Category Archives: Sermons

A Sermon for the Sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost (Proper 18, Year B)
September 8, 2024

Text: Mark 7:24-37

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

In January of 2019—about five and a half years ago—my family and I were living in Chelsea, Alabama—a small suburb of Birmingham. I was serving as the priest at a small, Episcopal church called St. Catherine’s while Chelsea was working as a nurse at a pediatric clinic in downtown Birmingham.

One night, as I was cooking dinner at home, Chelsea and the kids were in the backyard playing on the trampoline. Jude was seven years old at the time, and Sophie was nine.

I remember that it was dark outside and very cold.

All of a sudden, I heard Chelsea scream my name from outside. I had no idea what was happening, but as a parent, my mind immediately went to the worst case scenario.

Something’s happened to one of the kids.

I quickly went outside to see what was wrong, and I found Jude lying on the trampoline in terrible pain. Chelsea told me that they had been playing around and that Jude fell hard on the side of his left arm.

He didn’t fall off the trampoline. He just fell on the mat. So, at first, I didn’t think it was very serious.

We helped him down and took him inside where we could see his arm more clearly, and that’s when we knew it was much more serious than we thought.

Not to get too graphic, but Jude’s left arm looked like a limp noodle.

Being a nurse, Chelsea knew right away what we needed to do. So, we loaded everyone up in the car and drove to the emergency room at Children’s Hospital.

Even though it was a short trip, it was one of the longest thirty minutes of my life.

Jude handled it much better than I did.

I was a nervous wreck the whole way there. More than anything, I just wanted him to be okay and to get the help he needed as soon as possible.

When we arrived at the emergency room, we had to wait much longer than I had hoped, which added even more anxiety to the situation.

I expected Jude to be seen right away. But, instead, it was hurry up and wait.

Finally, we were seen by a nurse, who was able to give Jude some medicine for the pain, and we were taken back into a room and seen by a doctor.

They took some x-rays of Jude’s arm, and we were told that his arm was fractured completely, right above the elbow and that he was going to have surgery the following day.

Well…needless to say, that made matters even worse.

I was already worried about Jude’s broken arm, and now he was going to have to go through surgery. The surgeon told us he was going to have to use screws and rods to fix his broken arm.

As a parent, the last thing you want is for your child to have to go through something like that. To have a broken arm is one thing but to have to be put to sleep and go through a serious surgery is another thing entirely.

The next morning, we had to wait much longer than expected for Jude’s surgery.

But, finally, the time came. I said a prayer, and they took him back to the operating room. 

After a few hours, the doctor came back to the room and told us that everything went well with the surgery.

Chelsea and I could finally breathe a sigh of relief.

Jude was going to be okay. It was going to take a long time for him to recover and heal from the accident, but thankfully, everything was going to be okay.

I wanted to share this story with you because, as a parent, I know what it’s like to feel helpless and to want more than anything for your child to be healed.

I know what it feels like to anxiously sit and wait, wondering whether or not your child is going to be okay.

And, I know that, as a parent, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to make sure my children got the help and care they needed if they were ever in harm’s way.

There’s a story in our Gospel lesson from this morning about a mother who’s trying to do the same thing.

She’s trying desperately to find help for her daughter, who’s been possessed by an unclean spirit—a demon that’s killing her.

The Gospel doesn’t give us any details about why or how this little girl came to have an unclean spirit. All we know for sure is that she’s in terrible danger.

Her mother’s probably tried everything she can think of to get her the help she needs, but so far, nothing has worked.

So, when news gets around that Jesus of Nazareth has come to town, she takes action. She’s heard of this man from Galilee who has the power to heal and cast out demons.

She goes and finds Jesus alone in a house, probably trying to find a quiet place where he can rest for a while.

She bows down at his feet, and begs him to cast the demon out of her daughter.

She knows it’s a lot to ask—especially with her being a Gentile and him being a Jew—but she’s desperate. And, she’ll do anything to get her daughter the help she needs.

What happens next in the story is pretty shocking.

Normally, we’d expect Jesus to have mercy and compassion for the woman right away and to say, “Of course I’ll help your daughter.”

But, that’s not what happens—at least not at first.

Instead of helping the woman, Jesus says to her, “Let the children be fed first, for it is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.”

This doesn’t sound like Jesus, does it?

It doesn’t sound like the Jesus we know and love—the Jesus we expect to read about in the Gospels who, up to this point in his ministry, has spent years preaching about the Kingdom of God and healing the sick and casting out demons.

The Jesus we know would never disrespect and talk down to this woman in such a dismissive way, especially when she’s already going through so much.

And yet, here we are.

We’re left wondering what to do with this passage from Scripture and what to do with this Jesus who seems anything but merciful and kind.

For centuries, Biblical scholars have wrestled with this text (and the one similar to it in the Gospel of Matthew), and there’ve been many attempts at trying to explain exactly what’s going on.

Some interpreters, for example, try to sugar coat it and insist that the Greek word for “dogs” is better translated, “puppies” and that it’s not really as derogatory as it sounds.

Some suggest that it was common in the time of Jesus for Gentiles to be referred to as “dogs” and that Jesus was simply using a phrase or a saying that wouldn’t have been out of the ordinary.

But, neither of these interpretations explain why Jesus was so dismissive to the woman.

And I think, for most of us, that’s the crux of the matter. The fact that Jesus so easily dismisses the mother’s request for help is what bothers us the most.

So, I want to offer a few words on what I think is really going on in this passage.

Jesus was a first century, Jewish man, who lived in a very particular time and culture and who experienced the harsh disdain that Jews at that time had for Gentiles—those who were non-Jewish.

Gentiles were often referred to as “dogs” because they were considered unclean and impure. For Jews at that time, even standing close to someone who was non-Jewish was to risk being made unclean.

Jews, on the other hand, were God’s chosen people—the people with whom God had an eternal covenant. God promised, in the fullness of time, that he would send the Messiah—the anointed one—to redeem Israel and usher in a new era of peace.

Jesus was perfectly aware of his mission from the very beginning and knew that the focus of his ministry had to be with his own people.

So, when he says to the woman, “Let the children be fed first…” he’s not saying it out of hatred or because he doesn’t think that the woman and her daughter deserve to be helped.

He’s saying it because he’s focused on the urgent matter at hand. He’s come to redeem the children of Israel, and for now, that’s his only mission.

The woman knows this.

Even as a Gentile, she knows the role of the Messiah and never questions Jesus or his priorities.

But, she’s persistent.

