When idols take up too much space in our hearts, we can neglect our relationship with God, who remains faithful even in the midst of our unfaithfulness and continually calls us back in love.

Vicar Bristol Reading
The Eighth Sunday after Pentecost, Lectionary 18 C
Texts: Hosea 11:1-11, Luke 12: 13-21, 32-34

Sisters and brothers in Christ, grace to you, and peace in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen

‘Idolatry’ is one of those words that sounds really biblical and serious, but also a little archaic and obscure.

When we speak of idols today, we’re usually referring to pop culture icons, people to be adored and emulated. We think of “American Idol” before we think of statues of foreign gods. But the biblical writers took idolatry seriously.

This morning we read from Hosea, a Hebrew prophet who was highly critical of idolatry in ancient Israel. Wanting to ensure that their families and their fields were sufficiently fertile, the Israelites had taken to offering sacrifices and incense to Baal, a tribal fertility god whose popularity was on the rise during the Hosea’s life. This was a betrayal of Israel’s covenant with God, who had clearly commanded them to worship no other gods. Hosea tried to convince his people that God was not very pleased about their behavior. He used his own fractured family as an allegory for the strained relationship between God and the people. We heard last week the story of Hosea symbolically naming his children Lo-Ruhamah, which means “No-Mercy,” and Lo-Ammi, which means “Not-My-People.” In one translation God says to Hosea, “Name your child Nobody, because you’ve all become nobodies to me and I, God, am a nobody to you” (Hosea 1:9, The Message).

This is the impact of idolatry: We start paying a little more attention to idols, and a little less attention to God.

We start trusting idols a little more than we trust God. These objects of adoration and devotion become a source of life and meaning, and eventually God become a nobody to us. Now maybe you and I have never experienced a Canaanite fertility god having such an impact on us, but Baals aren’t the only kinds of idols.

The apostle Paul reminds us in Colossians that greed is also idolatry (Colossians 3:5).

The insatiable desire to have more and more material stuff, the secret envy of other people’s lifestyles and possessions, the endless endeavor for wealth and success… These are idols with which we are more familiar. They can start to take up too much space in our hearts, to demand an ever-increasing percentage of our effort and focus. Greed is idolatry because enough is never enough. When we get caught up in the idolatry of greed, we can end up like the wealthy landowner in Jesus’ parable, achieving material security but disregarding our dependence on God. This man has forgotten his own mortality, and all the supposed ‘treasure’ he has stored up is good for nothing when he comes unexpectedly to the end of his life. The problem is not that he paid attention to his physical life; it’s that he neglected his inner life. The problem is not that he was financially successful; it’s that he did not address his spiritual poverty. The problem is not that he became a somebody in his community; it’s that he let God become a nobody in his life. He let his wealth and savings play a role that only God can play. He found his identity in his own merit, instead of his being a beloved creation of God. And in the end, those idols left the landowner empty-handed.

At the conclusion of the parable Jesus says, “Where your treasure is, your heart will be also.” So make sure the treasure you give your heart to is the real deal.

Don’t commit your time, your energy, your loyalty, your adoration, your trust to treasures that can wear out or be stolen – treasures that need bigger and bigger barns just to store them. In the end, those things cannot be depended on. Eventually idols leave us wanting, Whatever our particular ‘treasure’ looks like – career success, personal appearance, intellectual knowledge – These can be good things in our lives, but they cannot be God over our lives. We can’t stake our lives on anything but God.

When we allow idols to take the place of God, God is heartbroken.

Hosea’s description of God’s response to the people’s idolatry is striking. He expresses God’s heartache as that of a parent whose children have betrayed their relationship. God is like a fiercely protective father, remembering how he held his children’s hands as they learned to walk, lamenting that the children have now rejected his care. God is like a tender mother, reaching down to feed her children, keeping them safe at every moment, grieving that her children have now forgotten that it was she who sustained them and raised them.

Hosea’s words describe a God who is devastated by the people’s unfaithfulness, and yet, this is what God decides: “I could never give up on my children. I could never destroy them.”

