The Rev. Patricia Rose preached at the celebration of the Holy Eucharist on the Seventeenth Sunday after Pentecost.

This past week, as I am sure many of you heard or read in the news, the Catholic Diocese of Cleveland rolled out a new policy on "Issues of Sexuality and Gender Identity." In short, this policy forbids gender diversity and expression in diocesan schools and parishes and very explicitly denies LGBTQ people as authentic expressions of God's creation. While this is hardly a new teaching in this religious tradition, the new policy is more explicit, and has, in the words of the Plain-Dealer headline, "pushed [our] region into a growing debate among the nation's Catholics over LGBTQ issues." I want to acknowledge that I know this policy is painful for members of our own community, particularly those who have children in parochial schools. It's also disheartening for all of us who care about Christian witness in the world. Our witness at St. Paul's and in The Episcopal Church proclaims the innate dignity and worth of LGBTQ+ people as created in God's image. And in these moments, it can feel like our witness is being drowned out by louder, higher profile voices.

As people of faith, the tough question we might ask ourselves is this: Why does God allow these messages to be proclaimed? Why does God permit voices that deny the very personhood of God's precious creation? Particularly when these messages have real, tragic consequences, including an increase in depression and self-harm among young people? Put another way: If God is control of our lives and the events of human history, why does God - the God of love - allow people to speak oppressive messages in his name?

I don't have a simple answer for you, but I suggest our reading from Genesis has something to say in response to these questions. I invite you to listen again to the words that Joseph spoke to his brothers in this morning's passage: "Even though you [my brothers] intended to do harm to me, God intended it for good..." With these words, Joseph declares that God has taken the evil actions of his brothers and used them to achieve God's purposes. To better understand how God has done that, we need to know more about Joseph's story because this morning's passage comes at the end of a long, colorful saga.

You may remember, either from the Bible or Andrew Lloyd Webber's musical, that Joseph was one of the 12 sons of Jacob, the great patriarch of Israel. And many years earlier, Joseph's brothers, in an act of jealousy and hatred, sold him into slavery. But God rescued Joseph from slavery and made him a prominent official of the Pharoah. And in this position, Joseph used his power to rescue the people of Israel by feeding them during a great famine. And now, all these years later, these brothers have been reunited. And, in a highly emotional, dramatic moment, they have been reconciled to each other.

In today's passage, Joseph weeps over the sin of his brothers, but he offers them forgiveness, and even promises to care for them and their families. In the end, their flagrant disregard for their brother's life did not have the final word. Their hateful intention for Joseph's life could not prevent God from using Joseph to preserve a great nation. "Even though [they] intended to do harm to [him], God intended it for good, in order to preserve a numerous people..."

Joseph's words point to a concept in theology known as providence. Providence is the belief that God has a grand plan for the world and for each one of our lives. Providence declares that by God's power and sovereignty, God is actively at work in human affairs every day. Providence is the belief that God orders all things and that the events of human history somehow fit together to accomplish God's glorious purpose. What makes this complicated, of course, is we still must account for the harmful and evil events our world. If God is a loving God, and God is in control, we naturally wonder why these things need to happen at all. If we had more time this morning, we'd now turn our attention to topics such as sin and free will, but suffice it to say, this tension is not easily to resolve. God's ways are simply beyond our understanding. But Jospeh's statement - "Even though you intended to harm me, God intended it for good" - suggests that God can and does take the evil perpetuated by sinful humans to achieve good. Scripture's message to us this morning, quite simply, is that God can always, in the end, wrestle good out of bad. And in that - God's providence - we can put our hope.

So back to this policy that has Cleveland in the headlines. It would be easy for us to turn this into quarreling between Christians of different dominations. I want to be clear that my point in focusing us on this policy is not to encourage an "us" versus "them" debate. St. Paul warns us in today's passage from Romans not to "pass judgment on [our] brother or sister," reminding us that judgment is in the hands of God. I was grateful for the words of our Bishop Anne Jolly this week who, when commenting on the policy, said this: "While this news...has a deep emotional and real impact in our communities, I personally prefer to make statements about who we are and what we believe rather than pitting us AGAINST someone or something." Which is to say that our response, rather than a condemnation of the messenger, should be to love larger and louder. In response to a message that seeks to deny the innate goodness of God's creation, we should be inspired to preach our message of inclusion, wholehearted embrace, and unconditional love with voices more resounding, as we affirm the diversity of the human family in all its forms.

Bishop Anne went on to say, "Our hearts break when people are hurt by the church, marginalized by the church, and told they are not worthy of God's love as they are." So let us continue to preach love and put our trust in the God of resurrection. Because it is in the resurrection of our Lord Jesus Christ that we see most clearly and most profoundly that God can indeed transform the evil, death-dealing ways of humanity into a proclamation of good news. Amen.

