Author: Rosemary Lovelace

Proper 25 – Katharine Armentrout

The Parable of the Pharisee and the Tax Collector

This morning Jesus is talking to “some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous”.

And he tells us this familiar parable about the self-righteous Pharisee who recites all his good deeds to God and makes clear that he is not like other sinners and certainly not like that tax collector over there.

One writer said the Pharisee’s recitation was like a “personal progress report or, to use a new phrase, it is a “humble brag!”

And the Pharisee’s recitation reminded me of that old country song by Mac Davis: “Oh Lord it is hard to be humble when you are perfect in every way.”

But.. the fact is that he does fast more than required under Jewish Law and he does pay more tithes than are required.

And, he assures those who listen, that he isn’t like “ other people” – those thieves, rogues, adulterers, and certainly not like the Tax Collector over there. ,  

But… the problem with his prayer is that it really isn’t a prayer as you and I might think of one.

A prayer is ordinarily addressed to God with a heart-felt request or a deep offer of thanks for God’s blessings.Instead he recites proudly his righteous deeds, using the first person pronoun “I” five times in just a few sentences. It is I,I,I! 

Yes, I think he is sincere in thinking he has done well by following the rules of God’s desires under those rules – which is faithfulness.

But he is ignorant of his of what a real prayer is.

He has good feelings about how faithful he thinks he is, how he follows all the rules, but he it is all focused on himself.

In fact Jesus calls our attention to his problem when he says at the beginning: “Jesus told the parable to some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous and treated others with contempt.” 

And … we can see the blatant contempt of the Pharisee for others when he says,

God, “I thank you that I am not like other people, thieves, rogues, adulterers or even like this tax collector.” 

His contempt for others blocked him from looking inward at his own soul and his own relationship with God. 

The problem was his pride, I think. He did not come before God with any kind of reverence, any kind of humility, any sense that he might have erred, or as my friend used to say, “that he had fallen short of the glory of God.”

There was no recognition that his contempt for people placed him outside God’s loving nature.

He came into that Temple without any reverence for God.

But, as far as he was concerned, he had checked off all the boxes of being a faithful person,

without looking for the heart of God

and without looking deeply at what is important to God, and

what our God desperately wants us to care about. 

Jesus goes on though after this lengthy recitation by the perfect Pharisee to tell us the story of the Tax Collector.

Jesus describes the desperately humble tax collector, whom we are to know was a collaborator with the Roman Empire. He really was a traitor to his own people.  

He was despised by most in his world, unwelcome in most houses. In Jewish culture he was the ultimate bad guy.

And, unlike the proud Pharisee, he acknowledges that he is outside the usual faithful people in the Temple,

he even stands bent over and far off – to the side in the Temple.

He is so aware of his sinfulness that he is barely able to lift his head to pray.

And he prays only one, heart-wrenching line: “ God be merciful to me, a sinner.” 

“God be merciful to me, a sinner.”

And, surprise of surprise, it is the tax collector that Jesus says went home justified. 

And the explanation for this surprising turn of events, is simple:

Jesus said: “For all who exalt themselves will be humbled, and all who humble themselves will be exalted.”

So how did the Pharisee, who was rigidly attentive to the requirements of the Law, fall short?

He tithed more than most, he prayed constantly, he gave alms.  

Quite honestly he sounds like the kind of person we might want in our church…

except for the fact all his practices seem to have become for him a path to self-righteousness instead of an openness to God and God’s love. 

And, at first reading, this seems a very simple parable.

We may be tempted to draw the conclusion from it, that to be justified before God all that we have to do is acknowledge that we are not like the Pharisee…

That we just need to be humble before the Lord.

But, in a way, isn’t that what the Pharisee did: he thanked God that he was not like the others.

And don’t we do that exactly that when we say, “Oh God, I thank you that I am not like that Pharisee!!”

