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On Faith, Wellness, and Reality…

21 Wednesday Oct 2026

Posted by jandrewsweckerly in reflection

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church, example, faith, faith journey, God, Jesus, perfect, struggle, truth, wellness, wholesome, witness

Photo credit: https://www.sjcfl.us/employee-connection/wellness/

One of the questions the bishop asks a priest in their ordination vows is, “Will you do your best to pattern your life and that of your family in accordance with the teachings of Christ, so that you may be a wholesome example to your people?”  I remember when my bishop asked me that question over 16 years ago how daunting that question felt – not only for myself but also for my family.  Having grown up as a preacher’s kid, I remember thinking how much pressure that invitation felt:  for the whole family to be a wholesome example to the church. 

So, when the Church invited clergy and their spouses to attend a Wellness Conference last week, focusing on both physical and financial wellness, I had a revelation in one of those sessions:  this is what that promise was all about.  Tending to my family’s physical and financial wellness is patterning our life as an example.  And so are a lot of other things we do:  navigating parenting, tending to our marriage, working on my own physical, spiritual, and mental health.  Giving attention to all those areas are ways that we model faithful living.  And perhaps most importantly, being honest about the struggles, upfront about the good and the bad days, and inviting others to share their truth too creates the foundation where we can all more honestly journey in the life of faith authentically and encouragingly. 

My hope is that we do that work together in preaching and teaching too.  I cannot count the number of times someone has said to me after a church service, “That sermon was tough!  You gave me a lot to think about.”  My response is always the same, “Just remember, every sermon I preach is addressed to me too!”  If the words of Jesus or the story of God is challenging to you, you better believe those same things are challenging to me as well.  My hope is that by naming how hard they are, I am doing my work of being a wholesome example. 

All that is to say, I invite you to take an honest look at your witness to others (yes, even if you’re not a priest, others are looking at your life as your Christian witness).  Are you tending to your own wellness:  physical, spiritual, mental, financial?  Are you being open and honest about where your faith pinches and where you still struggle to make sense of it all?  Being a wholesome example doesn’t mean only showing others a “perfect life.”  Being a wholesome example means revealing your humanity and your desire to love God even when your capacity feels diminished.  Many more people will feel invited into a journey of faith if they feel like they can do that without trying to be perfect – just wholesome.

Sermon – Matthew 11.25-30, St. Francis Feast, YA, October 4, 2026

07 Wednesday Oct 2026

Posted by jandrewsweckerly in Sermons

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blessing of animals, burden, Jesus, light, peace, reconciliation, relationship, rest, Sermon, St. Francis, truth, wolf

Photo credit: Fr. Ron Raab, as found at https://www.holycrossusa.org/article/saint-francis-of-assisi-a-kiss-for-all-creation/

Today we honor the life of St. Francis of Assisi.  Though he died 800 years ago this year, Francis is one of the most well-known and beloved saints of all time.  Most of us know the highlights of his story:  born the son of a wealthy man in 1182; had a conversion experience and devoted his life to Lady Poverty; shaped monastic and lay devotion; was a friend to all God’s creatures – being known to have preached to the birds.

But the story I like most is the story about St. Francis and the Wolf.  According to legend, there was a wolf that was terrorizing the town of Gubbio, killing and eating animals and people.  The villagers tried to fight back, but they too died at the jaws of the wolf.  Francis had pity on the townspeople and went out to meet the wolf.  When Francis found the wolf, he made the sign of the cross, and said, “Come to me, Brother Wolf.  In the name of Christ, I order you not to hurt anyone.”  In response, the wolf calmly laid down at Francis’ feet.  Francis then went on to explain to the wolf how he was terrorizing the people and other animals – all who were made in the image of God.  The wolf and Francis then made a pact that the wolf would no longer harm the townspeople and the townspeople would no longer try to hurt the wolf.  The two traveled into town to explain the pact they had formed.  The people were amazed as Francis and the wolf walked side-by-side into town.  Francis made the people pledge to feed the wolf and the wolf pledge not to harm anyone else.  From that day on, the wolf went door to door for food.  The wolf hurt no one and no one hurt the wolf; even the dogs did not bark at the wolf.[i]

What I love about this story of St. Francis is that the story is about reconciliation and relationship.  At the beginning of the story the town and the wolf are at an impasse – the wolf is hungry and getting attacked; the people are afraid and are lashing out.  What Francis does for both parties is shock them out of the assumptions.  For the wolf, no one has addressed the wolf kindly – they have either shut the wolf out or actively tried to kill him.  For the people, the wolf has not asked for help – he has simply and violently taken what he needed and wanted.  Francis manages to shock the wolf first – not through violence or force, but with the power of love and blessing.  By giving a blessing in the name of God, Francis is then able to implore the wolf to reciprocate with love.  Francis also manages to shock the village – not with a violent victory, but with a humble display of forgiveness and trust.  By walking into town with a tamed wolf at his side, Francis is able to encourage the town to embrace, forgive, and care for the wolf.  Francis’ actions remind both parties that unless their relationships are reconciled, unrest and division will be the norm.

The funny thing about this story is that the story is a bit ridiculous.  How many of us go around talking to wild animals, blessing them with the sign of the cross, expecting anything other than being ignored at best, and at worst, attacked?  We will never really know whether the Gubbio story is true.  But like any good Biblical story, whether the story is true is hardly the point: the point is that the stories point toward “Truth” with a capital “T.”  What this story teaches is peace and reconciliation only happen through meeting others where they are.  We cannot expect great change unless we are willing to get down in the trenches – to go out and meet that destructive wolf face-to-face.  The other thing this story teaches us is that relationships are at the heart of peace work.  Only when the wolf and the town begin to get to know each other and begin to form a relationship with one another can they move forward.

