A sermon for the Seventh Sunday after Pentecost, July 27, 2025. The scriptures are Hosea 1:2-10, Psalm 85, Colossians 2:6-15, (16-19), Luke 11:1-13.

Last week, I talked about the gift of our Anglican tradition using a lectionary, a given set of scripture readings that should be heard each Sunday with which we are invited to wrestle and make some sense out of. Today’s first readings suggests the challenge and difficulty with that practice.

From Hosea, we have a strange-sounding story that is lifted out of its context and dropped along side other perfectly decent readings. So, what might God be trying to tell us through this reading?

First, we should notice that it IS a strange story. The story is given to Hosea as a symbolic and figurative way to preach. But even if we read it figuratively by Hosea, rather than literally, either way, it seems incredibly unfair to the people involved. For the hearers of Hosea’s message, the prostitute represents a shameful and sad way of life. For him to deliberately chose such a person, have children, and then give them shameful and sad names simply multiplies the image of how far God’s chosen people had fallen, how disconnected from God they have become.

Hosea lived during the 8^th century BC or BCE and scholars point to the political upheaval of that century as the backdrop for Hosea’s prophecy. Hosea would have seen seven different monarchs come and go. There were constant threats from Assyria and from Israel’s rival to the south, Judah. And then confronting Hosea directly were competing religious claims from Baal, the god of the Canaanites. Hosea’s call is for the people to worship God and God alone. Not to seek quick fixes or false gods, not to cut corners ethically or morally, but to root themselves in the God of Heaven and Earth.

At the very end of this prophecy of doom and gloom, Hosea includes a note of hope, “Your people shall be like the sand of the sea, unable to be measured or numbered. In the place where it was said, ‘You are NOT my people,’ you will be called Children of the living God.” (Hosea 1:10). But Hosea makes it clear that there needs to be some work before that arriving at that place of blessing.

The Psalm of the day reminds us of one way that work is done. Psalm 85 shows how those who are cut off and disconnected can be restored. It suggests how healing comes, how redemption flowers.

The Psalmist sings of how God has restored the fortunes of Jacob. God has forgiven sin and forgotten old wrongs. “Mercy and truth have met together; righteousness and peace have kissed each other.” (Psalm 85:10).

Paul’s Letter to the Colossians continues with the idea of strengthening one’s connection to the True God. Paul has a similar motivation to Hosea’s in that God’s people have lost their focus. Rather than following Jesus Christ, they have wandered to strange teachers who distract and mislead. “As you have received Christ Jesus the Lord,” Paul says,  “continue to live your lives in him, rooted and built up in him and established in the faith.”

The restoration and redemption is based in prayer: prayer offered by the person or people who realize they are cut off, and prayer received and answered and responded to by God. Like in human failed relationships, so often healing begins with simply connection—a call, a letter, or an email. It may not happen immediately, but it begins a process.

It’s prayer that builds the bridge. Prayer restores the connection. Prayer opens the door and says with our entrance, “I’m here.” And prayer is how we hear God’s simultaneous answer, “I’m glad and I’m here, too.”

In talking with his disciples about prayer, about knocking on the door of God’s heart, Jesus uses images and sayings from his own day.  He mentions a sleepy neighbor who might not get up for just anyone, but with persistence, will answer the door.  Jesus speaks of “you who are evil,” and I think it’s important for us to hear that Jesus is simply chatting with his friends here.  This is not a formal, moral pronouncement.  It’s more like Jesus is saying, “Look, you know how you are, on your worst day.  Even on that day, you wouldn’t give your kid a deliberately bad thing when she asked for something simple.  Imagine how much more, then, God looks after you!’

The disciples want to know HOW they should pray. They’ve seen the disciples of John the Baptist, and they want to have special prayers like John’s disciples.  Who knows exactly how John and his disciples prayed, but however it was, it was impressive.

In the forgiveness of his mercy, Jesus looks at his disciples (and us) with compassion, and gives us the prayer we know as The Lord’s Prayer. It can be disappointingly simple. It is not fancy and does not seem very mystical. But it’s impressive in the only way that really matters: it works.

In the Lord’s Prayer, Jesus gives a pattern for prayer, a set of words to use, to store up and recall when we need them. But Jesus even more, Jesus gives us a relationship. He shows us a door, an opening, a way for conscious contact with God.

In the Lord’s Prayer we are given the picture of a Parent who cares and never forgets us. God will provide. “For everyone who asks receives, and everyone who searches finds, and for everyone who knocks, the door will be opened.”

This summer, we’ve joined our friends at St. Monica’s parish for a book study of Ann Dávila Cardenal’s We Need No Wings, which is a fictional story but involves the life of the 16^th century Spanish saint, Teresa of Ávila. As I’ve enjoyed the fictional book, I’ve also turned again to read and reread Teresa and once again, I’m struck by hope funny, personal, and accessible Teresa can be.

In the Book of My Life, (Chapter 11) Teresa writes that progressing in prayer is a little like watering a garden and she suggests there are four ways of watering. The first is by laboring with a bucket, lowering it into a well, and drawing it up again. It requires work, and it can be difficult. This has to do with dealing with the past, with clearing away distractions, with trying to quiet the mind.

The second involves using a kind of waterwheel, turning a kind of crank that uses a pulley to lower a bucket and pull it up with water. It’s much easier, but it still requires effort. For Teresa, this involves the beginning of what she calls the Prayer of the Quiet, in which the Spirit begins to pray with you, and you’re not having to work so much. This prayer is a little spark of God’s true love within us, showing us just how deep and wonderful the connection through prayer can be.

The third way of watering a garden comes from a spring that flows by or through, with little effort of ourselves, a kind of irrigation, except for the (perhaps) great effort of staying out of the way.

The fourth way of prayer is a prayer of union with God and with the watering image, it is like divine rain. Completely from God and we are drenched in God’s presence through prayer.  This prayer is not complex or laborious, but rather the simple silence of contemplation: “a gaze of faith fixed on Jesus, an attentiveness to the Word of God, a silent love” poured into our hearts by God .(The Book of My Life, Chapter 11).

Throughout Teresa’s image of prayer we find that it is God alone who supplies the water. He asks us to work diligently in tending our garden, and he leads us along the way of prayer supplying new and more abundant water according to the measure of our desire and preparation. Surely we would all love to leave off toiling to draw up water from the well and simply enjoy the gentle rain of infused contemplation, but Teresa tells us that (following last week’s Gospel), we cannot rest at the feet of Jesus with Mary until we have been willing to work with Martha.

If prayer is difficult for you, it might be helpful simply to begin with The Lord’s Prayer. Say it whenever you can and especially when you need God’s presence or feel cut off from the people or the things you love.

If you’re open to growing in prayer, or feel God’s urging you along, then I encourage you to explore those images of Teresa and allow God’s watering to begin in your garden of prayer.

Concluding with a prayer of St. Teresa,

Let nothing disturb you,
Let nothing frighten you,
All things are passing away:
God never changes.
Patience obtains all things
Whoever has God lacks nothing;
God alone suffices.

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

A sermon for the Sixth Sunday after Pentecost, July 20, 2025. The scriptures are Amos 8:1-12, Psalm 52, Colossians 1:15-28, and Luke 10:38-42.

I had a boss who used to say “The problem with religious fundamentalists is not that they read scripture. It’s that they don’t read enough scripture.” In other words, they only pay attention to SOME scripture.

I thought of Father Gerth’s insightful comment as I read last week’s “Interesting Times” piece in the New York Times. It had to do with a conversation between columnist Ross Douthat and a conservative Christian podcaster named Allie Beth Stuckey.  I found it a difficult and infuriating read. It was challenging to me because it seemed so clear to me the way Allie Beth Stucky picks and chooses which scriptures she wants to value. To me, it seems that she argues for any scripture that supports her worldview, while dismissing or ignoring others.

One of the gifts of our Anglican tradition is using a lectionary for the scripture readings, the three-year cycle of scripture readings. That means, Sunday after Sunday, we hear scriptures that might align with our already-held views, but just as surely, we hear the Word of God that challenges and questions.

Today’s first reading is a good example. I wonder if Allie Beth Stuckey has ever read Amos 8:1-12, and if she has, what she must make of it.

