Storied Grace

On Living and Dying

A sermon for the Twentieth Sunday after Pentecost: Proper 23
October 11, 2026, at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Hot Springs, AR

Readings:Isaiah 25:1-9 ; Psalm 23 ; Philippians 4:1-9 ; Matthew 22:1-14

“You die the way you live.” That was advice I heard from a mentor of mine. She had seen it time and again as a priest. So have I. The patterns of our everyday life impact how we will die. If we live in despair, we will die despairing, discontented with what we have, looking for that next best thing just over the next hill. But if we live in peace with God and all people, grateful for what God has given us, we will die in peace. If we live in anger, looking for vengeance, we will die angry. But if we live loving God with all we are and loving our neighbors as ourselves, we will die loving, open-hearted, generous in spirit. This is Jesus’s parable today.

Break the Abacus

A sermon for the Nineteenth Sunday after Pentecost: Proper 22
October 4, 2026, at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Hot Springs, AR

Readings: Isaiah 5:1-7 ; Psalm 80:7-14 ; Philippians 3:4b-14 ; Matthew 21:33-46

We learn early on to count our losses and gains. Growing up I had a toy abacus, one of those ancient instruments for counting and commerce. It had five or so rows of different colored beads. I would move the different colored beads from one side to the other to count and compare sides of a ledger, keeping track of what was pulling ahead, what was falling behind. I think the point of the toy was to help with math. But at a deeper level, perhaps, toys like this make us learn to attach value to things, to quantify everything. The one who has more is the winner, and that’s good. That means you’re worth something. The one who has nothing–or worse, the one who has less than nothing, who owes something–is the loser, less than. We can calculate worth on the beads of an abacus.

Only Two Sons?

A sermon for the Eighteenth Sunday after Pentecost: Proper 21
September 27, 2026, at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Hot Springs, AR

Readings: Ezekiel 18:1-4,25-32 ; Psalm 25:1-8 ; Philippians 2:1-13 ; Matthew 21:23-32

Why are there always two sons? Jesus tells us a parable today. One son says he will not go to the vineyard, but later goes. The other son says he will go–he gives his word–but then backs out. Who does the will of his father? Obviously the one who did the work in the end–like the tax collectors and prostitutes listening to Jesus teach in the Temple. They did not follow the law at first, but did respond to John the Baptist’s preaching and repented. This is contrasted with the son who looks the part, says the right things, seems to be on the right track, but then doesn’t follow through–like the chief priests and elders who are confronting Jesus. Be like the first and not the other. Sermon over.

Two Anniversaries

A sermon for the Sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost: Proper 19
Foundation Day
September 13, 2026, at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Hot Springs, AR

Readings: Genesis 50:15-21 ; Psalm 103:(1-7), 8-13 ; Romans 14:1-12 ; Matthew 18:21-35

Today we commemorate two anniversaries. The first is the 100th birthday of our current building. St. Luke’s parish has been present in this community for 160 years, and for the last 100, generations of the faithful have prayed here. We have worshiped our Lord; we have heard the Word and received the Sacraments; we have celebrated the triumphs of life; we have sealed our vows; we have observed our grief and buried our beloved dead. As the choir’s communion anthem will say today, “Hallowed this dwelling where the Lord abideth, this is none other than the gate of heaven; strangers and pilgrims, seeking homes eternal, pass through its portals.” But if I’m honest today, another anniversary this weekend presses on my mind: the 25th anniversary of the 9/11 terror attacks. I was in fifth grade in Mrs. Boggs’s classroom and I was terrified. My friend and mentor the Rev. Stuart Hoke was a priest at Trinity Church, New York City, at the time. He ran down the street carrying two infants from their day care program in his arms as the towers fell, and as he ran, he prayed. He was terrified, too.

Mercy’s Reach

A sermon for the Fifteenth Sunday after Pentecost: Proper 18
Jazz Mass
September 6, 2026, at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Hot Springs, AR

Readings: Ezekiel 33:7-11 ; Psalm 119:33-40 ; Romans 13:8-14 ; Matthew 18:15-20

For some reason unknown to all, the church was full on that Wednesday night. Visitors had suddenly decided to show up. My childhood pastor had come with a sermon he had prepared thinking no one would be there. It was a sermon about solving our differences the way Jesus tells us to. He may have been using the Scripture we heard a few moments ago. You see, the church was fighting. Most everyone was related at that little country church so we were always fighting–and there’s nothing like a family fight. But now my Pastor had this problem. The church was full of visitors, and he didn’t want to project an image of a congregation that was always in conflict. That’s not good for growth. And besides, the offending parties had skipped church that night. Of course they did. In the end, his sermon was short.

What did we expect?