This is the way of life in Jesus Christ.  In our gospel lesson today, Jesus says, “Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.  Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.  For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”  Jesus’ words have many messages.  The first message we all catch is that Jesus offers us rest and refreshment.  Jesus encourages us to come to him, to cast our burdens and cares upon him, and to take rest, to take Sabbath, in Christ.  Our souls will find peace in Christ Jesus.  The second message is that peace in Christ Jesus is not without work.  Jesus does not say come unto me and relax forever in happy retirement.  Jesus says we will still have to take on a yoke – the burden of disciple living.  Luckily, that burden of being Christ’s disciple will not be burdensome – it will be light.  In the final message, Jesus tells us not only will he make the workload “light,” as in not heavy; Jesus will also make us “light” – as in lights that shine into the darkness and refuse to allow the shadow to overwhelm.   We become the light when we work for reconciliation in our relationships with others.  We become light when we walk in the ways of St. Francis. 

That is why we do several special things today.  First, we ask for blessing on our animals – that God might help our relationship with our pet be one of blessing and light.  Second, we come to Jesus for Sabbath rest – that God might renew us on this Sabbath day, use the rest to fill us with light, and renew our commitment to be agents of reconciliation, gladly putting on Christ’s yoke.  And finally, we leave this place as agents of light – seeking to bring people together who have not been able to see one another clearly, making ways for peace where peace seems impossible, but becomes possible through Christ Jesus.  Amen.


[i] Murray Bodo, “St. Francis and the Taming of the Wolf,” St. Anthony Messenger, October 2017 as found at https://www.franciscanmedia.org/franciscan-spirit-blog/st-francis-and-the-taming-of-the-wolf on October 2, 2026.

Sermon – Matthew 20.1-16, P20, YA, September 20, 2026

30 Wednesday Sep 2026

Posted by jandrewsweckerly in Sermons

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abundance, community, economy, equal, fair, fairness, generosity, God, grace, greed, jealous, Jesus, justice, least, outrage, parable, primal, scarcity, Sermon, truth

I have a clergy friend with whom I share a mixed friend group – we’re the only clergy in a mix of administrators, educators, medical professionals, stay-at-home parents, among other vocations.  I have watched my clergy friend in this group, and she is genuinely the nicest person I think I have ever met.  She is thoughtful and kind, generous and gracious, and generally everything you would hope a clergyperson would be (often leaving me feeling not feeling quite up to snuff, if I’m being fully transparent).  That friend is one whom I could imagine being hired by the landowner in our parable from Matthew at 6:00 am and working hard all day.  I could imagine her being happy that others get hired at 9:00, Noon, 3:00, and 5:00 – because she knows what standing in marketplace waiting to get hired feels like.  And I could also imagine her watching those workers who only were able to fit in one hour of work getting paid a full day’s wage and rejoicing with genuine joy.  And I can also imagine her humbly remembering that she agreed to work all day and only get the same compensation as the workers who worked one hour, and not being resentful, but grateful for the generosity of the landowner – because she wants to live in a world of generous landowners.  I can imagine her leaving that day, going home to tell her family about how lucky they are to live in a community with such a cool landowner who shows radical grace. 

But that is not how the parable of Jesus goes.  In the parable, my friend is not the 6:00 am worker.  I am.  And as this parable unfolds, my heart is not bubbling over with joy.  My heart is much less generous.  In fact, every time I read this parable, I find myself fidgeting as the day in the parable unfolds.  I’m not particularly upset that the landowner is generous – as those in the parable are.  I’m more upset that the landowner forces the daylong, exhausted workers to watch as the landowner very unfairly, inequitably distributes wages.  It’s like the landowner knows what he’s doing is outrageous, and he wants to rub the early workers’ noses in his obscene generosity. 

So where does this kind of outrage come from?  Well, there has been quite extensive research about where our sense of justice comes from.  There was a famous study with capuchin monkeys.  Two monkeys in neighboring cages were trained to hand the researcher a rock and get a piece of cucumber as a reward.  The monkeys happily do the task.  But then, after 25 times of that same way, the researcher gives one monkey a grape instead of a cucumber.  The other monkey, seeing the new reward of that monkey, excitedly gives the researcher a rock, expecting to similarly get a grape.  Instead, the monkey is given another cucumber.  The monkey loses her mind.  She literally throws the cucumber at the researcher, bangs on the cage, tries to get out to grab the grape she believes she is owed.[i]  All this is to say, the sense of justice as fairness is primal to us – ingrained deep in our reptilian brains and very difficult to change. 

But Jesus does not and has not ever defined justice as fairness.  Our measure of fairness is simple.  As Barabara Brown Taylor describes, we believe, “…Equal pay for equal work is fair; equal pay for unequal work is not fair.  Rewarding those who do the most work is fair; rewarding those who do the least is not fair.  Treating everyone the same is fair; treating everyone the same when they are not the same is not fair.”[ii]  Taylor argues, “Life is not fair, which is why it seems all that much more important that God should be.”  But, “God is not fair.  For reasons we may never know, God seems to love us indiscriminately, and seems also to enjoy reversing systems we set up to explain why God should love some of us more than others of us.  By starting at the end of our lines with the last and the least, God lets us know that [God’s] ways are not our ways, that if we want to see things [God’s] way we might question our own notions of what is faith, and why we get so upset when our lines do not work.”[iii]

We would define justice as fairness or equitable rewards for equitable work.  Unfortunately, that is not how God’s economy works.  Professor Lewis Donelson explains that this parable, “…not only supports both justice and grace but insists that they are and will always be in tension with one another.  Justice and grace cannot be reconciled with one another.  [And], They both are part of the character of God.”[iv]  In other words, God’s economy does not work like our economy.  And on an intellectual level we love that about God and know that we ultimate benefit from God’s upside-down economy.  But on a gut level, in that reptilian side of our brain, that side that gets jealous and greedy and fearful about scarcity, that throws cucumbers when we do not get grapes – on that level, God’s definition of justice makes us uncomfortable.  Knowing the “…sheer abundance of God’s grace,” that “God’s love cannot be used up,”[v] makes us, in our heads, humbly overjoyed and, in our guts, justifiably indignant.

