Sermon – I Timothy 6.6-19, Luke 16.19-31, P21, YC, September 28, 2025

01 Wednesday Oct 2025

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Parenting is probably the most difficult of the vocations God has given me – not simply because parenting can be physically, emotionally, and spiritually exhausting, or because of the heftiness of the responsibility of shaping decent human beings who will have an impact on the world, or because parenting forces you to justify every belief and value you hold.  Those alone would be daunting enough.  But parenting is also a difficult vocation because of the way parenting evolves:  from those early days of helping this creature learn the basics for survival, to those young days of helping children wonder and ask the big questions of life, to those middle days of clarifying family, faith, and individual values that will guide their behavior and choices, to those later days of gently reflecting on those ultimate things of life – of what really makes for a life of meaning and purpose.

In many ways, our scripture lessons lately have felt like listening to a parent trying to help us figure out what this whole life thing is all about.  On the surface, our lessons today are straight of central casting for a stewardship talk – we’ve really teed up the parishioner who will share his testimony today with everything he needs.  From Amos who foreshadows what will happen to those who spend their lives luxuriating in lavishness, as if luxuriating is an end in and of itself; to Paul’s letter to Timothy who warns how dangerous a love of money can be, distracting us from things of ultimate significance; to our gospel lesson which starkly depicts the eternal significance of how wealth can make us so blind to the needs of others that we condemn ourselves in the life beyond this life.  The lessons this week seem to serve up the ultimate stewardship sermon:  the place of money in our lives is so fraught with spiritual consequences, you should just give that money to the church so that you do not have to worry about a fate like those in our lessons today!

And while our budget for next year might appreciate such a lesson, much like parenting has varied phases, so does the church’s teaching of us.  The one line of all the weighty lessons on wealth from today that has been hovering in my mind comes from Paul’s first letter to Timothy.  In the last line of the portion of his letter we heard today, Paul says we “are to do good, to be rich in good works, generous, and ready to share, thus storing up for [ourselves] the treasure of a good foundation for the future, so that [we] may take hold of the life that really is life.”  So that we may take hold of the life that really is life.  The verb in the Greek translated as “take hold” is a not a gentle verb – taking hold is better translated as to grasp desperately.[i]  So we are to grasp desperately to the life that really is life. 

This is the phase of parenting where I find myself:  how do I teach my children what the “life that really is life” is?  In a world that very much feels like the passage from Amos, telling us that “life that really is life” is a life so comfortable you can set your goal as luxuriating in peace, or in a world that so values individualism that we are trained not to let our gaze linger on people like Lazarus or to even know their name for that matter, or in a world that seems to jump from one political controversy to the next, destabilizing our moral compass, how are we supposed to even know what the life that really is life is?

Award winning journalist Amy Frykholm, inspired by that simple phrase “the life that really is life,” traveled to a tiny city in southern Mexico, Fortín de las Flores, after reading Sonia Nazario’s book Enrique’s Journey.  The book details the story of a Honduran man trying to make his way into the United States by traveling on top of a freight train.  His story is not all that unique – the 20,000 residents of Fortín see people like him all the time.  What is unusual about Fortín is how they respond to these migrants.  Instead of responding with fear, or with self-protection, or even with a blind eye, the people of Fortín act as a place of mercy.  Actively making their way to the trains to deliver food, water, and supplies every day – food left over from their food trucks which are just barely making enough for their own families to survive, water poured into zipped baggies they can toss them to the tops of trains, and even sweatshirts or winter hats because they know that after the stop in Fortín, the migrants will face the brutal cold of a trip through mountains.  When journalist Frykholm asked them why they cared for these strangers, most of the residents just looked at her like she was asking a silly question.  A resident of Fortín who had lived in the United States understood her confusion.  He said, “‘The central value of this society is compartir,’ [the Spanish word for “sympathize”] …as he carried a bag of oranges toward a train that had briefly stopped not far from the hotel.  ‘Even a business is primarily a place from which to share.’”[ii] 

The wealth the rich man has in our gospel lesson is not bad in and of itself.  The wealthy man is not even an evil man – he does not actively do anything bad to people like Lazarus.  The danger in the wealthy man’s life is how he does not see,[iii] how he presumes his wealth is simply a blessing for him to enjoy from God.  Debie Thomas writes, “It has taken me a long time to recognize how insidious this notion of ‘blessing’ really is.  How contrary [the notion of blessing] is to Jesus’s teachings.  When I was growing up, no one ever told me that by locking human suffering out, I was locking myself in.  Locking myself into a life of superficiality, thin piety, and meaninglessness.  As our reading from [Paul’s letter to Timothy] puts it this week, the refusal to confront my own privilege, the refusal to bear the burdens of those who have less than me, is a refusal ‘to take hold of the life that really is life.’”[iv]

That is our invitation today – to desperately grasp on to the life that really is life.  Fortunately, scripture does not give us this hefty command like a parent sending out their grown child with one last bit of advice.  Paul wrote this letter not just to Timothy but to the community of faith.  Paul wrote this letter to the community of faith because Paul knew they could not grasp desperately to the life that really is life without some companions on the journey – without a village of people whose central value is compartir.  We gather with people every week because we need a community who can hold us accountable to our values and who can challenge us when loose track of what a life that really is life is.  Sometimes the community will do that by looking at us like we are asking a silly question; sometimes the community will do that by inviting us to be generous givers; and sometimes the community will do that by sitting us down to open up wisdom for us.  But mostly, the community will partner with us because each one of us is desperately trying to grasp onto that life that really is life too.  Together, we create our own little Fortín right here in Toano, witnessing with simplicity the life that really is life – together.  Amen.

[i] Stephanie Mar Smith, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 4 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Pres, 2010), 110.

[ii] Amy Frykholm, “Life That Really Is Life,” September 21, 2025, as found at https://journeywithjesus.net/essays/3969-life-that-really-is-life on September 26, 2025

[iii] Charles B. Cousar, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 4 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Pres, 2010), 119.

