The Thirteenth Sunday in Pentecost, September 7, 2025, "Becoming Disciples", Deuteronomy 30: 15-20, Psalm 1, Philemon 1-21, Luke 14: 25-33 by J.D Neal, Seminarian

“Whoever comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, yes, and even life itself, cannot be my disciple. Whoever does not carry the cross and follow me cannot be my disciple. ” “None of you can become my disciple if you do not give up all your possessions.”

If you’ve been around St. Matthias the last couple of years, you’ll know that I’ve had the honor of somehow always ending up preaching on particularly hard or strange gospel readings, and it looks like I get to keep my streak! Or perhaps Jesus is just often saying things that are confronting and challenging, things that cut us open and speak to our core, if we can manage to listen. Regardless:

What are we to make of these words from Jesus? Are we really meant to hate our parents, our children and siblings — all the people we are usually taught to love most — before we can become disciples? Is our life meant to be full of suffering, full of ‘crosses to bear’ to be truly a Christian? Do I really have to sell or give away all of my stuff? In a few short sentences, Jesus has managed to threaten our relationship to most of the things and people that we cling to for comfort, security, and meaning. Most of us spend most of our time and energy trying to accumulate more possessions or trying to love or be loved by our parents and families, not to forsake them or give them away.

I’m going to tell you up front: Bad news; I can’t make this pill easy to swallow. I can’t do some exegetical or mental gymnastics to take the teeth out of this reading — it is meant to challenge and unsettle us — but what I can do is try to open up the reading a bit, to remove some misunderstandings and try to help us see things a bit more clearly as the gospel, the good news, that it is.

So let’s begin by looking at some context. If you were here last week, you would’ve heard a reading about a parable Jesus told when he was at dinner with some Pharisees, about how those who try to exalt themselves will be humbled and those who humble themselves will be exalted. He goes on to tell them to invite “the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind” to their banquets, if they want to be blessed. After this, Jesus keeps going with the theme and tells another banquet parable about how most of those invited to God’s banquet end up rejecting the invite because they’re too busy and distracted with their own business and possessions, and so those who end up at the banquet are the poor and disenfranchised. In other words, today’s reading is in the midst of a chunk of teachings where Jesus is subverting expectations about who is “in” and who is “out” of God’s Kingdom, about who is included in the family of God. Spoiler alert — it’s not who his listeners expected. I think today’s passage is meant to be read as a part of this larger context about what kind of person fits in God’s people.

First, some grammar: The word we translate, ‘hate’, here is miseo in Greek. ‘Hate’ is a bit of a misleading translation. In our usage, ‘hate’ usually means that we feel intense or passionate dislike for someone, that we wish them ill, that we would be glad to see harm befall them. Miseo can include these feelings in the right context, but it might more appropriately be translated as ‘disregard’ or ‘rejection’, a ‘turning away from’. Jesus isn’t telling us that we have to ‘hate’ our families and wish them harm, but rather that we have to radically re-prioritize our relationships to our parents, children, siblings, and even our own life, if we are going to follow him. We have to be willing to ‘turn away from them,’ to regard them as secondary to following the way of Jesus. This does not mean that we are not supposed to ‘honor our father and mother’ a la the 10 Commandments, but that the way that we love and honor our families is reshaped by a fundamental love and allegiance to Christ.

Something similar, I think, is happening with our relationship to our possessions at the end of the passage. Jesus says “none of you can become my disciple if you do not give up all your possessions.” The greek for ‘give up’ here literally says ‘say goodbye to.’ Now, let me be clear, I think God very often asks us to quite literally give up or give away many of our possessions, and that we are simply lying to ourselves if we read the gospels and dismiss the possibility that God might ask us to give up all of them some day. More fundamentally, however, I think that Jesus is saying that we cannot follow him without holding all of our stuff with open hands. Our money and resources and influence and comforts and prized possessions are gifts that we steward — resources to be leveraged in answering the calling of God to love our neighbors. Holding on to them in any other way makes them a stumbling block, something that gets between us and God, and if we keep reading Luke & Acts or look at the history of the early church, we see that from the beginning, the followers of Jesus are defined and known by the ways that they sacrificially give and share their resources, holding them in common and using them to care for those in need rather than clinging to them for comfort and security.

These interpretations may be clarifying, but they do not let us off the hook! Sure, it’s nice to know that we don’t have to ‘hate’ our families, but I’m sure many of us know how agonizing it can be when we have to ‘turn away’ from our families, when our values and sense of what is right — of what it means to love God or others — comes into conflict with the thoughts, feelings, or beliefs of those who raised us (or who we raised). Similarly, while God might not be asking you to literally give away every single thing you own today, I’m confident that we all know the struggle and internal conflict that comes when we see someone in need who we have the resources to help but are afraid of the vulnerability that comes with giving away our ‘stuff’, of the fear that can accompany giving up our money or resources, especially when we feel like we’re in a tight spot ourselves.

The verbs throughout this passage are in the present tense, and my understanding is that in Greek, the present tense is usually the present progressive tense. This means that when Jesus talks about ‘hating father or mother’ and ‘giving up your possessions’, he’s talking about a continuous, ongoing action, about a choice that we make over and over everytime our commitment to loving God and neighbor rubs up against our desire for security in our possessions or desire to be loved by our dear people. Imagine if we became the kind of people who really listened for the voice of the Spirit every time we faced one of these conflicts — what might God ask of us? Would we be willing to say, ‘yes’?

This reading is bookended by Jesus’ declarations about those who “cannot be his disciples”. Sometimes when we hear this language it can be tempting to think of this as an exclusion, as Jesus saying “no, you’re not allowed to be my disciple”. The Greek, however, simply says “you are not able to be my disciple,” and I suspect that this is about our capacity, our ability to follow Jesus. I think Jesus is saying, if you do not ‘hate father or mother’, if you do not ‘say goodbye to your possessions’, you are not capable of being my disciple, because that is simply what is required in order to follow me, in order to be a part of God’s people. Who will be there at God’s banquet? Who will follow Christ into God’s Kingdom? Not the rich and powerful, not the religious leaders, not those who stand on stages and give big speeches or go on and on about ‘Christian values’, but anyone and everyone who is willing to count the cost and give themselves to the way of Jesus with everything they have. Anyone and everyone who is willing to figure out how to love their neighbors as themselves, to reach out and care for those in need, even if it causes tension in their relationships, even if it costs them the comfort and security of their possessions.

And why does Jesus insist on this? Because this is the way to abundant life, to the true joy and peace and community that is offered in the Kingdom of God. Learning to love this way is how we become the kind of people that can receive the life that God in Christ is offering to us.

Like Moses in Deuteronomy, Christ has set before us today life and blessings in the invitation to be his disciples. May his Spirit empower us to become the sort of people who choose to receive them.

The Twelfth Sunday in Pentecost, August 31, 2025, Reflections on Luke 14: 1, 7-14 by the Reverend Carole Horton-Howe

On one occasion when Jesus was going to the house of a leader of the Pharisees to eat a meal on the Sabbath, they were watching him closely.

When he noticed how the guests chose the places of honor, he told them a parable. "When you are invited by someone to a wedding banquet, do not sit down at the place of honor, in case someone more distinguished than you has been invited by your host; and the host who invited both of you may come and say to you, `Give this person your place,' and then in disgrace you would start to take the lowest place. But when you are invited, go and sit down at the lowest place, so that when your host comes, he may say to you, `Friend, move up higher'; then you will be honored in the presence of all who sit at the table with you. For all who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted."

He said also to the one who had invited him, "When you give a luncheon or a dinner, do not invite your friends or your brothers or your relatives or rich neighbors, in case they may invite you in return, and you would be repaid. But when you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind. And you will be blessed, because they cannot repay you, for you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous."

Sermon by the Rev. Carole Horton-Howe

There’s a board game that’s been around forever called Chutes and Ladders.  I think everyone has played this at some point in their lives either as a child or as a grown-up with a child.  Since it is a game for little ones, it’s simple and straightforward to play: You spin the arrow and move around the board. As you go, you hope for ladders and to avoid the chutes and slides. Land at the base of a ladder and you get to advance all the way to the top beyond where even the highest spin can take you. Land at the bottom of a chute and - oh no! – you have to slide way down, back to a place you’ve already been.

Chutes and ladders gives us some insight into the culture in which Jesus lived. Scholars tell us that first century culture operated under the binaries of honor and shame. This basically meant that people’s behavior was shaped either by the threat of being publicly shamed or the promise of being publicly honored.  And not just your shame or honor but the shame and honor of many people who mattered to you. Our individualistic culture makes it a little harder to feel the import of that, of how terrible a setback it was to be shamed or how being honored moved you forward in a big way. It was akin to Chutes and Ladders

I sometimes wonder why these upright religious folks kept inviting Jesus to dinner parties, because he always caused a ruckus. At a dinner party at another Pharisee’s house, a disheveled and disreputable woman crashed the party, threw herself at Jesus feet, and began weeping. The host of the part got very upset, but Jesus apparently told everyone that she had done a beautiful thing.

He may be he’s invited so they can rip him up, take his temperature.  But Jesus, in the end, always takes theirs. And today he’s done it again. In today’s story, when we hear Jesus is invited into the home of a Pharisee for a meal. You just know there is going to be trouble. 

Jesus arrives, maybe he makes a little small talk, and then he watches how the guests jockey with each other for a seat at the cool table. They called it a table of honor but it’s the same thing. You know they’re all doing that delicate dance that has all the subtlety of a junior high cafeteria where everyone wants to sit and be seen at the cool table with the cool kids.  

So Jesus watches this for a while, and then he launches into a story, which basically skewers the pretensions of all the guests. He says, “When you get invited to a banquet, don’t seat yourself in a place of honor, because someone more important than you may come along, and then you will be asked to give up your seat, and you will be disgraced in front of the whole party.”

It’s like Jesus, too, has played Chutes and Ladders and is telling them: you will find yourself at the top of the chute and you will have to slide from the seat of honor all the way down to the seat of shame. Oh what a long, lonely walk it is from the first table to that one in the back near the swinging door to the kitchen.

And then, to make sure they do not confine this thinking to dinner parties, Jesus utters the great saying, “For all who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted.” Those who make their own honor the goal of their lives will be ashamed of themselves in the end. And those who are humble, repeatedly putting others first, will experience the true, deep and lasting honor of the Kingdom of God.

On the one hand, this is very practical advice, the kind of thing you might find in a Poor Richard’s Almanac. Humility – true humility – is always the best mindset. It is preferable, Jesus says, to let others recognize your achievements than to address them yourself.

And on the other hand, these parables go much deeper than practical advice. They speak to the arc of our lives.  What if the point is not about climbing all the right ladders of achievement and prestige?  What if our true purpose is to slide down as many chutes as possible in compassion and companionship, standing with our neighbors? 

Psychiatrist Robert Coles tells a story about his first encounter with Dorothy Day, the great social activist, who was living and working with the poor in the slums of New York City. Coles was in Harvard Medical School at the time, proud of his status, and also proud that he had volunteered to work with Dorothy Day in helping the poor. He arrived for his first meeting to discover the famous Day deep in conversation with a dirty and disheveled street person. When she noticed Coles had come into the room, she asked him, “Did you want to speak to one of us?”

Robert Coles was astounded by Dorothy Day’s humility. She had identified so completely with what society would call a “nobody” that there was no distinction between them. Coles said it changed his life. And, he said, he learned more in that moment than in his four years at Harvard.

He saw in her a groundedness, a genuine humility. And I think we’d so ourselves a favor to understand genuine humility: it is open to new learning combined with a balanced and accurate assessment of our strengths, our imperfections and our opportunities for growth.

Genuine humility does not deny or downplay ourselves, our gifts or our accomplishments. It does not embrace low self-esteem or meekness. It does not let people walk all over us.

It is not taking on a certain posture of lowliness in order to try to curry favor with God. Indeed, the God who created us with all our strengths and challenges looks to us to utilize those strengths while working out those things that challenge us. 

True humility involves understanding our contributions in context, in relation to both the contributions of others and our own place in God’s Kingdom. True humility says “I’m here to get it right, not to be right.”

I started today talking about a game, Chutes and Ladders and I’ll finish with another, slightly more challenging one: Jeopardy.  Ken Jennings won $2.5 million dollars playing 74 consecutive games. Now he’s the host.

During a recent taping of the show while they were resetting the stage, Ken asked the studio audience, “Any other questions for me while we have a moment?” A gentleman asks him. “Do you ever finish a particular Jeopardy episode and at the end realize “boy, that contestant don’t know a darn thing?” Ken laughs out loud. Then he replies, “I lost to a lovely lady from Ventura named Nancy. She knew Final Jeopardy and I didn’t. And you know what she thought? “That guy doesn’t know a darn thing.”  True humility. Ken let’s others sing his praises. And he pokes fun at himself. Because he knows he’s smart guy and he knows what he did. And also he know he still has more to learn.

We can’t free ourselves from the status system. Jesus points that out by assuming that there will always be a table and there will always be fighting for higher positions at the table. Where we have a choice is where we choose to sit. And if we ask, Jesus to be with us to help us take the lower seat, help us to embrace groundedness and save us from false humility.

We won’t need to make a big show of it. We will know our true worth. We will know deep in our bones that our worth is not determined by where we sit, but by whom we are loved. And we are loved by Jesus. Amen.

The Eleventh Sunday in Pentecost, August 24, 2025, "Everything you need, you brought with you" by the Reverend Jeannie Martz

Not too long ago, I read a book by author Daniel Kraus called Whalefall, published in 2023.  The New York Times calls Whalefall “A crazy, and crazily enjoyable, beat-the-clock adventure story about fathers, sons, guilt, and the mysteries of the seas.”

As a former scuba diver, I loved the book because diving and underwater scenes are a big part of the story, and it brought back some great memories.  I’ll probably read it again, savoring the underwater imagery and the various family relationships.

              (Once upon a time, my kids would say about a TV program or a movie, “You’ll love this, Mom – it’s about religion.”  Then they moved on to, “You’ll love this, Mom – it’s about relationships.”  They’d probably still say that today!)

              In any event, the story of Whalefall takes place just south of Monterey, and as I read, I kept googling all the places mentioned and the geographical claims the book made, and I found they’re all completely accurate.  I had no idea that there’s an underwater canyon twelve miles offshore between Carmel and Point Lobos that’s ninety-five miles long and over a mile deep, about the size of the Grand Canyon – and this underwater canyon is part of a greater canyon system that reaches depths of almost 12,000 feet.  You gotta know some interesting stuff lives down there!

              Needless to say, the underwater canyon plays a part in the book, as does how much air the “beat-the-clock” character has left in his tank.  On a recreational dive, which is defined as being less than 100’ in depth, a diver goes into the water with 3000 psi, pounds per square inch, just like tires, of oxygen in their tank.  They head gradually for the surface at no less than 500 psi, not ascending any faster than their bubbles, and they should be back on the boat with 300 psi left after a 3 minute safety stop at 15’.

              As I said, I loved the book.  I literally couldn’t put it down.  I sent a copy to my longtime dive buddy back in Florida, but her reaction was the same as my former mother-in-law’s reaction to hearing me preach for the first time:  “Well.  That was interesting.”  Eh – so I guess my dive buddy’s not into relationships!

              The reason that I’ve spent this time talking about Whalefall is that once the “beat-the-clock” diver, whose name is Jay, gets into the predicament that shapes the book, a recurring theme is, “Everything you need you brought with you.”  Everything you need you brought with you.

              Everything you need you brought with you in terms of experience; in terms of old lessons long-forgotten; in terms of confidence; in terms of what you can make do with.  You already have everything you need to help you survive, even if you don’t know it.  Now, hold onto this assurance for a bit.

              There is a link between Whalefall and this morning’s reading from Luke, the healing and restoration of a woman crippled and bent over for 18 years, but I need to lay some groundwork for the link.  Last Sunday, Rev. Carole’s sermon highlighted that Gospel reading’s focus on the cost of discipleship, on the price we may be called upon to pay as disciples of Jesus – the disruption and division we may face in all of our own most intimate relationships, as well as our social relationships and connections.

              Today’s Gospel passage begins a new section in Luke, within the greater context of Jesus “having set his face towards Jerusalem,” but last week’s tension is still present.  What we hear about today is Jesus’ third and final healing in a synagogue on the sabbath, and the leader of the synagogue’s angry reaction to that healing is a foretaste of the hostility to come in Jerusalem.  As is characteristic of Jesus’ healings, the one who is healed, woman or man, is restored not only to health, but also to wholeness, to personal dignity, and to acceptance back into their community. 

As one commentator says, “The proof of the woman’s restoration is immediate.  She is able to stand straight, and she praises God – the only proper response to God’s redemptive power.”  (NIB 273)

              In light of this comment, how apt is today’s psalm:  “Bless the LORD, O my soul, and all that is within me, bless God’s holy Name!”

              Being crippled, possibly by arthritis or osteoporosis, the woman would have been marginalized in her world, unable to perform the most basic of household tasks and responsibilities; an object of scorn, literally unable to even look anyone in the face.  In her healing in the synagogue on the sabbath, in her being unbound after 18 long years, one author says, in words we may well need to hear today, “Jesus teaches that concern over the suffering of fellow human beings takes precedence over obligations related to keeping the sabbath.”  (NIB, 273)

                            Concern over the suffering of fellow human beings takes precedence over the phrasing of the commandments delivered from God to Moses on Mt. Sinai.  Concern over the suffering of fellow human beings takes precedence through Jesus, the mediator of a new covenant.  Concern over the suffering of fellow human beings takes precedence over anything school boards might want to place on the walls of their classrooms, because Jesus is the Lord of the Sabbath.

              We already have everything we need.  Hold onto that.

              I don’t know if this description of ministry originated with Fr. Bill or if it predates him, but reading this morning’s passage from Isaiah totally resonates with St. Matthias’ own mission directive, “Let us go forth in the name of Christ, doing the loving thing.”  “If you remove the yolk from among you, the pointing of the finger, the speaking of evil, if you offer your food to the hungry, and satisfy the needs of the afflicted, then your light shall rise in the darkness and your gloom be like the noonday.”  Do the loving thing, even when the forces of the world turn against you.  Even when the forces of the world increase the suffering of our fellow human beings.  Do the loving thing.

              This is part of what we need.

              As I mentioned a moment ago, today’s reading from Luke is the start of a new section in his Gospel, a new section in Jesus’ final journey to Jerusalem.  The previous section, which includes the beginning of this final journey, has been filled with instruction; filled with Jesus teaching us, and giving us, everything we need. 

              Six weeks ago, we heard the story of the Good Samaritan.  At the conclusion of the story, the injured man’s neighbor is correctly identified as “the one who showed him mercy,” the one who treated him compassionately; and Jesus tells his listeners to “Go and do likewise”; so first among what we need is DO: do have, and do act, with compassion.  Do the loving thing.

              The following week, our reading was about Mary and Martha of Bethany, and this story provides a balance for the instruction to do.  Live a life of active compassion, of doing the loving thing, but balance that doing with sitting, with spending time simply be-ing in the presence of God, open and attentive and listening.  Our first strength is DO; our second strength is SIT.

              After this, Jesus’ disciples asked him to teach them how to pray, and Jesus responded with what we know today as the Lord’s Prayer.  Our third strength is prayer, and as a fellow clergyperson once pointed out, the disciples made this request, “teach us to pray,” because they wanted what Jesus had – they wanted that same intimacy with God that they saw in Jesus…and so as a way into this intimacy, he taught them this prayer.

              Far more than rote words, Jesus’ prayer is actually a leap of radical trust.  To pray the Lord’s Prayer is to put ourselves voluntarily, to put ourselves of our own choosing, into God’s hands, acknowledging our complete dependence on God alone, not only for our salvation, but also for our daily existence and wellbeing.

              DO act with compassion; SIT attentively in the presence of God; and PRAY to have a deep and abiding trust in God.  Three things we need.  Three strengths we have.

