Tag: bible

The Baptismal Covenant

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The Feast of All Saints with the Renewal of Baptismal Vows at St. Paul’s Episcopal Church in Wellsboro, Pennsylvania. November 2, 2025.

The Episcopal Church asks us to renew our Baptismal Vows four times each year. That really is quite astonishing. I am not honestly aware of any other Christian denomination that places such an emphasis on Baptism. 

At the very center of that renewal is the Baptismal Covenant. It is, without doubt, the single best liturgical text  which the Episcopal Church has produced. I have not seen anything quite like it in all my years of exploring various expressions of Christian faith.

If someone were to ask me, “Where would I find a quick overview of what it means to be a Christian, or an Episcopalian, where would I look?” Without a moment’s hesitation, I would ask them to get out a copy of the Book of Common Prayer and to turn to page 292.

I would hope that they would remark—this is taken from the Liturgy of the Great Vigil of Easter. That would then give me the opportunity to share that the Easter Vigil is the single most important Service of the entire year. It is the Liturgy which embodies the essence of the Christian faith. The amazing symbolism of this Feast of the Resurrection of Our Lord Jesus Christ, gives us the lens which we need to most fully understand who Jesus was and is, and to contemplate what it ultimately means for us to be incorporated, as Saint Paul, our Patron, tells us, into the very life, passion, death, and resurrection of the Lord.

At the heart of that lovely Service is the moment in which we welcome those who wish to be united with us through the Sacrament of Holy Baptism. It is also the moment in which we, as individuals accomplish the goal for which we have been preparing from Ash Wednesday, the moment in which we recommit ourselves to lives of love, discipleship, worship, and community as members of Christ’s one, holy, catholic, and apostolic Church.

Of course, this annual recommitment, this reaffirmation of our faith, has as much to do with us collectively, as it does for us as individuals. It is the moment in which we as a Community of Faith—as a diocese, and as an integral part of the Anglican Communion—accept the invitation of Jesus to become light, salt, and yeast. In other words, it is at this moment that we accept the call to work in the Lord’s Vineyard, to rebuild Christ’s Church—and through it, to work to make the promise of Beloved Community real, present and effective.

But, what is it about the Baptismal Covenant that places it at the heart of our personal and collective call to discipleship?

The first section of the Baptismal Covenant takes us from a renunciation of evil, and to a commitment to Jesus the Christ. This symbolism derives from the Catechumenate of the Primitive Church. It was acted out, by asking the Candidate for Holy Baptism to first turn towards the West (the place of sunset, of darkness, and orientation away from God). There they would renounce evil, and then breathe out. Afterwards, they would turn around to face towards the East (the place of sunrise, of light, and orientation towards God). They would breathe in, pause in the light of the Paschal Candle, and then make a Profession of Faith using the model of the Apostles Creed.

It is at this point in that Easter Liturgy, that the brilliant theological insight of The Episcopal Church is revealed. Because the Liturgy does not conclude with the Profession of Faith!

There follows a dialogue, a call and response, if you will, in which the Community is guided through a reflection on discipleship. In five questions, the People of God are invited to move beyond a simple recital of the essentials of the Faith into a journey of discernment and discovery. How can these words which we have just professed be put into action, so that we move beyond theory into practice? How can we live authentic, transparent, and faithful lives—lives of integrity—which make the saving presence of Jesus visible in our homes, in our communities, and in our world?

It also strikes me as intentionally symbolic that there are five of these questions. They recall for us the importance of the number five in our Jewish and Christian Tradition. 

The Torah of the Hebrew Scriptures begins with five books—Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, and Deuteronomy. We sometimes use the Greek term, “Pentateuch,” or the “Five Books,” to describe these foundational books in the Hebrew Canon.

Some Scripture Scholars have suggested, for instance, that the Book of Psalms may be divided into five sections—based on content and theology.

We speak of the five wounds of Christ (hands, feet, and side). And that symbolism is replicated in various ways on each altar which we use to celebrate the Holy Eucharist.

There were five Churches in antiquity—Jerusalem, Rome, Constantinople, Alexandria, and Antioch. The lovely Jerusalem Cross contains that symbolism.

As each of the questions is posed, we are invited to respond “I will, with God’s help.” This is more than an act of piety. From the beginning we acknowledge our complete and total dependence on God. Without God’s help it would be impossible for us to accomplish anything that we resolve to do. There is a beautiful prayer, derived from the first chapter of the Letter to the Philippians, which expresses this reality, “May God bring to completion the good work which he began in you.”