That’s why the last part of our parable is so very important.  I have never liked how the landowner forces the full-day workers to watch the distribution of wages.  That part always feels like a “gotcha” to the hardworking full-day workers.  But Stanley Hauerwas clarifies, “If [the owner] had begun paying those hired first they would not have known that all were being paid at the same rate.  God’s grace is the grace of truth refusing to hide from us the character of our envy of those whom we think underserving.  The parable of the vineyard exemplifies God’s justice – a justice disciplined by the truth.”[vi]  In other words, the only way we fully understand the contrast in our sense of justice and God’s sense of justice is to see that justice in action and feel how that justice hits us in our guts. 

So, is today’s parable meant to leave us going home today just feeling guilty about how unlike God we are when it comes to justice and grace and our treatment of others?  Yes.  And no.  The parable offers harsh truth we need to face.  But what we do with that harsh truth is much more important.  For me, that means staying in that friend group with that friend who would have gone home happy for the one-hour laborers and shared the joy with her family (and maybe even been proud to know that such a landowner exists).  For you, that may mean digging into your own experience and recalling those days when you were still sitting in the marketplace and received abundant grace you did not deserve.  For us, that means looking at how we shape this community to model that vineyard – always looking for ways to model abundant, uncomfortable grace.  And for our world, that means becoming so revolutionized toward abundant grace, that we work to replicate that kind of grace in the economic system formed by our elected leaders – whether working within the system or outside the system.  Yes, this parable rightly makes us uncomfortable.  The challenge this week is what you can do with that discomfort.  This community is here to help you get out of your gut and into your head and heart.  Amen. 


[i] Debie Thomas, “On Fairness,” September 13, 2020, as found at https://journeywithjesus.net/essays/2757-on-fairness on September 18, 2026.  Also see https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=meiU6TxysCg, posted April 4, 2013, as found on September 17, 2026.

[ii] Barbara Brown Taylor, The Seeds of Heaven:  Sermons on the Gospel of Matthew (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2004), 103.

[iii] Brown Taylor, 104, 106.

[iv] Lewis R. Donelson, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. A, Vol. 4 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2011), 97.

[v] Stanley Hauerwas, Matthew:  Brazos Theological Commentary on the Bible (Grand Rapids:  Brazos Press, 2006), 176.

[vi] Hauerwas, 177.

Sermon – Luke 2.1-20, CE, YA, December 24, 2025

07 Wednesday Jan 2026

Posted by jandrewsweckerly in Sermons

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anxiety, carol, Christmas Eve, church, clarity, God, grace, humanity, Jesus, love, noise, Sermon, silent, Silent Night, stress, truth

Ten Christmases ago – my very first Christmas at Hickory Neck – we gathered near midnight in the Historic Chapel, mesmerized by the flickering of candlelight and eager to experience our first Christmas together.  It started out as an idyllic night.  And then, right as I began my sermon, a car alarm went off.  Now I am a consummate professional, so I kept going.  But I noticed how, after the alarm kept beeping and beeping, one parishioner at a time snuck out of the church to ensure the beeping was not coming from their car.  I swear that beeping went on for 5 minutes before we found the right clicker to shut the noise down.  Recovering, we moved forward with the service, overcoming other minor hiccups as I figured out how to best celebrate in the beautiful space by candlelight.  And then, right as we proclaimed the dismissal, we heard the blaring roar of fire trucks right outside the church.  We all looked confused as there was not fire in the space where we were worshiping.  We later learned that one of the candles got a little too smokey and the fire station down the hill had been silently alerted.  We were able to send them back to the station, but the night was anything but a Silent Night at Hickory Neck.

I have always found the fact that we sing Silent Night on Christmas Eve to be a humorous contradiction.  Nothing about the night of Jesus’ birth was silent.  His parents entered Bethlehem amidst the chaos of the census, where they finally found space in an inn among the animals.  I do not know how much you have been around animals, but they are not particularly silent – even while sleeping.  Then there is the act of giving birth.  I know Mary is the Blessed Mother, but I do not know of any woman who is silent in childbirth – let alone a newborn who is silent after the trauma of entering the world.  And although the shepherds keeping watch over their flocks by night might have been enjoying some relative quiet, those angels sure are not quiet.  I am pretty sure a multitude of the heavenly host praising God is really loud. 

So, what inspired the author of hymn Silent Night?  Well, we’ve cobbled together a bit about the formation of the hymn.  “Joseph Mohr worked as a country priest serving a small village in present-day Austria.  His father had abandoned the family prior to his birth, and Joseph relied on the encouragement and support of the local church for his education.  He was active in the choir, learned violin and guitar, and went on to seminary and full-time ministry.  While a parish priest, Joseph penned Silent Night and asked his friend, a local schoolmaster, to compose the melody for a Christmas Eve service.”[i]  Varying sources say he wrote the words while walking in the quiet snow-covered town, and that the night of Christmas Eve that year in 1818, the organ had broken, so the organist, Franz Gruber, figured out how to play the tune on the guitar.[ii]  There was something magical about the carol, though, because Joseph Mohr’s hymn spread around the world over time, being translated into over 300 languages.

But perhaps the most famous thing about the song happened almost 100 years later amid brutal trench war in World War I.  On December 24, 1914, “…as Christmas Eve night drew in, British soldiers watched in surprise as German troops began to place makeshift Christmas trees on the ridge of the German trenches.  Soon after enemy soldiers waved to each other and shouted Christmas greetings.  Then a few German soldiers came gingerly over the top of the trenches to retrieve their dead and wounded comrades from the battlefield.  British soldiers followed their example, until ‘No Man’s Land’ was cleared of the dead and dying.  Although the pause in fighting had brought a welcome sense of calm, both sides were still divided.  Then through the cold, starry night a German soldier began to sing ‘Stille Nacht,’ [or Silent Night].  What followed was both sides singing more well- known carols, some sung at the same time in both German and English.  Then soldiers ventured over the top of the trenches again, this time to exchange smiles, show photographs of loved ones, and even play football together.”[iii] 

