When Re-Gifting Is A Blessing

 

This sermon was preached on the Third Sunday of Advent. A video of the sermon may be found by clicking here. The readings which inspired the sermon were the following:

 

Zephaniah 3:14-20

Philippians 4:4-7

Luke 3:7-18

Canticle 9

 

©2024 The Rev. Seth Olson

Holy God, may my words be your words and when my words are not your words, may your people be wise enough to know the same. Amen.

 

A joke to begin: Did you know that "On Jordan's Banks the Baptist Cry" has another verse?

On Jordan's Banks the Baptists Cry,

If I were Baptist so would I.

They cannot dance,

They have no fun

That's why I am Episcopalian.

Okay, sorry to all Baptists and recovering Baptists, but it's too good not to tell given the readings and our Sequence Hymn. 

Happy Third Sunday of Advent! As we look at our countdown timer—also known as the Advent Wreath—we note that we have arrived at the “pink” candle. The churchy name for this color is rose. Often because of this we get confused and think that since we sing “Lo, How A Rose E’re Blooming” about Mary that today is Mary’s Sunday. It’s not. 

 

In our Advent art class, we have noted that Mary’s color is not pink, but blue. This Third Sunday of Advent with its rose candle was originally meant to be a break for those particularly austere monastics and Christians who took on particular disciplines to prepare for the coming of Christ at Christmas. Thus, when it was said in Latin the first words of the service were “Gaudete,” which means “Rejoice!” Of course, when the Gospel reading is this—we might struggle with the connection to rejoicing.

 

Plus, as we inch ever closer to kneeling before the makeshift crib to behold the Christ child, if you are anything like me, the distractions of final Christmas preparations are probably buzzing around your minds. You may have come into Holy Apostles this morning juggling thoughts of Amazon carts, grocery lists, and travel plans. But after hearing John the Baptist’s fiery words, your focus may have shifted. "Brood of vipers?" "Unquenchable fire?" This Gospel reading doesn’t exactly pair well with sugarplums and twinkle lights. How do we get from the wilderness of repentance to the wonder of Bethlehem?

 

Today’s Gospel, like a splash of cold water, shakes us awake. But let’s be honest—most of us don’t like being told we’re wrong. As a child, I hated getting in trouble. Scratch that—I hated getting caught. And the one person I really didn’t want on my case was my maternal grandfather, affectionally called “Bubba.” 

Bubba’s go-to discipline line, “Do we need to go have a chat in the locker room?”, was enough to make me snap to attention. It was his own call to repentance, and while it wasn’t fun, it was formative.

 

This mirrors what’s happening in today’s Gospel. The crowds flocked to John the Baptist, ready to hear the truth even when it stung. They weren’t deterred by being called snakes or by his ominous warnings. Instead, they leaned in and asked, “What then should we do?”

 

Advent asks us to ponder the same question. What should we do, knowing that God’s kingdom is drawing near? John’s advice is profoundly simple yet deeply challenging: “Whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none; and whoever has food must do likewise.” In other words, share generously. Act justly. Live humbly. These are the fruits of repentance.

 

Let’s imagine John’s advice in a modern context. Picture a lawyer stepping forward: “What should I do?” John might reply, “Ease up on the billboards. Take on pro bono cases. And laugh at the lawyer jokes—they’re not going away.” Next comes a CEO: “What should I do?” John might say, “Skip your bonus this year. Start a fund for underpaid teachers. Live within one of your employees’ means instead of your own.” Finally, a priest—maybe one you know—asks, “What should I do?” I suspect John would answer, “Stop talking about how busy you are. Slow down. Tend to your flock and your family.”

 

What might John say to you? It’s an uncomfortable question but a necessary one. As much as we try, we won’t get everything right before we meet the Christ child. And that’s okay, because the good news is that God meets us with mercy, fairness, and love.

 

This Advent, we are called to re-gift the gifts God has freely given us. Share mercy with someone who has hurt you. Act fairly when it’s easier to cut corners. Show love to someone who might feel unlovable. These aren’t grand gestures reserved for saints; they’re small, everyday acts that make God’s love tangible in the world.

 

So, as you return to your Christmas list, remember this: Re-gifting isn’t a bad idea when the gifts are mercy, fairness, and love. Those are lovely gifts to pick up on this Rose-candled Gaudete Sunday. This day, this Christmas, and always may we bear fruit worthy of repentance, pointing ourselves and others toward the joy of Christ’s coming. Amen.

Voices in the Wilderness Calling Us Home

Where's your wilderness?

 

This sermon was preached on the Second Sunday of Advent. A video of the sermon may be found by clicking here. The readings which inspired the sermon were the following:

Malachi 3:1-4

Philippians 1:3-11

Luke 3:1-6

Canticle 4 or 16

 

©2024 The Rev. Seth Olson

Holy God, let my words be your words and when my words are not your words, let your people be wise enough to know the same. Amen.

 

Today’s readings transport us into the wilderness, both literal and metaphorical. Out there, voices are calling us to repentance, preparation, and ultimately, to come home. The Song of Zechariah, Malachi's prophecy, Paul’s joyful thanksgiving, and Luke’s depiction of John the Baptist, all draw our attention to God’s presence unfolding in the world, breaking into the silence, and transforming our lives. Observing the richness of these things taking place within today’s powerful lessons, invites us to also journey into wilderness to listen deeply to voices crying, trusting that they hold an Advent message for us as we await Christ’s coming past, present, and yet to come.

