As we continue our journey through Paul’s letter to the Church in Rome, I’ll begin today with the age-old axiom, “I have some good news and some bad news for you today.” And I’ll start with the bad news. Aren’t you glad you pulled yourself out of bed on this holiday weekend to come to church?

The bad news is that in our Gospel lesson today, Jesus tells his disciples – and that includes us – that “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it.”

Peter was scandalized by the idea that Jesus – who he had just moments before professed to be the “the Messiah, the son of the living God” – would undergo such a horrific humiliation, suffering, and death. It just didn’t add up for Peter.

So, Peter took Jesus aside “and began to rebuke him, saying, ‘God forbid it, Lord! This must never happen to you.’ But [Jesus] turned and said to Peter, “Get behind me, Satan! You are a stumbling block to me; for you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.’” These are pointed, harsh words to Peter, who Jesus had just moments before proclaimed to be the “rock” upon which his church would be built and awarded the “keys to the kingdom of heaven.”

Poor Peter went from being called the “rock” to being called “Satan” in a matter of moments. On a much smaller scale, I can relate to Peter, because I fall in and out of favor with my children several times a day. I can go from being their hero to “the worst dad ever” in a matter of moments.

What Peter is troubled by is that not only would Christ suffer, but so would his followers. Following Jesus was going to terribly costly for him. And again, if we are honest with ourselves, this news feels as bad for us as it did for Peter. In a country where the idols of prosperity, comfort, and power reign supreme, a message of “taking up one’s cross and suffering” flies in the face of our sensibilities.

In his reflection on today’s lectionary lessons, Andrew McGowan reminds us not to fall into the trap of believing that Jesus’ radical, scandalous call to discipleship is primarily a call to suffer. Nor are we to interpret our own suffering as being something that God gives us to test our faith – as if suffering was an entrance requirement or badge of honor for Christianity, with the end goal being simply to “suffer for the cause.”

Rather, McGowan says, the primary call to Christian discipleship is the call to love. And this love is far from being sentimental. Rather, the Christian call to love is terribly costly. Christ’s love indeed caused him to take up a cross and suffer a humiliating, shameful, death on a cross. It was this divine call to love the world that he created that drove Christ to the cross on our behalf; not the call to suffer. Indeed, God’s incarnation in Jesus Christ was first and foremost an act of love, with a mission to embody and share that love with the world. But of course, that sort of love brought about great suffering. Many of us here know on some level that the deeper we love, the deeper the potential for suffering will be.

In his interaction with his disciples in today’s lesson, Jesus is telling Peter and the rest of them that if they love in the way that Jesus calls them to love, indeed, they will suffer. The sort of love that Jesus is calling them to is the sort of love that is oftentimes offensive or scandalous to who have the most to lose.

So, what does loving in a way that leads to taking up a cross look like? Our lessons from Paul from last week and today give us some insight on what this sort of cruciform love might look like. Last week, he wrote,

“I appeal to you therefore, brothers and sisters, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship. Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your minds, so that you may discern what is the will of God-- what is good and acceptable and perfect.”

Notice the sacrificial language that Paul uses. Genuine, Christlike love isn’t sentimental, convenient, or self-serving. Christlike love always involves some sort of sacrifice – giving up something important – even your life – for the greater good of God’s kingdom.

In today’s lesson, Paul begins with some beautiful examples of what he understands Christlike love to look like when he writes,

“Let love be genuine; hate what is evil, hold fast to what is good; love one another with mutual affection…”

I think we can all get onboard with this sort of love. This portion of Paul’s letter to the Romans is oftentimes used by clergy as the blessing at the end of the worship service because it is so heartwarming. But they usually stop before the next part, which continues:

“Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse them….do not be haughty, but associate with the lowly…Do not repay anyone evil for evil…‘[I]f your enemies are hungry, feed them; if they are thirsty, give them something to drink…Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.”

Now this is where the Christlike love to which we are called becomes more akin to a “living sacrifice.” This is when and where we begin to feel the weight of picking up and carrying the cross of Christ. Loving one’s enemies – feeding them, blessing them, not seeking vengeance on them… that is the Christlike love that both Jesus and Paul are calling us to.

But we must be careful not to read this ethical section of Paul’s letter to the Romans as being prescriptive. In other words, this isn’t a list that Paul made to serve as an entrance requirement to becoming a Christian. And this isn’t a “to-do” list for folks once they become Christians. This isn’t the measuring stick for eternal life.

Rather, this list is descriptive. In other words, as we live our lives in Christ, worshipping, praying, serving, and fellowshipping together in community as Christ’s one body with many members, we will find that Paul’s list describes the fruit that such a life in Christ will begin the bear. And this is God’s promise…this is the Good news that can be excavated from both Paul and Matthew’s rather harrowing texts today. No, we will not be immune from suffering if and when we choose to follow Christ. But the great Good News is that if we are willing to lose our life for Christ’s sake, ultimately, we will find it. We will experience the radical grace of “the peace of God which passes all understanding.”

The latest edition of The Mockingbird magazine came in the mail this week. The theme for this issue is “Mercy,” which was great timing for our scripture lessons this week. In it, Dianne Collard reflects on her long, painful journey towards forgiving the man who murdered her son. During her time of profound grief, she took a deep dive into Scripture, looking for answers, comfort, anything to bring her peace. In that search, she kept landing on texts about mercy and forgiveness. On the backend of her arduous journey to wholeness, she was able to reflect,

“This journey, as difficult as it has been, has taught me so much. I truly wonder if I could have understood and delighted in God’s mercy for me without experiencing what it took for me to forgive the killer of my child. I am far more aware of the cost of forgiveness and [God’s] love for me now that I have learned to express mercy and, as a result, have been blessed with love, grace, and freedom. It is not a lesson I would have chosen, but I am grateful for what God has taught me.”

Paul tells us that suffering for the sake of Christ includes the courage not to be “conformed to this world, but [to] be transformed by the renewing of [our] minds, so that [we] may discern what is the will of God-- what is good and acceptable and perfect.” By coming to a place of mercy and forgiveness rather than anger and retribution, Dianne Collard was not, to use the Apostle Paul’s words, “conforming to this world.” Instead, she allowed herself to be “transformed by the renewing of her mind so that she could discern the will of God.”

Let me make it clear that I by no means believe that God gave Dianne Collard that “cross to bear” to teach her a lesson about mercy and forgiveness. That would be cruel, absurd, and I would want no part of a God like that. Dianne Collard’s cross to bear was the horrific journey through inconsolable pain, grief, and suffering. I’m sure she felt at times like she was headed to Golgotha to die on that very cross that she was bearing. But by the grace of God, Dianne Collard found new life after her harrowing, cross-bearing journey.

This cross-bearing that comes through the counter-cultural call of Christian discipleship may not sound very appealing. But if we submit to the radical, scandalous love that Christ showed us on the cross, our hearts, our minds, our standard of living – our core values - will be profoundly changed. And when our values change, our suffering will be transformed – and seen in an entirely different light. By the grace of God, Dianne Collard’s world view – her values – changed over the course of her long, painful journey through unimaginable grief. Her suffering wasn’t eliminated, it was transformed.

God never promises us that our lives will be easy. Indeed, we all have had or will have our own crosses to bear during this earthly life. But God promises us that he will never abandon us; he will never forsake us. And our suffering will never be in vain. And as Paul wrote earlier in this same letter to the Romans, the promise of God is that “if we have died with Christ, we believe that we will also live with him.” Dianne Collard died with Christ the moment she found out about the death of her son. But she also rose with Christ when she experienced the profound grace of his forgiveness towards her, and when she was then able to offer her own forgiveness to the man who killed her son. The burden of anger had been released. She could finally rest in the peace of God that passes all understanding. Thanks be to God!

As y’all know, I’ve been preaching through Paul’s letter to the Romans this summer. It has been a both challenging and rewarding for me in many ways. It is the most theologically dense of Paul’s letters – and it wasn’t until I discovered the gift of Episcopal priest Fleming Rutledge’s book of sermons on Romans that I gained the courage to spend an entire summer committed to preaching through Romans.

Before we jump into today’s text, I want to jump back to last week’s text for a brief moment, because I think that it has bearing on today’s. Last week, we heard Paul’s claim that, “the gifts and calling of God are irrevocable.” Let us pause for a moment to let that sink in…

“the gifts and calling of God are irrevocable.”

