Ponder All These Things: February 2025

Sunday, February 23, 2025

Loving Beyond Limits: Embracing the Platinum Rule

You probably know of the Golden Rule, but have you heard of the Platinum Rule?

This sermon was inspired by the above readings and was preached on the 7^th Sunday after the Epiphany at the Episcopal Church of the Holy Apostles in Hoover, AL. A video of the sermon may be found here.

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.

If we’re honest, the words of Jesus in today’s Gospel lesson from Luke are some of the most challenging in all of Holy Scripture: “Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you.” This is a tall ask from Jesus—one that seems almost impossible, especially when the world feels more fractured and polarized than ever.

Jesus doesn’t leave much room for loopholes here either. He doesn’t say, “Love your enemies if they apologize first.” Nor does he command, “Do good to those who hate you if they meet you halfway.” No, his commandments are direct and uncompromising. And it’s not just for the sake of moral superiority—it’s about transformation. Loving our enemies is about participating in the redemptive work of God, both in the world and within ourselves.

But how do we live into that love, especially when the wounds are fresh or the divisions are deep? It might help to begin by revisiting a rule we know well—the Golden Rule: “Do to others as you would have them do to you.” It’s foundational to our faith and to many cultures worldwide. Treat others with the dignity and respect you wish for yourself.

Yet, in our increasingly complex world, some ethicists and theologians suggest we move beyond the Golden Rule to something even more radical—the Platinum Rule: Love others as they wish to be loved. It's not just about treating neighbors how I would want to be treated but about recognizing the unique needs, desires, and dignity of another person—even when that person appears to be an enemy.

To love an enemy in this way requires humility. It means setting aside our egos and listening deeply—not to agree, necessarily, but to understand. It means recognizing that each person, no matter how much we struggle to see it, is beloved by God. That’s the heart of this Gospel message—God’s love isn’t transactional. It’s not earned. It flows freely, even to those who oppose us.

Think of Joseph in our reading from Genesis. His brothers betrayed him, sold him into slavery, and left him for dead. Yet, when he stood in a position of power, able to exact revenge, Joseph chose mercy. “Do not be afraid,” he said, “Even though you intended to do harm to me, God intended it for good.” Joseph didn’t just tolerate his brothers—he actively chose reconciliation, seeing them not through the lens of past hurt but through the lens of God’s redemptive love.

This is also the challenge and the hope of Christian love—not just to love those who are easy to love but to love as God loves—without condition, without boundary, without exception. It doesn’t mean allowing abuse or ignoring injustice—Jesus’ command is not a call to passivity. Rather, it’s a call to respond to hate with love so radical that it breaks cycles of harm.

One powerful way to break these cycles is through what psychologists call "non-complementary behavior." Typically, human interactions follow a predictable pattern: kindness is met with kindness, hostility with hostility. But non-complementary behavior flips the script—responding to aggression with warmth, to contempt with compassion. It’s disarming because it defies expectations. It short-circuits a worldview built on “us vs. them.”

There’s a remarkable story shared on an old episode of the NPR podcast Invisibilia about a dinner party when the guests faced down an armed robber. Instead of reacting with fear or anger, they offered the man a glass of wine. This simple act of hospitality broke the cycle of aggression. While it was a disturbing encounter that left the guests in shock, the intruder, caught off guard by this unexpected kindness, put down his weapon, sat down to talk, and even asked for a group hug at the end of the encounter. The situation de-escalated, not through force, but through love extended in the face of threat.

This is precisely what Jesus calls us to do—not to match hostility with hostility but to respond in a way that transforms the encounter altogether. It’s hard. It feels unnatural. And, it can sometimes be dangerous, and I usually do not advocate us stepping into harms way, but sometimes that radical hospitality is the way love gains ground in a world bent on division.

So how might we live into this Platinum Rule, especially when love feels like the last thing we want to offer?

