Sermon; Epiphany 5A; Matt. 5:13-20

The Sermon on the Mount continues today with Jesus talking about function and the place of the Law. The sermon opened last week with the Beatitudes. I said then that this was the beginning of the fulfillment of the words from Jeremiah when God said there would come a time when he would write his law on our hearts. Those words of Christ get at the heart of the law and the prophets, and they are the foundation which this Jesus community is built on.

Jesus begins his sermon focusing on individual people. It's directed to people who experience poverty and who are marginalized. It's directed to people who mourn for a world far from God's vision. It's directed to people who work for justice and equality in the face of systems that protect and maintain status, exploitation, affluence, and injustices of all kinds. Blessed are you when you exhibit these behaviors and when you do the work of the Church.

From there Jesus moves into the corporate “you” when he says, “You are the salt of the earth,” and, “You are the light of the world.”

It's important to know that these two statements have to do with the function of the Church, not its status. Jesus is not saying that his followers, the Church, is or are more special than anyone else. You know how sometimes we will refer to someone as being “salt of the earth” to talk about their character? Or we will say, “They light up the room” to describe their personality? This isn't it.

Being the salt of the earth and the light of the world isn't about status, it's about what we do as the Body of Christ.

Jesus says we, the Church, are the salt of the earth. The message of the gospel, the Good News of God in Christ, is given to the whole earth. In a world and society that designs systems to run a certain way, the message we proclaim is designed to shake things up, much like spices shake up a recipe.

Now, Episcopalians have never been accused of being a particularly salty or spicy bunch. But we do have a particular flavor which we can spread on the world around us. We don't need to overwhelm people, i.e. “JOIN EVERYTHING!!!” We just need to give them enough. Invite people in. Sit with them. Talk with them at coffee hour. Talk about Saint Luke's outside of Saint Luke's. Because what we have to offer is meant for the wider community.

Likewise, we, the Church, are the light of the world. This light refers to Christ. Think about the beginning of John's gospel: What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.

Christ is the world's true light. The Church, as the image of Christ on earth, is the world's true light. That makes each of us individual tapers that burn with the light of Christ. We can shine individually, but for us to fulfill the mission of the Church and Christ, we must work together. It is only through the efforts of all of us that the light of the Church will blaze.

Both of these images of Jesus, salt and light, are presented as being for the benefit of the world. In order for us to salt the earth and be a light to the world, we must be willing to proclaim the message of Christ. We must be willing to proclaim the Word of the Lord.

If we refuse to speak up for the marginalized and downtrodden, if we refuse to stand with those whom society treats as second-class citizens or gives license to abuse, if we stay silent in the face of oppression, we have lost our saltiness.

If we refuse to shed light on injustices, if we hide behind religious ordinances and a desire to be polite, we are hiding our light under a bushel.

Is not this the fast I choose: to loose the bonds of injustice, let the oppressed go free, share our bread with the hungry, house the homeless, and clothe the naked? For what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly with your God.

Jesus said, “Unless your righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.”

This isn't about following the letter of the law trying to outdo someone else, this is about obeying the spirit of the law. How do we show mercy and kindness, and to whom do we show it? Who do we recognize as our neighbor? Do we treat those who don't look like us, talk like us, believe like us, with dignity and respect? Do we see the whole earth and all people as being of God, or are we too determined to create a place and society of “US?”

If we spend our time making excuses for why we can't defend or support those whom society marginalizes, or if we look for reasons why these mandates of God don't apply to us, then we have lost our saltiness and we will be trampled underfoot. We will have effectively hidden our light and kept those who need a ray of hope from finding any.

And what a shame it would be if we were more concerned with ourselves than with those whom God specifically calls us to care for.

Amen.

Sermon; Epiphany 4A (Annual Meeting Sunday); Matthew 5:1-12

As I’ve been saying, the Gospel of Matthew brings to mind the Hebrew scriptures more than any other gospel – especially if you are familiar with those scriptures, as Matthew’s original audience surely was.

Matthew’s opening genealogy recalls the genealogies of Genesis and Numbers.  The Holy Family’s flight to Egypt and return to their homeland recalls the story of the Exodus.  Within that story, the slaughter of the innocents recalls Pharaoh’s edict to kill all male Hebrew children.  Jesus’ 40-day wilderness experience recalls the Israelite’s 40-years in the wilderness.  These examples, and more, tie Matthew’s gospel deeply to those ancient scriptures.

