Ponder All These Things

Sunday, February 9, 2025

From Imposter to Image Bearer

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

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.

Sunday, January 26, 2025

Answer Readily the Call

In today's Collect we prayed for the grace to "answer readily the call of our Savior Jesus Christ and proclaim to all people the Good News of his salvation"—and I wonder, are you going to accept God's call?

Nehemiah 8:1-3, 5-6, 8-10

Psalm 19

1 Corinthians 12:12-31a

Luke 4:14-21

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.

I’ll never forget a particularly challenging cross-country race I ran in college. It was early in my senior season, and on a hot, dusty course early on a September Saturday, the air was thick with anticipation as runners gathered at the starting line. I remember glancing around, tempted to compare myself to the others, wondering if I had trained enough, if I was ready for what lay ahead. When the race began, it didn’t take long for the physical and mental barriers to emerge—the burning lungs, the aching legs, the painful side stitch, and the voice in my head that said, “You can’t do this.” For much of the race, I suffered. Eventually though, I remembered the training, the rhythm, and the encouragement of my coach: “Control the controllables. Focus on your next step. Run your race not someone else’s.” That ended up being my worst race of the season. The poor performance stemmed from focusing on beating the competition instead of running the race set before me with perseverance.

In many ways, the life of faith is like that race. It requires discipline, resilience, and a willingness to face challenges head-on. And just as my coach’s voice reminded me to focus on what truly mattered and what I have control over, Jesus’ proclamation in today’s Gospel lesson centers us in work that truly matters and something we have control over. Let’s take a closer look.

After being baptized and tested in the wilderness, Jesus returned to Galilee, filled with the power of the Spirit, and began teaching in synagogues. When he arrived in Nazareth, his hometown, he unfurled the scroll of Isaiah and read these words:

“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.”

And then, Jesus declared, “Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.” With these words, Jesus set the agenda for his ministry and for the work of the Kingdom of God. Good news to the poor, release to the captives, and sight to the blind were not abstract ideals or lofty aspirations; they were concrete markers of the mission we share with Christ—the daily bread meant to sustain us as we walk with him.

One of the ways we are guided into this work, one of the ways we know what direction to travel is through prayer. What I mean by prayer is a conversation with God when we both speak and more importantly listen to what God is saying. In our Collect this morning (that’s the prayer read right before the readings that collects all the themes from this Season in the Church Year and the readings for today), in that collect, we prayed for grace to “answer readily the call of our Savior Jesus Christ and proclaim to all people the Good News of his salvation.” What does it mean to answer that call?

First, it means recognizing that Jesus’ mission is our mission. It is our work to bring good news to the poor, to proclaim release to captives, to help the blind recover sight, to free the oppressed, and to declare the year of the Lord’s favor. These are not optional parts of our faith—they are its very essence.

Here at Holy Apostles, we already live into this call in many ways. We bring good news to the poor when we support Episcopal Place, pack food for hungry students at Trace Crossings, and distribute coats through the Grace Woodlawn Food Pantry. We proclaim release to captives when we participate in Kairos Prison Ministries and support ministries of reconciliation and healing like hosting a Narcotics Anonymous group here. And we strive to help others see—not just with their eyes but with their hearts. This kind of inner sight—the ability to recognize our own blind spots, faults, and gifts—is where our transformation begins.

Of course, this work is not easy. Following Jesus inevitably brought those early disciples face to face with challenges, resistance, and roadblocks. They all gave their lives to the Way of Christ. Some were martyrs who died horrible deaths because of their faith, and some were martyrs who gave their entire lives to Jesus (even if they died peaceably). Often these faith conflicts happened because of what I was doing at the beginning of that cross-country race, we fall into competitiveness like how I was fixated on what everyone else was doing. We do the same in our lives, even when it comes to our faith or spirituality.