First, we can start with prayer—not just for those we love but for those who challenge us, oppose us, or are otherwise our enemies. It’s hard to hate someone you’re genuinely praying for. In prayer, we invite God to soften our hearts and to remind us of our shared humanity.

Second, we can choose curiosity over judgment. Y’all know I love the series Ted Lasso and in one of my favorite scenes of the whole show, the titular character quotes Walt Whitman while playing darts. “Be curious, not judgmental.” This sort of wondering has the power to completely transform our world or at least us. For when we are faced with someone who seems like an enemy, we can bypass our normal assumptions and stereotyping by pondering: What pain might they be carrying? What story haven’t I heard? How does God see this beloved one? This doesn’t excuse harmful behavior, but it opens the door to compassion.

And finally, we can act—small, deliberate acts of love that defy expectations. A kind word. An invitation to conversation. A willingness to see beyond labels and ideologies to the beloved child of God standing before us. At the same time, it is important not to deny our own belovedness. In the abundant kingdom of God, one does not have to be diminished for another to be enlarged. My Theology Professor in seminary called this non-competitive transcendence when we all rise together.

So, these are three ways to begin practicing this Platinum Rule in your own life: prayer, curiosity, and small acts of kindness.

In conclusion, this kind of love—enemy-love, Platinum Rule love—is not easy. But it is the way of Christ. It’s the love that led him to the cross and the love that broke the power of evil, sin, and even death. It’s the love that has the power to transform not just individual hearts but entire communities. It’s the love that changes this world from the nightmare it often is to the dream God has for it.

So, as we approach the altar today—as we receive Christ's Body and Blood, given for all—may we be strengthened to love not just as we wish to be loved, but as our neighbors, our enemies, and all God’s children wish to be loved. And, in this love we will glimpse the very heart of God.

Amen.

Sunday, February 16, 2025

Blessings and Woes: The Sermon on the Plain for Our Time

Unlike the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus' Sermon on the Plain contains both blessings and woes.

Jeremiah 17:5-10

Psalm 1

1 Corinthians 15:12-20

Luke 6:17-26

This sermon was inspired by the above readings and was preached on the 6^th Sunday after the Epiphany at the Episcopal Church of the Holy Apostles in Hoover, AL. A video of the sermon may be found here.

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.

Jesus stood on a level place. Not high above, like Moses on Mount Sinai, nor like how Matthew depicted Jesus preaching the Sermon on the Mount. No, here in Luke’s account of the Good News, Jesus came down to the plain and dwelt among the people. He stood where they stood, looked them in the eyes, and spoke words that were both a comfort and a challenge: words of blessing and words of woe.

“Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God.”

Luke’s recollection of this sermon is more direct than the one in Matthew. There is no “poor in spirit” here—just the poor. The physically, financially, socially poor. Those who struggle to put food on the table, who lie awake at night worrying about their children, or who live paycheck to paycheck. Jesus did not say they will be blessed in some distant future; he said they are blessed now. Why? Because the kingdom of God is not just some far-off promise—through Christ, it has already entered the world, confronting the systems of power, and revealing God’s abundant grace. As unlikely as it sometimes seems, God’s in-breaking presence never stops, though we often miss it, which is probably why here in Luke, it’s not only about blessings.

Enter the woes:

“Woe to you who are rich, for you have received your consolation.”

Woe. Not a curse, but a warning. A call to pay attention, like when a lifeguard blows her whistle causing a running child to stop and look around. Jesus blows the whistle. Woe to those who have everything they need but fail to see the needs of others. Woe to those who are comfortable while their neighbors suffer. Woe to those who mistake wealth and security for divine favor. Woe.

This message echoes in Jeremiah’s prophecy, where we hear: “Cursed are those who trust in mere mortals and make mere flesh their strength, whose hearts turn away from the Lord.” And the prophet had his own beatitude, “Blessed are those who trust in the Lord, whose trust is the Lord. They shall be like a tree planted by water.” Through Jeremiah we discover the difference between blessing and woe is not about external circumstances. Instead, this difference stems from trust—where we root ourselves, or perhaps more pointedly, in whom we put our trust—the one with the Living Water.