[iv] Debie Thomas, “The Great Chasm,” September 22, 2019, as found at https://journeywithjesus.net/essays/2374-the-great-chasm on September 26, 2025.

On Rituals and Faith…

24 Wednesday Sep 2025

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I grew up in a time where watching TV meant sitting down with my family at a TV at a scheduled time of a show (though eventually with the ability to record a show and watch it later).  The experience is somewhat foreign to my and my family’s patterns now, with so many on-demand options and individual devices, not to mention increased prices at movie theaters. 

That’s why I’ve been especially grateful this summer and fall with some “old school” experiences with my kids.  My older child and I started watching a show several years ago that released its final season this summer.  However, unlike shows who release seasons in bulk, this one released the episodes one at a time.  We found ourselves dissecting each episode, wondering what would happen next week, making “dates” to sit down together and watch.  Meanwhile, our local movie theater is re-airing a movie series in the theaters – one movie each week for eight weeks.  The movies are based on books my younger child and I have read, and we’ve been able to have our own set of dates, recalling favorite moments, making connections she hadn’t noticed before now that she’s read most of the books.  It’s been a delightful source of joy for both of us.

Having these experiences has made me think a lot about rituals – not just the content of my time with my kids, but the ritual of setting aside time, joining in something that brings us pleasure, making space for conversation and reflection.  Reflecting on these last weeks has made me ever more appreciative of the rituals we find in church.  Some are obvious, like attending weekly worship.  But others are less obvious, like how it feels to receive communion weekly, talking about what we learned that day through Sunday School or a sermon, or even the beauty of a post-church nap every week.  The ritual of being connect to a church community creates the environment for us to develop a relationship with God too.  I have no way of knowing if my children will be church attenders in their adult lives, but by giving them the experience of the ritual, they at least have some place to start in adulthood for making their own way to God.

I wonder what rituals need tending in your life this week.  Where are you feeling disconnected and disjointed, and how might finding your way back to those rituals feed your life and your journey with Jesus?  Or, if you are not so sure about that relationship with God, how might trying out some of the rituals with church open up some doors to which you didn’t know you had access.  I look forward to hearing about your what tending you want to try this week!

Sermon – Exodus 32.7-14, P19, YC, September 14, 2025

24 Wednesday Sep 2025

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This week Hickory Neck hosted a group from St. Luke’s Episcopal Church in Powatan.  The group has been touring historic churches, gleaning lessons from each church’s stories, and asked if they could come do the same with us.  I told Hickory Neck’s story – from a newly constructed country church, to the act of siding with the British and closing altogether after the Revolutionary Way, to being a school for generations of children, to being a hospital for physical healing, to being ransacked by militias in multiple wars – where even the pulpit was used as firewood, to finally hosting a worshiping community just over 100 years ago, to now, being situated on 12 times the amount of property we originally had, hosting three buildings and a vibrant community of faith.

As I fielded questions from the group, I reflected on how as I have prayed in those wooden pews, as I have brushed my hand over those bricks with initials carved in them, and as I have stepped over a tombstone every time I enter that historic building, I find myself wondering about the stories of countless souls who have graced that building.  I know the more recent stories – of children in window wells, and people crowded around the altar for seating, and even of decisions like the one to build a new chapel so we have room to grow.  But I wonder about the stories of those who first opened the church who awaited who might show up that first Sunday of business.  I wonder about the grief experienced by those who watched their worship space become something else – or for those kids who grew up to tell tales like “when I was young, that didn’t used to be a church…”  I wonder about those who, for over 60 years never imagined anything for Hickory Neck other than being a little family-sized church, to those who worried a new building would mean the loss of intimacy the historic church provided.

As I pondered those various voices, imagined the myriad emotions of almost three hundred years experienced on this property, contemplated how those histories impacted spiritual relationships with God, I could not help but recall another group of followers of God – the Hebrews we read about in our lesson from Exodus today.  Those folks had been on a long journey too.  Their ancestor Abraham had journeyed to a foreign land and been promised countless descendants.  After his own dramatic journey, his descendants ended up in Egypt to escape a time of famine.  The rescuing by his son Joseph evolved into slavery under a new pharaoh.  After deaths and suffering, a reluctant prophet, Moses was sent.  Then came plagues, a mass exodus, a chase that led to drowning of the enemy, and a long journey in the wilderness.  But despite centuries of God’s faithfulness, the people lose their hope again and cling to something tangible – an idol – to soothe their anxiety. 

Now the part of that story we get today is interesting – I mean, who doesn’t have questions about the idea of God changing God’s mind, of God being so enraged by the infidelity of God’s people that God would destroy them entirely, of Moses slyly arguing with God, reminding God of how appearances matter (Does God want the Egyptians to see God destroy the very people God liberated?), of how God’s action of rage would negate the promise God made to Abraham, of whose people the Hebrews are (with God and Moses sounding like two arguing parents – your people have sinned…I think you mean your people with whom you made a covenant!). 

But what is more interesting to me is the greater arc.  Reading Genesis and Exodus is like reading a soap opera.  Journeys and betrayals, covenants and falls from grace, destruction and rebuilding, promises made and promises broken.  In the greater arc of that saga is a truth:  God’s faithfulness.  Over and over and over again, God’s faithfulness wins the day.  Theologians have read this passage from Exodus, and become anxious about the implications of a God that can change God’s mind.  If God’s mind can change, does that somehow make what we know about God inconsistent?  Danish Christian philosopher Søren Kierkegaard addresses this very issue.  Kierkegaard describes God as, “You Changeless One … You who are changeless in love, who just for our own good do not let yourself change.”[i]  In other words, “To say that God can be changed is not to suggest that God’s love for the world can be changed, but simply to say that there is no part of the world, no matter how meaningless to us, that is not of importance to God.”[ii]

As I think about the chaos of these days – of the unchecked shootings of children, political activists, and everyday people doing everyday things; of the demonizing of anyone who does not think like we do; of the disregard for the dignity of other human beings – I can empathize with a sinful people who would make an idol to have some tangible sense of comfort.  But this week, as I thought about the soap opera of our ancestors in Genesis and Exodus, and as I imagined the varied journey of our ancestors at Hickory Neck, I found myself overwhelmed with the faithfulness of our God – of the Changeless One who is changeless in love.    

