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.

---

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.

---

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.

---

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.

---

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.

---

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.

---

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

A Sermon for the Eighth Sunday after Pentecost (Proper 11, Year B)
July 18, 2021

Text: Mark 6:30-34, 53-56

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

From the Gospel of Mark: Jesus said to his disciples, “Come away to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest a while.” For many were coming and going, and they had no leisure even to eat. And they went away in the boat to a deserted place by themselves.

I have a really hard time with allowing myself to rest. I rarely take time off from doing work. In fact, the thought of being still and doing nothing actually causes me to stress out. Over the years, I’ve gotten better at allowing myself to rest, but even now, it’s a struggle.

Do you have this problem? Do you have a hard time allowing yourself time for rest?

What I’ve discovered is that, even when I have the time to rest, I manage to find ways to avoid it at all cost. My mind won’t allow me to escape from the endless list of things that must be done. The worst part is that I justify avoiding rest by using the same excuse that so many of us use, time and time again. “I just have too much to do.”

I have too much to do to stop and rest now.

Is this something that you struggle with?

Several years ago, I came across an interesting article online, entitled, “Busy is a Sickness.”  Drawing from a survey conducted by the American Psychological Association, the author of the article suggested that most Americans recognize the need to reduce the amount of stress in their lives but that they’re too busy to address the problem. According to the article, there are two forms of busyness that cause stress. There’s “busyness without control.” This is the type of busyness that’s created for us. It’s the working poor, those who are forced to work multiple jobs to make ends meet, that often suffer from this type of busyness the most. Then, there’s the type of stress that most of us experience on a daily basis, “busyness with control.” This is the type of busyness that we create for ourselves. In other words, it’s “self-created stress.”

The interesting thing about “self-created stress” is that it often feels like something that we can’t live without. Our society teaches us that busyness leads to success, and we convince ourselves that if we’re not constantly working or doing something productive, we’re being lazy or wasting valuable time.

I’m very familiar with this type of stress, and if you’re like me, you wear it like a badge of honor as if being constantly busy is something to be proud of. But, I can assure you that it isn’t.

The problem with this way of thinking is that we need time to rest from our labors. We need moments of escape from the busyness of our everyday lives in order to be renewed and restored. These moments are important. They provide us with the opportunity to reconnect with who God created us to be and to find relief from the burden of stress that so many of us bear.

Rest is a gift given to us by God in creation. It’s also something that God expects us to do.

Think about the story from the Book of Exodus of Moses receiving the Ten Commandments. God says to Moses, “Remember the sabbath day, and keep it holy. Six days you shall labor and do all your work. But the seventh day is a sabbath to the LORD your God; you shall not do any work–you, your son or your daughter, your male or female slave, your livestock, or the alien resident in your towns. For in six days the LORD made heaven and earth, the sea, and all that is in them, but rested the seventh day; therefore the LORD blessed the sabbath day and consecrated it.”

So, rest isn’t just a gift. It’s also a commandment—part of our covenant with the God who created us.

At the beginning of the Book of Genesis, after the creation of the heavens and the earth and their entire multitude, God completed God’s work of creation on the seventh day.

And what did God create?

God created menuha.  

In English, the word menuha means, “rest,” but in Hebrew, this word means much more than simply withdrawing from physical labor. According to Rabbi Abraham Heschel, menuha is the same as “happiness and stillness, as peace and harmony.” Menuha is the “essence of good life” and the word used to describe the life of the world to come.

On the seventh day, God consecrated the Sabbath and created menuha. God created time for us to be still in God’s presence and to enjoy the lives that we’ve been given.

Imagine what it would be like if we recognized this time as a precious gift and not just something we do if we get around to it. What if we took the time to stop what we’re doing in order to stop and simply enjoy the gift of being alive?

What would that look like for you?

Sabbath time is sacred time. It’s time for renewing the body and refreshing the soul. It’s difficult to define and will look different for most people. Perhaps, the most helpful way for us to describe what our Sabbath time looks like is to identify what it doesn’t look like. We may be unable to say what our Sabbath will be, but we can certainly say what our Sabbath won’t be. For you, Sabbath time might be time away from checking e-mail or taking work-related telephone calls. Maybe it’s time away from the noise of the television or the constant need to update your Facebook status. Sabbath time might also be time away from the endless list of chores that need to be done around the house. Sabbath time, dear friends, is time to avoid those things that cause us to be distracted from rest. According to one author, sabbath is a “sanctuary in time” set apart for us to experience the fullness of God’s love.

