God – Page 2 – Storied Grace

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.”

The Cautionary Tale

A sermon for the 17th Sunday after Pentecost: Proper 22
October 5, 2025, at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Hot Springs, AR

Readings: Habakkuk 1:1-4, 2:1-4 ; Psalm 37:1-10 ; 2 Timothy 1:1-14 ; Luke 17:5-10

“Never pray for patience.” If I’ve heard it once, I’ve heard it a million times. A woman once told me out of the blue on the street; I had no idea who she was. She said, “Pastor, never pray for patience–I learned my lesson.” I chuckled because I had heard it before, but she was dead serious. She said she prayed for patience once–just one time–and God turned her life upside down: her hypercritical mother-in-law moved in with them due to illness within a month; her spouse suddenly became far more annoying; her dog got diabetes. Never pray for patience–it’s a cautionary tale. A couple times I’ve heard something else similar. I was once told, “Father, I got in trouble because I started to ask God to teach me to love other people more.” The man went on to explain that as soon as he wanted to love more, God sent him all sorts of people he didn’t like, and he didn’t want to love them. But that was his prayer. Before he knew it he found himself back at his family reunion, and he said he hated all of them; the next weekend he was at the cooling shelter, and “those people” were not “his people.” Never pray, teach me to love–it’s a cautionary tale. Perhaps there’s another cautionary tale in today’s gospel reading. My friends, be careful–be careful when you, like the apostles, ask Jesus to increase your faith. Because he just might do it.

A Different Kind of Patron

A sermon for the 15th Sunday after Pentecost: Proper 20
September 21, 2025, at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Hot Springs, AR

Readings: Amos 8:4-7, Psalm 113, 1 Timothy 2:1-7, Luke 16:1-13

Sometimes Jesus gets on a roll about something. Week after week, we see the same theme pop up in the gospel readings, and we have to wonder, what’s going on? Lately Jesus has been on a roll about our possessions and our money. This week is no different. At the end of today’s reading, Jesus gives us a mic drop: “You cannot serve God and wealth,” he says.

In Memoriam: Catherine Stokes Baran

A sermon at the Burial of the Dead
August 30, 2025, at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Hot Springs, AR

Readings: Isaiah 25:6-9; Psalm 23; Romans 8:14-19, 34-35, 37-39; John 14:1-6

Blest pair of Sirens, pledges of Heav’ns joy,
Sphear-born harmonious Sisters, Voice, and Vers

Those words belong to John Milton’s poem “At a Solemn Music.” The poem, later set to music by Hubert Parry, describes the power of music. Milton takes us to the heights of heaven where the music flows unabated and uncompromised. Milton also dives into our own hearts, where that music, once pure, is so often discordant and corrupted by sin, death, and the sorrows of this life. Milton goes on:

Wed your divine sounds, and mixt power employ
Dead things with inbreath’d sense able to pierce,
And to our high-rais’d phantasie present,
That undisturbèd Song of pure content,
Ay sung before the saphire-colour’d throne
To him that sits theron
With Saintly shout, and solemn Jubily…
Singing everlastingly;

Great Big Faith

A sermon for the Ninth Sunday after Pentecost: Proper 14
August 10, 2025, at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Hot Springs, AR

Readings: Genesis 15:1-6 ; Psalm 33:12-22 ; Hebrews 11:1-3, 8-16 ; Luke 12:32-40

I was accused of thinking too small. I was gathered around a table with a group of pastors from different denominations. The question of faith had come up while discussing a church building project. “All I need is $1 million,” a pastor friend had said. Yeah, I’ve thought that, too. He went on, “I have faith that God will make it happen.” He was naming it, throwing it out in the universe, and he was claiming it as his own. He was asking us to have faith with him. Surely if we all did this together, like some incantation, God would have to bring it about–and quickly. The problem for me was I don’t think that’s how faith works. Maybe I was thinking too small. I was told I needed a great big faith.

You Can’t Do Anything

A sermon for the Fourth Sunday after Pentecost: Proper 9
July 6, 2025, at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Hot Springs, Arkansas

Readings: Galatians 6:(1-6)7-16 ; Luke 10:1-11, 16-20

Why does St. Paul spend so much time talking about circumcision? It is at the very least odd; and honestly, it is a little impolite. But here he is, yet again in Galatians, talking about circumcision. He wants the Galatians to know they do not need to be circumcised–he would even prefer that they were not. And here we are, centuries later, blushing, or at least trying to read quickly through the passage so as not to call attention. There are children present, and maybe even visitors who surely did not come to hear this. “Preacher,” you may be thinking, “move on and talk about the love of God, or forgiveness, or grace. For the sake of politeness, just ignore Paul.” But I can’t, because what St. Paul is talking about has everything to do with the love of God and forgiveness and grace.

And they were afraid

A sermon for the Second Sunday after Pentecost: Proper 7
June 22, 2025, at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Hot Springs, AR

Readings: Luke 8:26-39

There’s some part of us that likes to be scared. I’m not talking about the innocent Halloween type of scared. I’m talking about something darker, something buried deep down in secret places. The type of darkness that would drive people to flock to roadside shows to see people trapped in cages, dressed in tatters–the outcasts of society, the sick, the scary ones. Deep down, in some dark place, we like to be scared.

Now What?

A sermon for the Seventh Sunday of Easter
June 1, 2025, at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Hot Springs, AR

Readings: Acts 16:16-34; Revelation 22:12-14,16-17,20-21; John 17:20-26

Now what? It’s a question for in-between times. It’s the question after a graduation–one all of our graduates we will honor today have no doubt heard. Now what? What comes next? It’s the question after a tragedy. Now what? How do we move on? It’s the question after surprise, after the unexpected is realized, whether good or ill. Now what? What’s around the next corner? It’s the question of the disciples on this seventh week after Easter. Jesus ascends into heaven 40 days after the Resurrection (that was last Thursday), and in his parting instructions he told them to wait for power from on high in Jerusalem. The Holy Spirit will, indeed, come next week, on the feast of Pentecost. But on the seventh Sunday of Easter, with Jesus gone and the Holy Spirit not yet descending, we are in an in-between time, watching, waiting, wondering, straining to see around the corner, asking, well, now what?