Dancing with the Saints

Do you think you are good enough to be one God’s saints? Do you think you have what it takes?

What a strange question! Saints are really, really, holy people, right? Only special people, who meet strict criteria get to be called saints, right? You need a committee of really smart people, theologians and church historians, to see if a person qualifies to be a saint… and those applicants have to have answered prayers where their intercession was specifically invoked and where miraculous things happened as a result. We pray to Saints… well, more accurately we pray through the Saints, joining our intercession with theirs in our shared service to God in Christ. We name churches and sometimes cities, or colleges or hospitals for saints. We sit in churches surrounded by idealized painted, sculpted, or stained-glass images of saints.

Whew! Sainthood! It’s a pretty high bar!

The Episcopal Church has a calendar of saints. Saints like Catherine of Alexandria, who out-debated 50 pagan philosophers (more about her next week!); or St Francis and his sister St. Clair of Assisi; or Benedict of Nursia; and, of course, the apostles like Saints Andrew, Peter, John and all of the rest. More recently, we’ve added saints to our calendar: modern martyrs like Martin Luther King, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, and Jonathan Daniels, as well as Christian witnesses like Dorothy Day, founder of the Catholic Worker Movement.

We commemorate many saints alongside our Roman Catholic and Orthodox siblings, but some are unique to us as Anglicans: like George Herbert, the English priest and poet; Julia ChesterEmery, an American Episcopalian who founded the United Thank Offering, and another Episcopal lay-woman, Frances Perkins, a pioneering social worker who, among other things, created Social Security and the Department of Labor. In our own diocese, we especially remember the work and witness of Deaconess Harriet Bedell, who focused her work as a teacher to the Cheyenne, Athabascan, and Seminole peoples.

But in the Christian scriptures, the word “saint” is used much more broadly. The word “saint” appears 62 times in New Testament and the Apostle Paul used the term 44 times-- and not one of these times does he refers to a person for whom a hospital, college, parish, or parochial school might be named. In the New Testament, every follower of Jesus is a Saint, or in Greek "hagios", one of the holy ones. 

Yes, that’s right. You are a holy one! You are one of God's saints! Now how can that be? Being a person who believes in Jesus and says so out loud makes you a saint. A person who follows Jesus and through baptism is initiated into the Body of Christ and becomes part of the Christian community is a saint. All Saints Day is the day we recall, learn about, and pray for the the multitude of Saint

One of my very favorite images that illustrates this is found in the Episcopal Church of St. Gregory of Nyssa in San Francisco. There, the artist Mark Dukes led the congregation in painting the image of a band of saints dancing together above the sanctuary. (Learn more here.) I've not seen it in person (yet!) but I love the image!

Forget Dancing with the Stars, imagine dancing with the saints! The image brings to life what we heard this morning in John the Divine’s heavenly vision in Revelation, where it says,  

Then one of the elders addressed me, saying, "Who are these, robed in white, and where have they come from?" I said to him, "Sir, you are the one that knows." Then he said to me, "These are they who have come out of the great ordeal; they have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb."

We are called “saints” because of God's continuing incarnate presence among his people; it is God who is intimately and fully holy, it is God who came in the flesh in the person of Jesus who not only lived and walked among us but through God the Holy Spirit still dwells in the midst of His people. That presence permeates the entire community of faith.

Way back before the dawn of time, when I had been ordained about eight years and thought I knew everything, I read a novel which has stayed with me ever since because it illustrates the power of God to change hearts and the power of a changed heart. The book was Lazarus by Morris West, the third of his so-called ‘Papal Trilogy’ following The Shoes of the Fisherman and The Clowns of God. 

In this story, published in 1990, an old-fashioned, rigid and legalistic, but fictional Pope Leo XIV (not to be confused with the current American-born Pope who happens to have chosen the same name!) has a heart attack and, while in recovery from surgery, experiences a conversion. He is converted from seeing his faith as a rulebook and his job as enforcing rules and maintaining institutional authority and tradition, to the realization that the Gospel of Christ is communicated by and transforms lives through love. The drama of the novel is to watch his change of heart and see how the structures that he helped build resist the implications of his insight. In one scene, he looks out the window of the room (located in a hostel that is also a community for disabled children) where he is recuperating. What he sees is a vineyard at harvest-time being worked by both adults and children:

Suddenly here he was, on a hillside in Castelli, watching the grape pickers moving up and down the vine-rows, tossing the fruit into baskets, emptying the baskets into the cart hitched to the yellow tractor that would haul them to the crushing vats…. The scene was so lively, so full of human detail, that the Pontiff stood for a long while contemplating the simple wonder of it—and the bleak futility  of much of his own existence. This was where the people of God were to be found. This was how they were to be found, doing everyday things to rhythms of a workaday world. [1]

In the novel, the character of the Pope stands in for the whole Church. Whenever we are distracted into thinking that our evangelism is only about improving attendance; when our outreach is designed to make us feel better rather than allow us to be changed by the poor and those we meet; when we use our resources and time to look inward rather than allow us to see the face of Christ in the people God gives us, and whenever we refrain from using the tools of our time, talent, treasure, and relationships to represent Christ in the world, then we have made the mistake of thinking that our job as Christians is simply to survive and preserve the Church in the world. And when we do this, we are nothing more than empty jars.

It’s not our behavior, which is often less than perfect, that makes us saints but our living identity as Jesus’ people that makes us saints.

But let’s be careful here: in recognizing that we have already joined the glorious company of the saints in light by virtue of our faith and baptism, doesn’t mean that God has merely blessed our built-in biases and our life-long habits. As we hear in the Revelation of John today, God's voice thunders from heaven, "See, I am making all things new." We saints are being made new every day!

I remember a story that made me re-think and refine an understanding of sainthood that I carried around for years. It is the story of an encounter between a priest and Dorothy Day, the founder of the Catholic Worker movement, who died in 1980 at 83 years old. She was a champion for the poor and the working person and a bold activist for peace. During the 1970s, some priests were experimenting with the liturgy—trying to make it more accessible to ordinary people. One afternoon, a priest came into the soup kitchen where Dorothy Day was working. He wanted to offer a liturgy for the homeless, so he went into the kitchen and grabbed a mug from the pantry to use as a chalice. 

Day prayed throughout that mass and after the liturgy ended, she quietly got up and started to cleanse the vessels. Then, she walked outside with the mug carrying a shovel. 

A man followed her and asked her what she was doing. It is said she kissed the mug and then buried it. She told him that it was no longer a mug, but a chalice. It was no longer suited for coffee because it had held the Blood of Christ. She didn’t want anyone to mistake it for a mug again because once something holds the Body of Christ, it is no longer what it was. When the mug held the Blood of Christ, it changed its vocation forever. It could no longer hold anything less than Christ again.

Well, I love Dorothy Day and she is one of my great spiritual heroes, and I see where she was going and understand her sentiment but, in the end, I think I disagree. I think I would have put the mug back in the pantry, even knowing that it once held the blessed Sacrament. Allow me to explain.

Ever been to an antique store? My wife and I love to go around to find good antique stores. And when I hear this passage, I have this image of a variety of things that not only look cool and are fun to hold but also have stories and memories and history that are both unknown and tangible.