              The following week our Gospel passage focused on greed, as we heard Jesus tell the parable of the Rich Fool, the farmer whose crop is so huge that he builds new barns to store it and keep it all for himself, only to be told by God that his life will be required of him that very night and all his grain will be stuck in probate for years, and no one will get it.  “One’s life does not consist in the abundance of possessions,” says Jesus to those who listen.

              Now, admittedly, this is a very counter-cultural message, because the world argued for the defining importance of material wealth in Jesus’ day and the world continues to argue for the defining importance of material wealth now. 

              And yet, the life of faith is not defined by what we have, even when we have a lot; the life of faith is a life shaped by God, not by things and impulses and feelings.  As Scottish evangelical Oswald Chambers wrote in the early 1900’s, “There is only one Being Who can satisfy the last aching abyss of the human heart, and that is the Lord Jesus Christ.”  (in My Utmost for His Highest)

              This being said, our fourth strength is letting go of our fear of letting go.  Don’t be afraid.  Don’t be afraid to stand empty handed before God, because at that moment of complete vulnerability, the “last aching abyss” of our heart will be satisfied; and we will find our true identity, our new life, our real life; our life with God in Christ.  So don’t be afraid.

              Two weeks ago, that’s exactly how our Gospel passage began:  “Don’t be afraid.”  I once heard someone say that “Fear not” or “Don’t be afraid” appears in Scripture 365 times, this person’s theory being that God knew we’d need to hear it every day.  So – “Don’t be afraid, little flock, for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom….For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”  One author writes, “What Jesus enjoins [here]…is an orientation toward the whole of life as abundant gift from a generous God – a gift that can, therefore, be given away with abandon.”  (F, L, H, 337)

              “Stay alert,” says Jesus, “for the Son of Man is coming at an unexpected hour.”  Stay alert to our surroundings, we claim as our next strength, open to where the Spirit of a generous God will lead us.

              As I mentioned, last week’s reading from Luke was a warning of the potentially apocalyptic upheaval that his presence can trigger.  As another commentator says, “Although the kingdom of God is characterized by reconciliation and peace, the announcement of that kingdom is always divisive because it requires decision and commitment.”  (NIB, L, 266)

Decision and commitment.  Because Jesus took the initiative in healing the unnamed woman in today’s Gospel, because he called her forward without any request or action on her part, her healing has been called “an act of radical grace.”  (Craddock, 384)

An embrace of God’s radical grace is the final strength we claim today, the final strength we recognize as we make the decision to commit; the decision to commit to God, and to work for the coming of God’s kingdom.  Like Jay the diver in Whalefall, we are bringing what we already have to the serious work of life in Christ:

DO act with compassion.

SIT attentively in God’s presence.

PRAY to have a deep and abiding trust in God.

DON’T be afraid.

STAY ALERT to our surroundings, open to where the Spirit of a generous God will lead us.

EMBRACE the radical grace of God.

 And come to the surface when you’re down to 500 psi.

Amen.

The Tenth Sunday in Pentecost, August 17, 2025, Reflections on Luke 12:49-56 by the Reverend Carole Horton-Howe

Jesus said, "I came to bring fire to the earth, and how I wish it were already kindled! I have a baptism with which to be baptized, and what stress I am under until it is completed! Do you think that I have come to bring peace to the earth? No, I tell you, but rather division! From now on five in one household will be divided, three against two and two against three; they will be divided:

father against son and son against father,

mother against daughter and daughter against mother,

mother-in-law against her daughter-in-law and daughter-in-law against mother-in-law."

He also said to the crowds, "When you see a cloud rising in the west, you immediately say, `It is going to rain'; and so it happens. And when you see the south wind blowing, you say, `There will be scorching heat'; and it happens. You hypocrites! You know how to interpret the appearance of earth and sky, but why do you not know how to interpret the present time?"

Sermon by the Rev. Carole Horton-Howe

In 1913, there was a tiny town in Alabama called Loachapocka.  Loachapoka became the site for the very first school built in the south by Julius Rosenwald.  If you haven’t heard of him, Julius Rosenwald was part owner and then president of Sears. He was a man who, at the turn of the 20th century, had amassed a great fortune. Historians say that he was a relentless businessman. But he was also a generous philanthropist.  He was constantly on the lookout for ways he could contribute to try to make the world better.

Just before 1913, Julius became aware of the fact that most African Americans had no place to receive an education.  And that really weighed heavily on him. So he reached out to the one person who he thought would be able to give him guidance about this – a man named Booker T. Washington. At the time, Mr. Washington was in the process of setting up The Tuskegee Institute, a world-renowned college committed to offering access to education to those with the least opportunities people who had no access to education. So these two men got together and started to brainstorm about how they could be a force for good in the world where it was most needed.

And Booker T Washington said, “I’ve got a plan for you. It’s really the rural areas that are the most hard hit.”  He invited Julius Rosenwald to come to Alabama, to partner with him and get something positive done. Over the next 20 years Julius began funding the building of schools.  Over 5,000 of them in 15 states. From Maryland to Texas.

Historians say that over 700,000 Black students were educated in those schools from 1913, when the first one was built, until sometime in the 1960’s when schools were desegregated following the historic Brown v Board of Education decision and passage of the 1964 Civil Rights Act. Seven hundred thousand students! That’s equivalent to the current population of Denver.

We talked last week about the Great Cloud of Witnesses – those who inspire and challenge us including Jonathan Myrick Daniels. Julius Rosenwald and all the communities that came together with him in partnership to see over 5,000 schools come into being and be centers of education, now stand in that tremendous cloud of witnesses. They were witnesses to the plight of those who were languishing without education, witnesses to what it means to be faithful especially to those who it would have been so easy to ignore. They became part of a great cloud of witnesses who realized that giving of themselves to something bigger than themselves that would outlast themselves really mattered.  

Our lesson from Hebrews today is where that beautifully descriptive term – great cloud of witnesses - originates. The historical context, we believe, is that it was written to a fledging group of Christians who were struggling with what it means to follow God in the face of persecution.  

No one promised that following God would be an easy road.  And that’s what we see in this sort of roll call in the lesson.

It was not easy for the children of Israel who came into bondage in Egypt and had to escape, or those who came into Canaan, or for those that we hear about: of Gideon, Barak, Samson, Jephthah, of David and Samuel and the prophets – and all whom were persecuted for the love of God, who were persecuted for loving neighbor as themselves.

And yet they left behind a legacy, they left behind something for all of us today.  We are privileged to walk in the path that they have carved out for us. Had it not been for those pillars of the faith, for those willing to sacrifice, who saw the need to care about something bigger than themselves - if not for those who chose God over the world.

Can you imagine 100 years ago, that Julius’ task was not easy, that it caused great division – within communities, friendships, families. It’s a hard thing sometimes loving our neighbors. And it causes division between those who want to stay in places of comfort, who want to avoid conflict, who cannot abide those who are ready and willing to do the loving thing.  Jesus warns us that there will be tension between those who chose love and those who deny:

father against son and son against father,

mother against daughter and daughter against mother,

mother-in-law against her daughter-in-law and daughter-in-law against mother-in-law."

That great cloud of witnesses includes something else – the joy we have at leaving a legacy for those who come behind us.

Kathryn Bigelow was first woman to win an academy award for directing.  And her comments to reporters were striking.  “This really isn’t about me,” she said.  “It’s about all the people who came before me to make it possible for me to stand here today. And it’s about all the people who will come after me. Because of what happened here today, there are women who now know that something is possible that they never dreamed would happen for them.”

And that is us today. That’s all of us. Jesus asks us to read the signs of our lives, in our world, he asks us to interpret the signs of our present day and to do it through the eyes of God’s love and compassion.  To see the destitute, the lonely.  We share the responsibility together to believe in what is bigger than us,­ to care for all those who come after us and know that we will be the cloud of witnesses to lift them up.

Today we are going to celebrate reading in a very special way and a very special reader.  We are going to present Olivia Becerra with her very first Bible.  Olivia is growing up – maybe too fast for her family’s liking.  At her baptism, promises were made on her behalf by her parents and godparents to keep the lessons of the apostles for themselves and to teach them to Olivia.

And now it’s time for her to take on some of that responsibility for herself – to become a student of God’s word and immerse herself in it. We celebrate this time in her life with her, this coming of age.    

God calls us to ask ourselves how we will be remembered.  Whatever we are able to do to improve the life of another human being, God calls us to do that.  And as we give thanks for those who came before us, for those on whose shoulders we stand in order to have a better view of God’s Kingdom, let us always remember that there are those, like Olivia and all our children, who come after us.  And that we are their light and their path to an ever greater knowledge, and ever closer relationship with God.  Amen.

The Ninth Sunday in Pentecost, August 10, 2025, Reflections on Luke 12:32-40 by the Reverend Carole Horton-Howe

Jesus said to his disciples, "Do not be afraid, little flock, for it is your Father's good pleasure to give you the kingdom. Sell your possessions, and give alms. Make purses for yourselves that do not wear out, an unfailing treasure in heaven, where no thief comes near and no moth destroys. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.

"Be dressed for action and have your lamps lit; be like those who are waiting for their master to return from the wedding banquet, so that they may open the door for him as soon as he comes and knocks. Blessed are those slaves whom the master finds alert when he comes; truly I tell you, he will fasten his belt and have them sit down to eat, and he will come and serve them. If he comes during the middle of the night, or near dawn, and finds them so, blessed are those slaves.

"But know this: if the owner of the house had known at what hour the thief was coming, he would not have let his house be broken into. You also must be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an unexpected hour."

Sermon by the Rev. Carole Horton-Howe

I must ask myself a dozen times a day, “what time is it?” Maybe you do as well.  We look at our watches. We know instinctively where the clock function is on our computers or phones. Most of us – to some degree of another – watch the clock so that we can be on time, so that we aren’t late. We do this for lots of reasons. But I think usually it’s because we want to show respect – respect for the other people we’re going to meet, respect for our own and their busy calendars with lots to do that day. We realize that the event can’t start until everyone is present. And we don’t want to be the one holding everyone up or the one who is left behind. We don’t want to miss out. 

And the other question we ask ourselves before a meeting or event is – am I ready? Have I done the necessary prep work to function at a high level?  If I’m an athlete, have I been to practice that week? Did I pay attention to my coach? If I’m a student going into an exam, have I studied, did I do the homework?  Did I pay attention in class and take decent notes? Am I ready? At least, am I as ready as I can be?  And maybe we won’t know the answer to that question until after the meeting, after the exam, after the game?  But we can prepare.

So this week’s gospel gives us a lot we can relate to. Some things in it are not so clear: wedding celebration traditions and the conventional expectations of the relationship between masters and slaves that are assumed in Jesus’ teaching are lost on us. But Jesus’ bottom line transcends time and culture and is always applicable: be watchful, be ready. Live consistently in such a moral way that you are always ready to give account to God of how you live.  Live love. Join with current saints and those through time who have built up God’s kingdom on earth.  And do it fearlessly.

As a church, we commemorate the lives of some of these witnesses. This week one of those who we remember is Jonathan Myrick Daniels, an Episcopal seminarian and witness for civil rights.

Jonathan did not set out to be among the Great Cloud of Witnesses.  But he did set out to follow God’s call to him. After graduating from Virginia Military Academy, he felt called to the priesthood. So he enrolled in the Episcopal Divinity School in Cambridge, Massachusetts. He was a deeply spiritual man and there is every reason to think that his life would have been an inspiration to many. Jonathan could look forward to a long life as, perhaps, a parish priest. He would be in his 60’s now, approaching retirement, having probably baptized, married, counseled, and buried a large number of parishioners. He would have had plenty of opportunities to live out his faith.

But while he was in seminary he felt a restlessness. The Holy Spirit had intervened as the Holy Spirit often does. In March 1965, Jonathan Daniels heard a televised appeal by the Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr., asking for workers to come to Selma, Alabama, and help secure the right to vote for all citizens. Jonathan’s initial impulse to answer this call was strengthened during the singing at Evensong of the Magnificat, the beautiful song of Mary, also found in Luke’s Gospel.

“He hath put down the mighty from their seat and hath exalted the humble and meek. He hath filled the hungry with good things.”

Jonathan told his friends that he knew he had to go to Selma. “The Virgin’s song was to grow more and more dear to me in the weeks ahead.” Here we see a living example of a faithful witness – Mary, the mother of Jesus - inspiring a modern day faithful witness – Jonathan even though they were separated in time by nearly 2,000 years.

Jonathan went to Selma, where he lived among those he was called to serve as they struggled to claim their right to vote. On August 14th, Jonathan and several others were jailed for participating in a picket line – confined to the sweltering heat of a windowless jail in August in the deep South. They were released six days later and walked to a store to buy cold drinks. Ruby Sales, a black teenager, was the first to reach the door. She was met by a man armed with a shotgun who cursed her as he lifted the barrel of the gun. Jonathan pushed her aside to shield her and took the blast of the shotgun point-blank in the chest. He died on the spot.

In his book, Brightest and Best, Sam Portaro theorizes that the man who threatened Ruby Sales that day in August had been taught all his life to fear and hate anyone who looked different from him. He had been taught that to respect the rights of a black person — even one merely trying to buy a bottle of soda pop from a neighborhood market – would in some way, diminish his own life.

Jonathan Daniels, on the other hand, nourished by Holy Scripture and the sacraments, encouraged by faith in the transformative power of God and the teachings of Jesus Christ, was filled with faith, hope, and love. On that top step of the little store in Selma, Portaro writes, “fear met faith, greed met hope, hatred met love.”

Jonathan’s death shocked the world. It also galvanized the movement that he had joined with the desire to bring about the kingdom of God, to prepare the world for the coming of the Master.

The forces that were at work in Selma in l965 are at work in the world today. Our lives are complicated. We, too, struggle with the presence of fear and greed and hatred, even as we thank God for the gifts of faith, hope, and love.

The author of the Letter to the Hebrews calls on us to hold fast to Jesus, that we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, that we may lay fear aside and run with perseverance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the pioneer and perfector of our faith.” 

Faith and action cannot be divorced. Fear must turn to trust, and trust must grow into faithful action, building the kingdom that it is God’s good pleasure to give us.

Jonathan’s call and path were unique to him. We are not all called to the same path or witness. We are not all called to place ourselves in mortal danger. But we are all called to be responsible for what we are and what we do. We must have our lamps lit and be dressed to serve. That preparation and the conviction that we are in our own unique ways living into our call to serve drives out all fear and frees us to do our part in the work of building the kingdom that God promises to give to us.

As Episcopalians we have a beautiful roadmap in our baptismal covenant:  we must be ready to live out our baptismal vow to put our whole trust in grace and love, to seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving our neighbors as ourselves. And last but never least, we must strive for justice and peace among all people and respect the dignity of every human being. We must be about the work of the faithful even if we don’t feel like Jesus is going to come knocking anytime soon. 

And if we are caught up in our faithful action when the Master returns we will be blessed. In Jesus’ parable, the slaves who were up ready to serve the late-returning Master were rewarded with the Master cooking them a meal and sitting with him at the table. In this we too shall be blessed. What a glorious day that will be.  Amen.

Saturday Healing Service — Meditation on Hebrews 11:1-3, 8-16 by the Reverend Carole Horton-Howe

Saturday Healing Service Meditation                                     Hebrews 11:1-3, 8-16

Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen. Indeed, by faith our ancestors received approval. By faith we understand that the worlds were prepared by the word of God, so that what is seen was made from things that are not visible.

By faith Abraham obeyed when he was called to set out for a place that he was to receive as an inheritance; and he set out, not knowing where he was going. By faith he stayed for a time in the land he had been promised, as in a foreign land, living in tents, as did Isaac and Jacob, who were heirs with him of the same promise. For he looked forward to the city that has foundations, whose architect and builder is God. By faith he received power of procreation, even though he was too old-- and Sarah herself was barren-- because he considered him faithful who had promised. Therefore from one person, and this one as good as dead, descendants were born, "as many as the stars of heaven and as the innumerable grains of sand by the seashore."

All of these died in faith without having received the promises, but from a distance they saw and greeted them. They confessed that they were strangers and foreigners on the earth, for people who speak in this way make it clear that they are seeking a homeland. If they had been thinking of the land that they had left behind, they would have had opportunity to return. But as it is, they desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God; indeed, he has prepared a city for them.

Mediation by the Rev. Carole Horton-Howe

The epistle today gives a chance to think about how we use the words “belief” and “faith” – two terms that are often used interchangeably, but there's an important difference.

Belief is an intellectual acceptance of something as true. Each Sunday we reconfirm our beliefs when we say the Nicene Creed – “We believe in God the Father, we believe in Jesus Christ his only Son, and we believe in the Holy Spirit.” These expressions of belief were intellectually discerned long ago by our spiritual ancestors. And as we recall and repeat them now, they come from our mind much more than from our heart.   

Faith is a heart function. Faith builds on belief adding trust and a willingness to act often in the face of uncertainty. You can't have faith in something you don't believe exists or is true. Faith is a deep commitment that involves trust, reliance of the teachings of Jesus and the promises of God.  It involves action, even in the absence of proof. We believe in God. We have faith when they pray, seek guidance, and live their life according to their understanding of God's will.  It is by God’s grace, through faith, that we receive salvation.

There was a popular saying years ago “Keep the Faith” to encourage us through difficult times.  Faith in God - the goodness of God and the love of God for us - is what keeps us going in the face of life’s challenges.

Does that resonate with you?  Does that make sense?

Here’s a little bit of seminary Greek for you. The Greek word for faith is pistis (PEES-tees.)  Paul frequently uses the word pistis in his writings – 25 times in Romans alone. Pistis had a checkered past in the culture of the early church. In Greek mythology, pistis was one of the spirits who escaped Pandora’s Box. 

Do you remember the story of Pandora’s Box? Pandora was the first woman created by the gods. Zeus gave her a sealed container as a gift, warning her never to open it. Pandora, though, just couldn’t help herself. She was so curious, she opened the container releasing all sort of things into the world. The good things, like faith - pistis, fled back to heaven while the evils were turned loose humanity. Though Pandora quickly closed the box, only hope remained trapped inside. The story was meant to encourage obedience and suppress curiosity.  But also to reinforce hope.

In Luke’s Gospel, Jesus wonders “will the Son of Man find faith on earth?” He’s speaking into the Hellenistic culture that believed the spirit of pistis had already departed.

The book of Hebrews was written in part to combat such despair and to encourage new Christians who were having trouble holding onto hope when Jesus did not return soon after his ascension. Along comes the author of Hebrews to give us a valuable definition of faith: “the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.”

So many times we receive the things that in faith we ask God to grant us: the baby is born, we get the job, the treatment works.  Sometimes things take longer and like the folks in Hebrews waiting for Christ to return, our people are still waiting for and longing for an answer from God. 

But it’s a complicated sort of “dance”:  In faith we are assured that God has our best interest at heart, knows what we hope for and holds our future. It’s not easy to follow God when we’re not sure about that, when we can’t see where God is leading us, when we do not see in action that hard evidence that we crave. We might begin to wonder whether God is watching over us. We hope that God is watching. We see loved ones grow ill and pray, in faith, that God will hold their future. Then every once in a while, something happens - something special – that strengthens our hearts and reminds us why we believe. We need these moments, given by God’s grace, to renew our faith.

The wonderful theologian, Frederick Beuchner, points out that faith is better understood as a verb than a noun, as a process rather than a possession. It is “on-again-off-again” rather than “once and for all.” Faith is not being sure of where you’re going but going anyway.

I think what gives our faith real strength is the belief that Jesus Christ is Lord of all and like a good friend, a best friend, is looking out for us both as individuals and as a community. 

And isn’t that the blessing of our community of faith – that in the “on again off again” of our lives, we can rest in faith, knowing we have each other to go on the journey, knowing that by grace God watches over us and in love Jesus walks with us no matter what.

Amen.

