February 9, 2025
5th Sunday after Epiphany – Year C – Bill Harkins
Collect
Set us free, O God, from the bondage of our sins, and give us the liberty of that abundant life which you have made known to us in your Son our Savior Jesus Christ; who lives and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.
The Gospel: Luke 5:1-11
Once while Jesus was standing beside the lake of Gennesaret, and the crowd was pressing in on him to hear the word of God, he saw two boats there at the shore of the lake; the fishermen had gone out of them and were washing their nets. He got into one of the boats, the one belonging to Simon, and asked him to put out a little way from the shore. Then he sat down and taught the crowds from the boat. When he had finished speaking, he said to Simon, “Put out into the deep water and let down your nets for a catch.” Simon answered, “Master, we have worked all night long but have caught nothing. Yet if you say so, I will let down the nets.” When they had done this, they caught so many fish that their nets were beginning to break. So they signaled their partners in the other boat to come and help them. And they came and filled both boats, so that they began to sink. But when Simon Peter saw it, he fell down at Jesus’ knees, saying, “Go away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man!” For he and all who were with him were amazed at the catch of fish that they had taken; and so also were James and John, sons of Zebedee, who were partners with Simon. Then Jesus said to Simon, “Do not be afraid; from now on you will be catching people.” When they had brought their boats to shore, they left everything and followed him.
In the Name of the God of Creation who loves us all…Amen. Good morning and welcome to Holy Family on this Fifth Sunday after the Epiphany! We are so glad you have joined us this morning. The Gospel for today is evocative on many levels, not the least of which is the remarkable, and I dare say evangelical conversion of Peter, Andrew, James, and John, notable in part for the utter loss by Zebedee of the labor force of his solid small fishing business…but that is a sermon on a different kind of faith for another day, perhaps. Suffice it to say that I have always worried about old Zebedee and admired the resilience with which he carried on. I’m not sure I would have fared well under those circumstances. This passage is also noteworthy in its lovely evocation of Isaiah, and the passage we heard just a few weeks ago– The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who dwelt in a land of deep darkness, on them has light shone. Now, in Epiphany, we see the Incarnational embodiment of those prophetic words and today it takes the form of Jesus casting his nets—fishing for people—on the shores of Galilee. With gratitude, I recall today with affection the novelist Walker Percy, whom I met while I was a student at Rhodes College, and whose writings had, in some ways, the effect of converting a young neuroscience major into the priest standing before you all this morning. And I am reminded of the holy and haunting lines from the poem of his relative, William Alexander Percy, written in 1924, and now published as Hymn 661 in our hymnal:
They cast their nets in Galilee
Just off the hills of brown
Such happy simple fisherfolk
Before the Lord came down
Contented peaceful fishermen
Before they ever knew
The peace of God That fill’d their hearts
Brimful and broke them too
It is the fourth stanza of William Alexander Percy’s moving poem that captures the Christian gospel task: “The peace of God, it is no peace,/ But strife closed in the sod,/ Yet, let us pray for but one thing– / The marvelous peace of God.” Our gospel lesson recounts for us the calling of four fishermen into the fold of the disciples of Jesus: Andrew and Simon Peter, and James and John. They became, probably, the closest followers and friends of Jesus. But they were ordinary people, rural people. They were simple fisher folk. Though we tend to think of “fishing,” these days as a peaceful and leisurely endeavor, true fishermen know it is hard work. Those who make a living from fishing know that their livelihood depends upon random weather, equipment repaired repeatedly, and the vagaries of where fish might be on a given day. In some ways we can identify with this uncertainty, as we all know that much is left to chance in our lives no matter how much control we believe we may have. Fishermen are, therefore, in some ways like all of us. The first followers of Jesus were regular people, making a regular living, praying for the peace of God. That peace was often mixed with strife, but it was worth it… people just like you and me, people who work for peace even when some days are so hard… like “strife sown in the sod” to use Percy’s image. We get it…and yet, when we come together in Christ, something happens as Percy says, the “marvelous peace of God,” the peace that passes all understanding. So perhaps we might cast our prophetic nets ahead a bit, use our imaginations, and evoke a day yet to come, though those called to follow Jesus on the shore that day could not foresee it. What will the Incarnational work begun on the shore of Galilee this day bring about? If we imagine that we, too, are called to put down our nets, however we understand this, what now?
