Sermon – Luke 10.25-37, P10, YC, July 13, 2025

24 Thursday Jul 2025

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I don’t know about you, but gospel readings like the one we heard today immediately put me at ease.  Episcopalians aren’t particularly known for memorizing scripture, but we do know stories.  And the Good Samaritan is definitely one of the stories we know.  We know these stories so well that we sometimes tune out, maybe imagining, like I did, the time when we were kids and the Sunday School teacher had us dress up and act out the story.  And we are not the only ones.  There are whole churches, charitable organizations, nursing homes, and hospitals named after the Good Samaritan.  We love this simple story about how to be like the Good Samaritan and not like the lawyer, priest, or Levite.

The problem with these familiar stories is that our familiarity dilutes the power of the stories – and perhaps our ability to situate ourselves in the characters of the parable.  Some scholars even try to rename this parable to something like, “Jesus and the Lawyer.”[i]  The lawyer is the first person we miss in this narrative.  We know he is trying to trick Jesus, so he must be bad.  We admit he knows the law, or Torah – to love God and love neighbor.  His second question is where the trouble comes.  The lawyer asks, “Who is my neighbor?”  The question seems simple enough, but the trouble comes from what he doesn’t ask, “Who is not my neighbor?  How much love are we talking here, Jesus?  Can you be specific?  Where can I draw the line?  Outside my front door?  At the edges of my neighborhood?  Along the cultural and racial boundaries I was raised with?  I mean, there are lines.  Aren’t there?”[ii]  And before we get too high on our “I know loving neighbors means loving everyone” horse, think about the last time you got angry about politics and what “those people” are doing or saying. 

Our next issue is pointing the finger at the priest and Levite.  I have heard and read all kinds of explanations about why these two men might have walked on the other side of the road from the dying fellow in need of help.  I have heard people explain that priests and Levites must be careful about ritual purity.  I have heard that as religious professionals they were being upper-class snobs.  I have heard they were late to temple, in a rush to do their jobs.  Unfortunately, according to scholars, none of those justifications work.  The purity laws would not have prohibited these guys from helping – from touching, maybe, but not from helping.  And despite being known leaders in communities, the roles of priest and Levite were mostly inherited, and not a vocation like we know now.  And the text tells us the men are walking away from Jerusalem.  They’re definitely not late for work.  The real problem is simple:  the two men simply do “what is all too ordinary:  [they] fail to act when [they] should.”  In fact, both men were required to attend to the fellow in the ditch, dead or alive.[iii]

Martin Luther King, Jr. on the night before his assassination preached about this parable.  He said, “I’m going to tell you what my imagination tells me. It’s possible that those men were afraid….And so the first question that the priest [and] the Levite asked was, ‘If I stop to help this man, what will happen to me?’…But then the Good Samaritan came by, and he reversed the question: ‘If I do not stop to help this man, what will happen to him?’”  King went on, “If I do not help the sanitation workers, what will happen to them?”[iv]  The real issue with these two men is they only thought about themselves and failed their neighbor.

Now, the final challenge in the parable is the Samaritan.  We all know him as the “Good Samaritan,” but even that nomenclature is problematic.  You see, Samaritans and Jews experienced a great deal of tension.  They have had a long rivalry about where the proper temple is and who has authority.  Just a chapter before in Luke we read about how the Samaritans do not welcome Jesus and the disciples are ready to rain down fire upon the Samaritans.  This does not necessarily mean Samaritans are less influential or wealthy.  This is a tribal feud – an “us versus them” conflict.  And as much as we might identify with the Good Samaritan as the example we always follow, the truth is the Samaritan is not us.  He is the last person you would think of as the “good guy” in Jesus’ day.  We have to hold on to that reality because anyone hearing Jesus’ parable in his day would have been shocked by the introduction of the Samaritan – especially one who behaves much better than “us.”[v]  Scholar Amy-Jill Levine reminds us of the storytelling “rule of three.”  For anyone hearing Jesus’ story, when he talks about a priest, then a Levite, the hearer would have anticipated an Israelite being the third character in the story.  Levine says, “Instead of the anticipated Israelite, the person who stops to help is a Samaritan.  In modern terms, this would be like going from Larry and Moe to Osama bin Laden.”[vi]

So, to help us hear this familiar parable in a fresh way, I want to turn back to scholar Amy-Jill Levine.  Doctor Levine is a Jewish New Testament scholar – and yes, you heard that right – a devout Jew whose career has been in the study of Jesus.  She retells the parable like this:  “I am an Israeli Jew on my way from Jerusalem to Jericho, and I am attacked by thieves, beaten, stripped, robbed, and left half dead in a ditch.  Two people who should have stopped to help pass me by:  the first, a Jewish medic from the Isreal Defense Forces; the second, a member of the Israel/Palestine Mission Network of the Presbyterian Church U.S.A.  But the person who takes compassion on me and shows me mercy is a Palestinian Muslim whose sympathies lie with Hamas, a political party whose charter not only anticipates Israel’s destruction, but also depicts Jews as subhuman demons responsible for the world’s problems.”[vii]

Before we can be Good Samaritans or Good Hamas Members or Good Jews, Jesus is inviting us to get real clear on who our neighbor is.  As scholar Debie Thomas suggests, “Your neighbor is the one who scandalizes you with compassion…Your neighbor is the one who upends all of your entrenched categories and shocks you with a fresh face of God.  Your neighbor is the one who mercifully steps over the ancient, bloodied line separating ‘us’ from ‘them’ and teaches you the real meaning of ‘Good.’”  What shall I do to inherit eternal life?  Do this.  Do this and you will live.”[viii]

I do not know who you are so deeply in conflict with that you have written them off as unacceptable neighbors.  I do not know whose hand you would recoil from if they extended their hand in help.  I do know who you have deemed unredeemable or unforgivable.  But Jesus’ parable is not a safe, cute parable about how to be a good person.  Today’s parable is an invitation to recognize how deeply difficult loving your neighbor is because the definition of neighbor is uncomfortably expansive with Jesus.  And once you concede this parable of the Good Whomever Makes You the Most Uncomfortable, Jesus invites you to love them anyway.  In the same very way that Jesus loves you – unconditionally, bountifully, and full of mercy and grace.  Amen.

[i] Fred B. Craddock, Luke: Interpretation, A Bible Commentary for Teaching and Preaching (Louisville:  John Knox Press, 1990), 149.

[ii] Debie Thomas, Into the Mess & Other Jesus Stories:  Reflections of the Life of Christ (Eugene, OR:  Cascade Books, 2022) 126.

[iii] Amy-Jill Levine, Short Stories by Jesus:  The Enigmatic Parables of a Controversial Rabbi (New York:  Harper One, 2014), 98-101

[iv] Levine, 102.

[v] Thomas, 127

[vi] Levine, 103.

[vii] Levine, 114-115.

[viii] Thomas, 128.