The first question anchors our actions in the context of community. Here we are presented with gifts—treasures—which are offered to us to enable us to live out our vocation as disciples of Jesus: the apostles’ teaching (we might use the word Tradition to describe this), fellowship, the breaking of bread, and prayer.

None of these are solitary in nature. Each invites us to a life of cooperation, collaboration, and incorporation into community. They remind us that it is the community which helps us to discern how best to use our own gifts, strengths, and talents to repair and to restore Christ’s church.

It seems entirely appropriate on this Feast of All the Holy Ones to acknowledge that beautiful passage from the twelfth chapter of the Letter to the Hebrews: “Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely, and let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith, who for the sake of the joy that was set before him endured the cross, disregarding its shame, and has taken his seat at the right hand of the throne of God.”

Each of these tools feeds us; physically, emotionally, and spiritually. Through them we are strengthened, built up, and then sent out in mission. Perhaps more importantly, they serve for us as a guide or model. We are called to imitate them, and be so transformed by them that they become an automatic way of thinking, acting, and being.

The second question is, perhaps, the most overlooked, the least understood, and the least applied to our lives. It reminds us that we are called to a life of ongoing conversion, rather than to a single act of commitment. We are asked to change daily, sometimes, hourly. This means that, as we focus on Jesus, our attitudes, our preconceptions, and our world-view change. Little by little we begin to think with God, to act for God, and to love as God.

The question is an honest one—and one that pierces through all our defenses, to open our hearts to the possibility of change and growth. It does not say, “if you fall into sin,” it says “whenever you fall into sin.” And it provides the answer, the solution as to how we go about getting “back on track.” We are invited to repent and to return to the Lord. This life of ongoing conversion, of renewal, and reorientation is exemplified by the Greek word, “metanoia.” Metanoia is a rather dramatic word. It suggests that we suddenly realize (with the help of God’s grace) that we are walking on the wrong path—a path that leads to death and to destruction rather than to life. And so, we do an about-face. We turn our back on the way we were going, turn in the completely opposite direction, and begin to walk away from sin, and, now, towards God. We turn from evil to good, from darkness to light, from despair to hope. It is important to remember that this is not only a personal movement, it is also a collective call. We honestly acknowledge and admit that we sin, not only personally, but also collectively. And thus, as a Church, we are called to conversion, to growth in holiness, and to acts of reparation to any whom we have failed to love as God loves.

The third question speaks of how we live out that call after we have reoriented ourselves in Christ. We are called to serve as evangelists—quite literally as messengers who bear good news. But, we are called to proclaim this good news not only with our words, but by our actions. We are called to be not only “hearers” but also “doers.” There is an old saying, attributed to Saint Francis, “Preach the Gospel at all times, and, if necessary, use words.” Even if Francis did not actually say that, the sentiment is true!

The Fourth question invites us imitate Jesus, who came to “serve and not to be served.” It reminds us that discipleship is not just a theory, it is carried out through concrete actions. It is a proactive call, we do not passively wait by the side, hoping that God will send someone our way to love and to serve. No, we go looking for them. We seek them out. We search for those who are in need of God’s love. Then, as Jesus reminds us in the twenty fifth chapter of the Gospel according to Saint Matthew, when we love and serve anyone–but most especially the hungry, thirsty, homeless, naked, the stranger, the sick, and those in prisons—we are actually caring for them, but also for Jesus who is present in them! How fascinating that this question asks us to go beyond acts of kindness and generosity—essential though they are—to loving them and to acknowledging them as neighbor. We are only able to do this if we also learn to love ourselves—recognizing that we too were created in the image and likeness of God, and celebrating the all-encompassing love that God has for us. Love is the secret ingredient: love of God, love of neighbor, love of self. As Bishop Curry so often reminded us, “If it is not about love, it is not about God.”

The final question really seems, to me, to embody the heart of communal discernment. While it is something that we are called to practice as individuals, it is at the very core, a reminder of the power that we have as a community of faith to work to build and strengthen Beloved Community. We are challenged to strive for justice, to work for peace, and to respect the dignity of every human being (without exception). What a daunting task, it seems impossible. But, if it is rooted in relationships, it is entirely doable.

To give one example, the best kind of feeding program is one that not only provides for the physical needs of those who show up at the doors (food, clothing, supplies, etc), it is one in which those serving spend time getting to know those who are being served. Rather than thinking of the guests as a group to be fed and sent on their way, they think of them as unique persons with feelings and needs. Have they been hurt, are they wounded emotionally and spiritually. Do they feel loved? Do they feel that they matter? Has anyone taken the opportunity to sit down with them, to eat with them, to listen to them. Has anyone asked them what they need, what they want, what they desire? Do they feel heard? Do they feel visible? Do they feel validated, affirmed, and loved. Do they feel loved?