If you think about it, most everything these days is revocable – contracts, covenants, friendships, marriages, pinky promises, and professions that require licenses and certifications. Dare I say that not much of anything is immune from dissolution or revocation these days.

Yet, Paul reminds us that there is one thing that is irrevocable and indissoluble, and that is the gifts and calling of God. And even though it is in reverse order, I’d like to begin with the calling of God, which always comes first. In chapter 8 of this letter, Paul talks about God’s call to us when he writes “For those who he foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the image of his son…and those whom he predestined he also called; and those whom he called he also justified; and those whom he justified he also glorified”(Rom. 8:29-30).

What that tells us is that God’s call for us happened long before we were born. As such, it was long before we could fool ourselves into thinking that there might be something that we could do earn the call to be a child of God. In other words, Paul is reminding us that our calling to be children of God was God’s decision, not ours.

The primary way that we faithfully respond to God’s initial call to us is through the sacrament of Holy Baptism. That is our inward and outward “yes” to God’s call - through his son Jesus - to follow him. And the shocking thing about this call – the shocking and even scandalous thing about this covenant into which we enter with God – is that it is irrevocable and indissoluble. With God, there are no “take backs.” I always remind folks in our baptism class that we may change our mind about God, but God doesn’t change God’s mind about us. Isn’t that great Good News in which we can rest and rejoice? In this world of constant change - in this world of broken relationships – we can at least be grounded in our belief that God never re-negs on God’s call to us. Our covenant with God will not be broken, no matter how unfaithful we are.

With this great Good News in mind, we move to today’s lesson, which is all about how we can faithfully respond to God’s call to us after our baptisms. This section in Paul’s letter to the Romans is the “therefore” section, also known as the ethical section. In the first half of the letter, Paul’s is outlining the fundamental premises for how we are justified by God. In the second half of the letter, Paul is outlining the implications of our being justified by God in Christ. In other words, now that we are convinced of God’s love, justice, grace, mercy, and faithfulness, how can we as Christians faithfully respond? What are the implications of our baptized life in Christ?

In today’s reading, Paul is telling us that as Christians, we are, in a sense, exactly the same, yet also wildly different from one another. We are the same in that, as Paul said earlier in the letter “God shows no partiality” (Rom. 2:11). With God in Christ, there are no tiers of chosen-ness. Once we are baptized, we are all “sealed by the Holy Spirit in baptism and marked as Christ’s own forever.”

But Paul also points out that though we are all equal in our “standing” with God, we are vastly different in how we can respond to our blessed callings. Paul says that “we have gifts that differ according to the grace given to us: prophecy, in proportion to faith; ministry, in ministering; the teacher, in teaching; the exhorter, in exhortation; the giver, in generosity; the leader, in diligence; the compassionate, in cheerfulness.”

The longer that I serve as a parish priest, the more convinced I am becoming that my primary task is to teach and encourage folks in their lives of worship and prayer. The more comfortable and confident we are in worship and prayer, the more we will come to know and love God intimately, and experience daily the grace, hope, and love that comes with that relationship.

And I believe my second-most important task is to facilitate a parish culture that is always seeking to identify, encourage, and nurture people in their God-given gifts and talents. The healthiest parishes are those that make room for folks to use and share their God-given gifts as a ministry with and for the Church. In ages past, the ministry of the Church was primarily carried out by the clergy. The laity were mostly mere observers of worship and recipients of the sacraments and catechesis of the Church. Thankfully, times have changed, and with the help of the theology of the 1979 Book of Common Prayer, Episcopalians are beginning to claim the order of the ministry of the baptized.

Here at Christ the King, Sunday worship and Christian formation are the best examples of how and where we see this: just take a look and listen around you. The flowers, the music, the altar, our Children’s Chapel program, our children’s and adult Christian formation classes, our various Sunday servers…all that is happening here this morning is being led by faithful folks who are living out their baptismal calling.

And as Paul notes, not all of us have the same gifts and talents, thanks be to God. Lord help us if it was up to me to arrange the flowers, play the guitar or organ, or sing in the choir! It wouldn’t be a pretty thing to see or hear!

Later this morning, we will be recognizing two of our parishioners who have heard and responded to God’s call to serve the Church in a unique way. Last year, John French and Buffy Miller completed inaugural classes in our Diocesan School for Ministry and Lay School. John was licensed as a Lay Christian Formation Leader & Catechist, and since John has taken this ministry on, our Sunday morning Adult Formation class has benefitted tremendously. We have a faithful group of regular participants at our 9:15 adult class, and John is already training up new leaders to take his place when he is not available. It has been such a joy to witness and participate in.

Buffy was licensed as a Worship Leader. Prior to going through the program, Buffy, by necessity, had already begun leading worship during the time during Covid when we had suspended public worship, as well as officiating Morning and Evening Prayer. Since then, she has continued to lead us in worship in many ways both when I am here and when she has filled in for me. It has been a joy to watch her blossom in her role as a worship leader.

When I experience the wonderful people of Christ the King sharing their God-giftedness with us on Sunday mornings and throughout the week - responding to the call to serve Christ in his Church in these uniquely gifted ways, it brings me back to Paul’s words to the Church in Rome:  

“For as in one body we have many members, and not all the members have the same function, so we, who are many, are one body in Christ, and individually we are members one of another. We have gifts that differ according to the grace given to us: prophecy, in proportion to faith; ministry, in ministering; the teacher, in teaching; the exhorter, in exhortation; the giver, in generosity; the leader, in diligence; the compassionate, in cheerfulness.”

This coming program year, the Diocesan School for Ministry and Lay School is starting up new classes like the ones John and Buffy took last year. In addition to Christian Formation and worship leadership, they have classes in the areas pastoral care, evangelism, and preaching. If you are interested, please see me after the worship service, or contact me this week.

But whether or not you feel the call to seek training and licensure in these particular areas of ministry, all of us are called to serve the Church. Before we were even born, God called us to be one of God’s very own children. Our baptisms marked and sealed this holy identity into which we have been called. The promise of God’s call for us is the promise that there is a place for all of us in God’s kingdom – on earth as it is in heaven - and in Christ’s Body the Church. It is such a blessing to look around and see so many who have faithfully and courageously responded to this call. Thank you for all that you do, and all that you are.

Luke’s telling of the Transfiguration of our Lord is notably brief and to the point. For being such a remarkable, other-worldly event, it’s almost as if Luke dares not try to make meaning of it. He just tells the story as it was told to him. I lament the fact that we don’t get a first-hand version from James or John. We do get a first-hand account from Peter in our epistle lesson today, but again, it seems really brief and to the point. Peter is mentioning it more to add to his own credibility for having been there than he is saying, “You’ll never believe what happened! Let me tell you everything about it, and the profound impact it had on me.”

I imagine that Peter, James, or John, when pressed for more details, would simply say, “You had to be there. Words can’t describe the glory and majesty of the event that we witnessed.”

Some of the classic takeaways from the Transfiguration event are confirmation of Jesus’ divine identity and vocation, the connection between the prophets of the Old covenant and the New, and the unique vocational identity given to Peter, James, and John. But today, I’d like to offer a bow of gratitude to 19th-Century Anglican priest George Whitefield’s reflection on the Transfiguration. Some of you may know Whitefield as one of the leaders of the 1st Great Awakening. He is estimated to have preached 18,000 sermons to as many as 10 million people in thirty years of ministry in Britain and the American colonies.

In a sermon that he preached on the Transfiguration, Whitefield – true to his evangelical roots – was much more long-winded than Luke or Peter. But one nugget that stood out for me was his emphasis on prayer. In the midst of trying to make meaning out the majesty and glory of the actual Transfiguration, Whitefield very pragmatically turns his focus to the very ordinary Christian vocation of prayer:

But, my dear friends, did our Lord Jesus Christ take Peter, James, and John into a mountain to pray? If Christ did thus, who had few wants of his own to be supplied, and nothing to confess and lament over; if Christ was such a lover of prayer, surely, you and I, who have so many wants to be supplied, so many corruptions to mourn over; you and I should spend much time in prayer. I do not say that you are to lock yourselves up in your closets, and not mind your shops or farms, or worldly business; I only say, that you should take care for all your time: and if you are God’s children, you will frequently retire from the world, and seek a visit from your God.

