Monthly Archives: April 2026

Sermon – Jonah 3.1-10, Ecumenical Lenten Worship Series, February 25, 2026

15 Wednesday Apr 2026

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This sermon was delivered at Mt. Vernon United Methodist Church, as part of an ecumenical pulpit exchange that happens with six other churches during in Lent in our county.

On this Wednesday in the first week of Lent, we get a portion of the Jonah story.  Before we jump into the specific set of verses appointed for today, we need to back up and recount the whole of the Jonah narrative so we can hear more clearly what God is trying to say to us tonight.  If you recall, Jonah’s story starts with a call.  God tells Jonah to go to Ninevah to proclaim judgment on their wicked behavior.  Now, “Nineveh was the capital of Assyria, the nation that destroyed the northern kingdom of Israel and held the southern kingdom of Judah as a vassal for almost one hundred years.  Assyria was more than an enemy; [Assyria] was a brutal occupying force that forever changed Israel’s fortunes.  Jonah is called out by God to go and prophesy to the enemy.”[i]

Understandably, instead of heading straight to Ninevah, Jonah goes in the exact opposite direction – hopping on a boat to sail away from the very scary and dangerous job God has given Jonah.  The next part you probably remember from Sunday School:  a storm comes up, the crew on the boat try to survive, Jonah is thrown overboard as a sacrifice and then swallowed by a very large fish, only to be spit out, and then told by God to get up and go do what God told Jonah to do the first time.  That’s where we pick up in tonight’s reading.

This time Jonah obeys – sort of.  He half-heartedly announces judgment on Nineveh.  The words we hear are “Forty days more, and Nineveh will be overthrown!”  In Hebrew, Jonah’s words are just a five-word sermon.[ii]  Despite his half-hearted five-word sermon, Nineveh springs into almost comedic action.  The people proclaim a fast and put on sackcloth.  The king ups the ante and sits in ashes and tells the people to stop all violence and even put sackcloth on their animals, hoping maybe, just maybe, God will relent and not punish them.  A great, all-powerful, brutal people humbly repent.  We are told God changes God’s mind based on their repentance and does not punish them. 

Now, this is where Jonah’s story gets interesting.  We didn’t hear this part tonight, but Jonah does not experience relief, or justification, or even pride, at making something great happen.  No, Jonah is angry.  Old Testament professor Beth Tanner tells us, “The NRSV plays down [Jonah’s] anger with the words ‘this was very displeasing to Jonah and he became angry’ (4:1).  The Hebrew reads roughly, ‘it was evil to Jonah, a great evil, and his anger burned.’  The ‘it’ of Jonah’s anger is the heart of the matter.  He tells God why he ran, ‘for I knew that you are a gracious God and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love and ready to relent from punishing’ (4:2).  Jonah is angry at God for the very attributes that Israel has always depended on for [Israel’s] own salvation (Exodus 34:6-7)!  God speaks to Jonah, trying to explain, but the book ends without resolution and Jonah goes away mad.”[iii]

The funny thing about Jonah’s story is that Jonah’s story, if we’re paying attention, hits us right in our gut.  You see, we believe that God is gracious, merciful, slow to anger, abounding in steadfast love, and ready to relent from punishing.  In fact, we bet our lives on God’s nature.  We spend forty days repenting of our sinfulness, attempting to amend our ways, seeking and expecting God’s profound forgiveness.  We only engage in this season of self-reflection and self-denial because we know God’s grace and mercy is for us, waiting outside an empty tomb.  But here’s where Jonah’s gut-punch comes from:  we are not always ready for God’s grace to be as available to everyone else as God’s grace is available to us. 

Now before you protest against this guest preacher, saying, “Hey now!  I’m not like Jonah!” I want you to take a moment.  I want you to resist your defenses going up and think of the person in your life who is hard to love.  That person may be a neighbor, or that black sheep in your family, or that friend or lover you cut off years ago.  That person might in a political office despite your vote to the contrary.  That person or group of people, like Nineveh, might be known for oppression and degradation that you cannot abide.  Scholar Tanner says, “My father always told me that if I did not believe that God would save the most foul of humans, then I did not really believe in God’s power to save my own soul.”[iv]  If I do not believe that God would save the most foul of humans, then I do not really believe in God’s power to save my own soul.