I rejoice each year, on this great Feast, when I hear those shocking words of Jesus from the Gospel of Luke, taken from the great Sermon on the plain. Using a series of contrasting images (blessings and woes) Jesus gets to the heart of the matter. As unbelievable as it seems, he tells us that those whom we might have been tempted to believe are cursed are actually blessed; the poor, the hungry, those who weep and mourn, those who are hated, excluded, reviled, and defamed. They are sacred to God, and God is present to them in their vulnerability, in their suffering, and in their pain. God shows them love, and compassion.

The woes remind us of the danger of depending on ourselves, on our own strengths, on our own resources, rather than trusting in and depending on God. It is in our weakness and vulnerability that we allow God’s strength, rather than our own, to become active and transformative!

The Gospel concludes with a call to action. There are a series of concrete things which we can do to be part of the solution rather than contributors to the problem: love, do good, bless, pray, be generous, and commit to non-violence.

In just a few minutes we will renew our Baptismal Vows. May God bring to completion, to fulfillment, the good work begun in each of us through the power of the Sacrament of Holy Baptism in which we were “sealed by the Holy Spirit and marked as Christ’s own forever.”

What is best for us

On By millardscook1 Comment

A Sermon for the Sixth Sunday after Pentecost at

The Episcopal Church of the Holy Spirit

in Greensboro, North Carolina.

Martha, Mary and Jesus by David Lindley

There is an old saying in Latin, “The corruption of the best is the worst.” It seems sad to apply it to Sacred Scripture, but the truth is that over two millennia, Christians have done some horrible things with Scripture. More often than not, the problem arises when certain texts are taken out of their proper context. We call this “proof-texting,” or sometimes “cherry picking.” Disconnected from a context that gives meaning and nuance, such texts are used to justify almost anything. How sad it is to see something beautiful and constructive—created to give life, hope, and courage-used to tear down, destroy, and diminish others.

I can not think of a single text which has been more horribly misused that the passage from the Holy Gospel according to Saint Luke giving the account of the conversation which we heard today between Jesus and Martha.

What is the proper context?

The first thing to take into consideration is that Jesus and Martha know each other well. If Jesus actually had a “home away from home,” it would be the home of Martha, Mary, and Lazarus in Bethany. When he is with them, he is not a guest, he is family.

They have been so loving, so gracious, and so welcoming, that they have provided Jesus with a refuge-with a place to rest, recover, and heal from the unceasing demands placed on him.

With these beloved friends, he is able to be himself, and he does not have to worry about what anyone is going to think or say about him. What an amazing and rare thing in his life. What an incredible blessing they have given to him!

Over a period of years, the four have come to know each other very well. As a result, they are open, honest, and vulnerable to each other. They are so comfortable that they do not mince words. They say exactly what they think and feel. There is no pretense. As in most families, they have no doubt shared the same thought, or opinion more than once! Thus, I doubt that Martha said anything to Jesus in this conversation that he had not heard more than once, perhaps many times, perhaps hundreds of times.

In my own reflection on this passage, over many years, I have come to imagine that there is a clear birth order. Martha comes across to me as the oldest child, Mary, as the often-forgotten middle child. Lazarus, I think, must be the baby. Only son of the family, he has two older Sisters. I can relate to that. And thus, thinking of my own family, I can see what that means.

The oldest child so often has an exaggerated sense of responsibility. They sometimes struggle with perfectionism. They want everything to have a kind of order, to be done in a certain way, and to not have any loose ends.

Normally, this is a quite good thing. It inspires them to take the extra step, to go out of their way, and to do things rather than asking anyone else for help, because they have learned that “if you want something done right, you do it yourself.”

The eldest child often takes on a quasi-parental role, and sometimes becomes a second mother, or father. It is not so much about control as it is a desire to have the younger siblings do what is right, what is just, what is fitting. They want to be proud of their siblings, and have others be proud of them too!

So, I would not be at all surprised if Martha had often complained about Mary as being “irresponsible,” “out of touch with reality,” and a “dreamer.” She does not like that Mary does not listen to her, proves to be independent and autonomous, and “just does what she wants.”

I am not even going to start on how both Martha and Mary view the baby of the family! Poor Lazarus—drowned with love and with expectation at the same time.

This conversation is different, though, from many others. In listening to Martha—and Jesus is a very good listener—he realizes that Martha is not in a good place. Words that may have previously been made with humor are now spoken harshly. Martha is angry and unhappy. She feels overwhelmed, unappreciated, and discouraged. Jesus gets it and says to her, “Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things.”

