January 25, 2026, The Third Sunday after the Epiphany, Reflections on Matthew 4:12-23 by Reverend Carole Horton-Howe

When Jesus heard that John had been arrested, he withdrew to Galilee. He left Nazareth and made his home in Capernaum by the sea, in the territory of Zebulun and Naphtali, so that what had been spoken through the prophet Isaiah might be fulfilled:

“Land of Zebulun, land of Naphtali,

on the road by the sea, across the Jordan, Galilee of the Gentiles—

the people who sat in darkness have seen a great light,

and for those who sat in the region and shadow of death light has dawned.”

From that time Jesus began to proclaim, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.”

As he walked by the Sea of Galilee, he saw two brothers, Simon, who is called Peter, and Andrew his brother, casting a net into the sea—for they were fishermen. And he said to them, “Follow me, and I will make you fish for people.” Immediately they left their nets and followed him. As he went from there, he saw two other brothers, James son of Zebedee and his brother John, in the boat with their father Zebedee, mending their nets, and he called them. Immediately they left the boat and their father, and followed him.

Jesus went throughout Galilee, teaching in their synagogues and proclaiming the good news of the kingdom and curing every disease and every sickness among the people.

Last Sunday we had the opportunity to hear the account from John's Gospel of the call of the first disciples. We had John the Baptizer playing a very prominent role in that account as he literally pointed the way to Jesus “this is the lamb of God” for those who had been following him around in the wilderness.

Sermon by the Rev. Carole Horton-Howe

Today we have a very different look from Matthew's gospel. Today we see Jesus returning to the Galilee after he has learned that John the Baptizer has been arrested.  And now Jesus carries on the message that John had been proclaiming on Jesus’ behalf telling everyone to repent because the kingdom had come near. Just to put this in context, we are at the very beginning of Jesus earthly ministry. We start to get insight into the particular, unique kingship of Jesus that we’ll see develop through the season.

We hear that he withdraws – not out of cowardice or self-preservation – but forming an alternate vision of kingship which is nonviolent and nonretaliatory. He is both the Messiah and the Son of Man who has nowhere to lay his head. Jesus, the King of the World that is and is to come, is a displaced person in this world.

But more than anything else, this gospel is a call to ministry story.  We find Jesus walking along the Sea of Galilee where he calls the first of the disciples: “come and follow me.” He's out walking by the Sea of Galilee and he seems to see some unlikely people to call as his first disciples.

They are fishermen - first Simon Peter and Andrew.  And then James and John.  They're in the midst of their living their lives, just getting ready for another day fishing. Just as many generations of their families before them had done, and just as they always expected they would do.  But that Jesus calls with a mysterious, cryptic invitation, “follow me I'm going to make you fish for people.”

And the account that we're given is that they just walk away. They walk away from the boats and the nets. James and John walk away from their father.  And we hear that and we think and we’re amazed from our 21st century mindset that that could happen.

But it might have been even crazier sounding to Matthew’s first century listeners because family was everything in their culture. You didn't walk away from your family. It’s counter intuitive. What would make four rational people walk away from everything to follow Jesus? 

There are theories that the four had known Jesus for many years, they knew this was coming. But none of the gospels say that.  And if we make that assumption we’re cheating ourselves and minimizing God’s capacity to call us out of what we plan for ourselves and into God’s plan.  God who knows out gifts, our strengths and fears better than anyone, better than ourselves.

 The 4 fishermen already have something useful and important to do. They’re not looking to make a change. They’re not looking for a new life. They don’t seek Jesus, he seeks them.  The call of Jesus doesn’t fill an obvious need in their lives. Like the call to the prophets in the Old Testament, it is intrusive and disruptive.  

So perhaps they say “yes” and follow Jesus because this invitation in like nothing they’ve ever known.

Call stories are amazing and uplifting, call stories like we hear from Carson:

"During high school,” a young man named Carson, says “I became very sick and ended up with liver failure. I was in orchestra and was supposed to be in advance music composition and had an internship in conducting my junior year, but I ended up being too sick to commit to the course of study. The next year, senior year, I had a bunch of open hours in my schedule, so my guidance counselor told me I should take the EMT class. I became enthralled with medicine and went straight from high school to paramedic school.

Carson gave up a full-ride scholarship in music to Illinois University that he had worked towards most of his life. He gave up the path that he had set in place years before to go do what he has a true calling for - work on an ambulance, for poor pay, and exposure to people on the worst day of their life.

“However, when you join EMS,” he says, “you gain a family that will support you through anything. I wake up (almost) every day happy to go to work. It's not a job if you love what you do, and that can't be more true for me. That was thirteen years ago and I haven't looked back. I still love music but being a paramedic and helping my community is what I was born to do.

Some individuals know from a young age they are destined for a specific path, often described as a "tug" or pull toward a purpose. Others like our paramedic friend Carson find their calling accidentally, after discovering a passion. This highlights that a "calling" often feels like a pull toward a specific purpose rather than just a job.

I know many of you have your own amazing call story. You are teachers, nurses, parents. You’ve felt that pull, that compulsive tug. And I can’t help but wonder if the disciples didn’t feel that also.

We can be sure that these four men know everything everything about fishing. But who had valued them, in the course of their lives, for something other than what they bring to market?  Jesus sees something else in them. Jesus sees gifts in them that perhaps no one else has ever identified. They are valued, they are respected in a way that they have probably never experienced.

For someone to have that kind of confidence in them and say “follow me I'm going to take these great gifts that you have to get fish and I'm going to help you fish for people with me.” That's an invitation it would be hard to turn down.

So they walk away from everything that they have known, literally and figuratively, to follow Jesus.  And Jesus immediately, we're told, goes out and begins proclaiming the good news and curing all of these sick people.

Now what all four Gospel accounts share, even though they all have very different details about how it is that Jesus went about calling the first disciples, is that Jesus really doesn't start his ministry until he calls these disciples. Let’s think about how this plays out.  From his first moments with those who will share ministry with him, he is forming them for the last moments, for the time when he will no longer be with them and their discipleship will be needed more than ever.

So off they all go. And as soon as Jesus starts preaching and teaching and healing, he’s almost instantly rock star status.  Because all of these people who have been so sick, all of the people who have been in need, who have been without hope, have now found the light.  Throngs of people are following Jesus everywhere he goes. And the disciples are probably thinking initially this is a pretty good gig, this is pretty good. Because we're welcome everywhere we go.

But it doesn't take long before they start to get really weary. Throngs of people clamoring for Jesus make for days that are long and hard. They start quarreling among themselves. Jesus’ teaching can be confounding. They realize that this call business is not easy.  They're up close and personal when the tide of public sentiment turns against their beloved teacher. His life is in danger and by extension their own lives are in danger. It’s enough to make one of them even deny that he knows Jesus.

And that could have been the end of the story. But it's not. It's not the end of the story because even though they may have been disheartened, even though they may have wondered in their own minds, “what was I thinking, why did we ever say yes to this?” God’s call is there. It never gives up on them, God only strengthens and affirms their call through the message of the empty tomb.

The message from the empty tomb: “he's risen! Don't give up! Don’t fall away. Love lives.” And we see them come back to make that choice all over again - to follow Jesus, to proclaim the good news, to pick up his ministry, continue the message of love and God’s salvation all over the world. And ultimately to give their own lives for that message.

This whole business of being disciples is not easy not easy. Because the days are long and the work can be tiring. And other folks may look at us and think, “what's wrong with you? Don’t you see what a mess the world is in? Why are you wasting your breath talking about love? Why are you talking about caring about God's people? Why are you showing up in places where people are hurting? Where justice and mercy are in very short supply. People may think we as the church are nuts.

It’s what we are called to do and be every single day of our lives. God doesn't give up on the world or on us as individuals. God is always there to remind us with just those little glimpses, that what we do matters, that what we do is important, that our call to serve is real and valid.

There's still a lot of sickness in our world that need God's healing - the sicknesses of division and strife and war that need God's healing. And that starts with us, with every act that we hate that starts with us. As we open our doors and invite others to come with us on faith journeys. Because God still needs all of us he needs us as individuals and God still needs us as a church - just as we are with the gifts that we bring, God needs each of us.

And every time those doors open and someone else comes into this place to journey with us in faith, every child who is taught here every time someone comes in our midst to learn with us and grow with us to bring about healing in God's world.  The church is more important now than ever.

We can't forget that.  We can't forget how important we all are to the delivery of God's message in this world. So if we start to feel disheartened, if we start to feel that we're tired, may we be reminded always that those first disciples didn't come with any special equipment, or special skills. They didn’t come with anything more than the grace of the love of God. And that grace and love is upon all of us as we answer our own call to go forth to bear the message of the good news to everyone that we need.  Amen.

January 18, 2026, The Second Sunday after the Epiphany, "What are you looking for?" Reflections on John 1: 1-9 by Reverend Jeannie Martz

The Second Sunday after the Epiphany, Year A

January 18, 2026

St. Matthias Episcopal Church, Whittier, CA

The Rev. Jeannie Martz

          “I have a question for you.”

          This simple statement can have quite an effect on us.  The nature of the effect varies with context and setting of course, but the statement itself still puts us on notice that something is going to be asked of us, something will be required of us.  Whether the question is a mental challenge or part of a game, a simple request for information or the one card that will cause the house to fall down; even if it’s the greatest fear of most Episcopalians:  “What if I mention my faith in public and someone asks me a question??” – to be told a question awaits us, any question, calls us to attention.

          No one asks better questions than Jesus and so today I want to focus on three of his most important ones:

          What are you looking for?

          What do you want me to do for you?

          Do you want to be made well?

All three of these questions appear at least once in the Gospels, and in each case the person at the receiving end of the question has never encountered Jesus before.

          The third question I listed, “Do you want to be made well?” comes from the fifth chapter of John, a little further along from today’s reading.  While Matthew, Mark, and Luke in their Gospels have Jesus traveling to Jerusalem only once as an adult, a journey that will end at the cross, John places the adult Jesus in Jerusalem three separate times.  This conversation takes place during his second visit:

          John writes, “Now in Jerusalem by the Sheep Gate there is a pool, called Bethzatha, which has five porticoes.  In these lie many invalids – blind, lame, and paralyzed.  One man was there who had been ill for thirty-eight years.  When Jesus saw him lying there and knew that he had been there a long time, he said to him, ‘Do you want to be made well?’”        

          In this morning’s Gospel reading, John the Baptizer specifically says that he didn’t recognize Jesus as the one who is “greater than he” until he witnessed the revelation of Jesus as the one on whom God’s Spirit remains.  In this Gospel, revelation precedes recognition, and the man in the porticoes at Bethzatha – also known as Bethsaida and Bethesda – this man has received no such revelation.  To him Jesus is just some stranger who has stopped by the mat he’s been lying on for thirty-eight years and has asked him a question that seems to be a bit of a no-brainer.

          But questions in John’s Gospel operate in more than one dimension.  They operate first in the dimension of the story where they’re part of the flow of the narrative; but they also have a spiritual dimension – so that Jesus isn’t just asking the man if he’d like to be healed physically; he’s asking both the man and everyone who hears this question in any time or place, any century, any fellowship, including us, if we want to be healed, to be made whole; if we want salvation, because in the Bible wholeness and salvation are two sides of the same coin.

          At the story level, the man may have heard Jesus’ question as a reproach, because his response is more an explanation than an answer.  The footnotes in the NRSV say that some of the other ancient manuscripts of John include the sentence, “…an angel of the Lord went down at certain seasons into the pool, and stirred up the water; whoever stepped in first after the stirring of the water was made well from whatever disease that person had.”

          With this in mind, it makes perfect sense for the man to say to Jesus, “Sir, I have no one to put me into the pool when the water is stirred up; and while I am making my way, someone else steps down ahead of me.”  Yes, the man wants to be made well, he’s been trying to be made well; but he can’t get to the water by himself.

          Every time we hear this question, “Do you want to be made well?” we need to ask ourselves if we have the same courage this man has, because to be made well is to be transformed; to be made well is to receive new life; and to set aside all the wounds, large or small, that may have defined us in the past; all the wounds, large or small, that we may be clinging to, allowing their familiar pain to shape our identity, to frame how we see the world and how the world sees us.  If Jesus makes us well, if we become whole, then who are we?  Then what do we do?

          To the man, Jesus says, “Stand up, take your mat and walk.”  “At once,” says John, “the man was made well, and he took up his mat and began to walk.”  (Jn. 5:2-9)  In the man’s healing, and in ours, is the revelation of who Jesus is.  Within the revelation of who Jesus is lies the imperative for us to respond.

          The second question, “What do you want me to do for you?” is a popular one in retreat and meditation settings.  Included by Matthew, Mark, and Luke, Mark’s version reads (Mk. 10:46b-52):

          “As [Jesus] and his disciples and a large crowd were leaving Jericho, Bartimaeus son of Timaeus, a blind beggar, was sitting by the roadside.  When he heard that it was Jesus of Nazareth, he began to shout out and say, ‘Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!’  Many sternly ordered him to be quiet, but he cried out even more loudly, ‘Son of David, have mercy on me!’  Jesus stood still and said, ‘Call him here.’  And they called the blind man, saying to him, ‘Take heart; get up, he is calling you.’  So throwing off his cloak, he sprang up and came to Jesus.  Then Jesus said to him, ‘What do you want me to do for you?’”

          As I said, these days, encountering Jesus and hearing him ask this question is often the climax of a guided meditation, or perhaps the focus of a prayerful reading of Scripture.  In such a guided meditation – and this is a general example - the facilitator slowly leads us, within our own minds, to a place of beauty and safety, sometimes a favorite place of our own that we’re encouraged to visualize.  Very gradually, we’re invited to see a figure standing before us, or sitting next to us, shadowy at first, but then recognizable as Jesus, face to face.  Radiating love, Jesus looks deep into our eyes and asks, “What would you like me to do for you?”  The answer, coming from the depths of heart and soul, is ours and ours alone to give.

          One of the ironies in Mark’s story, of course, is that from the very beginning, the only one who really sees the face of Jesus, the only one to whom Jesus’ identity as the Messiah has been revealed, is the blind man.  While he’s shouting “Son of David!” – a primary messianic designation – everyone else is trying to keep him quiet.  When Jesus asks Bartimaeus what he wants, because he already knows Jesus to be the Messiah, Bartimaeus doesn’t hesitate to ask for wholeness.  In response to Jesus’ question, he promptly says, “My teacher, let me see again.”

          “Jesus said to him, ‘Go; your faith has made you well.’  Immediately [Bartimaeus] regained his sight and followed [Jesus] on the way.”

          In complete faith that Jesus is God’s Messiah, Bartimaeus asks him for healing, for transformation and new life – and receiving what he has asked for, he goes forth into his new life as a disciple.

          We sometimes say, “Be careful what you ask for, or be careful what you pray for, because you might get it.”  We say it tongue in cheek, making a little joke out of it because we know it’s true, and because we know it’s scary:  as we pray, as we encounter Jesus face to face and hear this second question, we might find ourselves faced with the invitation to be transformed, to receive new life.

          The third question, the one we heard this morning, is the greater context for the other two.  “What are you looking for?”  These are the very first words that Jesus speaks in the Gospel of John.  “What are you looking for?”

          At Christmastime the shepherds were looking for a newborn.  At Epiphany the Magi were looking for a king.  Today, in this season of God’s ongoing self-revelation, John’s disciples are looking for the Messiah, and in response to Jesus’ question, they ask him where he’s staying.

          True to form, this question also operates on two levels.  On the level of the story, John’s disciples are literally asking Jesus where he’s staying.  They’re near Jerusalem, near the Jordan where John has been baptizing, and they want to know where they can find Jesus again.

          At the spiritual level, this is a deeper question about discipleship.  In the words of John the Evangelist, John the Baptizer says that he saw God’s Spirit descend upon Jesus at his baptism and remain upon him – the Spirit is permanently with Jesus; it won’t come and go, leaving him sometimes in the power of the Spirit and sometimes not.  In the same vein, the two disciples are now asking Jesus if and how they too can share in this relationship that he has with God through God’s Spirit.  In John’s Greek, asking where Jesus is staying is the same as asking where Jesus is remaining.  And Jesus says to them, “Come and see,” a response one author has called “an offer to see Jesus with the eyes of faith.”  (NIB, 531)

          Another author has said, “You will see the kingdom of God, but it will not be what you expected to see.  And you will see the day when you will rejoice that [the kingdom] was so much more than you could have expected.”  (Christian Century, 12/21/16, p. 21)

          What are we looking for?  When we come together in this place, when we come together to worship, what are we looking for?  Fellowship?  A sense of belonging?  A place to give, to serve, to do the Loving Thing and make a difference in our community and in the world?  Certainly these are aspects of our life together here at St. Matthias, but they’re not unique to this parish or even to the Episcopal Church.  Each of these things can be found and experienced in other organizations as well.