Sermon – Luke 10.1-11, 16-20, P9, YC, July 6, 2025

24 Thursday Jul 2025

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This past week has been a jumbly mess of feelings around my identity as an American Christian.  I probably could have buried my head in the sand about most of the mess and just ate my hamburger and watched the fireworks and called it a day.  But I happen to have an eleven-year-old in my house who asks lots of questions, officially making head-in-the-sand living virtually impossible.  Instead, we spent time in conversation about the intersection of politics and Christian ethics in the caring for the poor and sick and the responsibilities of those with wealth.  Later, we had to talk about my discomfort with the man on his loudspeaker preaching salvation to Colonial Williamsburg visitors – that not all followers of Jesus believe the same things.  Our conversations reminded me that knowing in my head that not all Christian values being publicly proclaimed are my Christian values, and having actual conversations with others about that difference are two very different things.

I think that is why today’s gospel lesson is so unnerving.  By chapter ten of Luke’s gospel, Jesus has already sent out the twelve on an evangelism mission.  Today, we pick up where Jesus commissions seventy to do the same.  In other words, this is when being followers of Jesus starts getting real.  Jesus does not sugarcoat the mission or even make an appealing pitch.  First Jesus tells them that the “harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few.”  So basically, there is so much work to be done that the seventy are going to be overworked and overstressed.  Next Jesus tells them, “I am sending you out like lambs into the midst of wolves.”  I imagine the seventy begin to panic with questions about who these wolves are and whether their own lives are at stake.  Then Jesus tells them, “Carry no purse, no bag, no sandals; and greet no one on the road,” explaining they are to be dependent upon the hospitality of others.  If they are not worried about working conditions already, this last bit of information might set them on edge.  Basically, Jesus sends them out with nothing – no safety net, no creature comforts, and no guarantees.  The seventy are terrified and starkly vulnerable; and we, thousands of years later, are either equally wary or totally dismissive.

I remember many years ago talking with a clergy colleague who did a lot of consulting on evangelism.  She tells a story of how she was studying with a professor whose specialty was church growth, and her assignment for her thesis was to go to a local coffee shop and start talking to people about their faith.  The first week she went to the coffee shop, but was too terrified to talk to anyone.  When her professor asked her how it went, she totally lied.  She made up some story about having good conversations with folks.  This charade continued for weeks.  Each week she would go to the shop, but be unable to take that first step.  And each week, she would lie to her professor about trying.  Finally, guilt won over, and she took a small step forward.  She made a little sign out of a folded piece of paper that read, “Talk to me about church, and I’ll buy you a cup of coffee.”  She sat nervously, petrified of what would happen.  Eventually a woman came up to her and said, “I’d like to talk to you about church, but I’ll buy the cup of coffee for you.”  The following conversation was transformative for them both, and the professor, who knew all along she was lying, was proud to see her finally make progress.

Like there was good news for my colleague, so there is good news for the seventy.  Although Jesus does send the seventy out in a very vulnerable way, he does not send them alone.  Jesus sends them in pairs.  Having a partner offers all sorts of security in the midst of their vulnerability.  As David Lose says, “When one of them falters, the other can help.  When one is lost, the other can seek the way.  When one is discouraged, the other can hold faith for both for a while.  That is what the company of believers does – we hold on to each other, console each other, encourage and embolden each other, and even believe for each other.”[i]

Second, Jesus promises the seventy that the harvest is plentiful.  Jesus does not tell the seventy that they are responsible for preparing the harvest – that is God’s work.  Their work is simply to gather the harvest.[ii]  This distinction is pretty tremendous because Jesus is saying that people are ready for his message.  Jesus does not tell the seventy that they will need to go out and convince people of the message.  Instead, he tells them that there are people who will already be receptive and are simply waiting for the seventy to gather them.

Finally, we hear that after this scary commission – as lambs among wolves, of walking over snakes and scorpions, and of being utterly reliant on the hospitality of strangers – the seventy return with joy.  This thing Jesus asks them to do does not leave them bereft or exhausted or even discouraged.  The seventy return delighted in what has happened to them; not because they did something, but because of the work that God did through them.[iii]

This gospel lesson has good news for us today as well.  Despite our hang-ups about the commission, at the end of the day, this story is about our own call to share our experience of God’s grace with others – especially in these identity-challenging times.  When we think about this text in those terms, the language starts to shift.  When Jesus says we are to go out for the harvest, and that the harvest is plentiful, mostly Jesus is telling us that in our world today, people are eager for a word of Good News.  Even if they say they are not religious, or they do not normally talk about God, Jesus assures us today that there are many people who want to hear your story of gratitude about all that God has done in your life.  And when Jesus says the kingdom of God is coming near, he is not asking us to go to Market Square and grab a megaphone.  Mostly he is telling us to stop delaying and get out there.  The kingdom being near is his way of saying the time for sharing is now, even if your sandwich board is more like a folded piece of paper inviting others to coffee and conversation.  Finally, when Jesus tells us to cure people, we might consider the ways that our faith has been a salve for us.  Surely in your faith journey, at some point your relationship with God has gotten you through something tough and has returned you to wholeness.  The worlds needs the salve of the Good News now more than ever.

And just in case you are not sure about all of this, I want to give you a little encouragement.  I once gave some homework to one of my Vestries.  They were to go to a local gas station or shop and ask for directions to our church.  One of our Vestry members was shocked to find that the grocery clerk was able to give her perfect directions to our church.  The Vestry member found out that she lives in the neighborhood across the street, though she had never actually been inside our doors.  Another Vestry member was chatting with a different grocery clerk about the amount of blueberries she was purchasing.  The Vestry member explained that they were for Church.  The clerk proceeded to ask her which Church and even said she might come by one Sunday.  Even I had an encounter at the local gym.  I was stretching and a gentleman approached me who I had seen several times.  He said that he had seen me in a church t-shirt the last time I was at the gym and he wondered what my affiliation was with church.  In the conversation that followed, I learned that he had once attended our church and that he might consider coming back for a visit.

Though the language of this gospel might make us evangelism-wary, politically-exhausted Episcopalians nervous, the truth is Jesus is simply inviting us to share the Good News of God’s grace in our lives.  He promises that we do not have to do the work alone – we always have good partners here at Hickory Neck.  He promises that people are ready to hear our words – we all have a story of goodness about our faith journey here the world needs to hear.  And he promises that there will be joy – we will all find surprising delights in this journey of sharing.  Our invitation is to be a laborer in the plentiful harvest.  Amen.

[i] David Lose, “The Greater Gift,” July 1, 2013, as found on http://www.workingpreacher.org/craft.aspx?post=2617 on July 5, 2025.

[ii] David J. Lose, “Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 3 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 217.

[iii] Richard J. Shaffer, Jr., “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 3 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 218.

