YEAR A 2026 pentecost 9

Pentecost 9, 2026
Genesis 29:15-28
Psalm 128
Romans 8:26-39
Matthew 13:31-33,44-52
Final sermon at St. Timothy’s Church, Massillon, OH (where the football comes from)

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

As longtime listeners know, the apostle Paul and I do not always see eye to eye.  But to be fair, that’s partly because he was working out his theology in public, in real time, through his letters to the churches.  And by the time he writes to the church in Rome, he is really hitting his stride.  There are absolute gems in the epistle reading we heard today.

The Holy Spirit prays for us in the times when we can’t pray.  All things work together for good for those who love God.  If God is for us, who can be against us?  Who will separate us from the love of Christ?  I am convinced that nothing will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.  Absolute bangers, Paul!

And that last one is key for us all to hold onto in the days ahead.  Nothing can separate us from the love of God.  Back in 2001, my bandmate and I recorded an album we called “Something.”  (Long story how we got the name.)  The theme of that album was:  Nothing can separate us from the love of God.  The chorus of the second song was just that phrase: For I am convinced that there is nothing that can separate us from the love of God.  And then between each song we would play the melody from that song on a variety of instruments, to remind the listener of the theme.  And then, after the final chorus of the last song, we shifted back into singing the theme chorus one last time:  For I am convinced that there is nothing that can separate us from the love of God.  And we ended with the final chord played nine times—3 long, 3 short, 3 long.

After a couple days, I said to Michael, “You know, I think that pattern is Morse Code for SOS!”  And we got really excited about the theological possibilities of working with that as a plea to God to save us.  It was like a perfect serendipitous ending.  Salvation is tied to the idea that nothing can separate us from the love of God.   And that’s like our SOS, right?  After we released the album, I checked to make sure I was right about that pattern.  Turns out, in Morse Code, three dashes, three dots, and three dashes do not spell SOS.  They spell OSO.  Could have been worse? 

For I am convinced that there is nothing that can separate us from the love of God.  But here’s a list of things that can separate you from the love of God.  I’ve heard preachers do this all the time.  Smoking.  Drinking.  Who you love.  Who you vote for.  How much TV you watch.  Everyone’s got their list of things that are a bridge too far.  But notice, those things are about you, not me.  Nothing can separate us from the love of God, except for some of your personal behaviors.  

But Paul goes through the trouble of listing everything he could think of to show that there is nothing that can separate us from the love of God.  Hardship, distress, persecution, famine, nakedness(!), peril, sword, death, life, angels, rulers, things present, things to come, powers, height(?), depth(?), anything else in all creation.  I think that pretty much covers it!  Nothing means no thing.  But we all still have those exceptions in our head.  Something we’re sure makes someone else—or ourselves—unlovable.  Beyond God’s love.  Nothing in all creation . . . except for this one particular thing.

And that’s because we confuse God’s love for us with how we treat each other.  Those lists of behaviors we don’t like serve to separate us from each other.  To sow division.  To say, “I’m in and you’re out.”  Because things do separate us from one another.  Time, distance, politics, anger, points of view, we are separate from one another in many ways.  And there are plenty of things that foster that separation.  Our news silos, gossip, grudges, football rivalry games.  (Go Tigers!)  Plenty of separation to go around.

But Paul says, nothing can separate US from the love of God.  We are the body of Christ in this world.  We are one body, like it or not.  Paul doesn’t say nothing can separate you or separate me from God’s love.  It’s us.  Whether we are together or apart, it’s still us.  Whether we agree or disagree, it’s still us.

Yes, things do separate us from each other.  Over these ten past years, things I’ve said and done and preached have had that effect.  Even when we’re not trying to separate ourselves from one another, it happens.  But I’m just some guy.  Sure, I’ve been invested with some authority and a pulpit because you chose to entrust me with it.  But I’m still just some guy.  The 20th guy, in fact.  There have been 19 other guys, and there will be plenty more.  And one day, God willing, gals as well.  But priests are just people, walking alongside you, and hopefully doing our best.

The real ministry in this faith community is carried out by the people, not the priest.  And when you read through the history of St. Timothy’s—which I will once again encourage you to do—you’ll see that it’s true.  Priests come and go, but the people are where you see God working in this world.  St. Timothy’s keeps going because nothing can separate us from the love of God.

And notice the inclusion of the word “love” in Paul’s claim.  There are things that do separate us from God.  (Mostly of our own doing.)  This is why we have weekly corporate confession.  In the catechism of our prayer book (page 855) we read that “The mission of the Church is to restore all people to unity with God and each other in Christ."  Restoring to unity implies some separation, right?  The thing to hold onto here is that though we can separate ourselves from God and one another—sometimes without even trying— we can never separate ourselves from the love of God.  Nothing can separate us means No thing.  With a capital N.  God’s love is relentless.  Maybe even annoyingly relentless!