          What would we tell Jesus we’re looking for?  That we want to know and feel God’s love?  That we want to show the world a new way of being and living together, a way that honors and values all people?  That we want to share in a life that has eternal significance?  Yes, and more.

          C.S. Lewis’ book The Screwtape Letters purports to be an exchange of letters between Screwtape, a senior demon in the Nether Regions, and his young nephew Wormwood, a junior demon stationed in the world and charged with winning human souls for Hell through what are disconcertingly ordinary means.  The “patient” (as he’s called) that Wormwood is currently working on has recently had a conversion experience and is a new churchgoer, filled with faith and idealism, and Screwtape gives his nephew the following advice:

          “Wormwood, the Church is a fertile field if you keep them bickering over details, structure, money, property, personal hurts and misunderstandings.  One thing you must prevent: don’t ever let them look up and see the banners of victory flying, for if they see the banners flying then you have lost them forever.  Never let them see the Glory of God.”

          What are we looking for?  We are looking for transformation and new life; we are looking for a relationship with Jesus and with each other in the presence of God and in the power of God’s Spirit.

          We are looking to carry Christ’s banners of victory and transformation into the hurt and pain of this world, so that all of us may see the Glory of God everywhere. 

“Teacher, where are you staying?”

“Come and see.”

Amen.

January 11, 2026, The First Sunday after the Epiphany, Reflections on Matthew 3:13-17 by Reverend Carole Horton-Howe

Jesus came from Galilee to John at the Jordan, to be baptized by him. John would have prevented him, saying, “I need to be baptized by you, and do you come to me?” But Jesus answered him, “Let it be so now; for it is proper for us in this way to fulfill all righteousness.” Then he consented. And when Jesus had been baptized, just as he came up from the water, suddenly the heavens were opened to him and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and alighting on him. And a voice from heaven said, “This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.”

Sermon by the Rev. Carole Horton-Howe

One of the oddest stories of baptism was told to me by a priest living in Montana – where it snows a lot this time of year. Her two boys were very young -- 4 years and 18 months.  Her 18-month-old, Jamie, had been baptized on Epiphany Sunday a few days before.  She picked them up from preschool, strapped the youngest into his car seat while 4 year old Stephen – she thought – stood nearby.  Then he got into the car and into his booster seat – and threw a snowball at his little brother.  And asked “Jamie, did that remind you of your baptism?” Of course, mom was shocked but no harm was done.

And so today we come to another odd baptism story, another moment that is shocking: Jesus, who was without sin, who has no need of repentance or change of life practices, whose death saved us from our sins, presents himself to his cousin, John, to be baptized in the river Jordan. It’s been the subject of mystery and controversy pretty much since it happened. Imagine it in more modern setting: 

It’s kind of like running into Jesus at the St. John the Baptizer traffic school. You know, the school for people who need a second chance before their driver’s license is taken away.

So, of course, we all show up ready to do whatever it takes to hold onto that precious piece of ID.  And to our surprise, Jesus is there when we arrive – not teaching the class as we might expect; not passing out donuts and coffee to sustain us. Not even being the tech guy who gets everything going.  Nor is he the judge who commutes all of our sentences.

What we don’t expect, the oddest thing of all, is that Jesus - who we know never ran a red light or went faster than the speed limit  - is that Jesus is in the seats alongside of with us. In other words, it doesn’t make sense.  What is Jesus doing in the water, in the mud, with the riff-raff who need cleansing of their sins?  And why do we hear this story every year right after Christmastide and at the Epiphany?  The heavens burst open and the voice of God is heard. And the spirit in the form of a dove comes to rest upon Jesus. “This is my son, the beloved. In him I am well pleased.  We don’t understand it. But we don’t have to. It just is.

And it is a message counter to most of those we hear all the time, counter to the voices of our culture even those we claim not to hear. One expert has calculated that the average American encounters over 2,000 advertisements every day. It adds up over time – it adds up to something like an entire year of our lives – a year when we are prompted and prodded and inundated with messages that tell us that plastic surgery and Botox will make us more loveable.

That same expert, Jean Killbourne, authored a documentary called Killing Us Softly. It details the damage that these kind of messages inflict upon our souls, our identities and our way in the world.  So much so, she says, nearly that nearly half of all girls ages 3-6 years old worry about their weight. Think about that - 3 to 6 years olds.

Where can we look for the antidote for these messages?

Opal Singleton created “A Million Kids” a non-profit organization dedicated to halting the on-line trafficking of our children. She says that just four simple words from any adult or all the adults in our children’s lives are the most powerful antidote to these harmful messages.  Four simple words: “I believe in you.” 

Today’s story of Jesus’s baptism is an Epiphany story. It is a revelation in the moment of baptism when the true identity of Jesus is revealed. Not to reign from some far away heaven, but by taking the plunge with all of us, in the water, in the mud, in the flesh. And so it is also our story. We are reminded of our own identities in Christ. An identity that can never be revoked or taken away.  We remember that Jesus’ ministry is our ministry. The Holy Spirit is poured out upon us and we receive spiritual gifts to last a lifetime.

And God has a few simple words for us too: “You are my beloved.  In you I am well pleased.”

I used to visit someone who had a picture of an old time revival baptism where everyone’s gathered at the river’s edge. And all the church ladies are there dressed up with their hats and gloves on. There’s someone in the water and people ready to dunk him. I admired it on our visits.  My host said it always reminded her of the moment we join our spiritual ancestors in saying yes to God. “It reminds me, she said “of becoming a place where God happens. Of claiming my identity.” No matter what the voices of our culture say, in baptism those are drowned out with the only voice that really matters: “You are my beloved… in you I am well pleased.” 

Whatever was before is no more.  Wherever we may have been doesn’t matter.  Whatever messages the world sends us, we emerge from the waters of baptism a new creation, forever changed, forever a place where God happens.

Through baptism we grasp the presence of God and live in it. Through baptism we live at God’s hand, trusting God’s purposes. We find joy where many think that joy cannot be found. We find meaning and grace that make our total lives stronger than death itself. Living at God’s hands. Should God ask great things, God will supply great means.

In a few minutes we will renew our own baptismal covenant. The liturgy is in your bulletin. I invite you take it home with you and choose one of those promises to focus on during the Epiphany season. Pray about it daily and invite it to work on you. If you do, I promise that your spiritual life will be transformed. Perhaps you will focus on

·       Continuing the apostle’s teaching, the fellowship, in the breaking of bread and the prayers. 

·       Will you persevere in resisting evil, and, whenever – not it, whenever you fall into sin will you repent and return to the Lord?

·       Will you proclaim by word and example the good news of God in Jesus Christ?

·       Will you seek and serve Jesus Christ in all persons loving, loving your neighbor as yourself?

·       Will you strive for justice and peace among all people and respect the dignity of every human being?

Let it grow within you. The rest of the sentence – is the key.  Can you say with your whole heart. I will.  I will with God’s help.

Ultimately this is about what God through Jesus Christ has already done for us. Jumping onto the waters of the river of life and all for love of us. 

However odd this baptism story is, it is our story even if we think it doesn’t make a whole lot of sense. It just is.

It’s the story of creation formed out of such dark waters as these.

It’s the story of a young Jewish woman visited by God in a way that confounded her fiancé but made her sing. 

It’s the story of a wild man out in the desert proclaiming a new kingdom of water and fire.

It’s the story of one without sin who was baptized with sinners like us whose death will save us.

It may feel like a snowball in the face. But it is our chance to claim Jesus who first claimed us. The one who never asks us to go anywhere he has not already been. From dust to dust, and ashes to ashes. From the cradle of the waters of baptism to the grave he knows what we are up against and has shown us how to live so that life never ends.

Choosing to go God’s way, choosing whatever will bring us closer together and above all, choosing all the things of the earth – doves, water, mud, flesh, love – to carry out the purposes of heaven.  And murmuring to us over and over again: “You are my beloved.  With you I am well pleased.”  Amen.

January 4, 2026, The Second Sunday after Christmas, Reflections on Matthew 2:1-12 by Reverend Carole Horton-Howe

“In the time of King Herod, after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, wise men from the East came to Jerusalem, asking, "Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews? For we observed his star at its rising, and have come to pay him homage." When King Herod heard this, he was frightened, and all Jerusalem with him; and calling together all the chief priests and scribes of the people, he inquired of them where the Messiah was to be born. They told him, "In Bethlehem of Judea; for so it has been written by the prophet:

`And you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah, are by no means least among the rulers of Judah; for from you shall come a ruler who is to shepherd my people Israel.'"

Then Herod secretly called for the wise men and learned from them the exact time when the star had appeared. Then he sent them to Bethlehem, saying, "Go and search diligently for the child; and when you have found him, bring me word so that I may also go and pay him homage." When they had heard the king, they set out; and there, ahead of them, went the star that they had seen at its rising, until it stopped over the place where the child was. When they saw that the star had stopped, they were overwhelmed with joy.

On entering the house, they saw the child with Mary his mother; and they knelt down and paid him homage. Then, opening their treasure chests, they offered him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. And having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they left for their own country by another road.

Sermon by the Rev. Carole Horton-Howe

This very rich and interesting gospel lesson this week gives us a chance to look at the qualities and character of two very important men in the story – Herod, King of Judea and Joseph, the earthly father of Jesus.

Let’s start with Herod. By all historical accounts, he was a brilliant man. He was responsible for much building in Israel. Those who have traveled there have had the opportunity to see what still remains of his efforts, the ruins of many of the things that Herod built. There is evidence that he was remarkable, a genius, a smart man -- who for a brief time, had so much potential to do all kinds of good.

Matthew’s is the only gospel that talks about the Magi’s visit. This story jolts us with a cruel reality that Luke’s gospel does not. Luke’s gospel is full of lovely images of angels singing and shepherds with lambs kneeling before the newborn baby. Matthew’s story, though, has all the intrigue of a Hollywood blockbuster -- rampant ambition and greed, fear and lust for power with a lead character who was so insecure that he executed his mother, his wife and three sons because he feared that they were plotting to take his throne. Herod’s encounter with the Magi on their quest to find the infant king triggers his cruel behavior once again.

This one encounter with some wise men who had journeyed a long way and who tell Herod that somebody else has been born King, is bad, bad news for Herod. Because Herod, in his insecurities and paranoia, and in his need to be the only King, is willing to sacrifice the lives of all the male children in the kingdom to ensure that one baby is no longer a threat to him.

That's a destructive course for a man who's had so much potential, a man whose coming to Judea could have left a productive legacy. It’s believed that Herod whose ancestors had converted to Judaism and who had been raised in its beliefs and traditions, could have had the interest of his God and the interest of his people at the forefront of his thinking.

But instead, through the choices he made, he became a destructive force among the people that he was charged with governing. Because he lacks something vitally important at the time we find him in Matthew's gospel: he lacks character and he lacks an understanding of what it means to walk with his God.

          So then we have Joseph - who has been put to every kind of test and whose character is revealed in the decisions he’s made. He's had to face the shame of his people in taking a wife who was already with child, a child that wasn't his. He is now being told by an angel messenger who comes to him in a dream and tells him to leave the land of his people and to go to a place where his people were once enslaved. Joseph must have known all of that history and tradition. 

What must have gone through his mind?  Can’t we just imagine him thinking, “you're asking me to go to Egypt. And what I know about Egypt is that my people were once brutally oppressed there. You want me to believe that this is a safe and good thing?  You want me to believe that I am called to go there, to take this young, new mother and child whose welfare has been entrusted to me and to go to a frightening sounding place.”

Whatever questions may have been going through his mind, Joseph is obedient. And he gets up and he goes by night to take his wife and this child to safety.  

In reflecting on this text, we remember that Abraham's descendants had not become the numerous and strong family that God promised they were going to become until they had gone to Egypt. It's only after a boy named Joseph of many, many years earlier, a son of Jacob, is sold by his brothers into slavery and taken to Egypt. Genesis chapters 37-41 tell us this important story.  

It was only after Joseph’s father and those same brothers had followed him to Egypt because their lives were in danger, that they risked starvation during a famine if they stayed home. It's only when they get to Egypt that these descendants, promised to Abraham, become a numerous people on a foreign soil far from home.

In Matthews account of this story, this is where Joseph is being told to take this child. Yes back to the land where his people were enslaved. But also back where they grew in number and in strength. And this child named Jesus would begin to be formed in a place that held so much meaning to all the descendants of Abraham.

So what is the difference in these two characters that we are encountering today in this text? Herod who presumably has every advantage and immense power and authority to bring whatever he desired to fruition and ought to be faithful is not. And Joseph, a working class man not known beyond his own tribe, who has little power and few options in life but proves always to be faithful to God in every way that God asked of him.

The difference between how these two men see their relationship with God and neighbor is what author David Brooks talks about in his book, “The Road to Character.”  Brooks talks about character in a refreshing kind of way distinguishing between external achievements, which he calls résumé virtues, and internal character strengths which he calls eulogy virtues. Resume virtues are things like being a hard worker, having marketable work skills and achieving awards.

Eulogy virtues are qualities like honesty, kindness, courage, and love. He emphasizes developing a closer relationship with God through cultivating those eulogy virtures. Strong, enduring character is built not by shying away from but by embracing opportunities for internal struggle, self-restraint, and contemplating a sense of one's own limitations rather than impulsive self-expression. 

And so when we see Herod’s concern play out as “how great can my Empire be? How long can I rule? Will I be remembered as a strong ruler?” it's all about Herod.

For Joseph, it's all about something else. It's all about taking care of the child who has been entrusted to him. It’s all about putting himself last. It's all about following the guidance of God. It's all about being able commitment to the ideal that nothing he does is more important than giving everything he has for this child, Jesus.

So here we stand today at the beginning of a new calendar year. And I know folks are thinking about new year’s resolutions. We love to make resolutions and we have the best of intentions when we do. I have a few I know I need to make. And keep.

But I wonder if perhaps somewhere in all of that thinking about what we would like to do and be in this coming year, we’d do well to reflect on character. Given the choice, don’t we want our lives to look more like Joseph than Herod? 

What if our resolutions for the new year mirror Joseph’s actions that we hear about today:

I will do whatever I need to do to stand for Jesus.

I will do whatever I need to do to make certain that Jesus comes first.  

I'll suggest to you that when our reflection becomes, “I need to live for the sake of the one who came to live among us, for the one who came to show us God's love,” then all of God's people can be cared for.

 When we are willing to pick up and go even to a place that is uncomfortable, that may seem counterintuitive to us, we will take on the capacity to love unconditionally. We will have depended on the kindness and the love and the welcome and the mercy of strangers, and we will have the capacity to extend that same to others.  

So we sit at the beginning of this year with lots of blank pages to write in our 2026 book. How will we write them? How will we fill those pages? I don't know about you but I want my pages to look more like Joseph than Herod. I want my pages to be pages of faith and obedience. I want my pages to be pages of love. And I know you do too.  Let’s do that together. Amen.

December 25, 2025, Christmas Day, Reflections on Isaiah 52:7-10 / Ps. 98 / Hebrews 1:1-4 (5-12) / John 1:1-14 by J.D. Neal, Postulant for Holy Orders

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people.”

Today is Christmas. Today Jesus Christ is born — God enters the world in a new and startling way. This baby boy, born to a poor family in occupied Judea, born, as far as the world can see, as a child of adultery from a backwater town, forced to flee his homeland as a child to escape political violence — this baby boy is truly, fully, utterly God.

We talk about the incarnation often in Church. We recite the creed each week and remind ourselves and each other that Jesus is “God from God, Light from Light, true God from true God”, and in our familiarity it can be easy to lose sight of what this means. Now, I’m not going to pretend that I can stand here and unravel the full implications of the Incarnation in the next 5 minutes, but I want to at least try to enter into one aspect of this great mystery while we are gathered for a moment this morning.

What comes to mind when you think of God? What images fill your mind? A ‘bright blur’? A bearded man on a celestial throne? A father? A mother? What attributes come to mind? Power? Knowledge? Wrath? Wisdom? Love? What does this God in your mind expect from you and others? Purity? Holiness? Perfection? Good morals? ‘Traditional values’?

All of us carry around these ‘god-images’ within us. We build them up from our formative experiences as a child, from the things we learn to think of as ‘good’. Often we take images of people who have shaped us and project them onto God, or we take whatever we think of as good — our values — and blow them up to God-size in our minds. Whatever we’ve learned to think of as powerful or beautiful or valuable — take that and multiply it by 1000x — and there’s our ‘god’. Sometimes this is shaped by our experiences with our faith, with church, with the Scriptures, but often those are only a piece of the image.

