A Sermon for Maundy Thursday
April 14, 2022

Text: John 13:1-17, 31b-35

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.

In one of the daily meditations I’ve been reading during Lent, I was recently reminded of a phrase that is so simple, yet so profound. “Let go, and let God.”

Have you ever heard that saying before? You probably have at one time or another. I’ve heard it countless times, but up until recently, I didn’t know where it actually came from. I was surprised to discover that it originated in Alcoholics Anonymous and is a paraphrase of the third step in the twelve-step process to recovery.

These twelve steps, by the way, are listed and discussed in great detail in a book that’s commonly referred to as “The Big Book,” which was originally published in 1939. It’s the primary text for those in recovery, and its purpose is to share how the first hundred people who participated in the program came to be sober. The third step states that they “made a decision to turn [their] will and [their] lives over to the care of God as [they] understood Him.”

In other words, those first hundred souls in A.A. who successfully found a way to move forward in their lives, despite the debilitating challenges they faced, made the choice to “Let go, and let God.” They made the choice to to let go of their need for control and allow God to bring healing and wholeness in their lives.

Now, I’m not an alcoholic, and thankfully, I’ve never had to participate in any form of twelve-step program. I’ve never known what it feels like to suffer through an addiction.

But, I do know what it feels like to suffer pain. And, I know what it feels like to be desperate for healing.

It’s something we all share. All of us, no matter who we are or what we’ve experienced in our lives, know what it feels like to be trapped under the weight of our own suffering and desperate for healing and renewal. If you think about it for a moment, you can probably come up with a whole list of ways that you or those around you have experienced pain or loss.

Perhaps you’ve known what it feels like to experience the sudden death of a loved one and struggled to cope with the overwhelming grief that follows.

Perhaps you’ve known what it feels like to come to the end of a broken relationship and struggled to move on.

Perhaps you’ve known what it feels like to have a crisis of faith and struggled to find God in the midst of it all.

Perhaps you’ve known what hopelessness feels like and struggled to find a sense of purpose in your life.

Or, perhaps you’ve known what it feels like to hurt someone you love and struggled to forgive yourself for the pain you’ve caused.

If you’ve experienced any of these things or if any of them sound remotely familiar, you’re not alone. The good news, dear friends, is that God has the power to redeem our suffering, to take the broken and shattered pieces of our lives and make us whole again. It may not happen in the ways we expect, and it may not happen as quickly as we would like, but God is always there, working in us and through us in more ways than we can imagine. God has the power to raise us up, to bring us out of death into new and abundant life with God.

That’s what the next three days are all about.

The time between Maundy Thursday and the Great Vigil of Easter on Saturday night—which we often refer to as the Triduum Sacrum (meaning “three sacred days”)—is holy time. It’s the time when we take special care to remember in full detail exactly what it is that God did for us and what God continues to do for us through the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ. Over the next three days, we’ll be reminded once again of the great lengths God will take in order to restore us and make us whole again.

But, in order for God to redeem our suffering and bring healing and wholeness to our lives, we have to be willing, as they say, to “let go, and let God.”

Or, to put it another way, we have to be willing to let go of those things in our lives that are standing between us and God and allow God’s redeeming love, like the waters of baptism, to wash over us and make us new.

What is it that you need to let go of in order to experience new life with God?

Maybe you’re like Peter in our Gospel lesson this evening from John, who struggles with “letting go and letting God” by refusing to have his feet washed by Jesus. When Jesus comes to Peter to wash his feet, Peter says to him, “You will never wash my feet.” In the back of his mind, he might’ve thought to himself, “That’s the work of a house servant. Jesus can’t wash my feet. That would be out of line and socially unacceptable.”

But, Jesus says to Peter, “Unless I wash you, you have no share with me.”

Jesus is urging Peter to let go. “Let go, Peter,” Jesus might’ve whispered into his ear. “Let go of what you think you know. Let go of what’s holding you back. Open your heart to new ideas and new possibilities. See that I’m about to do a new thing. Allow me to wash your feet. Learn from my example. Love and serve others as I’ve taught you to do. By this, everyone will know that you are my disciple.”

In order to share in the servant ministry of Christ and learn what it means to love as God loves, Peter must first let go and allow himself to experience God’s love firsthand.

So, I ask you again. What is it that you need to let go of? What is it that you need to leave at the foot of the cross in order for God to do a new thing in your life? I invite you and encourage you to consider this question, especially as we continue our walk with Christ over the next few days. With God, new life is always possible, but in order to experience it, we must first be willing to “let go, and let God.” Amen.

A Sermon for the Fourth Sunday after the Epiphany (Year C)
January 30, 2022

Text: 1 Corinthians 13:1-13

I speak to you in the name of our loving, liberating, and life-giving God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

Have you ever seen those short, black and white, “Coffee with Jesus” comic strips on Facebook? Do you know the ones I’m talking about? If you’re not on Facebook or you have no idea what I’m talking about, that’s okay. But, if you are on Facebook and friends with at least a few other Episcopalians, you might’ve come across these at some point. These short comics feature a modern-day Jesus with long, dark hair and a beard. He’s usually pictured wearing a suit and tie and holding a cup of coffee while he has a casual conversation with one or two other characters.

New comic strips come out every few days or so and are created by a group called Radio Free Babylon. They’re usually light-hearted and funny, but they also tend to be very thought-provoking, using humor and sarcasm to illustrate deep, theological points about God and our relationship with God.

A few years ago, I came across a particular “Coffee with Jesus” that’s stuck with me until now, mostly because of the title. It was called, “Jesus Isn’t Your Mascot.” In the short comic strip, Jesus is having a chat with a friendly priest named Joe.  

At the beginning of the comic, Father Joe says to Jesus, “I want my people to be rooted, in touch, involved Jesus. I’m seeing a lot of…how do I put this…superficiality.”

Jesus replies to Joe, “Let’s do a football-themed sermon for Super Bowl Sunday, Joe. ‘Jesus Isn’t Your Mascot.’”

Father Joe then begins to rattle off some potential one-liners that he might use in a football-themed sermon, saying, “‘He’s the quarterback, coach, recruiter, and GM! He’s the Greatest of All Time!’” 

Continuing on, Jesus says to Joe, “‘And he wants you on the team and in the game.’ Man, this thing is writing itself.”

See what I mean? Funny but also thought-provoking.

“Jesus isn’t your mascot.” That’s a great line, isn’t it? I think what the writers of the comic strip were trying to convey is that Jesus wants his followers to be more than just fans watching the game from the sidelines. Jesus wants us to be “all in,” committed to the work we’ve been called to do in the building up God’s Kingdom. He wants us to be active participants in our faith, living our lives each day according to his commandments. It’s one thing for us to say that we love and follow Jesus; it’s another thing entirely for us to demonstrate our love for Jesus by loving others the same way he loves us.

In our readings for today, we heard that beautiful and poetic passage from Paul’s First Letter to the Corinthians that many of us know so well, especially those of us who’ve been to our fair share of church weddings over the years. Paul writes in his first letter to the church in Corinth, “Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends.”

I really do love this passage from 1 Corinthians, and I’m so thankful that it shows up in our Sunday lectionary. Not only does it hold a special meaning for me and for all those who’ve used it in their wedding ceremonies, but it also speaks to us about the love of God and the particular kind of love that God calls us to share with our brothers and sisters.

In the Greek-speaking world of the first century, there were actually several words that could be used to describe the different forms of love. There were four, in particular. The first type of love was storge, or family love. You might describe this kind of love as the love that siblings share with each other or the love that children have for their parents.

The second type of love was eros, or romantic love. This is the love shared between two people when they claim to be “in love” with each other.

The third type of love was philia, also known as brotherly love. You might think of this as the kind of love that two close friends would share, the kind of love that produces deep bonds of affection.

And, the last type of love was agape, or Godly love. Agape love is the kind of love that Jesus demonstrated on the cross when he laid down his life for all of us. It’s the kind of love that doesn’t come naturally because it requires us to give up ourselves for “the other,” to think not only of our own well-being but also for the well-being of others. It’s the kind of love that is self-giving, not self-serving. The author of John’s Gospel used the word agape when he wrote these well-known words of Jesus: “For God so loved the world—for God so agaped the world—that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believed in him may not perish but may have eternal life.”

