Author Archives: ericmancil

A Sermon for the Second Sunday in Lent (Year A)
March 5, 2023

Text: John 3:1-17

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.

There are a lot of important figures found throughout the Gospels. If you think back to the stories of Jesus, you can remember a lot of these important figures. Some of them show up more than others. Some of them tend to be minor characters. Some of them tend to be major figures.

But, one of my absolute favorites is Nicodemus.

Now, we don’t really know a lot about Nicodemus. We don’t know about his past, and he only shows up three times in the Scriptures—all from the Gospel of John.

But, I really like Nicodemus, and the reason why I like him so much is because he’s a seeker.

He comes to Jesus not to criticize him or tell him he’s wrong. He doesn’t come to try to convince him to stop performing miracles or to stop preaching and teaching.

Nicodemus comes to Jesus because he’s genuinely curious about what he has to say. He comes to Jesus, seeking to understand.

I also like Nicodemus because he’s not afraid to take risks. Yes, he comes to Jesus by night—probably to avoid any unwanted attention from others—but he takes a risk by stepping out of his circle—out of his comfort zone. If he was seen with him, it could possibly ruin his credibility as a religious leader. But, he goes anyway. He takes a leap of faith and goes to Jesus to learn from him.

When Nicodemus approaches Jesus, he says, “Rabbi, we know you are a teacher sent by God. There’s no other way you could perform these signs if you weren’t sent by God.”

Jesus responds, “Very truly, I tell you, no none can see the kingdom of God without being born from above.” Another way you could translate it is, “No one can see the kingdom of God without being born again.”

Nicodemus doesn’t understand. So, he presses Jesus to explain what he means by asking some clarifying questions. He asks him, “How can anyone be born after having grown old?”

Jesus then says, “No one can see the kingdom of God without being born of water and Spirit. What is born of the flesh is flesh, and what is born of the Spirit is spirit. The wind blows where it chooses.”

Nicodemus still doesn’t understand. This teaching of Jesus doesn’t line up with what he’s always been taught and what he’s always known to be true about God. So he says to Jesus, “How can these things be?”

In their interaction together, Nicodemus brings with him questions and curiosities about God, and in return, Jesus challenges Nicodemus to believe—not only with the mind and not  only with what he’s always been taught to believe—but with his heart, what he knows in his heart to be true about God.

I feel like now is a good time to share with you that one of the things I love most about being an Episcopalian is that we encourage seekers. We encourage those who don’t pretend to have all the answers figured out and who are genuinely curious about God and God’s relationship with us.

And, I think the reason why we encourage seekers is because we recognize the fact that—in one way or another—we’re all seekers. It doesn’t matter if you’re brand new to our church or you’ve been a life-long Episcopalian. We’re all pilgrims on a journey together to better understand who God is and what God is calling us to do with these lives we’ve been given.

We’re not afraid to ask hard questions, and we’re perfectly comfortable letting some things remain a holy mystery.

That—by the way—is the actual definition of theology. It means “faith seeking understanding.” It doesn’t mean “faith seeking to find all the answers.”

In my office at my previous parish, I had a Peanuts comic strip stuck to the side of my filing cabinet. In the comic, Charlie Brown walks up to his pal, Snoopy, who’s sitting on top of his dog house, typing. He says to Snoopy, “I hear you’re writing a book on theology.” “I hope you have a good title.” Snoopy stops typing, looks up from his typewriter and says, “I have the perfect title.” “Has It Ever Occurred to You that You Might Be Wrong?”

There are some things we’ll never know. And that’s okay. Because God is God, and we aren’t. And somehow, there’s great freedom in knowing that we don’t have to have all the answers figured out.

Not only that, but when we come to Jesus with our questions and curiosities, seeking to better understand, something happens to us in the process.

This was certainly true of Nicodemus.

Something happens to Nicodemus in his encounter with Jesus because later in John’s Gospel, in chapter seven, we learn that Nicodemus tries to protect Jesus from being arrested by reminding his fellow Pharisees that it’s against the law to judge someone without a proper trial.

And then much later in John, in chapter nineteen, after Jesus is crucified, Nicodemus—along with Joseph of Arimathea—brings a hundred pounds of spices in order to anoint Jesus’ body for burial. Nicodemus no longer comes by night. He comes in broad daylight—unafraid of what others might say—in order to show his love for Jesus.

Something happens to us—new and abundant life with God happens to us—when we seek to know Jesus, when we come, not pretending to have all the answers figured out—completely open to new possibilities and stirrings of the Spirit.

But, in order to do that, in order to come to Jesus, we have to be willing to take a leap of faith, and we have to be willing to take risks—just like Nicodemus did when he came to Jesus.

God is a mystery, one that will never fully be understood, at least not on this side of heaven. There will always come a point in our journeys with Christ where our ability to understand and reason will fail us, and all we’re left with is what we believe to be true in our hearts—that God really did send his only Son to us—to live and die as one of us, to give us the perfect example of what it means to love as God would have us love—to bring healing and restoration to the whole world. That’s John 3:16, by the way. That’s the central message of the Gospel.

It’s not a message of fear or hate.

It’s not a message of shame.

It’s a message of love—the perfect, unreserved love that God has for all of God’s creation.

When we think we have all the answers figured out—or worse—when we think that we’re the ones with all the right answers and everyone else is wrong—we tend to put God in a box of our own design rather than allowing God to live and move in our lives and to bring transformation and renewal.

Be curious about God. Be curious about how God is at work in your life and how God is calling you.

Because you never know where it might lead.

Like Nicodemus, it may lead you to question what you’ve always believed to be true.

It might lead you to come out of your comfort zone and serve in a new way at church or in the community.

It may lead you to act on an idea for a new ministry that’s been longing to be born for a long time.

It may lead you to consider becoming a deacon or a priest.

It may lead you to places and people you never could’ve dreamed of.

That’s the power of God’s Spirit, God’s breath. It blows where it chooses. Amen.

A Sermon for the First Sunday in Lent (Year A)
February 26, 2023

Text: Matthew 4:1-11

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 have a confession to make, and since we’re now in the season of Lent, it seems like a good time to make a confession. So, here it is…

I really don’t like Lent all that much. I know that may be surprising for you to hear coming from a priest, but bear with me for a moment.

When I say that I don’t like Lent all that much, what I really mean is that I tolerate it in the same way I tolerate going to the dentist twice a year. I know that it’s good for me and that, in the end, I’ll be glad that I did it.

But, it’s not something I look forward to. Maybe you feel the same way as I do.

Lent is a sacred time in the life of the Church—a period of forty days and forty nights (not including Sundays)—set apart for the purpose of mending our broken relationships with God. It’s a period of time we’re given each year to be intentional about falling back in love with God—to reconnect with the one who formed us from the dust of the earth.

Historically, Lent is also a time when converts to the Christian faith were prepared for the sacrament of Holy Baptism, which would be administered during the Great Vigil of Easter, and to this day, Lent remains a time for deep, spiritual formation for those preparing to be baptized.

The reason why I compare Lent to an appointment with the dentist is because I know that, in order to reconnect with God, as we’re invited to do during this time of the year, I have to be willing to make some changes in my life, which is something I really don’t want to do. I know that, in order to “do Lent” well, I have to be willing to let go of my need for control and my belief that I can do everything on my own.

In the days and weeks leading up to Ash Wednesday and the beginning of Lent, we’re encouraged to think about what our Lenten spiritual disciplines will be. I talked a little bit about this in my sermon on Ash Wednesday.

We ask ourselves, “What am I going to give up during Lent this year? Will it be chocolate? Will it be coffee? Will it be some other indulgence? Or, will it be taking on a new spiritual discipline? Will it be spending more time each day in prayer? Will it be volunteering more of my time at church? Will it be reading a book of daily devotions each day during Lent or some other practice that goes beyond my normal routine?”