The Constitution of the United States is in the news quite a

bit these days - what it says, what it means. Let me offer just a few

highlights from our government's charter. "We the People of the United States,

in Order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic

Tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the general Welfare, and

secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity, do ordain and

establish this Constitution for the United States of America. ... All legislative

Powers herein granted shall be vested in a Congress of the United States. ... The

executive Power shall be vested in the President of the United States of

America. ... The judicial Power of the United States, shall be vested in one

supreme Court, and in such inferior Courts as the Congress may from time to

time ordain and establish. ... This Constitution and the Laws of the United

States shall be the supreme Law of the Land." We have a binding document in the

pursuit of a perfect Union. Yet, as we know all too well, laws are-violated. In

fact, laws are more-effectively-violated by those who have power, exposing the limits

of laws. Our hope for justice, for freedom, for safety, for prosperity is

carrying out these laws of the land in the context of Christ's love. As we hear

in Romans this morning, "Love does no wrong to a neighbor; therefore, love is

the fulfilling of the law." In the Gospel passage, Jesus tells us, "...whatever

you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will

be loosed in heaven." Christ's love inspires right enactment of law. Love is no

small matter. Christ's love - I'm focusing not on the sentimental love for

those who are dear to us, but the selfless love for those with whom we differ

in any number of ways - Christ's love is our hope for a perfect Union.

The Church has an important mission: working with God to

transform the world in the light of Christ. Jesus tells us that all

commandments are-summed up in these words: "Love your neighbor as yourself." Loving

our neighbor - friend, colleague, stranger - is vital to a just society, and,

yet, loving is not a simple task. You have to watch the news only for a short

time to know that we, as a society, have a whole lot of work to do in learning

how to love one another. And, we can be real with our selves individually. For

our own well being, let's stop long enough to reflect on our own behaviors and recognize

that we come up against disagreement regularly in our everyday lives. Animosity

has creeped into our culture. Let's be aware of our emotions, so that we can be

deliberate in listening, and learning and collaborating and caring; so that we

are deliberate in loving.

And, so,

we come together in this faith community to support one another in deliberate

loving, to inspire one another to live the lives we are meant to live, in

relationship with one another, in the light of Christ. We are-invited to cast

off the yoke of individualism and enter into a profound commitment to others, a

discipleship of fellowship. This fellowship will not always be easy. At times,

we will disagree. At times, we will be offended. But, our faith does not

prioritize right vs. wrong. Our faith prioritizes relationship. So, here, in

this faith community, we commit ourselves to forgiveness and reconciliation, so

that we keep our hearts open to one another, so we can faithfully collaborate in

ministry. Life is challenging for any number of reasons. And, at this point in

time, we have an added layer of divisiveness pervading our culture. We are

frustrated. We are disappointed. We are tired. The rest you are looking for is

in Christ. The hope you are looking for is in Christ. A discipleship of

fellowship in the light of Christ is life-giving.

We learn

about God's covenant with God's people, God's promise of love, throughout

Scripture. We hear in Isaiah (54:10): "For the mountains may depart and the

hills be removed, but my steadfast love shall not depart from you, and my

covenant of peace shall not be removed, says the Lord." Every Sunday, in

Eucharist, we receive the "Blood of the New Covenant." We enter into Christ's

covenant, who forgives our sins and offers us new life. Covenant is deeply

rooted in our faith. As we kick off a new program year, let us enter into

covenant with one another to create a discipleship of fellowship.

I offer five elements for our covenantal life together. First,

let us worship together, and as much as possible, in person. There is synergy

in coming together. Relationships among us deepen as we recognize our common desire

to love God, and our dependence on one another. We are supporting and inspiring

one another on our faith journeys. Second, let us assume the best in one

another and trust that we can be authentically ourselves with each other. Every-one-of-us

is-loved by God in our uniqueness. Third, let us forgive one another. We all

need forgiveness. God forgives us, and so we forgive. Fourth, let us give

ourselves to this community, sharing with each other our talents and resources.

"Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also" (Luke 12:34). Fifth, in

gratitude for being-nurtured in our faith, let us share Christ's love in the

world. Worshipping, trusting, forgiving, sharing, loving.

Loving is no small matter and not a simple task. Let us

remember these words from John's Gospel (15:11), when Jesus is urging us to

abide in his love. Jesus says, "I have said these things to you so that my joy

may be in you, and that your joy may be complete." Discipleship does ask something of us, being

deliberate in loving. Within a discipleship of fellowship, we share the

journey, we lighten the load for another, we inspire one another, and come to

the joy that is God's peace. Through a discipleship of fellowship, we bear

witness to the world of Christ's love. What a respite from the divisiveness. What

a gift to the world. Amen.

This past Monday, I went for a long, meditative walk around the grounds of St. Paul's. I savored each of our gardens in all their splendor. I paused at each memorial tree and read the names of the beloved departed in whose memory they had been planted. I lingered in the memorial garden to honor those who have been laid to rest there. I meditated in the courtyard, at the statue of St. Francis, also erected in loving memory of a parishioner. I perused the exhibit in the South Wing that tells the story of our 175-year history. As I came back out onto the lawn, I beheld the majestic stone belltower soaring high above the neighborhood. And in that moment - in a most profound way - I felt the weight of St. Paul's legacy.