In Malachi, we heard the promise of a messenger preparing the way. This path of refinement and purification imitates fire trying metal. Thus, walking this way is rarely comfortable, much like the wilderness can be. However, whenever we do take Christ’s way of love, God transforms our hearts and lives. Malachi pointed to this metamorphosis as he prophesied about Jesus’ forerunner, John the Baptizer. 

 

When John, the prophet of the Most High God, emerged in Luke’s Gospel, he cut a surprising figure. He was not dressed in priestly robes or seated in places of honor instead choosing to wear camel’s hair and to locate himself outside the confines of the religious structure of that day. John was a voice crying out in the wilderness, fulfilling the words of Isaiah: “Prepare the way of the Lord.”

 

You might be wondering, why did this voice have to cry out in the wilderness, as opposed to civilization? The wilderness stands out as both a physical and spiritual place of preparation. In the wild we leave behind distractions, comforts, and pretenses. It is where Zechariah (John the Baptist’s father) was silenced, forced to listen and reflect during Elizabeth’s pregnancy. It is where John heard the word of God, not in the bustling city of Jerusalem but in the stillness of the desert. The wilderness is where God strips away the noise of the world to speak directly to our hearts. 

 

Prioritizing times to journey into the wild also helps us to hear God’s still small voice more clearly. When we do, we might be surprised by what God is saying, much like the way that God surprisingly spoke to a wild preacher’s kid instead of the powerful political figures of First Century Israel.

You may have noticed that Luke’s Gospel account situated John’s ministry within the context of influential figures—Emperor Tiberius, Governor Pilate, ruler Herod, and high priests Annas and Caiaphas. Yet, the word of God bypassed all these prominent men to land upon John, the son of an aging priest and a mother who once carried a promise too good to be true. As outlandish as it sounds, God often chooses the unlikely, the overlooked, and the unexpected to carry out divine purposes. I’ve heard it phrased this way: God does not call the qualified, God qualifies the called.

 

This pattern continues today. God often bypasses the powerful to speak to the lowly. Who are the voices in our wilderness calling us to repentance and transformation? Is it a child asking us to care for creation? A stranger reminding us of our shared humanity? God is trying to speak to us, but are we making the time to listen? The Advent season invites us to listen for those unexpected voices that echo John’s call to prepare the way of the Lord.

Now John’s call of preparation was simple yet profound: “Repent, for the forgiveness of sins.” Repentance, often misunderstood, is not about punishment or shame but turning back to God. The Greek word here is metanoia and it means a transformative change of heart and mind. It is a turning away from distortion of relationship and toward healthy relationships with God, Creation, neighbor, and self. 

 

This metanoia is about recognizing the crooked paths in our lives and seeing how God can use them, straightening them, so that even our mistakes are steppingstones on the pathway towards God’s grace. This way through the wilderness then is about coming home to the One who waits with open arms, like the Father in the parable of the Prodigal Son(s) sometimes also known as the parable of the Loving Father, which we find elsewhere in Luke. 

 

Truly this theme of returning home saturates Luke’s telling of the Good News, like in these words from the Song of Zechariah: “In the tender compassion of our God, the dawn from on high shall break upon us, to shine on those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death, and to guide our feet into the way of peace.” Advent encourages us to remember that God’s light breaks into even the darkest places, guiding us back to peace, hope, and restoration. Perhaps that is why it feels like such a fitting season for this time of year when we recall the light of Christ coming to us when the natural world in the Northern Hemisphere is so bleak.

The implication of these readings appears clear enough—go to the wilderness to listen for God’s voice which calls us to return home to God. But, if your life is anything like mine, you might struggle with the following question: Where is my wilderness? It does not necessarily mean a desert or a forest; it might be a quiet morning with scripture, a long drive with the sound off, or a moment of stillness after the kids are asleep. The wilderness can be any place where we step away from the noise of the world to hear God’s voice calling us home. Sure, it could be out in the woods, on top of a mountain, or upon a sandy shore; however, it could also be at your kitchen table, on your sofa, or back porch.

 

This Advent, may we each find our wilderness. May God grant us time and space for silence and reflection. May we utilize those sacred gifts to listen for the voice that calls us to prepare, repent, and return home. In a world full of distractions, this is no small task, but it is in these quiet places that God speaks most clearly and we can hear God’s voice most loudly.

As we prepare for Christ’s coming, let us remember the voices in the wilderness that call us to transformation. Let us heed their message of repentance, not with fear but with hope, knowing that God’s forgiveness and grace await us. And let us prepare the way of the Lord, not just in our hearts but in our actions, making the crooked paths straight and the rough places smooth.

 

And may we, like John the Baptist, be voices in the wilderness, calling others to the peace and salvation of God. May we like Zechariah, find our tongues loosed, proclaiming the tender compassion of our God who shines light into every darkness and guides us all home. Amen.

 

Christ Coming to us in the Present is the Present

Luke 21:25 reveals the truth that in trying times (even on a cosmic level), we discover God coming to us.

