Sermon; Easter Day 2025; John 20:1-18

Alleluia!  Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed!  Alleluia!

Today is Easter Day, the Day of Resurrection.  It is the eighth day of the week, the day of a new creation.  On this day Jesus rose from the dead defeating sin and death.  This is our triumphant holy day and on this day we sing to all creation of the victory of our King.

This day, though, was a long time coming.

In the day the Lord God made the earth and the heavens, the Lord God formed a human being out of the dust of the ground, breathed life into the human, and placed them into a garden that God had planted.  In the midst of that garden was the tree of life and the tree of the knowledge of good and evil.  Eventually God created a second person from the side of the first, giving us Adam and Eve.

One day Eve finds herself talking with a serpent who convinces her to eat the fruit from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, and she gives some of the fruit to her husband who was with her.  After eating of the fruit their eyes were opened.  Later in the day God is walking through the garden and calls out to the man wondering where he is.  Adam responds that they were afraid because they were naked so they hid themselves.

Christian doctrine says that these acts by Adam and Eve brought sin into the world, and it was because of these acts that they were expelled from the garden before they could eat from the tree of life and live forever.

We have just come through the Triduum – the holy days of Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, Holy Saturday, and the Easter Vigil. 

In the Gospel of John, which we just heard from, Jesus takes his disciples across the Kidron valley to a place where there was a garden.  Judas knew of this place and it was there that Jesus was betrayed, arrested, and turned over to the religious and political authorities.

After Jesus was crucified, John says that Joseph of Arimathea took the body of Jesus to a garden where there was a new tomb in which no one had been laid.  Then, as we just heard, early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene went to the tomb in the garden only to find it empty.  After telling the disciples about this, she has the first encounter with the risen Christ.  At first she mistakes him for the gardener, but then Jesus calls her by name and her eyes are opened.

The story of God and humanity is bookended by these stories of creation and resurrection.  In looking at the totality of these stories, especially when viewed through John, you can see how it all comes full circle.

It was in a garden where sin first raised its head by the actions of Adam and Eve.  It was in a garden across the Kidron valley where sin raised its head through the actions of Judas.

After their eyes had been opened, Adam and Eve hid from God in the garden when called by name because they didn’t want to be found.  Mary Magdalene went to the garden in search of her Lord and Savior with her eyes closed to the resurrected Christ, only to have her eyes opened when he called her by name.

Adam and Eve were banished from the garden for fear that they might eat from the tree of life and live forever.  In the Gospel of John, Jesus says that he is the bread of life and whoever eats of this bread will live forever.

Jesus was born from the Virgin’s womb and given human life.  After his death Jesus was placed in a virgin tomb where he was given a resurrected life.

And finally, it was a woman, Eve, who is often blamed for that first act of sin and disobedience.  It was a woman, Mary Magdalene, who is honored with being the first person to see the risen Christ, thereby leading us back to the garden.

Today is the Day of Resurrection.  Today is the day Jesus defeated sin and death.  Today is the eighth day of the week and the day of a new creation.  Today is the day we cross from death to life, from doubt to belief, from mourning to celebration.  For it is on this day when we see Christ alive, and it is on this day all creation shouts, “Alleluia!”

We began in a garden.  Our eyes were opened and we were ashamed, so we hid from God, and we were banished from the garden for fear that we might eat from the tree of life.  Today we find ourselves back in a garden.  Our eyes are opened and we are not ashamed to see the resurrected Christ who calls us by name.  Instead of being banished, we are welcomed back to eat from him who is the bread of life and live forever.

So let us eat that bread and drink that cup.  Let us not be ashamed to be called by God.  Let us live with our eyes open to the new life which we have been shown.  And let us joyfully shout with all creation to all who have ears to hear,

“Alleluia!  Christ is risen!”

The Lord is risen indeed!  Alleluia!