This is not a God of destruction and punishment, but a God of life and forgiveness, a God who has wrestled with the reality of human brokenness and has decided to be a force of grace and healing. Those people who chose idols over God, they aren’t called “Not-my-people” after all. They are called “Children of the living God.” They aren’t called “No-Mercy.” They are called “Complete Compassion.” God roars like a lioness calling her cubs back to her. No matter how far away from her they run, she will guide them home. God’s faithfulness is not like the faithfulness of humans; it never wavers. God never leaves. “I am the Holy One in your midst,” God declares (Hosea 11:9). God always desires to be in deeper relationship with us and continually draws us back.

We need to notice the things in our lives that crowd out God’s loving voice, that strain our relationship with God, and to stop giving those things so much attention and power.

What are the idols that are gaining too tight a hold over your heart, the things that are being treated like precious treasure but will never actually be as satisfying as they claim to be? Don’t build bigger barns to give those things more room in your life.

Invest instead in the parts of your life that make you more aware of the presence of the Holy One already in your midst.

Be attentive to God’s voice in your heart. Nurture the habits that help you deepen your relationship with God who loves you – whether that’s silence, worship, prayer, fellowship, service, or just… rest… God, the source of abundant life, is always with you. God, will never leave you, and will never leave you empty.

Amen.

The story of the Good Samaritan articulates God’s vision for the compassionate care of all people. When we fail to embody that vision, we are forgiven, held in God’s love, and called back to the task of loving our neighbors.

Vicar Bristol Reading
The Fifth Sunday after Pentecost, Lectionary 15 C
Text: Luke 10:25-37

Sisters and brothers in Christ, grace to you, and peace in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

This familiar parable from Luke is often called the “Good Samaritan.” It’s a Bible story so widely known that there are hospitals, nonprofits, and even romantic comedies named after it. It’s popular because it’s relatable. We can so easily see ourselves in its characters. The fear and pain of being attacked and abandoned or  the relief and gratitude of receiving unexpected kindness from a stranger – these are such human experiences.  Perhaps the most relatable of all are the priest and the Levite who walk by on the other side of the road without stopping to help someone in need. Hearing this story can evoke guilt, discomfort, and despair when we are reminded we are not always as “good” as the Samaritan was. It’s an effective parable.

And its central question continues to be powerful and relevant: who is my neighbor?

For whom am I responsible and to what extent? One need look no further than our country’s current conversation about borders and immigration to see how perpetually challenging that question still is. In the context of Luke, the question “Who is my neighbor?” is presented by a lawyer who sounds like he’s looking for a moral loophole. An expert in religious law, he already knows that anyone who claims to love God should love their neighbors. The imperatives to welcome the stranger, care for the poor, and protect the vulnerable were not new ideas in Jesus’ day and they’re not new in ours. But, wanting to test Jesus and justify himself, the lawyer pushes the issue, asking, “Who, specifically, is the neighbor I’m obligated to love?”

Jesus doesn’t answer him by quoting scripture or reciting rules; he tells a story about the messy realities of human interdependence.

The priest and the Levite in the story were religious authorities. They, like the lawyer, would have been familiar with the scriptural requirement to care for those in need. When they encountered the man by the side of the road, they may have known the right thing to do, but it’s the Samaritan who actually does it. He’s not reacting out of guilt or obligation. He’s not fulfilling a quota for number-of-neighbors-helped. He’s not calculating whether he can be compensated for his assistance. He feels for the guy. That’s the impetus for his response of care. He’s moved by this person’s needs. The Samaritan acts out of compassion.

We don’t learn much about the man in the ditch, whether he’s wealthy or poor, whether he’s a Gentile or Jew – we only learn about the way a stranger shows him mercy. In telling this story, Jesus turns the lawyer’s question around: It doesn’t matter who your neighbor is; it matters how you are neighbor to others. It doesn’t matter what kind of person is in need; it matters how you respond.

