Light that pierces the darkness

Have you ever been outdoors in a totally dark place?  

When I was a kid, we lived on what was once a farm that was also just far enough away from the expanding suburbs and any streetlights that we could go out into the field behind our house, lie down on the grass and see not only all the stars but the Milky Way itself stretched across the night sky like a head band. It was here that I earned my astronomy merit badge with an old refracting telescope and the star chart that was published every week in the local newspaper. It was a amazing to think about how far a little dot of light travelled to reach our eyes and then from there to our imaginations. Every now and then, on a clear night, you can still look up in the sky and see the stars, especially if you shield your eyes from all the light that our streetlamps, headlights, and buildings generate every night.

We hardly think about it, but for us light is pretty cheap and readily available. We walk into a room and flip a switch. You don’t even have to do that much in many modern cars because when it gets dark enough, the lights just turn themselves on! But once upon a time, in fact for most of human history, lighting your way at night was pretty basic: a flaming torch, a campfire, a candle, or maybe a kerosene lantern. Moonlight was great when it was the right phase of the moon and if the weather was clear enough to allow farmers to get an extra few hours of planting or harvesting done.

The need for some kind of artificial light meant harnessing fire. This meant that from Biblical times right up through the advent of electricity, a basic skill that most women and girls learned, in addition to cooking, raising the children, sewing, milking the cows and all the rest, was how to dip a string (that they probably wove themselves) into a vat of hot wax that they made on stove, over and over again to make candles, as well as how to build and manage fire for cooking and heating water for washing.

Over time there were refinements: things like glass lenses, hurricane lamps, the kerosene lanterns, and so on, but in Jesus’ day the clay lantern that looked like a tea kettle with a wick stuck through the spout into a kind of paraffin was as fancy as you got. And if you didn’t make your own fuel from butchering animals for meat or maybe distilling some grain, you had to buy it. It wasn’t that long ago that ships sailed around the world hunting whales and harvesting the blubber all so that we could light our homes at night.

Getting light at night was a lot of work, which is why the invention of the light bulb and finding a way to reliably deliver electricity was such a big deal.

And then there was darkness.  We mostly think of darkness as an inconvenience at worst, but great for setting the mood for romantic dinners, or for watching movies. Mostly, though, darkness is something we sleep through. But there was a time that darkness was well… dark!

How dark was it? It was so dark that a little light could go a long way! Even a candle in a window could be seen for miles. Early lighthouses were nothing more than bonfires built on hills or towers. Towns had nothing but candles in windows and fires in fireplaces, but taken together, they could be seen from miles away because they stood out in cover of night.

So when Jesus said to his followers that “you are the light of the world,” people knew what he was talking about. He told them to “let their light so shine before others, so that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven.” A little light pierces the darkness even over a great distance. Well, how exactly do we do that? I’m not talking about flashlights or candles… but in how we live every day, can we create light and where shall we shine? How will we focus our light?

The way we think about light makes a difference as to how we think about learning and doing the work of Jesus today. And when Jesus said that we are light, he didn’t mean that we could just flip on and off the discipleship light switch. He meant that we are the lamp… and even with all the work it takes to shine, our task is to bring light to dark places.

Jesus told his friends and apprentices, “You are the light of the world” he does not describe a light in isolation, but rather a light that exists for and within the world. He says, “Let your light shine before others,” not so that they may admire you, but “so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.” The light that comes from Jesus’s love is not meant to be hidden or hoarded. Light directs. Light reveals. Light shines so that others can see.

As baptized people you are a disciple, a friend and apprentice of Jesus Christ, and Jesus reminds us that we do this in community, not alone. Being a follower of Jesus connects us to God, creation, and each other. The early church theologian Tertullian said “that one Christian is no Christian.”

Which is a very good thing, because learning and doing the work of Jesus can sometimes feel heavy. It is impossible to do alone. Sure, we can turn the Word of Life into a shopping list, a mere spiritual to-do list. We may feel the weight of responsibility and effort pressing down on us. Actually, that’s pretty normal. We humans have a deeply ingrained impulse toward shame and secrecy that can make Christian living feel like we’re constantly failing a test, as if we are unworthy of grace and love because we haven’t done enough, or done well enough. And that feels tiring, lonely, and isolating. 

But our Collect today gives a hopeful antidote: “Set us free, O God, from the bondage of our sins, and give us the liberty of that abundant life which you have made known to us in your Son our Savior Jesus Christ….” Our prayer today speaks not of burden, but of freedom, liberty and abundance. 

Even within that tightrope walk of relationship and responsibility, there is freedom. The prophet Isaiah lays right into it. He calls out religious leaders who have leaned too far into obligation and legalism but forgotten the abundant spaciousness that comes from God. He calls out the timidity and caution of his peers who go along to get along with the oppression of his day. He names the fasting, self-inflicted oppression, and penitence that serve only one’s own self and reputation. He shows us that the spiritual disciplines of fasting, penitence, and daily prayer and reading scripture are the most healthy, meaningful, and life-giving onlywhen they point us to God, and the welfare of God’s people and creation.

The prophet Isaiah and Jesus both remind us not to perform righteousness for show. Don’t worry if people can see your good works, but pray that they see the good that happens, they give glory to God. Let your actions loosen the bonds of injustice. Let them feed the hungry, shelter the oppressed, clothe the naked, care for the sick, and companion the lonely, shut-in, or jailed.

The freedom we seek as Christians, as followers of Christ, is bigger than ourselves, and our own self-righteousness. The goal of our life isn’t to be free in the sense of being able to do whatever we want, without consequence. The freedom we seek—through our spiritual practices and prayers and worship and teaching and learning—is freedom from oppression for all.

