Magnify

A Sermon for the Feast of St. Mary the Virgin (Transferred)
Sunday, August 16, 2026

Text: Luke 1:46-55

Now, O Lord, take my lips, and speak through them. Take our minds, and think through them. Take our hearts, and set them on fire. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

I’ve been thinking a lot about my friend, Salem, over the past couple of weeks.  Salem was a beloved priest in our diocese who served as priest-in-charge at St. Anna’s Episcopal Church in Atmore.

He passed away a few weeks ago after a long series of complications in the hospital.

Last Friday, a few of us from St. Mary’s who knew Salem drove down to Pensacola for his funeral at Christ Episcopal Church.

It was a beautiful service.

Bishop Russell was there to lead the service and to preach, and people came from all over the diocese. 

There were friends, family members, parishioners, and a great many clergy who had traveled from near and far to remember Salem, to give thanks for his life and ministry, and to commend him into the loving hands of God.

And as I sat there listening to the Bishop preach, I found myself thinking about the life Salem lived.

He had already lived a full life of service before he ever became a priest.

For many years, he practiced medicine in Brewton.

Then, after retiring from medicine, he eventually discerned a call to ordained ministry. He went through formation, was ordained, and served our diocese in many ways.

But Salem was also someone who loved God’s creation.

He had a tree farm outside Evergreen that he loved dearly. If you spent much time around Salem, it probably wasn’t long before he invited you to come out and see it. I think it was one of the places where he felt closest to God.

Over the past several years, he invited people from around the diocese to gather there during Easter season for a special service called Worship in the Woods. He wanted people to walk through that beautiful place and experience something of the wonder and beauty of God’s creation.

Eventually, Salem also built a chapel out there.

I had heard about it for some time, but I finally got to see it for myself this past January when our vestry went out to the tree farm for a retreat.

Salem and his wife, Dianne, welcomed us with the same hospitality with which they welcomed so many others. Their home, their land, their chapel—it was all something they were willing to share.

That was Salem.

On a personal level, I had the privilege of getting to know him a little better during his formation for the priesthood. In his final semester at the local school for ministry, I served as a sort of mentor for Salem.

He came here to St. Mary’s several times, and we had some wonderful conversations about ministry and priesthood and this strange and beautiful work to which God had called us.

Salem and I shared a certain tendency. We both like to stay busy.

And I remember telling him more than once, “Salem, you’ve got to slow down! You can’t do everything. You don’t want to burn yourself out!”

Which is advice I occasionally need to hear myself.

Salem even preached here at St. Mary’s. He became friends with a number of people in this parish.

And whenever I saw him, he almost always greeted me the same way. He would give me a big hug and say, “Hey, brother. How are you?”

And I loved that.

Because when Salem said it, you knew he meant it. He made you feel like he was genuinely happy to see you. He made you feel welcomed and cared for, which is a rare gift.

And I’ve been thinking about that a lot these past couple of weeks.

I’ve been thinking about all the things Salem did in his life. He was a healer and pastor and lover of souls. He cared for the land. He welcomed people to his home. He preached the Gospel, not just with his words but with the way he lived his life.

And it occurs to me that there’s a word in our Gospel lesson for today that describes something of the life Salem tried to live.

Magnify.

Today is St. Mary’s Day—the day when we celebrate the Feast of St. Mary the Virgin, our patron saint, and mark the beginning of a new program year here at church, and in our Gospel lesson we hear perhaps the most famous words ever spoken by Mary:

“My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior.”

Those words come from a particular moment in Luke’s Gospel.

The angel Gabriel has come to Mary with amazing news: she will conceive and bear a son, and through this child God will do something extraordinary.

Mary says “yes” to God, even though she can’t possibly know everything that her “yes” will require.

Then she goes to visit her relative Elizabeth, who is also expecting a child.