Sermon – Luke 8.26-39, P7, YC, June 22, 2025

24 Thursday Jul 2025

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You all know by now that following the three-year lectionary cycle means you are going to get pieces of scripture that the preacher would normally avoid if at all possible.  As we slide back into ordinary time and back into stories of Jesus’ ministry, this story from Luke about the healing of the demoniac is one of those stories.  Part of the problem is that there is simply too much going on for us to tackle unless you want to be sitting here for another couple of hours.  There is the fact that Jesus has taken his mission into Gentile territory, into a place whose name has the Hebrew root of the word gerash, or “to expel,” effectively making this city named “expelledville” or “excorcismburg.”[i]  There is the presence of what the text calls a demoniac, a word that is essentially foreign to us, and creates a slippery slope when we try to start defining what being possessed by a demon means in modern times.[ii]  There is the demoniac’s claim that his name is Legion – which certainly means lots of demons, but also is a reference to the Roman term for a militia of about 6,000 men – a militia that has caused a great deal of oppression for the people of the Gerasenes.[iii]  There is the fact that the demons seem to know Jesus’ identity before the disciples do.  Then of course there is the fact that Jesus allows the demons to possess pigs who then die in the lake – effectively destroying the local economy of the pig farmers, killing creatures of God, and damaging the water habitat.[iv]  And then at the very end of the story, when the healed man asks to follow Jesus, Jesus turns him back home – not using his familiar, “Follow me,” command, but sending him back to witness to people who have known him in one specific, awful, complicated way.[v]

Acknowledging that ALL of that is going on, and that we really need at least an hour-long Bible study to really dissect this passage, I want us to focus on one other bit of this layered, complicated story that has been lingering with me this week.  Verses 35 and 37 of this text say, “Then people came out to see what had happened, and when they came to Jesus, they found the man from whom the demons had gone sitting at the feet of Jesus, clothed and in his right mind.  And they were afraid…Then all the people of the surrounding country of the Gerasenes asked Jesus to leave them; for they were seized with great fear.”  The people are not relieved or joyous at the man’s healing.  The people are not grateful, hospitable, or in awe.  The are afraid with a great fear.  Now scholars concede that some of that fear could be in how Jesus has destroyed their livelihood.[vi]  But scholars also suggest that the fear these folks are feeling is because their sense of identity is called into question through Jesus’ healing of the man with demons.

You see, in this town, the man with all those demons had not been cast out of society.  Instead, he was treated as the responsibility of the people.  They knew his behavior was erratic and he could be a harm to others and himself, and so they regularly chained him up, trying to mitigate the impact of his possession.  He became the identified patient in the system – the person they all put their energy into so they could create some sense of normalcy in the midst of something very abnormal.  As scholar Fred Craddock explains, “In the case of the Gadarene demoniac, the people knew the locus of evil, knew where the man lived, and devoted considerable time and expense trying to guard and to control him…this particularly successful balance of tolerance and management of the demoniac among them also allowed the people to keep attention off their own lives.  But now the power of God for good comes to their community and [the power of God for good] disturbs a way of life they had come to accept.  Even when [power] is for good, power that can neither be calculated nor managed is frightening.  What will God do next?”[vii]

Professor Rolf Jacobson relays the story of one his students as they discussed this passage.  The student had a stepdad who was an alcoholic.  There was chaos in his home that he learned to manage once the patterns became predictable.  Though the idea of a kid having to learn how to handle that reality is upsetting, what this student found more upsetting was the day his stepdad left the family.  Without warning, the chaos was suddenly gone.  He had expected to experience great joy, but instead he was left uncertain about his own identity.  If was no longer the stepchild of an alcoholic, who was he?  He didn’t like the identity, but at least he knew that identity.   He had no idea how to define himself in this new reality.[viii]

I think that is why Jesus’ first question to the demoniac is so important.  In the face of this man who is clearly possessed by demons, who is stark naked, who, being homeless, lives in the tombs of the dead, who is likely violent, dirty, and somewhat feral, Jesus says, “What is your name?”  As scholar Debie Thomas asks, “Has there ever been a more searching question?  …Who are you when no one is looking?  What name do you yearn to be called in the lonely stretches of the night?”  When Jesus asks, “What is your name?” he “begins to recall the broken man to himself.  To his humanity, to his beginnings, to his unique identity as a child beloved of God.”[ix]  Unfortunately, we are never given the man’s name.  But as he sits at Jesus’ feet, fully healed, fully clothed, in his right mind, we can only imagine he has found his name.

I think that is perhaps at the root of the fear of those in the demoniac’s village.  Jesus’ question for the demoniac is their question too.  What is your name?  Separate from what has been ailing this guy, and more importantly, separately from the likely legion of evil that was haunting them too, Jesus’ actions mean that he turns to those who haven’t been dealing with their own stuff and asks the same question, “What is your name?”

That is our question today too.  I am keenly aware that every person who walks through the doors of our church or who watches us online comes to church with their own legion of struggles and suffering and questions and doubts and anger.  For some, just making it to one of these seats today was a battle – either a literal battle to get kids, spouses, or ourselves up and out the door, or a figurative battle of not knowing what to do with all the “stuff” of life and not sure the church can handle our stuff.  For us, Jesus wants to know, “What is your name?”  Now Jesus does not ask that question because Jesus does not know.  Jesus knows every single one of us here is a beloved child of God.  But Jesus asks us that question because Jesus wants every single one of us here to be recalled – to ourselves, to our humanity, to our beginning, to our unique identity as a child beloved of God.  And then, because Jesus never leaves us without homework, Jesus asks us to go back out into the world, confident in our own names, so that we can ask others that same probing question, “What is your name?”  Amen.

[i] Amy-Jill Levine and Ben Witherington, III, The Gospel of Luke:  New Cambridge Bible Commentary  (Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press, 2018), 238

[ii] Chelsea Brooke Yarborough, “Commentary on Luke 8:26-39” June 22, 2025, as found at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/ordinary-12-3/commentary-on-luke-826-39-6 on June 19, 2025.

[iii] Luke Timothy Johnson, The Gospel of Luke:  Sacra Pagina (Collegeville, Minnesota:  The Liturgical Press, 1991), 137.

[iv] Rolf Jacobson “Sermon Brainwave:  #1029: Second Sunday after Pentecost (Ord. 12C) – June 22, 2025” June 6, 2025 as found at https://www.workingpreacher.org/podcasts/1029-second-sunday-after-pentecost-ord-12c-june-22-2025 on June 18, 2025.

[v] N.T. Wright, Luke for Everyone (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2001), 102.

[vi] Fred B. Craddock, Luke:  Interpretation: A Bible Commentary for Teaching and Preaching (Louisville:  John Knox Press, 1990), 117.

[vii] Craddock, 117.

[viii] Jacobson.

[ix] Debie Thomas, Into the Mess and Other Jesus Stories:  Reflections on the Life of Christ (Eugene, Oregon:  Cascade Books, 2022), 101.