Sermon; Holy Saturday, 2025

The other night we shared a final meal with Jesus and watched as he was arrested and taken away to a trial with a predetermined verdict.  Yesterday we watched from a safe distance as he was hung on a cross, died, and buried.  And today . . . today we aren’t sure of anything.  Today we feel shocked about what happened.  Maybe we feel grief.  Maybe we have some self-loathing for not doing more – or anything – to prevent his arrest and crucifixion.  Maybe we want to scream at the world, “Look what you’ve done!”

Hindsight being 20/20, when we reflect back on our time with Jesus we can see that he told us this would happen.  He told parables about seeds being buried in the ground, dying, and then springing to life in a different form.  On three separate occasions he told us he would suffer, die, and rise after three days.  He said that when he was lifted up he would draw all people to himself.  We’ve seen his suffering, death, and burial.  The springing to life is yet to happen.  So we wait and we hope.

Today is the day of waiting.  Today is the day of hope.

This is where the disciples found themselves.  Reeling from the events of the last two days, trying to make sense of it all, and wondering where they were going from here.  Some of them found solace in familiar routines, so they went fishing.  Eventually they would all gather together for comfort and support.  But on this day, this day after his death, this day of Sabbath rest, the disciples just existed.

And this is where we live our lives, on this Holy Sabbath, this Holy Saturday.  As Christians, every day is Holy Saturday.  We live our lives in a perpetual state of already and not yet, of what has happened and what is hoped for.  We live with what has been given while looking forward to what has been promised.  As a former parishioner once said, “We live in the dash” – that time between our date of birth and our date of death.

So here we are, in this time of the dash, in a period between what has happened and what yet to come.  This is, really, the only way we live our lives – one day at a time, ever reaching for the promise of resurrection and new life.  Holy Saturday is the epitome of living a life in hope.

As we follow this promise of resurrection, may we live with a hope lived, not just hoped for.  That is, we can’t simply live our lives in the hopes that Jesus will whisk us away, or that Jesus will come and solve all our problems, or that we can rely on faith alone without having the actions it requires.

We have been called as disciples and are charged with going out into the world.  We have been tasked with feeding, clothing, visiting, sheltering, and caring for those in need.  We are to love our neighbor, welcome the foreigner, and include the outcast.  Like the disciples who stood staring into the sky after Jesus’ ascension needed to be reminded that they had work to do, we too are called to do more than stare at heaven.

The work we are called to do can only happen today, on this Holy Saturday, the day after crucifixion and the day before resurrection.  On this Holy Sabbath, on this day when all creation holds its breath in hopeful anticipation, let us mourn the death of Jesus.  Let us pay our respects at the tomb.  But then let us live in the hope of what was promised and let us work to make that hope realized here on earth as it is in heaven.

Because today is Holy Saturday, and this is the only day we’ve got.

Amen.

Sermon; Good Friday, 2025

Last night we had our final meal with Jesus.  Last night we watched, hidden in the shadows, as an innocent man was taken away to be executed.  Last night we were too scared to stand up against the authorities.  And faced with the shock-troops of the religious and political regime who seek out and crush any dissent, we opted to keep a safe distance, out of sight, and quiet.

As we relive those events, maybe we are Peter who, although a loyal disciple, is not yet willing to make a public stand and denies being part of the movement.

Maybe we are the Pharisees who seek out those who disrupt the status quo or upset a system we believe is the only way to act, and in doing so, we willingly condemn an innocent man to death.

Maybe we are the crowd who gets caught up in a mob mentality, crying out for the execution of someone deemed an insurrectionist, troublemaker, or is simply a scapegoat getting us to focus on something else besides what’s really happening.

What just happened here in this place is not simply a reenactment of Jesus’ crucifixion.  We do not participate in this liturgy simply because the BCP tells us to do so.  We do this because what happened to Jesus so long ago still happens today:  innocent people are betrayed into the hands of sinners, unjustly arrested, imprisoned, and executed.  The State and those in power will use any means necessary to maintain their power and their ability to control those deemed unacceptable.