This means that all of our images of god are a bit different — sometimes very different — from one another. Sometimes our god-images just aren’t compatible, because what I think is good and true and beautiful is actually opposed to what you think of those things. Sometimes when this happens and we come into conflict with one another, we wave our hands and say, ‘God is infinite; God is unknowable. Who can say what God is really like?’ And sometimes there’s some truth and humility in that statement.

But here’s the thing: Christmas means that we don’t get to wave our hands like that anymore. On Christmas, God enters in, bodily. Emmanuel — “God is with us”. Jesus is not a really ‘godly person’, Jesus is God. This means that there’s not some other, bigger, vaguer, more mysterious God ‘behind’ Jesus that we don’t really get to know. As the author of Hebrews says, Jesus is “the exact imprint of God’s very being.” “The Word was God.” “If you have seen me, you have seen the Father.”

Despite Jesus’ love of parables and sometimes cryptic seeming sayings, he doesn’t spend his life acting as some kind of vague, mysterious figure, cloistered away from the public, shrouded in mystery. He lives publicly, ministers to huge crowds, gathers students, teaches, performs signs, gives sermons to thousands. He doesn’t leave us to wonder what God is like, he speaks and lives what God is like before our very eyes. And his witness, his revelation of what God is like is so rich that there are four gospel books and a whole New Testament chock full of his followers recording it and trying to tease it out for us.

The incarnation means that if we want to know what God is like, definitively, we are not left in the dark — we look at Jesus. We read the gospels from the lectionary each week because our tradition knows this. It knows that there is nowhere else for us to go, if we are going to encounter God clearly. The birth of Christ means that we are left with no excuse. God has come into the world bodily and told us who he is, and he’s there for all of us to see. We just have to decide if we’ll listen.

And this is a big ‘if’! In Jesus, God comes into the world in ways that don’t look like what we expect. God’s power is revealed in Christ’s suffering. God’s glory is revealed in Christ’s humility. God’s wrath is revealed in Christ’s self-giving love. We look for a king, for a glorious leader to give us security with his wealth and power, and Christ comes to knock on our door as a migrant carpenter, with no home to lay his head. We look for a teacher to give us neat definitions and clear do’s and don’t, and Christ comes as a prophet and a healer who confronts our definitions and asks us to love our neighbor. We look for someone to tell us we’re right, and our enemies are wrong, and Christ comes with his misfit band of followers of all kinds and tell us to love our enemies and pray for those who persecute us.

This is the mystery of the incarnation. This is the revelation of God that shatters all of our images of him, all of the idols that we make and carry around with us. Christmas reminds us that, if we are to be Christians, to be Christ’s people, we must make sure we are looking at Christ, learning from him first what God is like, allowing our images of God to be shaped by the way that God makes himself known in Christ.

“The goodness of the Lord is the kindess of the Lord / The glory of the Lord is the mercy of the Lord / The beauty of the Lord is the suff’ring of the Lord, / is Christ upon a tree, stripped of dignity. / The power of the Lord is the meekness of the Lord / who bore humanity with brave humility.”

God has given himself to us in Christ on Christmas Day. May we have the courage to meet him there, and the humility to be continually transformed by the encounter. Amen.

December 21, 2025, The Fourth Sunday of Advent, Reflections on Isaiah 7:10-16 / Ps. 80 / Romans 1:1-7 / Matthew 1:18-25 by J.D. Neal, Postulant for Holy Orders

Purify our conscience, Almighty God, by your daily visitation, that your Son Jesus Christ, at his coming, may find in us a mansion prepared for himself, who lives and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever. Amen.

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Today is the fourth and final Sunday of Advent, the season of preparation and anticipation for Christmas, for the coming of Christ into the world. I know that you hear this every Advent season, but (along with today’s Collect) I want to remind us that Advent is not only about looking back and remembering the coming of Christ as a baby in a stable in Bethlehem 2000-some-odd years ago — nor is it only about looking forward with anticipation to the Final Coming of Christ, at the end of the age, to do away with death forever and make all things new. Advent is also the season where we learn to watch, day after day, for the coming of Christ here and now — for ‘God’s daily visitation’ —  for the moments where the Holy Spirit overshadows us, presses in upon our lives, and calls us to faithfulness, to join him here and now, in bringing God’s life and love into our world.

I think Joseph is an excellent image of this kind of faithfulness to God’s ‘daily visitation’. The narrator clues us in that we should pay attention to Joseph’s actions in today’s gospel by telling us right at the beginning that he is a ‘righteous’ man. What does that ‘righteousness’ look like? Well, when we meet Joseph, he is facing a crisis — one of those moments of disruption and decision, where the future we imagined for ourselves has shattered, and we’re not sure where to go from here.

Joseph has just found out that Mary, his betrothed, his beloved, is pregnant and, so he believes that she must be an adulterer. As far as he knows, he has been betrayed by the one whom he has committed his life to, the woman who he has (literally) been building his future around. I’m told that it was the custom among Jewish families of this time that, once a betrothal had been confirmed, the families entered into a time of preparation before the marriage was consummated, much like the period between an engagement and a wedding in our day. Rather than this period being just focused wedding planning, however, the groom would return to his home (which was often the family’s ancestral property), and begin to ‘prepare a place’ for his bride. He would build a new home (or an addition) on the property for them to live and raise their new family in. As far as Joseph knows, this home will now stand empty, a public monument to his grief and shame.

Yet Joseph does not respond as many of us would to this betrayal. Remember that in this time, marriage was not primarily a private, romantic affair between two individuals; it was a public arrangement between two whole families with big financial and legal ramifications. One of the 10 commandments forbids adultery and elsewhere in the Torah, the punishment for adultery like this could escalate all the way to death. At this point, Joseph believes he has been deeply and publicly wronged, but he does not respond by taking Mary to task in front of their community. He does not demand restitution or accuse her of adultery before the scribes and Pharisees. Joseph understands that Mary is far more vulnerable than he is, that the life of a young woman with a child born of adultery would be at best a life of insecurity and struggle, shame, and likely poverty. Mary’s reputation is already ruined among her community, but instead of ruining her life further, Joseph decides to do what he can to save her from as much harm as possible and to divorce her quietly. Even in his grief and pain, instead of insisting that he get ‘justice’ for the betrayal, or insisting that the Law be upheld and Mary punished accordingly, he decides to prioritize Mary’s well being and the life of her unborn child. He decides that extending care to this vulnerable woman, even though he believes she has wronged him, is more important than ‘getting what he deserves’ or even enforcing the Torah’s laws in his community. This decision, Joseph’s choice to choose compassion and humility in the midst of crisis, this, it seems, is what makes him ‘righteous.’

But it doesn’t stop there. As he makes this choice, Joseph has a dream where an angel visits him and tells him — as though he is a character in one of the ancient stories of Abraham, Isaac, or Jacob — that he has not been betrayed after all. Mary’s child is not only a miraculous baby boy like the one Sarah had in her old age, but something infinitely more: the Messiah, the Son of God, the one who was coming to save God’s people from their bondage and sin, the one whom prophets like Isaiah foretold hundreds of years before. Remarkably, when he wakes up, Joseph says ‘yes’! He does not dismiss the dream or insist that it’s impossible. Somewhere along the way, Joseph has become the sort of prayerful, discerning person who recognizes that this was more than just a crazy dream from someone in the middle of a big life crisis. He’s become the sort of person who’s willing to listen and act on what he believes God is telling him, even though it would have been easy to explain it away.

He receives Mary as his wife after all, despite the fact that, in the eyes of his community, she is an adulterer, Jesus will be seen as a child of sin and shame, and he will be seen by many as a pathetic enabler of one of the biggest sins in Jewish Law. Joseph would also know that, if this baby really is the Messiah, it means that he is saying ‘yes’ to making himself a target for the powerful rulers and leaders in the land who might not be so happy about someone claiming to be the promised king of Israel — and this is exactly what happens with King Herod in the chapter after this. But Joseph  says ‘yes’ anyway, he accepts God’s invitation, risking his reputation and later his life, to be faithful to the call that he heard in a dream. And this decision, this ‘yes’, along with Mary’s ‘yes’, is how Jesus comes into our world and brings the kingdom of God with him.

This is what God’s ‘daily visitation’ looks like. Christ comes to us not only in joys and little moments of kindness and love, but also in the crises in our lives — in whispers and intuitions and dreams when things are not easy or clear — at moments when saying ‘yes’ might require taking a path that seems strange or shameful to many around us. Joseph shows us what it looks like to receive Christ’s coming in the midst of our lives here and now, what it looks like to be righteous: Becoming the sort of person who is prayerful and attentive enough to God’s presence that we hear the invitation and take it seriously, rather than filling our lives so full of distraction that we can hear nothing at all. Choosing courageous, humble love in the face of pain and crisis. Choosing to obey when there are so many excuses and ways to dismiss the call, when we don’t fully know what it will cost, but we know it won’t be easy. And look what Joseph’s ‘yes’ brings into the world — the Messiah, salvation, the presence of God among us, transforming everything, showing us all the path into abundant life and unbreakable joy.

We cannot know what God will birth in us, in others, in the world around us as a result of our daily decisions to choose compassion and humble love, and we often don’t get to see the fruit that that our choices might bear, but the Holy Spirit just might bring new and surprising life into our world if we learn to say ‘yes’ to God’s ‘daily visitation’, to look for and to receive his ‘coming’ in our life here and now. With Mary and Joseph, we also might help Christ enter our world through our courageous choices of love and faithfulness — we might become like new Bethlehems — ourselves and our communities becoming the spaces where Christ is born anew and from which his love spills out into the lives of those around us.

May it be so in us. Amen.

December 14, 2025, The Third Sunday of Advent, Reflections on Matthew 11: 2-11 by Reverend Carole Horton-Howe

When John heard in prison what the Messiah was doing, he sent word by his disciples and said to him, “Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?” Jesus answered them, “Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them. And blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me.”

As they went away, Jesus began to speak to the crowds about John: “What did you go out into the wilderness to look at? A reed shaken by the wind? What then did you go out to see? Someone dressed in soft robes? Look, those who wear soft robes are in royal palaces. What then did you go out to see? A prophet? Yes, I tell you, and more than a prophet. This is the one about whom it is written,

‘See, I am sending my messenger ahead of you, who will prepare your way before you.’

“Truly I tell you, among those born of women no one has arisen greater than John the Baptist; yet the least in the kingdom of heaven is greater than he.”

Sermon by the Rev. Carole Horton-Howe

I was at an event on Friday and ran into some friends I hadn’t seen in quite awhile. Of course I asked about their families. One friend told me that earlier in the week, his wife had called him about noon and asked him to pick up their daughter when her ballet rehearsal ended at 4 o'clock. So my friend says okay I'll leave work a bit early pick her at 4 o'clock.

At 3:05, my friend receives a call from his seventh grade daughter who says “dad, rehearsal ended early. Can you come get me right now?” My friend said, “all right I’ve got to wrap up some loose ends, finish a Zoom meeting. And then I’ll come get you.”  The distance between seventh-grade daughter and the church where he’s serving is about a 10 minute drive.

At 3:15, my friend receives another call from his daughter, “Dad, where are you?” “I think,” my friend said, “I need to help my daughter reset her expectations.”  And I thought of Advent and John the Baptist and our gospel today.  That’s a great way to look at Advent, this season of expectation in which we find ourselves.  But also one where we are invited in to examine and even reset our own expectations.  

Our lessons this morning, I think, reinforces this. First we hear about the relationship between the people of Israel and John the Baptist. Israel expected the prophet of the Messiah to come in and confirm them - confirm their righteousness to comforting them because of their heritage and rich traditions. But instead, they are summoned to the wilderness where they are confronted and challenged and called to repentance.

Today I think we’re also hearing Jesus help John the Baptist to reset his expectations. We find John in prison, a stark reminder of how his prophetic witness had been received. In the first century, prison was a way station and not a final destination.  People were kept in prison awaiting trial until they were exonerated, exiled or executed.  During their incarceration, prisoners could have contact with supporters and so be able to keep up on the news of the day. So it’s John likely heard from his own disciples of Jesus’ teaching and healing.

John, as he sits in prison, most assuredly knows that his own path on earth will likely end there. There is no realistic scenario that will allow him to continue preaching and proclaiming the coming of the Kingdom of God. And it seems he is having a severe existential moment about his life's work. He's hearing things that run slightly contrary to his expectations of the Messiah. This is very common and understandable. All the gospels report that those who encountered Jesus were regularly confused about who he really was. Jesus himself eventually asked his disciples “who do people say that I am.” They think you are Elijah.  They think you are Moses the answers came.

Do we now find John questioning his lifelong path and wondering did he misunderstand from the beginning what Jesus was about?  So John sends his disciples to Jesus to ask that crucial question – “are you the one we’ve been waiting for?”

In response, and so lovingly, Jesus replies with a blessing. John knows the prophecies of Isaiah and Jesus reminds him: the blind see, the lepers are healed, the dead are raised.  It's already happening, Jesus tells John’s followers. And in doing so, Jesus helps John to see and to hear that the kingdom of God is always nearer than we expect. It's more likely nearer to the street corner where the needy gather than it is to the great halls of power. Just like today: the Kingdom of God is a lot nearer every weekday from 3 – 4 on our patio than it is 2 blocks away at Whittier City Hall.

In our epistle lesson written about 12-15 years after the death of Jesus, James is helping the church itself to reset its expectations. This entire letter is written to a church in conflict but it's a conflict that James sees as a positive. It's what happens when the church decides it’s serious about wanting to be agents of peace and ambassadors of reconciliation, that it really wants to be the sacramental presence of Jesus Christ in the world. Which is complicated stuff.

And so there are going to be disagreements. There are going to be differences of opinion. But James writes to the church: are you going to grumble against each other just because you're going through conflict and you've got some bad actors who are misbehaving? Are you going to turn on one another? Or are you going to work through it together remembering you share the same mission? James likens them to a farmer who has to wait between the rains - between the early rain and then the late rain. The farmer is situated in between, during a season that requires a lot of work and a lot of faith and a lot of patience. It's a dry time. But the rains will come.

This morning, the third Sunday of Advent, we lit the candle of joy the candle. It represents not so much the joy that we have but the joy that we hope for. It's not so much the joy we possess as the joy we are promised. This is not the joy you get from clicking and ordering something and the next day - with free 2-day shipping - it shows up on your front porch. All that is fine. But it’s different. Joy that we're reminded of through these lessons. It is the joy that Christ comes to us in forms of healing and repentance, in recommitment and renewal calling us to reset our expectations in faith, to help one another have faith between the rains.

It is James after all who sets expectations in his letter this way: consider it all joy, my brothers and sisters, when you endure the testing of your faith. For the testing of your faith produces endurance and endurance will have its perfect end: our maturity and our completeness in Christ. That’s a sweet promise.

But it was that hard question that John’s disciples posed to Jesus that really grabs our attention today. John’s question is for Jesus but also for all of us perhaps to help us discern why are we here at this time and in this place today:  Are you the one we’ve been waiting for?

Are you the one whose service to others is going to give them new insight into what it means to be a servant of God? 

Are you the one who is going to identify the yearnings of the world, bring them into the church and challenge people there to respond with energy and love?

Are you the one who will bring the compassion of Jesus to heal the hearts of family and friends, even when your own heart is breaking?

 Are you the one that will so beautifully, so joyfully reflect the light of God into the world that others say to themselves, “I want that, too.”

Are you the one who will stand with victims of abuse, who will find the voice to speak for those who cannot speak?

Are you the one who has no idea what you’re being called to do but is willing to be open and receptive to the workings of the spirit confident that you will see, that you will hear just what that is?

This Advent season we wait for the tiny infant who will teach and inspire and startle and redeem all our longings, and give life to all our questions and inspire us to answer them.   Amen.   

December 13, 2025, A Blue Christmas Homily by Reverend Carole Horton-Howe

There are times in life when hope is hard to find. Perhaps this is one of those times for you, or for someone you love. If it is, my heart goes out to you. I am so sorry that you are having to deal with such pain and distress. Please know that you are not alone.

For so many of us, this is the first Christmas after a major life event, such as the death of a loved one, the end of a relationship, the loss of a job or a home, a natural disaster, or the onset of a life-limiting physical or mental illness for ourselves or for a loved one. And I know that so many of us this Advent are grieving multiple losses at the same time. The relentless refrain that “It’s the most wonderful time of the year” just rings false.

There is a disconnect between our actual feelings and what we imagine we should be feeling at this time of year. That’s why we call it a “Blue Christmas.” What we crave today I think is hope and hopefulness.

In my own experience of trying to hold onto hope, in the midst of darkness, I have found it helps to remember that hope is not the same as optimism. As David Steindl-Rast notes, “To have hope is to remain open to the possibility of surprise when everything turns out worse than we could ever imagine. Despair assigns reality a deadline, whereas hope knows that there are no deadlines.”