I’m sorry if this disappoints you, but in our lesson this morning from 1 Corinthians, Paul isn’t writing about romantic love, like we might assume based upon its popularity during wedding season. And, he isn’t writing about family love or brotherly love, either. He’s writing about agape love. He’s writing about the unconditional, sacrificial love of God that all of us are called to share with the world, a love that has the power to tear down any walls that might divide us. With that kind of love in mind, listen to the passage again, and consider what it might mean for those of us who’ve made the choice to follow Jesus and pattern our lives on his teaching: “Agape is patient; agape is kind; agape is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. Agape does not insist on its own way; agape is not irritable or resentful; agape does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth. Agape bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Agape never ends.”

In his book, The Four Loves, C.S. Lewis describes agape love (or charity, as he preferred to call it) as the highest level of love known to humanity—a selfless love, a love that is passionately committed to the well being of “the other.” Agape love doesn’t discriminate, and it seeks nothing in return. It’s a love that knows no boundaries or limits, a love that is open to every person. No questions asked. 

Jesus isn’t our mascot, but he is the example that we strive to imitate, our master teacher. He is “the way, the truth, and the life,” and through his ministry and example, we know what it means to be loved unconditionally by God. Jesus wants us “on the team” and “in the game.” He doesn’t want us to passively sit back and watch as others do all the work for us. He wants us—all of us, here and now—to join him in bringing agape love, the unconditional, self-giving love of God, to this broken world in which we live.

I want to leave you this morning with the words to the ancient, Latin hymn, Ubi caritas, which is traditionally sung on the night of Maundy Thursday—the Thursday before Easter—to remind us of the servant ministry of Christ. I think it’s especially appropriate today as we consider what it means to live in agape love, to live in charity, as Jesus has taught us. May these words give us wisdom and strength, and may they be our prayer as we go forth into the world to love and serve others.

Let us pray:

Where charity and love are, God is there.
Christ’s love has gathered us into one.
Let us rejoice and be pleased in Him.
Let us fear, and let us love the living God.
And may we love each other with a sincere heart.

Where charity and love are, God is there.
As we are gathered into one body,
Beware, lest we be divided in mind.
Let evil impulses stop, let controversy cease,
And may Christ our God be in our midst.

Where charity and love are, God is there.
And may we with the saints also,
See Thy face in glory, O Christ our God:
The joy that is immense and good,
Unto the ages through infinite ages.

Amen.

A Sermon for the First Sunday after the Epiphany: The Baptism of our Lord
January 9, 2022

Text: Luke 3:15-17, 21-22

I speak to you in the name of our loving, liberating, and life-giving God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

Two weeks ago, on the day after Christmas, the world mourned as we said goodbye to Archbishop Desmond Tutu. The archbishop was ninety years old when he passed away at his home in Cape Town. As most of you probably know already, Desmond Tutu was an instrumental figure in the struggle to tear down the system of apartheid in South Africa, which finally came to an end in the early 1990s. He was also an advocate for peaceful reconciliation in the years that followed. Under the leadership of Nelson Mandela, Archbishop Tutu served as the chairman of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission, which was established in order to bring healing to the country and offer a way forward. He was committed to the idea of restorative justice and believed that the only path to true peace and reconciliation—after decades of violence and oppression under apartheid—was by seeking the truth and offering forgiveness to those who were responsible.

Even though he’s no longer with us, I’m so thankful for the life and ministry of Desmond Tutu and for all he taught us about how to love others and offer mercy in the name of Jesus Christ. Our Presiding Bishop, Michael Curry, offered these words shortly after his death: “While on this earth, he sought to follow Jesus of Nazareth in God’s way of love and life. In so doing, he showed us how to live God’s dream as children of the one God and creator of all. So, even in our sorrow that he is no longer walking among us, we can thank God that he did.”

I’ll always remember Desmond Tutu as the first person who taught me, through his writing, that all of us—no matter who we are or what we’ve done or left undone—are completely and unconditionally loved by the God who created us. We were loved into being and formed in the image and likeness of God. In his book, Made for Goodness—which he co-authored with his daughter, Mpho—the archbishop wrote, “From the time before eternity our God has awaited each birth with love and delight. ‘Before I formed you in the womb I knew you’ is the word of God to the Hebrew prophet Jeremiah. It is equally God’s word to each of us. Before the ‘Let there be…’ of creation, before God breathed Adam’s first breath, God knew us and God loved us. God loves each of us as though there were no one else in the world, as though there were only one person to love. We are so precious to God that, as Jesus reminds us in the pages of Matthew’s Gospel, ‘even the hairs of your head are all counted.’”

It’s almost unimaginable, isn’t it, that God loves us so perfectly and so completely, without reservation or condition. Our whole lives, we’ve been taught that, in order to succeed in life and be loved by others, we have to earn it. We have to do certain things or behave a certain way or change our appearance in order to be loved and accepted by those around us.

But, not with God. We are God’s beloved, God’s possession—loved from before time and forevermore. In our lesson this morning from Isaiah, the prophet writes, “Thus says the Lord, he who created you, O Jacob, he who formed you, O Israel: Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine.” In other words, dear friends, God has claimed each of us as his own, and there’s nothing we can do or say that will ever change that.

Today is the First Sunday after the Epiphany, the day when we celebrate the Baptism of our Lord. On this day, we recall the story of our Lord’s baptism at the Jordan River by John the Baptist. It’s important that we take time to remember this part of Jesus’ life. Not only does it signal the beginning of his public ministry, but I think it also helps us better understand the significance of baptism and the role it plays in our journey with Christ.

In today’s Gospel reading, soon after Jesus receives the baptism of John, the heavens are opened and the Holy Spirit descends upon him in the form of a dove. Then, Jesus hears a voice from heaven say to him, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.”

On the surface, this passage could easily be interpreted as God’s response to Jesus and his decision to be baptized.  When you consider the order of events, the voice from heaven doesn’t call out to Jesus until after he’s baptized.

But, I don’t see it that way. I don’t see this passage as a response from God, as if God’s love for Jesus somehow depends upon whether or not he’s baptized. Rather, I see it as an acknowledgement—a declaration from heaven—claiming Jesus as God’s own. I see it as God’s way of saying to Jesus, “I’ve known you and loved you since before time, and I’ll continue to know you and love you forever.” Jesus’ baptism is an acknowledgement of something that began long before he ever made the choice to be baptized.

We often think of Baptism as something we do in the Church that changes us in some way, and I think that’s true. Baptism is the sacrament of new birth. In the water of Baptism, we are buried with Christ in his death. By it, we share in his resurrection. Through it, we are reborn by the Holy Spirit. We are changed in the sense that the old way of sin and death has passed away and a new creation has been raised up.

But, in another sense, we’re the same as we always have been. Since before time, we were known and loved by God. Baptism is a way for us to acknowledge our belovedness and make the choice to live more fully into who God created us to be as God’s children. This is why the liturgy for Baptism includes a series of questions and answers for those who are choosing to be baptized and why we join with them in renewing our own baptismal vows. They help guide us and keep us on track. They remind us of who we are as the beloved of God. They remind us, in the words of Desmond Tutu, that we were “made for goodness.”

In just a few moments, we’ll take some time to renew the solemn vows and promises of Holy Baptism. As you say the words, think about the voice from heaven who spoke to Jesus, saying, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.” That same voice continues to speak to each of us, calling us by name into a deeper and more meaningful relationship with God.

I’d like to end my sermon this morning by sharing with you some final words from Desmond Tutu. These words come from the last two pages of his book, Made for Goodness, and are written from the perspective of God, speaking to his beloved—

You are my child,
My beloved.
With you I am well pleased.
Stand beside me and see yourself,
Borrow my eyes so you can see perfectly.
When you look with my eyes then you will see
That the wrong you have done and the good left undone,
The words you have said that should not have been spoken,
The words you should have spoken but left unsaid,
The hurts you have caused,
The help you’ve not given
Are not the whole of the story of you.
You are not defined by what you did not achieve.
Your worth is not determined by success.
You were priceless before you drew your first breath,
Beautiful before dress or artifice,
Good at the core.