What good is fasting if we ignore the hungry? What good is penitence if we ignore those who are tortured? What good is religious devotion if we turn away from the poor, the lonely, the sick, the forgotten?

The freedom we desire is that all people may know they are loved, safe, protected, and nourished—spiritually, yes, but also physically, emotionally, and mentally. Instead of living as a collection of loners all seeking to be king of the hill, we in fact live in a spiritual ecosystem even in—especially in! —this broken and hurting world, so one person oppressed affects each and every one of us. 

Jesus gives us the image of a city on a hill whose light guides us home and whose walls offer sanctuary. But just because we are salt and light, does not mean that God’s freedom is a free-for-all. Jesus reframes the Law and the Prophets of the Hebrew scriptures to remind us that our freedom, as well as our adherence to the traditions must always point to God, which is why Jesus says, “I have come not to abolish but to fulfill.” 

When times are filled with darkness and things feel very challenging, I am reminded of the late Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King’s observation “that darkness cannot drive out darkness, only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate, only love can do that.”

So we follow the commandments and we live the sacramental life. We say our prayers and read our devotionals not to make us look good but because they matter.

The funny thing is that when we do this stuff, people will notice but not in the way we think. What people will see is peacefulness, gentleness of heart, acceptance of people’s variety, our appreciation for the earth and all God’s creation. What they will see is genuine leadership that seeks the well-being of the people being served rather than being handed a gold-plated plaque. As we live the life of Christ, what folks will see emanates naturally as we grow in Christ and abide in Christ’s love and do Christ’s work serving Christ’s people with justice, peaceably and generously.

We live in a world where darkness happens. Sometimes it just happens. Sometime we bring it on ourselves. 

As Christ’s followers, we are people of light. Our task is to bring Christ’s light to even the darkest places even in the darkest of times. In all we do, the way of Jesus invites us to see the face of Jesus in everyone we meet, and we are invited to illumine the way of Jesus to the people God gives us, lighting the way to a life of grace and peace, and so that in all things, glory is given to God our creator, sustainer, and redeemer.

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Scripture for the Fifth Sunday after the Epiphany, Year A, February 8, 2026

Here is the bulletin for St. John's Episcopal Church, Clearwater, Florida for February 8, 2026

Here is the website for St. John's Episcopal Church, Clearwater, Florida 

Learn more about the Diocese of Southwest Florida here

Something happens when we tell a story

“Once upon a time…” 

“I remember when…” 

“Daddy (Mommy, Grandpa), tell me a story…”

Something happens when we tell a story. It is as if a different part of the brain is activated. We are not just talking about facts; we are painting images in our minds.

Once upon a time, my father had a study with a great big drafting table, and in this study was an old tabletop AM/FM/SW radio about the size of a modern-day microwave oven. My Dad set me up with my own little drafting table, and he would work on these great big drawings of I-don’t-know-what except that I was sure he was drawing plans that would one day land a man on the moon! On Saturdays, when he’d work in the study and I would sit at my little drafting table making my own designs for fantastic machines. Together, we’d listen to a baseball game over that big radio. He taught me keep a box score… a record of every play of a baseball game. You did not need television to ‘see’ a baseball game, just a careful ear, some imagination, and a yellow number two pencil.

Stories are important parts of our lives. They tell us who we are, what is important to us and how we understand ourselves. The stories could be from books or movies or plays or shows, or they could recall something as simple as a picnic, a day at work, or a funny thing that happened at the store.

How many times have you heard a group of people who have all seen the same play in the same ball game tell each other exactly what they saw? They might do it immediately right in the stands or during the commercial or the next day at work. Or how many times have you seen a group of people talk about a really great movie? These are not simply sharing information or confirming that the other person saw what they saw. They are drawing us into their experience.

We might not be sitting around a campfire or standing on a stage, but in everyday life we are all storytellers. And all of today’s scripture readings show us what it means to be God’s storytellers.

We are invited by God to share good news and to tell what we have seen and heard.

In Isaiah, the prophet says that before the servant was born he was called to be one in whom God would be glorified. He is called to be a light, and not only to Israel, but to the whole world I will give you as a light to the nations," God says to the servant, "that my salvation may reach to the end of the earth." This salvation is not just for those who know the story, it's meant for those who have yet to hear it for the first time, wherever they may be.

The Psalm today says, "I have spoken of your faithfulness and your deliverance." And in the epistle, Paul talks of his apostolic calling and "the calling of the Corinthians to give testimony to Christ, to tell of him."

I particularly love today’s Gospel story. Right after John’s great hymn to the Logos, the word of God made flesh and dwelling among us, which we heard on Christmas Day, comes a story of how people first experienced the Logos and then told their story of the Logos to others.

So the “Logos” is not merely some Big Idea, it is something people experience and then talk about.

Look at all people who tell each other that they have seen Jesus and who they think Jesus is. John the Baptist points to Jesus and because of that, John, the Beloved Disciple, and Andrew decide to peel off from following John the Baptist and start to follow Jesus. Then Andrew tells his brother Peter who out of curiosity checks Jesus out and decides to follow him too. Next, in a part of the Gospel we don’t get to hear today, Jesus calls Philip, who then goes and tells his brother Nathaniel, who—while scoffing—also goes to see this Jesus character anyway and, because Jesus knows him and can crack a joke, he decides to follow Jesus too.

Look at all the ways that we, too, are invited to “come and see” and all the ways we can tell what we have seen and heard.

Being invited to “come and see” might satisfy our spiritual curiosity, or it might awaken it. I don’t know about you, but I find my spiritual curiosity awakened as I have started following stories of those Buddhist monks walking across the country in much the same way as I used to follow my favorite ball players when I was a kid.

And my spiritual curiosity is activating my imagination to begin to ask “how come?” and “why?” and “what for?” Why is it that some people are so worried about immigrants, or strangers, or people different that us? How come? Hmmm.

