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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.

The Rev. Mr. Collins

A sermon for the Sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost: Proper 18
Rally Day and 1924 Tornado Commemoration
September 8, 2024, at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Hot Springs

Sometimes, especially on difficult days, I think about the Rev. Mr. Charles Frederick Collins. That’s what he would have been called when he served as rector here from 1918 to 1938. His name is inscribed on the feeding of the 5,000 window at the back of the nave with the honorary title, pastor to the community. He must have been remembered for feeding the people with Word and Sacrament. I don’t know a lot about him beyond that. His son–we know plenty about him. The Rev. David Collins was born and raised here at St. Luke’s. He was ordained here. He would go on to serve congregations in West Memphis and Marianna; he would serve as the chaplain at my alma mater Sewanee; and he would serve as the Dean of St. Philip’s Cathedral in Atlanta. He would also serve as the President of the House of Deputies and Vice President for the entire Episcopal Church. When David died in 2016 at the age of 94, it was big church news. He got his start right here.

Christ Chooses You

A sermon for the Fifteenth Sunday after Pentecost: Proper 17
The Baptisms of Karen Etter and James Baxter
September 1, 2024 at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church
Jazz Mass

Readings: Song of Solomon 2:8-13

Our first reading today is from the Song of Solomon, also called the Song of Songs. It’s a peculiar little book. I call it peculiar because this small book in the Old Testament never mentions God, or Torah, or covenant. It is a series of love poems, full of desire. Love poems between two young people full of passion worthy of Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet. One can almost hear it: Juliet, from her balcony in fair Verona, calling for Romeo: Wherefore art thou, Romeo? Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away. Because of that, this Scripture is most often used at weddings. But it is about much more than romantic love.

To Whom Can We Go?

A sermon for the Fourteenth Sunday after Pentecost: Proper 16
Education Sunday
August 25, 2024, at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Hot Springs

Readings: John 6:56-69

In today’s gospel, Jesus is deserted. He’s been teaching on what he means when he says he is the bread of life. He has said that we abide in him and he in us when we eat his flesh and drink his blood. It is a call to communion with God through Christ in the Holy Eucharist, daily prayer, and service to the least among us. For Jesus’s crowd, though, it is a bridge too far. John tells us that they say the teaching is too difficult, and many turn back and no longer follow him.

Wonderbread, Franzia Wine, and Me

A sermon for the Thirteenth Sunday after Pentecost: Proper 15
August 18, 2024, at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Hot Springs

Readings: John 6:51-58

I once heard a story about preaching on today’s gospel text. A priest used today’s gospel to preach on Eucharistic theology—on what we believe happens at the Eucharist. We believe that Christ is truly present in the bread and wine on the altar. They are still bread and wine, but they are also the Body and Blood of Christ. We are fed physically and spiritually with this sacrament, this pledge of God’s favor and love given in the life, death, and resurrection of Christ. The priest preached that message. There was a little girl in the congregation. She came up to the altar rail with her mother. “The Body of Christ, the Bread of Heaven.” She took the bread. “The Blood of Christ, the cup of salvation.” The little girl stared into the chalice and let out a scream. She ran down the center aisle of the church yelling, “There’s really blood in there!” The next week, the church used white wine.

You’re Not You When You’re Hungry

A sermon for the Twelfth Sunday after Pentecost: Proper 14
August 11, 2024, at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Hot Springs

Readings: I Kings 19:4-8; John 6:35, 41-51

“You’re not you when you’re hungry.” Do you remember those Snickers commercials from a few years ago? There is a deep truth there, one that we have seen in ourselves, in our families, among our friends. Hunger, even meager hunger, makes us different, prone to anger and despair, more impulsive, perhaps. True, famine hunger drives people to desperation and impossible choices. Hunger does that to us, and it did that to the prophet Elijah, too.

In Memoriam: Linda McIntyre

A sermon for the funeral of Linda A. McIntyre (1959-2024)
August 3, 2024, at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Hot Springs

Readings: Romans 1:8-17

One thing have I asked of the LORD; one thing I seek; that I may dwell in the house of the LORD all the days of my life; to behold the fair beauty of the LORD and to seek him in his temple. (Psalm 27:5-6)

Today we gather to remember Linda, someone who had seen the fair beauty of the LORD. We gather to give thanks for her life. We gather to support her family. And above all, we gather because we have a hope that because Linda was baptized into the life and death of Jesus Christ her Lord, she is claimed by God forever. She is, even now, in the greater presence of that fair beauty, and we will see her again when we are taken into that beauty ourselves.

The Secret to Bread

A sermon for the Tenth Sunday after Pentecost: Proper 12
July 28, 2024, at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Hot Springs

Readings: John 6:1-21

“The secret is in the hands.” A French baker told me that once, holding up his hands while he said it. I would go to the farmer’s market every weekend to get food when I was a student in France. I bought my bread from the same guy every week. I asked him what made his bread so good, thinking he must have some secret ingredient in his recipe. He said, “The secret is in the hands.” He went on to explain that his bread was simple: flour, water, salt, yeast–just like any bread. But he claimed to have some special method of kneading the dough by hand to perfection. That alone, he claimed, set his bread apart.

Shepherding Us Home

A sermon for the Ninth Sunday after Pentecost: Proper 11
July 21, 2024, at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Hot Springs

Readings: Mark 6:30-34, 53-56; Psalm 23

In today’s reading from Mark, Jesus and his disciples are trying to get away. Since the beginning of Mark, Jesus has been going at a breakneck speed. He’s baptized by John, sent off to the wilderness, calls his disciples, heals and teaches and debates with religious authorities, stills a storm. In this chapter alone he has gone to his hometown to preach, been rejected, and commissioned his disciples to go out to preach ahead of him, fed the 5,000 and walked on the water. Jesus has been busy and he needs a break. But try as he might, he can’t get away, not quite yet. He’s met by crowds of people on the shore seeking him out. And when he sees them, he cannot help but have compassion. The crowds need Jesus, and he’s there. He shows up.

A Response to Political Violence

A sermon for the Eighth Sunday after Pentecost: Proper 10
July 14, 2024, at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Hot Springs

Readings: Mark 6:14-29

We come today with two texts of political violence. The first is our gospel reading. Herod executes John the Baptist at the behest of his daughter. Mark wants to hedge a little bit; Herod comes off as a reluctant executioner. But we should be suspicious of that. Everything we know about the Herods paints them as a family of cruel and exacting tyrants. Herod executes John to send a message–don’t cross me, he says. And if a head on a silver platter will entertain his guests, Herod won’t hesitate.