Paul, too, in 1 Corinthians, reminds us of where our trust should rest: “If for this life only we have hoped in Christ, we are of all people most to be pitied.” In other words, the hope we hold, the kingdom we seek, is not merely about earthly success. It is also about resurrection, about the long arch of God’s redemption, about life beyond the immediate concerns that often preoccupy us. Of course, shifting our vision away from the urgent issues screaming for our attention is abnormally difficult in this age of constant notifications, ubiquitous screens, and ever-present distractions. But, I have a surprising practice that may be of some assistance in seeing things differently.

Last Sunday I shared that on Saturday, March 8^th we’ll have an end-of-life planning workshop with experts from various fields: financial, legal, spiritual, and even within the funeral home industry. It’s not easy to think about such things, but it can truly be a gift to your family—and even to you!

As strange as it sounds, research affirms what our faith has long taught: that contemplating our mortality leads to a better life. Psychological studies suggest that reflecting on death—whether through meditation or mindful awareness—can reduce fear, increase gratitude, and encourage meaningful living. A 2018 study found that those who regularly engage in mortality awareness tend to prioritize deeper relationships, healthier lifestyles, and compassionate choices. There is even evidence that these meditations cultivate peace and clarity, reinforcing the idea that acknowledging our limits frees us to live more fully in the present.

By placing our trust in something beyond the temporary concerns of this world, we are invited into a deeper sense of purpose and hope. And, paradoxically, when we trust that in the end God will have the final word, we are able to be more fully present now in this moment.

Speaking of the now, what would Jesus’ sermon sound like if he preached it here, among us at Holy Apostles? What are the blessings and woes he might proclaim in our midst today? Perhaps it would sound something like this:

Blessed are you who are exhausted from caregiving, for God sees your labor of love and will sustain you.

Blessed are you who struggle with addiction and keep showing up, for God's grace is enough and is working even now.

Blessed are you who feel like outsiders in the Church, for God has made a place for you at the table.

Blessed are you who work for justice, even when no one listens, for you are doing the work of the kingdom.

And the woes:

Woe to you who find security in wealth but ignore the suffering of others, for your riches cannot save you.

Woe to you who silence the voices of the marginalized, for the kingdom belongs to them.

Woe to you who believe faith is about comfort and not about transformation, for God is always calling you deeper.

Woe to you who mistake privilege for righteousness, for the last will be first and the first will be last.

Jesus’ words are not easy. And, they are not meant to be. Jesus’ words call us to examine ourselves honestly, to ask where we find ourselves in his sermon. Are we the blessed or the woeful? If we are honest, we are probably both. And that is why Jesus speaks these words to us in love—not to condemn, but to invite us into a different way of being.

Jesus stood on a level place—among the people, among folks like us. And he still does. Our Savior calls us to see with new eyes, to beware of our limitations, and to root our lives in the God who loves us, for that is what will truly bless us—life in Christ.

Amen.

Sunday, February 9, 2025

From Imposter to Image Bearer

Do you have imposter syndrome? If so, read this!

Isaiah 6:1-8, [9-13]

1 Corinthians 15:1-11

Luke 5:1-11

Psalm 138

This sermon was inspired by the above readings and was preached on the 5^th Sunday after the Epiphany at the Episcopal Church of the Holy Apostles in Hoover, AL. A video of the sermon may be found here.

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.

It seems to be a common thread among those called by God—this immediate reaction of unworthiness. We see it in Isaiah’s vision:

“Woe is me! I am lost, for I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips!” (Isaiah 6:5)

We see it in Peter, falling at Jesus' feet after the miraculous catch of fish:

“Go away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man!” (Luke 5:8)

And we hear it in Paul’s letter to the Corinthians, when he recalls his past as a persecutor of the church and proclaims:

“I am the least of the apostles, unfit to be called an apostle.” (1 Corinthians 15:9)

This pattern repeats in Scripture because it is deeply human. When faced with God's call, our first instinct is often to step back, to disqualify ourselves, to name all the reasons why we aren't good enough.