On Seeing Joy…

18 Wednesday Jun 2025

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Photo credit: https://www.kcresolve.com/blog/why-joy-is-scary

Those who have young children, or are friends with families with children, know that a big part of parenting is running your kids to activities – sports, dance, music, or whatever other passion the kid has (or the parent wants them to have).  The more children there are, the more running and coordinating there seems to be.  When I talk to most parents, that shuttling and coordinating is something that occupies big spaces in their brains and emotional energy – myself included!

These next two weeks, our family is in the thick of that mode of being with our little one.  She has started a fun summer day camp, her dance recital is this weekend (the culmination of a year of work), and next week she gets to do a half-day basketball camp and start summer cello lessons with a beloved teacher.  My normal response to such a load is feeling overwhelmed by the details.  But this week, I have had an odd sense of objectivity about it all.  Over the course of two weeks, this kid will get to experience all the things she loves in life:  play, dance, basketball, music, and relationship.  I have been marveling at how awesome it is to have so many soul-feeding things in such a short span of time.  It is like a concentrated dose of joy-making and I find myself getting to bask in the glow of her happiness.

Watching this special time for her has made me wonder how we are structuring our own busy calendars.  Summer is often a time of special trips and adventures.  But I am not sure what is calling to me is the planning of extraordinary things to fill our hearts.  Instead, what I sense is calling me is to name the extraordinary in the ordinary life I have crafted for myself.  If I value relationships, how are those relationships feeding me right now?  If I value the health of my body, how am tending to my body?  If I feel enlivened when I am rooted in God, how am I connecting with God these days?

I wonder what ways the Holy Spirit is calling you into joy through the abundant gifts surrounding you.  I wonder what beautiful things in your life you have been remiss in giving gratitude for lately.  I wonder if this week, you might take out that planner, or calendar, or set of sticky notes on the fridge, and start reframing those things that feel like obligations as things that God has gifted you for your joy.  I cannot wait to hear where you are finding abundance!

Sermon – John 16.12-15, TS, YC, June 15, 2025

18 Wednesday Jun 2025

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Most of you know that I grew up the United Methodist Church.  My first meaningful exposure to the Episcopal Church came through an ecumenical mission trip led by the Episcopal Campus minister at my university.  We spent a semester being shaped by Episcopal liturgies, and the community in the rural Honduran village we served was primarily Roman Catholic by tradition.  On one dark night, as we closed a long, physically demanding day in prayer with our team and village members, I watched as a large portion of those gathered crossed themselves at the words, “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.”  My weary, dirty, displaced self suddenly felt the urge to cross myself too.  The urge to cross myself was a longing – a longing that brought up the guilt of what my Methodist teammates might think of me suddenly doing something that was decidedly not Methodist – but also a longing for a physical, tangible way to grab onto God – to feel intimately connected and related to God.  I am not even sure I understood what crossing oneself meant, but there was an aching deep in my chest for an action that could make me feel not only related to the trinitarian God we were all worshiping, but also to the hodgepodge collection of people of faith who had gathered.

Today we celebrate Trinity Sunday – the only Sunday in the whole church year focused on a Christian doctrine as opposed to an event or a piece of scripture.  Each of the three years in the lectionary focused on Trinity Sunday attempts to utilize a piece of scripture that somehow relates to the persons of the Trinity, but because the concept of the Trinity is not explicitly articulated in Holy Scripture, each year we just get a taste of this strange doctrine we all profess, even though most of us, even theologians and scholars over the centuries, struggle to articulate.[i]

Given the lack of a “Trinity 101” text in scripture, I am grateful we get this passage from John’s gospel today.  We are still in the Farewell Address of Jesus – that very long speech in John’s gospel that Jesus makes as the disciples gather for their last supper with Jesus that we have been reading from for weeks.  We know this is the long address that is often circular and convoluted in nature.  In this particular piece of Jesus’ address, he is telling them again about the coming of the Holy Spirit, or the Advocate.  Jesus explains how the coming Holy Spirit will share Jesus’ truth, which is, in fact, truth from God.  In this circular explanation of how the disciples will still experience relationship with God, we see something deeply relational between and among the persons of the Trinity. 

As scholar Debie Thomas explains of this text, we “…see that God is communal.  It’s one thing to say that God values community.  Or that God thinks community is good for us.  It’s altogether another to say that God is community.  That God is relationship, intimacy, connection, and communion.  …God is Relationship, and it is only in relationship that we’ll experience God’s fullness.”[ii]  Perhaps that is what I was longing for that dark night in that rural village – relationship.  I was longing for a deeper relationship with God – but equally profoundly, a relationship with fellow people of faith.  Sure, maybe making the sign of the cross is just a gesture.  But in that moment, the gesture was a physical manifestation of the relationship found in the triune God, and found in Christian community.

When we can see that the triune God is community, relationship, intimacy, and connection, something about that convoluted explanation of Jesus begins to click not only about the Trinity, but also about our everyday lives.  If the very nature of God is communal and relational, then our invitation is for our lives to also reflect that triune nature.  That means, when we are here, gathered across differences, across divides, and across diversions, we are doing the sacred work of relationship.  That means when we are out in our community, caring for those in need, using our God-given gifts in our vocations, and loving stranger and loved-one alike, we are doing the sacred work of relationship.  And that means when we following the news to learn more about civic life outside these walls, when we are engaging our political representatives in honest dialogue, and when we are praying for the peace this world needs, we are doing the sacred work of relationship.

That is the beauty of honoring the Trinity today.  Jesus teaches us today that the very nature of God is relational – a relationship that is accessible vertically through our relationship with God.  Jesus also teaches us today that the sacred relationship found among the Trinity is also accessible horizontally through all those made in God’s image – in other words, through every human being God has gifted to us.  Our invitation today is to let that crossing of vertical and horizontal create in us a vehicle of God’s love and grace.[iii]  That longing for relationship is fed here so that you can feed that longing in others.  In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.

[i] David Lose, “Resurrecting the Trinity,” May 23, 2010, as found at https://www.workingpreacher.org/dear-working-preacher/resurrecting-the-trinity on June 13, 2025.

[ii] Debie Thomas, “The Trinity: So What?” June 9, 2019, as found at https://journeywithjesus.net/essays/2251-the-trinity-so-what on June 13, 2025.

[iii] David Lose, “Trinity C:  Don’t Mention the Trinity!” May 17, 2019, as found at https://www.davidlose.net/2016/05/trinity-c-shh-dont-mention-the-trinity/ on June 13, 2025.

Sermon – John 17.20-26, E7, YC, June 1, 2025

18 Wednesday Jun 2025

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One of my favorite biblical scholars is Karoline Lewis.  She is one of the hosts of a preaching podcast I listen to, and through listening to her over the years I have found her to be insightful, funny, passionate, and deeply attuned to where the Word of God meets our daily lives.  Lewis is a New Testament scholar whose expertise is especially in the gospel of John.  In fact, her commentary on the Gospel of John is my go-to commentary anytime I am exploring John’s gospel.          

