Category: Wednesday Sermons

Alexander Crummell – Priest 1898 – Mark Winward

Today the Episcopal Church commemorates the Rev. Alexander Crummell, who served faithfully as a priest, missionary, and educator. Born in New York in 1819 to African American parents—his mother freeborn and his father a former slave—Crummell was raised in a household committed to abolitionism. Although he came from an affluent family, he faced numerous struggles in his pursuit of education. While enrolled at Noyes Academy, a racially integrated and unusually progressive high school in New Hampshire, a white mob of several hundred men destroyed the institution by dragging the school building—some accounts say with oxen—into a swamp! This violent act closed the academy and expelled Crummell and his Black classmates. Later, when he sought ordination, the Diocese of New York rejected him for Holy Orders and he was denied admission to General Theological Seminary purely on the basis of his race.

Undeterred, Crummell prepared privately for ordination under the guidance of clergy in Providence and Boston—and also audited lectures at Yale Theological Seminary. His persistence bore fruit: he was ordained a deacon in March 1842 and a priest in November 1844. Yet even then, he was forbidden to attend the Diocese of Massachusetts convention. In 1849, he journeyed to England to study at Queens’ College, Cambridge University, where he also preached against slavery, proclaiming that the universality of the Gospel was the answer to racism. In 1852, after earning his degree in classics and theology, he traveled to Liberia where he would serve as a missionary for the next 20 years.

Liberia, a former colony of American slaves on Africa’s west coast, became the focus of Crummell’s vision. He sought to establish a Christian republic that would demonstrate Black capacity for self-rule and cultural leadership. He believed Liberia could serve as the center of African revival, where Western-educated Black leaders would guide the continent’s moral and cultural rebirth through Christianity and civilization. There he founded schools, promoted higher education, and delivered influential sermons on Pan-African nationalism, teaching that people of African descent worldwide shared a common destiny tied to Africa.

Crummell’s efforts, however, met with mixed success. His attempts to strengthen Anglicanism in Liberia failed to take deep root, and his schools did not endure as lasting institutions. Part of this stemmed from his criticism of Liberia’s ruling elite for corruption and lack of discipline, which limited his political influence. Nevertheless, his writings on African redemption, moral leadership, and the destiny of Black people profoundly shaped later generations and turned many hearts to Christ.

In 1873, Crummell returned to the United States, where he founded numerous African American congregations in the National Capital Region. He also taught at Howard University and fought tirelessly for equal Black representation within the Episcopal Church. Up until the end of his life, he held fast to the conviction that true equality for Africans—and true unity for humanity—could only be found under the banner of Jesus Christ. He died on September 10, 1898, and in 1979 was officially recognized for his contributions to the Church, racial equality, and a Pan-African vision.

We remember Crummell to this day because he continues to inspire people of all races. At every stage of his life he faced rejection—barred from seminary, excluded from white institutions, resisted in Liberia, and marginalized in America. Yet he refused to yield to bitterness, instead finding alternate paths and persevering with tenacity. He believed education was the key to upward mobility—not just for individual advancement but for the transformation of communities and nations. His founding of the American Negro Academy sought to empower Black scholars to define their own history and culture, inspiring future generations. His vision of Pan-Africanism, though ahead of its time, planted seeds that later blossomed into movements for African independence and global Black solidarity. Crummell’s life serves as an inspirational lesson in resilience amidst adversity, the power of education, the necessity of global solidarity, the courage of moral integrity, and the patience of long-term vision. His story reminds us that real change often comes slowly, but it begins with those willing to trust God, hold fast to their vision, and labor faithfully even when success seems like a distant dream.

The Feast of Phoebe, Deacon – Mark Winward

Phoebe shows up at the end of Paul’s Epistle to the Romans briefly but with an important role to play—she’s the one Paul trusted to deliver his letter. That’s hardly a small task! The church remembers her on September 3, not just Anglicans, but also Lutherans, Roman Catholics, and Eastern Orthodox Christians. Phoebe was a standout leader in the church of Cenchreae (san-CREE-a). Paul calls her both a deacon (Greek diakonos) and a helper or patron of many (Greek prostatis). This is the only place in the New Testament where a woman gets both of those titles, which makes her mention all the more striking. Since the Roman Christians didn’t yet know her, Paul makes sure to give her glowing credentials as his emissary.