Jesus acknowledges her hurt, her confusion, and the out-of-control feeling that she has. He takes her seriously. So seriously that it is as if asks her, “what is really going on here?” “What is this really all about.”

But then Jesus goes a step further by suggesting that Martha is making a mistake focusing outside herself. Rather than worrying about Mary, or Lazarus, or about supper, he invites her to understand just what it is that has caused he to reach this boiling point.

That is the only way for her to move forward.  If she wants peace in her own life, in her own mind, in her own heart, she will have to do the hard work of examining her own conscience. What does Martha need? I suspect that is something which she has never been asked before. I imagine that she is taken by surprise. And yet, what amazing possibilities emerge from this invitation.

I personally think that this passage only makes sense when I see what happens in the Eleventh Chapter of John. The account of the “Raising of Lazarus” provides a fascinating bookend. Here we encounter a more mature, more thoughtful, and more insightful Martha. It concludes with one of the greatest affirmations of faith that we find in the New Testament. Martha concludes her honest remarks to Jesus by confessing that in him she finds the very presence of God—”She said to him, “Yes, Lord, I believe that you are the Messiah,[g] the Son of God, the one coming into the world.”

The problem is that others, reading into this passage, have chosen to pit Martha against Mary in a kind of competition to see who is better! It is almost like asking, “who is the favorite child.” They interpret
Jesus words to Martha as a kind of put down. He is telling her what it what and putting her in her place! Even worse, the passage has been used over the centuries to suggest that the Marys of the world are holier than the Marthas. It was used to suggest that Mary is a contemplative and Martha is apostolic. So, the cloistered religious has a “higher calling” than the one who is “working in the field caring for those in need.” How many have been hurt and wounded by this distortion of Holy Scripture.

Jesus remark that “Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken away from her” seems to have a clear meaning to me. Mary has chosen what is best for Mary! Let her be. You do you and let Mary do Mary! I think that he is also, subtly, encouraging Martha to find what is best for her, and to go for that.

The ultimate point of all this, is don’t make comparisons. Martha can’t judge Mary, and Mary can’t judge Martha. This is not a blanket statement about holiness, or the lack thereof. In this world, and in our Church, we need Martha, Mary, and Lazarus. Each has a unique, valuable, and essential role to play. We need to stop making judgements about them, about what they have to offer, and about how important and significant their calls are. Odious comparisons always create wounds. Someone must be superior, someone has to be inferior, and that never accomplishes anything good.

When I was a college student at Appalachian State University in Boone, in the early 1980’s, I encountered the amazing music of Nancy Honeytree-a Southern Contemporary Gospel Singer. In one of her most beautiful songs she had this line, “He has chosen me to bless me, and to lead me into what is best for me.” Now that is good news. What Jesus is saying to every Martha, to every Mary, to every Lazarus, and to each of us, is–do not worry. I have chosen you to bless you! Trust in me, and I will lead you into what is best for you!

Summary in English and in Spanish

Todos luchamos por dar sentido a lo que estamos llamados a ser y llegar a ser. El proceso de discernimiento nunca es fácil, porque en parte, no nos conocemos realmente bien a nosotros mismos. También puede suceder a menudo que otros intenten ayudarnos, pero si no tienen cuidado, nos darán consejos que nos muestran qué opciones son las mejores para ellos, no para nosotros. A veces, incluso instituciones, como las Iglesias, pueden hacer lo mismo sin querer.

El famoso relato de la conversación entre Marta y Jesús proporciona una visión fascinante de cómo puede desarrollarse esto. No tengo ninguna duda de que Marta ama a su hermana María. Y, sin embargo, no respeta las decisiones que María ha tomado en su propio intento de responder a la llamada de Dios en su vida. Marta está segura de que sabe lo que es mejor para María y se siente infeliz cuando María no hace lo que ella le pide que haga. ¡Tal vez ella es sobreprotectora, tal vez es controladora, tal vez simplemente tiene ideas de lo que María debería hacer!

Jesús, sin embargo, realmente tiene el mejor interés de María en el corazón. Porque ama tanto a Marta como a María, escucha a Marta, escucha lo que ella tiene que decir y luego la desafía a dejar de lado sus propios deseos y anhelos, y a permitir que María siga el camino al que Dios ha invitado a María.

Debemos tener cuidado con una cosa. El consejo que Jesús da a Marta y a María es un consejo destinado a Marta y María. No debemos cometer el error de aplicar los detalles de ese consejo a nuestra propia vida o a la vida de los demás.