The irony in my deep appreciation for Karoline Lewis is that her passion and love for the gospel of John is almost in equal balance to my dislike for the gospel of John.  Where she finds deep beauty and meaning in John, I often find a jumble of words that are so repetitive and circular that I get lost.  Even when I have prepared a sermon for and studied a passage of John for the entire week, when I get to the moment of holding that gospel book and proclaiming John, I find myself second guessing myself, “Wait.  Didn’t I just read that sentence?  That sounds like what I just said a second ago – did I repeat a line?” 

Today’s gospel from John is a classic example.  We find ourselves at the end of Jesus’ farewell address to the disciples before his crucifixion and death, and within that address, at the end of his high priestly prayer.  In this prayer, Jesus prays several phrases in that typical Johannine circular language, “As you, Father, are in me and I am in you, may they also be in us…so that they maybe be one, as we are one, I in them and you in me, that they may become completely one..”  The good news is that Lewis and other scholars seem to agree that what Jesus is praying in his circular, convoluted way for is unity.  As scholar William Herzog suggests, “What matters most for John is that the experience of the indwelling remains available to the community, for the unity of the Johannine community is based not on dogma but on a communal experience of indwelling that is analogous to the relationship between Jesus and the Father.  This is what the community witnesses to the world.  Their mission is to keep this experience of faith alive in the community, so that they can offer it to a broken and fractured world.”[i]

Now, while unity is a theme we can get our heads around, unity is a practice we seldom live or experience.  Disunity is our lived experience.  One look at the deep, seemingly irreconcilable differences between political positions would be enough for any of us to understand how fantastical unity sounds.  But disunity is not just in the wider world.  Just this week in Discovery Class we were talking about how theological differences around the sacraments are what created the array of denominational differences within the Christian body – the reason why some of us are not welcome at the communion table in other denominations.  And that does not even address the differences of opinion the various churches hold on the role and place of women, LGBTQ members, and people of color.  But the lack of unity gets even closer to home right here at Hickory Neck.  I have long touted the unity of Hickory Neck across political and theological differences.  The unifying symbol of us of gathering together around the table has instilled in me a deep belief that if we can be one in communion, surely unity is possible in the world.  But even I, in the last six months have wondered if external pressures would prove that our unity is not as a strong as I think. 

That is why, for this one time in particular, I am grateful for John’s repetitive circular language.  Jesus’ final words of prayer today are, “I made your name known to them, and will make it known, so that the love with which you have loved me may be in them, and I in them.”  As one scholar says, “The last word is love.  Jesus does not call for doctrinal unity, organizational unity, or political unity.  So often, Christ’s prayer for his disciples has been used to sanctify those ends, and even to justify the harsh imposition of artificial unity.  Yet this prayer is for unity that grows out of the love of God, received and shared among his followers, leading to an experience of unity in love between Jesus and his followers, and with the one from whom Christ comes.  In moments of communion, surely the debates about the nature of God and humanity, the questions of whether divine grace or human will is the means of unity, all of these must fade away, leaving only the burning vision of a cross and the words, ‘For God so loved the world…’”[ii]

My fear that the unity I have witnessed at Hickory Neck would unravel was perhaps based on the idea that we could humanly will our unity to stay together.  But John’s gospel today reminds me that the only reason we are not unraveling is not because we have willed our unity, but because the love we have found in Jesus – the same triune love experienced within the three persons of the trinity – is what holds us together.  Jesus’ prayer today is not a prayer for those disciples who heard the prayer.  Jesus’ prayer today was for us – the future generations who would exist only through the love that the divine has given us – that circular, sometimes confusing, but ever convincing love in us and through us.  Our work is in that last part – that love going through us.  The love of Jesus for us in this prayer is not just for us – but is the gift that emanates through us out in the world.  As Lewis says of this prayer, “Jesus is no longer in the world.  The incarnation is over.  Jesus has been resurrected.  He ascended to the Father from whence he came.  But we are still in the world.  Jesus’ works are now in our hands, and Jesus is counting on us to be his presence in the wake of his absence.”[iii]  That charge would be daunting if not for Jesus’ prayer of promise – we can be that presence because the love that was in Jesus is now in us, breathing, transforming, and blessing the world through love.  Amen.

[i] William R. Herzog, II, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 2 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 545.

[ii] Peter J.B. Carman, “Theological Perspective, Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 2 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 544.

[iii] Karoline M. Lewis, John:  Fortress Biblical Preaching Commentaries (Minneapolis:  Fortress Press, 2014),214.

Sermon – Acts 16.9-15, E6, YC, May 25, 2025

18 Wednesday Jun 2025

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Last week at the Rector’s Forum, I talked about the work of the Vestry since our Annual Meeting in January.  At the Vestry Retreat weeks after the Annual Meeting, the Vestry defined the “main thing” for Hickory Neck in the coming year:  growth.  Now the word growth is layered:  growth certainly means growth of resources, growth of membership, but especially spiritual growth of those in and around our community.  Out of that focus, the Vestry formulated five strategic initiatives, all rooted in best practices for healthy, growing parishes.  You will continue to hear about their work and efforts, and their labor is filled with a renewed sense of energy and vibrancy.

At the heart of Eastertide – these seven weeks after egg hunts, fancy clothes, and celebratory singing – is that very work: the growth of the church.  The resurrection is not a one-time stunning event, but the catalyst for the formation of the church.  In these weeks since Jesus’ resurrection, the disciples and apostles are doing the very work Hickory Neck is doing two thousand years later – growing the church (or as some more sassy followers of Jesus might say:  engaging in evangelism). 

What I appreciate about our lesson from Acts today is that the practice of church growth, of evangelism, in biblical times was not exactly precise.  You would think that the book of Acts would tell the story of how, after Jesus’ death, the disciples knew exactly how to spread the Good News.  You would think after all those years with Jesus, the disciples had clear instructions for moving forward, and were able to draw up a structured growth plan.  But our stories from Acts this year have included nothing of the sort.  So far, we have heard stories of a brutal persecutor of Christians being dramatically converted, of Peter realizing that Gentiles should also be included in the Christian community, and today we hear of this foreign woman of power coming to Christ.  I am pretty sure if the disciples sat down and planned their target audience for the Good News, Paul, Cornelius, and Lydia would not have been on their list.  And yet, this is the story of evangelism we hear during Eastertide: a story of unlikely and unexpected people hearing and responding to the word of God.