This story articulates God’s vision for how humanity should live together.

Everyone deserves care. There are no qualifications. No one is left alone in the ditch. Everyone’s wounds are tended to because we respond to one another’s needs with generosity and compassion.

There are no moral loopholes. This is what it means to be a neighbor. “Go and do likewise,” Jesus concludes. Go and embody God’s vision for a compassionate world. That’s it. That’s the directive. That’s how Jesus leaves the lawyer – and us.

That “go and do likewise” ending is a hard thing to sit with, especially for those of us who see ourselves in the Priest and the Levite.

It’s uncomfortable to come to the end of this story and ask whether we have actually “done likewise” to the Samaritan. We are reminded of all the times we have walked by someone we might have helped. We wonder if we have missed the eternal life the lawyer was seeking…

But the final word in this parable is not the final word of God. Even when we fail to realize God’s vision of compassion, there is no condemnation in Christ (Romans 8:1). We trust the promise that nothing can separate us from the love of God (Romans 8:38-39) – not even whatever might cause us to walk by on the other side.

God’s promise of love is for all people, no exceptions.

It is for those who have been harmed, rejected, and left behind. It is for those who serve others out of generous compassion. And it is for those who don’t. That’s the astounding truth of grace. None of us is ever beyond God’s love.

Jesus leaves this conversation with the lawyer and continues on his journey to Jerusalem, his journey to the cross, and even in the face of death, he speaks words of mercy not judgment. Jesus speaks forgiveness to the ones who torture him (Luke 23:34) and acceptance to the criminals dying next to him (Luke 23:39-42). And, after he confronts the very powers of hell with love, the risen Jesus returns from the grave to speak peace to the disciples who denied and betrayed him (Luke 24:36). They failed to live up to God’s vision of compassion, but their inadequacies did not stop Christ from reconciling with them, empowering them with the divine spirit, and sending them out to proclaim the Gospel. Imperfect, cowardly, and flawed, they are forgiven. And they are still tasked to go out into the world and act with love.

It is the same with us.

No matter how many times we walk by on the other side, we, too, are forgiven and we, too, are called back to the task of being love in the world.

Standing firm in the faith that we are saved by grace and unconditionally loved by God does not mean we abandon the millennia-old commandment to care for our neighbors. On the contrary, it means that we are invited again and again to come back to God’s way of compassion. We are convinced that radical care for one another is the path that truly brings life.

We aspire to be the neighbors God has called us to be, the neighbors our world desperately needs. Yet even when we falter, we are still held in that love from which nothing – not even death – can separate us.

Amen.

 

Discipleship is not about our perfectionism or accomplishments; it is about God’s work in us as the spirit transforms us and equips us to proclaim the Gospel with our words and our lives.

Vicar Bristol Reading
The Third Sunday after Pentecost, Lectionary 13 C
Texts: Galatians 5:1, 13-25; Luke 9:51-62

Sisters and brothers in Christ, grace to you, and peace in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

The Gospel text this morning, the “word of God, word of life,” sure contains a lot of words that are rather harsh.

On the road to Jerusalem, Jesus and his disciples enter a village of Samaritans who are not particularly receptive to Jesus. James and John, in a response that might be considered a bit of an overreaction, suggest calling down deadly fire from heaven in retribution. It is certainly a relief that Jesus refuses to smite those who don’t want to follow him. But Jesus himself has some severe words for others who do want to follow him.

Along their journey, the group encounters some individuals who express a willingness to follow Jesus, but have some concerns they want to attend to first. Now, if these people are making excuses, they’ve found pretty good ones. One wants to say goodbye to loved ones. Another wants to bury a parent. Who could object to caring for one’s home and family? Surely it’s possible to do these things, and then commit wholeheartedly to the mission? But Jesus is unwilling to wait and disinclined to sugarcoat this news. “Let the dead bury their own dead,” he says, “no one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God.”

These comments are not because Jesus is against funerals or farewells. Elsewhere in the Gospels we see Jesus attend family celebrations and grieve at the tombs of friends; he does not consider these things wrong or unimportant.