I have had spiritual directors and pastors sit with me and, after having heard my story... which might be a rambling, disjointed rant or a series of anecdotes looking for a common thread... just sit in silence for a long while, as a cat might look at me with eyes half closed and paws tucked under themselves, and eventually ask "What do you make of that?" or the really pesky "Where might God have been in all that?" 

Notice that God doesn’t come to us in a thunderclap or a big heavenly show. Instead Jesus, God’s Own Best Expression of God’s Own Self, is made known by word of mouth, in gospel stories that tickle the imagination and activate our spiritual curiosity.

Fast forward to the end of the first chapter of John, we see Jesus describing the process to Nathaniel. Encountering Jesus… and the people who’ve met and experienced Jesus…is just like what Jacob saw in his vision of angels on a heavenly ladder moving between earth and heaven.

This is how God’s word works: people who have discovered God’s love and learned God’s love then share God’s love. No one knows what God is up to until we go and tell someone.

Human beings are storytellers. We are wired to tell stories because it is how we make meaning out of living. When we tell our Gospel story it becomes a part of us. Sharing how God is in our lives makes us more conscious, more aware of how God is at work in us now.

In the middle of today’s Gospel, Jesus asks the two disciples "What are you looking for?" not "What do you want?" Meeting Jesus is not transactional: this isn’t about what we’ll get if we follow Jesus, It isn’t about getting spiritual goodies and a nice seat in a heavenly house. No! Instead, the heart of the story is relational. They meet Jesus and he meets them!

The Gospel is also not just about information. Anyone today can look on Wikipedia, search on Google, or go to the library and find all the information they want. We don’t lack for information. No, the Gospel is compelling because it tugs our hearts as much as our minds.

Notice that two disciples did not ask Jesus, “what are you doing?” They asked, "Where are you staying?" Yes, the disciples were curious, but what they are looking for is a different kind of information. They are looking for a place to be, a place to rest, a place—a person with whom the can “abide.” And that’s what we are all looking for—often without knowing it—a place to stay, a place to be.

Once upon a time, the poet Kathleen Norris moved to the plains of South Dakota. She was returning to a place where her family had lived and had deep roots. One day, she went to a tavern and had a conversation with an old cowboy, who sought her out because she was from "one of the old families." He wanted to tell her about a side saddle he owned, made by her great grandfather as a wedding present some 150 years before. She tells of how they mused awhile on the subject of their ancestors, when suddenly the old man said, "Who are we and where do we come from?" That's the real question, isn't it? Before Norris could reply, he smiled and said, "And here we are telling each other lies." "Stories!" she said, laughing. "Call them stories!" "Stories!" he nearly shouted back, pounding one hand on the bar. "That's who we are!"

One of the things I have discovered and enjoyed the most in my ministry, both in parishes and as a clinical chaplain, are the variety of stories that people have shared with me. All these Gospel stories, encounters with God in Christ, and all the variety of ways that people live and share that story tell me and the people who’ve lived them and heard them that God is at work in tangible ways in the lives of ordinary folks every day. I’ve heard these Gospel stories in places like this and other congregations, in homes, hospitals, soup kitchens, food banks, and even in jails. Often folks don’t realize that they are telling ‘gospel stories.’ They might not even claim to follow a faith or feel themselves to be far away, or even a refugee from the faith of their upbringing. And yet, with all the complexities, the curveballs, and complications of their lives, they still share stories of hope, strength, purpose, and power and this shows us that Gospel stories come in all shapes and sizes.

Gospel stories are always being written and always unfolding. God is always adding new chapters of grace that precedes us, dwells with us, and leads us home.

Jesus asked Andrew and the Beloved Disciple "What are you looking for?" And then he invites them to “Come and see.” The next thing you know they are telling others that “We have found the Messiah!” In all the things we do, in all the activity, through all our programming, worship, and in all the work of keeping a congregation alive, our Gospel stories are at the heart of it all. It may be that, in the end, the only thing we have to offer is this invitation, these stories of our encounters with Jesus, from which we draw hope, strength, and power. At the end of the day, our job is to invite folks to “come and see” the person of Jesus Christ, and the best way to tell his story—perhaps the only way—is with our lives.

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Scripture for the Second Sunday after the Epiphany, Year A, January 18, 2026

St. Chad's Episcopal Church, Tampa, Florida 

Learn more about the Diocese of Southwest Florida here

Jesus was born into a dangerous and unpredictable world

As we wind up Christmas this week, we are reminded that the world Jesus was born into is a dangerous and unpredictable world. Jesus’ mere appearance, even as a helpless infant, reveals the conflict between good and evil and the lengths God goes to both defeat evil and rescue us from sin—and the lengths evil will go to maintain its hold on us and creation.  So, in this conflict, where light and dark collide, Jesus is a displaced person. He is a refugee.

According to Matthew’s Gospel, as soon as news of this newborn “king of the Jews” reaches Herod, the Roman appointed King over Judea and Palestine, does whatever he can to kill off the competition. He tries to trick the Magi into disclosing Jesus’ location by saying that he wants to worship him, too.  In fact, Herod wants to kill the regent king. But the Magi are warned in dreams to take the long way home, Herod orders that all the infant boys 2 years old and younger be killed to be sure that this king will never grow up.

But Jesus and Mary are saved because Joseph listened to an angel in a dream to flee to Egypt. Just like Moses being launched in a basket to avoid the massacre of Jewish babies by Pharaoh a thousand years before, God intervenes—with the help of caring, faithful people—to save Jesus. In Moses’ case, Moses’ sister Miriam made sure that Moses is found by Pharaoh’s wife and then contrives to be his nanny. For Jesus, Joseph rescues Mary and Jesus by fleeing to Egypt taking the same road that the Magi would use to find Jesus themselves. They are not alone because the way that God rescues us from the depth of human sin and evil and leads us on an exodus from death to life, from sin into righteousness, will be through the cross and resurrection.