It's interesting that our Collect of the Day focuses on prayer as well:

Mercifully grant that we, being delivered from the disquietude of this world, may by faith behold the King in his beauty….

Whitefield would have known this Collect well, so maybe it influenced his thoughts to the relationship between the Transfiguration and prayer. After all, the event occurred when Jesus took his three disciples “up on the mountain to pray.” This detail that begins the story is oftentimes quickly forgotten once we get into the glory and majesty of the Transfiguration itself. But the glorious moment all began with a very intentional decision to get away from the noise, the crowds, and the usual hustle and bustle that our busy lives bring to us – to be “delivered from the disquietude of this world.”

Now, I have to be careful not to fall into the trap that I laid for myself in last week’s sermon and preach a “lettuce” sermon on prayer. If I’m not careful, the takeaway message might become something along the lines of “let us spend more time in intentional prayer this week.” Now, don’t get me wrong, there could be worse takeaways than that. But I think that the promise that is found in the Transfiguration narrative lies in what happens up on the mountain, when Jesus was transfigured.

Returning to George Whitefield’s sermon on the Transfiguration, he gets to the promise of God when he says,

“The way to have the soul transformed, changed into, and made like unto God, is frequently to converse with God. We say, ‘a man is as his company.’ Persons by conversing together, frequently catch each others’ tempers:

“…and if you have a mind to imbibe the divine temper… pray much. And as Christ’s garments became white and glittering, so shall your souls get a little of God’s light to shine upon them.”

Now don’t get me wrong…I don’t think that the promise of God in today’s text is that if we “go up on the mountain to pray,” we are guaranteed to have the same mystical experience that Peter, James, and John had. I am living proof that that is not the case. But notice that Whitefield doesn’t say “Pray much, and your souls shall experience Christ transfigured, alongside Moses and Elijah.” Rather, he says, “Pray much. And as Christ’s garments became white and glittering, so shall your souls get a little of God’s light to shine upon them.” Coming from an evangelical like Whitefield, there is a surprising amount of “Anglican reserve” in that statement.

But isn’t that all that we are looking for when we come to worship each Sunday? Isn’t that all we are looking for when we pray on our own throughout the week? Whether we pray corporately or individually, aren’t we simply longing for a little of God’s light to shine upon us? Wouldn’t we be satisfied with just a glimpse of God’s glory and majesty when we set aside time for worship and prayer?

One of the blessings of the Anglican tradition – and what I truly believe is our gift to the rest of Christendom – is our legacy of prayer – whether it be the Book of Common Prayer or the countless other collections of personal devotions and religious poetry. John Keble, one of the 19th-century Oxford Fathers wrote,

“I will arise,

and in the strength of love

Pursue the bright track ere it fade away,

My Saviour’s pathway to His home above.”

That is a very elegant way of articulating what each of us have done this morning – we arose and came to worship, in pursuit of what Keble calls “the bright track.” This quote feels very transfiguration-like to me.

Anglican priest Martin Thornton mentions the different ways we feed our hunger for “a little of God’s light to shine upon us” when he says, “Christian life is social, centered upon the corporate liturgy and expressed in love for the neighbor; it is also intensely personal, a relationship between God and unique individuality.”

There are many ways for us to experience a Little of God’s light to shine upon us – some corporate and communal (what we are doing right now) and some private (what we may do throughout the week). What Whitefield is asserting in his sermon on the Transfiguration – and I second that emotion – is that the more willing we are to go up on the mountain and pray, the more likely we are to get a glimpse of Christ’s garments white and glittering, and for our souls get a little of God’s light to shine upon them.”

This glimpse of God’s light that comes to us through isn’t God rewarding us for a job well done. Rather, it is the result of our daring to climb the mountain and approach God in prayer. It is what can happen when we suspend our disbelief, and trust that God will meet us atop of the mountain. In other words, God’s light is already shining…God is already there, waiting for us to enter into God’s holy presence. A few weeks ago I spoke about Jesus’ command for us to listen. Today, I feel like Jesus is commanding us to look…to explore…even to wander into God’s holy presence.

So, today’s remarkable story of the Transfiguration is closely linked to the sometimes mundane, even unremarkable act of prayer. It is as much a call to faithful, frequent prayer- and the promise of God that accompanies it – as it is a proof for the divinity of Jesus. It is not a guarantee that all of us will have the same sort of mountaintop experience that Peter, James, and John had atop that mountain when we pray. Actually, most of us will not. But God promises that all of us will ultimately come into the radiant light of our Lord’s fully transfigured, glorified presence. And when we do, our own bodies will also be fully transfigured in their glorified light. That is a promise that we can hold on to for the age to come. And for the time being, we will be given glimpses of Christ’s full glory – “a little of God’s light to shine upon us.” And the most reliable means for catching these glimpses is when we go up the mountain to pray.

At the very beginning of country band Alabama’s song “Mountain Music,” you hear somebody say “You see that mountain over there? Someday, I’m gonna climb that mountain.” That “someday” is today, and tomorrow, and every day. I’ll see you up on the mountain.

Last week, I talked a bit about the significance of St. Paul’s epistle to the Romans and noted that we spend one-third of year A of the lectionary cycle – 4 months(!) in this letter. New Testament scholar J.D.G. Dunn asserts that Paul’s epistle to the Romans is “the first well-developed theological statement by a Christian theologian which has come down to us, which has incalculable influence on the framing of Christian theology ever since – arguably the single most important work of Christian theology ever written.”[1]

N.T. Wright notes that the epistle to the Romans is “by common consent Paul’s masterpiece. It dwarfs most of his other writings.” In terms of theologians whose lives and work have been grounded in Paul’s epistle to the Romans, the list goes on, from St. Augustine to Martin Luther to Karl Barth, to my current favorite preacher, Fleming Rutledge. It was her book of sermons on Paul’s epistle to the Romans – entitled Not Ashamed of the Gospel - that sparked my newfound love for this letter.

The advice that Rutledge gives to preachers who seek her counsel – me being one of them – is to find the promise of God in the text. And once you have identified that promise…share it with your listeners! Never let your congregation go home without hearing the Good News - the promise of God. That might seem obvious – even simplistic. But as preachers, we oftentimes miss the mark.

A recent trend in the mainline Church tradition, however, has been to err on the side of preaching what has been called Lettuce sermons. Rather than making the primary focus on the promise of God in the text, Lettuce sermons instead focus on what we should do once the worship service is over:

“Let us go and share God’s love with others.”

“Let us go and feed the hungry, clothe the naked, and shelter the homeless.”

“Let us go and fight for justice and speak truth to power.”

The Rev’d Taylor Mertins notes that “This temptation runs deep in the heart and soul of preachers because we too fall prey to the expectation that people come to church in order to ‘get something out of it.’ And there is a fear that without providing some sort of assignment or expectation, people will receive nothing and are free to leave without any responsibility at all.”

Now please don’t get Fleming Rutledge - or me – wrong. Sharing God’s love with others, feeding the hungry, and fighting for justice are critically important vocations for Christians. After all, they are all things that Jesus himself did, and calls us to do. Indeed, there are times when the text calls for a Lettuce sermon. And keep in mind that whether or not we get a Lettuce sermon, we get a Lettuce dismissal most every week –

“Let us go forth into the world, rejoicing in the power of the Spirt.”

“Let us go forth in the name of Christ.”

“Let us bless the Lord.”

So, Lettuce sermon or not, we are always sent forth to bear the Good News of Christ to the world.

The problem with Lettuce sermons comes when we get them every week. And that problem lies with the assumption that we Christians understand what needs to be fixed in the world and how it should be fixed, and therefore we should go out and do something about it this week. Or even more simply, as Christians, we should always be going forth and doing something. We should always be bust with the assignment that our preacher gave us in the Sunday sermon. Let us do this and let us do that. If you hear a sermon like that 52-weeks out of the year, might you get to the point where you are overwhelmed, exhausted, or simply ridden with guilt and shame because you haven’t done something that your preacher said the Bible is telling you to do? Or maybe – just maybe - you are the one who is poor, hungry, or a victim of injustice. Is it possible that there are some of us of here who, week after week, come to church wanting and needing to be reminded of the Good News -  promise of God in the text? Or are we just called to share it with those other people who are less fortunate than we are?