In our divided world, it is tempting to retreat into our corners, to draw lines of division between “us” and “them.” We get so attached to this way of thinking that we turn church into a competition. But Jesus called his followers to resist this way of being. His mission was for everyone—friend and stranger, neighbor and enemy alike. Perhaps you have seen this cartoon, which illustrates well this point. On a vast white canvas people are busy drawing lines to box themselves in and others out. Jesus at the same time is using his eraser to make those lines vanish.[1] Every time we draw a line of exclusion, Jesus is at work erasing it, breaking down barriers, and inviting us to join him in this holy work. The question is, will we?

We live in a time when our foundational Christian virtues of love, mercy, and forgiveness feel under attack—from political firestorms and the rise of Christian Nationalism, which often seeks to weaponize our faith for worldly power. It is easy to feel overwhelmed, even disheartened. We might wonder where is God and how can we find God? And, in such times I am reminded of a favorite story from Holy Scripture, which involved Elijah.

This paramount prophet went out in search for the Divine One. At first, he sought God in the exciting—flame, flood, or force, but God was not found there (I’m sure God was there, but Elijah couldn’t behold God there). He found God not in the wind, nor the earthquake, nor the fire, but in the sheer silence that followed (1 Kings 19). It is in that stillness that we can reconnect with God, find our grounding, and get reminded that the Spirit of the Lord dwells in all—friend, stranger, unlikely neighbor, and even ones we perceive to be our enemies.

For me in that silence, I discover that as much as I might want to point my finger and criticize others, Jesus continually turns me back to God. That’s what Jesus does with his followers, he turns them back to their own hearts and actions. This is what he wants for all of us—to turn back to God by acknowledging where we are out of step with the Kingdom’s goals.

We know this to be true not just from this story, but from other examples throughout Scripture. Most notably, before we can help others remove the specks from their eyes, we must confront the planks in our own. This is hard, humbling work, but it is also the work that brings freedom and transformation—not just for ourselves, but also for the world God loves. If we want joy, mercy, and love in the world, we must first cultivate it within ourselves and within this community.

Answering the call of Jesus begins with asking for this kind of sight—the challenging vision, which allows us to see our own shortcomings, the courage to confront them, and the grace to change them with God’s help. While Jesus was always with his followers in this work, and God's grace requires no prerequisite condition, it is only when we do our own work of untangling ourselves from sinfulness, idolatry, and evil that we can join Jesus in his mission of healing, liberation, and reconciliation. Peace as they say, starts at home. So does healing, liberation, and reconciliation!

This week ahead, I invite you to reflect on how you are being called to proclaim good news and participate in God’s mission. Where do you see opportunities to bring healing and hope? How can you work to release captives, feed the hungry, or build bridges across divides? What blind spots in your own life might God be inviting you to address?

The Spirit of the Lord is indeed upon us. We are anointed to do this work, not in isolation but together, as the Body of Christ. As we follow Jesus in this shared mission, may we find the grace to answer his call readily and to proclaim to all people the Good News of his salvation. And all the while, may we remember that this Good News is not just for “us,” nor is it only for “them”—it is for all of us, together. Amen.

[1] Hayward, David. “Eraser Digital Cartoon” from The Naked Pastor website [https://nakedpastor.com/products/eraser, accessed January 26, 2025].

Sunday, January 19, 2025

From Scarcity to Abundance: Lessons from Cana

John 2 begins a theme throughout this entire Gospel account: Eucharistic Abundance —
Jesus provides an ultimate feast for all

Isaiah 62:1-5

1 Corinthians 12:1-11

John 2:1-11

Psalm 36:5-10

This sermon was preached originally on January 19, 2025 at the Episcopal Church of the Holy Apostles. A video of this sermon may be found here.

Loving and Beloved 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.

Today’s Gospel passage takes us to a wedding feast in Cana of Galilee, where Jesus performed his first recorded miracle: turning water into wine. It’s a story brimming (pun intended) with significance, humor, and the revelation of God’s abundant grace. It is also profoundly important to understanding who God is and what God’s Reign on earth looks like.