Sometimes we need others to help us remain open to that possibility of surprise, to find the hope when we cannot find it ourselves. In her autobiography, Color is the Suffering of Light, poet Melissa Green offers a beautiful image of how we can help one in difficult times. Green invites us to imagine a shadow-woman sitting in a rowboat, gazing at the shore and watching the city in which she has lived collapse around her.

The shadow-woman weeps to see the destruction of all she has known, though it has cost her dearly to live there. In that excruciating moment of pain, she becomes aware that someone else is in the boat with her, someone she calls “The Beloved Companion.” The Beloved Companion says, “I know you are in despair and cannot see where this journey will take you. I will hold the hope for you until you can hold it for yourself.”

“I will hold the hope for you until you can hold it for yourself”–  what a powerful description of how we can be as Christ to each other in difficult times.

So what does holding the hope look like in practice? This year, I’d like to invite you to prayerfully consider three questions that can create a space for hope while acknowledging the reality and the pain of loss. You can use these questions for yourself, or you can share them with someone else.

If you would like to try out this practice now for yourself, there is a post-it in your bulletin and pencils in the pews for you. If you are joining us on Facebook, take a moment to find a pen or pencil and a piece of paper. And don’t worry–this is just for you. We won’t be sharing them in the service.

One more thing: this is completely optional. If it is just too hard to think about right now or if this exercise just doesn’t speak to you, that’s fine. There are times in life when we just need to be, without any doing. Feel free to just rest quietly here. You are among friends.

But if you’d like to try this way of holding the hope for yourself or for another, here are the 3 questions to ponder:

What has been lost?

What remains?

What is still possible?

Take a couple minutes to jot whatever comes to mind for you.  We’ll take them one at a time, and I will give you a minute or two to think and write before moving to the next one.

The power of this exercise is that it creates a space in which grief and hope can co-exist. It is important to be honest with ourselves and with God about what we have lost, and to grieve those losses. And it is equally important that we take time to consider what remains and what is still possible. It is a reminder that we do have some agency in how we respond to things that happen to us.

 I imagine that Mary and Joseph had their moments of doubt, perhaps even despair–moments when hope was hard to find. But the Good News is that God is with us at all times, in all places, and in all experiences. We are never truly alone. We can bring our pain, our anger, our grief–all of our sorrows as well as all of our joys–to the God who loves us so much that He chose to dwell in a human body, experiencing all the joys and sorrows of earthly life.

I find my hope in the faith of Mary and Joseph, who said “yes” to the unknown, who trusted that God would be with them in their darkest moments, who held the hope for each other.  Jesus–Emmanuel, God with us—remains. As the Gospel according to John reminds us, “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.” The story of that first Christmas reminds us that even when the world is a very dark place, there is light to be found.

May we all share that light, holding the hope for each other, inviting one another to consider what remains and what is still possible.

And so in the midst of our helplessness and deepest grief, let me share with you a prayer by Bishop Steven Charleston-a retired Native American Bishop of The Episcopal Church. He writes “Fill me again, God of the universe, God of resurrected life, with all that I need to make it through this life of mine. Fill me with the vision I need to see clearly and with the strength I need to keep going, to sail on.

My faith is a great sail. When it is filled by the breath of your Spirit, it takes me all around creation as I search for a deeper wisdom and discover the sacred in ordinary places I would never have encountered.

My ship is my heart, what I love and respect, the values of a lifetime gathered in joy and sorrow. I trust the deck beneath my feet for I have weathered many storms, guided by the stars of my ancestors, brought home by the anchor of my tradition.

We who love you and are devoted to you are mariners of hope sailing the mystery that surrounds us. Grant us tonight a little courage and lot of wisdom, as much hope as you can spare…please bless us again, dear Spirit, for I use up your blessings so quickly in these dark  times. Please come into my life once more and fill me up that I may thrive on hopefulness and then empty my heart each day in gratitude for what you have given me. Amen.

December 7, 2025, The Second Sunday of Advent, Reflections on Matthew 3:1-12 by Reverend Carole Horton-Howe

In those days John the Baptist appeared in the wilderness of Judea, proclaiming, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.” This is the one of whom the prophet Isaiah spoke when he said, “The voice of one crying out in the wilderness: ‘Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight.’”

Now John wore clothing of camel’s hair with a leather belt around his waist, and his food was locusts and wild honey. Then the people of Jerusalem and all Judea were going out to him, and all the region along the Jordan, and they were baptized by him in the river Jordan, confessing their sins.

But when he saw many Pharisees and Sadducees coming for baptism, he said to them, “You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come? Bear fruit worthy of repentance. Do not presume to say to yourselves, ‘We have Abraham as our ancestor’; for I tell you, God is able from these stones to raise up children to Abraham. Even now the ax is lying at the root of the trees; every tree therefore that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire.

“I baptize you with water for repentance, but one who is more powerful than I is coming after me; I am not worthy to carry his sandals. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire. His winnowing fork is in his hand, and he will clear his threshing floor and will gather his wheat into the granary; but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire.”

Sermon by the Rev. Carole Horton-Howe

Just for a moment, I’d like you to imagine with me a scene from the busy streets of Manhattan. Just an average summer afternoon: lots of people coming and going, rushing around, doing all the things that people do in the course of a normal day -- going to work, to school, just running errands. I’d like you to image that typical busy day in New York City. And then I’d like you to imagine for a moment that from somewhere a voice is heard that sounds something like this:

(singing)  “Prepare ye the way of the Lord. Prepare ye the way of the Lord.”

It's just a singular voice but a clear one with a distinct message, one that the people cannot ignore. Imagine that you start to see people beginning to respond to the voice. They stop what they're doing. Office workers drop briefcases, students toss backpacks aside, a waitress takes off her apron, a messenger leaves his bicycle. And walk purposely… but towards what…?

They begin to follow that voice until they arrive at a fountain in Central Park. And there they see the singer – an odd-looking fellow in very bizarre clothes singing those words of invitation in the middle of a huge fountain. And they’re all drawn there – the office worker, the student, the waitress, the messenger and many more to jump into the fountain to be immersed and to be cleansed.

Their joy is clear -- with all kinds of hope and expectation and celebration they jump out of the fountain they shed themselves of all of the remaining stuff that they had, all the burdens that they had before they came to that fountain. And they head out now preparing the way of the Lord.

If you recognize that little tune you might know that it comes from the musical Godspell which is based on the Gospel of Matthew. And it is John the Baptizer, who is always wearing odd clothing, always going to look a little unusual, he’s the one who's standing in the middle of the Bethesda Fountain in Central Park singing his heart out, singing the invitation to get ready. And these disciple kind of folks arrived so filled with hope and expectation to prepare the way of the Lord. At the end of the scene, off they go – cleansed and filled with joy to do just that.

So I hope you’ll keep these images in your mind as we begin to unpack our lesson from Matthew's Gospel today. Because as I was praying about it and studying it, that scene just kept coming back to me. I kept seeing these joyful people prepare the way of the Lord. Not frightened, not anxious, not worried, not stodgy and judgmental - but joyfully preparing the way of the Lord.  

And it made me wonder about all those folks who were coming to meet John the Baptist out in the wilderness by the Jordan River. I wonder if they were joy filled. I wonder if they were being filled with hope and expectation.

This introduction that we're given to John the Baptist in Matthew's Gospel is very different than the one we’re given in Luke's Gospel. This is not the John the Baptist who was leaping for joy in his mother’s womb when Mary came to visit. This is not the John the Baptist that Zechariah, his father, dedicates to God.  No -- this is the John the Baptist who just kind of appears in the wilderness and begins preaching repentance. He is preaching repentance because the Messiah is coming. And people need to hear what he has to say – hard as it is, strange as it may seem. 

 They need to be reminded that the Messiah is indeed coming, to be ready because you don't want judgment to come if you know you should. Turn it around now. This is the hour, this is the time.

And I wonder about all those folks who have come out into the wilderness to an uninhabited place, to the quiet place, to the place where they can actually stop and be reflective. They come to that place away from the noise and the hustle and the bustle to where they can actually hear God and be reflective enough to ask, “what does my God require of me?” The prophet Micah probably said it better than any of the prophets: “do justice, love mercy and walk humbly with our God.”

So here is John the Baptizer out in the wilderness.  And so many people go out to see him there. But what were they looking for? What were they hoping for? What were their hearts hoping to find? Were they hoping for reassurance? Were they hoping that someone would tell them one more time what they needed to do and be? For what were they hoping?

But I guess more than anything, the question is how they left him. Because John doesn't mince words with them. “Oh by the way – being descendants of Abraham doesn’t give you a free pass. Don't rest on that one because what’s required of you, is what has always been required of God's people.”

So did the people leave their encounter with John with the same kind of hope filled joy we was portrayed in that one scene in Godspell “I'm ready to go do it God!” Or did they leave more somber, less secure, less certain? Were they asking questions: have we lived faithfully? We're here, we're repenting -- but have we really done what God would have us do?”

Matthew probably more than any of our Gospel writers, links the world of the prophets of the Old Testament prophets and the world that is to come. Matthew shows us the tie back for the people called Israel, shows us that the promises then of God with us are still God’s promises. And that the Messiah will come, that the world will be made right when the Messiah comes. And also that the Messiah will be our judge and so will have questions. The Messiah is coming to ask questions about who we are as God’s people. And have we lived faithfully according to what God requires of us. Did you love the Lord your God with all your heart, mind and strength? And did you love your neighbor as yourself?

And even today as we sit in this space, we ask ourselves those same questions: have we lived faithfully into what God requires of us? How have we as individuals, how have we as the church, lived faithfully into what God requires of us?  There have been some times in the history of the church that it did not live as faithfully as it could have lived. That there have been some times that the church was less than faithful in its work.

That doesn't mean that we can't live better every day. That doesn't mean that we can't redress our own wrongs and admit our faults. The great Maya Angelou said, “when you know better do better.”  We can say “we are preparing the way of the Lord in the way that we walk, in the way that we talk, in the way that we engage with God's people every single day.”

John the Baptist's knew hearts needed to be changed. There's still some preparing to do in our hearts. There are things that we know that we can stand against. We can stand against notions of hatred and bigotry and recognize that we are all God's people made in the image and likeness of God. We can stand against separatism that would break us apart and recognize the fact that together we do more. And we can stop and look at the one who has fallen next to us and but I can support you. We can stand against anything that does not foster a sense of loving God and loving neighbor. Those great Commandments. And we can truly begin to look at one another in ways that we may never have looked at one another before and to commit again that nothing - nothing - will separate us. Because the love of Christ is what makes us one.

Let’s go back to that scene from the beginning to Godspell and remember all of those joyful people rushing out of that fountain. And I think they're on to something. Because it's that joy, that exuberance, that kind of hopefulness that helps us understand what it means to prepare the way, to shed the baggage that we don't need and recommit ourselves to our relationship with God. Advent is the time to do that, to be on the path to God. We prepare so others can prepare.

And for everyone who does not know our God, who does not know what it means to believe in the coming of the Messiah, we are part of their story. We are part of the ever unfolding story of God's mercy and God's love and God's grace reflected in and through us to a world there needs to see God's light.  Amen.

November 30, 2025, The First Sunday of Advent, Reflections on Matthew 24:36-44 by Reverend Carole Horton-Howe

Jesus said to the disciples, “But about that day and hour no one knows, neither the angels of heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father. For as the days of Noah were, so will be the coming of the Son of Man. For as in those days before the flood they were eating and drinking, marrying and giving in marriage, until the day Noah entered the ark, and they knew nothing until the flood came and swept them all away, so too will be the coming of the Son of Man. Then two will be in the field; one will be taken and one will be left. Two women will be grinding meal together; one will be taken and one will be left. Keep awake therefore, for you do not know on what day your Lord is coming. But understand this: if the owner of the house had known in what part of the night the thief was coming, he would have stayed awake and would not have let his house be broken into. Therefore you also must be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an unexpected hour.”

Sermon by the Rev. Carole Horton-Howe

You may have heard a story that re-circulates now and then. A story we might call “The Story of an Unfortunate Intruder.”  A man in Rochester New York decided one night he was going to break into the home of home of a person who lived there. It was an unfortunate choice on his part in a couple ways – first because he chose the home of a woman named Willie Murphy. Willie was a petite lady of 82 years young – emphasis on the young – and a trained body builder. 

And so she heard a knock at her door late at night and heard a voice saying, “please open the door, I need you to call an ambulance for me.” She didn’t open the door. She called 911 instead to report someone at her door. In the meantime, the would-be intruder decided to break in.

 That’s his unfortunate choice number 2. Don’t mess with an 82-year-old body builder grandma. So the intruder comes into the house and the body builder grandma started working him over - throwing at him anything she could get her hands on to protect herself – started with a broom handle, threw a table at him, even sprayed shampoo in his eyes at one point. She was a highly courageous and resourceful person. The intruder had clearly underestimated the petite powerhouse that was Willie Murphy.

And when she was done working him over, she was able to drag him out of her house and deposit him in her driveway for the police to put him in handcuffs. It might be the last time he decided to mess with an 82-year-old body builder grandma. One wonders if the intruder wasn’t happy to see the police.

When we hear this story, the first thing we think of is that there’s nothing pleasant about the idea of someone breaking into our home   No one wants to face that, to be in the midst of that with an intruder. So why does Jesus, in our lesson from Matthew’s gospel, use this as imagery to talk about the unexpected nature of the coming of the Son of Man?

Because even if it’s unexpected, since we can't know the day or time, to say that someone could be coming into our home, a thief sneaking into our home, the thought of us trying to figure out how to prepare to prevent or resist that creates for us imagery that is uncomfortable. We don't like that imagery because we certainly don't want to be the ones to have to fend off a would-be intruder.

But I don't think Jesus is talking about fending off anything. This idea of being prepared is a different kind of idea indeed. And so we stand here today on the first Sunday of Advent and we can think about all of those things that we are preparing ourselves for over these next 24 days. And most of that imagery is around an infant in a manger and beauty and hope and expectation. Yes, of course it is.

But Advent is a season during which we recognize that there’s more to it than just the coming of the Christ child. We also recognize the second coming, that coming again of Christ. We say in the Nicene Creed “he will come again to judge the living and the dead.” I'm focusing us on that word – judge. He is the one who will come to judge”.

We probably don't love that word “judge” a whole lot. If we’re honest, we’d like to sort of skim over it and go right to “his Kingdom will have no end.” We do love the imagery of that child in a manger. And we love the imagery of grace and love and mercy. We’re okay with pushing aside that notion that when Christ comes again, it is to judge.

Today is a good opportunity to ask ourselves how we can get a little more comfortable and a little less anxious with this idea of Christ as our judge. Advent it a good time to do so. We have this incredible window of opportunity during which we are to prepare. And preparation is the antidote for fear.

Now Willie Murphy the 82-year-old body-building grandma prepared by going to the gym every day. What a good idea – I bet many of us would like to be able to do that wouldn’t we? She prepares by going to the gym every day to strengthen her body and probably to strength her mind as well. But what do we do when we're trying to prepare for the coming of Christ?

Because we can tell ourselves all kinds of things about what we think that looks like. And we can have all kinds of really good intentions. But the reality is, the coming of Christ is something for which we have to be preparing all along. We actually have to be in the process of preparing -- just like going to the gym daily, or just like we might read scriptures regularly, or pray at a set time each day. It is a constant work of preparation for us to grow in the knowledge and love of God, for us to do and be what God wants God's people to be.

It's not a seasonal “add on” to our schedule that we’re going to take on someday, or one of those things we think we can just do that tomorrow. It’s a pattern and habit of life. Because that's the way we humans are. The way we learn, how we grow and make new habits.  This is our time of preparation.

 So it's not a time to settle for a life of fear. That’s not what God wants for us. It's a time of preparation when we have the opportunity to choose to get up every day and ask ourselves what is it that God calls us to do and be, to ask ourselves how do we grow stronger in that knowledge and stronger in that work so that when Christ comes, he finds us ready with our spiritual muscles built up like 82 year-old Willie Murphy’s muscles built up from having spent that time in focused preparation for doing God's work.  

This muscling up in some ways is counterintuitive. It makes us consider Advent in totally different ways of thinking. We might find ourselves thinking not about what we want, but how we support others. There are reminders throughout the scriptures about taking care of the most vulnerable among us, turning our focus away from ourselves and instead out into the world.

I saw an interview with a young woman on Black Friday at The Citadel. She was carrying several shopping bags. The reporter asked her whether she’d found good deals. Yes! she gushed and described all the things she purchased. They were all for herself. At the end of the interview, she said a little sheepishly that she was going to do some shopping for gifts for her family that day too. You could practically see her make that transition from thinking inwardly to outwardly. 