The Rev’d Anthony Robinson writes, “I remember a young woman who thanked me for a sermon. She was a schoolteacher and mother of small children, up to her eyeballs in work and demands. She said, “Thank you. I don’t need to be reminded every Sunday of my responsibilities. They are staring me in the face. What I do need to be reminded of every Sunday is the grace of God.”

Fleming Rutledge asserts that the decline of the mainline Church in large part is because we are preaching too many Lettuce sermons and not enough Promise sermons. Dare I say that even more than going out and doing good things, folks like you and I simply need to be reminded of the Good News - of who God is and what God has done and is still doing in the world about us - and the profound, life-saving, life-giving, live-changing implications for you, for me, and for the whole world.

And Romans 8 is a tremendous source for God’s promises. Over the past three weeks, this chapter alone has included seven promises:

There is... now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus. (v 1)

If the Spirit of him who raised Jesus from the dead dwells in you, he who raised Christ from the dead will give life to your mortal bodies (v. 11)

…all who are led by the Spirit of God are children of God. (v. 14)

…if children, then heirs, heirs of God and joint heirs with Christ (v. 17)

…the Spirit helps us in our weakness (v. 26)

…the Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words (v. 26)

… all things work together for good for those who love God, who are called according to his purpose. (v. 28)

And of course, the most well-known and powerful one of them all:

…neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord. (v. 38-39)

Now that is a promise that we all can leave with today. This passage is one of the most often-chosen selections to be read at funerals, and for good reason. And perhaps that is why I love the funeral service so much. We don’t come to a funeral to be told what we should go out and do afterwards. And we aren’t even coming simply to “pay our respects” to the deceased and the family. We come to the funeral service wanting and needing to hear God’s promise for us - a message of hope that this life here isn’t all that there is. That the Christian proclamation is that suffering and death don’t get the last word. That ultimately, cancer, heart disease, Alzheimer’s, a tragic accident, a gunshot wound, or grief, depression, loneliness, or despair, …nothing… “will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.” That is what we want and need to hear at a funeral, and that is what we want and need to hear more often than not on any given Sunday.

Yesterday morning, I received a request to come administer Last Rites to Marlene Weller – one of our few remaining parishioners, who dates back to our “St. Doublewide” days. As her family and I gathered together to read scripture, pray, anoint Marlene’s head with oil, and share with Marlene her last communion on this side of the Kingdom, our grief was bolstered by the promise of God, not an assignment. We all needed, more than anything to be comforted by God’s promise that death will not get the last word with Marlene. When she dies, her life will be changed, but not ended. And for those of us who remain on this side of God’s kingdom, grief will not get the last word with us either. Not because of who we are or what we do, but because of who God is and what God is doing.

In his letter to the Romans, Paul asserts that as Christians, we will not be immune to suffering. As a matter of fact, for him – as well as the 1st-century Christians to whom he was writing – being a Christian brought actually about more suffering. To that point, last week we heard Paul say, “I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory about to be revealed to us… in hope…the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to decay and will obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God For in hope we were saved.”

Paul is reminding us that our suffering is never in vain, as it is always bolstered by Christian hope – by God’s promise that “nothing will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.” Thanks be to God.

[1] These quotes come from Bonnie Thurston’s Pondering, Praying, Preaching; Romans 8, p. 1. SLG Press.

Today’s passage from St. Paul’s epistle to the Romans begins with the assertion “so then,” which reminds us that it is a direct continuation from last week’s passage. We are in week 2 of a three-week run through chapter 8 of Romans. The fact that in Year A of the Season after Pentecost we get sixteen weeks of St. Paul’s epistle to the Romans should tell us the significance of this letter.

Within this magnum opus that is the letter to the Romans lies chapter 8, which Bonnie Thurston calls the “hinge chapter” of the letter, where we get “the heart of Paul’s message in this letter and some of his most important spiritual teaching, as well as his thought about the Holy Spirit.”[1]

As such, one of the many significant aspects of Romans 8 is that we not only get St. Paul the systematic theologian, but we also get a glimpse of St. Paul, the mystic…St. Paul the Spirit-filled, Spirit-led pastoral theologian. We get a glimpse of Paul’s understanding of what it means to be, through the Holy Spirit, “children of God.” While Paul uses the word for “Spirit” only a few times up to this point in the letter, he uses it 20 times in chapter 8 alone! Clearly, Paul had a robust theology of the Holy Spirit, and he shares it with us here.

I think that if you were to ask Paul how he was different prior to and after his conversion and subsequent baptism, he would attribute much of the change to the power of the Holy Spirit. Prior to his conversion, Paul was a profoundly “religious” person. But he had an incomplete understanding of the fullness of the Triune God as being Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. He was not, to use his own terms, “in Christ” or “in the Spirit.” As such, he claims that he was living according to the flesh – “the law of sin and of death” rather than according to the Spirit.

He goes on to say that “those who live according to the flesh set their minds on the things of the flesh, but those who live according to the Spirit set their minds on the things of the Spirit. To set the mind on the flesh is death, but to set the mind on the Spirit is life and peace.”

Now, if we are not careful, we might hear these words from Paul as being heavy-handed, judgmental, and divisive. It appears that he is asserting that there are insiders (those in the Spirit) and outsiders (those in the flesh). And he is claiming to be an insider. And this is the sort of rhetoric that has always turned me off, and likely why I used to be so wary of Paul. But let’s stick with him for a moment and see what we can glean from this seminal chapter in his letter to the Romans.

After Paul lifts up the dichotomy between those who are in the flesh and those who are in the Spirit, he goes on to say,

“But you are not in the flesh; you are in the Spirit, since the Spirit of God dwells in you... If the Spirit of him who raised Jesus from the dead dwells in you, he who raised Christ from the dead will give life to your mortal bodies also through his Spirit that dwells in you.”

These are pastoral words of encouragement that Paul is offering to the Christians in 1st-century Rome, as well as to us today. We will likely never be as devout, faithful, or influential as the Apostle Paul – but through our baptisms, the Spirit of God dwells within us just the same. As such, Paul is saying that we are filled with the very same Spirit that raised Jesus from the dead! And that, my friends, is the great Good News of the Gospel. That is what Paul wanted the Christians in Rome to hear and believe, and that is what the Spirit wants us here today to hear and believe. The Spirit of God dwells within each one of us here today no less than the Spirit did in Paul or any of the other Apostles.

In today’s passage from Romans 8, Paul goes on to describe what it means to be “in the Spirit,” and he uses the language of “family” to do so. He says, “if we live by and are led by the Spirit, we are children of God.” We then see Paul distinguish between slavery and adoption when he writes, “For you did not receive a spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but you have received a spirit of adoption.” Paul is not being sentimental here…he is being provocative. Because his Greco-Roman audience knew good and well the hierarchical structures that were presently in place in the Roman Empire. They themselves might very well have had slaves in their own households or even been slaves themselves. When Paul uses the image of slavery, he draws to mind the culture and ethics of domination that was all too familiar in 1st-century Rome, and sadly that still exists today. And with that as a backdrop, he is boldly claiming that in and through the Spirit, nobody is a slave anymore. As he would later write to the Church in Galatia, “There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus.” Nobody had ever heard language like that before. And that is the radical, groundbreaking Good News of the gospel that Paul was proclaiming.

In contrast to the “spirit of slavery,” Paul lifts up the “spirit of adoption,” and uses the illustration of family to make his point. To be “led by the Spirit and children of God” is to be able to know “God, the Father almighty, maker of heaven earth, of all that is seen and unseen – as our “Abba”, or “Daddy.” The Aramaic word “Abba” does not refer to domineering or even masculine qualities, but rather, this use of “Father” language “is used to evoke the familiarity, nurture, and safety of the healthy family.”[2]  As such, Paul uses adoption/family language to talk about the household of God, which was an entirely new and radical concept for his Roman audience, who had their own culture and understanding of hierarchical household codes.

Now, for me, I can honestly admit that I have never struggled with whether or not I believed that I was God’s child, or whether or not God loved me. That has been one of the great blessings of being born and raised in the Episcopal Church. I have never wondered if I was or would continue to be included in God’s kingdom. And perhaps that is how many of us here feel today. In that case, maybe Paul’s language of family and adoption doesn’t feel so radical. But sadly, that isn’t the case for all people, and maybe not even for all of us here today. Not everyone grew up in such loving, affirming households and churches as I did, and I am well aware of that, and I lament that.