The Eighth Sunday in Pentecost, August 3, 2025, "Do, sit, pray, let go – and don’t be afraid, because you are loved" by the Reverend Jeannie Martz

Eighth Sunday After Pentecost, August 3, 2025

Proper 13, Year C

The Rev. Jeannie Martz

St. Andrew’s Episcopal Church, Irvine CA

Whatever Episcopal church we’ve been worshiping in, over the past three Sundays, the Gospel readings from Luke that we’ve all been hearing have given us an outline of the Christian life, an outline of life lived faithfully.

Three weeks ago, we heard the story of the Good Samaritan.  At the conclusion of the story, the injured man’s neighbor is correctly identified as “the one who showed him mercy,” who treated him compassionately, and Jesus tells his listeners to “Go and do likewise”; so the first point in the outline is DO:  do have, and do act, with compassion and mercy.

              Two weeks ago, our reading was about Mary and Martha of Bethany, and this story provides a balance for the instruction to do.  Live a life of active compassion, but balance that doing with sitting, with spending time simply be-ing in the presence of God, open and attentive and listening.  Point one, DO; point two, SIT.

              We heard point three last week when Jesus’ disciples asked him to teach them how to pray like John had taught his disciples, and Jesus responded with what we know today as the Lord’s Prayer.  Point three is PRAY, and as a fellow clergyperson once pointed out, the disciples made this request, “teach us to pray,” because they wanted what Jesus had – they wanted that same intimacy with God that they saw in Jesus…and so as a way into this intimacy, he taught them this prayer.

              Far more than rote words we can all recite in our sleep, this prayer is actually a leap of radical trust.  To pray the Lord’s Prayer is to put ourselves voluntarily and of our own choosing into God’s hands, acknowledging our complete dependence on God alone, not only for our salvation, but also for our daily existence and wellbeing.

              DO act with compassion; SIT attentively in the presence of God; and PRAY to have a deep and abiding trust in God. 

Why this emphasis on a faithful lifestyle?  Because as we also hear Jesus say today, “One’s life does not consist in the abundance of possessions“ – or, in the words of The Message translation of Scripture, “Life is not defined by what [we] have, even when [we] have a lot.”

              The world, of course, argues otherwise, and says that we are very much defined by what we have.  It argued otherwise in Jesus’ day too, because at that time material wealth was seen as being a sign of God’s favor, as tangible evidence that the wealthy person was already doing and sitting and praying, was already in a right relationship with God; and Jesus’ listeners would have said that rather than being a fool, this morning’s farmer was both wise and prudent to stockpile his bumper crop, and to plan for his future as he did.

              The world argued for the defining importance of material wealth then, and the world continues to argue for the defining importance of material wealth now.  Here in our day both smart money and our culture tell us that more is better, that more will keep us safe from economic downturns and financial surprises, that more will keep the unpredictable chaos of life at bay; and the world tells us that what we have, and how much of it we have, and certainly whose label is on what we have, that this is what defines us; this is what determines our real value in the world around us.

              The old clichés and bumper stickers have long told us that when the going gets tough, the tough go shopping; and that he or she who dies with the most toys wins; and as a culture, we’ve taken these clichés so much to heart and learned this lesson of material accumulation so well that as a result, some years ago author and lifestyle consultant Marie Kondo built a whole consumer industry around helping us to de-clutter our lives and our homes, around helping us get rid of our stuff; and I’m sure that if asked, she would encourage the rich farmer to go through his crops one by one and keep only those that bring him joy.

              (This is one of Kondo’s signature pieces of advice about how to identify what to keep and what to pitch in one’s own home.)

              As one commentator says of today’s Gospel reading, “This inordinate craving to hoard as a guarantee against insecurity is not only an act of disregard for those in need but [it] puts goods in the place of God,” and of course, putting anything in the place of God is, by its very definition, idolatry.  (Craddock, pp. 360-361)

              Paul also identifies hoarding and greed as idolatry, as “seeking” not “where Christ is” – and he’s right.  We are idolatrous; we worship a false god any time our seeking for more and more siphons off the energy, the adoration, and the devotion – or the doing, sitting, and praying – that belong to God alone.

              We worship a false god any time that we think the object of our seeking is also the definer of who we are – and our false god doesn’t even have to be money or things or accomplishments.

              Sadly, idolatry can also focus on painful things, on wounds or emotions or experiences that we choose to cling to and savor and identify with in an unhealthy way, never moving through them, but instead hoarding them and running our fingers through them, keeping them in the storehouses of our hearts and living out of them or lashing out of them again and again and again.

              The ancient Greeks were correct to say that it is as easy to satisfy the hunger of greed as it is to fill a bucket that has a hole in it.  Whatever we try to fill the bucket with, whatever we try to satisfy the hunger with, there’s never going to be enough…and the Christian life is not defined by what we have, even when we have a lot.

              All our old behaviors, all our old priorities are now obsolete, says Paul; the things we clutch at and garner and hoard in our barns as we “set our minds…on things that are on earth” -- these are all illusions, they’re not part of the action going on around Christ.  Our new life, our real life is “with Christ in God”, and so these practices that we thought brought joy to the “old self” can be set aside and discarded.  They are illusions, and we need to become dis-illusioned.

              Back in the early 1900’s, Scottish evangelical Oswald Chambers wrote, “Many of the cruel things in life spring from the fact that we suffer from illusions.  We are not true to one another as facts; we are true only to our ideas of one another….It works in this way,” he went on to say.  “[I]f we love a human being and do not love God, we demand of [the one we love] every perfection and every rectitude, and when we do not get [what we want] we become cruel and vindictive; we are demanding of a human being that which he or she cannot give.  There is only one Being Who can satisfy the last aching abyss of the human heart, and that is the Lord Jesus Christ.”  (in My Utmost for His Highest)

              As the author of the book of Ecclesiastes, the one who in today’s reading calls himself “the Teacher;” the Teacher writes – and here I’m reading from the contemporary Message translation again –  “Oh, I did great things:  built houses, planted vineyards, designed gardens and parks and planted a variety of fruit trees in them, made pools of water to irrigate the groves of trees….I piled up silver and gold, loot from kings and kingdoms….Oh, how I prospered!  I left all my predecessors in Jerusalem far behind, left them all in the dust.  What’s more, I kept a clear head through it all.  Everything I wanted I took – I never said no to myself.  I gave in to every impulse, held back nothing.  I sucked the marrow of pleasure out of every task – my reward to myself for a hard day’s work!  Then…[then] I took a good look at everything I’d done, looked at all the sweat and hard work.  But when I looked, I saw nothing but smoke.  Smoke and spitting into the wind.  There was nothing to any of it.  Nothing.”  (Eccles. 2:4-10, selected)

              The life of faith is not defined by what we have, even when we have a lot; the life of faith is a life shaped by God, not by things and impulses and feelings.  The life of faith is a dis-illusioned life, it’s a life that recognizes, as Paul says, that in our renewal in Christ, “there is no longer Greek and Jew, circumcised and uncircumcised, barbarian, Scythian, slave and free; but Christ is all and in all.”  (Col. 3:11)

              And as Oswald Chambers reminds us, only Christ can sate our hunger for more, only Christ can “satisfy the last aching abyss of the human heart”; only God in Christ can “give us THIS DAY our daily bread” – and yet admitting this, admitting to ourselves the deep need we have that we can’t fill ourselves can be really scary.

              I once heard someone say that “Fear not” or “Don’t be afraid” appears in Scripture 365 times, this person’s theory being that God knew we’d need to hear it every day.  Well, let’s go for leap year and make it 366 – and this is point four of our faithful life outline:  don’t be afraid.

              Don’t be afraid to let go of storing up and of seeking more; don’t be afraid to let go of toys, to let go of wounds, to let go of the fear of letting go.

              Don’t be afraid to stand empty handed before God, because at that moment of our greatest dis-illusionment, no illusions or self-protections or self-deceptions left, at that moment we will find our true identity, our new life, our real life; our life with God in Christ.  Don’t be afraid to stand empty handed before God, because that’s where our new life is, and we can’t take advantage of it without being empty handed, without being honest with ourselves about our total dependence on God.

              And why not be afraid?  Because no less than all of creation, we too belong to God:  we are the adopted sons and daughters of the God who loved all things into being; we are the baptized, and as the baptismal rubrics in the Prayer Book make clear, “The bond which God establishes in baptism is indissoluble.”  Indissoluble; permanent.  A bond of relationship initiated by God that cannot be broken, ever – no matter what we do, think, say, wish, or feel; and no matter what anyone else does, thinks, says, wishes, or feels.  By God’s own choice, God sticks with us, and God sticks to us, in a bond more solid than Gorilla Glue.

              Some of us may remember that expression that Rudyard Kipling used to introduce his Just So Stories for children, “O best beloved”; more recently – although still 18 years ago – others among us might remember how in the 2007 book The Shack, the character of God would invariably say, when someone’s name was mentioned, that she, God, was “particularly fond” of that person.  Each of us is God’s best beloved, and God is particularly fond of each and every one of us.  And so we can be brave, not afraid; we can dis-illusion ourselves; we can allow our lives to be shaped by God.

              At one point in the Broadway musical “Fiddler on the Roof,” the humble milkman Tevye, the main character, sings about what his life would be like if he suddenly became rich.  He’d get a big house, he says, with a tin roof and wood floors.  He’d get flocks of chickens and ducks and turkeys and geese, his wife would have a double chin and lots of servants, and he’d have the admiration and respect of all the townspeople.  Finally, at the end of the song, he says longingly, “If I were rich, I’d have the time that I lack to sit in the synagogue and pray, and maybe have a seat by the eastern wall.  And I’d discuss the holy books with the learned men several hours every day.  That would be the sweetest thing of all.”

Do, sit, pray, let go – and don’t be afraid, because you are loved; and because this love will never let you go, this love that God has for you and for me and for everyone else and always will – don’t be afraid, because this is the sweetest thing of all.  

Amen.

The Eighth Sunday in Pentecost, August 3, 2025, Reflections on Luke 12: 13-21 by the Reverend Carole Horton-Howe

Someone in the crowd said to Jesus, "Teacher, tell my brother to divide the family inheritance with me." But he said to him, "Friend, who set me to be a judge or arbitrator over you?" And he said to them, "Take care! Be on your guard against all kinds of greed; for one's life does not consist in the abundance of possessions." Then he told them a parable: "The land of a rich man produced abundantly. And he thought to himself, `What should I do, for I have no place to store my crops?' Then he said, `I will do this: I will pull down my barns and build larger ones, and there I will store all my grain and my goods. And I will say to my soul, `Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years; relax, eat, drink, be merry.' But God said to him, `You fool! This very night your life is being demanded of you. And the things you have prepared, whose will they be?' So it is with those who store up treasures for themselves but are not rich toward God."

Sermon by the Rev. Carole Horton-Howe

It’s not fair! How many times have we heard those words in our lives, in our work and homes. It’s not fair. He got something I didn’t get. She got something I really wanted. Is there something in our human nature than when we look round and see someone else that has something we thing we might want – and we learn this at a very early age. “I want that. Give me that.” I’m not sure we ever shake this off.

And particularly among siblings. From the earliest siblings recorded in scripture, we see that there are some tension. When Caine realizes that the sacrifice that Abel makes to God is more acceptable than his own sacrifice, he has his own moment of “that’s not fair” and “I want that.”  And is so upset that he decides to take his brother’s life. The very first siblings recorded in scripture.

And this business of inheritance – that’s its own sticky wicket. Because we can stay in the book of Genesis, we don’t have go any further in scripture, to find that difficult story of Jacob and Esau. Remember them?  Jacob was the younger of the twin brothers. 

But birth order matters in the ancient world. And so Jacob need to be the older twin so badly that he thinks “I will lie to my father, I will cheat my own brother, I will do whatever I need to do to get the birthright and the patriarchal blessing.” So the existence of sibling rivalry in our world today can’t be too surprising if those things existed in ancient times.

And somehow the death of a parent, in some families, seems to bring out really poor behavior. There are media reports of these things all too often: recently in a family named Burgess, where there was an allegation that one sister had unduly influenced their mother to change her will, the family spent the entirety of their inheritance arguing in court for years. In the end, there was nothing for anyone. Except maybe the lawyers. Proving the old saying that some people are so poor that all they have is money.  And then they don’t even have that.

And so we have this interesting lesson from Luke’s gospel today. This very interesting lesson about a man who isn’t getting what he thinks he should get from his father’s estate. He believes his brother should be giving him more. He asks Jesus to intercede on his behalf.

What we know about the ancient world and inheritance is that the older son usually got a double portion of the estate. So if you were the younger son you got about a third and your older brother got two thirds roughly.  Depending on what the inheritance looks like, it could leave you living well or in poverty.  So we gather that a younger son who is unhappy with his share comes to Jesus to say “I don’t have enough. Tell my brother to give me more.’ Jesus refuses to get into the middle of this family squabble.

Instead Jesus uses it for a wonderful teaching moment. That’ much more than about inheritance.  We don’t really know what happened in this family.  We don’t know why this young man thinks he should get a bigger share – maybe he was more faithful or more helpful to his dad.  Maybe he’s just greedy. But we know that he’s asking for more, he doesn’t have enough.  And Jesus, in the way he loves to teach, tells a parable.

A rich man – whose bounty is so tremendous after a bumper crop, has so much, his barns can’t hold it all. So he’s thinking to himself, what do I do now? I have all this abundance. I know, I’ll tear down my two small barns and build bigger ones. And if I do that, I won’t have to work for quite a while, for years. And I can just relax. This is so good. Notice he doesn’t ask himself “who might I give some of this grain to? Who didn’t have such a good crop this year? No, there’s none of that.

He runs into a problem. Because who shows up to have a chat with this guy?  God shows up. “You fool,” God says. “This very night your life be will demanded of you. And whose gonna get all this stuff when you’re gone?”  That’s a big question for this man.  Because he is so consumed with how do I hang on to everything I’ve got. It’s mine!”

Theologian Walter Brueggemann during his lifetime preached about the whole idea of living in fear of scarcity. A lot of us understand this. Our parents or grandparents lived through the depression and then through the rationing times of the second world war.

There was a fear that you might wake up one day and desperately need that one thing that you let go of the day before. Now you’re in the world of hurt that you dreaded and tried so hard to prevent. So the idea of scarcity was a real one for them.

But when we allow ourselves to live in fear of scarcity rather than in anticipation of and in thanksgiving for abundance, it causes us to live our lives in ways that are not life-giving. We are so concerned with holding onto things that we can’t envision how God would have us take care of all God’s people.

And when our lives have been demanded of us, when our time is done what’s going to happen to all our stuff? We’ve been so carefully hanging onto it. I’m as guilty as anyone, I’ve got family heirlooms I attach great importance to them. Because they’re all I have left of my family. And I don’t feel good about it. But what is going to happen to all that we have amassed when our time here is done?

Mitch Albom wrote a book called “Have a Little Faith.” It’s about a minister in the inner city who had a rather circuitous route getting into the ministry. But now he’s been called to a church where he has nothing. Is literally in a church that is missing part of the roof and it’s the middle of winter. Snow is coming in.

But rather than living in a mindset of scarcity, he lives in a place of abundance. “I know God has got this. I know God is going to care for us. I know that we’ll be able to take care of the next hungry person what comes to us, that needs a place to sleep – I know we can take care of them. I know this because I trust in the Great Abundance of God.”

That is such a rich and life-giving place to live. Because it acknowledges that what we have really isn’t ours in the first place. We have what we have because we are stewards entrusted to care for these things while we are here. We have it because of God’s goodness, we have it because of God’s graciousness.

When we approach life from that standpoint, when we approach life from that place, suddenly this fear of not having enough is replaced with a sense of “God will provide.” As Jesus says in the verses that follow this passage today, look at the ravens. They don’t have a store house or barn, they don’t have any of that, but they eat every day. They eat every day because of God’s Great Provision. It is as true for us as it was true for those who heard Jesus tell this parable 2,000 years ago.

We have been entrusted with tremendous gifts that make a profound difference in God’s world for God’s people. And when we live with the assurance of the real inheritance – that the real inheritance is not about our stuff, the real inheritance is about the life that we will go on to live eternally with God. When we live our lives with a sense of that reality and that richness and that abundance, we see everything differently.

We see the ministry that we do 5 days a week on our St. Francis patio “Doing the Loving Thing” providing food for the hungry, water for the thirsty on these very hot summer days, and hats, gloves and scarves during the cold winter months – that we provide to over a hundred people every week.     

We do that and we’ll still eat, and stay hydrated in the summer and warm in the  winter. We’ll still be fine. We will still know God’s love and provision.

So I invite all of us this day to give up the notion that there’s a scarcity of anything. Because in God there is no scarcity. I invite us to believe in God’s abundance.  I invite us to believe that God puts us here to care deeply for one another.

When we do that, when we put our focus not on material things, but on the life we will live eternally with God, our outlook about everything we do becomes lighter, more joy filled. Our lives are more reflective of the fruits of the Holy Spirit.  We feel God working in and through us. And we live as people abundantly blessed every day of our lives. Amen.

The Seventh Sunday in Pentecost, July 27, 2025, Reflections on Luke 11: 1-13 by the Reverend Carole Horton-Howe

Jesus was praying in a certain place, and after he had finished, one of his disciples said to him, "Lord, teach us to pray, as John taught his disciples." He said to them, "When you pray, say:

Father, hallowed be your name. Your kingdom come. Give us each day our daily bread. And forgive us our sins, for we ourselves forgive everyone indebted to us. And do not bring us to the time of trial."

And he said to them, "Suppose one of you has a friend, and you go to him at midnight and say to him, `Friend, lend me three loaves of bread; for a friend of mine has arrived, and I have nothing to set before him.' And he answers from within, `Do not bother me; the door has already been locked, and my children are with me in bed; I cannot get up and give you anything.' I tell you, even though he will not get up and give him anything because he is his friend, at least because of his persistence he will get up and give him whatever he needs.

"So I say to you, Ask, and it will be given you; search, and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened for you. For everyone who asks receives, and everyone who searches finds, and for everyone who knocks, the door will be opened. Is there anyone among you who, if your child asks for a fish, will give a snake instead of a fish? Or if the child asks for an egg, will give a scorpion? If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will the heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him!"

Sermon by the Rev. Carole Horton-Howe

I feel confident that many of us gathered here today might count the words of the Lord’s Prayer among our earliest childhood memories. And likely, some of us began saying those well-known and beloved words with our parents during bedtime prayers, or with our aunties and grandparents even before we remember saying them in church on a Sunday.

And as children, we didn’t know what the words meant. We only knew that we’d been taught that this is what we say when we approach God in prayer. As we got older, we began to engage the process of what these words really mean.  What do they say to us? And what are we hoping for as we begin to say them?

The words of the Lord’s Prayer took on new meaning for a friend of mine a few years ago.  On a Friday morning, she went for what was supposed to be routine physical exam.  It was supposed to be all over and done within an hour so she could get on with her day.  She was excited about plans she had for the weekend. But an abnormal image appeared on a scan. And she said that it seemed everyone and everything went into high speed motion around her. There were worried looks and expressions of concern.

And a doctor finally said to her, ”we need to schedule an appointment for you with a specialist this afternoon.”  She had never been so frightened in her life. She had a 4-year-old, and a not quite 2-year-old.  And the notion that she might be leaving them sooner than she ever imagined was terrifying. There were a lot of tears - tears as she was trying to figure out how to tell her spouse. Tears as she was trying to make sense out of what was happening. Tears about how she was even going to get through the next couple hours as she waited for the specialist

But no words. She couldn’t find any words. She describes herself as “a prayer.” But in that moment, she could find no words. Alone in a sterile hospital exam room, it took a crisis to bring her to prayer, to ask for God’s help and acknowledge her need for God’s help. And in the depth of that lonely, despairing moment when she craved comfort it was finally a few bits of the Lord’s Prayer that she could summon, But those were enough to dry her tears and lift her in strength. She repeated over and over: “for yours is the kingdom and the power and the glory.” 

Now if we were looking at scripture and looking for an example to rely on when we are in need of renewal and strength and are preparing ourselves for the work God has given us, we really don’t need to look very far.  Because all of our gospels, especially Luke’s gospel, talk about the times that Jesus needed to be with God in prayer in order to continue the journey.

