YEAR A 2026 trinity sunday

Trinity Sunday, 2026
Genesis 1:1-2:4a
2 Corinthians 13:11-13
Matthew 28:16-20
Psalm 8

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen.

So, I went to a Lutheran High School.  Then I graduated from a Lutheran college.  I spent four years in an Episcopal seminary.  I played in a Christian band for 30 years.  I’ve studied Christian doctrine, Lutheran doctrine, Anglican doctrine (such as it is), and systematics.  I have friends who are legitimate theologians.  My brother and sister in law are both Lutheran pastors.  I have read a lot of books on theology.

And so . . . I now stand before you on this Trinity Sunday to tell you in the clearest possible terms: I do not understand the Trinity.

How can three persons be one person?  How can God be united and yet distinct?  How can three persons all be present at one time and yet not together?  And so again: I stand before you this Trinity Sunday to tell you that I do not understand the Trinity.

And anyone who tells you they do understand the Trinity is either lying or trying to sell you something—in the words of the Dread Pirate Roberts.  Nobody has a clear and concise explanation of the Trinity, because if somebody did, we’d all know it by now, and preachers wouldn’t live in fear of this day.  And yet, every year, the Sunday after Pentecost shows up, and here we are, another Trinity Sunday.

So, let’s look at the readings assigned to us for this day.  The first one, from Genesis--the short one--starts us at the beginning.  Of everything.  If you open a bible to the first page, this is what you get.  In the beginning, God.  And you know what?  The Trinity is there, though we don’t necessarily recognize the formula.  As I’ve told you before, the Hebrew word for spirit, wind, and breath are the same word.  And right there in the opening verses we heard, “a wind from God swept over the face of the waters.”

In the beginning, the Holy Spirit is moving over the face of the waters, before anything else happens or is created.  And, remember how John’s gospel starts?  In the beginning was the Word, that is, Jesus.  When we put these two things together, we get the Trinity, right there at the beginning of everything.  In fact, before the beginning of everything.  Before there was anything, there was God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

And in today’s second reading, from Paul’s second letter to the church in Corinth, we get a closing that sounds vaguely trinitarian, where he says, “The grace of the Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God, and the communion of the Holy Spirit be with all of you.”  But there’s actually no mention of God the Father, and it leads to the ongoing confusion of thinking of God being one person, and the Son and Holy Spirit being something else.  Maybe Paul didn’t quite understand the Trinity either?

But then we come to the gospel reading, from Matthew.  This is the closing of Matthew’s gospel story.  Right before this, the women went to the tomb to anoint the body of Jesus with spices.  He was not there—as you hopefully recall—and the angel says, tell the others to go to Galilee and Jesus will meet them there.

And today’s reading jumps in.  The 11 disciples are on the mountain in Galilee,  just as they were told to do, and Jesus appears to them.  As we heard, “They worshipped him, but some doubted.”  This translation has been corrected recently to “They worshipped him, but they doubted.”  And that’s an important update!  Because it doesn’t mean that some worshipped but some doubted; it actually means all worshiped and all had some doubt.  Which is a very different thing, when you think about it.  All worshipped; all doubted.

But then we come to the trinitarian part, which is why we get this reading on Trinity Sunday.  Jesus says, “Go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.”  And he adds, “And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age.”  To the end of the age, Jesus is with us.  And where Jesus is, the Father and the Spirit are also.

We saw it in the beginning, when God was creating the heavens and the earth.  The Father, Son, and Holy Spirit were there at creation.  Before there was anything.  And now we hear that the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit will be with us always, to the end of the age, whenever that might be.  And this means, from before we were born, to long after we are gone, God is with us.  We all live our entire lives between those two points: before there was anything, and when there will be nothing.  And in between God is with us, every step of the way, every moment of our lives, with every single breath we take, from our first to our last.

And in the meantime, like those 11 disciples, we worship, and we doubt.  That’s true for me, and I’m willing to wager it’s true for you.  We don’t know everything; we have doubts; and we worship.  We gather together on Sunday mornings, with our doubts, and our insecurities, and our admission that after fours years of seminary we don’t understand the Trinity . . . but we keep coming back.  We keep worshipping.  We keep doubting.  And we keep hearing that God is with us until the end of the age.

We don’t need to fully understand—which is good, because we can’t.  We don’t need to fully trust—which is good, because we all have doubts.   We only need to let God be God, and live our lives between the beginning and the end, which is exactly the place where God has promised to be.  

Jesus said: “Remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age.”

Amen

YEAR A 2026 feast of pentecost

Pentecost 2026
Numbers 11:24-30
Acts 2:1-21
John 20:19-23
Psalm 104:25-35, 37

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen.

St. Timothy’s Church was founded in 1836.  If you read through our parish history—which I highly recommend doing—you will see that there is only one sermon mentioned in all those 190 years of history.  That’s around 10,000 sermons, and only one of them is noted as having had a positive impact in our parish’s history.  That one sermon was preached on Pentecost, 95 years ago today, by the Rev. Dr. John Stalker, our 14th rector, in response to this . . .

In May of 1931, as most Massillonians know, the Greek gangster and bootlegger William Kirkilis was gunned down by a rival gang.  Since there was no Greek Orthodox church in Massillon at the time, several priests were brought over from Canton, and Dr. Stalker permitted them to use this building for the funeral . . . which by all accounts, was a spectacular event!

Some members of St. Timothy’s and other nearby churches were outraged, feeling the church had been desecrated by being used for a gangster’s funeral.  The following Sunday, which was Pentecost, 95 years ago, Dr. Stalker preached that one sermon that gets mentioned in our history.  I happened across a typed version of it in a filing cabinet in my office back in 2020.  There were 168 people in church that day--in this same room--hearing these words, reminding them what the Church is and what the Church does.  I read it to you five years ago, and given . . . everything . . . I think it’s fitting we hear it again this Pentecost. 

PENTECOST SERMON, 1931, BY THE REV. DR. JOHN R. STALKER

Today is Pentecost, the Birthday of the Christian Church. I think that we cannot do better this morning than to think about the Church and its purpose in the world. It is good for us to think sometimes about such subjects, because it clears our understanding and brings us back to definite conceptions of our Christian Faith.

You know that Our Lord spent forty days with His disciples after that first Easter.  In His Resurrection Body He talked with them and instructed them about many things. Perhaps as they listened to Him they were in a kind of daze because it was a unique and overwhelming experience through which they were going. They were listening to God--to God actually talking in words which they understood.  Then came Our Lord's second going away from them in His Ascension.  When He had gone, I am sure that the forty days experience must have seemed very like to a dream which could not possibly have been real. But they still continued to come together for prayer just as they had done when He was with them. And on Pentecost came an experience which made clear their experience the past forty days, and brought back to them the meaning of all the directions He had given to them.

The things which happened are graphically described in the book of the Acts of the Apostles. As they were together for prayer, there came the rushing of a mighty wind that made them bow down with fear of what was going to happen.  And there hovered over each of them something that resembled a flame of fire and immediately each seemed to be possessed of a new strength and a new vigor which made him eager to go on with work for his Lord and God.

I think that incident was the greatest event in history, after the birth and life events of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.

Immediately, things began to happen. Peter turned to the multitude and began to preach and to tell them of Jesus Christ and what they must do to become His followers. Hundreds, who had wondered about Jesus as they had listened to His preaching and teaching, now threw away their wonder and their hesitation as they came forward for baptism. The organization of the Church went forward at once; and the marvelous thing is that it was organized not as people would have done it, but according to a new plan, which could not possibly have been conceived in the minds of the Apostles. With their center and headquarters at Jerusalem they began a forward work which stretched in all directions, so quietly, and so surely that, before the rest of the world realized it, the effects of this new organization were felt even in the remote corners of the world.

Holy Baptism was the entrance into this Kingdom of God on earth; the rite of the laying on of hands was the strengthening and the making firm of the person who had entered into a spiritual relationship with fellow Christians and with God; the Lord's Supper was the regular means of bringing spiritual strength to those who sought to do the Lord's work; the setting apart in ordination and in consecration was the regular means of obtaining leaders for this organization of God. In the history of the early Christian Church, we find all these sacraments and rites which play so large a part in our Christian lives today.

And with all of these things there was the consciousness of a  presence with them which was real but not seen by earthly and bodily means; a presence that led and directed and inspired; a presence that made itself felt particularly through these Christ ordained sacraments and rites. Read the Acts of the Apostles, which is the story of the life of the Christian Church in its first years; read the early writings of learned leaders and you will feel much at home in their thoughts and in their plans and in the narrative of the events of their lives.  For there you will find difficulties very like the one that we encounter in our Church now, and you will find those first Christians turning to the same ways of obtaining help to overcome those difficulties.

I think that you and I would feel much at home in the early Christian Church, for in our own Church there are those things which have been carried down through the centuries of Christian life, not only because they have proven themselves the best things for the purposes of mankind, but also because they were the things which Christ taught and ordered for the body that would carry on the work which He had begun.

From all this we must realize that the Christian Church is not a body formed and founded according to the desires and the plans of man. It is God given. As I read the history of the Christian Church; and as I realize the weaknesses and the failures of those who have been its leaders through the centuries, I am more and more convinced of the divine origin of the Church. No institution conceived in the mind of mortals could have weathered the stormy seas.  Strong nations have come and gone; new discoveries and new learning; new ways of doing all the details of life have come as new generations have lived. Everything else has changed, but that which was founded by the Son of God stands through it all. The Christian Church! The Kingdom of God upon Earth!

