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From Rubble to New Creation

A sermon for the 26th Sunday after Pentecost: Proper 28
November 17, 2024, at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Hot Springs, AR

Readings: Mark 13:1-8

I am sure you remember the day; I know I do. It was March 31, 2023. A tornado hit Little Rock and continued east. By the time it got to the delta town of Wynne, it was an EF-3. On the ground for 73 miles, it was as wide as 13 football fields with winds as high as 150 mph. The town was devastated. Four people died; 26 injured. The little Episcopal church in the town, Grace Church, which had been closed for a few years, took a direct hit. The brick edifice was leveled, turned into rubble. Not long thereafter, I joined a team of clergy and lay folks from East Arkansas who went to sift through the rubble and sort those bricks that had been so violently thrown down by the storm.

Go Now to Zarephath

A sermon for the 25th Sunday after Pentecost: Proper 27
November 10, 2024, at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Hot Springs, Arkansas

Readings: I Kings 17:8-16; Psalm 146; Mark 12:38-44

“Go now to Zarephath,” God tells the prophet Elijah today. The story from the Hebrew Scriptures takes place in the midst of a famine that Elijah himself prophesied. Elijah and the wicked King Ahab are facing off, and in the background, God is facing down Baal, the false god who was believed to provide rain and harvest plenty. As this false god takes hold in Israel because of Ahab’s leadership, God sends the prophet in to remind the king and the nation not to put their trust in rulers or any child of earth or in any idol that they might make; but to put their trust in God, both in good times and in bad times.

Help Wanted

A sermon for All Saints’ Sunday
November 3, 2024, at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Hot Springs, Arkansas

Readings: Wisdom of Solomon 3:1-9; Psalm 24; Revelation 21:1-6a; John 11:32-44

Help wanted. Heaven in need of Saints. You open up the classifieds and you come across this ad. You’ve been looking for work. Help wanted. Heaven in need of Saints. Job description: Praise God for eternity. Pray for those on earth. Compensation: None. You have to buy in some way. It might be through suffering, sickness, and pain. It might be through persecution and blood. But it’s gonna cost you. Benefits: Eternal life. Training required: Extensive on-the-job training with the Holy Spirit. Skills needed: Must be able to carry a cross. Help wanted. Heaven in need of Saints.

The Gospel in Costume

A sermon for the 23rd Sunday after Pentecost: Proper 25
October 27, 2024, at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Hot Springs, AR

Readings: Hebrews 7:23-28; Mark 10:46-52

In a few days, my street, Prospect Avenue, will be flooded with trick-or-treaters dressed in costume hoping for a sugar high. The neighbors have already put up their decor. Some have terrifying displays with motion-activated screams. There are spiders and ghosts and goblins. Others have tamer displays. One of my neighbors sets up a projector screen to play “It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown.” The costumes that visit the neighborhood will have the same divide. Some will be horrifying, blood-covered, windows into darkness. Others will be whimsical, straight out of the latest Disney movie, full of light. I think all of this has something to tell us. I think that it might just be that the gospel will be there, parading up and down my street, hidden in costume.

Money and Loving God

A sermon for the 21st Sunday after Pentecost: Proper 23
October 13, 2024, at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Hot Springs, AR

Readings: Mark 10:17-31

Last week, divorce; this week, give all your money away. Come on, Jesus, this preacher is just asking for an easy week! We read today that Jesus is approached by a man, whom we learn has many possessions. He is a rich man. He runs to Jesus and kneels before him. We can see his sincerity. Unlike those encounters Jesus has with the Pharisees, this man is not trying to trap Jesus. He really wants to know: What do I need to do to inherit eternal life? Jesus sees this man’s sincerity, his heart, which is why he answers in the way that he does.