Every year, I ask myself those same questions, and most of the time, I wait until the very last minute to decide. I put it off as long as I can because it’s something I really don’t want to do even though I know it’s something I need to do.

More often than not, I try to convince myself that life is already hard enough without having to give something else up or take something else on. Life is already stressful and complicated enough without having to worry about adding something else to my ever-growing list of things to do.

Perhaps you feel the same way as I do about Lent, and if you do, you’re in good company.

We know deep down that it’s good for us, but we struggle to put in the extra time and effort required to do it well. And then, when we don’t do it, we end up feeling guilty about it, as though we disappointed God.

Most of us, I think, would much rather go about the days and weeks of Lent as if nothing has changed. We’d much rather skip over our time in the wilderness with Jesus and go straight to Easter morning.

The problem with this way of thinking, though, is that it can cause us to miss the point of Lent altogether. It’s not about giving something up or taking something on just to say that we’ve done it. It’s not about adding something extra to our daily list of things to do. It’s about taking stock of our lives and paying special attention to those things that have control over us—the things we often use to make ourselves feel better apart from God.

Barbara Brown Taylor preached about this in a sermon she once wrote, referring to those things in our lives that have control over us as “pacifiers,” the things we often use to help fill the empty spaces in our hearts.

She wrote, “I am convinced that ninety-nine percent of us are addicted to something, whether it is eating, shopping, blaming, or taking care of other people. The simplest definition of an addiction is anything we use to fill the empty place inside of us that belongs to God alone. That hollowness we sometimes feel is not a sign of something gone wrong. It is the holy of holies inside of us, the uncluttered throne room of the Lord our God. Nothing on earth can fill it, but that does not stop us from trying.”

Lent is a time for us to be reminded of the fact that nothing on earth, no material thing or possession or habit, can fill the space in our hearts reserved only for God. It’s not just about what we choose to give up or take on. The purpose of Lent is for us to spend some time in the wilderness, to be mindful of those “pacifiers” that tempt us to put our trust in things other than God, and to recommit ourselves to the work that God has called us to do in our lives.

Jesus’s forty-day journey through the wilderness provides us with an example to live by as we make our way through the season of Lent. In the Gospel story, shortly after his baptism, Jesus is driven into the wilderness by the Spirit, where he’s tempted by the devil three times.

Each temptation is particular because the devil knows who Jesus is, and he knows what will tempt Jesus to use his power.

In his first temptation, Jesus is hungry, and the devil says to him, “If you are the Son of God, command these stones to become loaves of bread.” Knowing that the devil is trying to convince him to use his power to satisfy his hunger, Jesus responds with a quote from the book of Deuteronomy.

“It is written, ‘One does not live by bread alone.’”

Then, the devil takes Jesus to Jerusalem and places him on the pinnacle of the temple and says to him, “If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down; for it is written, ‘He will command his angels concerning you,’ and ‘On their hands they will bear you up, so that you will not dash your foot against a stone.’” Knowing that the devil is trying to tempt him to use his power for safety and protection, Jesus once again responds with a quote from Deuteronomy.

“It is written, ‘Do not put the Lord your God to the test.’”

Finally, the devil takes Jesus to the the top of a high mountain in plain view of all the kingdoms of the world and says to him, “All these I will give you, if you will fall down and worship me.” Knowing that the devil is trying to seduce him with promises of power and dominion, Jesus responds yet again with a quote from Deuteronomy.

“It is written, ‘Worship the Lord your God, and serve only him.’”

The devil tempted Jesus to use his power to relieve his hunger, but Jesus denied him.

The devil tempted Jesus to use his power to save himself, but Jesus denied him.

The devil tempted Jesus with power and dominion over the world, but Jesus denied him.

Jesus knows what it feels like to be tempted by the most tempting things imaginable, and yet, despite the best efforts of the devil to deceive him, Jesus refuses to let his temptations control him.

Jesus refuses to put his trust in things other than God.

What kinds of fears and temptations are you struggling with in your life?

How are you being tempted to fill your heart with things other than God?

As we continue our journey through Lent, I invite and encourage all of us to consider these questions and to be honest with ourselves about those places in our lives that need special attention so that we may grow in love with God.

As you consider these questions, I commend to you a poem that I came across several years ago that’s always been meaningful to me. It was written by a Jesuit priest named Pedro Arrupe. 

What I love about it so much is that it beautifully captures the true purpose of the season of Lent, which is to fall back in love with the God who created us and to make a place in our hearts for God.

The title of the poem is, “Fall in Love.”

Nothing is more practical than finding God,
than falling in Love in a quite absolute, final way.
What you are in love with, what seizes your imagination,
will affect everything.
It will decide what will get you out of bed in the morning,
what you do with your evenings,
how you spend your weekends,
what you read, whom you know,
what breaks your heart, and
what amazes you with joy and gratitude.
Fall in Love, stay in love,
and it will decide everything.

Amen.

A Sermon for Ash Wednesday
February 22, 2023

Text: Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21

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 an Episcopalian for about twenty years or so—almost half my life—which means that I’ve gone to church on Ash Wednesday a whole lot—at least twenty times—but probably more than that since many churches offer more than one service on Ash Wednesday.

I’ve walked through this liturgy many times.

And, I really do love it.

I love it because it draws us out of the ordinary experience of worship we have most Sundays, reminding us that this is an important day in the life of the Church—set apart for a very specific purpose. We began the service, for example—not with a loud, opening hymn like we usually do—but in silence. This is a solemn day. Not a sad day, but certainly one to take very seriously.

I love the liturgy for Ash Wednesday because it sets the tone for the rest of the Lenten season.  I always tell people, “If you want to have a good start to your journey through Lent, come to church on Ash Wednesday.”

The vestments and altar hangings are a deep purple, reminding us that this is a penitential season—a time to be intentional—a time to take a close look at our lives and to be open and honest with ourselves and with God.

There are no flowers on the altar during Lent. They’ve been replaced with the arrangements you see behind me—sticks and twigs—reminding us that this is a season of simplicity and a time for us to journey with Christ through the wilderness.

Yes, the colorful flowers that adorn our altar on most Sundays will return, but for now, we wait. We wait, and we prepare ourselves to experience the gift of new life on Easter Day.

And, perhaps most of all, I love the liturgy for this day because it reminds us of the fact that, even though we’ve fallen short of God’s call to love and serve others, there’s still an abundance of grace and mercy. You’ll hear these comfortable words later on when we say the Litany of Penitence together.

But—there’s one part of the liturgy for Ash Wednesday that’s always bothered me, and I think it has a lot do with my understanding of who God is and what kind of relationship God desires to have with us.

It comes at the very beginning of the liturgy when the priest says the Collect of the Day. We heard it just a few minutes ago.

There’s a single word in that prayer that I have a real problem with.

It’s that word, “wretchedness.”

Do you know what I’m talking about?

In the middle of the prayer, the priest says, “…worthily lamenting our sins, and acknowledging our wretchedness…”

To be honest with you, if I had the freedom and authority to change the wording of that prayer, I probably would, but that’s not how things work in the Episcopal Church. We don’t get to change the Prayer Book just because we disagree with it.

In a sense, it’s a lot like Holy Scripture. Just because something in the Bible makes us uncomfortable or angry, it doesn’t mean we have the authority to take it out. Sure, we could ignore those difficult parts altogether, but if we did that, we might also be missing out on something we need to hear or a hidden truth that needs to be uncovered.

So…it makes me wonder if there might be a hidden truth to the word “wretchedness” in the opening prayer for Ash Wednesday.