God gives the prophet Amos a vision. It’s the vision of a basket of summer fruit.  At this time of year, we might easily imagine it as a bowl of fresh peaches. Ripe and beautiful. But you know that in this weather, ripe peaches don’t last very long. They need to be eaten or used. Otherwise, they’ll overripen, become moldy, and rot.

That’s the image God is giving Amos for the situation with the people of Israel. God says, “You’re rotting quickly, and soon will be good for nothing but being thrown out.”

Hear this, you that trample on the needy, and bring to ruin the poor of the land, saying, “When will the new moon be over so we can make yet more money? We’ll manipulate the market and practice deceit with false balances, buying the poor for silver and the needy for a pair of sandals….

God sees all. God remember all, and God promises justice one day. God is saying to Amos, “tell the people to pay attention.” Those who exploit and oppress be warned.  Those who are put down, oppressed, cheated, and dishonored…. Have faith. God sees and God will remember.”

By listening to scripture each week in church, but praying on scripture and reflecting on it, arguing with it, and talking about it, we help each other hear and see aspects of God’s love affair with humanity in ways that can surprise, in ways that can shock, in ways that give hope and in ways that give strength. Together, we pay attention, and learn from the attentiveness of each other.

After the 11AM service today, we’ll have a special coffee hour. We’ll celebrate St. James’s Day, which is really on the 25^th of July, but we’ll use the day to share some Spanish snacks and talk about the pilgrimage 12 of us made in June on the Camino de Santiago in Spain.

One of the most interesting aspects of walking about 75 miles with a group of people, is how everyone has a different experience. Each day, when we caught up with others from our group at a coffee stop along the way, or at the end of the day, someone would mention something that others of us had not seen.

“Could you believe that cemetery just before the coffee shop?” Well, no, because I hadn’t seen it. I walked back to look more closely. 

Another day, someone asked, “Did you see the man driving his cows along?” Well, no, I hadn’t. And luckily, someone took a video (and managed not to get trampled by the cows.)  Whether along the walk, in nature, or in a church, we all had different experiences. We were attentive to different things and in different ways, and by sharing those insights, we see and understand more.

In today’s Gospel, there is both attention and activity.

Martha is active. She is busy, involved, and committed. I’ve always liked Martha. She works hard, she doesn’t suffer fools gladly and she makes things happen. I always pray for more Martha’s to be around in my church to help us get things done—to organize, to help, the extend the love of God to radiate out from this place.

Mary, on the other hand, is contemplative. She is quiet, calm, prayerful and deeply, DEEPLY attentive. She attends. She apprehends. She GETS Jesus; and all that he brings; and all that he means; and all that he promises; and all that he fulfills. It is because of this deep attention, this prayerfulness, that Mary is able to recognize Jesus as the Son of God, as God Incarnate, as God Among Us. It is because of her attentiveness that Mary has (in the words of Jesus) “chosen the better part.”  I also pray for more Mary’s in our church—people to support us with prayer, to listen for God’s voice, to pray for healing, and to hold all we do and become in a cloud of prayer.

While Jesus says that Mary has chosen the better part, notice that he in no way criticizes or scolds Martha. It’s only when Martha has become exhausted, when she is frustrated and angry and tries to get Jesus to side with her over her lazy sister that Jesus helps Martha see what she is doing. He slows her down. He asks her to breathe. “Martha,” he says, “you are anxious and troubled about many things; one thing is needful.”

This one thing that is needful might be called prayer. It might be called “the ability to see clearly, to apprehend a thing or a person for its true qualities.” It might also be called simply, “attention.”

The Church gives us moments that invite our full attention. These moments are called Sacraments. Prayer is the practice of paying attention. Holy Communion is the activity of giving attention, to God and to one another.

Especially in these days when news comes at light speed, incidents of violence and heartbreak seem too fast to keep track of, and our own lives are often run at speeds that challenge our best intentions and highest hopes for the relationships we cherish, may the Holy Spirit slow us down.

May the Spirit focus our energies and help us be attentive.

Like Amos, may we eat and enjoy the good fruit in its season, but also trust that God sees the decay around us, and justice will come. Also, like Martha and Mary, may God give us the grace to be attentive according to our own gifts, and to eat and drink and rest with Jesus Christ our Lord. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.

A sermon for the Fifth Sunday after Pentecost, July 13, 2025. The scriptures are Amos 7:7-17, Psalm 82, Colossians 1:1-14, and Luke 10:25-37.

Do you know what a plumb line is? If, at some point, you see a brick or stone wall being built or repaired, you might notice the workers using plumbline. A plumbline, plumb bob, plumb bob level, or plummet—it’s basically a string with a weight on the end. But when it falls freely, it shows the worker how to build a straight wall. If the wall doesn’t follow the plumbline, then the wall is “out of plumb” or uneven. Today, workers sometimes use lasers to do the same thing, but the point it the same: a useful tool that shows when something is out of line and out of whack.

The plumb line appears in a vision to the Prophet Amos in our first reading. The image is that God is using a plumb line to show how out of whack, how off center, how off course God’s people have veered.  If a plumb line were used in our world today, it might be so far out of kilter that it would even be hard to even see. The distance between what God intends and what our world does seems to widen.

The question for us is, “How are we to respond?”

Clearly, you and I can’t completely bridge the distance or even affect much in the overall imbalance of things, but what can we do, and where are we to start?

Our first reading from scripture is a little hard to follow, since a lot is going on. But basically, Amos, as a prophet, is facing down Amaziah, a priest. Both represent strong traditions and institutions of their day, and the issue is who has the right to speak for God in this place. Amos says he can only do what God says. Amaziah says, that’s well and good, but you’re out of your jurisdiction, “go home and prophesy there.”

While in other visions and conversations Amos has with God, Amon argues with God to show mercy to the people. But this time, Amos does not. He lets God’s judgment stand. The people have forgotten God’s teachings. They’ve stopped worrying about justice and righteousness and are living only for themselves.

Institutions (whether centuries ago, or now) argue over turf and jurisdiction and nuance. While their decisions surely affect us, so often, the actual “getting justice done,” the showing of mercy, kindness, and love happen right in front of us, right where we are, and we are the ones who either resist the way of God’s love or spread it.

A similar point is made in today’s Gospel that includes the well-known story of the Good Samaritan. The story comes in a conversation Jesus is having with a young lawyer.  He asks Jesus his question and Jesus responds by asking him, how he understands the law of God. The man gives the classic answer, “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.” And then Jesus says, “You’re right, you’ve given the right answer.”

And at this point in the story, I imagine Jesus is ready to move on.  There are people to heal and hearts to reach.  This lawyer seemed to want recognition from Jesus, and he got it, he got what he wanted.  But then, just as Jesus is moving away “wanting to justify himself, [the man] asks Jesus, ‘And who is my neighbor?’”

I love that phrase “wanting to justify himself.”  There’s a lot in those few words.  The translation by Eugene Peterson (The Message) makes the lawyer’s intention a little clearer:  Peterson’s version says, “[But] Looking for a loophole, [th]e lawyer asked, “And just how would you define ‘neighbor’?”

It’s as though the lawyer asks about his neighbor not out of concern for the neighbor, but to justify himself, to make himself look good, to make sure that he’s doing what he needs to do somehow to please God or make God love him.

I stumble on that little phrase because the lawyer’s motivation is familiar to me.  That’s the sort of thing I might ask Jesus—well, which neighbor?  The lady who gets seems to scam people at the intersection or the guy who begs and then goes and spends the money at the liquor store?  Are they my neighbors?  What about the ones in far away places whose pictures are used for fundraising—if I send money, will it get to them?  Should I help those who don’t care a thing for me, or my tribe, or my country, or my religion? (I get creative trying to justify myself and can spend quote a bit of time doing that– all the while, the neighbor in need has either been helped by someone else or has simply vanished.)

The young lawyer wants to justify himself, and so, Jesus then tells the story of the Good Samaritan.  He tells the story to try to explain to the man who his neighbor is and what his neighbor might look like.  But even more, Jesus tells this story to change the focus of the lawyer.  With every word, every look, every move, Jesus has communicated that God is love and Christ brings God’s love to all people.  There’s nothing to do to earn it, or argue for it, or win it, or buy it.  There’s no loophole to exploit. There’s no self-justification. 