Let us examine the Church which Our Lord founded here upon earth to make sure that we have the proper conception of it. I find that as I talk with people today they do not at all understand what the Church is and what Christ intended it to be. IT IS NOT THE CLUB OF THOSE WHO HAVE ATTAINED TO RIGHTEOUSNESS AND SAINTLINESS!

Our Lord showed that plainly in all his attitudes toward men and women when He was here.

He knew the weakness of Judas Iscariot; but He did not say to him, "Now Judas, run along and show that you can live without dishonesty for six months and without such great desire for money. Then if you succeed, come and be one of my disciples." Rather I think that Jesus said to Himself, "Here is Judas, weak in his desire for money and power. He has strengths and possibilities. I will see if I can help him." And Our Lord failed in the case of Judas. At the end Judas was a traitor and a betrayer, even though Jesus had worked with him over a period of three years.

Jesus did not say to Mary, “Go to your home and live in purity for a year. Then come back and I will forgive you." He took Mary as one of His friends and helped her. He tried, and she tried. And they succeeded.

In just that way you may examine the whole life of Our Lord and you will find that same attitude toward sinful and weak men and women. An attitude of sympathy and helpfulness, as He sought to lead them on toward better life. I think that He intended to have HIS CHURCH do that same thing; to minister and to help and to be kind and sympathetic.

The treatment of sin and impurity is very like to the treatment of disease in the body. When a man is brought to a physician with a sad condition of disease in his body, the physician does not repel him. Rather he treats the diseased condition with healing and purifying agencies. The disease battles against the purifying process; sometimes the disease wins.  But the man of healing still goes on trying in his efforts to make the body pure and healthy.

The Christian Church, as it tries to do the work of God in the world, is not a place of judgment. Jesus said, "Judge not, that ye be not judged." The Christian Church is a place of sympathy for those in sorrow; a place of helpfulness for those who are weak; a place of ministration for those who are in need. And it is the place where the Christ works through the ministrations of His Holy Spirit. The Church suffers through the sins of those whom it seeks to help, and through the condemnations of those who misunderstand the work that Christ gave it to do. But the Church is never so weak as when it permits itself to be a cold-storage warehouse for uncorrupted truth, or a gymnasium for the calisthenics of individual souls, or a Sunday Club for the edification of righteous souls, or an entertainment bureau which seeks to amuse, or a party which seeks to propagate political opinions. 

When we have misunderstood the plans of our Lord, we have made the Church into that sometimes; and when we have, the Church is weak, for in losing the plans and the ideals of the Christ, it loses also the presence of the Holy Spirit, which seeks to work and not to glorify any condition or plan of mortals. Just as soon as the Church becomes an educational institution and self-righteous body of Self-satisfied people, it loses its divinity, and it ceases to be the Church of Christ.

The Church is the Body of Christ in the world today, for it is the place where Christ's spirit dwells. The Body of Jesus Christ who was called the prophet of Nazareth was never spared when the Son of God lived an earthly life. Do you remember what they said of Jesus? "Behold a man gluttonous and a drunkard, a friend of publicans and sinners." And He gave them reason for saying that, for "as Jesus sat at meal in the house, many publicans and sinners came and sat with Him." So if the Church is to be the Body of Christ in which the Spirit of God dwells, it must not hesitate to touch the impure and sinful world, whenever opportunity comes. That is what Jesus did then, and it is what He wants His Church to do now. Jesus was misunderstood and was condemned by those who governed their lives by the standards of respectability. If His Body, the Church, acts according to His example in the world now, it must often fail to live up to the standards of the world's respectability.

As I read of Our Lord's plans for His Church it seems to me that He intended it to be a great power house.  But it was not to be power like that of a thunder cloud.  Picture such a cloud as it rises on the horizon black and menacing. One cannot tell how much power it has within it. The thunder rolls and the lightning flashes as the cloud approaches borne upon the winds of the heavens. And the whole life of a community is disturbed by it; little children run to their mothers in distress; nervous people avert their faces; all are relieved when that powerful thing has passed. But all go back to their play and their work and forget it when it has gone. 

That is not the kind of a power house that the Body of Christ should be. It is what they tried to make Jesus’ Body when He was here, the leader of a revolution, the commander of a great army, the leader to overturn the existing nations of the world. He refused to be that kind of a power house.

But the power house that Christ was--and planned that His Church should be--is like to a great electrical power plant built beside one of nature’s tremendous water falls. The rushing water turns the turbine wheels and they make the dynamos whirl and through innumerable wires the power goes forth to bring light to thousands of men and women and to turn the great wheels of industry; it goes forth to do its work not for a great roar and flash of a moment but through every minute of day and night, year in and year out, bringing constant blessings to people’s lives.

In just that way is the Church, the Body of Christ, a power house. Here do men and women receive the inexhaustible power of Christ's Holy Spirit through Sacrament and Prayer, and then like wires they conduct that power out into the world, to make the world a different place; the power of sympathy to one in sorrow; the power of companionship to one in need of a friend; the power of example to one in need of an ideal; the power of counsel to one in need of direction; the power of ministration to one in need of help. Not once or twice does the power of Christ go forth from the Church, but constantly as Christian people come to worship and then go out to work, not for themselves but for their Christ and His world. 

We hear much these days about the failure of the Church to solve modern problems. The failure is not with the Church as the Christ planned it and founded it, a Divine Institution. The failure comes when we leave out the divine and make it a human institution, restricted by human limitations and bounded by human ideals.  [and then he writes in all caps . . .]

CONCLUDE BY APPEALING FOR THE DIVINE AND POWERFUL INSTITUTION THAT CHRIST FOUNDED.

We don’t know what Dr. Stalker said by way of making that appeal, but apparently it worked, because St. Timothy’s Church is still here, just as the Church of God on earth is still here.  Still empowering us to go out into the world, proclaiming the good news of what God has done, is doing, and will do in the future.

So, happy 95th birthday to this sermon, and happy birthday to the Church that God birthed on that first Pentecost by sending the Holy Spirit.  May we never forget that this is God’s Church, and this Church is for everybody.  Even gangsters!

Amen.

YEAR A 2026 easter 7

Easter 7, 2026
Acts 1:6-14
Psalm 68:1-10, 33-36
1 Peter 4:12-14, 5:6-11
John 17:1-11

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen.

Albert Einstein said, “Time is an illusion.”  Perhaps part of what led Einstein to that conclusion was reading the Gospel according to John.  The other three Gospels (Matthew, Mark, and Luke) are called “synoptic” gospels, because they sort of agree; they sync up.  They have similar stories, with similar wording.  Two of them have the stories about Jesus’ birth, which we mash together into a pageant at Christmas time.  But John’s Gospel has no mention of the birth or the Temptation of Jesus, or the Transfiguration, or the Sermon on the Mount, or the Lord’s Prayer.

The synoptics, most scholars agree, were written together in a sense.  That is, they had common source material, or access to one another’s texts.  Some material is exactly the same in Matthew, Mark, and Luke, and much of the rest is very similar, with some exceptions.  But John’s gospel brings in all sorts of different stories and teachings, such as the raising of Lazarus from the dead, and what we call the Farewell Discourse, which we’ve been hearing this month.  John has completely different ideas about time too.

The Gospel of John starts at the beginning . . . of everything.  He puts Jesus there at creation: In the beginning was the Word—that is, Jesus.  Though the other Gospels don’t deny that Jesus is eternal, they all start their narrative with Jesus’ being born or being baptized.  Only John takes it back to the start of everything and lays it out: before there was anything, there was Jesus.  Time does not exist for John the way it exists for other writers.  He seems unwilling to be held back by the conventions of a linear progression of time.  For John—like Einstein—time is an illusion.

So, throughout John’s gospel, we can’t really tell where we are in the timeline of things.  In many cases, Jesus is talking about something to his disciples, but then the narrator steps in and explains that they didn’t understand because he had not yet risen from the dead.  It’s like we’re looking back with the author on things that have already happened, but are then tossed right back into the story in the next sentence.  Time moves forward and backward with John.  

And the reason I tell you all this is because I want you to keep in mind that John is not all that interested in giving us an accurate account of the events of Jesus’ life.  John seems much more interested in the point of Jesus’ life.  In his gospel, John does not so much care about the who what where and when; John wants to tell us why.  Which is why John gives us big sweeping statements about Jesus’ coming so that we might have life.  For John, the Kingdom of God gets replaced by life and everlasting life (which we’ll come back to in a bit).

So, as I mentioned earlier, one of the things John’s gospel includes is the so-called Farewell Discourse, which starts right after Jesus washes his disciples’ feet.  We’ve been hearing pieces of it all month.  Jesus is giving explanations about why he does what he does, and what it means for the disciples, and so on.  And then, Jesus lifts his eyes heavenward and begins to pray, which is the beginning of today’s gospel reading.