And sometimes you’ll find fine china next to mug collections with the eighth mug missing a handle. There might be playful cookie jars that look like cats sitting next to fine crystal. You get the idea. Here we have the power and light of God that spoke the world into being and changes hearts…carried around in the most amazing variety of containers, some gorgeous works of art and some of them cartoon jelly jars.

Our epistle today compares us to children, precious yes, but also rambunctious, insatiably curious, with a propensity for skinned knees, runny noses, and squabbling with siblings. Elsewhere, the Apostle Paul likens saints to earthen vessels that contain the holiness of God. He says that God chooses to communicate the salvation of the world and the healing of creation through everyday clay jars likes us. Containers that are easily chipped and easily soiled. Cups that, sorry Dorothy, might contain both coffee and sacramental wine.

This is completely consistent with what God does in Jesus Christ, isn’t it? In Jesus we see the fullness of God and the fullness of humanity brought together in one glorious, ordinary, life-changing, and everyday package!

So, if God knows that God’s glory and light will reside in such ordinary packages like you and me, then how does God expect revealing light, transforming power and healing grace to reach the rest of humanity? I mean, if we don’t look perfect and grand and have it together all the time, then how will God’s saving power possibly become known? How could we ever be called “saints?”

Well, it requires a change of heart, and practice, and patience to allow God’s transforming grace to make us new one step at a time. That is the everyday work of everyday saints like you and me.

I remember a children’s sermon I heard as a kid, and which I’ve repeated a few times over the years. You and me and all the saints are just like the stained-glass windows I grew up with. We are people through whom the light hines. We are dancing with the saints! God is making all things new, and we, who have taken on Christ in baptism are now holy vessels—chalices—who communicate Christ every day.

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[1] Morris West, Lazarus (1990, St. Martin’s Press, New York) p. 161-162

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This are the Bulletins for Worship for All Saint's Day: November 1, 2026 at St. Catherine of Alexandria, Temple Terrace, Florida. (For the 8 a.m. Liturgy) (For the 10 a.m. Liturgy)

Here is a video of the sermon.

Here are the Scripture Lessons for All Saints Day: Sunday, November 1, 2026.

Learn more about the Diocese of Southwest Florida here.

Learn more about the Episcopal Church here.

Everything for God's Purpose

Revised and updated.

Today’s Gospel lesson reminds me of an old story about the richest man in town.

Once upon a time, there a was a small town, and the richest man in town lived in a big house on a big hill overlooking the town, he was driven around in a big car, and he wore the best clothes, and ate the best food. If you were new to town or passing through and knew nothing else about this man, you knew he was the richest man in town. Well, one day the church in town got a new pastor and the church needed a new roof. The young pastor said to his vestry, “why don’t we ask the guy in the big house on the hill to contribute to our building fund? I’ll bet he could pay for the roof and maybe more!” The board members looked at each other knowingly, but shrugged and said, “sure pastor, give it a try.”

So, he goes up to the big house on the big hill and rings the doorbell, introduces himself to the butler and, after leaving him on the front porch for a while, he lets him in and brings him to the study of the wealthy man, who demands to know what the young pastor wants.

After explaining the church’s need for a roof and their list of deferred maintenance items, he asks the man to donate to the church. The rich man thinks for a moment, and says, “Well, I’d like to help, but I don’t think God wants my money.”

Puzzled, the pastor asks him how he knows that.

“Every week,” the rich man says, “I take a pile of cash, and I throw some it up in the air, and I tell God you can keep whatever you want, but it always falls back on the floor. So clearly God doesn’t want it.”

Sometimes, we have a hard time reconciling our money and our faith. Today’s Gospel is another example of that.

At this point in the Gospel of Matthew and in Jesus’ ministry, people are approaching Jesus with all kinds of questions. Some came to learn and some were there to challenge. And some folks posed questions meant to trip Jesus up with the hope that he would seem silly. Matthew’s Gospel tells us that the Pharisees got together with the Herodians because as much as they disagreed with each other, they both were suspicious of Jesus.

The people who approached Jesus represented two very different groups. The Pharisees did not want to give any money to their pagan oppressors and so were opposed to paying taxes to Rome. On the other hand, King Herod’s position of power, as king of Israel, came courtesy of the Romans, so even though the taxes were widely considered to be oppressive, the Herodians had a vested interest in keeping the Roman’s happy and that meant ‘pay the taxes.’ In their way, the Pharisees and the Herodians each reflected the horns of the dilemma.

These two groups wanted to know where Jesus landed… whose side he was on. The question they pose, “according to the Law of Moses, is it lawful to pay taxes to the emperor or not?” was meant to tease that out.

Would Jesus side with the Herodians (pay the taxes!) or with the Pharisees (keep the money…or at least put it one of the temple charities instead of shipping it off to Rome).

What was Jesus to do? Speak against the tax which would anger the Herodians and lead to a charge of treason against Rome? Talk up the tax which would anger and alienate most of the crowds that followed him, because they hated the Roman occupiers of their nation?

Well Jesus went another way. Think ahead to when Jesus would chase the money changers out of the outer courts of the Temple. They were in business because anyone making an offering at the Temple was required to exchange Roman currency for Temple coins, but for a price, kind of like those currency exchange booths at airports. You see, carrying the image of Caesar, who claimed divinity for himself, into the Temple was considered sinful idolatry. And there was money to be made at the table where Roman money was exchanged for temple money and back again. 

Which is why, when Jesus asks for a Denarius, at least one of his questioners reaches into his pocket or purse and hands it to Jesus. He shows how bound up they all were -- especially his challengers--  in a system that kept them down when he proves that at least one of the questioners was a hypocrite. 

Actually, I kind of envision a bunch of people in the crowd all producing a Denarius all at the same time! The coin Jesus asked to see was a silver Denarius with the image of Caesar on one side, and on the reverse, the image of a woman named Pax or personified peace. The coins were little portable graven images.

Jesus then asks the question that everyone in Israel could have answered without a coin in hand, “Whose head is this and whose title?” We don’t hear it in English, but word for “head” in the Gospel is “icon,” a Greek word better translated as “image.” The word “title” is better translated as “likeness.” When they answer Jesus’ question, saying that the image and likeness are “Caesar’s,” Jesus replies that they are to give back to Caesar what belongs to Caesar. After all, it’s his coin anyway, who cares?

Then Jesus gives the punch line: “give back to God the things that are God’s.”

I’ll bet when Jesus said this, immediately, everyone starts calculating in their head exactly how much we are supposed to give back to God.

Now before you pull out your phone’s calculator app, think about the word “icon” or “image” and the word “likeness.” Whose likeness is on the coin? For us, it’s Washington or another dead president. But whose likeness is on… us?

Jesus’ answer pointed his challengers to their Sabbath-school lessons: In Genesis 1:26-27, it says, “And God said, ‘Let us make humankind in our image, according to our likeness,’” and goes on to state, “God created humankind in his Image, in the image of God he created them; male and female he created them.”