Jesus tells the story of the Good Samaritan in an artful and compassionate way to say to the lawyer—“this isn’t about you.”  It’s about helping someone in need.  It’s about service.  You want mystical religion?  You want a spiritual experience?  You want to see God?  Then offer yourself to another in service, and strange things will happen.  You’ll find yourself a part of God’s kingdom—unfolding, transforming, making a new heaven and earth.

Jesus goes on to show how the story of the Good Samaritan illustrates this.  The man going to Jerusalem is robbed and beaten.  A priest walks by but is probably late for an appointment.  Maybe he’s told someone else he would meet them or is expected elsewhere.  He might have good reasons for passing on, but whatever those reasons were, they don’t help them the poor man on the side of the road.

Next a Levite passed by.  The Levites had responsibilities, especially related to the synagogue.  They were busy people. They were important people, and they were concerned with God’s law, too—in macro-ways, in institutional ways, in communal ways.  The Levite might have had very good reasons for passing by, but again, the man by the road is still hungry and hurt.

But the Samaritan does help.  Why?  Somehow, he’s jolted out of his own head, out of his own needs for self-justification or approval. He’s able to move out of weighing the pros and cons of the situation.

What jolted the Samaritan out of his own head?  Out of his own routine?  Out of his own sense of importance?  It may have been that he recalled a time when he had been helped.  Or it may have been because he saw something in the other person that reminded him of someone he once knew and loved. 

Whatever it was that got the Samaritan out of himself must have had something to do with his ability to focus on what was right in front of him. As a Samaritan, he could have been busy in his head rehearsing the old grievances against his people, the prejudice, and fear of Samaritans as outsiders who worshipped a different god and have different customs. But this Samaritan was able to put all of that aside for a moment and simply help the person in front of him.

A few months ago, as I was crossing through the garden, toward the office, I saw Ida, a neighbor from across the street, sitting on a bench, with two men looking after her. One, John is a young man who works as the building superintendent down the street. He had noticed Ida lying on the ground. She had fallen, and he was concerned. He called 911 and as I joined the conversation, we were all trying to convince Ida to go to the hospital and get checked out. During the conversation, John mentioned that his mother and aunt had died over the last few years, and both had been sick, but no one around them really noticed. That’s what he thought of, when he saw Ida.

Eventually, the ambulance came, Ida went to the hospital, and sadly, it turned out that her fainting was the result of a number of things going very quickly wrong with her body. And yet, her sister from Austria was able to visit and spend the last few weeks with Ida, and Ida was taken care of during her final days.

The building super from down the street could have walked on. He could have thought to himself, “Wow, it’s a shame there are so many older people having to fend for themselves. Someone should do something.” I’m sure he was busy and had other things to do. But he stopped. He helped. And in many ways, showed love and compassion to someone he didn’t know, but recognized as a neighbor.

One place, close to home, where the spirit of the Samaritan is practiced is with Holy Trinity Neighborhood Center’s Saturday supper. The supper welcomes in the spirit of the Samaritan as people are received, nourished, and I think, honored as children of God. If you have ever volunteered, then you know what I mean. If you’ve prepared or delivered Thanksgiving dinners, you know what I mean.  And in two weeks, on the evening of July 26, there will also be an opportunity to support HTNC with a Saturday evening Friend and Fund Raiser.

With all that’s going on in our country and our world, it’s tempting to get caught up in the fights among institutions. When we’re confronted with overwhelming needs in the world, it’s tempting to feel overwhelmed and begin to over-think who and when and how we are called to help. 

May God fill us with the spirit of the Samaritan could inspire us to do the right thing, the helpful thing, the loving thing, when and where we can.

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

A sermon for the Fourth Sunday after Pentecost, July 6, 2025. The scripture readings are 2 Kings 5:1-14, Psalm 30, Galatians 6:(1-6)7-16, and Luke 10:1-11, 16-20.

If you walked by the church on July 4, you might have noticed that things were pretty quiet.  A number of us gathered online for Morning Prayer, but after that, it was one of the quietest days of the year. The office was closed. There were no meetings. Very few people sat in the garden.   

And yet, if you look at The Book of Common Prayer, which is the foundation for much of our common life as Episcopalians, you’ll notice that the Prayer Book imagines us being in church on July 4.  The Prayer Book views Independence Day as a feast day and gives us appointed scriptures, a Collect of the Day, and imagines us all singing a hymn or two—all of us coming together in the freedom to worship and praise our God.

On this 6^th of July, it’s still good to be in church—to give thanks for religious freedom, to work on behalf of religious freedom for others, and to think about what it means for us to be God’s people in this place.

The scriptures for today help us do this and help us remember especially what it is to practice “independence” in a Christian context.  They can help us remember that while it is “Independence” day—(celebrating independence from a colonial power)—it is not Individualist Day.  It is not Isolationist Day.  It’s a day for refreshing our understanding of the common good and of the “united” states.  The Declaration of Independence, after all, reminds us that “We the people” have come together for a “more perfect Union”… for the Common defense… and for the General welfare….Our founding documents stress that we are in this together.

In our first reading, the military commander Naaman finds himself in a situation that is beyond his professional training. He’s been successful in battle, but now he has to do battle with a sickness, with a skin disease that, in his day, was made worse by being associated with shame and sinfulness. To find healing, Naaman discovers that he needs other people. He needs the advice of a servant, and then the help of a prophet who helps him. Naaman learns that healing only happens when he steps out of isolation and into community.

The Psalm sings of a faith in God who has already brought us a long way and a God who “holds our souls in life, and will not allow our feet to slip.”  But God keeps us from slipping not by extending a holy and ghostly hand out of heaven to steady us and prop us up.  Instead, the Incarnation of Jesus Christ shows us that God works by becoming human.  God keeps us “in life” and prevents “our feet from slipping” by giving us one another to hold on to.

Paul puts it clearly in his Letter to the Galatians: “Bear one another’s burdens.”  “Bear one another’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ.”  Paul says to help each other out not because it’s a practical way to get more done (which it is.)  Not because it will make the other person feel better (which it will).  And not even because it makes you feel better (which I guarantee it does).

Instead, Paul connects our “bearing one another’s burdens” to Christ.  It’s as though Paul is saying, “humanitarian reasons are all fine and good,” but if I say I love Jesus Christ, then it’s a part of that love, a natural extension and expression of that love, for me to begin moving out of myself and toward another person.  That’s the way Christ’s love grows—for me and for the other person. It’s in the helping, the sharing, the praying for and with, the serving, the feeding, and the lending.  And it’s also in the reception of help—the borrowing, the asking, and the allowing.

The Gospel of Luke is written from the perspective of encouraging us to share the common life in Christ.  Among the four Gospels, Luke is often symbolized by the ox.  Some suggest the ox is used to represent Luke because it is a beast of burden. An ox may seem slow and plodding to some, but especially in other cultures, the ox is king of the animals—it carries loads, it moves things, it is strong and persistent, it allows for things to grow and develop.

Jesus sends his disciples out in pairs, and he sends us out in a similar way.  Sometimes we might be called upon to be the strong one: to be silent like an ox and ease the weight of the other.  But there are also those times when we might be out of energy or resources and we need another or others to help with the burdens I’m trying to navigate.

The Christian tradition gives us a variety of ways of sharing our burdens with others.

We can ask others to pray for us—like on Sundays or through the week.

We can also share burdens in practical, tangible ways—by showing our prayer in a note, or a well-placed word.  Money might be a good way to ease another’s burden.  And how many of us have had burdens lifted if not disappear altogether when another brought us food or treated us to a meal.  And the meal of meals, the Holy Eucharist is a ritual sharing of Christ’s body with each other, to sustain, to nurture, to build up.

We share one another’s burdens by volunteering with Trinity Cares, or Health Advocates for Older Adults, or the Holy Trinity Neighborhood Center.  There are all kinds of ways we can experience the strength in community that bearing one another’s burdens can be.

If we can learn to ask for help like Naaman, if we can bear one another’s burdens like Paul says, and if we can team up with others so as to draw on their strength and share our own, we’ll grow in our ability to help others live into a Common Good.

