September 27, 2026, The Eighteenth Sunday after Pentecost, 'Almighty Power' by the Reverend J.D. Neal, Deacon

Lectionary for the 18th Sunday after Pentecost: Exodus 17:1-7 / Ps 78:1-4, 12-16 / Philippians 2:1-13 / Matthew 21:23-32

I want to start today by drawing our attention back to the collect that we prayed together at the start of today’s service. Here’s how it went:

O God, you declare your almighty power chiefly in showing mercy and pity: Grant us the fullness of your grace, that we, running to obtain your promises, may become partakers of your heavenly treasure; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

“O God, you declare your almighty power chiefly in showing mercy and pity.” This collect struck me as I sat with our readings this week, because there is something so fundamental to the gospel, so basic to our life as a church community buried in this short sentence – yet something that is so easy to forget.

What do you think of, when you think of God? What comes to mind? For many of us church-y folks, I think words like ‘greatness’, ‘glory’, ‘omnipotence’, or ‘power’ are often near the top of the list. And this makes sense. In a few minutes, we will recite the Nicene Creed – which we do every week – and the Creed begins by having us affirm that “We believe in one God, the Father, the Almighty, maker of heaven and earth”. This idea of un-ending power is core to our belief in God, but what does it mean that God is all-powerful? What does God do with this power, and what does that tell us about who God is?

Most of the ‘powerful’ people in our culture use their power to selfishly control the world around them – to make themselves rich, to secure themselves, to accomplish their desires in society through political or economic force, to defeat and demean those who disagree with them, those who they consider their enemies. They tell us, out loud or implicitly, that we need to pull ourselves up by our bootstraps, work harder, be more productive, more successful, more powerful, more like them, if we are to have any value in their world. But God’s ‘almighty power’ is utterly unlike all this.

As Christians, the most fundamental thing that we believe God does with his un-ending power is to be Jesus. We believe not only that Jesus is God, but, as Paul tells us in Ephesians, that Jesus is “the fullness of him who fills all in all,” the clearest expression of God’s nature and character. In other words, if we have a question about what God is like, we look first and foremost to Jesus.

And what do we see when we look to Jesus? Someone “who, though he existed in the form of God,

    did not regard equality with God

    as something to be grasped,

 but emptied himself,

    taking the form of a slave,

    assuming human likeness.

And being found in appearance as a human,

 he humbled himself

    and became obedient to the point of death—

    even death on a cross.”

The power of God looks like humility, looks like Jesus emptying himself of glory, letting go of his almighty power, taking on pain and shame and eventually death to bring the life and love of God to a world full of people in desperate need of that love.

In our gospel this morning, Jesus confronts the chief priests in Jerusalem with a parable about two sons. The father asks them both to go work in his vineyard. One son says that he’ll do it, but never does. The other initially refuses, but eventually goes out and does the work – and Jesus affirms that the second son is the one who does the will of his father, regardless of the fact that he refused at first.

I think this brief parable reveals what Jesus is here for, reveals what the power of God looks like: no matter what we’ve done, how many times we resist or refuse, how many times we start and stumble and stop – God keeps reaching out, Jesus keeps inviting us back, making a way deeper into life with him. Like the Israelites in the desert, even when we forget God (which we will!), when we ignore the gifts we’ve received and all we can see and feel is the exhaustion and pain right in front of us, God still shows up. And when God shows up in our Exodus reading this morning, he does not shame or punish his grumbling, stumbling people, he just gives them water from the rock. He shows them that he has not forgotten them, that he hears them and will not abandon them.

Our Nicene Creed tells us that the first thing God does with his almighty power is to create all things, to make us. Jesus reveals that God made us to love us, that he does not stop loving us, and that the most important thing he does with his power is to keep reaching out and drawing us back into that love. That is the wellspring from which our life as Christians must flow, the fact that deep down at the root of things, we are loved by God – we do not have to strive to earn it and nothing we do can separate us from it.

A few of us from St. Matthias spent most of yesterday afternoon at the Whitter Pride festival down the street at Whittier College. Throughout the day, a few people came up to our booth and thanked us for being there. They shared that it was meaningful for them to see a church at the event, because their experience with churches in the past had made them believe that God did not love them, that they had to do and be something else in order for them to be acceptable to God and God’s people, let alone loved by God. They had been taught, like I was taught growing up, that God’s power is primarily for separating and judging and punishing those whom God doesn’t like – and it wounded them deeply. Imagine how different their lives might have been, how different our world might be, if their churches had taught them instead that “God declares his almighty power chiefly in showing mercy” – taught them that they were utterly loved by God, that they did not have to work or change to earn it, and that God would always be reaching out to invite them in.

May we at St. Matthias help one another, and every person that walks in those doors, to remember this love. Amen.

September 20, 2026, The Seventeenth Sunday after Pentecost, Reflections on Jonah 3:10-4:11 and Matthew 20:1-16-4:11 by the Reverend Carole Horton-Howe

Jonah 3:10-4:11

When God saw what the people of Nineveh did, how they turned from their evil ways, God changed his mind about the calamity that he had said he would bring upon them; and he did not do it.

But this was very displeasing to Jonah, and he became angry. He prayed to the Lord and said, “O Lord! Is not this what I said while I was still in my own country? That is why I fled to Tarshish at the beginning; for I knew that you are a gracious God and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love, and ready to relent from punishing. And now, O Lord, please take my life from me, for it is better for me to die than to live.” And the Lord said, “Is it right for you to be angry?” Then Jonah went out of the city and sat down east of the city, and made a booth for himself there. He sat under it in the shade, waiting to see what would become of the city.

The Lord God appointed a bush, and made it come up over Jonah, to give shade over his head, to save him from his discomfort; so Jonah was very happy about the bush. But when dawn came up the next day, God appointed a worm that attacked the bush, so that it withered. When the sun rose, God prepared a sultry east wind, and the sun beat down on the head of Jonah so that he was faint and asked that he might die. He said, “It is better for me to die than to live.”

But God said to Jonah, “Is it right for you to be angry about the bush?” And he said, “Yes, angry enough to die.” Then the Lord said, “You are concerned about the bush, for which you did not labor and which you did not grow; it came into being in a night and perished in a night. And should I not be concerned about Nineveh, that great city, in which there are more than a hundred and twenty thousand persons who do not know their right hand from their left, and also many animals?”

Matthew 20:1-16

Jesus said, “The kingdom of heaven is like a landowner who went out early in the morning to hire laborers for his vineyard. After agreeing with the laborers for the usual daily wage, he sent them into his vineyard. When he went out about nine o’clock, he saw others standing idle in the marketplace; and he said to them, ‘You also go into the vineyard, and I will pay you whatever is right.’ So they went. When he went out again about noon and about three o’clock, he did the same. And about five o’clock he went out and found others standing around; and he said to them, ‘Why are you standing here idle all day?’ They said to him, ‘Because no one has hired us.’ He said to them, ‘You also go into the vineyard.’ When evening came, the owner of the vineyard said to his manager, ‘Call the laborers and give them their pay, beginning with the last and then going to the first.’ When those hired about five o’clock came, each of them received the usual daily wage.

Now when the first came, they thought they would receive more; but each of them also received the usual daily wage. And when they received it, they grumbled against the landowner, saying, ‘These last worked only one hour, and you have made them equal to us who have borne the burden of the day and the scorching heat.’ But he replied to one of them, ‘Friend, I am doing you no wrong; did you not agree with me for the usual daily wage? Take what belongs to you and go; I choose to give to this last the same as I give to you. Am I not allowed to do what I choose with what belongs to me? Or are you envious because I am generous?’ So the last will be first, and the first will be last.”

Sermon by the Rev. Carole Horton-Howe

At the port of Jaffa near Tel Aviv there is a large sculpture of a fish. That fish is intended to depict the whale of a tale of Jonah’s misadventure. A little backstory for our OT reading today: God wanted Jonah to go to Ninevah, to preach to the people there, to urge them to repent and return to the Lord.  And Jonah didn’t think that sounded like such a good idea. Because the folks in Ninevah were not known as fine upstanding citizens.  “Those people are dangerous,” thinks Jonah. “I’m not going!”

He chose instead to board a boat headed for Tarshish. And you might remember the rest of that tale: a great storm arose and all the people on the boat blamed Jonah for that storm. They threw him overboard where he is swallowed by a great fish. But the fish spits him out onto the shore, where God’s says to Jonah, like I was saying, Jonah, go to Ninevah, get going.

So Jonah did go to do the work that God asked him to do in Ninevah. As a matter of fact, he did such a good job there that the people did indeed repent.  And when God saw their hearts had changed, God changed God’s mind and spared them.  And instead of rejoicing that their hearts were turned or thankful that God has spared them, Jonah gripes to God on a whole new level. “You spared them. You weren’t supposed to spare them. See I knew this would happen, that you are gracious and loving and kind.  And I’ve come all the way here and now you’ve spared them.” “That’s not fair!” we can almost hear him cry.

We don’t know if Jonah really thought that they weren’t deserving of God’s mercy or that they just needed to suffer – pay their dues so to speak - before they were shown mercy.  But Jonah had a real problem with God giving them a second chance. 

And there’s the great irony of this story, isn’t it? Because it’s only because of God’s mercy that Jonah himself knows about second chances. His life has been saved from complete disaster.  And his own second chance has allowed him to preach repentance and be part of the merciful redemption of the people of Ninevah. Somehow it seems that Jonah has forgotten that he is the beneficiary through God’s grace of that most precious of things: a second chance.

Intriguingly this text is linked in the lectionary today with this wonderful text from Matthew’s gospel – we have both an ungrateful Jonah and some ungrateful laborers in the vineyard. Jesus is telling a parable in the gospel today that likens the Kingdom of Heaven to a landowner who engages day laborers for his vineyard.  He goes to the marketplace early in the morning.  And rounds up workers to go work in the vineyard.  He apparently needs more workers throughout the day. 

He continues to go back to the marketplace – at 9:00, at noon, at 3 in the afternoon and at 5 in the afternoon when we think that the day is nearly over.  He keeps finding people at the marketplace when he goes back.  And finally he asks at the end of the day why there are people there waiting.  And the men that are standing there tell him that no one has hired them.

So the end of the day comes for this landowner and he tells his manager to pay everyone.  To pay those last ones that he rounded up first, but to pay everyone the daily wage those who worked only one hour and those who worked all day or an hour.  They are all to receive the same.  And those who had been there and working hard all day are disgruntled.  “Shouldn’t I be worth more than that guy?  I’ve been here all day working away in the heat of the day and the sun.  Shouldn’t I be worth more than the daily wage since I’ve been here all day?”

They may not have considered the fact that those workers who were still standing in the marketplace throughout the day – that there’s a reason for that.  Maybe they didn’t look as strong or as fit as the first folks that got hired.  Some of them might have been sick.  Maybe they were Gentiles or foreigners.  And so they just weren’t going to be the first ones to be chosen.

  I’m guessing that most of us have at some time or another worked an hourly wage job – a low hourly wage job - and so this story grates on us just a little bit. It’s our understanding that we punch a timecard so that the hours are recorded accurately and then we’re paid down to the minute for the hours we worked.  We receive our paycheck and make sure the payroll folks did it right. 

We’d go nuts if a co-worker, who worked an hour, got the same pay we did after working all day.  Right? “That’s not fair!” we would all say. We’d call the state labor board. We’d Google the Fair Labor Standards Act.  That’s the human way where fairness is based on budgets and laws, driven by the bottom-line needs and desires of employers, suppliers, customers.  That’s the human way. 

But we’re talking about God’s economy here.  Matthew’s Gospel today reminds us that we live in God’s economy, that by human standards God is a lousy bookkeeper.  And as a result, God’s mercy and grace are bottomless for everyone all the time.  We look for equity but all we find is generosity.

But for whatever reason, this landowner has decided that these last people who were passed over all day long, that they were going to get the full measure of grace and mercy too because the landowner was willing and able to be that generous to the folks who perhaps needed the most grace and mercy and generosity.

This, Jesus says, is what the Kingdom of Heaven is like – a place where the last, those who have been passed over and disregarded, those who have not known mercy and grace, will find all those things.  But those who were chosen first, those laborers who begrudged their brothers perhaps in the same way that Jonah was smarting at the idea that those Ninevites were not going to face punishment, instead receive mercy.

And here’s the question for all of us: can we live happily, joyfully when those around us are receiving grace and mercy?  Can we do so without comparing our situation with others? Have we sometimes forgotten how many times we have received that same grace and mercy ourselves?

If we’re feeling a little less than generous about God’s grace and mercy it may be that we fear that God’s mercy is finite, that it’s going to run out. Like there’s just not going to be enough, that when it comes to us maybe we’re not going to get our fair share of God’s mercy and grace. But that’s just not true. God’s mercy and grace are never going to run out, they are ABUNDANT. 

What we have realize it not just that we are receiving God’s love and mercy every single day, but we have an opportunity to see ourselves as God saw Jonah – the recipient of grace and mercy who is then sent forth to help others know those same things. Each day is a new opportunity for us to live as people who are grace and love-filled, to embody a grace and love-filled life to the world.

So I think this parable calls us to look at ourselves honestly and lovingly just as God looks as us. It invites us to turn from being judgmental and holding grudges when things don’t go the way we think they should, to let go of the stuff of our lives that stands between us and being a joy-filled and grateful people.

One of the sayings we hear now and then is “get over it.” There’s wisdom in that: to be in a mindset of working thorough things as best we can and then letting go. As long as we hold on, we continue to hurt others and ourselves. God forgives us and loves us and so we must forgive and love ourselves and others. Gratefulness is at the very heart of our faith.

There’s a hymn called “There’s A Wideness in God’s Mercy.”  I’ll share the last verse with you.  Because I think it reminds us of where we all stand as people who have benefitted so much:

“For the Love if God is broader than the measure of the mind. 

And the heart of the eternal is most wonderfully kind. 

If our love but were more faithful we would take God at his word. 

And our lives would be thanksgiving for the goodness of the Lord.” 

Amen.

September 13, 2026, The Sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost, Reflections on Matthew 18:21-35 by the Reverend Carole Horton-Howe

Sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost                                Matthew 18:21-35

Peter came and said to Jesus, “Lord, if another member of the church sins against me, how often should I forgive? As many as seven times?” Jesus said to him, “Not seven times, but, I tell you, seventy-seven times.

“For this reason the kingdom of heaven may be compared to a king who wished to settle accounts with his slaves. When he began the reckoning, one who owed him ten thousand talents was brought to him; and, as he could not pay, his lord ordered him to be sold, together with his wife and children and all his possessions, and payment to be made. So the slave fell on his knees before him, saying, ‘Have patience with me, and I will pay you everything.’ And out of pity for him, the lord of that slave released him and forgave him the debt. But that same slave, as he went out, came upon one of his fellow slaves who owed him a hundred denarii; and seizing him by the throat, he said, ‘Pay what you owe.’ Then his fellow slave fell down and pleaded with him, ‘Have patience with me, and I will pay you.’ But he refused; then he went and threw him into prison until he would pay the debt. When his fellow slaves saw what had happened, they were greatly distressed, and they went and reported to their lord all that had taken place. Then his lord summoned him and said to him, ‘You wicked slave! I forgave you all that debt because you pleaded with me. Should you not have had mercy on your fellow slave, as I had mercy on you?’ And in anger his lord handed him over to be tortured until he would pay his entire debt. So my heavenly Father will also do to every one of you, if you do not forgive your brother or sister from your heart.”

 

Sermon by the Rev. Carole Horton-Howe

I’ve often wondered, as I come back to this particular text from Matthew’s gospel when Peter asks Jesus how many times he must forgive the person who sinned against him, did he have a face in mind, a particular incident in mind?  

Peter asks, “seven times, isn’t that enough? Seven times should be enough, shouldn’t it?” Afterall seven is a pretty perfect scriptural number - that time during which God could complete creation of the world and rest. So perhaps Peter is thinking that the seventh time that he is called on to forgive that person should be enough.  And he, too, should be entitled to some rest.

Likely Jesus’s response took him aback. Seven times is not enough, Jesus tells him. Seventy-seven times might be getting a little bit closer. Might be.

The gospel can be hard. The past 2 weeks and today we are being brought face to face with some hard texts from Matthew’s gospel and from Paul’s letters to the Romans – hard in the sense that these texts affect us all and remind us of some things that we are called to know about ourselves as Christians.

We are told again and again that we are called to forgive and to love our neighbors as ourselves.

We are told that we are to bless those who persecute us.

We are told that we are not to be overcome by evil but we are to overcome evil with good.

We are told that love does no wrong to a neighbor. But love sure does go to some awfully great lengths to be reconciled with neighbor and with God. And in these last couple of weeks we’ve looked at some pretty powerful contemporary accounts:

An Amish man who wakes every day to the very real struggle to caring for his disabled daughter who was injured at the hands of a man who didn’t even know her.