The principle is this: Just as the coin has Caesar’s icon on it and so belongs to him, so we are made in the image and likeness of God, so we are God’s.  Jesus says “tax schmax! What we owe to God is far greater and far more important!”

This text is often used to talk about stewardship in terms of what you give to the church. But this is not a passage on the tithe. Tithing is good, and it is basic standard of giving for the Episcopal church, and I agree that we should all strive to meet that. But if giving 10 percent of our income is the only thing we do, then we would fall well more than 90 percent shy of the mark.

Jesus says that everything we have and everything we are belongs to God because we bear the image and likeness of God. In our faith and in our baptisms, we’ve been grafted into God’s vineyard, made part of God’s household, and are adopted into Christ’s family.

Jesus is teaching us that everything, 100% of what we have… and who we are… is to be used for God’s purposes.

Your house, use it for God’s purpose. Your car, use it for God’s purpose. Your credit, your stuff, and your savings are to be used for God’s purposes. Yes, clothe yourselves, have safe shelter, go from place to place safely and comfortably, save and spend wisely, enjoy and maintain what you have… and share it, knowing that it all belongs to God and God wants you and all you have to be used for God’s purposes! I am not saying to sign everything over to the church… that’s what cults and religious con-artists say. I mean that are to use we have for God’s purposes. 

So, what does that mean? Well, for starters: love God with all your heart, all your mind, and all your strength, and your neighbor as yourself. 

It also means caring for the world that we are placed in, taking care of the only planet we have and listening to the scientists who study and teach us about the place we call home, and which we charged by God from the very beginning to nurture and care for.

And, I must add, giving Caesar his due means also to hold Caesar accountable. In our country, that means vote, show up, tell your elected representatives at every level, local, county, state, and federal, what's going on and put the pressure on so that they act-- not for the sake of the wealthy donors, but for the people they represent.  Giving Caesar what is due Caesar and God what is God's comes together when we advocate for the powerless, the poor, the forgotten, and for the everyday ordinary citizen. That's why the Church can seem like such a gadfly sometimes, because if we don't speak up and work for the weakest and the poorest amongst us, who will? 

Jesus was not preaching benign disengagement, and we know that because he spoke to the wealthy and powerful, he rode into Jerusalem as a different kind of king, and on the cross he experienced the full wrath of the state, only to defeat both in resurrection and ascension, capped off with Pentecost. Reminding those in power that God is in charge and cares for all people and the whole creation, ain't easy, but it sure is biblical. 

You have been made in the image and likeness of God. In baptism, you have been marked as Christ’s own forever. What God wants is nothing less than to come and abide in your heart. God loves you. God keeps your picture in the divine wallet and on the heavenly refrigerator. Jesus did not care about the tax, because his real concern was that we live into being the image and likeness of the God who lovingly created each and every one of us.

We begin to live into the image and likeness of God by conforming our living to be more like Jesus’ life. Giving back to God through the church does matter—and so does paying our bills and our taxes—but it’s only the beginning.

To live more fully into that image and likeness of God that is in you, give your heart back to God – for it is God’s anyway. Our money is our power for good. Our voice is our power for good. We are called to use them for good. Our money allows us to care for ourselves, for our family, friends, neighbors, and even the stranger or the person across town or the globe who we’ve never even met. Our voice, our time, our creativity, our smarts and our skills are just as much our power for doing good. We choose to live and do business ethically. We don’t hoard out of fear, but we trust that God is at work even in the hidden places of our lives and is making us whole. Our time, talent, and treasure are the tools the people God use to do the work of God for the people gives to us.

The answer to the question “What are the things that are God’s which we are to give back to God?” is both simple and awesome all at once. The answer is, “You.”

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This is the Bulletin for Worship for The Twenty-first Sunday after Pentecost: October 18, 2026 at St. Chad's, Tampa, Florida.

Here are the Scripture Lessons for 21 Pentecost (Proper 24A) Sunday, October 18, 2026.

Learn more about the Diocese of Southwest Florida here.

Dressing for the party

Ever give a party and worry that no one will show up? Ever go to a party and wonder what you should wear? We’ve been hearing a lot about banquet halls lately, and on the tv you’ll see celebrities walking from the limos on red carpets waving to adoring fans.

Imagine getting an invitation from someone famous, let’s say King Charles III inviting us to a royal party. A smartly dressed person would show up at your door bearing a card that would read “the Lord Chamberlain has been commanded by the King to invite the holder to a celebration at Westminster Abbey, or perhaps the British Embassy, at 11 a.m. on such and such a day.”

Would you clear your calendar, find your best dress or tux (or morning coat, actually), hop on a plane and go? Or would you say “nah! Skip it!” lie on the couch and turn on ESPN or HSN instead?

Well, according to Jesus’ story in Matthew’s Gospel today, that’s exactly what happens! The king really wanted these people to come to his son’s wedding banquet, but they couldn’t be bothered, they had other work to do! Not only that, but some of the invited ones were also so annoyed by the invitation that they berate the messengers, beat them up, and even killed some of them!

But this really isn’t a story about a party. This is an interpretation of religious history and a discipleship story rolled into one. Matthew and his church took a parable of Jesus and made it into an allegory describing the history of God’s salvation, all to make a point about our place in the Commonwealth of God. And, just like last week’s Gospel lesson, it re-frames the story of God-at-work both in history and in their community in the present.

Today’s story goes like this, God has invited humanity to something great; first, God made a covenant with particular group of people to be God’s people and a light to the world. And now God is inviting everyone into the reign of God to live a new transformed life. 

But, if you ask me, the story takes a violent and gruesome turn (which is why, to be honest, this passage is one of my least favorite of all the Gospel stories). The harshness of this story contrasts sharply with the wedding banquet in the Gospel of John, which, in that Gospel, kicks off Jesus' public ministry. There Jesus turns water into wine. The contrast is striking!

Keep in mind, this really isn't Jesus talking, but the Gospel writer, whom we call Matthew, remembering a story Jesus told when he was talking to his congregation. So what probably started out as a Jesus story, like the one in John's gospel, or a Jesus parable, becomes something a bit different.

So when Matthew talks about the king killing the people who refused the invitation and destroying their city—my hunch is that this is Matthew’s church remembering something terrible and earth-shattering that happened which was still fresh in their memory, namely the destruction of Jerusalem by the Roman Empire in 70 CE. This ended Temple-based worship in Judaism for good and shifted the focus of both Judaism and Christianity to the local communities of the diaspora. I'm spitballing here, but I also wonder if they might also have been thinking about the destruction of Pompeii, a center of Roman arts and culture, when Mount Vesuvius blew its top just two years later. I wonder if they thought that maybe God was cleaning house? Personally, I don’t think God works that way, but maybe they were trying to make sense of those events?

In the story, the King here is God. The first messengers in the story who were sent out were the prophets, followed by Jesus, the King's son. The sending of servants out to bring in everyone both good and bad would remind that Early Christian Community and their mission to go out into the world. End of story, right? “They” are out! “We” are in! Hooray for us! Let the party begin!

Not so fast! You may have been invited off the street, but where’s your wedding garment? Why aren’t you dressed for the party? The sour note (for us anyway) is when the guest who is hauled in from the street is suddenly thrown out—not onto the street, but someplace far hotter—for not wearing the right party clothes to a party he never expected to attend! 