Jesús nos invita a encontrar “lo que es mejor para nosotros” y a decir sí al llamado único de Dios hacia nosotros.

We all struggle to make sense of what we are called to be, and to become. The process of discernment is never an easy one, because in part, we do not really know ourselves well. It can also often happen that others try to assist us, but if they are not careful, they will give us advice that shows us options which are best for them, not for us. At times, even institutions, such as Churches can unintentionally do the same.

The famous account of the conversation between Martha and Jesus provides a fascinating insight into how this can play out. I have no doubt that Martha loves her Sister Mary. And yet, she does not respect the choices that Mary has made in her own attempt to respond to the call of God in her life. Martha feels sure that she knows what is best for Mary, and is unhappy when Mary does not do what she asks her to do. Perhaps she is overprotective, perhaps she is controlling, perhaps she just has ideas of what Mary ought to do!

Jesus, though, truly has Mary’s best interest at heart. Because he loves both Martha and Mary, he listens to Martha, hears what she has to say, and then challenges her to let go of her own wishes and desires, and to allow Mary to follow the path to which God has invited Mary.

We must be careful of one thing. The advice that Jesus gives to Martha and to Mary is advice intended for Martha and Mary. We should not make the mistake of applying the specifics of that advice to our own lives or to the lives of others. Jesus invites us to find “what is best for us” and to say yes to God’s unique call to us.

“El Obrero merece su salario,” “The Worker should be paid.”

On By millardscook1 Comment

Pentecost 4C—Proper 9, July 6, 2025

The Episcopal Church of the Holy Spirit

in Greensboro, North Carolina

In the Spring of 1985, I completed my first year as a Seminarian for the Roman Catholic Diocese of Charlotte at St. Mary’s Seminary and University in Baltimore Maryland. For me, it was the first year of a five-year program. The intellectual formation program for the Roman Catholic Church was an intense one. For those who, like me, had earned a bachelor’s degree, there was the requirement of completing one year of philosophy before beginning the four-year study of theology.

Since I had, to this point, studied philosophy, and a few basic classes to give an overview of the faith, I had not yet benefited from any of the classes which would later be so useful to me—such as Scripture Classes, and homiletics or preaching classes.

The custom was for each Seminarian to be given a summer assignment. Since I had earned a B.A. in history, with minors in French and Spanish from Appalachian State University, the decision was made to put my Spanish to use.

And so, I found out that I was to serve that Summer as Director of the Greensboro Vicariate Migrant Ministry Program. I lived at Our Lady of Grace, here in Greensboro, but during the day, worked out of Holy Infant Church in Reidsville. I was to travel the back roads of Rockingham, Guilford, Davidson, and Randolf counties, with an occasional visit to Stokes County.

On one level, it was a completely different world. I had never known migrants or spent any time with them. And yet, they were engaged in various forms of farm work. That, I knew all too well, having been raised as a farm boy on Old Beech Mountain on the borders of Avery and Watauga counties—and on the border of Carter and Johnson counties in Tennessee.

I quickly came to understand that these migrants, and occasionally migrant families, did not have easy lives. They invited me to their homes and were quick to share with me whatever they had. I was shocked to see the living conditions—especially those of the single men—and to hear the stories of their meager pay and bad working conditions. I saw with my own eyes the places where they worked, and the run-down shacks they were given to live in.

 Oddly enough, they took all of this with the most amazing spirit. I almost never heard a complaint from any of them. Although they missed Mexico and the Central American Countries they were from—El Salvador, Honduras, and Nicaragua, they were very happy to be in the Piedmont of North Carolina, working hour after hour under the scorching sun. They were working to send money home to their families, and to save for a better future for themselves.

Each Sunday, I worked with Priests, from across the Vicariate to organize a Spanish Mass in the afternoon—after all the English activities had concluded at Holy Infant. Usually, following the Eucharist, there would be a feast—provided by a different parish from the Vicariate. Normally, I contacted the Priest who was coming, and the parish preparing the food about a week in advance.

About the third week that I was there, I contacted the Priest who would be coming the following week. He was very kind and gracious. However, he quickly took me by surprise. He did not really speak Spanish, he told me, but was willing to celebrate the Eucharist to the best of his ability. But, he would not preach. That, he felt, was beyond his ability, and he just did not have the time or the energy, on top of everything else that he was doing in his own parish, to try to prepare a sermon in Spanish.

He would come, he told me, under one condition. And that condition was that I would preach! I nearly had a litter of kittens right there on the spot. I hastened to tell him that I had completed one year of philosophy. I had not studied Scripture, I had not had any preaching classes, I had not even studied church history, for goodness sake. I was young, inexperienced, and really quite clueless. I had never preached, and was not honestly sure how to even go about it!