Now keep in mind, starting with that foot washing, Jesus has been telling the disciples everything he wants them to know.  Everything.  It’s like the World’s Greatest Catechism Class.  And it’s . . . a lot!  But, now he begins to pray.  Straight from what is a long lecture of deep material into a “let’s pray” conclusion.  The disciples’ heads are surely spinning, trying to grasp some very heavy theology, and if they’re anything like us, they are not really going to follow along as Jesus starts praying.  After three chapters of deep concepts, they’re probably ready to just kind of zone out and let Jesus pray.

So Jesus lifts his eyes and starts praying.  And what does Jesus pray for?  His disciples.  He prays for us.  Well, okay, he starts with some very weighty concepts that only John would write down . . . they are mine and what’s mine is yours as you are me and we are all together.  You know, like The Beatles.  But at the end of those confusing phrases, we get this: “Protect them in your name that you have given me, so that they may be one, as we are one.”

When Jesus prays to the Father, it is God talking to God.  A united God having a conversation with God.  When Jesus asks God for something, it is not in an effort to change God’s mind.  Jesus is not trying to persuade himself to do something for us, you see?  Jesus prays to the Father, in front of the disciples, so that they will hear him doing so.  It’s like, the point of the prayer is to let the disciples know that these things are already done.  They can trust that they are protected and will be one, as God is one.

And then here’s a classic moment from John that Einstein would appreciate:  Jesus says, “And now I am no longer in the world, but they are in the world, and I am coming to you.”  Picture the scene.  He’s right there with the disciples.  He’s not only in the world, he’s in the room, in front of their bowed heads and peeking eyes, saying, “I am no longer in the world.”  It would be awfully strange in any other Gospel, but in John’s World we look for the why, not the who what where and when.  

“I am no longer in the world, but they are in the world.”  The disciples and Jesus are in the same room when he says this.  If he is no longer in the world, then they are no longer in the world.  And, if they are in the world, then he is in the world.  You see what this means?  There’s kind of a bridge between “in the world” and “not in the world.”  If Jesus is ascended and yet in the room, and the disciples are in that room and yet with Jesus . . . Well, for one thing, it means that Jesus is not bound by the physical limitations of time and space.  And, as Einstein said, “Time is an illusion.”

So remove time from the picture completely and just use statements of what we believe:  Jesus is present with us, but is also no longer in the world.  Jesus is praying to the Father (which is kind of like God thinking aloud) that we would be protected, and that we would be one as God is one.  God is with us, and protecting us, and actually wants what is best for us: That we would have eternal life.

I said we’d come back to eternal life, and here we are.  Jesus says, “this is eternal life, that they may know you, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom you have sent.”

You notice how very different that is from saying, “And when they die, may they all go to heaven.”  In the other gospels, Matthew Mark and Luke, Jesus often talks about the Kingdom of God, or heaven.  121 times in fact, whereas John only uses the term five times.  In John’s gospel, Jesus uses life, and eternal life, rather than kingdom and heaven.  Life, and eternal life.  And in this prayer we heard today, Jesus even tells us what eternal life means: “That they may know you, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom you have sent.”

That is eternal life.  Knowing God and knowing Jesus Christ, the one sent by God.  

One of the stumbling blocks of John’s Gospel is that he often leaves us with more questions than answers.  And the immediate question from us today is, Well, what does it mean to know God and Jesus Christ?  To be honest, I think the answer can be different for every single person.  But it has hints of being about a relationship.  To know God and Jesus Christ implies we spend some time with them.  Read about them.  Talk to them.  Get to know their friends—the ones we call the saints.  Throughout our lives, we come to know God and Jesus Christ, just as Jesus prayed that we might.

To know God, and to know Jesus Christ.  And here’s what I truly love about getting to know someone: The chance to share a meal together.  To break bread together.  Coming to someone’s house to share bread and wine builds bridges that span the meager bounds of time.

And when you come to share this meal of the body and blood of Jesus, God comes to you in a way only John could understand.  In the world, and not in the world.  Truly present, yet truly ascended.  And in this meal, we are united as one—just as Jesus and the Father and the Spirit are one—along with the saints of every time and every place.  And, turns out, Einstein was indeed right: Time is an illusion.  And for that, I am very grateful indeed.

Amen

YEAR A 2026 easter 6

Easter 6, 2026
Acts 17:22-31
Psalm 66:7-18
1 Peter 3:13-22
John 14:15-21

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen.

So, this morning’s gospel text picks up where we left off last week, and that means that—even though we’re still in the Easter season—we’re still hearing about the night before Jesus dies.  And to make sense of this passage, we really need to keep one foot on each side of Easter.  Because, in the timeline of Jesus’ life, he has not yet died, but in the Church year, he has already died and is already risen.  So, we need to keep both of those times in mind when we hear these words from Jesus to his disciples.

And then, just to complicate things a little more, I’ll remind you that this text was written and first read maybe 100 years after Jesus’ death.  AND, here you and I are today, trying to understand it 1900 years after that.  In a sense, we’re all over the map as far as timelines, which fits perfectly with today’s reading from Acts.  

Okay, but back to the text . . .  At this point in John’s gospel, Jesus is giving something of a pep talk to the disciples.  He is trying to encourage them in advance of his departure, and part of his reassurance is that he will be sending the Holy Spirit (or paraklete) to guide them into truth.  Now paraklete is a Greek word that gets translated something like, counselor, or comforter, or advocate.  Literally it means, a person called to your side.  Counselor and advocate, to us, usually get interpreted as having something to do with a court of law.

Many people will tell you this is important because the Spirit is our advocate and counselor before the judgment seat of God.  That is, the Spirit will argue on our behalf so that God will not smite us into everlasting damnation.  Essentially, that way of seeing things would lead us to these two conclusions: 
1. God the Father will judge us, and judge us harshly.  And,
2. God Holy Spirit is like the ultimate lawyer, defending each one of us against the punishments of this harsh judge.

To the first point there, I will just say that we believe—as we say in the Nicene Creed every Sunday—that Jesus will come to judge the living and the dead.  The judging God of popular imagination (you know, with the beard and the lightning bolt) is the Greek god Zeus, not the God of Abraham.  Jesus will judge us, and in case you’ve never heard it before, I’ll give you this spoiler: Jesus loves you.  Enough to give up his life for you.  You do not need a defense attorney when you appear before Jesus, because Jesus is the one who loves and welcomes you!

And, to the second point—that the Holy Spirit defends us in the Court of God—I want to remind you that God is united, not divided.  We do not need for one person of the Trinity to defend us against another.  It is just plain wrong to think that Jesus saves you from the wrath of the Father.  Or that the Holy Spirit argues God out of burning you forever.  It does not even make sense to think that the God who created you really wants to kill you with everlasting fire, and is only thwarted by that pesky Jesus fellow.  Or that God only decides not to punish you because that cracker jack lawyer the Holy Spirit built an amazing case that will get you sprung from the gallows.

But, just to be clear, the Episcopal Church is not a “confessional church.”  And that means, I will not spend much energy telling you what to believe, because we are a broad tent.  And that also means, you are certainly welcome and encouraged to disagree with me any given Sunday.  Or every given Sunday.

So I will not often tell you exactly what you should believe about God; but I will happily tell you what you should not believe about God.  And this is one of those days: I am telling you as clearly as I can . . . Do not believe that our loving Creator’s true nature is one of punishment and damnation.  Do not believe that Jesus saves you from the Father.  Do not believe that the God who created you is actually out to kill you, or that you need some Holy Spirit advocate in the court of the vengeful god Zeus.  There is no basis for believing those things . . . except that everyone else already believes them.

So, with my heretical haranguing out of the way, if the Holy Spirit is not our heavenly lawyer, what then do we do with this idea of the Spirit being an Advocate, or Counselor?  Well, let’s try looking at it from a different perspective.  Jesus says he is sending an advocate.  Now what if Jesus is sending the Advocate to make God’s case TO us?  What if the Paraklete comes to our side to make God’s appeal to our judging hearts?  Jesus says, “I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Advocate, to be with you forever.”  And notice he says, “another Advocate?”  

Seems that maybe Jesus is the first Advocate, doesn’t it?   Like Jesus came to make the case, to show us the love of God in his words and deeds, and now another Advocate will come to continue to make the case to us.  But, “the case” seems the wrong term, really.  “The case” sounds like legal talk.  Because it’s not a court of law; it’s a romance!

The Advocate is not sent to be our helper in the courtroom, but is sent by God to win our hearts.  What if God loved the world so much that he sent his only son?  Doesn’t Jesus show the ultimate depths of God’s love for you, in that Jesus is willing to lay down his life proclaiming the love of God?  Jesus walks among us, preaches the Good News to us, and then . . . well . . . we don’t want to hear it.  His courtship is rejected in the Court of Human Hearts.

But God does not give up.  Here comes the Advocate to deliver the same message.  And, in a way, the Holy Spirit becomes like the Heavenly Postal-Carrier with a certified letter.  The Spirit has a word for you—the Word for you—and will make repeated delivery attempts throughout all your earthly days.  Neither rain nor snow nor dark of night will prevent this Counselor from the appointed rounds.  The Spirit knocks on your heart’s door with the message of God’s love, and will continue to do so forever, because forever is how long God’s love for you lasts.  Well beyond the grave, I might add.

And do you want to know the contents of the letter the Spirit is trying to deliver?  Of course you do!  I will tell you the most important part of the letter.  Jesus says it himself in today’s Gospel:  Because I live, you also will live.