There were some specific times that Jesus knew he needed to stop and pray, that he needed the strength and the peace that could only come from seeking God in prayer: after his baptism; as he was choosing the 12; as the Pharisees were besieging him; as people were seeking him out to be fed and to be healed. He knew that in order to do the work that God required of him he would need lots and lots of prayer.

Yet sometimes I think we forget that. Sometimes we think we can handle all sorts of things on our own without the strength that comes from that intimate relationship with God. The disciples had observed Jesus stepping away to pray. So they ask him to teach them to pray.

Notice what Jesus tells them:

Our Father, holy is your name. We hear a lot these days about Jesus as “personal savior.”  But that would have been a foreign notion to the disciples and the larger Jewish community, and out of character with Jesus’ teachings. It is all about community, not about individuals. “Our” Father, not my father.

Your kingdom come. We’ll come back to that in a minute.

Give us each day our daily bread. And forgive us our sins as we ourselves need to forgive all those who are indebted to us. That’s hard sometimes isn’t it?

So Jesus has set up this marvelous model for the disciples to understand what it means to go to God in prayer. And he adds one more thing: you need to be persistent.  God has no need for us to be persistent, we need that. We need to persist in prayer to realize that intimate connection with God.

I want to spend some time on the whole idea of “thy kingdom come.”  To utter those words in the 1st century Roman Empire world was to actually say something that was fairly subversive. To the culture’s way of thinking, there’s only one kingdom and that’s the kingdom of the empire. And there’s only one king and that’s Caesar. And to suggest that there is a place that is far bigger and better and more important, those are dangerous words to say in Jesus’ time.  And yet this is where he begins his petitions.

Your kingdom come. Not this one. Not this one in which we are surrounded by poverty and disease and violence. No, not this kingdom but your kingdom, God. Your kingdom where the impoverished and the marginalized know your mercy and your love and your justice. Your kingdom, God. Your kingdom come. Jesus teaches the disciples – and us – the pray boldly, courageously and expectantly.

We hear that and it almost sounds a passive event. Like one of these days we’ll be walking along and God’s kingdom will just fall on our heads.

There’s so much more to understanding what Jesus is telling the disciples here. It’s more than a passive waiting. It’s an engagement with God that helps us understand as people of God that God’s kingdom coming, comes through us.  Through the work of our hands and the love of our hearts – that is how God’s kingdom comes.

And only when we are filled up and strengthened to prayer can we understand how God can use us to allow God’s kingdom to come into being.

Mother Teresa once said that she stopped believing that prayer changes things. She stopped believing that when she reached an understanding that prayer changes us.  And that we, in turn, change things. This reminds us that we have a role. We are not passively watching the world go by. We have a very real role to play in helping everyone understand God’s love and mercy. If we are not the ambassadors of this, if we don’t radiate God’s love and mercy in all we do, then where is the hope? 

In a few minutes we are going to baptize our friend Jordan. In baptism he will be adopted into the family of God and welcomed by all of us.  We will offer him the care and support he needs to become the very best version of himself before God that he can be. 

The prayers that will be offered for him reflect those same qualities of God’s kingdom come.  We will pray that his heart be always open to God’s grace and truth, that he be filled with God’s holy and life-giving spirit, that he will love others in the power of the Spirit and, finally, that he will go into the world in witness to God’s love. This is a hopeful day, a special day. 

Jordan, I’m guessing that until today, July 27th wasn’t particularly important to you. That is was just an average day in the middle of summer. But all that changes today.  July 27th will never be the same.  It will always be your baptism day – a day to celebrate just as you celebrate your birthday or wedding anniversary. It will be forever a day of joyous remembrance and renewal. 

This is where hope lives.  We don’t need to wait for a crisis for all of us to understand our need for God and our need for one another.  We only need to persist in praying boldly in strength and commitment to being builders of God’s kingdom.  Amen. 

The Sixth Sunday in Pentecost, July 20, 2025, Reflections on Luke 10: 25-37 by the Reverend Carole Horton-Howe

As Jesus and his disciples went on their way, Jesus entered a certain village, where a woman named Martha welcomed him into her home. She had a sister named Mary, who sat at the Lord's feet and listened to what he was saying. But Martha was distracted by her many tasks; so she came to him and asked, "Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to do all the work by myself? Tell her then to help me." But the Lord answered her, "Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things; there is need of only one thing. Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken away from her."

Sermon by the Rev. Carole Horton-Howe

This story of Mary and Martha – especially Martha’s portion - reminds me of the Thanksgiving dinners that Bob and I hosted at our house for our family for decades. Early in our married life the family consisted of about 16 people which filled our little townhouse.  As time went on, at its max, we had almost 40. We lost some family member along the way but there were marriage and births and friends that were like family. And we had a larger home, thanks be the God. Preparation for these dinners was over the top.  

But it all actually started before we got married with the wedding register for gifts. This is the process of picking out china and crystal and silver and serving dishes and linen napkins and table cloths. Pretty things you want and that they tell you you’ll need. And then very kind people purchase these things for you as wedding gifts. And then, well, you have to use them. And they are so pretty and shiny, and your dinner guests ooh and aah at how lovely it all looks.

Days before Thanksgiving, I would shop for hours and then cook for days all the traditional Thanksgiving dishes. There were To Do lists, and lists of lists. Finally it was Thanksgiving day, with crazy busy last minute things to do, guests arrived to be served. Timing of keeping cold things cold and hot things hot was the most important thing in the world. Making sure that everyone was full and happy. It was a feast.

And then, hours later, the guests were gone and we were alone with piles of dirty pots and pans, plates and cups; a mountain of dirty table linens. But we had a system, and we were usually done cleaning up by about 1:00 A.M. The next day we were so exhausted, we didn’t move unless it was to get another Tylenol.

But that wasn’t the worst hurt.  The worst hurt was realizing that I was so busy I hadn’t spent time with my people. I didn’t know how my nephew’s new job was going or who my niece’s best friend was in her new school or how my sister-in-law’s trip to China had gone.

So one year we switched it up. We used paper plates and plastic cups. And we made it a potluck. The plastic forks didn’t match. And we’re probably the only family in town eating Beef and Broccoli and strawberry ice cream for Thanksgiving. But we gained so much – time to listen, to laugh, to complain and commiserate – all things families do together.  

So that’s a vivid illustration for me personally of this conflict of good that we hear in the gospel lesson today. Martha wants to honor Jesus by making sure that everything was prepared exactly as it should be, all the details attended to, all the lists checked off, all the food just right, all the drinks just right, And Jesus is like “look, I appreciate it. But I would take bread and water… and you.” 

In trying to honor our guests with our actions, which we hoped we were those Thanksgiving and it’s a good thing to do that, we discovered that we really honored our guests much more with our attention. So at some point, if our impulse and the right desire to honor others by our actions interferes with our attending to them, then we are ripe for hearing Jesus words, “look the only thing that matters is for you to sit with us. That’s the only thing.” That’s the one thing.

So it’s a spiritual principal. It’s a call to discern spiritual balance. We do a lot for our families, for our neighbors, for our parish. So many of you do so much. You have such giving beautiful hearts for serving others. But if and when our commitment to practicing the serving side of our Christianity interferes with our prayer life, our reflective life, then we’re out of balance.

And that’s when we hear Jesus saying, “I would like to share with you a word, I would like to listen to you. I would like to hear about your hopes, your needs, your confessions, your desires. And I want to speak to you. I want you to hear from my word through the inspired scriptures.”

Holy Scripture originated in and is grounded in God through Jesus, for us and for our learning. The lesson this morning from Genesis – how sobering is that? Don’t we need to hear this story and picture Abraham frantically around arranging hospitality only to be brought up short by the news from the messenger that Sarah will have a son?

The Psalm this morning is a powerful one setting out the criteria of righteousness to which we might aspire for ourselves and look for in the leadership of others.

We get to hear the rich theology in the Colossians of Jesus as the earthly image of the invisible God, the fullness of God, the first fruits of the new creation. All these really warrant our attention.

But prayer is especially important. That we do not sacrifice our prayer life is important especially as Episcopalians. One of our core principals is the concept that our faith is shaped through our praying. Anglicans have long embraced the idea “Lex Orandi, Lex Credendi,” which simply means, “praying shapes believing.”  You will become in belief whatever you give your prayerful heart to. 

Our hunger for a deeper, richer, ongoing life in communion with God demands that we be able to hold in tension things that often seem to be contradictory.  Any attempt to be with God, whether in the course of our prayer, in worship or the course of our daily lives has to be lived in the light of some sense of paradox:

God is within us and God is around us.

Jesus is with us and Jesus has ascended into heaven.

God’s kingdom has come and the kingdom is still to come.

These are the paradoxes of our life with God. The paradox of prayer is this: we perform these acts of worship that are not actually for us. We do these things for God but we are the ones who are changed. We offer songs of praise, prayers of thanksgiving, we chant the ancient psalms and it is we who are moved to joy.

Holy actions and holy attentions -- both are important. It’s a paradox, this Mary-Martha story, that we can live with and not let ourselves be bothered or dismayed by it. We are at times both contemplative Mary and servant Martha. And -- we have to attend to the first things first. This week as I prepared for this sermon I heard not “Martha, Martha” but “Carole Carole.” Jesus also calls your name. And adds a beautiful invitation for you, “choose the better part. Stop and be with me in prayer.”   Amen.

The Fifth Sunday in Pentecost, July 13, 2025, Reflections on Luke 10: 25-37 by the Reverend Carole Horton-Howe

Just then a lawyer stood up to test Jesus.[a] ‘Teacher,’ he said, ‘what must I do to inherit eternal life?’ 26 He said to him, ‘What is written in the law? What do you read there?’ 27 He answered, ‘You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself.’ 28 And he said to him, ‘You have given the right answer; do this, and you will live.’

29 But wanting to justify himself, he asked Jesus, ‘And who is my neighbor?’ 30 Jesus replied, ‘A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell into the hands of robbers, who stripped him, beat him, and went away, leaving him half dead. 31 Now by chance a priest was going down that road; and when he saw him, he passed by on the other side. 32 So likewise a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. 33 But a Samaritan while travelling came near him; and when he saw him, he was moved with pity. 34 He went to him and bandaged his wounds, having poured oil and wine on them. Then he put him on his own animal, brought him to an inn, and took care of him. 35 The next day he took out two denarii,[b] gave them to the innkeeper, and said, “Take care of him; and when I come back, I will repay you whatever more you spend.” 36 Which of these three, do you think, was a neighbour to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?’ 37 He said, ‘The one who showed him mercy.’ Jesus said to him, ‘Go and do likewise.’

Sermon by the Rev. Carole Horton-Howe

On a morning in April of 2010 a 31-year-old Guatemalan immigrant by the name of Hugo Alfredo Tale-Yax was walking on a street in Queens. The streets were familiar to him. New York had become his adopted home. He found day work as he could. Many nights he slept on those streets. But he knew his way around. 

That morning as the city was starting wake up, and people were going about their day, he happened to witness a woman being attacked by a man.  And clearly wanting to stop the attack, Tale-Yax interceded and jumped in to try to spare her any further harm.

In so doing, he himself was attacked by her attacker. She took the opportunity to get away and took off running. Her attacker then stabbed Tale-Yax and took off in the other direction. And Tale-Yax stumbled a few steps before falling on the sidewalk of that NY street.

For one hour and twenty minutes, New Yorkers walked by Hugo Tale-Yax on that sidewalk. Well, most of them walked by. One actually stopped and kind of turned him over to see what was going on. And then kept going. Another guy took out his cell phone and took a picture of him. And then he too kept walking. By the time someone actually decided to call the police and the police arrived it was too late. And Tale-Yax had died.

This story fascinated our nation. There were headlines everywhere, people wondering how could something like this happen?  The only reason we even know that it happened was because there happened to be a surveillance camera mounted on a building in front of this scene and the entire hour and 20 minutes was recorded on that surveillance camera. 

And there - kind of like Adam and Eve laid bare before God - humanity was laid bare in its inability to come to the aid of a man who had risked his life to come to the aid of someone else, a stranger.

Now everyone had lots of questions from reporters, to theologians, to psychologists, to people who worked with immigrants. Everyone had lots of questions about how this could happen.  And there were groups wanted to throw in their two cents about why it happened the way it did.

People who work with immigrants said, well people who are immigrants themselves might have seen him but might have been so afraid of the police that they didn’t want to get involved.

Psychologists thought well maybe New Yorkers have become so numb to seeing drunk, homeless people lying on the street that that it just didn’t phase them. And they probably thought he was really okay and that he just needed to sleep it off.

And then there were people who called it a symptom of city living. So many people saw him as they all rushed by on their way to school and work and the gym and all the places they were going, they thought surely somebody would call police, somebody else would be the one to call police and get help. Because surely somebody else sees besides me this.

But however it unfolded, there he lay on the sidewalk: a modern day Good Samaritan himself with no one to come to his aid.

And then we as people of God begin to ask ourselves questions: like how does that happen? What would we do?  Does scripture help us, does it inform us to help to process, to form an understanding about what happened on that street that morning.  Yes – it does.  Scripture informs us in lots of ways.  We can acknowledge that.

Even before the people called Israel struggling to get to the Promised Land they’d already gotten commandments from God about loving God and caring for one another. Six of those first Ten Commandments were about living in right relationship with one another: honoring parents, living faithfully with our spouses, not lying, not coveting or stealing what which does not belong to us, not killing each other.  All those things tell us about right relationship.

No fewer than a dozen times in Exodus, Leviticus and Deuteronomy are the people called Israel told how it is that they are to provide for the least among them. If you see the widow, and the alien, and the orphan you are to care for them.

Why are you to care for them?  Because God took care of you when you were enslaved and suffering. Today we might say “thou shalt pay it forward.” You were cared for and now you are to care for everyone else. That is our legacy.

Scripture is filled with the commandment to us to love and serve our God and one another. What went wrong that day in New York?

We turn to our gospel lesson today from Luke. We see a lawyer asking Jesus what he should do to inherit eternal life. And Jesus might be thinking you’re a lawyer, don’t you know this?  Surely you know this. And the lawyer responds yes, we’re to love God, we’re love our neighbor as ourselves. So Jesus says you know, so go do it. And all will be well. Just do the loving thing!

And then the lawyer, as we’re told in the text is seeking to justify himself, presses further by asking so “who is my neighbor?”  And we’re wondering as he asks this question if he asks, is it that he already knows that he is struggling so deeply within himself to love someone that he can’t love, that he’s hoping that Jesus is going to give him a cover and an out.  That Jesus is going to excuse him; that Jesus is going to say that person that you’re struggling with so much, that’s not really your neighbor. Don’t worry about it.

But instead Jesus comes back with an unlikely story: a man who has been beaten by robbers and left to die along a busy road. Two holy men walk by and cross and pass by on the other side. That’s not how that should happen, holy men are not supposed to walk away.

And then there is a Samaritan. Context is critical here. Remember that Jesus is telling this story in the Galilee, probably to an overwhelmingly Jewish group of listeners.

And we know from even a cursory read of scripture that there was great animosity of the Jews towards the Samaritans. What we don’t always hear – is that the feeling was mutual. Samaritans despised the Jews. In about 115 BC, Jews had destroyed the Samaritan’s temple, their holy space on Mount Gerizim.

The Jews were so overjoyed at what they did, the anniversary of that destruction became a holiday that was celebrated annually. Samaritans continued to worship on Mt. Gerizim. They worshipped in the ruins. They had a near constant reminder of the death and destruction wreaked on them and the terrible treatment that they receive at the hands of the Jews before and since that destruction.

In Jesus’ story, one of their own comes upon a terribly injured Jew. A Samaritan who might think - well so what if a Jew suffers and dies?

So of all the people for Jesus to hold up to the crowd as someone who does something to be imitated, a Samaritan is not the one. This isn’t the way this story is supposed to play out for these listeners. But it does. It is the Samaritan, the one who doesn’t look like the injured man, the one whose dialect is probably different from the injured man, the one who probably has the most to fear because the injured man might reject him.

It’s the Samaritan who stops. The Good Samaritan is moved with pity and takes the injured man, gets him off this dangerous road so that nothing else can happen to him. It’s a Samaritan whose actions Jesus tells the lawyer to imitate. Go and do likewise. Go and be like this Samaritan.

We are called today to go and do likewise.  We are called to go and show mercy.  We are called to go into place where we are least expect to show up, among people who least expect to see us. And no, we may not look like them, we may not sound like them, or dress like them.  But we are called to show mercy. 

We are called to take risks, open our hearts and our lives to those who need us.  To bandage the wounds of the injured, shelter the homeless, demand justice for the persecuted. To walk along with those who are grieving and hurt, to shine the light of Christ to the lost. We are called to go and do likewise. 

The harvest is plentiful. The opportunities are numerous, even overwhelming. Where will we go this day?  Who among God’s people will we serve? Amen.   

The Fourth Sunday in Pentecost, July 6, 2025, Reflections on Luke 10:1-11, 16-20 by the Reverend Carole Horton-Howe

The Lord appointed seventy others and sent them on ahead of him in pairs to every town and place where he himself intended to go. He said to them, "The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few; therefore ask the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into his harvest. Go on your way. See, I am sending you out like lambs into the midst of wolves. Carry no purse, no bag, no sandals; and greet no one on the road. Whatever house you enter, first say, `Peace to this house!' And if anyone is there who shares in peace, your peace will rest on that person; but if not, it will return to you. Remain in the same house, eating and drinking whatever they provide, for the laborer deserves to be paid. Do not move about from house to house. Whenever you enter a town and its people welcome you, eat what is set before you; cure the sick who are there, and say to them, `The kingdom of God has come near to you.' But whenever you enter a town and they do not welcome you, go out into its streets and say, `Even the dust of your town that clings to our feet, we wipe off in protest against you. Yet know this: the kingdom of God has come near.'

"Whoever listens to you listens to me, and whoever rejects you rejects me, and whoever rejects me rejects the one who sent me."

The seventy returned with joy, saying, "Lord, in your name even the demons submit to us!" He said to them, "I watched Satan fall from heaven like a flash of lightning. See, I have given you authority to tread on snakes and scorpions, and over all the power of the enemy; and nothing will hurt you. Nevertheless, do not rejoice at this, that the spirits submit to you, but rejoice that your names are written in heaven."

Sermon by the Rev. Carole Horton-Howe

This weekend is a special one, but especially last Friday. We celebrate our country, our “one nation under God.” And we are given in the gospel today this story about the disciples going out into the world on a mission of preaching, healing, and teaching. They have from Jesus the authority to cure the sick, exorcise demons, bestow peace and announce that the kingdom of God is near – and all that means. Mercy is near. Compassion is near. Forgiveness is near. Love is near. Healing is near. Peace is near. 

Here is a story about how being a citizen of One Nation Under God and the beautiful, exquisite nearness of the Kingdom of God played out for a young man named Harry.

When the United States entered the First World War in 1917, Harry was a 16 year old boy living in a small town. He joined the army. He was too young. But you could get away with things in 1917 that you can’t in the data driven world of today. He was sent to France with the famous Rainbow Division.

Harry had a skill that at that time was considered high tech. He knew how to drive. He worked after school delivering groceries. And a year earlier, the grocer had traded in a horse and cart and bought a delivery truck. And Harry had learned to drive it. The army assigned him to be an ambulance driver. 

Now ambulance drivers worked at night. He went to the front, to the battlefield and collected the wounded, loaded them in his ambulance and drove them to a field hospital. He had to do all this by the light of the moon and the stars driving over narrow dirt roads with rocks and potholes. His ambulance had headlights about the equivalent of a couple candles.  But even that was a risk of giving away his position. So he made his way mostly in the dark.

The war was being waged in the French countryside. And the local farmers were upset that the nations of the world were making war on their lands, ruining their crops, destroying their homes. One night, as Harry was driving his ambulance, an elderly French farmer came running out onto the road, shouting in anger at him and waving a rake. By the time Harry saw him it was too late. He couldn’t stop. He couldn’t down shift and brake quickly enough. He hit the farmer and he died.

