Tag Archives: Sermon on the Mount

“I am the Way:” Jesus’ invitation to continual learning (5th Sunday of Easter 5/3/2026)

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Readings

In this morning’s collect we prayed “Grant us so perfectly to know your Son Jesus Christ to be the way, the truth, and the life, that we may steadfastly follow his steps in the way that leads to eternal life…” That’s also the collect nudging the preacher: there’s your focus.

“I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.” This text often shows up in discussing other religions, and, at worst, gets reduced to a flag we wave at others. It, is, indisputably, narrow, and so aligned with the other Gospels. This year we’re reading Matthew, so it’s worth recalling the way these words restate what we hear towards the end of the Sermon on the Mount:

“Enter through the narrow gate; for the gate is wide and the road is easy that leads to destruction, and there are many who take it. For the gate is narrow and the road is hard that leads to life, and there are few who find it.” (7:13-14)

Or again,

“Everyone then who hears these words of mine and acts on them will be like a wise man who built his house on rock. The rain fell, the floods came, and the winds blew and beat on that house, but it did not fall, because it had been founded on rock. And everyone who hears these words of mine and does not act on them will be like a foolish man who built his house on sand. The rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew and beat against that house, and it fell– and great was its fall!” (7:24-27)

Nevertheless, notice that Jesus here may be making a somewhat different point. Thomas had just asked “Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?” It sounds like a request for some sort of map. But now that Jesus is onstage, Jesus is the map. The Gospel of John put it this way in its prologue: “The law indeed was given through Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ” (1:17). Jesus, the living person, not some abstraction, whether Jesus’ teaching or Jesus’ action, is the map, the way, and the truth, and the life. So it’s a call, an invitation, to an ongoing relationship, to ongoing learning.

Why ongoing? Recall the observation “We see things not as they are but as we are.” So any significant learning is going to involve transforming who we are. This is why we hear Paul saying “I appeal to you…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” (Rom 12:1-2).

Coming to the Father—back to Jesus’ statement—is a process of continual following, continual transformation. Paul gets it right: it’s not a head trip. “Present your bodies as a living sacrifice.” Growing pains: if we’re doing it right, they’re ongoing.

Thomas thought that Jesus could give us a map apart from Jesus himself. Philip’s request, “show us the Father,” exemplifies a different misunderstanding, as though there were distance between Jesus and the Father, Jesus the little mystery, the Father the big mystery, or, in one of its variants, Jesus as Good Cop, the Father as Bad Cop. No. Jesus and the Father: it’s the same mystery, the same luminous mystery in which we’re invited to enter.

Continued learning, continued transformation. For example? We understand that God is not more like a man than a woman. But our traditional language (“Father, Son, Holy Spirit”) can confuse that. How do we respond? Again, what does it mean to be Christian now in this place? Also the 250th anniversary of our nation’s founding pushes that question toward the front burner. Discernment is always a challenge: where is God inviting my/our focus?

But back to Thomas. The problem with any map, even God-given maps, is that we’re tempted to so focus on them that we stop listening to the Giver. Since in our first reading Stephen gets in trouble over what he says about the temple, let’s think about the temple. Exodus chapters 25-31 describe how the tabernacle—the mobile temple—is to be built; chapters 35-40 describe its building. And large portions of Leviticus and Numbers describe its staff, its sacrifices, etc. So the temple’s important.

But it doesn’t take long for Israel to start assuming that as long as the temple is operating, they can neglect, say, the “love your neighbor” or the “love the foreigner” part. This comes to a head in Jeremiah’s time:

“Do not trust in these deceptive words: ‘This is the temple of the LORD, the temple of the LORD, the temple of the LORD.’… Will you steal, murder, commit adultery, swear falsely, make offerings to Baal, and go after other gods that you have not known, and then come and stand before me in this house, which is called by my name, and say, ‘We are safe!’– only to go on doing all these abominations? (Jer 7:4, 9-10)

The temple is a gift. But if we so focus on the gift that we stop learning from the Giver, it doesn’t end well. In the time of Jeremiah, “The rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew and beat against that house, and it fell– and great was its fall!” That would be the Babylonians destroying the temple, about 600 years before Jesus.

But back to Stephen. What if we hear today’s psalm (Psalm 31) on Stephen’s lips? Surrounded by a crowd right at the boiling point, he is not put to shame. “Look…I see the heavens opened and the Son of Man standing at the right hand of God!” On the one hand he isn’t rescued from the stoning. On the other, he is rescued from the greater danger: he doesn’t become like his enemies. “Lord, do not hold this sin against them.”

