Mark Nabors

God Wins

A sermon for the 23rd Sunday after Pentecost: Proper 28
November 16, 2025, at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Hot Springs, AR

Readings: Isaiah 65:17-25 ; Canticle 9 ; 2 Thessalonians 3:6-13 ; Luke 21:5-19

For I am about to create new heavens and a new earth; the former things shall not be remembered or come to mind. But be glad and rejoice forever in what I am creating; for I am about to create Jerusalem as a joy, and its people as a delight.

Those were the words of Isaiah today, prophesying a new world in the midst of destruction, hope in the midst of despair, life in the midst of death. The nation is destroyed, the captors have won, but none of that gets the last word, Isaiah says today. God gets the final word. Darkness and despair and violence and sin and evil do not win. God wins in the end–light and goodness and love win in the end.

Little Is Much

A sermon for All Saints’ Sunday
November 2, 2025, at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Hot Springs, AR

Readings: Daniel 7:1-3,15-18 ; Psalm 149 ; Ephesians 1:11-23 ; Luke 6:20-31

There once were two brothers. Both wanted to be saints. Both wanted to be good men. They were raised in a good house, given a good foundation. They had learned that little hymn about wanting to be a saint, and meeting saints at school, or in lanes, or at sea, in church, or in trains, or in shoppes, or at tea. The first brother was especially resolved. He would tell his family, his friends, his church, that he wanted to be a spiritual superhero. That’s what he called it. And he looked for opportunities to be a spiritual superhero his entire life. He had a little drawing of St. Michael on his truck visor; it had the inscription, “God, make me your greatest warrior.” He wanted to do something big. After college he joined the Peace Corps. Surely that was his opportunity! But he got bored of the paper work; it wasn’t for him. He joined up with a missionary. Surely that would do it. But all the missionary had him do was drive him around, help make the dinner, and answer phone calls. Too small. The brother returned to the States and took a job at a nonprofit. He worked his way up to president. And he was proud–finally this was his opportunity to make a big impact! But he spent more time planning fundraisers, or looking at spreadsheets, or running meetings. He resigned; it wasn’t big enough, wasn’t “saintly” enough, wasn’t warrior-like enough. Finally he died. His headstone just had his name, his birth date, his death day, like any other headstone. But it could have said something like, “He just never got his chance to prove he was a saint.”

How Lovely Is Your Dwelling-Place

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.

Healing for Our Enemies

A sermon for the 18th Sunday after Pentecost: Proper 23
October 12, 2025, at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Hot Springs, AR

Readings: 2 Kings 5:1-3, 7-15c ; Psalm 111 ; 2 Timothy 2:8-15 ; Luke 17:11-19

One of the first things we bought when we moved here was a big jug and water dispenser. I soon became a regular on Fountain Street, filling up this jug with Hot Springs water. I once met a woman there. She pulled out what appeared to be hundreds of milk cartons and orange juice pitchers and water bottles, and she started talking. She asked if I lived in Hot Springs. I told her I did. She told me she had come down to this fountain for decades, and she was glad I found it because it just might save my life. She said, “I don’t go to the doctor anymore. This is healing water. I drink it; I take a bath in it; I only use this water from Fountain Street.” She told me she would clean any cuts or sores she had with it, and they would heal right up. It was miracle-working water. She planned to live to 150, and she thought she could as long as she had this water and her crystal necklace. But she confessed that she was worried. She was worried that if too many people found out, the spring would dry up. She worried, and she told me not to tell any of those out-of-towners about it. This was a secret for the in-crowd only. I hated to tell her that the secret–at least the secret of the water’s existence–was already out.

The Cautionary Tale

A sermon for the 17th Sunday after Pentecost: Proper 22
October 5, 2025, at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Hot Springs, AR

Readings: Habakkuk 1:1-4, 2:1-4 ; Psalm 37:1-10 ; 2 Timothy 1:1-14 ; Luke 17:5-10

“Never pray for patience.” If I’ve heard it once, I’ve heard it a million times. A woman once told me out of the blue on the street; I had no idea who she was. She said, “Pastor, never pray for patience–I learned my lesson.” I chuckled because I had heard it before, but she was dead serious. She said she prayed for patience once–just one time–and God turned her life upside down: her hypercritical mother-in-law moved in with them due to illness within a month; her spouse suddenly became far more annoying; her dog got diabetes. Never pray for patience–it’s a cautionary tale. A couple times I’ve heard something else similar. I was once told, “Father, I got in trouble because I started to ask God to teach me to love other people more.” The man went on to explain that as soon as he wanted to love more, God sent him all sorts of people he didn’t like, and he didn’t want to love them. But that was his prayer. Before he knew it he found himself back at his family reunion, and he said he hated all of them; the next weekend he was at the cooling shelter, and “those people” were not “his people.” Never pray, teach me to love–it’s a cautionary tale. Perhaps there’s another cautionary tale in today’s gospel reading. My friends, be careful–be careful when you, like the apostles, ask Jesus to increase your faith. Because he just might do it.

