Author: Rosemary Lovelace

September 28, 2025

16th Sunday after Pentecost – Katharine Armentrout

In the last two Sundays we have listened to two of the toughest parables Jesus told – both of them on the subject of wealth and how to be faithful.

Jesus was talking to the Pharisees who, as the scripture tells us, loved money. 

Basically what Jesus is trying to help us understand is that there can be a real tension between accumulating wealth and living a life of faith.  

And he was challenging the Pharisees, and us, to open our eyes and our hearts to the teaching of both the Old and New Testament 

– the teaching that the accumulation of wealth while neglecting the needs of others can wall us off from God and God’s loving, wonderful world.

And speaking of opening our eyes, have you ever heard of the crime of willful blindness? It is a crime that is sometimes charged when the law holds accountable someone who deliberately avoids learning of, or acting on, facts that make up a crime…You see, it is a crime to hide from facts that constitute a crime and not take any action. 

For instance a person who has reason to know that a package he is to deliver contains illegal drugs but chooses to go ahead and deliver the package can be found willfully blind and convicted of a drug crime. 

Or a business executive who ignores his own employee’s fraud on a customer, can be held liable under willful blindness for the fraud of that employee, just like the executives at the Enron Corporation were.

In effect the law can hold someone accountable for the effort to hide from uncomfortable facts  – and that is exactly what the Rich Man did in this painful parable. The parable is really a play in three acts about willful blindness. 

Act One – We see that day after day Lazarus was at the Rich Man’s doorstep, in ragged clothes, with oozing sores. The Rich Man’s dogs knew he was there, even licking the sores of Lazarus. But the Rich Man hides himself behind the locked gates of his home, behind the elegant curtains that blocked out the sights on his front porch;

And, if he goes out the front gate, the Rich Man probably just steps over Lazarus as he leaves. 

Thus he can avoid seeing or greeting or helping the pitiful man lying on his doorstep.  All the while he eats sumptuously, dresses in fine purple clothes and hides himself from any sight that might be distressing.

He walls himself off. 

He is willfully blind to the man who is slowly dying in front of him and blind to his needs. 

What are the consequences of his deliberate avoidance? We learn that in Act Two of this parable.

We learn that both Lazarus and the Rich Man die.  But, for those listening to Jesus, there was an unexpected turn of fortune –

The Angels carry off Lazarus off to be in the bosom of Abraham – which the faithful would understand as heaven.  

But the Rich Man is summarily buried and he descends to Hades where he is being tormented.

The Rich Man then looks up and sees Abraham far away and with Lazarus at his side. The Rich Man seems puzzled by this chasm between them but he calls out to Abraham.  

He calls out to “Father Abraham”, as if he had been a faithful Jew who knew the Torah.  He pleads for mercy..

Now let’s remember that Jesus had been telling this parable to the Pharisees and they would have been deeply shocked at this turn of events.  Why?  

In the Jewish world of this time wealth was seen as a sign of God’s favor. At the same time, illness, poverty and hardship were seen as a sign of the man’s own sin or the sin of his parents. 

“How could a beggar go to heaven” would have been the question on their minds, “while a Rich Man suffers in Hades?” It would have been a complete, disturbing paradox.  

And, as we see, the Rich Man still did not fully understand his true state, his utter abandonment to Hades.  

So…hopeful, but still in his arrogant and self-blinded way, the Rich Man asks Abraham to send down Lazarus to bring him some water. 

Well… did you notice he at least has learned the poor man’s name but still, in his arrogance, the Rich Man thinks of Lazarus as a servant who can be directed to bring him relief.  

But Abraham is having none of it. He reminds the Rich Man that in his life time he was showered with rich things while Lazarus had only bad things.

It is almost as if Abraham is saying “it was your willful blindness to God’s commandments that has led you here. Your willful blindness to the Great Commandment to love your neighbor as yourself. ” 

So, in what we can call Act 3, it appears that the Rich Man finally understands that his life of riches and leisure, without attention to God’s commandment, has relegated him to Hades permanently.

And, perhaps with a pang of conscience, he begs Abraham to at least send Lazarus to warn his five brothers about what has happened to him. He wants to warn them so that they won’t end up as he did.  

But Abraham did not relent. Instead he reminds him that those brothers have everything they need to keep them from Hades 

if they will just listen to Moses and the prophets, clearly something the Rich Man did not do.

Abraham is clearly saying that there will be no special help for those who refuse the needs of the wretched at their gate. 

Saying that if the Willfully Blind will not hear the Scriptures and be merciful, then they have placed themselves beyond the reach of God’s mercy.    

Tough words but I don’t believe that the Lord is without mercy or that this would be His last word on mercy, even for the willfully blind.  

I think we know from the parable of Prodigal Son that those who truly want to come home to God, to Jesus, then they are welcomed with open arms. 

Instead this parable seems aimed at the stiff-necked and willfully blind, the self-indulgent who care nothing for God’s children or creation 

Who care only for their own seeming progress in the world of wealth and power. 

And I also know, and you know, that those of us who are here this morning are not deliberately “walled off” and oblivious to the needs of others like the Rich Man, 

You would not be here in church, or volunteering at CARES or Angels on Horseback or Habitat if you did not care about the world and the people our Lord has created.  

But…and there is always a but…

It is easy to get caught up in our own world of family, some volunteering, Football Saturdays, and myriad other things that distract us from the world right outside the doors of this church or our homes. 

In other words walling ourselves off from confronting the world as it is…

Perhaps looking at the world through the fingers of our hands, like a little child does, so she won’t see something painful. 

This parable is Jesus’ call to take our hands from our eyes and to continue to look for the Lazaruses who are in our community. No willful blindness here.

So you might ask: “Do we really have such folks in Jasper?” “Is there a Lazarus here?”. 

And the answer is “Yes”.  