A sermon for the Fourteenth Sunday after Pentecost: Proper 17
August 30, 2026, at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church

Readings: Jeremiah 15:15-21 ; Psalm 26:1-8 ; Romans 12:9-21 ; Matthew 16:21-28

There have been times I did not know fully what I was getting into. I must have been around 7 years old. I was a cub scout, and I was going on my first, ever, camping trip. Most of the other kids had been with their dads before. Not me. But I was excited. Cub scouts were supposed to be excited about that sort of thing, after all. “There’s nothing to be worried about,” I was told. “It’s nothing but fun,” I was told. We arrived at a camp that had old fashioned tents with cots. Us boys went off into the woods. We picked blackberries galore and took them back to our tents, I suppose for late night snacks. That’s when the bugs came–ants and spiders everywhere. There were coyotes yipping in the distance–I had never heard one of those. Earlier that day, while we waited to leave for camp, the other campers and I had watched the movie “Twister,” the 1996 movie about storm chasers and tornadoes. As I laid on my cot that night, surrounded by bugs and spiders, coyotes yipping in the distance, I heard thunder. And that was the last straw. I ran to the fire where the camp leaders were still up. Through tears, I told my troop leader I wanted to go home. I was done with the bugs and coyotes and thunder. I remember him asking me, “We’re camping outside! What did you expect?”

A New Favorite

A sermon for the Twelfth Sunday after Pentecost: Proper 15
August 16, 2026, at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Hot Springs, AR

Readings: Isaiah 56:1,6-8 ; Psalm 67 ; Romans 11:1-2a, 29-32; Matthew 15: (10-20), 21-28

If you had to pick a favorite person in the Bible, who would it be? The best answer is probably Jesus, but short of that, perhaps you would say Abraham. He’s a favorite of St. Paul, of St. James, and the writer of the letter to the Hebrews because of his faith, reckoned to him as righteousness. Or maybe David: A plucky upstart who dared to answer God’s call, a sinner who knew redemption, a king who knew the pasture. Maybe it’s Esther. She was featured in our Vacation Bible School this year. Called for a time such as this, she used the brains God gave her to outsmart evil. A favorite of mine is Mary Magdalene, in our Resurrection window. She goes to the tomb early in the morning; she remembers the things others conveniently forget out of fear; she knows Jesus’s voice. That’s who I want to be like. But what about the unnamed Canaanite woman today? Would she be on your favorites list? Probably not–but she should be. Now I’ll be honest: this passage has always been a challenge for me. Maybe it has for you, too. Let’s dive in and take a closer look.

Hold to His Hand

A sermon for the Eleventh Sunday after Pentecost: Proper 14
August 9, 2026, at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Hot Springs, AR

Readings: 1 Kings 19:9-18 ; Psalm 85:8-13 ; Romans 10:5-15 ; Matthew 14:22-33

We had rented a pontoon boat on Lake DeGray, a group of friends with Molly and me. It was a beautiful day. About midway through the afternoon, we had anchored in a little cove and were swimming. And then we heard it. Thunder, just lightly rolling, in the distance. At that moment I remembered something the young man at the marina had said: If you’re on the water and you hear thunder, you’re too late. Sure enough, in no time at all, the storm rolled in. DeGray doesn’t have any slips where we might take shelter, so we just hunkered down in a semi-protected cove for a while. When it looked as if everything had calmed down, we headed back. But sure enough, it started up again, stronger than before. And this time we were unprotected in the middle of the lake. It’s a little like today’s gospel. The disciples are on the Sea of Galilee, with useless sails and oars, in the pitch black, water swamping the wooden boat, battered by the wind, exhausted by struggle, scared to death. The disciples are in a dangerous position. But then Jesus, knowing they are in trouble and fearful, goes across the sea to them, walking on the troubled water. They think he’s a ghost, but he calls out to them. “Take heart, It is I; do not be afraid.”

More than We Can Ask or Imagine

A sermon for the Tenth Sunday after Pentecost: Proper 13
August 7, 2026, at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Hot Springs, AR

Readings: Isaiah 55:1-5 ; Psalm 145: 8-9, 15-22 ; Romans 9:1-5 ; Matthew 14:13-21

“And those who ate were about five thousand men, besides women and children.” That’s how St. Matthew puts it, and we call the story the Feeding of the 5,000. But there were a lot more than 5,000. If there was one woman and one child per man, we’re talking about the Feeding of the 15,000. Or a couple children and one woman per man, the Feeding of the 20,000. In short, there were a lot of people, and old Matthew seems to sell Jesus short with his 5,000 count. The gospels were just using the prevailing custom of the time of only counting male heads of households. But I prefer to imagine that the old tax collector’s mind was so blown at the miraculous nature of it all that he lost his wits–his intellectual senses were dulled, so great was his wonder. All this is more than he can ask or imagine, he can scarcely describe it. Have you ever been that amazed?

God is Good All the Time

A sermon for the Eighth Sunday after Pentecost: Proper 11
July 19, 2026, at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Hot Springs, AR

Readings: Isaiah 44:6-8 ; Psalm 86:11-17; Romans 8:12-25; Matthew 13:24-30,36-43

I stood at the edge of my backyard garden in Stuttgart. It was a good sized garden. I had tilled it up by hand, carefully planted everything, watered, babied it. Stuttgart had that good, fertile soil, the kind where if you planted erasers you could grow pencils. The plants had come up nicely–flowers, tomatoes, okra, peppers, squash. I had tried to prepare for weeds, but not well enough. It was about this time of year. It was hot. We had just had one of those weeks with heavy rain–and maybe it had been a little while since I’d had time to get out there. The result: the weeds were taller than all my plants. I was too tired and it was too hot to mess with it. I dropped all my garden tools and got out the weedeater. That evening, as I bought my vegetables at Walmart, I told myself, “God is good, all the time; all the time, God is good.”