Author: Rosemary Lovelace

13th Sunday after Pentecost – The Rev. Mark S. Winward MDiv, ThM

Proper 16A

“Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed…” – Romans 12:2

Souvenir Religion

A few years ago, while my wife and I were browsing a local bookstore, a title immediately caught my eye. Its cover featured a blue T-shirt bearing a typical tourist-style image of a sailboat. Circling the image was the slogan that couldn’t help but make me chuckle: “I became a Christian, and all I got was this lousy T-shirt.” Written by Vince Antonucci, the book’s subtitle explains its central message: Replacing Souvenir Religion with Authentic Spiritual Passion.

A souvenir tells people where we have been. Christian faith, however, is not merely a souvenir we carry or a label we wear. It is the mercy of God renewing our minds, joining us to Christ’s body, and turning our lives into an offering of love.

Authentic Faith

Authentic faith is the theme I would like us to consider in today’s New Testament readings. A preacher might approach these passages in one of two ways. The first would be to focus on personal faith. In the Gospel, Peter voices the full and decisive confession on which Matthew’s account now turns, proclaiming that Jesus is not only the long-awaited Messiah but also the Son of the living God. In the Epistle, taken from Paul’s Letter to the Romans, Paul urges his readers not to be conformed to the world but to be transformed by God.

The second approach would be to focus on the Church. In the Gospel, Jesus promises to build his Church—Church with a capital “C”—and gives Peter a foundational role within it. In Romans, Paul concludes today’s passage by describing the different gifts believers exercise as members of one body. In practice, these two approaches can lead to opposing extremes: a Christianity that emphasizes personal faith at the expense of participation in the Church, or a Christianity that focuses on the institution of the Church at the expense of personal faith.

Focusing exclusively on either personal faith or the Church amounts to little more than “souvenir religion,” falling short of authentic spiritual faith. A personal faith that never looks beyond itself can shrink into spiritual self-absorption, while merely going through the motions in church without true conviction becomes the kind of empty religious performance against which Jesus repeatedly warns. Authentic spiritual faith begins with a genuine reorientation of the heart—one that inevitably makes a difference in both our worship and our work in the world.

Peter, got it…

Peter’s confession marks a decisive turning point. In today’s Gospel, we witness an awakening to the truth of who Jesus really is. The scene unfolds in the region of Caesarea Philippi, in the far north, at the foot of Mount Hermon. It was a predominantly Gentile area and an important center of pagan worship, associated particularly with the god Pan and with Roman imperial power. It is worth noting that Jesus asks his disciples about his identity in this particular place—a place filled with competing claims about divine and political power. Here Peter confesses that the true Messiah and Son of the living God is standing among them.

Jesus certainly had followers before this moment, but Peter now brings together the titles “Messiah” and “Son of the living God” in a full and explicit confession of faith. Whenever I hear this passage, I imagine a moment of silence before Peter summons the courage to say, “No, you’re not merely one of the prophets. You’re—you’re the Christ, the Messiah. You’re the Son of God!”

The Greek title Christos translates the Hebrew word for “anointed one.” To many Jewish people suffering under Roman occupation, the Anointed One was closely associated with David, the anointed king whose throne had been promised an everlasting reign of peace and blessing. Peter, however, goes even further. He declares that Jesus is “the Son of the living God.” There, in a city historically associated with the worship of gods such as Baal and Pan, as well as the Roman emperor, Peter makes the astonishing claim that the Son of the living God is standing among them in the flesh.

More Than Saying “I Believe”

This extraordinary confession of faith was the first step toward authentic Christianity. But Christian faith is more than a label we wear or a set of words we recite. Peter’s confession still had to become a life. His convictions would later waver. On the night before Jesus’ death, Peter denied him three times. Ironically, at the very moment Peter’s faith failed, Jesus was preparing to sacrifice his life for Peter—and for each one of us.

Weeks later, after witnessing the risen Christ and being empowered by the Holy Spirit, Peter would lead Jesus’ disciples in establishing a Church that would transform the world. In the end, Peter translated his faith into action and, according to Christian tradition, paid for that profession of faith with his life.

Being “Living Sacrifices”

Authentic faith cannot help but bear fruit. That is why James writes that “faith without works is dead.” An old Christian question asks: If being a Christian were a crime—as it has been in many places throughout history—would there be enough evidence to convict you? The question is not whether we have enough good works to earn God’s love. It is whether we respond to God’s love with good works visibily in the way we live.

Paul shows us what Peter’s confession looks like when it becomes woven into ordinary daily life. He calls us to “present our bodies as a living sacrifice.” Notice that Paul speaks of our “bodies.” He is not asking only for our thoughts, feelings, or religious intentions. He asks us to offer our whole embodied lives—our time, our abilities, our relationships, our work, and our possessions—to God.

Paul goes a step further by urging us to respond to God’s grace through action. He calls us to become “living sacrifices.” As Christians living under the new covenant, we no longer offer animal sacrifices as the ancient Israelites did. Instead, out of gratitude to God, we offer ourselves. During the time of the Jewish Temple, animals offered in sacrifice were carefully chosen. They were to be unblemished – the best the people had to offer – and then set apart for God’s purposes.

In Leviticus 11:44, God tells his people, “For I am the Lord your God. Consecrate yourselves therefore, and be holy, for I am holy.” For someone or something to be holy means that it is set apart for God’s purposes. We, then, as God’s people and as living sacrifices, are set apart for God and his good purposes.

As a result, we are no longer to be shaped or conformed by the patterns of this age—by all that trains us in fear, contempt, self-interest, and indifference to our neighbors. Instead, we are transformed from within by the power of the Holy Spirit. Rather than being an escape from the world, this transformation is personal renewal for the sake of the world. Lived authentic Christianity, as opposed to souvenir Christianity, thus becomes an offering to God.

Paul immediately makes the communal dimension of that offering clear. “We, who are many, are one body in Christ,” he writes, “and individually we are members one of another.” Personal transformation draws us into a community in which our gifts are offered for the good of others. Some serve; some teach; some encourage; some give; some lead; and some show compassion. No Christian possesses every gift, and no Christian is meant to live the faith alone.

What This Means

This is a grace-centered way of understanding the Christian life. Authentic Christianity is not about closing our eyes, plugging our ears, and simply hoping that we will somehow be good. Sharing our faith, serving our neighbors, and doing good works in the world is our loving response to God’s mercy. We do not try to be good so that God will love us. Rather, we seek to do good because God already loves us.

The point is that authentic Christianity neither ends in the human heart nor stops at the church door. Churches sometimes become preoccupied with particular styles of worship, but true worship extends far beyond Sunday morning. It touches our hearts, transforms our lives, and lifts up our communities.

A transformed life serves when no one is watching, gives without seeking recognition, teaches with patience, encourages the discouraged, and shows mercy cheerfully. It refuses to conform to a culture of contempt and indifference. Instead, it seeks justice, promotes peace, and honors the dignity of every human person.

Authentic Christianity does not end with Peter’s words, “You are the Messiah,” and it does not stop at the church door. By the mercies of God, our confession becomes a living sacrifice: hands that serve, voices that speak truth, gifts that strengthen Christ’s body, and lives that seek justice, peace, and the dignity of every human person.

We do not offer ourselves so that God will love us. We offer ourselves because, in Christ, God already does. A souvenir t-shirt tells people where we have been. A transformed life shows where we are and where we are going. Amen.

