Live honorably as in the Day

A sermon for the fifteenth Sunday after Pentecost, September 6, 2026

St. John’s Episcopal Church, New City, New York

If another member of the church sins against you, go and point out the fault when the two of you are alone.

If you take today’s Gospel lesson by itself, in isolation, it looks like an outline of a dispute resolution manual for litigation in the church. It’s often approached that way, but I think that is a big mistake. This lesson is the middle of the eighteenth chapter of the Gospel of Matthew. In this chapter, Jesus’ disciples ask him the question, “who is the greatest in the Kingdom of Heaven?” and he responds by pointing out the humility of a small child. Not only is the child a model for us all, but “whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me.”

This chapter is about God’s welcome and God’s mercy. Today’s lesson is sandwiched between the Parable of the Lost Sheep—where the shepherd leaves his flock to go search for the single missing sheep—and the Parable of the Unforgiving Servant—where the servant is pardoned of a great crime and a great debt but then turns around and brutally deals with another servant who owed him a small amount.

The context of today’s gospel is illustrations of God’s compassion and the life of compassion—of Jesus’ expectation of generosity of spirit and energy, and of the ugly consequences of selfishness and a lack of mercy. In case you’re not familiar with the story, the Parable of the Unforgiving Servant ends thus: “ ‘Should you not have had mercy on your fellow slave, as I had mercy on you?’ And in anger his master handed him over to be tortured until he would pay his entire debt.”

So this passage is about life in the community of mercy and compassion. It’s about including the little ones who might be lost, overlooked or put to the side. When Jesus says, “If another member of the church sins against you…” he’s not giving instructions on how to find the sinners and put them to right; he’s not setting as a goal tossing out all the bad people who make life miserable—what Jesus is talking about here is living together in God’s mercy.

There’s a little book by Dietrich Bonhoeffer which I go back to, pretty frequently called Life Together.  It is about life in Christian community. Bonhoeffer writes:

Christian community is not an ideal, but a divine reality. Innumerable times a whole Christian community has broken down because it had sprung from a wish dream. The serious Christian, set down for the first time in a Christian community is likely to bring with him a very definite idea of what Christian life together should be and to try to realize it.  But God’s grace speedily shatters such dreams.

Bonhoeffer, Life Together, p. 26.

God’s grace—in other words, God has given us a gift of a community that’s filled with imperfect people, people definitely in need of God’s mercy, and it is the gift of God that our overly perfect expectations are shattered, leaving the real community in its place. There is no Christian who is not in need of compassion—from God, and from our sisters and our brothers.  Those who think their goal should be to be so perfect or self-sufficient as to not need compassion will find themselves frustrated, disappointed, embarrassed and unhappy. And if there is someone who thinks they have no need of forgiveness or compassion, that is a very serious problem indeed, for them or anyone whose lives are affected by them.

So when Jesus says, “… go and point out the fault when the two of you are alone,” it’s not about identifying who is in the wrong, who is the sinner, who is the bad person. It is not about that at all, it is a matter of honesty among the sinners in God’s community, of communicating clearly about hurts and offenses taken. Sometimes that communication is hard or frightening, and it takes another—someone outside the relationship, someone to help communication or provide support when getting truth told is a daunting prospect.  This passage frankly acknowledges that there might be situations where relationships are so badly damaged and trust so ruptured that reconciliation won’t take place. It is clear that such things happened in the churches we know about from the New Testament and historically in every age. But Jesus is not looking for a community where there will be no disagreements or hurts. Quite the opposite, Jesus creates a community where there will be hurts and breaches of trust, and in his presence, they will be healed. We are called to be the mercy of Christ and it takes real work to live that honestly and compassionately.

The lectionary chops the lessons in some odd ways sometimes, and today is one of them. Today’s lesson is followed by the parable of the Unmerciful Servant—one who asserted his rights in a brutal and uncompassionate way—a warning to those who would cleave to the values of this world rather than the mercy of God’s Kingdom. But the ending of todays’ lesson is interrupted.  Here’s how the section ends in the Gospel of Matthew:

Again, Amen I say to you, if two of you agree on earth about anything you ask, it will be done for you by my Father in heaven. For where two or three are gathered in my name. I am among them. Then Peter came and said to him, “Lord, if another brother or sister sins against me, how often should I forgive? As many as seven times?” Jesus said to him, “Not seven times, but, I tell you, seventy-seven times.”

Matthew 18:19-22

Then Jesus launches directly into the parable I just mentioned. It’s on good authority that we constantly misunderstand this lesson. St. Peter himself wants to limit the mercy in the community to a certain number of offenses before you’re tossed. Jesus’ response is basically to shake his head—No! Not just a number of times you can count—seventy-seven! (Some manuscripts actually say seventy times seven—perhaps he really meant seven to the seventieth power.) We are held fast in the community of God’s mercy. The realities of sins, missteps or offenses do not break the fabric of that divine community—we are blessed to live in the honesty of Christ’s mercy.  St. Paul says it this way in today’s epistle:

You know what time it is, how it is now the time for you to wake from sleep. For salvation is nearer to us now than when we became believers; the night is far gone, the day is near. Let us then lay aside the works of darkness and put on the armor of light; let us live honorably as in the day.

Romans 13:11-13

Get behind me Satan!

A sermon for the fourteenth Sunday after Pentecost, August 30, 2026

St. John’s Episcopal Church, New City, New York

Jesus began to show his disciples that he must go to Jerusalem and undergo great suffering at the hands of the elders and chief priests and scribes, and be killed and on the third day be raised.

