Keeping Calm and Faithing On: A Homily for the Second Sunday of Lent

 Preached at All Saints, Collingwood, and St Luke’s, Creemore, Anglican Diocese of Toronto, on 1 March, 2026, the Second Sunday in Lent.   Texts for today:  Genesis 12:1-4A; Psalm 121; Romans 4:1-5, 13-17; John 3:1-17

 

“… in the presence of the God in whom [Abraham[ believed, who gives life to the dead and calls into existence the things that do not exist”.  (Romans 4:17

This last week I went to a Town of Collingwood event on heritage buildings and how to look after them, which was interesting and useful, because our parish has two heritage buildings.   But it also occurred to me that our faith has a heritage aspect, in that it is handed down by those who have gone before us.  

It would be interesting to go around the church this morning and hear your stories of how you came to believe.   Maybe for some it was a personal decision, reached entirely independently of anyone else, though I suspect that such cases are rare.  For most of us, I would be willing to bet, our faith depends on the faith of someone who was an example to us.   Perhaps it was a priest, or a Sunday school teacher, a friend or a neighbour, or somebody you read about.  Whoever it was, somebody’s belieif, their acts of kindness and encouragement, their serenity in the face of adversity, or some combination of those things, made us more willing to believe in God and to follow Jesus.

So history is important because our faith as Christians is founded on the past.   As John Kirby reminded us in the latest issue of All Saints Alive, our vestry meeting last Sunday was the 170th such meeting in our parish’s history.   Today I’ll be going to St Luke’s, Creemore, for their vestry meeting, and they’ve been holding vestry meetings for 175 years.   Vestry season reminds us that we are here because of the faith, labour, and generosity of those who went before us.   As the hymn “The Love of Jesus Calls Us” puts it, we are blessed by “the generations who faithfully believed”.

The idea of spiritual ancestors who have handed down their faith to us is a prominent theme in hymns and also in scripture.   The Book of Hebrews in the New Testament, for example, includes a long section which is a sort of religious Hall of Fame of heroes of the faith that we can look to for inspiration.   And in our second reading today from Romans, Paul is focusing on Abraham as a model of belief for all believers.

Romans is in part a letter that tries to reconcile Jewish and non-Jewish (gentle) followers of Jesus in the small house churches of Rome.  Paul’s stategy here is to help these disparate believers to find common ground by pointing to their common ancestor, Abraham.  This is a bold strategy because Jews regarded themselves as children of Abraham and Paul is saying, actually yes, you are, but Abraham was not really Jew, all the law that God gave to Moses for the Jews came later.  Abraham, or Abram, as he was known then, was just a good man who believed in the promises of God, and likewise, gentlies can be good people who are saved because they believe in the promises of God.

And if we look at our first lesson, Paul is right, Abraham is truly a model of heroic faith.   Consider the story that Genesis tells.  Abram as he was known then didn’t know God at all.  He wasn’t a Jew because Judaism didn’t exist yet!  But when God called, Abram listened and obeyed, even though the request was incredible.  To just up and leave your kinfolk in the ancient world was unthinkable.  Your kin and clan guaranteed protection and belonging.   Abram was being asked to leave all that security behind.

Furthermore, God asks Abram to go to “the land that I will show you” (God doesn’t say where it is and what it’s like, he just promises that there will be a land at the end of the journey) and God further promises that “I will make of you a great nation, and I will bless you, and make your name great” (Gen 12:    ).  How precisely God will do that when Abram and his wife Sarai are both 75 is not explained either.   Going on a bus tour or cruise with a well defined itinerary and amenities is one thing, but I’m not sure many of us senior citizen types would be keen on the kind of trip that God asks Abraham to embark on.

So yes, for Paul, Abraham is a spiritual ancestor who showed great faith and in turn received God’s grace and generosity in making him the founder of religions and, in a way, the founder of our church.   But Genesis leaves so much unside.  Was Abraham troubled by doubts as he packed his camels?   How did that conversation with Sarah go when he told her they were moving and going to …only God knows where?  What did Abraham’s son  Lot think about this?  And at night, in his tent, in the middle of the wilderness, what went though Abraham’s head?  Did he wonder if he might just have gone mad?