12th Sunday after Pentecost – Proper 15A – Rev. Mark S Winward, MDiv, ThM

Jesus answered, “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” She said, “Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.” — Matthew 15:26–27

Introduction

Today’s Gospel, at first glance, sounds pretty rough. Jesus has some pretty harsh words for this woman, who is clearly from a different ethnic group. And given the racial history and strife in our own nation, this doesn’t fall very well on our modern ears. Given wars in the Middle East, Russia pummeling Ukraine, and the mistreatment of immigrants in our own country, I need some good news right now. It is in times like these that our hearts are heavy with the reminder that evil exists and that, for many, their identity is defined by what divides them from others.

I want to suggest to you that today’s Gospel contains the seed of hope for a bitterly divided world. Although, on the surface, we might mistake it for being about sectarian divisions, it foreshadows the beginning of the end of all barriers. On the only recorded occasion when Jesus ventures outside Jewish territory, this account represents the first time Jesus’ message of hope, healing, and reconciliation touches non-Jews on its inevitable journey to transform the whole world.

Jesus in the Land of Tyre and Sidon

Even Jesus needed time to renew himself and prepare for what inevitably lay before him. For Jesus, this was almost certainly a deliberate withdrawal on the heels of the death of his kinsman, prophetic herald, and friend, John the Baptist. There was no place in Palestine where he could be sure of privacy; wherever he went, the crowds would find him.

So he went north through Galilee until he came to the Phoenician territory of Tyre and Sidon—what is now southern Lebanon. At least for a little while, he would get some relief from the scribes and Pharisees and from the fickle crowds. It would have been unlikely that any Jew would have followed him into non-Jewish territory.

This is not, in any sense, a picture of Jesus running away; it is a picture of him preparing himself and his disciples for the final and decisive battle that lay so close ahead.

The Canaanite Woman

No sooner does Jesus’ retreat begin than he is met by a Canaanite woman desperately crying out for him to heal her daughter. At first, Jesus seems to ignore her, until her pleading begins to annoy his disciples. The disciples come and complain, “Now she’s bothering us. Would you please take care of her? She’s driving us crazy” (The Message). This is not exactly a picture of Christian compassion. The reaction of the disciples is not really compassion at all; it is the reverse. To them, the woman is a nuisance, and all they want is to be rid of her as quickly as possible.

If we are going to be honest with ourselves, we have all been there at one time or another. We may eventually cave in just to get rid of this kind of person. But this is quite a bit different from the love, compassion, and outreach Christ calls us to.

But Jesus has a problem here. She is a Gentile. Not only is she a Gentile, but her ancestors were the Canaanites, the ancient enemies of the Jewish people. More importantly, God’s plan for the world was to work through the Jewish people. God’s covenant with them was that, if they would commit themselves to him, he would be their God and they would be his people. Jesus knew his mission was first to the Jewish people so that, through them, God’s covenant could be extended to all people. But before that happened, he needed to concentrate on Israel.

Still, the woman persists, throwing herself before him. So Jesus begins to banter with the woman through a pun that is pretty much lost in English.

Food for the Dogs

Jesus finally turns to her and says, “It’s not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” To call someone a dog in ancient Israel, as in today’s Middle Eastern cultures, is a serious insult. Wild dogs were common scavengers in every village—lean, mean, and diseased. Jews scorned non-Jews as “Gentile dogs,” “infidel dogs,” and, later, “Christian dogs.”

But the fact that the woman shoots back a clever response may mean that Jesus’ tone is hardly intended as an insult. I can imagine Jesus saying it with a slight smile that robs the words of any sting. The woman catches on and responds with a pun: “Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.”

Scholars tell us that the kind of dogs she refers to might better be translated as “pups” or “pet dogs.” Not only does she turn the phrase from “street dog” to “pup,” but she also points to her dependence on him as a pet depends on its master!

I can see Jesus chuckling, amused by her faith, persistence, and sense of humor. Perhaps we can imagine Jesus’ eyes lighting up when he responds, “Woman, great is your faith! Let it be done for you as you wish.”

This Woman Had Some Important Characteristics

So what does this exchange teach us? First and foremost, she had faith. It was a faith that grew when she was before Jesus. She began by calling him “Son of David.” That was a popular title—a political title. It was a title that looked upon Jesus as a great and powerful wonder-worker, but it saw him in terms of earthly power and glory. She came with a kind of superstition, as she might have come to any magician. She ended by calling Jesus “Lord.”

Likewise, we may come to Jesus for many different reasons. Perhaps we need forgiveness to put to rest guilt we have long borne. Perhaps we are at the end of our rope and need a miracle. Perhaps we just need a change in our lives. But any genuine encounter with Jesus Christ, regardless of what brought us to him, ends in our transformation, as we come to know him as our Lord.

Second, this woman was persistent. She simply refused to turn away. This woman came to Jesus because he was her last and only hope, and she passionately clung to that hope, refusing to be discouraged.

Likewise, many people toss a prayer to heaven, thinking it can’t hurt but not really convinced it will help. Such faith generally does not stand up very well against adversity. Real persistence is ultimately born of love. In the words of Paul, love hopes all things, believes all things, and does not fail. Enduring hope trusts that God will answer our prayer while we place ourselves in his loving hands.

Finally, this woman kept a positive attitude even in the midst of crisis. Her response to Jesus could have been born of despair and anger. Instead, she kept her sense of humor.

Likewise, we can become negative and pessimistic in times of trouble. We can use our words to complain or, out of frustration, tear others down. But then there are those people who, no matter how bad the circumstances, will always find something positive to say. God loves the kind of faith in which there is always a glimmer of hope—a faith that can still find a smile even in desperate times.

Perhaps one of the most notable examples of such faith was Corrie ten Boom, a Dutch Christian who harbored Jews during World War II and was later imprisoned in a Nazi concentration camp. By the way, I had the privilege of meeting this twentieth-century saint at a college chapel service in 1977. Corrie famously wrote, “Worry does not empty tomorrow of its sorrow; it empties today of its strength.” This was born of her conviction that “there is no pit so deep that God’s love is not deeper still.”

Conclusion

The Canaanite woman came to Jesus with unwavering faith, indomitable persistence, and an irrepressible spirit. Jesus’ response as a Jew was to cross ethnic boundaries, ignore ancient rivalries, and put aside cultural prejudices to reach out to a child of God in need. In doing so, Jesus foreshadowed a faith on the other side of the cross, where Paul could write, “There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus.”

Many in this broken world may define themselves by their differences. But Christ calls us to break down the walls that divide us and to define ourselves as the children of a loving God. That begins with each one of us living into the hope to which he has called us—with faith, persistence, and joy.

11th Sunday after Pentecost Proper 14A – The Rev. Mark S. Winward, MDiv,ThM

The Navy Hymn

I selected “Eternal Father” as our gradual hymn today because it’s based on today’s Gospel and because of its longstanding association with worship in the Navy and Marine Corps. That tradition, along with my Navy roots, may explain why this hymn resonates with me – and why you can count on me choosing it anytime this Gospel account pops up in the lectionary.

The Porter Memorial Window, shown in your bulletins, stands in the chancel of the United States Naval Academy Chapel in Annapolis. This beautiful Tiffany window portrays Christ walking on the water. For more than a century, generations of midshipmen have conducted services beneath this image. I wonder how many returning naval officers have looked upon it and heard the words of the Navy Hymn echoing in their ears:

Eternal Father, strong to save,

Whose arm hath bound the restless wave,

Who bidd’st the mighty ocean deep

Its own appointed limits keep;

O hear us when we cry to Thee,

For those in peril on the sea!