When I hear that word, the phrase that immediately comes to mind is, “good for nothing,” describing someone who’s “rotten to the core” or unredeemable.

That’s one definition—probably the one most of us think about when we hear the word, “wretched.”

But, another definition—and this is the first one listed when you look it up in the dictionary—is describing someone who’s “in a very unhappy or unfortunate state.”

With that definition in mind, maybe the wording of our opening prayer on Ash Wednesday isn’t to make us feel lousy about ourselves or unworthy of God’s love.

Maybe it’s the exact opposite. 

Maybe the purpose of the prayer—and the purpose of this day—is to help us realize and acknowledge the fact that, without God in our lives, we’re completely lost.

I think that might’ve been what Jesus was trying to say to his disciples at the end of our Gospel lesson for today when he says, “Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust consume and where thieves break in and steal; but store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust consumes and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”

In other words, the way we go about our daily lives really does matter. The way we spend our time and energy; the way we treat other people; the amount of time we spend with God; and the way we fill the hours of each day—all of it matters to God.

And so, during the season of Lent, the Church invites us into a period of self-examination and repentance—a time to take a close look at our lives and re-direct ourselves back toward God.

We do this in a variety of ways. Some people choose to give things up for Lent or commit to a time of fasting on certain days or abstain from other things they find distracting in their lives. Some people take on a daily, spiritual discipline, such as a new prayer practice or committing themselves to reading a daily devotional or a different passage from Scripture each day.

Whatever you decide to do—or not to do—I hope you’ll be intentional about it. Because this time during Lent is a gift. Lent is a chance to re-connect with God—to remember who we are as God’s beloved and who we’re called to be as followers of Jesus Christ.

I hope you’ll also be intentional about coming to church on Sunday mornings and continuing this journey with the rest of us. Lent is a time that’s very personal, but it’s also a journey we take together in community. So, come to church, and experience the richness of Lent each Sunday as we make our way to Holy Week and Easter.

Finally, I want to say a little bit about the imposition of ashes because it is the focal point of our liturgy today.

In just a few moments, each of us will receive a cross of ashes on our foreheads.

There’s a reason why the ashes we’re about to receive are in the shape of a cross and not just some random smudge of ash. Not only are they a sign of our mortality and our call to repentance, but they’re also a sign of our baptism. Just as we were signed with the oil of chrism in Baptism, so we are marked with the sign of the cross on Ash Wednesday to remind us that nothing can ever separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus.

Even in our wretchedness—in those moments when we’ve lost our way and fallen short of God’s call—the cross of ashes reminds us that we’ve been sealed by the Holy Spirit in Baptism and marked as Christ’s own forever.

Nothing can ever change that.

So, as we begin this holy season, let us do so with open hearts and open minds, trusting that God loves us and deeply cares about the decisions we make and the way we live our lives, and let us enter into Lent with the knowledge that, even now, the Holy Spirit is working in us in ways beyond our understanding and leading us to new and abundant with God. Amen.

A Sermon for the Sixth Sunday after the Epiphany
February 12, 2023

Text: Matthew 5:21-37

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.

This past October, Chelsea and I finally had the opportunity to do something we had been waiting to do for a long time. We attended a Cursillo weekend up at Camp McDowell, which is the camp and conference center in the Diocese of Alabama.

Cursillo is a Spanish word, which means “short course,” and that’s exactly what it is. It’s a short course in the fundamentals of the Christian way of life that takes place over the course of a three-day weekend. But, it’s also much more than just a weekend retreat at camp. It’s an opportunity for Christians to grow in their faith and find new life in their walk with Christ.

It’s not uncommon at all for people to come away from a Cursillo weekend with a restored sense of purpose and a desire to give more of their time and energy to their local parish.

Cursillo is especially helpful, I think, for those who are feeling sort of lukewarm or lackluster about their faith or those who are struggling to feel a connection with God. It’s also helpful for people who may be wondering where their place is in the life of the church and how they can use the gifts God has given them to better serve others.

It’s a wonderful ministry—one that’s also very active right here in the Diocese of the Central Gulf Coast, and if Cursillo sounds like something you’d like to do, I’d be happy to tell you more.

But…I can’t tell you much more.

Because another thing you’ll quickly learn about Cursillo is that there are a lot of surprises that happen throughout a Cursillo weekend, and if I told you exactly what was going to happen, it would ruin the experience.

So, you’ll just have to trust me when I say that Cursillo is a great blessing to our Church and something I would highly recommend, especially for those who are needing a little jump-start in their faith.

This past week, as I was reflecting on our Gospel lesson for today, I thought about my Cursillo experience this past Fall and a gift that was given to me by my small group leader.

How many of you remember those bracelets that were popular back in the 90s that had the letters “W.W.J.D.” printed on them? Do you remember those? Apparently, they’ve made a comeback recently.

Well, I never owned one of those bracelets myself, but I do remember what the letters stood for, as I’m sure most of us do. They stood for “What would Jesus do?”

And, if you remember as I do, the idea was that people would wear these bracelets to remind themselves of this important question as they went about their everyday lives.

If someone made you angry, for example, and you didn’t know how to respond, you could ask yourself, “What would Jesus do?”

If someone hurt you in some way or betrayed your trust, “What would Jesus do?”

If someone asked you for help, “What would Jesus do?”

You get the idea.

Well, my small group leader at Cursillo didn’t give me a bracelet with the letters “W.W.J.D.” on it. Instead, he gave me one with the letters, “H.W.L.F.”

I actually wore it to church this morning to show you.

When I first received it, I had no idea what the letters stood for.

So, I went up to him and asked him, “What does this mean.”

He looked at me and replied, “What would Jesus do?”

“H.W.L.F.”

“He would love first.”

Above all else—above every possible answer to the question, “What would Jesus do?”—Jesus would love first.

I wanted to share this with you today because I think it’s important for us to remember—especially when we’re given such a challenging Gospel lesson as we are this morning.

On the surface, Jesus’ words seem very harsh, don’t they—especially when he starts talking about plucking out eyes and cutting off hands and being thrown into hell.

It would be easy for us to read this passage and think that Jesus is ready to condemn anyone who violates God’s commandments.

But, I think, in order to understand where Jesus is coming from in our lesson for today, we have to back up a little bit and look at something Jesus said to his disciples in last week’s Gospel lesson.

Earlier in Matthew, after Jesus teaches his disciples about salt and light, he says to them, “Do not think that I have come to abolish the law or the prophets; I have come not to abolish but to fulfill. For truly I tell you, until heaven and earth pass away, not one letter, not one stroke of a letter, will pass from the law until all is accomplished.”

Jesus has come—not to abolish the law and the prophets—but to fulfill them.

So, he teaches his disciples in today’s reading from Matthew that simply following the law of Moses—as it’s been handed down from generation to generation—isn’t enough.

In order to live as God would have us live, Jesus says, we have to do more. We have to go above and beyond the letter of the law.

He says to his disciples, “You have heard the commandment, ‘You shall not murder.’” But, then he goes on to say, “Even if you’re angry with a brother or sister, you’ll be liable to judgment.” 

Jesus isn’t talking about righteous anger—the kind of anger we feel when someone is treated unfairly. He’s talking about the kind of anger that can build up inside of us over time and cause us to forget that all of us—even those who hurt us and make us angry—are beloved children of God.

Jesus says, “You have heard the commandment, ‘You shall not commit adultery.’” But, then he goes on to say, “Even looking at another person with lust is a sin.”

Jesus isn’t talking about romantic or physical attraction between two people. He’s talking about the kind of lustful desire that can cause us to forget that every person is created in God’s image and worthy of dignity and respect.

Jesus says, “Whoever divorces his wife, let him give her a certificate of divorce.” But, then he goes on to say, “Anyone who divorces his wife causes her to commit adultery, and anyone who marries a divorced woman commits adultery.”