That, my friends, is why Jonah goes out into the wilderness in a huff and is angry at God for being God.  Because the bounds of God’s grace, mercy, and steadfast love are endless.  And even if we do not feel like our neighbor deserves that grace, mercy, and steadfast love, God knows a repentant heart much more deeply than we, and our God can change God’s mind. 

In this season of Lent, you are likely going to confess some grievous sins.  In this season of Lent, you are likely going to try to be more faithful – to walk more fully in the light of Christ.  In this season of Lent, you are likely going to come to the cross broken, having just been spit out of the belly of a very large fish, feeling defeated.  And God is going to love you.  God’s grace and mercy are going to envelope you.  God’s anger will be slow enough to not boil over that you will not be burned. 

And.  And, because that is the nature of our God, our invitation tonight is to make room for more people to be welcomed into that bosom of God’s embrace.  That does not mean you cannot speak truth to power.  Jonah certainly did.  But the judgment piece is not ours.  In fact, our speaking truth to power is rooted in the knowledge that there is room for all.  God’s mercy, grace, and steadfast love is for you.  And although you or I may not like sharing that mercy, grace, and steadfast love with certain individuals, the fact that God does makes God’s mercy, grace, and steadfast love even greater, even sweeter, even more humbling.  There is room in God’s embrace – even for someone like us!  Amen.

[i] Beth L. Tanner, “Commentary on Jonah 3:1-5, 10,” January 25, 2009, as found at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/third-sunday-after-epiphany-2/commentary-on-jonah-31-5-10-2 on February 24, 2026.

[ii] Kathryn M. Schifferdecker, “Commentary on Jonah 3:1-5, 10,” January 25, 2015, as found at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/third-sunday-after-epiphany-2/commentary-on-jonah-31-5-10-3, on February 24, 2026.

[iii] Tanner.

[iv] Tanner.

Sermon – Matthew 6.1-6, 16-21, AW, YA, February 18, 2026

15 Wednesday Apr 2026

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I have always regarded Ash Wednesday and our Lenten experience as the ultimate self-directed season.  The ashes on our foreheads remind us of how we came into this world alone and we will go out alone.  The disciplines we assume this day for the next six weeks are catered to our own journeys, focusing on what we have discerned we personally need to right our own relationship with God.  When I confess, I am struck by memories of grievances I have committed – images and feelings flashing before me as a particular set of words hits close to home.

But as I read Matthew’s convicting gospel this year, I remembered the wise words of New Testament scholar Karoline Lewis.  All those warnings Jesus makes, “Beware of practicing your piety before others…whenever you give alms, do not sound a trumpet…when you pray, do not be like the hypocrites…whenever you fast, do not look dismal…”, all of those warnings are not in the singular.  In the original Greek, they are actually in the plural.[i]  So the words are more like, beware of practicing you all’s piety.  Or maybe in Southern speak, “when ya’ll pray…” Jesus is not criticizing or singling out you or you or me.  Jesus is singling out the community of the faithful.

That may sound like semantics, but there is something quite dramatic about Jesus speaking in the plural versus the singular.  Every week in Sunday services, we confess our sins.  But we confess them communally.  Communal confession is an extraordinary event.  While we may feel lost or despondent about our inability to live in the light of Christ as individuals, when we communally confess, a room of voices is saying with you, “Me too!”

One of the things I grieved the most during the pandemic was our inability to gather in person.  I loved that we had and continue to have an online community – especially when people write things in the comments, greet one another, or meet Hickory Neck for the first time.  But our necessary isolation during the pandemic naturally led to a pattern of looking inward – sometimes so much so that we forgot we are not alone – that there is a whole community of faith who is walking this journey with us and struggling just as we are.  There is something quite powerful about listening to the voices of a 7-year-old next to the 77-year-old – the person who looks so put together next to the person who is clearly struggling – the dad with children next to the widow – all confessing together.  Week in and week out, those myriad voices remind us we are not alone.