As I have been thinking about the well-loved, seemingly universally healing and appealing carol of Silent Night, despite the obvious contrast in that actual, quite noisy night and the night described in the carol, I have begun to wonder what we mean by the word “silent.”  I wonder if instead of the absence of noise, we might mean a sense of hyperfocus.  When Mohr composed about that silent night, I wonder if he meant the silence that only comes with profound clarity where the world truly seems to stop as truth is revealed to you.  One can image how time seems to freeze, the distractions of crying children, or noisy uncles, or cranky pets suddenly mute, as profound truth makes sense for us.  On that snowy night in the World War I trenches, the profound truth was in the humanity of the formerly faceless enemy.  On that night in Bethlehem, the profound truth was that a Savior was born – not a generic savior but a savior born “to you,” the text tells the lowly shepherds.  On that night for that parish priest, with a broken organ on the biggest night of the Church year, the profound truth was “…not just a baby in a manger, but love’s pure light, …[where] we too can encounter God’s redeeming grace.”[iv]            

That is the church’s gift to you tonight too.  I cannot take away the noise of children (or adults who act like children), or the noise of anxiety and stress, or even the noise of seemingly unending political strife.  But the church can offer you the silence that comes from the truth of love’s pure light, radiant beams, and God’s redeeming grace.  Even if the noise only momentarily fades into nothing, in that silence the incarnate God whispers to you the only gift you need tonight – love’s pure light, radiant beams, and redeeming grace.  God gifts you with the grounding truth of this night, so that on all the other nights, all the other hours, all the other minutes, you have the silent night to help you brave the noise.  Amen.


[i] David Chavez, “Advent Devotional,” as found at https://www.cslewisinstitute.org/christmas-carol-silent-night/ on December 23, 2025.

[ii] “A Weary World Rejoices.  Silent Night: God’s Inadvertent Ways” St. Luke’s UMC, December 24, 2020, as found at chrome-extension://efaidnbmnnnibpcajpcglclefindmkaj/https://www.stlukesumc.com/GetFile.ashx?guid=f669184e-bb9b-4641-a7a9-e75da96a5d4a on December 23, 2025.

[iii] “Silent Night:  A Reflection,” as found at chrome-extension://efaidnbmnnnibpcajpcglclefindmkaj/https://missio.org.uk/wp-content/uploads/2018/11/Silent-Night-a-reflection-notes.pdf on December 23, 2025.

[iv] Chavez.

Sermon – Philippians 3.17-4.1, L2, YC, March 16, 2025

18 Wednesday Jun 2025

Posted by jandrewsweckerly in Sermons

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disciple, failure, imitate, Jesus, learner, Paul, perfection, Sermon, teach, teachers, truth

We are in a season of bold proclamations.  Whether the assertions are about the best ways to govern, the smartest ways to allocate resources, or where responsibility lies for the care of others, the conversations happening in the wider community are marked by bold declarations of what is truth – often asserting truth with a capital “T.”  The most dangerous of these declarations of truth for me are the declarations about what being a Christian means – what being a faithful follower of Jesus entails.  Maybe I am more sensitive to those assertions because of my 9 to 5 job, but I cannot tell you the number of times I have been frustrated, if not angered, lately by those proclaiming truths about the way of Christ that sound very little like the Jesus I know. 

Knowing my defensiveness lately, you will likely be unsurprised by my reaction to our epistle reading today when Paul is acting very Paul-like.  Paul, who has regularly said that followers of Christ should imitate Christ, today says, “Brothers and sisters, join in imitating me, and observe those who live according to the example you have in us.”[i]  Paul’s instruction to imitate him is bold.  Paul does not say, “Do as I say, not as I do.”  Paul says, “Do what I do.”  Modern, defensive skeptics that we are, we immediately assume Paul has developed an inflated ego.  We know that telling people to imitate you is the first step toward a nasty fall.  Such a bold claim is setting Paul up for failure – because none of us are perfect.  Paul’s words immediately remind us of the hundreds of clergy who have fallen – who have embezzled, had affairs, abused children, abused alcohol, and have failed to be faithful pastors.  Surely Paul is setting up himself and the many people who are following him for failure.  Why would he do such a thing and who is he to proclaim perfection?

What we lose in our jaded, skeptical, snarky twenty-first century selves is the reminder of how learning and formation have happened for centuries.  As one scholar explains, both Jesus, and Paul his disciple, “know that true moral and spiritual formation depends on tutelage under a master – learning to follow the habits and practices of one who has become proficient in a particular trade or skill.  Indeed, this is the precise meaning of the word ‘disciple’:  a learner or pupil.”[ii]  In this way, disciples are learning from someone wiser than themselves, and in fact are imitating the teacher’s teacher.[iii]  So when Paul says imitate me, he does not really mean imitate Paul, but imitate Paul, who is imitating Jesus Christ.  Imitate the teacher’s teacher.

What I find assuring, then, is that Paul is not saying he is perfect.  He is not boasting about his perfect imitation of Christ, but only encouraging others to imitate Christ as he tries to imitate Christ.  What Paul knows is that our lives are never perfect.  But if we are not imitating something worth imitation, then we are already losing the battle.  And so, Paul’s imitation and our imitation many years later may be rough versions of Jesus Christ, but our imitation is still rooted in that great teacher who taught so many before us.

How we imitate Paul today is a bit more complicated.  We too must find our teachers who point to The Teacher.  The trick is not to think too remotely.  When asked who our role models are, many of us will name famous people of faith – Martin Luther King, Jr. or St. Patrick who we will celebrate tonight, or, given that it’s Women’s History Month, some of the suffragettes or first female clergy.  And those folks will give us much to ponder about our faith life.  But the problem is, sometimes those people are so removed from our lives that they cannot really teach us how to live our lives as Christians today. 