At Caesarea Philippi, Jesus asked his disciples to reflect on who he was and what his significance was. They talked for a while about what other people thought Jesus was, who he resembled and so forth, and then Jesus asked them, “But who do you say that I am?” Peter was the one who responded: “You are the Messiah, the son of the living God!” Peter was perceptive and correct. He knew that Jesus, the man who he knew by his teachings and his actions was bringing the healing compassion of God into the world. And this insight was so important that it was the foundation of the church, the assembly of the forgiven. So, Jesus gave Peter his name: Rock—Petros is simply the Greek word meaning rock.

Why is this important to know for our Gospel reading today? Because there’s a dramatic moment in today’s reading when Jesus tells Peter that he must go to Jerusalem to suffer and die, And Peter responds: “God forbid it, Lord!” And then Jesus says: “Get behind me, Satan!”

Jesus just called Peter his rock and now he’s calling him Satan? What, indeed, is going on here?

Today’s reading has to do with the real love and compassion of God. It’s not what we like to think of as truth and compassion – something that doesn’t disturb our comfortable lives, our routines, our safety. That’s what Jesus was going to encounter in Jerusalem – people who were living untruthful and self-serving lives, believing they were entitled to their comfort.  And Jesus knew what the result would be of speaking to them of God’s truth and compassion. Someone once said to me in another context, “if you poke a narcissistic system, all you will get back is rage.” Jesus was realistic, far more realistic than so-called realists who counsel avoiding the truth if it creates difficulties.

Like the rest of us, Peter had grown up surrounded by that kind of realism and so we see him reacting just the way one would expect. He had been Jesus’ friend for a long time and Jesus had just told Peter that he was the foundation of his church that was to come. So, Peter reacted like any friend steeped in the realism of the world would have, he took Jesus to task and said, “God forbid it, Lord!”

            “Get behind me Satan!”

Peter was responding from the position of the demons of this world—those forces that push for untruth and avoidance of responsibility; those forces that easily accept the suffering of others to avoid the discomfort of encountering the truth. It’s easy to think of such things as “smart” or “grown-up” when what they are is cowardly and what they do is build up evil consequences. Given enough time those evil consequences will no longer be associated with the people who created them, they will seem to come out of nowhere.  In other words, demons are created. Those people who caused Jesus’ suffering weren’t especially evil; they were ordinary, worldly leaders, urbanely sophisticated, with good connections. They were regarded as having prudent judgement. And they arranged to have our healer and Lord killed.

Jesus didn’t so much take this personally; he wasn’t worried about himself. Jesus was concerned about bringing the love of God, the mercy of God, the compassion of God to all people, including those he had to face in Jerusalem. After setting Peter straight about what is wisdom and what is demonic, Jesus began to teach all his disciples. I think we can read that to include us: “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.” The love that Jesus lived is not limited or unique to him. The depth of truth and compassion that took him to Jerusalem also guides his followers, and the consequence of following Jesus may well be painful, it may indeed involve loss.

Certainly, in Christian history, it has even involved the literal loss of life. To be sure, when I talk about deep truthfulness, I am not talking about delivering facts in a way calculated to hurt our competitors or enemies, or even “inadvertently” saying things out of resentment or anger that might be true, but are not compassionate. Living in the compassion of Christ involves the courage to be truthful, even to ourselves about our own lack of compassion. (Sometimes that’s known as confession.)

“For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it.” Abundance of life involves the boldness to live for others and being serious enough to continue that when it is not easy—putting the priority on one’s own life is the surest way to end up wandering in dissatisfaction and misery—we see it daily: the voracious need for affirmation and adulation among the most selfish and entitled who already have the most. Surely, they are losing their lives.

It is a challenge living, as we do, in a context of great wealth, where we and our children hear over and over again from people around us, that the basis of value is in having things and money. Those things are not life, that money is not value.

Value is in human caring, caring that extends beyond ourselves, that rejoices in abundant happiness of others. Jesus says it right here: “For what will it profit them if they gain the whole world but forfeit their life? Or what will they give in return for their life?” Take up your cross, and follow him. Do not be afraid. You will be surprised at the abundance of joy, when you give away your fear, and your anxiety about what you might keep.

Let us pray again in the words of our collect for today:

Lord of all power and might, the author and giver of all good things: Graft in our hearts the love of your Name; increase in us true religion; nourish us with all goodness; and bring forth in us the fruit of good works; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

Collect for Proper 17, Book of Common Prayer

A Living Sacrifice

A sermon for the thirteenth Sunday after Pentecost, August 23, 2026

St. John’s Episcopal Church, New City, New York

I appeal to you therefore, brothers and sisters, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship.

Usually when people think about Christian teaching, they talk about Christ’s sacrifice for us, not about us presenting ourselves as a sacrifice. God came to us, and he sacrificed his life that we might have eternal life. That’s true enough, in outline. But what was really going on? How did that sacrifice happen?

Our Gospel lesson today is where Jesus asks Peter: “Who do you say that I am?” And Peter answers: “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.” Jesus had been healing many people and he had fed another crowd of four thousand people with seven loaves and a few small fish. He continued to have disputes with the Pharisees and Sadducees who had asked him for a sign. Peter admired all that and spoke from those feelings of admiration. So, Jesus blesses Peter after he acknowledged that Jesus was the Messiah. Because that’s what the Gospel is based on: God’s acting through God’s Son Jesus. The church and its mission depends on that.

But Peter wasn’t ready for the implications of what he said that Jesus was quite aware of, and that we read in next week’s Gospel: “He would undergo great suffering and be killed and on the third day be raised.” Peter had not considered the sacrifice that was included in being the Messiah, the fact that the evil in this world would not tolerate the purity of Jesus’ healing compassion especially for the poor and the marginalized. That was the sacrifice that Jesus made on behalf of the world—he wasn’t naïve, he knew what would happen. Peter, being like most of us, didn’t understand that and, therefore, he reveled in his pronouncement.