My Monday evening stroll was inspired by these words we just heard from the prophet Isaiah: "Look to the rock from which you were hewn, and to the quarry from which you were dug." With these words, Isaiah calls us to remember our history. To remember our ancestors. To remember where we have come from. "The rock from which [we] were hewn and the quarry from which [we] were dug." Isaiah first spoke these words to the Jewish people living in exile. To a people whose present condition made it hard to see their future. To a people most likely convinced that God had forgotten them. Isaiah implored this captive people to hold firm in their faith by looking back at their history. To their ancestors, Abraham, and Sarah: a once-hopeless, elderly, barren couple who miraculously conceived a child, and gave birth to a great nation. Isaiah wanted to remind these weary exiles that their origin story pointed to a promise - a promise that they would one day be numerous and prosperous again.

To be sure, our situation is not as dire as that of those exiles forced to "sing the LORD'S song upon an alien soil." As a wider Church, though, we are like them in one respect. We, too, long to be numerous and prosperous again. But everywhere we look, we are confronted with a story of dramatic decline. A story that has been playing out in mainline churches far and wide for decades, but one that was greatly accelerated by the pandemic. And there is no denying that we, at St. Paul's, are part of this story. To paint the picture in numbers for you, last year we held twice as many funerals as we did baptisms.

Against this backdrop, we are taking prudent steps, and there is a campaign well underway to safeguard what our ancestors built. As Jeanne announced weeks ago, when the capital campaign went public, $4 million had already been raised. And now, we're further along toward our goal of $6 million. You could say we're taking the words of the prophet Isaiah quite literally! We have looked to the rock from which our community was hewn, and we are working hard to preserve that rock. The very rocks in whose shelter we gather week after week to be nourished by Word and sacrament, so we can participate in God's mission.

There is a different kind of rock, however, that features prominently in our scriptures today. And this rock comes from our gospel passage. According to Jesus, it is the true rock on which his Church is built. And, in case you missed it, this rock is not a building. As they are walking in the district of Caesarea Philippi, Jesus confronts his disciples with these arresting questions: "Who do people say that I am?" And, more importantly, "Who do you say that I am?" The apostle Peter - always the first to speak - gets the answer correct for once, offering this confident reply: "You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God." And this, Jesus reveals, is the rock on which his Church is built. A confession of faith. A personal testimony about Jesus. A declaration of Jesus' identity. This does not diminish the importance of our buildings. But it clearly suggests that as we shore up our coffers, as we work to preserve our building, as we strive to build a rock-solid financial foundation, we must always keep our focus on the rock of the Gospel: our confession of Jesus as the Messiah and Son of the living God. All the financial capital in the world cannot ensure our future and cannot guarantee our flourishing unless we live daily in the light of this question from the lips of Jesus himself: Who do you say that I am?

We are a community of good students, and many of us might be tempted to answer this question by quoting a creed, or by pointing to a page in the Prayer Book. But as one writer points out, "we cannot build our faith lives on hearsay alone. At some point, the question of who Jesus is, must become personal." We should each hear Jesus speaking directly to us this morning: "Who do you say that I am?" The truth is, you don't have to be like Peter and give the perfect answer. We'll soon discover - next Sunday in fact - that Peter isn't the A+ student for very long. Answering Jesus' question is the work of a lifetime. But you do have to be willing to live the question, and to answer it for yourself. To be willing to encounter Jesus in the words of Holy Scripture. To seek him in service to the poor and the oppressed. To take his broken body into your hands, week after week in the sacrament of the Eucharist.

Thanks to ministry of those who maintain the St. Paul's archives, the wisdom of our forebears is now available to all of us. And as I was combing through those archives this past week, I discovered a sermon delivered by a former rector many years ago, on the eve of another capital campaign. To the faithful gathered here on that day, he said this: "Our vision for St. Paul's is that this will be a parish of seekers...[Seekers] after the truth of God's love for his creation as perfectly revealed in Jesus Christ. If you are not at that point in your faith, stick around..." May God give to us - the faithful gathered here today - the strength and courage to continue living into this vision. And may God bless us with the willingness to live Jesus' question. For in seeking to answer it - in seeking to know him - we are sure to find true prosperity. Amen.

I am happy to report that Jessie Dodson is firmly grasping

the baton in the handoff as Canon to the Ordinary in the Diocese of Ohio--there

are two of us for the next couple of weeks. She and I overlap this month before

I step aside on September 1. I'll continue to serve as a volunteer Chancellor, which

I did for several years before joining the staff.

This the first of two Gospel readings about Jesus and a boat

in stormy weather. The other one has Jesus

on the boat with­ the

disciples and he's asleep and then wakes up and calms the waters. This is the

other one: Jesus is NOT on the boat with the disciples. Why? Because he has

just fed the 5,000 with five loaves and two fishes. Our reading today refers to

it briefly-- "Jesus dismissed the crowds" and went up to pray. He was probably

protecting the disciples from the many who may have wanted

more

miracles. So he "made" the disciples get on a boat and go "on ahead" to the

other side.

While Jesus is praying, a storm comes up on the Sea of

Galilee, and the disciples are in the boat "battered by the waves," "far from

the land," and "the wind was against them." A trifecta of maritime misery--no

wonder the disciples are afraid.