In the time of Jesus, women had very few rights and were treated as little more than property. The law of Moses dictated that men could issue certificates of divorce to their wives for any reason, often leaving women stranded and homeless. So, when Jesus speaks of divorce, he isn’t talking about it in the same way we think about it today. He’s talking about an easy and convenient way for a man to casually dismiss his wife and move on to someone else.

Finally, Jesus says, “You have heard the commandment, ‘Do not bear false witness.’” In other words, “Don’t make empty promises to God.” But, then he goes on to say, “Don’t make any promises at all.”

Jesus isn’t saying that we shouldn’t make a commitment to God—far from it! He’s saying that actions speak louder than words. “Let your word be, ‘Yes, Yes’” Jesus says, “or, ‘No, No’; anything more than this comes from the evil one.”

In every example Jesus provides, he’s teaching his disciples—and us—that it’s not enough to simply follow the law as it’s written.

In order to experience abundant life with God, we have to be willing to go above and beyond what’s expected. We have to learn to open our hearts and allow the love of Christ to be our guide.

These words of Jesus in our Gospel lesson for today may sound harsh to our twenty-first century ears. But, at the heart of the Gospel is a message of love and compassion. Jesus didn’t come to condemn the world. He came to save us from the power of sin and death and to open up for us the way to abundant life with God.

God’s greatest desire is for us to be reconciled with him and to experience new and abundant life, but the only way to do that is for us to be in right relationship with each other.

Jesus gives us ways we can do that…

By being willing to forgive and seek forgiveness

By remembering that each and every one of us is beloved by God and created in God’s image

By making good on our promise to respect the dignity of every person

So, if you ever have a question about how God is calling you to treat a brother or sister, think about Jesus and ask yourself, “What would Jesus do?”

And the answer is the same now as it’s always been. He would love first. Amen.

A Sermon for the Fifth Sunday after the Epiphany
February 5, 2023

Text: Matthew 5:13-20

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.

A few years ago, while I was serving as the priest at my former parish in Alabaster, I was contacted by a couple from the community who owned several laundromats in the area.

They reached out to see if our parish would be interested in partnering with them to offer days throughout the year when people from the community could come to the laundromat and do their laundry for free.

Their only stipulation was that we would provide the laundry detergent and dryer sheets and that we would send volunteers to help greet people as they came in and get them started on the washers and dryers.

Without even hesitating, I told them we would love to help.

We called it “Laundry Love.”

As I understand it, St. Mary’s has been involved with something similar in the past.

We got started in the summer of 2021—in the height of the pandemic, and we decided that we would offer “Laundry Love” every three months. It started off kind of slow, but as more and more people heard about what we were doing, the ministry continued to grow.

After about a year of offering “Laundry Love” to the community, we were doing close to two hundred loads of laundry at each event. I was amazed by the number of people who came. A lot of people knew about it in advance, but most were completely surprised when they came into the laundromat and we told them it was “free laundry day.”

This past October, I attended my last “Laundry Love.”

Everything was going as expected.

And then, toward the end of the evening, I was approached by a gentleman who was really touched by what we were doing.

Before he left, be came up to me and said, “My mother used to do my laundry for me. She’s no longer living, and it’s so nice to know there are still people who care enough about me to come and help me with my laundry.”

I told him that we were happy to do it.

I was so thankful that he took the time to share with me how much that ministry meant to him.

His words reminded me that we can have a real impact on people’s lives—sometimes without even realizing it.

In that moment, I was also reminded of why we were there in the first place.

Yes, we were tending to the physical needs of people in our community by offering free loads of laundry. But, even more importantly, we were tending to their souls by showing them that they were loved and cared for.

In the language of the Church, you might say it was sacramental—an outward and visible sign of God’s inward and spiritual grace.

I wanted to share this story with you today because sometimes it’s easy to forget why we’re here.

Sometimes, it’s easy to forget why God has called us together as the Body of Christ—especially when we focus so much of our time and energy on what happens here at church.

Now, don’t get me wrong. Church life is incredibly important—especially when we gather for worship on Sunday mornings. I want you to come and worship as much as possible. And, I want you to be involved in other church activities and ministries as well. It’s how we’re strengthened and nourished in our discipleship and how we grow together as a community of faith.

But, as a church, we can’t ever lose sight of what it is that God is ultimately calling us to do. And that is to go out and be the hands and feet of Christ in the world.

This is why, at the end of every celebration of the Eucharist, we say words of dismissal, like “Go in peace to love and serve the Lord.” These words aren’t just a nice way of saying, “The service is over.” They keep us mindful of the fact that what we do here on Sunday mornings isn’t really about us.

What we do here—when we gather to hear the Word of God and receive the sacrament of Christ’s Body and Blood—is preparing us for the work God has given us to do in every corner of our lives.

Church is the place where we come each week to experience God’s love and to be filled through Word and Sacrament, but our commitment to Christ is more than just an hour a week on Sundays mornings.

The real work of ministry begins when we leave this place—when we take all the love we’ve been given and go forth into the world to share that love with others.

That’s not always easy, though, is it?

When we’re here at church—surrounded by people who love us and care about us—it’s easy to share that love right back.

At church, we can be ourselves without feeling judged or looked down upon. We can talk openly about our faith in God and even those moments when we struggle with our faith. We know that when we walk through those big, red doors, at the front of the church we’ll be welcomed in with open arms.

For most of us, church is a sanctuary and a place where we feel the love of God at work in our lives in a very real and tangible way.

But, when we leave this place, it’s not always easy to feel God’s presence, and it’s not always easy to be faithful in our call to walk with Christ.

Sometimes, we want to keep God’s love to ourselves, because if we open our hearts to others, we stand a really good chance of getting hurt or taken advantage of.

Sometimes, it’s just easier and safer to keep to ourselves and not worry about sharing God’s love with anyone else.

But, the problem with that, dear friends, is that God’s love isn’t ours to keep.

It belongs only to God, and Jesus teaches us that God’s love is meant to be shared.

In our Gospel lesson for today—which is a direct continuation of the Beatitudes from last week—Jesus says to his disciples, “You are the light of the world. A city built on a hill cannot be hid. No one after lighting a lamp puts it under the bushel basket, but on the lampstand, and it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.”

Don’t you see?

God’s love—God’s light—it doesn’t belong to us.

It belongs to God.

And, God has entrusted us to share that light with the world so that others may come to know the love of God in Christ through us.

It’s like a lighthouse keeper who keeps his lamp burning at night. He doesn’t keep the lamp burning for himself. He keeps it burning for anyone who needs help finding their way back home again.

We are the light of the world—all of us, and we have the responsibility of carrying the light of Christ with us wherever we go.

Because you never know who might need a little light or a little love in their lives.

It isn’t always easy.

But, we can be comforted in knowing that God’s light can never be extinguished. It’s always with us. We’re reminded of this every time there’s a baptism at church when we light a candle from the Paschal candle and share it with the newly baptized.

The light of Christ we received in our baptism—it burns forever. We may try to hide it at times, but it never fully goes away. It’s always there—waiting for us to open our hearts so that others may see it.

We are the light of the world. So, let your light shine for all the world to see! Amen.

A Sermon for the Fourth Sunday after the Epiphany
Text: Matthew 5:1-12

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.

A couple of weeks ago after church, I met a gentleman from the community who had come to the parish office looking for some assistance.

He told me his name, and he shared with me some details about his life. He had been homeless for some time and was now living with someone else from the community who offered him a place to stay.

He also told me he had a job at a local restaurant and needed a way to get in touch with his employer in case they wanted him to come in and take some extra shifts at work. So, he asked if there was a way that the church might be able to provide a phone for him to use.