 

This sermon was preached on the First Sunday of Advent. You may watch a video of the sermon by clicking here. The readings which inspired the sermon were the following:

Jeremiah 33:14-16

Psalm 25:1-9

1 Thessalonians 3:9-13

Luke 21:25-36

 

©2024 The Rev. Seth Olson

 

Is there a better way to get in the holiday spirit than to faint with fear? Or perhaps the best way to ready ourselves for Christmas is to stare anxiously at the sun, the moon, and the stars? How about taking note of all the distress among and within nations as we pray for peace on earth and goodwill towards all?

 

Today’s Gospel lesson starts out with such foreboding language: “There will be signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars, and on the earth distress among nations confused by the roaring of the sea and the waves. People will faint from fear and foreboding of what is coming upon the world, for the powers of the heavens will be shaken.” Not exactly the Christmas sentiment you’d find on a Hallmark card! So, what gives? Why are we hearing adult Jesus speaking about His second coming at the End of Days instead of focusing on baby Jesus cooing in the manger?

 

Unlike seemingly the rest of society, we at Holy Apostles are not yet in full-blown Christmas mode but are just beginning the season of Advent. What’s Advent, you ask? Oh, I’m so glad you did.

 

The word “advent” has its roots in a Latin word meaning “to come toward.” Advent is the first season of the Church Year—so Happy New Year, friends! This year, we move from hearing primarily from Mark’s Gospel account to Luke’s telling of the Good News, which has its own distinct voice, often focusing on God’s compassion and the marginalized. But the big shift today isn’t just about Gospel writers; it’s about mindset. Advent is when we contemplate and celebrate God coming to us. We remember the long anticipation for a Savior, prepare for the Christ child’s arrival, and, oddly enough, look ahead to Christ’s final coming on Judgment Day. Festive, right?

 

At the first church I served, St. John’s, Decatur, a very official polling was done—at Theology on Tap—I wanted to know everyone’s favorite liturgical season. Advent emerged as the respondents’ favorite time in the Church Year. And why not? It has great music. There are fascinating characters like John the Baptizer, faithful Joseph, and the Blessed Virgin Mary. Plus, there are cool props like Advent wreaths and Advent calendars. But, what I think people love most about Advent is the theme of eternal judgment! Right? Okay, certainly not. However, I cannot help but honestly believe the fulfilling of all things does have something to do with our love of this season. 

 

In this time when we look back at Christ’s first coming in the person of Jesus of Nazareth and look forward to Christ’s final coming at the end of days, I cannot help but see that we often overlook my favorite aspect of Advent: the present. No, not the presents that will be waiting under the Christmas tree. I mean the present moment when Christ comes to us. This aspect of Advent might not make it onto everyone’s list of reasons why they love this season, but I think the present has everything to do with 1) why we love this time, 2) Christ fulfilling all things, and 3) what Jesus said in today’s Gospel lesson. It’s all about the present!

 

At this time of year, we often get bogged down with “the too-much-ness of it all.” Getting gifts, making memories, decorating houses, and all the while hoping that we will feel the joy that our children and grandchildren often do at this time of year. But, in the attempts to do it all, we somehow miss that God is coming to us now, even when everything isn’t already done, even before Christmas Day, even though this is not the End of Days. Jesus’ words reflect a calling to pay attention to God’s coming right now here amidst everything that is undone and among so many distractions. 

 

Usually things like the sun, the moon, the stars, and the waves are beautiful testimonies of God’s handiwork. And yet, in today’s Gospel lesson everyone is confused by those things. What is worse, people are so filled with fear and fright that they are fainting. If we get so worried about what is to come—whether during the busy holiday season or the End of Days—if we get so upset about these coming events that we are fainting, then I believe we are not faithfully living in the present. We are not seeing that God comes to us right now.

 

As Jesus put it, “Be on guard so that your hearts are not weighed down with dissipation and drunkenness and the worries of this life, and that day catch you unexpectedly, like a trap.” (Or, to quote the Star Wars character Admiral Ackbar, “It’s a trap!”) Don’t get caught up in the traps of the past or the future. Instead pay attention. Be alert. Wait and watch for the coming of Christ. All of this sounds so lovely, but how, oh how, are we to do this during the busyness of this time of year?

 

In this Gospel lesson, Jesus described both the natural and man-made world causing people consternation. All these things around us in our lives distract us. They can, as we see with the examples of drunkenness and worrying, be such toxic and addicting things that we might have a hard time letting go of them even if we want to do just that. Christ here calls us not to be distracted by all these things, but instead to see those wonderful and terrible events of our lives as indicators that Christ is coming. That Christ is here. But, to see Christ we must be attentive. 

 

One of my favorite Advent phrases is “Slow down. Be quiet. It’s Advent.” This calling has everything to do with why this season is so beloved by so many. During Advent, we are called by God through the Church to not let the frantic nature of the rest of our lives distract us from God coming to be with us now. And this reality mysteriously redeems for me even the strange and fearful language found in the opening bits of today’s lesson. 

 

Yes, we are waiting on a sweet babe to be wrapped in swaddling clothes. Sure, we cannot wait for the Angels and the Shepherds and the Magi. But, here in the present moment we are also waiting for the culmination of all things when God will judge the world not with hatred or with fear, but through the prism of Christ’s redeeming love. We are holding out for that moment when all things will be fulfilled through the infinite grace shown in the life, death, and resurrection of Christ Jesus. And, the only way that we can take part in that remembering and that hopeful anticipation is by being alert in the present.