Rather, these sobering responses toward those who want to follow him are because Jesus is focused on the destination ahead.

He has “set his face” toward Jerusalem, where betrayal, arrest, trial, and execution await him. Those who say they are willing to follow him anywhere need to be willing to follow him there. To the cross. They must be prepared to lose their homes, their safety, even their lives.

Faithfulness to the Gospel is comprehensive: it cannot be relegated to one part of life and kept out of others. It is not something to be done only after all the ducks of one’s personal life have been put in a row. When commitment to other things– even important things– hinders commitment to proclaiming the Gospel, it is like someone putting their hand to the plow but their attention elsewhere. You can’t do both. Jesus words to those who want to follow him serve as a potent reminder that the Gospel is matter of life and death. His statements express the urgency and priority that Jesus understood.

James and John must have understood, too. They themselves once faced the same choice now facing these people along the road: whether or not to follow Jesus. One day they’d been hard at work, fishing as usual, when Jesus, a man they’d never met before, arrived and said, “Follow me.”

In that moment, something about Jesus’ presence so compelled them that the two dropped everything, and followed him then and there (Luke 5:1-11). They didn’t go home to attend to family or say goodbye. Actually, according to Matthew’s Gospel, they just left their father standing there in the boat, with all those nets to mend and all those fish to clean (Matthew 4:21-22).

James and John couldn’t possibly have understood what they were getting themselves into when they said yes to Jesus and got out of that boat. They couldn’t have known where this journey would take them. Their decisive choice to follow Jesus irrevocably changed the course of their lives. Commitment to the Gospel will do that… it will change things. There is risk involved in saying ‘yes’ to God’s call.

Discipleship redirects lives, reorders priorities, and restructures relationships.

This is what Paul is describing to the Galatians in the passage we heard this morning. He tells them that the way they behaved before is no longer the way they can behave now that they’ve committed to Christ. Things will change. People will change. The Spirit will transform them.

Although Paul describes this process as a liberation, a being set free, he also acknowledges that it involves the loss of some familiar habits that have no place in the Christian life. He enumerates examples, but he knows the Galatians know what kind of behaviors he means: jealousy, anger, pettiness, corruption, bickering… these things have to be left behind. They have to be put to death. So, there’s no going back to them. You can choose that way of being or you can choose the Spirit’s way of being. You can’t do both.

But when the Spirit starts to take root in the community, it’s clear. You can see the change. Joyfulness, kindness, generosity, faithfulness – these things become habitual in the lives of disciples. Those who are living in this life of the Spirit have a different pattern of relationship. They weave together as a family, siblings in Christ. They serve each other out of freedom. They love their neighbors as they love their own selves. Paul articulates such a remarkable vision of Christian life.

Of course, we know from our own lives that those old habits that we meant to leave behind sometimes turn out to be not quite dead yet.

Sometimes, for instance, the most dedicated disciples, the ones willing to leave everything behind for the sake of the Gospel, threaten to burn an entire village in vengeance. Doesn’t really show a lot of patience, gentleness, or self-control. Yet, those were the kind of people that Jesus recruited to his ministry. Those committed-but-imperfect followers of Christ were the kind of people tasked with proclaiming the Gospel in all its life-or-death importance.

It turns out that committed-but-imperfect followers of Christ are still the kind of people being tasked with proclaiming the Gospel. Discipleship is not about the work we can accomplish in the world. It is about the work God can accomplish through us.

This frees us, on the one hand, from any sense of perfectionism. No one does it all, and no one does it alone. On the other hand, it undermines any protests we might make that we’re not the right people to bear the Gospel. We are, each of us, called and equipped to do so – through what we say and how we live.

Sometimes we fail to keep our faces set always toward the cross. Sometimes we make excuses and choose priorities other than Christ. Sometimes we want to call down the fires of heaven on people who frustrate us. Sometimes we look back and see that the furrows in our fields have come out crooked, and we ask, “How can God grow anything here?”