The story gets crazy and complicated here – a swirl of local laws, irate family, American MP’s. Harry found himself being court martialed. He’s now 17 years old. A man is dead. And he’s looking at decades, maybe his whole life, in chains in a military prison. At the end of the presentation of evidence, Harry sat alone in a cell scared or dejected.

A colonel came in with 2 MP’s. This is it, Harry thinks. I’m going to prison. But the colonel says to him, “You’re all done here. This thing is over. Son, the good Lord above did not put you on this earth to spend your life in a cell.  You’re going to another unit. Here’s your paperwork. Go with these guys.” Harry was hustled out of the building to a new life. Harry had never seen this colonel before and never saw him again.

At the end of the war, Harry went back home and married Stella, the prettiest girl in town. He managed to buy an old truck and he started a business moving furniture. Stella answered the phone and kept the books while Harry drove, loaded and unloaded the truck. 

By the time he died in 1969, his company had 10 offices in 6 states and Canada.  He employed about 300 people who were able to make a good living supporting their families. Harry and Stella had a daughter who married and had 2 children. None of that would have been possible if it wasn’t for this unknown colonel.

 When I think of the best of America, when I think of One Nation Under God, I think of him – a man who was so reflective of the qualities we know of God.  Seeking nothing for himself he embodied God’s mercy, compassion, peace, reconciliation. He was ready and willing to use his authority to bring all those things to bear on behalf of one pitiful little corporal in a world of trouble, to recognize that a great injustice was about to occur and have the courage to step in and use his authority to turn darkness to light, to rescue and redeem, to heal and to teach.

Harry lived up to those same qualities. He was known as a guy who would give you a second chance, who would stand up for the little guy or gal having a problem. He hired folks no one else in town would hire. He gave away almost as much as he made. When a customer couldn’t pay their moving bill he gave them more time or accepted in trade what they had to give. That’s how his granddaughter ended up with a Shetland pony. 

He wasn’t perfect. He made mistakes. But he never forgot the values shown him and never forgot to show them to others. It’s those things that we as Americans are called to remember and celebrate this weekend.

In our lives as Christians and citizens we don’t always remember to embody the best of us, the things that make us great as a people. We fall short of showing mercy and compassion. We don’t always look out for the good of the other person. We don’t always do the loving thing as God would have us do. But the Good News is that every day we have a chance to start again. We have a chance to be like the 70 followers of Jesus, to go out into the world peaceably, with the message that the kingdom of God is near.

In a world seemingly filled with vitriolic behavior and language, we who believe that there is a better way to be in the world are called to go out in what often feels like being a lamb among the wolves. Lambs into the midst of wolves: it is a vicious metaphor that conjures up violent acts of being torn limb from limb by a hungry pack. 

And I think this is why Jesus asks us to go lightly. The disciples were told to take no purse, no way in which to accumulate wealth. They are not to go among the people seeking or accepting anything from them other than hospitality. They were and we are to be totally reliant on what they know about God. 

Jesus said take no purse, bag, or sandals. In order to get the job done, they could not be weighed down the distractions of material possessions. Instead he instructed them to carry only a message of peace. As Jesus described it, peace is more than a good feeling: it is a community created gift of God that requires a reciprocal response.  It not only reflects a calmness of spirit but points to reconciliation and healing.

Blogger Shelagh Braley has made it her mission to travel light.  She’s seen the same thing at airports among her fellow travelers that we all have – people lugging huge bags that are bulging with possessions, so heavy it’s a wonder the plane can take off.  And then on arrival seeing people at baggage claim jockeying for position to get their bags as soon as they fall down the shoot of the carousel, straining to lift them and dragging them to the curb. What heavy burdens they are! 

Braley decided this was not for her. She decided to lighten up, to become a travel minimalist. And she has a questionnaire for us to determine if we might be one also:

Do you assign more value to experiences than possessions?

Do you feel more comfortable when your environment is uncluttered?

Do you assess what brings value to your life and make adjustments in your possessions, relationships, time and money, to make room for peace, growth and new practices?

If you answered “Yes” or are thinking “I’d like to answer Yes”, you’re on your way to being a travel minimalist.

Some of what matters most in life is universal: Relationships matter, whether that be family, friends, or a significant other. Taking care of ourselves matters—body, mind, and spirit—and this includes having something that we are passionate about that gets us out of bed in the morning. Cultivating relationship with the God matters, along with caring for others as Jesus did.

So I wonder if Jesus didn’t intend to send out the 70 apostles in the gospel - and us as well – as both material and spiritual minimalists. Belief and minimalism go hand-in-hand. Jesus lived a simple, minimalist lifestyle. He didn’t own many possessions. He spent his time with family and friends. He traveled continually to help others by teaching and healing.  And he spent a lot of time in prayer.

If we go at our task following a modern expression of the work of the 70, we set ourselves up for success just as Jesus did for them.  We are certain to experience those qualities that are the best of us that reflect God into the world that we celebrate this weekend.

We go lightly – knowing we are forgiven of all our sins and have to power to forgive others.

We go lightly - knowing that just as God’s mercy has been shown to us we can be agents of that same mercy.

We go lightly -- among lambs, wolves and everything in between to assure those we meet that through the love and peace of Jesus Christ, the Kingdom of God has come near.

So as you reflect on the celebrations this weekend of our national life, take just a minute to remember the 70 and their mission of taking the Kingdom of God into the world – starting with a greeting of “peace” offered in the name of the Prince of Peace for all.  Remember the colonel who said “no” to injustice. Remember all those lives of courage and commitment to living as one nation “under God.” And resolve that in this coming year we too will all be agents of peace.  Amen

The Third Sunday in Pentecost, June 29, 2025, Reflections on Luke 9:51-62 by the Reverend Carole Horton-Howe

Galatians 5:1,13-25

For freedom Christ has set us free. Stand firm, therefore, and do not submit again to a yoke of slavery.

For you were called to freedom, brothers and sisters; only do not use your freedom as an opportunity for self-indulgence, but through love become slaves to one another. For the whole law is summed up in a single commandment, "You shall love your neighbor as yourself." If, however, you bite and devour one another, take care that you are not consumed by one another.

Live by the Spirit, I say, and do not gratify the desires of the flesh. For what the flesh desires is opposed to the Spirit, and what the Spirit desires is opposed to the flesh; for these are opposed to each other, to prevent you from doing what you want. But if you are led by the Spirit, you are not subject to the law. Now the works of the flesh are obvious: fornication, impurity, licentiousness, idolatry, sorcery, enmities, strife, jealousy, anger, quarrels, dissensions, factions, envy, drunkenness, carousing, and things like these. I am warning you, as I warned you before: those who do such things will not inherit the kingdom of God.

By contrast, the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. There is no law against such things. And those who belong to Christ Jesus have crucified the flesh with its passions and desires. If we live by the Spirit, let us also be guided by the Spirit.

1 Kings 19:15-16,19-21

The Lord said to Elijah, "Go, return on your way to the wilderness of Damascus; when you arrive, you shall anoint Hazael as king over Aram. Also you shall anoint Jehu son of Nimshi as king over Israel; and you shall anoint Elisha son of Shaphat of Abel-meholah as prophet in your place."

So he set out from there, and found Elisha son of Shaphat, who was plowing. There were twelve yoke of oxen ahead of him, and he was with the twelfth. Elijah passed by him and threw his mantle over him. He left the oxen, ran after Elijah, and said, "Let me kiss my father and my mother, and then I will follow you." Then Elijah said to him, "Go back again; for what have I done to you?" He returned from following him, took the yoke of oxen, and slaughtered them; using the equipment from the oxen, he boiled their flesh, and gave it to the people, and they ate. Then he set out and followed Elijah, and became his servant.

Luke 9:51-62

When the days drew near for Jesus to be taken up, he set his face to go to Jerusalem. And he sent messengers ahead of him. On their way they entered a village of the Samaritans to make ready for him; but they did not receive him, because his face was set toward Jerusalem. When his disciples James and John saw it, they said, "Lord, do you want us to command fire to come down from heaven and consume them?" But he turned and rebuked them. Then they went on to another village.

As they were going along the road, someone said to him, "I will follow you wherever you go." And Jesus said to him, "Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests; but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head." To another he said, "Follow me." But he said, "Lord, first let me go and bury my father." But Jesus said to him, "Let the dead bury their own dead; but as for you, go and proclaim the kingdom of God." Another said, "I will follow you, Lord; but let me first say farewell to those at my home." Jesus said to him, "No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God."

Sermon by the Rev. Carole Horton-Howe

One of the saints of St. Matthias was the Rev. Shirley Rose. She was also a mentor and friend. Shirley served in many capacities, first as a DRE - Director of Religious Education, later as a priest and even later as St. Matthias’ Interim Rector.  St. Matthias and the Rev. Chet Howe supported her in her call to ordained ministry.  In the 1980’s this was a courageous thing, a loving thing.

I met her after she retired and moved to Orange County where she helped out at St. George’s.  She was no longer driving at that time but still have many friends in Whittier that she wanted to visit. I volunteered to drive her – thrilled to pieces to have that time in the care with her. She told me stories about St. Matthias which she loved with all her heart – the joys, the challenges, the connection with the Whittier community:

After the rector retired, and Shirley became the long term interim all was not well. There were hurt feelings, the camps in the congregation and deadly parking lot conversations. Shirley told me she knew they could not more forward unless and until there was healing AND a willingness to engage in a process of reconciliation.  Looking back, she was so thankful that they did, that they showed courage once again – that together they focused on healing.

Looking in the rearview mirror can be useful. Learning from the experience of our spiritual ancestors shows us a precious, thread that connects us to God, to them and to each other.  This morning we’re encountering 3 texts from our scripture that speak to this notion of how we can be informed by what has gone before, how we stand on the shoulders of those who came before us give us a closer, better view of the Kingdom of God. 

Paul’s letter to the church in Galatia is clear and concise about what they are to do. We look at this letter we see something very interesting about how he positions this letter. But we have to understand something about Paul. Before his conversion, before he became a follower of Jesus, he was a devout and faithful Pharisee. So had spent much of his life becoming an expert in Jewish law and customs. He knows the law inside and out. And that knowledge shapes and forms him and shapes and forms his teaching.  

One of the things we see in this passage is that the whole law can be summed up in one sentence, “love your neighbor as yourself.” I wonder that he left out the part In Deuteronomy which is “love God.”  He’s quoting from Leviticus when he tells them to love your neighbor as yourself. Not to be critical of Paul, but it is the love of God for us on which we can model our love of others. 

And he goes into a litany of all the transgressions that come about when we fail to both love God and love neighbor.  Because we act out of self- interest.  We don’t act in a way that respects the world around us. We act in a way that serves only our own interests.  We act with greed, envy and covetousness.  We act in ways that marginalize our neighbors. And we both literally and figuratively sell out our neighbors and feel okay about it.

And what Paul says to the followers in the church in Galacia is that this is not the way we want to be.  We want our actions to be guided by love. When our actions are prompted solely by love, something happens. Something divine takes over and carries us forward.  All those divisions around us fall away. In letting go of our own interests we act with patience and generosity and kindness. Those are the things we want to lift up.  But we do have to decide to make an affirmative effort to be constantly renewed and informed by love our neighbor.

Our Old Testament reading is short but powerful. We don’t get any backstory in the relationship between Elijah and Elisha – just this seemingly climactic moment.  But it’s enough to provide us with conflicting context with our gospel.  Here is Elijah’s call to Elisha to take on the mantel or authority of the prophet is willing to leave his life behind and follow Elijah. But first he asks to go home, to kiss his father and mother good-bye. Elijah grants that wish. He seems to vacillate, knowing God’s command to him but feeling the weight of the burden he’s put in Elisha. Go back, he tells him “for what have I done to you?"

Jesus responds quite differently to a similar request as we’ll review in a minute. We are on notice, I think, that the demands of sharing the work of building the kingdom with Jesus are greater than demands put on anyone at any earlier time in history, even the ancient, legitimate prophets who suffered greatly.

Luke’s gospel sounds sober and a little harsh.  We don’t expect Jesus to respond to people quite as harshly as he does and yet there is a reason that he responds in the way he does. So here is Jesus with his face set towards Jerusalem. Because he knows what is ahead. Jesus knows what he is going to be called to do.  And nothing can turn him away from going where God needs him to go and from what he needs to do.

In our own lives we face significant times of transition.  Early in our faith development, we ae often focused on learning more about Scripture, the church and what it means to be a child of God. We revel in the knowledge that we are loved fully and completely by a wonderful, caring Savior. We share together in the marvelous fellowship that is the body of Christ.  We feel renewed, nurtured and fulfilled.

As our faith grows and matures, our life in Christ merges with our life in the world.  We come to realize that living by the Way of Jesus Christ is more than just a private endeavor, no matter how meaningful.  In order to have true meaning and integrity, it must be part of our being.  No matter what our gifts or imperfections, the mature Christian must willingly walk alongside Jesus, even if that journey compels us to make difficult choices that living solely in a more secular existence might otherwise avoid. 

So when a man says “I need to go bury my father” and Jesus responds back to him “let the dead bury their own dead” it’s not because Jesus doesn’t understand the rituals and traditions of his people or is dismissive of them. He knows them quite well and he respects them. And he also understands that when you are responding to God’s call, you cannot lose sight of what God means for us to be doing. Never lose sight of it.

We cannot set aside God’s mission for us to engage in lengthy goodbyes and lengthy rituals with people. We can’t lose sight of God’s mission for us so we can stay in our own heads. Jesus is telling us to keep God’s desires top of mind ahead of everything else. 

And we need to be mindful of those rear view mirror view and experiences and lessons that have shaped us and brought us to that place. The lessons in faithfulness that we have learned from those around us who have helped us grow. The lessons in love that we carry with us because as people of God we know the unconditional love that God gives us that we are then to go out and give to the world - when it’s easy to offer than love and especially when it isn’t. That’s a lot to carry.

We encounter these three texts at a particularly interesting point in our world. When self-interest seems to absorb so many. When so many seem to have lost that rearview image of God …  loving us, calling us, pleading with us: Hear my voice. Know that I am present, I am there.  And in the midst of all the things that vie for our attention, that want to tear at us, that make us want to turn our face away from the way God wants us to go, we are indeed called to remember.

We are called to remember the commandments, we are called to remember to love God and neighbor to act as people who are informed by the love that we experience every day from our God. We are called to remember Paul’s teaching to the Galatians.  That informs and shapes and tells us how we are to live in community with one another.  And when that drives us, suddenly those walls begin to fall away.

We experience so much angry rhetoric, divisive action, rancor and fearfulness that we might lose sight of those moments when we come together. It doesn’t have to be that way. We can be free. We can choose reconciliation. There are places where we can agree, where we can come together. When we allow those moments to drive us forward, when we lead with our hearts, there is no end to the good we can do. There is no chasm we cannot cross when we are motivated and empowered by love. Amen.

The Second Sunday in Pentecost, Sunday, June 22, 2025, Reflections on Luke 8:26-39 by the Reverend Carole Horton-Howe

Second Sunday in Pentecost                                                                      Luke 8:26-39

Jesus and his disciples arrived at the country of the Gerasenes, which is opposite Galilee. As he stepped out on land, a man of the city who had demons met him. For a long time he had worn no clothes, and he did not live in a house but in the tombs. When he saw Jesus, he fell down before him and shouted at the top of his voice, "What have you to do with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God? I beg you, do not torment me" -- for Jesus had commanded the unclean spirit to come out of the man. (For many times it had seized him; he was kept under guard and bound with chains and shackles, but he would break the bonds and be driven by the demon into the wilds.) Jesus then asked him, "What is your name?" He said, "Legion"; for many demons had entered him. They begged him not to order them to go back into the abyss.

Now there on the hillside a large herd of swine was feeding; and the demons begged Jesus to let them enter these. So he gave them permission. Then the demons came out of the man and entered the swine, and the herd rushed down the steep bank into the lake and was drowned.

When the swineherds saw what had happened, they ran off and told it in the city and in the country. Then people came out to see what had happened, and when they came to Jesus, they found the man from whom the demons had gone sitting at the feet of Jesus, clothed and in his right mind. And they were afraid. Those who had seen it told them how the one who had been possessed by demons had been healed. Then all the people of the surrounding country of the Gerasenes asked Jesus to leave them; for they were seized with great fear. So he got into the boat and returned. The man from whom the demons had gone begged that he might be with him; but Jesus sent him away, saying, "Return to your home, and declare how much God has done for you." So he went away, proclaiming throughout the city how much Jesus had done for him.

Sermon by the Rev. Carole Horton-Howe

There was a human interest documentary series for several years on CNN created by journalist Lisa Ling. The series was called This Is Life. And she brought to the world stories about people doing interesting and incredible things in circumstances far beyond what most of us experience. She is a courageous and skilled interviewer who inserts herself respectfully into unfamiliar places and then questions those she meets with compassionate curiosity. And they tell her their stories. It occurs to me that Lisa would make an excellent Stephen Minister.

The story that most resonated with me, possibly because it’s right in our own backyard, was called “Locked Angeles,” a play on the city name, in which we go with Lisa inside the Twin Towers jail in downtown Los Angeles. We learn that each night it houses about 18,000 inmates. And of those, 30-40% suffer with some sort of mental illness. They don’t belong in jail, a deputy tells Lisa, but in the absence of a true treatment facility, they end up there. 

We see inmates in blue prison jumpsuits chained to tables in common areas just far enough apart that they cannot touch the man next them.  We hear inmates in solitary cells shouting, raging, kicking the walls.  And into this setting comes Deputy Sarah Medina. Calmly she goes to a raging inmate’s door and asks him, “what’s the matter?  Why are you so upset?”  We can’t exactly make out his reply but it involves some language we don’t use in church. “Are you hungry?” she asks.  “If I get you some food will you settle down?”  In a few minutes she returns and slides two brown bags through the slot into his cell.  “I got you 2 boxes of cereal and 2 milks.”  He screams at her that he doesn’t want breakfast. She replies “that’s all they’ve got right now. I’ll bring lunch when it’s ready.”  More verbal abuse in which he threatens to hit her in the face. “Okay,” she says calmly to him, “I’ll come back.” I’ll come back. She’s not giving up on this guy.

In a moment of comic relief, she walks past an inmate who tells her, “you’re too old for me.”  “Yeah,” she says, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Lisa asks her if she feels afraid. “Every once in a while,” Deputy Medina replies. “But I love what I do. I enjoy trying to make a positive difference in people’s lives who are hurting inside. Most of the mentally ill here are homeless. They’re bipolar, manic depressive or schizophrenic. You’re gonna have a lot of angry people yelling all day, kicking doors all day. We’re trained to de-escalate a situation, using our words and finding out why. When you get down to it,” she says, “it’s just in how we speak to them.” 

It’s as though Deputy Medina spends her days continually encountering the Gerasene man inhabited by Legion who we hear about in the gospel lesson today – so much raging, so many chains and shackles, and pain. So much emphasis on attempts to control but never to heal.  And in the midst of it, Deputy Medina is listening, reasoning, the personification of calm. Doing her best to do good. In the midst of chaos and pain, she is the calm and healing presence.

When Jesus steps out of the boat, he steps into a life and death scenario. The Gerasene man runs to meet him.  He is in every way unclean starting with the fact that he is a gentile. This man is scarcely human any more – at least that’s what the people seemed to think. So much so that he lives among the dead.

In the gospel, just as in the LA jail, everyone is anxious, everyone is acting out.  The only one who is calm and focused on goodness, healing and love is Jesus. 

Jesus does a lot of healing in the gospels. There are a number of stories of healing those who are ill with demons.  But we learn early on in this story that the need of this man for healing is like no other.  We hear Jesus ask the demon its name to gain control over it: Legion is says.  Legion would put the listeners of this gospel story in mind of a Roman legion: 5 - 6,000 armed and trained killers. This isn’t an ordinary demon, this isn’t an ordinary healing.  It’s an out and out battle.