 

Do not be distracted during this season of Advent when God comes to us. Don’t let the sun, the moon, the stars, or the rolling and roaring tide cause you trouble. Don’t be weighed down by drunkenness or worry. Forget the shopping, the to-do’s, and the decorating for now. Instead slow down, be quiet, and realize that Christ is coming to you right now. Amen. 

Give With All Your Mite

"The Life of Our Lord Jesus Christ (La Vie de Notre-Seigneur Jésus-Christ)" by  James Tissot, Nantes, France, 1836–1902, Chenecey–Buillon, France 

 Isaiah 25:6-9
Psalm 24
Revelation 21:1-6a
John 11:32-44

 

© 2024, The Rev. Seth Olson

This sermon was preached at the Episcopal Church of the Holy Apostles in Hoover, AL on the 25th Sunday after Pentecost. A video of the sermon may be found here.

Holy God, let my words be your words and when my words are not your words, let your people be wise enough to know the same. Amen.

 

This past week, our nation held its breath. Each one of us, no matter which side of the aisle we were on, felt the weight of anticipation. For some, there is relief and hope; for others, fear and frustration. And yet, here we all are today, in God’s house. We come together as a community not defined by our political stances but by a deeper calling to follow Christ and live into God’s abundant grace.

 

In times of conflict, it’s easy to feel that abundance is far away, that there’s not enough peace, not enough understanding, not enough common ground. But today’s readings invite us into a different mindset, one rooted in a profound trust in God’s abundance—even, and especially, when we cannot see it clearly.

 

Our first story from Ruth offers a window into God’s abundance showing up in ways we might never expect. Ruth and Naomi, two widows with little to their names, found themselves relying on the kindness of others. In a world that didn’t value their voices, Ruth courageously placed herself at Boaz’s feet, asking him to be their redeemer. Boaz’s choice to respond with compassion and generosity changed everything. This small act of kindness lead to a richness that didn’t just help Ruth and Naomi—it became part of a lineage leading to King David and, ultimately, to Christ Jesus.

 

In times of division, we often lose sight of the small acts that God uses to bring about healing. Ruth and Boaz remind us that abundance isn’t always about dramatic miracles or grand gestures; it’s often about simple kindness, a willingness to see and respond to the needs of others. This is a lesson that transcends any election cycle, any political party, any position. Where might God be asking us to offer unexpected kindness in a world that seems starved of it?

 

Psalm 127 reminds us that “unless the Lord builds the house, those who build it labor in vain.” In other words, no matter how hard we try, our efforts alone cannot bring about the fullness of God’s kingdom. True security, true abundance, come from trusting in God. 

 

How often do we, in our personal or communal lives, lean on our own understanding, our own strategies, our own convictions, forgetting that it is God who ultimately holds us all? Especially in these divided times, Psalm 127 invites us to remember that no political outcome alone will bring the peace we long for. That peace comes from God’s abundance—a gift that we’re called to share, not hoard. Now let’s move to our Epistle reading for today.

 

Hebrews speaks of Christ entering “heaven itself” on our behalf. Jesus’ sacrifice was an act of total abundance—an overflowing gift of love and forgiveness that reminds us of God’s profound commitment to us. This is the abundance that has the power to heal our deepest wounds, to bring reconciliation where there has been rift.

 

As Christians, we are called to reflect this same generosity in the world. Can we see our role, especially in these times, as being agents of that abundant love? Christ didn’t give of himself only for those who agreed with him or only for those who seemed worthy. No, Christ’s love extends to all. 

 

Remember on the night before Jesus died, he washed his disciples’ feet and shared in an intimate meal with them. He did not leave out Judas who betrayed him, Peter who denied him, nor any of the other disciples who abandoned him. Self-giving, sacrificial love is the way of Christ. And, this is the model we’re invited to follow as we engage with those who may see the world differently from us.

 

Finally, we arrive at the story of the widow’s mite. Jesus observed this husband-less, and in that day powerless woman giving her last two coins, her entire livelihood. She had so little to give, but she trusted God with all of it. She believed that God would supply her needs. In her, we see faith in God’s abundance—a radical belief that God will provide, even when it seems impossible.

 

In a divided world, it is easy to feel we don’t have enough to make a difference, that our small acts of faith and love don’t add up to much. But God sees things differently. Each small act of kindness, each moment of reconciliation, each time we choose to listen rather than argue—these are our “mites,” our contributions to God’s abundant work in the world.

 

So where does this leave us, especially today? We are a people called to be signs of God’s abundance in a world that often believes in scarcity. This means choosing to be gentle with one another, to extend grace to those who may not share our views, to offer support to those who feel the weight of this election in ways we may not fully understand. 

 

God’s abundance is never diminished by being shared. In truth, it grows. So, as we go forward, let’s ask ourselves: How can we be part of God’s abundance? How can we bring healing to the hurt and reconciliation to the divisions that surround us?

 

Perhaps it’s in a conversation over coffee with someone we disagree with. Maybe it’s in reaching out to someone feeling afraid or alone. It would be wise to include praying for our leaders, regardless of who they are, that they may be instruments of God’s justice and mercy.

 

In these small acts, we become part of God’s abundant work in this broken world. We become instruments of God’s peace and partners in bringing about a kingdom that transcends every political divide. May we trust in Our Almighty and All-loving God and find courage to be bearers of that abundance, now and always. Amen.