When Mary arrives and greets Elizabeth, the child she’s carrying—John the Baptist—leaps for joy in her womb, and Elizabeth recognizes that something remarkable is happening.

She blesses Mary and the child she’s carrying.

And then Mary sings her song:

“My soul magnifies the Lord.”

I love that word: magnify.

To magnify something doesn’t mean we change the thing itself.

A magnifying glass doesn’t make an object larger. It helps us see more clearly what’s already there.

And that’s exactly what Mary does.

Mary doesn’t make God greater than he already is. She helps us see the glory of God more clearly.

She doesn’t bring attention to herself. She turns our attention toward God.

God has looked with favor upon the lowliness of his servant. God has done great things. God has lifted up the lowly, filled the hungry with good things, and remembered his promises of mercy.

Mary’s Song points beyond herself and helps us see what God has done and what God continues to do.

In a way, Mary shares something with the child who leapt in Elizabeth’s womb that day.

John the Baptist would spend his whole ministry pointing beyond himself toward Jesus.

Later he would say, “He must increase, but I must decrease.”

Mary says, “My soul magnifies the Lord.”

John says, “He must increase.”

They both know what their lives are for.

And I think my friend Salem understood something about that too.

He didn’t become a doctor so that people would admire him. He didn’t become a priest so that people would think more highly of him. He didn’t open a tree farm or build a chapel or give so freely of himself so that people would say, “What a remarkable person he is.”

His life pointed beyond himself.

Through healing. Through hospitality. Through friendship. Through a love for creation.

He helped people see something of the goodness of God.

He magnified the Lord.

And here’s what I want all of us to hear this morning. If you don’t hear anything else, hear this:

You don’t have to be a priest to magnify the Lord.

You don’t have to wear a collar. You don’t have to stand behind a pulpit or have a degree in theology.

Every one of us is called to live in such a way that others can see the goodness of God at work in our lives.

Sometimes that happens in very ordinary ways.

You notice someone who’s lonely and take the time to sit down and talk.

You make room for the newcomer who walks through the door.

You sit with someone who’s grieving and offer a listening ear.

You feed someone who’s hungry.

You forgive.

You pray.

You offer your gifts.

You show kindness when it’s hard.

That’s what it means to magnify the Lord—not thinking only of ourselves but making the love of God known.

And what’s true for each of us individually is also true for us as a community of faith.

Today we celebrate the life and witness of St. Mary, our patron.

But we also celebrate the life and witness of this parish.

We give thanks for this church, for its history, for the saints who’ve gone before us, for the ministry that happens here each week, and for all that God has done in this place.

And as we stand at the beginning of a new program year, we pray that God’s blessing will be upon us and all we have to offer.

We pray that God will continue to guide us and strengthen us for the work we’ve been given to do.

And we pray for a renewed sense of commitment to serving as the hands and feet of Christ, in our parish and in our community.

But our deepest purpose isn’t to have successful ministries or programs. It isn’t to stay busy or to even grow the size of our church.

Our purpose is to magnify the Lord.

St. Mary’s doesn’t exist for our own sake.

We exist so that through the life we share here, others might come to see and know the love of God in Christ Jesus.

We gather here to encounter the risen Christ in Scripture and Sacrament, in prayer and fellowship, and then we carry Christ with us when we leave this place.

We follow the example of our patron saint.

Mary was called to be the mother of our Lord. She carried him in her womb and brought him into the world.

That’s our calling too—to say “yes” to God, to carry Jesus with us wherever we go, and to make him known.

So perhaps the question for us today isn’t simply, “What will we do this year?”

Maybe the better question is, “How will we magnify the Lord?”

How will our worship, our service to others, and the way we love one another make Christ more visible to those in our community?

May we join with Mary in singing her song:

“My soul magnifies the Lord.”

And may it become our prayer as well.

For our own lives.

And for this new year of ministry at St. Mary’s.

May we live in such a way that Christ increases.

And may our souls, together, magnify the Lord.

Amen.