He told me that he was well aware of all that, and that none of that mattered. It was not about me, he said, but about the migrants. They deserved to have someone speak to them in their own language, which they would be able to understand, and to hopefully give them some words of encouragement and hope.

It quickly became apparent that his mind was made up. If I wanted a Spanish Mass, that was the price to be paid for it. I told him that I would try, that was all I could promise. He hastened to assure me that would be more than enough.

I agonized, prayed, read the readings a dozen times, and, in the end, wrote up a page or so. I was a nervous wreck. I was not afraid of the migrants, and felt very comfortable with them, but I was afraid that, as a preacher, I would be a failure!

Now I had heard many sermons in my life. I had a childhood full of Southern Baptist ones, and numerous ones in the five years that I had been a member of the Roman Catholic Church. But, it had never been me who was trying to preach—and in Spanish, no less. Talk about feeling completely “in over my head.”

Finally, the day came, and there I stood in front of the congregation for my first sermon! Interestingly enough, the Gospel passage was the very one we just heard the Deacon proclaim to us, from the tenth chapter of the Holy Gospel according to Saint Luke—the account of the sending out of the seventy.

As I looked out at the attentive congregation before me, something completely unexpected happened. It was as my eyes were opened to a completely new and different reality! I suddenly realized that those words I had just heard:

See, I am sending you out like lambs into the midst of wolves. Carry no purse, no bag, no sandals; and greet no one on the road. Whatever house you enter, first say, `Peace to this house!’ And if anyone is there who shares in peace, your peace will rest on that person; but if not, it will return to you. Remain in the same house, eating and drinking whatever they provide, for the laborer deserves to be paid. Do not move about from house to house. Whenever you enter a town and its people welcome you, eat what is set before you; cure the sick who are there, and say to them, `The kingdom of God has come near to you.’”

Words that the people in front of me had taken literally! They left everything behind them to travel, with great difficulty, and some danger, to a new country, to a new culture, to a new place to work. They were honestly like lambs, and some knew firsthand what it was to work for wolves. They had to accept whatever conditions they found the cost of even finding work. I was overwhelmed by the realization that they were amazing people of faith. They somehow trusted that God would be with them, would help them, and would provide the essentials that they needed to survive. Wow! And I suddenly realized that I was not sure that I had that kind of faith or trust.

Rather than having powerful words to share with that congregation, they ministered to me. Their own witness inspired me, challenged me, and encouraged me to view solidarity with the poor, marginalized, oppressed, and exploited to be at the very core of what it means to be a follower of Jesus the Christ.

There was a single line from that Gospel passage that was like an arrow, piercing my heart, “El obrero merece su salario!” “The laborer deserves to be paid!” That line has stayed with me all these years. It was really, my first introduction to the concept of “liberation theology,” of “social justice,” and of the theology, later to be so powerfully articulated of a “just living wage,” by John Paul II.

That one line, “the worker deserves to be paid,” was like putting on a new pair of glasses and finally seeing something important which I had never really seen previously. It would be easy to focus on a theology centered on heaven, and the things to come. Jesus, though, challenges us to combat injustice and oppression in the here-and now.

Are there hungry persons among you, feed them. Are there naked persons among you, clothe them. Are there sick persons among you, care for them. Are there people in prisons, and nursing homes, and hospitals, visit and comfort them!

And, in that moment, I came to understand that I would never forget that first sermon, that I would never forget the faith of those brave migrants, and that somehow I really wanted to work with them, for them, and to help, in whatever small way I could, to make their lives better.

My dear friends, some have been reluctant to speak of the good news which the Gospels share with the poor, the oppressed, the exploited, and the marginalized. Some of those who benefit from the status quo are quick to accuse those who speak out of engaging in partisan politics. And yet the Gospel of Jesus Christ will not be bound or limited by politics.

It is no accident that among those who first became followers of Jesus were many who were poor, destitute, looked down on, and marginalized. Even in the watch in the courtyard during the trial of Jesus, those gathered to watch made fun of the accents of Peter and the other disciples. They were poor fishermen from the middle of nowhere. They were not wealthy, powerful, well-educated or cultured. They spoke like country bumpkins, had calloused hands, and may have smelled like hard workers. And yet, they were the very ones Jesus chose to proclaim the good news!

In these difficult days which we face as a state and as a nation, I pray that we will not forget the hungry, homeless, and the marginalized. I pray that we will stand up for those who live in fear of harassment, deportation, and of abuse. If we do, I know that in loving them, in caring for them, and in attempting to meet their basic needs, we will also minister to Jesus, who has sent them to be our guests.