There’s a lot more to the message, of course, but it all grows out of that main point: Because I live, you also will live.  

And the importance of that message just increases, because of the time confusion that I mentioned in the beginning.  Jesus is talking to the disciples in that room before his death.  But Jesus is also talking to the community in which the words were written 100 years after his death.  And Jesus is also talking to us, gathered here in Massillon 1900 years after that.  

AND, he’s making a promise to all these listeners throughout the centuries that we can fully live our lives right here and now, because he lives.  And at the same time, also making a promise to us about what will happen when our lives are over . . . in all these groups of listeners, across the ages, because he lives, we live, and also will live.  Both in the here and now, and in the final judgement.  Jesus is pleading his case, which the Spirit continues to plead to our doubting hearts:  Because Jesus lives, we also will live.  And, because Jesus lives, we live . . . right here, right now.

The Advocate, the Holy Spirit, comes to each one of us, constantly and continuously delivering the most important message in the universe:  Because Jesus lives, you will live.  Everything else in life grows out of that message.  It is a message of love, a message of forgiveness, a message to live your life without fear and trembling.  You don’t need an advocate to plead your case in the judgment court of Zeus and his thunderbolts.  But you do need an Advocate to plead God’s case before the judgment of your own doubting heart.

We cannot come to Jesus unless the Father draws us.  And the Father draws us by sending the Son, and the Advocate to plead with our hearts.  And the Father, the Spirit, and the Son together draw us to this altar today, where with the saints of every time and place—with all of them—we meet the risen Lord in the breaking of the bread.

Amen.

YEAR A 2026 easter 5

Easter 5, 2026
Psalm 31:1-5, 15-16
Acts 7:55-60
1 Peter 2:2-10
John 14:1-14

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen.

There are a lot of time jumps in today’s readings.  While you and I are still in the Easter season, today’s gospel reading takes us back to what we call the Last Supper, before Jesus is put to death.  

And we’ve got another jump in that first reading we heard today.  Stephen, the first Christian martyr, is stoned to death by the religious leaders, which happens long after the resurrection of Jesus.  As far as the flow of the narrative, we’re kind of all over the map.  But there’s a thread running through the readings today.  

The first reading, from Acts, recounts the stoning of Stephen.  Brutal, and horrible, and senseless.  The religious leaders’ reaction to the gospel is unthinkable in our country today, but it still goes on elsewhere in our world.  Plenty of places in fact.  Christianity is still a dangerous road to travel, and we are offered no guarantees of protection.  As Jesus says in today’s gospel, “Trust in God; trust also in me.”  Stephen did exactly that, and his dying words are recorded as, “Lord Jesus, receive my spirit.”

Lord Jesus, receive my spirit.  In today’s Psalm we heard, “Into your hands I commend my spirit, for you have redeemed me, O LORD, O God of truth.”  And, you probably remember, in Luke’s gospel, Jesus says from the cross, “Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.”  Into your hands, I commend my spirit.  For Stephen, for the Psalmist, and for Jesus.  The connection I want us to see here is the continued unfailing trust in God to receive our spirit.  When it all comes down to it, that is the most important part of our faith journey: trusting that God will indeed receive our spirit when it matters most.

So now, back to this gospel text.  Keep in mind what happened right before this reading we just heard.  Jesus has washed his disciples’ feet, predicted his own death, and told Peter that he will deny him three times.  Then Jesus says, “Do not let your heart be troubled.”  Huh?  After all that crazy information, do not let your heart be troubled?

But the language is important here.  Because “your” is plural, and “heart” is singular.  He’s talking to everyone in the room, but he’s talking as if they have just one heart . . . one collective heart—a heart which is not to be troubled by what he is saying.  Then he gives them the reason not to be troubled: “Trust in God, and trust in me.”  It gets translated into “Believe in God,” in our translation, but the original word, pisteuo, is closer to confidence and trust, than it is to belief.  

And this distinction is important, because there really is a difference between belief and trust.  For example, I believe in democracy; but I trust in gravity.  My belief in democracy might influence my decisions and choices and attitudes, sure.  But my trust in gravity determines how I live my life.  From picking up a glass, to going outside without a rope, gravity is something you trust, and it would not usually occur to you to do otherwise.  Trusting in God and in Jesus is not something you choose to believe intellectually; it is not some preference for one thing over another.  In a sense, we cannot help but trust in Jesus.  It’s just the way we are.  How we see the world, whether we know it or not.

And then Jesus follows up the Trust statement with something that seems puzzling to us, I think.  And it seems puzzling because it has been interpreted certain ways for so long that we automatically think we know what it means.  He says, “In my Father's house there are many dwelling places.”  We have fairly fixed ideas of what a house is.  And, for many people, the best part about that image is that it is plural—placeS, or roomS—meaning we don’t ever have to run into the people we don’t like.

But, as I’ve told you before, there is an interesting connection between the word interpreted as “dwelling places” and a temporary stopping point.  Some scholars say this word monai is something like a place set up to receive visitors traveling through.  Not a private place to kick back and live out your eternal retirement, but a public place, to be welcomed after a long journey, with good food and a place to rest.  When we go where Jesus is waiting, we don’t put out our hand to receive our personal room keys.  Instead, Jesus stretches out his arms to receive us.  A “welcome to the party,” if you will.

And then here’s the part of this little story that I really like.  Jesus ends his flowery speech with, “And you know the way to the place that I am going.”  I imagine the disciples shoving hands in their pockets, kicking the dirt, not wanting to be the one to ask the obvious question that they’re all thinking.  But leave it to Thomas to speak up.  Leave it to Thomas to be the one who wants reliable information and a road map.  Leave it to Thomas to look up and say, “‘Know the way’?  We don’t even know where you’re going!  How can we possibly know ‘the way’?”  

And then Jesus says, “Ahem.  People?  I AM the way!  Remember me?  The way, and the truth, and the life?  You don’t have to know where you’re going, because you know the way.”

Now of course, this is contrary to everything we learn about directions.  You get directions as a means to get where you’re going.  Knowing the way is never the point, is it?  Tell me the destination, and then “the way” is just details, because there are many paths.  I might take the 21 or the 77.  Just tell me the destination.  Lots of people view Christianity in exactly this way.  “I want to ‘go to heaven’, so tell me the behavior-modification plan that will get me to the desired destination, and I’ll take it from there, Jesus.”

But Jesus stands this on its head and says, you do not need to know the destination; you just need to know the way.  Trust in God and trust in me.  If you know the way, you’ll end up where you’re supposed to, even though you don’t know the destination.  And you—the collective you—you know the way.  All of us together are on a journey with Jesus: destination, unknown.  But we know the way.

It’s hard to believe we know the way right now, isn’t it?  We look at where we are and where we want to be, and it doesn’t seem like we know how to get there.  Show us the way to being able to have civil conversations with our family and friends again.  Show us the way to feeling safe in a grocery store or a shopping mall, let alone a school.  Show us the way not to wake up panicked in the middle of the night wondering if we’re going to have a job tomorrow.  Show us the way to get people to come back to church again.  Show us the way, Lord!

I can’t help but think this gospel text would be heard so much differently back in the 50s or 60s.  Back when there was a discernible middle.  Back when NASA had a room full of people in short-sleeve button down shirts and matching glasses, using slide rules to land a man on the moon.  Back when vaccines were widespread and trusted and effective.  Back when we knew the way, right?

And now, here we are in 2026, where almost half our citizens don’t trust science or data or medical professionals about anything.  In a world where politicians try their darnedest to clear out the middle and get everyone to yell from the extreme corners.  In a virtual world of AI and deep fakes, and a physical world of ongoing massacres in multiple countries.  This is where we are together right now.  This is the world in which we live, together.  So now you tell me, how do we get out of this together?  We don’t even know where we are going.   HOW CAN WE POSSIBLY KNOW THE WAY?!?

And Jesus says to us, just as he says to Thomas:  I am the way.  We don’t know where we are going, but Jesus is the way.  Trust in God and trust in me.  If you know the way, you’ll end up where you’re supposed to be, even if you don’t know the destination.  And you—people of St. Timothy—you know the way.  You are on a journey with Jesus: destination, unknown.  But you know the way.

We know the way to the Father because Jesus is the way.  With Stephen, and the Psalmist, and Jesus, we pray that God will receive our spirit.  Do not let our heart be troubled.  We do not need to be afraid, because Jesus is the way.  

It’s true:  We do not know where we are going, but we are going there together.  We are going there together.  We disagree, and we stumble, and we walk in darkness, but we are walking together.

And as we walk together, Jesus walks beside us.  And that is why we are going to be okay.  Because we know the way.  And when we have arrived at that unknown destination, God will receive our spirit, and say to us, all of us, “Welcome home, weary travelers!  Do not let your heart be troubled, because you have known the way all along.”

Amen.

YEAR A 2026 easter 3

Easter 3, 2026
Acts 2:14a, 36-41
Psalm 116:1-3, 10-17
1 Peter 1:17-23
Luke 24:13-35

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen.

There are a few Sundays in the Church year when the best sermon following the Gospel is simply to point at the Altar, and sit down.  This is one of those Sundays.  “He had been made known to them in the breaking of the bread.”  Point at the Altar.  Any questions?