And now is time for unveiling
The goodness that is hidden behind the fear of failing.
You shout down your impulse to kindness in case it is shunned,
You suck in your smile,
You smother your laughter,
You hold back the hand that would help.
You crush your indignation
When you see people wronged or in pain
In case all you can do is not enough,
In case you cannot fix the fault,
In case you cannot soothe the searing,
In case you cannot make it right.
What does it matter if you do not make it right?
What does it matter if your efforts move no mountains?
It matters not at all.
It only matters that you live the truth of you.
It only matters that you push back the veil to let your goodness shine through.
It only matters that you live as I have made you.
It only matters that you are made for me,
Made like me,
Made for goodness.

Amen.

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A video of this sermon can be found by clicking on the link below, beginning at the 20:50 mark.

https://www.facebook.com/holyspiritalabaster/videos/1103164360501619

A Sermon for the Epiphany of our Lord Jesus Christ
Thursday, January 6, 2022

Text: Matthew 2:1-12

I speak to you in the name of our loving, liberating, and life-giving God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

Back in November, a new exhibit opened up at the convention center in downtown Birmingham, featuring the work of the renowned Dutch painter, Vincent Van Gogh. Some of you may have heard about it or saw it advertised. It was entitled, “Beyond Van Gogh: An Immersive Experience.” When it was first announced that the traveling exhibit would be coming to Birmingham, it was described as a “sensory extravaganza,” a way for participants to immerse themselves in the work of Van Gogh and experience it in a way they never have before through the use of video projectors, narrations, and music.

After it opened, I started seeing countless friends on Facebook post pictures and offer glowing reviews of their time at the exhibit. So, as a surprise Christmas gift to Chelsea, I decided to purchase tickets for us to go and experience it for ourselves. And, I’m so glad I did, because we both had a wonderful time.

When we arrived, the first thing we walked through was the Education Room, which featured a series of displays, offering various quotes from Van Gogh’s writing and interesting bits of information about his life and body of work. Then, we came to the Waterfall Room, which featured beautiful, cascading lights and colors and served as a segue between the Education Room and the main part of the exhibit—the Immersion Room.

In the Immersion Room, Van Gogh’s art came to life, and we were captivated. Not only were his paintings projected on the walls and floor, but they also featured motion and animation. Each scene flowed together beautifully with seamless transitions. In this room, we got to see over three hundred of Van Gogh’s paintings, everything from self-portraits and colorful flowers to beautiful landscapes and his most iconic works.

Perhaps our favorite part of the presentation came toward the end when everything around us faded into a dark, evening sky, and Van Gogh’s Starry Night began to appear. At first, it appeared as nothing more than a series of swirling waves of yellow light, moving in a circular motion. Then, gradually, after a few moments of waiting, the features of Van Gogh’s painting came into full focus. Everything was there that we’ve come to know and love about Starry Night. If you’re familiar with the work and you close your eyes, you can probably picture it.

The stark contrast between the blue, swirling sky and the village beneath it.

The moon and the white and gold stars, which seem to almost radiate with circular waves of light.

The church in the center of the village with its spire reaching toward heaven and the tall, cypress tree standing in the foreground.

The experience of seeing it so full of life and feeling as though we were standing inside this strange but beautiful world that the artist created was a very special moment for both of us, one that we won’t soon forget.

Earlier this week, as I was reading our Gospel lesson for this evening, I couldn’t help to stop and think about the experience of seeing Van Gogh’s masterpiece come to life and wonder if that’s what it might have been like—at least to some degree—for those wise men from the East who traveled great distances to visit and pay homage to the newborn King in Bethlehem. I couldn’t help to stop and think about the swirling night sky and the motion of the stars in the painting and wonder if those visitors from far away might’ve witnessed something similar when they saw that great star in the sky and dared to step out and follow it to unknown lands. I wonder if their experience of being led by the star might’ve felt a bit like stepping into a strange new world, full of new hope and new possibilities.

I wonder, because it seems to me that those three wise men must have been captivated by what they witnessed in the night sky. Why else would they have followed? Perhaps it was much more than what we often see depicted in scenes of the Nativity—just a single, solitary star, standing completely still. Perhaps it appeared to them as swirling waves of light, full of life and motion, directing them where to go.

Or, maybe I’m letting my imagination go wild. I’m not sure.

But, I like to think that the God we worship is a God who is always in a state of motion, leading us to where we’re being called to go as God’s people. We see examples of this all throughout the Scriptures, especially in the life and ministry of Jesus, who never stays in the same place for any long period of time. Jesus and his disciples are always on the move, traveling from place to place, spreading the Good News of God’s redeeming love.

To me, that’s why the Feast of the Epiphany is so important. It reminds us that God’s love is always on the move, leading us to places and people we might least expect. On this feast day, we celebrate the love of God in Christ breaking forth into the world so that all who come to know and love him may experience the abundant life that God desires for all of us—not just some of us. So, like those wise men from the East who followed the star to Bethlehem and dared to step out and venture into the unknown, let us be renewed in our commitment to walk in faith, trusting that God is always moving with us. Amen.

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A video of this sermon can be found by clicking on the link below, beginning at the 25:00 mark.

https://www.facebook.com/holyspiritalabaster/videos/1870170363179357

A Sermon for the Nativity of our Lord Jesus Christ
Friday, December 24, 2021

Text: Luke 2:1-20

I speak to you in the name of our loving, liberating, and life-giving God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

A couple of weeks ago, Chelsea and I had the opportunity to finally do something we’ve been talking about doing for quite some time. We went to the historic, Alabama Theater in downtown Birmingham to watch a Christmas movie, just the two of us. This wasn’t just any Christmas movie, though. This was the beloved holiday classic, It’s a Wonderful Life, which celebrated its 75th anniversary this past Monday. It’s been seventy-five years since audiences first experienced the story of George Bailey, the main protagonist of the film and a character who serves as an example of self-giving, sacrificial love. On more than one occasion, George puts his own dreams and hopes for the future aside in order to help those around him, including friends, family members, and other members of the community.

Throughout the film, we learn that George lives a fairly comfortable life. He’s married to a woman who loves him very much, and he has four, beautiful children. He has a roof over his head, food on the dinner table, and a job with a steady income. But, as the film progresses, we learn that George’s life in Bedford Falls isn’t perfect.

Eventually, some unfortunate things start to happen. One day, Billy Bailey, George’s uncle, who works with him at the Building and Loan, goes to the bank in order to deposit a large sum of money. Billy becomes distracted and loses the money he’s supposed to deposit. When George finds out, he becomes infuriated, and in a moment of fear and desperation, he crawls to Mr. Potter, the head of the bank, to ask him for a loan to cover the missing deposit. The only thing George has to offer Mr. Potter as collateral for the loan is an insurance policy worth $15,000. The cruel banker laughs in George’s face and tells him, “You’re worth more dead than alive.” Then, he tells George that he’s calling the police to let them know about the missing money.

Well, if you’ve seen the film before, you’re already familiar with what happens next. This is where things start to get really interesting. George flees the bank and runs to a local bar. Feeling alone and afraid, he prays for God to send help but ends up getting even more frustrated and angry when he doesn’t receive the help that he wanted.

George is at the end of his rope. So, he goes to a nearby bridge in order to end his life, and just as he’s getting ready to jump off the bridge into the river, his guardian angel, Clarence, intervenes and jumps into the river first. Of course, George is unaware of who Clarence really is, but when he sees him struggling in the water, he jumps in and saves Clarence from drowning.