But, in spite of my positive experience growing up in the Episcopal Church, there still remains something transformative and groundbreaking for me in Romans, chapter 8. In commenting on today’s passage, former Archbishop of Canterbury Rowan Williams boldly claims that, as children of God, “the Spirit of God comes alive in us so that we are able to say Jesus’ own words, ‘Abba, Father.’” And that is what makes Romans chapter 8 come alive for me. As a child of God, having received the “spirit of adoption,” I am not just broadly and generally “in the fold” so to speak. I am not, to use a very popular term in the Episcopal Church these days, simply – “included.” As a child of God, having received the “spirit of adoption,” I am much, much more than that. I have been chosen by God to be God’s beloved child by adoption. And this God longs for me to call him “Daddy.” It's one thing to feel included by a distant, powerful God. It’s a whole other thing to recognize that this God wants me to call him “Daddy.”

And when we call out to God as our “Abba”, we are not slaves calling out to a master. We are children calling out to our loving Daddy, just as Jesus did. As such, we are, to use Paul’s words, “heirs of God and joint heirs with Christ,” our very own brother. That, my friends, is the radical Good News that Paul is writing about in Romans, chapter 8. That is an example of how the Spirit transformed Paul and how the Spirit has transformed me. I grew up with God as the Father, and Jesus as his Son. And through the power of the Spirit, I have come to know God as my Daddy, and Jesus as my brother. And that is the God I want to share with others.

Thanks be to God that the Apostle Paul reminds us that as children led by the Spirit of God, we can, along with Paul, boldly and joyfully call God the Father our “Abba” and God the Son our “brother.”

[1] Thurston, Pondering, Praying, Preaching; Romans 8, p. 3. SLG Press.

[2] Thurston, Pondering, Praying, Preaching; Romans 8, p. 26. SLG Press.

While parables oftentimes communicate many layers of truths or meanings, I believe that at the heart of the Parable of the Sower is Jesus’ command for “anybody with ears to listen!”

Now, in today’s Gospel lesson, in order for Jesus to be literally heard by the great crowd that had gathered there by the sea, he first had to get in a boat and push out from the shore a little bit. The boat was his impromptu pulpit, and the reflection of his voice off the water was his makeshift microphone.  And then, once he was in place so that everybody could literally see and hear him, he begins with a one-word sentence - “Listen!” In other words, now that you can hear me, I need you to listen.” 

How often are we able to hear, but unable to listen? In today’s Gospel lesson, Jesus uses the verbs “to listen” and “to hear” fifteen times. So, without even getting into the various meanings of the parable, perhaps the first and most important lesson for all of us who hear the words of Jesus is to actually listen to them. Imagine a world where all who heard the gospel actually listened to it, and then responded to it.

When I was the Associate Rector for Youth and Young Adults at St. Mark’s, Jacksonville, our Youth Group went on a weeklong mission trip to New Orleans.  And just like one of Jesus’ parables, we were able to extract many layers of meaning from the trip. If you were to ask any one of the rising 8th and 9th graders about their experience, you’d likely get a diverse array of answers. 

For some, this was the furthest they had ever traveled from home. For others, it was the longest time they had ever been away from their family.  For most, it was their first real encounter with poverty on such an intimate level, as we were entering into the homes of people who were living far below the poverty line or feeding people whose only shelter was the I-10 overpass.

And of course, the most common question you get when you return from a mission trip tends to be something along the lines of, “What did you do?”  Well, as you can imagine, we did a lot of things – we worked the assembly line at a Food Bank, we cleaned an inner-city elementary school, and we fed the homeless from a Food Truck. 

Oh yeah, and we did one more thing while we were there. We changed light bulbs. That’s right. Nineteen of us drove all the way to New Orleans, Louisiana to change light bulbs. Perhaps the most powerful encounter our group had that week was at one of the houses where we were changing light bulbs. On behalf of a non-profit organization called Green Light New Orleans, we went to visit a family that had signed up for new, energy efficient light bulbs to be installed in their house free of charge. 

And on this one afternoon, in the midst of the rather mundane task of changing light bulbs, we encountered the light of Christ in a dimly lit, modest home – likely the smallest home most of them had ever entered.  And as is usually the case on mission trips, the bearers of the light also ended up being receivers of the light, as they came to see and experience the grace, mercy, and love of Christ in remarkably unexpected ways and places. 

This particularly profound encounter came in the form of an older African American man named Kenny. When we entered his home, a woman greeted us and let us begin their work changing light bulbs. When we encountered a closed door, we asked the woman if it was ok to enter. She said sure, that her husband was in there, but that he was expecting them.  And what happened next is something that the ten people in our group will never forget.

When we entered his hot, dark, cramped bedroom, Kenny was lying in his bed with his shirt off and a towel wrapped around his neck.  But when he heard that we were a Youth Group from a church in Jacksonville, it was like a fire was lit inside him, and he rose from his bed and began to deliver a cross between his life story and a come-to-Jesus sermon.  

And in the midst of his testimony, one thing he kept returning to was his insistence that our youth listen – listen to their parents, their teachers, their coaches, their elders, and their pastors.  Kenny admitted that in his life, he didn’t do a lot of listening to these types of people, and his stubborn attitude eventually landed him in prison. But while he was serving time in prison, one night, in the midst of the silence, he heard the Lord calling him, inviting him into his merciful, grace-filled embrace. And Kenny responded to the Lord’s call and gave his troubled life over to him.  But it never would have happened if he hadn’t finally slowed down long enough to listen.  And so, he implored our kids to listen to those people who care about them. 

Now this sort of lecture is not that uncommon in this context. It is a fairly standard “scare the kids straight” type of talk that kids in the inner city hear a lot. But I believe that where the light of Christ shone in this situation was when Kenny, a tall, muscle-bound older man broke down and cried right there in front our teenagers. But he wasn’t crying about anything he had done or experienced. Kenny was moved to tears by the silence of several thirteen and fourteen year old youth from Jacksonville, Florida caring enough to stand there for forty some-odd minutes and listen to his story.  Yes, our youth brought new light bulbs to Kenny, but he could care less about the new energy-efficient CFC light bulbs he got for free. What Kenny cared about was that our Youth brought their open ears and their open hearts. They cared enough to listen to him, and it was at that point when the light truly shined in that dark room. 

Once Kenny regained his composure, he told our group that in his fifty-plus years of living, he had never been listened to the way they were listening to him. By simply listening to Kenny share his story, our group made him feel special. They made him feel alive. They made him feel worthy. The miracle that happened in that room was that the youth saw Kenny with Christ’s eyes. They heard him with Christ’s ears. And they hugged him with Christ’s arms. These carried the light of Christ into an unknown, perhaps even intimidating context, and they let Christ’s light shine for Kenny. And as a result, it shined for them as well.

So, I wonder if, when our lights begin to grow dim – whether in our own personal lives, our family lives, or our life together here at Christ the King - rather than immediately seeking a quick answer or solution to the problem, we should instead take a cue from Jesus – and Kenny - and listen.

In the coming weeks, our youth group here at Christ the King is headed to Eufaula, AL for a weeklong mission trip. This will be the first Mission Trip for our Youth Group, and perhaps the first thing they will learn is that they don’t have to leave the country to find people to serve in a meaningful, transformative way.

As is the case on most mission trips, I suspect that our youth will end up learning more from those we serve than they will learn from us. And as an adult, I am constantly amazed at how much I continue to learn from our youth. Perhaps because they are still too young to be totally set in their ways, they remain curious, vulnerable, open-mined, compassionate, energetic, and willing to take risks. And regardless of our age, the best way for us to be transformed is if we can listen. In the words of Jesus, we must have the ears to hear, and listen. And when we are able to stop and listen, we will more likely be able to hear God’s Word and understand him. 

My prayer is that when our Youth Group goes on their mission trip, they will adopt that same approach to listening for and hearing God’s Word, and then going forth and shining Christ’s light in the world. And my guess is that they will bear much fruit – a miraculous yield - perhaps even thirty, sixty, or even a hundred times what we have ever yielded before. But they – and we - will have to listen for the light to shine.