She knows Jesus has the power to relieve her daughter of this terrible burden.

So, she replies to him, “Sir, even the dogs under the table eat the children’s crumbs.”

I think it might’ve been her way of saying to Jesus that, even though his priority is to his own people—the children of Israel, maybe there’s enough of God’s grace for everyone.

And she’ll take even the smallest morsel—the smallest crumb—of God’s grace that he has to give for the sake of her daughter.

It’s an eye-opening moment for Jesus, and he comes to understand that maybe his ministry and his mission are much larger than he first realized.

In response to the mother’s plea, he shows mercy and compassion and immediately restores her daughter to fullness of life.

It’s a remarkable story, isn’t it?

And it’s one that gives us a lot to think about, especially when we stop to wonder who is and who isn’t worthy of God’s grace.

The focus of this story is not so much on the miracle that Jesus performed in healing the woman’s daughter.

It’s the fact that, despite his initial response and any preconceived ideas he might have had about this Gentile woman, he showed mercy and compassion.

Because of Jesus, we know that no one is beyond the limits of God’s grace, including those we might consider unclean or unworthy.

Because of Jesus, we know that the mercy and compassion of God are open to all people, not just a select few.

And, as followers of Jesus, we’re called to demonstrate this radical and abundant love in our own lives, wherever we go.

Because you never know who might need our help.

It’s why, in our Baptismal covenant, we promise “to strive for justice and peace among all people and to respect the dignity of every human being.”

Not just some.

All people.

Every human being.

Amen.

A Sermon for the Fifteenth Sunday after Pentecost (Proper 17, Year B)
September 1, 2024

Text: Mark 7:1-8, 14-15, 21-23

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

As many of you know, our church recently started offering our Laundry Love Ministry again after a long pause during the pandemic.

For those of you who are new to St. Mary’s, Laundry Love is a ministry that was started several years back.

When it first started, the idea was that a few churches around town—including St. Mary’s—would come together once a month to offer free loads of laundry to anyone in our community who needed it.

The churches provided laundry detergent, dryer sheets, and coins to operate the machines.

Once the pandemic hit, Laundry Love became a thing of the past—until our church decided to bring it back this past June.

In the spring, Susan Stephens and I met with the owner of the laundromat down the road to discuss our plans. We made signs and put the word out to the community through the local radio station and social media.

We started collecting money at the church using the coin boxes that have Laundry Love printed on the front. And we even had laundry detergent and dryer sheets donated to us from another church.

There was so much excitement and enthusiasm from members of the community. Several people reached out to tell us how wonderful it was that we were bringing this ministry back.

Which is why I was surprised when another member of the community shared with me that they didn’t think the church should be doing Laundry Love at all.

Basically, this person’s comment was that the church doesn’t need to be spending money helping people with their laundry and that the kind of people who go to the laundromat are just going to go out and use the money they save to buy things they don’t need.

I have to admit I was kind of shocked when I heard it, and I didn’t really know how to respond. Nothing I could’ve said would’ve convinced this person otherwise.

I wasn’t angry or upset.

Mostly, I just felt sorry for the person I was talking to.

Because their heart was hardened to the truth of who Jesus really is and what Jesus calls us to do in our lives.

After giving it some thought, what I would love this person to know—and really what I want all of us to know—is that we don’t do Laundry Love (or any other ministry, for that matter) because we feel sorry for the people we help or think that they deserve a handout.

And, we don’t do it to make ourselves feel better.

We do it because we believe that God’s love has the power to transform lives and to heal the world.

We do it because we believe that God has called us to be instruments of his love and compassion in the world and that through us, others may come to know the love of God at work in their own lives.

It’s really as simple as that.

We do these things because we believe that even the smallest act of kindness and generosity—like helping someone pay for a load of laundry—might be a sign for others that God really is here and that God really does care about them.

A few weeks ago, at our last Laundry Love, I met a friendly, young lady who was fairly new to Andalusia. She had only been in town for about a year.

I told her who I was and where we were from and that it was Laundry Love day.

At first, she didn’t understand. So, I explained to her why we were there and how it all worked.

And, she was so surprised when I told her. The look on her face told me that she didn’t come to the laundromat that day expecting people to show up and help pay for her laundry.

In fact, she had already washed her clothes. So, I offered to help her get started with the dryers. She put her clothes in the machines. I put the money in and hit the start button.

After a few minutes, we continued talking, and after a while, I started to get the sense that something was weighing on her heart.

So, I asked her, “Is everything okay?” “Can I pray for you in some way?”

And, that’s when she shared with me that she had been in an abusive relationship and that she was just trying to get her life back on track.

I told her that I would pray for her.

And, in that moment, I could tell that she was sincerely thankful that we were there.

Friends, I truly believe that God guides us into people’s lives for a reason.

Sometimes, we don’t know why, and we may never know why. And, then there are some days, when it all comes into focus and we know exactly why we were sent.

It didn’t take much for us to be at Laundry Love that day.

A little soap. A few dryer sheets. A few rolls of quarters.

But, God took what we had to give and used it to bring a little bit of light to someone’s life who I think really needed it in that moment.

And I’m so thankful to have been part of it.

That’s why we do what we do. To be a small part of God’s plan to bring healing and restoration to the world.

In today’s Gospel lesson, Jesus is having a debate with some of the Pharisees and scribes from Jerusalem.

When they gather around Jesus, they notice that some of his disciples are eating without first washing their hands.

Now…for most of us, we wash our hands before a meal because we want to stay healthy. We don’t want to take the risk of getting sick by not washing our hands.

But, in Jesus’ time, washing your hands before a meal was something that Jews were expected to do, not for sanitary reasons (like we do today), but because the ritual of hand washing was such an important part of their tradition.

Many believed that if you ate food without washing your hands first, you would be considered unclean and unacceptable before God.

Israel’s religion included many laws about ritual purity and holiness, and many of those had to do with dietary restrictions.

A good example of this is Leviticus 11 where the Lord instructs Moses and Aaron to tell the people of Israel which animals are acceptable to eat. This is where the Jewish restrictions on eating pork and shellfish comes from. 

But, if you look closely at the Hebrew Scriptures, there was no law about washing your hands before eating.

This was a man-made tradition that emerged over time from a very loose interpretation of Exodus 30, which required temple priests to wash their hands and feet before ministering at the altar.

There was no actual law requiring Jews to wash their hands before eating. It was a “tradition of the elders,” something that was expected but not required.

So, when the Pharisees and scribes question Jesus about his disciples not washing their hands, they’re not accusing them of breaking God’s commandments.