Later on, as the two are drying their clothes, Clarence reveals his identity to George. Of course, George doesn’t believe the angel, at least not at first. As the two continue their conversation, George comes to the conclusion that the people in his life would be better off without him. He makes a wish and tells Clarence, “I wish I’d never been born.” George’s wish sparks an idea with Clarence, and he decides to grant George’s wish. “Okay, you’ve got your wish,” Clarence says. “You’ve never been born.” George is given a very special gift—the chance to see what life in his hometown would be like if he had never existed. What follows is a series of unpleasant encounters for George. The people closest to him no longer know who he is, and for most of them, their lives have been dramatically changed by having never known George. George learns that his younger brother, Harry, died at a very early age because he wasn’t there to save his life. The pharmacist, Mr. Gower, was sent to prison because George wasn’t there to stop him from unintentionally poisoning a child. George’s mother tells him that his uncle was institutionalized after the Building and Loan failed, and George’s wife, Mary, is working at the local library, all alone with no family. All of this is too much for George to handle. Finally, he comes to realize that, even though his life isn’t perfect, it’s better to live than to have never existed at all. He comes to realize that he does have a purpose in life.

So, he prays to God once again. Only this time, he prays for God to give him his life back. “Please God,” George prays, “Let me live again.”

George’s life is restored, and everything is as it was before. Excited and relieved, George runs home, expecting to be arrested for the missing money. What happens instead is a miracle. People from all over town, people whose lives have been touched by George, start showing up to the Bailey household carrying as much money as they can find to help out their friend. The last one to show up is George’s younger brother, Harry—the one he saved—who shares a toast and says, “To my brother, George—the richest man in town!”

Of course, Harry isn’t talking about the unexpected sum of money that shows up on George’s doorstep. He’s talking about George’s life—and everything that makes George who he is. In the film’s final moments, George’s youngest daughter, Zuzu, hears bells ringing on the Christmas tree, and she says to her father, “Look Daddy! Teacher says, ‘Every time a bell rings, an angel gets his wings.’” George smiles, knowing that his friend, Clarence, finally got his wings, and everyone begins singing the song, “Auld Lang Syne,” as they celebrate Christmas together. It’s perhaps one of the most touching finales to a movie that’s ever been made, and it brings tears to my eyes every time I see it.

Frank Capra, the director of It’s a Wonderful Life, considered it his favorite film that he ever directed. The movie is listed by the American Film Institute as the eleventh best film ever made and number one on their list of the most inspirational movies of all time.

Now, I should stop here for a moment and remind you that the movie is a work of fiction and probably not the most accurate depiction of angels or the way that God moves in our lives. For example, I don’t think that angels  have to “earn their wings” by doing good deeds or that angels are really just human beings who died a long time ago and were resurrected as heavenly messengers. There’s nothing in Scripture that even suggests such a thing. But, that doesn’t mean that the movie has nothing to teach us—especially during the season of Christmas.

I think the reason why the film is so powerful and why it resonates so deeply with those who watch it is because we can all relate—at least to some degree—with the character of George Bailey. All of us have things in our lives for which to be thankful, but we also know what it feels like when everything around us seems to be going wrong, when we feel like all hope is lost. We’ve all been in situations before when we stop and ask ourselves, “Does my life even matter?”

Well, I want you to know, my brothers and sisters, that it really does. Your life matters more than you may ever know. As a former priest of mine used to say all the time, “Your life is of infinite value and importance to God.” We were created—each of us—in God’s own image for a very specific purpose, and that purpose is to make the light of God in Christ Jesus known to the world.

This is the True Light, which came down from heaven and was born as one of us. The True Light, who humbled himself and took on human form in order to teach us and show us how to love others as God has called us to love. The True Light, who reminds us that, even in the darkest of times, there’s always hope.

That’s what Christmas is all about. Hope overcoming fear, light overcoming darkness, and a weary world rejoicing that God has sent us a Savior to redeem us and free us from the bondage of sin and death. All of this is beautifully captured in the first verse of the classic, Christmas hymn, “O Holy Night,” as we sing:

O holy night, the stars are brightly shining,
It is the night of the dear Savior’s birth;
Long lay the world in sin and error pining,
‘Till he appeared and the soul felt its worth.
A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices,
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn…

In the film, It’s a Wonderful Life, a man named George Bailey reaches out to God, hoping for an answer to his prayers. What he receives is a response far greater than anything he could have expected or imagined. God shows up and reveals to George that his life is important and full of meaning.

The same is true for us now, dear friends, just as it has been and always will be. God has heard the collective prayers of God’s people and intervened by sending us the hope of the world. Jesus is the answer to our prayers, our unexpected gift, showing us that our lives matter more to God than we can possibly imagine. On this Christmas Eve night, I hope you feel wrapped up in God’s love and worthy of God’s grace. I hope you carry with you into the world a spirit of hope and the knowledge that your life is full of meaning and purpose. That purpose is to be bearers of the light so that others may come to know the redeeming love of Christ Jesus in their own lives. Amen.

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A video of this sermon can be found at the following link, beginning at the 19:10 mark.

https://www.facebook.com/91363777474/videos/1304468520003764

A Sermon for the Fourth Sunday of Advent (Year C)
December 19, 2021

Text: Luke 1:39-50

I speak to you in the name of our loving, liberating, and life-giving God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

Good morning, friends. I’m so glad you could join us at church this morning for the fourth and final Sunday of Advent as we begin to turn the corner from one season of the Church year to another and make our final preparations for Christmas. I’d like to begin my sermon this morning by sharing with you a poem from one of my favorite Christian poets, Malcolm Guite, who also serves as a priest in the Church of England. The title of this poem is “The Visitation,” and it’s based on the lesson we heard just a few moments ago from Luke’s Gospel.

The poet writes,

Here is a meeting made of hidden joys,
Of lightenings cloistered in a narrow place,
From quiet hearts the sudden flame of praise
And in the womb the quickening kick of grace.
Two women on the very edge of things
Unnoticed and unknown to men of power,
But in their flesh the hidden Spirit sings
And in their lives the buds of blessing flower
And Mary stands with all we call ‘too young’,
Elizabeth with all called ‘past their prime’.
They sing today for all the great unsung,
Women who turned eternity to time,
Favoured of heaven, outcast on the earth,
Prophets who bring the best in us to birth.

We have a lot of words and titles that we often associate with the Blessed Virgin Mary, especially during this time of year as we draw closer and closer to our celebration of Jesus’ birth. You can find a lot of these words and titles in the Christmas carols we sing at church, such as “The angel Gabriel from heaven came,” which refers to Mary as “Most Highly Favored Lady” or the beloved hymn, “Once in Royal David’s City,” which includes these lyrics in the first verse: “Mary was that mother mild, Jesus Christ her little child.”

Yes, we use all sorts of words and titles to describe Mary, such as “Blessed Mother,” “Our Lady,” “Queen of Heaven,” and perhaps my favorite title of all—theotokos, which is a Greek word, meaning “God bearer.” All of these words and titles beautifully capture our love for Mary and the qualities we admire most about her.

But, there’s one title we rarely use to describe Mary, even though it’s perfectly appropriate, especially when you consider the story we heard earlier in our Gospel reading when Mary goes to visit her cousin, Elizabeth, soon after she receives the announcement from the angel Gabriel that she will give birth to God’s only Son. The title I’m referring to is “prophet.” We rarely, if ever, use the word “prophet” to describe Mary, and yet, that’s exactly the role she plays in our Gospel lesson this morning as she delivers the beautiful and poetic words of her Magnificat.

Listen to the words again.

Mary said to Elizabeth, “My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord, my spirit rejoices in God my Savior; for he has looked with favor on his lowly servant. From this day all generations will call me blessed: the Almighty has done great things for me, and holy is his Name. He has mercy on those who fear him in every generation. He has shown the strength of his arm, he has scattered the proud in their conceit. He has cast down the mighty from their thrones, and has lifted up the lowly. He has filled the hungry with good things, and the rich he has sent away empty. He has come to the help of his servant Israel, for he has remembered his promise of mercy, the promise he made to our fathers, to Abraham and his children for ever.”

When we hear the term, “prophet,” we typically think about those monumental figures from the Old Testament, don’t we—people like Elijah, who we read about in First and Second Kings, and Isaiah, and Jeremiah, those who were called by God to serve as messengers, often foretelling the future and beckoning the people of Israel to repent and return to the Lord. John the Baptist, who we’ve read about in our Gospel readings for the past two weeks, would also fall into the category of prophet with his message of repentance and his call to the people to prepare a place for the coming of the Messiah.