What’s up with that? We love the ‘welcome’ part of the story, but this other part, not so much! And, happy as I am, I am glad that this passage only shows up once every three years. 

But something occurred to me as I studied again the passage this week. I wonder if this story didn’t remind Matthew’s church of baptism?

Follow me here: in my last full time parish, the folks there did a few things at every baptism, some of which were new to me. In addition to making the promises that we all make—both as a candidate and as a community; in addition to baptizing the person with water in the name of the Father and of the Son and the Holy Spirit, and in addition to anointing the candidate with oil blessed by the bishop that tells us that we are “sealed by the Holy Spirit… and marked as Christ’s own forever,” we did three other things that were more or less unique to that congregation (at least to me!). First, everyone in that congregation signed a great BIG baptismal certificate, about 18” x 24” with beautifully calligraphy and suitable for framing. Everyone in the assembly promised to uphold the person in their baptism, and we put our promise in writing! We’d also give the candidate a little Easter candle that was lit from the Paschal candle, and was meant to be lit on every baptismal anniversary in their home. But after the baptism and anointing but before we presented the candle, we’d dress the newly baptized in a new white outfit.

All of this was done to echo what many Christian traditions have done since the very earliest days of the church, where the candidates took off their street clothes, got baptized from head to toe in their birthday suit (or close to it!) and then put on new white clothes. The new outfit symbolized the fact that as a baptized follower of Jesus they were a new person. They had, as the apostle Paul put it, ‘put on Christ.’

I wonder. Did Matthew’s community practice something similar during those very early days of the Christian Church? We know that baptism was a big deal in the early church. Archeologists have found ancient house churches that have a walk-in baptismal pool at the entrance. If that’s so, then I imagine that the wedding garment in Matthew’s story would remind everyone in his congregation of that new clean white baptismal garment and of their own baptisms. Whatever the case, the Gospel is telling us that none of us are party crashers. We are all invited and through our baptisms, we are dressed for the party!

Now I have a bone to pick with Matthew on the "thrown into outer darkness" bit. Some preachers say that perhaps the host had a closet full of white garments for under-dressed guests, the way some fancy restaurants or clubs have blazers on hand for guests in shirt-sleeves. I'm not sure I buy that. eIt sounds like the preacher trying to let Matthew (or Jesus) off the hook. And, if Matthew is talking about baptismal garments and somebody walks into the assembly improperly dressed, I don't think the ushers became bouncers, dropping their bulletins and throwing the guy out on the curb. To the extent that baptism is initiation into the church, fine; but at the end of the day, I think the people God welcomes will surprise and astound us.

The important part is that, we are also dressed for the street—for everyday life and the distractions that come with it. We wear grubby old jeans for doing chores. Or put on a business suit as if it is armor. We wear clothes that are dusty and stained with old habits and the ketchup that dripped from the burger we were eating while driving. We wear clothes stamped with a designer’s name that shouts “look at me!” Sometimes we wear clothes designed to dazzle, and sometimes we put things on meant to keep people away. But remember, even as we wear clothes for the street, as baptized people, we are also dressed for heaven and clothed for holy service!

In today’s epistle, the Apostle Paul writes from a jail cell urging his companions in Christ to rejoice and to stop worrying. He says, “Finally, beloved, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things.” This is much more than mere positive thinking! Paul is encouraging the Christians in Philippi to “put on Christ!” “Wear Jesus like your best outfit!”

Which brings us back to the question: Now that we’ve accepted the invitation, how do we dress for the party? Like a teenager trying to find just the right outfit for the big night out, we might find ourselves trying on several new outfits over the course of our lifetime and our life in Christ. We might try a pious look, or one of knowing irony. We might put on a happy face, an angry face or wear the blanc tableau.  

The party is not simply a soirée. It is our service to God and to all the people God’s made living in the world, the creation, that God has made. Our worship, our work, our stewardship is how we show off Christ in the world, and our study—as well as the celebrations and sacramental moments—are the party we invited to. The party is our life in Christ, and the banquet hall is the world.

Which makes putting on the “wedding garment” a lifelong process that includes intentional prayer, intentional stewardship, intentional service and worship. As Christians grow and mature, as faith becomes more and more woven into our being, we develop new holy habits of sacramental living, reading and learning scripture, discovering the skills of prayer, and the joy of generosity. In doing this, we are all the time putting on and wearing the wedding garment. We have accepted the invitation. We have been brought in off the street and stand in Christ’s festive banquet hall. And every day we are more and more being dressed for the party!

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This is the Bulletin for Worship for The Twentieth Sunday after Pentecost: October 11, 2026 at St. Chad's, Tampa, Florida.

Here are the Scripture Lessons for 20 Pentecost (Proper 23A) Sunday, October 11, 2026.

Learn more about the Diocese of Southwest Florida here.

The stone that keeps it all together

(Updated) Whenever I hear today’s Gospel story, I imagine one of those classic movie-trailers, where a narrator speaks with an ominous bass voice:

"In a world where God planted a vineyard, but where the tenants harvest terror, (insert here a dramatic pause for quick takes of mayhem and destruction) there seems to be no hope. But they can’t imagine what’s in store for them…when the Master returns!"

Jesus loved to use images that people could relate to. He talked of shepherds and sheep, women baking bread and cleaning house, builders building and travelers on the road. And vineyards! He loves images of vineyards like the ones in the Gospel of Matthew. Today’s lesson is a simple story but there’s a whole lot going on, so let’s look at the story one piece at a time:

This vineyard represents the world God made. It is the place where we are and where we live our lives. The question is what are we going to do with the vineyard we’ve been given?

The story goes that a landowner plants a vineyard, puts up a fence, dug a wine press, and erected a watchtower. This is like God at creation where God separated the water from the land; put creatures and people on the land; and gave us talent and the skill and then told us to take care of creation and use our creativity and smarts to do good things.

We are the tenants of creation, and the stewards of God’s farmland, just like how in Jesus’ day, the job of the tenant of the vineyard was to work the land on behalf of the owner.

In today’s Gospel, we hear that these particular tenants do a decent job. They took good care of the land. They enjoy it. The rub comes when they decide not to share, but to keep everything they harvest for themselves. They forgot whose vineyard it is and who they work for.

So, the landowner sent servants to collect what the vineyard has earned. This is like God who sent his holy prophets to his people. And yet the people didn’t listen. They rebelled, and sinned, and transgressed the law – again and again and again.

At last, the owner sends his son, saying, “They will respect my son.” Of course, they don’t. In their greed and pride, they kill the heir. Having done that, they have finally incurred enough of the owner’s wrath that he sends in the police—or more precisely the army—to evict the tenants. After kicking them out (cue the quick takes of the hero taking on the thugs), he hires new stewards to care for, and probably repair, the vineyard.

Clearly, this whole story is an allegory written to help a young church, a generation or three removed from the actual ministry of Jesus, understand the how and why of God’s salvation. They are making a case for not only why the covenant with the Jews is now extended to Gentiles, but it’s also making a case that, if we’re not careful, we could just as easily lose it all.