Let’s begin with the scene itself. Imagine the joy of a wedding, a multi-day celebration filled with family, friends, food, and music. Such occasions are moments of union, community, and celebration—a microcosm of God’s desires for us. Weddings in the ancient world were significant communal events, meant to bring people together in shared joy. In the midst of this happiness, however, a problem arose: the wine ran out. Nowadays, if this were to happen someone would simply go on a b double e double r u n (beer run), but in those days there weren’t convenience stores. For the host, this would have been a complete social catastrophe, a failure to provide hospitality and celebration for the guests.

It was into this moment of scarcity that Mary, Jesus’ mother, stepped forward. She conveyed to her child, “They have no wine.” Jesus’ response might strike us as humorous, even slightly abrupt: “Woman, what concern is that to you and to me? My hour has not yet come.” Now, if I said that to my momma, I would have gotten “the look” or worse. Yet, Mary didn’t argue. Instead, she turned to the servants and said, “Do whatever he tells you.” There is a quiet confidence in Mary’s faith here, an abiding belief that Jesus would act—and that whatever he did would be enough. I pray that God might bestow upon us that same sense of trust in God.

Back to the action, what Jesus did next was extraordinary—supernatural even. He took six stone water jars, each holding twenty or thirty gallons, jars meant for Jewish purification rituals, and transformed their contents into wine. That’s over 900 bottles of wine and not just any wine, but the best wine, better than what had been served the rest of the feast. The steward’s reaction says it all: “You have kept the good wine until now!”

Now, I’m sure we have all been to great weddings. I am personally partial to Kim’s and my own. A hot July day in Austin Texas meant that everyone was a sweaty mess even before the ceremony—celebrated by two of our best friends (who also happen to be priests). Even with the heat (and notoriously bad Austin traffic delaying the ceremony from starting on time) it was outstanding. Plus, a BBQ feast, delicious ice cream, and a packed dance floor made it the most fun night of my life. However, even my own wedding is not the most meaningful wedding to me, for this Cana wedding feast story reveals so much about the nature of God.

First, it shows us a God who cares about celebration, about joy, and about the flourishing of life. Jesus’ first miracle is not performed in the Temple or for a grand audience, but at a wedding party, a simple, human occasion. God’s abundance is revealed in this moment of turning scarcity into plenty, a sign of the overflowing love that is at the heart of our Trinitarian God who is always loving so very much that it overflows the bounds of just that relationship between Father, Son, and Spirit.

Second, this story points us toward transformation. The water jars used for ritual cleansing—signs of the old order, of the need for purification—are repurposed as vessels for celebration. In this act, Jesus is not discarding the old but transforming it, showing us a new way of encountering God’s grace. Truly, both are always needed—purification and celebration! This transformation invites us to look at the ordinary elements of our lives and see how they might be used to reveal God’s glory. A simple hike through the woods surprisingly reveals the creative love of God. Coffee with a friend becomes sacramental helping you to feel seen and heard by God through the compassion of a beloved one. Where else in our seemingly ordinary lives is God’s glory already shining?

Third, this is an Epiphany story. During this season, we celebrate the ways Jesus’ magnificence is revealed to the world. Here, in Cana, God revealed Jesus’ glory not with fanfare but through an act of quiet abundance. The disciples see it, and they believe. And, to be fair, who wouldn’t? 900 bottles of wine is a mighty tool for spreading the Gospel. All joking aside, it is a sign not just for the people of Israel but for all the world, a glimpse of the universal grace that Jesus offers.

But there is another layer to this story that connects deeply with the broader themes of John’s Gospel—themes that further reveal the nature of God. In John, there is no Last Supper narrative as we find in the other Gospel accounts. Instead, the theme of Eucharistic abundance is woven throughout the entire story. Jesus is the Bread of Life, the one who provides living water, the one who ensures the wine never runs dry. The wedding at Cana is the first of many moments where Jesus provided in abundance, foreshadowing the ultimate feast of the kingdom where all are fed and all are welcomed. And, that feast is still ongoing. We will partake in it this morning as we gather with Jesus around God’s holy table.