Of course, part of that reason we get so focused on the self in Lent is because self-interest and self-focus is culturally entrenched in being a modern American.  There is both a blessing and a curse to the American dream – that any individual can achieve their dreams, if they just pull themselves up by their bootstraps – an argument that assumes everyone has bootstraps.  But indigenous New Testament scholar Danny Zacharias argues that we have a lot to learn from indigenous communities in Lent.  Zacharias says, “Traditional Indigenous cultures practice communal living and redistribution of resources, often rejecting the accumulation of wealth as a sign of individual success.  Indigenous communities also have high social expectations upon wealthier individuals to be the providers, especially for communal events.  Generosity and balance are seen as fundamental to a good life.  Indigenous leaders have historically been known for their generosity, with material lack by a leader being a strong sign of virtue and abundant generosity.[ii]  Jesus’ teaching affirms this principle, calling his disciples to a life where wealth is measured not in possessions but in righteousness and relationship with God.”[iii]

So if Jesus is talking to all y’all this Lent, and if we can learn something from indigenous communities this Lent, what does communal Lent look like?   One model might come from Pope Leo this year.  The pope said, “I would like to invite you to a very practical and frequently unappreciated form of abstinence:  that of refraining from words that offend and hurt our neighbor.  Let us begin by disarming our language, avoiding harsh words and rash judgement, refraining from slander and speaking ill of those who are not present and cannot defend themselves.  Instead, let us strive to measure our words and cultivate kindness and respect in our families, among our friends, at work, on social media, in political debates, in the media and in Christian communities.  In this way, words of hatred will give way to words of hope and peace.”[iv]

Our invitation today as we enter Lent is to remember that the act of reconciliation and redemption does not happen alone.  We all are invited into a holy Lent.  We all are invited into prayer, fasting, and alms giving – even if that fasting looks like fasting from hurtful words.  We all are invited to remember we are dust.  In person, online, and hybrid together, we are not invited into solo, parallel journeys.  Our journeys are strengthened and made possible through the companionship of community.  You are not alone.  We are in this together.  And Jesus lights the way for us all.  Amen.

[i] Karoline Lewis, as described on the podcast, “Sermon Brainwave:  #889: Ash Wednesday – February 22, 2023,” February 17, 2023, as found at https://www.workingpreacher.org/podcasts/889-ash-wednesday-february-22-2023 on February 17, 2026.

[ii] Randy S. Woodley, Shalom and the Community of Creation: An Indigenous Vision, Prophetic Christianity (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2012), 155.

[iii] Danny Zacharias, “Commentary on Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21,” February 18, 2026, as found at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/ash-wednesday/commentary-on-matthew-61-6-16-21-18 on February 17, 2026.

[iv] Pope Leo XIV, as quoted at https://www.facebook.com/FrJamesMartin/posts/pfbid02uQANdoLUZ94niQnhZDvRN1vSQmSG6BckAQ3HwGm2PpLpGUmZtBCqqpKbijunr9Bwl on February 13, 2026.

Sermon/Annual Address – Matthew 17.1-9, LEP, YA, February 15, 2026

15 Wednesday Apr 2026

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Every January, once the year-end numbers are in, the pledges are finalized, new Vestry members lined up, and priorities established, Hickory Neck holds our Annual Meeting.  We celebrate a year of ministry, honor outstanding service, elect and commission new leaders, and get a glimpse of the year to come.  Of course, Mother Nature had something to say about that this year, and so, we rescheduled, and rescheduled, and are now, finally able to take a moment to pause to celebrate where we have been, who we are, and where we are going. 

On this celebration day for Hickory Neck, the assigned scripture for the day mirrors our celebrations.  Now, I am not promising our Annual Meeting or this Rector’s address will be anything akin to the transfiguration of our Lord:  though we are on the highest point in Toano, our location could hardly be described as a mountaintop, and although we are gathered with Jesus this morning, I cannot promise you will see Jesus in dazzling white – let alone Moses or Elijah.  Nevertheless, the similarities have been grounding for me this week as I too have been looking back, looking at our now, and looking ahead.