“Be my strong rock” the psalmist prayed. Jesus: “Everyone then who hears these words of mine and acts on them will be like a wise man who built his house on rock.” Stephen showed himself to be one of the wise. Jesus’ words as found in Matthew’s Gospel, “You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you” (5:43-44), Stephen had heard and acted on these, and received the vision for which so many have prayed: “Look…I see the heavens opened and the Son of Man standing at the right hand of God!”

A couple more observations and I’ll close.

“I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.” An invitation to continual learning from Jesus.

“I appeal to you…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” (Rom 12:1-2).

In our second reading Peter captures this with his “Like newborn infants, long for the pure, spiritual milk, so that by it you may grow into salvation.” And our temple theme from Stephen’s story moves centerstage: “Come to him [Jesus], a living stone, though rejected by mortals yet chosen and precious in God’s sight, and like living stones, let yourselves be built into a spiritual house.” God’s got a mobile temple again—in the form of every local parish. To do what? “…to offer spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ.” “Spiritual sacrifices”—we might translate “sacrifices inspired/powered by the Spirit”—that’s open ended. Since we’re reading Matthew this year we might recall:

“You are the light of the world. A city built on a hill cannot be hid. No one after lighting a lamp puts it under the bushel basket, but on the lampstand, and it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven” (Mat 5:14-16).

So much that we need to keep learning from Jesus. Keep that in mind also as you look for your new rector. Look for someone who’s learning. Look for someone with whom you can continue learning.

Nurturing trust in a perilous world (2nd Sunday of Easter, 4/12/2026)

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Readings

Alleluia. Christ is Risen.
The Lord is risen indeed. Alleluia.

Today’s psalm, Psalm 16, is about trust. Various psalms focus on trust—Psalm 23 is the best known—not because trust is easy, but because it doesn’t come easily. Fear narrows our focus, produces a sort of amnesia. Trust often demands attention, mindfulness.

“Protect me.” The danger is unspecified, which is fine: there are so many situations in which we need this psalm. The psalmist nurtures trust by recalling God’s past actions: “My boundaries enclose a pleasant land; / indeed, I have a goodly heritage.” A few years back I put together a list of people, events, places—mostly people—evidence for God’s trustworthiness. I return to it periodically, add to it periodically. If you don’t already have something like it, I’d encourage you to try it in whatever form (pictures, songs, etc.). The psalmist has it right: “Bless the Lord, O my soul / and forget not all his benefits” (103:2).

Because God’s proved trustworthy in the past the psalmist can entrust to God their future:

My heart, therefore, is glad, and my spirit rejoices;
my body also shall rest in hope.

For you will not abandon me to the grave,
nor let your holy one see the Pit.

You will show me the path of life;
in your presence there is fullness of joy,
and in your right hand are pleasures for evermore.

In contrast to Peter’s reading in our first lesson—we’ll come back to it—the psalmist isn’t talking about what happens after death. “The path of life, fullness of joy:” that’s for this life.

Now, just before Lent we were hearing Matthew 5, the beginning of the Sermon on the Mount. We rarely hear most of Matthew 6, which focuses on God’s generosity and our trust, ending with “Therefore do not worry, saying, ‘What will we eat?’ or ‘What will we drink?’ or ‘What will we wear?’ For it is the Gentiles who strive for all these things; and indeed your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things. But strive first for the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well” (Mt6:31-33). If we ask where Jesus is getting this, psalms like Psalm 16 are surely part of the answer.

In today’s Collect we prayed “Grant that all who have been reborn into the fellowship of Christ’s Body may show forth in their lives what they profess by their faith.” That’s—appropriately—a pretty general petition. Psalm 16 encourages me to notice the substantial overlap between faith and trust, to hear “show forth in their lives” echoing Jesus’ teaching back in the Sermon on the Mount. Because God is reliably generous and has our back (Matthew 6, echoing Psalm 16), we can trust and leave anger, lust, revenge, and hatred of the enemy to the gentiles (Matthew 5).

Peter at Pentecost, of course, reads Psalm 16 differently, a reminder—in case we needed it—that Scripture, the word of the living God, can speak to us in different ways. God’s Easter action broke open David’s words spectacularly, like one of those geodes on display at the Cave of the Mounds. “’He was not abandoned to Hades, nor did his flesh experience corruption.’ This Jesus God raised up, and of that all of us are witnesses.” Alleluia? Alleluia!

But, we might wonder, the psalm’s “Protect me” followed by flogging, beating, crucifixion? So Matthew’s account of Jesus’ Gethsemane prayer is important: “My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from me; yet not what I want but what you want” (Mt26:39). “Protect me” is still there, but it’s one of those situations in which trust means it’s not the only petition that’s there.