They’re criticizing them for not living according to the tradition.

Well, Jesus doesn’t take very kindly to the criticism.

He responds by calling them hypocrites who are more concerned with upholding human traditions than actually living according to the commandments of God.

Then, he gathers a crowd of people around him and says, “Listen to me, all of you, and understand: there is nothing outside a person that by going in can defile, but the things that come out are what defile.”

It was Jesus’ way of saying that it’s not what we eat that makes us unclean. It’s what comes from our hearts and what comes out of our mouths that makes us unclean.

For Jesus, he’s not concerned with whether or not someone washes their hands before they eat or whether or not someone washes a piece of fruit from the market before they eat it.

His concern is what comes from the heart.

It’s what comes from the heart that defiles us and makes us unclean.

Jesus wants us to be healed and to be made whole, and he taught us that, in order to do that, we have to take a close look at our hearts.

Because the heart is where evil thoughts and intentions come from.

Jealousy, anger, resentment, hatred for those who aren’t like us, judgment toward others for their lifestyle choices and circumstances.

All of these are matters of the heart.

And when our hearts are hardened, it makes it really difficult for us to see how God is at work in our lives and in the lives of those around us.

The heart is the root of how we think, feel, and act.

This is what Jesus was concerned about—not what we put into our bodies—but what comes from our hearts.

Because he knew that in order for us to live as God has called us to live—in order to be faithful in our call to love and serve others—we have to allow the love of God to flow through us.

And the only way for that to happen is for us to allow those hard edges around our hearts to break open for those who are suffering.

To realize that, maybe, it isn’t our job to judge other people after all but to love them, despite their choices and circumstances in life.

To realize that, maybe, jealousy, anger, resentment, and hatred—those things that harden and infect our hearts—aren’t life-giving but life-draining.

God wants us to take a close look at our hearts and to think about the ways that we need to be healed.

Why?

Well, it’s not just for our sake.

It’s for the sake of the Gospel. Because in order to be faithful to God—in order to do the work that God has called us to do—our hearts have to be in the right place.

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

Amen.

A Sermon for the Patronal Feast of St. Mary the Virgin
August 11, 2024

Text: Luke 1:46-55

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

A few weeks ago, I received an unexpected gift from a long-time member of our parish. It happened after church one day when our dear friend, Pricey Best, came up to me in the Parish Hall during fellowship and said, “I have something I want you to have.”

She reached down and handed me a book with a picture of St. Mary’s on the cover and a bright, red binding. The title of the book was St. Mary’s Second Sunday, named after our long-standing tradition of hosting potluck lunches after church on the second Sunday of every month—a tradition that continues to this day.

St. Mary’s Second Sunday is a cookbook, filled with recipes from members of the parish. Pricey shared with me a little bit of the backstory. She was asked several years ago to help put this cookbook together so that the church could sell copies. So, she got to work and spent countless hours collecting, sorting, and organizing all the recipes that would be included in the book.

What made this gift extra special for me was that this was Pricey’s very own copy of the cookbook. If you turn to the inside cover, it even has her name printed at the top with a special word of thanks from the parish for all the work she did in putting it together.

Now…she didn’t know that I was going to share this with you today (and Pricey, I hope you’re not embarrassed). As I was thinking about St. Mary’s Day and the purpose of us taking the time to celebrate the feast of our patron saint, I started thinking about all the people in years past who have made this parish what it is today.

Some of those people are listed here…in the pages of this cookbook. Some are still with us. Some have moved away to other places. Some have passed into the nearer presence of God. 

When I received this special gift, I began flipping through the pages and seeing all the names listed next to the recipes. Some names I immediately recognized, and some I had never heard of, and as I continued flipping through the pages of the cookbook, what I eventually discovered is that the most important part wasn’t actually the recipes themselves.

It was what was included at the very beginning—a detailed history of St. Mary’s, beginning with a small but mighty group of Episcopalians in Covington Country during the 1920s who began meeting in each other’s homes for worship, long before St. Mary’s was ever established as an organized church and before the original church building was constructed on Second Avenue in 1947.

As I was reading the history, I came to realize something.

In the history of the church, St. Mary’s has been served by a number of clergy. Some were temporary, serving as supply priests or interim priests. Some were vicars, who served St. Mary’s when the church was still small enough to be considered a mission of the diocese. And, some were rectors, like me, who served St. Mary’s after the church grew and became recognized as a parish.

The one thing that’s remained consistent through the years is not the clergy. Because clergy come and go, depending on where they’re called by God to serve.

No, the one consistent thread that you can read about in the history of St. Mary’s is the people—the people, who, through the years have remained committed to loving and serving our neighbors as Christ has taught us.

This cookbook may not seem like much to some people.

But, to me, it’s a treasure. It represents the truth of who we are as a community of faith, rooted in the love and service of our Lord Jesus Christ, and It reminds me of something Michele Gerlach said in a meeting we had a few weeks ago.

“We are the church that feeds people.”

And, we feed people in more ways than one.

Sure, we love our Second Sunday potlucks and any time we get the chance to gather for good food and fellowship.

Yes, we’re a church who feeds people through ministries like our Rice and Beans Ministry and our community dinners on Thanksgiving and Christmas.

But, even more than that, we’re a church that feeds people’s souls by letting them know that there are people in this world who care about them and love them and by letting them know that there’s a place for them in our church. St. Mary’s is a place where all are welcome.

That may sound like a cliché or a platitude because of how often we say it.

But, it’s the truth.

At St. Mary’s, all are welcome, and I can’t tell you how incredibly important it is that we remain committed to that belief. Because, friends, we live in a world where people feel more divided, more isolated, and more alone than ever before.

We live in a world that’s so inwardly focused and self-consumed that we’ve forgotten what it means to be part of a community and to rely on each other for help.

That’s why our work as a parish is so important. We get to remind people through our ministries, through our words and actions and our presence in the wider community, that there’s still goodness in the world and that the love of God in Christ Jesus is still present and active in our lives in more ways than we can imagine.

Our Gospel lesson for today is one that’s familiar to many of us, especially those of us who are well acquainted with the Prayer Book and the tradition of praying the Daily Office.

Luke 1:46-55 is commonly referred to as the Magnificat, or the Song of Mary. In the Prayer Book, it’s one of the canticles that we read or sing during Morning and Evening Prayer.