In the midst of our relentlessly busy lives, we can’t expect Sabbath time to happen without being intentional. It requires discipline. It’s our responsibility to set aside the time that we need and to make the necessary preparations. No one is going to do it for us. The full Sabbath day remains a strict act of observance in the Jewish faith tradition. Of course, it would be wonderful if we all had the freedom to observe an entire day of Sabbath rest, but for many, it’s practically impossible. The daily demands of work and other obligations tend to interrupt our days. So, it’s up to us to set aside the time we need when we’re able, even if it’s only for a half a day or a few hours here and there. We need that time each week, time to retreat briefly from the stresses of our responsibilities and obligations.

I particularly love the part in today’s lesson from the Gospel of Mark when Jesus says to his disciples, “Come away to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest a while.” There are several instances in the Gospels when Jesus retreated—either alone or with his friends—to rest from the daily demands of his public ministry. To me, it means that Jesus recognized the need for rest, and he had the wisdom to take the time he needed in order to be renewed and restored. He recognized that, in order to continue on in his ministry and to be able to offer compassion and healing to those who came to him for help, he needed to take time to care for himself. He needed to practice self-care, which is something we all need to learn.

During these summer months, as our time during this season after Pentecost continues, I invite you to consider taking more time to practice self-care, more time to escape from the busyness of your everyday lives and to simply rest in the palm of God’s hand. I encourage you to be intentional about making time to be still in the presence of God and to live the abundant life that God has called you to live. Amen.

---

A video of this sermon is available below, beginning at the 20:30 mark.

A Sermon for the Second Sunday after Pentecost (Proper 5, Year B)
June 6, 2021

Text: Mark 3:20-35

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

This past Tuesday, Jude and I drove to Camp McDowell to pick up Sophie after her five-day session of summer camp. Of course, she had a blast, and when I asked her if she missed us, she said, “No, not even a little bit!” When we got in the car to go home, the first thing I said was, “Tell me everything!” “What was your favorite activity?” “What was your favorite meal?” “How many new friends did you make?” “What was the program like?” I asked her so many questions, and she was happy to answer them. Then, as we were on our way home, I told her how happy it made me that she loved camp as much as I do. I told her that it meant a lot to me to be able to share with her this amazing place that’s been so important to me in my life.

Those who know me well know that one of my absolute favorite places on earth is Camp McDowell—our beloved camp and conference center here in the Diocese of Alabama. I like to describe it to others as the “heart” of our diocese, because that’s really what it is. It’s a place where we can all go to be recharged and renewed in our walk with Christ,  a place where we can all go to get reacquainted with God and to feel a sense of connection with other people. It takes about an hour and twenty minutes to drive one way from Alabaster to Camp McDowell, but that doesn’t really bother me at all. Every chance I get, I’m off to camp, because it holds such a special place in my heart, as it does for so many others.

There’s a reason why Camp McDowell is nicknamed “God’s Backyard,” and all you have to do is spend a little time there to figure out why. Of course, people go there to enjoy the natural beauty of God’s creation. You can go swimming in one of the swimming pools or canoeing in Clear Creek. You can take a hike along the path that leads to the tall, white cross, across the creek from Lower Camp. Or, you can just sit in one of the rocking chairs on the porch in front of Epps Hall while reading a book or enjoying a cup of coffee. All of those things are wonderful and reasons enough to go to camp. But, I would dare to say that the real reason why people like me go to camp every chance they get—why people love it so much—is because camp is a place where you can go and feel loved and accepted by everyone you meet, no matter who you are or where you come from. Camp McDowell is a place that strives every day to demonstrate the radical love and hospitality of Jesus. It’s probably stated best in their mission statement—“to show the way the world could be through worship, learning, rest, and play in the beauty of God’s Backyard.”

I love that statement—“to show the way the world could be.” Every time I come home from camp, I think about those words, wondering to myself, “Why can’t every day be like camp?” Why can’t we love and accept others exactly the way they are every day? Why can’t we leave the worries of the world behind us and just focus on loving each other and enjoying the beauty of God’s creation every day? Wouldn’t the world be a better place? I think it would.