One of the helpful things I read this week was to think of the word faith as a verb, as in, “to faith”.   To faith, or faithing, can be understood as a process.   Think of faithing as putting one foot in front of another, one day after the next, trusting that God is both leading us and travelling with us.  Faithing is Jesus sending the disciples out to heal diseases and to preach.   Faithing is God journeying with us when our vision is clouded by doubts and sadness, as when the risen Jesus walks alongside the two disciples on the way to Emmaus.  Faithing is that Psalm 23 walk through the dark valleys that our lives sometimes take us through. Faithing is the the perseverance of a congregation meeting for yet another vestry meeting and yet another year of keeping the lights on and the doors open.

Keeping the lights on and the doors open is an example of faithing.   We do it because like Abraham we believe in the goodness of the God that keeps calling us to a better place.  We do it because we believe, like Paul, that God keeps wanting to add new members and new people’s to the family of God.  We do it because we want to honour the faithing of the generations before us who have brought us to this place.   

And we keep the lights on and the doors open because we believe in the God who does wonders, who, as Paul said, “gives life to the dead and calls into existence the things that do not exist”.   Someone once said that tradition is the living faith of the dead”.  We have been given a living faith handed down by are those who have ceased their journey and who are not dead, but merely resting in God’s care.

This season of Lent is long enough that it is often compared to a journey,   Our Lenten journey will take us to Easter and the empty tomb is , will take us to a place where God will do new things and create a new existence where death and sorrow will be no more.   We make this journey not as heroes but as ordinary people that God believes in even when we struggle to believe in God.  And so,in that spirit,  let us keep calm and faith on.  

The Temptations of the Church: A Homily for Vestry Sunday:

A Homily for the First Sunday of Lent, preached on Vestry Sunday at All Saints, Collingwood, Anglican Diocese of Toronto.  Readings for Lent 1A: Genesus 2:15-17, 3:1-7; Psalm 32; Romans 5:12-19; Matthew 4:1-11. 

 THE HOLY GOSPEL OF OUR LORD JESUS CHRIST 

ACCORDING TO MATTHEW
Then Jesus was led up by the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted by the devil. He fasted forty days and forty nights, and afterwards he was famished. The tempter came and said to him, "If you are the Son of God, command these stones to become loaves of bread." But he answered, "It is written, 'One does not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God.'" Then the devil took him to the holy city and placed him on the pinnacle of the temple, saying to him, "If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down; for it is written, 'He will command his angels concerning you,' and 'On their hands they will bear you up, so that you will not dash your foot against a stone.'" Jesus said to him, "Again it is written, 'Do not put the Lord your God to the test.'" Again, the devil took him to a very high mountain and showed him all the kingdoms of the world and their splendour; and he said to him, "All these I will give you, if you will fall down and worship me." Jesus said to him, "Away with you, Satan! for it is written, 'Worship the Lord your God, and serve only him.'" Then the devil left him, and suddenly angels came and waited on him.

Which would you rather be:  independent?  or dependent?  

A lot of us value independence, particularly teenagers, those reluctant to get married, and the current premier of Alberta.   Independance is about autonomy, self-determination, charting your own course, being master of your own fate.

Dependence, on the other hand, can often be seen in a negative light.  Being dependent on someone else can make one feel like a burden.   It might inspire feelings of resentment - why do I have to help so and so?   

The story of Jesus’ temptation in the desert is about dependence.    In the three temptations, Satan tries to get Jesus to chose independence over reliance on God the Father.  First, Jesus is encouraged to rely on his own powers turn rocks into bread and end his fast.   Next, Jesus is challenged to perform a miracle to prove his identify as the Son of God.  Finally, Satan offers Jesus all the power in the world if only he will give up his loyalty to God, which, ironically, just leads to Jesus depending on Satan rather than on God.

In resisting all three temptations, Jesus chooses to put his trust and his faith in God the Father.   He knows he belongs to God, and he trusts that God will bring him through this ordeal.  He will be tested again in worse moments, as when he is taunted to show his power and come down off the cross, but then as he does here, he trusts that God will deliver him.

