Sermon; Feast of Saint Luke 2026; Luke 4:14-21

Today is the Feast of Saint Luke. Tradition holds that Luke, the beloved physician who traveled with Paul, wrote both the gospel that bears his name and the Acts of the Apostles. Since none of the gospels have bylines, or any indication of who actually wrote them, it's uncertain if the author and companion of Paul were the same person. But honestly, our faith shouldn't be based on whether or not Luke or some guy named Jeff wrote those two books. Our faith should be based on the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ.

Tradition also holds that Luke was martyred by being hanged from an olive tree, although there's a stronger tradition that he died peacefully in Thebes, Greece, at the age of 84. And, in one of the stranger traditions of Christianity, his relics supposedly reside at the abbey of Santa Justina in Padua, Italy, in Thebes where he was buried, and within Saint Vitus Cathedral in Prague. Someone said to me, “He did a lot of collecting.” I let them know that Saint Luke didn't do the collecting, but that he WAS the collection.

You've also no doubt noticed that the color of the day has been changed to red. We use this color during Holy Week in memory of Christ's Passion, when we celebrate martyrs to symbolize the blood shed for the Church, at Pentecost to symbolize the fire of the Holy Spirit, and for celebrations of evangelists, apostles, and events such as ordinations to recall the presence of the Holy Spirit being poured out on and through those people.

Luke is the patron saint of physicians and artists, among other things. This makes sense because Luke was known as the beloved physician, and there are many hospitals and health care systems in the US named Saint Luke. Additionally, the Gospel of Luke records more healings than any of the other three gospels. Church tradition also says that it was Luke who wrote the very first icon, an image of the Blessed Virgin Mary; so he became the patron saint of artists.

So . . . enough back story about Saint Luke and Church traditions.

What could it mean for us as a congregation to follow in the footsteps of Saint Luke?

With Luke being the patron saint of healing, how could we live into that calling? Obviously we have the Bread of Life Food Pantry attached to us, which provides food for people who need to be healed of hunger. We also ask people to pick up just one or two hygiene items and put them in the collection baskets in the narthex once a week. Those one or two things a week, individually, don't amount to much; but one or two items a week from 25 to 35 people can have a big impact. How is that healing, you might ask. Think about the simple act of healed dignity by being able to wash, shampoo, shave, or brush your teeth. Healing comes in a variety of forms.

Saint Luke's can be a place of spiritual healing. Church can be a complicated place, and there are people who have experienced church as a harmful place, for whatever reason. We can work to ensure that everyone who comes through our doors knows this is a safe place. We can make sure that we treat the safety of people in this place seriously, which is why staff, Vestry, and I all take the Safe Church training. But it's not always, or even, those big things.

When we have a visitor, we can work to include them in coffee hour conversations and thank them for being here without throwing a pledge card at them or signing them up to serve on a committee for ever and ever. Or, if a person who normally only attends on Christmas and Easter shows up on any other Sunday, we don't make jokes about the roof not falling in (or other snidely passive comments that make them feel uncomfortable). We are simply glad they are here and are willing to treat them with dignity and respect because, for whatever reason, they felt the need to be here on that particular day.

In a book I'm reading, the author pulls from another book and quotes a character when he says, “Perhaps the only work that matters in the end is to lend each other a hand when we're falling.”

One of the things I encounter most often when talking to people about church is the argument that they don't need to be part of a place that tells them how to live, or something like that. They know God loves them. They can read the bible just fine on their own. They can be with God up on the mountain. Or any other argument along those lines.

But we aren't here to tell people how to live. We are here to help guide people in their faith. We are here to walk with people through their questions and doubts. We are here to help people understand God and faith in a particular way. We are here to offer strength and comfort in times of trouble and to celebrate with each other in times of joy. As Paul said, “Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep, live in harmony with one another; do not be arrogant, but associate with the lowly.”

Life in community can be difficult, we all know that. But life in community offers us something that a solitary life doesn't. Jesus knew this, which is why he chose twelve disciples to follow him. And it's why he sent the disciples out in pairs of two. We all have times when we struggle or life gets difficult. We also all have times when we are doing well. For us to be a place of healing, all we really need to do is to lend each other a hand when someone is falling – a hand of food, a hand of hygiene items, a hand of companionship, a hand of presence.