The reason I read that first part of today’s Gospel lesson was that I wanted the story to begin where it is supposed to - at the beginning. The lectionary text that was assigned begins right smack dab in the middle of the story. As such, what we end up with is Jesus responding to a question that we haven’t even heard.

The question was asked by none other than Jesus’ forerunner – John the Baptist. John didn’t ask it himself because he was in prison, so he sent some disciples to go find Jesus and ask him if he was the one to come…or were they to wait for another? This question sets up not only the remainder of the chapter that follows, but the entire remainder of Matthew’s gospel. I imagine that the longer John remained in prison, the more he wondered if Jesus was indeed the one. Had John gotten it right? If so, why was he still in prison, and why was Herod still in charge? How long must the people of Israel wait for the Kingdom of Heaven to be fully realized?

The reason I think that John’s question is so important, and why I am so perplexed that it was omitted from the lectionary, is that I think it is one that many Christians would like to ask.

“Jesus, if you are the Messiah, then why is there so much suffering and strife and violence and hatred in the world? When are you going to come back and sort all of this out for us? How long are we to wait, imprisoned in this fallen world in which we live? Are you really the one, or are we to wait for another?”

Jesus answered John’s disciples by saying, “Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them. And blessed is anyone who takes no offence at me.”

In other words, “yes…you go tell John that he got it right. I am the one.” But isn’t it interesting that the examples Jesus uses to prove his point are ones of radically transformative healing – the blind receiving their sight, the lame walking, and the dead being raised- rather than the overthrow of Herod’s kingdom and the Roman Empire?

But the question that was on John’s mind is the question that all four of the gospel writers sought to answer – was Jesus the one who is to come? Was Jesus their long-awaited Messiah? The astonishing fact that we are here today, worshipping Christ - 2,000 years and 2,000 miles away from when and where these stories were first told - is a good indicator that Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John all wrote convincing arguments that Jesus indeed was – and still is – the one who is to come.

So, if the case is settled, and we believe that Jesus is the Messiah, then what wisdom or truth does this story bear for us today? One way to explore this question is to use a method of reading scripture taken from the Ignatian tradition, which invites us to place ourselves in the midst of the story. If we engage in this imaginative exercise, and transport ourselves back to the actual time, place, sights, sounds, and smells of the story, what do we discover about ourselves? Who are we in today’s gospel story?

Are we the ones who, in the words of Jesus, “have ears to listen?” If so, are we responding faithfully to what we hear?

Are we among those who “take offense” at Jesus, like when he calls out those who were seeking a leader who wears “soft robes” and lives in a palace?

Are we among those who Jesus calls out for bringing about violence in the kingdom?

Are we among those fickle children in the marketplaces, who will be unhappy regardless of who their leader is or what their leader does?

Or are we among those who live in the unrepentant cities of Chorazin, Bethsaida, and Capernaum, who do not respond to the Holy Spirit’s “deeds of power” that are happening in our midst?

Are we among the “wise and intelligent” from whom Jesus says that his Father in heaven has hidden these things?

Or are we John the Baptist, locked up in prison, waiting to be released from captivity – whether it is our captivity by anxiety, despair, fear, poor health, or just ole plain ole apathy?

Engaging in this Ignatian imaginative exercise was a good process for me this week, because it invited me to go deeper into the text, and deeper into my own self. And in doing so, I recognized that if I am honest with myself, I am all those people I just named. And I am also like the Apostle Paul in today’s epistle lesson, and find myself saying, “I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate… For I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want is what I do.”

Given all that I have just said – given the reality that until Christ comes again we still reside East of Eden - the plea to God in our Collect of the Day to “grant us the grace of your Holy Spirit, that we may be devoted to you with our whole heart, and united to one another with pure affection” serves as a great reminder that if left to the devices and desires of my own heart, I am hopeless. It is only by the grace of God’s Holy Spirit that I can even begin to be devoted to God with my whole heart, and to be united with others in pure affection.

And while my default position is usually to want to be in control, this prayer is a helpful reminder that God’s grace takes an awful lot of pressure off me, because God’s grace is God’s to give, not mine to earn. And my personal experience has been that God’s grace abounds - abundantly and often.

And that was certainly the case for the Apostle Paul in today’s reading, who, after ending his painfully honest self-reflection by exclaiming, “Wretched man that I am!” and then asking, “Who will rescue me from this body of death?” he already knows and is ready with the answer – “Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord!”

Notice that dying and rising with Christ through his baptism didn’t suddenly make Paul a “good” person. He was still, in his own words, “wretched.” But after his conversion and baptism, Paul was finally able to see himself as he really was, and more importantly, Whose he was really was - a sinner redeemed by the grace of a infinitely loving God in Jesus Christ. And in that process, Paul was finally able to see the ugly truth about himself while simultaneously rejoicing that there is a God who sees that same ugly truth, yet doesn’t love him any less. That is the radical gift of God’s abundant grace for Paul, for you, for me, and for all of God’s creation.

And just as Paul ends today’s otherwise very difficult passage on a high note with the Good News, so does Jesus. As I mentioned before, the Ignatian imaginative exercise with our Gospel lesson for me was a dose of humble pie, as I was able to recognize myself in all the folks that Jesus was calling to task. But the Good News is that Jesus didn’t abandon the people he was reproving that day; and he doesn’t abandon us either. In fact, he did just the opposite. He called the fickle, the apathetic, those who took offense at him, the violent, the unrepentant, and the haughty; he called all of them back to him. And he is calling us as well:

“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.”

As we are approaching the 4th of July holiday, freedom and independence are on our minds. After all, the official name of the forthcoming holiday is Independence Day. As a nation, we are celebrating the moment in history 247 years ago when we officially declared our independence from England.  

Of course, history – as well as the present - tells us that there is always a healthy tension between the joy of freedom and the responsibility that comes with it. In the case of the United States, freedom is something that the founders of this country fought for and earned at great cost. Indeed, it is a history of which we can be proud and thankful.

In his letter to the Church in Rome, the Apostle Paul talks a good bit about freedom, but it is a different sort of freedom from that which we celebrate on Independence Day. The freedom of which Paul speaks – freedom in Christ – isn’t something that we fought for or earned at great cost or sacrifice. But rather, our “eternal life in Jesus Christ” was and is a “free gift of God.” We didn’t deserve it, earn it, or fight for it. The sacrifice was made by Christ on our behalf. As such, through our baptisms, we have been set free from the Powers of sin, death, and evil. Later in this same letter, Paul will go on to say that nothing can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus. Indeed, in Christ, we have been set free.

If that is the case – if humankind has been set free from the Power of Sin through Christ, then then why does Paul exhort the Roman Christians to not let “sin exercise dominion in [their] mortal bodies” and to “no longer present [their] members to sin as instruments of wickedness?” What happened to their freedom in Christ? Why were they still slaves to sin and not to righteousness?

Paul is reminding the Christians in Rome – and us – of what Jesus said about allegiance to God- “No one can serve two masters. Either you will hate the one and love the other, or you will be devoted to the one and despise the other.” In this particular case in the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus was talking about God and money. But the same can be said for sin and righteousness. Paul says “that if you present yourselves to anyone as obedient slaves, you are slaves of the one whom you obey, either of sin, which leads to death, or of obedience, which leads to righteousness.” But he then offers a reminder of the promise that in the great Pascal Mystery of Christ’s death, resurrection, and ascension, we “have been set free from sin, have become slaves of righteousness.”

So, what this boils down to is that as Christians we have been set free from our oppressor. We have been emancipated from the Power of Sin and granted our independence. But in order to enjoy the fruits of our freedom in Christ, we cannot still serve our old king or master. History tells us that newfound freedom can be a difficult adjustment to make. Statistics tell us that when people who have been incarcerated for a long time are released from prison, they a struggle to adjust to their new lives of freedom. That is why most end up back in prison. Soldiers who have been in combat – and especially those who were prisoners of war – struggle to readjust to life as a civilian. It is an incredibly difficult transition to make – physically, emotionally, and spiritually.

On a more personal level, when I went from the rigid structure of a no-nonsense, all-boys boarding school to college, where I was on my own to decide if and when I’d go to class or study, I struggled mightily with that newfound freedom. And I oftentimes made a poor choice. Freedom is difficult. That is why we so easily fall back into giving up our independence and choosing to serve our old master.