But, let’s start with this.  “Jesus himself came near and went with them, but their eyes were kept from recognizing him.”  What kept them from recognizing him?  I think it might be helpful to think about how anesthesia works here.  Doctors give you anesthesia to dull your sense of pain, so that they can do difficult things.  The anesthesia is what allows them to do what has to be done to, hopefully, make you better.  To heal you.

In a similar way—for our own self-preservation—grief acts like an anesthetic.  The pain of deep loss is sometimes shut out by shutting down.  The process of mourning can make us oblivious to what is around us, so that we might have time to be healed.

In today’s Gospel reading, two disciples are walking down the road, talking about the awful things that have happened in the past few days.  Their friend and beloved Rabbi has been brutally executed and buried in a tomb.  And they have heard rumors of his rising from the dead.  And they are terribly confused and heartbroken as they walk together on the road. 

And, suddenly, a stranger appears to them, and starts walking with them.  (And this is where the anesthesia comes in.)  “Jesus himself came near and went with them, but their eyes were kept from recognizing him.”  The very person they are talking about, the resurrected Christ of God is suddenly walking with them, the one they were just talking about, and they do not know it is Jesus because “their eyes were kept from recognizing him.”

They’ve been kept from seeing what is obvious to us.  They have been “put under,” in a sense by grief, and they don’t recognize the person who is talking to them.  As they are walking together, the disciples are able to very clearly recite the expectations they had of Jesus.  It’s almost a credal statement when you look at it:

Cleopas says, “Jesus of Nazareth, was a prophet mighty in deed and word before God and all the people, and our chief priests and leaders handed him over to be condemned to death and crucified him. We had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel. It is now the third day since these things took place.”

It’s a great opening for a creed, right?  But it’s missing the good parts.  It uses “hope” in a past tense: we had hoped.  And it proclaims the tomb empty, but that does nothing to make hope present tense.  They’re confused, and disappointed, and under the anesthesia of grief.  They are being prevented from seeing that it is Jesus they are telling all this to. 

And it seems kind of unfair that Jesus says to them “Oh, how foolish you are, and how slow of heart to believe all that the prophets have declared!”  That’s like the doctor taunting you for not noticing that she is performing surgery on you.  Can the disciples be blamed for not knowing that it is Jesus when, “their eyes were kept from recognizing him.”?  It’s not their fault they don’t recognize him!

But a closer look reveals that Jesus is not taunting them for not recognizing him on the road.  No, what Jesus is talking about is their inability to connect the dots.  To close the deal.  They’ve got the setup perfectly, they have all the pieces, but they’re missing the main point.  When Cleopas rattles off that narrative creed thing, he stops at the grave, and that is why he uses “hoped” in the past tense, saying, “We had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel.”  All the clues are laid out in front of them, but their grief stops them from seeing the crucial connection.  In a sense, they don’t believe the resurrection because they didn’t expect the pain and suffering of the Messiah.

The disciples were under the impression that Jesus cannot be the Messiah because he has suffered and died, rather than ride into Jerusalem on a white stallion.  These disciples, like many, figure that the Messiah cannot suffer and die and then still be the one in whom they had hoped.  And that is why Jesus asks them, “Was it not necessary that the Messiah should suffer these things and then enter into his glory?"

And so now, under the anesthesia of not recognizing the resurrected Jesus, Jesus will do what needs to be done.  He begins with Moses and all the prophets, and shows them how the scriptures point to exactly what has happened.  Jesus can explain to them why he is the answer to their hopes.  Why he is the one to redeem Israel.  And, because they do not recognize Jesus, they can take all this in, without the distraction of the resurrection.  Because of the anesthesia, right?

They’re catching on, but they still don’t see Jesus.  They can tell something is happening as he talks to them (they say that their hearts were burning within them), but the one talking is still a stranger in their eyes.  Still the only one in Jerusalem who doesn’t know what has happened these past few days.  And then they come to the place where the disciples are planning to stay the night, Jesus acts like he’s going to walk on.  They plead with him to stay the night and he agrees.

So, they all go inside, and they sit down at a table together.  And then . . .  “When he was at the table with them, he took bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them.”  You’ve heard that around, right?  As in, every Sunday morning, right?  At the table with friends, blessed the bread and broke and gave it to them.  Yes, that’s familiar, because we’ve heard it before.  But this part is different:  

Then their eyes were opened, and they recognized him; and he vanished from their sight.  Isn’t that the strangest thing?  It’s like as long as they just think he’s some stranger who hasn’t heard about what has happened, he is with them physically.  As soon as they recognize him to be Jesus, in the breaking of the bread, he disappears . . . .

Now granted, it sounds a little trippy, but it’s almost as if the bread becomes his body, isn’t it?  They can see Jesus in the breaking of the bread.  They recognize Jesus in the bread.

And when they get back to the other disciples, they tell what had happened on the road, and how he had been made known to them in the breaking of the bread.  But there’s an interesting thing that is left unsaid in this whole story.

When Jesus meets the disciples on the road, they are heartbroken and confused.  At no point in the story does it say the disciples became happy and understood.  At no point does the text say that Jesus made everyone live happily ever after.  It’s not as if the presence of Jesus replaces or ignores our sadness and pain.  

Jesus comes to meet them on their walk, in the midst of their blinding sorrow and pain.  And yet their hearts are burning within them as he opens the scriptures to them.  Meeting them where they are; not judging them in their blindness.  And in the breaking of the bread, they recognize the risen Lord who has been with them all along. In the breaking of the bread, they recognize Jesus, who has been with them all along.

Jesus does not take away pain and sadness.  Jesus introduces hope and comfort.  The promise of the resurrection brings hope.  The presence of Jesus, made known to us in the bread, brings comfort.  Can we have hope while still being sad?  Certainly!  Can we experience comfort while still being in pain?  Most assuredly.  And in the bread and wine, the resurrected Christ is made known to us, no matter our present circumstances.

As we heard, the disciples were confused and grieving on their journey.  Maybe you have that today as well: some sadness, or worry, or bitterness that acts like an anesthesia, keeping you from hearing clearly the resurrection story.  For those disciples, breaking bread with Jesus opened their eyes to see that he was with them, had been completely present with them on their walk, and has indeed been raised from the dead.  You and I share their recognition of the Risen One, here today.

I would like you to listen to today’s Collect one more time:
O God, whose blessed Son made himself known to his disciples in the breaking of bread: Open the eyes of our faith, that we may behold him in all his redeeming work; who lives and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. 

Amen.

YEAR A 2026 easter 2

Easter 2, 2026
Acts 2:14a,22-32
1 Peter 1:3-9
John 20:19-31
Psalm 16

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen.

Today is the second Sunday of Easter.  And every year on this day we get the same gospel reading.  The story of Thomas and Jesus and the other disciples.  Every year.  So why is that?  I think the answer might be that it is the best follow-up to the resurrection of Jesus.  Like, last Sunday, Jesus rose from the dead.  And the first question we should ask ourselves is, “What now?”  Jesus has risen from the grave, and this good news should be shouted from the rooftops, and the disciples are doing what?  Hiding behind a locked door.

And Thomas—who notably was not hiding behind a locked door that first Sunday—missed the whole thing.  We don’t know where Thomas was, but we know that he was not there hiding with the others.  And when Thomas sees the other disciples, they exclaim to him, “We have seen the Lord!”  So . . . why are they still hiding?  Everyone heard Jesus had been raised, and now the hiding disciples have had a personal encounter with Jesus, and . . . they’re still hiding.  There’s a part of me that totally understands why Thomas couldn’t believe unless he saw Jesus with his own eyes.  Because seeing Jesus sure doesn’t seem to have made a difference to the other disciples.  “We have seen the Lord!”  So . . . why are you still hiding?

And so Thomas lays out the terms of what it will take for him to believe.  "Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe.”  I don’t take this as defiance or doubt.  I take it as a simple statement of reality.  Not “I refuse to believe,” but more like, “Given the lack of change in all of you, I cannot believe.”  And after this statement from Thomas, we move to the next Sunday and the disciples are—surprise!—hiding in a locked room.  And what does Jesus do?

He comes to them anyway.  And he gives Thomas exactly what he says he needs.  He meets Thomas where he is, and provides him with the very things he says he needs to have faith.  To see the mark of the nails and put his hand in his side.  It’s as if Thomas had prayed for the gift of faith, and Jesus shows up in person to give it to him.  And Thomas makes a decisive statement of faith: My Lord and my God.  Jesus gives him what he personally needs in order to believe.

But let’s go back to what the disciples say to Thomas when he arrives in the locked room.  “We have seen the Lord!”  And, again . . . why are you still hiding?  You have experienced the resurrected Jesus in person.  He spoke to you and said “Peace be with you.”  Twice.  He breathed on you and said, “Receive the Holy Spirit.”  He specifically said, "I send you," so why are you still hiding a week later?  And I think it’s a question we can ask ourselves after Easter as well.

We too have seen the risen Lord.  We too have received the gift of the Holy Spirit.  Everything has changed for us.  So why are we still hiding in ways that suggests nothing has changed?  And I don’t mean you; I mean all of us.  We continue on with our petty squabbles and imagined slights.  We nurture our political divides and partisan sensitivities.  We keep forming our little clubs and cliques that exclude others.   We increase our attachment to lifeless traditions and an aging building.  We give in to the fear of scarcity and put ourselves ahead of others.  We too have seen the Lord, and everything has changed.  So . . . why are we still hiding.  