Jesus dispatches the demon and restores this tortured man to life.  And what is the response?  Don’t we expect the next line in this scripture to be something about the people being in awe, of rejoicing, a banquet, a great celebration of some kind?  But it’s the opposite. The community can’t take it. This disruption of the status quo by this strange rabbi and healer, Jesus, and the loss of a herd of pigs – even though one of their own is restored to them - is too much.  So they tell Jesus to get out.  And he does.  Now who is saturated by death and misery and neglect? Now who’s in the tombs? 

I wonder, what in our world today are our tombs? And what keeps us in them?  What has us bound up in fear or anger and keeps us from community with one another?  Racism, sexism, homophobia, xenophobia, anxiety about the future, hanging on to the past – everything that flows out of fear.  The list is Legion. 

When we have become comfortable with the way things are, when we have accepted as normal the destructive, death-dealing experiences of our lives and in the world, it is precisely then that Jesus’ presence is more important and most powerful.

Luke’s gospel points to Jesus’ healing as the absolute power of God over the chaos of natural and human disasters. It is a power stronger than a Legion of evil. It is a power that will prevail. This power of Jesus will work in each of us this very moment and every day, finishing and polishing, transforming us if we’ll let it.

We sometimes say lightheartedly “God isn’t finished with me yet.”  I think there is more truth in that than we sometimes realize. We are always being made new. St. Paul says that if anyone is in Christ they are a new creation. So anything is possible, no matter where we are in our lives. We are constantly being created and recreated and transformed and loved. We are not left stagnant or forgotten, all possibilities are open to us. 

This is not our personal prerogative alone.  Just as Jesus went to the Gerasene, we as his followers today are called to step out of the boat and to take the healing and liberating love of God to broken and desolate people and places, to those whose lives are bound by forces beyond their control. Indeed the missional language of healing has been a part of baptismal and confirmation vows since antiquity. Those being baptized, among other things, renounce Satan and all the spiritual forces of wickedness that rebel against the love of God.  To be baptized is to commit to getting out of the boat with Jesus.

It is the life and example of Jesus that offers us a path to healing, to hope, and wholeness. Fear may still holds us back. Healing can be scary because it means a different way of life, a new reality.

But the Good News today is that God never intended for us to exist in those tombs. God imbued each of us with dignity and worth and purpose.  God calls us to discover God who, in the face of death, whispers new life for ourselves and all our neighbors.  Where ever we are in our lives, there is always hope and always possibility, always the fullness of the love, the peace, the energy and joy of being one in Christ. 

Go, he says, to us, the living. Armed with the broad embrace of God’s love for all people, owning our role in God’s powerful work in the world, we must resolve to love our way into a different tomorrow, to reject with everything we say and do anything that diminishes anyone’s dignity and humanity. And then go home and declare what God has done for us. Amen. 

Trinity Sunday, June 15, 2025, Reflections on John 16:12-15 by the Reverend Carole Horton-Howe

Jesus said to the disciples, "I still have many things to say to you, but you cannot bear them now. When the Spirit of truth comes, he will guide you into all the truth; for he will not speak on his own, but will speak whatever he hears, and he will declare to you the things that are to come. He will glorify me, because he will take what is mine and declare it to you. All that the Father has is mine. For this reason I said that he will take what is mine and declare it to you."

This is the day that we celebrate God with us and for us in three distinct but equally incredible, collaborative ways. We call it Trinity Sunday. What do you think of when you hear that word Trinity?  I talked to a few people this week and virtually every reaction is something about how difficult it is to understand, how distant and inaccessible God feels when we try to sort out this business of a Trinity. I even got a few expressions of sympathy that I have to preach today on the Trinity. But I’m happy to do so! What I hope to offer you today is the Trinity as an all-encompassing love experience. The Trinity is the most basic human experience of the divine. It is as common and comfortable as receiving a hug. 

For the longest time, I had an arm’s length relationship with the Trinity. A lifetime, actually. I accepted this piece of doctrine as part and parcel of a church I loved, happy enough to live with one piece of mystery while embracing wholeheartedly the things that I did understand – like love for our neighbor, like a faith community with no outcasts ever, like beautiful ancient liturgical tradition connecting believers across time and space. But I just couldn’t personally wrap my head around God as Three AND God as One. 

And then several years ago, before I was ready to acknowledge a call to ordained ministry, I got the most amazing gift. I attended a retreat day with a priest who had the most impressive credentials – she was a graduate of Yale Law School. After a stellar career as an attorney she was appointed to the bench and served as a federal court judge.  She then felt a call to priesthood and went back to Yale – this time to the divinity school.  So this is a highly educated, intelligent and thoughtful person and priest.  And during the retreat she said “oh, no one understands the Trinity.”  Wow – what a relief! If she didn’t understand it, I was okay. It’s like she gave me permission to relax, and sit with it and some assurance that eventually it would make sense.

And when it finally did I understood the trinity not as an intellectual exercise but as an experience. Let’s talk a little about the roles of the three entities that make up the Trinity. 

God’s role is creator. The very first words in Holy Scripture are of God creating heavens and earth, divine magnificent imagining and creating everything from eyelashes on a gnat to solar systems we haven’t even found yet. God is the ultimate entrepreneur with vision. God sustains all parts of what God creates and then renews and perfects them. God pours out God’s self in love. 

Creation is so expansive it can be overwhelming, so God does what theologian John Macquarrie calls “focusing” so that we, with our finite vision and attention, might have experiences of the nature of God and how God moves in the world.  And Jesus is God’s focusing.  

Let’s look at the role of Jesus. Jesus, as a focusing of God, is a concrete manifestation of God’s activity. Through Jesus, we are able to focus on God’s presence and on-going activities that might go unnoticed without a focusing event. Jesus is the outpoured life of God.  He is the agent through which we are reconciled or brought into closer relationship with God. Through the words and actions of Jesus’ life, not just his death, God is seen and light and warmth are present.  Everything Jesus does is a victory for God.  Because everything he does lessens the space that separates us from God and makes God’s gift of creation feel more accessible to us.

And let’s look at the third entity of the Trinity, the Holy Spirit.  The Holy Spirit as the source of comfort, advise, advocacy, and God’s grace. Some have said that the Holy Spirit has been called the wild child of the Trinity who stirs things up everywhere she goes. And she goes everywhere with energy! She is loose in the world in surprising and disruptive ways but always with love. It’s the Holy Spirit that shows us what’s possible in our world with the gifts of creation and reconciliation through the actions and teachings of Jesus Christ. 

Let’s try something together. I’m going to ask you to take a deep breath and close your eyes. I’m going to ask you first to think of three people. The people might be friends or siblings, or co-workers or a parent. It could be a teacher, or family members or neighbor. It could be someone living or dead. Just someone who you know based on what I’ll describe.

First, think of the most creative person you know or have very known. You go to their house and every bit of it is thoughtfully and beautifully put together. Or they tell you about their work and you realize they have extraordinary ideas, they are a real entrepreneur with a sharp imagination about what to do and how to do it. You wonder “how did he think of that?”  Do you have someone in mind?

Now think of someone else, someone who you know to be a true friend. You can call on this person any time for anything. You look forward to spending time with them. They tell great jokes and amazing stories. You can count on them to tell you the truth even when it’s a hard truth. But you also know they care about you and it’s for your own good. They’d do anything for you. And you’ll get a hug from them in the end.  Okay, keep that person in mind.

Now think of a third person. Think of the most out-going, friendly and energetic person you know.  Someone with an infectious smile who encourages you and cheers you on when things go well and especially when they do not.  You are at your best when you’re with them. They spark your imagination. You’re amazed at the things this person thinks of doing and you want to join in with them, to go along and see how it all turns out.  Do you have that third person in mind?

Keeping your three persons in mind, now think of the most wonderful place you’ve ever seen, or wanted to see or imagined.  Maybe it’s palace or cathedral, or your own backyard or a forest or a deserted beach at sunrise. Where ever or whatever it is, place your three people there. Imagine now that the qualities they have, the qualities that led you to choose them, are exponentially greater than any person can have, they are on a divine scale.

When you approach them, they are so happy to see you. They love you and they welcome you. You sit down in the midst of them and it feels like being wrapped in a soft blanket.  You can feel their intense concern for every part of your life. They are simultaneously creating for you, accompanying you and giving you energy and insight. This is the work of God the Father, God the Son and God the Holy Spirit.  You’ve just had an experience of the Trinity – not obscure, not farfetched but mystery revealed as one force of boundless love, mercy and care. 

On this Trinity Sunday when we celebrate our earthly fathers, let us pray:

Heavenly Father,

 Today we ask You to bless our earthly fathers for the many times they reflected the love, strength, generosity, wisdom and mercy that You exemplify in Your relationship with us, Your children.

 We honor our fathers for putting our needs above their own convenience and comfort;

for teaching us to show courage and determination in the face of adversity;

for challenging us to move beyond self-limiting boundaries;

for modeling the qualities that would turn us into responsible, principled, caring adults.

 Not all our fathers lived up to these ideals.

Give them the grace to acknowledge and learn from their mistakes.

Give us the grace to extend to them the same forgiveness that you offer us all.

Help us to resist the urge to stay stuck in past bitterness, instead, moving forward with humility and peace of heart.

We ask your blessing on those men who served as father figures in our lives when our biological fathers weren't able to do so. May the love and selflessness they showed us be returned to them in all their relationships, and help them to know that their influence has changed us for the better.

Give new and future fathers the guidance they need to raise happy and holy children,grounded in a love for God and other people - and remind these fathers that treating their wives with dignity, compassion and respect is one of the greatest gifts they can give their children.

We pray that our fathers who have passed into the next life have been welcomed into Your loving embrace, and that our family will one be day be reunited in your heavenly kingdom.

In union with Joseph, the earthly father to whom you entrusted with Your Son, we ask your generous blessings today and every day. Amen.

Trinity Sunday, "Exercising Compassion in the World", June 15, 2025, by the Reverend Jeannie Martz

As I sat working on this sermon yesterday afternoon, I honestly had no idea what the first words out of my mouth this morning would be.  Between active troops on the streets of downtown LA; accusations and counter-accusations between the governor and the mayor on one hand and the federal government on the other; NO KINGS rallies around the country; destructive flooding in Texas taking lives; state lawmakers wounded and killed in Minnesota; new and escalating bombardments between Israel and Iran – not to mention the scheduled military parade in Washington, DC that at that point had yet to take place, I was clueless as to where to start…so I decided to start with the “Thanksgiving for the Nation” that’s found on p. 838 of the Prayer Book. 

This thanksgiving is a litany, so I invite you to turn to page 838 and join me in prayer:

Almighty God, giver of all good things:  We thank you for the natural majesty and beauty of this land.  They restore us, though we often destroy them.

Heal us.

We thank you for the great resources of this nation.  They make us rich, though we often exploit them.

Forgive us.

We thank you for the men and women who have made this country strong.  They are models for us, though we often fall short of them.

Inspire us.

We thank you for the torch of liberty which has been lit in this land.  It has drawn people from every nation, though we have often hidden from its light.

Enlighten us.

We thank you for the faith we have inherited in all its rich variety.  It sustains our life, though we have been faithless again and again.

Renew us.

Help us, O Lord, to finish the good work here begun.  Strengthen our efforts to blot out ignorance and prejudice, and to abolish poverty and crime.  And hasten the day when all our people, with many voices in one united chorus, will glorify your holy Name.  Amen.

Here on this Trinity Sunday, Father’s Day, and Flag Day weekend – only two weeks out from the recent Memorial Day weekend when we honored and remembered those who have died in the service of our country even as we grieve for those taken from us in other ways; on this day we hear Paul say to the members of the Christian community in Rome, “[W]e boast in the hope of sharing in the glory of God.  And not only that, we also boast in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint us….”

Or, in the phrasing of the Rev. Eugene Peterson’s “Message” translation, which I admit can sound kind of cringy sometimes, “We continue to shout our praise even when we’re hemmed in with troubles, because we know how troubles can develop passionate patience in us, and how that patience in turn forges the tempered steel of virtue, keeping us alert for whatever God will do next.  In alert expectancy such as this, we’re never left feeling shortchanged.”

Sufferings to endurance to perseverance to hope; troubles to patience to virtue to expectancy; different phrasings to be sure, but both of these progressions are too pat, I think; they’re just a little too easy.  Paul sounds glib here, and his glibness bothers me, particularly in the face of so much suffering, both around the world and in our own hearts, that is still so raw.

          Now, in all fairness to Paul, in this passage he’s focusing on the new relationship with God which is ours through faith in Jesus; he’s not developing a formal treatment or a formal theology of suffering.  What he’s listing is a summary; it’s the outline of a process in our newly-redeemed life, with suffering, endurance, character, and hope as the points in the outline.

          The problem here is that Paul’s outline is about God’s “already” kingdom, but we’re still living in the “not yet” world.  He’s talking about the spiritual reality of the new age while we’re still living under the physical conditions of the old; and in this old, not-yet-new age, where floods and bombs still kill and destroy, and families and lives are still torn apart, we don’t live in outlines or in the points of outlines.  Our lives, and our sufferings, happen between the points.

          So what can we do to flesh out this process?  How do we get from suffering to endurance, much less to perseverance and hope?  When we’re hemmed in on every side with troubles and there’s no relief in sight, where does passionate patience come from, and why should patience come to us instead of despair?

          In June of 1983, a young man named Eric Wolterstorff, who was the 25 year old son of philosophy professor Nicholas Wolterstorff, died in a mountain climbing accident in Austria.  Four years later, Nicholas published a small but very powerful book in honor of Eric called Lament for a Son.  In this book he shares the depth of his grief at Eric’s loss, and his struggle to reconcile this loss with his faith.

          The dictionary says that to suffer is “to undergo or experience pain, distress, injury, loss, or anything unpleasant,” but I don’t think that definition says enough.  Suffering also has a spiritual component, because suffering is dehumanizing.  Far more than pain that alerts us to an injury, as severe and unpleasant as that may be, suffering grinds us down on a daily basis; it assaults our soul, and it threatens to rob us of who we are.

          Suffering is also imposed upon us, usually without our consent.  “What is suffering?” asks Wolterstorff.  “When something prized or loved is ripped away or never granted – work, someone loved, recognition of one’s dignity, life without physical pain – that is suffering.  Or rather,” he says, “that’s when suffering happens.  What it is, I do not know….Suffering is a mystery as deep as any in our existence….Suffering keeps its face hid from each while making itself known to all.”  (89)

          Another facet of suffering’s mystery and pain, of course, is suffering’s uneven distribution among us.  Whether we have consented to it or not, sooner or later we all do experience at least some suffering…but we don’t experience it equally; and this inequality only serves to increase our sense of isolation, our sense of “otherness;” of being unfairly singled out by fate, or by life – or by God – when the suffering is ours.

          “I’ve become an alien in the world,” Wolterstorff writes, “shyly touching it as if it’s not mine.  I don’t belong any more.  When someone loved leaves home, home becomes mere house.”  (51)

          In Scripture, the situation of Job and the Passion of Jesus are, first, both experiences of extreme physical suffering, as Job’s entire body is covered with sores and Jesus is tortured and crucified.  They are also experiences of extreme emotional suffering:  Job loses all of his children, all of his wealth, and the respect of his friends.  Jesus is abandoned by his disciples, denied by Peter, and mocked and spit upon by the crowds.  These are experiences of extreme spiritual suffering as each of these men feels that he has been unfairly abandoned by God.

          “I don’t deserve this,” Job cries out to God.  “I accuse you of not being just!  Show yourself, and come answer me!”

          “My God, my God,” cries Jesus on the cross, “why have you forsaken me?”

          Towards the end of the Book of Job, God does in fact come to state God’s case, and God speaks to Job out of the whirlwind, claiming in essence God’s freedom to be God.  “Where were you,” God asks, “when I created the earth?”

          Job gets no answers, no explanation for his suffering from God, and what’s important for us to understand here is that in the midst of his suffering, Job has exercised his freedom just as much as God has, because Job has been free to end their relationship; he’s been free to “curse God and die,” as his wife thought he should…but he hasn’t done so.  It may have been more his anger against God than anything else that kept him there, but even so, Job has voluntarily stayed in relationship with God.  He doesn’t stay because he’s never known trouble, he doesn’t stay because he’s never thought about leaving; Job has stayed in relationship with God because he has chosen to be faithful.  He has chosen to be faithful to God, in spite of his suffering.

          As the fully human carpenter from Nazareth, Jesus has also been free; free to let the cup of the Passion pass him by.  When God didn’t take away the cup in response to Jesus’ prayer in the garden after the Last Supper, Jesus could have chosen to forego it himself.  He could have chosen to gather the disciples and get out of Dodge; he could have chosen to confess to Pilate, to try to deal for prison time instead of the cross.  But the human Jesus exercises his freedom and chooses to stay, chooses to be faithful and obedient to God in spite of the suffering to come.

          And at the same time, in Jesus the Son, the Incarnate Word, God is exercising freedom too.  This time the freedom is God’s freedom to have become incarnate in Jesus in the first place; the freedom of God voluntarily choosing to send God’s Spirit upon Mary, who herself has exercised her freedom in saying “yes” to God and agreeing to receive God’s Spirit.

          Jesus could have said “no” to the cross; Mary could have said “no” to God; and God could have said “no” to all of us; but God didn’t, because of love; and in God’s love for each of us, God honors our freedom.  God wants us to say “yes,” God wants us to love God back voluntarily, independent of the amount of suffering, or the lack of suffering, in our lives – but this kind of love needs an even playing field; and the only way for God to level the field was through the Incarnation.

          In “Christian Letters to a Post-Christian World,” Dorothy Sayers writes, “For whatever reason God chose to make man as he is – limited and suffering and subject to sorrows and death – [God] had the honesty and courage to take His own medicine.  Whatever game [God] is playing with His creation, [God] has kept His own rules and played fair.  [God] can exact nothing from man that [God] has not exacted from Himself.  [God] has Himself gone through the whole of human experience, from the trivial irritations of family life and the cramping restrictions of hard work and lack of money to the worst horrors of pain and humiliation, defeat, despair, and death….[God] was born in poverty and died in disgrace and thought it well worthwhile.”  (in “Where is God…”, Yancy, 181)

          God has played fair with us in the Incarnation.  In Jesus, God has suffered with us and suffered for us, and this makes all the difference in our own growth from troubles to patience, from suffering to endurance, because what God has done means we’re not alone in our suffering; we’re not alone because God has chosen, and continues to choose, to be compassionate; to suffer with us.

          “The definition of compassion itself,” writes one theologian, “suggests the need to begin with the experience of suffering.  While the two Latin components of the word ‘com’ and ‘passio’ are taken to mean to suffer with, the Latin ‘patior’ is accurately translated ‘to experience,’ so that compassion means to allow ourselves to experience with someone else what he or she is experiencing by putting ourselves in the place of another.  Compassion is not simply an emotional response to the joy or pain of the other; compassion requires the ability to move beyond feeling and thinking to action.”  (LP, Suffering, 39)

          And as God is compassionate with us, even in our suffering God calls us also to be compassionate:  Love one another as I have loved you, Jesus says; love one another with the love that shares each other’s suffering.  Love your neighbor as yourself.

          “Accepted suffering leads one out of oneself toward the other,” this author continues.  “It invokes love and compassion; it implies growth in self. It ultimately brings about real communion….God does not instigate our suffering, nor did God decree the sufferings of Jesus.  Rather, God participates in them.”  (Ibid.)

          Through experiencing and exercising compassion in the community of faith and in the world, we do move through our process, through the points of Paul’s outline and as we do so, we learn that we’re not “passing through” this process as much as we are incorporating it into ourselves; each tear, each cry, each glimpse of the tears of God, each act of compassion received and given, becomes part of who we are, part of who we shall be, part of what we offer for the healing of the world – especially for the healing of today’s world.