So, what is it about Mary that makes her a prophet, and why are the words of her Magnificat so important?

In his book, The Prophetic Imagination, author Walter Brueggemann writes, “The task of prophetic ministry is to nurture, nourish, and evoke a consciousness and perception alternative to the consciousness and perception of the dominant culture around us.” Or, as another author writes, “The prophet…is somebody whose role is always to be challenging the community to be what it is meant to be—to live out the gift that God has given to it.”

The prophetic role of Mary challenges us to ask questions about the way things are in the world around us. Her role as prophet calls us to be critical of the status quo, to remember who we are and who we were created to be in the image and likeness of God. In the words of her Magnificat, Mary reminds us that it won’t be the privileged or the powerful or those who think they’re more important than others who inherit the Kingdom of God. It’ll be those who exhibit true humility and those who work to fulfill God’s dream for heaven on earth.

All of it is part of God’s “divine reversal,” a common theme found throughout the Gospel of Luke that will continue to be prevalent in our Gospel readings for many weeks to come.

Mary provides us with a perfect example of humility and modesty, and the words of her Magnificat reinforce Luke’s theme of the “divine reversal,” of a world turned upside down by the coming of the Messiah. Her words remind us that what we know to be true about the world will not be true about God’s Kingdom. The powerful have been brought down from their thrones, and the lowly have been lifted up. The hungry have been filled with good things, and the rich have been sent away empty-handed. Later in Luke’s Gospel, Jesus will speak further about God’s “divine reversal” in his Sermon on the Plain when he says to the crowd, “Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the Kingdom of God. Blessed are you who are hungry now, for you will be filled. Blessed are you who weep now, for you will laugh.”

In other words, God has a plan to bring redemption and restoration to God’s creation, and all of it begins with Jesus.

The roles of Mary and Elizabeth also signify this upside down world inaugurated with the birth of Jesus. As one author comments, “Two marginalized, pregnant women carry the future and proclaim the Messiah.” Mary, a young, poor, and unmarried woman from Nazareth, and Elizabeth, a woman far too old and weak to conceive and give birth, carry in their wombs the herald of the Messiah and the salvation of the world.

This Friday is when we’ll celebrate the Feast of the Nativity—our bold proclamation, as Christians, that the light of the world has come down from heaven to usher in the Kingdom of God. What that means for us, dear friends, is that now is the perfect time for us to consider how we, like Mary, will carry the love of God into a world that’s in desperate need of a Savior. Now is the perfect time for us to consider how we, like Mary, will be “God Bearers” to those whom we encounter in our everyday lives and messengers of hope to those who’ve been cast down and ignored. Now is the perfect time for us to consider how we, like Mary, are being called to challenge the way things are and to proclaim that the Kingdom of God belongs to the humble and meek, the poor and the lowly.

In this last week of Advent, how is God calling you to bring forth Jesus into the world? How is God calling you to help turn the world upside down, which, in the words of our Presiding Bishop, is really “right side up”?

As we prepare to once again celebrate the birth of Jesus and welcome the newborn King lying in the manger, let us also prepare our hearts to give birth to the love of God in Christ Jesus so that those to whom we’re sent may come to know that perfect love that knows no boundaries or limits. Amen.

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A video of this sermon can be found at the following link, beginning at the 19:10 mark.

https://www.facebook.com/holyspiritalabaster/videos/628377455108181

A Sermon for the Third Sunday of Advent (Year C)
December 12, 2021

Text: Luke 3:7-18

I speak to you in the name of our loving, liberating, and life-giving God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

Earlier this week, I received an e-mail from an old friend. His name is Wells Warren. Many of you have heard me talk about Father Wells before, either in one of my sermons or in casual conversation. He was the priest and campus minister at St. Dunstan’s in Auburn for several years. St. Dunstan’s, by the way, is where Chelsea and I first discovered and fell in love with the Episcopal Church, almost eighteen years ago.

Over the years, Father Wells and I have stayed in touch. We still have conversations from time to time, and even now, I consider him to be a close friend and mentor.

After his retirement from parish ministry, Father Wells started writing a weekly e-mail called, “The Retired Priest.” Mostly, it’s a way for him to stay in touch with friends and former parishioners and to keep all of us updated about things going on in his life.

In the e-mail he sent out this past week, Father Wells shared a story that he wrote way back in 2006—a children’s story about the life and ministry of St. Nicholas, a bishop of the early Church, who lived during the third and fourth centuries.

And—in case you’re wondering, “Is that the St. Nicholas?” Yes, it is.

You may not realize this, but the story of Santa Claus began a long time ago in an ancient city known as Myra, which is now the modern-day city of Demre in Turkey. St. Nicholas was Bishop of Myra, and in the Episcopal Church, we celebrate his feast day each year on December 6th.

Father Wells reminisced in his e-mail this past week about celebrating the feast of St. Nicholas each year with the children of St. Dunstan’s and sharing with them the story that he wrote. As I read the story again, I was reminded of how faithful and dedicated St. Nicholas was to sharing the love of God in Christ with those who were less fortunate, especially children.

So, today in my sermon, I want to share with you the story that Father Wells wrote about St. Nicholas. Yes, it is a children’s story, but it’s also a beautiful illustration of the kind of love that we’re called to share with others, as followers of Jesus, and I think it’s a wonderful reminder for all of us—especially as we move closer and closer to Christmas—that it’s much better to give than to receive.

***

Long ago, in a City far away, there lived a homeless boy with no Father, or Mother, or Brothers, or Sisters. The boy was all alone in the world. Early on Christmas Eve, the boy walked the crowded streets of the City. It was early morning, and he was cold and hungry.

He turned the corner and saw Angus Pennypincher, the Greedy Grocer, selling fresh oranges and red apples, roasted nuts and chocolate candies. They looked and smelled delicious! When old man Pennypincher looked away, the boy stuffed oranges and apples and nuts and candies in his pockets and ran down the street! “Stop, thief!” cried Angus Pennypincher. “Catch him! That red-headed boy has stolen my goods!”

Just then, the High Sheriff arrived, and the boy ran right into his arms. “That’s the one,” cried Pennypincher. “The red-haired boy! He is a thief! Arrest him! Arrest him!” The High Sheriff arrested the boy and threw him into the prison wagon.

Suddenly a tall man appeared, dressed in red, with big black boots and a shepherd’s staff. He was Father John, the Bishop of the City! The Bishop spoke sternly to the Greedy Grocer. “Angus Pennypincher, I will pay you for your trouble, but this boy belongs to God.” He placed three gold coins in Angus Pennypincher’s greedy hands.

Then the high sheriff let the boy go free. “Come with me, my son,” said the Bishop. “It’s Christmas Eve!” He began walking toward the Great Cathedral, and the boy hurried after him.

“I am Father John, the Bishop of the City,” said the tall man. “What is your name, my young friend?” “I am Nicholas,” said the red-haired boy. Father John asked, “And where do you live, Nicholas?” “I am an orphan,” said Nicholas. “I have no home.”

“Fear not, my son,” replied the Bishop. “You may come to live in the Great Cathedral. If you wish, you can work and study and grow up to serve God and the Church. Would you like that, Nicholas?”

“Yes, I would,” said Nicholas. “Thank you very much, Father John!” So, the homeless red-haired boy came to live in the Great Cathedral, where he was baptized and given his very own room behind the High Altar. Nicholas worked in the Sacristy, polishing brass and silver. He swept and mopped the Narthex of the Great Cathedral. He washed the stained-glass windows. He greeted the people, rich and poor, who came to worship God. In the cathedral services, Nicholas carried the brass processional cross.

In time, Nicholas became a scholar and a priest. Nicholas was a kind young man, and he never forgot the kindness shown to him by Father John.

Nicholas enjoyed visiting people, and he cared for the poor. He gave them food and clothing. At night, he would often return silently to the poorest homes and leave fresh oranges, red apples, roasted nuts, and chocolate candies on doorsteps and windowsills.

Great sadness came to the Cathedral one day. Nicholas was away, visiting the poor. The beloved Bishop, Father John, was dying. He called the other bishops and priests to his bedside and said to them, “I have had a vision from God. The first person who comes through my door will be Bishop!”