Whenever I hear what political movements and opinion polls have to say, I see that people are a lot like Peter. They’re happy to mouth all the do-good slogans, and talk about principles. But if those things come at a cost, the real sacrifices that must be made to achieve justice, peace, honest dealings by the government and others in power, then they quickly lose their motivation.

Christ presented himself as a sacrifice for the whole world. Really. He knew what the cost of insisting on love and justice was. He faced what people usually don’t. And most Christians like to think that Jesus’ sacrifice gets us off the hook. That makes no sense. If we are one with Christ, we are signing up to take part in the costs of his love, not just the benefits. That is why St. Paul wrote to the Romans: “I appeal to you sisters and brothers, by the mercies of God to present your bodies as a living sacrifice.” Unlike his other letters, Paul wrote this to a congregation that he had never met. So this appeal is not to specific individuals in the context of a specific problem, he’s writing to the whole church—he’s writing to us. And what does he mean, when he says, “present your bodies?” It is quite clear. In the next sentence he says, “Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your minds.” Just as Jesus refused the dishonesty and cruelty that are the hallmarks of the “ways of the world,” we are called to refuse that kind of worldliness, that self-serving dishonesty of life—even though that exposes us to risk, even to the “sacrifice of our bodies.”

There are many people who think they are smart and who think they have figured out how to make good use of power and influence. They somehow think that behaving otherwise is naïve. I won’t go to the trouble to compile a list—believe me there are specific examples that come to mind, even within the church—I am not just generalizing when I say this.  Conforming to the world is the kind of advice that people give and get all the time. And it leads us on the way to despair.

In his book, Souls of Black Folk, W.E.B. DuBois wrote about Alexander Crummell, a priest and missionary of the Episcopal Church. One episode in that account tells about the seminary where I was library director for a number of years:

Alexander Crummell

A voice and vision called him to be a priest, a seer to lead the uncalled out of the house of bondage. He saw the headless host turn toward him like the whirling of mad waters, he stretched forth his hands eagerly, and then, even as he stretched them, suddenly there swept across the vision the Temptation of Despair:

They were not wicked men, the problem of life is not the problem of the wicked, they were calm, good men, Bishops of the Apostolic Church of God, and strove toward righteousness. They said slowly, “It is all very natural—it is even commendable; but the General Theological Seminary of the Episcopal Church cannot admit a Negro.” And when that thin, half-grotesque figure still haunted their doors, they put their hands kindly, half sorrowfully, on his shoulders, and said, “Now, of course, we know how you feel about it; but you see it is impossible, that is—well—it is premature. Sometime, we trust sincerely trust all such distinctions will fade away; but now the world is as it is.”

W.E.B. DuBois, Souls of Black Folk, Chapter 12

The bishops involved have names. I could cite them. They were worldly and successful. But the reason I quote something from over 150 years ago, is that worldly leaders giving and taking this kind of worldly advice, are so common that there is no point in singling out individual cases from today. It is so tempting to take the shortcuts offered by the world, to allow others to have just a little suffering, especially, you know, if the group in power deems them as somehow lesser. And this is what brings St. Paul to his next sentence:

“I say to everyone among you not to think of yourself more highly than you ought to think… For as in one body we have many members, so we, who are many, are one body in Christ and individually we are members one of another. We have gifts that differ according to the grace given to us: prophecy, in proportion to faith; ministry, in serving, the teacher in teaching; the exhorter, in exhortation; the giver, in generosity; the leader, in diligence; the compassionate, in cheerfulness.”

Romans 12:3-8

When we present ourselves as a sacrifice, we give up the worldly pre-occupation with success or achieving distinction above others. It’s not necessary to be everything or to be the best. We are all called to be ourselves, giving what we really have to offer and respecting one another. It’s risky, and it doesn’t make sense to those who want to achieve power and domination. Jesus never made sense to them either, but he is the Messiah, the Son of the one and only living God.

Grant, O merciful God, that your Church, being gathered together in unity by your Holy Spirit, may show forth your power among all peoples, to the glory of your Name; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

Collect for Proper 16, Book of Common Prayer

For the Wind was against Them

Sermon for the eleventh Sunday after Pentecost, August 9, 2026

St. John’s Episcopal Church, New City, New York

In the fourth watch of the night, he came walking toward them on the sea.

Last Sunday, the Gospel lesson was the Feeding of the Five Thousand, which immediately precedes what we hear today. In the Gospel of Matthew, the reason that Jesus is out there at a remote place by the Sea of Galilee is that he had been informed that Herod Antipas was comparing Jesus to John the Baptist; and everyone knew that Herod had John killed for calling out Herod’s immoral behavior. Jesus withdrew in a boat to be in an isolated place by himself, but the crowd showed up there. After Jesus had his disciples feed the crowd, he still needed a time of quiet and prayer.

Our lesson today begins with Jesus sending his disciples ahead with the boat, while he got rid of the crowds and went up on the mountain to pray.  So why did he send the disciples off in the boat? Because they needed to get to the other side.  Most of them were fishermen, and they knew how to use a boat—better than Jesus did—he was a carpenter, after all. So that evening, they were headed off, across the lake, while Jesus was up on the mountain alone, praying.

Though they knew how to row it was tough going, because the wind was blowing directly at them. And as they struggled through the night, a storm came up.