But God does not call the qualified—God qualifies the called.

This Sunday, as we commission our Vestry, I imagine some of them may feel a bit like Isaiah or Peter or Paul—wondering, Who am I to take on this role? Am I truly equipped? Perhaps you have felt this in your own life: stepping into a leadership role, being entrusted with responsibility, or even simply being recognized for your gifts.

Our world today is filled with a particular kind of false humility—this idea that we must downplay our gifts, shrink ourselves, and live in a constant state of self-doubt, lest we be seen as arrogant or self-important. But that is not what God wants for us.

I recently viewed a powerful interview with Ilona Maher, U.S. Olympic rugby player and Season 33 of Dancing With the Stars’ Runner Up. In it she was asked about imposter syndrome—that feeling like we do not belong or aren’t good enough.

When asked about having imposter syndrome, Maher replied: “I do not have imposter syndrome, because I am not an imposter. I have worked hard. I have dedicated myself to my craft. I belong here.”

That boldness struck me. It short-circuited my normal way of thinking. And, it convicted me—because, if I'm honest, I often feel like an imposter. I mean I have the audacity to serve as a representative of God. Yea, I can feel like a phony at times and maybe you do too. But instead of berating myself for it, I recently remembered words from a college friend, Cane West, who once said:

“When we are following our calling, we aren’t being selfish or selfless. We are being self-full. We are fulfilling what our truest selves are meant to be.”

Isn’t that what God wants from us? To live into our truest selves, not lying about our worth, but stepping fully into it—because we are the Imago Dei, God’s image-bearers. Yes, it’s true, as hard as it may be to believe. Each of us is made in God’s image, and the beauty of creation is seen in the diversity of human beings, in our differentness. Thanks be to God we are not all the same on this planet or in this parish. Still, we can get caught up in trying to fit in with everyone else that we neglect the gorgeous idiosyncrasies and nuances God imparted within us.

In college I fell prey to this. I started acting exactly like my best friend Will. One day he sat me down to have a serious conversation. He told me, “Seth, the world already has a Will. It needs you to be you. The world needs you to be the truest Seth you can be.” I think God was speaking through my friend.

If we are to follow God’s call—to not shrink back, to not disqualify ourselves, to not live in imposter syndrome—then we must practice something that, for many of us, does not come easily: self-love.

Not vanity. Not pride. But a deep, honest, humble recognition that we are made uniquely in the image of God.

How do we practice that? How do we reframe our thinking so that, like Ilona Maher, we can say, I belong here? Here are three ways (and I know there are more):

1. By remembering that our worth is given by God, not earned. Before Isaiah was cleansed by the burning coal, before Peter left his nets, before Paul became the great apostle to the Gentiles, God had already chosen them. God had already loved them. The same is true for you. God has chosen you to be here on this earth at this time. God has already loved you into being. That’s why you’re here.

2. By surrounding ourselves with a community that lifts us up. This is where the church matters. If we are left to our own devices, many of us will always find reasons to doubt ourselves. Y’all might think, I’m naturally joyful and confident, but those were gifts instilled in me by the good people of St. Andrew’s Episcopal Church. Sallie Lowe, Pat Nakamura, Susan Leborg, John Wiley, Louise Cecil and many others saw gifts in me that I could not. It is in Christian community that we remind one another of the divine spark within us. We see Christ in each other. So, when you see Christ in your neighbor for goodness sake, tell them!

3. By trusting that God’s call does not require perfection. Peter was not perfect. Neither was Isaiah. Neither was Paul. Neither am I. Neither are you. But God’s call comes anyway—and with it, God’s grace. Isn’t that really, really good news? You don’t have to be perfect, as if that is a thing—that’s a man-made trap! Christ Jesus is the one who fulfills all in all. We share in the work, but we are not after perfection—merely progress as we continue to spread the Good News of God’s love for all.