This connection with those scriptures continues in today’s gospel passage.  Today Jesus goes up the mountain to teach his disciples.  Beginning with today’s passage and continuing all the way through Chapter 7, we are given the Sermon on the Mount. 

Now you might be asking yourself, “How is this connected to the OT?”  First of all, encounters with God were often located on a mountain.  It was on a mountain where Elijah encountered God in the sheer silence.  Moses went up the mountain to receive the Law from God.  It was that Law that defined the Israelites from all the other nations they encountered.

In the same way, Jesus goes up the mountain.  But instead of receiving the Law from God, he gives a new law – not a law of statutes, ordinances, rules, regulations, and prohibitions, but a law of the heart.  This is the beginning of the fulfillment of the words of Jeremiah when he said, “The days are surely coming when I will make a new covenant with the house of Israel and Judah . . . I will put my law within them, and I will write it on their hearts.”

What Matthew does is to show Jesus, through the Sermon on the Mount, as both law giver AND the authorized interpreter of the Law.

The law Jesus gives is one of community standards.  This is the law and these are the words this new community of Christ is to live into.  This is the law and these are the words we are to live into.

Once again Matthew connects his readers to the Hebrew scriptures.  These words of Jesus are not just something he made up on the fly in the hopes that his followers would be nice.  All of his words, and particularly the ones we hear today, come from the Law and the Prophets.  These all come from Exodus, Numbers, Deuteronomy, Psalms, Isaiah, Amos, and others.  And paired with the words from Micah that we heard earlier – What does the Lord require of you but to do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with your God – these all sum up the heart of the Law.

At last year’s Annual Meeting we did a little exercise where we put meaningful words about Saint Luke’s on newsprint and then narrowed those down to what we thought were most important or most reflected our parish.  Those words led the Vestry to develop a new vision statement . . . which is . . . to Proclaim the Love of God and Extend Hope to ALL People.

One way we can live into our vision statement is to also work to make the Beatitudes a reality.

We can work to make this a Spirit-filled place so that those who are poor in spirit will see the kingdom of heaven.  We can be a place of comfort for those who mourn.  We can be a place where mercy is present.  And, harkening back to Micah, we can be a place that proclaims justice, loves kindness, and humbly walks with God.

In the Sermon on the Mount, Christ gives a law of the heart designed to shape his community of believers.  Through our baptism we have been adopted into that community. 

As we move forward into 2026, may we be shaped by Christ’s law.  May we manifest the promises of our baptismal covenant.  May we have the courage to speak out against injustice.  May we find strength in providing mercy and comfort.  May we proclaim the love of God and extend hope to all people in a way that let’s them know we are, above everything else, a community of Christ.

Amen.

Sermon; Epiphany 3A; Matt. 4:12-23

It can be hard, sometimes, especially if you aren’t in the habit of following the gospel lectionary at home, to have a mental picture of the overall story or context.  Two weeks ago we had the story of Jesus’ baptism in the Gospel of Matthew.  Last week we had the calling of Andrew and his brother from the Gospel of John.  Today we’re going to ignore last week because today we are back in Matthew with the calling of Simon & Andrew and James & John. 

Here's the context for today:  Jesus was baptized by John and then led into the wilderness where he spent 40 days fasting and being tempted by the devil.  Immediately after this Jesus hears that John has been arrested, whereupon he begins his earthly ministry.  Jesus begins the same way John did:  “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.”  And his first act of his public ministry was to invite four fishermen to leave their business and their families and follow him as he changed their lives.

As with any good story, Matthew doesn’t just write random thoughts down willy nilly – there’s an order and a reason for what he writes.  He weaves a story about Jesus that incorporates references, allusions, and prophecies from Judaism into something Christians see as God’s fulfillment in the person of Jesus Christ.  From the genealogy in the beginning of his gospel to Christ’s promise that he is with us to the end of the ages, Matthew’s story flows in a particular direction with one thing leading to and supporting the next.

Jesus’ first statement is, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.”  Immediately after that he calls four fishermen to follow him.  The implication, at least for Matthew, is that repentance leads to a substantial change in behavior.  Through our act of repentance we leave behind our old ways of doing things for a new way of being.  That new way is following Christ through the intentional act of discipleship to become more Christ-like in our daily lives.