Summary of the Sermon in English and Spanish

El primer sermón que prediqué se basó en este pasaje del Evangelio de Lucas. El sermón fue en español. En el verano de 1985, yo estaba sirviendo como Director del Programa del Ministerio Migrante de Greensboro, trabajando en la Parroquia Santo Nino en Reidsville. El sacerdote que vino a celebrar la Eucaristía en español me dijo que solo vendría a presidir si yo accedía a predicar. Fue una experiencia aterradora, y me sentí completamente desprevenida e inadecuada. Sin embargo, al final, no pude decirle que no a Dios, y estaba dispuesta a al menos intentarlo.

Fue una experiencia que transformó completamente mi comprensión del ministerio y de la fe. En las personas reunidas ante mí ese día, encontré una mayor fe y confianza en Dios de lo que jamás había visto. En lugar de tener palabras poderosas para compartir con esa congregación, me ministraron a mí. Su propio testimonio me inspiró, me desafió y me animó a considerar que la solidaridad con los pobres, marginados, oprimidos y explotados está en el centro mismo de lo que significa ser un seguidor de Jesús el Cristo.

Esa frase, “el trabajador merece su salario”, me ha acompañado todos estos años. Sería fácil enfocarse en una teología centrada en el cielo y en las cosas por venir. Jesús, sin embargo, nos desafía a preocuparnos por la injusticia y la opresión en el aquí y ahora. ¿Hay personas con hambre, dales de comer? Están allí desnudos, vístelos. ¿Hay enfermos, cuídalos? ¿Hay personas en prisiones, hogares de ancianos y hospitales, visítalas y consuélalas?

¡Esta es la buena noticia de Jesús para todos nosotros hoy!

The first sermon which I preached was based on this passage from the Gospel of Luke. The sermon was in Spanish. I was serving as the Director of the Greensboro Migrant Ministry Program in the summer of 1985, working out of Holy Infant Parish in Reidsville. The Priest who came to celebrate the Eucharist in Spanish told me that he would only come to preside if I agreed to preach. It was a frightening experience, and I felt completely unprepared and inadequate. However, in the end, I could not say no to God, and I was willing to at least try.

It was an experience which completely transformed my understanding of ministry, and of faith. In the persons gathered before me that day, I encountered greater faith in and trust in God that I had ever seen. Rather than having powerful words to share with that congregation, they ministered to me. Their own witness inspired me, challenged me, and encouraged me to view solidarity with the poor, marginalized, oppressed, and exploited to be at the very core of what it means to be a follower of Jesus the Christ.

That one line, “the worker deserves to be paid,” has stayed with me all these years. It would be easy to focus on a theology centered on heaven, and the things to come. Jesus, though challenges us to worry about injustice and oppression in the here-and now. Are there hungry, feed them. Are there naked, clothe them. Are there sick, care for them. Are there people in prisons, and nursing homes, and hospitals, visit and comfort them!

This is the good news of Jesus to all of us today!

A New Commandment–“Love each other”

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A SERMON FOR THE EPISCOPAL CHURCH OF THE BUEN PASTOR in Durham, NC

The Sixth Sunday of Easter C

Sermon for Easter 6C 05-18-2025 at Buen Pastor in Durham NC spanishDownload

Dear Sisters and Brothers,

I greet you in the name of Our Resurrected Lord and Savior, Jesus the Christ, and in the names of his humble disciples Francis and Clare—who accepted his call to help rebuild the Church, which was in ruins. In our own time and place, I pray for the wisdom for each of us as we move forward to welcome the Lord, ever more completely into our minds, hearts, and lives, and for opportunities for us to work to build up and to strengthen authentic Beloved Community.

Before I continue with the words which I have prepared to share with you today, I would like to do something which I very rarely do. I would like to begin with a personal note. Thank you for your warm and gracious welcome to me. I would like to especially acknowledge and thank Father Ricardo for the amazing support, encouragement, and affirmation which he has given me over the past few months. I have so enjoyed the occasions in which I have been blessed to worship with you—and to take photos, which I pray will be of some small use to this community, to the Communications Ministry of the Diocese of North Carolina, and to the Office of Latino/Hispanic Ministries of the Episcopal Church.

To my great surprise and delight, this is a Eucharist which has special meaning for me. It is the first time, since the Reception of my Ordination as Priest in the Episcopal Church that I have had the opportunity to Preside at the Eucharist. For that reason, please know that, going forward, you will have a very special place in my heart.

