church of Jerusalem, the “Mother of all Churches,” has always reflected the diversity of those who came to worship in the Holy City. Saints of the Land are unique, born of both the Scriptures and the land of prophecy. In the Holy Sepulcher, Patriarch Diodoros placed an icon commemorating those saints—prophets, martyrs, monks, bishops, and laity—whose lives sanctified the soil of revelation, from the Five Books of Moses to modern times.

Psalm 87:5 proclaims: “וְלְצִיּוֹן, יֵאָמַר: אִישׁ וְאִישׁ, יֻלַּד-בָּהּ / And of Zion it will be said, this one and that one were born in her.” At Pentecost, Jerusalem gathered all peoples through a multitude of Jews who spoke different languages. The Spirit poured on that special day opened up the gate of faith to the Gentiles. This is why the saints of the Holy Land resist ethnic categorization.

But in our present time, this vision is gravely threatened. Nationalism, ecclesiastical rivalry, and ideological polarizations have invaded the life of the churches. Too often, the saints are co-opted as symbols of exclusivism or as proof of cultural superiority. Jurisdictions compete. Unity is preached, but separation practiced. Churches appear more concerned with boundaries than bridges, more defensive of territories than open to communion. In such a climate, the universality of holiness is obscured.

And yet, the saints remind us of another way. Their lives are not defined by borders or dominance, but by witness, vulnerability, and radical fidelity to Christ. In every age of division, the saints have been the ones to cross lines of hatred and restore human dignity. We must return to their example—not merely to venerate them, but to imitate them. The Church’s true catholicity is not an ideal, but a lived vocation in fractured times.

The Orthodox Church is “local” precisely because it is kath’olon (καθ’ ὅλον)—universal. Every congregation, in any place, contains the fullness of redemption. The words of Jesus to the Samaritan woman remain central: “The hour is coming when the true worshipers will worship the Father in spirit and in truth” (John 4:23–24).

This process continues in our generation. It is not mere fantasy to imagine that in future centuries, Christians may live on other planets—perhaps Mars or the Moon. Some whizzes try to pave the path to such journeys. If so, the Church will still be present. Holiness will not be bound to Earth only, but truly to the amplitude of the universe. As long as there are people who breathe the name of Christ, there will be saints—local saints—eventually widely away in the stars.

Indeed, a day may come when, on Mars, the Moon, or another world, faith leads us beyond earthly loneliness to perceive the vastness of God: “to receive the strength to comprehend, with all the saints, what is the width, length, height, and depth—to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge—and to be filled with all the fullness of God” (Ephesians 3:18).