So what do we know about Phoebe? First, most scholars agree she probably carried Paul’s letter to Rome herself—imagine being entrusted with one of the most theologically rich documents in the entire New Testament! She may even have been the one to read it aloud or explain it to the Roman church. Second, her titles as deacon and patron show that women weren’t sidelined in the early church. They were leaders, supporters, and influencers in the Christian movement. Finally, by commending Phoebe so warmly, Paul is giving her authority and smoothing the way for her in Rome. It’s a glimpse into how early Christian communities were knit together by trust, relationships, and dedicated emissaries like Phoebe.

Phoebe’s story pulls back the curtain on how vital deacons and patrons were in keeping the church alive and growing. Her mention proves that women weren’t just present but deeply active and influential in the spread of the Gospel. Paul’s personal endorsement speaks volumes—she wasn’t just a helper in the background, she was one of his most trusted co-workers.

Her ministry still speaks today. Phoebe reminds us that everyone has a role in God’s Kingdom, even if the world labels it as small or insignificant. Carrying Paul’s letter was a huge responsibility, and it came with real danger—Roman authorities didn’t look kindly on Christian messengers. Yet without the faithfulness of people like Phoebe—folks who might look like “footnotes” to history—the Gospel wouldn’t have reached the far corners of the world and transformed the course of history. In the end, Phoebe’s brief but significant appearance shows us the hidden heroes of the early church—ordinary women and men who worked faithfully behind the scenes so that the Good News could travel everywhere.

The Feast of Saint Bartholomew the Apostle – Mark Winward

Monday was the Feast of Saint Bartholomew the Apostle, transferred this year from Sunday, August 24th, the traditional date of his martyrdom. Bartholomew, or Bar-Tolmai—literally “son of Tolmai”—was one of Jesus’ original twelve disciples according to the synoptic gospels of Matthew, Mark, and Luke. Many scholars also identify him with Nathanael, who appears in the Gospel of John. Bartholomew the disciple became Bartholomew the Apostle when the risen Christ, in the Gospel of Matthew, gave the Great Commission, sending them out to “make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.” Thus, those sent out with a mission became Apostles, going to the ends of the earth to transform the world.

According to second-century tradition, Bartholomew traveled as a missionary to India and then Armenia, where he was martyred. Eastern tradition holds that he converted an Armenian king, Polymius, to Christianity. Enraged by the king’s conversion and fearing Roman reprisal, Polymius’ brother, Prince Astyages, ordered Bartholomew’s torture and execution. That tradition recounts that he was flayed alive in Albanopolis, Armenia. For this reason, St. Bartholomew is honored as the patron saint of Armenia, as well as gruesomely of tanners, leatherworkers, bookbinders, glovemakers, and butchers. Because of his grisly death, Bartholomew is often depicted in art, iconography, and sculpture holding his own skin. Perhaps the most famous depiction is in the Sistine Chapel, where a restored St. Bartholomew holds his complete skin in heaven.

Yet Bartholomew is hardly alone in such a witness. Jesus knew the sacrifices his followers would make to spread the Good News of his kingdom in word and deed. 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 Christianity, believers were beaten, tortured, and killed in ways limited only by the imagination of their persecutors. Their steadfast refusal to deny Jesus as the risen Lord inspired countless others to embrace a faith whose very symbol was a Roman instrument of execution—the cross.

Who would possibly die in such a way for what they knew was a myth? Perhaps the greatest testimony to Jesus’ resurrection is the fate of the twelve Apostles themselves. Bartholomew was flayed alive. Andrew died on a cross. Simon was crucified. James, son of Zebedee, was beheaded. James, son of Alphaeus, was beaten to death. Thomas was pierced with a lance. Matthias was stoned and then beheaded. Matthew was slain by the sword. Peter was crucified upside down. Thaddeus was shot with arrows. Philip was hanged. Only John died a natural death, though even he was exiled to a remote island in the Mediterranean Sea.