In the Bibliophiles group a couple weeks ago we read stories of people wrongfully convicted of terrible crimes based on so-called expert testimony, corrupt police and prosecutors or the inaccurate identification by traumatized victims. In one case, an innocent man spent 27 years on death row and was hours away from death when a witness at his trial admitted he had perjured himself after being threatened by a corrupt prosecutor. The truth set him free.

But in today’s lesson from Matthew, we find Jesus telling a very clear parable about why it is important for us to be a forgiving people:

A servant is called upon to settle a tremendous debt, an unimaginably large debt, with the king. He is unable to do so. And he begs the king to have mercy on him. And out of pity, out of compassion, the king does just that.

          But later, when another servant who owed the first servant a much smaller debt was unable to repay it, the man who had been given so much mercy and compassion showed none.  And the king’s wrath poured out on the man who had received great mercy but in turn was unable to forgive. And so Jesus makes the point – if we want to be on the receiving end of forgiveness and mercy then we, too, must be forgiving, merciful people.

Now back to Peter’s question about how many times we should forgive, I’d answer it this way: as many times as we would hope to be forgiven ourselves. And theologian N.T. Wright, a Bishop in the Church of England offers this perspective: “if you’re still counting how many times you’ve forgiven someone, you’re not really forgiving them at all, but simply postponing revenge. Seventy times seven is a typical bit of Jesus’ teasing. What he means is “don’t even think about counting, just do it.’”

Now notice something about this group of texts for the last 3 Sundays: 

These texts are not addressed to the person who has committed the wrong. They are not directed to the person who needs to ask for forgiveness.  The texts are directed to those who have been wronged and who need to be forgiving. If we would ask for forgiveness for ourselves for our own sins, so we must be a people who are willing to forgive the sins and offenses of our neighbors.

We forgive so our own hearts will not harden.

We forgive so we will not continue to suffer because we have been wronged. 

We forgive so that we can find healing and peace.

Now to be clear, to forgive does not mean we need to place ourselves in harm’s way.  We are not required to allow anyone who would cause us harm to continue to do so, to continue to cause harm. For us to forgive is to acknowledge their humanity and our humanity and our collective need for God’s mercy, for God’s forgiveness.

To forgive really may mean surrendering those who have wronged us to God. In the words of composer Renee Clausen, forgiving really may mean to condemning our neighbor to God’s mercy as I mentioned last week.  God did not promise to spare us from the consequences of our own misdeeds.

We are always given a choice. and scriptures shows us the history of those who chose to live as unforgiven people and so be separated from God and from neighbor. God’s desire for us is not for us to live in separation from God and one another but to be bound in love with one another.

A few days ago we remembered saints among us in the commemoration of the 25th anniversary of the 9-11 attacks in New York, Washington DC and Shanksville, PA and those who sacrificed their lives to save the lives of those who left their homes that morning never assuming they would be harmed.  Our Presiding Bishop, the Most Rev. Sean Rowe sent a letter to all diocese that shows what the path forward once forgiveness is truly given.

Dear People of God in The Episcopal Church:

Twenty-five years on, we live in a world shaped by 9/11. Our lament will never end for those who died in the attacks, those who gave of their lives in the days and weeks following, and those who still suffer. Our grief is particularly sharp on this historic anniversary.

We also mourn that, since that day in 2001, our common life has been deformed by division and fear of one another. Sometimes it seems that the chasm has become unbridgeable.

As Episcopalians, however, we know there is a better way. We saw it then in the extraordinary witness of first responders, and especially in the heroic relief ministry at our own St. Paul’s Chapel in lower Manhattan. We see it now across our church in countless ministries of reconciliation, peacemaking, and in our commitment to interfaith cooperation with our Muslim siblings in faith.

Even in the face of unimaginable evil and suffering, God calls us to be repairers of the breach and restorers of paths to dwell in. I pray that this commemoration of 9/11 renews our commitment to answer that call in our own lives and communities, and together as the body of Christ in the world.

The Most. Rev. Sean Rowe
Presiding Bishop
The Episcopal Church

 

In remembering, we are reminded what it means to be community that loves one another, that is willing to sacrifice for one another, willing to look past all outer barriers that might separate us and see ourselves only as God’s people – a people forgiven and forgiving. And a people united to one another in love.

Amen.  

August 30, 2026, The Fourteenth Sunday after Pentecost, Reflections on Matthew 16:21-28 by the Reverend Carole Horton-Howe

Jesus began to show his disciples that he must go to Jerusalem and undergo great suffering at the hands of the elders and chief priests and scribes, and be killed, and on the third day be raised. And Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him, saying, “God forbid it, Lord! This must never happen to you.” But he turned and said to Peter, “Get behind me, Satan! You are a stumbling block to me; for you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.”

Then Jesus told his disciples, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it. For what will it profit them if they gain the whole world but forfeit their life? Or what will they give in return for their life?

“For the Son of Man is to come with his angels in the glory of his Father, and then he will repay everyone for what has been done. Truly I tell you, there are some standing here who will not taste death before they see the Son of Man coming in his kingdom.”

Romans 12:9-21

Let love be genuine; hate what is evil, hold fast to what is good; love one another with mutual affection; outdo one another in showing honor. Do not lag in zeal, be ardent in spirit, serve the Lord. Rejoice in hope, be patient in suffering, persevere in prayer. Contribute to the needs of the saints; extend hospitality to strangers.

Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse them. Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep. Live in harmony with one another; do not be haughty, but associate with the lowly; do not claim to be wiser than you are. Do not repay anyone evil for evil, but take thought for what is noble in the sight of all. If it is possible, so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all. Beloved, never avenge yourselves, but leave room for the wrath of God; for it is written, “Vengeance is mine, I will repay, says the Lord.” No, “if your enemies are hungry, feed them; if they are thirsty, give them something to drink; for by doing this you will heap burning coals on their heads.” Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.

Sermon by the Rev. Carole Horton-Howe

There isn't a single day that Christ King isn't reminded of the October 2006 morning that Charles Carl Roberts IV entered a one-room Amish schoolhouse in Nickel Mines, Pennsylvania opening fire on a group of female students. King's daughter, Rosanna, six years old at the time, was one of the youngest students at the school that day. Roberts injured five students and took the lives of five others before taking his own life.  

Rosanna survived the attack but was permanently wheelchair-bound. She died at age 18. The rest of her short life, she could not speak and required round-the-clock care. For her father, each day was a new day in which he had to find the strength to overcome his own demons. Each day was a new day in which he fought back his anger. Each day was a new day in which he worked to forgive.

It would have been easy for him and any other member of the Amish community there at Nickel Mines to allow anger to consume them. Instead, shortly after the identity of the shooter was known, the Amish community visited Charles Carl Roberts’ parents who lived nearby to offer their sympathy to them. They, too, had lost a child that day. The Amish created a human wall to surround his family on the day of his burial so that the family would be shielded and given privacy.

Rosanna’s family allowed Robert's mother, Terri, to help with Rosanna's care for a number of years until she herself was diagnosed with a terminal illness. In turn, they cared for her until her own death.

The Amish community refused to give in to the temptation of allowing anger, pain, grief or any kind of desire for vengeance to consume them. Instead they chose the road less traveled which for them became a path to healing.  But it was the daily work for Christ King every time he looked at his daughter to once again be reminded of what that attack had cost her and his family. 

The truth of the matter is that we too easily fall into anger and bitterness toward those who have wronged us in some way. We want to get even. We want the wrong- doers to pay for what they have done to hurt us. And the desire to seek our own vengeance can quickly allow evil to overcome us.

In his letter to the Christians in Rome, Paul knows his audience even though he's never met them face to face. He knows that the Christians in Rome know a whole lot about the unrelenting persecution of those who are believers. He understands the struggles between Gentile and Jewish converts to this new faith. And he also knows that Christians cannot allow themselves to harbor the same evil thoughts toward one another that they may see reflected in the world around them

And so in our lesson today we hear Paul telling these worshipers not to be overcome by evil, not to hate what is evil but to hold fast to what is good and to overcome evil with good. These verses would function perfectly as a modern day group covenant for almost any church ministry. They give structure and the core values on which both ministries of the church and individual Christians are built. There is a mix of “the usual suspects” along with suggestions that promise to stretch individuals and faith communities beyond what might seem logical, practical or even “good” to them.

Few church members would argue with Paul’s encouragement to hate evil, to persevere in prayer or to celebrate with the joyful and weep with the grieving.
Everyone is on board with that and can feel confident about that. The more complicated part of this text concerns our relationships with those whom we find hard to love. Paul’s call to “hold fast to what is good” flies in the face of popular culture. To say that our core values include not only extending hospitality to strangers but extending blessing, feeding and refusing to take vengeance on enemies will put a strain on our own spirituality and on relationships with those outside the faith community. This passage is not a greeting card slogan but a call to costly discipleship.

How do we hear his words about actively blessing those who persecute us? How can we satisfy ourselves that God's vengeance is more than enough? How can we bring ourselves to feed, to clothe, to show kindness to our enemies? It's the daily work Christ King and the entire Amish community at Nickel Mines. And ours as well. It's an affirmative decision by each of us as individuals to walk in faith with God. It's making the hard decision for a daily journey of choosing the Christ path knowing it is the only way to save our own souls.

Composer Rene Clausen was commissioned to create a musical work in memory of the victims of the 9-11 terrorist attacks. His work, called “Memorial,” includes these words:

“Gracious and loving God,

Pour forth your mercy upon us all.

We pray for our enemies,

All those who hate us,

We condemn them to your mercy.

If there be any grain of hatred in us,

Wash us clean and cleanse us,

Move us to the common ground of Your Being, O God.”

Notice what he says: we condemn them to God's mercy. Rather than our own vengeance, we are encouraged to pray that our hearts be cleansed and purified from hatred that would threaten to engulf us and snuff the very life from us. 

I commend his text to you because I believe that this is a prayer worthy of our daily reflection and contemplation both in response to global and personal events. When we feel divisiveness in our world, we need more than ever to strengthen our relationship with God and seek God's mercy upon us, cleansing our lives of bitterness and hatred so that we may renew right relationship with one another.

It is only when we are able to renew right relationship with one another that we can, without estrangement and without barriers, go about doing the work that God has given us to do -- laboring in the vineyard together supporting the weak, caring for the afflicted, feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, showing mercy to the prisoner, and loving all God’s people because God first loved us.

 Amen 

August 23, 2026, The Thirteenth Sunday after Pentecost, Reflections on Matthew 16:13-20 by the Reverend Carole Horton-Howe

When Jesus came into the district of Caesarea Philippi, he asked his disciples, “Who do people say that the Son of Man is?” And they said, “Some say John the Baptist, but others Elijah, and still others Jeremiah or one of the prophets.” He said to them, “But who do you say that I am?” Simon Peter answered, “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.” And Jesus answered him, “Blessed are you, Simon son of Jonah! For flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but my Father in heaven. And I tell you, you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of Hades will not prevail against it. I will give you the keys of the kingdom of heaven, and whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven.” Then he sternly ordered the disciples not to tell anyone that he was the Messiah.

 

Sermon by the Rev. Carole Horton-Howe

There’s a good story that makes the rounds now and then.  It may have actually happened or it may be a kind of church urban legend.  But there is truth in it.  It goes something like this: a man walks out of church on a Sunday morning following a rousing worship service and bumps into a man on the sidewalk. He doesn’t recognize him as a member of the congregation, he’s a stranger staring up at the church steeple and the cross looking a little lost and a little curious.  He says “excuse me” and steps around the stranger but the stranger stops him and says, “tell me,” pointing to the doors of the church he had attended most of his life. “What is it that you believe in there?” The church member starts to answer and then realizes that he doesn’t quite have an answer, or does not know how to put it into words.  As he’s trying to compose something the stranger says, “Never mind, sorry I bothered you.” And he walks away.

It did bother him.  And I think it would bother all of us if we tried on the fly to think what we would answer in his place. Why do we go to church?  Can we articulate what it is that we believe in here?  Would you recite the Nicene Creed?  Probably not something a man on the sidewalk would stick around to hear all of. Would you say that Jesus is my Lord?  Sure -- but what does that mean to someone on the sidewalk? What is it that we believe?

In today’s lesson, Jesus is the man on the sidewalk, the one who asks the question about what it all means, about what he means to us. In the lesson, Jesus is talking to his closest friends and disciples.  They’ve watched him feeding thousands, teaching about the difference between words and deeds, and last week we heard about his healing a Canaanite woman’s daughter.  And then he quizzes the disciples.  We see him do this now and then. And Jesus doesn’t hesitate to let them know when they have not understood him or his mission. So it’s easy to imagine that they might be a little anxious when he gathers them together. 

“Who do people say the Son of Man is?” Jesus lobs them a softball – the disciples can repeat what they have heard: Elijah, John the Baptist come back to life, or one of the prophets.  There is no great risk to them in repeating what they’ve heard. Jesus confirms none of these. Instead he asks that pivotal question, eternally probing hearts through the ages and still grabs on to us: “but who do you say that I am?” Who knows how long they stood in silence before Peter answered.  The Greek pronoun “you” is emphatic: it is both singular and plural. Simon Peter answers on behalf of the group.

Peter’s declaration about Jesus is largely about identity. The passage is the only account in the New Testament that provides an explanation of the renaming of Simon as Peter. When Simon answers “You are the Messiah, the Son of the Living God” Jesus responds with a blessing.  And “you are Peter (petros in Greek) and on this rock I will build my church and the gates of Hades will not prevail against it.

Jesus’s statement is not mere simile, Jesus does not tell Peter he is “like a rock.” Instead, he gives him a new name and with it a new identity. It is the promise of Christ to build his church despite the forces of evil and death arrayed again it. 

And although Peter seems to have passed Jesus’s “test” about his own identity since he heaped accolated upon him, there may be other dynamics involved.

The African concept of Ubuntu has its origins in the Bantu languages of southern Africa.  It represents an ancient understanding of being, existence and reality summed up in the statement: “I am because we are; and since we are, therefore I am.” Looking through the lens of Ubuntu, the individual does not and cannot exist alone. We each owe our existence to other people, both past generations and contemporaries. Each person is part of a whole. The community creates the individual, and the individual relies on the group. This philosophical understanding exits in one form or another in every traditional ethnic group on the African continent and would have been consistent with the prevailing understanding of identity formation in Jesus’ day and location.

Might Jesus have been relying on his community of disciples to help him on his way?  Might he have been seeking a conferral of his Messianic identity from the community that knew him best?  Interestingly of the 20 times in Matthew that the word Messiah is used, Jesus never refers to himself as Messiah until after Peter’s declaration.

This passage describes a pivotal occasion in the lives of both Jesus and Peter. Each shares his insights with the other, affirms the other’s identity and prepares the other for the ministry that lies ahead.  Jesus and Peter help each other assume their rightful identities. This is the principle of Ubuntu: “I am because we are.” 

It is by grace alone that Peter makes his declaration of Jesus identity. But a few sentences later, Jesus will stub his toe on the rock that is Peter when Peter begins to argue with Jesus about what will happen in Jerusalem. “Get behind me Satan” Jesus will say to him and accuse him of being a stumbling block on Jesus’ path. How can he be both rock with the right answer and the devil in the path at the same time?  The fact is that Peter is impulsive and opinionated and ultimately denies knowing Jesus at all.  So he may not exhibit the flawless character, the intellectual or spiritual depth we’d like to see at the initial leadership of our church.

Barbara Brown Taylor says that she is glad to hear that Peter’s in charge of heaven’s gates. Someone like Peter, she says, may understand someone like her, someone who finds answers hard to come by, who often finds it easier and safer to repeat other people’s answers because her own do not sound good enough. Peter understands someone who goes ahead and says things and then regrets them or makes brave promises and then loses heart saying not once but 3 times, “I do not know that man.”  

If Peter’s declaration is the rock on which the church is built, then there is hope for all of us because he is one of us.  And perhaps the answer that Jesus seeks is not so much what we speak but how we live our lives.

Author Deborah Meister also has a pivotal question of her own for us to consider:  “What do our words and actions say to others about who they are? Do they say, "Move over; get out of my way?" Or do they say, "You are precious to me, so beautiful that I am willing to offer my time, my care, and myself, so that you may flourish, too?"

So the next time someone asks you what you believe, go ahead and give it a try. You may not know who’s asking the question but you know whose you are and who you are answering.  It may not flow the way you’d like but the important thing is to try – not only to say what you believe but to live it too.    Amen.

 

August 16, 2026, The Twelfth Sunday after Pentecost, 'Great Is Your Faith!', Reflections on Matthew 15: 10-20, 21-28 by the Reverend J.D. Neal, Deacon

When we meet Jesus in our gospel this morning, he has been having a rough time. His cousin John has recently been executed, the people of his hometown (Nazareth) have rejected him, and most recently he has been caught up in another fight with a group of Pharisees and scribes who come from Jerusalem to try to prosecute Jesus and his disciples for not washing their hands while refusing to engage with the substance of God’s commands. He is disappointed, frustrated at the ways God’s people seem unwilling to hear the heart of his teachings – and even his own disciples still don’t seem to be getting it!