This Eucharistic abundance stands in stark contrast to the scarcity mindset that so often pervades our society. We are constantly bombarded with messages that we are not enough, that we do not have enough, that we must strive and consume to fill the void. But the kingdom of God operates differently. In God’s economy, there is always enough. In God’s economy, nothing is wasted. In God’s economy, there is always more than enough. The invitation is to trust in that abundance and to live as people who reflect it in our lives. That’s why so often at the offertory I talk about our connection to this table. For together with God we always have enough and God has a way of taking what we give and transforming our blessings into the blessings of others!

So, how might we live out this abundance this week? Perhaps it begins with gratitude, recognizing the ways God has already blessed us. Maybe it extends to generosity, sharing what we have with others (yes in the offertory plate, but also throughout your week). For the hope of God is that all may experience the joy of the feast. And, living out of God’s abundance certainly involves a commitment to celebration, to being people who reflect God’s joy and invite others into it. Come play Bingo on Friday night with your church family, come have fun with our Gumbo Gala squad, join us at our beans and rice Mardi Gras dinner in early March.

As we go forth today, let us remember that the same God who turned water into wine at Cana is at work in our lives, transforming the ordinary into the extraordinary, scarcity into plenty, and inviting us into the joyful feast of God’s kingdom. May we shine with the radiance of Christ’s glory, so that God’s abundant love may be known and shared to the ends of the earth. Amen.

Sunday, January 12, 2025

Epiphany People

You've heard of Easter People, but what about Epiphany People?

This sermon was given at the Episcopal Church of the Holy Apostles. A video of this message may be found here.

Loving and Beloved 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.

On this first Sunday after the Epiphany, we celebrate the Baptism of Our Lord. This day draws us deeper into the manifestation of God’s glory in Christ, a theme that began with the arrival of the Magi at Epiphany and continues throughout this liturgical season. The readings and prayers before us today open a door to understanding what God is doing in Christ, not just for Israel but for the whole world—and how we are invited to join in Christ’s mission and ministry.

Let us begin with the voice that echoes over the waters in Luke’s Gospel account. The people are gathered in anticipation, wondering if John the Baptist might be the Messiah. John quickly dispels that notion, pointing instead to one who is greater. “I baptize you with water,” he says, “but one who is more powerful than I is coming; I am not worthy to untie the thong of his sandals. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire.” And then, in a moment of divine revelation, we see Jesus baptized, the heavens open, the Holy Spirit descend like a dove, and the voice of God proclaim, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you, I am well pleased.”

This proclamation signals something extraordinary: God’s presence is being made manifest in a new way. Jesus, fully human and fully divine, steps into the waters of the Jordan not to be cleansed but to cleanse, not to be claimed by God but to claim us for God. In this act, Jesus inaugurates his public ministry, revealing that he is not just Israel’s Messiah but the Savior of the world. It is a pivotal moment, one that invites us to consider our own baptism and the covenant we share with Christ.

Isaiah’s prophecy provides a powerful backdrop to this event. “Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine,” God declares. These words, spoken to Israel in exile, are now spoken to all who enter the waters of baptism. In baptism, we are named and claimed by God, sealed by the Holy Spirit, and marked as Christ’s own forever. This is not just a personal promise but a communal calling—to participate in God’s mission of restoration, healing, and reconciliation. What does this look like?

One way of answering that question is seeing that the Season after the Epiphany highlights three transformative moments: the Magi worshipping the Christ child, the voice of God calling Jesus “My Beloved Son” at his baptism, and the transfiguration when Jesus’ full glory is revealed. Together, these stories tell us that the light of Christ is not to be hidden but shared, that God’s glory is for all people, and that we are called to reflect that light in the world.

As I was reflecting on today’s themes, I found myself drawn to a phrase coined by a dear friend and colleague, the Rev. Charles Youngson, who calls our baptismal promises “the job description of a Christian.” Think about that for a moment. Our Baptismal Covenant is not just a liturgical moment; it’s a blueprint for how we live as followers of Jesus. When we promise to “seek and serve Christ in all persons” and “strive for justice and peace among all people,” we are embracing the work of Epiphany—shining a light on what God is doing in the world.