And this, in turn, means that we don’t know how God will answer our “Protect me” prayers. God bats last: that we know. Will it look more like the psalmist’s “My boundaries enclose a pleasant land; /
indeed, I have a goodly heritage” or Jesus’ cross and resurrection? That’s actually familiar territory for God’s people. Recall Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego facing Nebuchadnezzar with his idol and fiery furnace: our God may or may not deliver us; we’re not bowing down to your idol (Dan 3:17-18). Mark remembers Jesus promising a combination: “Truly I tell you, there is no one who has left house or brothers or sisters or mother or father or children or fields, for my sake and for the sake of the good news, who will not receive a hundredfold now in this age– houses, brothers and sisters, mothers and children, and fields with persecutions– and in the age to come eternal life” (Mar 10:29-30).

Our second reading from 1 Peter lets us watch one way this can play out. Peter’s hearers are suffering “various trials.” And Peter celebrates that they “are being protected by the power of God” so that the trials will prove their faith genuine.

We’d need a number of sermons to begin to do justice to today’s Gospel, and, having focused on Psalm 16, I’m not going to try. Nevertheless, a couple notes on John’s closing (“But these are written so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing you may have life in his name.”).

We watch that “through believing you may have life in his name” play out in the Gospel itself. Imagine: a whole week between the two narrated Sundays with most of the disciples all “Alleluia” and Thomas “Some evidence, please!” And after a week of that they’re still together. Just before the Passion, Jesus to these disciples: “This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you” (Joh 15:12). And, however imperfectly, they’d done it. They’re still together, and that’s life.

Let’s pull back the camera. “Through believing you may have life in his name.” Jesus’ resurrection: God’s verdict that the guy who proclaimed “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven” (Mt5:3) was not certifiable. Anger, lust, hatred: that’s death. Giving anger, lust, etc. a pass, loving one’s enemy: that’s life. The New Testament, in other words, leaves no space between believing that Jesus is the Messiah and trusting, putting our weight, on his teaching.

“Protect me, O God, for I take refuge in you.” I would invite us to do two things this week. Look for ways to nurture our capacity to trust this God. Remember our Christian brothers and sisters throughout the world—including, these days, the Middle East—who are also praying this prayer. What does Jesus’ “love one another” mean?

Alleluia. Christ is Risen.
The Lord is risen indeed. Alleluia.

Life with this generous God (15th Sunday after Pentecost, 9/1/2024)

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Readings (Track 1)

For the next five weeks the second reading is from the Letter of James. The James who authored this book is St James of Jerusalem, Jesus’ brother, leader of the Jerusalem church, and martyred about ad 62. We celebrate his feast on October 23.

The letter is a long exhortation to the churches. If there’s a unifying theme, it’s the insight that friendship with God and with the world are mutually exclusive. James uses ‘world’ not for God’s good creation, but for the arrangements we impose on this creation that systematically distort and disfigure it—and us.

So why are God and world in this sense mutually exclusive? The world we’ve created is a zero-sum game: if you have more, I have less, so envy, competition, aggression are only logical. How does James bring God onstage? God is the one “who gives to all generously and ungrudgingly,” and–in the verses we read—“Every generous act of giving, with every perfect gift, is from above, coming down from the Father of lights.” It’s of a piece with what his Brother used to say: “Look at the birds of the air… Consider the lilies of the field…” Our God is a generous God. If we live both believing that and treating life as a zero-sum game, we’re consign ourselves to incoherency. James uses words like ‘double-minded’ and ‘adulterers’.

This sort of incoherency is something many of us have plenty of experience in, and I speak from experience. We track our finances on a piece of computer software called Quicken. It’s all there: checking accounts, savings accounts, credit cards, investments. When I’m working with it it’s difficult not to assume that what’s on the screen is what’s important about our family’s fortunes in the present and the future. Maybe an incense burner next to the computer would help, or a program that would send those birds that Jesus was talking about across the screen periodically. The comfort in all this is a remark Karl Barth makes in the midst of his massive Church Dogmatics, that the difference between the Christian and non-Christian is not that one is righteous and the other a sinner, but that the Christian is a sinner with an uneasy conscience.

Anyhow, back to James. Let’s walk through the text together, as James works at what it means to be a friend to this generous God.

“Every generous act of giving” is from the Father of lights. God is the generous giver. And what does God give? Well,—verse v.18—life: “he gave us birth by the word of truth.” The Father gives birth. There’s a flexibility in the biblical image of God the Father that we’ve lost. Or, if you’re looking for an image of God as Mother, here it is.

“…so that we would become a kind of first fruits of his creatures.” A different fertility image, and also a hint that what God is doing in us is for the benefit of all God’s creatures.