My newest son-in-law grew up in Erie, Pennsylvania and

Sandra and I had the pleasure last week of spending time in the place where Brandon

grew in a family of sailors. I asked his uncle - who's sailed throughout the

Great Lakes -- what's is like to be on Lake Erie in rough weather. He said that

it's very treacherous because of the relatively shallow water of Lake Erie that

creates a higher frequency of waves. When a storm kicks up, the distance

between the wave crests is shorter and creates steep troughs--unlike rolling

ocean swells, or even the wave action on the deeper Great Lakes. He described a

particularly difficult night sail from Buffalo to Erie against the wind during

a storm. Lake Erie is 100 times larger than the Sea of Galilee, but has about

the same average depth as Lake Erie, so I can imagine what that might be like,

and some of you may have had the same experience.

The point is that the disciples were in a tight spot--they

were scared and full of doubt. Peter, Andrew, James, and John were

all experience

fishermen, however, and they would probably not have been out on the water when

a storm was brewing--especially at night. So no wonder that they thought they

saw a ghost when Jesus comes towards them on the water. But when the ghost

speaks, the disciples realize that it's Jesus and he tells them: "take heart,

it is I; do not be afraid." So what is Peter's reaction? He says "Lord,

IF

it is you, command me to come to you on the water." Notice the "IF"-- Peter seems

to be asking for Jesus' credentials. He's still afraid. As we approach the

Scripture today, I wonder how

we might feel in a similar situation and

how might this story speak to us, especially if we find ourselves in a period

of chaos and instability.

Peter is indeed the focus of this story--just as he was last

week with the Transfiguration. He often seems to be the one who says or does

the most human things, as he did on the mountaintop when he said the first

thing we need to do is to build three tents. Or here, when he says to Jesus:

"Command me to walk across the water to you." Why does he respond that way?

Consider these observations about Peter from two Luther

Seminary professors. Rolf Jacobson suggests that, instead of leaving the boat, why

wouldn't Peter just have asked Jesus to perform another miracle? Like calm the

storm? Remember--they had all just seen him with 5,000 dinner guests a few

hours earlier. Instead, Peter says "

Command me to walk across the water

to you." Having been sent on the boat by Jesus, and perhaps feeling abandoned

by Him, Peter's first desire; his first response to the crisis, says Jacobson, is

to want to be close to Jesus.

Professor Karoline Lewis says that the absence of Jesus from

the boat causes the disciples to be terrified because they may be asking: "Is

Jesus going to leave them?" We can imagine ourselves on a boat during an actual

storm, or being buffeted by another kind of uncertainty from job insecurity or a

health challenge. We may be fearful that Jesus is going to abandon us in our

time of distress.

So Peter does step off the boat towards Jesus, starts to

sink, and cries out "Lord save me!," and Jesus immediately catches him and calms

the waters. "You of little faith," Jesus says, "why did you doubt?" All the

disciples worship Jesus at that point, saying: "Truly, you are the Son of God."

Peter and the others learn that Jesus didn't abandon them.

Bishop Jake Owensby of the Diocese of Western Louisiana, observes

that this experience teaches Peter "that Jesus is with him in the storm" and is

also with us "in the midst of things-- even our worst things." We are not alone

in those times.

Let's turn to the Elijah, who finds himself in a dire

situation on

dry land. He is very much alone and uncertain about the

future because he has just defeated many false prophets who were loyal to Queen

Jezebel, and he is on the run, fearing for his life. Queen Jezebel wants to

take her revenge on him.

He is by himself, in distress, and is told by the Lord to

stand on the mountain "for the Lord is about to pass by." There follows a great

wind, an earthquake, and fire, but the Lord is not there in any of these. It's

only in the "sound of sheer silence" that causes Elijah to cover his face--he is

overwhelmed by the presence of God....."

For those of us at a certain age, it's hard not to hear the

phrase "sound of sheer silence" without thinking of Simon and Garfunkel, their

iconic song, and the initial lyric: "Hello, darkness, my old friend, I've come

to talk with you again..." But here, Elijah is in

listening mode.

I found it helpful to learn that there are several other

less

distracting translations to that phrase. In several versions, the

scripture reads: "a still small voice" (King James and Revised Standard Versions).

Others use the phrase "a sound of a low whisper," a "gentle whisper," "a soft breath,"

or even "a gentle blowing."

These other translations help me understand that God is not

only in the powerful forces of nature, but also is in the gentle presence of a

still small voice or a gentle blowing. Elijah eventually received his

instructions from God, but he needed to wait for the wind, earthquake, and fire

to pass.

The common thread running through these translations is the

presence of God that we can discern when we pray or when we are still. My

predecessor as Canon to the Ordinary, the Rev. Alan James, once preached a

children's sermon - which obviously resonated with this adult -- when he said

that praying is like using a walkie-talkie. You press the button to talk, but, you

have to release the button to hear God's response. We don't always get an

immediate response when we release the button, but it's important to listen in

order to hear the still small voice.

Dire situations will come again to us in each of our lives. Perhaps

you find yourself in one this very day. Our Scripture speaks to these moments.

Wherever we may find ourselves in need, we can realize and

take comfort that God is always with us; we are never alone -- whether in the

storm

or in the still small silence. Amen.

The Rev. Leah Romanelli DeJesus preached at our celebration of the Holy Eucharist on Transfiguration Sunday.