But we trust that God’s Spirit can bring about change in us and around us in ways we would never think possible.

The process of being transformed by the Spirit is lifelong. We go through fruitful seasons and fallow seasons, but we are always being made new.

Indeed, we heard some harsh words from scripture this morning, but we also heard one particularly important word from the mouth of Christ to anyone who would desire to be a disciple. Jesus said, “As for you, go and proclaim the kingdom of God.”

Amen.

“What must we do to perform the works of God?” It’s the question that the crowd asks Jesus, and the question that we still ask ourselves today. Jesus gives them a simple answer: believe. But in believing, we become ever more like Christ.

Vicar Jessica Christy
The Eleventh Sunday after Pentecost, year B
Texts: 2 Samuel 11:26-12:13a; Psalm 51:1-12; Ephesians 4:1-16; John 6:16-35

 

“What must we do to perform the works of God?”

That’s the question, isn’t it? At least, it is for me. I’ve been asking myself that for months: what does God want me to do, and how do I know? I’m sure I’m not the only one who wonders that. It’s one of the reasons that we gather together every week: to listen for what God is asking of us now. Yes, we gather to praise and to pray, to celebrate the sacraments, and to remind ourselves of the promises of God’s grace – but there’s no question about those things. There’s no question about God’s freely given love for us, and there’s no question that it is good for us to rejoice in that gift through our worship.

The question is what the crowd asks Jesus on the other side of the sea: “What must we do to perform the works of God?” What does God want from us? How are we supposed to live in this hurting world? What does it look like for us to go in peace and serve the LORD?

We search for those answers because we want to serve, to live well with each other, to carry God’s love out into the world. I have seen that time and time again here. This is a place that is so eager to respond to God’s grace – not only within these walls, but throughout our lives. We dearly want to act justly and walk humbly with our God.

But today’s scripture reminds us of just how difficult that is. Here, we see King David at his lowest. He was supposed to be the chosen one, God’s beloved – but now, not only has he committed a terrible series of sins, but he tops them off with self-righteous hypocrisy. He has gone completely astray from what God asked of him. If someone who called by God and guided by prophets could commit such crimes, then what does that mean for the rest of us? And then there’s the crowd questioning Jesus in the Gospel. They are so eager to follow him that they literally just chased him across a lake – but Jesus tells them that they’re seeking him for the wrong reasons. They try to understand, but it’s like Jesus and the crowd are talking past each other, and they only become more confused. And if they can’t hear what he’s saying when they’re standing at his side, then what hope do we have of doing any better? Is our best option to declare with the Psalmist that we’ve been sinners from our mothers’ wombs, and just leave it at that?

What must we do to perform the works of God? Is such a thing even possible?

Jesus gives the crowd a response to the question, although it’s a strange one. “This is the work of God, that you believe in him whom he has sent.” It seems like such a non-answer. They want to know what God requires of them, and he says: just believe. If we wanted, we could leave it there. We could say that our lives are so tainted by sin, our actions so doomed to fail, that God has despaired of our ability to do good in the world, and so asks for nothing more than our belief. Plenty of Christians have claimed that. But if we stopped there, we’d be missing the richness of what the Bible means when it talks about belief.

In the modern world, we think of belief as something that happens in our heads – we believe that something is true or false. But in scripture, that’s only part of the picture. Belief is not just agreeing to some abstract claim. It is not signing off on a series of theological statements and then going about our lives. Believing in Christ is about trusting that his way is the true way. It’s about committing our lives to the way of the Cross. Belief doesn’t demand that we always get things right. We’re sinful human beings; that’s not going to change. But it is about letting ourselves be transformed. Belief isn’t a thing apart from us. It is what we do. It is who we are. Believing is about becoming.

