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.

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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.

A Sermon for the Twenty-First Sunday after Pentecost (Proper 24, Year B)
October 24, 2021

Text: Mark 10:35-45

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

When I was a junior in college, I experienced something at church for the first time that left a lasting impression on my life and my future vocation as a priest.

At the time, I was brand new to the Episcopal Church and had very little knowledge or experience with any kind of liturgical worship. I was still in the process of learning about the customs and traditions of the church, and the concept of the liturgical calendar was still pretty foreign. I was still learning about the different seasons and special feast days of the Church year and why all of these things were important in our walk with Christ.

So, I really had no idea what to expect when Holy Week came around in the Spring of 2004. For those of you who’ve been Episcopalians for any length of time, you can probably understand how overwhelming it might’ve been for someone like me who was brand new to the faith. For those of you who are unfamiliar with the term Holy Week, I’m talking about the journey we take with Christ each year, beginning with our observance of Palm Sunday and ending with our celebration of Jesus’s resurrection on Easter Day.

As a member of the choir at St. Dunstan’s in Auburn, I knew that Holy Week would involve a lot of extra time at church, probably more than I wanted to spend in the course of a week. I knew there were special things that would happen throughout the week that didn’t happen any other time of the year. And, although I didn’t understand how important it was at the time, I could sense that it was a really big deal. A lot of thought and careful consideration went into the process of planning and preparing for these services.

So, by the time Palm Sunday rolled around, I thought I was ready for what was about to happen, but as it turned out, I had no idea how emotional and meaningful the journey through Holy Week would be. 

On Palm Sunday, we began the service outside, recounting the events of Jesus’ triumphant entry into Jerusalem, waving palm branches and processing inside the church while singing songs of, “Hosanna! Blessed is the King who comes in the name of the Lord!” The mood of that service quickly changed from one of praise and excitement to one of darkness and deep sadness as we heard the story of our Lord’s Passion and death retold.

Then, the week continued. On Wednesday night, we gathered around a large table in the Nave of the church and shared a Seder meal, the traditional meal served in the Jewish tradition during the festival of Passover. For Christians, this is also where we trace the origins of the meal we share around the Lord’s Table when we celebrate the Eucharist each week. It’s believed by many that the Passover meal—or Seder, as it was later called—was the meal Jesus shared with his disciples on the night before he died.

Then we came to Thursday in Holy Week, and on that night, I experienced something in worship that’s remained with me ever since.

Many of you already know this, but Thursday in Holy Week is also known by another name—Maundy Thursday. The word “maundy” comes from the Latin word, mandatum, which means “commandment,” and the reason why we call Thursday in Holy Week “Maundy Thursday” is because this is the night when we remember the final moments Jesus shared with his disciples in the Upper Room before he was betrayed and handed over to the Roman authorities. This is the night when we hear the story from John’s Gospel of Jesus getting up from the dinner table after supper, tying a towel around his waist, pouring water into a basin, and washing the feet of his disciples—an act of lowly service that would’ve normally been done by disciples for their Master, not the other way around. Maundy Thursday is the night when we remember the final commandment Jesus gave to his disciples. “Love one another,” Jesus said. “Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.”

It’s a tradition in many Episcopal parishes during the service for Maundy Thursday to remember Jesus’ commandment to all of us by participating in the ritual washing of feet. And on that night, back in 2004 at St. Dunstan’s, I had my feet washed for the very first time. I don’t remember all of the specific details, but I do remember that, when we came to that point in the liturgy, I got up from my seat, removed my socks and shoes, and walked to the front of the church where there were two stations set up for the foot-washing. I sat down in front of Leigh Warren, who was the wife of Father Wells—the priest at St. Dunstan’s. She took my bare feet and gently washed them with warm water from a pitcher, dried them with a clean towel, and then went a step further by anointing them with scented oil.

Now, I’m not going to lie and pretend that I was perfectly comfortable with having my feet washed and anointed with oil from someone I barely knew at the time. But, the image of that moment has lingered with me all these years because in that moment of having my feet washed by another person, I experienced a glimpse of what it means to love others with the heart of a servant, which is exactly what we’re called to do. Servant ministry lies at the center of everything we’re called to do as followers of Jesus Christ and everything we’re called to do as a Christian community. Being vulnerable and allowing our feet to be washed by another person—and maybe even taking the time to wash another person’s feet—might not be the most glamorous or comfortable thing we can do, but I honestly can’t think of a more profound sign of Christian discipleship.

If the thought of participating in the ritual of foot-washing sounds scary or intimidating to you, trust me. You’re not alone. There are plenty of people who struggle with it. So, I’m giving you lots of time now to think about it before Holy Week rolls around again next year.

There’s a reason why I’ve shared with you the story of my first experience with foot-washing, and it has to do with the lesson appointed for today from Mark’s Gospel.