But Paul, knowing good and well the reality of human nature, offers a powerful reminder to the Christians in Rome of their newfound freedom. He wants to remind them of to Whom their allegiance has been pledged through their baptisms in Christ: “For just as you once presented your members as slaves to impurity and to greater and greater iniquity, so now present your members as slaves to righteousness for sanctification.”

So, Paul is telling them (and us) that as baptized Christians, we indeed are still slaves. We still serve a crown and a master. For most people, that might not sound like good news. We love our freedom. We love being our own master. No of us want to be considered “slaves” to anything or anyone – even “slaves to righteousness.”

But we must remember that this Master Whom we serve is a different sort of Master. This Master invites us to share in the abundance of his very own life. Everything he has, he gives to us. And through our baptisms, we were regenerated and made new beings in this Master, who is Christ Jesus. Our old enslaved selves have died, and our new selves have risen with Christ out of the waters of baptism. We have been grafted into Christ our Master’s very own body, over which he is the head. We aren’t just made members of a local church. We have been made members of Christ. As such, we have been made righteous.

So, Paul’s appeal for us to become slaves to righteousness is really an appeal to become what we already are; an appeal to embrace and embody our own true identity. The master we serve isn’t an external, outside force imposing his will upon us. The Master we serve – Christ - is the head of our very own body. And this Master isn’t a power-hungry tyrant. This Master is redefined power, and is one

who, though he was in the form of God,
    did not regard equality with God
    as something to be exploited,
but emptied himself,
    taking the form of a slave,
    being born in human likeness.
And being found in human form,
he humbled himself
    and became obedient to the point of death—
    even death on a cross.

Paul is telling us that to serve this Master is to be set free from the outside forces that try to lay claim on our lives. But we don’t have to search for this Master. This Master is the one in whom “we live, and move, and have our being.” Our call as Christians is to become who we already are. And that is true freedom. Thanks be to God.

They say that preachers only really have one or two sermons. The longer you hang around here at Christ the King – or some will say the longer that I hang around here– you will begin to hear themes that emerge repeatedly in my preaching. So, one of my sermons is this: In the story of salvation history, God is always the one who acts first. God creates first, God speaks first, God loves first, God forgives first…the list goes on. As such, our action – our love, our voice, our forgiveness – is always our faithful response to God’s initiative. And as loving, faithful, and kind as we might think we are (most of the time, at least), the truth is, whether we realize it or not, we are always depending on God’s initiating grace to get us there. And that is Good News because we have a God who chose and chooses to love us first, without our having to have done anything to deserve it.

Our Collect of the Day (p. 179/230) addresses this very issue when it says,

O Lord, make us have perpetual love and reverence for your holy Name, for you never fail to help and govern those whom you have set upon the sure foundation of your loving-kindness…

Now, we have to be careful here, because at first glance, it might appear that we are pleading with God to help and govern us as a reward for our good behavior, namely, our perpetual love and reverence for him. And as long as we show our love and reverence for God, God will help us.

But that is not the petition of the prayer. Rather, through our baptisms, God has already set us upon the foundation of God’s loving-kindness. As we heard from the Apostle Paul today, in our baptisms, [we] must consider ourselves dead to sin and alive to God in Christ Jesus.” That is the sure foundation of God’s loving-kindness that our Collect speaks of. But this new life in Christ isn’t our doing – it isn’t because we are being rewarded for our “perpetual love and reverence” for God, or our good deeds.

In John’s first pastoral epistle, he writes, “God’s love was revealed among us in this way: God sent his only Son into the world so that we might live through him. In this is love… not that we loved God… but that he loved us…and sent his Son to be the atoning sacrifice for our sins.”

So, if God is the one doing all the work here, when, where, or how do we faithfully respond to this love? What are we to do with this wonderful, undeserved gift of having been set upon the sure foundation of God’s loving-kindness?

I just returned yesterday from the James Lloyd Breck Conference at Nashotah House Seminary in Wisconsin. The purpose of the annual Breck Conference is to explore the history and practice of monasticism in the Anglican tradition. This year, we learned about E.B. Pusey’s influence on the rebirth of monasticism in mid-19th century England.

A primary takeaway from the conference was that while those who live in religious communities – monasteries, convents, and the like – indeed strive for a life that is grounded in offering one’s perpetual love and reverence for God’s holy Name, such a vocational calling isn’t (or shouldn’t be) a striving to earn points from God for one’s own piety. Unfortunately, in the Middle Ages, certain theologies of the religious life – meaning, living as a professed monk or nun – devolved into a belief that it was a spiritually superior calling to just about anything else. Monks and nuns were seen (or saw themselves) as the spiritual elite who, when they died, had the best chance to make it to heaven without having to spend too much time in purgatory. As such, this heretical theology tainted the institution of the religious life, so much so that the English Protestant Reformers and Henry VIII all but did away with religious communities in England.

So, when E.B. Pusey and his Oxford Movement peers sought to revitalize monastic life and communities in England in the 19th century, they first had to articulate their understanding that the call to live in community and pray nearly unceasingly wasn’t in order to earn God’s favor, but rather it was a faithful response to God’s call to live a life of poverty, chastity, and obedience. And such a vocational calling was a faithful response to one’s having been – through our baptisms and the sacramental life of the Church - set upon a foundation of God’s loving-kindness.

But even in 19th-century Victorian England, extraordinary Christian piety made many people feel uncomfortable, or even worse, angry. There was something about the piety – the faithful and even tenacious striving for holiness - of Pusey and his Oxford Movement peers that turned many people off. And just as it was then, so it is today.

Take me to a charismatic, Pentecostal worship service, and I’m looking for the exit doors as soon as folks begin getting slain in the Spirit. Why is that? Why does that expression of Christian piety make me feel profoundly uncomfortable?

The same goes for contemporary evangelical praise and worship. When folks start closing their eyes, raising their hands and singing along like they are at a Journey concert, I feel incredibly awkward? Am I supposed to be as emotionally moved by this song and moment as everyone else around me? Is it because I don’t love Jesus as much as I should?

But on the other end of the spectrum, at when I am at an incredibly ritualistic, ornate, Anglo-Catholic worship service, I feel equally as uncomfortable. I just genuflected and crossed myself for the fifth time in this worship service. Do I really need to do it again? The priest and a bunch of folks around me are saying a bunch of additional prayers under their breath right now. And it appears to be in Latin. Am I supposed to be doing that too? If so, I need to learn Latin. And we just finished the prayer of Great Thanksgiving. What else are we supposed to add?

I could go on and on about worship styles and practices that make me feel uncomfortable. But the point isn’t to disparage other people and how they experience and express their love for God. The point is that any expression of Christian piety that is markedly different from my own, and especially if it is what I experience as being notably expressive – whether it be low-church evangelical or high church catholic - makes me squirm. I was raised on the principles of Anglican reserve decorum.

I wonder if I had lived and served as a priest in 19th century England, I would have been a part of the Church that tried to stifle E.B. Pusey and his Oxford Movement peers from re-introducing monastic life to the Church? Would I have deemed it to be too Catholic? Would I have felt so insecure in my own spiritual life that I couldn't just be supportive of people who felt God's call for them to commit their entire lives to and perpetual love and reverence for God's holy name? Was there profoundly sacrificial lifestyle of poverty, chastity, and obedience threatening to me because I knew deep down in my heart that I can never be that committed to God? Why did their piety make me feel so uncomfortable, or even angry?

This past week up in Wisconsin, I lived and studied and worshipped with people who express their Christian piety in a way that is different than I do. And at times I felt uncomfortable and even irritated. And then when we were learning about the powers that be in the Church of England in the 19th century trying to suppress a movement within the Church to bring about the return a vocational religious life, I felt humbled. I wondered if I lived back then, I would have been me trying to suppress these faithful Christians’ way of faithfully expressing their perpetual love and reverence for God’s holy Name.

I always tell Julian and Madeleine that God has enough love to go around. Thankfully God doesn’t have to ration God’s love - there is always enough. Praying harder, more fervently, or more frequently won’t make God love us more. But, as a faithful response to this radical love, we are called to return that love to God, and then to others. But how we go about expressing that perpetual love and reverence has oftentimes been controversial throughout the history of the Church, and even today. However you choose to express your love for God, rest assured that God is far less judgmental than we are.