Just about two weeks ago a homeless young man died here.  He had a name – Dakota James Massey. He was only age 27.  He and his father were living in their car parked at our Walmart.  He died from seizures early one morning in the car.(I wonder if he could not afford his anti-seizure medication)  My prayer is that the angels carried him off to heaven just as they did Lazarus. 

And almost every time we have Financial Assistance at CAREs we see someone who is homeless and is living in their car or on the streets or is about to get evicted.

And we know that our local government erects very restrictive regulations so that people spurred by the Gospel are unable to get permits for a homeless shelter.  

Additionally we know that homelessness is being made worse by lack of affordable housing in Pickens County.  We have long, long waiting lists for the very few subsidized Section 8 houses here.  And we have not had any new low-income housing built in Jasper since the late 1980s. And if regular apartments are available the rents are sky-high.

So I can hear you thinking: “Ok Katharine, so what do you think we can do about this?”. 

I think the first step may be to refresh our eyes. To really see what is in our community.  No willful blindness here! 

One easy, but eye-opening thing you can do, is sign-up to help with Serve Pickens on Saturday, October 18.  It is an opportunity to see our non-profits at work, to understand God’s needs in Jasper, to learn where the Lazarus’ of our community are and how we might be able to offer more help. 

Our God is faithful and just, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love…

So instead of seeing this parable as a big warning to those of us who are considered rich by the world’s standards,

I think the Holy Spirit is inviting us to receive the “fullness of [God’s] grace,” as our collect says, and to have our eyes and hearts open to God’s needs.

As one writer put it: “Friends, Jesus invites us through this teaching to let our guards down, keep our gates unlocked, our ears unplugged, our eyes wide open, so that our souls may become less guarded and more and open to the flow of Holy Spirit’s generosity. Amen.”

September 10, 2025

Alexander Crummell – Priest 1898 – Mark Winward

Today the Episcopal Church commemorates the Rev. Alexander Crummell, who served faithfully as a priest, missionary, and educator. Born in New York in 1819 to African American parents—his mother freeborn and his father a former slave—Crummell was raised in a household committed to abolitionism. Although he came from an affluent family, he faced numerous struggles in his pursuit of education. While enrolled at Noyes Academy, a racially integrated and unusually progressive high school in New Hampshire, a white mob of several hundred men destroyed the institution by dragging the school building—some accounts say with oxen—into a swamp! This violent act closed the academy and expelled Crummell and his Black classmates. Later, when he sought ordination, the Diocese of New York rejected him for Holy Orders and he was denied admission to General Theological Seminary purely on the basis of his race.

Undeterred, Crummell prepared privately for ordination under the guidance of clergy in Providence and Boston—and also audited lectures at Yale Theological Seminary. His persistence bore fruit: he was ordained a deacon in March 1842 and a priest in November 1844. Yet even then, he was forbidden to attend the Diocese of Massachusetts convention. In 1849, he journeyed to England to study at Queens’ College, Cambridge University, where he also preached against slavery, proclaiming that the universality of the Gospel was the answer to racism. In 1852, after earning his degree in classics and theology, he traveled to Liberia where he would serve as a missionary for the next 20 years.

Liberia, a former colony of American slaves on Africa’s west coast, became the focus of Crummell’s vision. He sought to establish a Christian republic that would demonstrate Black capacity for self-rule and cultural leadership. He believed Liberia could serve as the center of African revival, where Western-educated Black leaders would guide the continent’s moral and cultural rebirth through Christianity and civilization. There he founded schools, promoted higher education, and delivered influential sermons on Pan-African nationalism, teaching that people of African descent worldwide shared a common destiny tied to Africa.

Crummell’s efforts, however, met with mixed success. His attempts to strengthen Anglicanism in Liberia failed to take deep root, and his schools did not endure as lasting institutions. Part of this stemmed from his criticism of Liberia’s ruling elite for corruption and lack of discipline, which limited his political influence. Nevertheless, his writings on African redemption, moral leadership, and the destiny of Black people profoundly shaped later generations and turned many hearts to Christ.

In 1873, Crummell returned to the United States, where he founded numerous African American congregations in the National Capital Region. He also taught at Howard University and fought tirelessly for equal Black representation within the Episcopal Church. Up until the end of his life, he held fast to the conviction that true equality for Africans—and true unity for humanity—could only be found under the banner of Jesus Christ. He died on September 10, 1898, and in 1979 was officially recognized for his contributions to the Church, racial equality, and a Pan-African vision.

We remember Crummell to this day because he continues to inspire people of all races. At every stage of his life he faced rejection—barred from seminary, excluded from white institutions, resisted in Liberia, and marginalized in America. Yet he refused to yield to bitterness, instead finding alternate paths and persevering with tenacity. He believed education was the key to upward mobility—not just for individual advancement but for the transformation of communities and nations. His founding of the American Negro Academy sought to empower Black scholars to define their own history and culture, inspiring future generations. His vision of Pan-Africanism, though ahead of its time, planted seeds that later blossomed into movements for African independence and global Black solidarity. Crummell’s life serves as an inspirational lesson in resilience amidst adversity, the power of education, the necessity of global solidarity, the courage of moral integrity, and the patience of long-term vision. His story reminds us that real change often comes slowly, but it begins with those willing to trust God, hold fast to their vision, and labor faithfully even when success seems like a distant dream.

September 3, 2025

The Feast of Phoebe, Deacon – Mark Winward

Phoebe shows up at the end of Paul’s Epistle to the Romans briefly but with an important role to play—she’s the one Paul trusted to deliver his letter. That’s hardly a small task! The church remembers her on September 3, not just Anglicans, but also Lutherans, Roman Catholics, and Eastern Orthodox Christians. Phoebe was a standout leader in the church of Cenchreae (san-CREE-a). Paul calls her both a deacon (Greek diakonos) and a helper or patron of many (Greek prostatis). This is the only place in the New Testament where a woman gets both of those titles, which makes her mention all the more striking. Since the Roman Christians didn’t yet know her, Paul makes sure to give her glowing credentials as his emissary.