As we heard a little while ago in the story, James and John, the Sons of Zebedee, come to Jesus as they’re traveling along the road to Jerusalem. They say to Jesus, “Teacher, we want you to do for us whatever we ask of you.” Jesus responds, “What is it you want me to do for you?” They say to him, “Grant us to sit, one at your right hand and one at your left, in your glory.” Jesus doesn’t scold them or even tell them they’re being selfish by seeking special attention or a place of honor. He responds to their request by saying, “You do not know what you are asking.”

Jesus knows what lies ahead. He knows what will happen when they eventually reach the walls of Jerusalem. He even told this to his disciples. If you back up a bit and read the passage that comes right before today’s lesson from Mark, Jesus foretells his death, saying to his disciples, “the Son of Man will be handed over to the chief priests and the scribes, and they will condemn him to death; then they will hand him over to the Gentiles; they will mock him, and spit upon him, and flog him, and kill him; and after three days he will rise again.”

Although they’re completely serious about their request, James and John don’t really know what they’re doing when they ask Jesus for a place at his side, one on the right and one on the left, because Jesus won’t be glorified in a position of power or a place of privilege. The place where Jesus will be glorified by God is on the hard wood of the cross.

Well, eventually the other ten disciples learn about what James and John have been up to, and they get angry with the brothers. So, Jesus calls them all together and says to them, “Whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all. For the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life a ransom for many.”

In other words, there is nothing on this earth—no amount of money, no riches or possessions, no positions of power or privilege—that we can attain to be considered great in the eyes of God. True greatness, according to Jesus, can only be achieved when we’re willing to give up our lives in order to serve others. The Good News in all of this, which also happens to be the challenging part, is that we don’t have to seek out glory for ourselves in order to be seen as great in God’s Kingdom. All we really have to do is show up and be willing to respond to God’s call.

A vivid reminder of what God’s call looks like can be found in the simple act of allowing another person to kneel down and wash our feet for no other reason than to show us that we’re loved and cherished by God and called, in return, to do the same for others. Amen.

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A video of this sermon is available below, beginning at the 21:10 mark.

A Sermon for the Nineteenth Sunday after Pentecost (Proper 22, Year B)
October 3, 2021

Text: Mark 10:2-16

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

C.S. Lewis once wrote, “To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly be broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket — safe, dark, motionless, airless — it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. The alternative to tragedy, or at least to the risk of tragedy, is damnation. The only place outside of Heaven where you can be perfectly safe from all the dangers and perturbations of love is Hell.”

Loving others requires us to take risks. Ask anyone who is married or in a committed relationship, and they’ll tell you the same thing. Sharing our heart with another person requires an unbelievable amount of trust and vulnerability. And, it requires a leap of faith, because nothing is certain about the future. One day, you could be perfectly happy, and the next day, something could go terribly wrong, affecting your relationship with that person forever.

Yes, loving requires risk, and it’s certainly a risk that two people take when they willingly enter into the covenant of marriage. They make vows, in the presence of God and God’s people, to love and comfort each other, to honor and keep each other, in sickness and in health, and to be faithful as long as they both shall live. As the rite for Holy Matrimony states in The Book of Prayer Prayer, “marriage is not to be entered into unadvisedly or lightly, but reverently, deliberately, and in accordance with the purposes for which it was instituted by God.”

But, what happens when, for some reason, the relationship that once existed between two married people has faded into something unrecognizable–when living together has caused their hearts to be broken so many times that they’ve become hardened and impenetrable?

Do they stay together? Or, do they find a new way of living out their marriage vows to one another? Do they keep living miserable lives? Or, do they come to the realization that, despite the pain that it may cause—for themselves and for others—letting go and moving on could actually save their lives?

In today’s lesson from Mark, we hear one of the most controversial teachings of Jesus found in the Gospels—Jesus’ teaching on divorce. It’s certainly not the most enjoyable passage in Scripture, especially for those of us who’ve been affected by divorce, either in our own relationships or in those of close friends and family members. But, I think it’s important for us to discuss it—not to casually ignore it— because lying beneath the surface of what Jesus says in today’s lesson is an important truth that can help all of grow in our relationships with God and each other.

At the beginning of the passage, the Pharisees come to Jesus to test him and to expose him as a false prophet. They ask him, “Is it lawful for a man to divorce his wife?” As a diligent student of the Hebrew Scriptures, Jesus is well aware of the law to which the Pharisees are referring—an ancient law decreed by Moses in the Book of Deuteronomy, which permitted men to issue bills of dismissal to their wives if they were unpleased with them. Jesus explains to the Pharisees, “Because of your hardness of heart Moses wrote this commandment for you. But from the beginning of creation, ‘God made them male and female.’ ‘For this reason a man shall leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh.’ So they are no longer two, but one flesh. Therefore what God has joined together, let no one separate.”

When we read this passage from Mark’s Gospel, I think it’s important for us to have a little bit of historical  and cultural context. It’s important for us to understand that, in the time of Jesus, it was very easy for a man to issue a certificate of divorce and dismiss his wife for any reason. It was as easy as signing a bill. Women had very little rights to begin with, but when they were divorced from their husbands, they also lost the right to own property. Often, this would lead to women being left stranded and homeless, with no other option than to beg for food or sell their bodies for money.