The demands that Jesus places on those who follow him are extreme. I must admit, I am perplexed by how we in the Church sometimes blunt this sharp edge of the gospels and Christian history. If we practice our faith as Jesus intended, it cannot be reduced to a tame Sunday School faith confined to the four walls of a church once a week. The faith Jesus calls us to is nothing less than a hungering after God—even to the point of laying down our lives before him. It overturns our priorities, shakes our foundations, and at times sets us against friends and family, making us strangers in this world.

Such sacrifice is nothing less than heroic. Heroic faith is the difference between mere contribution and true sacrifice. Following Jesus Christ can never be reduced to a polite Sunday-morning routine. It demands walking the way of the cross. It demands readiness to face ridicule and rejection for our faith. It demands that we lay everything we possess, and all that we are, at the foot of the cross. And it demands that we kneel before Jesus Christ as the Lord of our lives—our central priority and focus.

The irony of the cross is that it represents far more than sorrow and sacrifice. Just as when Christ first walked that path, the way of the cross leads to eternal and abundant life. Paradoxically, as we surrender the things we place before God, we lighten our burdens, discovering a joy and freedom otherwise impossible. Far from throwing our lives into chaos, living under the Lordship of Christ brings order. And finally, we know peace—for in losing our lives, we truly gain them. The great reformer Martin Luther famously wrote, “A religion that gives nothing, costs nothing, and suffers nothing, is worth nothing.” The converse is surely equally true: a faith that gives everything, costs everything, and suffers everything is most certainly worth everything.

The Feast of Bernard of Clairvaux – Mark Winward

Jesus said to them, “How hard it is to enter the kingdom of God! It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God.”

– Mark 10:23, NRSV

As Mark Twain once remarked, “It ain’t those parts of the Bible that I can’t understand that bother me; it is the parts that I do understand.” Many people have tried to dodge the force of this teaching. Some soothe their consciences by assuming that what Jesus says applies only to those who are truly rich. But who, exactly, are the rich? Often, the rich are simply defined as those who earn more than we do. The IRS sets the top 10% of income earners at around $149,000 or more per year, and while that varies by region, it is a good starting estimate for places like Pickens and Gilmer counties. Yet no matter the number, we somehow manage to draw the line just above ourselves, so that we can comfort ourselves with the thought that Jesus surely meant this lesson for someone else.

Over the centuries, there have been many attempts by preachers and teachers to enlarge or reduce the size of the “needle’s eye.” You may have heard sermons citing a tradition that the “Needle’s Eye” was the name of a small gate in Jerusalem, through which a camel could pass only if it shed its burden and knelt down. The lesson becomes: rich people need not worry if they are simply humble. It is a nice metaphor, but biblical scholars tell us it fails the Snopes test—there is no historical basis for such a claim. Another interpretation suggests that “camel” is a mistranslation of a similar Aramaic word for “rope” or “ship’s cable.” Yet this hardly helps, for ropes go through the eyes of needles no more than camels do. C. S. Lewis once captured the vivid extremity of Jesus’ image in a poem: “All things (e.g., a camel’s journey through a needle’s eye) are possible, it’s true; but picture how the camel feels, squeezed out, in one long bloody thread from tail to snout.”

No one ever saw the dangers of prosperity and possessions more clearly than Jesus did. What, then, is the harm in what we in the West would call success? Material possessions tend to fix our hearts to this world. If we have too much at stake in it, it becomes hard for us to think beyond it—and even harder to imagine leaving it behind. If our main interest is in material things, we begin to think of everything in terms of price rather than value. In the West, it is easy to measure life by what money can buy. Yet there are things beyond money’s reach, things of infinite value that cannot be bought or sold. It is spiritually dangerous when we lull ourselves into believing that everything worth having has a dollar amount attached to it.