A Different Kind of Patron

A sermon for the 15th Sunday after Pentecost: Proper 20
September 21, 2025, at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Hot Springs, AR

Readings: Amos 8:4-7, Psalm 113, 1 Timothy 2:1-7, Luke 16:1-13

Sometimes Jesus gets on a roll about something. Week after week, we see the same theme pop up in the gospel readings, and we have to wonder, what’s going on? Lately Jesus has been on a roll about our possessions and our money. This week is no different. At the end of today’s reading, Jesus gives us a mic drop: “You cannot serve God and wealth,” he says.

The Line in the Sand

A sermon for the Thirteenth Sunday after Pentecost: Proper 18
September 7, 2025, at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church in Hot Springs, AR

Readings: Deuteronomy 30:15-20 ; Psalm 1 ; Philemon 1-21 ; Luke 14:25-33

“Whoever comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, yes, and even life itself, cannot be my disciple. Whoever does not carry the cross and follow me cannot be my disciple. None of you can become my disciple if you do not give up all your possessions.”

Some weeks are easier to preach than others. Love each other, Jesus says. Got it. I can preach on that. The kingdom of God is like a seed planted in a field that sprouted and grew, the farmer knew not how. Okay, Jesus, I can preach on that one, too. I suspect you might be like me in that regard. We all can prefer certain things Jesus says–certain easier messages that settle well. I suspect you, like me, might have a similar answer to a question like, what did Jesus teach? We would probably talk about love: loving God and our neighbor. The summary of the law. A very Anglican answer indeed. And that would be a good and fine answer. But I wonder how many of us would answer differently? What are Jesus’s teachings about? I wonder who would say they are about hating family, carrying a cross, and giving up everything we have?

Welcoming Angels

A sermon for the Twelfth Sunday after Pentecost: Proper 17
Jazz Mass
August 31, 2025, at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Hot Springs, AR

Readings: Proverbs 25:6-7; Psalm 112 ; Hebrews 13:1-8, 15-16 ; Luke 14:1, 7-14

The seminary professor was going on sabbatical. He was a scholar of the early monastics, the desert fathers and mothers of the Church, so he traveled to Egypt to visit one of the oldest continuing monasteries in Christendom. He flew to Cairo, hopped in an SUV with a driver, and headed out. The highways turned to streets, which turned to paths, which turned to impressions, which turned to sand. Eventually they were bounding through the desert with no discernible way forward. But soon they came to the monastery. He got out of the car, went to the large doors, and knocked. No answer. He knocked again. No answer. He knocked a third time, rather desperate, because his driver had already taken off back across the desert. Finally, the door creaked open, and a monk who looked about as old as the desert motioned him inside without saying a word. In silence, he took him to a table in a dark room, brought out food and water. Before the monk walked off, he turned to the visitor and softly said, “By the way, we welcome you as an angel–just in case.”¹

In Memoriam: Catherine Stokes Baran

A sermon at the Burial of the Dead
August 30, 2025, at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Hot Springs, AR

Readings: Isaiah 25:6-9; Psalm 23; Romans 8:14-19, 34-35, 37-39; John 14:1-6

Blest pair of Sirens, pledges of Heav’ns joy,
Sphear-born harmonious Sisters, Voice, and Vers

Those words belong to John Milton’s poem “At a Solemn Music.” The poem, later set to music by Hubert Parry, describes the power of music. Milton takes us to the heights of heaven where the music flows unabated and uncompromised. Milton also dives into our own hearts, where that music, once pure, is so often discordant and corrupted by sin, death, and the sorrows of this life. Milton goes on:

Wed your divine sounds, and mixt power employ
Dead things with inbreath’d sense able to pierce,
And to our high-rais’d phantasie present,
That undisturbèd Song of pure content,
Ay sung before the saphire-colour’d throne
To him that sits theron
With Saintly shout, and solemn Jubily…
Singing everlastingly;

What are you carrying?

A sermon for Education Sunday
Eleventh Sunday after Pentecost: Proper 15
August 24, 2025, at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Hot Springs, AR

Readings: Isaiah 58:9b-14 ; Psalm 103:1-8 ; Hebrews 12:18-29 ; Luke 13:10-17

My mother was worried I would end up hunched over. I don’t remember how old I was, but maybe it was the start of junior high. My backpack was heavy with books, and at that time it was popular to just use a single strap instead of both straps of the backpack. My mother was worried that the heavy pack would hurt my back. She worried it would bend my back, induce scoliosis, like the woman in today’s gospel. She insisted I use both straps. And why, she wondered, was the school requiring us to carry so many heavy books? More on backpacks in a moment.