In 1630, as people crossed the ocean to come to this country, John Winthrop, governor of the Massachusetts Bay Colony, preached a sermon to that early group of Puritans looking for a place to worship and live in freedom. Well into his famous sermon, “A Model of Christian Charity,” he says,

Now the only way to avoid this shipwreck, and to provide for our posterity, is to follow the counsel of [the Prophet] Micah, to do justly, to love mercy, to walk humbly with our God . . . We must delight in each other; make others’ conditions our own; rejoice together, mourn together, labor and suffer together, always having before our eyes our commission and community in the work, as members of the same body. So shall we keep the unity of the spirit in the bond of peace.

John Winthrop had a great vision in 1630.  May the Holy Spirit renew a vision for our time that includes, “delighting in each other; making others’ conditions our own; rejoicing together, mourning together, laboring and suffering together, … so that we, too, might “keep the unity of the spirit in the bond of peace.”

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

A sermon for the Third Sunday after Pentecost, June 29, 2025. The scriptures are 2 Kings 2:1-2, 6-14, Psalm 77:1-2, 11-20, Galatians 5:1,13-25, Luke 9:51-62.

Many airports have moving sidewalks that help people get across long expanses. Recently, I noticed a practical sign on these walkways. It says simply, “face forward.” In some places, there’s a graphic that helps convey the same message, but they’re basically trying to prevent someone from talking, or being on their phone, or simply looking back, and then missing the spot when the moving walkway ends.

Facing forward is practical advice for moving sidewalks, (and stationary sidewalks, for that matter) but it’s also helpful advice for moving through life.

Looking back can be tempting. In airports, we might want to say goodbye to someone, or look at something a little longer. We might really want to face the person we’re talking to. In life, we sometimes want to look back to a time that feels happier or simpler. Or maybe we want to look back and rehash, or reargue, or redo some conversation or period of our lives.

But that effort of looking back takes energy and time. It means we’re not looking forward. And it can lead to problems.

In today’s Gospel people DO want to look back. They’re just not ready to move ahead, and they long for the past. It might be that one prefers a simpler past (or at least their memory of a simpler past).  Others are weighed down by to-do lists, and obligations, but really, these thing belong more to yesterday than today.   Sometimes living in the present takes the wind out of us, and makes us lose faith. It used to be easier, we think. And having already lived the past, we know what’s there—no surprises and no interruptions of our own will.  But there is also very little room for miracle in a staid and static past.

God, also, keeps moving—sometimes quickly, sometimes at a glacial speed—but moving forward. 

This is what Jesus is pointing to in today’s Gospel. Luke uses the great phrase that Jesus’s “face was set toward Jerusalem.” And it’s exactly this direction, this intention, this energy of Christ that points forward and will not be stopped. 

When Jesus and his disciples visit a village of Samaritans, the Samaritans can’t be bothered.  They’re not impressed and don’t feel compelled to follow Jesus. The disciples are confused by this, and can’t quite figure out how to respond.  They err on the side of action, and suggest calling down the wrath of God. James and John ask Jesus, “Lord, do you want us to command fire to come down from heaven and consume them?”

But notice that Jesus barely hears them.  Jesus is moving forward.  He’s already forgotten the unbelieving Samaritans, and has moved an inch or two closer into the Kingdom of God with no time for holding grudges or getting slowed down by people who “don’t get it.”

When we think of some of the bullies and “bad guys” of our world, we might sympathize with James and John—“Can’t we call down fire from heaven on our enemies, on our opponents, on those especially who twist the words of God into words of hatred and violence?”  But Christ is saying, “No.”  Move forward.  There’s a lot to be done.  We’re going to Jerusalem and there’s no time to look back.  There’s no time to settle old scores.  There’s no time for vengeance or gloating.

In his Letter to the Galatians, St. Paul pushes this point further.  If victory, justice, and fairness bring some privileges, he argues, they also bring opportunities that should be carefully navigated.

For freedom Christ has set us free…. Don’t use freedom as an opportunity for self-indulgence, but through love become servants (slaves, even) to one another…. “Love your neighbor as yourself.” If, however, you bite and devour one another, take care that you are not consumed by one another.”  And so, live by the Spirit, whose gifts are “love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.” (Galatians 5:1, 13-25, passim)

Jesus shows us how to live in that kind of freedom.  As the Gospel from Luke describes it, Jesus has set his face toward Jerusalem and the trouble with the Samaritans is only the beginning.  The joy and love of Christ is infectious, so as people hear him and meet him, they want more, and they want to follow, but some want to follow on their own terms, or to follow at some future day, just not today.

One volunteers, “I’ll follow you wherever you go.”  But Jesus warns him, “It’s not going to be easy.  It’s not a life of palaces and fine dining.  It will be more often a way of homelessness and heartbreak.”

Jesus invites another to follow, and the man seems willing but offers what sounds like a reasonable excuse for delay.  “First, let me go and bury my father.”  Here, Jesus sounds heartless as he says, “Let the dead bury the dead; but as for you, go and proclaim the kingdom of God.”  But Jesus is calling that man to move forward.

During Jesus’s life, there was a strong sense that the end of the world was upon them in some way.  This is a part of the urgency to Jesus’s preaching and living and the moving toward Jerusalem.

But, as the disciples and the early Church began to understand later, even when the end of the world is delayed, the urgency still stands because God’s kingdom is already breaking in on us—on those who will be a part of it.  That’s what Jesus is trying to convey—don’t miss the kingdom for the checklist you’re trying to complete.  Don’t wait until you’ve got this done or that done, or you’ve gotten beyond this hurdle or that one—the kingdom of God calls us to move forward, toward Jerusalem—the place and way of justice, peace, mercy, forgiveness, and love—the place where we do our best to live out those values Paul just talked about in Galatians.

Finally, a third person wants to follow Jesus but first needs to go home to say goodbye.  Again, Jesus sounds harsh, saying, “No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God.”

In other words, there’s no time for looking back. God moves forward.  We see a bit of this in our first reading about Elijah the older prophet and Elisha, his protégée.  Elijah is ready to move with God, but Elisha isn’t sure he’s ready for God’s plan to unfold.  Can he just stay with his teacher and mentor a little longer.  He’s not ready to go it alone.   As so, as Elijah tries to move forward into the full presence of God, Elisha refuses to let him go alone.   Finally, Elijah leaves this world, and there Elisha is left—alone, disoriented, and not sure what to do next.  But then, he notices something.  Before he died, as he was moving away, Elijah left his mantle, his cape, symbolizing all that Elijah had taught the younger prophet.  The mantel symbolizes that God is with him and will continue to be with him.  He has what he needs to follow.

No one who looks back is fit for the kingdom of God.  This is not to say we ignore history or ignore the past.  But we don’t let it hold us captive, either.  Some of us grew up with racial stereotypes.  We are slow to move out of prejudice with regard to color, or class, or size, or age.  We may have a long way to go before we arrive at the Jerusalem of God’s dream, but with faith, we make our way forward, one day at a time.

The month of June has become a special time in which Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, and Transgender people march, and speak, and love with pride.  Some people wonder—especially with the relative advances made in our country—why make such a big deal with a weekend like this one, with rainbow flags and a parade.  Well, as with almost any celebration, the occasion will mean different things to different people, but especially for Christians.  Not only is the acceptance of all God’s children as they are a basic characteristic of following Jesus, I also think the Pride celebration can serve as a reminder for us to follow Christ forward—in body, mind, and soul.  Follow Christ forward, resisting the prejudice of the past, the misplaced shame of the past, perhaps the misunderstanding or rejection of ourselves or others in the past.  Follow Christ forward, and once there has been forgiveness, embrace the full calling of Jesus Christ and don’t look back.

The Jesuit theologian Teilhard de Chardin wrote,

Remain true to yourself, but move ever upward toward greater consciousness and greater love! At the summit you will find yourselves united with all those who, from every direction, have made the same ascent. For everything that rises must converge. (Chardin, The Omega Point)

Whether we feel Christ’s hand pushing us slightly from the back, or gently leading us from in front, may the Spirit give us what we need to follow in faith. Even when powerful cultural and political forces want to look back, may the Holy Spirit give us the strength to keep looking and moving forward in faith. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen

A sermon preached for the 175th Anniversary of St. Stephen’s Church, Rochester Row, London, the link parish of Holy Trinity, Manhattan. The scripture readings are 1 Kings 19:1-4, (5-7), 8-15a, Psalm 42 and 43, Galatians 3:23-29, and Luke 8:26-39.