In the past several weeks I have spoken with many people in our parish, and for that matter in my clinical practice, and in grocery store aisles and countless other contexts about the political tensions in our country. Some have wanted me to preach in support of our president—for whom we pray and will continue to pray—and others have expressed deep concerns about the current administration and even wondered if Holy Family is a safe place for them to worship. Like many, our own family has been impacted by recent events, as our brilliant daughter-in-law, a gifted epidemiologist with the CDC, like thousands of employees from the VA to the CDC and beyond, was among those receiving the resignation offer letter, which has created mass confusion. And our son, an oncology fellow at MD Anderson, has been working on a lymphoma grant for NIH now put on hold. Many have been impacted and have had their lives turned upside down including aid organizations in our own denomination and that of our sister denomination, the Lutheran Church. Like each of you, regardless of how you voted, I have strong feelings about these matters. But hear this, I will always preach the Gospel, which calls us to love our neighbor as ourselves, welcome the stranger, show compassion to the suffering, and respect the dignity of every human being. And I will never tell you or anyone else how to vote, a sacred right ultimately based on your core values, and how those values are lived out in the world. As today’s Gospel suggests we are called to put down our nets and follow Jesus. How we interpret this is ultimately a matter between ourselves and God. Maybe our “nets” metaphorically speaking, are either/or, all or nothing ways of thinking and being in the world, and we may be called to let this go. Nevertheless, I will never tell you, or anyone else, how to vote.
And we have been here before in our church, many times. Indeed, some 25 years ago, I was a Postulant here at Holy Family. Let me tell you about a chapter in our own history during a time we were threatened with division, an experience later published in an academic journal. That summer, after a two-week vacation in Wyoming with our large extended family. The trip was primarily in honor of the 50th wedding anniversary of my parents-in-law, and 15 of us spent a week in Dubois, Wyoming, just south and east of the Tetons and Yellowstone Park. This is an area of distant views, stunningly beautiful and remarkably varied geological terrain, and weather that can change in an instant. Yes, Yellowstone was a fascinating, exotic experience for this native Georgian, and the park and its environs struck me as a wonderland of flora and fauna with which I was largely unaccustomed. Adding to my sense of mystery in this remarkable area is the fact that much of it is contained in a vast, ancient volcanic caldera. Geologists tell us that it is one of several geologic “hotspots” around the world—areas, that is, suggestive of high thermal energy beneath the surface. Old Faithful, the area of Mammoth Hot Springs, and many other areas in and around Yellowstone are “outward and visible signs” of this reality. All of this occurred, of course, in the context of our family gathering, and the joys and tensions of a family of 15 spending a week together in close quarters. Despite the inevitable moments of difficulty that come with life in families, we did just fine, and the trip was a joy and an adventure. Oddly, one moment stands out for me, and I have thought of it often considering the events of the past several weeks in our country, and in the diverse family that is our Episcopal Church. Driving east on I-80 out of Salt Lake City into Wyoming, we eventually turned left at Rock Springs and began to climb toward Lander and the Wind River Range. Driving north in this dramatic, high desert country, we passed a sign that read “Continental Divide–7, 600 Feet.” Upon seeing the sign, one of my nephews removed his Walkman from its normal, fixed position and asked from the back of the van, “Uncle Bill, what does ‘Continental Divide’ mean?” With utter certainty and absolute authority, I said: “Kevin, it means that all the water—snow or rain, that falls on the east side flows into the Atlantic Ocean or the Gulf of Mexico, and all the water that falls on the west side eventually flows into the Pacific Ocean.” “Wow,” Kevin said. “That’s pretty cool. You know a lot of neat stuff, Uncle Bill.” And he then restored his Walkman to its rightful place and went back to reading his book.