At first, I didn’t think there would be a way for us to help, but then I realized that we might be able to at least provide him one of those pre-paid cell phones—one that wouldn’t require a monthly plan.

So, I told him, “I think we can help.” And, we got in my truck and drove down the road to the Dollar General Store where I bought him an inexpensive phone and a 30-day, prepaid phone card.

On the way back to the church, he shared with me a few more details about his life.

He told me that all of his family members were gone and that he didn’t really have anyone in his life. He told me that he really hoped that this new job would help him get back on his feet.

And, then the conversation turned to God.

He said to me, “You know, I really don’t think God gives us more than we can handle.” And, then he paused, and I could tell he was waiting for me to say something.

So, I took a deep breath, and I said, “ I don’t think God causes bad things to happen to us. I really believe that God loves us and wants what’s best for us in our lives.”

He listened to what I had to say, and then the conversation turned to something else.

I don’t know if he believed what I said, but I hope—at least on some level—that a seed of grace was planted and that he could start to believe that God wasn’t responsible for all the bad things in his life.

I hope—at least on some level—that he could start to believe that God loves him more than he could possibly imagine, despite the tragic circumstances that left him homeless and without any family to take care of him.

When we got back to the church, he thanked me again for my help, and we went our separate ways. And, in that moment, I stopped to give thanks to God for putting me—and our church—in a position where we could help a stranger in need. It wasn’t much, but it was something. And, sometimes, all it takes is a little something to change someone’s life.

Now, I didn’t share this story with you today to draw your attention to something I did.

I shared it with you to draw your attention to something God did through me and our parish.

Think about it for a moment.

It was God, through the guidance and power of the Holy Spirit, who put it into the hearts and minds of the people of St. Mary’s to call a full-time rector to come and serve this parish and this community.

And, it’s God, through the love and example of Jesus Christ, who continues to inspire the people of St. Mary’s to give generously of their time, talents, and resources to support the ongoing mission and ministries of this parish.

Through your faithfulness and commitment to service, we were able to help someone in need—someone who might not have been cared for otherwise.

It’s not something I did or that we did on our own. It’s something God did, through us. Apart from God, we wouldn’t be able to do anything. God is love and the source of every ounce of love we have to give. 

Through the power of the Holy Spirit, God has equipped us and empowered us to proclaim the Gospel through our words and actions, and that, my friends, is something worth all of our thanks and praise.

Today’s Gospel lesson from Matthew is a helpful reminder that God loves each and every one of us and that he cares deeply about what happens to us in our lives—especially the most vulnerable among us.

But, it’s more than just a helpful reminder of God’s love. It’s also a call to action for those of us who have answered God’s call to follow Jesus.

At the beginning of our lesson this morning, Jesus is gathered with his disciples on top of a mountain.

And he begins a long series of teachings—spanning three chapters in Matthew—commonly known as the Sermon on the Mount.

The first part of the sermon—which we call the Beatitudes—is one of the most well-known passages from Scripture and one of the most important teachings of Jesus.

In it, we hear Jesus share with his disciples what it means to truly be blessed by God.

Of all the ways Jesus could’ve begun his Sermon on the Mount, he chose this particular way—by telling his followers about the love of God overcoming death and despair and by offering hope to those who had none.

The Beatitudes set the stage for everything that would follow in Jesus’ life and ministry. It was his way of preparing his disciples and showing them that his ministry would be like no other.

It was also his way of saying that the Kingdom of Heaven has come near.

Now, before I continue on, I want to take a moment to clarify something that’s often misunderstood or misinterpreted in the Gospels.

When Jesus refers to the “Kingdom of Heaven” (as he does in our Gospel lesson this morning) or the “Kingdom of God” (as he does in other Gospels), he isn’t talking about some far-off place where God is and we aren’t, and he isn’t talking about the place where we go after we die.

When Jesus preaches about the “Kingdom of Heaven” or “Kingdom of God,” it’s his way of describing God’s dream of a world redeemed in love—a world where all of God’s children are treated with dignity and respect, a world where no one goes hungry or worries about whether or not they’ll have a warm place to sleep at night.

The Beatitudes of Jesus teach us that this dream of God isn’t just some far-off dream or something that will happen a long time from now. The Beatitudes teach us that God’s dream is becoming a reality—here and now—and that God’s dream is being accomplished through us.

We—all of us who are sitting here today—are part of God’s plan to help bring healing and wholeness to the world God created.

To illustrate this better, I want to share with you a slightly different version of the Beatitudes, which was written several years ago by Archbishop Desmond Tutu in his storybook Bible, Children of God.

The title at the beginning reads, “Jesus teaches the secret of happiness.”

One day, Jesus told his followers about God’s dream of a world where all the children of God are loved and cared for, and no is left out.

Blessed are you who are poor, for all God’s world is yours.

Blessed are you who are hungry, for God will feed you.

Blessed are you who are sad, for God will comfort you and you will laugh again.

Blessed are you who feed the poor, for you are the hands of God.

Blessed are you who comfort the sad, for you are the arms of God.

Blessed are you who work for peace, for you are the voice of God.

Blessed are you who are loving and kind, for you are the heart of God.

I love this version of the Beatitudes because I think it brings it all home and helps us better understand the true meaning and significance of the Scripture.

Not only does God promise to restore this broken and sinful world, but he blesses those of us who have answered the call to help make it a reality.

We are the hands and arms of God. We are his voice. We are his heart.

May we answer the call to serve faithfully, and may we always remember that it’s God, working through us, who is able to accomplish these things. Amen.

A Sermon for the Third Sunday after the Epiphany
January 22, 2023

Text: 1 Corinthians 1:10-18

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.

One of my favorite things to do when I come to a new parish is to take some time to walk around the church building and get a sense of where everything is located. Now, I’m still new. So, it’s going to take some time for me to find where everything is.

But, one of the reasons why I love doing this is I get to discover some hidden treasures along the way—especially in a place like St. Mary’s, which has a lot of history.

The other day, as I was walking from the church back to my office, something caught my attention. It was propped up on a table close to the nursery. So, I stopped to see what it was.

What I discovered was a small, framed print that looked like a piece of parchment paper, with beautiful handwriting.

I brought it with me this morning to show you in case you’ve never seen it before.

And, since the print is so small, I want to share with you the words.

They love one another,
They never fail to help widows.
They save orphans from those who would hurt them.
If they have something, they give freely to the man who has nothing.
If they see a stranger, they take him home, and are happy,
as though he were a real brother.
They don’t consider themselves brothers in the usual sense,
but brothers instead, through the Spirit, in God.

If you had to guess who these words were written about, what would you say?

I’ll give you a hint.

At the bottom of the page, there’s a caption that says, “Aristides, a non-Christian, describing the Christians to Hadrian.

Now, if you don’t recognize the names I just mentioned, that’s okay. I didn’t either when I first read it.

But, later I did a little research to find out who Aristides and Hadrian were, and what I discovered was really interesting.

Aristides was a Greek philosopher who lived in Athens during the second century.

There’s very little we know about his life, but what we do know—based on the writings of historians from that time—is that Aristides eventually converted from paganism to Christianity.

And, in the year 125—only about ninety years after the birth of the Church—he wrote a letter to the Roman emperor, Hadrian, in defense of the Christian faith in order to convince him to stop persecuting Christians.

The words I shared with you just a few moments ago were taken from that letter, which is now commonly referred to as The Apology of Aristides—one of the oldest documents of its kind in existence today.

It was written at a time when the Christian faith was still in its infancy—when the number of Christians  was relatively small and followers of the way of Jesus were being persecuted and killed because of their beliefs.