Why can’t every day be like camp? Well, the short answer is, “I think it can be.” We can choose to live every day with the spirit of camp—and the love of Jesus—in our hearts. When we go to camp and return home, we can carry a little bit of camp with us wherever we go. We can remember what it was like while we were there, and we can live our lives in such a way to show others “the way the world could be.” In a sense, going to camp is a lot like showing up to church on Sunday mornings. We come to be surrounded by those who love us and support us, those who remind us that we’re not alone. We come for strength and renewal, not only for ourselves, but also for the life of the world. We come to be strengthened and renewed in the way of Jesus so that we may go forth from this place and proclaim the Good News of God in Christ to a world that desperately needs to hear it, to people who desperately need to hear that they’re perfectly and unconditionally loved by the God who created them, no matter what.

At their best, that’s what places like Camp McDowell do. They form us and provide us with what we need to live in the world as followers of Jesus.

One of my favorite songs from camp, which Sophie reminded me of when I picked her up on Tuesday, is the song, “Lean on Me,” which was actually written in 1972 by the singer/songwriter, Bill Withers, who passed away last year. I’m sure most of us have heard it countless times. The first verse goes like this. Feel free to join in…

Sometimes in our lives
We all have pain
We all have sorrow
But if we are wise
We know that there’s always tomorrow
Lean on me
When you’re not strong
And I’ll be your friend
I’ll help you carry on…
For it won’t be long
Till I’m gonna need somebody to lean on.

Actually, I think this song is perfect for camp, because when you’re there, you really do feel like part of one, big family, full of people you can lean on in those moments when you’re feeling lost or afraid. I think this is the kind of family that Jesus is speaking of at the end of our lesson this morning from the Gospel of Mark when he asks the crowd, rhetorically, “Who are my mother and my brothers?” Then, looking around at those who were siting next to him, Jesus says, “Here are my mother and my brothers! Whoever does the will of God is my brother and sister and mother.”

I don’t think this statement was Jesus’ way of saying that our human families are unimportant or that we shouldn’t care about the relationships we have with our actual family members. I believe Jesus loved his family very much, despite their inability to understand him at times and their attempt to silence him when people started calling him crazy for preaching about the Kingdom of God.

When Jesus says to the crowd, “Whoever does the will of God is my brother and sister and mother,” I think it’s his way of saying that we also have a spiritual family—a family that anyone can belong to, no matter what you look like or where you come from or who you love, a family where all who want to love and serve God are embraced and welcomed with open arms.

That’s what I think of when I think of places like Camp McDowell. It’s also what I think of when I think about our parish. One of the first things I fell in love with here at Holy Spirit was our commitment to diversity and our willingness to accept people into our family of faith exactly the way God made them. Our work continues on, my friends. There are still corners of the world—even in our own community—where people are disregarded and told they are “less than” because of the color of their skin or who they choose to be in a loving relationship with. We have the ability to be the hands and feet of Christ to those whom the world would rather toss aside and forget. We have the ability “to show the way the world could be” through our words of love and acceptance. This has been on my mind a lot lately, especially since we’re now in the month of June, the time when our LGBTQ brothers and sisters celebrate Pride Month.

And, just to be clear, in case I haven’t already, if you’re a long-time member of this parish or visiting for the first time, this priest loves you and accepts you for who you are, no matter what. I’ll be your priest. But, I’ll also be your brother or your son or your father. I’ll welcome you into our family of faith with loving and open arms.

And, more importantly, I’d venture to say that there are many others sitting here in front of me today who would say the exact same thing.

In the words of the late Bill Withers,

Lean on me
When you’re not strong
And I’ll be your friend
I’ll help you carry on…
For it won’t be long
Till I’m gonna need somebody to lean on.

Amen.

---

A video of this sermon is available below, beginning at the 19:05 mark.

A Sermon for the First Sunday after Pentecost: Trinity Sunday (Year B)
May 30, 2021

Test: Isaiah 6:1-8

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

Several years ago, when I was in my first year of seminary, there was a video that started circulating around on Facebook right around St. Patrick’s Day entitled, “St. Patrick’s Bad Analogies.” Has anyone ever seen it?

The video—which became quite popular among those of us studying to be priests—features two, cartoon Irishmen having a serious, theological conversation with a talking icon of St. Patrick. That’s right. You heard me correctly. They were having a conversation with an icon—you know, those images of saints we often hang on our walls and use in our prayers. If that’s hard to imagine, you’ll just have to trust me and then go and watch the video later. It’s still available on YouTube, by the way.