It is also easy to overlook the figure at the heart of this story—the rich man himself. At the beginning of the passage, a wealthy man approaches Jesus to ask what he must do to inherit eternal life. To the people of Jesus’ time, he would have seemed the ideal candidate: rich, respected, and presumably blessed. Yet Jesus responds shockingly that he must give up everything. Does this mean that Jesus expects every disciple to sell every possession? Many dismiss the idea as ridiculous. In fact, some of Jesus’ earliest followers clearly did have possessions—after all, someone owned the houses where he and his disciples sought refuge. The issue is not strictly about money, but about what rules our lives.

That is the heart of Jesus’ point: what is the ruling force of our lives—God or money? Jesus loved the righteous as much as the sinner, the wealthy as much as the poor. He did not love the rich man for the advantages his wealth might bring to the movement, but for who he was. Out of love, he told him exactly what he needed to hear, even if it was not what he wanted to hear. True love always challenges for the sake of another’s good.

The point of the camel and the needle’s eye is that it is impossible. No one measures up to God’s standards, no matter how good we think we are or appear to be. God’s will requires more than rote obedience to rules. The rich man believed his obedience complete and wanted confirmation from a respected teacher. But the disciples learned that salvation is beyond human power. What Jesus offers does not depend on what individuals can do for themselves, but on what God does for them. No one enters the kingdom by their own strength. Who can truly deny themselves completely? Who can sell all they have? If salvation were that simple, Jesus would not have needed to die on a cross. The impossible becomes possible only when God’s strength infuses our lives—not through confidence in ourselves, but in the one who alone is able to save.

Whether rich or poor, fishermen or tax collectors, prosperous landowners or day laborers—God requires the same of all. Jesus calls every disciple to set aside whatever barriers stand in the way of total commitment to him.

In the end, whether it is wealth, career, or power, the question is not simply what we have but what we do with it. What is the center of gravity in our lives? If the answer is anything other than God, it is the very definition of an idol. The practical test comes down to two standards: how we gained what we have, and how we use it. Do we use what we have selfishly, or in service to God and others? The truth is that all of us fall short. And as I have said many times, it makes all the difference in the world whether we are aiming at the right target or simply shooting in any direction we please. Still, I cannot help but think of that poor camel…

As Mark Twain said, “It ain’t those parts of the Bible that I can’t understand that bother me; it is the parts that I do understand.”

The Feast of the Blessed Virgin Mary – Mark Winward

Tomorrow is the Feast of the Blessed Virgin Mary, so it is highly appropriate that we mark this important day in the Church calendar at our mid-week service. In the Roman Catholic Church, this is a major feast day known as the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary, commemorating when Mary was taken bodily into heaven.

However, although she holds a preeminent place among the saints, Anglicans traditionally recognize only what the biblical record tells us about the Blessed Virgin Mary. Along with most Protestants and the Eastern Orthodox Church, Anglicans have not necessarily acknowledged Mary’s Assumption, her sinless life, or perpetual virginity—nor do they see her as an intercessor for believers.

Nevertheless, historically Anglicans have affirmed her honored place among the saints, the virgin birth, and her example for us in humility, obedience, and trust in God. Nothing expresses this better than the Magnificat in today’s Gospel selection from Matthew.

In keeping with Jewish tradition, Mary was most likely only twelve to fourteen years old. Yet, despite being engaged, despite the certainty of social rejection, and despite her world being turned upside down, Mary demonstrated courageous faith. Her response was that of a child—unrehearsed but bursting with joy: “My soul magnifies the Lord!” She then goes on to tell us who God is, what God has done, and what God is still doing in the world today.

First, the Magnificat is personal. Mary begins with “my soul, my spirit, my Savior.” This teenage peasant girl from an obscure village describes her relationship with God in the most personal terms. God turns the world upside down, beginning with this humble young girl.

She does not simply acknowledge her blessing—she magnifies it. Her small vision of God expands into something much greater, both in her own eyes and in the eyes of those around her.

Second, the Magnificat is prophetic.

Mary’s joyous song shifts from the personal to the universal. Written in the first century, her prophecy—“…from now on, all generations will call me blessed…”—has surely come true. Then, echoing the writer of Proverbs, “…the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom…”, she affirms, “His mercy is for those who fear him from generation to generation.”

