christianity – Page 2 – Storied Grace

In Memoriam: W. Neil Maynard

A sermon for the Funeral of Neil Maynard
March 21, 2026, at St. Alban’s Episcopal Church, Stuttgart, AR

Readings: II Corinthians 4:16-5:9; John 5:24-27

“If Marianne’s the matriarch, what does that make Neil?” It’s fuzzy, but I think my wife Molly asked me that question shortly after I had interviewed to be vicar here. She denies that this conversation ever happened, but she’s not preaching today and that’s how I remember it. The Bishop had appointed me here, but he wanted me to interview after my ordination. My interview was me and an intimate group of 35 or so people crowded into one room. I had come armed with all of my theoretical knowledge about how churches work–in case you’re wondering, they work kind of like families do. I figured out quickly that Marianne was the matriarch–that is, the person who makes the trains run on time. Molly asked, “Does that mean Neil’s the patriarch?” “No,” I informed her. “Churches don’t work like that. If Marianne is the matriarch, Neil just might be the crazy uncle.” After coming here, I felt bad about that assessment. I thought it was in bad faith. Then Neil gave me his book.

On the Outside

A sermon for the Fourth Sunday in Lent
March 15, 2026, at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Hot Springs, AR

Readings: 1 Samuel 16:1-13; Ephesians 5:8-14; John 9:1-41; Psalm 23

Jesus finds him on the outside. His blindness has kept him at the margins, ignored, taken for granted. Jesus finds him, rubs mud on his eyes, tells him to wash, a foreshadowing of baptism and being sent out into the world. Jesus finds him on the outside. The healing has caused a controversy and the man is driven out of the synagogue, out of society, out of the company of respectable insiders. Jesus finds him on the outside. “Do you believe in the Son of Man?” The outside is not where you want to be, but that’s where Jesus finds the man–and you.

When We Cannot See the Way

A sermon for the Second Sunday in Lent
March 1, 2026, at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Hot Springs, AR

Readings: Genesis 12:1-4a; Romans 4:1-5, 13-17; John 3:1-17; Psalm 121

My friend called me one day and said, “I just don’t know how this ends.” He was, you might say, in distress. The challenges of family life were becoming overwhelming. The d-word had been spoken: divorce. He was straining to see into the darkness, around the corner. He told me, “Sometimes I think I see light at the end of the tunnel, but then I realize it’s the light of an oncoming train.” He talked. I mostly listened and asked questions. We prayed. At the end of our time together, I offered him some advice I had once received: In times like this, when we don’t know how things will end and we feel out of control, faithfulness looks like putting one foot in front of the other and just trusting in Jesus come what may. Sometimes that is all we can do.

What Are You Looking For?

A sermon for the second Sunday after the Epiphany
January 18, 2026, at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Hot Springs, AR

Readings: Isaiah 49:1-7; 1 Corinthians 1:1-9; John 1:29-42; Psalm 40:1-12

“What do you seek?” Erika stood at the front of the chapel with a group of fellow university students around her on the first Sunday of the spring semester. The priest had asked the question: “what do you seek?” The students were part of a Catechumenate class, a time of preparation for Confirmation offered by the Episcopal campus ministry. Erika, like many in that group in front of the priest, had not grown up Episcopalian. She had shown up in college, and she felt drawn to Confirmation, to a mature, public affirmation of faith. Classes would begin later on in the week, but on that day, a Sunday morning, she and her fellow seekers stood before the priest to officially begin the process. He asked, “what do you seek?” Luckily for them, the answer was provided in the bulletin. Liturgical churches are helpful in that way. The group answered as one: “Life in Christ.” It’s a good answer. To Erika, it felt honest, but she needed to put some meat on it, to understand it for herself. She was looking for Christ–or at least a new way of knowing him.