Ever since this Gospel story was first recorded two millennia ago, a debate has raged in the church: which is more important, charisma or order? Which would we rather have, the discipline of order—knowing the rules and who’s boss—or openness to the charism of the Spirit of God? Sometimes the battle has been my kind of order is better than yours, and I know it because God told me so (nyah)! Matthew seems to be landing on the side of order (unlike Luke who is All Spirit All the Time), and, frankly, I think that this time Matthew is on the wrong side of the argument.

Let’s go back to the story and I’ll show you why.

The landowner’s son in today’s Gospel represents, of course, Jesus. And Matthew has Jesus telling this story on his journey to the cross. Jesus is in Jerusalem and Matthew shows him teaching in the temple, where he’s overturned the seller’s tables and thrown the moneychangers out on their ears. The bad guys are incensed and, twirling their mustaches and looking evil, are plotting Jesus’ demise. Matthew’s church remembers Jesus’ story not just for the melodrama but mainly to describe what God has been up to in Jesus and in building up his church.

And then we hear Jesus changing metaphors and calling himself a stone…a stone tossed in the trash hear because it isn’t the right shape…but instead becomes the keystone, the cornerstone of something entirely new. Again, Matthew is not only describing Jesus but the whole church. It is not just Jesus who was rejected given up for dead, but lots of people. And all of them are being used by God for something new.

The early church liked the image of the rejected stone winning out, because it appears in the Gospels and in 2 Peter, in other words from very early in the church’s life and for a long time after. And we’ve heard it, too, over and over again – in stories, in sermons, in the examples of faithful people in our lives and in our everyday experiences. And yet, despite the repetition, we go right on doing what we’ve always done! The good news is that God never gives up on us.

In Christ, God comes to broken, stubborn and ignorant humanity, and gives us forgiveness, direction, hope, power, and strength to keep on learning, growing, and trying anew.  The rejection and apparent defeat of the cross is not the end of the story. Jesus’ resurrection and the gift of the Holy Spirit God shows us that we are still writing this Gospel story. God’s story and ours are not over yet. There is still time for change, still time for new plot lines, still time to introduce new characters.

Today is the 800^th anniversary of the death of St. Francis of Assisi, and his feast is observed in several traditions besides Catholicism, including, among others, the Old Catholic Churches, the Evangelical Lutheran Churches, the Church of England, the Anglican Church of Canada, and the Episcopal Church. Pope Leo XIV wrote of Francis: “His life was one of continuous self-emptying: from the palace to the leper, from eloquence to silence, from possession to total gift…. In the poor, he saw brothers and sisters, living images of the Lord. His mission was to be with them, and he did so through a solidarity that overcame distances and a compassionate love.” Francis’ poverty was both intentional and relational: he chose to live with the poor, his intentional poverty convicting society of the sins of unintentional poverty imposed on our neighbors. “His holiness,” Leo wrote, “sprang from the conviction that Christ can only be truly received by giving oneself generously to one’s brothers and sisters.”

Another example happened during the Nazi occupation of Denmark more than eight-five years ago. Every day, the Danish king, King Christian the Tenth, rode his horse through the streets of Copenhagen, surrounded by applauding crowds. The occupation forces told him to stop, but he told the Germans that he would risk death to keep the swastika from flying over his castle, and they relented from displaying their flag there. They apparently did not want to provoke an uprising by arresting or killing their king. So, while they flew the Nazi flag from as many flagpoles as they could, it was never raised over the King’s palace. His defiance turned the king into the cornerstone of the remarkably successful Danish resistance.

The Danish resistance movement featured school children, amateur saboteurs, and clergy working with underground networks who kept the Nazi killing machine off balance for years. The Germans wanted normalcy in Denmark, even as the resistance movement worked through not only their refusal to fly flags, but also though strikes, work slowdowns, and all kinds of passive civil disobedience—as well as blowing up something every now and then, and helping downed Allied fliers—to deny them that. How successful were they? Well, one indicator of their success was how relatively few Danish Jews ended up in the Nazi killing machine because a significant number were hidden or transported to safety in neutral Sweden through the help of their fellow citizens.

Today, we live in a world that thrives on division and rage. Even Christian preachers, I am sad to say, will traffic in this kind of stuff because they think it will fill up auditoriums and eyeballs to their broadcasts and social media sites (and dollars in their pockets!). But these characters are forgetting something as they build their measly empires. They are forgetting the One who brings us together, holds us together, and how God really works in constructing his house and planting his vineyard.

You see, a cornerstone is not just a pretty brick decorative sometimes installed with great ceremony but  functions by balancing the weight of two adjacent walls, so that together they hold up the structure instead of falling over under their own weight or when the wind blows hard. Similarly, an arch stands up because the pressure of two stacks of stones meet at the keystone, which turns what otherwise would be the momentum to collapse into the strength to hold up a wall even when we punch a hole in it for a doorway or a window. Just so, sometimes two oppressed or conflicted groups, or a seemingly unorganized group like a congregation, achieves unity because they want to realize the same audacious vision because Christ is the keystone and their solid foundation.

Jesus ups the ante when he reminds us that this keystone was plucked out of the rock pile. Discarded but now essential.

So, what’s your story? How has God turned the pressure points in your life into the building blocks of a renewed life? How has God flipped over your heart and turned loss, chaos, worry, or hopelessness into an everyday holiness that undergirds your life, however slight it may appear? Who in your life of faith has built you up and helped you stand even when things seemed to be falling apart around you? Over and over again, just like today’s Gospel images of vineyards and cornerstones, Jesus shows us that God takes what has been cast aside, trashed, stolen, or ridiculed and turns it into a lively, growing, transforming life of faith. All of us are invited—called—to take part in God’s work in God’s world, in God’s vineyard. But most important of all, it turns out that we are the very harvest we work for.

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This is the Bulletin for Worship for The Nineteenth Sunday after Pentecost: October 4, 2026 at St. Chad's, Tampa, Florida.

Here are the Scripture Lessons for 19 Pentecost (Proper 22A) Sunday, October 4, 2026.

Learn more about the Diocese of Southwest Florida here.

Change that changes lives

Just what does Jesus want?  Reading through the Gospels, like Matthew’s, can be little confusing at first glance. First, Jesus welcomes losers and outcasts but, at the same time, he wants perfection. He turns aside righteous rich people and yet he eats with notoriously bad and corrupt people. What’s up with that?

Today’s Gospel points the way: Matthew tells us that there is one thing that Jesus the rabbi, Jesus the preacher and teacher, wants from his followers above all else. And that is change. But not just change from one side of some aisle to another. What Jesus is after is change that makes a difference. Jesus talks about change that changes people.

Well, nothing makes us all warm and fuzzy inside like being told we have to change, right? Especially folks like us. How does the old joke go? How many Episcopalians does it take to change a lightbulb? Change?

I get it, but don’t panic. Jesus is looking for something more than simply good behavior or new year’s resolutions.