So what about right now?  What about today and the scary unknown future?  Even though nothing can separate us from the love of God, at the end of this week, you and I will be physically separate from one another.  And that’s really hard.  

But as I reminded you a few weeks ago, grief is borne of love.  If we didn’t love, we wouldn’t care.  So it is fitting that we grieve the absence of those we love.  And grief is hard.

We don’t know what the future will hold for any of us.  There will be hard times ahead, but there will be joy and laughter as well.  Some of us will get discouraged, and others will find the courage to step up to help in new ways.  St. Timothy’s will look different a year from now, just as it looks different than it did a year ago, or ten years ago, or a hundred years ago, or 190 years ago!  And that’s a good thing.  Because the church is always changing, always on the move, always looking for a new way to reach people with the unrelenting love of God.  

May God make us all just as convinced as my frenemy the apostle Paul, that there is nothing in all creation that can ever separate us from the love of God.  Nothing.  Not even mistaking OSO for SOS.  Because no matter what, God loves, and God saves.

Amen

YEAR A 2026 pentecost 7

Pentecost 7, 2026
Genesis 25:19-34
Psalm 119:105-112
Romans 8:1-11
Matthew 13:1-9,18-23

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

This is a fantastic gospel reading for us today.  For where we are now, and for where we’ll be in the future.  This parable of the sower shows up in all three synoptic gospels, by which I mean Matthew, Mark, and Luke.  And in all 3 cases, Jesus offers an explanation of the parable.  And—to be honest—I hate it when he does that, because it feels like it limits where we can go with a parable.  But actually, in this case I think it helps refine the parable, provided we are willing to step out of our knee-jerk reaction to it.  By which I mean, our tendency to make it all about ourselves.  As we are want to do.

So with that in mind, let’s start here.  This is a parable about the seeds; this is not a parable about the soil.  If you’re anything like me, you probably automatically focused on the different types of soil.  And wondered which type of soil you are.  And wondered which type of soil your friends are.  And that’s because our latent Protestant Work Ethic makes us assume that it’s all about the hardworking soil.  And therefore gets us right into a competition to be the good soil.  Or—more aptly—to be better than the soil next to us.  But this is not about the soil!

And let’s look at what Jesus does not say in this parable, or in the explanation.  He does not say that the good soil in any way benefits from being able to make the seeds grow.  He does not say that the good soil is somehow saved and will be welcome into heaven.  And by the same token, he does not say that the rocky soil is condemned, or that the soil with weeds will be sent to burn in the fires of hell.  

He also doesn’t say in any way that the soil is to blame for it’s inability to receive the seed.  As we have encountered in many other parables, it’s important to remind ourselves that soil is just soil, and cannot help being the kind of soil it is.  It is up to the gardener to amend the soil.  It is up to the clouds to send rain for the soil.  It is up to hikers not to trample the soil.  The soil just sits there, being soil.  And along come the seeds, which either sprout or don’t sprout.  It’s not up to the soil.

Okay okay, you’re saying.  We get it.   It’s not about the soil, but then what is this parable about?  I’m glad you asked.  This is a parable about the generosity of God and the unlimited reach of the good news of the gospel.

The takeaway is that the word of God is sown with reckless abandon.  It is everywhere all the time!  The word of God is not a precious delicate seed that is carefully planted to a depth of 1.5 inches in meticulously amended soil and then surrounded by a deer fence and two bottles of Roundup.  The word of God is thrown every place imaginable because it is limitless!  Some seed is choked by weeds, and God throws more.  Some seed is carried away by birds, but the joke’s on them because those seeds will be replanted—with fertilizer!  The word of God keeps coming, no matter the obstacles!

And it doesn’t have to take root everywhere because it is everywhere.  And it’s worth noting that even the good soil varies in how much grain it produces.  Some 30, some 60, and some a hundredfold.  And here’s the kicker: what happens to the 30, 60, and a hundred fold grains?  They fall back into the earth to create even more plants in that same good soil.  We could even call this The Parable of the Magic of Compound Interest!  Not all the soil has to nurture the seeds because some of the soil does nurture the seeds!  Which brings us to the bigger point.  Teamwork.

I was recently telling Andrew our Choirmaster that I had a huge epiphany over the past year in our choir.  And it’s simply this:  As one assigned to the tenor section (against my will), I am well aware that a good many of the notes are above my range.  And I can kind of hit them if I strain, which makes them loud and screechy.  However, if I pull back and flip to falsetto, the note doesn’t go away, because that note is right in the range of the sopranos, who can sing it perfectly.  And when notes are too low for me, there is our reliable Joel Vogt to hit the bass pitches that will shake the building.  The takeaway is that the notes I cannot sing don’t disappear, because someone else can quite capably sing those notes.