This is why, in his own day and in his own community, Paul offers himself up as an example.  Not because he is some stellar example of Christ, but because he is in relationship with those with whom he is talking.  Paul realizes that the most powerful person to learn from is someone right in your community.  As professor Dirk Lange says, “Paul is directing the gaze of the community not toward some type of individual perfection, not even toward the supreme perfection of Christ…but to the realization of Christ’s love within the community itself.”[iv]

So, Paul is inviting us to do a couple of things.  First, Paul is inviting us to name our own teachers.  One of my favorite set of teachers is a couple I know from college.  When Rebecca and David were married, they bought a home in North Carolina much larger than what they would need.  The house was a fixer-upper, but they had dreams.  Their dream was to make the house into an intentional Christian community that also serves as a transitional house for families.  So, people who are in-between jobs, a woman who is recently divorced, or really anyone the local pastor recommends is welcome to come live in their home.  They have some house rules about sharing work, community meals, and weekly worship.  But Rebecca, David, and their two sons are imitating Christ in this radical lifestyle.  When I am really wondering how to live a Christ-like life, I look at this family and see how far I have to go.

But even Rebecca and David can be a little too removed.  So sometimes I just look at those around me.  I look at the spiritual disciplines of parishioners here.  I look at the ways that you care for those with physical and mental limitations.  I look at the ways you tend to this property, engage as faithful citizens, or the ways you serve our neighbors in need.  Much like Paul and his community, we are not perfect.  We too struggle to understand how faith is lived right here in Upper James City County.  Our engagement in that struggle is what points us toward Christ.

This leads us to our second invitation from Paul – to recognize the ways in which we are all teachers to others.  When you leave this place every Sunday, you are not just Linda or Dave or Elizabeth.  You are Linda the Christian from Hickory Neck.  You are Dave who shows what being a person of faith is all about:  not because you are perfect, but because you are struggling to be like Christ.  One of my favorite evangelism videos is a video that talks about the top reasons why people do not come to church.  One reason they articulate is that the Church is full of hypocrites.  We know the ways that we feel like hypocrites and the world knows the ways we act like hypocrites.  The video has responses to each person’s fear or hesitancy about Church.  When the person complains that the Church is full of hypocrites, the Christian honestly and humbly says, “And there’s always room for one more.”  That kind of raw honesty is the kind of honesty that leads to trust, that leads to sharing, that leads to opening our doors to others.  That is the kind of honesty that makes others not only want to imitate us and our Teacher, but also to join us and the Teacher.  Paul invites us then to boldly proclaim, “Imitate me,” so that we can figure this journey out together.  Amen.


[i] Italics added by me for emphasis.

[ii] Ralph C. Wood, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 2 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 62.

[iii] Casey Thompson, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 2 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 64.

[iv] Dirk G. Lange, “Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 2 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 65.

Sermon – Matthew 2.1-12, EP, YA, January 8, 2023

11 Wednesday Jan 2023

Posted by jandrewsweckerly in Sermons

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Bethlehem, boldness, Epiphany, God, insight, Isaiah, Jerusalem, king, magi, Matthew, opennness, prophecy, Sermon, truth, wise men

When I first read our Isaiah text today, I had not remembered that Isaiah had predicted kings coming to the Messiah with gold and frankincense.  I was thrilled to see the pairing of Isaiah and Matthew today, thinking of how wonderfully the Old and New Testaments’ stories were being woven together.  And since Matthew is known for emphasizing the idea of Jesus being the fulfillment of the Hebrew Scriptures, I thought we could not have a better invitation today than to “Arise, shine; for your light has come, and the glory of the LORD has risen upon you.”

But the more I read this week, the more I realized that the math is not so simple.  We do not simply get “Isaiah plus Matthew equals fulfillment.”  In fact, the introduction of Isaiah 60 helps us see that Jesus’ story is much more complicated than Jesus’ story appears at first glance.  Isaiah 60 is written about the city of Jerusalem.  About 600 years before Jesus is born, the people of Israel return to Jerusalem after exile, to a ruined city.  To these disheartened peoples, Isaiah writes this poem to encourage them and to predict the ways in which Jerusalem will return to Jerusalem’s former glory.  The poet believes that Jerusalem will be a hub of international trade, becoming once again a prosperous, productive city where, “Nations will come to your light, and kings to the brightness of your dawn.” 

The wise men from the East in Matthew’s gospel likely knew of Isaiah 60.[i]  They journey to Jerusalem because they know about this text, and they bring their gold, frankincense, and myrrh because Jerusalem is where they expect to find this king of peace and prosperity.  But when they finally arrive to inquire of Herod about this new king, Herod panics.  Herod runs to his own advisors, demanding an explanation of Isaiah 60, wanting to hear all about these multitudes of camels and these extravagant gifts.  That is when the story takes a twist.  According to Herod’s chief priests and scribes, Isaiah 60 is not where these wise men should be looking at all.  Instead, the prophecy they seek comes from Micah 5, which says, “And you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah, are by no means least among the rulers of Judah; for from you shall come a ruler who is to shepherd my people Israel.”[ii]  Herod calls for the wise men, tells them the actual location of this new king, and the rest is history.

What is interesting in this switch within Matthew are the differences between Jerusalem and Bethlehem.  Jerusalem is the city that Isaiah promises will be the thriving, prosperous city – where the king of kings could easily make his home.  And yet, Bethlehem is where the king actually appears.  Not in the thriving, bustling, shiny city, but in a rural, dusty, unpretentious town.  No one expects such a place for their king.  They expect their king to live in the beautiful, prosperous city they have developed, not in some shabby town that does not hold the same prestige as their glorious, revitalized city.

I have been wondering in what ways we too might be like most of the characters in this story – expecting to find greatness in our lives in the obvious places as opposed to in the less likely places.  As we emerge from the pandemic, we find ourselves tentatively trying to return to a sense of normalcy.  But the trauma of these last few years sometimes fills us of with longing about pre-COVID times instead of wondering what our new reality can be.  Yes, the pandemic hurt and continues to hurt many people, sending more people into unemployment, to food pantries, and to government assistance.  But in those supposed glory days before the pandemic, many of us were spending more than we had, assuming lives we could not afford, and forgetting the poor in the process.  In some ways our prosperity gave us permission to forget each other and encouraged us to focus solely on ourselves.  We got lost in the prosperity instead of finding the kind of people that God invites us to be.