I grew up in arid country, and storms can appear quickly. When I was a kid, I was fishing with my dad, an uncle, and three cousins in a small boat in the middle of a reservoir not that much smaller than the Sea of Galilee. In the middle of a sunny afternoon a cloud came in from the west and suddenly there was a storm—the waves were higher than the gunwales of the boat. My dad got the outboard motor started and we went straight for the nearest point on the shore. As soon as the boat touched the beach, it filled with water. It was a frightening and dangerous few moments.

Out there on the water there was no place to take cover.  The disciples had been struggling out on the open water all night, and it was dark. When the storm suddenly came up—the text says, literally, it was the fourth watch of the night, which meant the time between 3 a.m. and 6 a.m. There they were, far from shore, without even a 35-horsepower Evinrude to get them out of danger.

St. Peter Walks on Water

And Jesus appears, walking toward them on the water. It didn’t calm their fears—they thought they were seeing a ghost. Out there in the dark everything seemed threatening. Not just the real possibilities of the boat sinking or capsizing, but everything. Their fear, which was in a real sense reasonable, magnified every other thing around them and made everything frightening, even the saving presence of Jesus. When I read this story again, I realized that it resembles nothing as much as the accounts of Jesus resurrection appearances. He appears, and is seen, but not recognized until he speaks. He reached out his hand so that Peter could touch him and know that he was not a ghost. Jesus is present, the fear calms, and the storm calms—and the disciples are safe.

So why didn’t he just stay with them and keep them safe? One reason is that he had something else to do—he was out there on that hillside to pray and reflect. And why shouldn’t these professional boat rowers be the ones to take a boat across a lake? The danger that the disciples were in was not unusual. Back then, people lived closer to the forces and dangers of nature than we do today. Everyday life could put you in peril that we mostly can’t imagine today.  In our more technologically advanced age, dangers tend to be mediated by technology, like automobile accidents or nuclear missiles. Our fears and anxieties more often revolve around our relationships with people and institutions. Things like will there be enough money? Are those unhappy faces signs of a conspiracy against me? What will happen with this war and all the effects it has on the world economy?

In all these things, fear magnifies people’s responses to real life problems. And fear makes it harder to resolve problems and differences. At St. John’s, this congregation is facing a transition, and there’s a lot of uncertainty about that. Pay attention to when your response is guided by fearfulness. The best thing to do in that case is to try to give everyone a break. Because fear can be replaced by hope and wonder.

Jesus appears in the midst of the storm, not to do a magic act and make the danger go away. That’s not what the miracle is. The miracle is the healing of the fear, the presence of the life-giving power of God. At the beginning of the lesson, Jesus is dismissing the crowds, just as at the end of the Eucharist, the priest or a deacon dismisses the congregation: “Go forth, in the peace of God.” At the end of today’s lesson, Jesus brings peace, not just to the disciples, but to the forces of nature. His presence gives courage—even though, as Peter demonstrates, we can still slip and start to sink. And we often overthink things—we think of why we are beyond God’s help; think that Jesus is on the other side of the lake; or perhaps on the other side of a historical or philosophical divide. Somehow, the last place we expect him is in the middle of our turbulent storm. Yet at the darkest time, there he is: “Take heart. It is I, do not be afraid.”

Don’t be fooled by the loudest voices, or the roaring of the storms, or the great earthquakes or cataclysms. Remember Elijah from our Old Testament reading today. He was told to go to the mountain and wait for the Lord. And it was not the storm, or the earthquake, or the fire that revealed the Lord. It was the sound of sheer silence.

Nothing can separate us

Sermon for the ninth Sunday after Pentecost, July 26, 2026

St. John’s Episcopal Church, New City, New York

For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.

This is a well-known passage, but what is St. Paul talking about? He is talking about the role of the Holy Spirit in the Christian community. It’s easy to have vague and misleading ideas about the Holy Spirit, so let’s look at what the Bible has to say about it. The Gospel of John calls the Holy Spirit, the Paraclete. What that Greek word means is “one called to the side of someone.”  So, as a priest, I might be called to the side of a person in the hospital or to someone who is grieving. A lawyer might be called to stand alongside of someone with legal problems; or a friend to stand along with a friend in need.  In the church, where Jesus is no longer physically present, God’s Holy Spirit stands alongside us, enabling us to love one another, incorporating our lives into God’s compassion.

Paul says, “The spirit helps us in our weakness, for we do not know how to pray as we ought…” It’s common to think that good prayer is somehow an output of a well-informed or disciplined mind, or that somehow if we just pray with enough fervor in the right way we can get God to do the things that are important to us.

Actually, prayer does not work like that at all. In prayer we stand, or sit, or kneel in God’s presence; our desires, our feelings, our needs are there. Our care for other people and perhaps even our words are there.  But it is the spirit of God’s love, the Holy Spirit, that joins us to God in prayer. We are joined, upheld and helped in our weakness, even when we are unaware, even when we may feel that our prayers are going nowhere—indeed, God’s presence is not based on what we feel or perceive at all—often, it is at times of dryness, desolation or even despair that we are being transformed into the compassion of God—into Christ. It is in God’s design that God’s children are formed together for the sake of the good of this world—in Jesus’ resurrection he is the firstborn of a large family.

But this good—the growth of God’s love—is not happening in a world where everything works out easily, where people can do whatever they want and it’s just fine. Paul lived in a world where truly advocating the mercy of God and the good of God’s most vulnerable could trigger the anger and even violence of a world that valued the self-interest of those who wanted to keep power and privilege. So do we. Being formed in the love of God does not protect us from the consequences of this world—of loss, or ostracism, or anger, or attacks by those filled with self-pity.  Paul was arrested more than once, for telling about Jesus. Standing courageously for the values of Christ’s compassion in this world takes a similar risk of real loss, at least if you actually mean it. The Christian life in the Spirit is not happy talk, or silver linings, or magical wishes coming true. It is living by choosing what is valuable, true and permanent over the illusory and the selfish. It is in this context that Paul says,

If God is for us, who is against us? He who did not withhold his own Son, but gave him up for all of us, will he not with him also give us everything else? Who will bring any charge against God’s elect? It is God who justifies, who is to condemn? It is Christ Jesus, who died, yes who was raised, who is at the right hand of God, who indeed intercedes for us.