"It's the end of the world as we know it, and I feel fine." As a child of the 1980s, this song by REM was part of the soundtrack of my youth. It has returned to the forefront of my mind on several occasions in recent days. I imagine this has something to do with the smoky haze from Canadian wildfires making it impossible to ignore that our neighbor to the north is literally on fire. Then there's the endless stream of headlines reminding us that, from Arizona to Italy to India, people are sweltering under the record-breaking temperatures sweeping the globe. Meanwhile, war rages on in Ukraine, the political fabric of our nation continues to disintegrate, and developments in Artificial Intelligence conjure dystopian scenarios almost too frightening to contemplate. It's reasonable to wonder: is this the end of the world as we know it? And just how are we supposed to feel about it?Apocalypse may not be the easy-breezy summer sermon topic you were expecting this morning, but I am convinced we don't talk about it enough - which is unfortunate because the Church has a lot to say about it! Indeed, the Christian scriptures and Christian theology place this topic at the center of our faith. The Church's proclamation is that the world as we know it will one day come to an end and be restored to a state of perfection at the second coming of Christ. The apocalyptic book of Revelation describes that final day in these comforting words so often read at funerals: "Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth; for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away." And in this new creation, God will wipe every tear from the eyes of those who mourn, and death will be no more. Now, I am aware that the subject of judgment day and the second coming makes most Episcopalians uncomfortable, and there's good reason for this. This doctrine of our faith has been tainted by fundamentalists more interested in predicting the exact date of Jesus' return than anticipating the peace and tranquility his return will bring. But the solution is not for us to avoid or relinquish the second coming, but to reclaim it as a hopeful promise of restored creation. A promise of that future when war and fighting will come to an end once and for all. This is a message of good news the world needs to hear.Our reading from Matthew points us toward this final day in a passage often called the Parable of the Wheat and the Tares. Here, Jesus foretells a day of final reckoning when evil will be defeated once and for all, and the seeds of sin will be thrown into a fiery furnace. Underneath the language of fire and brimstone is a profound message of grace. But I'd like to focus our attention this morning on the words of our patron St. Paul and his letter to the church in Rome. Paul's Letter to the Romans is by many measures his greatest contribution to the canon of scripture. It is his magnum opus, and more than any of his letters, it expounds upon core theological concepts of the Christian faith, such as sin and righteousness, faith and works, and justification and election.In today's passage, Paul speaks to the tension of living in between the first and second comings of Christ. He uses the analogy of a woman in childbirth to describe the experiences of adversity that lead to new life. And he anticipates our promised future when "creation...will be set free from its bondage to decay and will obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God." With these words, Paul reminds us that although our present reality is one of death and decay, our destiny is liberation and glory. Just as Christ has been raised from death to eternal life, so, too, one day will we. And the earth will one day be remade into the paradise of Eden. You and I are to wait for this day, Paul instructs us, not in despair, but in "hope," and, Paul says, with "patience" for that which we do not yet see. If we want to know what it looks like to wait in "patient hope," we must look to the life of Jesus - the one who shows us that the sufferings of our present cannot compare with the glory of our future. The one who shows us that in our struggle the Holy Spirit is working in us and through us to make all things new. And when it comes to the state of our planet, an epic struggle is indeed underway. There's no denying that we have failed God who entrusted us with the sacred responsibility of caring for the earth, our "fragile island home." We see the painful evidence of that failure all around us. And as people of faith, we are called to confess the sin of that neglect and commit ourselves to the work of ecological justice. There is no shortage of faithful Christians and Christian communities leading this important work. And in their work, they struggle daily in the face of apathy, climate change-deniers, and the sheer scale and magnitude of a global crisis. But...we do not lose hope. As Dean Andrew McGowan of Yale Divinity School put it this week: "our hope, like birth-pangs, is not an escape from suffering but a new perspective on what is being achieved in us and in the world, despite how things may appear." Today, it may appear like we are losing the struggle to save our planet. It may appear like the end of the world as we know it. But underneath the stench of decay and the smoke of destruction, the God who raised Jesus Christ from the dead is making all things new by his Holy Spirit working in us. God will one day restore us and all of creation to glory. This is God's promise to us. This is our great Christian hope. Amen.

Living God of abundance whose name is Love, we, your people, pray your message of love and grace would root in our hearts so we can do your work and will in the world in the name of Jesus Christ, we pray Amen.

Something you may not know about me it's that in my many adventures in different kinds of church work, I was once an intern at the camp and retreat center in the Diocese of Hawaii called Camp Mokuleia. It is very much like Bellwether - they lead nature education programs for locals, offer hermitages for folks on personal retreats, host summer camps, and even have an organic farm that provides fresh produce to the kitchen. The only difference is that the ocean is less than 100 feet from the property. I worked closely with 3 other interns while I was there. We were responsible for running the programs and the summer camp sessions - but our biggest responsibility was the farm. We planted, tended, and harvested bananas, papaya, herbs, lettuce, squash, and tomatoes. I learned about tropical produce, soil pH, permaculture, and so much more. One of my favorite things was learning about compost. (I have horror stories about turning a compost pile and a roach crawling up my pant leg and getting rotten banana goo between my toes because I wore flip-flops to turn the compost.) I was always amazed that stinky rotten, decaying food scraps can mix with brittle, dried-out, lifeless plants to make good soil.

