Sermon – Storied Grace

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.

And They Named Him Jesus

A sermon for the Feast of the Holy Name
January 1, 2026, at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Hot Springs, AR

Readings: Numbers 6:22-27; Philippians 2:5-11; Luke 2:15-21

It seems like a throw-away line, something so simple and easy to overlook. After the angels and shepherds, Luke in the gospel writes today, “After eight days had passed, it was time to circumcise the child; and he was called Jesus, the name given by the angel before he was conceived in the womb.” It doesn’t seem like a significant line. It seems routine, ordinary. But this name, the name of Jesus, the name given to the Son of God by the angel before he was conceived in the womb–this is the name above all names. As St. Paul says, at this name, “every knee should bend, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.”

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.

The Light Shines in the Darkness

A sermon for Christmas Day
December 25, 2025, at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Hot Springs, AR

Readings: Isaiah 52:7-10; Hebrews 1:1-4,(5-12); John 1:1-14; Psalm 98

“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.” That’s how St. John puts it today. Jesus Christ is the Light of the World. That light is born into the darkness in Bethlehem. The darkness pursues that light, like dogs on a hunt. Herod’s soldiers chase down the Holy Innocents: darkness. The religious elite plot and plan: darkness. The Romans will execute him on a tree: and darkness covers the whole earth. But the light is not extinguished. The light that fills all in all grows and grows, and the light grows even now.

The Angels’ Lullaby

A sermon for Christmas Eve
December 24, 2025, at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Hot Springs, AR

Readings: Isaiah 9:2-7; Titus 2:11-14; Luke 2:1-14(15-20)

It must have been something to hear, the angels singing in the fields on the outskirts of Bethlehem. I imagine it sounded like Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture. If you know that piece, you know that it has cannon fire and bells and brass fanfares. It is loud and glorious and wakes the dead. And surely the fiery angels lit up the sky like fireworks. “Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on Earth peace among those whom he favors! Gloria in excelsis Deo!” For the Word Made Flesh, the Son of God, the One Long Hoped For is here at last. I don’t know how it all sounded, but I do know that when God comes among us, there must be music. The night is dark, but the music–the heavenly music–rings out. For how else could heaven and earth welcome their newborn King who is doing a new thing, who has come to save us all?

Joseph’s Prayer

A sermon for the Fourth Sunday of Advent
December 21, 2025, at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Hot Springs, AR

Readings: Isaiah 7:10-16; Romans 1:1-7; Matthew 1:18-25; Psalm 80:1-7, 16-18

It was the tale of two Josephs. It was not the best of times; some would say it was the worst of times. For each of these Josephs, a difficult calling was issued, a difficult service required, a difficulty that tested righteousness, a difficulty that sapped their strength. No, it was not the best of times; some would say it was the worst of times. But perhaps there was light, just a flicker of hope.

Making Excuses

A sermon for the Ordination of Deacons:
The Revs. Bruce Bryant and Marcus Emmons
December 13, 2025, at Trinity Episcopal Cathedral, Little Rock, AR

Readings: Jeremiah 1:4-9; Psalm 84; Acts 6:2-7; Luke 22:24-27

I had grown frustrated. I was sitting in yet another meeting for a community group going over financial reports. We seemed to be talking in circles about nothing at all. Have you been in meetings like that? Marcus and Bruce: As ordained leaders in this church, you will sit in your fair share of those meetings. But not wanting to rock the boat too much, I was hesitant to speak up. I was new on the board–I think it must have been my second meeting. So, rather timidly, I began my remarks. I said something like, “Well, I’m new here, but–” The chair cut me off. “This is the last time you use the excuse of being new; we want to hear from you.” I’m not sure why I felt like I needed to qualify my feedback. Maybe I wasn’t sure of my footing yet. The truth is, I can do that a lot–make excuses for myself. It’s a human thing, is it not? But the chair’s point was taken. I was on the board for a reason, and time was running short. Stop making excuses.

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.”

Showing up with Wounds

A sermon for the Second Sunday of Easter
April 27, 2025, at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Hot Springs, AR

Readings: John 20:19-31

Today is called “Low Sunday.” It’s called that because our numbers tend to be low after our big Easter Sunday. Those who show up today are dragged here by something greater than themselves, by the very Spirit of God pulling them, by grace, to the life on offer in the Word of God and the sacraments of the Church. But for many, the pattern is Easter Sunday, then we need a break.

He Remembers Us

A sermon for Maundy Thursday
April 17, 2025 at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Hot Springs, AR

Readings: 1 Corinthians 11:23-26; John 13:1-17, 31b-35

I visited Mary in her home. It was a room in a nursing care facility; far from the best one in town. Just a single room. She kept the place dark. It was like going into a tomb. Mary was 97 years old and had lived in that dark room for going on 20 years. She had no family, no friends, she said. She had called because she was Episcopalian once, when she was a child. She had been baptized in an Episcopal church, and her aunt took her to Sunday school sometimes. Not often, it didn’t sound like. She didn’t like the nursing home chaplain who had come by, so she called me. She called and asked me to step into her darkness, into this living tomb at the end of the hall. I stayed for an hour or so, and she told me her story. I will share her story with you over the next three days.