Our baptismal covenant mimics this when it says, “Whenever you sin, will you repent and return to the Lord?”  The Ash Wednesday absolution says that God desires we turn from our wickedness.  And the Exhortation asks us to examine our lives and conduct that we may acknowledge our sins with full purpose of amendment of life.  Repentance, then, isn’t just something we say because it’s printed in the BCP.  True repentance leads to a change that makes us more Christ-like.  If we are unwilling to do that, why are we here?

I bring this up because last week I was made aware of the story of Mike, a parishioner of St. Elizabeth’s Roman Catholic Church in Pennsylvania.  Earlier this month Mike got on his social media account and proudly recorded himself telling how he refused to receive Communion from an Indian woman.  Instead of receiving from the person appointed to administer the Sacrament to his side of the church, he crossed to the other side of the church to receive Communion from their white priest.  He goes on to say that he will not receive Communion from anyone who’s non-white.  And he closes his video with, “I’ll go confess to my priest, but I’ll continue doing it.”

Confessing a sin to your priest with the full intention to continue doing what it was you’re confessing without changing is not repentance.  That is not following Christ.  What that is is allowing your own hatreds and racism to rule your life.  It’s elevating hatred and racism to the position of your own personal god.  It’s creating an idol out of a belief that white people are better and deserve more than everyone else.  And it’s making a mockery of the Christian faith.

If we claim, like Mike does, to confess our sins but without the intention to amend our life, we are living a lie.  We are also continuing to live in the sin for which we have supposedly confessed.

Whether it’s the sin of racism in all its forms, or misogyny, or abuse, or xenophobia, or the sin of remaining quiet and allowing hateful attitudes and behaviors to fester and grow, Christ and the Church are calling us into repentance – true repentance.  That repentance requires us to make restitution and reparations where needed.  That repentance requires us to see all people as created in the image of God.  That repentance requires us, like Simon & Andrew and James & John, to leave our old ways behind.

If our acts of repentance are tempered excuses for why we aren’t that bad, we’re doing it wrong.  If our acts of repentance are simply performative such that we go through the motions without any real change, we’re doing it wrong.  If our acts of repentance don’t cause us to question our thoughts, words, and actions toward others, we’re doing it wrong.  If our acts of repentance don’t cause us to seriously evaluate whether our thoughts, words, and actions align with the thoughts, words, and actions of Christ, we’re doing it wrong.  If we are looking for absolution without repentance, we’re doing it wrong.

We either serve Christ or we serve our own desires; we can’t serve both.  We either respect the dignity of every human being, or we support rules and actions that continue to separate and dehumanize others.  We either love God above all else, or we love all else above God.  We can’t have it both ways.

In today’s gospel, Jesus calls people to repentance.  He then invites four fisherman to leave their old ways behind to learn a new way of being that will drastically change their lives. 

It’s the same for us:  Jesus issues a call to repentance.  He then invites us to follow him in a way that will drastically change our lives and how we behave.

Because, really, if we aren’t willing to change for the sake of Christ, if we aren’t willing to do the hard work of intentional discipleship and become more Christ-like, what are we doing here?

Jesus asks us to repent and follow him into a new way of being.  And for some people, like Mike, that is too much to ask.  We all have a choice – let’s not choose to be like Mike, but like Christ.

Amen. 

Sermon; Baptism of Christ; Matt. 3:13-17

Today is the Feast of the Baptism of Our Lord.  In a few minutes we will once again renew our own baptismal vows.  We will once again make promises that we should take seriously and that we should strive to uphold in every aspect of our personal lives.  Will we resist evil?  Will we make worship and fellowship a priority?  Will we seek and serve Christ in all persons?  Will we proclaim the good news?  Will we strive for justice and respect the dignity of every human being?

If we want to live a life based in the Christian faith, we should use this covenant as a template; because living a Christian-based life is much more than eating cake, attending polite receptions, or telling people who practice yoga they’re going to hell (no, I’m not making that up).

That said, there are two specific things I want to address regarding the baptism of Christ. 