I do not know what part of the world’s chaos is tugging at your anxiety or your temptation to craft an idol – perhaps an idol of money, power, popularity, and fame.[iii]  Whatever that force that is tugging at you, pastor Catherine Young reminds us that the interaction between Moses and God today is an invitation to remember that, “We can converse – even argue – with God.  The irony-filled dialogue between Moses and God shows that God has a sense of humor and appreciates ours.  More than our piety, God wants our honesty and candor.  God calls us to talk, listen, wrestle with our emotions, and be honest about our problems.  Those direct interactions change us…and sometimes they even change the mind of God!”[iv]  What they do not change though is God’s changelessness – God’s changeless love for God’s people in ancient days, in American history, and in our own day.  You Changeless One … You who are changeless in love, who just for our own good do not let yourself change.  Amen.

[i] Søren Kierkegaard “The Changelessness of God,” found in the collection of Kierkegaard writings, The Moment and Late Writings, eds. Howard V. Hong and Edna H. Hong, Princeton University Press, 1998, p. 268.

[ii] Michael Fitzpatrick, “The Lord’s Mind was Changed,” September 4, 2022, as found at https://journeywithjesus.net/essays/3442-the-lord-s-mind-was-changed on September 12, 2025.

[iii] Catherine E. Young, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Supplemental Essays (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 3.

[iv] Young, 5.

On Collars, Conversations, and Casual Clothes…

10 Wednesday Sep 2025

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One of our favorite family errands is making the Costco run:  grabbing bulk supplies and some special treats to stock the house for the coming weeks.  My experience these days is mostly functional:  get in, grab items on the list, avoid being tempted by impulse purchases caused by yummy samples, and get home.  But last week I ended up near the warehouse while still in my clergy collar and decided to make a run anyway.  I do not know if it was the collar or it was a full moon, but I could not seem to get out of the warehouse without myriad encounters:  from the older gentleman who started with a question about bread and from whom I had to drag myself away ten minutes later because I think he was working out some loneliness; to the customers who either stared at or asked me directly about my collar; to the employee at check out who, without one word about my attire, asked me to pray for the staff that day. 

I have been thinking about how different that day in the store was from days when I do not wear a collar – wondering how folks might see me as a safe person to share their questions, wonderings, and concerns with or without a collar.  For some, the collar is a visual cue toward receptivity – a signal that I am a pastor even outside the church walls.  I suspect that once my collar is off, I am not necessarily putting out “Come talk to me – I welcome your thoughts, cares, and ponderings” vibes. 

Every Sunday in church we talk about taking the church out into the world.  Our dismissal says, “Go in peace to love and serve the Lord.”  My shopping experience made me wonder how much I limit that loving and serving.  Do I only love and serve the Lord when I’m in the mood?  Is my selective loving and serving obvious to others?  In other words, am I somehow actively shutting down loving, faithful care in daily life by masking my identity as a child of God by wearing my “casual clothes”? 

I invite your pondering with me this week about how loving and serving the Lord might mean cultivating a receptivity to loving, open, caring conversations with friends, family, and strangers (especially strangers!) alike.  We all need down time from being on at work or in our family or our volunteer roles.  But perhaps this week, we can experiment with using some of our “ordinary time” for unusual encounters – seeing people as they really are, listening more meaningfully when people reach out, pausing when others indicate they could use some of your time.  I cannot wait to hear how the shift in your week goes!

Sermon – Luke 14.25-33, P18, YC, September 7, 2025

10 Wednesday Sep 2025

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Having been born and raised in Georgia and North Carolina, saying living on Long Island was a culture shock would be an understatement.  But one of the things I came to love about living on Long Island was the directness of communication.  Now do not get me wrong, having been raised in the South, I know all too well that when your mom says, “You’re wearing that?” or your grandma says, “Don’t you want to wear lipstick?” or your friend says, “Well those new shoes are utilitarian,” they are not actually saying what they mean.  On Long Island things are much clearer.  Instead, you’ll be told, “Don’t wear that,” “Put on some lipstick; I’ll show you which one,” and “Those shoes are awful.”  The words always sting, but at least you know you what people think.

Today’s gospel has me convinced some of Jesus’ relatives were from Long Island.  In these short eight verses, Jesus says if we want to follow him, we will need to sell our possessions, carry our cross, and hate our parents, spouse, children, siblings, and even life itself.  I have to say, on this Kickoff Sunday, on the day we return to the fullness of Hickory Neck, and we feast and laugh and worship together, I could have used a little more southern-speak from Jesus today.  Jesus could have at least saved the hard sell for Stewardship season!

But as we start putting our calendars together for the fall, as our children sign up for the extracurricular activities, and as we think about what ministries we may want to try at Hickory Neck this fall, I suppose there is no time like the present to get real.  This is a season of hard choices.  I have talked to parents just this week about how to find a common date for the kids given all the scheduling challenges.  As we adults have mapped out our own calendars, we have realized there are things we can say yes to and things to which we have to say no.  In our own family, there are times when we have to bring in a third adult to help us juggle four people’s commitments.  This is a season of hard choices.  This is a season of conflicting priorities.