Let’s look again at today’s Gospel which happens in the context of two familiar stories: Just before today’s lesson, Jesus entered Jerusalem in triumph: the humble king who rode a donkey. People at once shout “hosanna in the highest” and yet also ask “who is this person?” Then, Jesus goes to the temple and famously cleans house, driving away the dealers and the money changers that have taken up the space in outer courtyard, while at the very same time he healed the blind and the lame. These are the catalyst for today’s Gospel.

Jesus, the humble king, the fighting healer, meets the religious elders and the scribes who ask him, “what the heck are you doing?” Or, in Bible-speak “by what authority do you do this?” Jesus, in good rabbinical style, will answer their question if they answer a question of his own: did John the Baptist do what he did under God’s power or his own? This causes them to do what political and religious leaders from time immemorial have done: they punt. They say a study has been commissioned. Actually, they shrug and say “We don’t know.” Well, Jesus says, if you don’t know, you don’t know.

Why’d they shrug? Well, if they say John the Baptist came from God then Jesus will ask them something awkward like “Well, then, why didn’t you pay attention?”

That’s exactly what Jesus does—but he goes one step further than John the Baptist. Jesus’ parable about the two sons describes God at work in people, not just in one prophet. All around us, lives are being changed by God for the better and still, Jesus says, you cannot see.

Now comes Jesus’ next allegory, the one we heard this morning: A father has two sons and a vineyard. He says to one son, go and work today and he says “No!” but then this first son changes his mind and works anyway. He says to the other son, go and work today and this second son says “Sure! You bet!” but instead goes away and does nothing. So, Jesus asks, which son did the father’s will? Well, the religious leaders say, obviously the first son—the one who did the work.

Jesus invites the leaders to look around and see that lives are being changed—no matter how unsavory they may seem. These folks are like the first son, who will enter the Kingdom of Heaven faster than the people who act like the second son—those religious folk who think they are saying “yes,” but never change.

What Jesus is after is change that changes lives. The religious leaders understood what Jesus was saying, and except for a few exceptions, most apparently chose to be offended rather than reflective.

Which leads me to another question: Are you threatened by this? Are you the least bit uncomfortable by this news? Is it my imagination or did these pews just become a little bit harder? I don’t know about you, but the fancy duds I’m wearing right now feel a little warm right now, and this backwards collar I put on today seems a little, well, snug. Why?

Well, Jesus is saying that the addict asleep in the bus shelter, the person in the AA meeting, the people coming to our food giveaway, all those kids hanging out at the Wawa, and the guys at the beer bin or OTB may in fact be entering the Kingdom faster than me. And I must be honest: I don’t like it.

I need to calm down here. And there is nothing wrong with your pew. Jesus is not against religious people. He is not against anyone. What Jesus is for is change. Jesus reminds us that God seeks deep inner change that shows itself in significant outer change. Sometimes it happens the other way round, we change our behavior and a new heart that gets the message. However it happens, Jesus seeks change in heart, mind, and action that make a real difference in both our personal living and in how we are with one another. What does Jesus want? He wants change that changes lives.

Okay, so what does that look like? Let’s take a look at those two sons again.

Both of these guys need to change. The first son is the one who obviously changes—and we cheer him on—says “no” at first, but thinks better of it, turns around and does the work. He knows what is right and does it, even if he was at first grumpy and resistant. The second son needs changing, too. Because he knows what must be done but either by way of distraction or, perhaps, people pleasing or just plain old passive resistance, walks away from the work. The second son says “yes” but his heart—and his feet-- says “no.”

Both need to do the right thing: one needs to line up his will and his actions, and the other needs to line up his heart and his words. Either way, both need to change. The one who changes not only changes himself, but he also ends up making a difference to those around him.

What does Jesus want? He wants change that changes lives.

Hmm. It’s actually simpler than it looks.

There is always room for growth and change. No matter how faithful and how observant a person is, no matter how proficient a person may be at prayer, service, and knowledge in the Bible, there is always room from growth and change. Jesus was particularly hard on the elders and chief priests when they did not see in themselves the room for change—who thought they had this faithful living thing figured out and down pat. Jesus lifted up tax-collectors and prostitutes who not only changed, and began to the process of learning to live differently, who welcomed, however tentatively, the opportunity to change.

Start where you are, not where you are not. One of the reasons the big-wigs resented Jesus’ ministry is that he did not expect people to become perfect before he welcomed their change. There is an important lesson here: too often we put off our own conversion because we know we aren’t ready. Deadly Temptation Alert! None of us are ready. Get over waiting to be ready. Don’t worry about getting your spiritual or emotional ducks in a row! God knows we are not ready, that’s why we need to change! Because God always starts where we are, right now and no place else.

The point of Godly change is to make a positive difference in the lives of others. The purpose of Godly change is to make a difference in God’s creation. This is not self-help. We are not converted as part of a three-step process of self-improvement. We are changed to become God’s visible face, tangible hands and beating heart in a world that desperately needs blessing, help, and justice. One way that we will know that we are becoming the people God made us to be is when we find ourselves making a positive change in the lives of the people around us.

And that will happen on many levels. Lives will be blessed. We will uphold the dignity of others. We will defend and befriend those who have no friends. We will care for those who have no one to care for them. We will visit the lonely. We will hold our leaders, both political and religious, accountable when they, in our name, make policies that ignore or exploit or harm the poorest and most defenseless around us. We will know we are changing when we see others around making a difference in the lives around them. We will know we are changing our vision and our hearts when we will rejoice that people are changing and orienting their lives to God even if—especially if—they are not at all like us. When we don’t mind what religion they follow, or who they vote for, or where they hail from, but see them as the people God made and loves unconditionally.

What does Jesus want? It’s not so strange after all! Jesus wants us to change in a way that changes lives—so that we will in action and intention—make a real, positive difference in the lives of the people God gave us.

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This is the Bulletin for Worship for The Eighteenth Sunday after Pentecost: September 27, 2026 at St. Chad's, Tampa, Florida.

Here are the Scripture Lessons for 18 Pentecost (Proper 18A) Sunday, September 6, 2026.

Learn more about the Diocese of Southwest Florida here.

Work and Grace in the Vineyard

Stop me if you’ve heard this one: A minister died and went to heaven. You know…the usual picture: He is standing in a long line of potential saints waiting to be vetted by St. Peter at the pearly gates. He looks ahead of him and sees a strange assortment of people, in particular the guy right in front of him, a guy named Mort, a New York taxi driver. He was short, unshaven, wearing a ball cap and a stained t-shirt. He smoking a cigar and spoke very gruffly with words like “Hey! Will ya hurry it up, up there?” and “I ain’t got all day!” 

The pastor thought, as he straightened the lapel on his black clerical suit, this should be interesting.

When Mort finally got to the lectern, he was warmly greeted by Saint Peter, who reached into an ornate jeweled box, and gave him a beautiful white and golden robe, a jeweled crown and with the words “Well done, good and faithful servant,” as he was led into heaven, with angel choirs singing as he was ushered in. 

Then the minister stepped up. Peter looked the pastor up and down over the top of his spectacles, with a “hmph.” Read over the list, uttering a series of grunts and clicking his tongue as he went. Sighing, he signals the pastor forward without looking up. Reaching down into a cardboard box on the floor, he gave the minister a terry cloth bathrobe, a pair of worn out fuzzy slippers, and a paper crown. He was then handed off to a tired old angel with a flashlight and a kazoo who just looked at him and grunted, and played an off key tune as he’s led to a side door. 