So, what does all this mean for us as a church body?

If we believe that God calls the unworthy and makes them worthy, then we have a responsibility to help each other live into that calling.

This means:

Encouraging one another when we feel inadequate.
Reminding one another of our God-given worth.
Helping each other discern what God is asking of us.

This is particularly important today as we commission our Vestry. These leaders have said “yes” to serving Holy Apostles. They will soon be commissioned to govern the temporal matters of this church, but they do not serve alone. They need all of us—our prayers, our support, our shared work in Christ’s mission. So, when they ask you to serve, if you are able, I hope you will say, “Yes, I will with God’s help.”

At the end of today’s passage from Isaiah, after his moment of doubt and unworthiness, God asks a question that echoes through the centuries and now falls upon the ears of our hearts:

“Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?”

And Isaiah responds,

“Here am I; send me!”

Peter, too, despite his hesitation, leaves everything and follows Jesus. Paul, even with his violent past, proclaims the gospel with boldness.

What would it look like if we, too, responded to God’s call with a yes—not in self-doubt, not in false humility, but in faith?

Because God is calling you.

Not the perfect version of you. Not the version of you who has it all figured out. You—just as you are, right now. And who you are right now, my friends, is more than enough.

Amen.

Sunday, February 2, 2025

Redemption, Release, and the Gift of Waiting

Do you despise waiting in long lines? If so, this sermon is for you!

This sermon was inspired by the readings above and was preached at a service of Holy Baptism on February 2, 2025 at the Episcopal Church of the Holy Apostles. Video of the sermon may be found here.

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.

Awhile back, I found myself in a familiar situation—standing in line at the grocery store, scanning for the shortest route to checkout. I thought I had chosen well, but then the man in front of me turned and said, “I’m just warning you, but I’m slow!” I considered jumping ship, but with my collar on and someone now behind me, I responded with the first kind thing that popped into my head: “I’m in the business of waiting.”

His wife soon arrived, and the man repeated, “I told him I’m slow, honey.” She laughed, and looked at me, I smiled to the couple and remarked, “Patience is a virtue.” But then the woman’s face turned serious. Staring me in the eye, she exclaimed, “Patience may be a virtue, but I won’t ever ask God for it.”

How often have you heard that? Patience might be the most maligned of virtues. We admire it, but we don’t want to develop it. We live in a world that prizes speed, efficiency, and immediate gratification, yet our Faith Tradition teaches us that God’s work often unfolds slowly. And today, we witness just that in our Gospel lesson.

On this the Feast of the Presentation, we experience a story about anticipating—about two patient souls, Simeon and Anna, who hoped their entire lives to see the Messiah. Their stories, as well as the story we are telling today through Skylar’s baptism, reveals that waiting is not passive but a holy expectation, an active action of faith that leads us into redemption and release.

Simeon and Anna knew what it was to wait. Simeon had been promised by the Holy Spirit that he would not die before seeing the Messiah. Anna, an 84-year-old prophetess, had lived most of her life in the Temple, fasting and praying, trusting that God’s redemption was at hand. They did not see waiting as a burden but as an act of faith.

And then, one day, all of a sudden, the waiting ended. Mary and Joseph entered the Temple with their child, and the Spirit moved. God’s Spirit moved so powerfully that Simeon took Jesus into his arms and broke out in song:

“Lord, you now have set your servant free, to go in peace as you have promised. For these eyes of mine have seen the Savior whom you have prepared for all the world to see.”

(By the way, the first chapters of Luke’s Gospel are truly like musical theater, it seems that every few verses Zechariah, Mary, and now Simeon break out with a holy hymn.)

Seriously, though imagine the weight of Simeon’s words. A lifetime of waiting fulfilled in a single moment. The joy, the relief, the redemption!