What is interesting to me in our story from Matthew is the reaction of the wise men.  They do not scoff at Herod’s insight.  They do not hear about Bethlehem and begin to ponder whether they really want to see this journey through or not.  They, as learned intellectuals and powerful men, do not second-guess Herod’s new interpretation through Micah over Isaiah.  Instead, “rather than hesitate or resist, they reorganize their wealth and learning, and reorient themselves and their lives around a baby with no credentials.”[iii]  The funny thing is that Bethlehem is about nine miles south of Jerusalem.  These men, who have done numerous calculations, a detailed study of prophecies, and have already made a long journey following a star, have missed their mark by nine miles.  Though Herod shares the insight about Micah for personal gain, imagine how different the story would be had Herod’s chief priests and scribes not remembered Micah 5, let alone if the wise men had been too proud not to hear this fresh insight. 

The response of the wise men is one of letting go of one’s own expectations and trusting that God continues to reveal truth that may not be congruent with what hard work and experience would lead one to anticipate.  As one scholar explains, what the wise men learn is that the journey with God is “not about security and prosperity, but about vulnerability, neighborliness, generosity, a modest future with spears turned into pruning hooks and swords of plowshares.”[iv]  The wise men show us that the truly wise are always willing to accept that God may reveal truth that is counter to anything else we know, but that is full of greatness and joy.

Our invitation today is an invitation into the same boldness of the wise men.  Our invitation is to let the vulnerability of Micah disrupt the self-congratulation of Isaiah, realizing that although we might expect God to redeem us in the way we anticipate, granting us favor and privilege, we might instead experience that God redeems us through much more simple, humble ways.  Our invitation is to be bold enough to keep journeying with God, even when we are presented with information that might steer our journey in a direction we never expected or desired.  Our invitation is to remember that nine miles may not be a lot, but nine miles can be the difference between a manipulative, power-hungry king, and a humble, vulnerable king who can transform our lives into ones focused not on ourselves but on our neighbors and the greater good of all of us.  The question for us, both as individuals and as a community of faith, is what dusty road we have been avoiding.  The promise is that the dusty road will lead us to a connection with our Savior, who is so tremendous, that we too will drop everything and pay homage to our King.  Amen.          


[i] Walter Brueggemann, “Off by Nine Miles,” Christian Century, vol. 118, no. 35, December 19-26, 2001, 15.

[ii] Matthew 2.6

[iii] Brueggemann, 15.

[iv] Brueggemann, 15.

Sermon – Matthew 11.25-30, St. Francis Feast, YC, October 2, 2022

05 Wednesday Oct 2022

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animals, blessing, Jesus Christ, light, peace, reconciliation, relationship, rest, sabbath, Sermon, St. Francis, truth, wolf, work, yoke

Today we honor the life of St. Francis of Assisi.  Francis is one of the most popular and admired saints of all time.  Most of us know the highlights of his story:  born the son of a wealthy man in 1182; had a conversion experience and devoted his life to Lady Poverty; shaped monastic and lay devotion; was a friend to all God’s creatures – being known to have preached to the birds.

But the story I like most is the story about St. Francis and the Wolf.  According to legend, there was a wolf that was terrorizing the town of Gubbio, killing and eating animals and people.  The villagers tried to fight back, but they too died at the jaws of the wolf.  Francis had pity on the townspeople and went out to meet the wolf.  When Francis found the wolf, he made the sign of the cross, and said, “Come to me, Brother Wolf.  In the name of Christ, I order you not to hurt anyone.”  In response, the wolf calmly laid down at Francis’ feet.  Francis then went on to explain to the wolf how he was terrorizing the people and other animals – all who were made in the image of God.  The wolf and Francis then made a pact that the wolf would no longer harm the townspeople and the townspeople would no longer try to hurt the wolf.  The two traveled into town to explain the pact they had formed.  The people were amazed as Francis and the wolf walked side-by-side into town.  Francis made the people pledge to feed the wolf and the wolf pledge not to harm anyone else.  From that day on, the wolf went door to door for food.  The wolf hurt no one and no one hurt the wolf; even the dogs did not bark at the wolf.[i]

What I love about this story of St. Francis is that the story is about reconciliation and relationship.  At the beginning of the story the town and the wolf are at an impasse – the wolf is hungry and getting attacked; the people are afraid and are lashing out.  What Francis does for both parties is shock them out of the comfortable.  For the wolf, no one has addressed the wolf kindly – they have either shut the wolf out or actively tried to kill him.  For the people, the wolf has not asked for help – he has simply and violently taken what he needed and wanted.  Francis manages to shock the wolf first – not through violence or force, but with the power of love and blessing.  By giving a blessing in the name of God, Francis is then able to implore the wolf to reciprocate with love.  Francis also manages to shock the village – not with a violent victory, but with a humble display of forgiveness and trust.  By walking into town with a tamed wolf at his side, Francis is able to encourage the town embrace, forgive, and care for the wolf.  Francis’ actions remind both parties that unless their relationships are reconciled, unrest and division will be the norm. 

The funny thing about this story is that the story is pretty ridiculous.  I mean, how many of us go around talking to wild animals, blessing them with the sign of the cross, expecting anything other than being attacked?  We will never really know whether the story is true.  But like any good Biblical story, whether the story is true is hardly the point: the point is that the stories point toward “Truth” with a capital “T.”  What this story teaches is peace and reconciliation only happen through meeting others where they are.  We cannot expect great change unless we are willing to get down in the trenches – to go out and meet that destructive wolf face-to-face.  The other thing this story teaches is relationships are at the heart of peace work.  Only when the wolf and the town begin to get to know each other and begin to form a relationship with one another can they move forward. 