God will look after Jesus, just as God looks after the church.  I think there’s a certain divine humour at play in that just before our annual vestry meeting, we hear the story of Satan tempting Jesus in the wilderness.  This story announces the beginning of Lent this week, and introduces some traditional Lenten themes such as fasting and austerity, but it’s also a useful text for us to hear today because it helps us resist temptations to try and be what church shouldn’t be.

The church, most Anglican churches, really, live in our own  wilderness time.  We have our own temptations.  The first is what I call the bread temptation. Just as Jesus must have been tempted by fresh bread, so we are tempted to imagine having more resources.  Funds are scarce, our people are aging, and our buildings are getting old.  But we have what we really need, which is Jesus in our midst.   If we listen to him, as he listens to every word of his Father, we can trust that we will get what we need for as long as it pleases God to give to us.  And we trust in Jesus because we know he does provide and he does feed us.

The second temptation of the church is what I call the miracle worker temptation.   Just as Jesus is asked to perform a miracle save himself from falling, I think we wish that we as church could perform miracles, with the best of intentions.  We see so much need around us — hunger, homelessness, just raw human need.   It’s tempting to think that we could do so much more - another meal, maybe a breakfast program, maybe do something around sheltering people overnight.   Recently I heard a talk by the new principal of Wycliffe College, Dr Kristen Johnson, and she said that God wants saints, not heroes.   If at the end of the day, we as individuals and as church do what we can with what we have, that’s enough for the moment.   Jesus said love your neighbour, he didn’t put a quota on how many neighbours we had to love each day.

The third temptation of the church is what I call the boss temptation.  Satan promises Jesus all the authority on earth if Jesus will worship Satan, but Jesus already knows that all authority on heaven and on earth has been given to him by his Father.   The authority of God isn’t the Satanic authority of so many kings and dictators on earth.  We know that just by watching the news.   In the kingdom of God there are no bosses, only servants.   Scripture calls us as church to remember that we all rely on one another’s gifts and efforts, just as all the body parts work together.  This idea of interdependence is especially relevant to us as we will lean more into regional ministry in the years to come.   It’s not just big All Saints supporting our smaller churches, it’s also about how they enrich us and about our common life together.

So my friends, as we soon move into our vestry meeting, and as we think about the future of this church, let’s resist the temptation of independence and keep in mind that are wonderfully, happily, and fulfillingly dependent, dependent on God, and dependent on one another.  

High Anxiety: A Homily for the Last Sunday of Epiphany

Preached at All Saints, Collingwood, Anglican Diocese of Toronto, on the Last Sunday of the Epiphany, 15 February, 2026.  Readings for this Sunday:  Exodus 24:12-18, Psalm 2, 2 Peter 1:16-21, Matthew 17:1-9

:But Jesus came and touched them, saying, “Get up and do not be afraid.” (Matthew 17:7)

Mountains are scary, wonderful, and mystic places.    During my military career, I had the opportunity to climb three mountains in three days as part of a strenuous kind of holiday that the Army calls Adventure Training.  This wasn't the kind of technical climbing with ropes and pitons, but it was challenging and the mountains, on the Alberta side of the Rockies, had names like The Fortress and Windy Tower.  

I was part of a small group of soldiers, and we were ably led by Major McKnight, who was a qualified Canadian Armed Forces mountain warfare instructor and intimately familiar with this part of the Rockies.    At the start on the first day he told the driver of our van to put the keys under a rock near the parking lot.  When the driver asked why, the Major said "If you fall off the mountain with the keys, I'm not getting home".  That explanation sobered us up quickly.

When you first climb a mountain, at least in the Rockies, you start climbing a forest trail, but eventually you reach the treeline, and at first you can see the tops of the trees, and then the trees just blur into a green mass.   As you get higher, the mountain starts to narrow.   You make your way up, sometimes skirting the edges of steep rock faces, and realize you need to tread carefully.   The air thins a little and you're fully exposed to the sun so you get thirsty.  As we reached the top, it felt like there were just a few feet you could go either way and still be safe.  I felt enormously vulnerable, for I was wrapped in a  sense of great height and almost a feeling of vertigo, which haunted my dreams for some weeks after.  It was reassuring as we rested there to see how calm the Major was, and while I enjoyed the view, I was grateful when he said it was time to go back down.