It’s very good to be with you again at St. Stephen’s, especially for this anniversary celebration. I bring prayers and greetings from Holy Trinity where, last year, Father Graham was with us to celebrate our 125^th Anniversary. The similarities in our parishes are striking. Both were founded through the vision of a strong socially minded woman, both were built to serve communities in need, both have formed faithful laypersons, religious, community organizations, charities, priests and bishops. And today, both are diverse and welcoming communities who seek to live out the love of Christ in a complicated world.

I have checked several times with Graham and Jessie, your Parish Administrator, to make sure I had the scripture readings right for today. I wondered if we might focus on the Eucharist and celebrate the Feast of Corpus Christi. That would have given us an easy sermon on partaking in the Body of Christ as we are transformed into the Body of Christ to feed the world. I thought you might also have been using readings for a Dedication Festival, as we could have given special thanks for Christ’s Body the Church, and recommitted ourselves to our ongoing fallible but faithful intentions.

But no. We have demons to discuss.

As I’ve been trying to deal with the demons, I’ve thought of a wonderful line from G. K. Chesterton’s “Father Brown.” We still get the Father Brown episodes and I’ve seen some of the new ones and most of the old ones several times over. Most of you know that Father Brown is a parish priest who is good at solving murders.  Sometimes he seems to see into people’s souls so deeply that they wonder, (like people wondered about Jesus) how Father Brown can possibly know such dark thoughts and impulses. In one very revealing situation, the priest sees into the soul of a man so clearly that the man blurts out, “How do you know all this? … Are you a devil?” Father Brown responds, “I am a man,” … “and therefore have all devils in my heart.”  (G.K. Chesterton, “The Hammer of God” in The Innocence of Father Brown.)

It’s tempting to think that the “devils,” the demonic, the evil forces of the world are outside, over there, consuming that person.

When there’s some horrible act of violence or terrorism, there’s a temptation to label it as “evil,” and explain it away as the work of the devil.  When a parent neglects or abuses a child, the language of “evil” comes easily. Leaders who have no respect for humanity, show no mercy, and seem to be driven by nothing but profit and vainglory, seem to be possessed.

But Father Brown’s character reminds us of the deeper truth. That we, too, have devils in our heart, because we are human. But when we attribute people and events too quickly to “evil” or the “demonic,” we ignore aspects of our own community and culture that are complicit.  And we can misunderstand the work of demons.

In today’s Gospel we have a sad story.  A man is not in his right mind. He can’t keep his clothes on.  He can’t keep up a household.  He’s homeless, living near the tombs, probably in caves.  People must have passed him by whenever they went that way, but they didn’t dare go close.  He was scary, dangerous, and possessed by demons, after all.

Though we don’t know his name.  We sort of know him.  This man must have seemed to the Gerasenes like so many people appear to us today—those who live not in natural caves, but the caves made by overpasses, abandoned buildings, and alleys. Their problems seem overwhelming.  Often, we do what we can.  We say a prayer. We give an occasional dollar or two.  We might buy a sandwich, but we wonder, “What’s to be done?”  Is it a matter of public funding?  Is it a matter of physical or mental healthcare?  Is it a family problem? A demon would have us assume it’s the work only of that demon, and either blame the person, or blame the demon and go on our way.  But the reality is much larger and more complex. 

A little more than 175 years ago, Angela Burdett-Coutts and her friend Charles Dickens refused to accept what the society of their day relegated as “evil.” People spoke of Devil’s Acre, around Pye Street near the Abbey, and avoided it. Frederick Farrar, a canon at Westminster wrote about the poverty:

I think it would have been difficult to have found a spot more full of crime. The whole street drank hard while such plunder lasted. I received a message one day to administer Holy Communion to a dying girl in Pye Street. She was in the last stages of consumption, and her story was to the effect that her husband lived on her wages, which he forced her to obtain by a life of sin… She summed up her repentance in one sentence: “I have worked very hard, and I am very tired.”

And so, Dickens and Burdett-Coutts created Urania Cottage to give prostitutes a way forward, and in 1846 plans were made for a new church to be built that could honor Sir Francis Burdett, Angela’s father, and could serve as a center of faith, renewal, and new life to this area. Burdett-Coutts and Dickens, from different perspectives, understood that demons are usually not individual, but are fed by social and societal forces.

Walter Wink was an American theologian who wrote a lot about the way demons enter not only individuals, but also institutions and structures.  Wink’s writing points out that one way the demonic works is by rigidly classifying those who are “in” and those who are “out.”

A reader and commentator on Wink, Jeffery John (retired dean of St. Albans) reflects on this idea as he points out, “The profundity of this miracle story [of the man with the demon] is shown in the fact that Jesus goes out to heal the very one…who is the symbol of the alien oppression…Jesus steps outside the territory of Israel into ‘unclean’ territory, heals the most untouchable of the untouchables, and makes him in effect his first apostle to the other Gentiles.” [The Meaning in the Miracles, Canterbury Press, 2001, p. 84-97]

A part of the healing is Jesus’s daring to go where others say it’s useless.  Jesus is unwilling to be captive to the demons of prejudice, rumor, gossip, assumptions, or conventions.  Jesus heals people throughout scripture by transgressing societal, cultural, or gender norms in order to bring a human touch, which is also the touch of God.

As the Letter to the Galatians reminds us, “In Christ Jesus you are all children of God through faith. As many of you as were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ. There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus.”

Demons are not always what they seem.  Reading the scriptures closely, in some places it is clear to a modern health profession that a person in the Bible who was thought to be “demon possessed,” was epileptic.  Leprosy was not caused by demons, but is what we now call Hansen’s disease, an infection caused by bacteria and curable through medication. Melancholia was thought to be from a demon. Homosexuality was (and sadly is still thought by some) thought to be caused by demons.

The real demonic is, and always has been, in the way that people are separated, kept in ignorance, and never allowed to question received information.

Demons make us overlook the details and only see the broad strokes.
Demons thrive on prejudice, ignorance, and scapegoating.
Demons love a fictional view of the past and refuse to take into consideration the reality of the present.
Demons lead us follow a dead god, while the way of Christ leads us to a Living God who continues to reveal.
Demons (perceived or real) can get us down.

We heard in our first reading how the demonic energy of Jezebel drove Elijah into a cave. He questions his calling, his purpose, his faith, and even his life. But God shows up in a new way, a different way, a quieter way.

Like Chesterton’s Father Brown, if we’re honest with ourselves we can begin to see the demons that are living within us and ask God to free us.  We can ask God to exercise the demons that still live in our churches and institutions. Together, we can expose the demons that want us to live in fear and helplessness. We can face down the demons that blame particular ethnicities, or groups of people.  And we can call out the demons that get lodged in our laws and our lawmakers.

On this day, we given thanks for the blessings of St. Stephen’s Parish, for all the many who have given of themselves faithfully and sacrificially through this place. And I invite you to recommit yourself to Christ at a deeper level.

Be clear about the demons within and ask Christ to tame them or take them away.
Be slow to dismiss others as demon-possessed and beyond hope.
And let us go again into the Devil’s Acres of our world to show and share the love of Christ.

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

A sermon for Trinity Sunday, June 15, 2025. The scriptures are Proverbs 8:1-4, 22-31, Romans 5:1-5, John 16:12-15, and Psalm 8.

Most of you know that for the past week or so, 12 of us from Holy Trinity have been on pilgrimage, walking 100 kilometers or so to Santiago de Compostela, Spain. Since the 9^th century, Santiago has been a holy destination for venerating the burial place of St. James the Apostle, one of the first of Jesus’s disciples, and the first to die a martyr’s death.

Though the destination is part of the pilgrimage, the journey is equal, if not more important. And that journey continues, as we live out the idea that “El Comino comienza en Santiago,” or “the Camino begins in Santiago.”