This story is as relevant today as it was for Jesus.  When we don’t speak out or stand up for those wrongly accused by claiming to not know them, we are no different than Peter.  When we desert people in their time of need, we are no different than the other ten disciples.  When we report innocent people to the authorities because they have been deemed a threat, we are no different than Judas.  When we allow ourselves to take the easy road of mob mentality rather than critically thinking about the situation, we are no different than the crowd shouting, “Crucify him!”

The crucifixion of Jesus happened because a violent world could not, and cannot, abide the presence of radical and inclusive love.  The crucifixion of Jesus happened because good people allowed evil actions couched in a defense of “just following orders” to rule the day. 

Good Friday is not just a day to remember the crucifixion of Jesus.  In our world, Good Friday happens every day when innocent people are wrongly attacked, arrested, removed, and/or executed.  It happens every day we desert people in need and leave them to fend for themselves.  It happens every time people falsely report innocent people as a danger or as a troublemaker.

On this Good Friday when we remember the crucifixion and death of Christ, let us also reflect on how we are complicit in allowing a violent world to execute radical and inclusive love.

As Jesus once said, “Whatever you do or don’t do to the least of these, you do or don’t do to me.”  So let us never forget that how we treat others, especially those who are marginalized and deemed “not of us,” is how we treat Jesus.

Amen.

Sermon; Maundy Thursday 2025

It’s the beginning of the end.  Jesus has been making a name for himself and his popularity is rising.  One of the most pivotal things he has done was to raise Lazarus from the dead.  This act caused a number of people to follow him, thereby upsetting the Pharisees and other religious leaders.  They were concerned that if this Jesus movement grew, the Romans would come in and wipe them all out.  Lazarus was also a problem, because he was the living symbol of the power of Jesus.  Because of him, even more people were flocking to Jesus.  This led the religious leaders to plot to execute both of them.

One of the hallmarks of the Gospel of John is that Jesus is always in control.  There are no doubts.  There is no crisis of faith.  He doesn’t ask that this cup be taken away.  He doesn’t sweat blood.  And he chooses the time of his death when he says, “It is finished.”  This belief of John that Jesus was in the beginning with God, that he was God, and that he was the light shining in the darkness, is also seen tonight when John writes that Jesus knew who was to betray him.

But just because Jesus knew who was to betray him does not mean that Judas was pre-ordained to play that role.  Judas, like all of us, had a choice.  He could have refused the bribe.  He could have chosen to follow the path of Jesus, a path of radical, inclusive love, instead of a path of radicalized and restrictive self-interests.  As we read the gospel story, it’s clear that the religious leaders are afraid of what Jesus is doing.  This fear grows to become a fear of Roman retribution.  I think Judas may have been caught up in the fears of the religious leaders:  that if Jesus was allowed to continue doing what he was doing, then Rome would come in and destroy everything.

I think we are much the same today.  A fear of outsiders, a desire to protect what we have, and a willingness to turn our backs on those not like us will lead to not only a narrow world-view, but will lead us to act in the name of radicalized and restrictive self-interests over the radical love and inclusiveness of Christ.  We would rather save what we have than live into Christ’s example of sacrificial and inclusive love.

One example of this sacrificial and inclusive love of Christ was by washing the feet of his disciples.  As Jesus ate this final meal with his disciples, it’s important to remember that all twelve disciples were present.  When Jesus got up to wash the feet of his disciples, he washed the feet of all twelve.  He washed the feet of James, John, Andrew, Matthew, Thaddeus, Simon, and the others who would desert him.  He washed the feet of Peter who thrice denied him.  He washed the feet of Judas who would betray him.

Tonight we share this final meal with Christ.  Tonight we are reminded to love each other as Christ loved us.  Tonight Judas betrays Christ and hands him over to the authorities. 