The author trying not to look down.

When Jesus takes his two disciples up "a high mountain", it's not just for an adventure.   The purpose of the trip seems to be revelation, a chance for the disciples (and for those who heard their testimony, which includes us) to learn who Jesus is.  The theme of learning who Jesus is what the season of Epiphany is all about.   It's therefore fitting that Epiphany is bracketed by two utterances from the divine voice.  At the start of the season, at Jesus' baptism, we hear the voice say "This is my Son, the Beloved, with him I am well pleased".  At the end of Epiphany, on the mountain, we hear the voice say the same thing, but adds the key phrase, "Listen to him".    So in addition to this affirmation of Jesus' identity we get the call to discipleship.  Our job is to follow the Son of God, to learn from him, and to do what he tells us to do.

For the disciples, this message is terrifying, as moments of revelation often are in scripture.   Perhaps the disciples remember the Exodus story from our first lesson, of how Moses went up another mountain to listen to God, who was like "a devouring fire" (Ex 24.16).  In Exodus God's voice on the mountain is like trumpet blasts, shaking the mountain and covering it with smoke, so perhaps the voice that Jesus' disciples hear is equally alarming.   And of course there is the bright cloud, the presence of Moses and Elijah, and their friend and rabbi transformed into a dazzling being of white, so no wonder this all a bit too much for them.  I think in similar circumstances, I'd fall down and find a large rock to hide behind.

I think the most important detail in the story comes near the end, when Jesus touches his disciples and tells them "Get up and do not be afraid" (Mt 10.7).   In the many healing miracles of the gospels, Jesus' touch (or even touching his cloak) is important.  It's a sign of deep connection and compassion between Jesus and his friends, which means that it's a sign of deep connection and compassion between God and humanity, or between the divine and mortals, or however you want to think about it.

It's tempting to think that this relationship of compassion and connection is a new thing in scripture, that Jesus is doing a new thing.  However, even in the terrifying Exodus stories around Mount Sinai, there is also a surprisingly tender moment.  Before Moses goes up the mountain, God invites Moses and some seventy of the leading Israelites to the foot of Mount Sinai for a dinner party.  Exodus reports that "God did not lay his hand on the chief men of the Israelites; they beheld God, and they ate and drank" (Ex 24:10).  So before God gives the law and the ten commandments to Moses, God wants the people to know him.  Maybe in this little passage we see a glimpse of the Last Supper and the Eucharist, and I think it's safe to say that throughout scripture, as in this moment, we see a God who wants to be known by us.  As I've said before, our God is a God of relationship.  If we fear God, then it's not much of a relationship.

Mountain top moments can be moments of revelation and exhilaration, but they can also be moments of fear and anxiety.   In our colloquial speech, when we want to descalate and calm someone, we say that we want to "talk them down".   One of Alfred Hitchcock's scariest films is Vertigo.  A place like those glass floors at the top of the CN Tower may be fun to some but terrifying to others.   Fear of flying is a real thing for many.  Heights underscore our fragility and are a perfect metaphor for anxiety, something this this world seems excessively well stocked with.

We started our worship today with some prayers for the people of Tumbler Ridge.  That mass shootings could happen even in a small Canadian town feels like a violation, an infection of our country's social and political body by forces of violence and hatred.  It can seem like no one and no place is really safe.   Our children are experiencing a crisis of anxiety, which we try to overcome by medication and social media bans.   We adults aren't immune either.  As someone wrote recently, social media helps me stay in touch with friends and helps me learn about new disasters.   

As Christians, we need to cling to Jesus' words "do not be afraid".   The God of thunder and justice meets us as a friend, and takes us by the hand, and leads us down from our mountaintop anxiety.   Jesus comes down the mountain with us, with a message of peace and love for the world.    We are called to follow, to listen, and to tell others that there is a truth and a way of life that is one of peace rather than anxiety.   As Christians, we begin our journey of Lent this Wednesday with ashes and a sign of the cross.  It's important for us as we journey not to think that death and violence have dominion, for the Jesus' appearance on the mountaintop, dazzling white, is a foretaste of the resurrection that lies before us on Easter Sunday.  For ultimately we are Easter people, and God's message then and always is that we have nothing to fear.