I do not actually think Jesus is being harsh in today’s gospel.  I know we sometimes get so used to the inclusive, loving, embracing God that we forget that following Jesus is not all rainbows and sunshine.  Jesus, like our beloved Long Islanders, is not harsh – just honest.  And Jesus is not saying there will be no health, healing, and wholeness; no justice, mercy, and grace; no forgiveness, salvation, and eternal life.  But Jesus is saying those things will cost us.  All those rainbows and sunshine we will receive come at the cost of redistributing wealth, of being faithful even when being faithful gets us ostracized from our social circles, of being intolerant of injustice, even if doing so risks our most valued relationships with others.

If we can agree that Jesus is just being honest, understanding why he is setting such a high standard can be helpful.  Starting with one of the trickier things Jesus says today may be best.  Jesus says in the final verse today, “None of you can become my disciple if you do not give up all your possessions.”  We all know that Jesus talks about money perhaps more than any other subject in scripture.  Jesus talks about money so much because Jesus knows the power money has over us.  Jesus tells us to give up our possessions, to stop worrying about what is mine because my obsession with owning, possessing, or claiming things as my own can make me think ownership is my exclusive, inviolable right.  Jesus knows having possessions can make me think all things are my own:  my money, my time, my comfortable lifestyle, my political or religious beliefs, my closest relationship, my independence.  Jesus knows when I get possessive, I cling to things that are not God, and create habits in myself leading me to smother, not love; to exploit, not steward; to hoard, not appreciate.[i]

Several years ago, on the podcast “On Being,” Rabbi Amichai Lau-Lavie retells an old Talmudic parable.  In the parable there is “a ship that is sailing, and there are many cabins.  And one of the people in the cabins on the lower floor decides to dig a hole in the floor of his cabin, and does so, and sure enough, the ship begins to sink.  And the other passengers suddenly discover what’s going on and see this guy with a hole in the floor.  And they say, ‘What are you doing?’ And he says, ‘Well, it’s my cabin.  I paid for it.’  And down goes the ship.”[ii]  What this parable and what Jesus are trying to do is help us see that possessions tempt us to live like the man in the cabin – to believe our ownership negates our relationship to others.  Our possessions can create an obsession with “me, me, me,” with a disregard for the “we” to which we belong as followers of Christ.

Jesus goes on to say in verse 27, “Whoever does not carry the cross and follow me cannot be my disciple.”  Part of Jesus’ cross is a redefining of the “we,” we were just talking about.  After some time being a member here at Hickory Neck, most of us start to move from third person to the second person language.  Instead of saying, Hickory Neck is committed to faith formation and serving neighbor, we start to say, “We are committed to faith formation and serving neighbor.”  The sense of belonging we find here takes us out of “me and my” language and “they and them” language and puts us into “us and we” language.  So, when Jesus talks about carrying our cross as Jesus invites today, he is not just talking about personal sacrifice.  Jesus is also asking, to whom and for whom we are responsible.  Jesus is widening the circle of “my people,” to consider who the people are we will love, welcome, serve, and for which we would make sacrifices.  Jesus is asking us to take on the task of widening our “we” to be broader and riskier than we have previously embraced.  By taking up our cross, we are saying the whole ship, not just my cabin on the ship, but the whole ship has an irrefutable claim on my life.[iii]

Jesus’ brutal honesty though comes right at the beginning, in verse 26.  Jesus says, “Whoever comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, yes, and even life itself, cannot be my disciple.”  Hate is a strong word – a word we have banned in our home, especially when talking about other family members.  I will not be going home today and telling our children they can pick up that word again.  But I do think Jesus uses a powerful word because the power of discipleship will involve taking on some powerful experiences.  We will need to be willing to hate some things about this life.  We will need to ask which customs, beliefs, or traditions we have inherited we need to renounce to follow Jesus.  We will need to look at what baggage we need to abandon, what ties we must loosen, what relationships we must subordinate.  What scholar Debie Thomas says is “Jesus spoke his hard words about ‘hating’ one’s family in a cultural context where the extended family was the source of a person’s security and stability.  Jewish families in first century Palestine were self-sustaining economic units.  No one in their right mind would leave such a unit behind in order to follow a homeless, controversial preacher into some uncertain future.”  What Thomas asks us to consider is what sources of modern-day security and stability we trust more than we trust God.[iv] 

So, where do we find some Good News in all this sobering honesty?  Why would we do all this hard stuff?  We do all the hard stuff of discipleship because of the rainbows and sunshine.  We give up a sense of possession, we take on crosses, and we renounce things we have loved because we have experienced the rainbows and sunshine of Hickory Neck:  we have experienced life-altering community here; we have experienced love, joy, and blessing we did not know we needed here; we have experienced purpose, meaning, and value here.  We also take on Jesus’ intense notion of discipleship because we have experienced the rainbows and sunshine of the world around us:  we have experienced the profundity of loving our neighbor as ourselves; we have experienced the blessing of seeing God in someone we thought unworthy of our love; we have experienced being transformed by walking right out of our comfort zones into life-giving discomfort zones.  We accept the invitation of illogical discipleship because of the more cosmic rainbows and sunshine of faith:  of being known and accepted by a loving, living God; of the promise of forgiveness of our most heinous sins; of the reality of eternal life made possible through Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection.  Once we start thinking about the rewards of the life of discipleship, the cost seems surmountable.  Once we look at the depth of Christ’s rainbows and sunshine, letting go of possessions, taking up crosses, and hating the stuff of life that only brings death seems much less scary.  Once we realize we may not be able to do whatever we want to in our cabin, we realize we have a ship full of people ready to hold our hands as we take on the burden of discipleship together – because the burden is easy and the yoke is light.  Amen.

[i] Debie Thomas, “What It Will Cost You,” Journey with Jesus, September 1, 2019, as found at https://www.journeywithjesus.net/lectionary-essays/current-essay?id=2346 on September 5, 2025.