It’s also the Gospel lesson appointed every year for the feast of St. Mary the Virgin, our patron saint. There are many passages in the Gospels that could’ve been used for the feast of St. Mary, but I think it’s especially appropriate that, on this day, we hear the  beautiful and poetic words of Mary’s Song.

But, to fully understand the significance and weight of this passage, we have to understand where it fits in the larger narrative of Luke’s Gospel.

Earlier in chapter one, Mary is visited by the angel Gabriel, who makes the surprise announcement that she will conceive and bear God’s only son. At first, she’s confused. She doesn’t understand how this will come to pass since she’s a virgin, and the angel tells her, “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; therefore the child to be born will be holy; he will be called Son of God.”

Humbly, Mary agrees to do what the Lord has asked her to do.

Then, she goes and visits her relative, Elizabeth, who has also conceived a child, even though she is much older than Mary.

When Mary arrives at the home of Elizabeth and Zechariah, the child in Elizabeth’s womb leaps for joy when he hears Mary’s greeting!

Elizabeth tells Mary, “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb.”

And, in response to Elizabeth, Mary says,

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

for he has looked with favor on the lowliness of his servant.
Surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed;

for the Mighty One has done great things for me,
and holy is his name.

His mercy is for those who fear him
from generation to generation.

He has shown strength with his arm;
he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts.

He has brought down the powerful from their thrones,
and lifted up the lowly;

he has filled the hungry with good things,
and sent the rich away empty.

He has helped his servant Israel,
in remembrance of his mercy,

according to the promise he made to our ancestors,
to Abraham and to his descendants forever.”

What stirred my imagination this week as I thought about these words in relation to our parish and our celebration of St. Mary’s Day was the fact that Mary isn’t just praising God for the good things he’s done for her.

It starts out that way. Mary begins by praising God for blessing her with this awesome responsibility of bringing Jesus into the world.

But, then it quickly changes, and Mary begins praising God, not only for the things he’s already done but for the things he will continue to do through her and the child she’s carrying.

She has so much confidence in God’s goodness and God’s faithfulness that she uses the past tense to refer to the things that God has promised to bring to fulfillment.

“He has scattered the proud…”

“He has brought down the powerful…and lifted up the lowly”

“He has filled the hungry with good things…”

These words aren’t referring to things God has already done but things that God is doing and will continue to do. Mary seems to instinctively know that the child in her womb will have the power to change the world.

Through this miraculous birth that God has planned and set into motion, God will bring redemption and healing to God’s people. Through Jesus, God will bring to fulfillment what God has always promised to do.

To restore heaven on earth.

This is the reason why we celebrate St. Mary’s Day. Yes, Mary is our patron saint, and yes, it’s good for us to celebrate our common life together as a church family.

But, mostly, we celebrate this day so that we can offer our thanks and praise to God, not only for the things God has already done through us and those who came before—but also for the things that God is doing and will continue to do.

God isn’t done with St. Mary’s. In fact, I’d say he’s only just begun.

So, on this St. Mary’s Day, as we begin a new program year and give thanks for God’s goodness and God’s faithfulness in our lives, let us recommit ourselves to the work that God has given us to do in our own time and place. Let us recommit ourselves to being “the church that feeds people,” not only their bodies but also their souls.

And, let us recommit ourselves to the work of sharing the Gospel of Jesus Christ through our words and actions, that the world around us may see and know the love of God at work in their own lives.

Amen.

A Sermon for the Eleventh Sunday after Pentecost (Proper 13, Year B)
August 4, 2024

Texts: Ephesians 4:1-16 and John 6:24-35

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

From the 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—whether that’s in person or through a text or phone call or on social media. The author of Ephesians uses very specific words to describe how we’re called to speak and act—words like humility and gentleness, patience and love.

And Lord knows, the world needs all of these things, perhaps now more than ever.

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. As Christians, 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 very difficult, especially when it requires us to let go of things that we so desperately want to cling to. Things like bitterness and hatred and jealousy and contempt for those who don’t think or believe the same way as we do.

Sometimes, God’s call feels more like a stumbling block than anything. Sometimes—or maybe most of the time—God’s call to love others with humility and gentleness and patience feels more like an obstacle to overcome than a blessing.

What do we do, then, when we feel as though we’ve reached the limit of our ability to sow seeds of God’s love in a world that seems broken and beyond repair? What do we do when our call to walk in love feels more like a burden than a blessing? 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 in my first call as a priest in northwest Texas, we put on a Vacation Bible School program called, “Abundant Life,” which was inspired by the work of Episcopal Relief and Development—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 our 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.  

During the sermon, I held up a large bowl full of flour, and 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 answers.

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

Another shouted, “Bread!”

Then, another shouted, “Cookies!”

And then, my favorite response of all, “Peanut Butter Balls!”

I didn’t know what they were, but they sounded 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 familiar passage from the Gospel of Matthew, a children’s version of Matthew 25.

“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 nine 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 around the Table.

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 helpless, like the weight of the world is too much to bear? How do we walk in love when we feel like we have no more love to give?

I think the answer is 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, 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.

I want to leave you with some words that’ve been a comfort to me over many years, words of invitation to communion from the Iona Community, which I’ve used from time to time in my own ministry as a priest.

Listen to these words. Carry them with you, and remember them, especially in those moments when it feels like God’s call to walk in love feels like too heavy a burden to bear.

“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 Sermon for the First Sunday after Pentecost: Trinity Sunday (Year B)
May 26, 2024

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

Several years ago, when I was in my first year of seminary, there was a short video that started floating around on Facebook right around St. Patrick’s Day entitled, “St. Patrick’s Bad Analogies.”

The video—which became quite popular, especially among those of us studying to be priests—features two, cartoon Irishmen having a serious, theological conversation with a talking icon of St. Patrick.

Yes, 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 for yourself. 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 quite funny and 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—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 the 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.

So…if you’ll indulge me for a moment, I want to share with you a portion of the conversation that these three characters have in the video.

***

At the beginning, the two Irishmen—in their thickest Irish accents—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 say to Patrick, “Don’t get what you’re saying, Patrick. 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.”

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. 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.”

The two Irishmen pause for a moment and then say, “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 about God.

And, here it is: there are some things that are—and always will be—a holy mystery. There are some things that simply go beyond our ability to understand.

Now, that doesn’t mean we haven’t tried. All you have to do is watch “St. Patrick’s Bad Analogies” to be reminded of the fact that, for centuries, theologians and leaders of the Church have tried to explain the unexplainable through fancy doctrines and theological debates.