Song:

Un mandamiento Dios nos ha dado. Que nos amemos unos a otros

Que nos amemos, que nos amemos. Que nos amemos unos a otros

My dear friends, if we hear nothing else today—other than the simple words of this song—we have heard the proclamation of the Holy Gospel! The message is simple, clear, and direct—Our Lord has commanded us to love each other!

This direct and immediate command is one that could cause lawyers to be begin to ask questions, but who is the other that I am commanded to love? It is not unlike that question posed to Jesus, but who is my neighbor?. It is not unlike that question Cain posed to God, who is my brother? In every case, the answer will be that there are no exceptions. We do not get to choose who we will love. Jesus’ command is that we love everyone!

We can not help but think of that often quoted comment by our former Presiding Bishop and Primate, Bishop Michael Curry, “If it’s not about love, it’s not about God!” The good bishop rooted his theology in the shocking reality of the Primitive Church. A group of believers in the Syrian (gentile) city of Antioch took everyone by surprise. There was something different about them, something unexpected about them, something that no one could ever recall seeing or experiencing before. They loved each other! And because of the power of that witness, those around them searched for some motivation. What was it that caused them to not only profess that they loved each other but to demonstrate that belief in the way that they treated each other. The only conclusion that outsiders could come to was that they were acting a lot like that Jesus. And so it was that they began to call them, for the first time, Christians.

It was not that the believers in Antioch began to pat themselves on the back and say, “Wow, we are doing a good job of being disciples of Jesus.” Rather, it was that others were so surprised by their behavior that they began to remark on it and labeled them as disciples, as friends, and as followers of the Christ. And thus we gained our name. All because of love. It was love that formed us into a community and made us Christians!

These days it feels as if though love is a rare commodity. In a time of division, polarization, and disharmony, we do not see a lot of love, we do not hear love expressed, and we do not feel that we are loved—or that others who are important to us are loved or valued. Honestly, it can feel that we are being attacked, that our Church is under attack, and that those we love are not safe. What are we to do in such a time? How are we to respond to those perceived attacks?

It would be simple if the opposite of love was hate. That is far too simple. It does not take much effort to find those who spew fountains of hateful words—words of racism and prejudice, words of misogyny, words of homophobia, bigotry, xenophobia, and words which deny the basic goodness and dignity of any person. What is more disturbing, more frightening, and more destructive is not hatred—it is antipathy. It is not that some choose to hate, it is that they choose not to care—and are unwilling to take a stand. They are unwilling to speak truth because it is inconvenient. In a few cases people are afraid—and with good reason. But in the vast majority of cases, they choose not to speak our because it will make their lives uncomfortable. It is time for each of us to ask the difficult question—is that hypothetical “they” of which I was just speaking “me.” Is it I?

The Hebrew Scriptures make it abundantly clear that there are three groups of people who are sacred—who are holy—to God: Widows, orphans, and aliens. In other words, any who are on the margins, who are vulnerable to be abused and exploited are precious to God. And, as children of God, we are commanded to love them, to care for them, to speak out on their behalf, to defend them, and to do all in our power to assist them. If we fail to do that, we run the risk of hypocrisy. Our mouths profess our belief in God, but our actions do not give testimony to that profession. As Saint Paul might tell us, our words are like “noisy musical instruments,” which only distract. They are ultimately meaningless.

Our reading today, from the Acts of the Apostles (the sequel to the Holy Gospel according to Saint Luke) reminds us of a moment of conversion in the life of the Apostle Peter. Peter is taken by surprise to discover that God is inviting gentiles into full and active membership in the Church. It is not that Peter hated Gentiles. It is just that he did not really spend any time thinking about them. For him, they were “other.” He had not considered that they were worth bothering with. When he is given a vision which calls into question everything he thought he knew, he is shaken. The very foundations of his faith are knocked over. He was sure that he knew what God wanted. He is invited—in a very dramatic way, kind of like Paul had been on Damascus Road—to reconsider what God is all about. Peter comes to understand that God does not consider anyone—anyone at all—to be unclean, impure, throw away, trash. In God’s eyes none of the distinctions which humans are prone to make matter. Every person is beautiful, worthy, and holy—because every person, without exception, reflects the reality of the Creator of all.

My dear friends, we are called today to be persons who love—deeply, and without reservation. We are called to be such faithful followers of Jesus that others will look through us to see the love of Jesus which impels us. May we never grow weary in loving, in serving, and in caring for those who God has placed all around us. For in loving and in serving them, we will love and serve Jesus—present in them.

Jesus has indeed given us a new commandment—that we love one another!!