We may hear this parable as a lesson on humility, as one writer put it. We hear: “Don’t be proud like the Pharisee. Go home and be humble like the tax collector.”

And, poof, just like that we fall into a trap:

We take this parable, and instead of seeing God’s abundant, overflowing love for all of us, regardless of our faults,

regardless of what we are and what we have done,

we turn it into a story about how we can earn or merit God’s Love. 

We pray: ”Oh Lord, honestly I am not like the Pharisee. I know I am a sinner like the tax-collector. Honest, I acknowledge that I really have sinned and ashamed of the things that I have done.

And, as a friend of mine used to say. “I know that I fall far short of the glory of God.”

Trying hard to show God how humble we can be. Asking all the time, “What can I do to be worthy of your love?” Trying hard to be worthy.

But … did you notice that there were no questions of the Tax Collector? Once he came to God and asked for God’s mercy there was no requirement to list every last sin,

Once he came and asked for God’s mercy, there was no requirement to pledge that he would repay what he had stolen, that he would amend his life..

There was nothing, nothing but God’s gift of forgiveness and His blessing sending him on his way.

Once we come to God there is nothing but God’s free gift of love and forgiveness. Love and forgiveness.

Why is this hard so for us? Why do we feel we must do something to deserve God’s love.

I think for many of us it is because we have grown up in a world of meritocracy…where nothing is free. You have to earn it all.

And we grow up thinking our merit is in the grades we get in school,

our merit is in the job or partnership we manage to achieve, the special house we build;

Or that our merit is in how much money we donate to the church or to Doctors Without Borders, or Alzheimer’s research.

Or how many hours we have given to help others.

Our society attaches value, worth to all of these things.

And we somehow believe that God will love us because of those efforts that we have made. 

We believe we have to “merit” God’s love; that we have to do something to earn it, if we could just figure that out.

And, I think, we often don’t really believe that God forgives us all the sins we have committed, the mistakes we have made, the injuries we have inflicted. 

We say our confession but then we wonder, are we really forgiven?

Do we really believe what this parable makes plain:

that there is nothing that we can do that will make us merit God’s love for us, except to come to God.

It is God’s overflowing, never-ending love for us that we have to understand and accept.

I have learned a bit about this kind of acceptance up at Arrendale with the women.

In an echo of the Tax Collector who asked for God’s forgiveness and went home reconciled, some of the women at Arrendale are examples of those who believe in the power of God’s never-ending love and forgiveness despite all that they have done.

These women, many of whom have committed serious, dangerous crimes, have come to understand that God loves them unconditionally despite their past lives. They don’t have to “merit” God’s love. They have come to deeply believe in this promise of Jesus.

There is a song they sing, often at the top of their lungs, that reflects this understanding:

The song is titled “The Never-Ending Reckless Love of God.” They sing:

“Oh, the overwhelming, never-ending, reckless love of God. Oh, it chases me down, fights ’til I’m found, leaves the ninety-nine.

I couldn’t earn it, and I don’t deserve it, still, You give Yourself away. Oh, the overwhelming, never-ending, reckless love of God..”

It is God’s overflowing, never-ending love for us that we have to understand and accept as this parable makes plain.

There is nothing that we can do that will merit God’s love for us, except come to God, and take the love He pours out on us and pass it on to others…

And instead of trying to show how we merit that love, I think we are called to take this never-ending, reckless love of God and pass it on to others…Amen.

Sara Miller-Schulte

Jesus told them a parable about their need to pray always and not to lose heart.
He said, “In a certain city there was a widow who kept coming to the judge and saying, ‘Grant me justice against my opponent.’ And for a while he refused; but later he said to himself, ‘You know, because this widow keeps bothering me, I will grant her justice.”

And Jesus said, “Will not God grant justice to his chosen ones who cry to him day and night?”

And we who have itching ears make this into a story about how God will give us what we want if we just pray until something happens.

But God is not the unjust judge.