We don’t know if the massacre of the innocents really took place because there is no other record except here in Matthew—not even elsewhere in the New Testament. I think that instead of writing history, Matthew is trying to make a rhetorical point to make sure we get that Jesus is a new Moses. Just the same, we do know that Herod routinely killed off his opponents, even his own sons, to preserve his seat of power.

Besides, human history is filled with just this kind of cruelty. The roster of human atrocity, even in just the last century and a half, is too long to recite. The Gospel reminds us that Christ is born into a world that equates power with cruelty. And it is into this kind of world that God intervenes.

When horrid, unjust, and just plain evil things happen—even close to home—we are tempted to fight evil with evil. It’s natural to us. And often people use the tools of evil-- violence, aggression, revenge, hatred-- to get their way and then tell us they do it for God. So, history or not, Matthew’s account about Herod’s massacre has the ring of truth to it.

Anglican priest Joy Carol Wallis writes, in an essay "Putting Herod Back into Christmas:"

Herod represents the dark side of the gospel. He reminds us that Jesus didn't enter a world of sparkly Christmas cards or a world of warm spiritual sentiment. Jesus enters a world of real pain, of serious dysfunction, a world of brokenness and political oppression. Jesus was born an outcast, a homeless person, a refugee, and finally he becomes a victim to the powers that be. Jesus is the perfect savior for outcasts, refugees, and nobodies. That's how the church is described in scripture time and time again - not as the best and the brightest - but those who in their weakness become a sign for the world of the wisdom and power of God.

Notice how God chooses to fight evil. God chooses to push back evil by doing the exact opposite of what evil does. And more than that, God comes to us precisely at the moments when we are least strong, least capable, and the least in-charge and confronts evil and defeats it. God-in-Christ is born and walks among us precisely to minister to our greatest hurts and our deepest wounds. God shows us divine power and reveals our essential dignity in the midst of our weakness.

If there are moments or times in your life when you feel yourself, outcast, Christ has come for you. If there are periods when you have been afraid, Christ has come for you. If there are times when you are uncertain as to which path to take, Christ has come for you. If there are moments of deep grief or unresolved sadness, Christ has come for you.

Our epistle today picks up on this: Ephesians 1:3-14 is one long sentence. In it, Paul the apostle or one of his followers, shares a blessing, reminding us that because of what God has done in Jesus Christ we are adopted into and made part of God’s new reign. Not because of anything we’ve done but because of what Christ has done. The work of this rescued, refugee infant rescues us from our sin, our brokenness, our fear and makes us into a new people.

The Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King once wrote about the lengths that God has gone to restore us to proper relationship with God. He says that the Christ’s incarnation is a real, practical confrontation with evil but one that does not resort to evil to overcome it. He says that the cross, in particular, is:

"the eternal expression of the length to which God will go in order to restore broken community. The resurrection is the symbol of God's triumph over all the forces that seek to block community. The Holy Spirit is the continuing community creating reality that moves through history. He who works against community is working against the whole of creation."

What drives God’s resistance to sin and evil? Love! God’s divine (agape) love for us and for all creation is what compels God to address the heart and depth of our hurts. This is why King advocated non-violent resistance as the way to end injustice.  Nonviolent resistance brings an end to hate by being agape in action—God’s divine love made real.

One of the little details about Matthew’s Christmas story I love is the detour the Magi had to make. I’ve never been to the Holy Land, but if I read my Bible atlas correctly, the Magi walked a circuitous and unexpected path. You see, Israel and the holy land exist on this narrow strip between the Mediterranean Sea and the Arabian desert. Everyone going from Africa to Asia Minor or Europe had to walk on this little strip of land with the sea on one side and mountains on the other, and beyond the mountains, desert. Everyone who wanted to travel on land between the Nile Delta and Africa and both Asia Minor and Persia had to walk this way. It's a kind of land bridge between two continents, sometimes also called The King's Highway. It appears to have been the same route walked by Abraham two millennia before Jesus, and it explains a lot as to why the holy land has been such contested real estate for so many generations.

To get to Bethlehem, they would have had to taken an off ramp and climb the hills. According to Matthew, they went to Jerusalem first to get permission (and directions) from Herod and then had to back track a bit to find Jesus in Bethlehem. 

So, imagine that they may have walked with the moon on one side, and this strange star on the other hanging over the mountains. To choose to follow the star to find this new-born king, meant taking a new path, off the beaten track, and exploring a strange new country. Imagine that journey. Their circuitous journey makes me think about the strange, unpredictable journeys that we have lived.

We also live in a dangerous, unpredictable world. Christmas reminds us that the struggle between light and dark, death and life, fear and faith takes place in the everyday places where ordinary people choose to walk the narrow path of love, dignity, hope and community instead of choosing to circle the wagons in fear. Christmas reminds us that God is with us every step of the way. Our God comes to us as a refugee who will go to the cross, and in that very journey God rescues from death, gives us the power to embrace life and discover the love and presence of God dwelling among us every day.

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Scripture for the Second Sunday of Christmas, January 4, 2026

St. Chad's Episcopal Church, Tampa, Florida 

Learn more about the Diocese of Southwest Florida here

Imitating the Logos Everyday

They say that in some cultures and in some places, taking a photograph of a person is thought to take a piece of the soul away from the subject. I don’t know about that, but I have noticed that when one sees a well-done portrait or photograph of a person, something of the personality, something of the essence of the subject is captured and communicated through that image.