The first is to answer the question:  Why are we baptized?  There are two main reasons for our baptism:  1) to cleanse us from sin, and 2) to become adopted into the household of God.  We could argue that the first doesn’t last that long, but the second is an indissoluble bond between us and God.

You may then ask, if baptism cleanses us from sin, why did Jesus need to get baptized?  Yes, he was fully human, but he was also fully divine.  And as we will affirm later during the Eucharistic Prayer, “he lived as one of us, yet without sin.”  So he didn’t need to be cleansed from sin.

And if baptism brings us into the household of God, why did Christ need to get baptized?  Because as Son of God, and the Second Person of the Trinity, Christ was already dwelling in the household and community of the Holy Trinity. 

Based on these things, Jesus didn’t need to be baptized.  His baptism, however, is an example to us.  Think of it as a, “Do as I do” precedent.  Jesus could also very well have said, “Do this in remembrance of me,” after he came up out of the water.

Our baptism doesn’t mean that God loves us more or others less, or that we will never again sin, because he doesn’t and we will.  But it does bring us fully into the household of God.  It means that we are officially part of a faith community.  And as with being part of any other household, it means we have certain rights and responsibilities that we are required to live into.  The baptism of Jesus was the point at which he was anointed to live into his responsibilities that we will see later in the gospel.

Our baptism brings us into this household of God where we are raised up as disciples and given responsibilities to fulfill for the mission of God and the Church.  At our baptism, we are anointed with the power of the Holy Spirit to proclaim the good news of God in Christ in the same way that Jesus was anointed to proclaim the good news.

The second thing about this passage I want to address is what happened when Jesus was baptized:  “Just as he came up from the water, suddenly the heavens were opened to him and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove . . .”

The Gospel of Matthew pulls and quotes from Hebrew scriptures more than any other gospel.  Through dreams and prophets, Matthew recalls the ancient faith.  The Slaughter of the Holy Innocents by Herod recalls Pharaoh’s drowning of Hebrew babies.  The Holy Family going to Egypt and coming out of Egypt recalls the history of the Israelite people.  So this image of the heavens opening and a dove descending isn’t just a pretty picture, it recalls the great flood in Genesis.

There the heavens were opened, water washed away all life, and a dove found a symbol of new life.  Here, the heavens were opened, the old life is washed away, and new life is found in the dove of God’s Holy Spirit.

The baptism of Christ recalls events of the ancient faith and sets a precedent for all his disciples moving into the future.

Baptism brings us into the household of God endowing us with rights and responsibilities.  Baptism washes away our old life and brings us into a new life with God.  Baptism shapes us and changes us.  Or it should.

And we are reminded just how much baptism should change us when we recite the baptismal covenant.  If we are to resist evil, will we stand against the rise of white nationalism and white supremacy now running rampant?  If we are to seek and serve Christ in all persons, will we welcome the stranger, alien, and people of color?  If we are to strive for justice, will we speak out against arrests, detainments, and killings of innocent people by those who use the law to justify hateful behavior?

Baptism is more than eating cake, attending polite receptions, and telling people they’re going to hell.  Through our baptism we are called to proclaim the good news of God in Christ – even, and especially, when the world doesn’t want to hear it.

Amen.

Lessons & Carols

 Today is the First Sunday after Christmas which means it's our annual service of Christmas Lessons and Carols.

Consequently, there is no sermon today.  There will not be a sermon next week either because the bishop is visiting and preaching.

Enjoy the break.

Sermon; Christmas Eve 2025

Merry Christmas!

First and foremost, we are glad you are here.  Whether this is your first time to Saint Luke’s, or whether you worship here on a regular basis, we are glad you are here.  Whether you live in Buffalo, or whether you have come from elsewhere, we are glad you are here.

No matter where you fit within what I have just said, whether you are a visitor or a regular, a local or from elsewhere, we are all on a pilgrimage of sorts.  Not an actual pilgrimage to Bethlehem, and not a pilgrimage as grueling as the Camino de Santiago, but a pilgrimage nonetheless.  Tonight is our yearly pilgrimage to join in the story of Jesus born in a back room where the animals were kept.  Tonight is our yearly pilgrimage to hear the story of a child laid in a feeding trough.  Tonight is our yearly pilgrimage when we hear the prophets of old and look for the time foretold.  Tonight is our yearly pilgrimage that takes us both into the past and into the future.