Advent is our chance to turn inwardly and ask, “how am I part of the coming of the kingdom” and then to rededicate the outward work of our hands and hearts giving ourselves wholly to the work that God has called us to do. The world needs to see us do that: to see the Christ in us, to see our commitment to those in needs, to see that we are able to push aside those things of the world that would distract us, to distance ourselves from divisiveness and instead refocus on coming together in love to feed the hungry, clothe the naked, give strength and support to the grieving. In filling these 24 days until Christmas with this discernment, we strengthen ourselves and one another.

It's how we keep one another going and growing in the love of God. So this time of preparation, we don’t want to think of it as the fear of pending judgment but a process of strengthening our spiritual muscles – how we have muscle memory for love and commitment to service.  Because that muscle memory is what we will call on and return to over and over and over again as we commit ourselves to one another and to our God.  

This day and all of our days, we grow together. We prepare together and we anticipate together. And we hold one another accountable because when judgment does come - we say that every week when we affirm our faith  - when judgment does come we hold ourselves accountable to one another so that we can each learn what it means to be godly. But also to see the God in one another. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen

November 23, 2025, Christ the King Sunday, Reflections by Reverend Carole Horton-Howe

This is the last Sunday in the church year commonly called “Christ the King” Sunday.  There was a time when people paid as much attention to the church year as they did the chronological year.  And what marks the difference, is that secular calendars track chronological or sequential time -- day by day by day. 

But the church calendar goes by Kairos time, that is to say God time.  All times belongs to God, of course, but the church calendar marks time in seasons that focus on our tradition and our spiritual life.  Today we conclude Pentecost the season of hearing about the teachings, the healings and miracles.

Today we will celebrate Jesus as King of Kings. We’ll sing “rejoice the Lord is King, your Lord and King adore.”  And I think it’s worthwhile today to think about how we live that out. How do we express our adoration? Show our devotion to our King? Maybe it starts by letting Jesus in.

Musician and former Beatle Paul McCartney was being interviewed by Howard Stern who asked Paul about a time when a guy named Jesus came to his house. “Yes,” Paul says, “the Beatles were in the middle of a recording session at my home when there was a knock on the door.” “And instead of calling police,” Howard says, “you let him in?”

 “Yes,” Paul says. “I asked him what he wanted. It was just an average looking bearded guy. And he said ‘I’m Jesus.’ So I said to him, ‘well you better come in.’”  Paul fixed him a cup of tea and started chatting with him. And he thought well he’s probably not Jesus. He might be a hippie, maybe he’s schizophrenic. But you never know.  “And I’m not going to say ‘go away Jesus,’” he told Howard Stern.

So he says to Jesus, “look I’ve got this session going on and you’re welcome to hang out with us.” Apparently Jesus thought he would do that. So Paul said he went into the others who were there, the other Beatles and the recording crew, and tells them “he says he’s Jesus and I don’t know if he is or he isn’t. But I’m not going to take any chances here. Is it okay if he just sits in the corner?” And Paul tells Jesus “just sit here and don’t say a word, okay? Just be Jesus.”

Just be Jesus. Howard Stern leaves the story there but I have so many questions. I wonder what Paul had in mind when he said to him “just be Jesus.”  What was the expectation?  What would any of us expect if we thought it was possible that Jesus was standing right in front of us?  It doesn’t sound like he looked or acted much like a king.

But then what we know about Jesus, what we have heard him say and seen him do through out this season of Pentecost – as we have seen and heard him “be Jesus” there’s no evidence of what the world considers to be kingly.  The point is, that in spite of everything Paul let him in.

In the events leading up to today’s gospel, Pilate asks Jesus a most intriguing question, “Are you the King of the Jews?”  Pilate really wouldn’t have known much if anything about the history of the people called Israel. He may have heard the names of some of the kings.

There was the first king, Saul; then David who was mighty in battle but personally deeply flawed. There was Solomon that built that first temple. But Pilate’s only concern is if Jesus truly poses some competition to the Roman Emperor.  Beaten and bloody, Jesus bore as much resemblance to a king as the guy who appeared on Paul McCartney’s doorstep.

The great priest and prophet Samuel warned the people called Israel that they didn’t want a king – “you really don’t want a king,” he told the. “Because human kings will fail you. They will take everything you have and then they will enslave you. You really don’t want a king.”

They did though. They wouldn’t be talked out of it. They wanted a king because they wanted someone to lead them into battle and avenge the terrible things that had been done to them by their enemies.  And so they waited – and waited and waited – for that king to come and make everything right.

Except Jesus was not the king that anyone was expecting – including those who engineered the events that bring us to the gospel reading today.  Pilate knew a whole different meaning of empire and kingdom.  Pilate understood hierarchy, and power and authority which served those who were at the top of that hierarchy and commanded power and authority by fear. But Jesus came to serve not to be served.

 Pilate understood an empire that used violence and intimidation to keep everyone in line and obedient to the emperor. Jesus came wielding peace, calming storms, feeding hungry crowds and creating a whole new understanding of what is good. 

Pilate’s empire knew sickness and disease and poverty.  Jesus brought healing to the sick in body mind and spirit, to make what was broken whole.

That wasn’t what Pilate or anyone else was expecting in a king. Jesus had come to live among us, to be among us and to show us a different path. To show us what being whole and well could mean. To show us what community could mean if we could just love God and love our neighbor.

But old habits are hard to break. And loving God’s way and envisioning God’s kingdom takes some energy and focus and practice.  It is not what is reflected in the secular world around us that we must live in. Jesus was here to show a kingdom like no other, a kingdom centered in the needs of our neighbors and being willing to step into the breach to service those around us that God calls us all to embrace, even when it makes us uncomfortable.

So we ask ourselves this Sunday, this Christ the King Sunday, who is really the king in our lives? To what and to whom have we really given our devotion? Have we let Jesus in?  Are we devoted to the King of peace and love? Or have we given our devotion to something else – to secularism, to popular culture, to tribalism, to speaking instead of listening? 

Have we given our devotion to healthfulness and concern and care?  Or have we given it to destruction or neglect?  Have we let Jesus in?

Because at the end of the day, what gets reflected into the world is how those of us who call ourselves followers of Jesus live our lives and show his love back out into the world.

Can people look at us in the way we live our lives, in the way we serve our neighbors, in the way we care for everyone around us -- can people look at us and say “yes, I see the reflection of God’s love coming from that person?”

That’s the question for us – this day and every day: how does the world see the love of God radiating from us?

We pray together at each Eucharist “thy Kingdom come.” And God’s kingdom will come through us – individually, corporately as the body of Christ that is St. Matthias – that’s the beginning of God’s kingdom come. And it comes through the way we live and love and serve.

Today we celebrate Christ the King Sunday by recognizing and recommissioning members of two of our ministries here at St. Matthias that have committed themselves to reflecting the light of Christ back into the world: our Stephen Ministers and Daughters of the King. In doing so, we send them into the world with our blessing, rejoicing that they have answered their call to serve God, to reflect God’s love into a hurting world.

Stephen Ministers offer a one-on-one ministry to those in our faith community who are going through difficult times, whether long or short, they are committed companions for the journey. Stephen Ministers are spiritual caregivers, not to try to fix problems, but instead focus on the caregiving process in which God is the cure giver.

Our Daughters of the King pledge to live a life of prayer, service, and evangelism. They make a lifelong commitment to follow a personal "Rule of Life," which includes praying daily for the church and for others, and engaging in service within their parish and community. Their motto is one that especially resonates today:

For His Sake…

I am but one, but I am one.

I cannot do everything, but I can do something.

What I can do, I ought to do.

What I ought to do, by the grace of God I will do.

Lord, what will you have me do?

So it’s a good day for us to ask ourselves to whom and to what have we given our devotion. It is a good day to ask ourselves if we have fully let Jesus into our lives, if we’ve let him be Jesus?  It’s a good day to ask ourselves can the world see his love reflected through me?  Amen.  

November 16, 2025, Pentecost 23, ‘By your endurance you will gain your souls’, Reflections on Luke 21: 5-19 by J.D. Neal

Our story begins this morning in the Temple, where Jesus has just praised a poor widow for giving her last two coins to pay the temple tax, in contrast to the many rich who were giving opulent gifts to the temple out of their wealth and excess. The disciples, not quite getting the message, have begun talking amongst themselves, expressing awe at the beauty and grandeur of the temple buildings, which are adorned with gold and silver and many fine gemstones. Jesus, of course, notices where their attention has gone, and responds with the following: “As for these things that you see, the days will come when not one stone will be left upon another; all will be thrown down.” The disciples didn’t expect to hear this, and you can almost hear the shock and horror in their voices as they frantically respond, “Teacher, when will this be, and what will be the sign that this is about to take place?”

Now, Jesus has spoken to them before about the coming of the Son of Man and the great destruction that would take place in those days, but this is the first time he tells them clearly that this apocalypse is coming for them, for the people of God, for the very temple where they believed that God’s presence dwelt. How could this be? The Temple was one of the greatest building projects of that era of the world. It was massive, opulent, and imposing — built like a great fortress that would protect the people of God and their holy places. The first Temple, Solomon’s temple, had been rejected by God and destroyed in the exile many centuries before, but God had proclaimed through the prophets long ago that he would raise up a new Temple that would never be destroyed! This was God’s house, wasn’t it? How could it be thrown down?

The disciples, and most of the Jews of Jesus’ day, saw more than a great building when they looked up at the Temple. They saw the place where they believed God met his people, the center of his presence and power and protection in their midst. Here they offered their sacrifices and tried to fulfill the Law, here the priests and scribes and pharisees preached and taught (and fought) about what it meant to be faithful to God. Here millions of them would come, three times a year, to meet God together in celebrating the great festivals and to remember their history as God’s people. As long as this building stood, they could believe that all would be well, that they were God’s special people, that they would one day be lifted out of their troubles and their enemies crushed beneath their feet. This was, in short, the center of their trust, the place where they pinned their security, the object of their faith.

But here’s the thing: Jesus’ words reveal that this building was never meant to be the place where they placed their trust — was never actually the place where God would dwell forever. This Temple, like Solomon’s before it, had a dubious history. Everything the disciples marveled at had been built just a few decades before by Herod the Great, the same Herod who is famous for murdering the innocent children of Bethlehem in the wake of Jesus’ birth. Herod the Great, we are told by the historians of this time, had a penchant for grand building projects. You see, he wanted to make a name for himself, to be remembered, to be ‘Great’, and he saw his biggest opportunity to do this by rebuilding the second temple, transforming it from the modest original building constructed after the exile into the huge and elaborate building that the disciples ogled at. However, gigantic, gold-encrusted buildings are expensive, so he built the temple by imposing crushing taxes on the people and reinstating the temple tax on top of the building taxes. Herod even marked the signs that stood at the entrances to certain parts of the temple, so it was impossible to forget who was responsible for this grand building. This temple existed at least as much for the glory of Herod’s name as God’s, and the exploitation of the poor and vulnerable was built into the very walls. It’s no wonder, I think, that Jesus goes to ‘cleanse’ the Temple of the money lenders and temple tax collectors as soon as he enters Jerusalem in Luke’s gospel.

After proclaiming the destruction of the temple, Jesus goes on to tell them that not only would the temple be destroyed, but a time of great violence and instability would be coming. Nation would rise against nation, natural disasters would ravage the lands, and even they themselves would be persecuted — arrested, imprisoned, even some of them killed — by their own people. A time was coming where it would seem like everything the disciples knew and trusted would be shaken and even Jesus’ own special followers would not escape the trials and tribulations to come. This was not what they expected, not what their teachers had promised them. When Messiah arrived, he was supposed to deliver them from their troubles, bring wealth and plenty, establish and secure the Temple forever — I think their shock and confusion is understandable.

So Jesus begins to speak to their anxieties; he tells them that in the midst of the instability and turmoil to come, God will not leave them alone. The destruction of the Temple does not mean that God is abandoning them. When they are persecuted, He will be with them, putting words in their mouth and wisdom in their hearts to witness to the truth and love of God in the face of the hatred and fear that will surround them. They will not escape the pain and insecurity of the coming days, but God will guide them through this time — will be their companion and their teacher — protecting the very hairs of their heads, sustaining their souls with life eternal even as they seem to be surrounded by death. “By your endurance, you will gain your souls,” Jesus says.

In retrospect, we know that it was in the fires of this time that the church was forged. The destruction of Jerusalem pushed the church out into the rest of the world. The persecution of Christ’s earliest followers, and the way that they continued to witness to truth and love in the face of that persecution, is what drew people throughout the known world to join them and encounter the presence of God in their midst.

In this moment in the gospel, however, the disciples haven’t yet come to realize that Christ’s body, of which they would become a part, is the true Temple, the place where God had come to dwell with his people forever. Herod’s Temple had become an idol to power and security, it was never meant to hold the people’s faith and trust. God’s dwelling place was coming into their midst, within and between them as they came to be filled with the Holy Spirit and to love one another with Christ’s love. God’s presence could not be taken away from them, even when everything they thought was safe and secure and sacred became uncertain. 

And this is where we find ourselves as well. We also are a part of Christ’s body. In our baptism, at this table, and most importantly in our love for one another, we are joined to Christ and God is revealed in our midst. We also face a time of uncertainty and instability, a time when many of us feel alienated from and at odds with those we have known and loved, and when many of the institutions we have trusted (in our society and in the Church) do not seem quite as steady and stable as they once did. We also hear reports of ‘nation rising against nation’ and ‘kingdom against kingdom,’ and in the Episcopal Church we have even seen some of our own clergy under fire in the public square from the ‘kings and governors’ of our time. Christ’s words to the disciples are for us in these days too. We may not be able to avoid the trials of our time, but we will not be alone in them. Like the disciples, it is our job to keep telling the truth, to keep loving our neighbors and our enemies, to keep witnessing to the love of God, no matter how scary things get. If we endure, if we keep the faith together, Christ’s words and wisdom will remain with us, and we will see the presence of God shine forth even in the darkest of places.

May we come to know and to trust that God remains faithful, that God is with us, even when it feels like everything else is falling apart.

Amen.

November 9, 2025, Pentecost 22, Reflections on Luke 20:27-38 by Reverend Carole Horton-Howe

Today's gospel lesson reminds us that we are still in the realm of All Saints Day and our Feast of Lights evensong which we celebrated last Sunday. It’s a time in the liturgical calendar when we honor the communion of saints including those departed from this life, those among us and those yet to come. Today the focus is on resurrection and life.

God is God not of the dead, but of the living…” Luke’s gospel tells us. This is one of the most ancient claims about God made by our Jewish siblings. The ancient Hebrew moniker for God, Elohim Chayim, means “living God” or “God of life.” Here in Luke, chapter 20, Jesus drives home that idea.

But wait a second: Don’t we as Christians believe that when our mortal bodies die, that is the gateway to life with God? Don’t we in our Eucharistic prayer at funerals recall “for to your faithful people, O Lord, life is changed, not ended; and when our mortal body lies in death, there is prepared for us a dwelling place eternal in the heavens”?

So, what could Jesus possibly mean?

The first thing that Jesus does is give a gentle grammatical correction: it isn’t enough to say that God is alive or the God of the living; rather, God is life. It is from God that all life flows forth. And in returning to God, all life finds its ultimate fulfillment. We do not live in some kind of finite system created by God a long, long time ago, then left mostly to run its course; rather, we live in God’s universe which is constantly being energized with the ebb and flow of life.

Jesus is, thankfully, making a teachable moment out of a ridiculous question. It’s ridiculous because the Sadducees, as Luke says, didn’t believe in the resurrection in the first place. They don’t believe there is anything after descent into the Land of the Dead. They aren’t seeking wisdom or instruction from Jesus. They don’t care about the woman or the resurrection. They care about shaming and exposing Jesus to gain an advantage over him. It’s not even an issue at that time:

Leverite marriage as this was called when a surviving brother was required to marry his deceased brother’s widow, was no longer practiced in Jesus’ time.  Death, however, was omnipresent. Infant mortality was high and life expectancy was about 35 years. For much of human history, death was an agonizing ordeal. As Jesus was dying on the cross, he was offered wine mixed with myrrh, an herbal pain reliever, and likely one of the few medicines in existence at the time that was in any way effective at relieving pain.

Now, thankfully, the landscape looks quite different. Thanks in large part to the advances in modern medicine and science, and the great advances in palliative and hospice care, the agony and brutality of death can largely be treated and managed much more successfully than at any other time in human history—though access to this important care is still shamefully limited in many areas.

While the holy work that palliative and hospice care centers do must be celebrated, somewhere along the way, as our fear of the physical agony of death began to subside, much of the Western world began to try and make peace with death—to treat it as something other than the final enemy.

And to understand and explain death and eternal life in an earthly context – continuing the things we like and avoiding the things we don’t.  I heard a eulogy once where the speaker hoped that there was a chance in heaven to do a lot of fishing, which the deceased enjoyed, but that he would never have to bait the hook, which he did not. 