Seeing the Unclean: A Meditation for our Après Ski Focus On God's Healing

Our Après Ski services this year feature meditations from members of our clergy team on God's healing as it's described in scripture and experienced in our lives.   Tonight's meditation focus on Jesus and the ten unclean men as described in Luke 17:11-19.

 ¹¹ On the way to Jerusalem Jesus was going through the region between Samaria and Galilee. ¹² As he entered a village, ten men with a skin disease approached him. Keeping their distance, ¹³ they called out, saying, “Jesus, Master, have mercy on us!” ¹⁴ When he saw them, he said to them, “Go and show yourselves to the priests.” And as they went, they were made clean. ¹⁵ Then one of them, when he saw that he was healed, turned back, praising God with a loud voice. ¹⁶ He prostrated himself at Jesus’s feet and thanked him. And he was a Samaritan. ¹⁷ Then Jesus asked, “Were not ten made clean? So where are the other nine? ¹⁸ Did none of them return to give glory to God except this foreigner?” ¹⁹ Then he said to him, “Get up and go on your way; your faith has made you well.”

You may have noticed that our translation of Luke’s gospel mentioned “ten men with a skin disease” and that may have taken you by surprise because in the versions of this story that we are familiar with, going all the way back to the King James version, the men are described as “lepers” (indeed, the Greek word used in Luke is lepros).  

Our translation today reflects recent biblical scholarship, which notes that what the ancient world called leprosy was not quite what we see in the film Ben Hur, and certainly not what medical science today calls Hansen’s Disease (more medical background here).  In ancient Judaism, what we used to call leprosy could be a wide variety of skin conditions such as psoriasis, dermatitis, scabies, lesions, or even thinning or balding hair.  

All of these conditions fell under a Hebrew word called tzaraat and all these various conditions are decribed in the Book of Leviticus.   The diagnosis would be done by a priest, and if a priest declared you as tzaraat, then you were unclean and not fit to be part of society.   Hence, when Jesus cures the ten men, he sends them to the priests so they can be declared as healed.    Thus, to be tzaraat in Jesus’ time was as much a religious conditon as it was a medical condition.

There is a further religious dimension to this story because of the ten men healed, only one returns to thank Jesus and praise God “with a loud voice”.  Jesus tells him that his “faith has made him well”, which is a little odd, because ten men were healed.  All ten were healed by Jesus, and only one has his faith recognized.  So were the other nine not healed by their faith?  It all seems a little confusing.  What is the connection between faith and healing?

If we step back a bit, we can make some sense of the story by putting it in its larger context.  The story, like most gospel stories, is about the power and authority that Jesus has been given by God the Father.    Jesus, as he says elsewhere, does not abolish the law of Torah - sending the men to the priests to be declared clean clearly shows his respect for Torah.   But Jesus also uses his authority to go beyond law to grace.

The man who returns to praise God is a Samaritan, an outsider to faithful Jews of Jesus’ day.   As we see elswehere in Luke’s gospel and in Acts, outsiders (Samaritans and gentiles) can be as worthy of God’s love and mercy as faithful Jews.  Indeed, the Good Samaritan shows more love and mercy than do the faithful Jews in the parable (Luke 10:25-37).  

So our gospel story tonight is about healing, to be sure.  The ten men are healed by Jesus.  But perhaps more importantly, it’s also about Jesus being willing to see and love and heal those who are not seen.  It’s about Jesus being merciful with the definitions of unclean and outsider.  

In her book Encampment: Resistance, Grace, and an Unhoused Community, Maggie Helwig begins by saying, in effect, that our society effectively treats the unhoused and most marginal as tzaraat, unclean.   She writes that ”there is a great gulf fixed, and very few people are willing to cross it. People who have not lived in the world of which encampments are part are afraid, and they are angry. And they cannot imagine that there is a way to cross that line, to speak to a homeless person as a fellow human being, without somehow themselves being harmed, being damaged, being touched by a world they would rather deny.”

I think we as a society can actually imagine what it would take to help the unhoused if we wanted to make real, costly investments in affordable housing, in addiction and mental health treatment, in accessible medical care, and a universal basic income.  But before we get there, we have to overcome our secret fear that the unhoused are the new tzaraat, the new lepers.   Today’s gospel story suggests to us that God’s healing can begin when we can let go of our fear of the unclean and see people for who they are, as loved children of God.