Before his conversion to Christianity, Aristides was someone on the outside of the Church looking in, who observed in the earliest followers of Jesus a way of life that he believed to be the truest expression of who God is and how God wants us to live our lives.

He was so captivated and moved by what he witnessed in the early Christian community that he changed his life and became a follower of Jesus.

You can almost hear it in his words.

They love one another,
They never fail to help widows.
They save orphans from those who would hurt them.
If they have something, they give freely to the man who has nothing.
If they see a stranger, they take him home, and are happy,
as though he were a real brother.
They don’t consider themselves brothers in the usual sense,
but brothers instead, through the Spirit, in God.

This is how Christians in the earliest days of the Church demonstrated the love of God in Christ Jesus and, it’s what they became known for.

They became known for loving each other.

They became known for giving to those in need and not expecting anything in return.

They weren’t consumed with themselves or their own well-being.

They understood that the call to walk in the way of Jesus meant loving and serving their neighbors—especially those who lived on the margins, those who were often overlooked and ignored.

As Christians, there’s nothing more faithful we could possibly do than serving those in need—and doing so with a joyful and loving heart.

The kind of love that Aristides described in his letter to Hadrian almost two-thousand years ago is the same love we’re called upon to share in our own time.

It’s a love so deep and so strong that it’s impossible not to be moved when we see it in action—a love steeped in the message of the cross and the Gospel of Jesus Christ.

In our lesson today from I Corinthians, Paul writes: “For the message about the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God.”

I want us to consider for a moment just how counter-cultural it is to be a Christian.

When you think about it, it really doesn’t make much sense, does it? Especially when you consider it from a worldly point of view.

The world around us would have us believe that we only need to care about ourselves—that we should always put ourselves first and not make any sacrifices for the well-being of others.

The world around us would have us believe that in order to be happy and fulfilled, all we need to do is accumulate more and keep everything for ourselves.

The world around us would have us believe that showing compassion and mercy are signs of weakness.

But, the message of the cross teaches us otherwise.

The message of the cross teaches us that there’s nothing more powerful on this earth than the love of God. Jesus showed us, through his sacrifice on the cross, that not even death could contain God’s love.

He said to his disciples, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it.”

In other words, if you want to lead a happy, comfortable life and not ever be concerned with the needs of those around you, Christianity is probably not the best choice.

C.S. Lewis said it this way: “I didn’t go to religion to make me happy. I always knew a bottle of Port would do that. If you want a religion to make you feel really comfortable, I certainly don’t recommend Christianity.”

It’s true.

Our faith in Christ is based on a love that’s self-giving, not selfish. We preach Christ crucified and risen  and worship a God who loved us so much that he came to live and die as one of us and to save us from the power of sin and death.

The challenge, in every generation of the Church, is to look beyond ourselves and to remember who we are and to whom we belong.

So, my question for you is this.

For those on the outside looking in—what would they say about our community of faith here at St. Mary’s?

Would they say the same things that people observed about the early Church?

Would they say we love each other?

Would they say we give to those in need?

Would they say we take care of those on the margins?

Based on what I’ve already seen and what I know to be true about this parish, I think they would.

I’ve only been with you a little over two weeks, but I can already tell that you have a heart for ministry and a desire to reach out and share God’s love with others.

I’m amazed and inspired by the level of outreach our parish does—especially for a church our size. Yesterday, for example, we hosted our Rice and Beans Ministry for those in our community who need a little extra help with food each month. We gave out bags of dried beans, rice, and other pantry staples, and we fed well over a hundred people with a warm breakfast.

None of it would be possible without the support of our parish and a strong group of volunteers who work together to make it happen.

And, I’m sure, as I continue to get to know you better and learn even more about what goes on here at St. Mary’s, I’ll continue to be amazed and inspired by your commitment to service.

But…there’s always room to grow, and there’s always room to try new things.

And, as more people come to join us, we’ll be able to do even more for the sake of the Gospel.

I really believe that, and I hope you do as well.

God is still at work in our community, leading us and guiding us to be the hands and feet of Christ in the world. All we have to do is be willing to answer the call and step out in faith, knowing that God is always with us. Amen.

A Sermon for the Second Sunday after the Epiphany
January 15, 2023

Text: John 1:29-42

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.

In my sermon this morning, I have just three words that I’d like for us to focus on, and I hope you’ll remember these words and carry them with you as you go about your week.

Just three little words—the only words that Jesus speaks in our lesson today from John’s Gospel.

“Come and see.”

In our Gospel lesson this morning, John the Baptist is standing with two of his disciples—probably near the bank of the Jordan River. We know, based on our reading, that one of them is Andrew, the brother of Simon Peter, and the other disciple is unnamed.

When John sees Jesus walk by, he says, “Look, here is the Lamb of God!” Andrew and the other disciple hear what John says, and they immediately begin following Jesus.

When Jesus turns and sees them them following, he says to them, “What are you looking for?” They ask him, “Rabbi, where are you staying?” He says to them, “Come and see.”

It’s such a simple invitation, isn’t it?

Jesus offers no further instructions or explanations. All he says to the two disciples is, “Come and see.”

I think it’s his way of saying, “I could tell you, but it would be better if I showed you.”

If we skip ahead a little bit in the first chapter of John, we hear a story vey similar to the one we just heard. Philip finds Nathanael and offers him the same invitation that Jesus gives to the disciples in today’s Gospel lesson.

Philip tells Nathanael, “We have found him about whom Moses in the law and also the prophets wrote, Jesus son of Joseph from Nazareth.” Doubtful about Philip’s claim, Nathanael asks him, “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?”

“Come and see,” Philip says.

As Episcopalians, we love this invitation, don’t we? It’s only three words long, which is perfect because anything longer than that might be asking just a little too much!

All joking aside, I think the real reason why we love this invitation so much is because it speaks to who we are as followers of Jesus.

When we invite others to experience the beauty of our tradition in the Episcopal Church, we could easily tell them about all the wonderful things we do as a community of faith and all the things we love most about being Episcopalian.

We could tell them about our love for the liturgy and the beautiful traditions that make our worship so meaningful.

We could tell them about our desire to be active in the community and present to the needs of others.

We could tell them about how much we love good food and fellowship and spending time with each other.

Or, we could show them all these things by inviting them to “come and see” what we’re up to in our little corner of God’s Kingdom here at St. Mary’s.

We could invite them to come and experience for themselves the joy and love and peace that we experience each week as we come together to praise and worship God and to recommit our lives to serving God and God’s people.

“Come and see” is our way of doing evangelism in the Episcopal Church. It’s our way of showing others who we are and inviting them to join with us in walking the way of love.

You would think that, with such a simple invitation, we’d be perfectly comfortable talking about evangelism, but for most of us, that couldn’t be further from the truth. In fact, even mentioning the word “evangelism” causes many of us to respond in a negative way.

I think a lot of that has to do with past experiences we might’ve had in other places. Perhaps you had someone who was just a little too eager to get you to come to their church or convert you to their denomination.

Perhaps you had someone whose idea of evangelism involved shoving their beliefs down your throat or making you feel guilty about not going to church.

Maybe you’ve encountered a street corner preacher or two who told you that, if you don’t believe in God or if you don’t get your life straight with God, you’re going to end up burning in hell for all eternity.

Beloved, I can’t stress this enough. None of the examples that I just mentioned have anything to do with evangelism or inviting others to follow the way of Jesus. In fact, I’d say they’re really good examples of what not to do.

Jesus had no desire to force anyone or guilt anyone into believing a certain way. He came in order to teach us a new and better way to live with the hope that we would listen to what he had to say and follow his example.

Jesus had no desire to establish a new religion or to force religion on anyone. He came, not to abolish the old covenant, but to fulfill it, and he did this by teaching his followers the two greatest commandments of all—love God and love your neighbor. “On these two commandments,’ Jesus said, “hang all the law and the prophets.”