And we see this in team sports as well.  When the Massillon Tigers football team wins a game, the whole team wins that game.  Including the players who sat on the bench all game.  Including the coaches who never set foot on the field.  Including the parents who drove the kids to the game.  Including the band members who inspired the fans and players.  I mean, it’s why we say, “WE won!”  One player fumbles, another player recovers.  One player blocks a tackle, and another player reaches the end zone, producing 30, 60, or a hundredfold points.  When we focus on the goal of winning the game, it doesn’t matter who does what along the way.  

So, back to the gospel.  Not all the soil is too rocky to be a good environment for seeds to grow.  But some of it is; and that’s okay.  Not all the soil is going to have weeds that choke out the plants.  But some of it is; and that’s okay.  Because though not all the soil is going to be exactly right to receive the seeds and produce 30, 60, and a hundredfold more plants, some of it is.  And that is enough.  That is enough for God.

We need to focus our attention on the success of the seeds, and not the condition of the soil.  Let’s not make a story about Jesus into a story about ourselves—tempting though that is.  Jesus does not end the parable by saying, “And all hope was lost.”  He doesn’t finish by saying, “If only I had better soil.”  And—most importantly—he doesn’t say, “And the bad soil was sent away to burn in unquenchable fire for all eternity.”  This is a parable about unlimited seeds of good news that are spread in every direction without giving one thought to the condition of the soil.  God’s love will not be hindered by some rocks and a few weeds.

Which brings us to St. Timothy’s.  We have some challenges ahead, to say the least.  And this parable is a great reminder that not everyone has to do every thing.  There are a wide variety of gifts in this congregation, and you’re going to need all of them in the coming months.  Some are called to leadership, some are called to support leadership.  Some are called to donate financially, and some are called to be good stewards of those finances.  Some are called to sing, and some are called to be inspired by that singing.  And all the gifts that you will share with the world come from God’s unbounded, reckless, unlimited generosity.  And there is some particular seed that will only flourish because it lands on you personally.  I encourage you to let that seed grow, because it will indeed produce 30, 60, and a hundredfold.  We're going to be okay, because of God’s abundant, generous, and unceasing blessings on us all.

Amen

YEAR A 2026 pentecost 6

Pentecost 6, 2026
Genesis 24:34-38, 42-49, 58-67
Psalm 45: 11-18
Romans 7:15-25a
Matthew 11:16-19, 25-30

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

Jesus says, “Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.”  Come to me, he says.  Which suggests that’s not our natural inclination, right?  When we are weary, and carrying heavy burdens, where do we turn?  When we need rest, what do we do?  Well, Jesus comes right out and says that we should come to him in the times when we are struggling.  And I think it’s a timely reminder for us all to keep that in mind.  And here’s why . . . .

We have done our best to make sure everyone knows.  So if this is the first you are hearing this news, I am sorry.  After ten years serving with you here in Massillon, I have accepted a call to serve with the people at Church of the Ascension, in Lakewood, Ohio, starting in September.  My ministry with you will come to a close at the end of this month.  For those of you who did not see the email or receive a letter in the mail from me and the Wardens, there are copies by the door in the back and on the table in the parish hall.

So, the priest is leaving, and today we hear Jesus say, come to me.  To me.  Where might we naturally go instead though?  To anger?  To disappointment?  To worrying about the future?  Jesus says come to me, all you that are carrying heavy burdens.  Where might we go instead?  To panic?  To despair?  To hopelessness?  We’ve got a lot of things to sort out in the next month.  A lot of burdens to carry figuring out who does what and how things are done.  A lot of things to organize and hand off and work through and—yes—we’ll all be carrying heavy burdens.  And Jesus says come to me, all you that are carrying heavy burdens.  Perfect.

Jesus also says, come to me all who are weary.  I think it’s true that we have all been weary since at least 2020.  We didn’t know how to navigate a global pandemic because we’d never seen one before.  And rather than bringing us together, covid drove us apart.  No matter what decisions were made and no matter for what reasons, we instinctively attributed the worst motives to everyone we disagreed with.  And the resulting divisions have never really healed.  The deep down exhaustion of those times has never really left us.  And we are weary to the bone.  And Jesus says, come to me all who are weary.  Perfect.

And again, Jesus says come to me.  Wherever we are tempted to turn when we are burdened, wherever we are tempted to turn when we are weary, if we aren’t turning to Jesus, then we’re doing it wrong.  When we turn to Jesus first, we will find rest for our souls.  St. Timothy’s will still be here in August.  And Jesus will still be with St. Timothy’s in August, and still saying “Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.”  Rest for your souls.

We naturally grieve when relationships end.  And lately I have been thinking a lot about the idea that grief is borne out of love.  If we didn’t love, we wouldn’t care.  If we didn’t love, we wouldn’t grieve.  This is a painful time for all of us, because we care, and because we love.  And so, we are right to grieve.

But let us all come to Jesus at this Altar today in peace.  Come and meet him in the bread and the wine.  Let us come to Jesus and find rest. And then, let us go out into the world to do the work God has given us to do, with our souls resting in Jesus.  The one who says come to me, and I will give you rest.

Amen