We take our name from the patron saint of healing. Our vision statement is to “Proclaim the Love of God and Extend Hope to All People.” This is a vision of healing, because hope is often the first step in a healing process. May we live with the hope of healing, and may we work to make this place a healing space for all who enter.

Amen.

Sermon; Proper 23A; Mat. 22:1-14

Today's gospel story is . . . difficult. A king throws a wedding banquet for his son, invites people to come, they refuse, he destroys their city, he invites others, then throws one of the newly invited into the outer darkness because he wasn't dressed appropriately. Thanks be to God. Amen.

Our first instinct might be to blame the king for the problems because it certainly seems like he has anger management issues. Burning cities and throwing out invited guests because they refused to come or didn't show up in the right clothes are the actions of an unstable tyrant rather than a benevolent ruler. This story, though, requires us to go deeper than seeing a petulant king.

I'm not going to dig into this story line by line, but I want to focus on a two points instead. Overall this story is about God's abundance and how people react to the message and invitation of God.

The Lord prepares a great feast and invites everyone to attend. The abundance of God is laid out for everyone to take part, no strings attached. Our first reading today gives us an image of that abundance when Isaiah says, “On this mountain the Lord of hosts will make for all people a feast of rich food, a feast of well-aged wines.” It's an image of God's abundance being given to all people. Everyone is invited to the feast and no one will go hungry.

The invitation to come to the feast is there. It is given by God and distributed by us. It is our job to invite all whom we find, both good and bad, into the wedding hall to join in the feast. This is the wedding hall. This is the feast. The feast of God is not only Holy Communion which is a foretaste of that heavenly banquet, but it is also everything we do from our abundance. It's dedicating part of the Harvest Hoedown funds to an outside agency. It's funeral receptions that feed and care for the family. It's working with the food pantry. It's believing that the abundance of God, and the abundance of our lives, are meant to be shared and not hoarded.

But not everyone accepts that invitation. We make light of it. We prioritize our lives in such a way that God isn't important, or only important enough to pay a cursory visit every once in awhile.

At the end of the story we are given an image of a wedding hall filled with guests. The king comes in, sees a man without a wedding robe, and says, “Friend, how did you get in here without a wedding robe?” Receiving no answer, the king has the man bound hand and foot and cast into the outer darkness.

Our first thought, again, might be, “Wait . . . the king invited all these people off the streets. How could this poor guy be expected to have a wedding robe?” But again, this story isn't really about clothes.

Pay attention to the the words spoken. When the king says, “Friend,” that isn't good. Jesus uses “friend” four times in Matthew, and they're all negative. Jesus is called a friend of sinners and tax collectors. In the parable of the generous landowner, one of the grumbling day workers is called friend. The final time in the garden of Gethsemane where Jesus tells Judas, “Friend, do what you came here to do.”

This negative usage is used today for the man who didn't wear a wedding robe. But again, this isn't about clothes.

God is inviting us into the wedding hall to celebrate the wedding of his son with an abundant feast. This is the wedding hall. This is the feast. When we accept that invitation there is an expectation that we change our heart. There is an expectation that we change our lives to live in accordance with God's will.

As Episcopalians we see this in the Baptismal Covenant. Will you continue in the apostles' teaching and fellowship? Will you persevere in resisting evil? Will you seek and serve Christ in all persons? Will you strive for justice and respect the dignity of every human being? Theses aren't suggestions. These are calls to change our lives, to put on that wedding robe of Christ.

Paul talks about something similar in his letter the the Philippians. Whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure . . . keep on doing the things you have learned.

The wedding robe is our willingness to be transformed by Christ. The guest who was thrown out refused to be transformed. He refuses to be ruled by anything but himself and his own desires. As Jesus said earlier in Matthew, “Not everyone who says to me, 'Lord, lord' will enter the kingdom.” And as he will point out in a few chapters, those welcomed into the kingdom are those who feed the hungry, clothe the naked, welcome the stranger, and care for the sick.