“Hey!” the pastor protests. “What’s the deal? I am a priest of the church! I preached the word of God and cared for the church! That … guy!... ahead of me gets the crown, the white robe, and the scepter…, and… and all I get is…is…this?”

Peter looks up from his book, sighs, and says “Look, here in heaven we look for results. When you preached, people slept. When Mort drove, people prayed.”

We all want life to be fair, especially to us. When we don’t get what we think we deserve, we feel cheated and resent the unfairness, the person getting what we wish we had, and the one giving out the prizes. 

The essence of Jesus’ teaching today is that God gives his grace and favor equally. We learn that God welcomes both those who are new to the Church and those who have observed the rules, rites, and traditions for a long time with equal fervor. This is never an easy lesson to hear: that the logic of country clubs, concerts, and fine restaurants, is not God’s logic. The economy of grace is different than the one we’re used to. Matthew remembered Jesus’ story because he was dealing with an early Christian community that was filled with two distinctly different groups of believers: Jewish Christians who carried with them both the covenant of the patriarchs and prophets alongside the new covenant in Jesus Christ. And there were recent converts, many of them Gentile who were Gentiles unfamiliar with the heritage and lineage of Israel. 

The early church had to cope with this. Much of the real estate of the New Testament, particularly in Acts and in Paul’s letters, are taken up with this question. Do the followers of Jesus who were also Jews, members of the Original Covenant People, have a higher standing in the community and before God than these new, Gentile, converts?

In our day… which is better? We “cradle Episcopalians” or people from other traditions who’ve come to our church and tradition late in the game? Or, even more, what about those folks who come to our church “just” for the 12-step groups, or the feeding programs, or to the Thrift Store? Or who just walked in the door not knowing anything about this churchy stuff?

Well, when you put it that way… I suppose we have to admit that the doors are open to everyone. And that God’s welcome and grace extends to strangers, visitors, newcomers, and long-timers alike. 

And there is an ethical component to this as well. If we start deciding who deserves or needs God’s grace and love more than others, then we not only risk putting ourselves in the place of God, but we start to neglect the health of our own souls and spirit as well as the spiritual lives of those seeking after God.

But there is still that nagging question of fairness. We can’t shake it! We struggle with fairness in the workplace, at school, and in our daily living. We hear it from kids complaining about “fairness” to grown ups wanting their piece of the pie.

We also struggle spiritually. Some religions have a hierarchy of heaven depending on how good or well-behaved you are or believe that what you are in this life depended on how good or bad you were in the last. Some traditions, even some Christian ones, set up a kind of hierarchy of grace that will determine how quickly one can get into heaven or if you’ll be stuck in a cosmic waiting room. Whatever. We can’t seem to get past the idea that God only loves us in proportion to our goodness. 

But Jesus has a different idea. He says that there is plenty of work in the vineyard. And it is all important work. Furthermore, there is plenty of grace to go around, too. The vineyard is big enough for all of us…long timers and newcomers both!

There is a message of comfort and hope to the late comers. So often I have heard people tell me that they wish they could pray, receive the sacrament, have faith, but they tell me, often with a sad shake of the head and a touch of resignation, that it is too late for them. But it’s never too late! What we learn from Jesus today is that whether we come to faith and come the vineyard early in the day or late, we are all called in and we all receive the same reward. It is not too early and it is never too late for any of us.

And there is a calling to and a message for long-timers: God wants all of us to share in his bounty, to apart of the family of God and community of Christ’s people. And while we are tempted to think of ourselves as more deserving or more worthy because of time served, that is not the point. The vineyard, God’s kingdom, is for everyone. And our job is not be gatekeepers or bouncers at the club, but inviters, ushers, and greeters, beckoning and welcoming people in.

Those of us who have been walking the faith walk longer than others have a job, and that is to help invite people into the vineyard before the day is done, give support and help to those who are new to the vineyard, and assist those who come after us, as well as those who are old hands, to become proficient workers in God’s vineyard. 

When we help someone to pray, or help them discover their gifts, or are present to someone in trouble and when we as a community are open to the enthusiasm and energy of people who, out of all expectation, have been called into the vineyard, then we are adding measure upon measure to the riches we have already received. 

Jesus teaches us that there is plenty of work in the vineyard

, that we all share the same wage—new life in Christ—no matter how long we’ve been at it, and that all of us, no matter how new or experienced we are, we all have much to learn, prayers to make, gifts to share, and lives to touch as the friends and apprentices of Jesus that we are.

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The Scripture for the Seventeenth Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 20A, September 20, 2026

St. Mary's Episcopal Church, Dade City, Florida 

Bulletin for the liturgy at St. Mary's, Dade City, FL

Reconciliation is the Main Thing (Part One)

Today’s Gospel is different. There’s more—and less—than meets the eye. Let’s dive in. 

The Gospel passage I just read only shows up in Matthew—and we hear Jesus say a word that won’t show up in the Bible until Acts or the epistles. Jesus says “church.” I see you shrug… so? Isn’t church all about Jesus, and shouldn’t Jesus be all about “church?” Well, yeah, except why would Jesus be talking about church discipline when the church hasn’t been invented yet? 

I mean, the gathering of believers won’t become “the church” until after Pentecost, and by then Jesus has already been resurrected and ascended. So why is he talking about a person in “the church who might sin against us,” when there isn’t yet a church?

The Gospels that we have in the Bible were gathered up by at least four different gatherings of Christians way after Jesus’ death, resurrection, and ascension. It did not take long for those first Christians to start gathering their memories and re-telling what Jesus taught and did, and then some folks wrote it down. The Gospels record Jesus’s actions, values and teachings, and they guided early Christian communities in how to live and minister together, in this case the community that brought us Matthew’s Gospel.

So, knowing that, let’s listen again.

Jesus said: If another member of the church sins against you, go and point out the fault when the two of you are alone. If the member listens to you, you have regained that one. But if you are not listened to, take one or two others along with you, so that every word may be confirmed by the evidence of two or three witnesses. If the member refuses to listen to them, tell it to the church; and if the offender refuses to listen even to the church, let such a one be to you as a Gentile and a tax collector. (Matt. 18.15-17)

Some people and churches use this passage as a procedure guide for how to throw someone out of their congregation. I don't think that's what's going on here. It's about keeping people in community, not exiling folks from it.

What we have here is guidance for when folks in one of these new Christian communities get mad at each other. It’s what to do when members have a beef. And, trust me, whenever two or three are gathered together, someone is going to have a beef, or get their nose bent out of joint, or get offended or offend someone. As long as the church is filled with humans, it’s going to happen. So here is some guidance as to what to do when that comes up.

But though this passage is speaking to a post-resurrection community, I’m pretty certain its roots go back to the fact that in his earthly ministry, Jesus had to deal with followers who didn’t agree or didn’t get along or who did dumb things or who were just plain wrong. So, I am thinking that when they were organizing Matthew’s church and this stuff came up, they asked themselves, “what would Jesus do?” Or, at least, “what would Jesus say?”