One day last week, I felt the richness of that journey as Leona Fredericks and I met a young man from New Orleans named Vinod. As he and I walked on for a while, we began talking about where we were from, what we do, why we came on the Camino. And eventually, I said the name of our group, that we were from the Church of the Holy Trinity.

We then went on to talk about his upbringing in a secular Hindu family, and various aspects of Christian belief. At one point, Vinod said, “You know, Hinduism also has 3: the Trimurti: Brahma, Vishnu, and Shiva. Brahma is the creator, Vishnu is the preserver, and Shiva is the destroyer.”

We talked about similarities and differences, both laughing that we were out of our depth, but enjoying the conversation.

As Vinod eventually walked on ahead, I kept thinking about our conversation. I eventually came to that point that lots of theologians must come to when thinking about the Trinity—that whatever the theology might be trying to express, the bottom line is that

The Holy Trinity is God’s love in community, and God wants to include us in that love.

For Christians, this is Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, or in language that isa little like Vinod’s, “Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer.” The Trinity is God’s love in community and God wants to include us in that love.

In Proverbs we meet a character hinted at last week on the Day of Pentecost. Wisdom is personified as a woman who goes through the city, who journeys throughout the earth, looking for anyone who will hear. And we learn Wisdom is not just a holy woman, but Wisdom is very closely related to God—before the creation itself, she already was. She was God’s “daily delight.” One version describes her as the architect by God’s side, playing happily in the presence of God.

In Paul’s Letter to the Romans, we’re reminded that God has given us the Holy Spirit as a kind of second wind, a wind to lift us up when we’re down, to urge us forward when we’ve stumbled, and a wind to invigorate our faith whenever it’s grown tired or confused.

Jesus promises that the Spirit will continue to guide us even after Jesus has left this world. Jesus says that what is of God, is also of Jesus, and what is of Jesus, is also of the Spirit. The three are one and God’s intention is that we be absorbed into the life of God, the life of God in the Trinity.

One theologian (George Handry) has put it this way: in Christ we have God with us. In the Spirit we God in us. But while we have both of these, we also and always have God over us.

God the parent is over us, Mother, Father, the author of all life, the one who holds us, cares for us and sets out the plan in which we find our way.

God the Son, Jesus, is God with us, walking before us and beside us as an elder brother, a friend, a companion, a shepherd, a guide, and a support.

God the Spirit is God in us, giving us strength, probing our conscience, showing us where the world most needs God, which is to say, where the world most needs us to show God and be the love of God.

But even all of that can seem abstract.

As I was talking with my friend Vinod on the Camino, I was participating in the life and love of the Trinity as God the Creator was in the beauty all around me, and the goal of my walking. God the Spriit was the wind behind me and within me, compelling me onward. And God the Incarnate one showed up in the human form of a new friend, walking along with me.

Those who participated in yesterday’s “No Kings” demonstration may have felt this: God the Creator as the source of justice and goodness and truth that undergirds our being. God the Holy Spirit who turns up the fire in us because it’s part of God’s Holy Fire, and compels us to DO something. And finally, God the Incarnate one, as body-to-body, people make their presence known.

We have a reminder of God’s love in Trinity on our church pews.

On the edge of each pew at Holy Trinity there is a carved a “shield of the Holy Trinity.” Most of the ones we see in our church just have a design, but if you come up into the choir area, you’ll see pews with words added.  They’re words in Latin, so they might also look a little like symbols.

But the Holy Trinity shield, popular in the Middle Ages, labels each of the circular points with a person of the Trinity:  Pater (Father), Filius (Son), and Sanctus Spiritus (Holy Spirit).  In the middle is the Latin word Deus, for God, and connecting each of the outer circles is a line in which is written, “Non est”, or “is not.”  This shield is a reminder that God is movement, God is dance, God is never standing still—the Father is not the Son, is not the Holy Spirit.  But each of the other circles, (Father, Son, and Holy Spirit) “est” or IS God.  The Father is God, the Son is God, and the Holy Spirit is God.  The shield, whether with words or without words, is a little like those spinners that kids play with—a blur of action and energy, with direction that’s hard for us to predict.

God invites us to join in this community of love—the love of God that overflows into all of creation. It doesn’t matter if we always feel God’s presence in each of the Persons of the Trinity. It doesn’t matter if it’s all a little fuzzy. The point is that God is love in community, God wants to include us in this love.

May God the Holy Trinity bless us this day and forever; and may God help us to recognize the divine in one another and in ourselves.

In the name of that love, Amen.

A sermon for the Seventh Sunday of Easter, June 1, 2025. The scripture readings are Acts 16:16-34, Revelation 22:12-14,16-17,20-21, John 17:20-26, and Psalm 97.

During the Season of Easter, we’ve followed the old church custom of having our first reading on Sundays be from the Book of the Acts of the Apostle, instead of a reading from the Old Testament. The Book of Acts shows us some of the energy, excitement, and confusion that fueled the spread of the Way of Jesus. We’ve heard stories of healings and conversions, and today’s reading is no different.

Typically, when this scripture passage is preached, the focus is on the conversion of the jailor. Paul and Silas are imprisoned, there’s an earthquake that is so strong, it shakes the foundations of the jail and the doors spring open. But Paul and Silas don’t escape. They stay right there, presumably because they suspected there was something of God’s hand in this, so they waited to see what might unfold. Sure enough, the jailor is so relieved that they didn’t run away and get him in trouble, and perhaps noticing their calm and being curious, the jailor asks about their God. Paul and Silas tell the jailor about God’s love in sending Jesus, and the power of Jesus to bring us through life and even through death, and the jailor and his whole family are baptized. They have a feast, and give us a great story of faith and joy.

But let’s back up. Let’s notice why Paul and Silas were put into jail in the first place. It wasn’t their preaching and healing that got them in trouble—but the WAY in which they did ministry.

The story begins with the slave girl whose name we don’t know. She had a talent for seeing the future and she seems confident enough to follow Paul and Silas and make fun of them. She seems to delight in the fact that while she IS a slave, they use language of slavery to refer to their relationship with God. I wonder if a part of her “trolling” them and proclaiming “These men are slaves of the most high God,” isn’t also a way asking the question: “is slavery” an appropriate image for one’s following a loving, freeing God? Are they really “slaves” in that as male Roman citizens, they seem to have quite a bit of agency and privilege.

Paul has enough of this, and so, out of annoyance, he prays over the slave girl and makes the spirit leave her alone. But that puts the slave girl into unemployment and robs her employers of their income. There’s nothing in the text that suggests the slave girl asked to be healed of the spirit, or even wanted to be healed. Her employers certainly didn’t want her to be healed. I’m not even sure Paul cared about her being healed. We read simply that “very much annoyed, turned and said to the spirit, “I order you in the name of Jesus Christ to come out of her.” And it came out that very hour.”

There are other places in scripture where annoyance translates into faithfulness, sometimes doing the right thing for the wrong reasons. Jesus tells a parable of a desperate widow and an unjust judge, a judge “who neither feared God nor had respect for people.” But the widow kept demanding justice until finally, the judge says to himself, “because this widow keeps bothering me, I will grant her justice, so that she may not wear me out by continually coming.”

A similar thing happens even with Jesus, when a Canaanite woman, a non-Jew and foreigner, asks Jesus to heal her daughter. Jesus ignores her. The disciples are bothered by the woman’s persistence and complain about her to Jesus, so he says very clearly, “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.”  When she gets inside the house and kneels, Jesus replies with that nasty-sounding phrase that probably was based on a saying in his day, “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” But the woman brilliantly responds, “Yes, Lord, but even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from the table.” Jesus praises the woman’s faith, and realizes his own calling is bigger than he thought, and heals the woman’s daughter.

I like these passages of scripture where someone’s annoyance is turned into faithful action. It gives me hope for the times and places when I might reluctantly manage to do the right thing, but I do it for less-than-holy reasons.

But I also take a warning from the Acts reading about Paul. How often do we do what Paul is trying to do? Whether it’s out of annoyance, or perhaps just a strong desire to DO something, we act, we manage, we control, we manipulate, but we don’t take into consideration the opinions or agency of the people involved.

Paul healed the slave girl out of annoyance, but he might have even justified his action by saying that she had been possessed of a Spirit and would be much better off without that spirit.  But what will she do for a living? How has Paul’s intervention made things worse between the slave girl and the owners or employers? Did he even notice that, rather than help the situation, he had made it much worse for everyone but himself.