For a few moments of self-congratulatory bliss, I drove on in complete agreement with my young nephew…such a bright and perceptive lad. “Yes,” I thought to myself, “I am a veritable storehouse of esoteric but essential information about the nature of things, just waiting to expostulate with clarity and certainty bestowing upon worthy recipients the fruits of my knowledge. Yes, that’s me…Uncle Bill, font of wisdom and truth.”
And yet…I began to look around, to really see the land through which we sojourners were passing. This high desert country was stunningly beautiful, with the majestic, snow-capped Wind River Range piling up ahead of us to the north and west. But the landscape where we were at that moment was rolling hills, with vast open spaces of relatively flat terrain, as if it had been scooped out of the earth by giant hands. Truth told, as I thought about it, I could not really tell in which direction rain falling over this area might eventually flow—which way the melting snows of winter would travel in the warm spring sun. I found this, well, unsettling.
I began to feel not so very wise. The old Rhodes College neuroscience major in me began to develop alternative hypotheses, testing each one in my mind as we drove northward. But there was no getting around it. Falling rain in this region might end up almost anywhere. The term “Continental Divide” either meant what it said, in the way I had explained it to my nephew, or it meant nothing at all, and should be dispensed with. Heaven help me, I even began to feel a little anxious. “If this term—that sign back there, doesn’t really mean exactly what it says, what does?”
Even as I said this to my former science-oriented self, however, I knew better. I knew, moreover, that this either/or, all-or-nothing binary way of thinking was not really my style. I knew there were some places in the Rockies where one could indeed literally stand astride the Continental Divide in a steady rain and watch the water flow toward either side, fully confident of its destination. Other places, like the Great Divide Basin, were more, well, ambiguous—there was “greyer” in the definition; there was need for more discernment.
John McPhee, the remarkable writer who has made geology—and many other topics—come alive for lay folk like me, wrote the following about the very spot through which we were now driving:
“Dark mountains spread low across the horizon, might have been a storm coming—and in a sense they were, or had been. They were the Over-thrust belt, cumulate from the west. Looking north to the even more distant Gros Ventre and Wind Rivers, and south to the Uintas, were encompassing in a wide glance about sixteen thousand square miles of land, much of it so dry, stacked flat like crumbling hardtack, that only a geologist could absorb such a scene and see in it a lake that would rank seventh in the world….So level is the land there that the term “Continental Divide” is somewhat moot. Cartographers seem to have difficulty determining where it is. Its location will vary from map to map. Moreover, it frays, separates, and, like an eye in old rope, surrounds a couple of million acres that do not drain either to the Atlantic or the Pacific—adding ambiguity to the word “divide.”
As I thought about this later, I came to see the terrain in a new way. I could see that, rather than rendering the term “continental divide” meaningless, somehow, by virtue of it’s sharing an ancient, complex story, a previous life as an Eocene Lake of tremendous proportions—it seemed to enlarge, deepen, and enrich the term for me. I could take the long view of the geologist and within it, engage this term with imagination, depth and dimension in time and space.
I thought a great deal about our complex church family and the ostensible “continental divide” issues down through the years that have threatened to separate us: creedal debates; the Civil War, and especially the issue of slavery; the Introduction of the new Book of Common Prayer, and saying goodbye to the 1928 Prayer Book; issues of Civil Rights; the intense debates over the ordination of women and same sex marriage; and the ratification and consecration of Bishop Elect Gene Robinson of New Hampshire and related discussions about human sexuality. Most recently, the homily given by Bishop Mary Ann Budde has led many to the Episcopal Church and caused others to threaten to leave. Each of these has seemed to be, in its time, the “continental divide” that would split the church by means of either/or, all or nothing thinking about how—and if—we come together at table, and who presides there. Each has threatened to give us reason to make choices primarily out of fear—a fear that God’s love will not be enough to overcome the ambiguous divides that threaten to separate us. It cannot. It must not. And let us remember, my brothers and sisters, that making decisions informed primarily by an ethos of fear—amidst what Walter Brueggemann calls a “myth of scarcity,” is almost always dangerous, because such decisions make us more vulnerable to this “all or nothing” thinking.13 Rather, perhaps this terrain we have traversed in our Episcopal Church over those two weeks of General Convention was more like the Continental Divide in the Great Basin of Wyoming. Perhaps in this liminal, transitional place called church, the winds of the Holy Spirit blow and have space to creatively engage us. Perhaps there are times in the life of our church, just as is sometimes true in our personal sojourns, when “not knowing” with utter certainty can be a blessing. Perhaps during this interim season of our lives—we can trust that the Spirit is indeed working among us.