So what do we know about Phoebe? First, most scholars agree she probably carried Paul’s letter to Rome herself—imagine being entrusted with one of the most theologically rich documents in the entire New Testament! She may even have been the one to read it aloud or explain it to the Roman church. Second, her titles as deacon and patron show that women weren’t sidelined in the early church. They were leaders, supporters, and influencers in the Christian movement. Finally, by commending Phoebe so warmly, Paul is giving her authority and smoothing the way for her in Rome. It’s a glimpse into how early Christian communities were knit together by trust, relationships, and dedicated emissaries like Phoebe.

Phoebe’s story pulls back the curtain on how vital deacons and patrons were in keeping the church alive and growing. Her mention proves that women weren’t just present but deeply active and influential in the spread of the Gospel. Paul’s personal endorsement speaks volumes—she wasn’t just a helper in the background, she was one of his most trusted co-workers.

Her ministry still speaks today. Phoebe reminds us that everyone has a role in God’s Kingdom, even if the world labels it as small or insignificant. Carrying Paul’s letter was a huge responsibility, and it came with real danger—Roman authorities didn’t look kindly on Christian messengers. Yet without the faithfulness of people like Phoebe—folks who might look like “footnotes” to history—the Gospel wouldn’t have reached the far corners of the world and transformed the course of history. In the end, Phoebe’s brief but significant appearance shows us the hidden heroes of the early church—ordinary women and men who worked faithfully behind the scenes so that the Good News could travel everywhere.

September 21, 2025

15th Sunday after Pentecost – Byron Tindall

I usually like at least 2 weeks to prepare a sermon. Unfortunately, Father Mark’s untimely accident didn’t give me the time I like to spend on preparation. I’m grateful to the email “Sermons that Work” from The Episcopal Church for assistance this week.

Remember, Jesus used parables, or stories he made up, to make a point he wanted his listeners to understand. On occasion, a parable could have several meanings on different levels. I’m going to look at this example and first take it at its face value.

The Merriam-Webster website defines squandering as, “to spend extravagantly or foolishly: dissipate, waste.”

How was the manager squandering his master’s property? Rioterous living? Under the table payments to his cronies? Bad investments? We don’t have the slightest idea of how the steward was misusing and wasting his master’s property. It’s really not that important.

One of the things we have to keep in mind that in this parable, Jesus or God is not portrayed as the master.

I’m pretty sure that the manager would not have been looking forward to the meeting with his master.

Even after the confrontation, the dishonest manager continued to “cook the books” as the expression goes in order to gain acceptance with those with whom he dealt in the past. The manager was still looking out for number one.

The dishonest steward realized that he was only qualified to be a steward. The problem was that who would hire him to manage property when he’d been caught cheating?

It was this attitude and action that won the praise of the master. “And his master commended the dishonest manager because he had acted shrewdly….”

As was often the case, Jesus was comparing the actions and beliefs of different groups of the citizens of Palestine.

“Whoever is faithful in a very little is faithful also in much, and whoever is dishonest in a very little is dishonest also in much. If, then, you have not been faithful with the dishonest wealth, who will entrust to you the true riches? And if you have not been faithful with what belongs to another, who will give you what is your own? No slave can serve two masters, for a slave will either hate the one and love the other or be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and wealth.”

This is worth repeating over and over and over and over and over.

No, Jesus is not railing against wealth per say. In my way of thinking, Jesus is talking about who or what is the most important thing in one’s life. How one uses what’s been given to her or him is what’s important. Is it used selfishly or is it used to help those less fortunate?

Now, let’s take another look at this parable on a little deeper level.

I honestly don’t believe that any one of us who call Holy Family home has a serious financial worry. There are probably some among us that live paycheck to paycheck or retirement check to retirement check, but we all manage somehow to get by. And by the looks of things, we’re pretty good stewards of our money. At this point, I’m not going to try to steal the thunder from the Finance Committee and the Every Member Canvass group.

But as the old TV advertisement goes, “But wait, there’s more.”

God has bestowed more gifts on each one of us than just money.

Think about the gift of this nation with all its shortcomings and freedoms we enjoy. Reflect on your vocation. What are you called to do? Do you follow that calling to the fullest? Think about the gift of life itself. Do you consider your family and those you love and who love you a gift from God? Or do you even consider these relationships a God-given gift?

The question is this: “How do the ways you use the gifts you have received give honor to God?”

The answer to the question, “How do we honor God?” is relatively easy to find.

For example, from the Hebrew scripture, Micah 6:8 “He has told you, O mortal, what is good, and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice and to love kindness and to walk humbly with your God?”

And from page 324 in our Book of Common Prayer:

“Hear what our Lord Jesus Christ saith: Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind. This is the first and great commandment. And the second is like unto it: Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself. On these two commandments hang all the Law and the Prophets.”

Again, from our Prayer Book in the the Baptismal Covenant,

The Celebrant asks: “Will you seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving your neighbor as yourself?”

The People answer: “I will, with God’s help.”

The Celebrant asks: “Will you strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being?”

The People answer: “I will, with God’s help.”

A portion of this, as you well know, is permanently posted on the wall in the gallery.

The easy part is finding the answers to the question “How do we honor God?.”

The hard part CAN BE IN FULLFILLING the answers. Amen.

September 14, 2025

14th Sunday after Pentecost – Proper 19C – Mark Winward

“The saying is sure and worthy of full acceptance, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners—of whom I am the foremost.” – 1 Timothy 1:15

Where were you 24 years ago this last Thursday morning? I remember exactly where I was. I was flying a small, rented plane on a perfect, sky-blue morning, heading to a diocesan clergy conference near Bar Harbor, Maine. Little did I know, as I was pre-flighting the aircraft at Portland International Jetport, that two radicalized Islamic extremists were departing from that same airport on a connector flight bound for Boston.