“Let everyone be quick to listen, slow to speak, slow to anger, for your anger does not produce God’s righteousness.” The prophets had used fruit as an image for the righteousness God sought in Israel; James uses that image: God’s still looking for fruit & your quick speech and quick anger won’t produce it. But I suspect there’s more here. James has just given us the image of God giving us birth. There’s mystery there, and if we’re attentive to that mystery we realize that quick speech and quick anger don’t cut it.

Let me stay with this for a moment. We realize instinctively that there’s mystery, something sacred, in birth. At the same time, we tend to assume that there’s no mystery to the people we interact with every day, or even the one we see in the mirror. What James is doing with this image is helping us to recover that sense of mystery and the sacred. Each one of us is someone God is birthing. We know we don’t understand God; why are we so quick to assume that we know all we need to know about what God’s birthing?

This works the other way, too. We may struggle with a sense of God’s absence. Well, one place to start is by attending to the mystery in God’s creatures. Attend to the mystery of God’s creatures; attend to the mystery of God. Who knows where that might lead?

Back to James. “Welcome with meekness the implanted word that has the power to save your souls.” This picks up the word from the birth image and urges us to care for it. We might recall Jesus’ parable of the sower and the different soils into which the seed falls. Guard that seed, that word, Jesus’ brother tells us. (You may recall Mark Twain’s comment that went something like this: “Some people say, don’t put all your eggs in one basket. I say, put all your eggs in one basket, and watch that basket.” That’s what’s in play here.)

How we guard that seed is developed in the following verses: “be doers of the word, and not merely hearers.” Again, James is working themes common to Jesus’ preaching, as in the conclusion to the Sermon on the Mount in Matthew: hearing the word and obeying it is like building your house on the rock; hearing and not obeying is like building on sand.

The last two verses contrast true and false religion: “If any think they are religious, and do not bridle their tongues but deceive their hearts, their religion is worthless. Religion that is pure and undefiled before God, the Father, is this: to care for orphans and widows in their distress, and to keep oneself unstained by the world.” True enough, we might say, but what an odd combination of themes.

“And do not bridle their tongues.” Why talk about this? His hearers need to hear it? True enough. We could also observe that in practice the tongue regularly has a role when we’re hearing but not doing the word. We may not be doing it, but we’re talking about it. This doesn’t confuse God, but it often confuses us.

[“If any one thinks he is religious, and does not bridle his tongue but deceives his heart, this man’s religion is vain.” There’s another dimension to this worth noticing, one I ran across in the middle of Revelation: “the accuser of our comrades has been thrown down, who accuses them day and night before our God” (12:10b). That description of Satan is worth chewing on. Of all the ways John could have described him, he focuses on Satan as accuser. And this description brings us full circle back to some of Satan’s earliest appearances in the Old Testament: the accuser of Job (“Job just worships you because you bless and protect him”), the accuser of Joshua the high priest (see Zechariah 3), and, in the garden, the accuser of God Almighty (“God’s prohibiting you this tree out of selfishness”). All these accusations—through the tongue. So let us watch our own tongues. How often do we accuse, lowering others and thereby—conveniently—raising ourselves up? That’s a habit to discourage—before our noses begin to complain of the smell of sulfur. ]

Pure and undefiled religion? “To care for orphans and widows in their distress, and to keep oneself unstained by the world.” We might recall Jesus’ many arguments with the Pharisees: mercy, not sacrifice. More, caring for orphans and widows reflects God’s generous character. And it’s in this context that we need to hear the last part: “to keep oneself unstained by the world.” James hasn’t changed the subject. The world tells us that we’re in a zero-sum game, so more for the orphans and widows means less for me. Believing that, acting on that, is getting stained by the world. Stained by the world: believing that more for the poor means less for me, that acknowledgement of your needs means that mine go unmet, that the most important information about me is in Quicken. Stained by the world: losing any sense of mystery and the sacred as we encounter one another.

I’ve focused this morning on our second reading. What happens if we pull back the camera? At least two things; perhaps you’ll discover others as you reread these lessons later today or later in the week. First, the first reading from Song of Songs and the Psalm give us a more specific image for this generous God: God as Lover. So these readings encourage us to experience God’s generosity as the generosity of a lover. Second, Jesus’ argument with some of the religious leaders ends with a list of things that defile: “fornication, theft, murder, adultery, avarice” etc. Notice how many of these result from that zero-sum game orientation. If we allow that vision of God’s generosity to form us, to transform us, we’re simultaneously draining the power of a number of these temptations.

“Every generous act of giving, with every perfect gift, is from above, coming down from the Father of lights.” This, if our eyes are open, is the world we live in. We often say in our dismissal “Go in peace to love and serve the Lord.” We can say that also because in this world God is already loving and serving us. In the week ahead we have the opportunity to discover this anew.