It is not always easy to see beneath the literal to the metaphorical and symbolic, especially when our basic needs and fears often determine what we see, and how. Jesus knows we are hungry on many levels, and we are often scared, and wilderness can take so many forms. The psychologist Carl Jung, deeply interested in religion, once said: “I have seen people remain unhappy when they content themselves with inadequate or wrong answers to the questions of life. They seek position, reputation, outward success, money, and remain unhappy even when they attain what they have been seeking. Such people are usually confined within too narrow a spiritual horizon.”
Peter, Andrew, James, and John would come to learn this and to bear it out in ways they could not imagine…the peace of God that passes all understanding and, as William Alexander Percy said so well, the marvelous peace of God. Like each of the disciples in their own way, who left their nets to become the Body of Christ in the world, Jesus is to be broken, blessed, and shared. He gives himself away, each moment. Like the Eucharist we celebrate, Jesus is more than a provider of physical sustenance. In Wyoming, I said “Pay attention; see, and you will believe.” Conversely, Jesus says to us, “Seeing is not always the same as believing; sometimes you have to believe, in order to really see.” Both are correct. And both point to a similar truth: the only way to have a full life, and keep it, is to give it away. Jesus embodied this in his life, in which we are invited to be creatively compassionate, in gratitude. “Every day,” Wendell Berry says, “you have less reason not to give yourself away.” Jesus said, “I am the Bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry. Take up your nets, and follow me.” Amen.As I thought about this later, I came to see the terrain in a new way. I could see that, rather than rendering the term “continental divide” meaningless, somehow, by virtue of it’s sharing an ancient, complex story, a previous life as an Eocene Lake of tremendous proportions—it seemed to enlarge, deepen, and enrich the term for me. I could take the long view of the geologist and within it, engage this term with imagination, depth and dimension in time and space.
I thought a great deal about our complex church family and the ostensible “continental divide” issues down through the years that have threatened to separate us: creedal debates; the Civil War, and especially the issue of slavery; the Introduction of the new Book of Common Prayer, and saying goodbye to the 1928 Prayer Book; issues of Civil Rights; the intense debates over the ordination of women and same sex marriage; and the ratification and consecration of Bishop Elect Gene Robinson of New Hampshire and related discussions about human sexuality. Most recently, the homily given by Bishop Mary Ann Budde has led many to the Episcopal Church and caused others to threaten to leave. Each of these has seemed to be, in its time, the “continental divide” that would split the church by means of either/or, all or nothing thinking about how—and if—we come together at table, and who presides there. Each has threatened to give us reason to make choices primarily out of fear—a fear that God’s love will not be enough to overcome the ambiguous divides that threaten to separate us. It cannot. It must not. And let us remember, my brothers and sisters, that making decisions informed primarily by an ethos of fear—amidst what Walter Brueggemann calls a “myth of scarcity,” is almost always dangerous, because such decisions make us more vulnerable to this “all or nothing” thinking.13 Rather, perhaps this terrain we have traversed in our Episcopal Church over those two weeks of General Convention was more like the Continental Divide in the Great Basin of Wyoming. Perhaps in this liminal, transitional place called church, the winds of the Holy Spirit blow and have space to creatively engage us. Perhaps there are times in the life of our church, just as is sometimes true in our personal sojourns, when “not knowing” with utter certainty can be a blessing. Perhaps during this interim season of our lives—we can trust that the Spirit is indeed working among us.
It is not always easy to see beneath the literal to the metaphorical and symbolic, especially when our basic needs and fears often determine what we see, and how. Jesus knows we are hungry on many levels, and we are often scared, and wilderness can take so many forms. The psychologist Carl Jung, deeply interested in religion, once said: “I have seen people remain unhappy when they content themselves with inadequate or wrong answers to the questions of life. They seek position, reputation, outward success, money, and remain unhappy even when they attain what they have been seeking. Such people are usually confined within too narrow a spiritual horizon.”