          Back at Trinity, one of my former parishioners is a gifted seamstress and craftsperson, and she has one of those computerized sewing machines that can do all sorts of embroidery from patterns.  At one point she made for the church what she hoped would be a pulpit hanging.  The hanging in question was a large embroidered picture of the Risen Jesus in a stained glass window format; but in this picture, produced by the pattern, the Risen Lord was wearing surprisingly contemporary sandals that covered his feet and his hands were unscathed…and I said, “We can’t use that, not like it is.”*

Why couldn’t we use it?  Because Jesus was raised with his wounds intact; he was resurrected with holes in his hands and his feet and a gash in his side, and according to John’s Gospel, it was because of his wounds, by means of his wounds, that the disciples recognized him in the first place.  Jesus’ wounds became an essential part of who he was and who he is, and he cannot be our Savior without them.

          The wounds of Jesus – the wounds of God – these are the basis of our hope in God’s future that Paul talks about, the basis of our confident expectation as to our place in that future.  Because of the suffering of God, our “already” future with God is assured; and in this present “not yet” time, although our suffering may pierce our hearts and drive us down, because of the suffering and the compassion of God, because of the companionship of God in our suffering; because of all this, at the end of the day, our suffering will not overcome us.   Amen.

*After some cosmetic adjustments, the hanging made its debut on Trinity’s pulpit.

The Day of Pentecost, June 8, 2025, by the Reverend Carole Horton-Howe

On May 21st each year, the church celebrates the feast day of a man named John Eliot. If that name isn’t familiar to you, this is an opportunity to share a little history that are important to our celebration today of the coming of the Holy Spirit. John Eliot was an Englishman in the 17th century and a clergy person -- and a Puritan.

Being from England and a Puritan in the 17th century, he realized that in order to practice his faith as he believed he had received it, England was not the best place to be. He was coming of age during the reign of Charles I. And so, wanting to have the freedom to practice and minister he decided to come to the colonies, this new world. He assumed that he would be ministering to like-minded people, to other Puritans.

But when he got here, something unexpected happened. He felt called to minister not to English-speaking Puritans that were here, but rather to the Algonquin peoples, an indigenous people that he met. There was a problem – and not a small one: a fairly significant language barrier. He realized that he needed to learn their language. So he committed himself to doing just that. He began spending more and more time with the Algonquin, until he became fluent.  He learned it so well, in fact, that he was able to translate the entire Bible into Algonquin. 

So you might rightfully assume that the first Bible to be printed on American soil in the United Sates was in English, or maybe French or Spanish. But it was in Algonquin.  The first Bible printed in the US was in Algonquin.

John Eliot went on to became a tireless advocate for the Algonquin people that he knew nothing about before he came to this country – he advocated for property rights for them. He advocated for schools for both children and adults.  And he is said to have spent many of his days on foot or on horseback going to the Algonquin native communities trying to make certain that they heard the word of God and the stories of Jesus Christ.

John Eliot might or might not have realized that he was following in the footsteps of an important figure in the Anglican tradition, important to us today the Episcopal church, and that’s Archbishop Thomas Cranmer, the architect of the prayer book that is the forerunner to our own Book of Common Prayer. Cranmer, who lived in the 16th century, determined something very important – that liturgy needed to be in the language of the people.  If the average person, not just the elite, not the upper classes that had access to formal education, but the average person, the liturgy needed to be in English for them to understand the Word of God and incorporated its meaning into their lives, it needed to be in their own language. The 16th century determination of Archbishop Thomas Cranmer.  

Because there’s something to be said about being in community and understanding together and having the word of God available to us in a way that makes sense to us; and that we can absorb into our existence into our lives. That sense that we need to belong to something. That we need to understand and be community; that is what we see in our lesson from the Acts of the Apostles. Here are all these Jews who during the diaspora have been scattered to so many places. And they have come back to Jerusalem with all of the languages and all of the traditions from all of the places where they have lived. 

And then there is this miraculous day. There is this miraculous day when the Holy Spirit breathes down onto the Apostles and allows them to speak in all the languages of the people. So that they can understand and so they can be community.

And this gift of the Holy Spirit is not just given to the apostles but also the gift that is given to the hearers. Because those who hear are now part of something bigger than themselves. They are part of a whole community of worshipers who know and share the love of God. All together.

The naysayers said “they must be drunk, how else would you explain this crazy weird behavior of theirs …” But those who experienced the Holy Spirit has come in and made it possible for them to experience God in a whole new way, in an expansive and astounding way. And to be part of entire community of God lovers. 

And this feeds some innate within us, something within us – to one extent or another - . something bigger than ourselves, something that has begun before us and will outlast us, will sweep us up within loving embrace and will exist long after we’re gone. We crave this.  Even as infants.

Some of you may have seen a wonderful video of a baby who was born unable to hear. She had just been fitted with hearing aids. And she hears her mother’s voice for the first time.  It’s only been lips moving until this moment. But with the hearing aids on first there’s a smile, a big broad smile and she looks intently into her mother’s face. But then the tears – of comfort of peace, of being overwhelmed with the feeling through this voice that she belongs, that she is loved; that everything about her matters to the person holding her.

That’s what it means for us to be able to hear that Word of God.  That’s what it means for us to be able to know that we are God’s people; that we are loved and included, a part of a community of so many others that love and are beloved of God.

So what are we to do with this today – this day that we celebrate the Holy Spirit coming down and breathing life into those first believers; and helping them shape faith community for the first time.

We are reminded that the Holy Spirit still moves and breathes with us – that the Holy Spirit is still there igniting us and empowering us to create community, to speak the languages of those who are around us. And the languages may be literal languages – it may be learning Spanish or one of the Asian languages or Arabic languages – it may literal languages of the people that are here that are around us. But it may the language of music, of a spiritual language that we speak that reaches out to the homeless the destitute, to those who have lost all hope to remind them that God is still active, alive and caring. 

A Native American woman mystic named Mary Standing Otter reminds us with a few simple statements about the work of the Holy Spirit moving and alive in the world: it’s called Right Now.

·       Right now there are Tibetan Buddhist monks in a temple in the Himalayas endlessly reciting mantras for the cessation of your suffering and for the flourishing of your happiness.

·       Someone you haven't met yet is already dreaming of adoring you.

·       Someone is writing a book that you will read in the next two years that will change how you look at life.

·       Nuns in the Alps are in endless vigil, praying for the Holy Spirit to align the hearts of all of God's children.

·       A farmer is looking at his organic crops and whispering, "nourish them."

·       Something is being invented this year that will change how your generation lives, communicates, heals and passes on.

·       The next great song is being rehearsed by musicians and singers.

·       Thousands of people are in yoga classes right now intentionally sending light out from their heart chakras and wrapping it around the earth.

·       Millions of children are assuming that everything is amazing and will always be that way.

·       Someone is in profound pain, and a few months from now, they'll be thriving like never before. From where they are, they just can't see it.

·       Someone who is craving to be partnered, to be acknowledged, will get precisely what they want — and even more. And because that gift will be so fantastical in its reach and sweetness, it will literally alter their memory of anxious longing and render it all "So worth the wait."

·       Someone is praying in earnest for wars to stop.

·       Someone is curing the incurable.

·       Someone is dedicating their days to protecting your civil liberties and clean drinking water.

·       Someone is regaining their sanity.

·       Someone is coming back from the dead.

·       Someone is genuinely forgiving the seemingly unforgivable.

o   You. Me. Some. One. Now.

This is Pentecost. This why we ask the Holy Spirit to come to us and build us up and to give us the power of languages that we cannot even begin to comprehend so that all of God’s people can know what it means to be belong to Love, and to be witnesses together of God’s grace and mercy. That we all may know community – that the lost and scattered who want nothing more than to be included in a place like St. Matthias where God is known and experienced. Amen.

The Seventh Sunday of Easter, "Hey -- Let's be careful out there", June 1, 2025, by the Reverend Jeannie Martz

One of the most humbling things for me here, later in active ministry, has been the harsh realization that some of my best loved, and to my mind most relevant, TV and movie sermon illustrations have become completely outdated – at least in terms of how many of us are able to remember them, much less relate to them.  Alas, I’m afraid that on this, my last morning with you, my opening reference is probably among the forgotten of television – unless any among us remember one of the early ensemble cast dramas, 1981 to 1987’s “Hill Street Blues.”

A police drama in an unnamed major city (that I think was supposed to be Chicago), episodes of “Hill Street Blues” would open with a briefing from the sergeant for the incoming shift.  At the end of the briefing, actor Michael Conrad’s Sgt. Esterhaus would lean over the podium and say to all the officers, “Hey – let’s be careful out there!” 

Well, I’ve always felt pretty much the same way any time my children, and now my grandchildren, have been heading away from me off into the sunset; and so, starting back before the days of airport security, when we could still see people off at the gate, I developed the habit of “praying my children on their way,” so to speak.  I’d start praying as soon as my boys headed down the jetway and then, if the particular airport was small enough that I could keep track of their plane, I’d stay and pray that plane into the air.

          I mentioned this habit of mine in a sermon one time in my Florida parish, and I added that I was convinced that it’s the prayers of mothers that get planes up to cruising altitude and home again.  I had several pilots in that congregation and after that sermon one of them came up to me and said, “Jeannie.  It’s lift.  It’s not prayers, it’s lift.” 

Well, if that’s what the airlines think, no wonder they’re having problems! 

          Whatever the dynamics of flight – and I do admit that “lift” plays its part – I got then, and still continue to get, tremendous comfort from praying for my children and grandchildren when we’re apart.  The prayer I say most often is on page 831 in the Prayer Book and it’s the prayer “For Those We Love.”  This prayer reads: Almighty God, we entrust all who are dear to us to your neverfailing care and love for this life and the life to come, knowing that you are doing better things for them than we can desire or pray for, through Jesus Christ our Lord.  Amen.

          This prayer reassures me that even as adults, my kids aren’t out in the midst of life totally on their own.  It reminds me that God loves my children and my grandchildren even more than I do, and this prayer confirms that no matter what life brings to them or to me, God will see us through it; and that with God, at the end of the day, all things shall be well.

          In today’s Gospel passage, we have Jesus praying for those he loves, and from whom he’s about to be separated big time.  What we hear today is the end of chapter 17, and, as I mentioned last week, it’s also the end of a section of John’s Gospel that’s referred to as Jesus’ Farewell Discourse.  In chapter 13, John describes the Last Supper, with Jesus washing the disciples’ feet, and then Judas heading out into the night.  Chapters 14 through 17 are the Farewell Discourse, Jesus’ last words to his disciples, his own version of “Hey – let’s be careful out there!”

          Focusing in, this morning’s Chapter 17 itself is a specific unit within the Farewell Discourse because even though Jesus continues to summarize everything he wants the disciples to remember, in 17 he shifts gears and he begins to pray his own hopes and fears – and the lead phrase we hear today is “Jesus prayed for his disciples….”

          As I said a moment ago, Jesus is about to be physically separated from the disciples just as many of us are physically separated from our children or our parents or other family members or friends.  He’s facing separation from people he loves, and so he prays for them.  He prays to God - in the disciples’ hearing, because he’s speaking out loud here; he prays to God that his disciples will be all right, that they’ll have the strength to get through the days and weeks to come.  He prays that they’ll be open to receiving the comfort and the teaching of the Holy Spirit, the Advocate, and he prays to God that together they’ll all be one – him one with God, the disciples one with him and therefore also one with God through him, and all of them one together in the power of the Spirit; one in a unity not of doctrine, but “of heart and mission,…[a] unity of love and commitment.”  (Focus on John curriculum, p. 133)

          Through his prayer, Jesus shows his love for his disciples then, and he also shows his love for us today, because right off the bat he says, “I ask not only on behalf of these, but also on behalf of those who will believe in me through their word, that they may all be one.”  Those who will believe through the words of the disciples, those who do believe through these very same words, these “those” who are us.  You and me and all those in every generation who have heard the Good News and who have turned to follow Jesus the Christ, Jesus prays for us all.  Jesus prays for Tim; and he prays for Feppy; he prays for Larry, and for Kathy, and for Claudia; he prays for Peter, and for Barbara, and for Lydia, and for Patricia, and for Danny, and for Mary Jean, and for Kevin, and for Joan, and for you, and for me.  He prays for the acolytes, Steve and Carrie Sue, by name, and for everyone in the choir by name.  He prays for those who come here for meetings, and for those who come here for help.  He prays for those who haven’t come through these doors yet, and he prays for each of us and he prays for all of us because as amazing and as incredible as it might seem, Jesus loves each one of us every bit as much as he did love and as he continues to love Simon Peter, and James, and John.

          Being prayed for is a powerful thing; and to pray for is no less powerful.  Billy Graham once called prayer “fellowship with God.”  (LP, Prayer, 29)  Others more recently have called it “the world’s greatest wireless connection.”  What sorts of things happen when we pray for each other, when we exercise this fellowship and wireless connection and raise each other up into the presence of God through our prayers?  For one thing, we participate in God’s own power, and through the power of the Spirit we become the flesh through which God touches other people.  Take today’s reading from Acts, for example:  through the prayers and the witness of Paul and Silas, God touches the other prisoners, and the jailer, and then the jailer’s whole family.

Powerful things happen through the prayers of faithful people, and I’d be willing to bet that any number of us here can tell about things in our own lives or in the lives of people we know that support this statement:  powerful things happen.  Powerful things, and amazing things happen when we pray.

The Rev. Ann Hallstein tells this story from her time as a chaplain at Columbia Presbyterian Hospital in New York City:  “I was called to the Emergency Room, where a resident told me an eight-year-old boy had been brought in by his mother in a taxicab, shot in the head by her boyfriend or former boyfriend. The boy had no chance of surviving, but the team was working on him, while his mother and aunt sat nearby in a tiny closet of a room.  When I opened the door to join them, fear pounding in my heart, I saw two tiny girls – not women, girls – teenagers of indeterminate age, clinging to each other, as vulnerable and alone as I had ever seen anyone look.  They were in shock, obviously.  I introduced myself, sat down, and had no idea of what to do next:  any words I could think of seemed not only insufficient, but profane.  What could anyone possibly say to comfort a child whose own child was lying in the next partition, dying of a gunshot wound to the head?

“While I fumbled and tried to react in some appropriate way, the door was thrown open and a large woman, about 6’2” tall, stepped in, filling the room with her presence.  She grabbed the two sisters up by crooking her massive arms around their necks and pulling them to her, calling them her babies.  (She was, I should add here, their neighbor, simply their neighbor.)  And then, in a commanding voice full of authority, she ordered Jesus to come into the room ‘right this minute, come in here, Jesus, my babies need you, and they need you now, I don’t mean later, I don’t mean in ten minutes, I mean NOW!  Get down here!  Come into this room and comfort these babies!  Jesus, Jesus, get in here now, there’s nothing anyone can do but you.’

Hallstein goes on, “As I looked on with wonder and great admiration, I felt the energy in the room change; calm came over all of us, and the mother stopped crying and moaning.  Their neighbor continued to hold them in her viselike elbows, rocking them both back and forth.  I stood up, put my arms around them all, and joined in the rocking.  We swayed there in one mass for 10 or 20 minutes, I suppose – I had no sense of time, nor of place:  all I felt was the love of this woman, and the love of God that she had so forcefully, and so effectively, called into the room.  She soon left, but the palpable sense of love and comfort remained long after the few minutes of her presence.

“Prayer?  You bet – the most immediate, most effective and most powerful I’ve seen.  I could tell that what fueled her, what ‘made it happen’ was that she was fully present, totally open and full of both love and faith.  She was there, she summoned God there, and it was her presence that invoked the healing needed at that moment.  Everything was not ‘all right’ – there was not a happy ending – the boy died that night.  But God had been called and had been with the suffering mother and aunt, and they felt it, and were able to function, and to survive that horrifying scene.”  (LP, Prayer, 38-39)

Both Pastor Hallstein and the neighbor were very aware that the power needed in this situation, the power invoked by the neighbor, was not their power, but the very power of God, present and available in the unity Jesus prays for, a “unity in love” shared between Jesus and God, between Jesus and us, and therefore between God and us.  Love in common, shared through prayer in common, common prayer:  prayer that is offered together. 

In Mark’s Gospel, we hear of a time when that togetherness, that unity in love, is very important:

Mark writes, “When [Jesus] returned to Capernaum after some days, it was reported that he was at home.  So many gathered around that there was no longer room for them, not even in front of the door; and he was speaking the word to them.  Then some people came, bringing to him a paralyzed man, carried by four of them.  And when they could not bring him to Jesus because of the crowd, they removed the roof above him; and after having dug through it, they let down the mat on which the paralytic lay.  When Jesus saw their faith, he said to the paralytic, ‘Son, your sins are forgiven.’”  (Mk. 2:1-5)

Sooner or later, most of us have a time in our lives when, for whatever reason, we find we can’t pray.  Whether we’re bound by anger or grief or fear or doubt, bound by illness or despair or whatever, there can be times when we have no words and no heart for God.  No less than the man in Mark, we are paralyzed, locked inside ourselves spiritually, unable to move.  This is when the prayers of others, the prayers of our community, the “together” prayers, carry us to God. 

Just as the friends of the paralytic carry him not only to the house where Jesus is, but up to the roof of that house, so our friends and our community lift us up; and just as the paralytic’s friends dig open the roof and lower him to Jesus’ very feet, so our friends and our community carry us in prayer wherever we need to go.  When we ourselves can’t take a step towards God, our friends in their prayers lay us at the feet of our Lord for healing.  And when our friends can’t take a step towards God, we in our prayers lay them at the feet of, and in the hands of, the Lord.

Powerful things happen when we pray for each other.  Hearts and doors are opened, hope is in the very air we breathe, and we become both spiritually and emotionally invested in each other.  We care about each other; we place our lives in each other’s hands.  Is there someone you don’t like, someone who’s really a problem for you?  Pray for them sincerely – every day.  Pray that God’s will may be done in their lives.  And if you can’t pray for them sincerely, pray for them anyway – and ask God to help your prayer become sincere. 

Powerful things happen when Jesus prays for us, and for those who will believe, and for those who have come to believe.  Through him we are included in the relationship and the love that he shares with the Father.  Through him we are invited to eat at God’s table as co-equals with him, children in God’s family.  Through him, we are graced to see ourselves and each other with God’s love, through God’s eyes.

Jesus prayed for his disciples. Jesus prays, present tense, for each of us.  And on this, my last Sunday with you as you, the people of St. Matthias, embark on your next exciting chapter as a parish, I pray for us all together as well.   

Until we meet again, let’s be careful out there.

Amen.  

The Sixth Sunday of Easter, "Shabbat Shalom", May 25, 2025, by the Reverend Jeannie Martz

You may have noticed that the front of our worship booklet this morning indicates that in addition to this being the Sixth Sunday after Easter and the Memorial Day weekend, today is also something called “Rogation Sunday.”  Rogation Sunday takes its name from the Latin verb rogare, which means “to ask.”  Its Christian roots can be traced back to the 5th century AD, with its observance reaching the British Isles sometime in the 7th century AD. 

Historically, Rogation Sunday, which is always 6 Easter, as well as the Rogation Days of the following Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday that lead up to Ascension Day, which is the Thursday after 6 Easter; these Rogation Days have historically been days of prayer and intercession, originally asking for God’s blessing on “the community, the land, and the harvest” for the coming year.  (Wikipedia, “Rogation Sunday”)

              During the reign of Elizabeth I in England, Rogation Sunday additionally became a time to bless and celebrate all town and communal boundaries, “with extra emphasis on the stability gained from lawful boundary lines,” and the Sunday was usually marked by the whole congregation, including clergy and choir, processing around the parish boundaries – “beating the bounds,” as it was called.  (Ibid.)

              Blessing, stability, lawfulness, and the willing observance of civic boundaries – to me, these are all indications of a time of peace, and a lack of outward danger and strife; and yet, in our 6 Easter Gospel reading this Rogation Sunday morning, a lack of danger from the outside world is not what we hear; a lack of danger from the outside world is not what Jesus is about to face.