I would describe the video as “serious” because the two Irishmen throw out a lot of technical, theological language that no one really understands, but “serious” may be too generous of a word to describe it.  It’s actually a really funny video. It’s also a little “off-color” at times, but it’s used to illustrate an important point about the Trinity—our fundamental belief, as Christians, that God co-exists in three persons—traditionally expressed as Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

Legend has it that, many years ago, St. Patrick used a shamrock, or three-leaf clover, to illustrate the doctrine of the Trinity when he was first introducing Christianity to the people of Ireland. So, it makes perfect sense that the creators of this video would use a conversation between two cartoon Irishmen and a talking icon of St. Patrick, holding a three-leaf clover, to convey the deep, theological mystery that is the Holy Trinity.

If you’ll indulge me for a moment, I want to share with you the short conversation that these three characters have in the video. Don’t worry, though. I’ll leave out the “off-color” parts.

At the beginning, the two Irishmen—in their thickest Irish brogues, which I won’t attempt to recreate for you today—say to Patrick, “Okay, Patrick. Tell us a little more about this Trinity thing. But remember that we’re simple people without your fancy education and books and learnin’, and we’re hearing about all of this for the first time. So, try to keep it simple. Okay, Patrick?”

“Sure,” Patrick says, “there are three persons of the Trinity: the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Yet, there is only one God.”

The two Irishmen give Patrick a blank stare.

Then, one of the says, “Don’t get what you’re saying, Patrick.” The other says, “Not picking up what you’re laying down here, Patrick.” “Could you use an analogy, Patrick?”

“Sure,” Patrick says. “The Trinity is like, uh, water and how you can find water in three different forms: liquid, ice, and vapor.”

Another blank stare.

Then, one of the Irishmen yells, “That’s Modalism, Patrick!”

“What?” Patrick asks.

“Modalism. An ancient heresy confessed by teachers such as Noetus and Sabellius, which espouses that God is not three distinct persons but that he merely reveals himself in three distinct forms. This heresy was clearly condemned in Canon 1 of the First Council of Constantinople in 381 AD and those who confess it cannot rightly be considered part of the Church catholic. Come on, Patrick!” “Yeah, get it together, Patrick!”

“Okay,” Patrick says, “then the Trinity is like the sun in the sky where you have the star, and the light, and the heat.”

“Oh, Patrick,” one of the men says. “Come on, Patrick,” the other one says. “That’s Arianism, Patrick!”

“Arianism?” Patrick asks.

“Yes, Arianism, Patrick. A theology which states that Christ and the Holy Spirit are creations of the Father and not one in nature with him—exactly like how light and heat are not the star itself but are merely creations of the star. That’s a bad analogy, Patrick!” “You’re the worst, Patrick!”

“Alright! Sorry,” Patrick says. “The Trinity is like, uh, this three-leaf clover here.”

“I’m gonna stop you right there, Patrick,” one of the Irishmen says. “You’re about to confess Partialism.”

“Partialism?” Patrick asks.

“Yes, Partialism. A heresy which asserts that the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit are not distinct persons of the Godhead but are different parts of God, each composing one-third of the divine.”

“And who confesses the heresy of Partialism?” Patrick asks.

“The first season of the cartoon program, Voltron, where five robot lion cars merge together to form one giant, robot samurai. Obviously!”

“I’ve never heard of Voltron,” Patrick says.

“Of course you haven’t. It’s not going to exist for another fifteen hundred years, now Patrick.” “Yeah, get with the program, Patrick!” “I mean, really, Patrick!”

“Alright, I’ll try again,” Patrick says. “The Trinity is like how the same man can be a husband, and a father, and an employer.”

“Modalism again!” one of the men yells.

“Alright! Then, it’s like the three layers of an apple.”

“Partialism revisited!”

“Fine!” Patrick yells. “The Trinity is a mystery which cannot be comprehended by human reason but is understood only through faith and is best confessed in the words of the Athanasian Creed, which states that we worship one God in Trinity and Trinity in Unity, neither confusing the persons nor dividing the substance, that we are compelled by the Christian truth to confess that each distinct person is God and Lord and that the deity of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit is one, equal in glory, co-equal in majesty.”

Another blank stare.

“Well, why didn’t you just say that, Patrick?” “Yeah, quit beatin’ around the bush, Patrick!”

I never get tired of watching that video. As funny as it is, it really does a great job at illustrating an important truth. And here it is: God is God, and we aren’t.