And we see that nowhere more clearly than in the letter to the church in Ephesus. Ephesians boldly proclaims God’s grace, but it also challenges us to be worthy of our calling as God’s children. In today’s reading, Paul begs us – begs us! – to live together in humility and gentleness, with patience, holding each other in love. At a time when the church was growing and struggling with internal divisions, he cried out no, this is not who we are called to be. We are not called to be captives to sin. We are called to be Christ. That might sound extreme, but that’s what the letter says: that we “must grow up in every way into Christ.” The purpose of our life together is nothing less than to shape us into Christ’s image. In faith, we unveil that spark of God that rests in each of our souls. Now, we get scared sometimes when we hear of the Gospel transforming us, because it sounds like a requirement – but it’s really a promise. Paul isn’t talking about salvation here. He is not saying that we need to be Christ-like to earn God’s love. He’s talking about how God’s gift of grace has the power to change us, and through us, to change everything. Our faith in Christ brings us closer to Christ and makes us more like Christ in a world that so desperately needs us to be Christ’s presence.

When Jesus teaches about that presence, he teaches about bread. He calls himself the bread of life, and next week, he will tell the baffled crowd that they need to eat him if he is to bring them life. He will say that those who eat this bread of life abide in him and he in them. This sounds absolutely crazy to his listeners – but it’s how food works. It nourishes us because it becomes part of our bodies. We take it into our muscles and bones, use it to power all the processes that give us life. And that’s how our faith in Christ works as well.   When we believe in Jesus, Jesus becomes a part of us. We take Christ into ourselves in the sacraments. We take Christ into ourselves in worship and the word. We take Christ into ourselves in prayer and confession, in fellowship and faithful service. And the more we eat of this bread, the more we find Christ’s life in us, “for the bread of God is that which comes down from heaven and gives life to the world.” This nourishes us. This changes us. This becomes us. It has been a joy to eat this bread with you, and to let it transform me these past twelve months. I know that I am forever changed because of how God is at work in this place – just as I know that you are being changed as well.

So what must we do to perform the works of God? Believe, Jesus says – and in believing, become. Eat the bread of life, and know that Christ is abiding in you. Eat the bread of life, and bring that life to the world.   Your calling is to be Christ. Whoever you are, whatever you are, wherever you are, God is calling forth Christ in you. God who is above all and through all and in all is at work within you to accomplish abundantly far more than all we can ask or imagine. Believe this, and become it. It is already here. It is already true. Christ is taking shape in you, and the world cannot wait to see what Christ will do.

Amen.

There is no such thing as a secret gospel, because the good news dies when we keep it to ourselves. Mary Magdalene has given us the good news of Christ’s resurrection; how will we add to her story?

Vicar Jessica Christy
The Feast of St. Mary Magdalene
Text: John 20:1-2, 11-18

For a brief moment, Mary Magdalene was the entirety of the church. She alone had met the resurrected Jesus. She alone knew that the jaws of hells had been broken open, and death had been defeated forever. For that moment, she was special, irreplaceable. All of God’s plans for the human race were contained in her.

The second that she announced her good news, she lost that uniqueness. She gave the gospel to others so that they could share it, and share it they did. From her first proclamation, the church grew and spread until God’s word took root in every nation on Earth. Every sermon that has ever been preached begins with Mary saying, “He is risen.” But the church has not always rewarded Mary for her willingness to share the good news. Today, we honor her as an apostle, a financial supporter of Jesus’ ministry, and a witness of the resurrection, but for centuries, we misread the Bible and called her a sinner and a prostitute. We pushed her to the margins of Jesus’ circle, instead of recognizing her place near the center. For too long, we took her message while dishonoring the messenger.

And so there’s a part of me that wants to linger with Mary in this moment when she, and only she, carried the gospel. I want to stay here, just outside the tomb, and bear witness to her shining faith and love. I want to hold tight to this time when all of history was waiting for her words – before the church took her words and left her behind. Here in the garden, she is safe from suspicion, safe from slander.