Perhaps this is why Jesus relocates for awhile. Here’s what happens. Matthew tells us in v. 21 that Jesus leaves the heart of Judea and travels far to the northwest. Here, a Canaanite woman seeks Jesus out and begins shouting after him, “Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David; my daughter is tormented by a demon.” Jesus doesn’t respond. He ignores her shouts and keeps walking. Eventually, the disciples get tired of her following and shouting after them and ask Jesus to send her away. Jesus tells them that he “was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel”, and does not send her away. The woman persists, she kneels before Jesus asking for help, and Jesus initially refuses, telling her that he cannot “take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs”. She throws his refusal back at him, saying “even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table,” and Jesus relents, praising the greatness of her faith and healing her daughter.

Now, before I continue, let me pause for a moment. I want to acknowledge that this passage is, in my view at least, the most difficult passage in the gospels. Jesus’ response to this woman seems cruel. He equates her with a dog, which is a slur that Jews of the day used to refer to ‘unclean’ Gentiles. There are hundreds of years of commentaries on this passage that try to explain away the discomfort of this moment, and none of them seem satisfying to me. Who is this Jesus that speaks so harshly to a woman in need? I don’t know how to resolve this tension, and a part of our work as followers of Jesus is to keep wrestling with the Scriptures that make us uncomfortable, to grapple with them over and over searching for what God might have for us in these difficult spaces, not to wrap them up neatly in a bow.

So I’m not going to focus on trying to resolve this tension for us today. Instead, I’m going to focus on what sticks out to me as I wrestle with the details of this passage.

One of the first things I notice is that Jesus has traveled to one of the borderlands between Israel and the rest of the world, to the area of Tyre and Sidon. This is an interesting place for Jesus to travel. This region is not a part of Judea, this is Gentile country. Not only that, but this area has a very bad rap in the history of God’s people. Tyre & Sidon are Canaanite cities on the borders of Northwest Israel, the home of people who were Israel’s persistent, historical enemies. These cities were dominated by Ba’al worship, and in the Hebrew Scriptures they come to represent gateways for idolatry and corruption spreading into Israel through Canaanite intermarriage and influence. Jezebel, the one-time queen of Israel who becomes an archetype of corruption and idolatry in the prophets and in Revelation – Jezebel is Sidonian. This was not a place that devout Jews went for vacation.

And in this unlikely place, Jesus encounters an unlikely person, a “Canaanite woman”. This is an odd way for Matthew to describe this woman, because “Canaanites” as a distinct ethnic and political group don’t really exist at this point. This woman may be descended from the historical people that inhabited this region, but she’s no more a ‘Canaanite’ than I’m a ‘viking’ because my dad’s family is partially Danish. Matthew seems to be describing her this way to associate her with the historical enemies of God’s people, to highlight her ‘otherness’ from Jesus and how surprising it is that she calls him “Lord”. She also calls him by a very Jewish title, “Son of David,” seeming to include herself in the people of God for whom this title would be so resonant.

And Jesus, for the first and only time in Matthew’s gospel, does not respond. No teaching, no rebuke, no miracle - he just keeps walking. When the disciples ask him to send her away, he doesn’t do that either. He still won’t speak to her, instead answering the disciples and saying to them that he was “sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel”. Jesus has said this phrase before, when he sent the twelve disciples out in pairs to minister throughout Israel. Interestingly, Jesus reveals that just as he sent the disciples in that earlier passage, he himself has been sent. The Father has given Jesus a mission for this time of ministry, and that mission apparently has boundaries.

Though Matthew’s gospel contains hints that the mission of Jesus will have implications for the rest of the gentile world, it is not until after the resurrection in Matthew 28 that Jesus receives “authority” over all the earth and sends his disciples to spread the good news of God’s kingdom to the whole world. Even when Jesus heals the Roman centurion’s servant in Matthew 8, he does it in the midst of a crowd of Jews, and turns the healing into a lesson for them. For now, it seems, Jesus’ work is meant to be limited to the house of Israel.

The tone of Jesus’ silence reads a bit differently to me after I notice this. Rather than simply giving the woman a cold shoulder, I wonder if Jesus feels stuck. He is not supposed to minister to the Gentiles yet, but he also can’t make himself send her away. Even before they speak, this woman’s plea, her love for her daughter and her faith in him, seem to have a hold on Jesus that grates against the boundaries of his mission to Israel.

When they do speak, the woman seems to get the better of Jesus. Like Abraham or Moses, bartering with God, this Canaanite woman reaches across the boundaries between them, having the boldness to argue with the one she calls ‘Lord’ for the sake of someone she loves. She takes the hit of being called a ‘dog’ and flips that insult on its head to insist that she and her daughter also ought to receive God’s mercy. And she wins, not only receiving healing for her daughter, but also receiving Jesus’ praise for the greatness of her faith, in contrast to the ‘ye of little faith’ Peter received in last week’s gospel.

What was it about her faith that was so great it caused Jesus to break the boundaries of his mission and let God’s mercy flow to this woman and her daughter? She seems to know something central about God that so many of the Jews around Jesus have forgotten. God desires mercy. She knows God’s mercy, and she insists that the love and power of God could not be ultimately withheld from a suffering girl. She was willing to cross the boundaries of hostility that divided her ancestors from Jesus’ people, to endure Christ’s terrible silence, to risk embarrassment and ridicule to demand that Christ show her the mercy of God.

She knows what Abraham and Moses and the prophets knew, that God is willing to change his mind. That her persistence and tenacity and love for her suffering daughter mean something to God, that her pleas could cause God’s love to burst the boundaries that had been set for Jesus mission and bring forward a foretaste of that mercy that would flow to all peoples in the new age after Jesus’ resurrection… because mercy is at the very heart of God.

If, as Rev. Carole preached last week, Peter stepping out of the boat onto the waters is an image of how God’s compassion meets us in the turbulent realities of our mixture of faith and fear, then the Canaanite woman is an image of what our faith can become: Brave. Tenacious. Willing to risk disappointment and pain for the sake of someone in need. Willing to hold God to God’s promises and insist that he make good on them. Persisting even when our pleas are met with silence and our doubts grow loud in our ears. Trusting, knowing somehow that at the heart of all things is a God whose love is so great that he will hear us and meet us with mercy when we cry out to him. 

May we all, with God’s help, come to have a faith like hers. Amen.


August 9, 2026, The Eleventh Sunday after Pentecost, Reflections on Matthew 14:22-33 by the Reverend Carole Horton-Howe

Today we find ourselves almost in the same place that we found ourselves last Sunday before the feeding of the five thousand. Jesus is trying to steal a little bit of time away for himself, time to pray. He was trying to get away from those crowds that were besieging him. And he had so much love and compassion for them that he healed them and then fed them nourishing their bodies, nourishing their souls.

 And now that that time has passed, Jesus very likely spent himself. He’s heading away for a time to pray. And he sends the disciples on ahead – you all go ahead take the boat go to the other side of the sea; I’ll catch up with you.

But a storm comes up. By the time Jesus catches up with them they are far from shore and he comes walking across the sea. Not surprisingly, the disciples are frightened by all of that. Jesus identifies himself and reminds them not to be afraid.

And Peter -- oh dear Peter -- needs some proof. “If it really is you, Jesus, if it really is you then you command me to come walk out there with you.” “Okay, Peter, come on.” And Peter starts walking with some real confidence: I got this, I can walk on water. But then he notices that there's really a storm going on around him. He looks around and realizes that this is scarier than he had anticipated. And in his fear he begins to sink. Jesus, of course, is right there.

But it's what happens after they climb into the boat. this storm that has been raging suddenly ceases and then we're told the disciples now they realize this is truly the son of God because he commands a whole lot more than we ever imagined.

I want to talk about Peter for a moment because isn't Peter a lot like us.  “Prove yourself to me, God.” Isn't that a lot like us? When we want to embark on an ambitious undertaking? “Prove yourself God.” We start out pretty confidently but then when we look around us and we see the threats and the storms that surround us, we forget where we are, that we are in God's hands. We fear and we sink because our focus is on the storm.

Jesus says to Peter, “why did you doubt?” This is the question none of us wants to have to answer. And yet we ask ourselves the same words. We might ask ourselves,  “why can’t I trust God? Why am I afraid to let go and let God care for me? I believe I am in God’s hands and that they are good hands, but then I face a setback in life and as I have to navigate through it, my faith goes with it and I begin to sink.”

I believe that God is present and active in the world, but terrible things keep happening. Read the front page of the LA Times or scroll through your online news feed. It seems storms are never ending. I believe in life after death and a bright future  with God but then I get sick, or someone I love gets sick. I pray with great specificity for a miracle but it does not come and the waves creep up around my legs and I begin to sink.

Why do we doubt? Because we are afraid. Because the sea is vast and we are so small. Because so much of life is beyond our control and we are so helpless in its grip. Why do we doubt?  Because we are afraid even when we do have faith.  Like Peter, we have a little and a little is better than nothing, even thought ere are times when it does not seem enough to save us.

Like Peter we take a few steps and when we sink, we cry out “Lord, save me!” and he does – giving us both his hand and his rebuke: O you of little faith, why do you doubt? Hearing that, most of us count ourselves failures.  But I wonder, if we can imagine the story going the other way?  Theologian Barbara Brown Taylor offers this perspective to consider:

What if Peter had not sunk? What if he got out of the boat and, full of confidence, right away started to glide across the water toward Jesus?  What if, then, the rest of the disciples all followed after him – piling out of the boat after Peter and all of them in perfect faith, frolicked on the water oblivious of the storm raging around them?

It would be a different story.  It might even be a better story.  But it would not be a story about us. The truth about us is more complicated: the truth about us is that we obey and we fear, we walk and we sink, we believe and we doubt.  But it isn’t like we do only one and not the other.  We do both. Our faith and our doubt are not mutually exclusive. They both exist in us – at times lifting us up and other times pulling us down, giving us courage and feeding our fears.

This is why we need Jesus. Our fears and doubts may paralyze us but they can also make us cry out for his saving presence. If we never sank, if we could walk on water all by ourselves, we would not need a savior.  Our doubts, fearsome as they are, remind us of who we are, and whose we are and whom we nee din our lives to save our lives.

When we sink, as Peter does, as we all do, our Lord reaches out and catches us, responding first with grace and then with judgment asking “why did you doubt” – but never with rejection. He returns us to the boat, knowing full well that the only reason we are in the boat in the first place is because we believe or want to believe and because we mean to follow him throu all our doubtful days.

 All at once, the wind ceases, the waves calm and in the awesome silence of that night Peter and the other disciples are able to recognize God at work. Because there's power in quiet, there's power in stillness. We need the stillness and we need the quiet to be able to discern God's presence in our lives.

Jesus knows how important it is to find that quiet and that silence and that stillness. That's why this text opens with Jesus going away by himself to pray, to know the quiet. Because it's not in the middle of the storms that we can hear our creator speaking to us.

It's not in the middle of our busyness and urgency. But it's in the quiet. It's when we stop. It's when we are still that we can hear the Creator and know that the Creator is God.  Amen.

August 2, 2026, The Tenth Sunday after Pentecost, Reflections on Matthew 14:13-21 by the Reverend Carole Horton-Howe

“Jesus withdrew in a boat to a deserted place by himself. But when the crowds heard it, they followed him on foot from the towns. When he went ashore, he saw a great crowd; and he had compassion for them and cured their sick. When it was evening, the disciples came to him and said, “This is a deserted place, and the hour is now late; send the crowds away so that they may go into the villages and buy food for themselves.” Jesus said to them, “They need not go away; you give them something to eat.” They replied, “We have nothing here but five loaves and two fish.” And he said, “Bring them here to me.” Then he ordered the crowds to sit down on the grass.

Taking the five loaves and the two fish, he looked up to heaven, and blessed and broke the loaves, and gave them to the disciples, and the disciples gave them to the crowds. And all ate and were filled; and they took up what was left over of the broken pieces, twelve baskets full. And those who ate were about five thousand men, besides women and children.”

Sermon by the Rev. Carole Horton-Howe

There are only two miracle stories that are told in all four gospels: we hear one of them today, the miracle of the feeding of the five thousand. And while Matthew, Mark, Luke and John all add different nuances to the story, its importance is underscored by the fact that all four of them felt the need to share it with us.

Matthew's recounting of the story takes us with Jesus to the shores of the Sea of Galilee. He's retreating from the crowds who have pressed in upon him. His reputation has preceded him: people have come knowing that in the sea of hopelessness Jesus is their hope for restoration to health and to community.

And we're told that Jesus had compassion for them. This is particularly important because we know from the verses preceding today’s gospel that Jesus and his disciples have just learned that John the Baptist, who is family, friend and prophet to them, has been killed on the whim of a scorned mistress of Herod. If there was anyone who needed compassion surely it was the disciples and Jesus himself, grief stricken at this sudden, brutal loss. In spite of their own grief, their attention was on this crowd of thousands of people, people no doubt marveling over the healings that had just taken place among them, their bodies being made whole again.

But now it's getting late. They've been following Jesus a long way for a long time. They have to be tired. They have to be hungry. We can just hear the disciples: “let them go now so they can go back to the villages and get some food.” And Jesus tells the disciples something extraordinary: “they don’t need to leave, you feed them.” There's the pivot point, there’s where the lesson begins and where about many years of controversy about it begins. “You feed them,” Jesus tells them and tells all of his followers through the ages.

And the disciples who at that moment are thinking practically and pragmatically – and probably out of their own exhaustion and despair - respond to Jesus, “but all we have are these five loaves and two fish. That's all we've got.”  They’ve left God out of the process. God incarnate is standing among them, but they’ve left God’s goodness and power out of the mix.

In our gospel lesson, Jesus asks the crowd to sit down. This is no small thing. It’s not just an invitation to get comfortable, it’s an invitation to get ready. When a rabbi, a teacher, asked you to sit with him, something extraordinary was about to happen. You were about to experience the gifts that the teacher had to offer, life-changing and extraordinary. It’s like you just got an acceptance letter to a PhD program at Stanford with an expert in your field of interest.  And what the crowd saw and heard was Jesus “taking the five loaves and the two fish, looking up to heaven” and calling for God’s blessing.

Why is this a pivot point? Because here the theological world divides itself into two camps in trying to explain the miracle, trying to determine what’s the real miracle happening here? No one doubts that a miracle occurred, they just interpret it differently.

Some will tell you that the miracle was the softening of people’s hearts, their compassion for their companions in the crowd that day, that they actually did have food with them in pockets and bags, meager amounts of their own bread. And when the disciples started to distribute the little they had, people in the crowd began to share with their neighbors. The miracle, then, according to this point of view, is that thousands of people moved from a mindset of scarcity to plenty, overcame fear of going hungry and turned their pockets inside out for another without worrying what’s in it for themselves.

There’s beauty in this interpretation, this softening, this sharing – and the opportunity to ask ourselves if we are happy to throw in with God and participate in bringing about miraculous events. Or if we aren’t happy enough to let God save the world, do it all and look to God to help those who cannot help themselves while we tend to our own needs. Do we make the mistake of focusing on God’s part and neglecting our own?

When my New Testament professor in seminary propounded this interpretation of this gospel story, one of the students pushed back and pushed back hard. “No,” she said vehemently, “Jesus literally made more bread. You’re watering down the unique spiritual superiority of God through Jesus Christ.” In this view, to explain the feeding of so many as an organized social sharing event, is to deny that Jesus has the same creative power as God in Genesis, and to deny that Jesus has authority over all of nature, all of heaven and earth.

To have faith is to believe in the power of Jesus, looking to heaven and creating a miracle of abundance through his blessing. It strips away the supernatural identity of Christ and ignores explicit scriptural details – or lack of them. None of the four accounts says that “then people reached in their pockets and offered their neighbors a bit of bread.”  The power of God to break into the most unlikely places accomplishing the most amazing tasks is something we cannot deny.   

No one knows the mechanics of how it happened, of how it was that so many were fed. Your interpretation is as good as mine. Either way, what Jesus says to his followers next is as valid today as it was then: “they need not go away. You give them something to eat.” In other words, you take care of them.”

Perhaps the reason that our four gospel writers all share this miracle with us is because of the way that it speaks to us in all of the stages and phases of our lives. At some point in our lives, I think all of us have the opportunity to be the giver of a gift, something in our possession. We might think it's insignificant or unequal to the need. 

No matter the size of the gift with which God has entrusted us, no matter how insignificant it may seem to us, no matter how small its value on the open market might be, God can do mighty things with even the smallest gift in our hands. To follow Jesus is to express our faith in concrete acts of love, justice and compassion for others; to do the loving thing. It’s no accident that Matthew tells us we will meet Jesus in reaching out to our sisters and brothers who are suffering.  

At some point in our lives, we are these disciples. We have been watching Jesus heal and watching Jesus do all kinds of things miracle after miracle we've seen him perform. And despite the fact that we've seen this and despite the fact that he's empowered us to go out and be God's hands and heart in the world, we have that moment of doubt. We see the small gift in front of us and we question whether God can do anything at all with that. We might beat ourselves up for not having more to give. How can this serve God's purpose? What can God do with this and how can God even call us to be instruments of love and grace to take to share to bring God to our sisters and brothers around us?