So, one way to interpret Jesus’ teaching in this passage is that it’s a call for compassion and mercy. It’s a call for us to take care of the most vulnerable members of our society, including those who have very little rights or privileges.

I also think it would be short-sighted for us to read this passage and immediately assume that Jesus is completely against divorce, at least in the way that we think of it today. As with most things, it isn’t a “black or white” issue. We know, through our own experiences, that marriages come to an end for lots of different reasons, and we’ve come to understand that living through painful experiences and making tough decisions, like the decision to end a marriage, can actually lead to healing and restoration. We’ve come to understand that letting go of things that are unhealthy in our lives, including broken relationships, can be a source of life.

Now, don’t get me wrong. This doesn’t mean that I think Jesus wants all of us to go out and get divorced at the first sign of trouble. On the contrary, I think Jesus wants us to work hard to try and mend broken relationships, especially in marriage, because the covenant made between two people in the sacrament of Holy Matrimony is not just about the couple getting married. For us, marriage represents something far greater. It’s a sign of God’s self-giving, sacrificial love for us, the kind of love that we’re called share with others in return. Marriage is intended by God to serve as an example of what God’s Kingdom looks like—an example of mutual respect and concern for the other over the self.

God grieves with us any time we experience the end of a marriage or any other close, intimate relationship. But, I’m also convinced that God desires for us to live full and healthy lives and to love others, despite the risk of being heartbroken. As C.S. Lewis put it, to do otherwise—to shield ourselves from the possibility of a broken heart—is the same as cutting ourselves off from God.

Jesus teaches us in today’s Gospel lesson that in order to live in God’s Kingdom, in order to live the full and abundant lives that God intends for us, we must not allow ourselves to give in to our own, selfish desires or allow our hearts to be hardened. Instead, we must allow ourselves to be vulnerable and open, even at the risk of being hurt.

It’s fitting that today, on the Nineteenth Sunday after Pentecost, we’re also taking time to commemorate and give thanks for the ministry of St. Francis of Assisi in our Blessing of the Animals service. As many of you know, St. Francis had a passion for taking care of God’s creation. We typically remember him as the patron saint of animals and the environment. Each year, on or around his feast day, we get to bring our beloved pets to church for a special blessing. However, Francis also had a passion for taking care of people. As a young man, he dedicated his life to serving the poor, and he felt called to renounce anything of material value, embracing a life of poverty.  When he established his own monastic order, he required his Friars to do the same, to live in solidarity with those who had nothing. For Francis, this act of letting go of material things was his way of responding to God’s call to live with compassion—to live with a broken heart so that the love of God may flow through him and reach others.

Imagine what the world might look like if only we were willing to live as Francis lived. Imagine what the world might look like if only we were willing to let go of our need to avoid the pain and suffering of others, to let go of those things that prevent us from living with broken hearts.

To do so would mean opening ourselves to the possibility of being hurt, but it would also mean opening ourselves to the possibility of abundant life with God. As Christians, this is our calling. We’re called to live with compassion and to respond to the needs and concerns of the world around us, and make no mistake about it, my brothers and sisters—our world is in need. All you have to do is turn on the television or read the news. Our world needs to hear and witness the Gospel of Jesus Christ proclaimed in word and deed, now more than ever. Those living on the margins, including the most vulnerable among us, need to experience the grace and mercy of a God who loves them perfectly and completely, without exception. We’ve been empowered by the Holy Spirit and given the responsibility of serving as instruments of God’s love.

In the words of Mother Teresa, “May God break our hearts so completely that the whole world falls in.”

Amen.

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A video of this sermon is available below, beginning at the 17:40 mark.

A Sermon for the Sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost (Proper 19, Year B)
September 12, 2021

Text: Mark 8:27-38

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

“Jesus called the crowd with his disciples, and said to them, ‘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, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it.’”

Close your eyes, and imagine, for a moment, that you’re taking a walk through what appears to be a very nice, suburban neighborhood. You’re walking down a sidewalk lined with tall, luscious trees and beautifully landscaped front yards. Judging from the appearance of the homes in this neighborhood and the people who live here, it’s probably made up of mostly middle to upper-middle class families. There’s no trash on the ground anywhere, and you imagine that it would be a grave sin to even consider going more than a couple of weeks without cutting the grass. The appearance of this neighborhood is well maintained, and the residents who live here want to keep it that way.

After a few blocks of walking down the sidewalk, you come to what appears to be a church in the middle of this pristine neighborhood. The church, like the neighborhood in which it resides, is beautiful. The front yard is immaculate, enclosed with red brick columns and a black, wrought iron fence. You imagine that it must take a lot of work to maintain such a lovely appearance. Upon further investigation, you discover that this church is an Episcopal Church, and as you continue walking by, you witness a very shocking sight, indeed—something out of the ordinary and quite unexpected. From a short distance, you see what appears to be a homeless person, covered up with a long blanket and sleeping on a park bench next to the church. You ask yourself, “How could there be a homeless person sleeping here in the middle of this perfect neighborhood?” “How did they get here?” Despite your initial shock, you decide to move a little closer to see if there’s any way you can help. Maybe he or she needs help with food or money to purchase a bus ticket.