Emily and I were having a conversation yesterday morning over breakfast and a cup of coffee. As we were both preparing our hearts and minds to preach today, the Holy Spirit was the topic of our discussion. What emerged was the different ways we understand and have experienced the Holy Spirit in our lives, as well as in the lives of others.

I pointed out that if we are sealed by the Holy Spirit and marked as Christ’s own forever, then aren’t all Christians filled with the Holy Spirit already? And if so, what does it mean when we say that “I had a Holy Spirit moment,” or the Spirit “came upon me”, or him, or her, or them?

Is the Christian vocation about unearthing the Holy Spirit that is already within us or is it seeking or inviting the Holy Spirit to come upon us? And as is oftentimes the case, Emily and I landed on the paradox of “both/and.”

Of course, the moment in salvation history that we are celebrating today - the Day of Pentecost – certainly falls in the “Spirit came upon us” category. But just as is the case with the Holy Eucharist that we will celebrate in a few moments, we are not just remembering and celebrating something that happened a long time ago that was recorded in the Bible. On the Day of Pentecost, we are remembering a past event while simultaneously entering into the reality of that event here and now. We are claiming that what happened then has also happened to us in our baptisms, when we were sealed by the Holy Spirit and marked as Christ’s own forever.

But we are also called to be so audacious as to hope, believe and expect God’s Holy Spirit to blow in, upon, and around us throughout our earthly lives, not just at our baptism. And this goes for us as individuals as well as for us as the Body of the Christ, the Church.

Our Sunday morning Adult Christian Formation class here at Christ the King has been studying the Apostles’ Creed the past several weeks. Last Sunday, our focus was on the Holy Spirit, and the class was so inspiring, and with Pentecost approaching, I asked John French to offer it again to our Friday morning Men’s Bible Study. In it, John pointed out that the Hebrew word that is used to reference God’s Holy Spirit is ruah, which is best translated as spirit, breath or wind.

And as Emily and I were talking about this yesterday, she adeptly pointed out that when we talk about God’s Spirit already indwelling each and every one of us, that points to the “breath” translation of ruah. If God’s Spirit is breath, each and every time we breathe in and out, we are breathing God’s Holy Spirit. We are by our very human nature Spirit-filled beings. But most of the time, when we breathe automatically and without thinking or focusing on it, our breathing is shallow.

But if you have ever practiced intentional slow, deep breathing, whether it is in breath prayers, Centering Prayer, Yoga, or other forms of meditation, you know that this is a fruitful spiritual practice. Our shallow breathing becomes deep, and in that deep breathing, we become more centered and less anxious. We are tapping into God’s Spirit that is already within us, ready to be unearthed and released into the world.

For many of us, this indwelling Spirit within us is most often unearthed and unleashed through prayer, worship, receiving communion, singing hymns, or spiritual reading and devotions. By engaging in these intentional practices of the Christian ascetical life, we become better attuned to how and where God’s Spirit is moving and acting in our lives and in the lives of those around us.

Regardless of how we are mostly likely to experience God’s indwelling Holy Spirit – we are all different in that regard – the Christian call to discipleship is for us to always strive to go deeper. God’s breath is not a shallow breath; God’s breath is deep, slow, and intentional. In our Gospel lesson today, Jesus sends his Holy Spirit upon his disciples in the Upper Room by breathing on them. This Holy Spirit-filled breath was slow, measured, intentional, and purposeful.

But then there’s ruah, the wind. Scripture and experience tells us that God’s Holy Spirit is not always automatic, slow, and steady like our breath. Our lesson from the Acts of the Apostles today highlights the Spirit as “the rush of a violent wind” – followed by “divided tongues, as of fire!” For many of us in the more mainline, dare I say “orderly” liturgical traditions, such a manifestation of God’s Holy Spirit might feel a bit foreign and perhaps even frightening or off-putting. We can control our breath. We can choose to sit still and breathe deeply and ask God's Spirit to be revealed to us in that moment. In that context we have this sense of agency and participation in the matter. We are seeking to go deeper and to experience God’s and dwelling Spirit.

But most of us are likely not hoping for or expecting the rush of a violent wind to come upon us, particularly those of us who live here on the coast! This manifestation of God's Holy Spirit can make us uncomfortable because it is unpredictable beyond our control. What if, in the midst of the rush of wind, God calls me as an individual or us as a community to do something that feels spontaneous, risky, or beyond our comfort zone? Are we up to the challenges that God may place before us?

I don't know if it's because Pentecost has been approaching, but I have been experiencing the Spirit’s windiness over the past several days. An example of how I have had a powerful experience of God's Holy Spirit moving in and around me was a week ago yesterday at the South Walton High School graduation ceremony. I went to celebrate the four Christ the King members who were graduating from South Walton High - Noah Dalbey, Jamie Gavigan, Vivian Moore, and Meril Lagasse. As it turns out, Noah gave the Commencement address, which in and of itself was a Holy Spirit moment. When I met Noah eight years ago, I could hardly understand a word he was saying. If you had told me then that he would end up giving the commencement address for his high school graduation, I would have called you crazy. You see, Noah was born in China with a cleft palate. Because of this birth defect, his biological parents dropped him off at a police station when he was born, and they were never to be seen or heard from again. The police then dropped Noah off at an orphanage for children with similar circumstances.

Meanwhile, Dale Dalby was living in Birmingham AL and wanted to adopt a child. But because he was a single man, he was not allowed to adopt a child in Alabama. So, to make a long story short Dale, ended up adopting Noah from the orphanage in China, and lo and behold 18 years later here was this child - who as an infant had been left to die - graduating summa cum laude and giving the commencement address at his high school.

How was it that I was able to understand Noah when he was speaking that night when just eight years ago I was unable to do so? In the 18 years of his life Noah has undergone fourteen major surgeries on his mouth, jaw, and nose. It has been a slow, rigorous, painful, and expensive process for him and for Dale. But now, Noah will be attending the honors college at University of Alabama Birmingham on scholarship to study physical therapy so he can help others with their physical pain and ailments.

My friends, Dale’s and Noah's story is a profound example of both God’s slow, steady, indwelling breath and God's unpredictable, violent, rushing wind converging to make a way out of no way. And that is what God’s Holy Spirit has done, can do, and will continue to do. As Christians, we aren’t called to be passive recipients of the gift of the Holy Spirit. Rather, we are called to actively listen for, seek, participate in, and respond to the blessings of the Spirit, just as Dale and Noah did and are continuing to do.

Dale Dalbey will be the first to tell you that he couldn’t have raised Noah the way he did without the help of his mother Cheryl, and his church family here at Christ the King. Dale made it a priority to raise Noah in the church, even when Noah was one of the only children here. Dale will tell you that for many years it was rarely without a struggle to get Noah to attend church, as there were very few young children and youth at the time. But he didn’t give Noah a choice. And Dale made an intentional decision not do travel sports because as a single parent, it meant that Dale would also have to miss church every Sunday. And for Dale, that simply wasn’t an option for him and Noah.

Dale knew that both he and Noah needed the community of Christ’s Body for Noah to thrive as a child with medical challenges being raised by a single parent. And through the years, I’m sure that most of the time, if he and Noah ever felt the power of the Holy Spirit, it was more slow, steady, and deliberate – the way we experience God’s indwelling Spirit through the habit of regular worship, prayer, Christian formation, and community. But when Noah got confirmed last year, and when he gave the commencement address at his high school graduation this year, I imagine that God’s Holy Spirit – God’s ruah - felt more like a violent, rushing wind. I know that it did for me.

The convergence of God’s ruah – God’s deep, deliberate, life-giving breath with God’s surprising, unpredictable, swirling wind – in the life of Noah and Dale Dalbey are a great way for us to think about Pentecost. And there are many other Pentecost stories within our parish. We should celebrate them more, and I hope that we continue to do that by recognizing, naming, and celebrating these people and these moments in our lives. God’s Holy Spirit is alive and well, moving and breathing deep within us; and God’s Holy Spirit is also prone to blow into our lives in such a way that we are caught off guard, surprised, and perhaps even afraid. Either way, God is in the breath and God is in the wind. And both are gifts in which we as individuals and we as Christ’s Body, the Church shall rejoice, be glad, and respond!