They turned toward the door of the Bishop’s bed chamber, and immediately Nicholas appeared before them. “Father John! Do not leave us!” cried Nicholas, with tears in his eyes. “God’s servant and friend has come!” said Father John. “Behold your Bishop!” Nicholas was very surprised and sad at the same time.

The bishops and people buried Father John in the Great Cathedral. The next day, they brought Nicholas to the High Altar and placed him in the Bishop’s Chair. Three Bishops from near-by cities laid their hands on his head and consecrated Nicholas the Bishop of the City.

The new Bishop of the City was given beautiful vestments—a red cope and miter, big black boots, and a shepherd’s staff carved of the finest wood. They also gave Father Nicholas a white horse, which he named “North Star,” for the star that leads travelers home.

Good Nicholas was a kind and loving Bishop. Throughout the year, he rode his horse North Star to visit the churches and people. And every night, Father Nicholas made secret visits to give fresh oranges, red apples, roasted nuts, chocolate candies, and gold coins to poor children.

Winter nights were cold, and snow fell in great drifts, but Good Father Nicholas wore a heavy cloak and fur cap over his red vestments to keep safe and warm. His beard grew long and white, for his red hair had turned to the color of snow. For many years, Good Father Nicholas continued to give unexpected gifts. Soon his good work spread far beyond the borders of the City.

At Christmas time, children everywhere began receiving fresh oranges and red apples, roasted nuts and chocolate candies, toys and cakes, gold coins and goodies.

The Verger of the Great Cathedral secretly helped Nicholas. He was a tiny old man with a long white beard. He gathered sacks from Weavers, toys from Carpenters, and cakes from Bakers in the City. Each night, the Verger loaded North Star with goodies for Father Nicholas to leave on doorsteps and windowsills without a sound or a whisper.

In different parts of the world, Bishop Nicholas became known as “Father Christmas” and “Saint Nicholas” and “Santa Claus” and “Sinter Klaas” and “Pere Noel” and “Grandfather Frost”—and so he is known to this very day!

***

I hope you enjoyed that story as much as I have over the years.

One of the things I love most about it is that it isn’t just about one person doing good deeds. It’s actually about what one person can do to inspire others and the ability of God’s love to spread from one person to another.

Think about it for a moment. At the beginning of the story, Father John, the old Bishop, shows compassion toward Nicholas and provides him with food and shelter and a purpose in life. His kindness inspires Nicholas, who eventually grows up and becomes a priest and bishop himself and a symbol of love and compassion for the whole world. His actions inspire others to continue the work that he began, and that legacy continues on today.

It’s true that we sometimes lose sight of what Christmas is all about, especially when we get caught up in that growing list of things to do during the holidays. But, the spirit of Christmas is the same as it always has been. St. Nicholas embodied that spirit in his desire to serve the poor and give to others in need.

Like Nicholas, our words and actions have the ability to inspire the people we encounter in our everyday lives. It’s how we go about the work of building up the Kingdom of God and bringing peace and restoration to God’s creation. In our Gospel lesson this morning from Luke, John the Baptist describes this kingdom-building work as bearing “good fruit.” He says to the crowd of people gathered, “Bear fruit worthy of repentance.” Then, he provides them with specific examples—ways that they can be bearers of “good fruit” in the world. He says to them, “Whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none; and whoever has food must do likewise.” To the tax collectors, he says, “Collect no more than the amount prescribed for you.” And, to the soldiers gathered, he says, “Do not extort money from anyone by threats or false accusation, and be satisfied with your wages.” 

John’s message to the crowd—and to us—is very simple. In order to be in right relationship with God, we have to make the choice to live our lives a certain way. Give to those who need help, and don’t take advantage of anyone. Treat each other with the same compassion, dignity, and respect as you wish to be treated. By doing these things, we have the power to set the world on fire with God’s love and spread the message of the Gospel, far and wide.

Dear friends, as this season of Advent continues—as we work to prepare a place for Christ to come into the world once again—let us be bearers of “good fruit” for God’s Kingdom, remembering the example of those who’ve come before us in the faith—people like St. Nicholas, who lived a life of generosity and compassion for others, a life worthy of the Gospel. Amen.

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A video of this sermon can be found at the following link, beginning at the 21:20 mark.
https://www.facebook.com/holyspiritalabaster/videos/625194298603064

A Sermon for the Last Sunday after Pentecost: Christ the King (Proper 29, Year B)
November 21, 2021

Text: John 18:33-37

I speak to you in the name of our loving, liberating, and life-giving God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

Good morning, friends. I’m so glad you could join us this morning at church as we celebrate the Last Sunday after Pentecost, also known as Christ the King Sunday. This is the last Sunday of the liturgical year. Next Sunday, we’ll begin a new year as we celebrate the First Sunday of Advent and turn our attention to preparing for Jesus to be born again—not only in our celebration of Christmas but also in his second coming.

It’s appropriate, then, that we take time on this day—as we come to the end of one year and prepare to begin another—to consider what it means for Jesus to be our King.

I want to share with you a story about something that happened to me this past week.

As many of you know, I spend most of my Wednesday mornings at Panera Bread in Alabaster doing a ministry called Coffee with the Priest. The idea behind this ministry is very simple. For a couple of hours each week, I make myself available for anyone in the community to come and speak with me about anything that may be on their hearts and minds. Or, if they’re going through a difficult time in their lives and they want someone to simply listen and offer a prayer, I’m available for that, too.

I do this each week because I want our neighbors to know that, yes, I am the parish priest here at Holy Spirit, but I’m also available for anyone in the community who may need someone to come and talk to, someone who really cares about what they have to say. It’s one way that we can reach out and share the love of Christ with our brothers and sisters in the wider community.

Often, people will come up to me randomly and thank me for what I’m doing, which is always nice to hear. But, on occasion, someone will come and ask to speak with me or ask me to say a prayer with them, which I’m happy to do. I also make my presence known on social media so that I can let people in the community know that I’m here for them if they need me. You’d be surprised by how many complete strangers have reached out to me through social media to ask for prayers.

This past Wednesday, I woke up feeling tired and overwhelmed by the thought of so many big events coming up at church. I thought to myself, “I’ve got to prepare for the Annual Meeting. I’ve got to prepare for the Bishop’s Visit, which is coming up soon. I’ve got to get ready for Advent and Christmas. I don’t have enough time to do Coffee with the Priest this morning. I’ve got more important things to do than to go and sit at the coffee shop, waiting and wondering if anyone will show up.”

I was prepared to skip it altogether and go straight to the church.

But, then a thought occurred to me. “What if there’s a reason I need to be at the coffee shop this morning?” So, I thought about it for a moment, and then I decided that I needed to go and make myself available.

So, I went.

And, when I arrived, there was a long line of people who were waiting to place an order. So, rather than waiting in line, I went and found a table and set all my stuff down, including a small sign that I bring with me each week, which reads, “Good morning! I’m a priest. How may I pray for you today?” I sat down and posted where I was on social media. I checked a few e-mails, and by the time I was done with that, the line to order was shorter. So, I went and got a cup of coffee and sat back down at the table.

As the morning went on, I spent some time answering prayer requests on Facebook. I worked on editing worship bulletins for upcoming services at church. And, after a while, I finally decided that no one was coming to talk or ask for prayer.

But, then something happened.

A young man in the coffee shop saw what I was doing and walked over to my table, carrying a small child with him in his arms. He asked me if he could sit down, and I said, “Of course. Please do.” The young man told me his name, and he told me his son’s name and how old his son was. He was six months old, by the way. And, he told me that his son was born with a heart defect and that he was going to Children’s Hospital the next day to have bypass surgery to fix the problem. About this time, the young man’s wife walked over and joined us, and I reassured them both that Children’s is a wonderful hospital, full of amazing doctors and nurses and that they’ll be well cared for. I asked them if they would like me to say a prayer for their son, and they said, “Yes, please.”

So, we bowed our heads, and I prayed for God’s blessing and healing to be upon that six-month old child. After it was over, the couple thanked me for my time and walked off. And, immediately, I bowed my head again and, with tears in my eyes, I thanked God for sending me to the coffee shop that day and for allowing me to do this work.