And I Mean To Be One Too (On Tuesday)

An icon of all the saints (those known and unknown to the Church)

 

 Isaiah 25:6-9
Psalm 24
Revelation 21:1-6a
John 11:32-44

 

© 2024, The Rev. Seth Olson

 

This sermon was preached on All Saints' Sunday (November 3, 2024) at the Episcopal Church of the Holy Apostles. Video of the sermon may be found here. 

Holy God, Sanctifier of all the saints, let my words be your words and when my words are not your words, let your people be wise enough to know the same. Amen.

 

Happy All Saints’ Sunday! 

Now, when I say “saint” who comes to mind? No, I am not fishing for compliments. Maybe it’s someone like former Archbishop Desmond Tutu who was instrumental in overthrowing the apartheid government of South Africa. And, who along with South Africa's First President Nelson Mandela developed the Truth and Reconciliation Commission to bring healing to a hurting nation. I once met Archbishop Tutu who was maybe 5 feet tall but whose presence was enormous!

 

On his visit to Sewanee (where I was working at the time) he greeted every student, faculty member, and administrator he met. This was nice and pro forma for most honorary degree recipients, but Archbishop Tutu also intentionally sought out kitchen workers, maintenance men, and the cleaning crew to tell them thank you. He went out of his way to express gratitude for them and to share about the interconnectedness of our lives. I am sure some of those workers who lived in rural Franklin or Grundy County, TN had no clue who that man was, but to a person they were all smiling after he spoke with them. 

 

Desmond Tutu is a Saint. The Church agrees about this. All Saints’ Day though is not for Archbishop Tutu. Well, it’s not JUST for him. All Saints’ Day is different. It’s for ALL the saints. Not just the ones that the WHOLE Church recognizes or remembers. So, if this is the case, what’s it mean to be a saint?

 

Saint, as a term, has gotten confusing, layered with unnecessary guardrails and guidelines. In the New Testament, the word simply meant a member of the Way of Christ, the nascent Church, which was living in the light of the Resurrection. Every “parishioner” so to speak was a saint. 

Nowadays we have mixed up this term. We tend to think it means someone who is “perfect” (by worldly or otherworldly metrics). Truthfully (and more to the point), the root word for saint connects to another familiar Church term “Sanctus,” the hymn of praise that we join the angels, martyrs, apostles, and heavenly hosts in singing every Sunday during Holy Communion. What are the first words of that unending anthem? Holy, holy, holy. What does it mean to be a saint? It means to be... you guessed it... holy, holy, holy. However, if you think that to be holy means to be an antisocial hermit that spends all day praying in a cave, you may have conflated the term pious with holy. To be holy means to be set apart. Sure, hermits are set apart, but that’s not the only way for God to distinguish you. Our Holy God calls us into work fit just for us—that's right, there are missions set out only for you to complete.

 

Are y’all with me still? 

 

Maybe the best way to understand all this is to indulge in some beautiful theology within one of our Communion hymns for today, “I Sing a Song of the Saints of God” by Lesbia Scott. Some do not like this folksy tune, but the hymn writer created it as a children’s song to teach about the lives of the saints on All Saints’ Day, so taken in that light, what’s not to love?! 

 

It begins, “I sing a song of the saints of God, patient and brave and true, who toiled and fought and lived and died for the Lord they loved and knew.” Then, it subtly hints at some Saints of the Church—a doctor (Luke the Evangelist and Physician), a queen (Elizabeth), a shepherdess on the green (Joan of Arc). All of these folks were saints of the Church. Then, comes something important for us to understand hagiography (the study of saints): “They were all of them saints of God, and I mean, God helping to be one too.” God is helping them to be saints. Hmm?... Interesting, I wonder, does God help us in the same way... hold onto this.

[A brief aside here: Through the stanzas, then other saints are listed. And, the best bit of this hymn may very well be in the second stanza, when “And one was a soldier (Martin of Tours), one was a priest (take your pick), and one was slain by a fierce wild beast (Christopher)”[1] is sometimes switched to sing, “And one was a soldier, one was a beast, and one was slain by a fierce wild priest.” I give you permission, even blessings, to sing this today and into the future! Here endeth the aside.] Alright, so the lyric that may very well turn our understanding of being a saint on its head comes at the very end of stanza three, “For the saints of God are just folk like me, and I mean to be one too.”

 

See saints aren’t just the Desmond Tutus, Queen Elizabeths, and Joans of Arc of the world. Although maybe we should remember that all these were just folk just like me (and you). Instead, all of us are called to be set apart for God’s work. All of us are to walk Christ’s Way of Love. So, what might this look like? Do we have to greet every person we meet with a smile, be burned at the stake, or get slain by a fierce, wild priest... I mean beast? Maybe, but our Holy Scripture for this day truly give us a better glimpse of how to be one too.

 

Our lessons give us powerful visions of what it means to be God’s saints, a people set apart. Not in the sense of some unreachable perfection, but as ordinary people called to live anything but ordinary lives. Isaiah speaks of a feast prepared for all peoples, a world where God will wipe away every tear. We are to be compassionate and caring for one another in good times and ill. 