This is what the Gospel of John means when he uses the word “Word” to describe Jesus Christ. When Jesus is described as “the word,” we are seeing translation of the Greek work logos. “Logos” is more than vocabulary. It’s not the hint in a crossword puzzle. Instead, “logos” is the very image, the exact, real presence of the subject. in this case God’s own self who is made present, visible, and real to us. John is saying that Jesus is the perfect expression of the Living God.

Imagine a time before photographs, a time before movies, television, or even newspapers. All we had were each other’s words. The Gospels were invented in an age when the written word was nearly magical because it had the power to actually represent the presence of the writer. People who could write had an important job because they had to transcribe the speaker’s words exactly, with no interpretation, editing, or comments, not even footnotes. And the people who could read had an equally important job… they were conveying the living presence of the writer to people who might be far away in time or distance from the writer.

So, for example, when Paul wrote his letters to the churches, he was in a way sending himself, his voice, to those early churches. Even the Gospels were more than written records of the comings, goings, and teachings of Jesus; hearing about Jesus from Gospels was like sitting around the campfire hearing the story. This is why in Jewish tradition the scrolls of the Hebrew Bible are so important even after the invention of the printing press: they are the record of the first people who told The Story, written out by hand as it was spoken the first time.

The Gospels kicked it up a notch from the Epistles because they are meant to convey what it was like to see, hear, and experience Jesus just as if you were there in person seeing Him for the first time.

So when John uses the word “Word” in the first chapter of John’s Gospel it’s much more than a clever pun. The writer carefully chose this word to talk about Jesus. Jesus is the perfect Logos, the perfect Word, but without transcription error.

John says the Word does two things in Jesus Christ. First, the Word was made flesh and lives among us. Second, the Word brings light where there was darkness.

And he says that people who hear the word and recognize the light…who believe in Jesus…receive power from God to become God’s children…and we continue to witness to the Light and communicate the Word.

What does it mean to reveal the Logos, the Word, to the world?

Let's start with Christmas. We are celebrating the generosity of God, and entering into that generosity is the key to keeping our spirits up when times are down.

If you look at the history of the Church, we find Christians and Christianity are at their very best when they entered into generosity, which gave them the power to move heroically and confidently through difficult times.

Think about it. Have you ever wondered how it was that the Christian church grow so fast in its early years? It wasn’t because Christians all had one set of clear doctrines—they were centuries away from agreeing about how to talk about God, and still were working out the implications of Jesus’ incarnation, death, and resurrection, and the Church was centuries away from deciding what books would be included in their scriptures. Some people think that the Emperor Constantine had enough of all the different expressions of Church in his empire, but by the time Constantine converted… or semi-converted in the year 313 (because it’s not clear that he was ever baptized and if he was, it was probably on his death-bed) Christianity had become so widespread throughout the Empire, that was he merely bowing to that fact. In other words, he was counting votes.

Still, even with official recognition, there was a lot that had to be worked out... the Church had no single creed, no unified liturgy, no agreed upon Scripture. The funny thing is that, even with all that imprecision, the Church grew so much that the Roman Empire effectively shrugged and said “Well, we can’t beat ‘em, so we’ll join ‘em.” How come?

I believe that Christianity grew so fast mostly because Christians were known for their unusual compassion for those around them, especially toward those who were not members of their faith. From the Book of Acts onward, we see that they raised money on one continent to aid those on another continent, never for a moment presuming to think that mean little thought, that charity begins at home. They knew that charity begins when we help people that we not only don’t know but might not even care for, just as the Good Samaritan did for the injured stranger, just as Jesus did by leaving his heavenly home for our sake. 

Around the year 250 a plague struck Alexandria, Egypt, and killed more than half of the population. People who could afford it, got out of Dodge as fast as they could—except the Christians. In a time of panic and danger, they stayed in town and cared for the sick and dying, and some of them paid for that generosity with their lives. And what happened? People joined the church.

Throughout the empire, Christians were known to patrol the garbage dumps, but they weren’t looking for antiques or things to salvage and sell. Those dumps were where people placed infants they didn’t want, and the church got a reputation for saving lives that others had put in the trash. And people joined the church.

Again, in the Alexandrian community, those who lived on the church’s dole would often go entirely without food one day a week so that they, too, would have something to give others showing how generosity begets generosity; and, along the way, people joined the church.

It turns out the Word is not merely spoken it is imitated. The way we encounter the Word made flesh is to imitate the Word made flesh.  And the way we imitate the Word made flesh is to do acts of kindness, mercy and generosity—especially when times are hard, even to people we don't know or who are different than we are.

Throughout my ministry I have seen that in action in parish communities just like this one. I see here how you gather up unused or surplus food from I-don’t-know-where, and then open the doors, put up a sign and give it away. My last parish, St. John's in Clearwater, hosts a group called Good Neighbors who does this on a county-wide scale. They gather food that stores and restaurants would otherwise throw in the dumpster and sends it feeding programs, community meals, and shelters in Hillsborough and Pinellas County. I’ve seen churches where members fan out to deliver meals on wheels, who tithe their pledges to a different community mission or charity every month, who bring in boxes of books to give to kids who don’t have books of their own to read. I’ve seen parishioners in churches just like this take their beautiful poinsettias to their homebound and shut in members or to nursing homes to give to people who have no one to give them a Christmas gift or visit.

The list can go on and on, and it will because time and again, we discover and demonstrate the Word made flesh by imitation. Our prayer, our worship, our study, our life together and the way we care for each is how we find Him dwelling amongst us. And the more we imitate the Word made flesh, Jesus Christ, the more we ourselves find ourselves living in Christ’s image, becoming a reflection of God’s love who then practically and usefully share the presence of God to others.

As baptized people, as followers, friends, and apprentices of Jesus Christ, we are a living picture that shows off the very substance of God to a hurting, waiting world.