Thomas says aloud what he needs in order to be changed by Jesus.  He knows what he lacks and he speaks it in front of the assembly.  Unless I can see what I need to see, to experience what I need to experience, without Jesus coming to me, I will not believe.

What is it that we need in order to be transformed?  What are our doubts?  What are the obstacles to our faith?  What stands in the way of each of us saying, “My Lord and my God?”  Or, put another way, how would we finish Thomas’ statement, “I will not believe unless I see . . . ”

We too have seen the Lord.  We too have received the gift of the Holy Spirit.  Everything has changed for us.  So why are we still hiding in ways that suggest nothing has changed?   Jesus met Thomas where he was and gave him exactly what he needed in order to be transformed.  I ask you to pray that Jesus will meet us where we are and give us exactly what we need in order to be transformed.  Jesus is risen, and this changes everything.  May this good news change us as well, so that we might change the world in his name.  We have seen the Lord, so let’s unlock the door, together.

Amen

YEAR A 2026 easter sunday

Easter, 2026
Acts 10:34-43
Colossians 3:1-4
Matthew 28:1-10
Psalm 118:1-2, 14-24

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen.

Happy Easter!  The Lord is risen!  The Lord is risen indeed.  And . . . so what?  Well, we’re all certainly very excited about it.  We got all dressed up and came to church.  We put up with the priest’s insistence on using incense on the high holy days.  The Lord is risen indeed, and . . . so what?  Why does it matter?  Is it like, score one for Team Christian?  What difference does it make?

Well, I think context is important here.  But first, Easter is the pinnacle of the Church year.  You might think that would be Christmas, based on how our society treats the two holy days.  But Christmas is just a way to get the story started.  The peak, the climax, the reason we even have Christmas is because of Easter.  Easter is the third of what we call the Three Days.  Maybe you’ve heard the word “triduum” before.  It’s a Latin word that means “three days,” and those days would be Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and Easter (which started last night with the Vigil).  The three days are considered one long service in three parts.  If you missed Maundy Thursday and Good Friday, you’re just in time for the final act!

Let me catch you up on what you might have missed this week.  We heard different descriptions of the betrayal, arrest, beating, mocking, and humiliating death of Jesus.  We also heard that story on Palm Sunday.  So if you’ve been to church at all in the past week, you know how we got here today.  And even if you weren’t in church, you probably know how the story goes.

Judas Iscariot offers to betray Jesus for 30 pieces of silver.  He leads the authorities to the garden, and one of the disciples draws his sword.  Jesus says to put the sword back in its place.  Then they take Jesus to the religious authorities, and then to Pilate, who supposedly does his best to release Jesus, but the crowd shouts over and over that they want Pilate to crucify him.  He has Jesus beaten, whipped, and mocked, and sends him off to be crucified.  Jesus’ guy friends all run away in fear, and he is nailed to a cross between two thieves, where he suffers an agonizing death.  Two secret followers bury his body in a tomb.

All along the way in that horrible story, nobody says, “stop.”  Nobody says “enough.”  Everyone just went along with the people in charge.  The religious leaders can’t be wrong.  The government knows what it’s doing.  The soldiers are just following orders.  And nobody says, “But this is wrong.  Enough!”  It’s easy to see how that can happen.  We naturally trust that those in charge must know what they’re doing.  It sure feels wrong to arrest an innocent man, accuse him of treason with no evidence, and execute him in the most brutal way imaginable.  But nobody said, “This is wrong.  Enough!”  When you live in a culture that glorifies death, and spends all its money on the military, this is what you get.  Death rules.  Death wins.  Death has the last word.

And then we come to today.  Act three in our three-day triduum.  And—it turns out—death and violence and cruelty do not have the last word!  The resurrection of Jesus decisively cries out ENOUGH!  In rising from the dead Jesus has overcome death, has destroyed death, has declared that death does not have the last word.  The resurrection of Jesus from the dead is God standing atop all creation and screaming ENOUGH!  

Easter is a declaration of war . . . on death.  Killing innocent civilians can no longer be just “collateral damage.”  Destroying entire neighborhoods is not “mowing the lawn.”  Invading countries just because you can is not the way of Jesus.  Easter is subversive, and it stands against the culture of death.  Jesus has destroyed death.  

And Easter says, ENOUGH!

When bombs are aimed at a school filled with children, and a second bomb is dropped on their parents who come to rescue them, Easter says ENOUGH!  When leaders smile as they brag about epic lethality against civilians, Easter says ENOUGH.  When countries intentionally starve citizens, or cut off electricity to hospitals, or drop bombs on apartment buildings, Easter says ENOUGH!  Easter is a declaration of war on death.  And you cannot embrace the power of the resurrection while glorifying death and destruction.  

The Lord is risen indeed, and that changes everything.  Everything.  You and I can choose daily whether we follow the resurrection way of life, or follow the way of death.  In rising from the grave, Jesus shows us that God chooses life.  Death does not have the last word.  Death has been defeated.  The Church stands with God and says ENOUGH!  Let us also choose life.  Because the Lord is risen.  The Lord is risen indeed.  Alleluia!

Amen

YEAR A 2026 good friday

Good Friday, 2026
Isaiah 52:13-53:12
Hebrews 4:14-16; 5:7-9
John 18:1-19:42
Psalm 22

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen.

One of the risks of hearing this story so often is that we think of it as a tale from another time.  Something ancient and distant.  A thing that could never happen today because people are not like that, and faithful religious people are not like that, and governments are not like that, and we are not like that.  We might think, “That could never happen here!”

But everything everyone does in this story is happening all around us, right now.  The names and characters change, but this is not a story from another time.  It is a story for all time, in every time.

Judas decides that making a profit is more important than human lives.  Peter tries to solve a crisis by shedding the blood of an innocent bystander.  The police who come to arrest an innocent man are just “doing their jobs.”  Peter makes boastful claims about fidelity before abandoning the one he promises to be faithful to.  A police officer becomes violent and beats up the defendant for insolence.  The authorities accuse an innocent man of treason and call for him to be executed.  The governor decides to give into the demands of a mob rather than upholding the law.  The mob itself uses religion as a tool to persecute and eliminate their enemies.  The religious leaders deny their own faith, and claim allegiance to a faithless king.  The soldiers take an innocent man up a hill to kill him, after beating and mocking him, because they are just following orders.  The women stay to watch the death of the one they love, while the men have all run away in fear to save their own skins.

This is not a story from another time.  It is a story for all time, in every time.  Every single one of us could step into this story and play any of the parts, except for one.  At the center of this story is Jesus, the innocent lamb who is led away to the slaughter.  And Jesus is where our attention needs to be on this day.  Because as soon as we focus on any other characters in this story, we naturally start to think, “Well I would never . . .”

But yes, you would.  And so would I.  And so would everyone around us.  Because all of this is happening right now, all across the world.  And that is why we need to keep our focus on Jesus, the only answer to everyone else in this story.  This is not a story from another time.  It is happening today.

YEAR A 2026 maundy thursday

Maundy Thursday, 2026
Exodus 12:1-14
1 Corinthians 11:23-26
John 13:1-17, 31b-35
Psalm 116:1, 10-17

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen.

Maundy Thursday.  We get the word Maundy from the Latin word, maundatum, which is also where we get the words mandatory and mandate.  It’s related to command, and commandment.  All these words give us the notion of being told what to to.  What is required of us.  And in the gospel reading we just heard, Jesus gives us a commandment.  He says it’s a new commandment.  

What is that commandment?  Is it to wash one another’s feet?  No.  Is it not to eat pork?  No.  Is it to kill people who don’t believe like we do in a righteous holt war?  No.  The new commandment from Jesus—the maundatum of Maundy Thursday—is to love one another.  Just love one another.  And a necessary part of that commandment is the “one another” part.  Because you cannot do what Jesus commands without other people.  It requires community.  There is no “me and Jesus” in this commandment.  It requires us.  Together.

On Palm Sunday, we once again ended the 10 o’clock service singing “O Sacred Head Sore Wounded.”  Here’s the final verse of that hymn:

My days are few, O fail not,
With thine immortal pow'r,
To hold me that I quail not
In death's most fearful hour:
That I may fight befriended,
And see in my last strife
To me thine arms extended
Upon the cross of life.

And—as has happened to me before—I was so overwhelmed by that text, my eyes teared up, and I had to stop singing.  I just couldn’t do it.  And even though I could not sing, the song didn’t stop.  Because of the community.  Congregational hymns are not solos, thank God.  We sing them together.  And if the priest or anyone else has to stop singing, the song goes on.  When you cannot sing, the community sings for you.  When you cannot pray, the community prays for you.  When you cannot believe, the community believes for you.

On Palm Sunday, I couldn’t sing, but the song didn’t stop.  When one voice stops, the song is changed, but it still goes on.  In our community, in our worship, in our singing, you add a part that only you can add.  A certain flavor, a certain tone, a certain shakiness, a certain wrong note even!  The song is different because you are there.  When you can’t sing, or when you stop singing, the song changes . . . and it keeps going.  The song goes on, and whether you’re singing or not, it was made different because you were there.