So, you move closer, and as you approach the covered up person on the bench, you notice something strange about their feet, the only part of their body that isn’t covered up with the blanket. You notice that each foot has a large, round scar in the center, and then it dawns on you. This isn’t just any homeless person. These are the feet of Jesus.

Now, open your eyes.

In February of 2014, St. Alban’s Episcopal Church in Davidson, North Carolina, installed a bronze replica of Homeless Jesus, a sculpture that was originally designed and created by the Canadian artist, Timothy Schmalz. According to one article, the original sculpture was intended as a “visual translation of the passage in the Book of Matthew, in which Jesus tells his disciples, ‘As you did it to one of the least of my brothers, you did it to me.’” The Rev. David Buck, who was serving as rector of St. Alban’s when the replica was installed, stated in the article that the sculpture is “a good Bible lesson for those used to seeing Jesus depicted in traditional religious art as the Christ of glory, enthroned in finery.”

As you can imagine, when the sculpture was first installed at St. Alban’s, the church received mixed reactions from the community. Some people loved it. Others found it revolting. One woman from the neighborhood actually called the police the first time she drove by because she thought it was an actual homeless person. Another person wrote a letter to the church, claiming that the statue was creepy. Others felt that it was insulting to depict Jesus as a homeless person.

I have to admit that when I first saw the pictures of Homeless Jesus, I didn’t quite know what to think. On one hand, I found it to be incredibly powerful. The sculpture is a vivid and poignant reminder that, in order to serve Jesus, we must be willing to serve our brothers and sisters, especially the most vulnerable and needy among us.

On the other hand, it challenged my perception and expectations of Jesus. It made me realize that I’m really uncomfortable with the idea of a Savior who sleeps on a park bench, covered up with an old, tattered blanket. It made me realize that I really don’t want a Savior with scars on his feet, reminding me that his journey to the cross is the same journey that I’m called to make as one of his disciples. Like Peter, in our lesson this morning from the Gospel of Mark, I don’t want to hear that the Son of Man has to go through great suffering and be rejected and killed by the religious leaders.

No, I want a Savior who will reassure me that everything’s under control and tell me that I can follow him without having to give up anything in return. I want the long-expected Messiah, the mighty king who will come and fix everything that’s wrong with the world. If I’m being completely honest, I want a safe Jesus—a Jesus who will protect me from getting hurt and shelter me from any kind of suffering.

In other words, I don’t want Good Friday Jesus. I want the resurrected Jesus.

The problem with that is that we don’t get to skip over Good Friday and go straight to Easter, do we? We don’t get to look at the homeless Jesus lying asleep on the park bench and say, “That’s not my Jesus.” Whether we like it or not, our Jesus is the one who lies covered up on the park bench, waiting for us to reach out in love. Our Jesus is the one who suffers right alongside those on the margins of society. Our Jesus is the one who goes to the cross, who is persecuted and killed, in order to teach us that the way of the cross is the way to eternal life with God.

New Testament scholar, N.T. Wright, once wrote, “Jesus’s call to follow him, to discover in the present time the habits of life which point forward to the coming kingdom and already, in a measure, share in its life, only makes sense when it is couched in the terms made famous by Dietrich Bonhoeffer: ‘Come and die.’ Jesus didn’t say, as do some modern evangelists, ‘God loves you and has a wonderful plan for your life.’ Nor did he say, ‘I accept you as you are, so you can now happily do whatever comes naturally.’ He said, ‘If you want to become my followers, deny yourself, take up your cross, and follow me.’”

Dear friends, God loves us more than we can imagine, and God does have a wonderful plan for our lives. But, that plan doesn’t involve material things or worldly comforts, and it doesn’t involve freedom from suffering or passively waiting around for someone else to come along and do the work for us. God’s plan is for us to participate in the building up of God’s Kingdom, to help bring healing and reconciliation to the world that God has made. Jesus began this work in his ministry and sacrifice on the cross, and it’s the work that we’re called to continue as his disciples.

Yes, God love us and accepts us as we are, but that doesn’t mean that God wants us to stay as we are. As followers of Jesus, we believe that new life is always possible and that forgiveness and redemption are always within our reach. This Christian life to which we’re called is a lifelong journey of transformation, but in order to experience the transformation that God desires for us, we must first be willing to let go of the things that hold us back, including our false ideas and expectations of who Jesus is and what Jesus calls us to do.

My brothers and sisters in Christ, as we come to the beginning of this new program year at Holy Spirit and celebrate coming together again as a community of faith, may we always hold on to the image of the homeless Jesus lying on a park bench, reminding us that his place and our place is with the poor, the sick, and the oppressed. May we always hold on to the image of the scars on Jesus’s feet, reminding us that his journey to the cross is our journey as well. And finally, may we always hold onto the words of St. John Chrysostom, a pillar of the early Christian church, who once wrote, “If you cannot find Christ in the beggar at the church door, you will not find Him in the chalice.”