At some point in our lives, we're one of this crowd, one of the 5,000+ on the shore, sick in body, mind and spirit. We’ve come a long way. We are fatigued and tired. We need healing. We are hungering to be restored to community. We're hungering for the nourishment that can only come from God.

If Jesus telling us “they need not go away, you feed them” strikes fear in our hearts we only need to remember what he says next: bring them (the loaves and fishes) here to me. The promise of the story of the feeding of the 5,000, is that if we join together in unity and faithfulness God will be with us. It’s not a promise that we will not experience pain, that we will not struggle.  Afterall, even Jesus had to walk the way of the cross.  The promise is that God’s intention for love, peace and justice in the world will ultimately prevail.

So we follow and we listen and we seek and we sit and we learn. And when we experience that joyful moment of healing when God invites us to sit down, tired at the end of the day, we are reminded that something extraordinary is on the way, that in the words of the old time religion call and response, “God is good all the time and all of the time God is good.” It's one miracle - just one miracle - but its truth becomes a lens through which we see the entire spectrum of our lives, and the ways that God's people experience the fullness and the grace and the love of God. Amen.

July 26, 2026, The Ninth Sunday after Pentecost, Reflections on Matthew 13:31-33,44-52 by the Reverend 'Mother' Lyn Crow

Today we have a parable bonanza.

 

We may have been hoping for a little drink from the hose – one, maybe two parables.

 

But Jesus turns the fire hose on us and we get five parables – five stories about the Kingdom of God.

 

See, Jesus’ main focus in his ministry was to teach his listeners about the Kingdom of God.

 

And one of the main things he taught was that the Kingdom of God was hidden.  He taught people what to look for – how to see it.

 

Let me tell you a story – There was a Rabbi who loved the Torah

a.    He was a good preacher

b.    Every Sabbath afternoon he sat at the picnic table in his back yard preparing his sermon for the next week

c.    All the while his children and later, his grandchildren would play hide and seek in the yard

d.    One day the youngest grandchild stands before him crying

e.    He picks up the child, sits him on his lap

f.     What’s wrong?  Hide and seek is my favorite game to play

g.    All week long, I look for hiding places and I wait all week to play with the other kids

h.    I save my best hiding place for then

i.      I’ve been sitting in my hiding place all afternoon and nobody found me

j.      Now they’ve all decided to go play another game

k.    Rabbi dried his tears, comforted him, and sent him back to play

Rabbi went back to his sermon, but couldn’t get his grandson out of his mind

Then it hit him – God, you are like my grandson – you find the best hiding places.

Even on the Sabbath, you sit in your best hiding places and we don’t find you, even when we look in the Scriptures.

Then we get tired of looking and we go off leaving you hiding.

Jesus taught about God’s best hiding places.  So we could find God.

Parables are not intended to give us answers.  In Jesus’ day, rabbis never explained the meaning of the parables they taught.

They left it to the listener to ask questions and to wonder about the Kingdom of God.

So I am not going to tell you what these parables mean, but I am going to give you some questions to ask about them, that could possibly help you to see the Kingdom of God from a different angle.

Take the mustard seed for instance:

a.    Did you know Jewish law dictated what could be planted in Jewish gardens?

b.    And that it was forbidden to plant mustard in with other plants?

c.    Against Jewish law to mix mustard in because it was like a weed and would choke out the other plants

d.    To the Jews, mustard was a symbol of impurity

e.    Jesus was a Jew – he knew this about mustard and yet he chose it to symbolize the Kingdom of God

Or how about the parable of the leaven:

a.    In the ancient world, leaven was a symbol for moral corruption, for the profane, for the unholy

b.    Why?  Because leaven was made by placing a piece of bread in a dark, damp place until it rotted and smelled to high heaven

c.    Jesus knew this too, and yet he used a symbol for moral corruption and ritual impurity to represent the Kingdom of God.  Why?

That is the question Jesus would want his listeners to ask.  That is the question he would want us to ask.

.Hmmm.  Could we be missing the Kingdom of God?  Could we be missing God’s hiding places?

Where have we been looking?  Where might we look instead?

Then there are the parables of the treasure and the merchant

a.    The first thing to notice is that it is not the parable of the pearl, it’s the parable of the merchant

b.    That changes everything

c.    What if the merchant who searches represents the Kingdom of God?    And not the pearl?

d.    The parable of the merchant might give us the answer to the question – how do we discover the Kingdom of God?

e.    Maybe we don’t find it.  Maybe the merchant finds us.

f.     Who or what is the pearl?

g.    Maybe we need to wonder a bit about that!

In the parable of the treasure, the laborer finds something he wasn’t even looking for!  He stumbles upon the treasure.  He didn’t earn it, he didn’t work for it.  He didn’t have to slay a dragon for it.  What does this tell us about the Kingdom of God?

So the parables of the merchant and the treasure teach us how the Kingdom of God finds us and how we find the Kingdom of God.

And then the best news of all, the parable of the Net.

a.    The net is thrown in and dragged through the sea indiscriminately – taking in everything in its path

b.    That means trash and seaweed, good fish and some that are inedible

c.    If the Kingdom of God is like that, who is left out of the net?

d.    Who are the “fish”?

e.    Jesus says that just as fishermen sort the fish and throw out the inedible ones, so, at the end of time, angels will come and sort the good people from the bad.

f.     Is anyone all good?

g.    Is anyone completely bad?

h.    What happens at the end of the age if we are all part good and part bad?

i.      Is this a bad news parable or a good news parable?

Each of these parables that we’ve heard today are good news parables and I promise you that if you dig diligently enough, the good news will be revealed to you.

How can we ever thank God enough that at the heart of all creation there is Good News, there is unconditional Love, there is Grace and Forgiveness.

 

July 19, 2026, The Eighth Sunday after Pentecost, 'Weeds & Wheat', Reflections on Matthew 13:24-30, 36-43 by the Reverend J.D. Neal, Deacon

Our gospel reading this morning, like last week’s reading, presents us with a parable that is probably pretty familiar to those of us who have spent much time in church over the years. Like the parable of the sower we heard last week, it is a story of a man who plants seed in his fields, with mixed results. In this parable, however, rather than the seeds landing on different types of soil, the narrator tells us that someone else comes along, an ‘enemy’ of the farmer, who mixes in ‘weeds’ with the good seeds of wheat. When the seeds grow up enough for the servants to spot the problem, the farmer tells them to hold off. Let the weeds and wheat grow together, and separate them at harvest time – it will take a lot of manual labor to do things this way, but it will keep the wheat from being damaged in the process of uprooting the weeds. 

The meaning of the parable can seem straightforward. The good wheat are the ‘children of God’s kingdom’, the weeds are the ‘children of the evil one’ who co-exist side by side in this world but who, at ‘the end of the age’, will be separated by the judgement of the Son of Man, when the weeds will be thrown into the furnace and destroyed while the righteous will ‘shine like the sun in the kingdom of their Father’. As I grew up, the interpretation of my teachers and preachers was clear: the good seeds are Christians, those who ‘really believe’ in Jesus, who think the ‘right things’ about him, and who will go to heaven as a result. The ‘weeds’ on the other hand, are everyone else, the people of ‘the world’ who don’t believe in Jesus, whose lives aren’t ‘biblical’ enough, who will be gathered up and thrown into hell for their unbelief.

Read this way, the parable is an invitation to reinforce anxious divisions between who is ‘in’ and who is ‘out’ of God’s good graces. It invites us to see ourselves as the ‘good ones’, as God’s people who are in the right with God – and to see those outside our walls, who don’t look like us as the ‘bad ones’ who God will punish. Of course, this interpretation also serves to motivate us to get in line and make sure that we stay on the inside.

But there are some things about the passage that invite us to reconsider this interpretation – let anyone who has ears to hear listen! For one, that word we translate as ‘weeds’ in English refers to a specific plant called ‘darnel’. Darnel is a kind of rye grass that is toxic to humans, which is important to know because it looks very similar to wheat, so much so that it can be difficult to tell them apart until harvest time. Perhaps the parable is inviting us to consider that the divisions between who is ‘in’ and who is ‘out’ of God’s kingdom are not as easy for us to spot as we might think.

This whole chapter of parables begins with the phrase “that same day”, which is the narrator’s way of cluing us in that these stories of seeds and soil are connected to what has been happening in the gospel story before this moment. So what has been going on for Jesus ‘that day’? Well, as usual, he has been healing people, but on this particular day, his conflict with the religious leaders, the Pharisees, has been heating up. They have been calling Jesus, and by extension the Holy Spirit who empowers his healings, a demon, and have begun plotting to destroy him. They have asked Jesus to prove his authority with ‘a sign’, while ignoring the many displays of God’s loving power that he has been accomplishing for the needy all around them. Jesus, in turn, calls them ‘evil’ – trees that look nice on the outside but are rotten at the root. He implies that they, the public teachers of God’s people, are filled, not with God’s words, but with demons. And, immediately before our passage, he tells the crowds who have come to listen to him that his true family, and by extension the true people of God, are those who ‘do the will of his Father in heaven.’

Who are the ‘good seeds’ of our parable in light of this context? Not the people who Jesus’ listeners would have expected. The Pharisees and religious leaders, the most visibly devout and ‘religious’ and ‘good’ among them are revealed to be men who care more about preserving their systems of belief and security than about obeying God’s command to care for those who God has put right in front of them. The ‘good seeds’ are not those who look good and seem to be full of faith on the outside, but whose words and actions reveal that they are fruitless. Not those who see the Holy Spirit and call her a demon because she is at work in ways that disrupt their assumptions. The ‘good seeds’, in this context, are those who ‘do the will of my Father in heaven’, who hear and do their best to practice the teachings of Jesus to love neighbor and enemy and those in need around them. And let us not forget that there were many among Jesus’ own followers who, in the end, were not willing to follow Jesus down this path.

Rather than inviting us to make judgments about who else is ‘in’ and who is ‘out’ of God’s people, perhaps this parable is inviting us to turn inwards, to ask ourselves honestly whether or not some weeds have been mixed in with our own wheat. If a moment of crisis comes, separating the weeds from the wheat, what would be revealed about us? Where do we resist the teachings of Jesus in our own lives?  Where have we surrendered to the temptation to judge and condemn those who are different from us, to stop seeing them as one of God’s beloved children? When have we ignored the gentle tug of the Spirit to care for someone in need because it would require us to do something uncomfortable? What do we actually hold most dear? All of us good church folk run this risk, right? When we are here, Sunday after Sunday, hearing the Scriptures, singing hymns, receiving the Eucharist, it can be easy to start feeling like we have ‘checked the box’, to slowly stop listening for that still, small voice that whispers to us and sometimes disrupts our day-to-day lives, ever calling us into new depths of love for God and for our neighbors. 

As we go back to our day-to-day lives this week, may Jesus’ words help us to see ourselves more clearly. May we turn inwards with honesty and with courage, and, when we do, may God’s Spirit meet us there with patience and love, showing us the way further into new life.

Amen.

July 12, 2026, The Seventh Sunday after Pentecost, Reflections on Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23 by the Reverend Carole Horton-Howe

Jesus went out and sat beside the sea. Such great crowds gathered around him that he got into a boat and sat there, while the whole crowd stood on the beach. And he told them many things in parables, saying: “Listen! A sower went out to sow. And as he sowed, some seeds fell on the path, and the birds came and ate them up. Other seeds fell on rocky ground, where they did not have much soil, and they sprang up quickly, since they had no depth of soil. But when the sun rose, they were scorched; and since they had no root, they withered away. Other seeds fell among thorns, and the thorns grew up and choked them. Other seeds fell on good soil and brought forth grain, some a hundredfold, some sixty, some thirty. Let anyone with ears listen!”

Hear then the parable of the sower. When anyone hears the word of the kingdom and does not understand it, the evil one comes and snatches away what is sown in the heart; this is what was sown on the path. As for what was sown on rocky ground, this is the one who hears the word and immediately receives it with joy; yet such a person has no root, but endures only for a while, and when trouble or persecution arises on account of the word, that person immediately falls away. As for what was sown among thorns, this is the one who hears the word, but the cares of the world and the lure of wealth choke the word, and it yields nothing. But as for what was sown on good soil, this is the one who hears the word and understands it, who indeed bears fruit and yields, in one case a hundredfold, in another sixty, and in another thirty.

Sermon by the Rev. Carole Horton-Howe

Today’s gospel is the well-known Parable of the Sower.  You can’t spend too much time in church without hearing the word “parable.”  But have you ever wondered what it means and, more importantly, why did Jesus choose to teach using parables? 

I love the definition of parables given to us by theologian C.H. Dodd that a parable is a metaphor that comes out of our common life or nature that causes us to stop and wonder about “its vividness or strangeness, leaving the mind to tease it into active thought.” It's got just enough of the familiar in it to make us comfortable and then teases us into thinking a little longer, a little harder about it.  So the listener must actively participate in deciding what the parable means. 

With the Parable of the Sower we get some explanation of the meaning of the major components – the sower, the soil and the seed.  But even so, we’re not all the way home. We are still teased a bit.  There’s still room to wonder where we see ourselves in it and how this teaching fits into our lives. 

Here we get an idea about why Jesus taught using parables:  if you want to teach people something new, something they might not understand, you’re better off starting with something they do understand. And with the parable of the sower, he presents the people with something so familiar that they can’t help but be drawn in. 

The classic interpretation of this parable is provided for us by the gospel writer – there are four different types of soil.  Four different receptacles for seeds. And they each receive seeds in unique ways.

There’s the hard packed ground that happens when soil has been walked on over and over again. It’s as hard as stone.  When the rain comes it doesn’t soften, it just gets muddy and slippery.  Then it gets even harder.  So what happens when the seed falls on it? It blows away.  Or maybe just gets crushed under foot. Best case scenario, is that it feeds the birds for a day. But nothing more. 

And then there’s the rocky ground. How is this any different than the first scenario we might think. In ancient times farming was much different that it is now.  For western modern farmers their first task is to clear a field of rocks.  They were seen as a hinderance to growing crops.

But ancient people left most of the rocks in the fields because the infrequent rain they had – the only source of water for the crops. The rainwater would pool around rocks giving a sort of reservoir of water long after the rain had stopped.  Good insects could thrive in the rocks. But an ancient farmer knew that soil was thin among the rocks. Seeds that fell on these rocky areas of their field would only yield a weak and disappointing crop that wouldn’t go the distance and feed their family. 

Then there’s the seeds that fell among the thorns.  Ancient farmers would have happily rid their fields of these, but it seems that this was impossible. Thorny bushes grew like weeds. Seeds falling among the thorns were simply lost.  Nothing good was going to grow there.  And retrieving anything that fell into the thorny bushes was so painful and difficult that whatever fell there was counted as lost. Seeds produced nothing.

 

And finally there was the good soil. Good soil is soft and crumbly. It’s full of nutrients.  As a very amateur gardener I think of good soil as what you get at the nurseries – those huge bags of potting mix marked “organic” with brand names like “Miracle Grow.”  But of course for ancient people, good soil meant hard work, consistently applied over time.

 

But, thanks be to God, it could be relied upon to produce a quality and quantity of crops that assured that you and yours would survive another year. A good harvest was everything.  It was life. It is this good soil that God wants all of us to cultivate, to nurture within our own hearts. And not to be satisfied with a stone hard heart, a heart that cares lightly or a heart that let’s love die.  But a heart that welcomes the love of God, taking it in – learning, studying the teachings of Jesus so that they grow and thrive within us. 

 

Even if we’ve spent minimal time gardening, we know certain things to be true.  One of those is that whatever the way dirt is, is not the way it has to stay. Hard trodden paths can be tilled and nourished into better ground.  Rocks and thorns can be removed.  

The seeds in this parable are the teachings of Jesus about the attributes of God, the gifts of God for us to learn and take into our hearts.  And they are seeds to share, to scatter into the world.  They are seeds of mercy, love, hope, forgiveness, joy, compassion, patience that we must first sow into the fertile ground of our hearts.  And then spread widely and extravagantly into the world.

So the important part of this parable isn’t about the difficulties that come with planting. There was nothing new or interesting in it for the folks listening that they didn’t already know.

However, there is one thing that was really shocking to the first people who heard this parable. That was the yield, the harvest. A hundred fold was phenomenal, simply unheard of. Even the poorest yield in the parable was beyond their experience and the greatest almost beyond comprehension. To promise this sort of result was more than optimistic, it was a whole different vision of life.

To sow with this sort of hope and vision is to have the perspective of the Kingdom of God. With this vision you don’t mind the rocks or the birds or the thin soil or whatever else may get in the way. All of that stuff just doesn’t matter. It is swallowed up in the promise of the whole enterprise. This perspective, the promise of a vast harvest, is the heart of this little story.