This is a classic mistake made by leaders who go to great effort to what they believe is the “best or just” thing, but sometimes they consider the people who are affected most. I can’t help but think this is a part of what explains the backlash against progressive politics in our country. Sometimes, programs and leaders have acted on behalf of individuals and communities for noble goals, but have not always considered the day-to-day ramifications of those policies. And so, they voted for people who don’t worry at all about the larger good or the greater goal and only talk about what affects the individual or the individual family. As people gradually realize the extent to which they have been lied to and used by the current regime, there will be space for new leaders and for all of us to listen to what others actually need, and partner with them for change.

Certainly politicians and policy makers sometimes decide what people need before really asking them, and Christian missionaries have this all over the world.  But also, there have places where another approach was taken. 
In 19^th century England, a number of religious orders, especially the Anglican nuns in the Community of St. John Baptist, ran what were called Houses of Mercy. While the men in government passed increasingly restrictive laws around what they perceived as criminal activity, the Anglican nuns welcomed women who were prostitutes into their convents, educated them and gave them skills to get jobs in the world. The sisters took these women seriously and treated each one as a child of God, not as a problem to be solved.

It takes practice and prayer to resist the “urge to fix” and instead, actually listen to people.

It’s hard to put aside our own expectations, hopes, ideas, and suggestions. As a result, we can sometimes do dumb things for good reasons with our colleagues at work, with friends, and with family members.  Sometimes we see so clearly how they can fix their lives, or how they can solve a particular problem—”if they would just do this”…. And we can sometimes feel like it’s our duty or calling to get into he middle, to act, to fix, and to manage—just like Saint Paul in Philippi.

Even though the grace of God works with and sometimes in spite of our annoyance or our need to control and manage, the ideal put forth by Jesus is one of union and communion.

In the Gospel today, Jesus is praying with and for his disciples and it is a prayer for unity. He prays that each one of them—each one of us—might be so connected to God through the Spirit, that we are able to act like Jesus in our world. This is an ideal, but it’s a worthy ideal for us to reclaim and pray for, along with Jesus.

To pray for unity, to live for unity, in our day is itself a radical stance. From almost every direction, we’re told to take care of ourselves, put ourselves and our family first. That instruction of the flight attendance to put your own face mask on first to obtain oxygen before helping a child, is taken to a crazy extreme to apologize for self-centeredness and fear of the other. But this is heresy. This individualism is of the devil, who is always about dividing, breaking apart, and tearing down.

Just before his death, Pope Francis wrote a Letter to the United States Bishop underscoring and clarifying the direction of Christian love.  Especially as it relates to immigration, but to all issues, Pope Francis reminded people of all faith:

Christian love is not a concentric expansion of interests that little by little extend to other persons and groups. In other words: the human person is not a mere individual, relatively expansive, with some philanthropic feelings! The human person is a subject with dignity who, through the constitutive relationship with all, especially with the poorest, can gradually mature in his identity and vocation. The true ordo amoris that must be promoted is that which we discover by meditating constantly on the parable of the “Good Samaritan” (cf. Lk 10:25-37), that is, by meditating on the love that builds a fraternity open to all, without exception . . . But worrying about personal, community or national identity, apart from these considerations, easily introduces an ideological criterion that distorts social life and imposes the will of the strongest as the criterion of truth. (Pope Francis’s Letter to US Bishops, February 11, 2025)

God’s work is of building, bringing together, reconciling, and making union. Every day, we have choices to make about which way we follow. May we resist the temptation to act before asking, to “do unto” without “inviting into,” and may we remember Francis’s encouragement to pray and act for unity, for sisterhood and brotherhood with all.

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

A sermon for the Sixth Sunday of Easter, May 25, 2026. The scripture readings are Acts 16:9-15, Revelation 21:10, 22-22:5, John 14:23-29, and Psalm 67.

In some churches, the Sunday during the Easter season begins with the Vidi aquam, a Latin canticle sung as Holy Water is taken from the baptismal font and sprinkled through the congregation. It’s a reminder of the healing waters of baptism, as the choir sings verses from the Book of Ezekiel:

I saw water flowing out of the Temple, from its right side, Alleluia:
And all to whom this water came were saved,
And they shall say: Alleluia, Alleluia.  (Ezekiel 47:1)

It’s a vision of God’s salvation through water—after the flood, through the Red Sea, by the Baptism of Jesus, and through our own baptism.

When I think of healing waters, I think of those special places around the world that have thermal springs. I think of our own baptismal water. And I think about a special place not far away, just in Central Park. I think about our own Bethesda Fountain.

At about 72nd Street, in the middle to the park, at the edge of the Lake, it’s the focal point of Bethesda Terrace. It was designed by Emma Stebbins in 1868, and it depicts today’s story of the healing fountain in Jerusalem. Bethzatha or Bethesda, was thought to get its healing properties because angels would dip down and stir the waters up. 

I love that Bethesda Fountain (like our own church) is one of those secret winks of the Holy Spirit in New York City. It’s right there in plain sight, but if you pause and reflect, there are much deeper spiritual meanings. Just as Bethesda Fountain celebrated the wonders of the Croton Reservoir, which brought healing waters to the people of NYC in common everyday ways, so often, healing is right in our midst, if we open ourselves to it.

Today’s Gospel suggests a number of points about healing, about our role in healing, and even the place of faith in healing. It says something to those who are waiting for healing. It speaks to those who long for healing but can’t see a way forward. And it speaks to those of us who perhaps are the picture of health and might think a sermon on healing might only be for the sick.

First, the word to those who wait. The scriptures are filled with stories of Jesus healing, and even of the other disciples offering healing. Prophets sometimes heal, and one woman is healed simply by touching Jesus. If we’re not careful, it can seem like healing from God is instantaneous, like the faith healers we might read about or see on television or in movies. Notice that the man in today’s story had been ill for thirty-eight years. In another Gospel (Mark’s) a woman is healed who has been sick for twelve years. These stories remind us that healing doesn’t always come quickly. Healing doesn’t come with the right prayer, the right amount of faith, the right religious experience. Healing comes in time.

The story of the man at the pool of Bethesda speaks of one who persists, who continues, to carries on—each day, each year, waiting for healing. But this particular story also suggests that the route to healing (for this man) has perhaps been right there all along.

Secondly, there are those who look for healing, but overlook what is right in front of them. I’m reminded of the Old Testament story of Naaman, the military commander who had leprosy. He heard that the prophet Elisha was a man of wisdom and healing, so he went to see him. Elisha told Naaman to do something very simple and Naaman laughed at him. Naaman felt different from others, special from others, unique in his own illness. But Elisha knew what would bring healing and told him, but Naaman balked at first. It seemed too easy, too simple, too obvious. It’s not the calm waters that offer healing, after all, but the ones stirred up with holy healing.

The person Jesus meets at the Pool of Bethzatha is right there by the water, but he has all sorts of reasons for not stepping in: “others get in before me,” “there’s no one to help me in,” or who knows what other reason he might give.

This is like the person who limps in pain but whose doctor assures them that if they simply had a knee replacement, the pain would go away. It’s like the person who squints and misreads, when properly made glasses would solve the problem. It’s like the person who wrestles with an addiction and convinces herself or himself that their situation is unique, when there are twelve step groups that offer healing and new life. Sometimes healing is at hand, but we find reasons to delay or not ask for help, or remain just beyond arm’s reach.

And finally, there are those who wish for healing, but don’t know where to start. They need a little help reaching the source of healing. But in both cases, it might not be an angel from heaven who stoops to stir the waters, but it might be me or you. It might be another person—whether healthy and strong, or perhaps someone undergoing their own pathway into healing.

I’ve mentioned before how in the Hebrew scriptures, there’s often some ambiguity around the root word that is used both for “angel” and “messenger.” But I think that’s also a theological mystery—sometimes angels are ordinary people, coming at the right time, offering just the right word, offering a helping hand, or perhaps just being present, in silence.

As majestic and beautiful as the angel is on Bethesda Fountain, it might be that you or I are called to be the angel who prepares the waters for healing, who helps connect one with that water, or who helps to carry a person closer to the source of healing.