Amen.

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A video of this sermon is available below, beginning at the 22:40 mark.

A Sermon for the Fifteenth Sunday after Pentecost (Proper 18, Year B)
September 5, 2021

Text: James 2:1-17

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

In our lesson this morning from the Letter of James, the author writes, “What good is it, my brothers and sisters, if you say you have faith but do not have works? Can faith save you? If a brother or sister is naked and lacks daily food, and one of you says to them, ‘Go in peace; keep warm and eat your fill,’ and yet you do not supply their bodily needs, what is the good of that? So faith by itself, if it has no works, is dead.”

That’s a pretty bold statement, isn’t it? Do you agree with the author? Do you agree that “faith by itself, if it has no works, is dead”?

It may sound harsh, but I think James was right. Faith by itself, when we refuse to put it into action, is pointless.

But, if I’m being honest, I’m not sure that all Christians are on the same page. I’m convinced that there are some Christians who truly believe that simply professing Jesus as their Lord and Savior and claiming to be a follower of Jesus is enough. I’m convinced that there are some who think that simply showing up to church once a week on Sunday mornings is all you have to do to be considered a faithful disciple. I’m here to tell you this morning, dear friends, that this way of thinking couldn’t be further from the truth. Now, don’t get me wrong. Those things are important. Sharing our faith in Jesus with others and coming to church on Sunday mornings is important. But, it’s only the beginning.

As followers in the way of Jesus, we’re called to be the hands and feet of Christ in the world around us. What that means is that we’re called not only to profess Jesus as our Lord and Savior but also to make the love of Christ known to others through our words and actions. I’ve said this before, and I’ll say it again. The Christian way of life is an embodied faith. James, who was a prominent leader in the early Church in Jerusalem, reminds us this morning in his letter that our faith means nothing unless we put into action what we believe to be true about God and God’s Kingdom.

In the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus speaks about this in his Sermon on the Mount when he says to the people gathered, “Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the kingdom of heaven, but only the one who does the will of my Father who is in heaven. Many will say to me that day, ‘Lord, Lord, did we not prophesy in your name and in your name drive out demons and in your name perform many miracles?’ Then I will tell them plainly, ‘I never knew you. Away from me, you evildoers!’”

Claiming to be a Christ-follower and casually throwing out the name of Jesus isn’t enough. In the words of James, we do well if we fulfill the royal law according to the scripture, “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” Over the years, I’ve come to understand this commandment of Jesus differently. To me, it means more than loving your neighbor as much as you love yourself. It means loving your neighbor as an extension of yourself. To love your neighbor as yourself is to remember that we’re all connected as one human family, as God’s beloved children.

Last week, while my family and I were on vacation at the beach, I had the privilege of performing not one, but two baptisms in the Gulf of Mexico! As a priest, every baptism I get to do is special, but these baptisms were especially important to me.

I got to baptize my younger sister, Haiden, and her nine-month-old daughter—my niece—Everly.

It was a day I’ll remember for the rest of my life. We woke up on Saturday morning, ate breakfast, and got ready to head to the beach for the service. But, before we left the house, I had some time alone on the front porch with my sister to talk with her about the significance of baptism. By the way, this is something I do with everyone who’s preparing to be baptized, not just members of my family.

I asked my sister, “Why do you want to be baptized?”

I asked her this question, not only because I wanted her to think about it beforehand, but also because I was genuinely curious. Neither of us grew up going to church regularly. So, I wanted to know what she was thinking. I wanted to hear, in her words, why it was important for her to be baptized.

I think she was a little surprised by my question. Judging from her reaction, I cold tell that she didn’t quite know what to say.

But, after a moment of thinking about it, she told me, “Well, I want to get baptized so I can invite Jesus to live in my heart.”

It’s probably the same, exact answer that a countless number of people have given when they were asked that question.

So, I looked at her and gave her a little nod, and I said, “That’s a great reason.”

But, then I continued on, and I told her that baptism is about more than just inviting Jesus into your heart. When we’re baptized, we take on a new way of life and make a commitment to living no longer for ourselves alone but also for others. Yes, we’re cleansed of our sins through the waters of baptism, but even more important than that, we become living members of Christ’s Body, called to do the work of building up God’s Kingdom. When we receive the sacrament of baptism, we make a place for Christ to live in us, but we also promise to live in Christ. We make a vow to love and serve Christ in all persons, just as we ourselves have been loved and served by God.

She looked at me as I explained all of this, and I think she understood. Baptism means more than simply having faith in Christ. It means making a daily commitment to live out our faith.

After our conversation, we made our way down to the beach, and I couldn’t help but quietly express my gratitude to God for giving me this amazing gift, to be able to welcome my sister and niece into the household of God and to share this beautiful moment with my family.

During the first part of the service, we gathered around a makeshift altar, set up near the water’s edge, to hear the reading of Scripture and for the presentation of the candidates for baptism.