 

John’s Revelatory Dream for the End of Days promises a new heaven and a new earth. We are to be a part of making this world look more like God’s Dream and less like the nightmare it often is to quote Saint Michael Curry now retired Presiding Bishop of Our Church. The Psalm reminds us that “the earth is the Lord’s, and everything in it,” which helps us see that we aren’t in this alone, but participating with God in this holy work. And in John’s Gospel, we see Jesus calling Lazarus from the tomb, bringing life where there was once only death. The saints of the Way of Christ though were the ones who unbound the once-dead Lazarus to restore him into holy community. This is our work as saints too. 

 

Taking into consideration these readings and what we’ve learned about saints, what does it look like for us, in this time and place, to be ones who are set apart for God’s work? 

 

First, consider your closest relationships: family, friends, and this church community. Being saints here means showing up with love, forgiveness, and compassion. It means working toward the common good in our neighborhoods, choosing the hard work of community over isolation. It means holding each other accountable, but also holding each other up in prayer, kindness, and encouragement.

 

Next, expand wider. In the book of Revelation, John envisions a new heaven and a new earth, one in which God declares, “See, I am making all things new!” To be a saint isn’t just a far-off hope; it’s a present call to action. We are invited to participate in God’s work of renewal now, to help bring about that new creation. And that extends into how we engage the public sphere. We can’t separate our faith from the rest of our lives—not from our workplaces, not from our schools, and certainly not from our responsibilities as citizens. 

 

This week, many of us will exercise one of those responsibilities as we go to the polls to vote. As we prepare to do so, may we remember that our call to be saints includes this responsibility, too. Saints aren’t called to retreat from the world but to engage it, to bring the values of God’s dream into every part of it. 

 

In our Gospel reading today, Jesus stands at the tomb of Lazarus and calls out, “Unbind him, and let him go.” This is Jesus’ work—to bring freedom, healing, and wholeness. And as saints, this is our work too: to bring life where there is death, to unbind where there is oppression, to heal where there is pain. This work includes every choice we make in our lives and every vote we cast.

 

We will not agree on every political issue. We will not all vote for the same candidates. And, friends that is okay, for I believe we can all agree on this: as saints, we are called to align ourselves with values and virtues that reflect God’s dream for this world. Values of compassion, justice, humility, and love. Values that lift up the vulnerable, care for God’s Creation, and protect the dignity of every human being.

 

It is no small thing to be called saints. And it’s not easy. It requires courage, sacrifice, and discernment. It means sometimes having difficult conversations, choosing the path that is harder, being willing to make decisions that go against the grain of our own interests for the sake of loving God and loving neighbor. And yes, sometimes it means making choices that challenge the status quo and disrupt patterns that keep us bound in cycles of injustice and suffering.

 

As saints, we don’t just live for ourselves. We live for others. We live for God’s vision, for the world that is possible when people walk the Way of Love. We live for that day when we will all sit down together at God’s great feast, every tear wiped away, every division healed, and every injustice made right.

 

So, this week and always, let us go forth with the courage of saints. Let us live and act as people set apart—not for our own sake, but for the sake of the world God loves. And let us remember that we do not walk this path alone. We are surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses—saints past and present; saints in this room and beyond—cheering us onward, guiding us forward. For the saints of God are just folk like you, and I hope you mean to be one too! Amen.

 

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[1]Pam McAllister, “What hymn celebrates lives of courage and generosity?” on Ask Her About Hymns Blog [https://askherabouthymn.com/what-hymn-celebrates-lives-of-courage-and-generosity/, written: October 27, 2016; accessed: November 1, 2024].

The Fisherman and the Businessman

ChatGPT's interpretation of Paulo Coelho's parable of the Fisherman and the Businessman
 

This sermon was preached on the 21^stSunday after Pentecost (Proper 23B) at the Episcopal Church of the Holy Apostles in Hoover, AL. A video of the sermon may be found here. The readings for this Sunday were the following: 

Job 23:1-9, 16-17
Psalm 22:1-15
Hebrews 4:12-16
Mark 10:17-31

Holy God, let my words be your words and when my words are not your words, let your people be wise enough to know the same. Amen.

A man approached Jesus. Well-dressed and well-kempt, he pushed through the crowd to meet Jesus, halting the teacher and his disciples. He knelt before Jesus and asked, “Good Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?”

On the surface, his question seemed simple, but the word “inherit” hinted at something deeper. He didn’t ask, “What must I do to enter or earn eternal life?” He wanted to add eternal life to his possessions, as if it were another investment. Jesus saw beyond the surface and sought to understand this man’s heart.

“You know the commandments,” Jesus began. “You shall not murder; you shall not commit adultery; you shall not steal; you shall not bear false witness; you shall not defraud; honor your father and mother.” Six of the Ten Commandments! The man responded confidently, “I have kept all these since my youth.”

Yet, his use of “kept” was telling—like holding onto a possession. Jesus didn’t challenge this directly. Instead, he did something unique in all of the Gospel according to Mark, he looked at the man and loved him. Jesus agaped him—extending the self-giving, sacrificial, abundant love of God—and yet this love is not always soft. In truth sometimes it is a tough form of love, which is why Jesus then said, “You lack one thing. Go, sell what you own, give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.”

The man left, shocked and sorrowful, unable to let go of his possessions. But why? Perhaps he couldn’t imagine life without his wealth, or he couldn’t let go of his comfort and status. He wanted eternal life, but not at the cost of the life he already knew.