Now, I’m not suggesting that the work of theology isn’t important. Quite the opposite, in fact. 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 some things that will always be a mystery—like the doctrine of the Trinity, which we celebrate on this day, the First Sunday after Pentecost. 

One of the great gifts of our Anglican heritage is a willingness to embrace the mysteries of God. 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 hugely impactful 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 God with a sense of wonder and awe, a freedom and peace of being able to simply sit in the presence of God without needing to have the answer to every question figured out. What a gift that is.

In our Old Testament lesson for today, the prophet Isaiah describes a vision of God, sitting on a throne in the temple, surrounded by heavenly beings who are praising God and singing, “Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts; the whole earth is full of his glory.”

The part of this short lesson that really caught my attention as I read it this past week was the part where Isaiah describes the hem of God’s robe filling the temple, as if he’s only granted the ability to see one, small detail of God’s glory. It’s almost too great and wonderful to imagine.

In Isaiah’s vision, God is so big that only the hem of his robe can fit inside the temple. God is so big that not even the temple in Jerusalem—the holiest of holy places—can contain him.

I think this is an important lesson to remember in our own time because, no matter how hard we try, God will not be contained. God will not be contained inside a building. 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 God is in the habit of surprising us in the most beautiful ways imaginable, if we’re willing to embrace the mystery. Amen.

A Sermon for the Fourth Sunday of Easter (Year B)
April 21, 2024

Text: John 10:11-18

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

Back in January of 2021, while I was still serving as a priest in the Diocese of Alabama, we had an investiture service for the newly ordained Bishop of Alabama, the Rt. Rev. Glenda Curry. This was only about ten months into the pandemic. So, most of the diocese—including myself—had to watch the service online.

Now, you may be wondering, “What exactly is an investiture?”

Well, in the Episcopal Church, when a new bishop is elected to serve as the head of a diocese, he or she is ordained and consecrated to the episcopate, which is just a fancy word for “order of bishops” (and where the term “Episcopal” comes from).

In most cases, the newly ordained bishop immediately begins serving as the Diocesan Bishop—like Bishop Russell did when he was elected to serve as the bishop of our diocese.

But, in some cases, bishops are elected and consecrated before the current bishop retires in order to allow a time of transition while both bishops are still serving. When this happens, the new bishop is referred to as Bishop Coadjutor, which is a fancy way of saying “bishop-in-waiting.”

The Investiture and Seating of a Diocesan Bishop takes place when a current bishop retires and a new bishop takes over. It’s a ceremonial “passing of the torch” and an opportunity for the Church to ask God’s blessing upon the ministry of the new bishop, who’s been called to lead and offer guidance and care to the entire diocese. It’s a huge weight and responsibility.

Part of the investiture ceremony of a new diocesan bishop is the handing over of the bishop’s crozier, or pastoral staff. If you were at church a couple of weeks ago during Bishop Russell’s visit, you saw him carrying his crozier.

This is one of the many symbols associated with the office of bishop. It symbolizes the bishop’s authority as chief priest and pastor of the diocese. If you look at it closely, you’ll notice that a bishop’s crozier has a very particular shape. The bottom end of the staff is straight and narrow, like a walking stick, but the other end of the staff is curved like a hook. You probably know where I’m going with all of this. The bishop’s crozier is actually a shepherd’s crook, which makes the bishop a shepherd and the entire diocese his or her flock.

When we came to the passing of the crozier during Bishop Curry’s investiture, the former bishop handed her the staff and said, “On behalf of the people and clergy of the Diocese of Alabama, I give into your hands this pastoral staff. May Christ, the Good Shepherd, uphold you and sustain you as you carry it in his name.”

It marked the beginning of Bishop Curry’s ministry as the new leader and shepherd of the diocese and was a beautiful moment to witness.

Being a shepherd isn’t an easy job. And, it isn’t a very glamorous job, either.

In Jesus’ time, shepherds pretty much kept to themselves and were seen as very low on the social ladder. Their primary job was to keep watch over their flock and to get them safely to wherever they needed to go.

It was dangerous work. Shepherds had to protect their sheep from thieves, robbers, and wild animals, and this is one of the reasons why they carried a shepherd’s crook with them wherever they went. The straight, narrow end of the staff could be used as a weapon to protect the flock.

The other end of the staff—the curved end—was used to gather the sheep and lead them to wherever the shepherd wanted them to go. Contrary to popular belief, sheep aren’t dumb animals. They can’t be pushed or prodded from behind to get them to go where you want them to go. They have to be led by someone they trust, someone whose voice they recognize. The shepherd goes ahead of the flock and calls to the sheep.

This is why Jesus says to the Pharisees in our lesson today from John’s Gospel, “I am the good shepherd. I know my own and my own know me, just as the Father knows me and I know the Father.” When Jesus calls, we know his voice and follow because we love him and put our trust in him. He is the Good Shepherd, the one who leads us and guides us in our lives.

Today is the Fourth Sunday of Easter, also known as “Good Shepherd Sunday.” Each year, on this day, we hear a lesson from John’s Gospel having to do with Jesus as the Good Shepherd—the one who lays down his life for the sheep.

On this day, we also hear one of the most popular psalms—the Twenty-Third Psalm, which begins with the familiar words, “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not be in want. He makes me lie down in green pastures and leads me beside still waters.” This is the psalm we go to when we think about Jesus as the Good Shepherd. He’s the one who comforts us when we’re lonely and afraid, the one who loves us and cares for us when we’re suffering or in pain. Jesus is also the one who leads us, the one who goes ahead of the flock and guides us to where he would have us go.

Sometimes, I think we forget that part of Jesus’ role as the Good Shepherd. Yes, Jesus comforts us and loves us, but Jesus is also there to lead us and guide us. Sometimes, that includes to places where we don’t want to go or places that challenge us to come out of our comfort zones in order to love and serve others. I can think of lots of examples in my life when I was perfectly happy and comfortable going about my business only to have Jesus come along and say, “Follow me.”

It’s no wonder, then, why Jesus, the Good Shepherd, is also our model for ministry in the Church and why people like bishops and other ministers are called and entrusted to be shepherds. It isn’t easy or glamorous work, by any means, but it is work that’s necessary in the building up of God’s Kingdom.

We need shepherds who are willing minister in Christ’s name, who are willing to go ahead of the flock and guide us, even to places where we may not want to go. We need pastors who are willing to sit with us when we’re hurting or in pain, but we also need pastors who are willing to help us get back on track when we’ve gone astray from the rest of the flock, to help us remember what the voice of the Good Shepherd sounds like.