The Lord said, “Listen to what the unjust judge says:

He says, ‘Though I have no fear of God — that’s a clue — and no respect for anyone, yet because this widow keeps bothering me, I will grant her justice.”

Justice is easy.
In fact, in granting the widow justice, the judge is making a ruling on her case; He is doing his job.
He is doing the barest minimum of what one might be moved to call a good work. So in describing this judge, Jesus is not saying something about God — he is saying something about us.

Earlier in Luke’s gospel, Jesus says, “Is there anyone among you who, if your child asked for a fish, would give a snake instead of a fish? Or if the child asked for an egg, would you give a scorpion?

If you, then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will the heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him!” Is there anyone among you who, if your neighbor asked for justice, would turn a deaf ear instead of giving him justice?

Justice is a good gift.
We are promised better gifts. If you have not used this beautiful font for a baptism recently —
or witnessed one somewhere else — You might not remember our prayer for the gifts of the Holy Spirit. which are promised to each one of us in our baptism:

an inquiring and discerning heart, the courage to will and to persevere, a spirit to know and to love you (O Lord), and the gift of joy and wonder in all your works.

And the result is that — even before we ask, “everyone who belongs to God may be proficient and equipped for every good work.”

So Jesus talks about the need to pray always and to not lose heart. Paul talks about it in a letter.
He talks about it in most of his letters. “Since it is by God’s mercy that we are engaged in this ministry,” he tells the Corinthians, “we do not lose heart. We refuse to practice cunning or to falsify
God’s word, but by the open statement of the truth we commend ourselves to the
conscience of everyone in the sight of God.” And he urges the people of Philippi to be anxious about nothing, “but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be
made known to God.”

By the time of his letters to Timothy, Paul was in prison for disturbing the empire’s peace — I leave it to you to decide whether that is justice — and his instructions are a little different, but the theme is the same:

“Proclaim the message, Timothy; be persistent whether the time is favorable or unfavorable; convince, rebuke, and encourage; endure suffering, do the work of an evangelist, carry out your ministry fully.”

“As for me,” he continues, “I have fought the good fight;
I have finished the race;
I have kept the faith.
From now on there is reserved for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous judge, will give me on that day, and not only to me but also to all who have longed for his appearing.”

That longing is a little bit lacking in the story of the widow and the judge: In a certain city there was a widow who longed for justice against her opponent. And there was a judge, who refused for a while, but later he said to himself, ‘I will grant her justice, so that she may not wear me out by continually coming.’

If we are like the widow, if we pray until something happens, then what happens when we get the thing that we longed for — if the thing that we longed for was wisdom or peace or strength or health or justice…

Or anything other than the presence of the one who made and sustains us?
Do we then find something else to long for,
Over and over, so we’re never really quite satisfied.

Do we pray until something happens and then stop? The unjust judge is pretty sure
the widow will wear him out by continually coming back and back and back —
until she gets the justice she demands. Then she will leave him alone.

And will not God grant justice to his chosen ones who cry to him day and night?
But I put it to you that God does not give us justice and peace, the crown of righteousness,
an inquiring and discerning heart, or any other good gift, in order to get us to go away.

God invites us into relationship, Into ongoing prayer and the life of faith;
And in this context, our prayers might look a little less like a list of demands
And a little more like an ongoing conversation. Among our petitions we might include the occasional prayer of thanksgiving in gratitude for God’s abundance.

But: If we are like the widow, if we pray until something happens, what happens if we never get the thing that we longed for? Because you and I all know
That God does not always Answer prayers by giving us the thing That we asked for —
No matter how persistent we may be.

And when this happens to you —
That’s when, not if —
When this happens to you,

it is not because your prayers are not eloquent enough

or your faith is not strong enough or

your good works are not good enough —

Or you are not good enough —

Or any of the horrible and well-meaning things that people say.
It’s just a thing that happens.
And it’s hard.
But we’re in good company.
When Jacob grappled with the man by the river,
He didn’t win, exactly.
He walked away with a broken hip, which he did not ask for.
And he never learned the man’s name — which he did ask for.
But he did get his own new name — which he did not ask for.
And he received a blessing, which he did.
Did he come out ahead?
I’m not sure.
But Israel believes he saw the face of God, and lived.
And that relationship lasted the rest of his life.