As much as we may try, there are limits to our human ability to understand the divine nature of God. All you have to do is look back and read centuries worth of Church history to know that theologians and leaders of the church have spent lifetimes trying to explain the unexplainable through fancy doctrines and theological debates. These debates have caused bloodshed over the years and huge rifts in the Church, probably the greatest and most significant being the Great Schism of the eleventh century, which led to the split of the Western and Eastern churches. One of the chief, theological disputes that led to the split had to do with the doctrine of the Trinity and whether or not the Holy Spirit was sent by the Father alone or by the Father and the Son. In theological terms, this is known as the Filioque clause, the part of the Nicene Creed where we say, “We believe in the Holy Spirit, the Lord, the giver of life, who proceeds from the Father and the Son.” In the Eastern Orthodox tradition, the words, “and the Son” are omitted because they believe that the Spirit was sent only by God the Father.

You may not realize it, but every time you come to church and say that part of the Nicene Creed, you’re actually participating in a theological debate that’s been going on for centuries. It may not matter to you all that much, but I think it’s a good example of how our differences of opinion and understanding can lead us to build up walls that separate us from each other.

Now, I’m not suggesting that the work of theology is unimportant. Theology literally means, “faith seeking understanding.” It’s the way we go about trying to put into words what we believe to be true about God.

But, what I am suggesting is that our theology—our particular set of beliefs about God—always needs to be met, first and foremost, with the knowledge that God is God, and we aren’t. There are simply some things that we’ll never understand, at least not on this side of heaven. There are simply some things that will always be a holy mystery—like the mystery of the Trinity, which we celebrate on this day, the First Sunday after Pentecost. 

One of the most beautiful gifts of our Anglican heritage is a willingness to embrace and hold on to the mysteries of God and God’s relationship with us. It’s one of the first things I fell in love with when I discovered the Episcopal Church—knowing that it was okay for some things to remain a mystery, knowing that it was okay to have questions and even doubts about God and knowing that not every question could easily be answered with a simple, “black and white” response. Coming to those realizations and knowing that I didn’t have to check my brain at the door when I walked into the church was a game-changer for me, as it is for so many people who find their way here.

I like to tell people who aren’t very familiar with the Episcopal Church that Episcopalians are much more comfortable with asking questions than providing answers. I think there’s a lot of truth in that, and personally, I find it very comforting.

Over the years, it’s allowed me to experience the divine with a sense of wonder and awe, a freedom and peace of being able to simply sit in the presence of God and experience God’s love and tender care without needing to have the answer to every question figured out. It’s what I imagine when I think of our passage today from the Book of Isaiah when the prophet describes his vision of the Lord, sitting on a throne in heaven, with angels surrounding him on every side, singing “Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts; the whole earth is full of his glory.” If we can gather anything from this passage about the true nature of God, we know that God isn’t primarily concerned about our particular set of beliefs or our feeble attempts at being able to explain the mysteries of God. God is concerned about us and our willingness to respond to God’s call. Later in the passage, after Isaiah is forgiven of his sins, the Lord says to him, “Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?” Isaiah responds, “Here am I; send me!”

No matter how hard we try, God will not be contained in a box of our own creation. God will not be conformed to what we happen to personally believe about God. God will not be limited to what we can and can’t express with our fancy words and doctrines. God is God, and we aren’t. And, thankfully, God is in the habit of surprising us in the most beautiful ways imaginable, if we’re willing to be open to the mystery and willing to respond to God’s call. Amen.

---

A video of this sermon is available below, beginning at the 21:37 mark.

A Sermon for the Feast of the Ascension
Thursday, May 13, 2021

Text: Acts 1:1-11

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

“While he was going and they were gazing up toward heaven, suddenly two men in white robes stood by them. They said, “Men of Galilee, why do you stand looking up toward heaven? This Jesus, who has been taken up from you into heaven, will come in the same way you saw him go into heaven.”

This morning, I tuned in online to watch the live-streamed broadcast of the 198th Commencement of the Virginia Theological Seminary—the seminary where I graduated from six years ago.