We can relate, can’t we? We often cling to our own comforts, achievements, and possessions. These things can keep us from fully embracing God’s invitation. As we hold onto them, they can hold onto us too.

Think about what happens when we clutch something tightly. Our hands are closed, unable to receive anything new. Put another way, “The things we possess, they possess us too,” or “It’s hard to follow Jesus and follow the crowd at the same time,” or as Jesus himself put it, “No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God” (Luke 9:62). Tough love, indeed. 

In this financial stewardship season, as we discern our commitment to God through time, talent, and treasure, it’s important to ask: What are we holding onto that keeps us from following Jesus? What might we need to release to receive God’s gifts more fully?

For the rich man in the story, his desire to maintain control and keep things unchanged held him back. Even with eternal life in front of him, he clung to his old ways. It was as if, he served as the forerunner to Frank Sinatra insisting on doing things “my way” instead of following the Way of Christ. We also can miss the invitation to life with God when we hold too tightly to our own ways.

Yet, the good news is that God’s love invites us to let go of what holds us back. With God, all things are possible—even releasing our need for control, status, or material comfort. As we let go of these (with God’s help), we recognize there is something more for us already here. We see that Life in Christ, the Life Eternal has already begun, and we need not wait until we have died or until we have achieved God’s grace to begin living it. No, God’s grace is already here and the Life Eternal is happening NOW!

Let me end with a parable by Paulo Coelho about how we complicate the invitation from Christ to let go and follow Him:

There was once a businessman sitting by the beach in a small Brazilian village. He watched a Brazilian fisherman rowing a small boat towards the shore, having caught quite a few big fish.

The businessman was impressed and asked, “How long does it take you to catch so many fish?” The fisherman replied, “Oh, just a short while.”

“Then why don’t you stay longer at sea and catch even more?” the businessman asked, surprised.

“This is enough to feed my whole family,” the fisherman said.

The businessman then asked, “So what do you do for the rest of the day?”

The fisherman replied, “Well, I usually wake up early, catch a few fish, then play with my kids. In the afternoon, I take a nap with my wife, and in the evening, I join my buddies for a drink—we play guitar, sing, and dance throughout the night.”

The businessman, eager to help, said, “I’m a PhD in business management. I could help you become more successful. Spend more time at sea, catch more fish, save money, buy a bigger boat, and catch even more. Eventually, you can buy more boats, set up a company, and move to a city like São Paulo. After that, you could go public, become rich, and retire to a house by a fishing village.”

The fisherman asked, “And after that?”

The businessman replied, “You can then enjoy life—wake up early, catch a few fish, play with your kids, take a nap with your wife, and join your buddies for a drink, playing guitar, singing, and dancing throughout the night.”

The fisherman was puzzled. “Isn’t that what I’m doing now?” [1]

Christ invites us to follow him into eternal life right now. We can’t buy, earn, or control our way into this life. It requires letting go of what we hold onto, releasing what keeps us from God. It’s a bold and courageous journey, but it’s the invitation God gives to each of us as beloved children.

So, let go of what keeps you from following Christ, so that you may take hold of the abundant life that God offers now and forever. Amen.

 

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[1] “The Fisherman and the Businessman,” Paulo Coelho. Written September 4, 2015. Accessed October 12, 2018. http://paulocoelhoblog.com/2015/09/04/the-fisherman-and-the-businessman/.

Softhearted Discipleship

Click the link above to view the video of this sermon.

 

This sermon was preached on the 20^th Sunday after Pentecost (Proper 22B) at the Episcopal Church of the Holy Apostles in Hoover, AL. A video of the sermon may be found here. The readings for this Sunday were the following: 

Job 1:1; 2:1-10

Psalm 26 

Hebrews 1:1-4; 2:5-12

Mark 10:2-16

 

Holy God, let my words be your words and when my words are not your words, let your people be wise enough to know the same. Amen.

One of the things that the Search Committee shared with me this time a year ago was the desire for this community of Holy Apostles to experience dedicated formation, so that we collectively may learn the way of Christ. For the past several weeks, we’ve spent time with our Teacher Jesus learning to be students or what we often call disciples. Today’s Gospel gives us a challenging lesson about that call to learn from Christ, as we see Jesus engage in a difficult conversation with the Pharisees about divorce.

At first glance it appears that Jesus is instructing in no uncertain terms that marriage is good, and divorce is bad. However, this passage is not simply about divorce law, nor is it simply about marriage in Jesus’ time. It’s about what we value and, more importantly, whom we value.

In this Gospel lesson, the Pharisees approached Jesus with a question meant to test him. They focused on the letter of the law, particularly the mandate giving men control over women’s lives. I wish that this story was just something confined to long ago, but the obsession of some men controlling other people, especially women, has echoed hauntingly throughout the centuries. Back in Jesus’ day, a woman’s worth was limited—defined by her ability to bear children and run a household. Divorce was simple for men, who could dismiss their wives with a certificate. What mattered was the man’s authority, not the woman’s well-being.

But Jesus saw things differently. He turned the teaching on its head and pointed to a deeper set of questions: What do you truly value? Is it power? Is it self-interest? Or is it the well-being of those who have no voice—those whom society deems less than? Less than important, less than worthy, less than others.