As we make our pilgrimage tonight we remember the past.  We remember the story of Christ’s birth, the manger, the angels, and the shepherds.  Maybe we remember a pageant or two with adorable little sheep and a precocious Mary.  Maybe we remember worshipping with family members at a midnight mass.  All of this remembering is part of our Christmas pilgrimage. 

We make pilgrimages, in part, to remember and RE-member.  We do it, in part, to connect and bind ourselves to something bigger, to something mystical, and maybe to something eternal.  These pilgrimages bind us together with other pilgrims and with God.  They take the DIS-membered parts and RE-member them together.

This pilgrimage we participate in tonight is also done every Sunday.  Every Sunday pilgrims come together and are RE-membered into the Communion of Saints through the Body and Blood of Christ.  And tonight we both remember and are RE-membered into the mystical story of God made man in the person of Jesus.

But as we remember this particular night and this particular event, let us also pay attention to the details of this story.

In the story from the Gospel of Luke which we just heard, we are told that Mary lays the baby Jesus in the manger because there was no room for them in the inn.  We are also told that a host of angels appeared to shepherds who were watching over their flocks out in a field somewhere.

And the Gospel of Matthew gives us the story of the magi coming from far away to bring gifts and honor the new king.  That gospel tells us they first went to Jerusalem because that’s where you would expect to find a king.  But he wasn’t there.  Instead he was found in Bethlehem, a small town and not the home of kings.

I bring up these two different stories not to question them or to cause you to doubt the accuracy of each, but to notice what we often overlook.  Amid our festivities and gatherings, amid the music, candlelight, and worship, amid all of that is the recognition that Jesus did not come in power and glory.  He did not come in kingly fashion.  He did not come to be noticed by the rich and powerful.  He did not come to take a prominent position and be hailed as king.

Instead he comes to a place that has no room for him.  He is found first by the unknown and unnamed, the shepherds, who most people probably overlooked.  The magi find him as a toddler living an unremarkable life in a small town.  This is the God of those who have been told there is no room for them.  This is the God who calls the unknown to be a part of his life.  This is the God who focuses on those living on the outskirts.

As we make our pilgrimage to worship God Incarnate and be RE-membered into the Body, let us also remember what we often overlook.

Jesus arrived in a back room and was placed in a manger because there was no room for him in the inn.  How many people are shuffled to the back room or out-of-the-way places because there is no room for them in polite or mainstream society?  Divorced women (yes, that’s still a thing), teenage mothers, lgbtq people, people of color, people of different nationalities, people of the wrong weight, people with learning disabilities, people with addictions, people with physical ailments.  The list is long.  These are the people our current society tells, “There is no room for you here.”  But God is the God of those who are told there is no room, and we need to remember that.

The birth of Jesus was first announced to a group of unknown people living out in a field.  Even today, and even here, there are unknown people living on the margins who go unnoticed.  Are we willing to take the same notice of them as the angels did?  If we do, do we not only tell them where they might find Christ, but do we allow them to be part of our story?

The magi came looking for Jesus in prominent places and among prominent people.  That search initially led them to people who would use God for their own devices or as a prop to gain political power and favor.  But that search eventually led them to the unexpected place of Bethlehem.  In our various pilgrimages let us follow the example of the magi and remember to look for God in unexpected and out of the way places; because as we see over and over again, God doesn’t operate as we do.

On this Christmas Eve may we remember why we come to worship.

May our pilgrimage RE-member us into the Communion of Saints and the Body of Christ.

May we remember and RE-member those who have been told there is no room and/or have been left out on the margins.

May we find God in unexpected places.

Finally, may we look to the past to remember how God included those whom society left out. 

May we look to the future as WE work to RE-member into the Body those whom others would keep DIS-membered.

And may the love of the Incarnate God live through us this Christmas season and beyond.

Amen.

Sermon; Advent 4A; Matt. 1:18-25

We’ve been taking a close look at the themes of Advent – those of Hope, Peace, and Joy. The theme of this Fourth Sunday of Advent is Love.

Love is an interesting word in our language.  We use love to describe deep emotions, as a synonym for like, as a term of respect, and in a bunch of other ways too numerous to mention.  I love my wife.  I loved how my three previous bishops handled business.  I loved the pizza we used to get from a particular restaurant when we were in Montana.  I love it when the Dallas Cowboys lose.  I love the Episcopal church.  I love white chocolate raspberry ice cream from Tillamook.  I love my daughter.

