Grace to you and peace from God our Heavenly Father and Christ Jesus our Lord, the Merciful One who sows good seed. Amen.
One day during my childhood, while we were living in Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri, I was surprised to see small, colorful pebbles laying in the flowerbed outside our house. What could they possibly be? (I’m not even sure I knew the word “fertilizer” at that age.) And, at least as I remember it now, a week or so later, the same flowerbed had small shoots of green emerging from the soil.
Aha! So those small pebble-looking things were seeds! (Wrong.) But what were they growing? I reached down, grabbed the greenery, and yanked. Low and behold, it was attached to a bulb! Those small seeds had grown into something bigger than my fist! (Wrong again.) Amazed, I took my discovery in to show my mother, who was horrified that I had uprooted her one of her new tulips.
Grace to you and peace from God our Heavenly Father and Christ Jesus our Lord, who will not cut us off but instead delivers us from the thorns. Amen.
Imagine walking along any street in the Georgia summer. The cicadas are calling from the trees; pine towers overhead while magnolia limbs hang low, diving into the dirt and erupting out again. The humidity presses in around you, reminding you of the promised blast of air condition and tea when you get home. You pass an empty lot, erupting in deep green that covers last square inch, climbing up the trees, covering the abandoned shed, threatening to crush it under the unbearable weight.
For the farmers listening to Jesus, thorny weeds threatened to choke out their crop. For farmers living in the southeast, the threat is kudzu.
How lush the hillside covered in this once-heralded vine appears at first glance! But it has that look of uncanny uniformity, every leaf looking exactly the same, choking out any other grass, bush, shrub, or tree that ever took root in that same soil. Continue reading “Of Thorns, Kudzu, and Wealth”→
Grace to you and peace from God our Heavenly Father and Christ Jesus our Lord, who give us an easy burden and a light yoke. Amen.
“I do not understand my own actions.”
Who among us has not felt like Saint Paul at one point or another? For we do not do what we want – what we really, truly want in our in-most being, to do the will of God, the very end for which we were created.
Oh, we start out with good intent, sure enough.
This is it! This is the time I’m going to hold my temper in check and not yell at the neighbor.
This is the time I’m going to buy that young woman on the street corner a sandwich and tell her about the resources at the shelter.
This is the year I’m finally going to read my Bible every day.
This is it! This time, I’m actually going to join the protests and speak up for justice.
Grace to you and peace from God our Heavenly Father and Christ Jesus our Lord, who has united us into one body.
If I may summarize last week’s Gospel reading:
Congratulations, apostles! You’ve just won a no-expenses paid vacation to the small towns dotting the Judaean countryside! You’ll confront demonic powers that seek to destroy you, and while there, you’ll be handed over, beaten, flogged!
Grace to you and peace from God our Heavenly Father and Christ Jesus the Lord, our King who hung upon the tree of the cross. Amen.
This is not what we expect from our king.
We turn to our rulers looking for certain things: elegance, a sense of power, safety, a show of force. We expect them to do mighty works. We want them to be great and to make us great.
How odd it is, then, that as we celebrate the reign of Christ our King, we don’t read about his miracles. Or the Transfiguration. Today, there is no holy dove descending from heaven, no voice of God proclaiming:
This is my Son, my beloved, with whom I am well pleased.
A Homily for the Twenty-Third Sunday after Pentecost
Texts: St. Luke 21:5-19
Grace to you and peace from God our Heavenly Father and Christ Jesus the Lord, the coming King. The whole creation trembles at his approach. Amen.
There was a time when the Roman Empire covered the entire Mediterranean world and beyond – from Spain across the Straight of Gibraltar to the North African coast down to the Sahara, skirting north of the Arabian desert to the banks of the Tigris and Euphrates, rebuilding the ruined settlements of the Greek world, north over the Alps to the forests of Germany, and even up through France and across Britain into what is today Scotland. This expanse brought with it a sense of hubris: Romans described theirs even before the reign of Julius Caesar as “an empire without end” and their capital as “the eternal city.”
Even still today, tourists can enjoy pasta carbonara while looking out at the Coliseum, stop for gelato on their way to the ancient forum, or even worship in the temple to all the gods, the Pantheon, which still stands to this day as a Christian church. Aqueducts tower over cities in France. The outer limits of the empire still mark antiquarian borders in northern England and through Germany. Continue reading “The Kingdom Yet to Come”→
Grace to you and peace from God our Heavenly Father and Christ Jesus the Lord, the source of our eternal comfort and good hope. Amen.
The Church in Thessalonica had a problem. They had the same problem the entire Church has faced across the nations and the ages, even to this place today. They had been promised that Christ would return soon and suddenly. But. But then things started going wrong. But then members of the congregation started to die. But then the rumors started: that something worse was coming. Something cataclysmic. But then the panic flooded in.
You’ve felt it, I know. Your skin crawling. The hair on your neck standing on end. That pit in your stomach. The inevitable sinking feeling.
It’s the sensation of your world about to shatter like glass, the realization that there’s no going back to the way things were.
Grace to you and peace from God our Heavenly Father and Christ Jesus our Lord, who claims us as his own. Amen.
In the German town of Speyer, there is a beautiful old cathedral.
And by old, I mean old.
It was built in the early eleventh century. When it was constructed, the Catholic and Orthodox churches were still united and the Normans had not yet invaded England. The cathedral is extraordinary: it is one of the best examples of Romanesque architecture in the world, a UNESCO world heritage site. It is home to relics of beloved saints, to tombs of Holy Roman Emperors, and, out in the plaza in front of the church, there’s a giant wine goblet that is filled so that the town may celebrate every time a new bishop is seated. (We didn’t have one last weekend, sad to say. Perhaps we should have brought that tradition back.) Continue reading “Brought in by the Water”→
Grace to you and peace from God our Heavenly Father and Christ Jesus our Lord, who gives us faith the size of a mustard seed. Amen.
“Lord, increase our faith.” How often have we asked for more faith? Those times when we aren’t quite sure that we’ll be able to make it: at the end of the month, when we don’t know how the account balance will cover all of the bills, when the doctor says she’ll call in a few days with the test results, or when a loved one is deployed to a combat zone. For years now, that’s how some of us have felt about the this parish: “Lord, increase our faith…give us something, anything to get us through, to keep our doors open.” As we shuffle through this mortal life, there is no shortage of trials and tribulations when we find our faith not only tested but almost withdrawing, as though it is insufficient for the challenge at hand.