Many of you may be unaware that I didn’t begin my Navy career as a chaplain. I started out on track to become a Surface Warfare Officer in 1986, serving as Navigator aboard one ship and later as Assistant Engineer aboard another. During those years, I’ve conned ships through both fair and foul weather. I’ve felt a ship roll to within a couple of degrees of not righting itself, and I’ve seen green water wash over the pilothouse as we plunged into waves that looked like something out of The Perfect Storm.

A Storm on the Chesapeake Bay

But I’ve never been so terrified—not at sea, and not even while taking rocket fire in Iraq—as I was while sailing with my family on the Chesapeake Bay.

About twenty years ago, we rented a sailboat for a family vacation from Norfolk to Tangier Island. As we always do before getting underway, we said a prayer. Christian, our oldest son, closed it by saying, “And, dear Lord, we pray that this will be an adventure!”

It was a beautiful, sunny day, and the forecast called for fair weather. But I had enough experience at sea—and was superstitious enough as a sailor—to know that you never pray for an adventure. And an adventure it was…

We were about thirty miles north of Norfolk, near a lighthouse ominously named Wolf Trap, when we saw powerboats hightailing it toward shore. The radar showed a line of thunderstorms heading directly toward us. Our sailboat could make only seven knots on a good day, and the nearest safe harbor was twenty miles away. We weren’t going to outrun it.

The sky grew almost as dark as night, and the storm struck us with a vengeance. Waves crashed over the bow as winds pummeled the boat. It was all I could do to hold her steady. We secured a lifeline to my 16-year-old son, Christian, as he courageously fought his way to the mainmast to reef the sail. At that moment, I was struck with the terrifying thought that I might lose the boat—and my family with it.

Based on my experience, I turned the boat to take the waves at the safest angle. We rode them out, praying as we remained at the mercy of the storm. After perhaps twenty minutes of terror, the storm passed as quickly as it had arrived, and sunny skies returned. We later learned that tornadoes—none of them in the forecast—had struck the Chesapeake region. Exhausted, we anchored in a protected lagoon, where KC prepared what the boys still remember as the best homemade clam chowder they’ve ever tasted. I didn’t see Jesus walking toward us on the water that day. But I certainly understood Peter’s prayer: “Lord, save me!”

Jesus Comes Upon the Water

In today’s Gospel, we find the disciples in a boat on the Sea of Galilee, battered by the waves. Then, early in the morning, Jesus comes toward them, walking upon the sea.

First, Jesus sent them onto the water. Matthew tells us that he “made the disciples get into the boat and go on ahead to the other side.” The storm struck them while they were going where Jesus had told them to go. Following Jesus doesn’t guarantee calm seas. Sometimes obedience carries us directly into places we’d never have chosen for ourselves.

Second, the disciples didn’t recognize Jesus. They saw a figure moving across the water and cried out, “It is a ghost!” The very one who came to help them became one more reason to be afraid. Fear can cloud our judgment. When we’re scared, exhausted, or overwhelmed, we may overlook God’s presence because he doesn’t come in the form we expect. Jesus immediately called to them: “Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid.” He didn’t begin by calming the wind. He began by identifying himself. Before Jesus changed their circumstances, he reassured them of his presence.

Peter answered, “Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.” Jesus said only one word: “Come.” Peter stepped out of the boat and began walking toward Jesus. Amazingly, for a few moments, Peter did what should’ve been impossible. But when he noticed the strength of the wind, fear overcame him, and he began to sink. It would be easy to get down on Peter, but he was the only disciple willing to leave the boat. It took genuine faith to take that first step. Jesus called it “little faith,” not an absence of faith. Peter discovered that faith can coexist with fear—and that even a courageous disciple can begin to sink. When he did, Peter prayed one of the shortest and most honest prayers in Scripture: “Lord, save me!” Matthew tells us that Jesus immediately reached out his hand and caught him.

The Heart of the Story

Perhaps that’s the point of the story. Faith isn’t freedom from fear. Faith is trusting the presence and saving hand of Christ amid our fear. Faith doesn’t mean that we never become frightened, have doubts, or begin to sink. Faith is knowing whose name to call when the water rises. And grace assures us that Christ doesn’t just watch—he reaches for us.

Only after Jesus and Peter entered the boat did the wind cease. The storm wasn’t calmed before Peter was called to step out. Sometimes Jesus calms the sea before us. Sometimes he asks us to trust him while the wind is still blowing.

Like those disciples, we’re called to go where Jesus sends us, even into difficult waters. Following Christ doesn’t guarantee freedom from suffering. It means that no storm can drive us beyond his presence. 

Faith means being willing to obey when Jesus calls—whether he calls us to leave the boat or to remain faithfully where we are. And when our courage fails, as it sometimes will, faith means crying out with Peter, “Lord, save me!” Our hope rests not in the strength of our faith but in the strength of the one in whom we place our faith.

Listening Together for Christ

Having now been at Holy Family for a year, I know that new programs, a new building, and new ways of doing things can bring both excitement and uncertainty – and occasionally some frustration. Faith doesn’t require us to ignore prudent questions or pretend that every new idea comes from God. It asks us to listen together for the voice of Christ amid the wind.

Are we willing to go where Jesus calls us, even when strong winds stand against us? Can we recognize Christ when he comes in ways we don’t expect? And when we begin to sink, are we willing to trust the hand already reaching toward us? The waters may not always be as calm as we expected. But no storm can carry us beyond the presence of Christ. He comes to us on the waves and says, “Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid.”

Amen.

9th Sunday after Pentecost – The Rev. Mark S. Winward MDiv, ThM

Proper 12A

“Who will separate us from the love of Christ?

Will hardship, or distress, or persecution,

or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword?” 

            —Romans 8:35

The Prayer Saul Could Not Forget

As Stephen stood resolutely before the Sanhedrin, accused of speaking against the Temple and the Law, his enemies expected him to cower in fear. Instead, he spoke boldly, reminding them how often God’s messengers had been rejected. Then his indictment erupted: “You always resist the Holy Spirit!” As the council responded with rage, Stephen looked upward and exclaimed, “Behold, I see the heavens opened and the Son of Man standing at the right hand of God!”

That was enough. They dragged him beyond the city walls, tossed him on the ground, and began to stone him, while a young Pharisee named Saul stood nearby, approving of his death. One by one, the stones struck Stephen, but he refused to curse his murderers. Sinking to his knees, he called out, “Lord, do not hold this sin against them.” Those were the final words of the Church’s first martyr—the first in a long line of faithful witnesses who would follow.

Those words must have haunted Saul. I cannot help but imagining that Stephen’s words rang in Saul’s ears for many years, even after his conversion. But if Stephen’s final words troubled Saul, he initially answered it with more rage. Saul ravaged the Church, entering the homes of Christians, dragging men and women away, and casting them into prison. Saul relentlessly sought to crush the faith Stephen had died defending. Scripture does not say that Stephen’s death caused Saul’s conversion, but Stephen’s face and dying prayer must have flashed through Saul’s mind on the road to Damascus, when he was blinded by light and heard Christ’s piercing question: “Saul, Saul, why are you persecuting me?”

As a result, the man who had made it his mission to persecute Christians would become the greatest missionary of a faith that he once tried to destroy. In Paul, it gained its most influential missionary, whose writings would profoundly shape the Church’s understanding of Christ’s death and resurrection.