And what is God doing? God is still sharing the glory of non-competitive transcendence, unconditional love, self-giving service, unending joy, and peace beyond understanding. These are not mere abstractions; they are the fruits of lives transformed by grace. And they are not meant to be hoarded but shared. We are called to be light-bearers, people enlightened by the Epiphany, revealing alongside Christ what God is up to even now. We're called to see the light in one another, too.

Thomas Merton, a 20th-century Trappist monk, writer, theologian, and mystic depicted this beautifully when he wrote, “I was suddenly overwhelmed with the realization that I loved all those people, that they were mine, and I theirs, that we could not be alien to one another even though we were total strangers. It was like waking from a dream of separateness.” This realization, which happened in downtown Louisville, KY is a most fitting moment of Epiphany—a season where we are reminded that in Christ, we are made one. Baptism draws us into this oneness, this interconnected web of divine love that binds us to God and one another.

In just a moment we will renew our baptismal vows, and when we do, I invite you to listen to these promises anew. Hear them as both invitation and challenge. How might you, in your own life, embody the light of Christ? How might you reveal God’s glory in the ordinary and extraordinary moments of your days? Perhaps it’s in offering a word of kindness to a neighbor or coworker, advocating for justice in your community or school, or simply being present to someone who is struggling. Whatever form it takes, know that you do not do this work alone. The same Spirit who descended upon Jesus at his baptism empowers and sustains you in your journey.

As we step into this new year, let us remember that we are not only Easter people, marked by the joy of resurrection. We are also Epiphany people, called to illuminate the world with the light of Christ. To be guided and embolden by our Loving God who sends us forth to proclaim, by word and example, the good news of God in Christ—especially that we are all God’s beloveds in Christ.

Let us be Epiphany people, beloved in Christ, and eager to share his light with the world. Amen.

Sunday, January 5, 2025

Resolution: Restoration

Jeremiah 31:7-14

Ephesians 1:3-6,15-19a

Matthew 2:13-15,19-23

Psalm 84 or 84:1-8

Emmanual, God with us, 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.

Good morning, beloved Apostles! As we gather on this first Sunday in the year of Our Lord 2025, our readings and prayers lead us into a profoundly important theme: restoration. We heard it in Jeremiah's prophecy of God gathering and reconciling with His people. It was proclaimed in Matthew's Gospel of God's protective presence amid political violence. And, we prayed it in the collect that began our service: “O God, who wonderfully created, and yet more wonderfully restored, the dignity of human nature.”

Today, I want to reflect on that phrase: “and yet more wonderfully restored, the dignity of human nature.”

Several years ago, my uncle Bill decided to restore my grandmother’s 1965 Ford Mustang in beautiful teal. For seasons of my life that car looked like a lost cause—it was hidden under a cover in my grandparents’ basement, the white leather seats were cracked, and the engine barely functional. But my uncle saw its potential. Slowly, with a lot of love and even more sweat, he began to bring it back to life. Yet there came a point where his tools and knowledge weren’t enough. He needed to reach out for help from others who had restored this make and model before.

That’s the thing about restoration: it’s both exhilarating and humbling. Whether it’s a car, a house, or even a relationship, the process reminds us of two truths. First, restoration requires work. Second, we can’t do it alone.

The same is true for us. Look around, and it’s clear that we live in a broken world. Jeremiah’s words about the scattered people of Israel feel just as relevant today. We see the cracks and fractures—in our personal lives, in our local communities, and across the globe.

This week alone, we’ve grieved over terrorist attacks in New Orleans and Las Vegas. The despair and depravity of such violence weighs heavily on us. In our Gospel lesson, we were reminded of another horrific event: King Herod’s massacre of the innocents. If you are unfamiliar with this gruesome part of the Christmas story, it was when in an attempt to murder the Christ child, the despot Herod killed all the first-born sons of Bethlehem. These stories—past and present—confront us with the depth of human brokenness.