[ii] Amichai Lau-Lavee, “First Aid for Spiritual Seekers,” On Being with Krista Tippet, July 13, 2017, as found at https://onbeing.org/programs/amichai-lau-lavie-first-aid-for-spiritual-seekers/ on September 5, 2025.

[iii] Thomas.

[iv] Thomas.

On Discernment and Community…

03 Wednesday Sep 2025

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Our older daughter is starting up the college tour in earnest this school year, and with that search have come conversations about college that were not a part of the conversations I had at a similar age.  Given the astronomical increases in the cost of tuition relative to income, our conversations with our children now include considerations like return on investment, debt management, and employability – topics I never addressed with my parents because going to college, let alone a prestigious college, meant things would fall into place for you – even if you chose a non-traditional path.

I have found this conversation bleeding into other areas of my life too.  The owner of the body shop I recently used and I got into a conversation about how we are guiding our children vocationally.  He shared how there is even a debate in his own vocation about the value of expensive, time-consuming vo-tech schools versus real world experience.  Even NASA has been conducting research about its own young employees who go straight into vocational training versus a traditional four-year college experience – most making six figures in their early twenties.

Of course, all this analysis came to a screeching halt the moment my younger daughter joined me in picking up my car at the body shop.  She was admiring some paint samples when the owner explained to her that he had invented some of the colors himself – some of which have been used by international businesses.  She then asked him a question I had not thought to ask, “What’s the best car you ever worked on?”  It was a simple question, but what her question taught me was something much more basic about vocational discernment: What brings you joy and satisfaction?

That basic question has got me thinking this week about how we value each other.  In his letter to the Ephesians, Paul says that God granted that some are apostles, prophets, evangelists, pastors, and teachers (4.11).  Not only do we need to be helping our children discern what gifts God is nurturing in them, we need to do the good work of celebrating each other’s gifts.  I remember have a case of nerves in seminary about preaching a senior sermon.  Upon hearing I was nervous, a professor quoted to me from the song There is a balm in Gilead.  He recited, “Well, if you cannot preach like Peter, if you cannot pray like Paul, you can tell the love of Jesus, and say ‘He died for all.’”   

This week, I invite you to start looking at others with a different lens – searching for the unique gifts you see in others and celebrating those gifts with them.  Far too often we see the transactional nature of each other – the jobs we do or the roles we play and how those jobs and roles serve a purpose.  But I am much more interested in the vocations that are bringing others joy and satisfaction – a joy and satisfaction that can reinvigorate my own passion for the gifts God has given me.  I can’t wait to hear about the conversations you have this week!

Sermon – Luke 14.1, 7-14, P17, YC, August 31, 2025

03 Wednesday Sep 2025

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Tables are a funny thing.  Tables are where families gather and catch up about how their day was.  Tables are where a young adult eats their first solo meal on the plate they got at the local thrift store and where a much older adult gets lost in thought looking at the China pattern their grandmother chose as a new bride.  Tables are where friends gather in laughter and storytelling, and where formal introductions are made over so many forks you do not know which one to choose.  Tables are where the cool kids, the nerds, or the jocks sit in the cafeteria, and where students ask the terrifying question, “Is this seat free?” 

Tables were no less meaningful in Jesus’ day.  Much of Jesus’ ministry and the stories we know from Jesus happened around tables.  As scholar Debie Thomas describes, “Though the Gospels record [Jesus] receiving and accepting many dinner invitations during the years of his ministry, those mealtime scenes usually ended in drama, provocation, or scandal.  Once, a woman of dubious reputation caressed his feet under the table.  Sometimes he interrupted a meal to heal sick people on the Sabbath.  Often, he ate with dirty hands, shared a table with riff-raff, and drank more than his enemies considered respectable.  Worst of all — he said things.  Blunt, embarrassing things that no one cared to hear.”[i]

Today’s gospel includes one of those same uncomfortable encounters at a table.  Jesus has been invited to dinner by the one of the leaders of the Pharisees – an honor, to be sure.  But after watching the other guests jockey for the seats of prestige – those seats closest to the host – Jesus begins to tell a parable – or at least, Luke’s gospel says Jesus tells a parable.  What Jesus says sounds more like advice – and his advice, on first glance, sounds oddly manipulative.    “When you go to a wedding sit at the lowest-honor seating so that you can be honored when the host insists you move up to the prestigious seat.”  Somehow humbling yourself will let you be exalted, but I’m not entirely sure how authentic one’s humility is if they are being humble just to be exalted. 

So, then what is going here?  Well, Luke’s labeling this as a parable is helpful.  Though Jesus does not tell a narrative or story, like we know most parables present, we know by the use of the word “parable” Jesus is speaking directly about something with a deeper level of meaning.[ii]  Jesus is not giving social advancement advice.  He is calling into question the entire social order and contrasting that social order with the kingdom of God.  As scholar David Lose would argue, in this parabolic advice, Jesus is calling all social orders into question, saying that “…these things are not of God.  Jesus proclaims here and throughout the gospel that in the kingdom of God there are no pecking orders.  None.  Zero.  Zilch.  And while that sounds at first blush like it ought to be good news, it throws us into radical dependence on God’s grace and God’s grace alone.  We can’t stand, that is, on our accomplishments, or our wealth, or positive attributes, or good looks, or strengths, or IQ, or our movement up or down the reigning pecking order.  There is, suddenly, nothing we can do to establish ourselves before God and the world except rely upon God’s desire to be in relationship with us and with all people.  Which means that we have no claim on God; rather, we have been claimed by God and invited to love others as we’ve been loved.”[iii]

I think that realization of the deeper level of what Jesus is saying is why what Jesus says next is even more unnerving.  Jesus says the next time you have a meal, not to invite your friends or your family or even your rich neighbor.  You are to invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind.  In other words, our tables are meant to be a welcome space to outsiders. 