At that time, I was the Rector of Trinity, Saco—a small parish just south of Portland, Maine—and also a Naval Reserve Chaplain. Flying VFR under Boston Air Traffic Control, I was in touch with ATC when the announcements began. First, they reported a suspected hijacking somewhere in New England. Then came word of a ground stop on all aircraft in the region. For me, flying a rented Cessna in Maine, it seemed a minor inconvenience—until my passenger’s cell phone, ringing constantly, was answered. His wife told him an airliner had crashed into one of the World Trade towers. We could not imagine that there was a connection.

Then came the order: all aircraft, wherever they were, were to land at the nearest airport and stay there. Thankfully, the nearest field was the little grass strip where I had already planned to land near our clergy conference. When we arrived, like the rest of the world, we were stunned to learn of the second crash, and then the collapse of the towers.

That day became deeply personal. Many parishioners at Trinity had friends or relatives who died on those flights, in the towers, or at the Pentagon. In one of those rare flashes of clarity, I knew that the course of my life was about to change. My Navy Reserve command was then Bethesda Naval Hospital. I called them to ask if I was needed. Their response was immediate: “Boy, do we need you—get down here as soon as you can!”

Since my aircraft was grounded, I rode back with fellow clergy to Saco, three hours away. That evening, we held a memorial service at Trinity. The nave was filled beyond standing-room only—larger than any Christmas or Easter crowd. The next morning, I drove south on I-95, past the still-smoking scar on the New York skyline, and down to Bethesda.

At Bethesda, with so few wounded at the Pentagon, our efforts were focused on the recovery of the dead. Outside, fences overflowed with flowers, notes, and memorials. In that extraordinary moment, across this land, people weren’t Democrats or Republicans, black or white, gay or straight, one religion or another. We were first and foremost Americans. Like so many others, I volunteered to return to active duty, knowing it would be a messy affair—and my life would never be the same since.

What a different time we live in now. Instead of defining ourselves by what we hold in common, the prevailing mood is to define ourselves by what separates us. Social media has only intensified this. If you have a particular interest, the algorithms give you more of it, probing the edges of your views until the content becomes subtly, gradually more extreme. Like the proverbial frog in the pot, we hardly notice the temperature rising.

Spread across millions, this has created polarization greater than anything I’ve seen in my lifetime—something that would have been unrecognizable 24 years ago. It has become increasingly common to see those who disagree with us—not just as mistaken or misguided—but as threats, even evil at their core.

But this is not new. Human beings are tribal by nature, prone to view outsiders as “the other.” And when we objectify others, nothing good follows. It leads to oppression, violence, and war.

In today’s Gospel, the Pharisees and scribes attack Jesus for associating with tax collectors and sinners—and with good reason, from their perspective. Tax collectors were Jews who worked for the Romans, extorting money from their own people and lining their pockets in the process. Sinners, too, flaunted God’s sacred law. To the Pharisees, both groups were “the other”—a threat to faith, culture, and God’s chosen people. They were not only unclean; they were evil.

But Jesus told parables revealing a God who seeks all people. The Pharisees, however, saw themselves as set apart. They were the good ones, the law-keepers, certainly not like “those others.”

Paul, once a Pharisee himself, would beg to differ. In his first letter to Timothy, he writes: “The saying is sure and worthy of full acceptance, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners—of whom I am the foremost.” These are the words of a man who had once opposed the Gospel with zeal, a man complicit in persecution, but who then became its greatest missionary. Paul spread the message of Jesus throughout the Roman Empire, shaped Christian understanding of Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection, and ultimately gave his life for the Gospel.

Yet Paul never stopped seeing himself as no different from the “others”—the sinners and tax collectors. He knew that, no matter how good we imagine ourselves to be, all of us share the same condition. Every human being who has ever lived—whatever their political, social, or religious views—belongs to the same tribe: sinners in need of redemption.

That changes everything. Christ died for you, and you, and you—and for me. Christ died for those who wouldn’t agree with your choice of dog catcher, for those who oppose your most cherished social convictions, even for those who reject the way you frame your faith. Yes, Christ even died for those extremists who changed all our lives 24 years ago Thursday morning. He died for the oppressors and the oppressed, the just and unjust, the kind and unkind. All of us—like you and me—sinners in need of God’s redeeming love.

Jesus wasn’t asking the Pharisees and scribes to approve of sin or overlook injustice. He was urging them not to see those who were different as “others,” but instead to recognize the unfathomable love of God for every person.

And if we, in the 21st century, could grasp even a fraction of that love—in our politics, in our social causes, and in our faith—then perhaps we would become a bit more humble in our opinions, a bit less polarized in our culture, and a bit more grateful for the love of God that embraces all people.

September 7, 2025

13th Sunday after Pentecost – Proper 18C – Mark Winward

“Whoever comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, yes, and even life itself, cannot be my disciple.” – Luke 14:25

Jesus’ words here aren’t exactly what we might call consoling. At first hearing, they sound harsh. He demands total allegiance, even above family, possessions, and life itself. And He drives the point home with vivid images—like the builder who first counts the cost of completing a tower, and the king who weighs his chances before going to war. But his message couldn’t be more clear: discipleship isn’t an add-on to life. It’s not a hobby. It’s not a spiritual side project. It is a whole-life calling. No wonder the crowds who followed Him would have been rattled—and that was exactly His intent.

Large crowds always come with mixed motives. Some may have gathered because they had seen Jesus feed thousands and were waiting to be fed. Others probably came because they had heard of His power to heal and hoped for their own miracle. Still others undoubtedly followed out of curiosity or excitement. But only a few were truly committed to this unconventional but inspiring wandering preacher.

If we think about it, we see that Jesus no more taught hating our families than He taught us to hate anyone. Just four chapters earlier in Luke, Jesus gives us the greatest commandment: “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, strength, and mind; and your neighbor as yourself.” Preachers, of course, are often taught to begin with something striking or even shocking to capture attention. Like a skilled essay writer, Jesus knew how to draw His listeners in and earn the right to be heard.