But brokenness isn’t the final word. Jeremiah’s prophecy reminds us that God is not distant. Instead, God is intimate. God is with us in the messiness. And God is in the business of restoration, gathering the scattered, turning mourning into joy, and sorrow into dancing.

Sometimes, though, we believe things must work on our timeline. We “wrestle” control away from God. That it’s all got to be okay RIGHT NOW! At other times, we think restoration means we need to meet God halfway—that we must pull ourselves together and only then approach God. But that’s not the Gospel. That’s not good news at all—that’s conditional, quid pro quo, you scratch my back I’ll scratch yours—that’s the way of the world. That’s not the Gospel, for God’s grace—favor unearned and undeserved—meets us where we are, even in our most hopeless moments.

Consider the Holy Family’s flight to Egypt. From a worldly perspective, they weren’t safe. They weren’t secure. They were running for their lives, fleeing from a murderous madman. And yet, God’s presence was with them, guiding them to safety and eventually to a new home. This is the surprising truth of grace: it finds us in the wilderness, in the broken places, and begins the work of restoration. As Max Lucado wrote and former Presiding Bishop Michael Curry was fond of quoting, “God will love you where you are, but God will never leave you where you are!”

And here’s an amazing truth—God invites us to be part of this work. Like my uncle restoring that car, we’re called to roll up our sleeves and participate in God’s mission of healing, renewal, and sharing unearned-undeserved favor. Sometimes that looks like repairing a relationship. Sometimes it’s working for justice in our community. Sometimes it’s simply showing kindness to someone in need.

But just as my uncle needed help to finish the restoration, we must remember that we’re not doing this alone. God’s power is what ultimately transforms and restores. We do our part, but God’s grace both initiates and completes the work. Speaking of starting and finishing work.

At this time of year, many of us are thinking about resolutions. Maybe you’ve resolved to eat healthier, exercise more, or spend more time with family. These are good goals, but what if we thought about resolutions as part of God’s restoration process? What if we resolved to align our lives more fully with God’s vision for us and the world? What would it look like if restoration was our resolution for this year?

Restoration in our resolutions could look like this:

Repairing Relationships: Commit to forgiving someone or seeking forgiveness where it is needed.
Creating Space for God: Resolve to set aside time for prayer, Scripture reading, or worship.
Caring for Creation: Take small steps to live more sustainably, recognizing that the restoration of the Earth is part of God’s mission.
Building Community: Volunteer your time, support local ministries, or simply be present with those who need encouragement.
Fostering Personal Wholeness: Instead of focusing only on self-improvement, consider how your growth contributes to the well-being of others.

These resolutions remind us that restoration is not just about fixing what is broken but about participating in God’s greater work of renewal.

As a church, we’re called to be a community of restoration. This means grieving with those who grieve, standing with those who are broken, and offering hope to a world in need. It means being a place where people can encounter the grace of God—the grace that meets us where we are and invites us into something new.

Speaking of hope and encountering the grace of God, at the end of today’s service, I will be passing out “Star Words.” You may remember this practice from a couple years ago when the Rev. Emily Collette was here as an Associate Rector. Each star bears a word—a single point of focus for the coming year. These words invite us to reflect and center our intentions. Much like the star that guided the Magi to Jesus, a Star Word can offer us a sense of direction, encouraging us to seek God’s presence and purpose as we step into the restorative work God calls us to do.

Having an intentional point, like a Star Word, reminds us that restoration isn’t aimless. It’s a journey with God, guided by grace and anchored in hope. Let your word guide you as you consider how you might participate in God’s renewing and restoring work this year.

Beloved Apostles, restoration is hard work. It’s humbling work. But it’s holy work. And the good news is that God is with us every step of the way. God’s grace meets us in our brokenness, restores our dignity, and calls us to join in the healing of the world.

So, as we step into this New Year, let us trust in God’s promise of restoration. Let us do the work we can, lean on God for what we cannot, and together, let us reflect the glory of a broken world being wonderfully restored by God’s grace. Amen.