Then, after the prayers for the candidates, we moved closer to the water, where I stood ankle-deep in the Gulf and said the prayer of thanksgiving over the water. In that moment, I became very emotional and was moved to tears. I think it had a lot to do with where we were and what we were doing, but I think it also had a lot to do with the weight of those words and the understanding that the sacrament of baptism connects all of us with something much greater than we often realize. In that prayer of thanksgiving, we’re reminded of our salvation history and how the same God who delivered the people of Israel out of their bondage in Egypt is the same God who grants us freedom and peace in our lives. We’re reminded in that prayer that the same Spirit who moved over the waters of creation and was present at the baptism of Jesus is present with us, here and now, breathing into us new life and empowering for the work of ministry.

To be honest, I barely made it through the entire prayer. For a moment, I thought I was going to have to stop and ask someone to say the rest of the words for me. But, eventually I made it through. And Haiden and Everly were baptized, and there was great rejoicing in heaven as we added two new members to the Body of Christ.

After the administration of the water, I anointed each of them with the oil of chrism, saying the words, “You are sealed by the Holy Spirit in baptism and marked as Christ’s own forever.”

Then, we made our way back to where we began on the beach and shared the Body and Blood of Christ around the altar table.

As members of the Body of Christ, we are sealed be the Holy Spirit and marked as Christ’s own forever, together with all the saints in heaven and on earth. Jesus promises to abide in us, and in turn, we promise to abide in him. This carries with it an awful lot of responsibility, but thankfully, we never have to go about this work alone. We get to share our lives in Christ with each other—in good times and in tough times—and for that, I say, “Thanks be to God.” Amen.

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A video of this sermon is available below, beginning at the 21:36 mark.

A Sermon for the Eleventh Sunday after Pentecost (Proper 14, Year B)
August 8, 2021

Text: Ephesians 4:25-5:2

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

There are certain things I remember about going to school as a child. For example, I remember waking up in the morning, getting dressed, and having just enough time to watch one episode of “Saved by the Bell” before it was time to get on the bus to go to school.

I remember how excited I used to get when it was time to shop for school supplies before the start of a new school year. As a child, I loved going to school, in case you couldn’t tell.

I remember learning how to use a computer for the first time and how exciting it was to have a set of computers in the classroom, which was a big deal back then. Of course, my favorite game to play on the computer was “The Oregon Trail.” For those of you who are close to my age, you probably know exactly what I’m talking about.

I remember chalkboards and being asked to go outside and clean the erasers by beating them together. It was a messy job, but I enjoyed doing it. I remember the uncomfortable, wooden desks we used to sit in and the overhead projectors that teachers would use to project math problems on the wall. I remember the smell of worksheets copied with purple ink on a mimeograph and having to get up to go and use a hand-cranked pencil sharpener on the wall.

I remember the popular trends as well—things that everyone had to have in order to be considered cool—like slap bracelets, plastic lunch boxes with superheroes on the front, and, of course, Trapper Keepers, which was absolutely necessary in order to keep all of your papers and assignments well organized. At least, that’s what I told my parents.

Another trend I witnessed in the late 80s and early 90s is one that most of us probably remember, even if you weren’t in school at the time. They were popular. You might’ve even owned one of these at one time or another. I’m talking about those bright, multi-colored bracelets that had the letters “WWJD” printed on them. And, of course, we all know what “WWJD” stands for, don’t we? Say it with me. What would Jesus do?

Well, I never had a WWJD bracelet. I guess I was never cool enough. The kids who wore those were typically the ones who were active in their own churches and youth groups, and in small-town Alabama, that usually meant Baptist, Church of Christ, or Methodist. I didn’t grow up going to church, at least not on a regular basis, but, I can remember, as a young child, seeing those bracelets and wondering, “What does it mean?” What does “WWJD” mean?

Eventually, I found out what those letters stood for. My fellow classmates made sure of that. But, it would be years before I really understood the importance of the question, “What would Jesus do?”

In today’s reading from Paul’s letter to the Ephesians, the author writes, “Put away from you all bitterness and wrath and anger and wrangling and slander, together with all malice, and be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ has forgiven you. Therefore be imitators of God, as beloved children, and live in love, as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us, a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God.”

In this passage, which is actually part of a letter to one of the earliest Christian communities, the author provides instructions to these early Christians on how they should live their lives as followers of Jesus. My friends, the same is true for us today, in our own time and place. Paul’s letter to the Ephesians instructs us, as Christians—here and now—to “be imitators of God, as beloved children.”

Well, I don’t know about you, but the thought of imitating God is overwhelming, to say the least. How can we possibly begin to imitate God? How can we imitate the one who created all of us, the one who exhibits perfect love and perfect grace all the time? It seems impossible, doesn’t it?

To begin, I think we have to have a model, an example to live by. We have to have something personal that we can experience for ourselves, something to witness so that we can begin to exhibit the same kind of love and grace that we’ve already received from our generous God. In order to be “imitators of God,” we have to have something more than just abstract concepts or ideas about God.

Why? Because we learn through our experiences.