Perhaps Stephen’s dying prayer still echoed in Paul’s ears when, years before his own martyrdom, he wrote these words: 

“Who will separate us from the love of Christ? Will hardship, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword? … No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us.

“For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

What Does It Mean to Work for Good?

Paul’s proclamation was grounded in his absolute conviction that “all things work together for good for those who love God, who are called according to his purpose.” But how could Paul possibly profess such faith? He had witnessed Christians tortured and martyred in ways limited only by the twisted imaginations of their persecutors—and he himself had once promoted their persecution. By every ordinary measure, it certainly had not worked out very well for countless Christian martyrs. 

But notice that Paul does not claim all things are good. He claims that they work together for good. Suffering is not good. Injustice is not good. Persecution is not good. Death is not good. God does not require us to rename evil as good before he can redeem it. Nor does Paul promise that every tragedy will produce a recognizable earthly blessing. He does not tell grieving people that if they search long enough, they will discover the hidden benefit of their suffering. Some wounds leave no visible blessing behind. Some questions can not be answered on this side of heaven.

Paul is affirming that even the most outrageous circumstances cannot prevent God from accomplishing his redemptive purpose. Suffering may seem overwhelming, but it cannot wrench us from Christ. Evil may scar us, but it cannot have the final word. Death may be the end of our earthly struggles, but it fails to be the barrier to eternal life that Christ offers through his resurrection.

More than Conquerors

In this, Paul describes us as “more than conquerors.” Paul does not arrive at this by denying suffering. This side of heaven, human experience is often filled with grief, doubt, or feelings of being overwhelmed. Being “more than conquerors” does not mean that we must maintain a brave face while our world collapses around us. It means that none of those experiences—not suffering, not grief, not doubt, not even death—can sever the bond Christ has established with us. Our victory is not that we escape suffering. Our victory is that suffering cannot separate us from Christ.

Death Is Not the Final Word

If death is the final word, then Paul’s proclamation rings hollow in the face of the degradation endured by those who have clung to this hope until the end. But Paul grounded his hope firmly in the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. He does not claim that injustice, suffering, or death is unreal. Nor does he claim that God wills the evils that devastate his daughter and sons. The cross proclaims that God can take what Evil intends for destruction and, without ever calling evil good, bring about redemption. 

For Paul, the resurrection is God’s answer to the murderous violence of the cross—and to all who mistake death for the final word. The world looked at Jesus hanging upon the cross and saw defeat. God answered with resurrection. The world looked at Stephen beneath a hail of stones and saw a blasphemer silenced. God brought forth a witness whose prayer may have echoed in the conscience of the man who would carry the gospel throughout the Roman world. The world looked at Paul in chains and saw the power of Rome. God brought forth letters that would strengthen the Church for generations after Rome had fallen.

The martyrs did not always live to see the earthly fruits of their faithfulness. Paul did not live to see how far his witness would travel. Yet because they courageously stood for their faith, the gospel was carried forward in a chain of hope from one generation to the next – until it reached us.

Held by the Love of God

This is radically good news! When confronted with adversity, sickness, tragedy, or even the prospect of death, a range of frightening possibilities may open before us. Faith does not require us to pretend those possibilities are not daunting. It does not ask us to discover a silver lining in every cloud or some hidden blessing within every tragedy. It asks us to trust that, even when we can see no good at all, suffering cannot prevent God from completing his redemptive work. Faith does not pretend that a fragment of good cancels the pain of loss. It trusts that from circumstances doomed by death, God can bring life. It trusts that what we endure now is beyond the Christ’s redeeming. Even if we fail to discover the answer on this side of heaven, that hope exerts a subtle pull upon our lives. Over time, it leads us toward a very different destination than despair.

“If God is for us, who can be against us?” So, what shall separate you from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord? Hardship, or grief, and or sickness, or danger cannot. Even death itself cannot. 

Corrie ten Boom, a concentration survivor, famously said, “There is no pit so deep that He is not deeper still.” However dark the moment you are in, God loves you. The question is whether you dare to live as though that love is true. Thankfully, God’s love does not depend upon our grip on him, but upon his grip on us. 

Amen.

8th Sunday after Pentecost – The Rev. Mark S. Winward, MDiv, ThM

Proper 11A

A Beautiful Mess

This past Wednesday marked one year since we moved into our home in Talking Rock, just over the Gilmer County line. Our house is in a water-skiing community—even though we’re not water-skiers—and sits on the side of a hill looking across two long ponds. On a clear evening, those ponds beautifully reflect the warm orange glow of the sunset.

Between our back patio and our pond-side lawn is a steep berm dotted with black-eyed Susans—and an equal number of every kind of weed North Georgia has to offer. While the weeds are a bit annoying, the black-eyed Susans lend the property a kind of wild beauty. So I’ve given up trying to sort through this beautiful mess myself.

Wheat and Weeds

In today’s Gospel, Jesus tells the servants not to pull the weeds because they might uproot the wheat as well. He concludes, “Let both of them grow together until the harvest.”

This is hard for us because we want things to be clear-cut. We want to know who’s right and who’s wrong, who’s faithful and who’s unfaithful, who belongs and who doesn’t. We want a field in which every plant is clearly labeled—a berm full of nothing but pretty black-eyed Susans.

But in reality, wheat and weeds grow side by side, their roots tangled beneath the soil in a less-than-idyllic field.

And certainly Jesus wasn’t naïve about the reality of evil, nor was he a stranger to it during his earthly life. We look at violence, cruelty, injustice, and suffering, and we want answers. We see relationships damaged by resentment, communities divided by suspicion, and people treating one another as enemies. Sometimes we even see weeds growing in places where we expected only good seed—in churches, among our fellow Christians, in our families, and within our own lives.

Jesus acknowledges that evil is real. But the presence of weeds doesn’t mean the field has been abandoned. The field still belongs to the Owner.

Judgment Without Judgmentalism

The world contains horrific evil and breathtaking beauty, often growing side by side. And when we recognize the evil, naturally we want to do something about it—just as the workers in the parable ask whether they should go and gather the weeds. Jesus’ response is, “No, for in gathering the weeds you would uproot the wheat along with them.”

Our judgments are rarely as spot-on as we imagine them to be. We see only a sliver of another person’s story. We don’t know every burden they carry, every struggle they face, or the hidden grace and courage with which they may endure their pain.

That doesn’t mean we should pretend that everything is just fine. It doesn’t mean that Christians should ignore wrongdoing or remain silent in the face of evil. We are still called to oppose injustice, defend the innocent, and name oppression.

But while judgment ultimately belongs to God, we are freed from judgmentalism—which is a particular temptation for religious people. We should not presume to know the full journey or spiritual destiny of another person. As I often remind people, “That’s above my paygrade!” Grace doesn’t call us to moral passivity. But it does demand humility about our own authority. God is God, and I am not.

There is a difference between holding someone accountable and passing a final verdict on that person’s soul. There is a difference between opposing what someone has done and deciding that we know who that person will always be. There is a difference between naming harmful fruit and declaring that someone is nothing more than a weed.

Only God sees the whole field. Only God sees what lies beneath the surface. And only God knows what the final harvest will reveal.

Waiting for the Harvest

That also means evil will not have the last word.

In his letter to the Romans, Paul says that the whole creation is groaning in labor pains. And we ourselves groan as we wait for the redemption God has promised. The field is not yet what it will be. Creation is not yet what it will be. And we are not yet what we will be.