In our time, we may look back and feel we’ve come a long way. And in some ways, we have. But still, the vulnerable among us often go unseen or unheard. Women, children, people of color, the poor, the persecuted, the immigrant, the member of the LGBTQIA+ community, the imprisoned—whom do we value? We still hear stories of injustice and hardship. In many cases, women remain undervalued in the workplace, survivors of abuse are often blamed, and vulnerable groups continue to be marginalized.

Jesus’ instruction still resonates clearly: We must value those whom society overlooks.

I see that spirit alive at Holy Apostles. Even as we gather here, I am reminded of last week’s Church in the Park service. We gathered in Shades Cliff Park not just for worship, but for connection, for fellowship, and for the sheer joy of being together in God’s creation. In more casual settings like this we have the opportunity to see each other’s true selves—the divine image-bearing part of us that we were each made to be. Together we glimpse the Kingdom of God when we extend open arms to one another, sharing our lives and our love freely. And in this Kingdom, in this Reign of Christ, we strive to emulate Christ Jesus’ own example. 

Long ago he did not say, “Don’t get divorced ever, even if you are being hurt or abused.” No, Jesus warned that divorce should not be used by men to easily dismiss their wives—leaving the more vulnerable half of the species at that time in an even more precarious situation. We are to follow the Way of Christ, not the way of the world. We must value those whom society overlooks. 

This work of reaching out to those in need is a big piece of who we are at Holy Apostles. And, it is one of the reasons why in this season of financial stewardship, I’m reminded that stewardship is more than a conversation about money. It’s a reflection on what we give worth to. You may know that worth and worship share the same root word. So, what we give worth to in our lives is what we worship—remember that the next time you review your bank statements. Sometimes I start to wonder am I worshipping God or am I worshipping Target?

The more lasting question here is where do we invest our time, our talent, and our treasure? In this season, we are being invited to ask ourselves hard questions about how we value the vulnerable, not just through our words but through our actions. Do we live out the values that Jesus embodied?

One recent example that exemplifies this kind of softheartedness is the story of Mark Elwood, a parishioner at my former church of All Saints. When Hurricane Helene hit Mark felt a tug on his heart to care for those who are vulnerable and without necessities they need. Mark worked with the people of All Saints on collecting supplies. Then, Mark flew his plane full of food, water, and essentials to give to the Rev. David Henson and the good people of St. James, Hendersonville, North Carolina. When Mark heard of the suffering of others, he let his heart be softened. 

All of us have hearts made of flesh. Even if the world tries to solidify your heart into something made of concrete, rebar, and reinforced steel, God is actively working in your life to soften that heart, so that you might reach out in love to those who are hurting. And, if you are one of the ones who is hurting, reach out and ask for help!

So, this is the question worth us pondering here at Holy Apostles: How do we keep our hearts from hardening? In a world where it’s so easy to become overwhelmed or discouraged, let’s choose a different path—the Way of Love.

Let’s ask ourselves and each other questions like: How do you stay open? How do you remain softhearted and compassionate, even in the face of adversity? These aren’t exactly new questions—they are ones that people of faith have wondered for centuries—but it feels particularly pressing in our current moment. When the world around us grows tough, when we’re tempted to shut down or turn away, how do we keep that childlike openness Jesus speaks about in today’s Gospel?

It may seem disconnected, but in the Gospel according to Mark everything is connected. So, when Jesus said, “Let the little children come to me” it’s no coincidence. The children, in their innocence and vulnerability, are central to this passage. In a culture that often overlooked them, Jesus welcomed them. He knew that to embrace God’s Kingdom, we need a childlike heart—one that is tender, open, and receptive.

This is what I long for from us as a community at Holy Apostles—to talk regularly about how we might actively seek out ways to give our hearts to God. I’ve often heard people share how our music, prayers, relationships, and liturgy all play a role in softening their hearts. These practices help us remain open to God’s presence and to the needs of others. In all these ways we are invited to give our lives over to God who takes, blesses, breaks, and gives our hearts and lives back to us transformed. This might sound a bit scary frankly because it is. Giving over our hearts to be broken sounds scary, and I have apprehension about this. 

And yet, a few years ago, I came across a profound insight from Brother Curtis Almquist of the Society of St. John the Evangelist, which helped me to step into this endeavor of softening my heart with newfound refreshment. Brother Almquist told the story of a young monk who came to his superior for wisdom.

The novice said he found it strange that in the Old Testament there were many references to the Word of God being written on our hearts. The young man added that it made no sense for God’s word to be etched on the outside of our hearts. The old monk sat and thought for a moment, then asked, “I wonder if the Word of God is written on our hearts, so that when our hearts inevitably break, God’s Word will fill our hearts and make them whole once more.” Sometimes it is only through our brokenness that we truly embody God’s compassion and love.

So, what do we do when we feel our hearts hardening? When it’s easier to protect ourselves than to remain vulnerable? Jesus offers us the way forward in this Gospel: we are called to soften our hearts by receiving the Kingdom like a child. That means living with compassion, humility, and openness—even when it’s difficult.

As we continue through this season of stewardship, I encourage each of you to ask: What do I value? Whom do I value? How does my life reflect these truths? And, where is God calling me to soften my heart? 

Whether it’s through our ministries, our personal relationships, or in the way we engage with the world, may we be people whose hearts are tender, ready to welcome the vulnerable, and eager to reflect the love of Christ.

May God grant us the grace to keep our hearts soft, and when they break, may they break open to receive God’s living Word. Amen.