Once His audience got past their shock, they might have realized He wasn’t saying anything entirely new. They would have remembered the story in Genesis 22—Abraham called to sacrifice his son, Isaac, on Mount Moriah. At the last moment, the angel of the Lord stopped him. Contrary to some modern interpreters, that story isn’t about child abuse. It is about faithfulness. Abraham demonstrated that he was willing to surrender even he valued most in his life. But God never intended Isaac’s death, just as Jesus never intended us literally to hate our families. Instead, both stories point to the same truth: God tests our priorities. And because of Abraham’s faith, God gave one of Scripture’s most famous promises:

Because you have done this, and have not withheld your son, your only son, I will indeed bless you, and I will make your offspring as numerous as the stars of heaven and as the sand that is on the seashore.

This story was treasured by Jesus’ Jewish audience. They would have understood that He was teaching the same principle—that God demands nothing less than to be the central priority in our lives. That same message comes through in our Old Testament reading from Deuteronomy: “If you obey the commandments of the LORD your God … by loving the LORD your God, walking in his ways, and observing his commandments … then you shall live and become numerous, and the LORD your God will bless you.” But the warning follows just as strongly: “If your heart turns away … I declare to you today that you shall perish.”

Many people today say it doesn’t matter what you believe as long as you’re sincere. But it’s quite possible to be very sincere and still be sincerely wrong. If faith is anything more than a comforting delusion, then it must be either true or false. Scripture insists that God revealed Himself first through Israel and then directly in Jesus Christ. At the end of the day, either this is the greatest truth one could ever know—or it is a mistake. If Christ is who He claims to be, the very incarnation of Truth, then that revelation demands nothing less our whole lives. But Jesus warns us to count the cost.

We see this same costly faith echoed in Paul’s letter to Philemon (the only time, by the way, this short letter appears in our three-year cycle of readings). It is one of the briefest writings in the New Testament, yet one of the most radical. Paul writes to Philemon concerning Onesimus, a runaway slave who had become a Christian under Paul’s care. Paul hints he could have commanded Philemon to free him, but instead he appeals to him in love: “I appeal to you for my child, Onesimus … no longer as a slave, but more than a slave, a beloved brother.”

Paul is asking Philemon to reorder his life. He pleads with him to stop seeing Onesimus as property, a loss, or a problem—and instead to see him as family in Christ. That was costly. In the Roman world it would have been scandalous. To welcome a runaway slave not with punishment but with brotherhood turned the whole social order upside down. (Church tradition holds that Philemon indeed freed Onesimus who later went on to become Bishop of Ephesus and was martyred under Emperor Trajan.)

So while Jesus tells us, “Count the cost of following me,” Paul provides living example in his letter to Philemon. What does costly discipleship look like in our lives? Sometimes it means forgiving when the world says we are entitled to anger. Sometimes it means giving generously when it would be easier to hold back. Sometimes it means putting our faith commitments ahead of social convenience, even when it makes us stick out or lose standing. And sometimes it means reordering our closest relationships, choosing Christ’s way of love even when it isn’t popular or easy at home, at work, or in our communities. Like Philemon, Jesus invites us to see people differently—not by the world’s categories of usefulness, status, or wealth, but as beloved children of God, equally in need of His grace. And such love is what Jesus calls us to if we are to follow him as his disciples. Amen.

August 31, 2025

12th Sunday after Pentecost – Proper 17C – Mark Winward

“But when you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind. And you will be blessed…” – Luke 13:13-14a

I didn’t appreciate what a big deal Jeep Fest is around here until this weekend! My family and I have been amazed to see the whole town practically shut down for this annual event. Now, it’s not the largest Jeep gathering—Jeep Beach in Daytona draws over 200,000 people each year while Jeep Fest brings in about 20,000—but the Sheriff’s JeepFest sets itself apart with mud runs, trails, and concerts, all to raise money for children’s charities. Of course, to fully participate, you really need a Jeep—and we do. But, just as a “dude ranch” isn’t a real ranch, our Jeep Grand Cherokee might best be described as a “dude Jeep.” It’s got the Trail-Ready package, but at over 200,000 miles, it won’t be doing much mudding anytime soon!

JeepFest draws crowds not only because of the events but also because of the camaraderie among Jeep owners. The best example of that is the little rubber ducks you often see on dashboards. The tradition began in 2020 in Ontario, when a Jeep owner named Allison Parliament left a small rubber duck on someone’s Jeep with a cheerful note to spread kindness during a difficult time. She called it “ducking.” Others loved the idea, and soon it went viral under the name Duck Duck Jeep. The way it works is simple: Jeep owners carry small rubber ducks with them, and when they see another Jeep they admire—or when they just want to brighten someone’s day—they leave a duck on the handle, hood, or windshield, often with a tag that says, “You’ve been ducked!” Sadly, with our plain white Jeep Grand Cherokee, my wife and I have never been ducked.

Jeep drivers have always shared a strong sense of camaraderie—there’s even such a thing as the “Jeep wave”—and ducking became a way to make connections. It’s a bit like a secret handshake, but a secret club with rubber ducks. This insider’s club comes out in the JeepFest FAQs. One of the questions asks “Can I bring my Toyota to JeepFest?” The official response is, “Sure, if you want to park and be a spectator. JeepFest is a Jeep-only event.” In other words: bring your Toyota Land Cruiser if you want—but leave it in the parking lot!

That makes me think about how churches can sometimes feel like JeepFest. They may not outright ban outsiders, but they don’t always embrace them either. The message is often: you can watch, but don’t expect to fully participate unless you’re one of us. Yet hospitality is central to Christian identity and practice. It is what distinguishes a true Christian community from just a community of Christians. At its best, the Church has always been known for welcoming the needy and offering transformation through Christ.