Now, this is the point in my sermon when I tell you that you don’t have to carry a bishop’s crozier or wear fancy vestments or a white collar to be a shepherd or a pastor. All of us who share in the baptism of Jesus are called to be pastors in some way. The water of Baptism is our investiture. All of us are called to share the love of God in Christ with those who are suffering or in need. All of us are called to help lead the flock of Christ. 

Bishops serve as the chief shepherd of the diocese, and priests lead by serving as pastors of individual parishes. But, you don’t have to be ordained to be a pastor. All of us are called to be pastors in some way. All of us are called to look toward Jesus as our perfect example of what true ministry looks like.

My prayer for all of us is that our wills may align with that of the Good Shepherd, that we may look to Jesus, not only for guidance and comfort, but also as an example for what our own ministries might look like in the Church. May we, who share in the ministry of the Good Shepherd, be prepared not only to be guided to places that challenge us but also to lead others there as well, trusting that the way of Jesus will always bring us to greener pastures. Amen.

A Sermon for the Third Sunday of Easter
April 14, 2024

Text: 1 John 3:1-7

See what love the Father has given us that we should be called children of God, and that is what we are. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

There’s a short passage from the Gospel of Matthew where the disciples come to Jesus and they ask him, “Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?” Then, Jesus looks around a sees a child standing nearby. He calls the child to come over and sits the child down in the midst of the disciples, and he says, “Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Whoever becomes humble like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. Whoever welcomes one such child welcomes me.”

When you think about it, it makes a lot of sense that Jesus would use the image of a child as an example of how we’re supposed to come before God and serve God in our lives.

Children aren’t arrogant or overly concerned with themselves. Actually, it’s quite the opposite. In my experience, children tend to care for others before themselves. If you look at a group of children playing, they tend to care about serving others before they serve themselves.

Children play with reckless abandon. They’re care-free. They have curiosity and use their imaginations without stopping to worry about what other people will think.

Children also depend on their parents to keep them safe. They trust their parents to love them and care for them, no matter what.

Thinking back to my own childhood, the thing I remember most was being told by my parents, over and over again, that there was nothing I could ever do that would make them love me any less. And that continued into my young adult years and even now. I don’t get to see my parents in person very often because we live in different places. But I know—without a doubt—that what they’ve always told me is true. There is nothing I could ever do that would make them love me any less.

The reason why I’m sharing this with you today is because I think that the relationship between a child and a parent is a beautiful way of understanding our relationship with God and the unconditional love that God has for each of us.

As I was reading today’s lessons, the passage that really drew my attention this week was our lesson from 1 John, and in particular, the very first line: “See what love the Father has given us that we should be called children of God, and that is what we are.”

There is a word of reassurance in this passage, a word of comfort. It’s almost as if the author is writing, “Don’t be afraid. You are God’s beloved, and there’s no where you can go where God isn’t already there.”

1 John—along with 2 John and 3 John—are New Testament letters often attributed to John the Evangelist, the same person who wrote the Gospel of John, although most scholars agree that they were most likely written by a different author, writing in the style of John the Evangelist. It’s hard to be sure, but it’s obvious that whoever the author was, they drew inspiration from John’s Gospel.

The author of 1 John is an elder of the Church—someone who’s obviously been around a while—writing to a community of early Christians who are brand new to the faith and who are struggling to follow the way of Jesus in a world that doesn’t understand or know him. This letter was written probably written some time between the years 95 and 110—only 60-70 years after the death and resurrection of Christ. The Church at this point is still in its infancy. It has yet to spread to the far corners of the earth as it has today. And the pressures felt by those early Christians must’ve been extraordinarily difficult.

I would say that it’s hard to imagine living in a world that doesn’t know or understand Jesus. But, I would be wrong.

In the past two thousand years, the Church may have spread to the ends of the earth. There may be far more Christians now than there were in the first century. But, even today, we still struggle to follow the way of Jesus. We still feel the pressures of the world around us, telling us that we should only live and care for ourselves and that our worth is measured by material things.

But, that isn’t who we are. We aren’t children of the world. We are children of God. That is what we are.

The world will try to convince us that we are what we do and that our worth is measured by how successful we are in our work.

The world will try to convince us that we are how much money we make and that our worth is measured by how many homes we own or how many vacations we can afford to take each year.

The world will try to convince us that we are the perfect life we present to others on our Facebook pages and Instagram accounts and that our worth is measured by how many likes we get or how popular we are.

The world we also try to convince us that we are our worst mistakes and that we aren’t worthy of love or forgiveness.

But, dear friends, none of that is true. Because at the core of who we are, at the deepest levels of our being, we are children of God.

And, if we live into that identity, the world will not know us or understand us. We live in a culture that values individualism more than anything. The world teaches us to care only for ourselves and what we want. The world won’t understand why we live for Jesus because to live for Jesus is to follow a different path, to turn from sin and self-centeredness and to offer ourselves in God’s service.

So, we have a choice to make. Actually, on any given day, we have lots of choices to make. Will we live as children of God or live for what the world expects of us?

To live as a child of God means to go against the grain of what the world expects. As one author writes, “In a culture of individualism, we belong to a community—the Body of Christ. In an age that seeks security through violence, we seek solidarity, forgiveness, and peace. In a society that finds personal identity through social networking, we find our true name in baptism and in following Christ.”

As hard as it is to believe some times—and it is—God has claimed us as his own and set us free to experience abundant life in his Kingdom, abundant life as his children.

Often, we doubt our worthiness of God’s love and think to ourselves that it surely can’t be true because we’re constantly trying to live up to society’s expectations and who the world says we should be.

But, we have no reason to ever doubt our belovedness. From the beginning, we were created in the image and likeness of God as God’s beloved. Because of our Lord’s sacrifice on the cross and his victory over death, we have been redeemed with God, and marked and claimed as Christ’s own forever.

Because of Jesus, we can believe the message to be true in our lesson today from 1 John. We aren’t who the world says we should be. We are the beloved of God. “See what love the Father has given us that we should be called children of God, and that is what we are.” Amen.

A Sermon for the Sunday of the Resurrection: Easter Day
March 31, 2024

Text: John 20:1-18

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

Where were you four years ago on Easter Sunday? I remember exactly where I was. I wasn’t at church. I wasn’t getting ready to lead worship or preach an Easter sermon.

It was April of 2020—about a month into the pandemic. I was sitting on my living room couch at our home in Alabaster, getting ready to watch the Easter Sunday service live-streamed from the National Cathedral in Washington, DC.