With the seeds we are given, we are teased into the focus of the parable: that, by the grace of God, the harvest will be great beyond measure, great beyond belief, great beyond imagining. What God will make of our efforts is more than we can imagine. The one who sows is simply called to scatter the seeds, to love and to serve, to trust to continually cultivate the good ground of their own heart. The rest will be taken care of. This is not through our abilities; it is through the power of God.

This perspective of hope and confidence is the gift of the parable. There is a carefree abandon to this image. Out of the good ground of our hearts, we are to love and to serve in broadest way knowing full well that some -- maybe most -- of what we do won’t amount to anything that we can see, that bad things that are going to happen in the world.  But trusting, none the less, in the incomprehensible abundance of the harvest.

Each one of us individually, and our parish itself, all of us together, have at our feet fields to walk and seed to sow. We are called to do that. This parable is a gift to lighten our step and extend our reach. It gives us the wonderful gift of perspective.

There seems to me to be a point at the end of the parable itself, at the moment when Jesus says “this is the word of the kingdom” – that says to us, to the Kingdom Builders which we are – here “take this bag of seeds and throw them.”  Let them fall in the places where these is need of my Father’s love.

There is a story of a Rabbi and his students.  The Rabbi told his students that God places scripture on our hearts.  He said this frequently – ON our hearts.  Finally one of his students asked Rabbi why does God place scripture ON our hearts and not IN our hearts. The Rabbi told them it is on our hearts because, inevitably your heart will break.  And when it does the  God’s words will fall into those broken places to bind up your heart and to heal it.  That’s the gift of being a sower of seeds.

The love we offer in God’s name, God promises, will not return to God empty but it shall accomplish that which God intends for it; and it will prosper in the thing for which it is sent. We can count on that.  Amen.

July 5, 2026, The Sixth Sunday after Pentecost, Reflections on Genesis 24:34-38, 42-49, 58-67 by the Reverend Carole Horton-Howe

Genesis 24:34-38, 42-49, 58-67

The servant said to Laban, “I am Abraham’s servant. The Lord has greatly blessed my master, and he has become wealthy; he has given him flocks and herds, silver and gold, male and female slaves, camels and donkeys. And Sarah my master’s wife bore a son to my master when she was old; and he has given him all that he has. My master made me swear, saying, ‘You shall not take a wife for my son from the daughters of the Canaanites, in whose land I live; but you shall go to my father’s house, to my kindred, and get a wife for my son.’

“I came today to the spring, and said, ‘O Lord, the God of my master Abraham, if now you will only make successful the way I am going! I am standing here by the spring of water; let the young woman who comes out to draw, to whom I shall say, “Please give me a little water from your jar to drink,” and who will say to me, “Drink, and I will draw for your camels also” —let her be the woman whom the Lord has appointed for my master’s son.’

“Before I had finished speaking in my heart, there was Rebekah coming out with her water jar on her shoulder; and she went down to the spring, and drew. I said to her, ‘Please let me drink.’ She quickly let down her jar from her shoulder, and said, ‘Drink, and I will also water your camels.’ So I drank, and she also watered the camels. Then I asked her, ‘Whose daughter are you?’ She said, ‘The daughter of Bethuel, Nahor’s son, whom Milcah bore to him.’ So I put the ring on her nose, and the bracelets on her arms. Then I bowed my head and worshiped the Lord, and blessed the Lord, the God of my master Abraham, who had led me by the right way to obtain the daughter of my master’s kinsman for his son. Now then, if you will deal loyally and truly with my master, tell me; and if not, tell me, so that I may turn either to the right hand or to the left.”

And they called Rebekah, and said to her, “Will you go with this man?” She said, “I will.” So they sent away their sister Rebekah and her nurse along with Abraham’s servant and his men. And they blessed Rebekah and said to her, “May you, our sister, become thousands of myriads; may your offspring gain possession of the gates of their foes.” Then Rebekah and her maids rose up, mounted the camels, and followed the man; thus the servant took Rebekah, and went his way. Now Isaac had come from Beer-lahai-roi, and was settled in the Negeb. Isaac went out in the evening to walk in the field; and looking up, he saw camels coming. And Rebekah looked up, and when she saw Isaac, she slipped quickly from the camel, and said to the servant, “Who is the man over there, walking in the field to meet us?” The servant said, “It is my master.” So she took her veil and covered herself. And the servant told Isaac all the things that he had done. Then Isaac brought her into his mother Sarah’s tent. He took Rebekah, and she became his wife; and he loved her. So Isaac was comforted after his mother’s death.

Sermon by the Rev. Carole Horton-Howe

In 2017, Supreme Court Justice John Roberts gave the commencement address to the graduates and their families and friends and at a private school in New Hampshire.  And a portion of it went like this:

“Commencement speakers typically wish you good luck and extend good wishes to you. I will not do that and I'll tell you why.  From time to time in the years to come, I hope you will be treated unfairly, so that you will come to know the value of justice.

I hope that you will suffer betrayal because that will teach you the importance of loyalty.

Sorry to say, but I hope you will be lonely from time to time so that you don't take friends for granted.

I wish you bad luck, again, from time to time, so that you will be conscious of the role of chance in life and understand that your success is not completely deserved and that the failure of others is not completely deserved either.

And when you lose, as you will from time to time, I hope every now and then your opponent will gloat over your failure. It is a way for you to understand the importance of good sportsmanship.

I hope you'll be ignored so you know the importance of listening to others.

And I hope you will have just enough pain to learn compassion.

Whether I wish these things or not for you, they're going to happen. And whether you benefit from them - and thrive in spite of them - or not will depend upon your ability to see the message in your misfortunes.”

When I read those remarks, I wondered how the parents and family members reacted to hearing them. If they’re anything like most of us, our hope for our children is that things will be better for them than it was for us, right?  We want them to experience success and happiness.  We want their lives to go smoothly.

We don't actively wish them adversity like Judge Roberts.  As a matter of fact, I've had those conversations with parent friends over the years about how they’ve prayed that their children would never know adversity.

The truth is we're all going to know adversity in one way or another. So we just might need to figure out how to be prepared ourselves in our lives so that it doesn't catch us off guard or catch us unable to deal with it.  And that's why I think these lessons that we're getting from the book of Genesis this summer are such important lessons for us.

Because if we start to think that we are alone in our adversity or if we think nobody's known adversity before us these stories reorient our thinking. When something difficult comes along in our lives, it helps us to reconnect to our forebears in the faith. It helps us to recall how from the beginning of time people have known trouble and disappointment and failure and pain and sorrow.  We're not the first ones. And so we've had all of these lessons from the book of Genesis this summer that really deal with adversity.

I think we always want to skip to the good parts. Because we end every one of these lessons all summer long with the good parts. Recall the story of Abraham and Isaac on Mt. Moriah. Suddenly there's a ram in the thicket so everything gets resolved. God is there, God is good all the time. That's where we end all these lessons.

But I want us really intentionally to spend some time thinking about what's not good in these stories because there's a lot that's not good. And so today we have this beautiful looking Love Story. It looks lovely, but we need to rewind so that we can begin to understand what takes place that makes this story what it is.

When we left Abraham in our lesson last week it was really a tough day. He'd waited and waited and waited and waited for the descendants that God promised he was going to have. And by the time anybody comes along he's getting up in years. At least he has his first son Ishmael. That doesn't go very well and Ishmael and his mother, Hagar, are banished into the wilderness.

 

And then there was Isaac, his son by Sarah. He is referred to as “the son Abraham loved.” This son, God says, you need to offer him up as a burnt offering. This is one of those times we need to pay attention to what Holy scripture does not say: we're not told that Abraham flinches or gives a second thought to it. Abraham immediately obeys. But that's a costly little piece of obedience for Abraham because yes, there is indeed a ram in the thicket. There is indeed something for that offering.

But what we're left with in the Book of Genesis is a fractured family. The next time we hear about them, Abraham has gone to live in Barsabba. Sarah has gone to live and dies in Hebron. And Isaac has made his way to the Negev by way of Beer-lahai-roi, which translates to "well of the Living One who sees me" which also happens to be that place where Hagar and Ishmael were banished off into the wilderness. It's a costly day of obedience for Abraham because this family that for which he had prayed and longed for, now is fractured.

This could have really been the end of the Abrahamic line. Isaac has wandered off by himself and he's not producing any descendants that could be the end.  And Abraham is faced with, “How do I make this right? How do I fix this?” Because otherwise the promise is gone.

So he sends his servant to find a wife because Isaac needs a wife. Isaac who's now wandering around in the Negev by himself needs a wife. He sends his servant out to find a wife and he sends him back to Abraham's own family, his own people to find this wife. And note the discernment of this servant does as he goes looking for this wife. He prays. He asks for signs – for something visible and tangible to help him recognize that he has found the right one.

And where does he end up but at Abraham's brother's own encampment. And the girl who happens to come by is Abraham's brother's granddaughter. He waits and he prays and watches as she does and says the very things for which he has prayed.

In this patriarchal society we would think that Nahor and his offspring would all say, “take Rebecca and go.” But notice they ask Rebecca if she is willing to go. And so right there, we know Rebecca is no ordinary gal. She is something different, something special. She agrees that she will go to this man she's never seen, about whom she knows nothing. She will go.

Because that's a theme in the Abrahamic stories - being asked by God to go someplace without knowing where we're going or what we're going to see; whether there's adversity in front of us or there are good things in front of us. We don't know. But we're being asked to step out in faith with no idea what to expect. Here is Rebecca, one more in the line, saying I will go.

As they are making their way to the Negev to where Isaac has made his home, she looks out and she sees this man, her husband, about whom she knows nothing. She has no idea that he was nearly sacrificed by his father, how he has mourned for his mother. She really doesn't know Isaac at all but there he is.

He loves Rebekah. Love was not a prerequisite for marriage in the ancient world. But Isaac loves her and now he is beginning to find comfort from all of the things that have happened in his life.

So yes we're all going to know some adversity. Abraham and his progeny they all certainly get to know some adversity. But the test for us is how we meet it. How does God help them meet their adversity?

Abraham who watches the promise of generations of progeny evaporate right in front of him, musters up enough faith to continue to believe in the vast, rich promise of faithfulness from God. He does the one thing he can so that the promise doesn't just die.

And then there's Isaac who is still a young man but we can safely assume he has seen a lot and hurt a lot. If Isaac has reached a place in his life where he believes there is just nothing left, that he will mourn and grieve the rest of my days. Some of us really would have folded up the proverbial tent at that point, wouldn't we, if we were Isaac. And said ‘enough.’

But somehow this village that has surrounded him - Abraham and the servant and Rebecca - they all give him that new lease on his existence, that opportunity to take one more step in faith. Because that is what we do for one another in community with all of God's people for one another. We give that reason to take one more step in faith and to believe that all is not lost.

Rebecca has no idea about the backstory for this man that she has come to marry. Her life's going to be rough, too, but she has stepped out in faith and in belief that with God it will be possible. And no doubt as she begins to learn her role in continuing this family, she will understand her value to God as well.

And then we certainly can't forget this this wonderful discerning servant who has prayed who has patiently watched and waited for signs from God that he is moving in the right direction. He encourages this young woman to follow God's plan.

We can't possibly know all of the things that we will face in our lifetime. But what we do know is that we have the promise of God's faithfulness to us. We have the promise that God will not forsake us. We have the promise that God will be with us no matter what. And even when the answer isn't the answer that we think we'd like to hear, we have the promise of God's faithfulness to us.

And so we learn that in those times that we feel betrayed, in those times that we feel disappointed, in those times that we suffer and are hurt, in those times that we are lonely, in those times that we are insulted -- all of those things that Chief Justice Roberts says to the young graduates. What we know is that God is there through all of those things, that God's love is Abiding Love.

What we learn from these Genesis stories is that our prayerful supplication, our own prayerful discernment of what is God is calling us to do and to be, is how we face adversity. And when our will is supplanted by God's will, then we, too, can find our way out of the pain, out of the hurt, out of the disappointment and back to our God.  In the name of God who is Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.

June 28, 2026, The Fifth Sunday after Pentecost, Reflections on Matthew 10:40-42 by the Reverend Carole Horton-Howe

Jesus said, “Whoever welcomes you welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me. Whoever welcomes a prophet in the name of a prophet will receive a prophet's reward; and whoever welcomes a righteous person in the name of a righteous person will receive the reward of the righteous; and whoever gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones in the name of a disciple-- truly I tell you, none of these will lose their reward.” In this brief passage from the gospel today we continue to listen in on a conversation that Jesus is having with his disciples and his closing words to them in what is known as the missionary discourse.

 

Sermon by the Rev. Carole Horton-Howe 

In this brief passage from the gospel today we continue to listen in on a conversation that Jesus is having with his disciples and his closing words to them in what is known as the missionary discourse.  And the topic Jesus chooses to wrap up with, the last words he leaves with them, are about welcome – what it means to truly offer and receive welcome. Something as seemingly simple as extending hospitality to a follower of Jesus has profound implications. And that it that God is the ultimate recipient. But perhaps not the only beneficiary.

Jesus gave them a guide for evaluating welcome in the gospel we heard a couple weeks ago. When they go into a home, they are to offer peace. And if it is returned, the place is worthy of their visit and they are to stay there to teach and offer healing. If their peace is not returned, they should leave that place and go on to look for welcome elsewhere.

In ancient Jewish law and culture, a sent messenger was to be treated as the person who sent them. So Jesus used this familiar concept to give his disciples a kind of official divine authority.

Their survival also called on Jewish culture and tradition. Jesus ordered the disciples to travel light, taking no money, extra clothes, or food. Their complete dependence on welcome is thought to have motivated strangers to feed and shelter them. 

And we wonder if it didn’t also offer emotional comfort.  The disciples faced intense rejection, persecution and even trial and execution. Knowing that welcoming them was equivalent to welcoming God must have provided massive encouragement during lonely travels.

Shawn Smith was a freelance journalist in need of a job, or more precisely a paycheck, when he was asked to meet a Syrian refugee named Omar.  Shawn had ideas about refugees, about Middle Eastern men and their motives that he wasn’t especially proud of that but he wouldn’t exactly set them aside either.

So he wasn’t sure of the welcome he could either offer to or accept from this man.  As a writer, though, he knew that the stories are always hidden from us at first, always waiting in the shadows. They are tentative, skittish things, yearning for light.

Shawn calculated that there are nearly 6,000 miles between Omar’s hometown and Harrisburg, Pennsylvania where they both lived. There were dozens of other countries to which Omar could have been relocated and hundreds of other cities. Yet somehow there he was, less than a mile from Shawn’s house, and the area where Shawn’s ancestors had lived for the last 250 years. What are the odds of their paths crossings? He was still tentative, but his curiosity was stronger.

At their first meeting, he offer a perfunctory thank you to Omar through a translator for Omar’s willingness to meet him here in a strange country.  “It may very well be that nothing will come of our time together,” Shawn says. “But I’m willing to help you tell your story.”  The translator echoed his words to Omar in his own language. He smiled and nodded and replied in Arabic.  “Omar says it is impossible for nothing to come of this. He is glad you are willing to hear his story, but no matter what happens, you are friends now. That is all that matters.”

The words caught Shawn off guard. He thought this Syrian man would be as skeptical as he was. He thought that a Middle Eastern Muslim, would see Shawn, a white, western, Christian, as a potential enemy.  But Omar accepted Shawn without reservation, almost instantly. He called him his “friend” which rocked his world. Shawn wondered perhaps for the first time ever, what the word “friend” even meant to him. 

“Omar, can you tell me about your village?” Shawn asked. “Can you tell me about how you got to the United States?” With a sad smile Omar said, “I love Syria. No one ever wants to leave their home. But we had no choice.”

Omar had gotten a tip that his village would soon be bombed. With his wife and three sons somehow balanced behind him, he guided his motor bike out of their village and into the countryside. Their combined weight wobbled the aged bike from side to side, as he shouted at them, “hold still, hold still.”  From his cousin’s porch, they watched bombs rain down on his village miles away. “That was your house,” he said, then, ten minutes later, “I think that one hit my house.”

The next night Omar walked through the pitch-black Syrian wilderness, his family in a line behind him. He could feel the tension in his wife, the fear in his older boys. Someone ahead shouted, “Get down!” and they all collapsed into the dust, holding their breath, trying to keep the baby quiet. There was the taste of dirt. There were rocks digging into his body. There was the sound of his boys, so far from home and so afraid. “Abba,” they whimper. “Abba.”

Small children crying out for their father echoes the cry of all of us to God our Father and the longing we all have to be safe, to find ourselves in welcoming arms. If we follow Christ, we represent him to the world. Our words and actions are often the only window non-believers have into who Jesus is.

 

Welcoming others—especially strangers, the marginalized, or those in need—is a direct act of worship, our way to love and honor God by loving and honoring God’s creation. Service to people is treated as service to Christ. He especially remembers those he calls “little ones.”  The Greek word is “mikros” and they are especially beloved of Jesus.  They are the children but also the vulnerable and those who some in society considers inferior.

How critical is welcome?  Jesus’ charge today is a powerful one: those who show hospitality to his disciples, are effectively hosting Jesus himself—and by extension, accepting God the Father.  So everyday acts of kindness are elevated into expressions of devoted worship.