Paul calls us to hope for what we do not yet see and to wait for it with patience. But Christian patience isn’t the same thing as doing nothing. It means doing what good we can while waiting for God to do what is beyond our ability and authority. While we wait, we tell the truth, protect the vulnerable and repair what has been broken. And while we wait, we resist the temptation to believe that it is appointed to us to conduct the final harvest.

Our faith is not based on the shallow optimism that everything will somehow work itself out. Our faith is grounded in the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. The cross shows us both how seriously God takes evil and how far God’s self-giving love will go to redeem sinners. And the resurrection proclaims that violence, cruelty, injustice, and even death itself will won’t the final word.

The suffering of the vulnerable won’t be forgotten. The wounds of creation won’t be dismissed. In the end, God will expose what is false, heal what has been broken, and set right what we cannot make right. All will be called to account. But the One who judges is also the One who gave himself in love for the life of the world.

Because final judgment belongs to God, we are freed from the burden of issuing final verdicts upon one another. So oppose what is evil without allowing hatred to take root within you. Work for justice without denying the humanity of those who oppose you. And hold others accountable while still praying for their redemption.

The Field Belongs to the Owner

From our back patio, I look out over beautiful sunsets, lovely flowers, and a berm still full of weeds. I’ll encourage the black-eyed Susans to grow, tend what has been entrusted to me, and leave the final sorting to God. The field belongs to the Owner. God is God, and I am not. And thanks be to God, the harvest does not depend upon me. Amen.

7th Sunday after Pentecost – The Rev. Mark S. Winward MDiv, ThM

The Parable of the Sower

“…as for what was sown on good soil, this is the one who hears the word and understands it, who indeed bears fruit and yields, in one case a hundredfold, in another sixty, and in another thirty.” – Matthew 13:23, NRSV

When Jesus told this Parable of the Sower, he was painting a picture that anyone living in ancient Palestine would have immediately recognized. To say the farmland in Galilee was challenging to cultivate would be an understatement. In fact, an old Jewish legend holds that at creation, an angel flying over Israel accidentally dropped a giant bag full of rocks that were strewn across the countryside. Besides the rocky ground, in many places only a thin layer of soil covers solid limestone. Seeds can sprout quickly, but without deep roots they wither under the hot desert sun. Everyone knew that growing a good crop required patience, persistence, and constant care.

That setting became the backdrop for one of Jesus’ most important teachings about discipleship and the Kingdom of God. In the parable, Jesus describes a sower scattering seed. Some fell on the hard path, where the birds quickly ate it. Some landed on rocky ground, where it sprang up quickly but withered just as fast because it had no deep roots. Other seed fell among thorns, which gradually choked out the young plants. Finally, some seed fell on good soil, where it produced an abundant harvest – thirty, sixty, and even a hundredfold.

Four Conditions of the Heart

In each case, the seed is the same, just as God’s Word is the same to all who hear it. The difference is the soil – the condition of the heart that receives it.

First, there are hard hearts. In a hardened heart, the seed of the gospel cannot take root. The message is heard, but it’s never truly understood or welcomed because the heart has become resistant to God’s work.

Then there are shallow hearts. These people initially receive the gospel with joy, but only on the surface. Their faith has no deep roots, and when following Christ becomes difficult or costly, they quickly fall away. They discover that enthusiasm alone isn’t enough to sustain a lifetime of discipleship.

Jesus also describes thorny hearts. Here the seed begins to grow, but it has competition. Jesus identifies the worries of this life, the deceitfulness of wealth, and the desire for other things. Little by little, these competing priorities crowd Christ out until the plant can no longer bear fruit.

Finally, there are receptive hearts. These are the people who hear God’s Word, receive it, and allow it to take deep root. Their lives are transformed, and that transformation bears fruit. They become disciples whose lives bear witness – in both word and deed – to the risen Christ.

God’s Grace and Our Response

Left to ourselves, none of us can make our own hearts fertile. God is the one who softens hardened hearts, deepens shallow faith, and patiently clears away the thorns that choke our spiritual lives. Yet God also invites us to cooperate with his grace and cultivate the soil he has prepared.

Our baptism marks God’s gracious call to follow Jesus, but it is only the beginning of a lifelong journey of discipleship. Like newly sown seed, faith must be nurtured if it is to flourish.

Tending the Garden

Now I have to confess that I’m a wretched gardener. I plant seeds, and then I wonder why nothing seems to grow. But if I’m honest, it isn’t because the seed is bad – it’s because I usually neglect my plantings. I expect to plant the seed and have it grow all by itself. The reality is that if I want my plantings to survive, they need three things: water, weeding, and feeding.

The same is true of the Christian life. God’s grace bestowed on us in baptism gives us new life, but healthy plants still need care. Faith rarely flourishes when it is neglected.

First, we need water. That begins with a daily relationship with God through Jesus Christ. Like every healthy relationship, it grows through communication. Prayer is how we open ourselves to God’s presence and receive the living water that Jesus promises to those who come to him.

But watering alone is never enough. Every garden must also be weeded. Competing priorities inevitably find their way into our lives unless we intentionally make room for Christ. Anxiety, the pursuit of wealth, unhealthy habits, misplaced ambitions, resentment, or simple complacency can slowly crowd out our devotion to God. By God’s grace, we are called to identify those weeds and pull them before they choke the life of faith.

Finally, every garden needs nourishment. Jesus tells us that we are nourished by the Word of God. We grow as we read the Scriptures, worship together, receive the sacraments, and encourage one another within the community of faith. Neglected plants naturally become weak, but a nurtured faith naturally bears lasting fruit.

The Good News

The message of this parable isn’t simply that good soil produces a harvest. It’s that God’s Word is powerful enough to produce an astonishing harvest in hearts that are open to him. What begins as a tiny seed can become a life transformed for the glory of God.

And there is one more piece of good news. The sower never stops sowing. That means none of us should ever despair. No heart is beyond God’s reach. No life is too overgrown. No past is too rocky. The Sower keeps sowing. He does not give up on us. By his grace, the soil of our hearts can be changed, and what once seemed barren can become fruitful. The harvest ultimately depends not only on the quality of the soil but on the faithfulness and generosity of the One who continues to sow.

My prayer for us is that the Holy Spirit will continue to prepare our hearts to receive God’s Word with joy, that our faith will grow deep roots, and that we will bear fruit in love, service, and faithfulness. And may our life together as the body of Christ, by God’s grace, yield a harvest – a hundredfold – for the glory of God. Amen.

Independence Day (Observed) – The Rev. Mark S. Winward, MDiv,ThM

Jesus said, “You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I say to you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you…” – Matthew 5:43-44, NRSV

The Mood of Our 250th Anniversary

Is it me, or does this 250th anniversary of the founding of our nation seem a bit subdued – especially compared to what I remember of our 200th anniversary? I was 15 years old during our Bicentennial in 1976, and you couldn’t get away from it. I remember parades, tall ships, fireworks, television specials, and a sense of anticipation and excitement that, to my young eyes, seemed to last for months. This year, as we celebrate our 250th anniversary – a quarter of a millennium of our nation’s life, and arguably an even more significant milestone than our Bicentennial – the mood feels very different. One of the things that saddens me most is that even flying the flag of the nation I dedicated most of my life to defending can now be interpreted as a political statement. I pray we can recover a sense of shared civic identity that rises above our political differences. 

