A sermon for the Eleventh Sunday after Pentecost, August 17, 2025. The scripture readings are Isaiah 5:1-7, Psalm 80:1-2, 8-18, Hebrews 11:29-12:2, and Luke 12:49-56.

I was confirmed in the Episcopal Church under unusual circumstances. Having been ordained in the Presbyterian Church, been to seminary, and worked in churches, it had not occurred to anyone that I had never been officially confirmed, by a bishop, in the Episcopal Church. And this was one of the requirements to begin discernment for ordination in this church.

And so, my rector arranged that Bishop Don Taylor, the Assistant Bishop of New York, would come to St. Mary’s for a noonday Eucharist and I would be confirmed.

Some of you may be familiar with the old tradition of what might be called, “the holy slap.” The tradition is that after a bishop confirms someone, the bishop adds a slight slap to the confirmand’s cheek or simply touches it.  It’s said to be a ritual from when Roman soldiers were initiated into military service as a reminder that there will be battles out there to be fought, and every day will not be an easy one.  This “slap” in the Christian context is meant to convey the same—that the life of faith will not always be easy.

In advance of my confirmation, it turns out that my rector told Bishop Taylor, “be sure to give John a good slap. He knows his history and he’ll be disappointed if you don’t.” 

Well, you could have heard the slap throughout the church.  Rather than hurt, it made me laugh, so then I had the problem of trying to contain my laughter at one of the holiest moments imaginable.

Some years ago, we were planning for a bishop to visit church and offer confirmations, so I asked the diocesan official helping us plan, “Is he a ‘slapping’ bishop?”  “Certainly not,” was the answer I got, and I was a little disappointed.  In a day like ours when people of faith are called upon to stand up for justice, for goodness, for truth, for kindness, and for love—I sometimes think we could use a few “slapping bishops” leading us forward.

Later today, we will have a baptism, and I promise there will be no “slapping bishops,” and in fact, no slapping, at all.

Today is one of those days with the scripture readings. Given that we have a baptism of a very sweet little baby girl at 11AM, it would have been nice, had the scriptures been about the Good Shepherd who calls us each by name.  Or, maybe we could have had the story about when the disciples are with Jesus, and they’re bothered by the little kids running around, and Jesus tells them to step aside and bring the kids to the middle, so he can talk with them and enjoy their energy and life.

But no, today, the Church gives us these readings and can sound challenging.  And yet, they help us strive for and a maintain a clear-eyed faith, rather than something make believe or artificial.

In the Reading from Isaiah, we hear some of God’s disappointment with the way the world has fallen from God’s original design and idea. It was meant to be a vineyard, a place of life and growth and plenty for everyone. But self-interest has ruled and the crops have been hoarded, wasted, or neglected.

The epistle reading today, the Letter to the Hebrews, was written to a group of Christians who were getting tired. They were tired of being different, tired of the struggle and tired of the demands of the Christian life. They seemed to be on the edge of turning back to their former faith or to no faith. And so, they are urged to toward discipline, toward doing the right thing over and over, even when the end isn’t clear and even when the payoff is far off. These struggling Christians are urged to rise to the occasion, to turn trials into opportunities and to develop a perspective, to develop discipline.

Finally the Letter to the Hebrews names what so many of us, here, have found to be the sustaining, nurturing, and encouraging answer to living in a less-than-perfect world. “We are surrounded by a great a cloud of witnesses.” Our witnesses here include the living and the dead, those who have gone before us, those who loved us and this place who have died.

In today’s Gospel Jesus describes some of the results of living faithfully, with our eyes open. Sometimes our being faithful leads to conflict—with the religious establishment, with the state, conflict with one another. Here, I don’t think Jesus is just talking about people who are simply offensive in the way they share their faith, demanding that others see things as they do.  Instead, what he is talking about, I think, is the kind of conflict that comes up in families, among friends and loved ones, and in churches when we disagree because of our faith.

The Gospel today still speaks of hard truth: that sometimes in following Christ, we will find ourselves in conflict. There will continue to be those times when we experience the Body of Christ as broken and divided.  We may argue and seem to work against one another—but that great cloud of witness is still here, around us inspiring, strengthening, and reminding us of our calling.

The church gathers around Margaret to embody that kind of cloud of witnesses. We, personally, will not be by her side every step of the way—and even Alex and Caitlan will have to step back and give her room to grow—but we represent the community of faithful people who will always be available to Margaret.  We’ll pray for her, cheer her on, offer her encouragement when she’s down, and faith when she’s doubtful, and we’ll do our part to help her stay in touch with that original vision of God’s love for all of creation.

Even though we may not yet be the people we are called to be— individually or as a church—we’re on our way, and by continuing to be honest, to be disciplined and to be surrounded by such a cloud as this, we’ll grow, like Margaret, in faith and in love.

In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.