Jesus Loves You

A sermon for the 20th Sunday after Pentecost: Proper 22
October 6, 2024, at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Hot Springs, AR

Readings: Mark 10:2-16

I remember the house. I remember it as blue with woods behind it where my first dog Snoopy ran away. Who knows if that’s true. The TV would play Barney or my favorite show, Lamb Chop. My parents enjoyed watching Cops. I memorized the theme song early on. My room had a small strip of dinosaur wallpaper around the top. And I remember the trailer, where Mom, my brother, and I moved out to. It was near a farm, and there was a pig. I threw a rock at a wasp nest and got stung several times. Maybe I was three or four. I remember the women’s shelter, the tree lined drive to a protected house, the small bedroom for my mother, brother, and me. There was a playground. That was where we moved next. I didn’t know why we moved there. I learned much later that my biological father, whose long pattern of abuse had finally driven my mother to that trailer–I learned he had been calling the trailer, recounting with menacing detail where we had been that day, threatening to kidnap my brother and me. That’s why we moved to the shelter. That’s why we moved from South Carolina to Missouri, where no one would find us.

In Memoriam: Gary Wayne Murphy

A sermon for the funeral of Gary Murphy
October 5, 2024, at St. Alban’s Episcopal Church, Stuttgart, AR

Readings: Joshua 1:5-9; Revelation 21:2-7; John 6:37-40

What I remember about the first time I met Gary is his smile. His smile captured his kindness, his generosity, his happiness. He served for a time on the vestry here right after I arrived, but before he and Elaine moved to be closer to Lee. He smiled, and he was welcoming, and he had a little bit of a crush on Molly.

Apostolate and Service

A sermon for the 18th Sunday after Pentecost: Proper 20
September 22, 2024, at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Hot Springs

Readings: Mark 9:30-37

There once was a priest who thought he knew everything. (Aren’t we insufferable?) The Sunday gospel had been the lesson we just read, and the priest was tired of his small church not doing anything! So he called a group together. The group consisted of the organist, the head of the altar guild, a woman who took care of her mother 24/7, the man who owned the bakery down the street, the new young family with twins–both parents worked full-time jobs. The priest called this crew together to upbraid them. “We’re not doing anything in our community!” he exclaimed. The people cast down their eyes in shame. “We’re not doing anything, and I want to know why!” The priest wanted to start a food pantry, and he wanted this handpicked group of faithful Christians to lead it. One by one, the people said they would help. The organist said he could cut out some practice time; the head of the altar guild said she could probably find some hours between polishing and flowers; the woman who took care of her mother said she would find somebody to fill in; the man who owned the bakery said he could come after hours to help stock; the new young parents decided they would spend their Saturdays at the pantry instead of the park.

In Memoriam: Sonja Lash

A sermon for the funeral of Sonja Lash
September 18, 2024, at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Hot Springs

Readings: Isaiah 61:1-3; Psalm 23; Romans 8:14-19,34-35,37-39; John 14:1-6

Once upon a time there was a painter. She wasn’t a professional painter, but she painted everyday. She didn’t sell her paintings (that’s not why she did it), but she occasionally put a few up at the local fair. Truthfully, she painted because she was made to paint. She spent the last 20 years of her life painting leaves on the oak tree in her backyard. She loved that tree. Maybe it was a little like the oaks of righteousness in our reading from Isaiah today. She loved to paint the leaves on that tree. She would paint the leaves as they were budding out in spring, in full leaf in summer; as they began to turn in the fall, and as they decayed on the ground in winter. She painted those darn leaves over and over and over again because she thought they were beautiful, but she could never quite get it right. There was a beauty that she could not quite put on the page. She tried anyway and pushed on. She was compelled by that uncaptured beauty. Artists are stubborn like that.

Who Do You Say that I Am?

A sermon for the 17th Sunday after Pentecost: Proper 19
Preached September 15, 2024 at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Hot Springs

Readings: Mark 8:27-38

“Who do you say that I am?” In today’s gospel, Jesus poses that question to the disciples, and by extension to us. If someone asked you that today, what would you say? Peter speaks up today on behalf of the group. “You are the Messiah,” he says. Messiah is a political term. Peter is saying the revolution is here and Jesus is leading it. The Messiah will restore the nation and will sit on the earthly throne of David his ancestor. For a people yearning to breathe free under the yoke of Roman oppression, the promise of Messiah lit a fire in the belly. Peter’s hope is a political hope. Peter’s hope is too small, his vision too limited, just like mine sometimes.