It is not the proud, the powerful, or the rich whom God favors, but those who know their place before the Almighty. Notice what is turned upside down:

• The powerful are toppled.
• The humble are lifted.
• The hungry are fed.
• The rich are sent away empty.

Mary speaks of this future in faith as though it has already arrived.

Finally, the Magnificat is anchored in faithfulness.

Mary knows this is much bigger than herself or even her child. This is the fulfillment of God’s covenant with Abraham, with her people, and with all humanity—that God will redeem history and this tired old world.

The Magnificat is not just the musings of an ancient scribe—it is the Mother of our Savior’s challenge to us today. Magnify God in your life and know Him personally through Mary’s child. Stand with God’s reversal of priorities: reject the self-important, lift up the lowly, feed the hungry. And finally, rest in God’s promises. Even when things look the darkest, remember God’s faithfulness to Mary and be assured that He will be faithful to you.

God turned the world upside down in the least likely place, with the least likely young woman, at the least likely time. Yet this humble girl challenges us to magnify God in our lives, stand for God’s priorities, and rest on God’s promises. So—are you ready for such a courageous faith?

The Feast of the Transfiguration – Mark Winward

And while [Jesus] was praying, the appearance of his face changed, and his clothes became dazzling white. Suddenly they saw two men, Moses and Elijah, talking to him. They appeared in glory and were speaking of his departure, which he was about to accomplish at Jerusalem. – Luke 9:29-31, NRSV

Today’s account recounts an event Christians remember as the Transfiguration. The other Synoptic Gospels—namely Matthew and Luke—tell this same story, but add that while it was all happening, the disciples had fallen asleep, only to awaken at the end. They almost missed witnessing a miraculous movement of God that would forever change their lives.

Often, we are so enclosed in our own little worlds that we lose sight of the bigger picture. How often are we preoccupied with our own issues to the exclusion of everything else? We become prisoners of our own trivialities, rather than opening our eyes to God’s movement in our midst.

Sometimes the veil between this world and the next is very thin. I wonder what might have happened if the disciples had recognized that the veil had been drawn away. Perhaps, like Moses on Mt. Sinai, they too would have been transformed. But it was easier for them to sleep through these events rather than be transformed in a profound way. Still, they were clearly touched by what they experienced, and their transformation had begun. For the first time, the blinders had been removed, and they clearly witnessed Jesus’ glory. There could be no doubt in their minds that they had encountered God. Their hearts and lives could never be the same.

The prospect of transformation can be frightening. Primarily, this is because it involves something we naturally resist: change. Yet we can draw several important conclusions from both the disciples’ experience of the Transfiguration and Moses’ encounter on Mt. Sinai.

First and foremost, it is impossible to have a genuine encounter with God and not be changed in some way. Remember when Moses came down from Mt. Sinai? After standing in the presence of God, he was different. Moses’ life—like that of the disciples on the Mount of Transfiguration—could never be the same after beholding the glory of the Lord.

Second, such encounters are often fearful experiences. Today’s Gospel tells us the disciples were terrified when the cloud overshadowed them. The writer of Proverbs says, “The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom.” Perhaps this is because when we stand before the presence of the Lord, we are utterly powerless—faced with a power we cannot control. We don’t encounter God to change Him—God reveals Himself to change us. And by conforming to His will—like Moses and the disciples—we somehow become something greater than ourselves.

Lastly, God reveals Himself for a special purpose He has for us. Nowhere in the text does it imply that this change was consoling to the disciples. In fact, I can think of no direct encounter with God in the Bible where the purpose was to comfort. Rather, every genuine encounter with Almighty God was unsettling and disruptive. That’s because every time God reveals Himself, He prompts those who witness His truth to respond—regardless of the personal cost.

Encountering God’s transforming power isn’t just the stuff of saints and prophets. It’s the stuff of plain folk like you and me. God has a plan for each one of us—one that can transform our everyday lives, if we but wake up and remain sensitive to holy moments, when the veil between heaven and earth grows thin.