Waiting, when viewed through Simeon’s lens, was not about enduring time but about preparing his heart to receive the presence of God. Isn’t that we all are invited to do? But, it’s not always so easy.

I personally do not like waiting. I have struggled with it my whole life. That impulsive, controlling, egoic part of me wants things to be completed yesterday, but this is not the Way of God. Fortunately, I have had ones who have tried to teach me the patient path.

As a kid, when my sister was at dance rehearsal, I would run around on the playground next to the ballet studio. Toward the end of the time, which always felt longer than it was, my mom would call me over to watch for my sister. I did not want to sit still, so she turned it into a game. She would ask if whoever was walking down the street towards our car was my sister. “Is that huge man your sister?” “NO!” (huge laughter) “Is that old lady your sister?” “NO!” (rolling on the floor laughing). Finally, my sister would arrive, and I would joyfully walk with my family to the car.

As I reflect on this example of waiting, I see that growing patience can be full of joy, laughter, and hope, as much as it can be a time which is difficult, irritating, and uncomfortable. Regardless of our emotional state, Simeon and Anna show us that faithful waiting is never in vain—it leads us to a moment of recognition, a moment when we see Christ clearly before us.

Like how we will clearly see Christ before us in Skylar’s baptism today. Holy Baptism is the sacramental way we are adopted into the Household of God—the outward and visible signs of water and oil punctuate the sure and certain means of grace that Sklyar receives as she becomes a member of the Body of Christ. In a way, Holy Baptism marks a beginning and an ending—it is a redemption and a release—an ending of the old ways of sin, separation, and death. And at the same time, we realize in Baptism the fulfillment of a promise and the start of a new journey.

Malachi’s words from this morning’s First Lesson tell us that the Lord comes as a refiner’s fire, purifying and making new. Hebrews reminds us that Christ, by taking on flesh, came to release us from fear and death. Holy Baptism, then, is our own presentation before God. It is our moment of being claimed, of being refined and set free to walk as God’s beloved children.

For Skylar, today is the day she is presented before the Church, just as Jesus was presented before His Heavenly Father in the Temple. Skylar will be named and marked as Christ’s own forever. Her parents, Trevor and Sophia, godparents, David and Megan, and other family (including her grandfather—a fellow priest in the Church) stand as witnesses and guides, just as Simeon and Anna once stood. And we, the gathered community, promise to uphold her in the Faith, knowing that our waiting and watching for Christ continues in each new generation. Beautifully, as we wait and watch Skylar (and others who join the Body of Christ), God will give us glimpses of Christ’s presence.

Simeon and Anna teach us something about how we can do this work of waiting and watching and walking together. They show us that waiting is not just about looking for God in the grand moments but in the everyday ones. They show us that we do not wait alone. God is always near, always working, always preparing us to recognize Christ in our midst and in each other. They also show that it is much easier to wait together than alone.

Holy Baptism of course reminds us of these truths too. This is not a finish line but a beginning—an invitation to continue seeking Christ in the world. Just as Simeon and Anna saw salvation in a swaddled baby, we are invited to see Christ in the most unexpected places: in the eyes of a child, in the face of a stranger, in the slow moments when we learn to let go of control and trust that God’s timing is always good.

So, when we grow impatient, when we wonder if God is truly at work in our lives and in this broken world, let us remember Simeon and Anna. Let us remember that Christ comes—perhaps not always in the way we expect or at the speed we desire—but always, always in love. And let us rejoice that today, through Skylar’s baptism, we see once more that the promises of God are being fulfilled in our midst.

Patience is a virtue. Not because it is easy, but because it shapes us to see the world as God sees it. Today, we witness the fulfillment of promises in Jesus’ presentation. We witness the power of redemption and release in Holy Baptism. And we witness, in Skylar, the next chapter of God’s story unfolding.

May we, like Simeon and Anna, live in expectant hope. May we see Christ in the waiting. And may we celebrate and share with joy the light that has come into the world.

Amen.