Dan Clendenin tells the story of family wedding.  When the young couple got married, “…they wanted to invite their entire church, but budgetary constraints prohibited that.  Instead, after the service they had the local police block off the main street in downtown Waco, Texas.  Guests danced in the streets and enjoyed refreshments from a Baskins Robbins ice cream cart.  The gazebo in the concrete park next to the theatre sheltered the wedding cake.  …[The groom] had made friends with a number of homeless men who lived under a bridge.  As a pastor [he] would employ these men for odd jobs at his church.  ‘Coyote,’ the leader of his homeless friends, came to the wedding in his usual attire of jeans with holes in the knees, a scraggly beard, and unwashed hair.  He organized his friends to clean up the streets after the wedding, then sat on the curb with a big smile and smoked a cigar.  Another guest was [the bride’s] next door African-American neighbor.  The little girl loved to spend time with [the bride], and really wanted to come to her wedding.  So the mother, the daughter, and the grandfather all came.  The 70 year-old grandfather was soon the center of attraction as he went out on the street and danced to the music.  Soon the college girls were vying to dance with him.  As passersby strolled by and inquired about what was happening, they too were invited to the wedding.  There were guests dressed in their nicest clothes alongside guests who wouldn’t feel at home at a formal occasion.  However they dressed, on this occasion every person felt welcomed as an honored guest, just as God himself welcomes us to himself, and invites us to welcome each other.”[iv]

This year, Hickory Neck is planning to launch a third worship service.  The dream for that service centers around a table too.  The guest list does not really include any of you here (no offense!).  We are hoping to create place settings for those who do not have a church home.  We do not expect to invite people who are friends, family, or even rich neighbors – though we certainly would not turn them away.  And although all our services gather around tables to share the Eucharistic meal, this service will literally be conducted around a dinner table – a table that feeds us physically but also spiritually.  Where all sorts of folks can gather, can share in community, can learn about this radically good news of Jesus’ love, and can shape disciples who invite the wideness of God’s kingdom.  Like all experiments, I am not sure how the experiment will go.  But today’s text reminds me of why we want to center that space around tables.

Of course, endorsing this new ministry doesn’t get us off the hook.  We do not leave Jesus’ parable (or parabolic teachings) today with a promise of a ministry that absolves our call to love like God loves.  Although Hickory Neck is hoping to model a communal way to live into the gospel, Jesus still offers us a personal invitation to think about our own tables this week.  “Jesus asks us to believe that our behavior at the table matters — because [our behavior at the table] does [matter].  Where we sit speaks volumes, and the people whom we choose to welcome reveals the stuff of our souls.  This is God’s world we live in; nothing here is ordinary.  In this realm, the strangers at our doorstep are the angels.”[v]  Our work this week is not quick-fix, one-time work.  Our work is the on-going work of welcome, love, reverence, and humility.  We do that work one table at a time – and all with God’s help.  Amen.

[i] Debie Thomas, “Table Manners,” August 21, 2016, as found at https://journeywithjesus.net/essays/1070-table-manners on August 29, 2025.

[ii] Luke Timothy Johnson,The Gospel of Luke:  Sacra Pagina Series, vol. 3 (Collegeville, MN:  The Litrugical Press, 1991), 224.

[iii] David Lose, “More Than Good Advice [or] Why Jesus Gets Killed, Pt. 2,” August 22, 2010 as found at https://www.workingpreacher.org/dear-working-preacher/more-than-good-advice-or-why-jesus-gets-killed-pt-2 on August 29, 2025.

[iv] Daniel B. Clendenin, “Jesus Does Dinner:  Food for Thought for Guests and Hosts,” September 7, 2007, as found at https://journeywithjesus.net/essays/3637-20070827JJ on August 29, 2025.

[v] Thomas.

On Messes, Incarnation, and Sacrament…

27 Wednesday Aug 2025

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Photo credit: https://premierchristian.news/en/news/article/catholic-priests-allowed-to-offer-holy-communion-from-the-chalice-for-the-first-time-since-2020

Celebrating the sacrament of Holy Eucharist is one of my central jobs as a priest.  I approach the sacrament very seriously and reverently because I know how sacred the privilege of consecrating the Eucharist is and how profound the reception of Holy Communion can be.  In general, my philosophy is to be so graceful and intentional with my celebration that attention is taken off me and turned exclusively and intently to the mystery of the holy meal.

So, imagine my mortification when, after almost 16 years of celebrating Holy Communion multiple times a week, my hand clips the chalice and copious amounts of consecrated wine soak the altar (for those familiar with the terms, the corporal, fair linen, frontal, chasuble, and even my alb were victims).  It was an enormous mess – even the priest host was swimming in wine that landed in the paten.  The gasp was audible when it happened – I’m sure I took in a surprised gasp of air myself.  But I steeled myself and do what we priest always do – I kept going. 

Fortunately, despite the frustration of needing to clear the mess and get linens to the dry cleaners and washing machines, there were lots of laughs and ribbing afterwards.  But the visceral experience of wine flying, landing on silver implements, and making my hands sticky got me thinking.  In the Episcopal Church, we say Jesus’ real presence is in the bread and wine when the priest consecrates it.  There is nothing more incarnational than the messiness of spilt wine.  And we all know that being incarnate means being messy – our bodies naturally make perfection impossible.  But more than that, following Jesus is messy.  Following Jesus means getting into messy relationships with other messy people.  Following Jesus means Jesus sees all our own messiness – even the messiness we hide from others.  And following Jesus makes Jesus very hard to get rid of – there is stickiness to Jesus that lingers with us, much like the stickiness that stayed with me, even after cleaning up. 

I wonder in what ways you’ve been avoiding the messiness of Jesus lately?  In what ways has your desire to control the messiness of the Gospel left you with clean hands, but shallow experiences of the divine?  I look forward to hearing your stories of how the incarnational nature of Jesus is shaking up your life in good and holy ways.  We all need a little more messiness!