Tonight we may not be actively betraying Christ, but we are hiding in the shadows for fear that if we speak up we will suffer his same fate.  On this night we are busy protecting ourselves.  So tonight we watch from the shadows as Jesus is taken away.  Tonight we live in fear that if we speak up, we too will be taken away.  Tonight Jesus is taken from us, and we silently go our separate ways because it’s better that one innocent man be taken away than all of us.

As we meditate on the events of Holy Week, as we come to terms with our complicity in allowing an innocent person to be taken away, let us spend time contemplating, “What if?”

What if we spoke up when the innocent are taken away?  What if we lived into sacrificial, inclusive love rather than for our own interests?  What if we chose to stand against those who abused their power?  

What if?

Sermon; Lent 5C; John 12:1-8

If you haven’t noticed, the Gospel of John is . . . different.  Unlike the other three, John only records five obvious miracles.  Jesus is given to long monologues.  The interplay between light and dark is an important theme.  Where creation begins in the Garden and God calls out to Adam by name because he doesn’t want to be found, on Easter morning Mary is in the Garden and Jesus calls to her by name because she is looking for him.  The gospel has a cosmic beginning and there is a deep sense of the mystical. 

John packs a whole lot of symbolism and mystery into his stories, and this short gospel passage is no exception.

“Six days before the Passover . . .”  Six days in which to work, and then Jesus rested in the grave on a Holy Sabbath.  Lazarus, whom Jesus had raised from the dead, ate with Jesus signifying new life.  Mary anoints Jesus’ feet in an act of humble service, which also foreshadows his anointing by Joseph and Nicodemus at his burial.  So, what to focus on?

At our Annual Meeting I asked you to participate in an exercise where you shared stories of Saint Luke’s.  We then collected words reflective of those stories and I asked you to mark the words that you found most important.  The words that received the most votes were forgiving, compassion, kindness, caring, and several around worship.  The Vestry is working with these words as a guide to reflect who we are and how we can live into the vision those words elicit.

As I was thinking about today’s gospel passage, it occurred to me that this passage reflected our Annual Meeting exercise.  Within this episode are elements of compassion, caring, and worship.

Compassion and caring are closely related.  Compassion has to do with a desire to alleviate the suffering of another person.  With hindsight we know that this act of Mary foreshadowed Jesus’ death and burial.  I doubt she knew what lay in store for Jesus as he entered Jerusalem, was betrayed, and executed; but I want to believe that Jesus was able to look back on this compassionate act as providing some relief while he hung on the cross.

Caring has to do with being attentive to the needs of another.  In today’s gospel, this caring aspect came from Jesus to Mary as he was attentive to her need for protection.  Judas attacked her for foolishly spending money on that perfume rather than giving it to the poor.  He does what people always do – attack someone using an alternative group to gain sympathy without actually meaning to do anything for that group.  But Jesus cared for Mary by protecting her from further attacks.

Mary had an intense belief that Jesus was who he said he was.  At this dinner to honor him – because apparently baking a pie to say, “Thanks for raising my brother from the dead” wasn’t enough – Mary anoints the feet of Jesus.  This in itself was an act of worship, and she offered her body, mind, and spirit in complete devotion.

This was a risky move on her part.  Risky because of the apparent waste of costly perfume (see Judas).  Risky because of her very public act of anointing his feet.  Risky because, at that moment, she was willing to put her proclaimed faith into action.

Again, thinking back on the Annual Meeting and this passage, what would Saint Luke’s look like, or what could Saint Luke’s become, if we fully embodied this story?  How might we change if we were as compassionate, caring, and worshipful as the characters in this story?

How might we be a more visibly compassionate congregation?  If compassion has to do with alleviating suffering, the best way to do this is to increase our aid to, and presence at, the Food Pantry.  Medical debt and an inability to pay utilities are bound to cause suffering, both physically and mentally.  Could we look for ways to help alleviate that sort of suffering?