Peter, Andrew, James, and John would come to learn this and to bear it out in ways they could not imagine…the peace of God that passes all understanding and, as William Alexander Percy said so well, the marvelous peace of God. Like each of the disciples in their own way, who left their nets to become the Body of Christ in the world, Jesus is to be broken, blessed, and shared. He gives himself away, each moment. Like the Eucharist we celebrate, Jesus is more than a provider of physical sustenance. In Wyoming, I said “Pay attention; see, and you will believe.” Conversely, Jesus says to us, “Seeing is not always the same as believing; sometimes you have to believe, in order to really see.” Both are correct. And both point to a similar truth: the only way to have a full life, and keep it, is to give it away. Jesus embodied this in his life, in which we are invited to be creatively compassionate, in gratitude. “Every day,” Wendell Berry says, “you have less reason not to give yourself away.” Jesus said, “I am the Bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry. Take up your nets, and follow me.” Amen.
February 2, 2025
The Feast of the Presentation of our Lord – Year C – Bill Harkins
The Collect
Almighty and ever living God, we humbly pray that, as your only begotten Son was this day presented in the temple, so we may be presented to you with pure and clean hearts by Jesus Christ our Lord; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever. Amen.
The Gospel: Luke 2: 22 – 40
Almighty and ever living God, we humbly pray that, as your only begotten Son was this day presented in the temple, so we may be presented to you with pure and clean hearts by Jesus Christ our Lord; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever. Amen.
In the Name of the God of Creation who loves us all, Amen. Good morning, and welcome to this Holy Eucharist in observance of Presentation Sunday, the fourth Sunday after the Epiphany. The story of the Presentation is in many ways a result of showing up and being present for mundane, ordinary rituals. I find myself intrigued by this, and especially today, as we have been about the business of being and doing church. The characters in Luke’s Gospel account are going about the business of what is required of them by Torah, the Law of Moses. They are presenting their firstborn to be dedicated to God.
January 26, 2025
Third Sunday after Ephiphany – Year C – Bill Harkins
The Collect
Give us grace, O Lord, to answer readily the call of our Savior Jesus Christ and proclaim to all people the Good News of his salvation, that we and the whole world may perceive the glory of his marvelous works; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.
The Gospel: Luke 4:14-21
Jesus, filled with the power of the Spirit, returned to Galilee, and a report about him spread through all the surrounding country. He began to teach in their synagogues and was praised by everyone.
When he came to Nazareth, where he had been brought up, he went to the synagogue on the sabbath day, as was his custom. He stood up to read, and the scroll of the prophet Isaiah was given to him. He unrolled the scroll and found the place where it was written:
“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me,
because he has anointed me
to bring good news to the poor.
He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives
and recovery of sight to the blind,
to let the oppressed go free,
to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.” And he rolled up the scroll, gave it back to the attendant,
January 19, 2025
Second Sunday after Epiphany – year C – Bill Harkins
The Gospel: John – 21-11
On the third day there was a wedding in Cana of Galilee, and the mother of Jesus was there. Jesus and his disciples had also been invited to the wedding. When the wine gave out, the mother of Jesus said to him, “They have no wine.” And Jesus said to her, “Woman, what concern is that to you and to me? My hour has not yet come.” His mother said to the servants, “Do whatever he tells you.” Now standing there were six stone water jars for the Jewish rites of purification, each holding twenty or thirty gallons. Jesus said to them, “Fill the jars with water.” And they filled them up to the brim. He said to them, “Now draw some out, and take it to the chief steward.” So they took it. When the steward tasted the water that had become wine, and did not know where it came from (though the servants who had drawn the water knew), the steward called the bridegroom and said to him, “Everyone serves the good wine first, and then the inferior wine after the guests have become drunk. But you have kept the good wine until now.” Jesus did this, the first of his signs, in Cana of Galilee, and revealed his glory; and his disciples believed in him.
In the Name of the God of Creation who loves us all…Amen.