When Disagreement Becomes Enmity

Whether because of politics, media, social change, or simply the pace of modern life, many of us have the sense that we no longer know how to disagree without questioning one another’s motives. Too often we have come to view those outside our self-selected tribes as not only misguided but evil – as the enemy. Part of the reason for this is that we no longer know how to be people who simply disagree. As we’ve retreated into the echo chambers of our media choices, we’ve learned how to argue, how to label, and how to distrust others – but not how to love.

Jesus said, “You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I say to you, love your enemies…” Notice what he actually says. He doesn’t say, “Agree with your enemies, pretend they are right, ignore injustice, or stop seeking the truth.” He says, “Love them.”

The Declaration and the Gospel

Two hundred and fifty years ago, our founders had profound disagreements with George III and, as a result, declared our independence. But what you don’t often hear is that the colonies themselves were deeply divided. Patriots, Loyalists, and a large number who simply hoped to stay out of the conflict all lived side by side. The result was a bloody war of independence that cost the lives of more than one in ten soldiers. Yet in the midst of such horrific division, the Declaration made a revolutionary claim: that all people – even our enemies – were not less than human. In fact, its opening declaration – “that all are created equal and endowed by their Creator with unalienable rights” – assumes that we all possess a common dignity bestowed upon us by God. Regardless of your view of this nation’s history, that revolutionary concept laid the groundwork for modern constitutional democracies throughout much of the free world. But while the Declaration proclaims that all people inherently possess equal rights – even our enemies – Jesus goes even further. Jesus tells us that our enemies deserve our love.

Children of Our Father

Take a look at today’s Gospel in your bulletin. Jesus tells us the reason for loving our neighbors, our enemies, even our persecutors. He adds, “…so that you may be children of your Father in heaven; for he makes the sun rise on the evil and on the good.” Jesus doesn’t appeal to fairness or even justice. He appeals to God’s character and our calling to reflect it as God’s children. God causes the sun to shine on Democrats and Republicans. God sends rain on conservatives and progressives. God feeds people whose theology is right and people whose theology is wrong. The Father refuses to divide creation into tribes deserving of grace and tribes excluded from it. So if we are God’s children, shouldn’t we love like our Father in heaven?

The Witness of the Church

Jesus was speaking from firsthand experience, as were the people following him. They weren’t dealing with online arguments or political slogans. They had enemies – people like the Romans, Pharisees, and zealots – who sought to betray, imprison, beat, and even kill them. Yet Jesus concludes by asking, in effect, how are we any different if we love only those who agree with us – only those who belong to whatever tribe we identify with?

While our Declaration grounded equality in the Creator, Jesus grounds all of humanity in our common relationship to a loving Father. And while the founders’ Declaration was remarkable in a time of radical inequality, the love Christ calls us to is even more radical. Our Church has an opportunity to model something our culture deeply lacks. Imagine what the world would look like if Christians became known not for winning arguments, excluding others, or denigrating our enemies, but for loving people as children of God – even if they do not love us back.

Our nation will always have political disagreements. It always has. The question before us is whether the Church will simply mirror those divisions or bear witness to something greater. Jesus does not call us to agree with our enemies. He calls us to love them, to pray for them, and, in doing so, to reflect the character of our Father in heaven. If we can learn to do that, perhaps our neighbors will see in us not another political tribe, but the family of God.

5th Sunday After Pentecost – Proper 8A – Mark S. Winward

“…thanks be to God that you, having once been slaves of sin, have become obedient from the heart to the form of teaching to which you were entrusted, and that you, having been set free from sin, have become slaves of righteousness.” – Romans 6:17, NRSV

The Meaning of the Clergy Collar

People often wonder what the clergy collar I wear means. I once had a waitress ask me if my collar was a new style! (I told her, “Actually, it is a very old style!”) But seriously, there are several ways to answer that question—and, for me, it comes down to being a visible reminder that I am a servant of Christ—more specifically, a bond servant of Christ. In antiquity, a bond servant, sometimes called a bond-slave, was someone who voluntarily bound themselves to serve another person, often for life.

In the Bible, the term carries two important meanings. Under the Old Testament law, a Hebrew servant who loved his master could choose not to go free. Instead, he voluntarily stayed in his master’s service, and that lifelong commitment was symbolized by having his ear pierced (Exodus 21:5–6). In the New Testament, Paul, James, and Peter all describe themselves as bond servants—the Greek word is doulos—of Jesus Christ. While slavery in the ancient world was overwhelmingly brutal, the apostles turned it around to express complete devotion, loyalty, and submission to Christ. A bond servant is more than simply an employee. A hired worker works for their wages and then goes home. A bond servant willingly commits his whole life to his master.

Beyond Working Hours

That’s what my collar reminds me of every time I look in the mirror. My contracted hours are roughly nine to five during the week, plus Sundays. During those hours – and after them – you might rightly expect me to behave in a manner faithful to Christ and, in some measure, reflect the faith I proclaim. Now, I will be the last person to stand here and claim that I always do that perfectly—and my family would quickly testify otherwise. But I deeply believe that the general character of my life—whether I am wearing this collar or not—must reflect the convictions I preach.

Imagine if the only time I reflected Christ was when I was “on duty.” Sadly, we’ve seen examples of that. Too many high-profile clergy have lived one life in public and an entirely different one in private. What if I simply lived however I wanted when no one was watching? What if I pursued only what pleased me instead of what pleased God? Who would I really be serving?

The truth is that every one of us serves someone or something. Some serve money. Some serve ambition. Some serve success. Some serve comfort. Most often, we simply serve ourselves. In today’s reading from Romans, Paul paints a stark contrast. We are either slaves to sin or servants of God. One path leads to life. The other leads to death.

The Bad News

To understand Paul’s contrast, we first need to understand what he means by sin. We often think of sin simply as breaking God’s commandments, but Scripture goes deeper than that. Sin is the attempt to place ourselves where only God belongs. It is choosing our own will instead of God’s will. Have you ever noticed how naturally we want to run our own lives? We are often too happy to have God bless our plans, but not always eager for Him to direct them. That’s the heart of sin.

The tragedy is that self-rule can’t ever give us life. Simply put, we can’t save ourselves any more than we can raise the dead. That’s why Paul says, “The wages of sin is death.” A life curved in upon itself eventually dies in upon itself. The reward of a life lived entirely “my way” is, ultimately, nothing. But Paul does not stop there. “The free gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

The Good News

That gift comes only because of what Christ has done. Jesus took our sin upon himself on the Cross, experienced even death itself, and rose again so that sin and death would no longer be our masters. The truth is this: only the One who conquered death can give life. We proclaim that reality every Sunday when we gather around this altar and pray, “In him, you have brought us out of error into truth, out of sin into righteousness, out of death into life.”

This becomes much clearer when we see it in the context of the verses immediately preceding today’s reading. Just a few verses earlier, Paul reminds us that when we were baptized, we were buried with Christ. And just as Christ was raised, we get to walk in a brand-new life. Paul’s point is that baptism breaks sin’s power over us. It frees us from our old master. Of course, every baptized person still struggles with sin. None of us lives our lives perfectly. Yet our failures don’t change what God has already done for us.

The Elephant Syndrome

Something called “Elephant Syndrome” might help us understand this better. The story goes that circus trainers make a practice of chaining a baby elephant to a heavy stake so that it is unable to move. After trying again and again to escape, the young elephant eventually gives up. Years later, when it is a full-grown elephant capable of uprooting trees, it only needs to be tied by a thin rope to a small wooden peg. It could walk away at any moment, but it never tries because it still believes it is captive.

