Storied Grace

Offer What You Have

A sermon for the Second Sunday after Epiphany
Annual Meeting Sunday
January 19, 2025 at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Hot Springs, AR

Readings: John 2:1-11

“They have no wine.” Our gospel today is Jesus’s first sign, or miracle, in the gospel of John. It takes place at a wedding, and the mother of Jesus tells him of the problem. The wine has run dry. In Jesus’s time and place, where honor and shame were a currency, this was a serious problem with serious consequences. The wine’s run out; do something about it. And Jesus, backed into a corner by his mother, does exactly that. The servants fill the jars with the water they have, water that may have been dirty and far from potable. They draw some water out, give it to the steward, and it becomes a wine.

In Memoriam: Mary Andrews

A sermon for the funeral of Mary Andrews
January 18, 2025

Readings: Psalm 23, Matthew 5:1-10

Today we gather to give thanks to God for a wonderful lady. We gather to pray; to support her family, friends, and all who mourn. And we gather because we have a sure and certain hope that nothing, not even death, will separate Mary or any of us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord. Because Mary was baptized into the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ, she is with Christ even now, held in his arms of mercy, peace, and love.

Muddy Waters

A sermon for Epiphany 1: the Baptism of Our Lord
January 12, 2025, at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Hot Springs, AR

Readings: Luke 3:15-17, 21-22

I’ve only been snorkeling a few times. I’m sorry to say it wasn’t in some crystal-clear water in the Caribbean, or in some beautiful coral reef. No, I went snorkeling in a muddy creek in Missouri. It wasn’t my idea. A friend of mine went all the time and loved it, so I went with him and his dad. We pulled the car off the state highway by a bridge and hopped into the very muddy water. You couldn’t see a thing. The water was brown and dirty, and full of who knows what. Before we got in, my friend’s dad warned us to watch out for cottonmouths. He then told us three or four stories of coming snout to snout with cottonmouths that were at least seven feet long. I learned later that he liked to exaggerate. But it didn’t matter: from the moment I stepped foot in the water, I was concerned about what I would meet.

The 8th Day Promise

Sermon for the Feast of the Holy Name
January 1, 2025, at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Hot Springs, AR

Readings: Philippians 2:5-11; Luke 2:15-21

Every proper baptismal font should have eight sides. Don’t worry, ours does. The eight sides are symbolic for the eighth day, the day of resurrection, the day outside the bounds of our normal time, space, and seven-day week. The eighth day is a new day in a new creation.

The Whole Story

A sermon for the First Sunday after Christmas
December 29, 2024, at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Hot Springs, AR

Readings: John 1:1-18

I want to know the whole story. Maybe that’s a reason I’ve always been attracted to a certain kind of literature. I want to know what led a person to a certain event or decision–and not just them, but how did the history of their family, their friend circle, their community lay the groundwork for such a decision. I like true crime TV shows for the same reason. I want to know the backstory because I feel I can understand, at least a little more, what’s behind the story I know.

Shepherds and Angels

A sermon for Christmas Eve
December 24, 2024, at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Hot Springs, AR

Readings: Luke 2:1-20

Just about every year I was a shepherd. I imagine parents fought over whose children would get to be shepherds at the pageant. The costumes were easier. A bathrobe for the tunic, a bath towel for the headcovering, a stick, and you’re set. Every year, dressed in my bathrobe, I would stand there as one of the teenagers pretended to be the Archangel Gabriel, announcing good news, usually without much conviction: “Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day, in the city of David, a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you. You shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger.”

A Rubiks Cube and a Promise

A sermon for the 4th Sunday of Advent
December 22, 2024, at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Hot Springs

Readings: Micah 5:2-5a; Hebrews 10:5-10; Luke 1:39-55

We are in a mess we cannot work ourselves out of. Advent (and it’s still Advent for a couple more days) begins in the dark: in the darkness of our brokenness, of our sorrow, of the mess we and the world have worked ourselves into. We find ourselves in a corner, and unable to get out. Oh, we try. We try everything we can think of. But there is simply no way out of this sin and death business, no way to free ourselves from the chains of decay, no way to shortcut our sanctification, our forgiveness, our healing, our wholeness.

Come, Lord Jesus

A sermon for the First Sunday of Advent
December 1, 2024, at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Hot Springs, AR

Readings: Jeremiah 33:14-16; Luke 21:25-36

Well, happy Advent. If you were expecting it to seem a little more like what we see out and about, you might be a little disappointed today. There are Christmas lights downtown and at Garven Gardens, and everyone is getting holly and jolly. Gifts are on everyone’s minds, and Santa’s at the mall. But here, in the church, the Christmas decorations aren’t out, and they won’t be a for a while. There aren’t any carols. Santa’s certainly not here, but nor is the babe in a manger. And our readings aren’t even Christmassy. Instead of angels and shepherds keeping their watch and wisemen on the way, we get Jesus telling us the end is coming: distress among nations, signs in the heavens, fear and foreboding and shaking; death, judgment, heaven, hell. Happy Advent.

In Memoriam: Joe Mouton

A sermon for the Funeral of Alexandre “Joe” Bruce Mouton
November 30, 2024

Readings: Ecclesiastes 3:1-8; Revelation 21:2-7; Matthew 5:1-10

A joyful man. A gracious host. Someone with a twinkle in his eye that betrayed his mischievousness. A funny, funny person who probably wouldn’t mind if I started today with a Boudreaux and Thibodeaux joke (but don’t worry, I decided not to–if you want to know which one I would use, come see me after). A loving husband, father, grandfather, and great-grandfather. Today we gather to give thanks for the life of such a man. We give thanks for the gift he was in our lives–the gift he will continue to be. Today we commend him to God, the giver of all good gifts, confident that God will pull Joe to himself in grace, mercy, and love. Because Joe was baptized into Christ’s death and resurrection, he is marked as God’s child forever.

Pilate or Mary?

A sermon for the Last Sunday after Pentecost: Proper 29
November 24, 2024, at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church in Hot Springs, AR

Readings: John 18:33-37

“Are you the king of the Jews?” That’s Pontius Pilate’s question for Jesus. Today is Christ the King Sunday, the last Sunday after Pentecost, the last Sunday of the church year. Today is a triumphant day, when we declare that Christ is King of kings and Lord of lords. And yet, curiously, our gospel reading is not about Christ seated in heaven, but rather about Christ before Pilate: Christ accused, Christ on trial, Christ on his way to his cross.