Helwig, Maggie. Encampment: Resistance, Grace, and an Unhoused Community (pp. 7-8). (Function). Kindle Edition. 

I'll Take The Message of the Cross for Five Hundred: A Homily for the Fourth Sunday of Epiphany

 

Preached at All Saints, Collingwood, and St Luke's Creemore, Anglican Diocese of Toronto, 1 February, 2026, the Fourth Sunday of Epiphany (Yr A).

Texts for this Sunday: Micah 6:1-8; Psalm 15; 1 Corinthians 1:18-31; Matthew 5:1-12

Where is the one who is wise? Where is the scribe? Where is the debater of this age? Has not God made foolish the wisdom of the world?  (1 Cor 1.20)

Some of you longtime ˆJeopardy fans may remember the Rev. David Sibley, who had a four night run on the show in 2022, and came back in 2024 to win the quarter final but lost in the semi final.  A pretty good showing for the Rector of St Paul’s, Walla Walla, Washington, whose smarts earned him around $78,000, though as he said, his bishop reminded him that his winnings should be tithed.

Sibley is in fact one of three Episcopal (Anglican) clergy who have appeared on Jeopardy, for which, I suppose, we as a denomination might take some pride.   Anglicanism has long valued the education of its clergy, many of whom have been scholars and scientists, such as Edward Stone (inventor of aspirin) and Charles Darwin, who began his career in a seminary.   Indeed, a famous quote from long ago, one of the Popes, then arch enemies of the Anglican church, admitted that the clerics of England were, because of their superior education, the wonder of the world (clericus Anglicanus, stupor mundi).

However, lest we get too self-congratulatory, it’s worth noting that Rev. Sibley was knocked out of Jeopary’s semi-finals because he got a bible and Shakespeare question wrong (what biblical city is Comedy of Errors set in?  Ephesus.  Sibley guessed Corinth).   In life, as in quiz games, our intellects only get us so far, and the same is true of theology, which is what Paul tells the Christians in Corinth in our second lesson today.

So for the last few Sundays, our second reading has been from the first chapter of Paul’s first letter to the church in Corinth.   After praising this church as a collection of saints called by God and “enriched in him in speech and knowledge of every kind” (1 Cor 1.5), he then scolds them for falling into rival factions, each with its own leader and message.    For Paul there is only one message, the message of the cross of Christ.  And the message of the cross has nothing to do with things that smart people value (“eloquent wisdom”), rather it is a message that Paul calls “foolishness”.

So what is the message of the cross, and how is it foolish?  First, I think we have to understand what Paul means when he dismisses “earthly wisdom”.  Wisdom for Paul is a lot more than just Rev. Sibley’s command of Jeopary facts and figures.  It is the whole cultural and religious system of his day and what it values.   

For Greeks (and Romans), wisdom was science and philosophy, art and beauty, the purity of math and astronomy and logic.  Greek gods were powerful, handsome and gorgeous.  It made no sense to wise Greeks that a god would die in shame and agony on a Roman instrument of torture.  Likewise Jews saw their salvation in a Messiah who would come like a second King David, so ditto for them not understanding how Jesus could be Messiah when he died on a Roman cross.

So for Paul, the cross is the complete oppositie of what his world values.  It would be like Paul, if he were here  today saying that technology, AI, the stock market, finance, capitalism, ideology, fashion - it’s all meaningless. 

Likewise for Paul, the cross has to do where people are in society.  When he talks to the Corinthian Christians, he reminds them that “not many of you were wise by human standards, not many were powerful, not many of you were  of noble birth” (1 Cor 1.26).   The Corinthian Christians might have had a few well off people in the parish directory, but by and large they did not call the shots.  Some scholars estimate that between 70 to 80 percent of people in the ancient world lived in poverty, either at or below the level of subsistence.   Cities were crowded, political life could be violent, taxes were high, and of course many were enslaved.  Human rights as we understand them simply did not exist in the ancient world.  So if you think about the kind of elite people who gathered last week in Davos, Switzerland, Paul would say, “yeah, not you guys”.