The three disciples Jesus takes up with him to the mountain do not experience a healing or a miracle like multiplying fishes and loaves.  Instead, the literal mountaintop experience they have is one of reflection, instruction, and action.  As Moses and Elijah appear and Jesus is transformed, the disciples experience clarity and wisdom about who Jesus is and how Jesus fits into their historical identity as the people of God.  As God speaks, saying, “This is my Son, the Beloved; with him I am well pleased; listen to him!” God tells the disciples what they are to do:  to be guided and directed by Jesus.  And then, much to Peter’s chagrin, who would like to stay on that mountain and revel in the majesty of the moment, the disciples do what every community does when they’ve been up to the mountaintop:  they come down.  They come down the mountain and if we kept reading chapter 17 of Matthew, we would learn that they get right back to work, healing the sick and casting out demons.

Your Vestry has been through a similar mountaintop experience.  They looked back at an incredible year of ministry:  they saw new ministries begin, like our programming for Middle School aged children – a first for Hickory Neck in over a decade.  They saw the average of individual pledges of giving and our average Sunday attendance increase.  They saw us welcome 15 new households in the last year to Hickory Neck, those experiencing homelessness housed in our buildings and done in partnership with other faith communities, and children taking a lead in worship.  They saw beds built, monies raised and distributed, animals blessed out in the community, and a lending library for adults and children.  They saw new leaders step up, reinvigorating our ministry to families with young children, donations made to seed a new worship service, and a new organ installation complete to help us expand our ministry of music with a new Minister of Music.  They saw a nonprofit organization, the Virginia Episcopal Real Estate Partners offer us a grant to seed new dreams with our Dream Team.  And maybe most importantly, they saw countless testimonies from you – our parishioners – who shared story after story about how even in the changes and chances of life at Hickory Neck, we continue to be a place where people feel a sense of belonging, of purpose, and of being loved. 

One of the things we talk about a lot in Vestry and among the staff is about Hickory Neck’s size – not so much about our literal numbers, but what being a church our size means.  You see, Hickory Neck is what researchers and experts in the field call a “transition-sized parish.”  Of the five size designations, our designation as transition-sized means that we are the only type in those five sizes of churches who lives in a constant state of tension.  The tension is pretty straightforward and one I imagine each of you can recognize:  the tension is in whether to be a parish who shrinks down in size, returning to a size where everyone knows each other and growth is limited or whether to be a parish who is growth-minded, continuing to push into a parish that can offer programming that both serves the needs of our current members and attracts new members.  Almost every time Hickory Neck experiences tension or conflict, the Vestry and staff recall the underlying tension that impacts our life here – that never goes away, but constantly forces us to make choices about how we want to be in the world. 

And so, this year more than any other in my time here, I watched your Vestry do exactly what God asked the disciples to do:  to listen to Jesus.  And so, rooted in prayer and relationship with Christ, sobered by the reality that we, along with most churches these days, must commit to new models of ministry – new ways of structuring revenue that can enable us to keep offering ministry in this sacred place we have come to love.  And so, rooted in that mountaintop experience, your Vestry and I invite you to come down the mountain with us – to get back to the work we have been given to do with Jesus.  We’ll do that in two short weeks when we host our neighbors experiencing homelessness again.  We’ll do that when our new Minister of Music gets settled and starts making a reality our dream of a vibrant ministry of music program that reaches the wider community.  We’ll do that when our leadership teams put in place the elements that can buttress church growth.  We’ll do that when we care for our members, care for our neighbors, and care for the world around us. 

Coming down the mountain is scary.  Jesus would not have come to Peter, James, and John, placed his hand on their shoulders and said, “Do not be afraid” if coming down the mountain wasn’t scary.  Coming down the mountain does not offer the same coziness as those three dwellings or tents Peter wanted to construct.  But coming down the mountain is the only way to get to the good stuff – to the stuff that feeds us, that feeds others, and that glorifies God.  Coming down the mountain is work, to be sure, but coming down the mountain is work that nourishes our souls and the lives of others, gives us purpose and meaning, and happens with a beautiful sense of belonging.  I am honored to join hands with you and come down the mountain together this year to watch and participate in what Jesus has in store for us.  Amen.