Today’s Gospel reading touches on that vision of hospitality. Jesus tells us that if we want to be truly hospitable, we shouldn’t just invite our usual friends and neighbors to dinner. Instead, we should invite those who could never repay us—the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind. In other words, everyone is worthy of hospitality. On the surface, this sounds like a simple lesson in kindness. But beneath it lies a deeper truth: we are called to extend genuine hospitality to those different from us because, in the end, we are all in the same boat. God’s hospitality through Christ reaches each of us—broken as we are, equally in need of grace.

There’s an important distinction here between entertaining and hospitality. Entertaining says, “Come to my place, admire my possessions, see how perfect everything looks.” And entertaining is stressful because it pushes us to present an image of perfection. Hospitality, on the other hand, says, “Come as you are. Relax. Be at home with us.” The very word “hospitality” shares its root with “hospice,” meaning shelter, and “hospital,” a place of healing. That raises a challenge for me personally: Do my words and actions provide shelter for others? Do they promote healing in those around me?

When we look at people in our community, we need to remember many are struggling. Some feel broken inside. Some are desperate to feel connected, to be affirmed, or to experience a spiritual touch. These people need the “hospice care” of Christian hospitality. There’s an old preacher’s saying: the Church isn’t meant to be a hotel for saints but a hospital for sinners. God calls us here not to impress one another but to minister to each other in our weakness and our shared need for grace. That’s what Jesus was pointing out when he said: “Don’t invite your friends or your rich neighbors. Invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind.”

When we experience generous hospitality in Christian community, we are naturally drawn deeper into a relationship with Christ. And the deeper we go into God’s grace, the more we realize how much we need it. True faith builds humility, and humility puts us on equal ground with others.

That matters because we live in a bitterly divided time, retreating into cultural, political, and religious silos. But when we come before God with the common need for grace, our identity shifts. We begin to see ourselves not as tribes or factions but as fellow sinners redeemed by Christ. Christian community becomes one of the few places left where we can gather, despite what the world says divides us, and celebrate our shared gratitude to God.

And so the difference is this: while a mere community of Christians might leave outsiders watching from the parking lot, a true Christian community welcomes everyone inside—whether you drive a tricked-out Jeep Wrangler, a Toyota Land Cruiser, or a beat-up Grand Cherokee. And once we embrace that transformed identity in Christ, we will be equipped to transform our wider community and serve a wounded world so deeply in need of God’s love and grace.

August 24, 2025

11th Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 16, Year C – Mark Winward

When Jesus saw her, he called her forward and said to her, “Woman, you are set free from your infirmity.” Then he put his hands on her, and immediately she straightened up and praised God. – Luke 13:12–13 (NRSV)

Last week I said that if a Lectionary selection is confusing, difficult to understand, or hard to believe, that’s exactly what the preacher should be focusing on. This is one of those Sundays. And because today’s Gospel account is particularly difficult for us to swallow as 21st century Christians, I think it can get in the way of the real message behind the story. This morning, I want to suggest that there are three different levels we can view this Gospel account of Jesus healing the disabled woman.

First, this story addresses the reality of spiritual burdens. Particularly in the West, we tend not to consider the possibility that some conditions are not just physical but also carry a spiritual dimension. We treat sickness as merely sickness, and violence in people as merely violence. Yet I think most of us can recall individuals who are so weighed down spiritually—perhaps because of abuse or poor self-image—that their physical demeanor reflects that heaviness. The daily burdens we carry can snowball over the years into spiritual outcomes that sometimes express themselves physically.

Still, to focus only on spiritual burdens sidesteps most troublesome aspect of this passage. Given the rest of Luke’s Gospel, the “spirit” that crippled the woman struggled with might more plainly be interpreted as a demonic spirit. For many Westerners, the very idea of demons conjures up cheesy movie images of heads spinning around and victims speaking in strange voices. C. S. Lewis addressed this in The Screwtape Letters: “There are two equal and opposite errors into which our race can fall about the devils. One is to disbelieve in their existence. The other is to believe and feel an excessive and unhealthy interest in them.” Christians often fall into this very trap—either an absolute denial of evil, or a paranoid tendency to see a demon under every bush.

For those of you veterans who have experienced combat, I hardly need to remind you of the reality of Evil (with a capital E). Before I went to Iraq, another chaplain warned me that you couldn’t only see but also feel the spiritual oppression in that war-torn land. I didn’t believe him—until I witnessed things I prefer not to describe, sights that I can only describe as demonic. Now, I realize this kind of talk makes people squirm, but it always amazes me how easily American Christians dismiss the demonic. Consider this: most Americans believe in angels, usually influenced by biblical descriptions. Strangely enough, there are even people who deny the existence of God but still believe in angels! So I ask: “If angels exist, do you believe they are at least as intelligent as we are?” Most people would have to respond “yes.” If so, do they have free will—the ability to make independent choices? Again, most would agree. And if angels can make independent choices, is it possible that some might have chosen to turn against God? Hmm…. Scripture tells us that Satan and his demons began as angels who rebelled against God, and for a limited time have sought to corrupt and destroy God’s creation.

Of course, rather than denying the existence of the demonic, we also have to avoid the opposite extreme. Contrary to many pop-preachers, the Bible doesn’t teach demons are lurking behind every misfortune. It speaks of them in terms of “legions” or “thousands,” not billions. Still, a few powerful beings can certainly raise a lot of hell (pardon the pun)! More importantly, the Prince of Darkness is unlikely to make a cameo appearance in your life—unless you are of extreme strategic importance (which most of us are not). Only one being in this universe is capable of being in more than one place at one time, and that is God. The cartoon image of an angel on one shoulder and the Devil on the other is simply not a Christian concept. Sure, the Bible talks about being attacked by the Devil – but in the same way we might say an army is attacked by Hitler or Putin, even though they themselves are not physically present on the battlefield.

