Storied Grace

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. 

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. 

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.

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. 

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. 

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. 

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.