Jesus had no desire to condemn other people. He came, not to condemn the world, but to save it. His invitation to his first followers was, “Come and see.” 

Do you see where I’m going with all of this?

A lot of the preconceived ideas that we have about evangelism are wrong. In the truest sense of the word, evangelism is about spreading the Good News of God in Christ, and it really is good news. The word “evangelism” comes from the Greek word, euangelion, which literally mean “good news.”

Evangelism is about being witnesses to the transforming power of God’s love in our lives and inviting others to experience it as well so that all of us may go out and share that love with the world. One way we can do the work of evangelism here at St. Mary’s is by inviting others to “come and see” what God is up to, here and now, in our own lives and in the life of this community.

Several years ago, I had the opportunity to go to a wonderful conference on evangelism sponsored by the Episcopal Church. On the first night of the conference, I had the privilege of hearing our Presiding Bishop, Michael Curry, preach a wonderful sermon. By the way, if you’ve never heard a sermon of his, I encourage you to go online and listen. You’ll be glad you did.

At one point in his sermon, he talked about the people in our lives who took the time to reach out to us and share with us stories about how God was at work in their lives, people who welcomed us into the Church and supported us in our journeys with Christ.  In his sermon that evening, Bishop Curry told us, “None of us would be here tonight if it weren’t for the evangelists in our lives.”

He was absolutely right.

Think about it for a moment.

For those of us who didn’t grow up in the church—myself included—where would we be if it weren’t for that person who invited us to attend a worship service or to help out with a ministry at church? Where would we be without that person who said to us, “Come and see”?

Even if you were born into the Christian faith and never left the Church, I’m sure there are still people who supported you along the way and served as examples of how to walk with Jesus.

This is why the ministry of evangelism is so important and why we don’t need to be afraid to talk about it. There are so many people beyond our walls who are hungry for good news and searching for a place where they can truly feel loved and accepted.

St. Mary’s can be that community. And, if we’re ready and willing to step out of our comfort zones and extend the invitation, we have the ability to help change lives.

Through our baptism in Christ, we’ve been anointed by the Holy Spirit to do this work. In the words of the prophet Isaiah, we’ve been anointed “to bring good news to the poor, “to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free,” and “to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.”

“Come and see,” Jesus says. This is the invitation Jesus has for each of us, but it’s also the invitation Jesus has for us to share with the world. Amen.

A Sermon for the First Sunday after the Epiphany: The Baptism of our Lord
January 8, 2023

Text: Matthew 3:13-17

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.

Good morning, St. Mary’s! I can’t tell you how long I’ve been waiting to say those words. In some ways, I think I’ve been waiting my whole life, as if God has been leading me and my family—and all of us—to this very moment.

My wife, Chelsea, and I have been talking a lot during this whole transition process about how much all of this just feels right. Do you know what I mean by that? Have you ever had that feeling where everything just seems to fall into place in the way it was meant to be?

That’s what this whole experience has felt like for our family, and a lot of that is because of you and the amount of love and support you’ve already shown us since we accepted the call to come back home to Andalusia and to serve here at St. Mary’s.

It feels right to be here, in this time and in this place, and it feels really good to be back home. They say that “home is where the heart is,” and I can tell you, my brothers and sisters, that our hearts are already filled with an overwhelming sense of joy and peace in being here with you.

So, thank you for going through this time of discernment with us. Thank you for listening for God’s voice and for trusting in the process. Thank you for your generous hospitality and for welcoming us into your parish family. We’re so excited to begin this new journey with you and to see where the Holy Spirit leads us in our shared ministries together.

Today marks the beginning of something new here at St. Mary’s—a new chapter, full of new hopes and new possibilities—and to me, it seems especially appropriate on our first Sunday together that we hear the story of our Lord’s baptism at the River Jordan.

In our Gospel lesson this morning from Matthew—which immediately follows the proclamation of John the Baptist, foretelling the coming of the Messiah—Jesus makes his way from Galilee, seeking to be baptized by John. At first, John is hesitant to comply with Jesus’ request, but Jesus responds, “Let it be so now; for it is proper for us in this way to fulfill all righteousness.”

So, John baptizes Jesus, and as he’s coming up out of the water, he sees the heavens open up and the Spirit of the Lord descending upon him like a dove, and he hears a voice from heaven declare, “This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.”

I have to admit that I’ve always been a little puzzled by this part of Jesus’ life.

Because if Jesus is the Messiah—the anointed one, and if he’s truly who we claim him to be—the Son of God, then why on earth would he need to be baptized?

Why would he have to go through the same ritual we go through for the forgiveness of sins and the hope of everlasting life with God?

Well, the truth is that Jesus didn’t need to receive the baptism of John.

And he didn’t ask to be baptized to impress anyone or to gain anything for himself. Quite the opposite.

Jesus made the choice to be baptized for us.

He humbled himself and submitted to the ritual cleansing of baptism in order to show us that the life of faith in God begins with a choice.

God gives us the freedom to choose how we’ll live our lives.

Will we live only for ourselves? Or, will we recognize the fact that we were created in God’s image in order to serve a higher purpose?

Will we be so consumed with our own wellbeing that we ignore the needs and concerns of those around us? Or, will we recognize the fact that we’re all connected and that each of us is worthy of God’s love and grace?

These are the questions we must ask ourselves, over and over again, because the life of faith really is the journey of a lifetime. And it all begins with Baptism.

Through the waters of Baptism, we are buried with Christ in his death and raised to newness of life. Baptism is our way of responding to God’s love for us and saying “yes” to God’s call. When we make the choice to be baptized (or when that choice is made on our behalf as infants and young children), what we’re really doing is making a promise to live our lives a particular way—to follow in the way of Jesus—the way of self-giving, sacrificial love.

Jesus demonstrates this kind of love throughout his entire life and ministry, and all of it begins with his baptism at the Jordan River.

The story of Jesus’ baptism always reminds me of my own, which actually took place several years ago at the beginning of my senior year at Auburn. Chelsea and I had been attending St. Dunstan’s Episcopal Church for about a year when Father Wells, the priest at the time, discovered that I had never been baptized.

One evening, he asked me if I would be interested in being baptized at the annual beach retreat in September, and I quickly responded by saying, “Yes, I would love to be baptized.”

Having grown up without being involved in church or being connected to a faith community, I had always felt that there was something important missing from my life, but when Chelsea and I first discovered St. Dunstan’s and the Episcopal Church, that feeling quickly began to fade. As soon as we walked through those tall, red doors of the church, we knew we had found something special at St. Dunstan’s. We had found a spiritual home and a place where could truly belong. And, most importantly, we found a group of people who opened their arms to us, who loved us and accepted us for who we were, no questions asked.

Well, the time for the beach retreat finally came. We drove down to Fort Morgan, Alabama, over Labor Day weekend and spent the entire time playing games; having epic dance parties; participating in deep, meaningful conversations; and getting to know each other a little better. On Sunday morning, we woke up early and got ready for the baptism service. It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining, and the emerald green waters of the gulf were particularly clear. We gathered together on the beach for worship, and when the time came for the baptism part of the service, we waded out into the water together carrying old, tattered copies of the Prayer Book. All of our friends from church surrounded me and Father Wells in a large circle, and in that moment, I felt God’s love in a way that I had never experienced before. For the first time in my life, I felt as though I had ben lifted up and called to fulfill a greater purpose.

On that day, I was baptized in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit and marked as Christ’s own forever. It was truly, as St. Paul might say, a “fullness of time” moment—a moment when God’s presence became as close as a breath to me and to everyone else who was there.

I wanted to share this story with you today for a couple of reasons.