Today's story is an Advent parable. In Advent, remember, we are preparing for the coming of the Messiah – both as a child born in Bethlehem and at the end of the age as the King of kings and Lord of lords. Advent is the season of the already and the not yet. So is this parable.

This parable tells the story of a wedding banquet, an abundant feast, of invitations, and of judgment.

This is the wedding hall. This is the banquet of God. We are the ones invited. We are the ones who do the inviting. This hall is filled with both good and bad. Hopefully we are all working to change, to transform, to be the people Christ asks us to be. So this parable is about the already.

But the end of the age is not yet. This is a vision of things to come. A vision of a feast of rich food and well-aged wines for all people. It is also a recognition that, while all are called, few are chosen. But this isn't a competition. This isn't an open casting call where everyone is invited but only a few are selected. This is is the fact that God invites everyone, but not everyone accepts the invitation.

In this story, this is the hall. This is the banquet. We are both the invitors and the invitees. And we are all faced with the question, “Are we willing to be clothed with Christ and be transformed into who he is calling us to be?” Because if we aren't, then we will find ourselves in a very dark place indeed.

Amen.

Sermon; Proper 22A; Matt. 21:33-46

A couple of weeks ago I pointed out that Chapter 19 in Matthew is the turning point from the general ministry of Jesus to his move to Jerusalem. The parables he tells from that point on show how radically different the kingdom of heaven is compared to the rest of the world. That radical difference was first demonstrated with the parable of the generous landowner and how he treated laborers called at 6, 9, noon, 3, and 5.

As Amy mentioned last week, Jesus is now in Jerusalem and the parables from today and last week take place during Holy Week. Jesus has ridden into town on a donkey, overturned tables in the temple, and withered a fig tree. And while these parables were addressed to the crowds around Jesus, they were really pointed at the chief priests and Pharisees.

Last week's parable, even though talking about tax collectors and prostitutes entering the kingdom of heaven ahead of the chief priests and Pharisees, was relatively tame when compared to today's parable.

Pulling from the well-known passage in Isaiah that we heard earlier, Jesus connects the dots of a landowner (God) who planted a vineyard (Israel) and sent slaves (prophets) to collect what was his, eventually sending his own son (Jesus). But the tenants (religious leaders) mistreated and killed those sent, including the son. Jesus asks, “What will the landowner do?” And it's the people who respond, “He will put those wretches to a miserable death and lease it to others.”

This violent ending could be a reference to the destruction of the temple by the Romans in the year 70 and the rise of Christianity afterward. Could be . . . not IS.

For centuries Christians have used this passage as proof that we have replaced the Jews as God's chosen people. For centuries Christians have used this passage as giving permission to “put those wretches to a miserable death.” And for centuries this passage has been foundational to Christian exceptionalism and the misguided theology of supersessionism – the flawed theology stating that Christians and the Church have become the chosen people of God, not the Jewish people. And if you want to know how that feels, know that Islam has taught that it is the final expression of the Abrahamic faiths and supersedes both Judaism and Christianity.

There are two particular points we need to pay attention to here. The first is that this parable isn't about the removal of one group of people in favor of another group of people. Instead this parable is about a lack of faithfulness and a refusal to acknowledge God as the rightful owner of the vineyard by the tenants – whoever those tenants are.

We must remember that we are the tenants in God's vineyard. We are the laborers in the field. The field and the harvest do not belong to us, but to God. And when we begin thinking that the field and harvest belong to us, we get in trouble.

Our goal is to produce fruits for the kingdom. That means everything we do is, or should be, outwardly focused. Whether that's worship with our focus on God, ministries that focus on others, or even inviting people into this place, we do it with an eye to the other. The Catechism says the duty of all Christians is to work, pray, and give for the spread of the kingdom. Pledge cards went out last week. Those pledge cards are representative of your outward focus. The living water I wrote about a few weeks ago flows out from us to nourish others. And, for the third year in a row, our Hoedown intake increased precisely because it goes out.