When you think about it, we’ve been doing this our whole lives, from infancy and childhood until adolescence and adulthood. We are who we are today because of the people who’ve been right there with us every step of the way through our life’s journey, those who’ve influenced us the most—members of our family, our parents, our teachers, our coaches, our Sunday school teachers, our pastors, and so many others. Our lives have been shaped, for better or worse, by all of these people and the countless experiences we’ve had since we drew our first breath.

We learn through our experiences, and this is why we desperately need something concrete to hold on to when we seek to live as “imitators of God.” This is why we need Jesus in our lives and why the question, “What would Jesus do?” is so important. It keeps us rooted in our faith.

In a commentary on today’s lesson from Ephesians, one author writes, “Christianity has yet to grasp the full implication of the incarnation: the Word has become flesh and dwells all around us. Paul is calling for these early Christians not merely to worship God in Christ, but through the Holy Spirit to imitate Christ in their own behavior, for the sake of the Christ’s church and the sake of the world. They are to forgive as they have been forgiven. They must turn from wrangling and slander and turn instead toward kindness and forgiveness for Christ’s sake. We imitate Christ in hopes that through the Holy Spirit we will grow into the likeness of Christ and that God will use us as instruments to bring in God’s realm of peace, justice, and mercy.”

My brothers and sisters, the question, “What would Jesus do?” is more than a simple catchphrase or something we wear on our wrists from time to time. It’s a question we need to ask ourselves, every moment of every day, in order to pattern our life on the one who lived and died as one of us, the one who teaches us how to be “imitators of God.”

“WWJD.” “What would Jesus do?” May this question precede every action we take and every word that comes from our mouths, and while we’re at it, let us ask ourselves another question—one that’s equally if not more important to consider, especially in this challenging time as the pandemic continues on and we’re being called upon to care for the most vulnerable among us. “WWJND.” “What would Jesus not do?”

Our Sequence hymn for this morning, which we sang a little while ago, is actually a paraphrase of a prayer attributed to St. Francis of Assisi. Actually, you can find it printed in the back of your Prayer Book. To me, there’s something so inspiring about this particular prayer that seems to resonate with those who hear it. Perhaps, it resonates with us because it helps us put into words that which we find difficult to articulate on our own. It helps us confess that we’re all broken people living in a broken world and that we desperately need God’s grace and mercy in order to do the work we’ve been given to do as God’s people. Personally, it challenges me to live better each day and to strive, more and more, to live into my calling as a follower of Jesus and imitator of God.

Please join me in prayer.

Lord, make us instruments of your peace.
Where there is hatred, let us sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is discord, union;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
where there is sadness, joy.
Grant that we may not so much seek to be consoled as to console;
to be understood as to understand;
to be loved as to love. 
For it is in giving that we receive;
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life. Amen.

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A video of this sermon is available below, beginning at the 21:05 mark.

A Sermon for the Tenth Sunday after Pentecost (Proper 13, Year B)
August 1, 2021

Text: Ephesians 4:1-16, John 6:24-35

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

From Paul’s letter to the Ephesians: “I therefore, the prisoner in the Lord, beg you to lead a life worthy of the calling to which you have been called, with all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another in love, making every effort to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace.”

“I beg you, “ the author writes, “to lead a life worthy of the calling to which you have been called.”

I love these words. To me, they convey a sense of Christian responsibility and urgency, and they remind us that this life to which we’ve been called, as followers of Jesus, is built upon a foundation of compassion and human decency. As Christians, the way we treat our brothers and sisters really does matter. We have the ability, through our words and actions, to be examples of God’s love to those we meet in our everyday lives, and the author of Ephesians uses specific words to describe how we’re called to speak and act—words like humility and gentleness, patience and love.

I think there’s something else, though—something more to be discovered from this text. To me, these words from Ephesians also seem to suggest that our calling is actually a gift from God. Have you ever considered that before? Have you ever thought of your call to follow Jesus as a gift from God? We tend to think of God’s call as something that’s extended to everyone, and that’s true. All of us are called to live lives worthy of the Gospel, and God gives each of us the freedom to choose whether or not to respond to that call. 

But, I’m not sure that we give enough thought to the fact that God’s call is actually a gift, extended to us in love. Perhaps, that’s because responding to God’s call is sometimes quite difficult, especially when it requires us to give up things in our lives that we so desperately want to cling to. Sometimes, God’s call feels more like a curse than a blessing. I’ll be the first to admit that I’ve felt like that a lot over the past year and a half as we’ve been called upon, time and again, to do things like wear masks and socially distance ourselves in order to keep others safe and healthy and to prevent further spread of the coronavirus. Even now, we’re being called upon, once again, to wear masks indoors as the number of cases goes back up, and we’re faced with the question that we’ve been asking ourselves over and over again since last March. “When will this all be over?”

So, yes, sometimes God’s call to love others feels more like a curse than a blessing. Sometimes, the burdens we’re called to bear for the sake of others seem just too heavy.

What do we do, then, when we feel as though we’ve reached our limit? How do we lead lives worthy of our calling when we’re too tired to carry on? Where do we go when we need a renewed sense of hope and reassurance?

Well, I have some thoughts about that, but first, I want to share with you a story.