On the surface, this seems like good news.  These stories of conversion give a sense of confidence that no matter with whom we share the story of Jesus, they will be converted.  But looking at the end of the story glosses over the actual experiences of those on the evangelism journey.  If you remember, when Paul is converted, and his eyes are scaled over, the Christian who goes to talk with him is scared to death.  God tells him to go to Paul, but that is little assurance when that instruction means walking into the lair of a nasty murderer of Christians.  And for Peter, his interaction with Cornelius means that he must surrender all that has been familiar to him – the necessity of circumcision and all that he has known as being central markers of faithfulness – and let go of that familiarity.  Even with this interaction between Paul and Lydia today, Paul must take on a long journey based on a few words in a dream, only to find not a Macedonian man who is asking for help, but a foreign woman.[i]

These stories during Eastertide highlight our own anxieties about growing the church.  We might support the Vestry’s focus on growth, and we might be excited about their strategic initiatives.  And, we sort of hope that work is someone else’s work to do.  Before seminary, I was taking a Bible Study class that necessitated me doing some reading while traveling.  I don’t know if you have ever lugged around and read a Bible while traveling by plane, but doing so will lead to some very interesting experiences.  I had a slightly uncomfortable conversation with a young evangelical male who started telling me about his conservative views on scripture.  I had a businessman ask me if I was a minister or theology student.  When I told him no, he seemed bewildered as to why I would be reading the Bible, and kept eyeing me suspiciously the rest of that flight.  I had a middle-aged woman start telling me about her church and Bible Studies she had enjoyed.  And of course, there were tons of people who just stared at me warily trying to figure out what my angle was.  You would think the lesson from my trip would be, “Take a Bible with you, and see how you can grow the church.”  But to be honest, I found myself wanting to never carry a Bible with me again in an airport.

I think why we get so uncomfortable about church growth or evangelism is we imagine evangelism as knocking on the doors of strangers, presenting some uncomfortable script, and then having doors slammed in our faces.  But our lesson from Acts today shows us a different model.  Our lesson from Acts tells us is that yes, evangelism will entail going places that may be uncomfortable or interacting with people you would not expect.  Paul goes on a long journey expecting to meet a man and gets something quite different.  Lydia goes seeking a place to pray with her familiar girlfriends and hears something entirely new.  But evangelism is not just about the evangelizer and the evangelizee.  The other major actor is the Holy Spirit.  The text tells us that the Lord opened Lydia’s heart to listen eagerly to Paul.  Scholar Ronald Cole-Turner says evangelism is the intersection between human faithfulness and divine guidance.  “Paul would not have been guided to this place at this moment, were he not first of all at God’s disposal, open to being guided, sensitively attuned to being steered in one direction and away from all others.  Lydia would not have arrived at this place or time, had she not first of all been a worshiper of God, a seeker already on her way.  Peter does his part and Lydia hers, but it is God who guides all things and works in and through all things, not just for good but for what would otherwise be impossible.”[ii]

What is so liberating about this understanding of church growth is that even if we thought we had to or could do evangelism on our own, we realize today that our work of growth only happens with God.  David Gortner says, “Evangelism is a spiritual practice of expressing gratitude for God’s goodness and grace.”[iii]  That does not sound so bad, does it?  A spiritual practice of expressing gratitude for God’s goodness and grace.  He does not define evangelism as saving souls or self-righteously driving away your friends.  He says that evangelism is about expressing gratitude for God’s goodness and grace.  Knowing that definition of evangelism and knowing from scripture that evangelism happens as a partnership between our faithfulness and God’s guidance makes the whole enterprise seem a lot less scary. So, right now, I want you to take a deep breath, clear your mind, and then think about the best vacation you ever had.  Think about all the reasons why the vacation was wonderful and why you enjoyed yourself.  Think about the joy or peace that the vacation brought you and notice the warm smile starting to spread on your face.  Imagine the enthusiasm in your voice if you were to share that story with the person sitting next to you and the great conversation your sharing might evoke.  Now, take another deep breath, and then imagine the same full-body experience happening with a conversation about your faith journey.  Think about the great joy you have had in your relationship with God.  Think about the sense of meaning or peace you have at times found in God.  And now think about the broad smile on your face and the enthusiasm in your voice as you share that story with someone else and the incredible conversation your sharing might evoke.  That is all that happens between Paul and Lydia.  That is all that God invites you to do today.  Because the Holy Spir

[i] Eric Barreto, “Commentary on Acts 16:9-15,” May 9, 2010, as found at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/sixth-sunday-of-easter-3/commentary-on-acts-169-15-2 on May 22, 2025.

[ii] Ronald Cole-Turner, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 2 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 476

[iii] David Gortner, Transforming Evangelism (New York: Church Publishing, 2008), 29.

Sermon – Acts 9.36-43, E4, YC, May 11, 2025

18 Wednesday Jun 2025

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A couple of weeks ago I was at a dinner with some new friends, one of whom had brought his wife to the dinner.  As we made our introductions, the wife told me, “Actually I have met you before.”  I immediately started scanning my brain for a recollection of our previous meeting when she told me a story.  She said, “Many years ago, I was at the library with my young daughter.  She can be a bit much sometimes, and most of the other kids were uncomfortable engaging her in play.  But then she found your two girls building with some big blocks.  Your girls had built a tall wall with the blocks, and my daughter knocked the wall down, giggling with joy.  I sat and watched your girls rebuild the wall just so she could knock it down over and over again.  They were such a gift to my daughter and me that day.”

I was shocked by this woman’s story because I only vaguely remember that day at the library.  The thing I remember most distinctly is one of my daughters looking to me with a question in her eyes – as if she knew this was not the “normal” way we play with others, but also subtly seeking affirmation to engage in play in a way that might be normal for this specific girl.  The moment was so infinitesimally small that I almost forgot the moment – until this mom described how incredibly momentous the moment was for her and her child.

We never hear Tabitha (or Dorcas) speak in the reading from Acts today.  But we do learn a lot about her.  We know that she is labeled as a disciple – the only time the feminine form of the word “disciple” is used in the New Testament.[i]  We know that she is named – with not one name but two names – possibly denoting the breadth of her ministry to people who speak different languages.  People being named in scripture, especially women, demonstrates their significance in the biblical narrative.  Usually women are just called, “the woman at the well” or the “the hemorrhaging woman.”  We also learn that she made tunics for the widows in town.  Most people in this time-period only had one or two tunics at a time in their wardrobe – they were handmade, custom fit to bodies, and a symbol of the deeply personal, intimate care Tabitha offered to these widows[ii] – women who were the “least of these” in their town.  As the weeping widows show Peter these tunics, we come to know that Tabitha was a deeply faithful servant – a disciple and leader – in her community.  We can only imagine this tremendous servanthood is why the disciples send two men to get Peter and tell him to come to them without delay.

The fourth Sunday in Eastertide is traditionally called Good Shepherd Sunday.  We pull that language from the gospel of John.  Over the course of three years, we hear the three parts of John’s Gospel that talk about Jesus being the Good Shepherd – today’s being the least obvious one, as Jesus talks about his sheep who hear his voice and follow him.  But if you recall last week’s gospel, Jesus commissioned Peter three time to feed his sheep – basically telling Peter that he is passing the mantle of being a shepherd to Peter.  And now, we find Peter acknowledging another disciple who has been carrying that same mantle as shepherd, and whom he raises from the dead so that she can continue the good work God has begun in her. 