              As with last Sunday’s Gospel, today’s reading is part of what’s known as Jesus’ “Farewell Discourse,” his extended teaching/prayer that comes at the end of the Last Supper.  Prior to this particular passage from John, Jesus has already told the disciples that he’s returning to the Father, that he won’t be with them any longer; and today we hear him say that God’s Spirit, the Advocate, will come to be with them in his absence as teacher and as empowerment.  The one who will betray him has left the company, and he knows that what awaits him outside this room is violent death.

In spite of this, he says, “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you.  I do not give to you as the world gives.  Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid.”  (Jn. 14:27)

              To the Christian community in Philippi, the community that will come into being around the newly-converted Lydia, Paul later writes these words of comfort from a prison cell:  “Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice…Do not worry about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God.  And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.”  (Phil. 4:4, 6-7)

              In her novel In This House of Brede, a book about a community of Anglican nuns in England, author Rumer Godden begins her story by describing a carving over the front door of the convent.  She writes,  “The motto was ‘Pax,’ but the word was set in a circle of thorns….Pax:  peace, but what a strange peace, made of unremitting toil and effort, seldom with a seen result; subject to constant interruptions, unexpected demands, short sleep at nights, little comfort, sometimes scant food; beset with disappointments and usually misunderstood; yet peace all the same, undeviating, filled with joy and gratitude and love.  ‘It is My own peace I give unto you.’  Not, notice,” says Godden, “the world’s peace.”

              The peace that Jesus leaves with us; God’s peace that surpasses our understanding; the peace that is not the world’s peace – what exactly is this peace?

              In English, we think of peace as an absence of conflict, struggle, or hostilities between individuals, groups, or nations.  Peace can also indicate a freedom from distraction or annoyance, either in a personal setting or in our own minds.  In Hebrew, however, the concept of peace, the understanding of the Hebrew word “shalom,” this concept is far more nuanced and multi-layered than its English counterpart.  The peace of Jesus, the peace of God that Paul writes about, and the peace that is not of this world, these are all shalom – and biblical shalom addresses the heart.

              Shalom is a state of being, a gift given by God to all of creation; and while shalom, like the English word peace, can mean a lack of hostility between two entities, shalom itself also includes harmony, wholeness (often expressed as “salvation”), completeness, well-being, tranquility, and complete reconciliation.  Shalom is a blessing, and when extended to others, the wish for shalom includes a desire for their health and wholeness as well.

As one Christian author writes, “The webbing together of God, humans, and all creation in justice, fulfillment, and delight is what the Hebrew prophets call shalom.  We call it peace but it means far more than peace of mind or a ceasefire between enemies.  In the Bible, shalom means universal flourishing, wholeness and delight – a rich state of affairs in which natural needs are satisfied and natural gifts fruitfully employed, a state of affairs that inspires joyful wonder as its Creator and Savior opens doors and welcomes the creatures in whom he delights.  Shalom, in other words, is the way things ought to be.”  (Cornelius Plantinga, Not the Way It’s Supposed to Be)

              In our own Eucharistic Prayer D, we say that even though we turned away from God, breaking the shalom between us through our own disobedience, we say that “through the prophets [God] taught us to hope for salvation” – which is another way of saying that “through the prophets God taught us to hope for shalom,” to hope for the restoration and the completeness of our relationship with God. 

              Even the letters that spell the word “shalom” have significance, especially the first one – the Hebrew letter “shin.”  Each letter in the Hebrew alphabet has its own life given to it by God, its own divine formation.  “Shin” consists of three upward strokes united by a common horizontal base, and within the context of blessing, the upward strokes represent El Shaddai, God Almighty; God’s Shekhinah, which is God’s Glory; and Shalom, God’s Peace.  More popularly, “shin” has also been said to represent the common bond God shares both with God’s creation and with humankind – that “common horizontal base” that I mentioned. 

In worship, “shin” is formed by each of the hands of the one pronouncing the Priestly Blessing upon the people, the blessing given by God to the people of Israel, and it’s formed like this. 

              In the Book of Numbers, God says to Moses, “Speak to Aaron and his sons, saying, ‘Thus you shall bless the sons of Israel.  You shall say to them:  The LORD bless you, and keep you; The LORD make his face shine upon you, and be gracious to you; The LORD lift up his countenance on you and give you [shalom].”  (Num. 6:23-26)

              Those of you who are familiar with Star Trek will no doubt recognize the similarity that “shin” has with Mr. Spock’s Vulcan salute.  Leonard Nimoy, who was Jewish, wrote in his autobiography that “when he was a child, his grandfather took him to an Orthodox synagogue, where he saw the blessing performed and was impressed by it” – so impressed that he later based Spock’s signature greeting, “Live long and prosper,” on the “shin” of God’s shalom.

              So where is the disconnect with true shalom, the peace of God that is so all-encompassing that we can’t even wrap our heads around it?  Where is the disconnect between true shalom and the counterfeit peace of the world?

              I think the disconnect has to do with the way we tend to approach the reality of pain and suffering in our own lives and in the lives of those we love; how we tend to approach the realities of stress, loneliness, self-esteem, anxiety, and despair.  There’s not a family in this congregation, and probably not even in this nation, that at some time and to some degree; possibly recently, possibly horrendously; not a single family, maybe not even a single individual, that hasn’t had to deal at some level with self-destructive behavior in themselves or in others – whether it be substance abuse, excessive gambling, compulsive shopping, inappropriate sexual or physical behavior, or whatever – and I want to be very, very clear here that I am NOT including diagnosed or diagnosable addictive or mental health issues, or experience-related issues such as PTSD in these comments.  Those issues, along with their challenges and their sorrows, are entirely separate.  I’m not talking about them or referencing them here. 

This being said, in a sermon he himself preached, a recovering drug addict turned seminarian said that with every hit of the many drugs he had taken in his years of using, he was looking for “a little bit of peace for a short time.”  (LP, Peace, 38)

This same search for peace, this same search for relief from pain is our own search as well. 

This search is for the world’s peace – the world’s willingness to offer us short term solutions to make our pain stop, to give us “a little bit of peace for a short time.”  This is the peace that’s right at hand; and yet, says another author, “a little bit of peace for a short time” “points out all that is wrong with the peace the world gives, and it also points to what is most important about the peace of God.”  (Ibid.)

The peace of God, the shalom of God, exists alongside our suffering, is a companion in our suffering, and at the same time is far more than our suffering.  Often shalom comes into our consciousness through the people of faith around us; and while we might sometimes lose our awareness of shalom, shalom itself, God’s shalom, is still with us. 

Losing both her sister and her mother to cancer in a matter of months, one author writes, “God chooses the very strangest times and circumstances to teach us about peace.  On reflection, I couldn’t have learned about this non-worldly peace without being up against the toughest challenge I had ever faced.  Now, when I think I cannot possibly bear a pain or resolve a problem, I remember that Jesus’ peace [Jesus’ shalom] is not of this world.  It does not require tranquility of circumstance in order to flood our lives.”  (Connie Clark, LP, Peace, 23)

Later in John, Jesus says, “I have said this to you so that in me you may find peace, [in me you may find shalom].  In the world you find suffering, but have courage:  I have conquered the world.”  (John 16:33)

Even so, even though “tranquility of circumstance” isn’t required for us to experience the shalom of God, of Jesus, and of Paul, tranquility of circumstance can be helpful – and here’s where the tranquility of “sabbath time,” of intentionally setting aside time for God, can help to lead us into God’s peace.

Honoring the Sabbath, of course, is one of the Ten Commandments, a Commandment that all too often gets short shrift when our kids are playing organized sports, or when the weekend is the only time to catch up on errands and chores.  Nevertheless, the Hebrew word for sabbath, “Shabbat”, is related to two other Hebrew words – one that means “to stop” and one that means “to sit.”  In Orthodox Jewish families, no work is done on Shabbat, and the understanding of what constitutes “work” extends to cooking, driving a car, and even turning on a light switch.  One worships on Shabbat; one spends time with family; and one rests, honoring God.

In days gone by, especially before retail stores were open on Sundays, many Christian families also spent Sabbath Sundays that were family-oriented and toned down.  Today, in an attempt to regain spiritual and physical balance, it’s not unusual to hear of people dedicating a set day or set period of time during the week as their “sabbath time,” a time for their own slowing down and turning towards God.

Linking “Shabbat” and “Shalom,” one author writes, “What if one day a week, we focused on not just a day of rest but a day of getting our wholeness restored?  What if weekly we could completely refill our life tank in our bodies, hearts, and minds?  That is what true shalom does, if we allow it.

“When our peace is full and overflowing, we are able to trust [God] to restore what may have been lost last week.  We can confidently move forward in hope that we will have all that we need in the week ahead.  This is what Shabbat is for.  Shabbat is for Shalom.  Shabbat Shalom.”

When used as a greeting, this author says, “’Shabbat Shalom’ is saying, despite all the craziness throughout the week, ‘may you end the week with a rest that brings that inner peace that recenters us on the One who gives it’ – and also, ‘May your next week begin with that sense of inner rest and completeness, where nothing is lacking.’”  (From “Shalom” in The Christian’s Biblical Guide to Understanding Israel by Doug Hershey)

As we go forth on this Rogation Sunday, may we all honor the creation and the Sabbath, finding that inner rest and completeness; spending intentional time stopping, and sitting in wholeness with God – and as Christians, may we never settle for only a little bit of peace.

Shabbat Shalom.

Amen.

The Fifth Sunday of Easter, "Mystagogia: Embrace the Truth", May 18, 2025, by the Reverend Jeannie Martz

In my sermon last week I talked a lot (a lot!) about names, about the significance of names in our own lives and in the world around us.  Different names can indicate different emphases; and this season of the church year, the Easter Season, this season itself has different emphases and thus is known by other names as well.  This period of time between Easter Sunday and the Feast of Pentecost is also variously known as Eastertide, as the Great Fifty Days, and as I mentioned a couple of weeks ago, as the Mystagogia.

              “Mystagogia” is a Greek word that means “to lead through the mysteries” – and an important distinction here is that in the realm of faith and theology, unlike in detective stories, a “mystery” is not a puzzle to be solved, but rather a truth to be embraced.

              From the Church’s very beginning, these fifty days of the Mystagogia have been the period of time when, with the support of the community around them, those baptized at the Easter Vigil have learned how to live into the concrete ramifications of their new faith and into the full meaning of Christian discipleship and of their baptismal promises.

              Because the Church that follows Jesus the Christ is, in its teachings, its sacraments, and its values profoundly counter-cultural – something we need to remember in today’s world – because the Church is counter-cultural, the Mystagogia can be a difficult time, not just for the newly baptized, but for all of us; a time when our everyday assumptions and beliefs about “how life is” and “how the world works,” when these assumptions are challenged by the words, the life, and the questions of Jesus – the questions he asks us.  (“Do you believe this?”) 

Our assumptions are also challenged by the study of Scripture itself; and we see one of these early challenges in our readings this morning, a challenge that in its essence is at the forefront of our news today.

              In words that echo the prophet Isaiah before him, John the Seer in Revelation raises up a vision of God’s future that is to be:  “I saw a new heaven and a new earth; for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more….And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, ‘See, the home of God is among mortals.  He will dwell with them as their God; they will be his peoples, and God himself will be with them; he will wipe every tear from their eyes.’”

              This is a vision about reconfigured boundaries and erased lines – the boundaries between God and humankind, the boundaries between life and death, and the boundaries between groups of people themselves.  Even the boundaries of Creation have been reconfigured, as the sea, the primeval dwelling place of chaos and disorder, is no more.  From now on, God will dwell in the very midst of God’s people, and everyone who is thirsty will receive the water of life.

              This is both a magnificent vision and a great mystery; but as Peter had discovered 65 or 70 years before this vision of John’s, for both individuals and for communities, dealing with the concrete reality of newly reconfigured boundaries is never easy.  Both the event and the action that Peter is defending here in our passage from the Acts of the Apostles were a challenge for the early Church community to understand and to accept.

At the urging of God and witnessed to by the action of the Holy Spirit, Peter had baptized, and then, more astonishingly, more shockingly, had shared table fellowship, had eaten a meal outside the restrictions of the Law; had eaten together in one place with the Roman centurion Cornelius and his household.  

              Until the moment of Cornelius’ baptism, there had been no such thing as a baptized Christian who wasn’t also a Jew – and this is of tremendous significance for us, because this is the event that first opens the way for our own journey of faith today.  This first Gentile conversion – and remember, “Gentile” is simply a term that refers to a non-Jew; anyone who’s not a Jew is a Gentile, no matter what their beliefs or their ethnicity – this conversion of Cornelius is the beginning of the early Church’s mission to all Gentiles through the centuries up to and including us.

              Ultimately, this event redefines the identity of the people of God.  It reconfigures the previously sacrosanct boundaries between groups of people as Peter is told by God’s Spirit “not to make a distinction” between Peter’s group and Cornelius’; and because this is so incredibly radical, it’s no surprise that this “new thing” stirs up controversy back in Jerusalem and draws harsh criticism upon Peter.

              That Peter and his companions ate Cornelius’ food, in Cornelius’ house, with Cornelius’ family, and with the blessing of God no less; all this is so scandalous, is such a skandalon, a stumbling block, for the folks back in Jerusalem that Luke tells this story three times in his writing of Acts.  The first telling, a telling that also begins with Peter’s vision while praying, is in the previous chapter in Acts and the focus there is on the food restrictions, the designation of some foods as being “unclean” and therefore forbidden for Jews.

              In chapter 11 of the book of Leviticus, we read, “The LORD spoke to Moses and Aaron, saying to them:  Speak to the people of Israel, saying:  From among all land animals, these are the creatures that you may eat.  Any animal that has divided hooves and is cleft-footed and chews the cud – such you may eat.  But among those that chew the cud or have divided hoofs, you shall not eat the following:  the camel, for even though it chews the cud it does not have divided hoofs; it is unclean for you.  The rock badger, for even though it chews the cud, it does not have divided hoofs; it is unclean for you.  The hare, for even though it chews the cud, it does not have divided hoofs; it is unclean for you.  The pig, for even though it has divided hoofs and is cleft-footed, it does not chew the cud; it is unclean for you.  Of their flesh you shall not eat, and their carcasses you shall not touch; they are unclean for you.”  (Lev. 11:1-8)

              All the provisions in the Law given by God to the people of Israel through Moses were the basis of the Covenant between God and the descendants of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.  The Law was, and continues to be, the source of their Jewish identity.  The Law, and faithfulness to the Law, defined who the Jews were and are, as a people culturally; and who they were and are spiritually, as the people of Israel’s God.

              This identity didn’t change as Jesus’ disciples continued to follow him after his Resurrection.  All of Jesus’ followers were still Jews – Jews who had recognized him as the messiah, as the one whose coming the prophets had foretold.  They saw following Jesus as a deepening of their faith and their heritage, not a negation of them – and so consequently, in Acts 10 and again here in the retelling in chapter 11, for both Peter and the church in Jerusalem, the whole unexpected event with Cornelius is a profound systemic challenge both to their understanding of God, and to their understanding of their own relationship with God.

              Why is all this such a challenge?  Because in telling Peter to go to Cornelius and not to make any distinction between them as Jew and Gentile, God is contradicting God’s own Scripture.  God is rewriting God’s own Law, changing God’s own rules, reconfiguring God’s own boundaries – and God is telling Peter to make all these changes too.

              Adapting to change is never easy, especially when the change is as spiritually and fundamentally radical as this:  the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob – the God who delivered the children of Israel out of bondage in the land of Egypt – the God of the Covenant is now suddenly expanding God’s divine concern beyond the people of Israel alone.  Here, in the conversion of Cornelius and his household, the early Jewish Christians are confronted with the spiritual and cultural reality that God has reconfigured God’s own boundaries; that following Jesus means sharing their God with people who have always been defined by God as living outside of God’s Law; sharing their God with people whom God has always designated as “the Other.”

              Anselm of Canterbury was a 12th century theologian who is recognized as the framer of what’s known as the “ontological argument” for the nature of God; “ontological” meaning “having to do with the being of God.”  Of God, Anselm said, “God is that than which nothing greater can be thought.”

              In other words, if we can think of anything greater than our idea of God, then our idea of God – isn’t God.  God is greater than anything we can think about God, greater than anything we even have the capacity to think about God.

              On the surface, and until he lays out his defense, it appears that Peter has been the one to change God’s rules; that it has been Peter’s idea to challenge Scripture by reconfiguring the boundaries that define fellowship and acceptance, and then by affirming that acceptance with a shared meal.  Certainly that interpretation, that this was all Peter’s idea, would have been far more comfortable for all of us…but that’s not what Peter says happened.  It was all God’s idea, Peter says.  “If then God gave [Cornelius and his household] the same gift [of the Spirit] that he gave us when we believed in the Lord Jesus Christ,” he says, “who was I that I could hinder God?”  Who was Peter to stand in the way of the Spirit, and in the way of the freedom of God?

              As a result, this challenge for the early Church is a continuing challenge for all believers through the centuries on their way to the New Jerusalem, up to and including today:  the challenge for us to acknowledge Anselm’s proposition of the supreme greatness and the supreme freedom of God; and to acknowledge therefore God’s right to reconfigure the boundaries between people; God’s right to change our paradigm as well as Peter’s; God’s right to move our cheese, to color outside the lines that we think are cast in stone; to acknowledge God’s right to change our understanding of who we are and our understanding of who the people around us are; no matter what human governmental authority or our own fears might try to say.

              Living with reconfigured boundaries isn’t necessarily a bad thing -- again, no matter what human authority or human fear might say.  But even so, as I said previously, reconfiguration is never easy.  Just as Cornelius and all the Gentiles who came after him did back in Jerusalem, newcomers will always change a group’s dynamic, change a Church’s dynamic, even a nation’s dynamic, by bringing in people with different lived experiences, different perspectives, and different strengths; experiences, perspectives, and strengths that need to be heard and honored, if the newcomers’ acceptance is to be genuine.  And if indeed we wrestle with fear, it might be helpful to remember that math being math, just because one new factor is added into a mix, it doesn’t automatically mean that another factor, already there, is negated or removed.  It simply means that the mix becomes richer, more varied, more gifted, more challenging, and more real.    

              At the end of Matthew’s Gospel, the risen Jesus promises to be with the disciples always, telling them, “Go therefore and make disciples of all nations….”  (Mt. 28:19a).

Speaking to the Church for all time, Jesus says in John, “I give you a new commandment, that you love one another.  Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another.  By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.”

              As we encounter the challenges of boundaries in these days, arbitrary and otherwise; as we encounter people who are different from us, who dress differently, eat differently, speak differently, where do we find the common ground to honor and hear their voices and their stories?  What can we use as our foundation for building a relationship with them?

              One commentator has said, “If love is understood as acting toward one another as God has acted toward the world and as Christ has acted toward his disciples, then love is not simply a feeling.”  (Craddock, 253)

              Here in the Mystagogia, the Love of God, the Love God has for each one of us in God’s Creation – this is the greatest mystery of all, the greatest truth for us to embrace.  Living in this Love, living out of this Love that is not simply a feeling; this is how each of us does our part in bringing God’s vision of a new heaven and a new earth to fulfillment.  “The home of God is among mortals,” says the voice from the throne. 

When we truly, actively love others as we ourselves are loved; when we turn towards each other, reach out to each other, without anger and without fear, when we speak on behalf of those outside the boundaries and reject those boundaries that are man-made, then, truly, truly, God is in the midst of God’s people. 

I was taught in seminary to always start and finish a sermon with my own words.  Even so, I would like to finish this sermon by offering the Prayer Book’s Collect for the Whole Human Family (BCP 815):

O God, you made us in your own image and redeemed us through Jesus your Son:  Look with compassion on the whole human family; take away the arrogance and hatred which infect our hearts; break down the walls that separate us; unite us in bonds of love; and work through our struggle and confusion to accomplish your purposes on earth; that, in your good time, all nations and races may serve you in harmony around your heavenly throne; through Jesus Christ our Lord.  Amen.

May God bless us, every one!