A sermon for the 20th Sunday after Pentecost: Proper 25
October 26, 2025, at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Hot Springs, AR
Readings: Sirach 35:12-17; Psalm 84:1-6; 2 Timothy 4:6-8,16-18; Luke 18:9-14
I have known lovely houses of worship, dwelling-places of the Divine. St. Luke’s is one of those places. Look around you at the beauty here; this place is designed intentionally to reflect the beauty of God, to capture our imaginations. But I came to know Jesus in a very different sort of place. It did not have stained glass windows; it did not have soaring architecture that draws our hearts to heaven; it did not have the fine organ and choir with four-part harmony. No, it was a converted antique store–more like a barn–with an attached garage where the Ozark Mountain United Pentecostals met. There were no windows, and the flooring needed to be replaced. The baptistery was a horse trough. At that time there was no organ at all. Instead, there was a handful of dear, enthusiastic, but untrained ladies with out-of-tune accordions. I remember it being quite the racket. But lovely nonetheless. Lovely because Jesus was present.
Our psalmist describes the lovely dwelling-place of God. That dwelling is dear, and his soul longs for it. For there the psalmist finds peace and communion with God. The psalmist goes on to say that he would rather be a doorkeeper there than to dwell in the tents of the wicked.
The psalmist is thinking of the Temple of Solomon. Scholars posit that this is one of the so-called pilgrimage psalms, or songs that would have been sung by those on pilgrimage to Jerusalem for worship. The pilgrims have an intense desire for the worship of God at the Temple, the loveliest of all places in their religious imaginations. And we know that the Temple of Solomon truly was lovely–with the finest cedar, plenty of gold, rich tapestries. The church I grew up in–the converted antique store–was not like that. It was, perhaps, a little more like the mobile and underwhelming tent of meeting in the wilderness. To the human eye, unimpressive. But to the heart, lovely, loveliest of all that is lovely, because God dwells therein.
The Ozark Mountain United Pentecostals met for worship all the time in that unassuming building. Sunday morning, Sunday night, Monday night, Wednesday night, Friday night. Sometimes there were revivals; we would meet nightly for weeks at a time. I was at church nearly everyday–and like the psalmist, I desired to be there. It was almost a daily pilgrimage, like the pilgrimage I make up the front stairs most weekday mornings to pray morning prayer in our chapel.
Pentecostals are not known for their brevity. Our nighttime services would stretch on and on. I fell asleep under those pews amid the racket of accordions and tambourines and wails of contrition and shouts of joy. Somehow I fell asleep. I wasn’t a good Pentecostal in many ways, but I learned that Jesus loves to hear me when I pray. I learned what it meant to be friends with Jesus. I learned that I am loved and called and chosen. Hear me now: You are, too. You are loved and called and chosen by the God of the Universe.
The first time I saw this church, I lost my breath. There are areas that need repair, sure. But the artistry is breathtaking. Like the Temple of Solomon, the desire of pilgrims, this place really does reflect the beauty of heaven. And it should. One of my favorite things is to be here early in the morning as the light starts streaming in. It is beautiful, indeed. Lovely. And 100 years ago some folks sacrificed a great deal so we could have it. They assumed we would be here in 100 years; that’s why they built it up so well.
Even though I grew up in a humble place, I believe our houses of worship should be beautiful. They are places of our worship, and we should bring our best. This is not about us; it’s about the adoration of God. Like the woman with the alabaster box, we don’t short God. They didn’t 100 years ago; we don’t now. And to the extent that we want to short God, it may reveal where our true desire is. For if our true desire is the worship and praise of the One who calls us out of darkness and into his marvelous light; if our true desire is to love the One who first loved us; if our true desire is to commune with the One who has given everything up for us, then only our best is acceptable.
Yet ultimately, the windows, the artistry, the architecture–that’s not what makes this place so lovely. Those things only point us to the source of all loveliness. Perhaps the loveliest I’ve seen here was on Ash Wednesday morning at the 7:15 am service. A group of about 30 had gathered. Among them was a man who was homeless and in crisis. It was obvious. He cried the whole service. He could not even raise his head to heaven. Like the man in the parable, he was begging for mercy. “God, be merciful to me, a sinner.” In some places the Pharisees would have come out. “God, I thank you that I am not like other people,” especially this homeless man with mental health and addiction issues. In some places that may have been so. But not here. Instead I saw that man embraced by the congregation gathered. They loved him. They hugged him. They welcomed him and ministered to him like angels in his wilderness. They could do so because, ashes on their foreheads, they knew they were sinners, too; they knew they needed the mercy of God just as much as he did; they knew we are all united in our need for God’s grace. And as the sun came up and streamed through the stained glass, I barely noticed it. Because the truly lovely thing was the people. God was present, in the middle of each hug, each word of encouragement. And the humble was exalted.
I am convinced of this: The loveliest dwelling-place for God is not a building made of brick or stone, but a life that tells out the good news of Jesus Christ. The loveliest dwelling-place for God is the person that has met his forgiveness and grace and love. The loveliest dwelling-place for God is the soul of the sinner, like me and like you and like that homeless man, who has experienced the mercy of our Savior, and who in turn shows the mercy and love of Jesus Christ to the world. The loveliest dwelling-place for God is any heart where Jesus Christ abides, any heart that rejoices in the living God, any heart that is set on the pilgrim’s way.
God wants to dwell in you. For the loveliest place for the Holy Spirit is not the halls of heaven, but the heart of the humble and the contrite. My heart, and yours, too. May God be merciful to us, sinners all. May God abide with us, and make us lovely dwelling-places for his life-giving Spirit.
Storied Grace 