I still love composting so much that my New Year's Resolution this year was to create a compost pile so healthy that it does not freeze this winter. I check my pile every single day. I turn it at least three times a week. I'm obsessively careful about the balance of carbon - or brown dead things, to nitrogen- which is the green (usually rotting) things. I've recruited neighbors and friends to bring lawn clippings to my house when I need extra green and to bring drier lint and brown paper bags (which I have shredded by hand) when I need more brown. I'll let you know how it goes, but all of this is to say- that good soil has been a lot on my mind this year! So, I don't think it was a coincidence that I was assigned to preach today on the Sunday we hear not only the Parable of the Sower from the Gospel of Matthew but also this passage from Isaiah about God using the rhythms of nature to bring abundance and joy. I've got good soil on my mind!This parable is puzzling to me as a former farmer. This so-called sower or farmer is flinging seeds all willy-nilly in the parable. On a path, in the rocks, among the thorns, and finally, in the good soil where plants can eventually take root, sprout, grow strong, and flourish into an abundant harvest; so, why does the sower waste the seeds by flinging them in places where we know they can't grow?

You'll notice some verses in this chapter that we skip in the reading today. In this brief section left out of the lectionary, the disciples come to Jesus and ask him, "Why are you teaching these people in confusing parables?"

Jesus replies with a quote from the Book of Isaiah: "Isaiah's prophecy is fulfilled today. These people can't hear, and they can't see, and they can't understand. Their hearts have grown dull. And they won't turn to me to be healed." This quote comes from an early chapter of The Book of Isaiah, chapter 6 when the prophet is rebuking the People of Israel and Judah for betraying their covenant with God. The leaders are worshipping idols and refusing to support the vulnerable in their community - the orphans, the immigrants, and the widows.

By quoting this chapter from early Isaiah, Jesus compares the ancient kingdoms of Judah and Israel to the people in front of him some 800 years later. They are incapable of understanding, just like their ancestors.

Please follow me because I want to jump back into the parable. You'll see that when the lectionary picks up again in the chapter, Jesus is (uncharacteristically) explaining the parable to the disciples. He says, "The people who hear the word and do not understand it have it snatched away by the evil one. The people who rejoice in the word but are still too caught up in the world as it is, are like the seeds planted on the rocks where they cannot take root and the message cannot come into their hearts and grow strong. People enamored by the trappings of the world hear the message, and it is choked out by the things they love."

In the metaphor of the parable, these seeds are messages of good news and hope. And the 4 places where the seeds are planted - the path, the rocks, the thorns, and the good soil - are like states of mind or ways of living. They are environments that can be hostile or nurturing to the seeds of God's work in our lives. So, what are we to do if we are not in the good soil state of mind when The Spirit moves, and a good word comes our way? We all have times when we are confused by Jesus and his message. Or when we are excited and inspired by a message on Sunday morning, but by Monday afternoon, we can't quite remember what we felt and heard so clearly the day before. Sometimes we are in a place where the worries of this world so overcome us - our homework, our retirement funds, the political divisions of our government, our personal safety - that we can't pay attention or even believe in a message of love from Jesus. So, again, what are we to do if we are not in a good soil state of mind?

This question brings me back to the Book of Isaiah. Not the chapter that Jesus quoted from the beginning of the Book of Isaiah, but the lesson we heard today that Julia/Laurie read from chapter 55. By chapter 55, the prophet Isaiah is finished rebuking the people for their evil actions, and he begins to imagine a glorious reconciliation when the people decide to repent. God says, through Isaiah, "The rain and snowfall from me, and they do not come back until the water has nurtured the seeds that the sower sowed. The waters make grain to make bread and feed the people. Anything I send out does not come back to me empty. ... There will be joy and peace! Trees will clap mountains will sing. Thorns will become lovely trees, and briers will become myrtle."

What a hopeful message of renewed life. It reminds me of a simple quote from Richard Rohr's book of reflections on the 12 Steps of Alcoholics Anonymous called Breathing Underwater. Rohr says, "God never shows up without an invitation but always makes a way to be invited." Implying that even the devastation of addiction can be God's created invitation to someone dodging a spiritual path. And as troubling as it may be to think about the devastation of addiction as a gift, it is a prime example of how God works with whatever we give. Much like the rotting food scraps and dried-out lifeless plants that become rich nutrient soil, God takes what feels disgusting or abhorrent to us and uses it as an invitation to make something new. God's love CHASES after us because God longs to gift us new life and a new ability to understand the good news of love and grace in the world. What God sends down will come back just as God intended.

So how do these two passages speak to each other? We know of Jesus' knowledge and love of scripture, so I can't imagine that he accidentally made up a parable that so closely resembled Isaiah 55 - where the sower plants seeds and thorns become fruitful. Jesus knows that he may be flinging parables into the ears of people who cannot understand his message, but he also knows that God will not stop moving until all of us are ready to live in the good soil state of mind. God's power eventually breaks down rocks into minerals that will nourish the soil. God's love dries out the thorns to balance the rotten thoughts to make good soil. God's grace blows like the wind and pushes the good soil onto the path until it is covered and ready to nourish a seed.

Jesus knows that our state of mind can and WILL be changed. God is making good soil in you. When you're ready, you, too will hear the message. Amen.