At the close of this service, after we have set aside the reserved Sacrament for tomorrow, we will adjourn for a time into the parish hall for an Agape’ meal.  The word “agape’” means love.  Unconditional love, actually.  And the reason churches have this meal on this Maundy Thursday night is to remind ourselves of the commandment we have received.  That we love one another.  As Jesus said, “Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.”

There will come a day when each and every one of us stops singing.  But the song will go on, because we love one another, just as Jesus loves us.  The song goes on through eternity, and you are a voice in this unending hymn.  Even if you have never sung a note in your life, you are a voice in the eternal choir, and your voice matters.

Amen.

YEAR A 2026 palm sunday

Palm Sunday/Passion Sunday, 2026
Isaiah 50:4-9a
Philippians 2:5-11
Matthew 26:14- 27:66
Psalm 31:9-16

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen.

That was a very long and difficult reading, which took us through several dark days.  It is especially jarring that we began this day by celebrating Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem with the crowd, waving our palms and shouting hosanna.  Only to watch another crowd turn and yell “crucify him!”  And, of course, we mentally separate ourselves from that crowd.  We were part of the first crowd . . . not the second.  So we want to know why this happened.  How did we get here?

And I think the explanation is tucked away in a small comment Jesus makes in the Garden of Gethsemane.  He says, “Put your sword back into its place; for all who take the sword will perish by the sword.”  We usually hear this phrase in our day-to-day life as “Those who live by the sword will die by the sword,” or something like that.  Which really changes the meaning.  It puts us in mind of Genghis Khan or someone.  Killers are gonna get killed.

Or worse, it puts it in the realm of some sort of karma mindset.  Like what goes around comes around.  Or, the country that threatens another country might get bombed, kind of thing.  And we can even think of the reverse as a hedge against violent death.  Like, I’m not going to draw a sword, so that means I’m protected from dying by the sword. 

But I think we need to pull back the lens a bit to get the true meaning here.  Because it’s more systemic than that.  The warning from Jesus is about introducing violence into the system.  Once it is unleashed it only grows.  All who take the sword will perish by the sword, along with everybody else.  It’s like once the swords are out, this doesn’t end well for anyone.

We think we want peace talks and de-escalation and cease fires, and stuff like that.  But what we really want is to inflict overwhelming violence so unspeakable that our enemies cannot strike back.  Obliterate their weapons and declare victory.  But that rarely happens.  More often than not, violence begets violence.  Martyrdom creates martyrs.  Once the swords are out, everyone is in danger.  Or, in the words of Jesus, all who take the sword will perish by the sword.  The solution is not to use a bigger sword and cause greater casualties than our enemies do; the solution is to put away the sword.

But we naturally approach confrontation by just trying to escalate the violence faster than our enemies can.  Be the first one to draw the sword.  Be the first country to have enough weapons to destroy the entire planet 10 times over.  We even see this escalation in our local police departments, when they buy up used military gear and act like they’re going into Fallujah when they’re heading to a domestic dispute in downtown Canton.

Which brings us back to the crowd.  One minute shouting Hosanna, the next minute shouting crucify him.  Somebody took up the sword; and we’re sure it wasn’t us.  But, clearly, violence got into the system.  And all who take the sword will perish by the sword . . . and everybody else with them.

What we see happen each year on this day is that our Palm Sunday celebration gives way to this Passion Sunday tragedy.  Everything was going great.  And then, well . . all who take the sword will perish by the sword.  We cannot hide from the violence once it gets started.  Whether that violence is started by drunk fans at a sporting event, or the leaders of nations drunk on power.  There can be no bystanders once the sword is unleashed.  And the only solution in the midst of violence is to follow the command of Jesus and “Put your sword back into its place.”

My hope is that we will each seek to follow this command, and put our own swords back into their place.  Our swords are not likely to be literal weapons.  They might be the words we speak, or the posts we make online, or the hate we carry in our hearts.  But they are swords nonetheless.  And all who take the sword will perish by the sword . . . and everybody else with them.  Put your sword back into its place.  Jesus offers us a better way, and a better world.  Let us follow his way into that world, that we might finally know God’s peace.

Amen

The Burial of Grant Oberlin

Grant Oberlin
Isaiah 25:6-9
Psalm 23
2 Corinthians 4:16-5:9
John 14:1-6

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen.

In our Book of Common Prayer (pg. 819), there is a prayer for Church Musicians and Artists.  We started all our music classes in seminary with that prayer, and we begin all our choir rehearsals with it here at St. Timothy’s.  The text of that prayer is this: 

O God, whom saints and angels delight to worship in heaven: Be ever present with your servants who seek through art and music to perfect the praises offered by your people on earth; and grant to them even now glimpses of your beauty, and make them worthy at length to behold it unveiled for evermore; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

Three things stand out to me about that prayer.  First, that artists work toward perfecting our praises of God.  I think this is true even for artists who don’t believe in God.  Because—since God is the creator of all that is—any work of art or music gives glory to God.  The created, giving back to the Creator, whether they know it or not.

Secondly, glimpses of God’s beauty.  When we see beautiful things in the natural world, we are witnessing God’s creative power, and—dare I say—God’s creativity.  Would it have occurred to human beings to make trees, or elephants, or even color?  Maybe, but probably not.  When artists witness God’s creativity, they are inspired to make creations of their own.  It is in the nature of artists and musicians to make beautiful things, and also challenging things.  Grant had the ability to see beauty where others didn’t think to look, and I am convinced that such recognition is a gift from God.  And not everyone has it.  Some people look at a painting and can only see a monetary investment or an insurance liability.  Others can look at a discarded piece of junk and see its beauty where others can’t.  People are wired differently, but thankfully we have those who can recognize beauty and can point us toward it.

And then thirdly, the phrase, "worthy at length to behold it unveiled for evermore."  In this world, we see glimpses of God’s beauty, and artists strive to show us more than we can already see, and the prayer asks that one day, they will be deemed worthy by God to see beauty in its entirety.  All the beautiful things, just as God intends them to be seen.

In the reading we just heard, from the gospel according to John, Jesus says, “In my Father's house there are many dwelling places.”  Since we have fairly fixed ideas of what a house is, we might picture a massive mansion somewhere, maybe with marble floors and Viking appliances.  And, for many people, the best part about that image is that it is plural—places, or rooms—meaning we don’t ever have to run into the people we don’t like.

But there’s an interesting connection between the word interpreted as “dwelling places” and a temporary stopping point.  Some scholars say this word monai is something like a place set up to receive visitors traveling through.  Not a private place to kick back and live out your eternal retirement, but a public place, to be welcomed after a long journey, with good food and a place to rest.  When we go where Jesus is waiting, we don’t put out our hand to receive our personal room keys.  Instead, Jesus stretches out his arms to receive us.  A welcome to the party, if you will.

And I am convinced that that very public space will reveal those glimpses of God’s beauty unveiled for evermore.  Spectacular artwork covering all the walls.  Gorgeous music filling the air.  And furniture that no one ever thought to make.  And over in one corner we’ll see Grant Oberlin with a screwdriver in one hand and buckets of paint around his feet, delighting in seeing God’s beauty, finally unveiled in its entirety.  The beauty Grant had glimpses of all his life, and sought to perfect through the gifts and talents God had given him.  And I bet there’s probably a very funny joke he’s waiting to tell us.

But in the meantime, listen to that prayer again:
O God, whom saints and angels delight to worship in
heaven: Be ever present with your servants who seek through
art and music to perfect the praises offered by your people on
earth; and grant to them even now glimpses of your beauty,
and make them worthy at length to behold it unveiled for
evermore; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

YEAR A 2026 lent 4

Lent 4, 2026
1 Samuel 16:1-13
Psalm 23
Ephesians 5:8-14
John 9:1-41

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen.

In the three-year cycle of the church year, this was the Sunday in 2020 when everything changed.  It was the first Sunday when we somehow became a parish that only streamed services, though we had never streamed any services before that.  That Sunday, we had these exact same readings.  Cristin read them to you offscreen, as I sat in the chapel leading Morning Prayer for the first Sunday ever.  Levi played the organ, and Andrew chanted the Psalm in an empty room.  And we all wondered if people could ever return to this little postage stamp of Christianity.  Would people ever get back inside the building we so loved?

And we did come back.  And—of course—some people did not come back.  Some people decided the priest was too political, or someone else was too conservative, or since their parents were no longer around to make them come to church . . . for whatever reason, some people decided this was no longer the place for them on Sundays.

There is no denying that the covid pandemic six years ago changed everything about church.  And we can’t put the genie back in the bottle by wishing it was 1976 again.  So I just want to acknowledge that the world changed six years ago, and the ramifications of those “unprecedented times” are still with us.  Everything changed.  But as you’ll see in our catechism in the Book of Common Prayer, the mission of the Church remains the same as ever: “to restore all people to unity with God and each other in Christ.”  That’s why we’re here, no matter how big or how small.  To restore all people to unity with God and each other in Christ.  And so, we press on.

This morning is called Laetare Sunday, and is intended as a small  break during the season of Lent.  That’s why we get a little festive pink or rose this morning, like it’s supposed to cheer us up, I think?  But the word Laetare means, “rejoice.”  And it’s in the imperative form, so REJOICE is a command, not an option!  And this is why on the fourth Sunday in Lent we get treated to Psalm 23.  It’s a reminder that God is with us in the midst of suffering.  So I just want to spend a moment talking about that familiar psalm.  And specifically, the table that gets mentioned.