Sermon – Genesis 15.1-6, Hebrews 11.1-3, 8-16, Luke 12.32-40, P14, YC, August 10, 2025

27 Wednesday Aug 2025

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We have been in a season of Vacation Bible School.  As I watched our kids learning songs at Vacation Bible School this week, I found myself reminiscing about all the songs I learned as a kid at VBS – Deep and Wide, Jesus Loves Me, and, probably the most fun and robust, Father Abraham, complete with full-body motions and increasing speed.  Watching the joy of our children, and experiencing my own nostalgia for that innocent time of my life left me so grateful for our continued ministry with the children of our community.

Unfortunately, thinking about Father Abraham and his many sons and the admonishment “Let’s just praise the Lord,” collided with our lectionary readings this week.  Though we talk about God’s abundance with our children, our adult selves know all too well the rest of the story – both for Abraham and for ourselves.  Our lesson from Genesis sets the stage.  Abraham is still Abram at this point, and Abram, faithful follower of God who has been promised bountiful descendants is sitting empty handed with Sarai – who is far too old to be bearing children anyway.  Abram laments with God about his hopelessness that the promised abundance will ever come. 

Later we hear from the letter to the Hebrews a recounting of Abraham’s story as an example of what faithfulness means.  We are reminded that not only do Abraham and Sarah face infertility into old age, Abraham has had to leave everything familiar to him, journey to a place he does not even know, living in tents in a foreign land.  In fact, the letter to the Hebrews describes Abraham as “one as good as dead” – as in, given Abraham’s age, and the length of infertility in his marriage, and the data-based expectation that he would have no children – Abraham is as good as dead because there will be no one to keep his name alive.  Barren was not just the state of Abraham and Sarah – barren would have been a reasonable state of their faith in God.

There are times these days that I relate much more to the barrenness of Abraham and Sarah than to the jubilant songs about praising the Lord.  As I talk to workers whose employment is insecure, being reduced, or eliminated altogether, I hear echoes of Abraham’s complaints about barrenness to God.  As I listen to people of color express their vulnerability in these volatile times, I feel a sense of barrenness in our country.  As I hear stories of anxiety from those needing medical coverage or our nonprofits whose funding cuts threaten the very lives of their clients, I hear the barrenness of those who seem like “one as good as dead.” 

So where do we find hope in the bleakness of the barrenness of life?  How do we join the songs of our children, reminding us to “just praise the Lord”?  Some of that hope comes from scripture today too.  In Luke’s gospel, right at the very beginning, and so fast we might miss his words, Jesus says, “Do not be afraid, little flock, for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom… Do not be afraid, little flock, for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom.”  Of course, we know that truth – God promises Abraham abundance over and over again.  The community of the Hebrews celebrated the abundance of Abraham’s many sons when their own faith waivered.  And Jesus tells his followers the same, “Do not be afraid, little flock, for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom.” 

Now, I know words are easy to say, but sometimes hard to believe – even assurances from Jesus about God’s good pleasure of abundance for us.  So, today we are going to do something totally different and try a little exercise from pastor and theologian David Lose.  When you came in today you received a blank notecard.  I want you to take that out and write on one side these words:  God wants to give you all good things.  Got it? 

Now, I want you to turn the card over and write down one fear or worry or concern you would be willing to share – not aloud, and not with your name attached.  Just one fear, worry, or concern you are carrying right now.  As you are thinking about that and writing that fear, worry, or concern down, I will explain what we are going to do with your notecard:  when we get to the offering, the ushers will pass both the offering plates and a basket for your cards.  When you leave today, we will take those baskets, mix up the cards, and invite you to take out a random one.  Your homework for this “week ahead is simply to pray for whomever wrote down the concern on the card you [receive] on the way out.  You don’t need to know who it is, just that it’s a fellow member of the body of Christ who has this concern.  As you are praying for that person, you [will] also know that someone is praying for you.”

Do you have your fear, worry, or concern written down?  Hang on to your card until the offering.  [The hope today through this small exercise is that] you [will] realize that you are not alone.  We all have the promise that God wants to give us the kingdom; we all have trouble remembering and acting on that promise; [and] we all are praying for and supporting each other.”[i]  This is our tangible work this week – to be a community in prayer for one another, working through our resistance to God’s promise to give us the kingdom, and seeing the abundance that will allow us to “just praise the Lord.”  Amen.

[i] David Lose, “Dear Working Preacher:  The Heart of the Matter,” August 5, 2013, as found at https://www.workingpreacher.org/dear-working-preacher/the-heart-of-the-matter on August 7, 2025.

Sermon – Luke 12.13-21, P13, YC, August 3, 2025

27 Wednesday Aug 2025

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One of the last things that happens when you graduate from seminary is the staff from the Church Pension Group comes to talk to you about money management.  They help you understand how retirement funds work for clergy, encourage you to make sure you are doing some additional savings and investment planning, and remind you that, like tithing, how you manage your finances is a witness to your congregation about being good stewards.  Each year, you are encouraged to be a smart investor through email reminders.  We even go to a wellness conference a few times over the course of our ministry to make sure we are tending to our financial wellness in addition to vocational, spiritual, and bodily wellness.  The repeated lesson to clergy is to be good stewards of our financial resources.

You can imagine how your clergy and anyone schooled in financial stewardship hears today’s parable from Jesus.  At first glance, this is a story about smart financial management.  A man has a bumper crop – the land produces so abundantly he cannot fit the excess crops into his current barns.  Knowing the land is fickle, maybe even having taken some notes from our ancestor Joseph who prevented a seven-year famine by stockpiling during a seven-year boon, the man decides he will just have to build a bigger barn to hold all the extra crops.  His actions do not sound that far off from what any investment counselor might tell us to do – store the excess away so that when a rainy day comes, or even when retirement comes, we can still “eat, drink, and be merry.” 