When Shawn set out to write Omar’s story he thought it would be an action-adventure tale following a Syrian family through bombs and bullets to an inner-city US neighborhood that persecuted them for being Muslim. He thought it might be his own story of how a middle-aged man in search of meaning helped a Syrian family find the American dream.

Instead, something happened inside of him. His belief that refugees have little to offer and make communities where they settle weaker was crushed. His belief that they need his help more than they need his welcoming friendship was gutted. His deep-seated, hidden concern that every Muslim person might be inherently violent or dedicated to the destruction of the West was exposed and found to be false.

Instead of a magazine story, he wrote a book which he describes as “a deeply personal story of two fathers hoping for the best, two hearts seeking compassion, two lives changed forever and the opportunities to show love and hospitality to the sojourner in our midst.”

So what is the meaning of friendship?  Shawn discovered it is all in, nothing held back, arms wide open welcome. He never could have imagined he’d become friends with a Syrian man from 6,000 miles away, a Muslim man whose children call him Abba. Shawn’s life changed in ways he still finds difficult to explain. Through all the coffees, drives to Philadelphia, and chats on his front porch, there’s one thing he knows for sure. The role of the welcoming host, in a role reversal he did not see coming, had been taken on by Omar.  Before he even knew him, he called him friend.

For us as modern readers and followers of Jesus, today’s teaching shifts our focus from ancient missionary travel to our own ethics and relationships. It links humanity all the way up to the divine. Welcoming the disciple leads to welcoming Jesus, which ultimately means welcoming God who sent Him. Open doors lead to open hearts. Open doors lead to open minds and a place for love to live. 

The ancient story of Jesus sending his friends and followers into the world and the modern story of Shawn and Omar remind us that we have it in us to be Christs to each other to work miracles of love and healing as well as to have them worked on us.   Amen.

June 21, 2026, The Fourth Sunday after Pentecost, Reflections on Matthew 10:24-39 by the Reverend Carole Horton-Howe

Fourth Sunday in Pentecost                                        Matthew 10:24-39

Jesus said to the twelve disciples, “A disciple is not above the teacher, nor a slave above the master; it is enough for the disciple to be like the teacher, and the slave like the master. If they have called the master of the house Beelzebul, how much more will they malign those of his household!

“So have no fear of them; for nothing is covered up that will not be uncovered, and nothing secret that will not become known. What I say to you in the dark, tell in the light; and what you hear whispered, proclaim from the housetops. Do not fear those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul; rather fear him who can destroy both soul and body in hell. Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground apart from your Father. And even the hairs of your head are all counted. So do not be afraid; you are of more value than many sparrows.

“Everyone therefore who acknowledges me before others, I also will acknowledge before my Father in heaven; but whoever denies me before others, I also will deny before my Father in heaven.

“Do not think that I have come to bring peace to the earth; I have not come to bring peace, but a sword.

For I have come to set a man against his father,
and a daughter against her mother,
and a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law;
and one’s foes will be members of one’s own household.

Whoever loves father or mother more than me is not worthy of me; and whoever loves son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me; and whoever does not take up the cross and follow me is not worthy of me. Those who find their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it.”

Sermon by the Rev. Carole Horton-Howe

Do you ever struggle to make sense of the seemingly contradictory statements in the Bible? We’re almost six months past the Christmas season, but we all still remember vividly being reminded of the peace that God has brought to the world through his son, Jesus. As the angels declared, “Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests.”

Now, we encounter the babe in the manger all grown up and saying, “I did not come to bring peace, but a sword.”   A former parishioner in Temecula told me once that these verses - “I have not come to bring peace, but a sword. For I have come to set a man against his father, and a daughter against her mother” - were the reason her son turned away from the church and told her he cannot be a Christian.  How tragic that is! Most of us would not make such a drastic about face. But we do wonder what’s going on here?

After all, we connect easily with gentle Jesus, meek and mild - the Jesus who summons us to love our enemies, the one Isaiah calls the Prince of Peace, the Jesus who promised the world will know his followers by their love. And yet this Jesus in today’s gospel is telling us to hate those closest to us: spouse, children, parents and everyone else we live with. Or is he? Elsewhere in Holy Scripture we are told to love them. What could Jesus possibly mean by this incendiary ultimatum?

If we take a closer look at the surrounding context, the nutshell meaning of his distressing words is as clear and concise as it is radical and revolutionary. Jesus is telling his followers: “If you truly want to be a Christian, I must have it all.” We may be scandalized by this “hate” speech, but I suspect in stumbling over Jesus’s plain talk, we can miss the real scandal of this text. And that is that there will be rivals fighting for supremacy over the throne of our hearts. Difficult choices will have to be made. Relationships that we think are essential need to be examined. It’s not an easy path. But our love for God through Jesus must defeat every one, every time.

Matthew’s gospel was especially aimed at the readers of his day – about 70 CE – when it was still early days for the church. Persecutions of Christians were commonplace. Sent on a mission of healing and preaching, the disciples quickly learned what it means to face opposition. The cozy days of breaking bread with Jesus seem far distant when in response to the good news of the gospel, they are rewarded with persecution. In fact there was no easy path in Christian faith until the Emperor Constantine converted in the early 300’s CE.  Before that it was a treacherous path.

The story of Perpetua, Felicity and their companions is hard to hear but I think it helps us understand the realities that Jesus is talking about. In 202 CE the Roman Emperor issued a decree forbidding conversion to Christianity. At that time, Perpetua was a 22-year-old educated noblewoman who was nursing an infant son. And Felicity was an enslaved woman who was heavily pregnant. Both were converts to Christianity. They were arrested alongside three other converts, all men. Despite the danger, their teacher joined them in prison, where the group was baptized. Perpetua recorded her experience in a personal diary. Her writings form one of the only surviving first-hand accounts authored by an early Christian woman.

While in prison, Perpetua’s father, a pagan, repeatedly came to her and begged her to renounce her faith. But she refused. She had recently given birth and her father, family members and her husband’s family came to her repeatedly insisting that she abandon her faith in Jesus Christ for the sake of her child, and for the sake of her family which would most assuredly suffer for having a Christian daughter and daughter-in-law. 

Perpetua and her companions were confined to the worst part of the prison in dark, stifling conditions. She was told that all would be well, that she could return to her comfortable life, that her father’s business and her family’s fortunes would thrive if she would only pray and make an offering to one of the pagan gods. But this she would not do.

After a trial whose outcome was never in doubt, Perpetua, Felicity, and their companions were condemned to be executed in the local amphitheater during public games. In an act of courage so profound that we can scarcely take in, Perpetua and her companions entered the arena singing Psalms. They survived the attacks of the wild animals and were eventually put to death by Roman soldiers - all for the entertainment of the crowd. Perpetua and her companions have been honored for the strength of their faith since those ancient times.   

Jesus is not demanding that we literally hate your family – not hate in how we understand it today. “Hate” had a different meaning in ancient times.  We throw around that word hate pretty easily – everything from “I hate Brussel sprouts” to “I hate…” a certain political or philosophical point of view. It carries much emotion. But in ancient times, hate was less about emotions and more about choice.  To hate something meant that you turned away from it, you did not choose that thing you chose something else. 

So in these verses, Jesus is using hyperbole to illustrate that there is a steep cost of following him. Our affections for Christ must be of such an intensity and quality that, by comparison, all other loves seems like an afterthought.

What Does It Mean for Us? Following Jesus may not make our lives easier.  There will be times when allegiance to Jesus causes a crisis of loyalty and forces a decision.  This gospel shakes up values, rearranges priorities and reorients goals.  I think Jesus wants us to know that to give one’s life away in the name of Christ is to be given everything that makes life free, holy and good.    

The sword that Jesus carries is not meant for our destruction or harm but is meant for our good! It is a sword of healing and hope carried in the hands of a faithful and loving surgeon. Jesus the Great Physician looks upon us, his children with compassion and love, and he invites us to come to him and find healing for our wounds and rest for our souls and the peace that only God can give. The price is high. The reward still higher.  

Yes, we naturally feel dep affections for our closest earthly kin. But what Jesus is saying is that we must choose him. Love of Jesus inspires love of all people and all things created by God. This day, Father’s Day, is the perfect time to acknowledge and celebrate this. Journalist Steve Hartman does a segment on one of the networks called “On the Road.”  And this one comes close to home, to the heart and to family this particular Sunday.

A small mylar balloon drifted into the parking lot of the Local Heroes Cafe in Auburn, California. The manager found it and saw that there was writing on it and that it was signed by a 16-year-old girl named Ashlyn from Whittier, 450 miles away. Ashlyn was happy to learn that someone found the balloon, although the restaurant was not her intended destination. 

“Have you ever let a balloon go and watched it?” she asks. “It really does look like it’s going to heaven. I wanted to let him know that still love him.” It was intended for her father, Scott, who died of an aneurysm several years earlier. She’d been sending him balloon messages each year since then on his birthday.

“Dear Dad, you’ve missed so much. And I miss you. There’s a sweet and funny guy I met, Brian. I’ve been playing softball and I hope you’ve been helping me get those homeruns.” 

Ashlyn wanted to share her life. And she wanted to apologize to her dad for all the times when he was alive that she didn’t call or write to him. There had been difficult times which led to their separation. Her dad had tried to stay in touch with her, but she ignored most of his letters and phone calls including the one he made to her right before he died. “I didn’t answer his call,” she says tearfully. “Maybe he wanted to say, ‘I love you’ and I would have liked to say that back. But I didn’t get to.”

How many of us live with potential for this kind of regret? How many of us might one day long for one last contact, just like Ashlyn longs for that chance to say, “I love you.”

Fortunately for Ashlyn, she’s pretty sure she got through this time. On the balloon she asked her dad for a sign. And when someone, some how, found her note in the Local Heroes Café parking lot, of all places, that was enough for her. “It gave me hope. It’s pretty amazing.” 

Even in times of anxiety the gospel will be true. Believers who know that their fate is in the hands of a loving God will understand that in this life there is nothing to fear. Jesus invites us into to recognize a faith that is able to overcome fear during persecution, to keep on because of our love for him and because, in the end, it will be real and everlasting life that we find. Like Ashlyn said: It gives hope. It’s pretty amazing.  Amen.  

June 14, 2026, The Third Sunday after Pentecost, Harassed & Helpless, Genesis 18:1-15, 21:1-7, Psalm 116:1,10-17, Romans 5:1-8, Matthew 9:35-10:8-23 by the Reverend Deacon J.D. Neal

Our gospel this morning finds Jesus at the tail end of a series of miraculous healings. In the last chapter, Jesus has given back a paralytic his ability to walk, healed a woman of her 12 year chronic illness, opened the eyes of two blind men, freed a mute man from the demon that kept his voice sealed away, and raised a girl from death to life. He has dined with sinners and outcasts, proclaiming that the love of God’s Kingdom is here for them — and all the while he has been harassed and accused by the Pharisees, the very religious leaders who should have been healing and caring for these people all along.

When we pick up the story, we find Jesus confronted with a whole crowd of folks like those we’ve been hearing about in these healing stories. When Jesus sees them gathered before him, he pauses for a moment, moved by the pain and need and neglect that he sees among his people, among those that he has come to serve and to heal. He says that they are ‘harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd’.  Here is a whole crowd of everyday people like you and like me, suffering under the burdens of illness, isolation, and the sheer exhaustion of trying to make ends meet for their families under Rome’s regime. Here is a people who, instead of being served and supported by the religious and political leaders of their communities, are being extorted and burdened and ignored by them. 

And what does Jesus do when faced with all of this pain and confusion? He does what God has a habit of doing throughout the Scriptures: he calls together a group of odd, not-particularly-qualified individuals, and gives them a new calling. These are men from all sorts of backgrounds — fishermen, construction workers, a shady tax collector, a political extremist, and even a man Jesus knew would betray him in the end — men with no particular qualification except that they believed in Jesus enough to follow him and learn his ways.

Jesus entrusts these 12 with his own mission. They are to go out and bring the Kingdom of God, which is the presence and love of God, to those in need throughout their land. They are to become the hands and feet of Jesus, healing and teaching and extending God’s love to a people who sorely need it. What has Jesus given them for the job? No money, no advanced theological education, not even an extra pair of sandals — just a handful of sermons and stories, and the promise that Jesus’ own power and presence would be with them as they went about trying to bring healing and love.

This is an important story for us this morning, centuries later, because this moment is, in some ways, Matthew’s version of the creation of the church. In this moment, Jesus is signaling that a new people is being formed in the midst of the old. Instead of the 12 tribes of Israel, the church is inaugurated with these 12 disciples who are given Jesus’ own authority and ministry of healing. These become the first of the ‘ekklesia’, those who have been ‘called-out’, the church. And this ministry that the first disciples are entrusted with is the same one that God’s people have received and passed down ever since — the same ministry that you and I inherited when we said ‘yes’ to God’s voice and became a part of his people. We also have been given the presence and power of God in the Holy Spirit, and we also are called to be among the ‘harassed and helpless’ in our communities and to show them that God’s presence is with them, that they are loved, and that they do not need to suffer alone with whatever burdens they are carrying. As most of you know, I was ordained as a deacon yesterday. Part of what I vowed yesterday was that “at all times, my life and teaching are to show Christ’s people that in serving the helpless they are serving Christ himself.” In other words, a central part of my job as a deacon, and the job of all clergy, is to remind God’s people of the ministry that we are all called to. Rev. Carole and I cannot be the hands and feet of Jesus to all of those in need in our communities, but all of us together just might be up to the task. 

We are all called to stay awake to those around us, to look past the masks that most of us wear and to listen for the needs of those around us. Sometimes we are the ‘harassed and helpless’, and our calling is to love and support those who are suffering within our own church community. At other times it may be the homeless man who come to our church gate for food during the week, the single mom struggling to make ends meet and pay for rent down the street, or that neighbor or co-worker who is struggling with the loss of a loved one and who just needs a listening ear and maybe a casserole. Or, in this Pride Month, it might be the many LGBTQ folks all around us who mostly hear ‘Christian’ voices telling them that they are unloved by God and unwelcome among his people — who need to be shown that God loves them and that they are welcome and needed by the church. Whoever it may be, I am confident that if we are willing to remain open to others and to listen, the Holy Spirit will show us, as individuals, and as a St. Matthias community, where we are called to show the love of Jesus Christ to the ‘harassed and helpless’ in our midst.

My job as a deacon is also to remind us that, like the disciples, we are up to the task. The disciples did not possess any special qualifications. They were not well trained or even particularly good at understanding Jesus’ teachings and following his instructions, but they believed Jesus when he told them that he was giving them his authority and power. They trusted Jesus enough to go out and face the pain and needs of those around them, believing that Jesus’ presence would be with them and would give them the ability to carry God’s love and healing to others — and it worked. Demons were cast out, the sick were healed, the loving kingdom of God was revealed — and you better believe that the disciples were just as amazed as those they were caring for.

Now, I’m not trying to say that you should all expect to see the sick miraculously healed and demons destroyed every time you go to serve and care for those around you (though you might be surprised at what happens when you ask God for help). Rather, I’m trying to say that Jesus has promised to be with us when we serve those in need — I’m trying to say that we are all able to bear the presence of Christ to others, to show them (and to remind ourselves) that healing and hope are possible, that a community of love and mercy and justice is possible. I spent much of the last several months in the hospital as a volunteer chaplain, and I can tell you that the patients I saw did not need any of my special qualifications — they did not need my theological education or my leadership skills or my preaching. The main thing most of us need when we are helpless and suffering, the main thing that reveals the love of God to us, is simply to be seen, to be listened to, to be reminded that we are not alone. And this is a gift that all God’s people can give.

All of us, no matter who we are, no matter our age or ability, have been sent like the disciples. All of us are uniquely called to bring the Kingdom of God near to those who are ‘harassed and helpless’ around us. Abraham & Sarah were so old they believed God’s promise was impossible, and yet it was not. God was with them. Some of us have wounds and sufferings that we believe disqualify us from being worthy or able to carry God’s love to others, but in our Romans reading, Paul tells us that it is through our very sufferings that God can grow in us that hope which our world so desperately needs.

God has placed each of you in the midst of your communities for a reason. God has placed St. Matthias here, in this place, at this corner in Uptown Whittier for a reason. My friends, you are God’s plan to bring love and healing to the world. We are the hands and feet of Jesus for the ‘harassed and helpless’ in our midst.

May the Lord by his grace uphold us in this work that he has entrusted to us, and may his Spirit give us the courage to keep saying ‘yes’. Amen.

June 7, 2026, The Second Sunday after Pentecost, Reflections on Matthew 9:9-13, 18-26 by the Reverend Carole Horton-Howe

As Jesus was walking along, he saw a man called Matthew sitting at the tax booth; and he said to him, “Follow me.”

And he got up and followed him. And as he sat at dinner in the house, many tax collectors and sinners came and were sitting with him and his disciples. When the Pharisees saw this, they said to his disciples, “Why does your teacher eat with tax collectors and sinners?” But when he heard this, he said, “Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick. Go and learn what this means, ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice.’ For I have come to call not the righteous but sinners.”