I think that when Jesus looked down at the crowds at the beginning of the Sermon on the Mount, he knew exactly who they were and what their lives were like,   Matthew tells us that the crowds included “the sick, those who were afflicted with various diseases  and pains, demoniacs, epiletics, and paralytics” (Mt 4.24).   No doubt most of these were poor, or who, like the woman with the hemorhrage in Mark’s gospel, had spent all they had on the limited skills of physicians (Mk 5.26).  Jesus knew who these people were, and the Beatitudes tare about them and about God’s commitment to them.

I think that when we hear the Beatitudes and hear phrases like “Blessed are the poor in spirit” or “Blessed are the meek”, we think that that these are moral commands.  We think that Jesus is telling us to be betters people,  humbler, more peaceful, and more committed to good causes.    In part this is true, but I think the Beatitudes are about the message of the cross, that God stands with those who are as hungry for their next meal as they are hungry for an end of oppression,  that God sees the downtrodden and the unimportant.  The  Beaitudes are as much about the people of Gaza and Minneapolis as they are about the people of Jesus’ day or Paul’s day, and indeed, they are really the same people.

Mixed in with Jesus’ compassion is the same commitment to justice that we see in the prophets like Micah.  When Jesus says that the reward of the righteous will be “great in heaven”, this is more than a consolation of some afterlife where things will be better.  It’s God’s commitment to be there in the struggle until oppression is overcome.  The Negro spirituals which saw freedom as a from slavery to the promised land knew where God’s heart is, as Dr King knew so well, and as the clergy and people arrested in Minneapolis know.  Tech billionaires, oligarchs and dictators may see talk of freedom and human dignity as so much foollshness, but God’s people know better.

So to conclude, the wisdom of the cross is not a celebration of ignorance.   Jesus told his disciples to be wise and innocent.  Perhaps we can say that the message of the cross, and the vision of the cross, is about seeing and valuing the people that Jesus sees.  I’ll give the last word to Rev. Sibley, who put it well after his run on Jeopary:

“One thing that I love about Jeopardy! is that it is, in many ways, a celebration of curiosity about the world around us. So if I can hope for any one thing, it’s that my little turn in the spotlight might inspire you to become more curious — about others, about our world — and in so doing, grow in love of God and neighbor for seeing the beautiful web in which we all live and move.”

The Kingdom Is Near: A Homily for the Third Sunday after the Epiphany.

Preached on Sunday, January 25th, 2026, at All Saints, Collingwood, Anglican Diocese of Toronto.   Readings for this Sunday: Isaiah 9:1-4; Psalm 27:1, 5-13; 1 Corinthians 1:10-18; Matthew 4:12-23

“From that time Jesus began to proclaim, "Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.” (Mt 4.17)

In Matthew’s gospel, before Jesus calls his disciples, and before he does any miracles, he preached, and the message that he preached was this:  “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near” (Mt 4.17).    Because this message is the first action of Jesus’ ministry, we could say that it is foundational to his very purpose and mission, that Jesus was all about showing us the kingdom of heaven as something that could and should change our lives.

If we want to learn more about the kingdom of heaven, then we need, like the fishermen, to hear his call, follow him, and learn from him as we do next Sunday when we hear part of Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount. 

 Indeed, the Christian life could be called a long and continuous pilgrimage towards the kingdom of heaven, though strangely it’s not a very long journey.   Paul says that the God “is near to you, on your lips and in your heart”, and in Luke’s gospel Jesus says that “the kingdom of God is among you” (Lk 17.21).   So it may very well be that the kingdom of God is something that was always there before us, we just needed the right eyes to see it or the right ears to hear it.

We can also understand the kingdom of heaven by seeing it in contrast to the world we know, the kingdoms of earth.   Just before the events of today’s gospel reading, Matthew describes Jesus’ testing by Satan in the desert.  Satan as you recall offers Jesus “all the kingdoms of the world and their splendor” but their price is that in return for this power, Jesus must worship the devil, which of course he refuses to do.    The implication here is that either Satan is lying and this is a prize he can’t deliver, or worse, that earthly power and authority somehow falls within the devil’s sphere of influence.