The truth is: the darkness of our own souls is more than enough to bring about most of the trials and temptations we face. When we give in to that darkness, we contribute to Satan’s ultimate objective: to corrupt and destroy God’s creation. Yet the end has already been determined. The good news is that Satan can never triumph over God; and, according to today’s story, he need not triumph in your life either. Whether we interpret the woman as weighed down by years of a spiritual burden or as the victim of demonic activity, the point remains the same: Jesus set her free. And the implication is that he can do the same spiritually for you and for me!

But this story isn’t only about spiritual healing; it’s also about physical healing – and that’s equally difficult for us to accept today. Yet most religions—and even modern science—acknowledge there’s more to this world than meets the eye. For Christians, the central affirmation of faith we affirm every Sunday is this: Christ has died, Christ is risen, Christ will come again. If I’ve chosen to believe in a universe where dead men don’t necessarily stay dead, it’s hardly much of a leap of faith to believe a spinal misalignment might be miraculously corrected. If you spend as much time in hospital ministry as I have, it’s difficult to dismiss the possibility that God does heal. Sometimes he uses medicine; other times, the healing has no apparent explanation. Why some are healed and others are not is a mystery we’ll not solve this side of heaven. That’s why I continue to pray for people’s physical healing—not as some magical incantation but as an act of aligning our will with God’s will, placing ourselves and others in the loving hands of God.

That attitude of trust and openness is, I believe, at the very heart of this story. The dramatic exorcism or miraculous healing may be the most spectacular or unbelievable part of this story, but I don’t think it’s Luke’s point. Rather, he uses the woman’s healing as a foil to highlight the attitudes of those around her. The woman came to synagogue with her burden, approached Jesus with her need, and left praising God. The senior rabbi, however, responded not with praise but with criticism—rebuking Jesus for healing on the Sabbath. In modern terms, that’s as petty as someone stopping to save the life of a roadside accident victim, only to be given a ticket for double parking! Anyone making such a charge would be missing the point entirely – and so was this local rabbi.

God was working right there in their midst, but Jesus’ opponents were so determined to tear him down that they missed the point. God had given this extraordinary individual, Jesus of Nazareth, the power to heal in mind, body, and spirit – and the implications of this were beyond their imaginations. Rather than marveling at God’s power at work, they got hung up on ritual. Now that can be a danger even today – particularly for liturgical traditions like ours. Of course, we should take our worship seriously, offering God our very best. But when form overshadows substance, like the Pharisees we miss the point. This story serves as a warning for us to practice modicum of humility, to remember that the point is to celebrate God’s grace, not our ritual.

And that, I think, is Luke’s point. We can get so easily distracted in the details that we miss what God is really doing. First, like the woman who might not have sought Jesus out, we can become so focused on our problems that we fail to turn to God at all. Second, we can get so caught up in the demonic elements of the story that we miss what God is doing. Finally, we can become so rigid in our rules that we fail to recognize God’s work when it comes in an unexpected form.

Ultimately, this story isn’t about suffering, or evil, or ritual. It’s about God’s work in the world. And when you live your life not by looking for a demon under every bush, but by looking for God’s hand at work in your life, it’s nothing short of transformative! And instead of looking down burdened by despair, you begin to look up in hope—and life takes on a whole new perspective! Amen.

August 27, 2025

The Feast of Saint Bartholomew the Apostle – Mark Winward

Monday was the Feast of Saint Bartholomew the Apostle, transferred this year from Sunday, August 24th, the traditional date of his martyrdom. Bartholomew, or Bar-Tolmai—literally “son of Tolmai”—was one of Jesus’ original twelve disciples according to the synoptic gospels of Matthew, Mark, and Luke. Many scholars also identify him with Nathanael, who appears in the Gospel of John. Bartholomew the disciple became Bartholomew the Apostle when the risen Christ, in the Gospel of Matthew, gave the Great Commission, sending them out to “make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.” Thus, those sent out with a mission became Apostles, going to the ends of the earth to transform the world.

According to second-century tradition, Bartholomew traveled as a missionary to India and then Armenia, where he was martyred. Eastern tradition holds that he converted an Armenian king, Polymius, to Christianity. Enraged by the king’s conversion and fearing Roman reprisal, Polymius’ brother, Prince Astyages, ordered Bartholomew’s torture and execution. That tradition recounts that he was flayed alive in Albanopolis, Armenia. For this reason, St. Bartholomew is honored as the patron saint of Armenia, as well as gruesomely of tanners, leatherworkers, bookbinders, glovemakers, and butchers. Because of his grisly death, Bartholomew is often depicted in art, iconography, and sculpture holding his own skin. Perhaps the most famous depiction is in the Sistine Chapel, where a restored St. Bartholomew holds his complete skin in heaven.

Yet Bartholomew is hardly alone in such a witness. Jesus knew the sacrifices his followers would make to spread the Good News of his kingdom in word and deed. The great second-century Church Father, Tertullian, famously wrote, “The blood of the martyrs is the seed of the Church.” Especially in the first three centuries of Christianity, believers were beaten, tortured, and killed in ways limited only by the imagination of their persecutors. Their steadfast refusal to deny Jesus as the risen Lord inspired countless others to embrace a faith whose very symbol was a Roman instrument of execution—the cross.

Who would possibly die in such a way for what they knew was a myth? Perhaps the greatest testimony to Jesus’ resurrection is the fate of the twelve Apostles themselves. Bartholomew was flayed alive. Andrew died on a cross. Simon was crucified. James, son of Zebedee, was beheaded. James, son of Alphaeus, was beaten to death. Thomas was pierced with a lance. Matthias was stoned and then beheaded. Matthew was slain by the sword. Peter was crucified upside down. Thaddeus was shot with arrows. Philip was hanged. Only John died a natural death, though even he was exiled to a remote island in the Mediterranean Sea.