Romans 8:31-34

The reality of Jesus’ life and death make it clear that the truth of Christian life takes place in a world where there is suffering and death, indeed in a world where there is cruelty and injustice near at hand. The Resurrection of Christ isn’t something that takes away the reality or the permanence of death; the Resurrection is new life, in which the love of God’s Holy Spirit overcomes the fear, anger, cruelty and despair that bind people into the compromised existence of a selfish world. Paul continues:

Who will separate us from the love of Christ? Will hardship, or distress, or persecution, or nakedness or peril, or sword? As it is written, “For your sake we are being killed all day long; we are accounted as sheep to be slaughtered.” No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us.

Romans 8:35-37

The thing that has distinguished the Christians whose wisdom has most influenced me over the years is that they share in a complete lack of self-pity. Some are great theologians and others regular parishioners. At another church where I was serving, I visited a woman in the memory unit of a nursing home. She was a lifelong devout Episcopalian and a tough businesswoman. The church remembered that thirty years before, she told them that that congregation would never realize its building fund goals unless it dedicated ten percent to outreach to the community. By the time I met her,  she had no memory, except what her friends remembered for her. But her character was intact, with no trace of self-pity.  I would visit her, and ask her to pray for the parish and people in the parish, and she would sometimes say something insightful and loving about one of them. The last time I saw her, I asked her to pray with me for the vestry deliberations. At the end, she said, “Don’t take any wooden nickels.”

…neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.

You would uproot the Wheat along with the Weeds

A sermon for the eighth Sunday after Pentecost, July 19, 2026

Christ Church Riverdale, Bronx, New York

In gathering the weeds, you would uproot the wheat along with them.

Last week, Jesus was at the beach, as a lot of us would like to be on a hot summer day. It was so crowded that he got into a boat so he could have a little space to tell stories about planting seeds. Jesus is still out on the boat, talking to the same people he was talking to on the beach about seeds. As the story continues, the field is planted, and inexplicably, there is an abundance of weeds growing among the grain. The word for “weed” refers to something similar to what we called “cheat grass” where I grew up. It resembles grain, except it’s inedible for people and gives little sustenance to livestock. But you can’t easily see the difference between it and grain until it starts to blossom and grow its seed. By then it has developed a root system that is much more extensive and stronger than wheat.

The servants see the problem—weeds! Invasive weeds, taking up the soil and nutrients and water! Bad thing, we must do something! Just like everybody else, they see a problem, get anxious about it, and jump to a solution. The farmer, however, looks with the eye of experience. The weeds are going to reduce his yield, there is no doubt. But if these weeds are pulled up now, the grain will be removed at a greater rate than the weeds, and the yield will go down to zero. During this cycle, the number of weeds is the number of weeds, leaving them won’t result in more, so leave them. We will get the wheat that ripens—we will deal with the weeds when there is wheat to harvest. The fruit of the wheat field will nourish people, provide bread, be sold to supply for the needs of the farmer’s household. A superabundance of weeds is only one of the ordinary calamities that typically face farmers; that make a situation that promises easy abundance into difficulty and privation. The farmer waits and judges the ripeness of the wheat. At the right time the weeds are pulled out and separated from the nourishing crop. There is a big bonfire, getting rid of the nuisance and the waste. Then the remaining wheat is gathered—and there is food for all.

So why is this, as Jesus said, like the Kingdom of Heaven?  Note first of all that this is a real-world situation—we expect a beautiful, uniform field of wheat, growing perfectly, moving from green in the springtime, to golden at harvest—but what we get is disrupted by weeds and other occurrences, that are just not ideal. I’ve been reading a little book by Dietrich Bonhoeffer called Life Together.  It is about life in Christian community. Bonhoeffer writes:

Christian community is not an ideal, but a divine reality. Innumerable times a whole Christian community has broken down because it had sprung from a wish dream. The serious Christian, set down for the first time in a Christian community is likely to bring with him a very definite idea of what Christian life together should be and to try to realize it.  But God’s grace speedily shatters such dreams.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Life Together, p. 26

 God’s grace—in other words, it is the gift of God that our community is filled with imperfect people, people definitely in need of God’s mercy and it is the gift of God that our overly perfect expectations are shattered, leaving the real community in its place. And the Kingdom of God happens in the real world, a world with difficulties and disappointments.  Indeed, some of those things that happen are evil, or are the result of evil.  So, we don’t just say that whatever happens is fine, or certainly not that it is the will of God. We stand up to evil for the sake of the good of others. But we don’t go around weeding out imperfections, as if every annoyance or imperfection was evil.

Those servants were very anxious about those weeds. That’s understandable—the weeds were going to reduce the yield and make them look like they weren’t doing their job properly. But acting on that anxiety could have been utter disaster, resulting in a long winter with little or no food available. In living with imperfection and disappointment the community grows and shares in God’s love. And when evil—that is to say those forces that hurt and destroy the children of God through selfishness, fear or hatred—when evil afflicts such a community, the love of that community gives it the courage and resilience to respond and repel the evil and to be a source of life for God’s children.        

This story is not about punishment or destruction. It is about the challenge of life in the real world. Life in Christ is life in hope—a community that shares life and finds life in the mercy that God has for each of us, for all of God’s children.