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Scripture for the First Sunday after Christmas, December 28, 2025

St. Chad's Episcopal Church, Tampa, Florida 

Learn more about the Diocese of Southwest Florida here

Advent: the antidote to wanting want we want when we want it

A long time ago, in a smatown far, far away, I was a young priest learning how to be a hospital chaplain and during that time, I kept watch by night over a flock of young men. I worked the night shift in a drug and alcohol residential rehab facility as a kind of shepherd for the men aged 18-35 who were working their recovery the hard way.

One of the young men I encountered was named Joey. (Not his real name.) He was a wiry, athletic kid in his mid-twenties, about 5’ 4”, with a ready smile and quick wit. He was also a petty thief, who was always working an angle, and, of course, he was an addict who was clean but still stuck in many of his addictive behaviors that helped him survive the street. 

At this program residents stayed six months or more and earned their way to leadership and graduation through group and individual treatment, 12-step programs, and successfully living in community while learning to live life clean and sober.  Most were at the end of their prison sentences and success meant either probation or a half-way house, but failure meant return to jail or, should the infraction be severe enough, re-arrest and an extended prison sentence.

I worked the third shift, and that meant staying up all night while they slept (or were supposed to) doing bed-checks, spot drug tests, and keeping their charts in order. And every morning, I awakened and supervised the guys assigned to make breakfast and then ate with them and shepherded them into their daily routine as the rest of the staff rolled in. 

And every morning, there was Joey. And every morning, he’d look down the table at breakfast and say: “Hello. My name is Joey and I want what I want when I want it. Please help me.” Then, after a brief pause he’d ask for what he needed like, “Can you please the toast?”

This ritual was imposed on him by the other house residents because while Joey was a really sweet kid, he was always working an angle. He was a petty (but terrible) thief, and a creative but not-so-accomplished liar, both of which arose from a fundamental impatience and, as I said, life on the street. Whenever he’d interrupt, cut in line, take some food before it was his turn, or be late for some group or appointment, he’d just look at you and grin “Carpe diem, man! Carpe diem!” Well, what he called seizing the day was just plain annoying, and it was at the root of his addiction. And he was often called out on it.

His group therapy peers kept calling him out for doing stupid stuff. They banned him from saying “carpe diem” – ever! They made him eat last. Once, they made him trim a hedge with fingernail scissors. And when he got antsy, people in the House would shout out, as if he were a dog being trained, “Wait for it!” Finally, his peer group required that when Joey wanted something—anything!—he always had to ask first, but before he could ask he had to preface his request with this:

“Hello, my name is Joey. I want what I want when I want it! Please help me!”

I don’t know if this little litany helped Joey, but it sure made an impression on me! I have never forgotten it! In a way, Joey taught the centrality of hope and importance of waiting. I don’t know whatever became of Joey but I think of him every Advent.

That’s because we all have a problem waiting. We live in a world that teaches us to be impatient. Every day we are taught to want what we want when we want it, and how to get it, grab it, keep it, and run away with it and tell everyone that we have it!

We have as a culture moved from “wait for it!” to “I want what I want when I want it” just that fast! Is there help for us?

We begin a new Church year in the heart of Matthew’s Gospel.  He writes to mainly Jewish Christians who lived in a Gentile world, increasingly cut off from their Jewish kin because they followed Jesus as Messiah and the Church was filling with Gentile converts. But that was okay, because in the early Church pretty much everybody was certain that Jesus would come back very soon in glory and judge the world. But no one knew when. In fact, today’s Gospel highlights that even Jesus did not know when the end of history would be!

This passage has also given rise to some strange but widespread theories about the end times. Lots of Christians assume that God will just scoop up all the true believers and the church will have to start over again during a time of persecution. There is nothing in the Bible that supports the idea of “a rapture.”

Instead of giving us a date and time, and stealing us away, Jesus tells us that the Kingdom of God is here now, and that we are to stay alert, stay awake, and be ready. For the Christian, waiting does not mean sitting on our thumbs or checking out of history or reading the tea leaves. Waiting means doing the things that faithful people do: to learn and do the work of Jesus in community, to be merciful, care for the poor and the sick and the outcast.

The Gospel warns us to avoid the temptation of “I want what I want when I want it,” which is as bad as the temptation to say “my way of the highway!” We are cautioned against looking for quick fixes—to jump on some political, messianic, or even material band wagon that promises to take away all our pain or give us all the power.

This is the tension of Advent. The culture tells us to satisfy our every want right now. The culture tells us that to be happy must craft the perfect holiday that will create the perfect family without blemish, pain or conflict. We are told that if only we pay enough money, acquire enough things, or organize our lives perfectly, it will all fall into place.  The culture says we want what we want when we want it.

But Jesus says instead “wait for it!” And God gives us the tools to stay awake and be ready. In our sacramental living we see that God transforms ordinary things, like bread, wine, water, even time, into holy things that changes lives. In Christian community, we are given the companions and support to stay faithful and strong. In choosing to act mercifully, we find that what feeds the heart is not so much what we get as what we give.

Advent is a time to make ready for the coming of Jesus into our hearts, the coming of Christ into our world. At the same time we live in a world that is caught up in the holiday frenzy. How to navigate the apparent contradiction? Well, one option would be to go into a monastery or fly to a desert island for the next month. But even monks have to go to the store.  Jesus never told us to hide from the world, but to look past it.

I suggest that we re-frame our approach to Advent. Think of this as a time of getting ready as daily spiritual practice. Just as in Lent, where we tithe our year to practice holiness, think of Advent as a tithe of our time to practice readiness.

For the society, this period from Thanksgiving through the Super Bowl is what I call “the Great Winter Festival.” So there are Christmas songs about dancing snow men and idyllic winter scenes (even in Florida!) There will be holiday parties, and calls to volunteer “in the spirit of the holidays.” Some Christians get grumpy about this, they say that we are forgetting “the reason for the season.”