Often, when a person needs healing, the professional pastoral care giver (the priest) is not the most helpful person. If one is undergoing chemotherapy, often the most helpful person is another person who has gone through similar treatment. A person who faces having a heart procedure will often be helped by talking with someone who has already had a similar procedure. And certainly, the twelve-step recovery movement shows the wisdom and effectiveness of recovering people helping others to recover. And often the most healing person is someone to walk along side, not offering advice, not even talking so much.

The great priest and writer Henri Nouwen describes this sort of person as a “wounded healer.” He writes,

To enter into solidarity with a suffering person does not mean that we have to talk with that person about our own suffering. Speaking about our own pain is seldom helpful for someone who is in pain. A wounded healer is someone who can listen to a person in pain without having to speak about his or her own wounds…. We have to trust that our own bandaged wounds will allow us to listen to others with our whole beings. That is healing.” The Wounded Healer, 1979

Who knows when, where, or in what we might be called upon to be an angel of healing, an agent of God’s healing; but I pray that the Holy Spirit would continue to stir the holy water and to show us how to help stir up the spirit of healing and health.

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

A sermon for the Fourth Sunday of Easter, May 11, 2025. The scriptures are Acts 9:36-43, Revelation 7:9-17, John 10:22-30, and Psalm 23.

A few months ago, a woman called the church and asked if it might be possible to have a memorial service here. She sounded a little timid and cautious in her questions. She went on to explain that the person who had died, Leslie, was not a member of the church—or of any congregation, really—but attended meetings here.  We talked about logistics and the calendar and settled on a date. As time drew closer, the friend asked if we could use Zoom for people out of the city to join, so we planned to do that.  

When the Friday night came, there must have been almost 200 people in the church and easily another 50 online to celebrate the memory of this woman who had been friend, colleague, neighbor, recovery sponsor, fellow seeker of a Higher Power, and a kind of “wise mother” for so many. And that’s just the ones who were able to come together on a Friday night in March. I don’t think Leslie had children of her own, but she certainly had spiritual children, who continue to do their best to remember the times they laughed, the times they cried, and the times when she was tough, because love called for that.

I’m thinking of Leslie, and so many people in my life who have been spiritual and educational mothers. I’m blessed to still have a mother (and father), who are both saavy enough to watch us online and will probably comment that I did not need to mention them in today’s sermon.

Mother’s Day can be complicated for many different reasons. And while it’s certainly not a religious holiday, I do think the day allows us to give thanks for the mother-like people who have accompanied us in the spiritual life, and those who walk with us still.

We hear about such a person in today’s first reading from Acts. We don’t know if Tabitha had children of her own, but she certainly seems to have had spiritual daughters, sons, and an enormous family that regarded her as “family.” 

Scripture gives us a picture of how the early church was growing, with energy and faith in the resurrection, with Mary and the other disciples spreading the word, and with local, everyday people putting their faith in Jesus and changing the world right where they lived.

Tabitha, or Dorcas, as she was called in Greek, seems to have been such a woman. She was “devoted to good works and acts of charity,” we’re told.  But then, the Apostle Peter hears that Dorcas has died. He goes immediately. By the time he reaches the village, it’s a little like when Jesus goes to Bethany after Lazarus has died. Peter sees the village people weeping, sharing memories, mourning, and, as scripture says, “showing tunics and other clothing that Dorcas had made while she was with them.”  But then Peter, filled with the power of Jesus through the Holy Spirit, heals Dorcas and she is raised up. We don’t hear any more about her, but presumably, she goes on to live an even longer life of good works, acts of charity, and making clothing for those who need it.

That funny-sounding name “Dorcas” continues in the Christian Church, with Bible studies, prayer groups, and Christian ministries named after her.  Especially in the 1800s, the Dorcas Society begun in England established various chapters in the United States.  And one very strong chapter was New York’s African Dorcas Association, founded in 1828.  Women met at a house in Tribeca and in a Free School on Mulberry Street. Members of the society pooled their resources and made clothes for poor children to be able to attend school, especially those attended the African Free School.

Dorcas, and those who follow in her spirit do what we’re encouraged in today’s opening prayer: that

we hear the voice of Christ,
we hear in it our own name,
and that we have the faith and strength to follow where he leads.

Whether we actually hear something we think may be the voice of Christ, or simply choose to listen for that voice—the voice of God’s love towards us, the music of God’s peace, the sound of the Spirit’s strengthening—faith involves our trying hear and developing our ability to tune out all the noise and static, so that we can really listen.  Some may hear it clearly. Others may hear it only partially, or trust that others hear it.  But our being here, in this place, is an act of our obedience to God, recalling that the word “obedience” comes from the Latin, ob-audire… to listen, to hear.

But do we also listen for our own name in the sound of God? The second part of today’s prayer invites us to “hear our own name,” meaning, to discern our own path for being faithful.  Sometimes we can do that alone. We sense God’s invitation to use a part of ourselves, to develop a talent, and to share it with others.  But often, we’re slow to hear God alone, and we need other people. That’s where the whole community of faith comes in, as we help one another discern God’s gifts.  It happens when someone says to you, “I notice you’re good with kids. Would you consider helping teach Sunday school or volunteer for a special children’s event?”  Or, “I notice you have ideas about the church, may I nominate you to stand for vestry or serve in some other capacity?”  On and on, goes the encouragement, the listening, and the discernment.

The third part of our Collect of the Day involves following where Christ leads.  The Good Shepherd and lamb imagery breaks down when we think about this third part.  God has given us a great deal more freedom and willpower than a lamb has.  We can choose to follow the way of God in Christ, as we hear it ourselves, and as it’s amplified in Christian community, or we can choose to go some other way. Often, we can choose an in-between.  We sense where God wants us to go, but we don’t feel strong enough, faithful enough, or ready enough.  Maybe we stop still, in fear.  Or maybe we veer off to the right or left.

The somewhat scary word, “vocation” can sometimes be used in a kind of all or nothing way.  But I think a person can have several vocations, if one is open to God’s Spirit.  Frederick Buechner has defined vocation famously as “the work God calls you to do.”  He explains,

There are all different kinds of voices calling you to all different kinds of work, and the problem is to find out which is the voice of God rather than of Society, say, or the Super-ego, or Self-Interest.

By and large a good rule for finding out is this. The kind of work God usually calls you to is the kind of work (a) that you need most to do and (b) that the world most needs to have done. If you really get a kick out of your work, you’ve presumably met requirement (a), but if your work is writing TV deodorant commercials, the chances are you’ve missed requirement (b). On the other hand, if your work is being a doctor in a leper colony, you have probably met requirement (b), but if most of the time you’re bored and depressed by it, the chances are you have not only bypassed (a) but probably aren’t helping your patients much either.

Neither the hair shirt nor the soft berth will do. The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.  (Wishing Thinking: A Theological ABC, p. 95).

When I think of an openness to God’s calling and vocation, I think of my college friend, who I’ll call Lisa.  Lisa majored in business and did well, graduated, and quickly began working for a large bank.  She did well and was fairly happy, though she worked long hours.  When she met her husband, who also worked in banking, she began to be open to a change. She prayed a lot about this, asked people at church, and continued to listen for God’s prompting. Lisa became pregnant, which filled her mind/body/spirit with new life.  But through her pregnancy, an idea began to grow.  Once her son was born, the idea seemed to be encouraged from every direction.  Lisa wanted to be a nurse or a midwife, somehow to assist other women in bringing children into the world.  She went back to college to take a few science classes, enrolled in nurses training, and after a few years, began working in a hospital on the newborn wing.  Her early vocation was as a banker. Her midlife vocation is as a nurse.  Who knows what her later life’s vocation might be?

The Church itself is sometimes understood as Mother Church—because it gives birth to faith, to new vocations, and to new life. But we all participate in the Holy Spirit’s work—some as mothers, some as grandmothers, and many of us as midwives in the life of the Spirit.

On this and every day, may God “Grant that when we hear his voice we may know him who calls us each by name, and follow where he leads; who, with you and the Holy Spirit, lives and reigns, one God, for ever and ever.”

In the name of God, Source of All Being, Eternal Word, and Holy Spirit. Amen.