While he was saying these things to them, suddenly a leader of the synagogue came in and knelt before him, saying, “My daughter has just died; but come and lay your hand on her, and she will live.” And Jesus got up and followed him, with his disciples. Then suddenly a woman who had been suffering from hemorrhages for twelve years came up behind him and touched the fringe of his cloak, for she said to herself, “If I only touch his cloak, I will be made well.” Jesus turned, and seeing her he said, “Take heart, daughter; your faith has made you well.” And instantly the woman was made well. When Jesus came to the leader’s house and saw the flute players and the crowd making a commotion, he said, “Go away; for the girl is not dead but sleeping.” And they laughed at him. But when the crowd had been put outside, he went in and took her by the hand, and the girl got up. And the report of this spread throughout that district.

Sermon by the Rev. Carole Horton-Howe

There actually are benefits of a long commute to work. While I’m driving I catch up with friends, often clergy friends. We sometimes talk about, even commiserate with each other, about lectionary readings coming up what we’re thinking about them. And talking about Matthew’s gospel with a friend this week, we started to remember our time as chaplains at Good Samaritan Hospital in Los Angeles. We shared stories – sort of pinging off each other back and forth of patients we’d met and still wonder about, about families and staff members, about difficult conversations, tearful prayers, compassionate hugs.  The scent of Holy Oil, the beep of the monitors. Some hospital stays ended well. Many did not.  But in these encounters, the common thread was hope.  God was always present so there was always hope.

Illness, we discovered as hospital chaplains, is a leveler. It makes no difference whether we are rich or poor, whether we are at the center of power or at the margins.  Illness causes great disruption in our lives and with some long-term illnesses we lose hope that we will ever be healthy again.

Sometimes we look around and see models of faith among us, people battling serious diseases who seem to have this inner peace. I know I’ve included in other sermons my time with a lady named Charlotte who had fought hard against various forms of cancer. She’d celebrate a good medical report one month only to find a recurrence of cancer a few months later.  She told me with deep conviction that she had no regrets about her life, only a sky full of stars. She named people and experiences she’d had among her stars. Cancer, she said, was just one of the stars in her sky – but not the biggest and not the brightest.    

We see people who pray over those in pain and seem to ease their suffering, people who read passages of Holy Scripture that give them strength in touch times, people who are simply present with the ill to give comfort or a cup of water when needed. What do we learn in this passage about the nature of illness and the place of faith and hope in healing?

We are told about two people battling illness: a leader of the synagogue who seeks out Jesus for his daughter and also a woman who has been bleeding for twelve years.  These are two people who would not have associated with each other, if they were healthy.  The male leader would be unlikely to associate with a female, let alone one made unclean by bloody hemorrhage.  Nevertheless, here their distress place them in the same story, even in the same crowd, seeking a healing miracle from Jesus.  They seek a healer to do what they have no power to do for themselves.

How often have we sought help from a physician when we are ill?  We may at first rely on our bodies to heal themselves – give it a little time and rest and some of those aches and pains, coughs and colds will resolve on their own. It’s part of the gift of God that we have bodies that in some cases can heal on their own. Or we may try our own home remedies. But at some times we realize that our own knowledge and expertise is not enough, that we need someone with knowledge of the body and medical arts who can guide our treatment. We look for, we pray for, a healer who will listen to our distress and confidently outline a successful plan of treatment.

When the leader of the synagogue approaches Jesus, all hope for a successful outcome seems lost. In other Gospels his name is Jairus. Jairus’ daughter is already dead and yet this man is not hopeless. He asks Jesus to lay hands on her with the expectation that she will live again. The interruption of the woman does not seem to concern him. We don’t hear about Jairus objecting to the conversation between the bleeding woman and Jesus in order for Jairus to get his own miracle back on track, even though a man of power might expect Jesus to pay more attention his need than to a woman.

Perhaps at that moment he sees in her some one who suffers just as his daughter has suffered. After 12 years she has probably sought her share of assistance from others, spent whatever fortune she had on treatment and been abandoned by her family and friends. But she, too, has not lost hope, saying “if only I touch his cloak, I will be made well.”

Such great faith from these two witnesses in Matthew! It almost feels too easy. “Suddenly” it says in verses 18 and 20 they are there before Jesus. And just as suddenly he has responded to them, to their needs. For the woman be confirms that her faith has made her well; with Jairus’ daughter, he simply takes her by the hand and she gets up.

When we read these accounts, we might feel that our own faith is weak and insignificant by comparison. When faced with even more significant and perhaps life-threatening illness, where do we find the strength to carry on? 

There is a great mystery here provoked by these healing stories.  Why does Jesus respond to these people, among all those who are seeking his help?  Do that have the greatest faith or the greatest need?  Or both? Why, when we pray for healing for ourselves and others, do some prayers seem to go unanswered?  Is it because our faith is not strong enough? Tragically, some would tell you that. I can’t tell you why some prayers are answered in the way would like and some are not. But I can assure that there is no “cause and effect” process here, that illness

We may not get very far into this passage before we wonder if anyone other than Jesus is really up for this task of healing. Curing the sick? Cleansing lepers? Raising the dead?  Few will feel confident going into those assignments.

When we look at what we’ve heard Jesus do and what the disciples are later sent to do, we anticipate that they will fall short. Remember who Jesus was talking to – a tax collector, a rabble-rouser, some fishermen, an accountant, men who were tradesmen or like Jesus were trained to work with their hands. Average people. No practitioners of the curing arts among them. And yet they were all called to be healers. If we place ourselves among the disciples, we might feel that we would fall short. Perhaps we’d be more comfortable among those who Jesus encountered and described as being like sheep without a shepherd.

But I think that Jesus helps us out with this task. We have a formula to follow: Compassion with Faith and Action lead to Healing.

To be equipped for healing doesn’t mean that you need to go out and get a medical degree or enroll in nursing school. If you feel called to heal in that way, God bless you and love you through that process.


 

But just as the disciples were sent out to towns in ancient Israel, we who follow Jesus today continue to be challenged to do this work with little more than the strength of our faith and the deep well of compassion within us. Fortunately, that’s enough. Compassion with Faith and Action lead to Healing.

Jesus does not just talk about these two daughters. He touches them. Both would potentially make him ritually unclean, one by the blood in her illness and the other by her death. Still Jesus allow himself to be touched and takes the young girl on her deathbed by the hand. He shows her and the crowd who waited, the people who laughed, that he is about breaking down the barriers that separate us. Illness and death are something we share.  It is precisely at the these times that we most long to be touched, even if our bodies are ugly and in pain.

As we think about the illnesses of others, we know that we too can be the hands of Jeus. We may not have the trained hands of a surgeon or a nurse, but the touch we bring comes with hope. This hope contains our faith that Jesus Christ is moving among us, suddenly making us well and saving the weak and weary in unexpected ways.

So today let us be bold in proclaiming the good news that Jesus Christ recognizes our suffering and our faith. He who died on a cross knows what it is to be in pain. He who is risen has the power to make us whole. Amen.  

May 31, 2026, Trinity Sunday, Reflections on Matthew 28: 16-20 by the Reverend Carole Horton-Howe

“The eleven disciples went to Galilee, to the mountain to which Jesus had directed them. When they saw him, they worshiped him; but some doubted. And Jesus came and said to them, “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them and teaching them to obey everything that I have commanded you. And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age.”

 

Sermon by the Rev. Carole Horton-Howe

It’s Trinity Sunday when we celebrate a doctrine of the church. There are designated Sundays for a couple of Christianity’s central doctrines — the Incarnation which we celebrate at Christmas and the Resurrection which we celebrate at Easter — and these are directly related to the life of Jesus.  But this is different.  It doesn’t come out of Holy Scripture. It comes out of our deep desire to better understand God and all that God is.

There are times when I meet someone new and inevitably the conversation turns to “so, what do you do?” And when I say I’m a priest in the Episcopal church, many times there is a follow-up question: “Episcopal? What’s that?” And in answering, I share many things about us including that we are Trinitarians – that we honor and worship God who is in three persons, Father, Son and Holy Spirit. “Ohhh” comes the response. Frankly, the Trinity is sort of a conversation killer. It smacks of “churchiness” which is tragic because the reality of the Trinity is anything but that.  The reality of the Trinity is that it is personal, creative, awe-inspiring and empowering. 

Reginald Heber was a Bishop of Calcutta during the first part of the19th century. At the time, India was what was referred to as a crown jewel in the British colonies. It was large and populous. So Bishop Heber, because of his deep commitment to mission and reaching out into the world, accepted the call to go to India. He saw a rich mission field in front of him.

And during his short time there, he remained committed to the people. He traveled extensively to care for them. He helped create a Hindustani dictionary.  And to make certain that people were welcomed into worship, he baptized and confirmed everyone he could everywhere he went. He observed with great dismay the abuses within the rigid caste system of India and was not shy about addressing those abuses.

But before he was Bishop of Calcutta, though, he was the Vicar of a parish in the western part of England called Shropshire. He was known as a writer and a poet. He collected texts for hymns that were organized around the church year, very much like our hymnal 1982 today is organized. And one of the texts for which he is best known is the text of the hymn we sang for our Processional, “Holy, Holy, Holy” with its text that speaks to the mystery and the magnificence of the Trinity.

If there were a Biblical text that might have deeply inspired Bishop Heber it might have been the text that we hear today from Matthew’s gospel.  The work that the disciples must do could not be clearer. Jesus wasn’t speaking in metaphor or telling a parable. It’s crystal clear – baptize everywhere you go, bring them into relationship with God, and teach them everything I taught you.

The concept of the Trinity wasn’t articulated as such until Tertullian coined the word in the early third century. Certainly there were hints before: The fact that God refers to God’s self in our Genesis reading as “we,” not I. There’s Paul’s wonderful closing benediction in his second letter to the Christians in Corinth: “May the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, and the love of God, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with you all evermore.” And, of course, Jesus’ Great Commission in the final ending of Matthew’s Gospel that we hear today: “Go, therefore, and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”

These are the building blocks from which the historic doctrine of the Trinity was carefully crafted in the fourth and fifth centuries. We assert that there is one God — not three Gods, but one — in three Persons — all of the same God-substance, the God-essence, and all eternal. 

There are all sorts of metaphors out there to try to explain the Trinity.  You’ve probably heard some of them – the water (which can be liquid, frozen or steam but all still water). Or the clover with its three leaves on one stem. St. Augustine gave us the metaphor of the tree:  the root is wood, the trunk is wood and the branches are wood.  So they are one wood, one substance but three distinguishable entities. And from it come leaves, fruit, flowers.

Perhaps we can approach this from another angle. What would we understand God to be without one of them?  Remember that we baptize just as Jesus instructed – in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.  But what if we baptized people only in the name of God the Father?  What would we be missing?  It would deny the very work of and person of Jesus Christ and the on-going work of the Holy Spirit.  It would not be a full picture of who God is. You would be immersed into the fullness of a very powerful and mysterious God but also a detached God – a God who creates but for whom? For what purpose?

What if we baptized people only in the name of Jesus? “I baptize you in the name of Jesus. Amen.” That would miss the person of God the Father Almighty, the maker of heaven and earth, the very source of our being and that part of God that is beyond our logic and reason.  It would also miss the Holy Spirit, the on-going presence of God with us today to energize and inspire us.

What if we said, “I baptize you in the name of the Holy Spirit.”  Well then we’re missing the awesome creativity of God and the redeeming work of Jesus Christ: God with us. God in human flesh. We would miss the part of God who rose from the dead to overcome our sinfulness.  Let’s not leave that out! 

You cannot go out into the world, according to Jesus without all that, without all of it, without the whole being of God.  Even if we don’t understand the mechanics behind it, we can be confident that we are powerful, connected, redeemed and empowered through this three in one God dwelling within us. 

And that’s a tremendous gift for those of us who are less interested in the intellectual exercise of the Trinity and more concerned with living our lives. The Trinity is often depicted as a triangle, each person of the Trinity taking one of the sides of equal length. And the center space, where they all overlap is open and ready for us, a place to put ourselves in Holy Presence especially when we are feeling isolated, angry, hopeless, or just plain tired. In this mystery of the Trinity is the palpable reality that there is a God who knows who we are, where we are on our faith journey, and what we need.   

In our gospel today, there is one word that stands out, one that sums it all up. It may be the shortest work in the gospel lesson. And it’s “go.” Go! The fact is that we’re not going to solve the problems of the world with a lot of water, by getting everyone wet. That’s not the point of baptism. It’s for us to go! Go out and meet people, go out and tell them what magnificent gifts await them. Give them the chance to see God at work in their lives.  Give them the chance to understand what is life-giving and ask questions – discipleship building questions - that we need to reflect on this day:

Do we always allow ourselves to see the glory of God, to see the awe and majesty of God everywhere we look in all the world around us?

Do we stop, do we take note of the ways in which God is acting?  And then, are we willing to put aside out own need to solve our problems? 

Or when we come to Jesus in the dead of night and to ask, to plead for our needs, are we willing to open ourselves to hearing in a new and different way - God’s Way - to answer those needs? And when those answers don’t seem apparent to us, are we willing to trust that the Holy Spirit will come and will renew us and will fill us and reveal to us God’s answer, the answer that will allow us to get up and try again.

It is that awe, it is that mystery and majesty, that realization of God’s great power and endless love and grace continuing to love us through the difficulties and joys of the world that should take our breath away.

The words that Reginal Heber gave to all of Christianity should be our song and prayer every day: “Holy, Holy, Holy Lord God almighty. There is none beside thee, perfect in power, in love and purity.”  Amen.

 

May 24, 2026, The Day of Pentecost, Reflections on Acts 2:1-21 and John 20:19-23 by the Reverend Carole Horton-Howe

When the day of Pentecost had come, the disciples were all together in one place. And suddenly from heaven there came a sound like the rush of a violent wind, and it filled the entire house where they were sitting. Divided tongues, as of fire, appeared among them, and a tongue rested on each of them. All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other languages, as the Spirit gave them ability.

Now there were devout Jews from every nation under heaven living in Jerusalem. And at this sound the crowd gathered and was bewildered, because each one heard them speaking in the native language of each. Amazed and astonished, they asked, "Are not all these who are speaking Galileans? And how is it that we hear, each of us, in our own native language? Parthians, Medes, Elamites, and residents of Mesopotamia, Judea and Cappadocia, Pontus and Asia, Phrygia and Pamphylia, Egypt and the parts of Libya belonging to Cyrene, and visitors from Rome, both Jews and proselytes, Cretans and Arabs-- in our own languages we hear them speaking about God's deeds of power." All were amazed and perplexed, saying to one another, "What does this mean?" But others sneered and said, "They are filled with new wine."

But Peter, standing with the eleven, raised his voice and addressed them, "Men of Judea and all who live in Jerusalem, let this be known to you, and listen to what I say. Indeed, these are not drunk, as you suppose, for it is only nine o'clock in the morning. No, this is what was spoken through the prophet Joel:

`In the last days it will be, God declares, that I will pour out my Spirit upon all flesh, and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, and your young men shall see visions, and your old men shall dream dreams. Even upon my slaves, both men and women, in those days I will pour out my Spirit; and they shall prophesy.

And I will show portents in the heaven above and signs on the earth below, blood, and fire, and smoky mist.

The sun shall be turned to darkness and the moon to blood, before the coming of the Lord's great and glorious day.

Then everyone who calls on the name of the Lord shall be saved.' "

John 20:19-23

When it was evening on that day, the first day of the week, and the doors of the house where the disciples had met were locked for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” After he said this, he showed them his hands and his side. Then the disciples rejoiced when they saw the Lord. Jesus said to them again, “Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” When he had said this, he breathed on them and said to them, “Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained.”

 

Sermon by the Rev. Carole Horton-Howe

Three times a year the people called Israel were required according to their faith to come before the presence of the Lord.  Their understanding of this requirement, for those who lived anywhere near Jerusalem, was that they should come to the Temple. These three occasions during the year were the Celebrations of Passover, the Celebration of Shavuot, which in Greek is Pentecost, and the Celebration of Sukkot. Passover was the celebration of their release from bondage in captivity in Egypt. Pentecost was the time of celebrating when they received the law, the Torah, by Moses on Mt. Sinai, and the gathering of the first fruits of the harvest.  And Sukkot was a kind of ingathering of the late harvest of the year. These three occasions were the times that they came to the temple to bring their offerings and present themselves to God.   

Life had not been simple or uncomplicated or especially peaceful. They had been taken over by different groups of people, they had been driven off their land into exile.  They had a difficult time being in the land that they felt they were promised.  And so many of the people called Israel found themselves over time living in a number of different places – places they had fled for safety.  That meant they lived within other cultures, other traditions.  They learned to speak other languages where they lived. 

        So when the people called Israel would gather again in the temple, when people would come back to Jerusalem from the places where they had settled, they came back with all of the languages, all the cultural acquisitions and all the things that had shaped them where they had made their home.