During the service, our Presiding Bishop, Michael Curry, preached a wonderful sermon, as he always does, and there was a virtual choir and orchestra made up of Episcopalians from all over the country who recorded themselves performing my favorite Easter hymn—the one we sang just a few moments ago, which begins with the words, “The strife is over, the battle done, the victory of life is won, the song of triumph has begun. Alleluia!”

That morning, our family watched the service on our television and listened to the beautiful music, and we did our best to muster up as much Easter joy as we possibly could, despite the circumstances. We even had a makeshift altar set up in the living room with candles and a colorful arrangement of flowers.

Normally, we would’ve invited family members over for the weekend to help us celebrate, but since times were so uncertain at the start of the pandemic, we decided to “play it safe” and not take any risks.

So, our family celebrated Easter alone that year, as so many families did. It was different than any other year, but then again, so were a lot of things.

At the time, we were in the middle of a statewide lockdown, and I was working mostly from home, trying my best to keep things running smoothly at our church in Alabaster.

At the same time, I was trying my best to be a full-time, stay-at-home dad and school teacher since all of the public schools were closed and teachers had no choice but to offer instruction online.

One memory that’s stuck with me from that time was a conversation I had with our son, Jude, just a few days before Easter, on Good Friday.

He probably doesn’t remember this, but his teacher had given him a reading assignment. She told him to choose any book he would like to read and then answer some questions about it. Since it was Holy Week and we were getting ready for Easter, Jude decided to pick out an Easter story.

He read the story by himself, and when he was done, he started answering the questions.

One of the questions was, “What would you change about the story to make it better?”

You can probably figure out where this going. Jude thought about it for a moment, and then he said, “I would change it so that Jesus didn’t have to die.”

I looked at him, and he looked back at me.

He wasn’t sad, but I could tell that he understood the weight of the story. It had a happy ending, of course, with Jesus being raised from the dead, but in order to get there, Jesus had to sacrifice himself. Jesus had to endure much suffering and die on the cross in order to be raised back up again. There would be no Easter without Good Friday.

I think Jude understood this, but it didn’t make the story any easier. For him, the happy ending of Jesus’ resurrection was wonderful, but the story would be so much better without the part about Jesus having to die on the cross.

Honestly, I couldn’t blame Jude for wanting to change the story. It’s difficult to read, especially for a child. It’s even more difficult to imagine what it must’ve been like for Jesus in those final hours of his life—the pain he suffered, how alone he must’ve felt.

How many of us, if we were given the opportunity, would change what happened to Jesus? How many of us would do everything we could to spare Jesus from the agony of the cross, even though we know what happens in the end?

Suffering is something we try to avoid at all costs, especially when it involves the people we love, and I think that’s probably why the church is a lot more crowded on Easter Day than it is on Good Friday.

We would much rather skip over the painful parts of the story and go straight to the joy of Easter. What we sometimes forget, though, is that Good Friday is part of the story, whether we like it or not. It can’t be forgotten or ignored. Without Good Friday, there would be no Easter.

Without Jesus going to the cross and dying for all of us, there would be no redemption—no promise of new life with God. This is the Paschal Mystery—the mystery we’re invited to experience each year during Holy Week and Easter.

The darkness of Good Friday gives way to the light of Easter morning. Jesus has passed over from death into new life, and we are changed forever.

Jesus said it this way, just a few days before his death. “Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.”

As followers of Jesus, we are part of the mystery as well. By joining with Christ in his death and resurrection, by renouncing the evils of this world and committing ourselves to the way of self-giving, sacrificial love, we too have passed over from death into new life.

It’s why we celebrate the sacrament of Baptism, which is part of why we’re gathered here today. In just a few moments, we’ll welcome three new members into the Body of Christ—three new children of God who will be sealed by the Holy Spirit in Baptism and marked as Christ’s own forever. During this part of the service, we’ll join with those who are committing themselves to Christ and renew our own baptismal vows as well.

I can’t think of a better way to celebrate Easter. I can’t think of a better way to proclaim the joy of resurrection than by receiving three new members into the Body of Christ and recommitting ourselves to following the way of Jesus.

Baptism isn’t just about those who are being baptized. It’s about all of us and the work we’re called to do as the Church in proclaiming the Gospel of Jesus Christ by word and deed. Baptism is an outward and visible sign to the world that this Jesus who was struck down and crucified has been lifted up and raised to newness of life. That’s something worth celebrating.

Good Friday may be part of the story, but it isn’t the end. We know what happens on the third day, and we know what it means for those of us who follow Jesus.

On the third day, something happened that no one thought was possible. Early in the morning, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene discovered that the tomb where they had laid Jesus’ body was now empty. Jesus was risen. Death was put to flight, and love lived once again.

If we truly believe that, dear friends—if we truly believe that death has been defeated once and for all, then we have no reason to ever doubt that God is with us. If we truly believe that Christ is risen from the dead, then we have no reason to be afraid and every reason to spread the Good News of our Lord’s resurrection to the world. So, let’s say it again…

Alleluia! Christ is risen! The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

Amen.

A Sermon for the Great Vigil of Easter
March 30, 2024

Text: Ezekiel 37:1-14

Let none fear death, for the death of the Savior has set us free. Christ is risen and the demons have fallen. Christ is risen and the angels rejoice. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

From the Book of the Prophet Ezekiel: “The hand of the Lord came upon me, and he brought me out by the spirit of the Lord and set me down in the middle of a valley; it was full of bones. He led me all around them; there were very many lying in the valley, and they were very dry. He said to me, ‘Mortal, can these bones live?’ I answered, ‘O Lord God, you know.’ Then he said to me, ‘Prophesy to these bones, and say to them: O dry bones, hear the word of the Lord. Thus says the Lord God to these bones: I will cause breath to enter you, and you shall live. I will lay sinews on you, and will cause flesh to come upon you, and cover you with skin, and put breath in you, and you shall live; and you shall know that I am the Lord.’”

Each year, at the Great Vigil of Easter, we begin the service outside in darkness. The memory of Good Friday still lingers, but the hope of Easter has been kindled in the lighting of the New Fire.

Then, after we light the Paschal Candle and process into the Church, we hear sacred stories told from Scripture, recounting the history of our salvation, beginning with the story of Creation in Genesis and continuing with the story of Israel’s freedom from bondage in the Book of Exodus.

The purpose of this time is for us to remember.

To remember God’s great love for us and all of Creation. To remember how God called us into covenant with him and remained faithful, despite our broken and sinful ways. To remember how, time and again, God showed mercy and called us to repent and return to the Lord.