Whether or not the story is literally true, it illustrates something profoundly true about the Christian life. Through baptism, the heavy chains of sin have been broken. Yet many Christians continue living as though they are still enslaved—bound by old habits, old fears, and old ways of thinking. When Paul says, “Do not let sin exercise dominion in your mortal bodies,” he is saying something wonderfully simple: Look down. The chains are gone. Walk free.

The Freedom of Serving Christ

That is what my collar means to me. Every morning I put it on as a reminder of whose servant I am. But long before I ever wore this collar, God marked me with another sign in baptism. In a sense, baptism is God’s “collar” for every Christian—not a mark of status, but a sign of belonging.

The irony of the Gospel is that Christ has not set us free so that we can simply serve ourselves. He has set us free as bond servants—to freely return to him. We are no longer slaves driven by fear but servants who willingly remain because we have come to love our Master. And when we do, we discover that the only true freedom is found in belonging to the One who created us, redeemed us, and calls us by name.

Conclusion – Remembering our Baptism

So the question is not whether we will serve. We all serve someone. The only question is whom. Will we live as willing bond servants of Jesus Christ, living a life worthy of the sacrifice he has made for us?

Every morning I put on this collar as a reminder of to Whom I belong. But every one of us has received something even greater. In baptism, Christ has claimed us, united us to his death and resurrection, and broken the chains that once held us captive. So remember your baptism. Look down. The chains are gone. Walk free. Walk in the freedom of the children of God—not because you have earned it, but because Christ has already given you a gift paid for by an immeasurable price. And, having been set free, willingly offer your whole life out of gratitude to the One who first gave his life for you.

4th Sunday After Pentecost, Proper 7A – Mark S. Winward

Jesus said, “Those who find their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it.” – Matthew 10:39

The Cost of Discipleship

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

Wow, tough Gospel reading this morning—perhaps the hardest of Jesus’ teachings. But seriously, when there is a selection in the cycle of readings that is difficult to understand, hard to swallow, or seemingly harsh, that is probably the exact place a preacher should focus. So, I feel responsible to explore this very hard set of sayings of Jesus in today’s Gospel. Why was Jesus so harsh?

For one thing, he knew the sacrifices his followers would make to spread the Good News of his kingdom – and it was indeed costly. The great second-century Church father, Tertullian, famously wrote, “The blood of the martyrs is the seed of the Church.” Especially in the first three centuries of the Church, Christians would be beaten, tortured, and killed in ways limited only by the imagination of their persecutors. And it was their refusal to deny Jesus as Lord that inspired millions to embrace a faith ironically represented by a Roman symbol of execution: the cross. Martin Luther famously wrote, “A religion that gives nothing, costs nothing, and suffers nothing, is worth nothing.” Jesus knew his disciples, like him, would be called upon to suffer for his Good News of hope, salvation, and reconciliation. 

Perhaps the most convincing evidence of Jesus’ resurrection is the fate of those twelve: Andrew died on a cross; Simon was crucified; Bartholomew was flayed alive; James (son of Zebedee) was beheaded; the other James (son of Alphaeus) was beaten to death; Thomas was run through with a lance; Matthias was stoned and then beheaded; Matthew was slain by the sword; Peter was crucified upside down; Thaddeus was shot to death with arrows; and Philip was hanged. Only John made it through alive, but he was exiled to a small island in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea.

Radical Discipleship Versus Tame Faith

The demands that Jesus makes upon those who would follow him are pretty extreme. I have to admit, I am completely perplexed by how many preachers take away the sharp edge from lectionary readings like this one. If we practice our faith the way Jesus exhorts us to, Christianity can’t just be a tame Sunday School faith, confined once a week to the four walls of a church. The faith to which Jesus called his disciples is nothing less than hungering after God to the point of laying down our lives for his sake. Such radical discipleship shakes our foundations, topples our priorities, and at times pits us against friend and family, making us strangers in this world.

Perhaps the most demanding of Jesus’ teachings is found in today’s Gospel reading in Matthew. Matthew, by the way, records Jesus as specifically addressing his disciples, while Luke records the same words as part of his teaching to the crowds. In either case, the impact is equally challenging: “Whoever loves father or mother more than me is not worthy of me; and whoever loves son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me; and whoever does not take up the cross and follow me is not worthy of me.“

That must have gotten their attention—and it was designed to. Now, people followed Jesus for a number of different reasons. Some followed him because they saw Jesus feed a multitude of people and were waiting to be fed again. Some followed him because they heard of Jesus’ ability to heal and were waiting for an opportunity to approach him and be healed. Still others followed him simply for the excitement. But it is safe to say that only a few were truly committed to this traveling preacher’s teaching.

Understanding Jesus’ Shocking Language

If we think about it, Jesus no more taught hating our family in the Gospels than he taught us to hate life. Indeed, four chapters later, Jesus preached to the teachers of the law, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself.” Jesus knew exactly how to draw a crowd in—he used shocking language to shake them out of their complacency. But once these Jewish crowds got over the initial shock, they might have realized Jesus wasn’t telling them anything at all new. They might have remembered that this principle was graphically acted out in Genesis 22. That story recounts God commanding Abraham to take his son, Isaac, to Mt. Moriah to be sacrificed. Intent on obeying God, at the last moment, an angel of the Lord prevents Abraham from carrying out this horrific act.

Now, this is not a story about child abuse; rather, it is a story about faithfulness. Here, a simple nomad demonstrates he is willing to perform a sacrifice which was common to the primitive religions. But God no more meant Abraham to sacrifice Isaac than Jesus is suggesting for us to hate our family. Rather, God meant to test Abraham’s priorities. And because of Abraham’s faithfulness, God issues one of the most famous promises in the Bible: “Because you have done this, and have not withheld your son, your only son, I will indeed bless you, and I will make your offspring as numerous as the stars of heaven and as the sand that is on the seashore.” This story was near and dear to Jesus’ Jewish audience, and if they thought about it, they would have realized Jesus was sharing with them exactly the same principle: namely, God demands nothing less than to be the central priority in our lives.

The Radical Reorientation of Faith

This demand for total priority is exactly what Paul is describing in today’s reading from Romans. Paul describes the radical reordering of one’s life represented in baptism. Here, the old life for Self is set aside, and a new life oriented for, in, and around Christ is embraced. Such a life embraces the author of life and, in doing so, seeks God’s purposes. The point is that a life given over to God—dead to self—naturally seeks God’s will. That is why baptism and repentance are so closely tied. Repentance literally means “turning around 180 degrees.” Such a 180 degree reorientation represents a turning away from our own wills and towards God.

Most people will tell you that what it takes to get to heaven is just to be a good person. In other words, we get God to accept us by being good—a kind of quid pro quo. You’re good, so God does what you want. The Gospel turns this thinking on its ear. When a radical spiritual reorientation occurs, we naturally point towards God’s will rather than our own.