We are all familiar with Psalm 23, particularly the King James Version of it.  It’s got all that pastoral language about green pastures and stuff, which is why we hear it every year on Laetare Sunday.  In the valley of the shadow of death I will fear no evil, because God’s rod and staff comfort me.  All is at peace, in the midst of turmoil, because the Lord is my shepherd.

But the table.  Remember that line?  In our prayer book it is phrased, “You spread a table before me in the presence of those who trouble me.”  In the King James Version it is, “Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies.”  What do you picture when you hear those words?  I have to confess that I’ve always imagined it means, I sit down to a feast in a green valley, while my enemies look on in hunger.  God just keeps ladling out the food for me, while those who trouble me, “mine enemies,” stare on with jealousy.

The two phrases to hold onto here are “before me” and “in the presence of.”  It’s not a table for me.  It’s a table in front of me.  And it’s not next to my enemies; it is in their presence.  They’re already there at the table.  God is inviting us to sit at a table with our enemies.  God is saying, come share a meal with the very people who trouble you.  To put it bluntly:  If you want to eat, you’ve got to eat with people who hate you.

What the heck kind of offer is that?!?  We share meals with our friends.  We invite people we like to dinner.  We don’t imagine sitting down to eat with our enemies.  I thought the peaceful verdant valley was going to be a place where it was just me and God, my shepherd, leading me beside still waters.  I didn’t sign up for this “have a bite to eat with people who trouble me by not voting the same way I do!”

And that’s because our vision of a table is too small.  We imagine a card table for one, set up in an open field, while what God is offering is a huge banquet table, where everyone is invited.  We see this over and over in the parables of Jesus.  A king holds a wedding banquet and invites in all the poor and outcast.  The fishing net gathers up every kind of fish.  The lump of yeast leavens the entire loaf.  The weeds are left to grow among the wheat.  On and on, we hear that God is inviting everybody to the banquet.  No one is left out or excluded.  Even those who trouble me.  Maybe even, especially those who trouble me.

A Lutheran musician friend of mine named Jonathan Rundman has a song called “Meeting Nixon.”  In the chorus he sings, “We’ll be meeting Nixon, meeting Nixon, when we go to that White House in the sky.”  I think it’s one of his best songs, because it makes everyone uncomfortable!   Some people will say there’s no way Nixon is in heaven.  And some people will say there’s no way Jonathan will be in heaven, because he’s a Lutheran.  And some people will say, wherever either of those two are going is not where I want to be going.  It’s a banger song, because, whether you like it or not, everyone is going to be at that same table!

And every time we celebrate the Holy Eucharist, we hear hints of this in the Sanctus, where we sing, with the angels and the archangels and all the company of heaven.  Everybody!  This morning’s man born blind and the religious leaders interrogating him.  The innocent civilians being bombed half a world away and the people who gleefully boast about bombing them.  You and me and all the people who trouble us, gathered around the same table and saying, holy, holy, holy Lord . . . heaven and earth are full of your glory.

The table is bigger than we think, and everyone has a seat at it.  Including you and me.  Again—as our catechism says—The mission of the Church is to restore all people to unity with God and each other in Christ.  All people.  No matter who still shows up at church on Sundays, no matter who has drifted away or left out of anger, no matter what the pandemic did to the size and unity of our parish, the mission of the Church has not changed: and it is to restore all people to unity with God and each other in Christ.

The table God spreads before us is big enough for everybody.  It’s only our own small thinking that would exclude anyone from that banquet.  You are not excluded from this banquet, and neither are those who might trouble you.   No matter our differences, we have unity in Christ, and that is why we rejoice on this Laetare Sunday.  God’s table is big enough for everybody.  Rejoice!

Amen. 

Ecumenical Lenten Service, 2026

MACA Lenten Service 2026
30 Pieces of Silver 
Matthew 27:1-10

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen.

In all four of the gospel books, Jesus gathers his disciples for what we call the last supper.  They are seated around a table (or all on one side, if you believe Leonardo da Vinci).  And Jesus—seemingly randomly—announces that one of them will betray him.  And how do the disciples respond?  Depending on which gospel account you’re reading, they either ask one another who it could be, or they ask Jesus directly: Is it I, Lord?

Someone will betray Jesus.  Is it I, Lord?  What’s easy to miss here is that by asking this question, they’re all acknowledging that . . . it’s possible.  They’re all capable of doing it.  Someone is going to do the most horrible thing imaginable, and what I want to know is, is it I, Lord?  It could be me.  It could be someone else.  The disciples don’t know who it’s going to be.  But we do.

We know who is going to betray our Lord.  We know his name.  And I can 100% guarantee you that no one in this room is named Judas.  So we KNOW it’s not one of us who will betray Jesus.  We’re off the hook right?  We can live our lives never having to ask, “Is it I, Lord?”  We can confidently say, “It is not I, Lord!”  

And I hope you can see the danger here.  The danger is that we can walk ourselves right into thinking we are better than Judas.  We can even convince ourselves that we are better than all the disciples, because we don’t have to ask Jesus if we might be the one to betray him.  We can point to Judas.  There he is.  Case closed.  Turns out, it is not I, Lord.

However, we could say that people who think of themselves as incapable of doing horrible things are actually just incapable of self awareness and reflection.  The ability to ask ourselves, “Is it I, Lord?” should not be overlooked.  For enough money, you can get a person to do just about anything.  As they say, everyone has their price.  Which brings us to the 30 pieces of silver.

30 pieces of silver sounds like a lot of money to me.  Or, it did until I dug around a bit.  Depending on which kind of coin we are talking about, the estimated value of these 30 pieces of silver, translated into today’s US dollars would be . . . ready?  Between $91 and $441.  At most, it’s like 450 bucks.  Who would betray their friend and Lord for $450?!?  Surely not I Lord!  I am way better than Judas!

When we hear that Judas betrayed Jesus for such a tiny amount of money we feel a bit offended, don’t we?  Like it’s just so crass and transactional.  If he’d done it for lofty ideals and principles, that would be one thing.  If it was because Jesus was actually an immoral and compromised leader, or something like that.  Like we could understand that.  But to turn Jesus over to the authorities for a pittance.  To sacrifice his life for what is essentially a monthly car payment.  It’s just so . . . paltry.

We just wouldn’t do that, would we.  We wouldn’t trade anyone’s life for a few bucks.  Certainly not I, Lord.  People are made in the image of God.  All people are made in the image of God.  Even the people we don’t like are made in the image of God.  You can’t put a price on somebody’s life, if they are made in the image of God.

I recently saw a headline in the NY Times that said, “Americans may turn against the war in Iran if they feel the pinch at the pump.”  So far, there have been over 1,300 people killed in Iran, including hundreds of children.  When 150 schoolgirls are killed in their school, along with their parents who came to rescue them, that’s just a cost of doing business.  BUT if gas prices go up, that’s a whole different thing!  Now you’ve got our attention! We could say that 30 cents at the pump is our 30 pieces of silver.  But, hey, whatever it takes.

Back to Judas.  As we heard, when Judas saw that Jesus had been betrayed, he repented, and brought the 30 pieces of silver back to the priests.  He repented.  Did the chief priests and elders forgive him?  Certainly not!  They said, “What is that to us?” and sent him away.  Did Judas forgive himself?  It seems doubtful, since Matthew tells us he went out and hanged himself.  Did Jesus forgive him?  Hard to say, right?  But here’s a clue:  Judas was still present at the very first Lord’s Supper.  Jesus knew what Judas was going to do, and yet . . . in John’s telling, Jesus washed Judas’ feet.  As best we can tell, Jesus did not reject Judas, his betrayer.

That’s hard to hear, isn't it?  The very one who betrayed Jesus, who sold him out for—at most—$450 was not kept away.  Was not rejected.  Was not banished from the Lord’s Supper.  Was not excluded from the washing of the disciples’ feet.  And maybe that’s where you and I can find good news in the story of Judas and the 30 pieces of silver.

Because if we’re really honest with ourselves, if we’re really willing to do the hard work of being self aware, then the answer to the question “Is it I, Lord?” is yes.  Yes, it is I.  It is I who daily fails to see Christ in other persons.  It is I who daily sins against God and my neighbor.  It is I who does not love God with my whole heart or love my neighbor as myself.  It is I who will throw away another’s life for 30 pieces of silver or 30 cents at the gas pump, because of my own selfish needs and desires.    

I recently ran across this poem by the Argentinian poet Jorge Luis Borges, which seems apt:
    The coin fell on my hollow hand.
    I could not bear it, although it was light,
    and I let it fall. It was all in vain.
    The other said: "There are still twenty nine.”

It’s not easy to hear or to face, but the answer to the question, “Is it I, Lord?” is yes; it is I.  But if Jesus can break bread with his betrayer, if Jesus can wash the feet of the one with 30 coins still in his pocket, then Jesus can welcome you and me as well.  No matter what we have done or where we have been, God’s grace is big enough for us.  God’s mercy is wide enough for us.  And God’s love for us is more than we could ever ask or imagine.  Remember that most of all.  God’s grace, mercy, and love are for you.

Amen