But when we turn inward, when we want to keep everything for ourselves, we become like the tenants in the parable who will mistreat anyone and everyone in the name of greed. And where will that leave us? It will leave us rejecting God and being crushed by our refusal to do the will of God.

The second thing to note about this parable is that it's not about what the landowner WILL do – because what he will do was assumed by the crowd – but it's about what he DID do.

What did the landowner do? He kept trying. He sent three slaves at first. When that didn't work, he sent even more than he did at first. Then he sent his son. The landowner keeps trying. Over and over he sends people in an effort to get them to uphold their end of the bargain and call them back into that original relationship.

If we look at this in a religious context, God sent prophet after prophet to call his people to faithfully return what God has faithfully given. Ultimately God sends the Son. Even after Jesus is crucified, the Son is sent again in resurrected form. And then, even after that, God sends us. As it says in Eucharistic Prayer C: “Again and again you called us to return. Through prophets and sages . . . and in the fullness of time you sent your only Son.”

Seen from this point of view, we once again see God's love and grace as pi – not as a pie with limited slices, but as pi – 3.1415926535 . . . . irrational and never-ending.

This parable reminds us that we live and work in God's vineyard. It reminds us that we give from the gifts given us. It reminds us to live not for ourselves but for him who lived and died for us. We do better when we don't hoard.

As I mentioned briefly, and looking back over the last three Hoedowns, the amount of profit has increased every year since we decided to give some money away. Looking forward, as we consider our pledges of time, talent, and treasure, are we gratefully giving from our abundance? Or are we merely doling out the leftovers, afraid to give, love, or lose too much?

If you see this parable as a condemnation of those tenants who were self-focused and not God-focused, beware that you have not become the tenants who will be replaced. If you can see this parable as a story of God's abundant and irrational generosity, are you willing to live in the same manner, generously giving to God and others?

Jesus is in Jerusalem, moving ever closer to betrayal, desertion, and death. Yet even here at the end, he is still trying to get us to live into generous acts of love until, finally, he lovingly gives himself up for our sake.

Are we not called to do the same?

Amen.

Sermon; Proper 20A; Matt. 20:1-16

For the past several weeks we have been focused on the new community of Christ. From parables about the nearness and surprising nature of the kingdom of heaven to its abundance to the need for Jesus in storms to what defiles us to a confession of who Jesus is to forgiveness, we have been learning about the nature of this new community. But now things are changing.

Chapter 18 concludes Jesus' Galilean ministry and now, beginning with Chapter 19, he begins moving to Jerusalem and the cross. Every gospel has a turning point, and in Matthew it's Chapter 19. In this journey to Jerusalem we will see Jesus tested, hear about the expansiveness of God, and learn of obstacles that work to keep us out of the kingdom. Chapter 19 works to show us how radically different the kingdom of heaven is from the world in which we live, and that difference carries over into Chapter 20 and today's gospel.

The first thing we need to know about the parable of the landowner and laborers is that it is not designed to be a business plan. It is not a crash course on Christian economics. It is certainly not endorsed by the Wharton School of Business. What it is is a plot device to show how radically different the kingdom of heaven is. It's designed to make us think differently about the kingdom, about God, about others, and about ourselves. With that in mind, there are two points I want to highlight.

The first is to notice that the landowner is concerned for the laborers. Nowhere in this parable is the landowner concerned for crop or profit. Not once does the parable mention planting, weeding, or harvesting. Jesus' only focus is on the laborers – those called early in the morning, mid-morning, afternoon, and at the end of the day.

This parable is only concerned with the well-being of the laborers – ALL the laborers. The landowner is a symbol for God, showing us some of the character of God. In this parable we are shown that God cares not only for those who have been with him from the beginning, but also for those who come to him late. It shows that God cares not only for the respectable people (those who are hire-able), but also for those whom society ignores and refuses to hire/employ. Those last people who the landowner called to work in his vineyard are the leftovers, the ones no one else wanted; but God wants them.

The question for us with this interpretation is this: How do we, will we, can we, invite and provide dignity to those whom no one else wants? Because it's not just a matter of getting people in the pews, it's also a matter of identifying and using their talents so they feel useful, needed, and wanted.