Through the prophets of Israel, God renewed our hope for salvation, which is why I have a particular love for this passage from Ezekiel that we heard earlier tonight.

In the prophet’s vision, he is guided by the Lord to the middle of a valley filled with dry bones. It’s a dark, desolate wasteland filled with brittle, dried up, human bones—too many to number. Ezekiel doesn’t just stand in one place. The Lord God leads Ezekiel through the valley where he notices that these bones are very dry. We don’t know how long they’ve been there, but we know that it’s been a very long time.

And, after God shows him this vast valley full of dry bones, he asks Ezekiel, “Mortal, can these bones live?”

Ezekiel shakes his head. He couldn’t possibly know the answer. Only God knows whether or not these bones can be restored.

Then, God orders Ezekiel to prophesy to the bones. “Prophesy to these bones,” God says, “and say to them: O dry bones, hear the word of the Lord. Thus says the Lord God to these bones: I will cause breath to enter you, and you shall live. I will lay sinews on you, and will cause flesh to come upon you, and cover you with skin, and put breath in you, and you shall live; and you shall know that I am the Lord.”

It’s a renewed promise to the people of Israel.

It’s God’s way of saying through the prophet, “You who have been in exile for so long and held in captivity in Babylon—you whom I love—you will be restored and brought back to your home in the land of Judah. I will breathe my spirit over you, and you shall live once again.”

In my mind, this story is a beautiful reminder and a sign to all of us that, even in the midst of death and despair—even when it feels like we’re walking through the valley of dry bones—there is always hope for new life.

God has the power to breathe new life into what was considered lost and hopeless. And, on this night especially, we’re reminded that God has the power to raise up that which was cast down.

God took what happened to Jesus on Good Friday and made a way for us to be reconciled with him forever.

Because of our Lord’s sacrifice on the cross and his victory over death, there is no power—in heaven or on earth—that can ever separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus. Sin and death have been defeated once and for all, opening up for us the way of freedom and eternal life with God.

That’s what this night is all about. It’s about victory. It’s about the light of God’s love overcoming the darkness. “This is the night,” as we heard earlier in the words of the Exsultet, “when all who believe in Christ are delivered from the gloom of sin, and are restored to grace and holiness of life. This is the night, when Christ broke the bonds of death and hell, and rose victorious from the grave.”

So, back to the question that the Lord asked Ezekiel when he showed him the valley of dry bones. “Mortal, can these bones live?”

Because of Jesus, we already know the answer, and we never have to ask the question again. Now and forever more, “Yes, Lord! These bones can surely live.” Amen.

A Sermon for Good Friday
March 29, 2024

Text: John 18:1-19:42

Loving God, on this most solemn day in the life of the Church, we ask you to be gentle with us and to show us your love and mercy. Help us, we pray, as we bear witness to the events of our Lord’s suffering and death and as we contemplate their meaning for our lives. And then use us, we pray, as instruments of your healing in this broken and sinful world. In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Last month, I—along with a few members of our parish—traveled south to Daphne, Alabama, for the annual convention of our diocese. We had a wonderful time, and while we were there, we had the opportunity to reconnect with old friends and meet new people and to hear some wonderful presentations on evangelism and Christian formation.

On the last day of the convention, during the closing Eucharist, our bishop preached a sermon and shared a story that I’ve been thinking a lot about ever since.

He could tell it much better than I can, but it basically goes like this…

In his former life, before going to seminary and becoming a priest, the bishop worked as an architect, and part of his job was going and interviewing with potential clients to try and get work.

One of his strangest meetings was with a church.

This church was incredibly popular and successful, and they had grown so much that they needed to build a new building to accommodate all the new people who were coming to worship.

So, the bishop interviewed for the job.

This church was so prosperous that they decided to hire an outside consultant to come in and tell them what they needed to include in the new building.

So, this consultant came in and surveyed the people, and they came up with three recommendations for the new building.

Number one. Put cushions in all the chairs. No pews, only chairs…with lots of cushion.

Second, include lots of technology, and spare no expense. Screens, speakers, all the works.

And their third recommendation. Do not put a cross anywhere in the building. Because apparently, the people they surveyed felt the cross wasn’t pleasant to look at every time they went to church and they thought it was a bit outdated.

When the bishop said those words, my jaw dropped.

And you could hear groans coming from the congregation. For a group of Episcopalians, the idea of not including a cross in a church speaks completely against what we know to be true about Jesus, the one who said, “Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.”

Now, I don’t know whether or not this church actually followed through with it.

But, just the idea of not including a cross—the symbol of our Christian faith—in a church should cause us to pause and wonder why.

This isn’t an isolated occurrence, either.

I recently came across an article from 2018 written by an Episcopal priest from the Diocese of Louisiana, who wrote about a time when he once returned home and went to the church he used to attend during college breaks.

He noticed that the wooden cross on the front lawn had rotted at the base and fallen down, and when he asked the pastor when it was going to be put back up, the pastor responded, “We’re not going to do that. The cross is such a negative image for so many people. We’ll find something more positive to focus on, instead.”

Like with the bishop’s story, I was stunned when I read those words.

Dear friends, if all people see when they look at the cross is an instrument of pain and death, then we have a serious problem. If the only thing people feel when they look at the cross is sadness and despair, then we haven’t done our job as a Church. I’m not talking about just St. Mary’s. I’m talking about the Church as a whole.

As Christians, we know better. Or, at least we should. We know that the cross isn’t just a sad reminder of something that happened two thousand years ago on a hill outside of Jerusalem. It’s a symbol of hope that’s endured for centuries—a reminder for all of us that, through Jesus’ sacrifice on the cross, salvation has come to the whole world.

The cross isn’t something we should ever be ashamed of because we’re afraid it might make people feel uncomfortable. It’s not something we should ever hide or take down in order to make people feel better about coming to church or belonging to the Christian faith.

The cross is something we should share because we know its true meaning and power. It’s something we should share because we who have been baptized into the death and resurrection of Christ know that the way of the cross is the path that leads to abundant life with God.

Paul wrote about it this way in his first letter to the Corinthians: “For the message about the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God.”

Because of God’s great love for the world, he took an instrument of death and turned it into the means of our salvation. Because Jesus was willing to endure the pain and agony of the cross and to give up his life, we have been reconciled with God. The powers of sin and death have been defeated once and for all, and we never have to live in fear again.

And, that’s the reason why we call this particular day, “good.”

Amen.