It’s been a difficult couple of years for all of us—so difficult, in fact, that it would be easy for us to consider all that’s happened and ask ourselves, “Does it really matter?” “Does our faith in God mean anything?” “Does what we do or say make any difference?”

I can say without a doubt, dear friends, that it does.

I wanted to share this story with you today because what we do—as individuals and as a community of faith—really does matter. It may not always feel like it. Sometimes, it may feel like we’re wasting our time or not making a very big impact at all, but the things we do and say and the decisions we make—no matter how small—have the power to change peoples’ lives in ways that we may not ever know. I was reminded of that this past week at the coffee shop, and I want you to be reminded of that as well.

No matter where we go or what we do in our lives, God has the power to work through us and use us as instruments of his love and mercy. All we have to do is be willing to take a risk and show up for Christ. God, through the power of the Holy Spirit, will take care of the rest.

In our Gospel lesson for today, which takes place after Jesus is handed over to the Roman authorities to stand trial, the Roman governor, Pontius Pilate, interrogates him and asks him if he is indeed the King of the Jews. Jesus doesn’t provide Pilate with a simple, “yes” or “no” answer. Instead, he says to Pilate, “You say that I am a king. For this I was born, and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth. Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice.”

Jesus has no concern about being an earthly king or ruling over others with an iron fist. His purpose is clear and simple. He came to “testify to the truth,” and it’s through his testimony—his revelation to the world of God’s healing and redeeming love—that he is glorified as “King of kings” and “Lord of lords.” Jesus came, not to rule as a fierce king, but to tear down the walls that divide us and to help us heal our broken relationship with God. “Christianity,” as one author writes, “is in a profound sense the end of all religion.” It is the consummation of God’s dream for humanity.

It’s God’s dream that we’ll no longer allow the barriers that divide us to stand in the way of peace and reconciliation. It’s God’s dream that we’ll overcome the dark corners of this world with the Spirit of truth by sharing the love of God in Christ with all our brothers and sisters, not only when it’s convenient for us but also when it’s inconvenient.

It’s our call, as Christians, to love and serve those whom the world has rejected; to be examples of God’s grace and mercy; to provide for those who are hungry and thirsty; to welcome the strangers among us; to clothe the naked; to care for the sick; and to visit those in prison. It’s our call to protect and care for the least among us and the most vulnerable. One way we can do this work is by boldly proclaiming, through our words and actions, that Jesus Christ is our King and that his kingdom is one of love and truth, not fear.

My brothers and sisters, what we do and say, in Jesus’ name, really does matter.

So, we continue to pray as Jesus has taught us, and we continue to be vigilant as we seek to fulfill the vows that we’ve made in baptism, trusting that, with Christ as our King, we’re being led closer, each day, to glory everlasting. Amen.

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A video of this sermon is available below, beginning at the 21:20 mark.

A Sermon for the Twenty-Fifth Sunday after Pentecost (Proper 28, Year B)
November 14, 2021

Text: Mark 13:1-8

I speak to you in the name of our loving, liberating, and life-giving God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

Ever since I was a child, I’ve been captivated by the world of superheroes—those powerful, larger-than-life characters from the comic books who use their incredible abilities to save others from harm.

I love superheroes. If you don’t believe me, all you have to do is ask my father, and he’ll tell you. As a young boy, one of my favorite television shows was the classic “Batman” series from the 1960s. You know the one I’m talking about. It starred Adam West as Batman and Burt Ward as Robin, the “Dynamic Duo” as they were called, who ran around Gotham City in bright, spandex costumes, saving the city from villains like the Joker and the Riddler. Well, when I was little, I wanted to be just like Batman. So, one day, my father—being the creative person that he is—made me a blue, plastic mask and a yellow utility belt and a blue cape, and I was all set! I had all I needed to go out and save the world.

My love for superheroes continues to this day. In fact, whenever a new superhero movie comes out in the theaters, I’m usually there on opening weekend.

One of my favorite superhero movies to come out in recent years is The Avengers, a movie that features not just one character from the comics but a whole team of characters, made up of some of the most iconic superheroes ever imagined—heroes like Iron Man, Thor, Captain America, and of course, the Incredible Hulk. I’m sure you’ve of at least a couple of these names before.

As I was preparing for my sermon this morning, I was reminded of a great scene from The Avengers. Toward the beginning of the movie, a fight breaks out between two of the heroes—Thor and Iron Man. Captain America decides to try and break up the fight between these two heroes, and as he’s getting ready to intervene, another character named Black Widow says to him, “I’d sit this one out, Cap. These guys come from legend. They’re basically gods.” Then, Captain America turns and says to her, “There’s only one God, ma’am, and I’m pretty sure he doesn’t dress like that.”

If you’ve ever seen a picture of Thor, you probably understand what Captain America is talking about. Thor has long, blonde hair. He’s built like a Greek god. He has the power to fly and control thunder and lightning. He wears armor from head to toe and wields a large hammer as his weapon.

What I love about that moment in The Avengers when Captain America says to Black Widow, “There’s only one God,” is that he’s able to see all of these amazing heroes for who they are and, more importantly, who they’re not. The creators of the film probably didn’t intend it this way, but for me, it’s almost like a wink and a nod to the audience, reminding us that these stories about superheroes going out and saving the world are fun and entertaining, but that’s really all they are. They’re stories, drawn from people’s imaginations. They inspire us and make us feel good, but at the end of the day, we know the difference between fantasy and real life.

In our lives as Christians, we’re called to be just as perceptive—to know the difference between serving God and serving those idols we create for ourselves. We’re called to put our whole faith and trust in God and to resist putting our faith and trust in anything else.

In our Gospel lesson for this morning, which takes place in Jerusalem during the final days of Jesus’ life, Jesus warns his disciples that, once he’s gone, they’ll face many challenges and temptations as the Kingdom of God grows closer and closer to fulfillment. There will be natural disasters, wars, and famines, Jesus says, and he warns them that they’ll be tempted in ways that may lead them away from God or distract them from the work they’ve been called to do as his disciples. His warning to them is this: “Beware that no one leads you astray.” In other words, “Keep your eyes open, and stay alert!” “There are temptations around every corner!”

Temptations—those idols we create for ourselves—come in all sorts of shapes and sizes, don’t they? I’m sure we can all come up with lots of examples on ways that we’re tempted every day to turn away from God and put our trust in other things. They come in the form of certain people we encounter in our lives—those who claim to have all the answers figured out or those who assure us that they can solve all of our problems. Temptations also come in the form of those materials things in our lives that have power over us—things we turn to in order for us to feel whole again.

What Jesus is trying to tell his disciples—and what he’s trying to tell us this morning in our Gospel reading—is that none of those people or material things can save us. We may think they can, and for a little while, it may seem as though they have. But, in the end, only the one, true God can save us. Only  the one, true God can fill that God-shaped hole in our hearts.

This God, by the way, isn’t a superhero. He doesn’t walk around dressed in fancy armor, carrying a large weapon. This God came to live among us as a lowly man from Nazareth, a carpenter’s son, who spent most of his earthly ministry traveling from place to place, teaching people and showing them that love and service to others is the only path to abundant life with God. This God came to live among us to show us that there’s no greater love than to give one’s self in order for others to live and thrive in God’s Kingdom.

For the past several weeks, we’ve been talking a lot about stewardship here at Holy Spirit. This is the time of year when many Episcopal parishes emphasize stewardship and talk about the importance of giving back to God that which God has already given us. This is also the time of year when many parishes conduct their annual giving campaigns and ask members of the parish to make a financial commitment to support the church in the upcoming year.

When we talk about stewardship, many people automatically assume that we’re only talking about giving our money or making a pledge to the church. Of course, making a pledge and supporting the Church’s mission through the giving of our financial resources is extremely important. Not only does it help us plan for the future, but it also enables us to reach out and share the love of Christ with those in our community who are in need.

But, stewardship is more than just the giving of our money. Stewardship is the right ordering of every aspect of our lives. It’s the act of giving thanks to God for all of the many blessings that God has given us and offering our whole selves back to God for the purpose of building up God’s Kingdom. It involves the giving of our time, our talents, and our treasure. Good stewardship invites us to turn away from the cares and occupations of this world—those temptations that distract us from the work of the Gospel—and to refocus our lives back on those things that are life-giving.