To Fulfill All Righteousness

A sermon for the First Sunday after the Epiphany: Baptism of Our Lord
January 11, 2026, at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Hot Springs, AR

Readings: Isaiah 42:1-9; Acts 10:34-43; Matthew 3:13-17

Today we find ourselves at the banks of the Jordan River, with John the Baptist and all the sinners, all the guilt-ridden folks from Judea and Jerusalem, all of those yearning for a new start. They have gone out to this bizarre prophet to be baptized, confessing their sins, trusting that this act make some kind of change in their lives. They go out in faith, trusting that somehow God is active. They go out hoping that they will somehow connect with God, hoping what they do will be enough–and they find that God is already in the waters, waiting for them, doing for them what they cannot do for themselves.

Looking for a Sign

A sermon for the Second Sunday after Christmas
January 4, 2025, at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Hot Springs, AR

Readings: Jeremiah 31:7-14; Ephesians 1:3-6,15-19a; Matthew 2:1-12

This past week I visited my parents in Missouri for Christmas. It has become a custom of ours that before I leave, they take me to breakfast. This time they took me to a country restaurant, one of those where everything is covered in gravy, with pancakes that are 14 inches across. True to form, the restaurant is covered with rustic decorations: license plates, street signs, just about everything under the sun. Across from where we were sitting that morning was a metal sign, not very big, that said, “if you’re looking for a sign, this is it.” I wondered how many people saw that sign with its catchphrase and thought, “aha, there it is!” Reason enough to make things right, to reconnect, to keep going. There’s my sign.

I Will Greatly Rejoice

A sermon for the First Sunday after Christmas
December 28, 2025, at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Hot Springs, AR

Readings: Isaiah 61:10-62:3; Psalm 147 or 147:13-21; Galatians 3:23-25; 4:4-7; John 1:1-18

I will greatly rejoice in the Lord, my whole being shall exult in my God; for he has clothed me with the garments of salvation, he has covered me with the robe of righteousness, as a bridegroom decks himself with a garland, and as a bride adorns herself with her jewels.

We heard those words from Isaiah today. A portion of what scholars call Third Isaiah, these words are spoken to a people who have returned home at last. After years in exile in Babylon, with no living memory of Jerusalem their home, God has brought them safely back. The land they left is a shambles; there is much work to be done; it is far from a finished or refined place. And yet they rejoice in the Lord. They rejoice because God has saved them–God has brought them back to himself and covered them with his own righteousness.

Finishing with Grace

A sermon for the First Sunday of Advent
November 30, 2025, at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Hot Springs, AR

Readings: Isaiah 2:1-5; Psalm 122; Romans 13:11-14; Matthew 24:36-44

What God has started, God will finish. This is the core conviction of the Advent season. The God who created all things good will come again and restore all things in goodness. The Son of God who died and rose again to reconcile all things to God will come again and finish the work, seated on the throne of grace. The Holy Spirit, who is at work among us even now, will descend with fiery power and heal the universe in love. What God has started, God will finish. And God will finish it with grace.

Singing about the Cross

A sermon for the Last Sunday after Pentecost: Proper 29
(Commonly called Christ the King)
November 23, 2025, at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Hot Springs, AR

Readings: Jeremiah 23:1-6 ; Canticle 16 ; Colossians 1:11-20 ; Luke 23:33-43

Our gospel takes us to that most familiar and disorienting scene: the death of Christ on a Roman cross. Scourged, tortured, and beaten, we see him in the moments before he breathes his last and commends his spirit to God the Father.

Today is the last Sunday of the Church year. Another name for today is the feast of Christ the King. Our gospel gives us Christ’s portrait at this final moment of his coronation: his throne is a rude cross that lifts him high for the world to see; his crown is a cruel twist of thorns pushed into the brow; his crimson is not a fine robe, but blood from his very body; his scepter is a nail, pierced through his human flesh. Unexpectedly, in this image, we see the majesty of God–not high and lofty above our cares and concerns, but fleshy, among us, sharing our very death.

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.”