The demands that Jesus places on those who follow him are extreme. I must admit, I am perplexed by how we in the Church sometimes blunt this sharp edge of the gospels and Christian history. If we practice our faith as Jesus intended, it cannot be reduced to a tame Sunday School faith confined to the four walls of a church once a week. The faith Jesus calls us to is nothing less than a hungering after God—even to the point of laying down our lives before him. It overturns our priorities, shakes our foundations, and at times sets us against friends and family, making us strangers in this world.

Such sacrifice is nothing less than heroic. Heroic faith is the difference between mere contribution and true sacrifice. Following Jesus Christ can never be reduced to a polite Sunday-morning routine. It demands walking the way of the cross. It demands readiness to face ridicule and rejection for our faith. It demands that we lay everything we possess, and all that we are, at the foot of the cross. And it demands that we kneel before Jesus Christ as the Lord of our lives—our central priority and focus.

The irony of the cross is that it represents far more than sorrow and sacrifice. Just as when Christ first walked that path, the way of the cross leads to eternal and abundant life. Paradoxically, as we surrender the things we place before God, we lighten our burdens, discovering a joy and freedom otherwise impossible. Far from throwing our lives into chaos, living under the Lordship of Christ brings order. And finally, we know peace—for in losing our lives, we truly gain them. The great reformer Martin Luther famously wrote, “A religion that gives nothing, costs nothing, and suffers nothing, is worth nothing.” The converse is surely equally true: a faith that gives everything, costs everything, and suffers everything is most certainly worth everything.

August 20, 2025

The Feast of Bernard of Clairvaux – Mark Winward

Jesus said to them, “How hard it is to enter the kingdom of God! It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God.”

– Mark 10:23, NRSV

As Mark Twain once remarked, “It ain’t those parts of the Bible that I can’t understand that bother me; it is the parts that I do understand.” Many people have tried to dodge the force of this teaching. Some soothe their consciences by assuming that what Jesus says applies only to those who are truly rich. But who, exactly, are the rich? Often, the rich are simply defined as those who earn more than we do. The IRS sets the top 10% of income earners at around $149,000 or more per year, and while that varies by region, it is a good starting estimate for places like Pickens and Gilmer counties. Yet no matter the number, we somehow manage to draw the line just above ourselves, so that we can comfort ourselves with the thought that Jesus surely meant this lesson for someone else.

Over the centuries, there have been many attempts by preachers and teachers to enlarge or reduce the size of the “needle’s eye.” You may have heard sermons citing a tradition that the “Needle’s Eye” was the name of a small gate in Jerusalem, through which a camel could pass only if it shed its burden and knelt down. The lesson becomes: rich people need not worry if they are simply humble. It is a nice metaphor, but biblical scholars tell us it fails the Snopes test—there is no historical basis for such a claim. Another interpretation suggests that “camel” is a mistranslation of a similar Aramaic word for “rope” or “ship’s cable.” Yet this hardly helps, for ropes go through the eyes of needles no more than camels do. C. S. Lewis once captured the vivid extremity of Jesus’ image in a poem: “All things (e.g., a camel’s journey through a needle’s eye) are possible, it’s true; but picture how the camel feels, squeezed out, in one long bloody thread from tail to snout.”

No one ever saw the dangers of prosperity and possessions more clearly than Jesus did. What, then, is the harm in what we in the West would call success? Material possessions tend to fix our hearts to this world. If we have too much at stake in it, it becomes hard for us to think beyond it—and even harder to imagine leaving it behind. If our main interest is in material things, we begin to think of everything in terms of price rather than value. In the West, it is easy to measure life by what money can buy. Yet there are things beyond money’s reach, things of infinite value that cannot be bought or sold. It is spiritually dangerous when we lull ourselves into believing that everything worth having has a dollar amount attached to it.

It is also easy to overlook the figure at the heart of this story—the rich man himself. At the beginning of the passage, a wealthy man approaches Jesus to ask what he must do to inherit eternal life. To the people of Jesus’ time, he would have seemed the ideal candidate: rich, respected, and presumably blessed. Yet Jesus responds shockingly that he must give up everything. Does this mean that Jesus expects every disciple to sell every possession? Many dismiss the idea as ridiculous. In fact, some of Jesus’ earliest followers clearly did have possessions—after all, someone owned the houses where he and his disciples sought refuge. The issue is not strictly about money, but about what rules our lives.

That is the heart of Jesus’ point: what is the ruling force of our lives—God or money? Jesus loved the righteous as much as the sinner, the wealthy as much as the poor. He did not love the rich man for the advantages his wealth might bring to the movement, but for who he was. Out of love, he told him exactly what he needed to hear, even if it was not what he wanted to hear. True love always challenges for the sake of another’s good.

The point of the camel and the needle’s eye is that it is impossible. No one measures up to God’s standards, no matter how good we think we are or appear to be. God’s will requires more than rote obedience to rules. The rich man believed his obedience complete and wanted confirmation from a respected teacher. But the disciples learned that salvation is beyond human power. What Jesus offers does not depend on what individuals can do for themselves, but on what God does for them. No one enters the kingdom by their own strength. Who can truly deny themselves completely? Who can sell all they have? If salvation were that simple, Jesus would not have needed to die on a cross. The impossible becomes possible only when God’s strength infuses our lives—not through confidence in ourselves, but in the one who alone is able to save.

Whether rich or poor, fishermen or tax collectors, prosperous landowners or day laborers—God requires the same of all. Jesus calls every disciple to set aside whatever barriers stand in the way of total commitment to him.

In the end, whether it is wealth, career, or power, the question is not simply what we have but what we do with it. What is the center of gravity in our lives? If the answer is anything other than God, it is the very definition of an idol. The practical test comes down to two standards: how we gained what we have, and how we use it. Do we use what we have selfishly, or in service to God and others? The truth is that all of us fall short. And as I have said many times, it makes all the difference in the world whether we are aiming at the right target or simply shooting in any direction we please. Still, I cannot help but think of that poor camel…

As Mark Twain said, “It ain’t those parts of the Bible that I can’t understand that bother me; it is the parts that I do understand.”