This is the way life is under Jesus Christ.  In our gospel lesson today, Jesus says, “Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.  Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.  For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”  Jesus’ words have layered meaning.  The first meaning we all catch is that Jesus offers us rest and refreshment.  Jesus encourages us to come to him, to cast our burdens and cares upon him, and to take rest, to take Sabbath in Christ.  Our souls will find peace in Christ Jesus.  The second meaning is that peace in Christ Jesus is not without work.  Jesus does not say come unto me and relax forever in happy retirement.  Jesus says we will still have to take on a yoke – the burden of disciple living.  Luckily, that burden of being Christ’s disciple will not be burdensome – it will be light.  Finally, not only will Jesus make the workload “light,” as in not heavy.  Jesus will also make us “light” – as in lights that shine into the darkness and refuse to allow the shadow to overwhelm.   We become the light when we work for reconciliation in our relationships with others. 

That is why we do a couple of special things today.  First, we ask for blessing on our animals – that God might help our relationship with our pet be one of blessing and light.  Second, we come to Jesus for Sabbath rest – that God might renew us on this Sabbath day, use the rest to fill us with light, and renew our commitment to be agents of reconciliation, gladly putting on Christ’s yoke.  Amen.


[i] Jack Wintz, “St. Francis and the Taming of the Wolf,” as found at https://www.franciscanmedia.org/franciscan-spirit-blog/st-francis-and-the-taming-of-the-wolf on September 30, 2022. 

Sermon – Mark 9.30-37, P20, YB, September 19, 2021

29 Wednesday Sep 2021

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creative, design thinking, faith, fear, Five Whys, God, innovation, innovative, Jesus, Messiah, Peter, problem, relationship, Savior, seekers, Sermon, solving, stuck, thinking, truth, why

This spring I took a class on Design Thinking.  Technically speaking, “Design thinking is a non-linear, iterative process that teams use to understand users, challenge assumptions, redefine problems and create innovative solutions to prototype and test.”[i]  In layman’s terms, design thinking is a non-traditional way of getting to innovative idea.  Within design thinking are several methods to help people get out of their traditional ways of thinking.  One of my favorites is The Five Whys Method.  You start with a problem, and you ask why the problem is happening.  Then you look at the first “why?” and ask the question again.  Why is that answer happening.  And on and on until you get to the root of the issue[ii] – almost like peeling layers off an onion.  At first, the Five Whys feel a little silly.  But the more you play with the method, the faster you realize the problem you are looking at is not the actual problem.  And when you finally hit the right answer, you may be surprised by how uncomfortably honest the answer is.

 In our gospel lesson today, the disciples clearly have never heard of the Five Whys Method.  In fact, when Jesus, privately teaching the disciples, tells them he will be betrayed, killed, and will rise again on the third day, the disciples say nothing.  The text tells us they do not understand Jesus, and they are “afraid to ask him.”  They are afraid to ask why.  They are afraid to go beyond that first layer of the onion because they do not even like the layer in front of them.  We talked last week about how Peter tried to discourage Jesus from this same fate:  because a Messiah is not supposed to suffer and die – a Messiah is supposed to free them from oppressive power.[iii] 

We can understand their fear.  When taking that class on design thinking I practiced the method using a challenge we were facing at Hickory Neck.  To be honest, I do not even remember the actual presenting problem.  But what I do remember was getting the answer to the third why.  When I answered why to that third question, the answer took my breath away.  I was mortified and ashamed:  surely that was not the answer to the problem.  As I stood stunned at the words that had just come out of my mouth, and after some awkward silence, my partner asked me again, “Okay.  But why?”  As I shook off my paralysis and answered the fourth why, I started getting some more honest clarity.  By the time I got to the fifth why, I was sold on the method.  The method helped me name the thing I could not name just staring at presenting problem.

After the conversation with the disciples, Jesus introduces a child into the teaching with the disciples.  Scholars have many theories about the introduction.  Thousands of years ago, children were not regarded with honor.  As Sharon Ringe explains, “A child did not contribute much if anything to the economic value of a household or community, and a child could not do anything to enhance one’s position in the struggles for prestige or influence.  One would obtain no benefit from according to a child the hospitality or rituals of honor or respect that one might offer to someone of higher status…”[iv]  Most scholars agree Jesus does not introduce children because they are cute and to be loved (even if they are!).  But I wonder if Jesus, having known a few children, knew that children are particularly adept at asking, “why?”  Any of you who has known a preschooler has known the incessant way they can ask the question, “why?”  And as children age, the question does not stop:  the question just gets increasingly uncomfortable.  I think Jesus knew the disciples were stuck on their own conceptions of the Messiah and their role in the divine narrative, and Jesus wanted them to start probing why that narrative mattered to them.  Jesus wanted them to start peeling back the narratives, but saw they were afraid of truth.

That is our invitation today.  Our gospel scene is an invitation for us into deeper, more honest, more probing relationship with Jesus.  Instead of taking our relationship with Jesus at face value, instead of being afraid of hard questions, instead of being afraid of scary answers, our invitation today is to engage in our faith in the same way we engage in innovative thinking:  to keep asking the whys over and over again.  The good news is we have a community of seekers who can ask those whys with us and hold us in the uncomfortable answers until we get clarity.  The good news is we have tools to help overcome our fear and silence, and kids in our community who will keep us honest.  The good news is we have a Savior who is willing to engage with us in a brutally honest, yet radically salvific relationship.  Thanks be to God!  Amen.


[i] Teo Yu Siang, “Design Thinking,” Interaction Design Foundation, as found at https://www.interaction-design.org/literature/topics/design-thinking on September 18, 2021.

[ii] iSixSigma-Editorial, “Determine the Root Cause: 5 Whys,” as found at https://www.isixsigma.com/tools-templates/cause-effect/determine-root-cause-5-whys/ on September 18, 2021. 

[iii] N.T. Wright, Mark for Everyone (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2004), 122.

[iv] Sharon H. Ringe, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Year B, Vol. 4 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 97.