A second thing to note is the reaction of some of the laborers. There was a group of them, the first called, who could see neither the generosity of the landowner nor the value of the late-comers. The all-dayers, instead of being happy that the undesirables had been picked up and provided for, could only see scarcity in what they received. If the short-timers were given more than they expected, then surely I should be given more than I expect as well. But in fact, everyone was cared for and provided for as needed.

Another way of looking at this is in churches themselves. It's really any organization, but I'll use churches. It may be that the biggest threat to a congregation's existence is the refusal to include new people. We have been doing things a certain way for so long that when someone new suggests a new or different way, they are immediately shut down. Maybe we do it out of fear of change. Maybe we do it out of the fear we'll be replaced. Maybe we do it out of the fear that newbies just don't understand. Whatever the reason, there's an undercurrent that newbies have to pay their dues and then behave exactly like we want them to. After all, who are they that they should enjoy the same benefits and privileges as us?

The landowner addressed the all-dayers by saying, “Are you envious because I am generous?” Another way of saying that is, “Does my generosity expose the poverty in your own heart?”

This parable highlights the abundant mindset of God over the scarcity mindset of people. God rains abundant blessings upon all of us, yet some people continue to ask, “Why am I getting wet?”

This parable points out (at least) two things. The first is that God seeks out and welcomes everyone into the kingdom, both those who have labored from the beginning and those who have just arrived. For us this means that we should also seek out and welcome everyone – whether your grandparents helped build this church or if you are here for the first time. Like God, we should be concerned for all people and strive to ensure no one is left out.

The second is to focus on abundance not scarcity. Rather than see new people or late-comers as taking away from our rightful rewards, we need to be grateful that they can share with us in the blessings God bestows. We need to remember that what God has to give us is like pi – not A pie with limited pieces, but like 3.1415926535. What God gives is irrational and never-ending.

Finally, while not the Easter season, this is really an Easter parable. On Easter Christ was victorious over death and the grave. On Easter we were all given an invitation into that new life. This parable served as the anchor of St. John Chrysostom's famous Easter sermon. Tradition says it was written around 400 ce, and Eastern Orthodox (and some other churches) tradition is to read it every year at the Easter Vigil. Here's part of that sermon:

Whoever has toiled from the first hour, receive today your just settlement. If any came after the third hour, celebrate gratefully. If any of you arrived after the sixth, have no misgivings, you have lost nothing. If some have been as late as the ninth, come forward, do not be at a loss. If any of you have arrived only at the eleventh hour, do not be dismayed for being late. The Master is gracious; he accepts the last even as the first; he gives rest to those of the eleventh as well as to those who have labored from the first.

So let us heed the words of this parable and generously welcome all those who enter this place, remembering it is not how long we've been here that makes us special, but that we are special because we are here. And let us be as generous as the landowner when inviting others into this vineyard.

Amen.

Sermon; Proper 19A; Matt. 18:21-35

Last week we heard Jesus lay out specific steps in a forgiveness process. This week the forgiveness discussion continues when Peter asks, “If another member of the Church sins against me, how often should I forgive? Seven times?”

Jesus responds, “Not seven times, but seventy-seven times.”

I need to point out that some translations render this as, “If my BROTHER sins against me . . .” which puts a more personal spin on this. I'm sure that Peter was the older brother and was asking Jesus how many times he needed to forgive Andrew when he was being a jerk. Other translations, like the one we heard today, replace brother with “member of the Church,” thereby focusing on how we live in community with each other.

But whether we're dealing with a family member, a member of our congregation, a friend, a coworker, or an acquaintance, we're still dealing with sin and forgiveness. Three of our four readings today deal with this topic.

The reading from Genesis is the climactic ending to the story of Joseph and his brothers. Spared from death by Reuben at the hands of his brothers, Joseph gets sold into slavery. In his new life, he eventually rises to become the second most powerful man in Egypt. Because of a famine, the brothers go looking for food, encounter their long-lost brother, and are terrified that he's going to take revenge on them. But Joseph is able to forgive them and save them from the famine.