In a certain city there was a judge who neither feared God nor had respect for
people.
In that city there was a widow who kept coming to him.
He said to himself, “I will grant her justice.”
Likewise, God will quickly grant justice to his chosen ones.
But this is not a parable about justice.
This is not a parable about what God will do for us.
Jesus told us a parable about our need to pray always and never to lose heart.

St. Francis of Assisi – Katharine Armentrout

“But God said to him: ‘You fool!  This very night your life is being demanded of you. And the things you have prepared, whose will they be?  So it is with those who store up treasures for themselves but are not rich toward God?’” Luke 12:20-21

I imagine that St. Francis, or as he was known as a young man, Francesco, had those words of our Gospel in his head as he tore off his rich silk clothes and ran naked through the town of Assisi.

He was determined to leave the world of wealth and power he had been born into and to take up his life, following the teachings of Jesus, always asking himself: What would Jesus do?

Because one thing we know about Francis – he always asked that question that was so popular in our 1990s: ”WWJD”  What would Jesus do? What would Jesus do? 

As a young man Francis had long felt a call to follow Jesus.  He had entered the army, convinced that he was called to serve God in that way.  

Unfortunately, he was captured, imprisoned and became very ill.  He father, a wealthy merchant, ransomed him and brought him home.

After recovering from his illness Francis decided to follow Jesus by devoting himself to serving the poor and tending to their needs, as Jesus had done. 

One day, he entered a tiny, ruined chapel for a prayer time. There was   a crucifix still on the wall. As he knelt in prayer, he looked up to the crucifix, and a voice came to him saying “Francis, rebuild my church”.  

He took those words literally. He began to gather the materials to rebuild the chapel. He even sold some fine cloth from his father’s business, and his own horse, to raise the money for those materials.

His father was furious, thinking of that as theft and he was distressed that Francis had no interest in the business or the many possessions of their family.

That was the breaking point for Francis who saw the money made from the sale of the cloth as resources for God.

In a public confrontation with his father before their bishop, Francis rejected his father’s way of a rich life, tore off his clothes, and literally ran naked through the town –

a very vivid declaration of commitment to a life dedicated to following Jesus.    

From that point on he took on a life of poverty and    patterned his life on the teachings of Jesus.  

In Jesus’ time lepers were outcasts – literally forced to live outside town walls so that they would not infect others.  But we know, from Luke 17, that Jesus spoke with lepers and cured them.

By the time of Francis’ life, leprosy was still prevalent. Most people shied away from any contact, let alone feeding, bathing and comforting them. Not Francis.  He began his ministry of following Jesus by helping the lepers in Assisi.

Jesus, in Luke 14, says not to invite your rich friends to a banquet but to invite the poor, the crippled, the blind and the lame.

So…Francis did just that…eating and serving those on the margins, forgoing his connections to the wealthy citizens of Assisi.

Jesus, in Luke 6, in a startling statement says, “If someone takes your coat, give him your shirt too.”  

Well, someone grabbed a hood from one of Francis’ followers and that man ran after the thief to offer him his robe.  Just an illustration of how thoroughly Francis, and his fellow friars, asked the question “WWJD.”            

Jesus, in Matthew 10, tells his disciples, “As you go, proclaim the Good News. The Kingdom of Heaven has drawn near…Cure the sick, cleanse the lepers…Do not take any gold or silver or copper to take with you in your belts, no bag for your journey.” 

So Francis and his faithful traveled widely, often barefoot, in plain robes, with no gold, no silver, no copper.  Without any provisions. 

They preached with love the Good News and tended the sick, the blind, the outcast. They slept in churches and depended on the goodness of others for their food.