So we can see that the term “love” is used and meant in vastly different ways.  Sometimes they can be hard to quantify.  Sometimes they can be hard to order.  For instance, would I place a bowl of white chocolate raspberry ice cream above watching the Cowboys lose?  Those two things are very different, yet we still use the same term.

But for this Fourth Sunday of Advent, for this Sunday of Love, we have to look at love more deeply.  The love expressed in today’s gospel is multifaceted and profound.

First, we have Joseph, someone who Matthew describes as a righteous man.  This means that he lived his faith on a daily basis – not just when it was convenient or when people were watching.  He strove to obey the Law to the best of his ability.  But what made him righteous was that he understood the difference between the legalistic letter of the law and the underlying heart of the law.

Legally he could have had Mary stoned to death for conceiving a child he knew wasn’t his.  But because he loved her, and because he understood the heart of the law, he chose a more loving option – to quietly dismiss her.  There was a risk in doing this, though, because he could have been accused of breaking God’s law and he himself could have been removed or shunned by the religious authorities.  Living life by prioritizing love over law, however, is scandalous in some people’s eyes, and sometimes also dangerous.  Joseph chose love over law.  He chose the inclusive and scandalous love of God over the legal interpretations of humans.

In our eyes quietly dismissing Mary is not very compassionate; but at that time, and in that place, that was probably the most compassionate and righteous thing Joseph could do.  But it wasn’t enough.  So into this mix God sends the angel Gabriel to deliver a message basically saying, “Do not be afraid to stay with her; it’ll be okay.”  And he does.  Once again he places love over law.

Second, we have the love of God that chose to become Incarnate in the person of Jesus.

My friend Mtr. Ann Tillman from that other Buffalo, and with whom I do the Wednesday Night BBQ, sent me a link to a great sermon delivered by the Rev. Dr. Sam Wells, Vicar of St. Martin’s in the Fields, London, which he preached at Trinity Church, Boston.  In that sermon he says that there was always going to be a Jesus because there always has been a Jesus since before the foundation of the world.  The Incarnation happens, he says, because God wants to be with us.

What Fr. Wells reminds us of is that God chose to be Incarnate, to be with us, before there was a creation.  Which then means that God’s intention to be Incarnate in the person of Jesus was the reason for creation.  The whole story of humanity and creation is about God being with us in every aspect of our life – including being with us through sin and death.  In the Incarnation, in God being present with us through sin, death, and everything in between, love lives.  This is a self-sacrificial form of love that is almost incomprehensible. 

And third, within the love of the Incarnation is the love that God wants to be with us.  Matthew’s gospel quotes from Isaiah when he writes that the child shall be called Immanuel, God with us.  Again, God with us is almost incomprehensible.

We get an idea of it when we choose to be with our partner in sickness and in health, for richer, for poorer, and in all sorts of other conditions.  This is also God’s promise to us – that God will be with us from birth to death and will never forsake us no matter what may come.  Unlike people whose love grows cold, or who break the bonds of trust causing love to end, or who are just plain fickle, God with us means just that – God is with us.  Always.  To borrow from the baptismal service, God with us is an indissoluble bond.

On this Fourth Sunday of Advent which is focused on Love, we need to look at love more deeply.  The love we are talking about is more than pizza or white chocolate raspberry ice cream.  It’s deeper and stronger than our love of spouse or children.

The love of God drives us to place morality over legalism.  This love allows, AND REQUIRES, us to question and disobey morally bankrupt laws and laws designed to hurt rather than aid.

This is the love of God that set creation in motion from before time so that God and humanity could be joined together.

This is the love that declares God is with us.  At the end of Matthew when Jesus says, “I am with you to the end of the age,” this isn’t something Jesus throws out to make the disciples feel better.  It’s a fulfillment of what God planned from the very beginning.  As my favorite Christmas carol says, “of the things that are, that have been, and that future years will see, evermore and evermore.”

This is the love of this Fourth Sunday of Advent.  This is the love we hope to attain to.  This is the love we hope people will see lives in us. 

May the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with us all evermore and evermore.

Amen.