How could we offer a spirit of caring and better care for the needs of others.  One way we do this now is through Meals for the Soul, where we offer the care of nourishment for those who need it.  But as our congregation ages, other needs will arise.  Rides to and from church, medical appointments, or the grocery story might be helpful.  Basic contact with others through phone calls, letters, or visits show and provide care.

Expanding outside our walls, could we care for children in need of school supplies by providing that service?  And donations to the Rector’s Discretionary Fund allow for emergency care.

As Mary worshipped the Lord completely, are we as willing to pour out ourselves in worship?  Our liturgy is in need of roles to be filled.  What’s stopping you from offering your gifts and talents in joyful service to the Lord?  That’s a risky thing to do, to put ourselves out there in public.  But while our faith may be private, we are also called to live it out publicly.

I could go on, but I’m not here to berate or cajole you.  I am, however, here to get you to think.

From our Annual Meeting you found the most important aspects of Saint Luke’s to be worship, caring, and compassion.  If we see ourselves that way, we need to live into those words.  We need to empty ourselves as Mary emptied herself in such ways that this place is filled with the fragrance of beautiful worship made up of compassionate and caring people such that that fragrance permeates every part and person of this place.  The more we live into that, the more we will be filled with the holy scent of love and service.

As that fragrance permeates this place and us, it then might be said that what we do here will be proclaimed in all the world.  And what this small church does just might reflect one of the biggest mysteries of God – a people living out their faith in very unexpected ways.

Amen.

Sermon; Lent 4C; Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32

In today’s gospel, the religious leaders are griping about Jesus mingling with the wrong people.  In particular, they are outraged that Jesus welcomes sinners and eats with them.  We are not immune to such criticisms today.  Whenever “the wrong people” are welcomed into a place deemed inappropriate for them, the “right people” begin to gripe.  People who smell badly.  People who don’t dress appropriately.  People whose children can’t be controlled.  People who are a little too enthusiastic.  People who are the wrong color.  Or the wrong gender.  Or the wrong nationality.  Or the wrong religion.  These are just some of the wrong people whom the right people want to limit or keep out altogether.  When we begin allowing the wrong people into places not meant for them, there will be a group of right people complaining about it.

Today’s parable from Jesus addresses this very thing.  We have come to know this story as the parable of the Prodigal Son, but that isn’t really accurate.  A more accurate title would be, “The Repentant Son,” or, “The Forgiving Father,” or, “The Selfish Brother.”  Either way, this story touches on all these things and is still applicable today.  Like most parables, if we are really paying attention to them we can see ourselves in each of the characters; and if we are honest with ourselves, we can admit to being each character.

We have been the younger son who has wanted everything we felt was owed to us.  Maybe we got it, or maybe something kept us from getting it, but we eventually (and hopefully) learned that having everything we want isn’t all its cracked up to be.  This, then, requires we repent of our selfish desires.  It takes courage to admit we were wrong.  It takes courage to apologize.  It takes courage to accept whether or not the offended person will forgive us and to accept how this will impact the relationship moving forward.

We have been the father who had to face rejection from another person and let them go.  Maybe it was a child, family member, close friend, whatever.  That rejection or some other sin against us can be extremely painful.  But we have also been the father who, more than anything, wanted restoration.  That desire for restoration allows us to welcome back into our good races those who have hurt us.

We have been the older son who has been loyal but has then suffered the indignity of seeing someone we felt deserving of punishment get off scot-free.  That is a hard pill to swallow, especially when it happens close to home.

Although we have been, at one time or another, all three of these characters, I think more often than not we are the older brother.  I think that more often than not we are irrationally angry when people whom we think are unworthy of grace receive grace.  Or we become resentful of those whom we deem undeserving receive what we see as unwarranted handouts.

I came across a perfect example of this last week.

A woman posted that her psych professor in college offered to give everyone in class a 95 percent grade but only if the students voted unanimously for the proposal.  When the vote was tallied, there were 20 students who voted “NO.”