Psalm 103 is a psalm of praise to the Lord for the power of forgiveness, and it recognizes that God is fundamentally forgiving.

And today's gospel gives us one of the best known parables about forgiveness.

Forgiveness is a major part of today's readings. Forgiveness is a major part of our faith. And, because there are no coincidences, it's no accident that we get these readings during the time of 9/11.

With that in mind, there are two aspects about forgiveness that I want to address. The first is a story Mtr. Ann told at last week's Wednesday Night BBQ. She said it came from a Methodist pastor and it goes something like this (with a few modifications by me):

A priest noticed a parishioner seemed to be troubled and was walking slowly as if she was carrying a heavy burden. “What's the matter?” the priest asked.

"A friend has hurt me deeply,” she said.

The priest said, “Did your friend hurt you this much?” and picked up a large rock.

“No,” she said. Then she picked up a much larger rock and said, “This much.”

“Carry that large rock and try to walk with graceful steps and poise,” said the priest.

She tried to walk with the large rock, but staggered and struggled.

The priest said, “At first your friend hurt you, but now it is the stone that is hurting you. The stone is your judgment of how much your friend hurt you. Now put down the rock. That is forgiveness – putting down the burden. You are still hurt, but you no longer carry the burden with you.”

She put the stone down and said, “I understand – if I forgive my friend for hurting me, then I will have set the rock down and will be free.”

“Not yet,” said the priest. “You will not be truly free until you have set it down seventy-seven times and no longer wish to pick it up.”

Sometimes we want to pick up the stone of hurt even after we have forgiven someone because it reminds us of how we were treated and it gives us permission to live with that hurt. It may be that it's only after seventy-seven times of forgiving that we no longer dwell on how we were injured.

The second is a recognition that forcing the injured to forgive without requiring accountability, reparation, restitution, or a change of behavior by the perpetrator can lead to continued oppression. If we require a person who has been harmed to “forgive and forget,” or “forgive and move on” while allowing perpetrators to retain wealth, status, power, positions of authority, etc., it is no longer forgiveness. It becomes a demand on the vulnerable to comfort the perpetrator. Think of any number of church scandals where clergy or other leaders kept their positions while those they harmed were forced to remain in their presence or leave the church.

Forced forgiveness from the injured without accountability by the sinner is just another form of abuse. Confession without repentance, without a change in behavior, is just a series of empty words.

When we forgive, it must be of our own free will and not forced upon us. When we forgive, it is for our own mental and spiritual well-being, recognizing that we can't continue to carry that hurt, that rock, around. And if we are the ones who threw the rock, who sinned against another, we need to be willing to confess our sin with a willingness to repent – change our behavior, and make atonement and reparations if necessary.

Confession, repentance, and forgiveness don't always go hand in hand. Sometimes we confess our wrongdoing without ever receiving forgiveness. Sometimes we forgive another without them ever changing. But when confession and repentance work together, it's a beautiful thing.

Regardless of the other person, are there stones in your life that you need to put down?

Amen.

Sermon; Proper 18A; Matthew 18:15-20

The gospel story of Jesus is all about God doing a new thing. In Matthew and Luke we hear the story of the Incarnation – God coming to live among us as a human. But God did not come in the form of a warrior king with power and might; instead, God came in the form of a vulnerable baby, weak, needing the parental care of Mary & Joseph, and eventually growing up into the man known as Jesus. And as we read through Matthew about the life of Jesus we hear stories of temptation, healing, teaching, calls, and conflicts. Then we get to Chapter 13 where Jesus begins to do something new – he begins teaching in parables, specifically parables about the kingdom of heaven.

The parables lay the groundwork for showing what the kingdom of heaven is like AND that the kingdom of heaven is here among us if we open our eyes and hearts. These kingdom parables and the things that follow are focused on the new community Jesus is trying to establish. From ensuring everyone is fed and cared for to remembering that we'll sink without Jesus with us to paying attention to what spews from our mouths, Jesus is showing us what this new community can and should be.