St. Paul is addressing this in this morning’s epistle:

When we cry, “Abba! Father!” It is that Spirit bearing witness with our spirit that we are children of God, and if children then heirs, heirs of God and joint heirs with Christ—if, in fact we suffer with him that we may also be glorified with him.

Romans 8:15-17

That reference, to “Abba” may in fact be the earliest reference we have to the Lord’s Prayer—the prayer Jesus gave his disciples—we are disciples in being God’s children: “Forgive us our sins as we forgive those who sin against us.” Paul did not address idyllic and perfect Christian communities, he wrote to churches who experienced conflict or suffering. And he continues:

We know that the whole creation has been groaning in labor pains until now, and not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the first fruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly while we await our adoption, the redemption of our bodies.

We are God’s people, gathered here. Our hope is in the divine reality of a community gathered in diversity and imperfection, discovering God’s mercy together.

Let us pray:

Almighty God, the fountain of all wisdom, you know our necessities before we ask and our ignorance in asking: Have compassion on our weakness, and mercifully give us those things which for our unworthiness we dare not, and for our blindness we cannot ask; through the worthiness of you Son Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.

The Parable of the Sower

A sermon for the seventh Sunday after Pentecost, July 12, 2026

St. John’s Episcopal Church, New City, New York

Jesus was at the beach, as many of us would like to be during this hot summer.  Today’s Gospel says he “sat beside the sea.”  Then it got way too crowded, so he got on a boat and started to tell the people stories.

Vincent van Gogh, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

The Parable of the Sower is well known, though people today may not be as well-acquainted with the behavior of seeds and plants as Jesus’ first hearers would have been.  The image is of a farmer or farmhand planting grain in the spring.  Today, this is done with large machines that plant all the seeds in precise rows at a very high volume per minute.  A farmer in ancient times had to do all this by hand, reaching into his bag of seed and flinging the seed across the plot of ground. The skilled and careful farmer would be sure that most of the seed fell on the good soil that had been tilled; the less careful worker might have more of his seed go astray.

Some waste was the norm, as Jesus’ listeners knew full well, so it’s not as though they would think that some seed landing on a footpath, or rocks, or thorns, meant that the farmer was not realistic, or even a particularly careless fellow.  The last section of today’s gospel reading has an allegorical interpretation of the parable. It is portrayed as being in another context at another time. Certainly, that allegory is a common way that this story has been interpreted, but there is good reason to believe that Jesus first presented the story to be listened to and understood literally, on its face as a story about the familiar world.

The farmer sowing seed is a familiar bit of reality, and in that reality, we can see the real difficulties of life—the complete loss when birds take the seed before it can sprout; the immediate hope in seeing seed quickly sprout followed by disappointment at the equally fast failure of the weak seedlings on the rocky ground.

This situation is not unlike what we experience in our personal lives as well as in the church. Things go wrong, sometimes dramatically, sometimes in minor ways, and our enthusiasm can be undercut when things turn out not to be as well founded as we believed.  Jesus’ world is the Kingdom of God.  That Kingdom partakes of reality as stark as that of anyone’s world.

But the focus of this parable is not on the thorns and troubles pressing in on every side.  The bulk of the seed landed on good, fertile soil and the yield was amazing! A hundredfold, sixty-fold, even thirty-fold was several times higher than the yield Jesus’ hearers reasonably expected from their crops. And that brings us to the point of all this: The Kingdom of God.

The Kingdom of God is here in the middle of the reality we are living in: God shares our difficulties and faces the evils of this world with us. Jesus’ life is in our real world; he faced times and rulers as harsh or harsher than our own. But in that reality, the Kingdom is abundant good. We share the bountiful love of God, even when things don’t work out for us. In fact, we have the possibility to live through these times with a spirit of generosity, helping one another, being there for those who are hurting the most. The opportunity to be generous gives those who provide it a bit of the bounty of the Kingdom—though we should always take care that what we do is for the sake of others and not simply to make ourselves feel good. By giving, the church can become God’s Church, but it is not the success of that institution called Church that is the yield of the Kingdom. The love of God, always supporting us and giving the opportunity to serve God’s people—that is the Kingdom of God, and the bounty of life, and the reality of our lives all at the same time.

This summer, our New Testament epistle readings are from the letter of Paul to the church at Rome. Paul doesn’t use the term “Kingdom of God,” but what he preaches is very much about the same kingdom I have been talking about. “There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.” Despite the power of sin, and of corporate evils and personal shortcomings, there is no condemnation. For Paul, as well as Jesus, the overwhelming joyful news of God’s coming is in the midst of the difficulties of the real world. The gifts of God—and the possibilities for us in this world, transformed by his kingdom—are enormous, unlimited even. If difficulties cause someone to stumble, to lose confidence or even to do bad things, she or he is not condemned or lost.  Each of us is the child of Christ and part of his body. Paul continues: “But you are not in the flesh; you are in the Spirit, since the Spirit of God dwells in you. … But if Christ is in you, though the body is dead because of sin, the Spirit dwells in you, he who raised Christ from the dead will give life to your mortal bodies also through his Spirit that dwells in you.”

You are the field in which the seed of God’s kingdom is planted and also the agents to nurture that Kingdom. It is through God’s spirit, and not by our strength or talent that the Kingdom grows.  Accept the gift of the spirit of Christ in you, and rejoice in God’s bounty: Thirtyfold, sixtyfold, even a hundredfold.

I will give you Rest

A sermon for the 6th Sunday after Pentecost, July 5, 2026

St. John’s Episcopal Church, New City, New York

“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.”