Sermon – Matthew 9.35-10.23, P6, YA, June 14, 2020

17 Wednesday Jun 2020

Posted by jandrewsweckerly in Sermons, Uncategorized

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African-American, compassion, disciples, empower, God, harassed, helpless, Jesus, justice, love, mercy, police, protest, racism, rally, Sermon, Spirit, truth, witness

Last Sunday afternoon, I attended a rally in Colonial Williamsburg to renew the covenant between our Historical area police departments and the African-American community.  Established just three years ago, initiated by faith leaders in the African-American community, the covenant was established to proactively create collaborative relationships with our local police in order to prevent some of the racial divides that have occurred in other cities.  Although I was there to witness the support of the local clergy for this covenant, what I heard was the testimony of a community of people who have been harassed and feel helpless right here in our community.  Though we may have avoided some of the violence we have seen elsewhere in our country, the African-American community here in Williamsburg still feels the heel of racism pushing down on her neck.

Last week, we heard Matthew’s Great Commission, and we talked about the juxtaposition of civil unrest exploding around the issue of systemic racism and Jesus’ call to go out into the world doing works of justice, mercy, and love.  As some of the heat from protests simmered down a bit this past week, we could easily come to church today and long to turn down the heat too.  But our collect appointed for today, which you will hear later, holds our feet to the fire.  The collect says, “Keep, O Lord, your household the Church in your steadfast faith and love, that through your grace we may proclaim your truth with boldness, and minister your justice with compassion…”  Now the Collect of the Day is not just a random prayer, meant to sound good.  The Collect of the Day pulls themes from the scripture lessons appointed for the day – in essence, the Collect of the Day tries to articulate the thesis of our lessons.

After watching weeks of protests (maybe attending some yourself), hearing countless stories about unrest, reading articles or starting books about systemic racism, and praying diligently for peace, you may have come to church today hoping for some respite or reassurance.  But Jesus’ message to “Go!” from the Great Commission last week does not fade today.  Instead, Jesus’ words from Matthew’s gospel from almost 20 chapters earlier shows us our work is ever before us, beckoning us out into the world.

Years before his cross, resurrection, and ascension, we find Jesus teaching, healing, and proclaiming the good news to crowds of people.  In the midst of this work, we are told Jesus looks at the crowd and has compassion for them because they are harassed and helpless.  When Jesus sees the harassed and helpless, he does not simply fix the problem or strike down the system with godly power.  Instead, he turns to his disciples with a charge.  Jesus calls the twelve disciples by name (Simon Peter, Andrew, James, John, Philip, Bartholomew, Thomas, Matthew, James, Thaddaeus, Simon, and Judas), those who have been following him, learning from him, studying and praying with him, and sends them out, telling them how hard the work of showing compassion will be:  they will go without financial support, will be dependent upon the hospitality of strangers – some of whom will show them scorn rather than hospitality, will be persecuted and beaten, and will be betrayed even by their closest relatives.  This is the sobering work of love – of proclaiming God’s truth with boldness, and ministering God’s justice with compassion.

So how do the disciples hear such a sobering commission and still take the first step?  They take the first step because Jesus empowers the disciples.  Jesus gives the disciples power to heal and care for the oppressed; Jesus teaches them how to dust off their feet when they are scorned; Jesus promises when they need words, the Spirit of God will speak through them.  In other words, they just need to go, and God will take care of the rest.

Several of you have reached out to me over these last two weeks, longing for something to do in the midst of this important moment.  We have exchanged ideas and resources, and many of you have already begun to take specific action.  The content of how we respond in the coming weeks and months will vary widely, given our different gifts and abilities.  But our Collect today is not a prayer asking God to empower others to do the work of love or for God to just “fix it.”  Our Collect today is a request to God to help each one of us – called by name (Sue, John, Linda, Bob, Lisa, Bill, Tori, Don, Terri, Jim, Beth, and Dave) – to proclaim God’s truth with boldness, and minister God’s justice with compassion.  Jesus has already given us everything we need to do this work.  God is already keeping us in God’s steadfast faith and love; through God’s grace we can proclaim God’s truth with boldness, and minister God’s justice with compassion.  Amen.

On Signs and Listening…

26 Wednesday Feb 2020

Posted by jandrewsweckerly in Uncategorized

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faith, God, Jesus, journey, Lent, listening, preaching, sign, truth

hearing

Photo credit:  http://www.charismamag.com/life/women/34343-learning-to-listen-large-when-god-speaks-small

Every once in a while, someone will ask me to whom my sermon was directed.  I think most folks who ask this think I somehow got into their minds and was preaching about them.  But I always assure people that the primary person I am preaching to is myself, something on which I need work.  I share my struggle because I often hear echoes of my struggle in others’ struggles as well.

Well, this past Sunday I preached a sermon directed at myself, without even realizing it!  On Sunday we celebrated Transfiguration Sunday, this year using Matthew’s Gospel[i].  In Matthew’s Gospel, God says, “This is my Son, the Beloved; with him I am well pleased; listen to him!”  In my sermon, I talked about one of the things we all need to do this Lent is listen to Jesus.  Sunday night, by the time three services and one concert was over, my voice was gone.  By Monday, I was diagnosed with laryngitis.

Now, we can all get a laugh about how the preacher who reminded us all to listen is now mute and forced to listen to Jesus.  But I must be hardheaded, because I think Jesus was already asking me to listen just a few days before.  The week prior to my sermon, I had just returned from a pilgrimage, and was frantically trying to meet deadlines, follow up on pastoral care, and catch up on emails.  But we got a snow on Thursday night that cancelled school on Friday, and I had to clear my entire calendar so I could be at home with my kids.  Instead of making all my appointments, I sat down and did other things from my home office that were also being neglected.  I am convinced the snow day was God’s way of trying to get me to slow down, and listen to Jesus.  Apparently, I need more than one sign from God before I listen!

I wonder what signs you are finding in your faith journey?  Where are you having ah-ha moments of God speaking truth that finally click?  I believe God is speaking to us all the time:  sometimes in words directly to us, sometimes through the words and actions of others, and maybe even sometimes through creation!  As we take our ashes today, and as we begin a season of intentional relationship with God, I invite you to take time this Lent to listen.  I cannot wait to hear what God is saying to you!

[i] Matthew 17.1-9.

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