Several years ago, when I was serving as one of the priests on staff at my first parish in Texas, we put on a Vacation Bible School program called, “Abundant Life,” which was inspired by the work of Episcopal Relief and Development. You may have heard me talk about ERD in the past. Basically, it’s an organization of the Episcopal Church that works to alleviate poverty, hunger, and the spread of disease in countries all around the world.

The goal for our Vacation Bible School program that summer was to offer children the opportunity to consider the many ways that God calls us to be good stewards of creation. So, we talked about God’s gifts of water, soil, seeds, and animals and how all of these gifts impact our relationship with the earth. We listened to stories from Holy Scripture. We planted flower seeds in clay pots that the children decorated themselves. We played games and sang songs, and we had a wonderful time doing it all.

On the last evening of VBS, during the closing Eucharist, I explained to the children how the fruits of the earth that we receive from God can be used to create things that nourish us, such as bread.  

Holding a large bowl full of flour, I asked the children, “Who knows what this is?”

Many of them already knew what it was.

They shouted out, “Flour!”  Then, I passed the bowl around so they could feel the flour in between their fingers, and as I passed it, I asked them, “What kinds of things can we make with flour?”

Well, as you can imagine, I received some pretty colorful responses.

Without hesitating, one child raised their hand and shouted out, “Cake!”

Another shouted out, “Bread!”

Another shouted, “Cookies!”

And then, my favorite response of all, “Peanut Butter Balls!” Well, I don’t exactly know what peanut butter balls are, but they sound wonderful.

The children continued passing the bowl of flour around, and when the last child in the group had a chance to touch the flour, I said, “Yes, we can make lots of things with flour, and like someone already mentioned, we can make bread.”

Then, I walked back to the Altar table that we had set up in the Parish Hall. I held up several flat, round loaves of bread that I had baked the day before, and I explained to the children that we can use bread in different ways. It tastes good, and we use it to nourish our bodies. But, we also use it during communion at church because it’s a sign for us that God loves us and that Jesus is here with us when we receive the bread and the wine.

I told them, “When we receive the bread and wine in communion, we carry Jesus with us wherever we go so that we may love others as Jesus taught us to love.”

“In what ways does Jesus teach us to love others?” I asked them.

Then, I read a passage from the Gospel of Matthew, a children’s version. “The Kingdom is yours,” I said. “Come. When I was hungry, you fed me. When I was thirsty, you gave me a drink of water. You welcomed me when I didn’t know anyone. When I needed clothing, you gave me some. You took care of me when I was sick and visited me in prison.”

“That is how we love like Jesus wants us to love,” I told the children. “We love by taking care of other people, especially those who have less than we do, those who have no one else to care for them.”

I’ve been a priest for a little over six years, and in that time, I’ve experienced moments of grace that are beyond anything I could’ve expected or imagined. One of those moments was getting to celebrate the Eucharist at the end of Vacation Bible School one summer with thirty children gathered around a makeshift Altar table. I believe children instinctively know what’s going on when we receive the Body and Blood of Christ in the Eucharist. They may not be able to articulate it, but they know something special is happening. They may not seem overly interested in what’s going on, but the Holy Spirit is present. God shows up when we gather at the Table, even when the chaos of chattering children might convince us otherwise.

But, God does more than show up.

God uses simple things like bread and wine to show us how to live as Jesus lived. God uses bread and wine to form us into the Body of Christ and to give us the spiritual food we need to continue the journey.

So, back to my questions from before.

What do we do when we feel tired and hopeless? How do we continue on when we feel like there’s no more fuel for the fire? For us, in this time of pandemic, how do we hold on to what we know is true?

I think the answer can be found in our lesson today from John’s Gospel when Jesus says to the crowd, “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.”

When we feel lost or afraid, we hold on to Jesus. When we feel like we have nothing left to hold on to, we come to the Table to be fed. We remember that there’s nothing in this world, nothing other than Jesus, that can fill us with what we truly need for the life to which we’ve been called.

It’s the reason why the Eucharist is seen as our principal act of worship in the Episcopal Church and why it lies at the center of everything we do as a community of faith.

The abundant life to which we’re called by God is one of self-giving, sacrificial love and a commitment to serve God’s people. But, Lord knows, it isn’t easy, and we can’t go about this work alone. We need to be strengthened and renewed in our walk with Christ. We need Jesus to be present in our lives and to fill us with that spiritual food which only he can provide.

As I was preparing my sermon for this morning, I was reminded of the words of invitation to communion from the Iona Community, which we use each Sunday here at Holy Spirit before the Great Thanksgiving. Listen to these words. Carry them with you, and remember them, especially in those moments when it feels like all hope is lost.

“This is the table, not of the Church but of Jesus Christ. It is made ready for those who love God and who want to love God more. So come, you who have much faith and you who have little; you who have been here often and you who have not been for a long time or ever before; you who have tried to follow and you who have failed. Come, not because the Church invites you; it is Christ who invites you to be known and fed here.”

Amen.

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A video of this sermon is available below, beginning at the 21:30 mark.