So he put up a poll asking why people voted the way they did and the choices were:

A.    I want a 95 percent

B.    B.  I think I could do better

C.    C.  I don’t want a grade I don’t deserve

D.    D.  I don’t want someone else to get the same grade as me if they didn’t study as much

It turned out that all 20 students who voted “NO” in the original question chose option D.

The professor went on to say that he had been doing this experiment for ten years and every year there is always at least one person who doesn’t want someone to have what they have because they think that other person doesn’t deserve it.  There was one comment on this thread that I found spot on – “It’s not that I must win, it’s that others must lose.”

We’ve seen this same rationale in everything from student loan debt forgiveness to universal health care and everything in between.

This seems to be the attitude of the older son – having a selfish reason as to why someone else should not have what he has.  We need to remember, though, that God’s economy is about love, forgiveness, and joy over and above spite, punishment, and misery.

What might this look like in the here and now?  Imagine for a minute that everybody I’ve talked to in bars, and whom I’ve told about Saint Luke’s, suddenly decided to show up to church on the same day, 40 or 50 strong. 

They are the younger son who have lived lives not as we would like or maybe even as we approve.  But they’ve all gathered up their courage and come to a place where they’ve been told they are welcome.  They are a little worried about how they’d be accepted, but they came.

On that Sunday when these 40 or 50 people show up, we are the father who has eagerly been waiting for them.  We may not agree with the choices they have made, but they are here and we welcome them home.  We greet them with open arms.  We make room for them in our pew and help them navigate the BCP, Hymnal, and pew aerobics.  After service we invite them to coffee hour, get to know a little bit about them, thank them for being here, and invite them to come back next week.  And maybe we are the father for the next Sunday or two.

But at some point, we become the older brother.  Maybe it’s the third, fourth, or fifth Sunday in when all 40 or 50 people from the bars keep coming back; and they keep coming back Every.  Single.  Sunday.  Maybe it’s when they begin singing a little too enthusiastically and off key.  Maybe it’s when they keep sitting in your pew which you were willing to share for a Sunday or two.  Maybe it’s when they show up at 9:45, leaving you searching for an open seat or maybe even having to sit in the parish hall, relegated to overflow seating.  Maybe it’s when they gather to smoke in the parking lot.

Those of you who have been here for years or for generations might begin to resent their presence.  You might begin asking the Vestry or me why we are letting these people, who have never shown an interest in church before, have a say in how we do things.  That resentment might grow to such an extent that you begin to refuse to even come into this house.

One of the purposes of this parable, and the two that come before it (the lost sheep and lost coin) is to open our eyes to the fact that what brings God joy is not the punishment of others, but the restoration of the lost.  The welcoming of the younger son doesn’t mean he is loved more than the older son.  It doesn’t mean that the older son has been rejected in favor of the younger son.  This parable reminds us that the father had two sons and he loved both of them.  It reminds us that both of the sons are welcomed into the house.  And, maybe most importantly, it reminds us that the celebration has nothing to do with loving one son more and everything to do with restoration from death to life.

May we welcome sinners and outcasts.  May we eat with the wrong people.  May we lavish on them the same unbounding grace that God lavishes on us.  And may we never be jealous of, or offended at, God’s love being poured out on another – even if we deem them to be the wrong people.

Amen.

Sermon; Lent 3C; Luke 13:1-9

“Unless you repent, you will all perish as they did.”  So Jesus answers when asked if the people killed by Pilate were worse sinners than other people.  And he basically says the same thing about 18 people who were killed when a tower collapsed on them.

I’ve talked about this before, but there’s a long line of bad theology attributing bad luck to bad behavior.  Your cancer is not the result of sins you have committed.  Being in the wrong place at the wrong time is not because God placed you there to be punished.  Your chronic pain is not due to a lack of faith.  Sometimes life just happens and bad things happen.  That’s not to say that bad decisions don’t cause pain and suffering, because they can (see: drunk driving); but pain and suffering are not the result of God punishing us for our sins.