This is where things get a little heavy for me in scripture today.  What we see in the passing of the baton (or maybe the passing of the shepherd’s staff) is that in our baptism into the faithful, in our claiming of ourselves as Christians, or maybe just in our tiptoeing into the waters of Christian community, we are each given staffs of shepherds too.  While being a part of Christian community is one of the most affirming, life-giving, and supportive experiences we will find, being a part of Christian community is also one of commission.  We become disciples – regardless of gender, or age, or location – disciples with a commission to show forth the love of the Good Shepherd we have experienced.  The ministries will not look the same:  we may be sewers of tunics, or builders of cardboard walls for community play with other children, or developers of process-management worksheets, or singers of life-giving song, or feeders of lambs. 

Now, you might not know what ministry you will be called to do and how that ministry will likely bloom and evolve over time.  But you will be called by name.  Peter last week was called to feed Jesus’s sheep three times by name.  Tabitha or Dorcas was called by her name in two languages by grieving widows.  And you are called by name too.  Sometimes that call will be from a Vestry or clergy member who will literally call you on the phone and ask you to help.  Sometimes you will hear God speaking something to your heart – even if you are uncomfortable with that kind of spiritual expression or label that calling as “self-talk.”  And sometimes, the people whose lives you will touch through your Christ-like love and service will call you by name – occasionally by nasty names but more often by loving descriptions – even years later than your acts of love and grace, and sometimes not to you, but about you in your absence.  Our invitation this week is to pick up our shepherding staffs, to listen to the Good Shepherd’s voice, and then to go feed Jesus’ sheep.  You are called – by name.  Because you can go and feed God’s sheep.  Amen. 

[i] Robert W. Wall, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, vol. 2 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 429.

[ii] Matt Skinner and Rolf Jacobson, “Sermon Brainwave:  #1022: Fourth Sunday of Easter – May 11, 2025,” April 29, 2025, as found at https://www.workingpreacher.org/podcasts/1022-fourth-sunday-of-easter-may-11-2025 on May 7, 2025.

Sermon – John 21.1-19, E3, YC, May 4, 2025

18 Wednesday Jun 2025

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Our gospel lesson today utilizes two overlapping modes of storytelling.  The primary mode has a lot of movement and action.  We have disciples fishing, a man shouting about where to put nets, Peter leaping out of a boat to swim ashore, breakfast sizzling in a pan over a crackling fire, and Peter and Jesus having this strangely repetitive conversation.  This mode of the text is a little discombobulating.  There is so much happening that by the time we get to Jesus telling Peter to feed his lambs, we forget the part of the story about Peter getting dressed to jump into water.  The frenetic nature of the text leaves us with more questions than answers:  Why is Peter fishing at a time like this?  Why is he naked?  Why do the disciples not recognize Jesus at first?  Why is Jesus cooking breakfast?  Why does Jesus repeat his question to Peter three times?

In some ways, the frenetic nature of storytelling reflects the frenetic nature of the disciples.  Before they met Jesus, they had all settled into certain identities in their lives – many of them were fishermen, many of them had families with whom they worked, and all of them had homes where they resided.  Their lives were simple and predictable.  Then this guy comes into their lives and their identity and purpose get totally out of balance.  They have no consistent daily routine, they leave behind everything they know, this man they are following is compelling but also completely confusing, and they are being asked to totally change their lives.  And just when they find a rhythm of managing their unpredictable lives with Jesus, everything turns over on its head again, and they lose everything – their leader, their purpose, and their identity.  So, in an effort to find something to hang on to, the disciples become punchy with action.

We all do this.  My family has learned that something is going on with mom when they find me intently scrubbing something in the house.  I may not be able to solve some problem at work, or I might not be able to fix some relationship that needs mending, but I can have a clean floor.  I might not have responded to the forty-eight emails in my inbox and the twenty-nine items on my to-do list, but my desk will be cleared of all clutter and looking freshly dusted.  My frenetic coping mechanism is cleaning, but we all have some frenetic coping behavior.  Some of us need to find a shopping center or online store to clear our minds of all the stuff going on inside of us.  Somehow finding the perfect dress or newest gadget takes away our other anxieties.  Others get out in the garden and dig our way to peace of mind.  Something about a freshly weeded garden makes us feel like something was accomplished, even if the rest of us is in shambles.  Still others hit the gym.  There is nothing like sweating away anxieties or feeling the burn to take away the other feelings going on inside of us.[i]

What is interesting about all the activity and noise found in our gospel lesson is that there is also a mode of storytelling present that is completely quiet.  We start with the disciples silently staring at that Sea of Tiberias.  There is nothing left to say among them, because they have talked this whole resurrection thing to exhaustion.  Then we find the disciples on the boat fishing in the middle of the night, silently absorbed in the mechanics of navigating waters and fishing nets.  Despite the splashing of Peter to swim to Jesus, once they all gather on the beach, no one says a word.  The air is only filled with the quiet lapping of water and the sizzling of a pan over a fire.  The disciples have questions, but no one asks them.  Even the conversation between Jesus and Peter has a quiet, sober tone.

I think this quiet space is where the text is really pointing.  The disciples, who have irritated Jesus to no end, finally fall silent.  No more asking about who shall be first, and nor more asking what Jesus means or who he is.  No more crazy proposals like building booths for Moses, Elijah, and Jesus, and no more insisting that Jesus wash all of their bodies, not just their feet.  No more insisting that they would never betray Jesus.  There is nothing left to say.  And so, they stare quietly, they fish in silence, and they answer in hushed, humble voices.

This mode is the most important because this mode marks a shift.  The disciples stop trying to muscle their way into discipleship, and they finally learn to let Jesus take the lead.  They have become so physically, mentally, and spiritually exhausted that they stop trying to control everything, and they simply wait for Jesus to tell them what to do.  This is a critical moment in the disciples’ journey with Christ.

If you didn’t know before this past winter, you certainly know by now that one of my loves is dance.  I grew up doing all sorts of dancing:  ballet, jazz, tap, hip hop.  But the most difficult form of dancing I stumbled into was formal partnered dancing – the fox trot, waltz, cha-cha.  In the other forms of dancing, I am responsible for myself, learning the steps, and making sure I know the rhythm so that the dance looks beautiful.  But in partnered dance, especially as the woman, you have to learn how to follow.  As someone with pretty good rhythm and memory for steps, you have no idea how incredibly frustrating following a man who does not know what he is doing can be.  The tendency is to want to use your arms or legs to start guiding the man, or even to whisper the directions.  But the role of the woman in partnered dancing is to follow where the man leads – quite a challenge for many of us who consider ourselves liberated women!  But what I also find in partnered dancing is that when you have a really good partner, he can make you feel like the most graceful, beautiful woman on the dance floor.  In fact, you stop worrying about the steps and the count, and you start moving with fluidity and ease.  The price for such a feeling is total surrender and trust.  But the payoff is that you find a joy so strong that you will hunt down that partner and beg them to save you a dance.