All that is well and good.  But we have questions.  Legitimate ones, not absurd scenarios meant to entrap like the Sadducees concocted. But heartfelt ones calling answers that offer relief.

While I was working in Temecula, I rented a room in a house across the street from one of my parishioners. He had told his neighbors, jokingly, that they better start behaving because a priest was moving into the neighborhood.

A woman who lived a couple doors down approached me one night as I was unloading my car. It was late and very hot that summer night. But she was very determined to talk to me. And with little more lead in than telling me her name and where she lived, she asked whether she and her husband would be together in heaven.

He had died recently and she was in despair. He had been married before, she told me, and she was so afraid that in heaven he would be with his first wife and she’d be alone for eternity. “You’re a pastor,” she said, “you must know what heaven is like.”

The fact is, I’m like everyone else. I don’t know. I don’t know if the streets will be paved with gold as my great aunt sincerely believed. I don’t know if St. Peter will be checking names at pearly gates. I don’t know if there’s really a rainbow bridge that our pets cross when they die.

What I do know is that the love we have for each other here does not end. Marriage is an earthly function, not a heavenly one. The lives we make together here will end. But the connections of love that bind us are a reflection of God’s love for us and that is eternal. Love is life, eternal life.

The details of eternal life are, properly, the mysterious work of God to be revealed how and when God chooses.  At every corner of our existence, at every moment since God called forth creation out of nothing and called it good, God is at work, swallowing up the defeat of death in the victory of Christ’s resurrection and life. That is the reality and promise of our faith that we rightfully claim and hold onto.

I also know that as Christians, we must work to ease suffering and to bear one another’s burdens together. To sit vigil at the bedside of a loved one who is dying is to come on bended knee onto holy ground. It is the place where we recognize and make peace with last things and first things. I’d like to share with you a litany called The Living of Last Things by Douglas McKelvey:

“I know that I am not long for this world, O Lord, that I am even now, perhaps already living a litany of last things, some long-since completed before I even knew to name them so:

Last conversations with people I love

Last outings to places I delight in

Last enjoyment of spring flowers or autumn leaves

Last times savoring favorite foods

Soon there will be a:

          A Last sunset and a last sunrise

          A last marveling at the moon or wondering at the stars

          A last awareness of the color blue

          A last shared joke or story told

          A last visitor

          A last hand held, a final squeeze

          A last letting go

And then – there is that first hello. That first opening of my eyes in a place I’ve never seen but have always known as home. And there, my king and my Christ, is where the real wonder begins. Yes, in dying I must first release everything that I hve stewarded or enjoyed in life, for I cannot seek to hold any of the things or this world. They have been temporary gifts foreshadowing greater glories and richer joys.

For when this world is remade, and I walk again in a renewed creation, all of these last things that I now grieve will be somehow redeemed and restored to me in their truer, better forms. So let me see with a more penetrating gaze even now, O God, the holy ini every good thing to which I must bid goodbye. You are the one thing I need never release nor big goodbye.

For you already have been through this, through this willing laying down of all things at your death that you might attain instead the unfading joys set before you.

You will remain with me, Lord Jesus, as I follow the trail you blazed, as I also pass from life to death to life – as the last of these last things gives way to the first of those first things of eternity.”

“God is God not of the dead, but of the living…”

For the Sadducees, death was simply the fate of every human when we’ve run out of life. But God isn’t satisfied with that outcome, it seems. No, to believe in the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, revealed in the person of Jesus Christ, is to believe in the God who is life; who is love; who creates life, sustains life, and ultimately, is the God who breaks death’s back once and for all in Christ’s resurrection from the dead.

“God is God not of the dead, but of the living…”

We affirm this at every funeral, when we stare death in the face and sing that ancient song of defiance: even at the grave we make our song Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia!

May the living God; the God of love who is the author of life, continue to sustain us until we stand at last among the saints whom no one can number, whose hope was in the Word Made Flesh, as the words of our Savior enliven our hearts: “Servant, well done!” Amen.

November 8, 2025, Saturday Evening Healing Service, Reflections on Luke 19:1-10 by Reverend Carole Horton-Howe

Jesus entered Jericho and was passing through it. A man was there named Zacchaeus; he was a chief tax collector and was rich. He was trying to see who Jesus was, but on account of the crowd he could not, because he was short in stature. So he ran ahead and climbed a sycamore tree to see him, because he was going to pass that way. When Jesus came to the place, he looked up and said to him, "Zacchaeus, hurry and come down; for I must stay at your house today." So he hurried down and was happy to welcome him. All who saw it began to grumble and said, "He has gone to be the guest of one who is a sinner."

Zacchaeus stood there and said to the Lord, "Look, half of my possessions, Lord, I will give to the poor; and if I have defrauded anyone of anything, I will pay back four times as much." Then Jesus said to him, "Today salvation has come to this house, because he too is a son of Abraham. For the Son of Man came to seek out and to save the lost."

Sermon by the Rev. Carole Horton-Howe

We’ve had a few stories in our gospel readings lately about Jesus interacting with rich men.  This week we meet Zacchaeus, another rich man, who is just as an entitled and selfish as some of the other rich men we’ve met in some of the other parables. What’s lovely and unique about this one is how he undergoes a life-changing experience.

The first thing to notice about Zacchaeus was that he was a chief tax collector.  This means that he was a regional contractor for the Roman government.  This would have been a lucrative business, because Jericho was a rich city. According William Barclay Jericho had a great palm forest and world-famous balsam groves which perfumed the air for miles around. Its gardens of roses were known far and wide. The Romans carried its dates and balsam in world-wide trade and fame. It was such a beautiful and temperate place that in 4 BCE, Herod the Great built a palace there as a winter retreat.

And Zacheus was rich. The Romans did not collect taxes themselves. They got the Jews to do it for them. In the whole scheme of tax collecting, Zacchaeus was not some small time operator; he was a powerful and wealthy business person.

But this wealth and power cost him something.  He was ostracized and rejected by his community.  We read in verse 6 that he was considered “a man who was a sinner.”  They would have regarded him as a traitor and a collaborator.  He sold his soul to Rome for a pot of money. He had everything he could want except the love and respect of the people around him.

The name Zacchaeus means “pure one.”  Which says to me that at the beginning of his life, his family had great hopes for him. What happened to bring him to a reputation of living an impure life we cannot know. As far as the people of Jericho were concerned he was a lost cause. Wealth can you buy you many things, it can’t buy you respect and belonging. So there must have been an emptiness in his life. Deep in his soul - gnawing sense of isolation and alienation.

So when Jesus came to Jericho, Zacchaeus was eager to see him. Now this is not idle curiosity motivated by Jesus’ celebrity status. He is not interested merely in “seeing Jesus” but wants to know “who Jesus is”. He goes to extraordinary lengths to fulfill his quest, even enduring the shame of climbing a tree despite his adult male status and position in the community as a wealthy “ruler,” however notorious. That he goes to such lengths shows his deep longing. 

Unfortunately, the crowd isn’t very accommodating.  Verse 3 continues, “he sought to see who Jesus was, but could not on account of the crowd, because he was small of stature.”

If Zacchaeus was short, that in itself should not have prevented him from seeing Jesus.  All he had to do was work his way to the front.  What really stopped him was the hostility of the crowd towards him. They tried to prevent Zacchaeus from seeing Jesus.

But he so strong was his commitment to know Jesus, he did something that a rich pampered man was not likely to do.  He climbed the tree like a little boy, and without realizing it he fulfilled Jesus’ word that unless we become like children we will not see the kingdom of God. (Matthew 18:3).

Now what Zacchaeus didn’t realize is that Jesus wanted to meet Zacchaeus, just as much as Zacchaeus wanted to meet Jesus.  Jesus stops at the bottom of the sycamore, looks up and says.  “Zacchaeus, make haste and come down; for I must stay at your house today.”

How did Jesus know Zacchaeus’ name? Politicians and posh people usually have aides who stand beside them with a list of the people that they’ll be meeting that day. Then they can whisper their name to their boss giving the illusion that the politician really knows them.  I doubt that Jesus had such an aide; but he did know Zacchaeus and he called him by name.

How do you think that made Zacchaeus feel? Humbled? Amazed? Grateful? Even --- loved?

Jesus’s words “I must stay at your house” imply a divine necessity. The word “must” when it appears in the scripture is often code for “this is God’s will.”

So -- who is seeking whom? We discover at the outset that Zacchaeus is on a quest, to see who Jesus is, only to learn in the end that, in accordance with his divine mission, Jesus has been on a quest for Zacchaeus, to bring him hope, to bring him redemption, to being him salvation.  Hoping to see Jesus, Zacchaeus is seen by him.

There’s a lovely old hymn that puts it this way:

I sought the Lord, and afterward I knew he moved my soul to seek him, seeking me.

It was not I that found, O Savior true, no, I was found by thee.

And that is the good news for us in this story. Before we ever come seeking Jesus, Jesus is seeking us. He stops in front of whatever tree we have climbed, or whatever corner we feel backed into, or whatever place we are happy and dancing and calls us by name. Jesus knows each of us by name and he wants to spend time with us.

Jesus’ word, transformed Zacchaeus.  He was filled with joy, knowing that he was forgiven and loved.  No longer an outcast, he was now a part of the family of God. 

And then Zacchaeus hit the ground running as a changed person.  In verse 8 we read, ‘And Zacchaeus stood and said to the Lord, “half of my goods I give to the poor; and if I have defrauded any one of anything, I restore it fourfold.”’

Notice two things.  First, Zacchaeus made restitution for his past failures, but that restitution was greater than what the Law required.  Leviticus 6:2-5 says “if you have defrauded you neighbor [that would be Zacchaeus] … you shall repay the principal amount and shall add one fifth to it.”  In other words, to make restitution you paid a 20% penalty.  But Zacchaeus promised to make restitution at a rate of 400%. 

I suspect this is something we can all relate to something about us as people that is still true of us 2,000 year later. And it’s this:  when God’s grace touches our heart, we not only want to put right what we did wrong, but we also want to bless those whom we have wronged.  Zacchaeus had tasted the kindness of the Lord and so he offered a feast to those whom he wounded so they too could taste the kindness of the Lord.

Second, Zacchaeus promised to use half of his wealth to help the poor on an ongoing basis.  The verb “I give,” is in the present continuous tense.  That means that he not only immediately liquidated half of his assets and gave it to the poor, but that he also promised to continue to support the poor by giving them half of his annual income. 

Can you imagine the impact that had on his community?  Jericho was a rich town and good place to live if you were rich, but not so good if you were poor.  But Zacchaeus’ gift would have made a tremendous difference for all those who were widows, orphans, blind, sick or disabled.  By using his wealth to help others, he brought good news to the poor and proclaimed the year of the Lord’s favor. Zacchaeus has made Jesus’ work his own. 

So I have a challenge for you today. In the quietness of your heart and presence of Jesus, ask yourself how you are living. What is your shortcoming? How can you repair it? Ask Jesus to help you. Thank him for his loving care that always seeks out the sinner. And having done that hard work, may you follow his example, by the way you live and the way you give. Amen. 

November 2, 2025, All Saints' Day (Celebrated), Reflections on Luke 6: 20-31 by Reverend Carole Horton-Howe

Jesus looked up at his disciples and said:

“Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God.

“Blessed are you who are hungry now, for you will be filled.

“Blessed are you who weep now, for you will laugh.

“Blessed are you when people hate you, and when they exclude you, revile you, and defame you on account of the Son of Man. Rejoice in that day and leap for joy, for surely your reward is great in heaven; for that is what their ancestors did to the prophets."

"But woe to you who are rich, for you have received your consolation.

"Woe to you who are full now, for you will be hungry.

"Woe to you who are laughing now, for you will mourn and weep.

"Woe to you when all speak well of you, for that is what their ancestors did to the false prophets.

"But I say to you that listen, Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you. If anyone strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also; and from anyone who takes away your coat do not withhold even your shirt. Give to everyone who begs from you; and if anyone takes away your goods, do not ask for them again. Do to others as you would have them do to you.

Sermon by the Rev. Carole Horton-Howe

Recently I received a video of a friend’s granddaughter being called to the Torah as a Bat Mitzvah. It was a privilege and a joy to watch this service, this rite of passage because it was so rich with tradition. I knew she’d had a long period of preparation as she approached her 13th birthday. She had been learning Hebrew. She actually lead the service helping to read and chant in Hebrew and English.

But she also received the gift of the family’s faith tradition. I watched as it was being handed down to her quite literally, through the generations of the family. Because as the Torah scroll is being passed down, the scroll from which she would read was passed by the oldest members of the family to the next generation to the next and finally to the youngest, passing from one set of hands to the next.  Not only is it passing God’s word from generation to generation. It’s even more than that. It’s passing on the knowledge and tradition of faith. It’s a powerful experience. 

As I was watching this sweet child receiving the Torah through the generations of her family and being vested with a prayer shawl that has been worn by 4 generations in her family, I thought about this day in the Christian church -  this day in which we celebrate the saints who have come into our lives and who have handed down to all of us, generation by generation, God’s word and the traditions of our own faith. And I thought about how powerful that image really is.

We can think about Abraham and all of this progeny, about Moses, about all the prophets who foretold the coming of Jesus.  We can think about the four evangelists who shared the story of Messiah.  We think of the women who were witnesses to the resurrection and who spread the good news of the resurrection so all of us can live in that victory over death.

And then we get personal about All Saints Day and remember those people in our lives who have been our saints: we think about our parents, and grandparents and aunts and uncles, people who have been part of our church family, about teachers and friends and neighbors – so many people who have paved the way for us to walk in the knowledge and love of God.

We also think about Joseph Wardman, William and Charlotte Pritchard, Wayne Frei, Rhea Kirk, John and Charlotte Williams, Minnie Kellog Brown and Cornelia Swaine.  If they don’t sound familiar to us in this generation, they likely did to earlier congregations here. Those are the names of the St. Matthias members for whom the stained-glass windows we see each week were dedicated long ago. 

And when we stop to think about this, this day becomes a very emotional one.  There are so many lives, so many people who have given so much of themselves so that God’s gospel message can continue through all the generations.

But there’s a piece of that that we cannot forget, a piece that today we need to claim.  And that’s where we fit into that story. Because it’s not just about what we’ve been given that we celebrate today. It is also about what we have to give.  

In someone’s life, we, too, are saints. We are called to help pave the way for all of those generations who will come behind us. Because without our commitment to keeping that story alive, it doesn’t stay alive.  Every one of us is called to keep God’s story alive.  And to keep that tradition alive in all the generations who will follow us. That’s a significant and high calling.

What words would we use? What would we say to the young person who is coming behind us wanting to know what is the message of God? 

Two thousand years ago on a hillside, besieged by crowds that were following him, this incredible teacher named Jesus looked out and saw all those who had come to hear this story -- for any word of instruction, for any wisdom he could impart to them. They gathered. And Jesus began the incredible message that we see in Luke’s gospel today

Blessed are you when people hate you.

Blessed are you who are sorrowful.

Blessed are you who are hated.

Blessed are you who are left out.

Because your time of goodness is coming, the kingdom is coming. And all will be well with you.

And we imagine that for those who are living under the oppressive thumb of the first century Roman empire there just isn’t a more beautiful message. They’re likely saying that those folks who have been persecuting us are going to get theirs and all our troubles will be over. And this is the good news. Thank you, Jesus, for sharing this message with us. Because this is what we needed to hear.

Everything is really good. Until Jesus goes on with that message: oh yeah and how you get long together, how you live with one another, how everyone knows who you are  -  that’s the rest of this:

Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you. Bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you. If anyone strikes you on the cheek offer the other one also. If someone takes your coat, give them your shirt. If someone begs from you, give them what you’ve got. If they take what you have, let it go, it’s okay.

Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. Or as one of the saints in my life would say don’t every think about repaying evil for evil. When they do evil to you, do better by them. 

Can you imagine the confused looks in the crowd? Can you image they’re looking at each other asking, “what did he say? I can’t have heard that correctly…” 

Did he tell us to love our enemies? Love those people who are hurting me and persecuting me and letting us die of starvation, you want me to love them?  You want me to love people who have taken from me? You want me to take care of them.

There’s a scenario that makes its way around social media now and then warning us about what can happen at the gas station. We’re warned not to leave our purse on the front seat of our car with the car door unlocked. Because while we’re wrestling with the gas pump, a sneaky thief comes up and grabs the purse and is gone. Someone who was a victim of this theft and posted it on social media and has all kinds of 4-letter word descriptives for sneaky thief and fantasies about what evil things she’d like to happen to him.