Those of us who grew up long ago in the Episcopal Church recognize the first part of this as the “Comfortable Words” that were said right after the confession and absolution every week in the 1928 Book of Common Prayer communion service. Sometimes they are said in the Rite I Eucharist. When I think about it, it is very appropriate to hear these words every week—Jesus says who he is for everyone—I will give you rest—my yoke is easy. The Gospel is good news for everyone; you don’t have to be one of the elite. His yoke is easy, and you don’t have to be a great mystic exercising ascetic discipline, you don’t have to be smart or well educated, you don’t even need to be as well-off as your neighbors, or as good as you expect yourself to be. “Come to me”—Jesus welcomes each one, and refreshes us all, particularly in our harried, too fast, too many expectations contemporary existence.

All of us need to hear that regularly, and anybody who thinks they have outgrown it or is too advanced to need it, is probably mistaken. That’s what Jesus says to us, but what do we say to one another? The top of today’s Gospel lesson has a pretty good summary: Jesus compares the current generation – I think the current generation 2,000 years ago was probably not measurably different than the generation we are in – he compares them to bratty kids in the market place, who complain whether somebody dances or whether they mourn. Nothing is ever good enough or satisfactory. Sometimes it’s noted how mean kids can be, I’ve certainly seen it and even been on the receiving end of it when I was a child. However, people don’t actually outgrow that, they just get better at concealing it, though maybe not, if you spend much time on Twitter or Facebook.

Jesus points out that religious people were the same way with John the Baptist and with him. John was a scary prophet, who spent a lot of his time fasting, praying and calling people to repentance. Rather than listening to him, those who represented themselves as religious said, “Oh, he has a demon, and besides I don’t like his choice of clothes.” Jesus, on the other hand, spent a lot of time enjoying people, extending hospitality and accepting hospitality from others. The same people responded, “Way too much partying here, and those people he welcomes are just not the right kind of people.”

Jesus’ words are comfortable and simple: Come to me—Everyone! Rest with me awhile. But people, often those who claim to be the very ones to whom Jesus is extending his invitation, will find ways to make those words complicated and definitely uncomfortable, especially for those who are not the right kind of people.

Someone once said, “Since we know that at least one homeless person will come in glory to judge the living and the dead, we ought to be careful about the way we treat the rest of them.” People like to draw circles around themselves and have some people inside the circle and others outside. But Jesus makes it hard for us to get away with that kind of thing. For one thing, he had the very characteristics that people of his time—and some still in our time—would use to exclude him. He was a Jew, he hung around with sinners and, in regard to sinners, he was an equal opportunity offender: tax collectors and political collaborators, the poor and the zealot anti-Roman insurrectionists, the prostitutes and the Pharisees, the widows and centurions were all people with whom Jesus shared hospitality and his life.

Jesus leads us into a realm that includes possibilities that we resist, and welcome that we often can’t believe. Thus he said,

“I thank you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because you have hidden these things from the wise and the intelligent and have revealed them to infants; yes, Father, for such was your gracious will.”

Beyond our power and planning, the Kingdom of God is built by the innocence of infants, yet includes even the arrogant and the fearful, and others who are not as welcoming as Jesus. It even includes our political opponents and those who are clearly mistaken. For all of us are called in those comfortable words:

“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.”

Then it will be known that the Lord has truly sent the Prophet

A sermon for the fifth Sunday after Pentecost, June 28, 2026

St. John’s Episcopal Church, New City, New York

As for the prophet who prophesies peace, when the word of that prophet comes true, then it will be known that the Lord has truly sent the prophet.

Our lesson from the book of Jeremiah this morning shows two prophets in conversation, Jeremiah and Hananiah. Hananiah has just made a prophesy:

“Thus says the Lord of hosts, the God of Israel: I have broken the yoke of the king of Babylon. Within two years I will bring back to this place all the vessels of the Lord’s house… and all the exiles from Judah who went to Babylon.”

Jeremiah 28:2-4

As we read it in today’s lectionary, it would appear that Jeremiah is agreeing with him:

“Amen! May the Lord do so; may the Lord fulfill the words that you have prophesied, and bring back to this place from Babylon the vessels of the house of the Lord and all the exiles.”

Jeremiah 28:6

All of the people of Judah deeply wanted this good news, and so did Jeremiah. He wanted the restoration of the wholeness of the people and peace with all his heart. There’s only one problem. Hananiah’s prophecy was not true. The story continues this way: Jeremiah says, “As for the prophet who prophesies peace, when the word of that prophet comes true, then it will be known that the Lord has truly sent the prophet.” Hananiah breaks the wooden yoke, which Jeremiah had put on his own back to represent the rule of Nebuchadnezzar of Babylon. And then, Jeremiah has another word from God: “Go tell Hananiah, ‘Thus says the Lord: You have broken the wooden bars only to forge iron bars in place of them!” Hananiah died within a month and the exiles remained in Babylon seventy more years.

Jeremiah had not been exactly agreeing with Hananiah. Not at all. Hananiah had painted a vision for his country that had everything that everyone wished for. Jeremiah wanted the same things, but he was skeptical. It did not fit with what he honestly saw, or the words he heard from God.

“The prophets who preceded you and me from ancient time prophesied war, famine, and pestilence against many countries and great kingdoms. As for the prophet who prophesies peace, when the word of that prophet comes true, then it will be known that the Lord has truly sent the prophet.”

Jeremiah 28:8-9

As some contemporary social media jargon would put it,  shorter Jeremiah would be: IF. If the word comes true, then the Lord has truly sent the prophet.