It may come as a shock to you, but these problems haven’t gone away. You may not know it but there is fine print in the Book of Common Prayer, where the Episcopal Church lays out a procedure for excommunication. It’s on page 409. And since the BCP is a constitutional document, that’s a pretty big deal.  But there is also rites for reconciliation, commonly called confession, that are equally good places to start.

Now in my 44 years of ministry, I’ve never ever used the “disciplinary rubric.” But I have dealt with a pinch or two in community. I have found that it’s pretty common for people to get into conflict over little stuff. It might be over something operational, like service times, or the style of the service, how we spend our money, or over who does what in the parish, or who gets to decide this or that. Maybe it’s about who wants to get married, or if we should host a 12-step group…I could go on. I don’t know, but I’ll bet you know what I mean.

But before we get caught up in the weeds the procedure, notice what Jesus doesn’t say. First, he doesn’t say, “If someone sins against you, you should sulk, pout, moan, make everyone else miserable, cut your pledge, call your lawyer and swear before God and anybody else around that you’ll have nothing to do with that no-good so-and-so until he or she crawls up to you begging your totally undeserved forgiveness.” It doesn’t grant us permission to abuse the other person, call them names, or turn them into a punching bag. It doesn’t say you should flood social media with accusations, light up the phone lines, send out a flock of e-mails, tweets, and Facebook posts, use AI to create cruel memes, whisper vile things about the offender, move to another church, or write a nastygram to the bishop. Neither Jesus nor Matthew say to do any of that.

Instead, we are taught that if you are wronged, if you are the one hurt, then you are the one who needs to take the initiative for forgiveness and reconciliation. Even if, maybe especially if, it isn’t even your fault. That’s what the Gospel says. The first step in your search for forgiveness and reconciliation comes from you—even if that doesn’t seem fair.

And it isn’t just the offended party who has to make the first move. Remember the Prodigal Son over in Luke (15:11-32)? The dad didn’t send out a search party, but when the son came to his senses and decided to come home and ask forgiveness, before the repentant son even gets to blurt out his prepared speech, the father meets him. And the father also meets the faithful son as he sulks in his room. Reconciliation is found in the act of meeting.

Reconciliation may not happen when the two parties totally agree. It may start when both sides simply decide to stop fighting about it. Not sweep it under the rug, just not allow it to define our relationship.

Sometimes we need help. Maybe the first step is to talk to a priest, maybe for counsel, maybe for confession, as a first step towards healing the breach. The twelve steps of AA talk about this: Steps 5 through 10 are all about reconciliation in dealing with our recovery and taking responsibility for the harm our addictive behavior may have caused.

Jesus’s teachings on forgiveness, reconciliation, and restoring relationships never seem fair. At least not at first. He always asks us to do more than we know we should. In fact, it is in the very next verse after today’s Gospel lesson, Jesus tells Peter to forgive, not 7 times but 7 times 70 times, which is Bible-speak for “always.” (Matthew 18:22).

I wish today’s passage was a magic bullet. I wish I could tell you following it will mean everything will end with a sentimental moment like at the end of a Lifetime movie. Doing this, or something like it, won’t necessarily make the other person either act better or repent. They might not even like us and they might even choose to hang on to their hurt or never change their hurtful behavior. And while we might choose to steer clear of each other for a while for our own sense of safety, none of this is why Jesus teaches us these lessons. Jesus tells us to act this way because this is how God acts toward us, and he is teaching us to imitate God every day.

When things get rough, we are invited—urged, commanded, even!—to make the first move toward reconciliation, no matter whose fault it is, no matter what we think is the fair thing to do. As with some other things Jesus says, we don’t have to like it, but we do have to do it. Or, at the very least, we need to take what Jesus says very, very seriously.

Notice that in this passage is that accountability is not a one-way road. In taking it to the church, or I must add, maybe to a therapist or a mediator instead, we might discover that the one who needs to get off his high horse… is me! Or maybe we both need to settle down. Or maybe to relax and not try to make other people behave the way we want. The community, in whatever form, may have wisdom that hasn’t occurred to the injured parties. However it happens, it requires an open heart, trust in the process, patience, and a sense of safety for everyone involved. Whatever the process, reconciliation is the goal.

In these days of “my way or the highway,” the Gospel insists that the common good—the overall health and quality of the community, the family, the group—has a strong positive claim on us. Seeking such common good takes priority over our own satisfaction, our anger, or our sense of what we deserve.

[I will never forget once watching a mother deal with two squabbling siblings. Both of them brought their case to their parent, with all the drama that kids can bring. The mother listened to both and realized that both kids were right, and that they were both wrong. So, she sat them down and said, “Listen: you have only one brother and you have only one sister. I love you both. Please work it out. Then tell me what you decide.” I was impressed. Because I might have blown the whistle and sent both kiddos to the penalty box or arbitrarily taken a side just to make the problem go away. But the family, the relationships, were more important, and putting the problem where it belonged was a good first step.]

A few weeks ago, I got called into jury duty over a civil dispute rooted in an event that took place more than seven years ago. I was the alternate juror, so I got sent home before deliberations began, but while I was listening to the evidence presented by both sides, this passage was rattling around my head.

When somebody sins against us—when there is trouble and conflict—it’s not just the two (or more) people most directly involved whose welfare is at stake. The whole community’s welfare is at stake in how things are handled.

We tend not to think this way these days. But this passage, along with the other ways Jesus dealt with his followers, suggests otherwise. He suggests that “we” comes before “me.” What an odd thought. It’s worth pondering a bit.

The passage talks about church discipline, but it is really about living in relationship and in community, whatever community that may be. And the good of the whole community is at the center of our interactions, even when—especially when—we’re in a pinch.

So, what do we do about that last part of the passage? The part about when someone refuses to listen? It says, “let such a one be to you as a Gentile and a tax collector.” It does not mean that the other person is a pariah, or that we must be estranged. No, it is a reminder that the Church’s ministry of love, reconciliation, and hope is for everyone. Even for—especially for—the people who drive us the most crazy, or the ones we have a beef with. Remember how Jesus ate and hung out with Gentiles and tax collectors? He didn’t say, “but only if you straighten up and fly right, first!” He sat down and ate. Some people didn’t get that, but the ones who up until then were on the outside looking in sure got it.

Which may be why Matthew included this bit of teaching. Tradition says Matthew was himself a tax collector. Maybe that’s why he stuck this passage in, and not the other three gospel writers? Whatever the case, reconciliation is for everyone. Especially for the people who drive us the most bonkers.

How we work out our pinches is important because they can point us toward the way of Jesus, reminds us of how we have been reconciled to God, and teaches us to become bit by bit, by the grace of God, reconcilers in a divided world.

(Stay tuned for Part Two next week! - atg+)

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This is the Bulletin for Worship for The Fifteenth Sunday after Pentecost: September 6, 2026 at St. Chad's, Tampa, Florida.

Here are the Scripture Lessons for 15 Pentecost (Proper 18A) Sunday, September 6, 2026.

Learn more about the Diocese of Southwest Florida here.