It shouldn’t happen of course. Taking what does not belong to you in not okay. But that’s on him or her. For our part, we can’t imagine that if someone does something like this to us that we should look upon them with eyes of love and understanding. We can’t even begin to imagine that sometimes. 

So here we are 2,000+ years later. We like the first part of this sermon. We might also struggle with the second part. But yet these are the people God has called us to be.  And this is the message we are called to share. It’s a very different message than the world’s message.

It seems to me that its harder to watch the news these days than it used to be. It seems there is a lot less love in the world than there used to be, less tolerance of one another. It seems that people are angry and looking for vengeance.  And that too many of us forget too often that even the sneaky thief from the gas station is a child of God, made in the likeness and image of God. We don’t know his story, we don’t know if there’s desperation. We don’t know what’s going on with him. But we do know that even the sneaky thief is a child of God.

So how do we respond? How do we pave this path for those who are going to follow us - to know how to love God and to love neighbor?

Here’s something we might think about as we approach our neighbors, that we can love even those with whom we disagree. We can love them fully and holy and perhaps when we are in disagreement we should be called more to prayer and seek reconciliation.

We can love those who have done us wrong. And pray for eyes that will help us understand and know that there is more than one side to every story.  We can look with compassion upon those who are struggling.  We can look with love and mercy on those who have been shoved to the margins and told that they’re not good enough to be with everyone else. Because now this message of love is on us. It’s on us to keep this story alive.  It’s on us to share the message of God’s good news.

So we honor those who have come before us by allowing the light of that love to shine through us. And we honor those who come after us by making sure it radiates in us, that it’s not dimmed.  We celebrate the saints as we take our own place among them. May God bless us as we pass on the knowledge and traditions of our faith to all those who will follow. Amen.

October 26, 2025, Pentecost 20, Reflections on Luke 18:9-14 by Reverend Carole Horton-Howe

Jesus told this parable to some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous and regarded others with contempt: "Two men went up to the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax collector. The Pharisee, standing by himself, was praying thus, `God, I thank you that I am not like other people: thieves, rogues, adulterers, or even like this tax collector. I fast twice a week; I give a tenth of all my income.' But the tax collector, standing far off, would not even look up to heaven, but was beating his breast and saying, `God, be merciful to me, a sinner!' I tell you, this man went down to his home justified rather than the other; for all who exalt themselves will be humbled, but all who humble themselves will be exalted."

Sermon by the Rev. Carole Horton-Howe

I’ve had the opportunity to go to the holocaust museum in Los Angeles a couple times. It’s currently closed, under renovation. I hope when it reopens next summer that they still have the area where you can watch film interviews of survivors of the Holocaust. When you purchased your entrance ticket, they gave you a card with the photo of someone, their name, where they were from and in which camp they were imprisoned. You carried this card, this person with you, throughout your visit.  And towards the end of the displays, you had the opportunity to learn what happened to this person. Did they survive? Or if they did not, when they died.

The last time I was there, I learned that my person had somehow managed to survive internment at Auschwitz even though he was just a boy. And I got to listen to an interview with him. The boy realized after he arrived that an older man from his hometown, a man who was a pillar of his community, was also there. He would often try to share his food, share what he had with this older man although he would never actually let him do that. 

And he noticed, day after day, most of the folks in the camp tried to find time to find time to pray. He noticed that this gentleman was praying throughout the day.  So he was curious about that and tried to pay attention to what he was saying. He realized that this man was praying prayers of thanksgiving throughout the day. At Auschwitz. He wasn’t sure what to make of this, being so young.

One day when they were alone he asked him, ‘’Why do you pray when it’s not time for us to pray? And why are you praying prayers of thanksgiving when we’re here?  Look around us. Why on earth would you pray any prayers of thanksgiving when by the end of the day more of us will be gone?” The older man hesitated a moment before he spoke. And slowly he said to him, “I am thanking God that I am not one of the murderous creatures that is holding us here.”

Those words lived on with the boy who managed to survive Auschwitz and became a rabbi, although he was well into old age when the recording was made. But the words stuck with me too.  Because it reminded me of just how quickly our fortunes can turn.  That even when we’re imprisoned, even when our lives and way of living are being threatened, even when we don’t know what’s coming at us next, we still may have a sense that we are better than someone else. Because at least we’re not doing what they’re doing.

          When I heard that interview, it reminded me of this gospel lesson. “Thank goodness I’m not him.” So says the Pharisee. Who has gone to the temple to pray. “I am the pillar of my community. Thank goodness I’m not that guy - because there’s always someone I don’t want to be.  Thank goodness I’m not him – not a thief, a rogue. Really thank goodness I’m not that tax collector guy. I tithe. I fast, I do everything I’m supposed to do. Thank God I’m not someone else.

Another man comes to that temple that day to pray, too. And he’s a tax collector. Quick note on the tax collectors in the ancient world: these were not anyone’s favorite people to spend time with. He is a Jew, he’s come to the temple. He’s a Jew who collects taxes on behalf of the Roman empire. So he’s probably nobody’s best friend. Because the reputation of tax collectors have is that they cheat people – their own people, other Jews – to make their living. They added a generous amount for themselves on top of the taxes that they’re collecting for Rome. So they grew rich out of the misery and deprivation of other Jews.

We’re told that the Pharisee stands apart from everyone. We have this sense that everyone around him is immediately concerned about whether they’re good enough to be in his presence. He’s some kind of spiritual rock star. He’s just so upright and righteous.

And in comes this tax collector who, no doubt, knows that that no one is happy to see him there. So without a sense of confidence, without that sense of self-righteousness, he’s not even able to look up. He, too, stands away also, out of his own sense of shame.  He stands apart. And the only words that he can muster up are “have mercy on a sinner like me. I know I don’t have any friends here. Have mercy on a sinner like me.”

And so we’re told that our lesson from all this is to remember to humble ourselves.  There’s a lot to take in here: because yes, that big lesson is that we are all so dependent on God. And just as this tax collector realizes, “I must be dependent on God because I really have nowhere else to go.”  But the Pharisee hasn’t quite yet figured out his need to be dependent on God. He’s depending on himself and his reputation and his all of his good works. He cannot see and name his dependence on God.

Two thousand years later this parable still speaks to us about a lot of things: it still speaks to us about our incredible need for God. And if at any moment we think we can replace our need for God with our own sense of self-sufficiency then we are setting ourselves up for a lot of pain.  Because it is only by God and with God and through God that we can do the work Jesus left us to do on this earth.  ‘

And equally important to that message is the message that we need one another.  We need to be able to count on the love of one another to support us and uphold us in even the most difficult time. We are not made to be silos.

We forget that. We forget to support one another. We forget the grace of humility.  Humility seems like an increasingly rare trait these days and a difficult characteristic to emulate.  But what is it? What does it mean to be humble?  Humility is the act of being modest, reverential, even politely submissive.  It is the opposite of aggression, arrogance, pride, and vanity.

On the surface, it appears to have a sort of wimpy quality that is devoid of power. But on the contrary, it grants enormous power because it gives greater connection to God. It offers complete freedom from the desire to impress, to be right, or get ahead at someone else’s expense. Frustrations and losses have less impact, and a humble person confidently receives the opportunity to grow, improve, and reject society‘s labels. A humble life results in contentment, patience, forgiveness, and compassion – all gifts to us from God.

At some point in our lives, we’ve probably been both of these characters, haven’t we? Haven’t there been moments when we’ve probably been the very self-righteous Pharisee?  “Look at me -- at least I’m not him. Everything is good because I’m not him.” At some moment in our lives we’ve occupied that space of the tax collector. When we’ve been so beaten down and beaten up by the world. And we’ve lost that sense of whose we are. The only words we can even begin to muster are “Lord have mercy on me a sinner.”  Because we feel so distant from divine love and so unworthy.

We’ve all probably occupied both those roles – the one who condemns and the one who has been condemned.  The one who has isolated himself, the one who has been forgotten.  The one who has been pushed aside, the one who has puffed himself up. We’ve probably at some point in our lives occupied both those roles. 

And yet God still speaks to us through these words to remind us that we need God and we need one another.  And perhaps even more importantly, in our world today, when we come up with all these ways that we divide ourselves and align ourselves and forgot completely that in community we love, in community we serve, in community we are God’s hands and hearts in the world. 

So today this parable comes back to remind us we should never be standing apart, we should never be alone. We must not give credit where credit is not due. We are called to remember our need for God and remember our need for one another as God’s created beings. Because when we remember to come together with humility as our guiding star, we are able to do more than we could ever do apart. We are able to move all the mountains that God needs us to move. God is constantly inviting us back into love where we can find the outpouring of God’s grace and mercy, more than enough for all. Amen.  

October 19, 2025, “To Not Lose Heart”, Genesis 32:22-31, Psalm 121, 2 Timothy 3:14-4:5, Luke 18:1-8 by J.D Neal

Our gospel reading this morning begins with a very important little word: “then” — “Then Jesus told them a parable about their need to pray always and not to lose heart.” This word, ‘then’, stuck out to me as I began preparing to preach this week, because I’d not really noticed it in past readings of this passage. When I’ve read this parable in the past, I’ve read it as another teaching about how we’re supposed to approach prayer (which it is), but I’ve not paid attention to the context. “Then” means that this parable is told in the context of a larger scene, that it’s a continuation of something already happening — why does Jesus tell this story now, and who is he talking to? Is there more going on here than a general teaching about persistence in prayer?

If we look back a few verses, we’ll see that Jesus is talking to the disciples. After being asked by a Pharisee about when and how the Kingdom of God would appear, Jesus turns to his followers and begins to speak directly to them. In unnerving language, he tells them that ‘the days of the Son of Man’ are coming, but that they will be different than expected. This language is from the book of Daniel, and the ‘day of the Son of Man’ for Jesus’s audience would have been a sort of shorthand for the people’s Messianic expectations — the day of God’s triumphant appearance in the world, when he would expose and destroy the corruption of Israel’s oppressors, liberating and bringing justice to his chosen people. Jesus tells them that these times are coming, but that they will come with suddenness and with terror, like Noah’s flood or the rain of fire that consumed Sodom & Gomorrah. When the Son of Man is revealed, Jesus says, it will happen after he has been rejected by his people, in a time of terror and violence, when many will be lost. When the disciples ask where this will happen, Jesus simply answers, “where the corpse is, there the vultures will gather,” — and then our gospel reading begins.

Luke’s audience, reading these words around the end of the first century, would recognize that Jesus seems to be talking about the destruction of Jerusalem in 70AD, when the city, the temple, and the nearby region were besieged, starved, and brutally destroyed by Roman armies. Jesus is warning his followers that they were about to enter a time when political and religious turmoil would become even more intense than it already was and would begin spilling over into violence, when injustice in the land would finally reach such a fever pitch that it would bring about its own destruction in a catastrophe terrible enough to be compared to Noah’s flood and the destruction of Sodom & Gomorrah, and that somehow ‘the Son of Man will be revealed’ in the face of all this. ‘I will be with you and God’s justice will be revealed’, Jesus is saying, ‘but it won’t look like it at first. Dark days are ahead, and I want you to be ready.’

To prepare them, he tells them today’s parable, ‘about their need to pray always and not to lose heart.’ Why this? Why now? Destruction is going to rain down on the disciples’ world, after they wait for almost four decades for Jesus to return, and instead of telling them to go stock up on canned goods and potable water, to build a bunker in the desert caves, to pass out pamphlets and preach from street corners about the destruction to come, or to stockpile swords and bows to protect themselves from what is coming — instead of all this, he tells them a story about a stubborn old widow and a corrupt official. He tells them that this woman fought for justice to be given to her by a judge who didn’t care about justice, who ‘neither feared God nor had respect for people.’ She was so tenacious and persistent in her appeals that the corrupt judge finally granted her justice, just to keep her from continuing to bother him. And, he says, the disciples should be like her, because if she could get justice from this evil judge, how much more will God grant them justice when they cry out to him in prayer with persistence and faith. The parable ends with Jesus asking the disciples a question, almost wondering aloud: “And yet, when the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth?” The question is striking — why wouldn’t he find this kind of faith on the earth? 

The widow, we’re told, is a picture of what it means to ‘pray always’ and to ‘not lose heart.’ She stands in a long line of faithful women in the Scriptures who cultivated the kind of faith that endured in the face of long suffering and waiting. She is like Sarah, who was promised a child in her old age and waited something like 25 years before she saw that promise fulfilled, like the widowed prophetess Anna, who spent decades in the temple fasting and waiting to see God’s chosen Messiah until toddler Jesus arrived there, or like Elizabeth and Mary, who each believed that there would be a fulfillment to the promises they received of a miraculous child, despite the doubt and ridicule they would have endured from their community. The list goes on and on; the Scriptures are full of faithful women who cling to God’s purposes and God’s promises, in spite of the opposition, exhaustion, and long waiting that they faced. The widow is also like Jacob, who is willing to wrestle for an entire night, fighting for hours and hours through weariness and pain, blood and sweat, ferociously demanding a blessing from God until he gets it, even though that blessing comes with a shattered hip and a limp that would mark him for the rest of his days. 

I think as we remember some of these examples, we start to see why Jesus wonders if he will see this kind of faith. I have had seasons, sometimes even long ones, where my prayers are frequent and consistent, where my rhythms of prayer nourish and uphold me day in and day out, and God feels close, but this is only the beginning. To be like Jacob or one of these women — to have a faith that continues in prayer, that believes God will make good on his promises, that he is still working and moving and bringing justice, even if I can’t see it, even if I have to wait months, years, decades to see it — to have a faith that cries out for God to act and believes, insists that he will show up, even in the face of great grief or pain or darkness — to have a faith like this that prays ‘and does not lose heart’ — this is something else entirely. Many of you know how different it is, how hard it is, to not lose heart when it seems like your prayers are falling on deaf ears, when injustice continues unchecked, when your pain drags on and it would be so much easier to just stop believing, to say ‘I guess it isn’t God’s will’ and to explain away God’s silence, when the waiting goes on and on and continuing to pray in earnest feels unbearable. Some of you know the kind of faith that Jesus is describing, because you have wrestled through the dark with God, clinging to him through long suffering, loss, and grief, stubbornly insisting that the love of God will have the last word, no matter how long it takes to see it.

 This is the kind of faith that Jesus is talking about, the kind of faith that his followers will need, the kind of faith that could nourish a community and sustain them through the long waiting, adversity, and destruction that Jesus is warning his disciples they will face. This is the kind of faith that Jesus says will bring about God’s justice, will see God’s promises fulfilled, will reveal the presence of God in the midst of a land that appears to have been forsaken by God. 

This is also the kind of faith that we need, and that Jesus is inviting us, as his followers, to cultivate in our time. I’m sure it’s not lost on any of you that the world we live in doesn’t sound all that different from the one I’ve been describing in the years leading up to the destruction of the temple. We too know what it’s like to look around and see increasing political and religious turmoil, to open up our phones and be met with another story of hatred or of the lust for power bubbling over into some fresh injustice enacted upon the vulnerable, to be shocked and exhausted in the face of another act of devastating violence — and for so much of it to be cloaked in the name of God. Like the disciples in Luke, we also live in a time when it is not always easy to discern the presence and love of God in the world around us, let alone to know how to respond faithfully, to follow him through the turmoil of these darkening days. The Spirit holds out this gospel to us today — we too must become like the widow, because if we learn to pray and to not lose heart, to cry out for God to show up and to follow him where he leads, to stubbornly trust that he will fulfill his promises no matter how hard things get, then we too will become the instruments of God’s love and justice in the midst of a darkening world.

May we each become like the faithful widow, learning to pray always and, by the grace of God, to not lose heart. Lord have mercy. Amen.

October 12, 2025, Reflections on Luke 17:11-19 by The Reverend Carole Horton-Howe

On the way to Jerusalem Jesus was going through the region between Samaria and Galilee. As he entered a village, ten lepers approached him. Keeping their distance, they called out, saying, "Jesus, Master, have mercy on us!" When he saw them, he said to them, "Go and show yourselves to the priests." And as they went, they were made clean. Then one of them, when he saw that he was healed, turned back, praising God with a loud voice. He prostrated himself at Jesus' feet and thanked him. And he was a Samaritan. Then Jesus asked, "Were not ten made clean? But the other nine, where are they? Was none of them found to return and give praise to God except this foreigner?" Then he said to him, "Get up and go on your way; your faith has made you well."

Sermon by the Rev. Carole Horton-Howe

There are many stories in the Gospels about Jesus healing people. Beautiful stories. This passage that we hear today has another side of Jesus. Although people are healed of their physical illness, the point of the story is on how those who are healed respond. The point is gratitude and the healing found in it.

Our first clue that it isn’t strictly a healing story comes early on. Ten lepers approached Jesus and asked him for mercy. Instead of doing something or saying something that tells us that healing is happening or has happened, Jesus gives them a command: “Go and show yourselves to the priests.” The actual healing of the lepers then occurred as they traveled away from Jesus, away from the center of the narrative. The healing happened “offstage” leaving Jesus standing in the center.