So what was Jesus getting at when he said, “Unless you repent, you will all perish as they did?”

First of all, this is not a “repent or die” statement.  Jesus is not saying that if you don’t repent, God will strike you dead or send you to hell.  What this is, though, is a recognition that we all die.  Some people will die early because of an illness.  Some people will die unexpectedly because of an accident.  Some will live many years before death comes calling.  We all die, that is just a fact of life.  What Jesus is addressing here comes from The Great Litany when we ask to be delivered “from dying suddenly and unprepared” (more proof that Jesus was an Episcopalian).

We all die.  And, fortunately or unfortunately, none of us are born with a visible expiration date.  But the fact of the matter is that none of us gets out of here alive.  These stories of those killed by Pilate and by the collapsing tower, as well as the parable of the fig tree, are not about death, but about preparation.

Part of our preparation for death, then, is to make time on a regular basis for confession, repentance, and amendment of life in order to continually live in a right relationship with God.  We are in the season of Lent – the season of self-examination, fasting, and penitence.  We can, and probably should, do those things more often, but this season addresses them directly.  We examine our lives and conduct to see where we have harmed others and/or behaved in ways contrary to the will of God.  We should fast from those things which draw us away from God with an eye toward making a permanent change.  We should make time to honestly confess our sins with the goal of making amends and beginning anew

Lent is the season of honesty.  Just because we think we’re right about something doesn’t make it so. It takes courage to admit we were wrong.  It takes honesty and courage to admit we have sinned and repent.  We all sin, but we are not always honest.  And as we heard at the beginning of the service, “If we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves and the truth is not in us.”

Repentance isn’t just about private piety – it’s also about how our society treats others.

If we work toward being in a right relationship with God, then we should also work toward being in a right relationship with others.  Jesus said the two greatest commandments are to love God and love your neighbor.  You can’t claim to love God and then act and speak in hateful ways against your neighbor.  As John says, “Those who say they love God and hate a brother or sister are liars.  For those who do not love a brother or sister whom they have seen, cannot love God, whom they haven’t seen.”

And who is our neighbor? 

Just a couple of chapters earlier, Jesus told the parable of the good Samaritan.  Over time we’ve Disney-fied this parable, but when Jesus first told it, it was shocking.  Shocking because he deliberately used a member of a despised ethnic group as the hero.  It is the poor, the hungry, the foreigner, the Different Other who are our neighbors.  These are the people God cares about, and we should be better at how we treat them.

Another authorized Confession found in supplemental liturgical sources says, “we repent of the evil we have done, and the evil done on our behalf.”  Sins of racism, both personal and national, the evils of segregation upheld by official policies, or policies that are designed to put down women and minorities, fall into this category.  We need to be honest about these sins, repent, and work to put an end to them.  But if we as individuals and as a nation are unwilling to confront past and current behaviors toward the Other, if we are unwilling to repent of those sins, we risk dying separated from God and unprepared for the consequences.

The parable Jesus tells of the fig tree speaks to this.  For three years a fig tree did not produce fruit.  The landowner wanted to cut it down, but the gardener said, “Wait for one year, let me put manure around it and care for it.  Then if it doesn’t produce fruit, you can cut it down.”

In this parable, it’s important to recognize that continuing in sinful practices will not allow us to bear good fruit.  That extra year tells us there is time to repent.  But being honest about our sins, confessing our sins, and repenting of our sins is uncomfortable; and sometimes going through that process can feel like we’ve been buried in manure.  But what comes from that, hopefully, is good fruit brought on by a change in our life.

We all sin and we all die.  May we have the courage to repent of those sins which draw us away from God and harm our neighbor.  May we live lives worthy of that repentance.  And may our repentance help prepare us to live in a right relationship with God and neighbor.

Amen.