But, like any good parable, there is a plot twist:  the day the newly enlarged barn is finished is the same day the man will die.  All those plans, hopes, and dreams for a secure retirement are gone.  He never gets to enjoy the fruits of his labor.  He never gets to retire in comfort.  He never gets to eat, drink, and be merry.  Our immediate reaction to this tragedy might be to proclaim how life or God is not fair.  But into our protest, Jesus says, “So it is with those who store up treasures for themselves but are not rich toward God.”

These last words from Jesus are ones that sting.  Jesus reminds us that being a good steward of our resources means lots of things:  being smart with our money, saving for times of famine, giving to the church, and caring for our neighbor.  But most importantly, being a good steward of our resources is not just about sound financial practices.  Being a good steward of our resources is also about managing our relationship with our money – and more specifically, managing our relationship with God in relation to our money.

Now some of you may be thinking, “Here she goes.  She’s going to tell me how I need to give more money to the church to right my relationship with God.”  The good news is I do not think Jesus is looking for a specific corrective – as if to say, “Do not be like the man with the barns:  give your full ten percent to the church and all will be well.”  No, what Jesus is trying to do is help us see that our relationship with money matters.  Unlike a polite Southerner, Jesus never shies away from talking about money.  He is constantly warning us about the potential of riches to corrupt our relationship with God.  The answer to what the rich man should do may not be specific, but we get some obvious clues about what Jesus means by being rich toward God.

Going back to the story is particularly helpful.  The most obvious thing we see happening in the parable is the wealthy man has become completely self-absorbed and ego-centric.  Listen again to the words of the parable, “And he thought to himself, ‘What should I do, for I have no place to store my crops?’ Then he said, ‘I will do this: I will pull down my barns and build larger ones, and there I will store all my grain and my goods.  And I will say to my soul, ‘Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years; relax, eat, drink, be merry.’”  The list is long:  What should I do?  My crops, my barns, my grain, my goods, my soul.  All the words of the wealthy man are self-referential.[i]  Nowhere does he talk to God.  Nowhere does he talk to his family or a trusted friend.  Nowhere does he consult his property manager, or the local priest – the whole conversation is with himself.  Further, he never praises God for the abundance.  He never acknowledges that the land has provided.  He never even considers sharing his abundance.  He is self-interested, self-protecting, and self-centered.  All that focus on the self comes from a relationship with money and with God that is simply out of whack.

So how do we avoid the slippery slope that leads to self-centeredness and greed, luring us to constantly redefine how much is “enough”?  What exactly is being rich toward God?  Jesus tells us the answer to our quandary throughout Luke’s gospel.  As one scholar explains, “Being rich toward God entails using one’s resources for the benefit of one’s neighbor in need, as the Samaritan did (10:25-37).  Being rich toward God includes intentionally listening to Jesus’ word, as Mary did (10:38-42).  Being rich toward God consists of prayerfully trusting that God will provide for the needs of life (11:1-13, 12:22-31).  Being rich toward God involves selling possessions and giving alms as a means of establishing a lasting treasure in heaven (12:32-34).”  In other words, “Life and possessions are a gift of God to be used to advance God’s agenda of care and compassion, precisely for those who lack resources to provide for themselves.”[ii]

I served on a church board many years ago that received a surprise bequest of about 1.3 million dollars.  The bequest came from a woman who had seemed to be of little consequence.  Each year she had probably given the charitable group about $25 a year.  We assumed that was about all she could do.  When the gift came in, we were stunned.  After some prayerful discernment, we elected to put one million into our endowment, to ensure that we could keep helping ministries in our diocese.  But we designated the remaining three hundred thousand for us to try new and innovative ministries – and luckily for us, there was already a proposal on the table that we thought we could not afford:  a food truck that would take food around to the homeless in one of our cities, and maybe even host a social worker and or nurse.  I do not know what sort of life this woman led or how she managed her money.  But even in death, her richness toward God was obvious to us all.

Though we may be tempted to finger-point at the self-centered man of means, Jesus knows that money has the power to corrupt all our relationships with God.  And unfortunately, the consequences are not limited to our relationships with God – our ability to live lives rich toward God impacts our neighbors too.  The good news is we have a community of faith sitting right next to us who can be our support system as we work to turn our hearts and our riches to God.  Now I know we all value being good Southerners, but this time, Jesus is pushing us out of our cultural norms and patterns.  In order to turn our hearts and riches toward God, we are going to need to start talking with our friends about the place of money in our lives and in our relationship with God.  We are going to need to talk about our struggles and failures.  And we are going to need to celebrate our victories and successes.  We are basically going to need to become a giant support group for becoming rich toward God.

Pastor and scholar David Lose tells a story of a “congregation who invited families to not buy any unnecessary new thing for six months in order to break the culturally-induced habit of trying to buy happiness.  But they didn’t just invite people to do this, they formed a culture in which they supported each other.  They read and talked about a common book on abundant life, they kept in touch via small groups and email, they shared where they were succeeding and struggling and what they were learning.  In short, they formed a community so that they could stand against the all-too-human and culturally supported belief that if we just had a little more we’d be happy.”[iii]

I do not know what model or what goals are going to work for each of you.  But I do know that just by our very citizenship in this country, in this time of scarcity thinking and fear mongering, we face more temptation toward greed than in probably any other country.  If we are going to follow Jesus, to avoid a life of self-centeredness, and claim a life of being rich toward God, we are going to need each other.  Whether you want to form a small group or just find a trusted friend, this is the important work Jesus invites us into today.  My guess is that building up a community of support that is rich toward God will create much more opportunities to eat, drink, and be merry, than any bigger barn could ever give us.  Amen.

[i] Audrey West, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 3 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 312.

[ii] Richard P. Carlson, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 3 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 315.

[iii] David Lose, “What Money Can and Can’t Do,” July 29, 2013, as found at http://www.workingpreacher.org/craft.aspx?post=2668 on August 1, 2025.