“Then one of them, when he saw that he was healed turned back praising God with a loud voice.” This one man reentered the scene. He came back to Jesus and offered thanks. This expression of gratitude met with Jesus’ approval and he asked what happened to the other nine who did not return. “Were not ten made clean? Was none of them found to return and give praise to God except this foreigner?”

Note that the other nine did what they were told by Jesus to do. It’s hard to find fault with that. They weren’t disobedient. Yet clearly it’s making the decision to pause, to turn to God is what the key. So what is it with this one guy? What made him different from the other nine?

All ten of the lepers were faithful enough to go on their way to the priests even though there had not yet been dramatic or definitive healing.  All ten believed enough to start a journey that might have resulted in disappointment and derision. All ten had a mustard seed’s worth of faith in a mighty, healing God. Yet the text tells us that only that one “saw that he was healed.”  Did the others not notice?

They had more to gain from continuing on their way to the priests. For them, the priests were the vital next step in the process – their way back, their way to life. The Samaritan had no such incentive. What hope was there for a Samaritan in Jewish rituals?

Remember that Samaritans were despised in Jewish society. This man was caught up in active animosity between the Jews and the Samaritans going back hundreds of years. They had been one people, but changes and tensions wrought by exile and return put them at odds regarding beliefs about scripture, worship, what it means to be holy. Think Protestants and Catholics in Ireland, Muslims and Serbs in Bosnia, rival street gangs in Los Angeles and you’ve got the picture. Sadly there are many, many apt comparisons.

Not only that but Jesus’ encounter with the lepers takes place in the “region between Samaria and Galilee,” a potentially hostile locale at the border, neither inside nor outside Jewish territory.

Everyone in this story is outside their comfort zone except Jesus who knows that people who are forced to survive on the margins of society see things differently from those in the center. They may be less invested in and less worshipful of the status quo. They also may be more open to change when the current structures are of little benefit them.

Instead of seeing healing as way to return to an old life, he saw it as a miracle from God - in a place and time where miracles were likely in short supply. His only possible response was praise.

The Samaritan kneels at Jesus’ feet, face in the dust in gratitude and wonder. And it’s then, for the first time in the story, that Jesus speaks words of healing: Get up and go on your way. Your faith has made you well.”

This raises an important question: Is there one healing in this story for the Samaritan or two? Jesus final words to him might be an affirmation of the healing from leprosy that already happened. But could it be that there is for this man a new level of healing that goes more than skin deep?

Only the Samaritan remembered and connected the gift with the giver.  He demonstrates a faith that claims relationship with God and cannot and will not remain silent in response to what God has done in his life. Expressing gratitude is not a precondition for being healed by Jesus.  All the lepers find themselves healed of their skin disease. However, the Samaritan turns around and comes back. He turns towards God.

Is there a second healing?  I believe there is: and it is a restoration of wellness that comes through the Samaritan’s relationship with God. He has found peace, joy and wellness -- gifts that can be ours each day as we too give God thanks and praise.

Our earthly lives are a similar journey, somewhere between Samaria and Galilee, between illness and health, between rejection and acceptance. We are all travelers on the way. Because of the frailty of our bodies we will all succumb to illness at some point in our lives. Because of the devices and desires of the human heart, we will all suffer from the fear and distrust that separates us from our neighbors and from God.

And we all know that not everyone is healed of their illness. We pray, we beg, we ask God for healing for those we care so much about and for ourselves.  And still we find ourselves saying good-bye, heartbroken and disappointed. And wondering where God is. Wrapping our lives in gratitude throughout our lives is the antidote, when there is a cure and when there is not.

To practice intentional gratitude is life-giving.  It can also change a congregation’s life.  When Christians practice gratitude as the abiding mindset in their lives, they come to God open to receiving the goodness that is the very essence of God.

We acknowledge intentional gratitude in our Eucharistic prayers asking God to forgive us for coming the Eucharist – which means “thanksgiving” by the way – for solace only and not for strength, for pardon only and not for renewal.  The work that God calls us to do as believers changes from duty to a gathering of grateful hands and hearts. God created us for grateful joy!

This story of one who returns, drops his face in the dust and gives thanks points us to some truths: first, to stifle gratitude may prove as unnatural as holding one’s breath. Second, “Go on your way, your faith has made you well” is no longer a problematic saying, one that seems to apply to others and not necessarily to us and our circumstances.  Instead it is a description of a life of blessing for us and sending for the church to go into the world living as people thankful and blessed.

As we go on our way, we rejoice and give thanks, for in giving thanks in all things we find that our extraordinary God is indeed in all ordinary things. Rather than remaining within the darkness of our despair and keeping ourselves at a great distance from others, God calls us to come close. God awaits our cry for mercy and responds by making us whole, by restoring us to life with others. God keeps scanning the horizon, looking for those he has already healed, who will realize one day that they too are already forgiven, that they too are already being made whole, who will return and give thanks and praise to God.

In his memoire All I Could Never Be, Bev Nichols, recalls an experience of gratitude in his garden. “It was inevitable, I suppose, that in the garden I should begin, at long last, to ask myself what lay behind all this beauty. When I had the flowers all to myself, I was so happy that I wondered why at the same time I was haunted by a sense of emptiness.

It was as though I wanted to thank somebody, but had nobody to thank; which is another way of saying that I felt the need for worship. That is, perhaps, the kindliest way in which a person may approach his or her God.  There are endless theories on the origins of the religious impulse, but to me, Nichols says, it is simpler than that. It is summed up in one person at sundown, watching the crimson flowering of the sky and calling out to the great expanse before them — ‘Thank you. Thank you.’”  Wellness restored, peace and joy found in turning towards God.   Amen.  

October 4, 2025, Reflections on Luke 16:19-31 by The Reverend Carole Horton-Howe

Did you notice the cover art on the bulletin?  When I came across it as I was preparing this week, it just made me laugh. And I wanted to share it with you.  A little faith can have a huge impact. I think that’s what Jesus wants us to understand in this metaphor of the mustard seed.  Even a little faith, deployed fearlessly in love, can do great things.

A mustard seed isn’t a soft marshmallow-y kind of thing. It’s solid. Small but solid. Jesus’ words are meant to encourage the disciples by reminding them of what they already know, those solid moments of faith: Holy Scripture is full of examples of the strength of small groups of faithful people, and the power of seemingly small or insignificant people.

Remember David?  David slew the giant Goliath with a slingshot, against all odds. The rock that flattened Goliath was no doubt larger than a mustard seed. But it was just one rock aimed high by one boy with solid faith. And it was enough.

Remember the Canaanite woman seeking healing for her daughter. In a mustard seed-sized moment, she summoned enough courage to get in Jesus face to remind him that even the dogs eat the crumbs from under their master’s table and so her daughter and her illness were worthy of healing. “Woman, great is your faith,” Jesus told her.

In Acts, when the first followers were known to gather in small clusters and pray and share all things in common, great numbers came to them and became followers:  mustard seed-sized faith in themselves and their fellow Christians on the journey was all it took for others to see and be drawn to them.  So the message of faith’s victory is consistent in the Bible. And yet, the tasks seem overwhelming. How can a mustard seed of faith meet any kind of test?

The Order of the Daughters of the King has a motto that speaks beautifully to this:

For His Sake…I am but one, but I am one.

I cannot do everything, but I can do something.

What I can do, I ought to do.

What I ought to do, by the grace of God I will do.

Lord, what will you have me do?

It’s a worthy question.

I belonged to an interfaith clergy group in Temecula. They met monthly and frequently invited a speaker.  One month, there were two ladies from an organization that provides shelter and services to women with children. They tossed out incredible numbers: hundreds of families housed, thousands of meals served, tens of thousands of after-school snacks, bars of soap, disposable razors, Bibles, ping pong games, tutoring hours and all manner of things provided.

It was impressive…and a little bit discouraging. Driving back to the relatively small Episcopal church I was serving, I knew we could make a positive impact on the needs of the community but nowhere near like I’d just heard. I felt small. “Lord,” I asked “what will you have me do?”

Then God rescued me as God always does. That afternoon, a young man came to the doors of the church and asked if he could have some water and sleep that night under the eaves of the church. Of course I said yes. I got him the water, some fruit and snacks and invited him to use the restroom.

He told me that he had walked several miles in the last few days, how tired he was and how vulnerable he felt.  He said, “but then I looked up and saw the cross [on top of the building.] I was so relieved. I knew I was close to a church and that I’d be safe there.” 

That little bit of faith, that tiny mustard seed-sized faith, was all he needed. And it was reassuring to me that a place to rest, a few bottles of water and some food from our little church were all that he needed to reinforce his faith that God would provide for him and that everything was going to be okay. 

Like the Daughters, like David, like the Canaanite woman, and the traveler on his way, we can all say “Lord I’m here, I’m ready. I have a mustard seed – I’m not afraid to use it. So Lord, what will you have me do?” Amen.

The Sixteenth Sunday in Pentecost, September 28, 2025, Reflections on Luke 16:19-31 by The Reverend Carole Horton-Howe

Jesus said, "There was a rich man who was dressed in purple and fine linen and who feasted sumptuously every day. And at his gate lay a poor man named Lazarus, covered with sores, who longed to satisfy his hunger with what fell from the rich man's table; even the dogs would come and lick his sores. The poor man died and was carried away by the angels to be with Abraham. The rich man also died and was buried. In Hades, where he was being tormented, he looked up and saw Abraham far away with Lazarus by his side. He called out, `Father Abraham, have mercy on me, and send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue; for I am in agony in these flames.'

But Abraham said, `Child, remember that during your lifetime you received your good things, and Lazarus in like manner evil things; but now he is comforted here, and you are in agony. Besides all this, between you and us a great chasm has been fixed, so that those who might want to pass from here to you cannot do so, and no one can cross from there to us.' He said, `Then, father, I beg you to send him to my father's house-- for I have five brothers-- that he may warn them, so that they will not also come into this place of torment.' Abraham replied, `They have Moses and the prophets; they should listen to them.' He said, `No, father Abraham; but if someone goes to them from the dead, they will repent.' He said to him, `If they do not listen to Moses and the prophets, neither will they be convinced even if someone rises from the dead.'"

Sermon by the Rev. Carole Horton-Howe

Not long ago while I was driving to a pastoral call. And I came up to a red light at busy intersection where a man was standing precariously on a small center median and holding a sign saying “hungry anything helps.”  Now sadly that’s not an uncommon sight. But what was striking about this particular man were the physical challenges he had. He appeared to suffer from cerebral palsy or something similar. And so his ability to be out in that heat – it was a very hot day - and to move quickly to a car if someone wanted to hand him a dollar or two was clearly very difficult for him. He moved slowly.

The light changed. I was not in the lane next to him but was one lane over and a couple spots back from a pickup truck that I could see was loaded with a couple lawnmowers and some rakes and other equipment. So I assumed the driver had a lawn mowing service and was out taking care of customers.

When the light changed to green, the man in the truck was the first vehicle in the lane. But he didn’t move. He had lowered his window and was clearly having some conversation with the man holding the sign. The two chatted for what seemed like a a good long while.  And the man in the truck, reached over to the passenger seat and picked up a foil wrapped package, looked like maybe his lunch. He handed that out that window as the man with the sign made his way over to him. Then the driver reached back and got a bottle of water and handed that out the window to him as well. And with some parting words, the mane with the sign and the gifts he’s just received made his way back to the center median.  And the man in the pickup truck drove ahead.

Now all this was happening while the light was very green. And impatient LA drivers, who normally would have been honking like crazy, shouting and yelling at the driver of the truck. But this day in this place, nothing.  No one honked, no one yelled.  No one did anything but watch this scene unfold.

There was a sign on the side of the pick-up truck with the name of the company and phone number and I wish I’d thought at the time to jot it down or take a quick photo. Because I’d really wanted to call him.  And to thank him – not for sharing his food.  Because lots of us share something when we see folks in these situations. And goodness knows we at St. Matthias offer food to our neighbors in need at least 5 days a week.

I know people who routinely carry a few one dollar bills in their car to give to out.  And one friend carries some fast food gift cards to give. Because she figures that if someone is homeless, giving them an hour or two to go inside and being able to get something to eat while getting out of the heat or the cold, depending on the season, and having a place to rest might be better than giving them anything else. Everyone has their way of responding.

So I didn’t want to call and thank him because he gave the man food and water. I wanted to call and thank him for making everyone at that intersection that day have to stop, and have to pay attention to someone that otherwise might have been completely overlooked.

We have a wonderful collect in our Book of Common Prayer that reminds us to be attentive to those who could easily be forgotten.  And this poor man was one of those people who could easily have been forgotten but for a landscaper who dared to sit under that green light and carry on a conversation with him and share what he had. 

Why is that important?

Let’s take a look for a moment at our lesson from Luke’s gospel today. This is the second of two parables in the 16th chapter of Luke that Jesus recounts that start with the words “there was a rich man..”   He is an unidentified rich man, because we never seem to get his name. But in neither of these parables do things go well for the rich man. The rich man in the first parable that we heard last week is told, you can’t serve God and money.  You have to choose. One leads to life, one leads to death. Make a choice.

Today, the rich man, who has lived a full life, a wonderful life, somehow has not encountered poor Lazarus who lies just outside his gate. We don’t know the full story so we have to consider a couple scenarios: one is that he’s a really busy person who was inattentive, just didn’t realize Lazarus was there. He’s the oblivious type. That’s probably the best case scenario.

The worst case scenario for the rich man is that he was willfully negligent.  He knew Lazarus was there, he knew that a poor, hungry, sick man lying at his gate. He sees him but he just doesn’t feel like there’s any reason for him to be bothered by that fact. 

But regardless of how the story unfolds, Lazarus suffered terribly while the rich man did well. When everyone had died, there’s a conversation across the chasm. It’s not pretty, or comfortable. This is not the text we really love to encounter is it?  Luke has some hard, hard texts. This is one of them. What does father Abraham say to the rich man? “You’ve already had yours. Lazarus suffered greatly at your gate and he will be comforted now.” 

It’s hard to hear. It’s hard to think that maybe our inattention to the needs of others has consequences. But I think that is exactly what God is trying to tell us. Our inattention to the needs of others has consequences for them and for us.

And so, Lazarus has gone off to live for eternity in comfort with Father Abraham. The rich man says, “send him back, because my brothers need to know this. My brothers need to know what fate they will suffer if they don’t pay more attention.”  And Father Abraham dismisses this request out of hand. “They’ve had the prophets. How did they miss this?”

          The scriptures are filled with all kinds of reminders to us about God’s expectation that we will care for those around us. If we miss it, then we need to be more attentive. We need something to draw our attention to God’s call to us to serve all of God’s people. We need something to remind us. And maybe what we need to remind us isn’t the Lazarus of our time, because that may not do it. Sadly there are so many, the need is so great it can become numbing.

But maybe what we need to remind us is the guy in the truck holding everyone’s attention, ignoring the green light. The guy in the truck who draws our attention to a man that most folks would have driven by and not noticed at all.  We need that person who just brings to mind that we have been called to do and to be more than we ever expect to do and to be.

Next Sunday our Bishop will visit and confirm or receive members into our faith community.  And what a joyous time that will be! The Bishop will lead the confirmands and all of us in the Baptismal Covenant.  And one of the questions will be “will you seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving your neighbor as yourself?” The final question is “will you strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being.”  In other words, will you be attentive? Will you look outside your own gate and if you see Lazarus there, will you respond in love?

All of the questions asked in the baptismal covenant start out “will you…”  Of course they point us to the future and our future commitments. “Will you?” it asks. We’re not so concerned about the past but very much about the future. Confirmation is not a destination. It’s not an end point. It’s the beginning. It’s not so much about the journey so far – that’s significant for each of us, about how we have been formed. But confirmation is about the journey to come. “Will you…” the Bishop with ask.  And our answer to each question is “I will, with God’s help.”  We acknowledge that we all we do to expand the Kingdom of God here on earth is blessing by God and seen by God.  God is paying attention.

Every day that we continue to live and our spirits continue to grow and our lives continue to grow we’re in a new place. Next Sunday, take it all in – and ask yourselves “how is God calling me to live out that baptismal covenant? How do I help people in this place and beyond our doors? 

God has blessed and privileged this parish St. Matthias, to be able to be a pillar in the worshipping community here in uptown Whittier, to minister to all the people we encounter on Sunday mornings and all week long. This is our privilege – to be called, to be here and to serve.

We make it possible to help more and more of God’s people to find God’s love and God’s grace. It is Jesus who erases those chasms, who calls us to serve the world in his name and to draw others to him.  Amen.