The Weight of Objective Truth

That is a pretty costly proposition if our faith isn’t, in some fundamental way, true. It’s popular to believe now a days that it really doesn’t matter what you believe as long as you are sincere. Of course, it is quite possible to be very sincere and have all the best intentions, and to be sincerely wrong. If faith is anything more than a way to help us feel good about ourselves, it must either be objectively true or objectively false. Woven throughout Scripture is the simple proposition that God revealed Himself miraculously to the people of Israel, and then directly in Jesus Christ. At the end of the day, if our faith has any substance, that proposition is either objectively true or false. We are either sincerely wrong, or it is the most important Truth one can possibly know in the world. And if Christ—as he claims to be—is the very definition of Truth, that revelation demands we build our lives around it and follow in His footsteps. But count the cost. Jesus tells us, “Whoever does not take up the cross and follow me is not worthy of me. Those who find their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it.”

Heroic Faith

Such sacrifice is nothing less than heroic. We see it in inner city ministry, in world missions, and in organizations like Doctors Without Borders. Heroic faith is the difference between a contribution and a sacrifice. Following Jesus Christ can never be only a polite Sunday morning faith. It demands walking in the footsteps of Christ along the way of the cross. It demands being prepared to face ridicule and rejection for our faith. And it demands laying everything we possess and all that we are at the foot of the cross. It demands we yield before Jesus Christ as the Lord of our lives—with Him as our central priority and focus.

The irony of the cross, though, is that it hardly represents just sorrow and sacrifice. Rather, just as it did when Christ first walked the Via De La Rosa, the way of the cross leads to resurrection. And rather than throwing our lives into chaos, putting all we have and are under God’s control—under the Lordship of Jesus Christ—begins to put things in order. And finally, we know Peace. In losing our lives, we gain them. Surely, then, we will discover for ourselves the converse of Martin Luther’s words that I began with: a faith that gives everything, costs everything, and suffers everything is most certainly worth everything.

3rd Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 6A – Mark S. Winward

Introduction: The Rhythm of Spiritual Breath

Just for a moment, please close your eyes, relax, and become aware of your breathing. Sense the rhythm of your breath – in and out, in and out – not forced or controlled, but as a natural expression of the rhythm of your life. Take in air to sustain your life, and return it. Without both, it is impossible for each of us to live or flourish. 

Far too often, we Christians slip into the temptation of attempting to live on a single breath: either spiritually inhaling or spiritually exhaling. At times we may retreat into a comfortable spirituality that asks little of us beyond our own growth; at other times, we may rush into reaching out to the world without remaining rooted in prayer. Whether as individuals or congregations, without a balance between an inward and an outward faith, we cannot truly know what it is to spiritually flourish.

The Breath of God

Scripture connects breath with the very life of God. The Hebrew word ruach and the Greek word pneuma both can be translated spirit, wind, or breath. The Hebrew scriptures tell us the breath of God was breathed into Adam at creation. The New Testament recalls the Holy Spirit being breathed upon the disciples by the risen Christ. So when we speak about spiritual breath, we understand it as life sustained by the Spirit of God. But the temptation is to focus on two extremes: either spiritually only inhaling or exhaling.

Only Breathing In or Out

Some Christians may perpetually inhale – taking in the breath of the Holy Spirit while enjoying the beauty of God’s holiness. Such a faith basks in a personal relationship with Christ, individual salvation, and the comfort that brings. But although this vertical relationship with God is deeply embraced, a faith that fails to move beyond it risks losing its horizontal impact outside the church doors. Some forms of Christianity may become so focused on personal faith and spiritual growth that engagement with the surrounding world gradually fades into the background, offering little comfort to the lonely, the broken, or the marginalized in their surrounding communities. Such a faith inhales… and inhales… and inhales – suffocating on its own comfort.

At the other extreme is a Christianity that perpetually exhales – a faith of action that rightly takes our baptismal covenant seriously to “strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being.” Such a faith celebrates on social activism, political mobilization, or outreach to the marginalized. Churches may devote tremendous energy to feeding programs, advocacy efforts, and community outreach – all of which have a significant, positive effect on their community. But somehow, in the urgent appeal for action, the connection with the Source is sometimes lost. In the rush to do the work of God, there may be little time left for prayer, for deepening a relationship with Christ, or for personal transformation. Such a faith exhales… and exhales… and exhales – running on sheer human grit and moral duty, until it runs out of air from a lack of the Spirit’s breath.

A Holistic Faith: Understanding Grace

A holistic faith, in contrast, breathes deeply of the grace of God and breathes out that grace to a broken world – a world that is itself suffocating from a lack of the love, mercy, and charity.

At its most basic level, grace is unearned mercy. God loves us and forgives us not because we have earned it, but simply because grace is at the heart of who God is. The grace you and I stand in this morning is entirely, beautifully, radically unearned! Today’s collect beautifully captures this balance between receiving God’s grace and sharing it: “Keep, O Lord, your household the Church in your steadfast faith and love, that through your grace we may proclaim your truth with boldness, and minister your justice with compassion…” 

In other words, we receive God’s grace to share it with others – in both word and deed. That order matters. We do not earn God’s favor through our service; rather, our service is the natural overflow of grace we have already received from God. We breathe out grace to others because God has first breathed his grace into us. In such a balanced internal and external life, the outreach we extend to the world is the inevitable, necessary echo of the unearned grace God has already extended to us.

Balancing Grace and Action

Today’s St. Paul’s Letter to Romans puts it beautifully: “Since we are justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ…” We breathe in God’s unmerited mercy by holding it in our hearts in faith, and the result is life – what the Gospels call “life more abundantly.” Such a life takes on a whole new meaning, even in the midst of suffering. Paul continues: ”…suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope…”When we recognize that God accepts us out of sheer, unmerited mercy, it changes everything! We begin to see that none of us is any better than anyone else, because we all find ourselves in the same fix: sinners in need of Christ’s redeeming. And when we begin to comprehend that profound truth of our redemption, we become so overwhelmed by God’s grace that we simply cannot contain it, and are compelled to breathe out that grace to others. Sometimes that takes dramatic forms, but more often it happens in ordinary ways: visiting a lonely neighbor, preparing a meal for someone in crisis, forgiving a person who has wounded us, mentoring a child, or simply offering compassion to someone carrying an unseen burden. Grace received, naturally, seeks to be grace shared.

Having received God’s grace, then what do we do with it? The key to this is found in today’s Gospel when Jesus concludes: “Proclaim the good news, ‘The kingdom of heaven has come near.’ Cure the sick, raise the dead, cleanse the lepers, cast out demons. You received without payment; give without payment.” Other translations put it even more starkly: “Freely you have received; freely give.” God has bestowed unearned mercy on us; therefore, we share his amazing grace with others. Notice that sharing the Gospel is two-fold – proclaiming the Kingdom of God and extending healing to others. Word and deed.

Conclusion: Our Charge

And there it is. We cannot isolate ourselves from the world and only bask in God’s grace; nor can we reach out to those in need relying solely on our own empathy. Instead, we see the needs of the world around us and respond, “God has been so jaw-droppingly merciful to me, how can I possibly withhold that mercy from others?”

The Father has loved us, the Son has redeemed us, and the Holy Spirit has empowered us for service. The Christian life is nothing less than participating in that divine life and allowing it to flow through us into the world. Our spiritual vitality – both individually and as a believing community – is sustained by breathing in God’s unearned grace and breathing it out to a wounded world. We simply cannot receive the grace of God and remain indifferent to those outside our doors. Likewise, we cannot effectively attend to the wounds of the world without being sustained by the breath of God. My prayer is that we grow deeper in God’s amazing grace, and continue to boldly step out into the world, proclaiming the risen Christ, and sharing His justice and compassion.

Freely we have received. Now, go forth from here and freely give.

Amen.