First, I want you to know who I am and where I’ve been, and the story of my baptism is an important part of that. It was the beginning of my journey with Christ, and it changed my life in more ways than I could’ve ever imagined.

But the second reason is even more important.

I want you to know that, through the sacrament of Baptism, we are all connected as members of Christ’s Body, and we all share in Christ’s eternal priesthood. What that means is that, yes, I wear a collar and have a specific role to play as a priest in the Church. But, all of us, by virtue of our baptism in Christ, are called to work together in the building up of God’s Kingdom. Clergy aren’t any more important than the laity. We all have a part to play in the work we’ve been called to do as the Body of Christ.

I know the past few years have been challenging, especially with the absence of a full-time priest and the limitations caused by the pandemic. Many of you have already shared with me your concerns and frustrations. But, you’ve also shared with me your hopes and dreams for the future of St. Mary’s, which tells me that you’re eager and excited to begin something new.

I’m excited as well, and I’m so thankful to begin this new journey with you. I truly believe that our parish is at a point now where we can begin to experience new life and new growth. My challenge for you—on this First Sunday after the Epiphany—is to begin thinking about how the Spirit may be leading you to serve. What are some new ways that you can give your time to St. Mary’s? What are some ways that you can volunteer so that the love of God in Christ may be known to even more people in our community? I encourage you to carry these questions with you in prayer, and if you need someone to talk to about it, I’m happy to help.

In a few moments, we’re going to take some time to renew the solemn vows and promises which we made in Baptism. I think it’s a wonderful way for us to begin our ministry together. As we come to each part of the Baptismal Covenant, remember this statement:

We’re in this together. 

Say that with me. We’re in this together. You and I, priest and parish, clergy and laity—called by God to work together for the sake of the Gospel. We are the beloved of God, and each of us has been empowered by the Holy Spirit to share God’s love with the world. May God grant us the strength, courage, and wisdom we need to remain faithful in our calling. Amen.

A Sermon for Good Friday
April 15, 2022

Text: John 18:1-19:42

Now, O Lord, take my lips, and speak with 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.

During the evening hours of November 14, 1940, Nazi Germany sent more than five hundred bombers to raid the English city of Coventry. “The Coventry Blitz”, as it’s often called, lasted over ten hours, leaving more than five hundred dead, 2,300 homes destroyed, and the town’s Gothic cathedral in ruins.

During the raid, many people in the town worked hard to try and save the cathedral from being totally lost in the flames, but they were unsuccessful. In the end, the only parts of the building still standing were the tower, the spire, and the outer wall. Everything else burned to the ground.

In the aftermath of the attack, the Provost of Coventry Cathedral, the Very Reverend Richard Howard, had two words inscribed on the wall behind the altar of the ruined building.

“Father, forgive.”

Notice that the inscription wasn’t “Father, forgive them.” Just “Father, forgive.” The Provost realized in that moment that the only way to break the endless cycle of violence and retribution was to choose love over hate. He made a commitment, not to seek revenge against those who were responsible for the bombing, but to seek peace and reconciliation. He understood that the only way to move forward was to acknowledge the fact that all of us are in need of forgiveness. All of us, no matter who we are or what we’ve done or left undone, need to be forgiven.

Coventry Cathedral was eventually rebuilt, but the ruins of the old, Gothic structure still remain to this day. Behind the altar lies a cross that was made out of two burned, wooden beams from the fallen building, and on the wall, directly behind the cross, are the words, “Father, forgive” etched in stone—a solemn reminder of the commitment made long ago to seek forgiveness over vengeance.

In the years that’ve passed since the end of World War II, the cathedral has become an international symbol of reconciliation. The words, “Father, forgive” are now used as the response in a Litany of Reconciliation that’s prayed at noon every weekday at the cathedral. The litany serves as a reminder to all of us that when we pray for the needs and concerns of the world around us, we also need to pray for ourselves, to confess that we’ve fallen short of our own call to love and serve, including those who’ve hurt us and caused us pain.

My brothers and sisters, that’s what it means to walk the way of the cross with Jesus—to empty one’s self and to strip away those things in our lives that are weighing us down and keeping us from experiencing true joy and true peace with God.

Our natural response to those who hurt us is to hurt them right back. We want them to suffer just as much as we’ve suffered. We want them to pay for the harm they’ve inflicted upon us. “An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth,” as we read in the Hebrew Scriptures. But, Jesus teaches us another way, a more loving and compassionate way. Jesus teaches us to choose love over hate—to forgive even our worst enemies.

That’s a tall order, isn’t it?

If you’re like me, it’s much easier to hang on to hatred and resentment than to forgive those who’ve caused so much pain and suffering in the world. On this Good Friday, in particular, I can’t help but think about the modern-day atrocities being committed in Ukraine. How can we, as people of faith, possibly forgive those who are responsible for bringing such violence and destruction to a country that simply wants to live in peace? How can we possibly love those who seek to kill innocent people? 

Where do we even begin?

To tell you the truth, I’m not really sure. But, I do know one thing.

Jesus is the way.

In those moments when we’re unsure of where we’re going or what we’re being called to do, Jesus is the way.

In those moments when fear begins to creep in and all hope seems lost, Jesus is the way.

In those moments when the pain and suffering of the world seem too much to bear, Jesus is the way.

As Christians, we put all our hope and all our faith in the one who laid down his life for us and offered himself as a sacrifice for the whole world. We put all our hope and all our faith in the one who teaches us that the way of the cross—the way of self-giving, sacrificial love—is the path to new and abundant life with God.

Through our Lord’s passion and death, we’ve come to know what perfect love looks like.

In John’s account of the passion narrative, which we heard just a few moments ago, Jesus is arrested and taken to Pilate’s headquarters, where he’s given every opportunity to tell the Roman governor exactly what he wants to hear. Pilate has the power to save him from the cross. He even says to Jesus at one point, “Do you not know that I have power to release you, and power to crucify you?”

All Jesus has to do is give up and admit he’s made a terrible mistake in challenging the way things are. All he has to do is surrender to the fear and say, “This is a burden too heavy for one man to bear.” But, Jesus refuses to walk away. He knows what he must do. Rather than choosing to save himself from the pain and degradation of the cross, Jesus keeps going, all the way to Calvary.

And, he dies so that we may live.

Maybe through this holy mystery of our Lord’s passion and death, we can begin to understand the importance of giving up our selves so that others may come to know the love of God in Christ through us.

Maybe that’s how we learn to forgive, even our worst enemies—by remembering the sacrifice Jesus made on our behalf. This isn’t a day of mourning. It’s a day for reconciliation, a day when we’re invited to gather up all the fears and concerns of the world around us and offer them up to God, trusting that, even now, God is making all things new.

In closing, I’d like for us to pray the Litany of Reconciliation from Coventry Cathedral. While we pray the litany,  remember the cross of Christ and the sacrifice Jesus made for all of us. Hold in your hearts the people of this world who suffer from any fear of violence, oppression, and discrimination. Think about the people in your lives who need to be forgiven, and consider the ways in which you also need to be forgiven. I’ll say each line of the litany, and in response, we’ll say together, “Father forgive.”

Let us pray.   

All have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God.

The hatred which divides nation from nation, race from race, class from class,
Father, forgive.

The covetous desires of people and nations to possess what is not their own,
Father, forgive.

The greed which exploits the work of human hands and lays waste the earth,
Father, forgive.

Our envy of the welfare and happiness of others,
Father, forgive.

Our indifference to the plight of the imprisoned, the homeless, the refugee,
Father, forgive.

The lust which dishonours the bodies of men, women and children,
Father, forgive.

The pride which leads us to trust in ourselves and not in God,
Father, forgive.

Be kind to one another, tender-hearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you.

Amen.