Let's go back for a moment to the day we commemorate as Palm Sunday. The last week of Jesus' life was the week of Passover, a sacred week for the Jewish people when they celebrate their liberation by God from slavery in Egypt. In Jesus' day, the Roman governors would come to Jerusalem for the major Jewish festivals to instill order. On that first Palm Sunday, Jesus rode into Jerusalem on a colt. The crowds gathered and they paved the road with palm branches and they praised God shouting, "Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord! Peace in heaven, and glory in the highest heaven!" But, while Jesus was riding into Jerusalem from the east on a donkey, Pilate was riding into Jerusalem from the west on a war horse. Banners, drums, armor and weapons flanked Pilate and his soldiers. Pilate's procession proclaimed imperial power and violence. Jesus' procession proclaimed peace, the kingdom of God. Just picture the one entrance against the other. How clearer can the message be? With a peaceful certainty, Jesus is standing up to the power of the Roman empire with a message that turns their whole understanding of life upside down: man's power and might and glory will always fall short of the peace of God.

Listen once again to what we heard from Zechariah this morning. "Rejoice greatly, O daughter Zion! Shout aloud, O daughter Jerusalem! Lo, your king comes to you; triumphant and victorious is he, humble and riding on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey. He will cut off the chariot from Ephraim and the war horse from Jerusalem; and the battle bow shall be cut off, and he shall command peace to the nations." Zechariah prophesied Jesus' entrance into Jerusalem: man's power and might and glory juxtaposed with God's peace.

Scripture describes God's peace in these well-known, soothing words from this morning's Gospel: "Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light." Most of Jesus' listeners were farmers, or were well acquainted with farming, so time and again Jesus used farming language to explain the Gospel message, to describe God's love. A yoke is the wooden beam across the shoulders of oxen, which distributes weight evenly to make it easier for the oxen to carry or pull heavy objects. Jesus says, "My yoke is easy." A yoke-that is easy is well fitting. What is well-fitting for Jesus? God's love. Jesus invites us in to God's love. "Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke - take God's love - upon you and you will find rest for your souls."

Jesus seems most present to us in times of need. I know this is my experience - perhaps it is for you, also. Indeed, the consistent message of the Gospel is about caring for those in need. You might recall the story of Jesus in the synagogue in Nazareth, when he unrolls the scroll and reads, "The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, [and] to let the oppressed go free." Jesus came so we would come to know this peace, so we would experience this peace, which emanates from God's love. He came to give us the peace, which will sustain us through all of life's challenges. We might be sad, disappointed, uncertain, weary. Jesus is saying, "Turn to me. I am the peace which comforts. "Take my yoke upon you and you will find rest for your souls." Jesus' message goes further. Too many of us are powerless, marginalized, hungry, thirsty. God's peace, which sustains us, also gives us the strength to care for others in need, to provide justice and righteousness for all.

I so enjoyed being at John Kennedy's wedding a little over a week ago. John and Emma were beaming. The wedding was beautiful; they put so much thought into planning the service. John and Emma share a love for Thomas Merton, the great theologian and mystic. On the back of the service bulletin was an excerpt from the book Love and Living, a collection of Merton's essays and meditations. Though on the back of a wedding bulletin, this meditation on love is about more than romantic love. It is about agape love, transcendent love, which unleashes the fullness of life. Merton writes, "Love is our true destiny. We do not find the meaning of life by ourselves alone--we find it with one another. We do not discover the secret of our lives merely by study and calculation in our own isolated meditations. The meaning of our life is a secret that has to be revealed to us in love, by the ones we love. And if this love is unreal, the secret will not be found, the meaning will never reveal itself, the message will never be decoded.... We will never be fully real until we let ourselves fall in love--either with another human person or with God. Love is the revelation of our deepest personal meaning, value, and identity. But this revelation remains impossible as long as we are the prisoner of our own egoism. I cannot find myself in myself, but only in another. My true meaning and worth are shown to me not in my estimate of myself, but in the eyes of the ones who love me."

Let us fall in love with God. God's transcendent love will draw us to one another. We become most fully ourselves through loving others. We are-created to love, to want the best for one another, to want others to be their fullest selves. William Goettler, at Yale Divinity School, writes, "The saving word of the Gospel is best understood when it is located in the midst of the experience of the powerless and the disenfranchised" (Feasting on the Word, Year A, Volume 3, p. 214). Jesus told us and showed us over and over again: heal the sick, feed the hungry, deliver the oppressed. Let us turn to Jesus. Let us take up his yoke, find rest for our souls, and so find the strength to strive for justice and peace among all people. Amen.

It's hard to believe this is the last time I'll preach to

you as one of your parish priests. As many of you have reflected back to me

over these past few weeks, we knew this day would come when I'd leave, but it's

still such a hard, bittersweet thing. As my tears have evidenced over the past

few Sundays, I've loved you with my whole self over these past five years. The

decision to leave was difficult, and yet I feel a deep sense of call to my new

role on the Bishop's staff as Canon to the Ordinary.

I was grateful to find a partner in reflection this week

when I turned to the words of Jesus in our Gospel from Matthew today. This is

the third week in row that we've been reading from the 10th chapter

of Matthew in what's known as the "Missionary Discourse." This chapter includes

Jesus's sending words to his disciples before they go out to pursue their

ministries and missions.