The possibility that the latter is true, that the kingdoms of earth are within the realm of evil or at least susceptible to it, is suggested in the first detail of our gospel reading today, that John the Baptist has been arrested by Herod, and as we know, John will later be executed in prison.    Earlier in Matthew’s gospel we learned that Herod’s father ordered the massacre of the boy children in Bethlehem when he heard about the birth of Jesus, so Matthew has already taught us to be suspicious of what earthly kings will do.

Yesterday we learned a further lesson of how evil can flourish in earthly kingdoms.   Alex Pretti was shot by federal agents while restrained and lying on the ground.   He was an ICU nurse and had been filming the actions of ICE agents.  He is the second civilian killed in Minneapolis in several weeks, and is part of a larger pattern of violence.   In 2025, immigration agents shot 27 people, killing 7, and also in 2025, 32 people have died while in immigration detention.   As someone who has served in a disciplined, professional military, I can only conclude that these are the actions of violent, untrained goons in military uniforms, whose job is to spread terror and repression.

This last week as well, 100 Christian clergy and at least one rabbi were arrested and briefly detained after protesting at the airport in Minneapolis.  Several told reporters that they were there to protest against immorality.   I like to think that I would have joined them had I been closer.   I think these clergy, like the tens of thousands in the streets, are good people who sense the presence of evil but who also sense the nearness of the kingdom of heaven.

So what can we say about the kingdom of heaven as we see it in Matthew?   While we could derive a longer answer from reading the whole gospel, I think we can come up with a clear idea even from what little we hear in today’s reading.   Specifically we can say three things about the kingdom of heaven.  First, the kingdom of heaven is formed in communities, where a group of people come together because they follow Jesus.  Second, we can say that the kingdom of heaven is formed wherever acts of mercy are displayed.  Finally, we can say that the kingdom of heaven is the triumph of life over the powers of death.

First, community.  The most inspiring stories we’ve heard coming out of Minneapolis have to do with neighbours coming together to help and protect neighbours.    Families that don’t dare leave their homes and apartments have groceries delivered, and laundry picked up, washed, and returned.   Often these efforts are organized by churches and faith groups.     The call of the kingdom of heaven is heard collectively.  The disciples are called in ones and twos, but they become the twelve, and the twelve found the church.    As Paul reminds the Corinthian church in our second reading, the Christian life is lived fully when people discard their factions and petty allegiances and live in a Christ-focused community.

Second, mercy.  The kingdom of heaven is visible wherever mercy is shown.  At the end of our gospel reading, we hear that Jesus combines his preaching ministry with a healing ministry, “curing every disease and every sickness among the people” (Mt 4.23).  Jesus’ healing miracles are, as Father Gordon said last night at our Après Ski service, used to bring us back to wholeness.   Healing in scripture is not just medical, it brings lepers and madmen back into the community and it reconciles sinners and offenders to God.    Our little food pantry, which I’ve seen emptied in hours, is a sign of mercy, a small sign of care and mercy for those who suffer cold and hunger and homelessness.

Finally, life.    When Matthew tells us that Jesus goes to Galilee to bring light to “those who sat in the region and sharow of death” (Mt 4.16), he’s elaborating on the prophesy  of Isaiah that we heard in our first lesson.  The light isn’t just the knowledge of Jesus that will come to benighted Gentiles who didn’t previously know God, though it is that.  It’s also the light of Easter morning, the dawn of the resurrection that floods into the tomb.   The powers of earth may kill citizens on the street, they may blow up boats and whole cities, but history shows us that all blood soaked regimes have their day and are brought low because God’s justice is always opposed to tyranny and death.  I think the uniformed goons on the streets of Minneapolis know that they are part of the kingdom of death, and I think that knowledge must secretly torment them.

The season of Lent begins soon in February.  Once again we’ll be invited to take up Jesus’ call to repent and seek the kingdom of God.  This year repentance might mean  letting go of the fears and hatreds that make the kingdoms of this world such deadly and lifeless places.   And the good news is that we don’t have to look far to find the kingdom of heaven because it is very close.  The kingdom of heaven is wherever we see a community that practices mercy and chooses to follow Jesus, the lord of life and light.  The kingdom of heaven is within these walls.