Perhaps. But I suggest that we welcome it precisely because this season has a double meaning for us Christians. We have the chance to do now what we are called to do all the time. And why should we grumble about people celebrating, giving gifts, and singing songs? I think that instead of raining on people’s parades, we can appreciate the desire to celebrate. And by our charity, we can demonstrate to a hurting world that in Christ God provides all of what we really want: peace, purpose, hope, companionship, meaning and direction. 

For us Christians, Advent is the season where we await God coming to us in the person of Jesus. So watch. Be ready. Keep doing the things faithful people do. Take a moment to step out of the noise and listen for God and catch a glimpse that waiting is rewarded. Remember that God is present now and so we know there is a tomorrow.  We have been given second chances over and over again. Jesus is Emmanuel, “God is with us,” so we know that God has come, God is with us now, and God will come again. We are not alone. We have a living hope that gives us life.

And that living hope gives us what we really need exactly as we need it when we need it.

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Scripture for the First Sunday of Advent, November 30, 2025,St. Chad's Episcopal Church, Tampa, Florida 

Learn more about the Diocese of Southwest Florida here

Here is the bulletin for the First Sunday of Advent, November 30, 2025, St. Chad's Episcopal Church, Tampa, Florida.

Twenty-One Religious Resolutions for a New (Liturgical) Year

Tomorrow is the First Sunday in Advent, and while we don't generally make resolutions at the start of a new liturgical year, given all the turmoil in our culture and all the ways that people's use of religion both adds to and, at least occasionally, mitigates the anxiety of our age, I think some Advent Resolutions might be of use. Maybe they will help us refocus our life of faith so that our life of faith might become more healing, more centered, and more spiritually grounded. 

I've been pondering this question for a long time. Fifteen years ago, when I was on the news team for the old Episcopal Cafe, I wrote a column that I published when that daily news blog was alive and well. It was based on earlier version also appeared in a Saturday religion column that I contributed to every month in the Parkersburg (WV) News and Sentinel (in the 1990's), and again in the Allentown (PA) Morning Call (in the late 2000's). The latest (and only) version I could find on line came from the the blog of Bishop Nick Knisely of Rhode Island, posted several years ago.  As I said, I've been pondering this a long time.

Since that last version, I have updated it once again... mainly by adding a new resolve. These are written so that they can be read in both an interfaith and ecumenical context, and also with the assumption that those whose faith is not in my denomination--or religion, for that matter!-- or who are not traditionally religious, or who are non-theistic in their spiritual practice, might share in these resolutions and find value in them. 

So, without further adieu, are my Twenty-One Religious Resolutions for a New Year:

1. I will allow my religion to change me
2. I will resist telling other people how to change.
3. I will let go of my need to use my religion to control other's behavior.
4. I will seek to make my religion a channel for gratitude and appreciation.
5. I will avoid using my religion as a channel for my anger.
6. I will expect my faith to challenge me to live ethically.
7. I will give up needing to be certain about everything.
8. I will allow my religion to both care for and challenge my insecurities.
9. I will pay attention when my culture and my faith are in conflict.
10. I will be wary of leaders who use religion to sow hatred, fear, or division
11. I will allow my religion to temper my passion with humility.
12. I will work to be for something good even when it easier to be against something bad.
13. I will not allow my religion to become a fad or a trend.
14. I will allow my religion to keep pace with my maturity.
15. I will remember that my religion is for the benefit of the people and world around me.
16. I will avoid holding on too tightly to my religion as a personal possession.
17. I will give up punishment and shame as tool for religious persuasion.
18. When I fail, I will expect my religion to challenge me to be responsible.
19. I will not let the fact that I am an imperfect practitioner of my religion deter me from living my faith.
20. I will not let the imperfection of other people’s faith deter me from having faith.
21. I will accept beauty, fun, spontaneity, and companionship as signs of God at work.

“Jesus, King of Glory, remember me in your kingdom!”

I don’t know about you (and perhaps I am being a bit oversensitive) but it does strike me as just a little odd that this last Sunday of the Church’s year has come to be called the Feast of Christ the King... I mean, we Americans fought a revolution so that we would have a government without kings. And after the Revolution, it took a while for we Episcopalians to convince our fellow citizens that we weren’t singing “You’ll Be Back” to ourselves, secretly yearning to run back to King George to run things for us (“Da-da-da, dat-da, dat, da-da-da, da-ya-da….”)

But all the other churches who share the Revised Common Lectionary with us—which is, like, nearly everybody! — call today “Christ the King Sunday”, so let’s think about what kingship means for Jesus and for us.

Here in America we tend to think of royalty in much the same way we think of celebrities. So when we say “The King” we might think of a British monarch…or we must just as easily think of Elvis, the King of Rock ’n’ Roll. Or maybe Michael Jackson, the King of Pop. Before he was President, Donald Trump was called the King of Wall Street. There are the Los Angeles Kings, the Sacramento Kings, king snakes, kingfishers, king crab, chicken a la king, king of the mountain, the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, The Kings of Leon, B.B. King, Stephen King, and Burger King. There’s King Arthur flour, Carole King, king salmon, the Lion King, the King James Bible, and Steve Martin sang “King Tut.”

Being a “king” may be “king-sized” which might seem like a bargain but does not necessarily demand our obedience. And while may not have a king, we certainly live in a culture that demands our allegiance.