In our church and in our country, people are anxious for good news, for news of peace and prosperity. Sometimes, we try to cut the story short, looking for a quick, happy ending. Even the framers of the lectionary seem to want to cut the story short in a misleading way, so that things can be peaceful and resolved on a summer morning.  But the false prophet Hananiah brought nothing but a brief, transitory false hope, based on a story made up from the wishes and fantasies of people.

The word of God, however, is only the story of truth, and that can contain some darkness, nastiness and evil. It can take longer to realize than we wish. The falseness of wishful thinking can make things worse: Jeremiah pronounced that the consequence of Hananiah’s removing the wooden yoke from Jeremiah’s back was that an iron yoke was placed on the people of Israel—wishful thinking about Nebuchadnezzar did not make the Babylonians go away or make their rule any more humane. It did not shorten the time of exile or reduce its pain. The only prophesy that could give any healing or hope is the truth. Jeremiah sternly spoke the truth of God’s love and called the people to return to God—to God’s truth and God’s love.

This coming Saturday we celebrate Independence Day in our country, the 250^th Independence Day. We rejoice in love of country and express our patriotism.  Just as Jeremiah did. We are in a troubled country at a troubled time. For many, the solution is to express hopefulness and say that all will be well if we simply express our loyalty to happy outcomes that are just around the corner.  Throughout the whole book of Jeremiah, the prophet was constantly running afoul of that kind of view—he might want things to turn out fine with a minimum of conflict and suffering—but he had to tell the truth. Likewise, in our country, we have to live with and acknowledge the truth of the fearfulness, anger, distrust and dishonesty that arises around us. Of cruelty masquerading as political necessity and thoughtless panic taking the place of constructive engagement. I’m not going to talk about policies here, or about personalities, but there is no magic solution in our country. Patriotism and hope can only emerge in full truthfulness and courageous compassion.

The same can be said for the church at the present time: the Episcopal Church and all Christian churches. Quick and superficial fixes will not address the issues and anxieties of the present time. It is only in the truth that there is a pathway forward.

The truth is simple: it’s what is in this morning’s Gospel: “whoever gives a cup of cold water to one of these little ones…” It is our anxieties that are complex. Like those who listened to Hananiah, we want a quick solution that restores everything to its previous comfort. However, that is not, and never has been the promise of God.

The prophet who prophesies peace and delivers it in truth is Jesus. For our country or our church, all he offers is truth. Truth that is not magic or easy. The peace that he gives is found in living his compassion—that is a very challenging peace indeed, but the rewards are greater than the return of the vessels from Babylon.

We are welcomed into this world by God, and we live by extending that welcome. Listen once more to what Jesus said:

“Whoever welcomes you welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me. Whoever welcomes a prophet in the name of a prophet will receive a prophet’s reward; and whoever welcomes a righteous person in the name of a righteous person will receive the reward of the righteous; and whoever gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones in the name of a disciple—truly I tell you, none of these will lose their reward.”

Matthew 10:40-42

You are of more Value than many Sparrows

A sermon for the fourth Sunday after Pentecost, June 21, 2026

St. John’s Episcopal Church, New City, New York

So have no fear of them; for nothing is covered up that will not be uncovered, and nothing secret that will not become known.

Jesus was attacked during his ministry. Mostly, he was attacked for healing people. That seems weird, I know, but people who are strong profit from the advantage they enjoy when others are weak. And newly healthy people start to change things, discomforting those who previously had been the most comfortable. Jesus questioned people’s smugness and self-righteousness. So, in retaliation, those who had all the power accused him of using demons to heal people. And this continued to have repercussions for those who followed Jesus and healed in his name:

“If they have called the master of the house Beelzebul, how much more will they malign those of his household!”

The past several years in this country show that this continues to happen. As Black and Brown people get a bit more freedom or participation in the economic and political life of this country—perhaps even having a Black President—around the country lots of people react in anger—their lives of comfort and dominance might be challenged! And what do we see? Accusations that White People’s freedoms are being taken away. That anyone who stands up for compassion is a dangerous communist, and then threats are made and violence perpetrated against minority or marginalized people. It’s quite clear that Jesus would be accused of being Beelzebul in our times.

This was the experience of Jesus’ disciples, just as it is for us. And Jesus says this, both to them and to us:

So have no fear of them; for nothing is covered up that will not be uncovered, and nothing secret that will not become known.

The truth of Jesus’ love is made known as we live in his life of mercy. It’s known to us and in our generously living in the abundance of that love, it becomes known in the world. God’s love and protection are here for us all. Many things may happen in this world, but Christ is with us in all of them. The demon-possessed who accuse Jesus of being a demon, do not prevail, we continue in his blessing in all things.

In our reading from St. Paul’s letter to the Romans this morning, he says:

Do you not know that all of us who have been baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death? … For if we have been united with him in a death like his, we will certainly be united with him in a resurrection like his.

We live in a world filled with death. And death doesn’t come just for bad or violent people; violence doesn’t just come for violent or bad people. And we know that violence came for Jesus. He faced up to it for us all—his death came as he stood up for us. And St. Paul is saying that in our baptism, we participate in that: in Christ’s courageous compassion for his children, even unto death. That is the baptism that we participate in. It can be hard to think about, in a real world where there are truly frightening things happening. That is the real world that Christ came into. But it was in his compassion and courage, even unto death, that he brought us life and truth. God raised him from the dead because that life of his could not be contained by the powers of death. That is the life that he brings to us, the resurrection from the dead—abundant life in a life of generous courage, of caring for the children and the weak, of living compassionately not for ourselves, but for God’s Children.

Hear once again, the words of Jesus:

Do not fear those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul; rather fear him who can destroy both soul and body in hell. Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground unperceived by your Father. And even the hairs of your head are all counted. So do not be afraid; you are of more value than many sparrows.