        We hear in our lesson from Acts of the Apostles the impact of what happens when the people now make their way back to Jerusalem.  Together again as they are beginning to celebrate the Pentecost, they have come with everything they are now from all the places that have shaped them and holding onto their Jewish traditions. 

          But at their core, they have come to this place, in order to appear before the Lord and to bring their gifts.  There they are – those who have emigrated back, people who are pilgrims alongside the folks who have lived through all of this and continued to make Jerusalem their home. 

If the memories of what happened just 50 days before aren’t still fresh for them it would be a surprise.  Because the last time they were all gathered into Jerusalem for the Passover, we know that they experienced the unexpected execution of their beloved teacher, rabbi and friend.  We have to wonder if in their own minds they aren’t at least a little anxious, if they aren’t asking themselves what could happen now?  Are they kind of frightened about what might happen just 50 days later? 

And as they’re gathering, these people from all these places, who speak so many different languages, who have been formed by all these different traditions – start hearing something very different.  They might know a few others people who speak their languages, but they are not expecting a bunch of Galileans, to be speaking their language – to be sharing the word of God with them in a way that they can understand.

 

They realize they’re hearing something new. What is this?  How can this be? How is God doing this? 

Now notice how it is that the Holy Spirit comes into Jerusalem: the Holy Spirit does not come in quietly.  We see in our gospel lesson from John today that Holy Spirit comes in quietly. Jesus bids them peace and then breathes the Holy Spirit onto the disciples in that room, it’s a quiet thing. But in Acts, the Holy Spirit does not come quietly into Jerusalem. But loud, big, booming, roaring in.  Getting everyone’s attention. Shaking everything up. This shows how the Holy Spirit can work in our lives – the Holy Spirit come quietly but also can come in and shake us up so that we’re not quite the same again. 

        So Peter is trying to explain to them how it is that this day has come to pass.  And he does so using words that should be familiar to them, he goes back to the words of the prophet Joel. God says that God is going to pour God’s Holy Spirit upon you – no matter who you are: men and women, slave and free, young and old. No matter who you are or where you are, God can pour that Holy Spirit upon you and make you brand new.  So here we see everyone beginning to process what it means for God to be at work – in new ways, in unexpected ways, breathing life into a body of people in a way they never expected.  Because God does that. God does exactly that.

We’re filled with all these incredible visuals of this day in Jerusalem, and we think … what does all of this say to us today as we continue to be shaped in our world by the work of God?  One thing it should say to us is that unexpected thing – that God sometimes comes in unexpected ways; God might be speaking a language we don’t think we understand, that God might be doing something that we never expected God to be doing.  And we have to be ready for that.  We have to be ready, no matter what, to move with God into the place where God wants us to be.  

But it says something about the community of believers doesn’t it? All these diverse people with diverse experiences and languages and ways of living, the one thing they do have in common with one another is that love of God. They share that.  Even if they don’t communicate well with each other in any other way they are there and they are present because they share that love of God just as we are all here and present today sharing that love of God.

Like them, we are all diverse.  We all come from different backgrounds and traditions. We all come to the language of God is very different ways. But none the less, we come together to be nourished by the word, by fellowship with one another.  We come to grow together as children of God.   

And any artificial boundaries that separate us fall away because what is important to us, what is real to us, is our love of God.  And we come together to find our way to go forth into the world and serve God as the Holy Spirit empowers us and moves and refreshes us.

I hope the Holy Spirit is coming to each of us today in just the perfect way that makes sense to us – whether it’s shaking us up of coming on the blessing of peace. Either way, let us ask ourselves – what is God calling ME to do to make a difference?  What is God calling US corporately to do to make a difference?   

Too often we think that we can’t do enough because we think of ourselves as solitary, individual beings. I can’t do that because I’m not big enough, I’m not strong enough, I don’t control enough or I don’t have enough resources at my disposal. But every single one of us is capable of effecting the life of another person in a mighty way.  

In John’s gospel Jesus offers, along with the breath of the Holy Spirit, his peace. We are carriers of God’s peace. And sometimes it’s only just by saying a kind word that we are able to show God’s love and help others find their way to God.   

We’re really not that much different from that early community. All brought together with one hope and one aspiration of a shared love of God.  And from that, the Holy Spirit breathes on us the knowledge that when God’s people all say “evil cannot triumph over God, it is real.”  But we have to believe that with the power of the Holy Spirit nothing is impossible. 

So my prayer for us this day, is that we take this image we have from this early community – this rag tag bunch of folks that come from everywhere who don’t even speak the same language, we take that image and we say to the world that nothing is greater than God’s love for all of us. Amen.

May 17, 2026, The Seventh Sunday of Easter, Reflections on John 17: 1-11 by the Reverend Carole Horton-Howe

Jesus looked up to heaven and said, “Father, the hour has come; glorify your Son so that the Son may glorify you, since you have given him authority over all people, to give eternal life to all whom you have given him. And this is eternal life, that they may know you, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom you have sent. I glorified you on earth by finishing the work that you gave me to do. So now, Father, glorify me in your own presence with the glory that I had in your presence before the world existed.

“I have made your name known to those whom you gave me from the world. They were yours, and you gave them to me, and they have kept your word. Now they know that everything you have given me is from you; for the words that you gave to me I have given to them, and they have received them and know in truth that I came from you; and they have believed that you sent me. I am asking on their behalf; I am not asking on behalf of the world, but on behalf of those whom you gave me, because they are yours. All mine are yours, and yours are mine; and I have been glorified in them. And now I am no longer in the world, but they are in the world, and I am coming to you. Holy Father, protect them in your name that you have given me, so that they may be one, as we are one.”

Sermon by the Rev. Carole Horton-Howe

If you think back to what you were doing this past Thursday, I wonder if it was an average day? It was a special day in the life of the church. It was the Feast of Ascension. It always occurs 40 days after Easter – so every year it falls on a Thursday. And because it’s in the middle of the week I’m afraid it gets overlooked, sort of a foot note. So I thought I’d spend a little time on it today. Because it is a meaningful part of our faith. It is the time when Jesus gives the final charge to the disciples and disappears from their sight for the last time.

This is how it’s described in Luke’s gospel:

“Jesus said to his disciples, "These are my words that I spoke to you while I was still with you-- that everything written about me in the law of Moses, the prophets, and the psalms must be fulfilled." Then he opened their minds to understand the scriptures, and he said to them, "Thus it is written, that the Messiah is to suffer and to rise from the dead on the third day, and that repentance and forgiveness of sins is to be proclaimed in his name to all nations, beginning from Jerusalem. You are witnesses of these things. And see, I am sending upon you what my Father promised; so stay here in the city until you have been clothed with power from on high."

Then he led them out as far as Bethany, and, lifting up his hands, he blessed them. While he was blessing them, he withdrew from them and was carried up into heaven. And they worshiped him and returned to Jerusalem with great joy; and they were continually in the temple blessing God.” 

 

In the accounts of the Ascension—when we picture Jesus being lifted up into the clouds, it is easy to feel a sense of loss. We might imagine the disciples, standing there with their heads tilted toward the sky, and feel a twinge of sympathy for them. It seems like the end of an era. It feels like they were left behind. But Luke tells us they were joyful.

And if we look closely at the Scriptures, we understand that the Ascension was not an ending; it was an inauguration. It was not a departure that left us orphaned, but a departure that left us energized, a profound shift that solidified our intimate relationship with God and an eternal lifeline to God. That lifeline is in prayer.

The Ascension fundamentally changes who we are praying to and how our prayers are received. When Jesus ascended, he took his place at the right hand of God where, the writer of Hebrews tells us, he "always lives to make intercession for us."

Think about what that means for our prayer lives. Whether we pray in the quiet of our room, or if we cry out in the middle of a crisis, whether it’s during our Prayers of the People or as part of our Eucharistic prayers, we are not shouting into the void. Whatever form our prayers might take – our beautiful liturgy or our sometimes imperfect, faltering, and confused prayers – whatever form they take, they are embraced by the ascended Christ, who gathers them into his own perfect relationship with God the Father.

We might even say, with a nod to country western singer Garth Brooks, that because Jesus is seated in heavenly places, he is our friend in high places. He is the Great High Priest who knows our human weaknesses and pleads our case before God. Augustin of Hippo put it this way – Jesus ascended in order that we may ascend also. Because he ascended, we have confidence that our prayers are heard.

And because Jesus is fully God and fully human, his Ascension means that humanity has now entered the very presence of God. Before Christ, the way into the holy of holies was blocked. He belongs to our world but also to another world a place on the horizon that is somehow both within reach and just beyond our reach. Those appearances end at the ascension when Jesus makes the transition from that place of horizon to the realm to God’s that touches all space and all time.  But through his life, death, resurrection, and Ascension, Jesus "has opened the way into the Heavenly Kingdom".

It’s different with us. We are here, right here, right now.  We can’t be anywhere except in Whittier in this moment. We are limited to this dimension of time and space. But God can touch upon all space and time. But with the Ascension, the ascended Christ is now able to connect the whole life of the church across time and space. The Ascension is the guarantee that human flesh and human voices are welcome in the divine sanctuary.

In a very real way, when we pray, we are joining with the ascended Christ in the heavenly realms and participating in the life of God, right here and right now. Ascension leads us to our next season of the church.  It is the prelude for the coming of the Holy Spirit. The disciples are left with great promises and blessings, and leave in joy to continually bless God in the Temple.

Next week with Jesus ascended to heaven, we will celebrate the coming of the Holy Spirit. So we might say it is Ascension that triggered the pouring out of the Holy Spirit on the Day of Pentecost. And how did the early Church receive the Spirit? They received the Spirit through prayer.  In the reading from the Book of Acts that we heard today, right after the Ascension, the disciples returned to Jerusalem and went to an upper room. And what did they do there? They "continued with one accord in prayer and supplication". For ten days, they waited and they prayed. Their prayer bridged the gap between Christ's departure and the Spirit's arrival.

Today it is the Holy Spirit that translates our deepest longings and groans when we do not know what to pray for, aligning our hearts with the will of the ascended Christ.

If there comes a time with you feel more separated from God than connected, remember the Ascension. Remember that your Savior Jesus is not a distant, historical figure, but a reigning King who sits at the right hand of the Father, interceding for you every single day.

The angels asked the disciples in the first chapter of Acts, "Men of Galilee, why do you stand looking up toward heaven?" The answer is that we look to heaven because that is where our King has gone, and where we are called to follow in hope.

Let us be a people of hope through prayer. Let us use the incredible, unhindered access we have to God's throne. And as we pray, let us draw near to the ascended Christ, confident that he is with us, he is for us, and he is preparing a place for us.

Let us pray.

Gracious and reigning Lord Jesus, you ascended into glory, not to leave us, but to lift us into eternal life with you. Thank you for opening the way to the presence of God and for interceding on our behalf. We look for the coming of the Holy Spirit, that we may pray with confidence, with joy, and with expectant hope, until the day that faith becomes sight. In the Jesus’ name we pray. Amen.

 

May 10, 2026, The Sixth Sunday of Easter, Reflections on John 14:15-21 by the Reverend Carole Horton-Howe

Jesus said, ” If you love me, you will keep my commandments. And I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Advocate, to be with you forever. This is the Spirit of truth, whom the world cannot receive, because it neither sees him nor knows him. You know him, because he abides with you, and he will be in you.

”I will not leave you orphaned; I am coming to you. In a little while the world will no longer see me, but you will see me; because I live, you also will live. On that day you will know that I am in my Father, and you in me, and I in you. They who have my commandments and keep them are those who love me; and those who love me will be loved by my Father, and I will love them and reveal myself to them.”

Sermon by the Rev. Carole Horton-Howe

Our gospel lesson today has something we don’t always hear from Jesus: simple, concise sentences by Jesus that go right to the heart of his life and teaching.  There’s no confusion about it: “If you love me, you will keep my commandments.”  This is part of what is called the Farewell Discourse. Coming quickly to the close of his earthly ministry, he can only speak of love and the assurance that the God he knows so intimately as Father will continue to accompany them through an advocate, a revelation that God’s love is what is most true.  More about the advocate later.

Notice what Jesus does not say. He does not say, “If you fear me,” or “If you want to impress me,” or “If you want to earn a place with my Father.” He says, “If you love me.” He’s urging them to a mindset of willing obedience, evidence of a transformed heart, a heart that longs for nothing more than a relationship with God that grows closer and more intimate every day.  In the life of faith, full obedience to God is not the price of admission; it is the fruit of love.

In John’s Gospel, Jesus’ command is to love as he has loved.  One of the verses we cherish but didn’t hear in this reading is John 13:34: “I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another.”

The love Jesus wants his hearers to embrace is not some abstract philosophical concept, but a lived reality revealed in the life, relationships and actions of a simple Nazarene who lives among them. He feeds the hungry, touches lepers, heals the sick and speaks and acts towards women and foreigners with care and respect. It is love in service and compassion.   

This love is also in his fierce opposition to those who abuse his vision of the value of each person and the importance of an ethic of mutual regard and care.  Instead of power as domination, Jesus invites those who meet him to imagine power that has as its goal keeping top of mind the well-being of all persons regardless of social status.  To “keep” his word is to receive it so deeply that it begins to keep us: it directs our choices, restrains our tongues, softens our hearts, and re-orders our priorities.

So here’s a question for us to consider: Thinking back over the last week, if someone examined your week, what would they conclude that you love most?  Where did you put your time and energy?  Would your actions demonstrate a love for Jesus?  The love of Jesus shows up in subtle ways:

  • Love of Jesus shows up in truth-telling when a lie would be easier.

  • Love of Jesus shows up in forgiveness when bitterness would feel justified.

  • Love of Jesus shows up in compassion when indifference would be more convenient.

  • Love of Jesus shows up in worship when distraction would be more comfortable.

And then Jesus does something tender. Knowing how quickly we turn obedience into self-reliance, he immediately promises help: “I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Advocate… to be with you forever.”

The Spirit is also called “the Spirit of truth.” Not “truth” as an idea, but truth as a Person’s faithful presence. The world cannot receive him, Jesus says, because it “neither sees him nor knows him.” It’s not that the Spirit is weak; the problem is that the world has trained itself to recognize only what can be controlled, measured, purchased, and managed. The Spirit cannot be owned, only welcomed.

But Jesus says to his disciples, “You know him.” How? How can they possibly know this Spirit, this advocate? “Because he abides with you, and he will be in you.” I think Jesus wants to make the point that a life of faith is not powered by willpower; it is sustained by indwelling. We do not grit our teeth into holiness—we are carried into it by the Spirit who lives within God’s people.

Then Jesus speaks to a deep fear underneath all our questions about faith: the fear of abandonment.  “I will not leave you orphaned,” he tells us. An orphan is someone without protection, without a name to claim or a home to return to. Jesus looks at his anxious disciples and promises: “You will not be left exposed. You will not be left alone. You will not be left without a Father.”

He continues: “In a little while the world will no longer see me, but you will see me; because I live, you also will live.” The cross will be real. The absence will feel real. But it will not be the last word. Jesus will rise, and his risen life will become the source of our life. His love is both the source of our lives and the goal of our lives.

Alan Paton in his novel “Ah But Your Land is Beautiful” describes a scene that may illustrate this life-giving power of love and the assurance that God’s love discloses what is most true. In South Africa during the apartheid years, when laws prevented black south Africans from mixing with whites, there was a funeral for a while South African official who had working within the system to humanize life for the oppressed.  But black South Africans were turned away from the funeral service despite the wishes of the family. It was a terrible insult.  A black pastor, Isaiah Buti, visited a local white chief justice, who he had reason to believe was a friends of his oppressed people. Pastor Buti asked the justice to participate in the upcoming Maundy Thursday service where the congregation would observe Jesus’ practice of foot washing. Would the justice wash the feet of Martha, a member of the pastor’s congregation and an employee of the chief justice who cleaned his house and took care of his children?  The chief justice readily agreed though he did ask that his participation in the service not be announced ahead of time.

When the time came, the chief justice washed Martha’s feet, dried them, and before he rose to return to his seat, gently kissed both feet. It was a gesture that set healing in motion, because in that simple extra-expression of care, he disclosed the truthfulness and life-giving power of God’s love.

Word did get out what the chief justice had done. His personal and professional life was adversely affected. But he had no regrets, because he too experienced the life-giving power of love that helps us recognize our neighbors. 

Love as Jesus commands us to love is difficult and can feel overwhelming. But what if we start with one concrete act of obedience this week—one apology, one act of generosity, one boundary that honors holiness, one step toward reconciliation. Love grows legs when it is practiced. And then see if the Spirit is not just a temporary visitor but a real and tangible presence in your life, giving you the courage and humility to become a witness that points to love that leads to obedience. We are not orphaned. We are loved by the Father, accompanied by the Spirit, and indwelt by the living Christ.

If you are tired, hear him: “I will not leave you orphaned.”

If you are confused, hear him: “I will give you the Spirit of truth.”

If you are wondering whether you truly love him, pray with surrender: “Jesus, I want to keep your word. Help me.”

Amen.