You may not know this, but as church feasts go, this one is a mere pup because Pope Pius XI first established the feast of Christ the King only a hundred years ago. 1925 was a time of gathering darkness throughout Europe and Asia, still recovering from the horror of the First World War, the world was beginning to be gripped by nationalist, secularist, anti-Semitic movements led by authoritarian fascist and communist dictators or wanna-be dictators that may look vaguely familiar to us today. Pope Pius’ goals were to refocus the Church, the Body of Christ on Earth, to remember that as disciples of Jesus before these ideas took hold. He taught that we are to serve the world as Christ did: loving God and all people as neighbors – even to the point of praying for and loving our enemies. Jesus’ reign is a reign of service, and our power comes from the Holy Spirit, and our task is to love others as our Risen Lord and King loves us.

Today we live in a world, with two competing yet parallel idols: Christian Nationalism, a profound heresy that defines Christian faith in nationalist and racial terms, as well as a culture that defines our values by the things we buy and have. The theologian Harvey Cox once said that our culture’s true civil religion is called “The Market,” which has evidently decreed that we will dispense with Thanksgiving and start that most holy of days “Black Friday” a day early!

Nathan Duggan who teaches Christian stewardship through a program called Share, Save, Spend reminds us that the National Retail Federation expects "About 33 million people will shop on the (thanksgiving) holiday itself, and a slew of retailers including Macy's, Wal-Mart, Target... and Kohl's will accommodate them."

We shouldn’t be surprised. Not really. Every week, the busiest retail day of the week is…right now. Sunday morning. And, as things are going, the busiest retail day of the year could become Thanksgiving Day itself instead of the day after.

Needless to say, this is a challenge for people of faith. Something that we must deal with every day—and (before we fall into pearl clutching…) we’ve had to deal with this for as long as there have been people of faith.

Which brings us to the feast today. If Christ is our King, if we are living in God’s reign, how can we, in the midst this planned frenzy, take the time to give thanks, to be with family, to come together as a community and remember who and whose we are?

It is hard in our world to make space for Sabbath, for thanksgiving. The world’s idea of a “holiday” is to take an extra day to do more with more intensity the same activities we do every day. 

This is one of many reasons that we end the Church’s year remembering Christ’s reign and Jesus’ Lordship. Every day we have to choose who we will we follow. And the fact that the world’s values clash with what God wants for us is not only not new—it is the very heart of the matter! It why Jesus came among us in the first place. \

We hear in today’s Gospel how Jesus was called a king. It was not the first time that holy week. Remember how Jesus rode into Jerusalem on a borrowed young colt trailed by a donkey, in the middle of do-it-yourself parade of cloaks and palms? Instead of a parade surrounded by soldiers and carried in by conquered slave, he was showing from the get-go that God’s reign, God’s kingdom was different. This did not make the powers that be happy. So at his crucifixion, when they hung the sign “This is the King of the Jews” on the cross to identify both Jesus and his crime it was an act of derision, an insult both to Jesus and to the Jewish people whom the Roman’s occupied. 

So the people witnessing Jesus’ crucifixion joined in the mockery, laughing at his failed and pathetic kingship. “He saved others,” they said. “Let him save himself if he is king of the Jews!” Even one of the criminals crucified with Jesus joined in. “Save yourself and us!” he says from his own cross.

Oddly enough, this mocking thief will get what he asks for…just not in the way he expects! Because while Jesus’ persecutors and prosecutors saw Jesus’ kingship as a political, an economic, or even a military kingship whose only measure was (and is) “how can you use your power to make more power?” Jesus instead saves the thieves—and us! By entering into the darkest places of our lives, where our deepest fears reside, and into death itself, and He reunites us with God, heals our broken souls, and makes us one with each other and creation. The very source of his humiliation and defeat becomes the means of Jesus’ glorification and of our salvation.

The other thief being crucified with Jesus saw this and said so. Tradition calls this so-called “good” or “repentant” thief Dismas. As these men meet each other on their points of their own death, Dismas says to his companion on the cross “Jesus, remember me when you come into your Kingdom.” Suzanne Guthries observed that a cynic might say that Dismas has nothing to lose by such a request besides some precious air in his lungs. But this is no hedging of bets. Dismas sees through the horror of the cross and sees the kingdom's throne. And Jesus manages to gasp out these words: “Truly, I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise.”

We baptized Christians are citizens of that very kingdom that Jesus welcomed Dismas into. We have through our faith and baptisms given ourselves to the One who created all things, rules all things, and animates all things. We believe that Jesus is God’s word who spoke all things into being and who will also speak all things into completion.

We are ambassadors of Jesus’ reign to this world and in our daily living we represent God’s reign, God’s time, to a world that is stuck in that weird collision of the humdrum and the crazy-busy. As we wrap up one Church year and move into a new one, we are confronted with the collision of the everyday world and God’s eternal reign.

So how we order our lives is very important. Will we choose to live in solitary reactivity or in Christian community? Will we pray only when things are tough and then only by ourselves or will we gradually and intentionally turn our prayer into a habit where even our private prayer is in concert with God’s people.

Do we choose to see the world as God’s and as our arena for mercy, compassion and service? Do we allow the rhythm of the sacraments to become our heartbeat and our breathing?

This is our challenge everyday as Christians, to remember that we live in God’s time, God’s reign, with Jesus as our Sovereign, our Lord, our Master. We are Jesus' friends and apprentices.

At this moment, we end one year and start a new one at the cross where God’s reign collides with and overcomes the reign of sin and death. And at this moment, our prayer is the same as that repentant, dying thief… in the midst of all the chaos of living, in the midst of all our choices past and yet to be made and even at the end, our prayer is the same. “Jesus, King of Glory, remember me in your kingdom!”

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Scripture for the Last Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 29, Year C, November 23, 2025

Website for Holy Trinity Episcopal Church, Clearwater, Florida

Learn more about the Diocese of Southwest Florida here

Here is the bulletin for the Last Sunday after Pentecost, Year C, November 23, 2025, Holy Trinity Episcopal Church, Clearwater, Florida.