In every way throughout his ministry, Francis asked “What Would Jesus Do?” and then he tried to follow that way:

Perhaps the most radical aspect of Francis’ ministry, one that literally changed the thinking in Medieval world and our world,

was his deep, profound reverence and love for God’s creation and all that is in it – a reverence and love which he learned from the Gospels.

We are here today with our dogs, cats and other creatures that God loves in honor of that aspect of St. Francis’ teaching

Partly we have that appreciation for God’s natural world thanks to St. Francis. With a few exceptions, from the fall of the Roman Empire in 476 AD to the time of Francis, the church was teaching that “anything that was not God – or otherworldly – was evil”. 

This included the natural world around us…which was seen as a distraction and a temptation that lured souls off the path of righteousness and salvation. No deep love for the beauty of the God’s world

In contrast Francis saw the natural world as a reflection of the goodness of God. He absorbed this from the teachings of Jesus.

Mustard seeds, lilies, grains of sand, fig trees, and sparrows. 

Wheat fields, the waters of the lakes, and a wonderful barbecue on the beach in the Gospel of John. 

Jesus taught that all of these, in keeping with the established Jewish tradition, were a manifestation of the goodness of God’s world.

And Francis focused on that teaching, telling us that creation was an expression of God’s love and goodness. He taught that the natural world holds God’s imprint, and therefore the experience of the physical world can open us to a spiritual dimension. 

His love of animals and care for them as God’s creatures has created this festive time today – for the blessing of animals.  Remember – he talked to them too, so that those of us who talk to our animals should not consider ourselves crazy.  

I think many of us who are privileged to live up here and see the beauty of a sunset over our ridges, the dogwoods in bloom in our woods, the explosion of beauty in our world, see these things as an expression of God’s love for creation and see God’s beautiful imprint in our world.

We can thank Francis for listening closely to the love Jesus had for our world and for opening the eyes of the world to God’s wondrous creation.

As a measure of how Francis is seen as the pre-eminent teacher and lover of natural world, Pope John Paul II declared Francis the Patron Saint of Ecology in 1979. His teaching of the sacredness of our world undergirds our efforts to preserve our creation from climate change.  And we are thankful that Francis led the way.   

The legacy of Francis continues to this day.  He was granted permission to form a new religious order, which we know as the Franciscans. 

The Pope was reluctant at first to grant the request, fearing the radical poverty of those who followed Francis would cast a bad light on the papacy and other religious orders who lived, at times, rather extravagantly.   

But the pope changed his mind after he had a dream in which he saw Francis holding up a crumbling but important church in Rome. 

The pope came to believe that Francis and his monks would help reinvigorate the faith of the people and the churches.(which, by the way, he did) and the pope granted Francis request to form a religious order.

The Franciscans are now familiar to us as the religious order that wears the very plain brown robes, ties them with a rope and wears sandals, living a life of deep simplicity. This order, which Francis began in 1209, is now the largest religious order in the Catholic Church.

And Franciscans daily ask, in their way, WWJD as they serve the poor in cities all over the world, teach in schools, work for social justice and care for our creation.

Now lest this story of Francis and all his different ways of serving our Lord leave you a bit overwhelmed – all the different ways he served, trying to make life better for people and the created world, 

lest it leaves you wondering how on earth you can continue in some way the work of St. Francis

I am reminded of the Order of the Daughters of the King, a group of women here and in many Episcopal churches, which is devoted to daily prayer and service. They have a wonderful rule of life which includes an important perspective: 

“I am but one, but I am one. I cannot do everything, but I can do something. What I can do, I ought to do. What I ought to do, by the grace of God I will do. Lord, what will you have me do?”.  

They ask: “I am but one, Lord.  What will you have me do?”   

That may be just another way of asking WWJD. “What would Jesus do?”.  What would Jesus do…one thing at a time.  Amen

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.

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.

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.

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.