Today marks the official end of our stewardship campaign for 2022. We’ve asked our parishioners and close friends of the community to make a financial commitment to the Church in the form of a pledge. For those of you who’ve already made a pledge to Holy Spirit, I want to thank you for your support. Your gifts will be put to good use over the coming year.

For those of you who haven’t made a pledge yet, I want to thank you for all that you do for our parish, and I also want to encourage you to consider making a pledge. It’s not too late. I know it can be scary or intimidating to fill out a pledge card, especially if you’ve never made a pledge before or you’re concerned about not being able to fulfill your commitment. I know what it feels like to take that risk. But, what I would ask you to consider is this: Even if you have to start with the smallest amount, write a number down and turn in a pledge card. The pledge cards we fill out and offer to God represent more than just numbers. They represent our faith in God and the belief that God has brought us to this place to be the hands and feet of Christ in the world. As a parish, we have so much to give to our community. We have so much to offer those who are seeking a spiritual home and a place where they, too, can offer their time, talents, and treasure for the building up of God’s Kingdom. 

So, if you haven’t already, I hope you’ll join me and others in making a pledge to the church. As we come to the end of our stewardship drive and recommit ourselves to the ongoing work of this parish, I pray that the Holy Spirit will continue to be present in us and among us, inspiring us and giving us the strength we need to continue the work that lies ahead. Amen.

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A video of this sermon is available below, beginning at the 24:15 mark.

A Sermon for the Feast of All Saints (Year B)
November, 7, 2021

Text: John 11:32-44

I speak to you in the name of our loving, liberating, and life-giving God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

A little over a week ago, I came across an article on Facebook from The Atlantic, entitled, “My Church Doesn’t Know What to Do Anymore.” The title immediately caught my attention. So, I clicked on the link to the article and began to read, and I quickly discovered that it was written by an Episcopal priest named Elizabeth Felicetti, who serves as the rector at St. David’s Episcopal Church in Richmond, Virginia—a small parish, probably very similar in size to our parish here at Holy Spirit.

As I made my way through the article, I found myself nodding in agreement to so much of what the author wrote. She was describing her experience of the pandemic as the priest of a small, Episcopal parish, and although her circumstances have been slightly different, she expressed many of the fears and concerns that I, along with so many of my clergy colleagues in the Episcopal Church, have been struggling with over the past several months—especially since we began returning to in-person worship on Sunday mornings. This was confirmed for me late last week when I had the opportunity to go to Camp McDowell for a short, clergy retreat with other priests and deacons from around the diocese. Everyone I talked to was feeling the same way—overwhelmed, frustrated, and uncertain about the future. It didn’t matter what size parish they came from. All of us were wrestling with the same concerns and asking ourselves the same questions. When will things finally return to normal? When will our people feel the need to come back to church? What are we supposed to do in the meantime when it’s a struggle to find enough volunteers and leaders to help sustain our ministries?

These aren’t just that I’ve been asking. These are questions that people are struggling with in every corner of the church.

There’s no doubt that 2020 was hard, but it was manageable. As a church, we knew what we needed to do in order to keep people safe and healthy. We wore masks, and we socially distanced ourselves. We stayed at home for weeks on end and participated in worship online, trying our best to stay connected. Even though we didn’t like it, we did what we needed to do and what we were asked to do by our bishop.

In many ways, I think 2021 has been much more difficult than 2020. Now, instead of learning how to do new things like live-stream our worship services on Sunday mornings and continue the ministries of the church during a global pandemic, we’re left wondering what to do about those beloved members of our parishes who we miss terribly—those who left at the beginning of the pandemic and haven’t returned. We’re left wondering how to convince our people that coming together again in person is important for the health and well-being of our parishes. And, we’re left wondering what all of this will mean for the future of the church. How will we continue on when we’ve lost so much over the past two years?

Here, at Holy Spirit, we have new families attending worship each week, which is wonderful, and I’m incredibly thankful for that. But, to be perfectly honest, as excited and thankful as I am that we have new families coming to church, I’m also grieving the loss of our brothers and sisters who’ve left and haven’t come back yet. I—like so many of my clergy colleagues—am left wondering, “What do we do?” “Is there anything we can do other than continue doing what we’ve always done and hang onto the hope of a better day?”

I hope you don’t take this the wrong way. I’m not trying to complain or point fingers, and I’m certainly not trying to blame anyone for where we are right now as a parish. What I’m trying to say is that this is a tough time for the church as a whole—and for church leaders everywhere—as we’re trying to “pick up the pieces” and recover from the past two years and hopefully begin a new chapter of our shared life together as a community of faith.

I want to acknowledge that this morning.

And, I want to share with you how I’ve been feeling and give voice to this overwhelming weight that’s been sitting on the shoulders of so many over the past several months. It’s been a heavy burden to bear. I feel it most days, and I think some of you probably feel the same way. Or, if you don’t feel it about the church, perhaps you feel it in other parts of your life. If you do, please know that you’re not alone. Our lives have changed and been affected in countless ways since March of last year, but thankfully, we don’t have to go through this time of recovery by ourselves. We have each other to lean on as we plan a way forward, and most importantly, we have the grace and consolation of the Holy Spirit as our guide.

Today, in the life of the Church, we’re celebrating a very special day—All Saints’ Day—one of the seven principal feasts of the liturgical year. On this day, we remember the lives of all the saints who have come before us in the faith. I’m not just talking about those “big name” saints like St. Francis or St. Andrew. I’m talking about all the saints, including those ordinary men and women in our lives who’ve touched us in some way. If you think back in your life, you can probably name at least a few of them—friends, family members, pastors, teachers, or even complete strangers. They weren’t perfect by any means, and they experienced struggle and hardship just like the rest of us. But, despite their challenges and imperfections, they left us with an example to live by. They taught us how to love others as God has called us to love, and they taught us to be resilient—to hold on to hope, even in the midst of challenging times.

It’s customary on All Saints’ Day to remember in our prayers our loved ones who’ve recently died and passed into the nearer presence of God. We do this because our Christian faith teaches us that death isn’t the end. Although we mourn for those whom we love but see no longer, we’re comforted in knowing that death is only the beginning of new life with God. As we often pray at the beginning of the burial office in The Book of Common Prayer, “I am resurrection and I am life, says the Lord. Whoever has faith in me shall have life, even though he die. And everyone who has life, and has committed himself to me in faith, shall not die for ever.”

My friends, we belong to God, and nothing—not even death—can change that. We, along with all the saints who’ve come before us, are the Lord’s possession, now and forever. Amen. The raising of Lazarus, the story that we heard just a few moments ago from the Gospel of John, is a vivid reminder of that. Like Lazarus, who was dead and bound up, alone in the tomb, I think it’s safe to say that we in the church have experienced our own kind of death and burial over the past two years. But also like Lazarus, Jesus is here with us to raise us up and unbind us from our fears and feelings of hopelessness. In Christ, there is nothing that’s broken, nothing that’s been cast down, that can’t be raised up and made whole again.

I’m going to do my best to remember this and carry it with me in the weeks and months to come as we continue to recover from this terrible pandemic. I hope you’ll join me. Will it be difficult at times? Yes. Will the church look different than it did before the pandemic? Probably. But, is it impossible to come back from? No, it isn’t. The God who loves us is still with us, breathing new life into the Body of Christ. Today, of all days, is a good example of that as we celebrate the feast of all the saints and prepare to welcome two new saints into the household of God—Ben and Cara Austin—who’ve been asking for months to be baptized. Well, today’s the day. Today, we’ll welcome Ben and Cara as fellow members of the Body of Christ, and we’ll join with them in renewing our own baptismal vows, remembering who we are and to whom we belong. We’ll recommit ourselves to the work of proclaiming the Good News of God in Christ to the world—the Good News that, in Christ, death and darkness have been defeated once and for all and that new life is always possible with God. Amen.

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A video of this sermon is available below, beginning at the 25:30 mark.