At one time, I knew a lot of people at VTS, both faculty and students. Now, there are only a handful of faculty members that I still know, and all of the students that I knew as a seminarian have graduated and gone on to serve the wider church. The main reason I decided to tune in this morning was to listen to the commencement speaker—our own Presiding Bishop, The Most Rev. Michael Curry. I can say confidently that I’ll drop pretty much anything I’m doing to listen to Bishop Curry speak or preach. I quote him often in my own sermons, not only because he has such insightful things to say, but also because he loves Jesus. You can tell that he loves Jesus by the way he preaches the Gospel, both in his sermons and in the way he lives his life. I was surprised to learn this morning that this was Bishop Curry’s first public appearance since the beginning of the pandemic. It speaks a lot to who he is as a bishop and leader of the Church that he chose to make his first public appearance at a commencement service for graduating seminarians.

Bishop Curry’s central message in his address to the graduates this morning was this: As we begin to emerge from this pandemic, the Church needs you, the Class of 2021, to show us the way. The Church needs you to help us remember that we aren’t just another institution. We are the Jesus Movement in the 21st century.

Watching the commencement service and listening to the Presiding Bishop speak reminded me of my own commencement service six years ago. It was a time of joy and celebration, but it was also bittersweet as my fellow classmates and I prepared to say “goodbye” to the place we called home for three years. Of course, things were very different six years ago. For one, we were able to graduate inside the seminary chapel and sit right next to each other during the service. This morning’s graduates had an outdoor commencement service with everyone spread out on the front lawn and wearing masks. Six years ago, we were preparing to leave the seminary community, at least somewhat prepared for what was to come in our own ministries in the Church. This morning’s graduates are going back into the world and discovering a Church that’s been rocked over the past year by a global pandemic and changed in drastic ways. Like all of us, they’ll be called upon to do ministry in ways that they never could’ve imagined before answering the call to go to seminary and become priests in the Episcopal Church.

Commencement ceremonies and other occasions like it can be quite scary, can’t they? One moment, you’re studying to be a priest—going to class, participating in daily worship, and doing field education at a nearby parish. The next moment, you’re graduating from seminary and asking yourself, “Now what?” I remember having that same feeling on the day of my graduation. “Now what?” I had already received my first call to ordained ministry at a large parish in northwest Texas. So, I knew where our family was moving after seminary. But, if I’m being totally honest, I didn’t know what to expect. We were moving to a brand new place in a part of the country where we had never lived. All I had to take with me into my first call as a priest was what the seminary had equipped me with—some knowledge and some experience—and the comfort of knowing that I was carrying with me God’s blessing into my ministry.

In our lesson this evening from the Acts of the Apostles, the disciples experience something very similar to a commencement service as they bear witness to the ascension of our Lord Jesus into heaven. One moment, the risen Christ is with them, encouraging them and giving them his final instructions for after he’s gone. The next moment, he’s being lifted up to join his Father in heaven. One moment, they’re being comforted by the physical presence of their friend and teacher. The next moment, he’s gone.

Like the experience of graduating from seminary or reaching some other important milestone and time of transition, I imagine the experience was bittersweet for the disciples. On one hand, they experienced the joy and amazement of seeing Jesus being lifted up and ascending into heaven, but on the other hand, they were likely left with that terrifying question that all of us ask ourselves when one chapter ends and a new one begins: “Now what?”

Jesus is gone. What do we do now?

In the story from Acts, we learn that, following Jesus’ ascension, two men in white robes—which we can assume were angels—appeared and stood near the disciples. The angels said to them, “Men of Galilee, why do you stand looking up toward heaven? This Jesus, who has been taken up from you into heaven, will come in the same way as you saw him go into heaven.”

In other words, “Don’t waste your time looking to the past and expecting it to be like before. It’s time to get to work. It’s time to put to use everything Jesus has equipped you with for the building up of God’s Kingdom, trusting that the blessing of God will be with you wherever you go.”

The ascension of Jesus provides us with a place to focus our attention when we’re feeling lost and afraid. We look up toward heaven, the place where Jesus is seated next to the Father, interceding on our behalf, and we also look for that day when Jesus will come again. But, as Christians, the ascension of Jesus also beckons us to keep moving forward, not to stand still, because there’s still plenty of work to be done before Jesus returns. We’ve been empowered and entrusted to show people the way to Jesus. As the Presiding Bishop stated in his commencement address this morning at VTS, the Church to which we belong isn’t just another institution. It is the Jesus Movement in the 21st century, and it needs all of us. So, don’t stand still. Let’s get to work in showing the people of this world the Way of Love, which is the way of Jesus. Amen.

---

A video of this sermon is available below, beginning at the 18:32 mark.