But as we saw last week, following Christ and working to establish this new kingdom isn't without difficulties. Jesus himself said he would be put to death, to which Peter objected and the stone on which the Church would be built became a stumbling block to Jesus. We were told that we must take up our cross if we were to become his followers. And we were reminded that if we are to follow Christ then we must FOLLOW him to where he leads and not try to lead him to where we want him to go.

At the beginning of Chapter 18 the disciples want to know who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. In response, Jesus brings a child into the circle and says, “Whoever becomes humble like this child is the greatest, and whoever welcomes a child in my name welcomes me.” He goes on to tell his disciples not to despise the little ones and then he tells the story of the shepherd going off to find the lone lost sheep and that it is God's will to not lose a single little one.

This all leads into today's gospel passage where Jesus is talking about sin and reconciliation.

For all of our talk about loving our neighbors, living in community, being part of the body of Christ with him as our sure foundation, the truth is that we still exhibit very human traits and behaviors. We tend to place our own wants before our neighbors' needs. Community is there for what we can get out of it. We too easily remove people not like us. Greed, lust, envy, and other sinful acts destroy foundational principles. Church, unfortunately, is not always apple pie, ice cream, and smooth sailing.

Knowing that things in community can get messy, Jesus gives us a process for reconciliation. It is persistent. It is time consuming. And it follows specific steps.

If a member of the Church sins against you, meet with them in private to explain how you have been hurt. If they refuse to acknowledge their part, take witnesses. If that doesn't work, bring it to the church body. And if THAT doesn't work, treat them as a Gentile and tax collector.

These are hard things to do. It's hard to confront someone. It's hard to remain calm and be a non-anxious presence. It's hard to work toward reconciliation. It's hard to continue being in the presence of one who sinned against you. It's hard for us to work through a process that is focused on restoration and not revenge.

This process is what the Truth and Reconciliation Commission of South Africa, which was led by Abp. Desmond Tutu, did. They focused on restoration, reparations, and restorative justice, not revenge. That takes hard work. It requires one party to acknowledge their sin and then want to repair the damage, and it requires the other party to refrain from focusing on revenge.

But if, in the end, there can be no reconciliation, no restoration, then we are to treat the offender as a Gentile and tax collector. Which, on its surface, means that we are to treat them as outsiders and traitors, as people we shouldn't associate with.

In today's gospel Jesus gives us a blueprint for handling conflict in the Church. In an ideal world this would work every time. But we don't live in an ideal world and we aren't ideal people. We get blinded by pride. We think admitting errors and sin is weak. We hate confrontation, so we just let it drop. It would seem that treating them as Gentiles and tax collectors, as outsiders whom we should ignore, might be the way to go.

But on closer examination that's not the case. Earlier in this chapter Jesus talked about welcoming the little ones. This could refer to children, but it could also refer to people new to the faith. So it has a double meaning: little ones in body and little ones in spirit. Both of these people have been considered outsiders and both have been pushed out and/or ignored . . . like Gentiles and tax collectors.

If we think of the Gentiles and tax collectors like little ones or the sheep that went astray, then we can follow Jesus' example and reach out to them, offering them a new community in which to live.

This isn't just Jesus doing some new fangled thing by working to include outsiders and not giving up on them. This is a God thing as well. We heard it in the reading from Ezekiel: As I live, says the Lord God, I have no pleasure in the death of the wicked, but that the wicked turn from their ways and live.

To treat a person as a Gentile or tax collector is to leave the door open. It's to remind them that there is a place for them in this new community of Christ. It's to welcome them as an equal partner on this journey of discipleship. It's to sit with them and eat with them. It's to recognize that they are created in the image of God just as we have been created in the image of God.

We may not be able to follow through on these steps of reconciliation. We may have difficulty with people who have sinned against us – sometimes rightfully so. We may harbor hurt feelings and be wary around their presence. Life is messy and not always easy. But one thing we should be able to do is to leave the door open to possibilities. We should be willing to leave the door open to God doing a new thing.

And maybe being willing to leave the door open for God to do a new thing is the most important thing we can do.

Amen.