But the first thing that Jesus tells her is, “Do not hold on to me.” He says: don’t cling to me, because you can’t stay here. I have chosen to show myself to you, but you can’t keep me to yourself. Your job is to go out and tell everyone what you have seen. She will always have this moment with Jesus in the garden, but it cannot last. She needs to go out and ready the other disciples for Jesus’ return – because the gospel dies when we keep it to ourselves. It is like a plant: while it lives, it must grow. So of course she doesn’t consider keeping the good news to herself. Of course she doesn’t want to be the sole bearer of the knowledge that death is not the end. She doesn’t worry about credit or attribution or her place among the apostles – all that matters is that Christ has conquered the grave. Her joy carries her back to the upper room where she can proclaim, “He is risen!,” This news cannot be contained, no matter what the cost of sharing it might be.

There were some ancient Christians who recognized Jesus’ closeness to Mary and wrote Gnostic texts imagining that he gave her special, secret teachings. They called her a prophet and a mystic who knew things that the other disciples did not. And yes, it is exciting to think that some people in the early church lifted up the insight of a woman above the knowledge of the Twelve – but the idea of a secret gospel is missing the point. Nothing about God is secret or exclusive. There are no hidden revelations, no teachings reserved for the chosen few. A private gospel is a dead gospel. Everything that God has done for us is ours to share. We do not receive the gospel to hold on to it but to let it flow out from us in our relationships and our words and our work. Each and every one of us are how God’s kingdom grows. We just need to be willing to witness to God’s love, and not try to keep that love to ourselves.

So what is the thing that God has shown you that you can share? What is the good news that is waiting to break out of you and spread through the world? Where have you seen God in your life, and how can you invite others to see the light and love that you are seeing? What gospel needs to be brought to life through you?

As I prepare to leave this place in two short weeks, I have been thinking about where I have met God in this place, and how I will carry that good news with me. Because I promise, I will take your witness with me as I move on. So I want to tell you a few of things that I want to go out and proclaim about how God is at work here.

I have seen God in your deep and joyful faith in the resurrection. Funerals in this place are a celebration of God’s saving love like nothing I have ever seen before. When a loved one dies, we gather together to mourn, yes, but far more than that, we gather to remind ourselves of God’s unshakeable faithfulness, and to look forward to that time when we ourselves are united with God’s everlasting glory. And this is a witness that we most certainly do not keep to ourselves. We consider it a privilege to host the funerals of non-members, and our people show up both in the chancel and in the pews – even if the deceased is a total stranger – so that we can bear witness to God’s salvation and to hold those who mourn in love. That is how much we care about the resurrection, and it has been a blessing for me to experience that confidence.

I have seen God in your commitment to our environment. Although I was not here for the conversations at the beginning of the building renovation, I know that you faced a difficult decision around what sacrifices we should make to care for our planet. But sacrifice you did, and now this building is cooled by the soil and the sun, instead of by harmful fossil fuels. If we are going to find a way to keep living on this planet, we’re going to need to make many more such sacrifices. People are going to need to come together and make hard, costly decisions for the sake of our future. But here, you have shown that such action is possible. And more than that, you acted not out of fear but out of faith. No matter how scary our climate situation might seem, your actions proclaim that God is still walking with us, and God will show us the way forward. That is a witness that the world needs to hear.

And I have seen God in the love you have for each other. You have been nothing but warm and wonderful to me as a sojourner in your midst, and I know that you strive to show that same grace to one another. When my family visited on Thanksgiving, my sister was struck by how many people hung around the nave after worship, simply enjoying one another’s company. Afterwards, she told me: “I liked how people cared about each other. That’s what a church should be.” Jesus says: “By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.” She saw that here, and so have I – time and time again. Your life together, the ways you love and serve each other, testifies to how the love of Christ has the power to heal the world.

I will go out and tell of these things, and many more besides. The good news of how God is bringing life to this place cannot be contained. That’s how we honor Mary’s witness – not by simply watching and praising her, but by joining her in her work. She has given us the gospel: Christ is risen! That Gospel is living and growing in us now, taking shape in each of our hearts, yearning to be shared with the world. So what good news will we add to the story?