So, I thought, what better way to honor the end of this

pastoral relationship than to refer to Jesus's own words of sending? If we review

the Missionary Discourse, we can see that Jesus was creating what some have

called a kind of "Christian handbook." He called together his disciples and

gave them authority to do the ministry ahead of them: to cast out unclean

spirits and cure diseases. He told them, wherever you go, tell the good news

(10:7), reminding people that the Kingdom of heaven has come near. He told them

to seek out welcome, and if they found a place where they weren't welcome, to

"shake the dust of their feet" and go on to the next (10:14). "Be wise as

serpents, and innocent as doves" (10:16), he told them. He made sure they knew

that things would get difficult - that relationships would suffer, and they may

face danger, but that it would all be worth it in the end. Your reward will be

great, he told them.

Then we get to the reading for today, which is the end of

his words of sending. Here, Jesus chooses his final words to share with his

disciples before they begin their mission work...and what are they? They are

words of welcome:

"Whoever welcomes you welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me

welcomes the one who sent me."

In our three-verse reading, Jesus says the word "welcome" 6

times. Welcome, welcome, welcome. As some of you know, one of the main ministry

focuses for me these past five years has been on welcoming and incorporating

newcomers. As I look at you, I see the faces of the many people who've joined

this community in recent years. I didn't really know it when I got here, but

that ministry of welcome became the core of my work here. In the conclusion of

his discourse, Jesus speaks of the rewards of this kind of ministry. As I've

shared with some of you, especially some of you who've shared in this ministry

with me, welcoming newcomers has been an incredibly rewarding part of my

work and life.

Sitting down with someone, sharing the stories of our faith

and life, welcoming them into this vibrant community, helping them find their

place here in their new spiritual home. It's been a profound privilege to be a

face of welcome into a church as wonderful as this one.

So, I'm struck that Jesus emphasizes such welcome as the

last bits of wisdom he shares. Now of course welcome looked different in the 1st

century Middle East. Practices of hospitality vary widely by culture and place.

But Jesus reminds us that, no matter what context we exit or enter, welcome is

the first and last thing... Prompting us to reflect on how we welcome, and how

ourselves are welcomed, because Jesus ultimately reminds us that whenever we

welcome each other, we welcome Jesus.

The past few weeks have been full of reflection on what it

has been like and what it's meant to live in Christian community at St. Paul's

for these past five years. I've reflected on the big things: like the unmatched

glory of Christmas at St. Paul's. I remember my first Christmas Eve here when

the donkey decided that the moment of his big entrance into the Nave was the

exact moment he needed to go the bathroom. There I saw in the back of the

sanctuary, a crowd of huddled ushers and parents, scooping up donkey poop as we

sang Oh Little Town of Bethlehem.

Or I reflected on the first Sunday after we closed the

building for the covid lockdown. Jeanne and I sat here on these steps and

recorded a video for you all in an empty sanctuary. I remember the fear, the

adrenaline, and how completely unreal it all felt.

Then there were the amazing, transition-marking moments too.

The many, many funerals officiated - the lives of beloved saints celebrated and

laid to rest. The baptisms administered - like the one where the baby slapped

me in the face as I doused her head with holy water. And the weddings too -

especially the incredible opportunity to officiate the wedding of our own

rector Jeanne to her husband Gary.

This building - this community - has held five years

chockful of love, loss, and relationships. It was in this building, right after

staff meeting, that my water broke as I went into labor with our second son. Here,

where dreams of ministry grew, relationships were planted, and lives changed. Big

moments, all of these.

But what strikes me as I reflect on Jesus's parting words to

his disciples is that he focuses not on the big moments. Instead, it's the

small gestures that matter: the cup of water that's offered to one of "the

little ones," as he calls the disciples in our reading today.

"Whoever gives even a cup of cold water to one of these

little ones in the name of a disciple-- truly I tell you, none of these will

lose their reward," he says (10:42).

This is the very last thing Jesus says to his disciples

before sending them out to do the "work God gave them to do" in the world. Not

a charge to do great, life, or culture-changing things. But a reminder - a last

word - to take care with their small gestures of kindness and welcome. Be kind

to one another, young and old alike, swift to love. Offer even the smallest

gesture of hospitality to one another: a cup of water to someone who needs it.

I take comfort in this reminder from Jesus, not only as I

reflect on the past, but as I look forward to what's next for each of us. As we

set out on our separate paths of ministry, we remember the parting words of

Jesus: we begin and we end with welcome. Welcoming each other into community. Allowing

ourselves to be welcomed. Offering kindness to one another, those who fit in

and those who don't, those who are young and those who are old, those who are

like us and those who are different.

So, as we part ways, I thank you for the welcome you gave

me, and Joe, and Abe and Bax. And I pray that you will continue to welcome

people into the gift of this spiritual community: showing kindness. Offering

hospitality, sometimes in grand fashion, and sometimes in small gestures, like

a cup of water.

For by doing this - by welcoming each other - we welcome

Jesus himself. And we know - because we have already experienced a glimpse of

it together - that our reward will be great. Amen.