Sermon; Proper 16A; Matt. 16:13-20

For the past several weeks we have been learning about the new community Jesus is trying to establish. We've heard kingdom parables telling us the Kingdom of Heaven is very near, that it can make big changes with big results, and that it offers unexpected joy. We have seen how, when we live into God's abundance, everyone has a place and everyone is cared for. We have learned that following Christ won't save us from storms, but with Christ in our midst we will be kept from drowning. And we have learned that outside forces – be they foreigners, women, sexuality, other religions, trans people, or breaking long-held traditions – can't contaminate us, but that what contaminates us are evil thoughts, words, and actions that spew forth from us.

Everything Jesus has taught and shown, everything we have learned up to this point, all comes to a focal point in today's gospel passage. After everything from the parables to the Canaanite woman, Jesus asks the disciples, “Who do people say that I am?” What comes is a flurry of answers – everything from a reanimated John the Baptist to the return of a great prophet.

Okay . . . okay . . . “But who do YOU say I am?” These two questions – “Who do people say Jesus is?” and, “Who do you say Jesus is?” – are still relevant today.

The answers today are probably very similar to what the disciples said: friend, prophet, teacher, healer, miracle worker, Son of God, second person of the Trinity, Messiah, imaginary. The answers given reflect a person's understanding of Jesus. But the question isn't a poll to find common or popular answers. This isn't Family Feud: “Who do people say Jesus is? Top five answers are on the board.”

The point of the two questions is to differentiate between how the world sees Jesus and how we, through eyes of faith, see Jesus.

We might be tempted to pooh-pooh most of those answers, but the reality is is that the whole of Jesus encompasses all of those answers – with the exception of “imaginary.” There are certainly grains of truth in each of those descriptions, but individual truths are not the whole Truth of who Jesus is. The problem, though, is that people tend to force Jesus onto their preconceived notion of who Jesus is.

As an example: Part of who Jesus is is Christus Victor, King of kings, and Lord of lords. From his mouth comes a sharp sword with which to strike down the nations, and he will rule with a rod of iron. There are those who only see that image when talking about Jesus and they neglect the Christ who shows mercy, who heals and feeds, who is compassionate. They have turned Jesus from a window which we see the kingdom of God into a mirror that reflects their desires and biases. In short, they turn Jesus into an idol of their own making.

This confession of Peter's, “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God,” has three parts to it.

First, in calling Jesus “Messiah,” Peter recognizes that he is the one who will save a world in peril. As Jesus saved and healed the sick, lame, and deaf, as Jesus welcomed outcasts back into the body of the community, as Jesus saved a drowning Peter, so he will save the world at large. Our faith tells us that the fate of the world is already determined, that God will save those who choose to follow, and that the person doing the saving is Christ.

The second part of this confession is that Jesus, as the Son, is part of the very nature of God. I won't say this is part of early Trinitarian theology, but it is one piece that the Church Fathers picked up on in developing our understanding of God. When we say that Jesus is “true God from true God, of one Being with the Father,” we can look to this confession. And being the Son of the LIVING God recognizes that God is active, giving life to all creatures, creating and sustaining life. The living God is no human invention, no molded idol of clay, but a living being who is, was, and ever shall be.

The third part of this confession is that it is the result of a relationship. Peter made this confession that was revealed to him by God. We do not make this type of confession by reading commentaries and treatises. We don't make it through comparative religion studies. Although spending time in study is part of it – remember, Jesus was a teacher. This confession was made because God drew Peter to him through Jesus. God also drew near to Peter through Jesus. And it is through Jesus that there is community, intimacy, and relationships. His confession is the expression of that relationship.

When we talk to people about God, Jesus, or the Church (not IF we talk to people, but WHEN we talk to people), it's important to keep all of this in mind:

1. Jesus is more than the sum of his parts, his is more than a mirror reflecting our desires of who we want him to be, and he is the Savior of the world;

2. Jesus is part of the Triune God – Creator, Redeemer, Sanctifier. That living God is active in our lives, in our community, and in our world;

3. Understand that we are in a relationship with Christ and how we treat that relationship will determine how we talk about Christ with others.

May we, like Peter, put all of this together in a confession that causes Jesus to respond to us by saying, “Blessed are you.”

Amen.