This is the kind of submission the disciples finally master on that beach.  No more trying to muscle Jesus into the way they want him to behave.  No more trying to talk their way through their relationship with him.  They surrender all they have to him, longing for the clarity that only he can give them.  And when they finally do that, in the quiet of that morning, they finally hear the words of purpose for their lives.  “Follow me,” Jesus says.  They are the same words Jesus said to them at the beginning of their relationship with him; he has already called them into discipleship.[ii]  But now they finally hear.  And now they can finally respond with their whole being.  Jesus’ words are as clear as they can be.  Jesus’ words give their life meaning.  And their spirit is finally in the place where they can hear and respond.  They are truly and thoroughly ready to follow him – they are ready and able to be disciples.

This is what Jesus invites us to do as well.  This morning, in this sacred place, Jesus invites us to shove those piles off the desks of our minds, to rip out the weeds blocking our hearts, and to drop our armfuls of distractions and to listen to his simple words for us.  The words are there waiting.  The direction is clear.  The peace and comfort of clarity and purpose are ours for the taking and the world needs our discipleship now more than ever.  So, when you come to this table for the Eucharistic feast, quietly listening for Jesus’ words for you, you will be able to hear those words, “Follow me,” and do just that when you walk out those church doors.  Amen.

[i] Gary D. Jones, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 2 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 420.

[ii] Karoline Lewis, Sermon Brainwave:  #1021: Third Sunday of Easter – May 4, 2025, April 24, 2025 as found at https://www.workingpreacher.org/podcasts/1021-third-sunday-of-easter-may-4-2025 on May 1, 2025.

Sermon – Luke 24.1-12, ED, YC, April 20, 2025

18 Wednesday Jun 2025

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I grew up in a small town in rural North Carolina with a lot of evangelicals.  I learned quickly that if I wanted to get along, I had to get really comfortable with my response to the question, “Have you been saved?”  If you have been around the Episcopal Church for long, you will realize that we do not really use that kind of language to describe our faith experience.  But as a teenager, where the prominent local church had “Jesus Saves” blazed in red neon on the side of the church, I got used to that kind of faith language – the desire for certainty, clarity, and conviction.  Now, I am not sure my evangelical friends really believed me when I said, “Yes!” to their question about whether I was saved or not, but “Yes!” was the answer for which they were searching.

The funny thing is, on Easter Sunday, Episcopalians seem to be pretty steeped in certainty, clarity, and conviction too.  Just listen to our songs:  Jesus Christ is Risen Today and Christ is Alive – both pretty declarative titles.  And, after the sermon, go back and count how many times in our liturgy we will say, “Christ is risen. The Lord is risen indeed.”  After almost two thousand years have passed, we are pretty clear on what Easter means:  the Easter empty tomb is the answer to the cross of Good Friday.  All that has been forsaken is redeemed.  Jesus is alive.  The cross does not have the final say.

For a faith community, across all kinds of denominational differences, who seems so very certain, clear, and convicted about Easter, nothing about our gospel story we heard this morning from Luke has that same certainty, clarity, and conviction.  The women who come to the tomb early Easter morning don’t come in their celebration finery, with bells to ring alleluias.  They come bearing spices to finish the final burial rituals of what they know to be a dead Jesus.  When they find the empty tomb, they are entirely perplexed, even though, as the men in dazzling clothes remind them, Jesus had told them that he would rise again.  And when the women finally start to put the pieces together, and Mary Magdalene, Joanna, and the other women go to tell the apostles, these guys don’t believe them.  Even Peter, who goes to double check, just in case the women aren’t totally crazy, doesn’t go out proclaiming Jesus’ victory.  One scholar tells us, “There is an alternate translation of verse 12 – a reading where Peter does not simply ‘go home,’ but wonders ‘to himself’ or ‘with himself’ at what he has seen.”[i]  I am not sure any of the actors in today’s gospel would be able to confidently say in our liturgy today, “The Lord is risen indeed!”

As ambiguous as our text feels, I kind of love the ambiguity today.  This Lenten season and Holy Week have been rough.  The world outside these walls feels like complete chaos, with structures, lives, and systems being totally upended.  And while that may feel like a necessary action by some, the experience of that action has been destabilizing and debilitating.  In truth, I had no problem this past week walking the path to Jerusalem, hearing of my sinfulness and the corporate sinfulness of world, because the stories of betrayal, abandonment, jockeying for power, shameful dehumanization, the degradation of human life feel very contemporary – not a set of stories from millennia ago, but stories with modern parallels to today. 

The harder parallel for me has been turning to Easter joy – to confidently saying, “The Lord is risen indeed!” when resurrection life feels less real than crucifixion life.  So, I have no problem imagining coming to Church this Sunday with my burial spices, because we’ve been doing a lot of burials lately.  I have no problem imagining the faithful forgetting good news because I have a hard time clinging to the Good News these days.  And I have no problem imagining men not believing women (although don’t get me started because that is probably a whole different sermon!) – I have no problem imagining those apostles not believing the witnesses because when all you hear is bad news, sometimes we lose the ability to hear and receive good news.

The good news is, the Church makes room for all of us today.  The church makes room for those of us so caught up in our grief that we cannot see life in the midst of death.  The Church makes room for those of us so focused on the present moment that we cannot remember Christ’s promises for us.  The Church makes room for those so convinced of their own wisdom that we cannot hear wisdom from those unlike us.  And the Church makes room for those who still have certainty, clarity, and conviction that Jesus saves and there is light in the darkness.  The Church makes room for all of us because we need each other – we need those who are questioning and those who are certain; we need those who see the complicated nature of life and those who have real clarity; we need those who are unsure and those who are convicted.  We need each other because we hold each other accountable.  We are not an either-or kind of Church:  we are a both-and Church.  We hold in tension the reality that Christ is alive with the reality that sometimes we feel like Christ is not alive.  We hold in tension the conviction that Jesus Christ is risen today with the conviction that we sure would like the world to stop feeling like Christ isn’t risen. 

By honoring the both-and, we honor the real Easter experience of Luke’s gospel.  We honor the fullness of our humanity that is probably a little too human to fully understand the divine, sacred thing that happens on this day.  And we honor our longing for some Easter joy in what has felt like a long, dark winter.  Together, we get there a little more honestly, a little more boldly, and with a little more joy that we might on our own.  Christ is risen – we sure hope the Lord is risen indeed!  Amen.

[i] Jerusha Matsen Neal, “Commentary on Luke 24:1-12,” April 20, 2025, as found at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/resurrection-of-our-lord-3/commentary-on-luke-241-12-10 on April 18, 2025.