As some of you may be aware, last weekend I was not here for Sunday morning worship. Last weekend, I was down in Navasota, Texas at Camp Allen – which is a retreat and conference center owned by the Diocese of Texas. Al Pamento and I were both there for what is called the “Discovery Retreat” – a weekend retreat that the Diocese of Texas offers two or three times a year for those who might be discerning a call to some level of ministry in the Episcopal Church – be it an ordained role or even a lay ministry role. It was a very a rewarding experience for me and I learned so much about the Diocese of Texas, the discernment process for ordination, and I even learned a lot about the history of the Fort Worth part of the diocese going back as far as before I have been alive. There were many conversations that I had over last weekend that were truly valuable to me.

           One conversation in particular that I would like to highlight is one I had over lunch with 3 other men on that Saturday. We got into some deep theological discussion and at one point, we had a conversation about violence in the Bible. We seemed to be each sharing our opinions on it and since I was part of the discussion, I voiced my own opinion and observation that there are many parts of the Bible that are just downright violent and tribalistic. In particular, I mentioned some of the passages from the Hebrew Bible which depict God as commanding the Israelites to commit genocide against whole groups of people. I made it known that I felt that these types of passages in Scripture highlight an “us versus them” mentality that is all too human and that as followers of Christ we have to take them very seriously and wrestle with the fact that they are in our sacred Scriptures. Of course, we did not reach a definite conclusion on this matter during lunch. But the conversation was rich and deeply enlightening.

           I mention this conversation because I was reminded of it when I was looking at our various texts for this Sunday morning. Looking at them together, they crystalize for me part of what I was highlighting about Scripture to these three other young brothers in the faith regarding violent passages in the Bible and what kind of sense we can make of it. Look at our passage from Psalm 68 this morning: it begins with “let God arise and let his enemies be scattered. Let those who hate him flee before him. Let them vanish like smoke when the wind drives it away; as the wax melts at the fire, so let the wicked perish at the presence of god.” Right here in Psalms, we have the human impulse of “us versus them” written down – and in a very violent way. Thousands of years ago, human beings were dealing with some of the very same things we see in our own time period. The fact of the matter is that “us versus them” is – as Rev. Paula mentioned to me one night during a meeting of Christofolx back in March – part of “what humans do.” I need not list all of the ways in which we see this in our own contemporary society today. Suffice it to say, we see such tribalism all over the place in our modern world. Is it any wonder then that our human ancestors in Bible time struggled with this same human instinct and some of it is even reflected in our Scriptures?

           Yet, we know as Christians that tribalism, exclusion, violence, and “us versus them” is not the end of the story. Our lesson from Acts is a masterpiece in how Jesus, the Christ, calls us to shift our thinking and to resist this all too human impulse toward tribalism. It starts out with the apostles questioning Jesus on whether Jesus would restore the Kingdom of Israel at that particular moment two thousand years ago. Now just think about that for a second. Essentially, the primary concern of these apostles was their own tribe – which in this case was the Kingdom of Israel. And what was Jesus’ response? Jesus asserts that they will receive power from the Holy Spirit and that they will be the witnesses of Christ in Jerusalem, Judea, Samaria, and all the ends of the earth. What a remarkable response. Right here in the book of Acts, Jesus provides the answer to this age old human instinct toward tribalism; and that answer is that God cares about ALL. Jesus did not answer by saying let the enemies be scattered. He did not respond by saying that the Kingdom of Israel is the only group of people who are important to God. No. Rather dramatically, Jesus calls the apostles – and therefore all of us – to question our own tribalism and to see and experience God as a source that calls ALL humanity to God’s self. Our Gospel lesson from John goes further and makes it more explicit when Jesus prays and declares that he is for ALL people and that he is about eternal life for ALL.

           There comes a point – I believe – when all of us must question our faith and why it is we believe what we believe. Why am I a Christian? Why is this Jesus stuff so important for me? - Questions like that. As a millennial, I am part of a generation of people who are leaving religion – and specifically Christianity – behind in droves. When I talk to other people my age – and people of all ages really – who no longer identify as Christian, I usually get a very similar response. It is the tribalism. It is the “us versus them.” It is the condemnation, which often comes with violent connotations. Things that – as we have seen – even our Biblical ancestors were guilty of. But the call of Christ is one of life. To heed Jesus’ call to see all of humanity as important to God – to see even those who we might consider “enemies” as just as much deserving of the love of God is to see God as life itself. Jesus told the apostles that with the help of the Holy Spirt that they would spread this message of life to the ends of the earth. And as followers of Christ in the twenty-first century, the task is more important than ever and falls to us. One of the beautiful thing about our sacred Scriptures, to me at least, is that they invite us to encounter the darker aspects of our humanness – such as violence – and then seek to see God as a source of life that challenges us to resist those elements and in so doing, become even more fully alive and human. That is why I am a Christian. And that is my conclusion from the questions raised by my three friends from last weekend. It is also my response to all the people leaving Christianity today. Perhaps, if we all heed Jesus’ call to be his witnesses to God’s love for all humanity and not just for ourselves and our own group, we will be doing our part to make the Kingdom of God a true reality in our own day.


February 15, 2026
The Feast of the Transfiguration is August 6th of each year. The Transfiguration is also celebrated each year on the Last Sunday After the Epiphany as the culmination of a series of events in which Jesus is manifested as the Anointed One, the Messiah, the Son of God. And that is fitting, for it is indeed an epiphany, a manifestation or showing forth of God in Christ. It is, perhaps, the most vivid such manifestation in the Gospels, at least prior to the Resurrection. Indeed, it seems to be a prefiguration, or a foretaste, of the resurrection appearances, and even a foretaste of the more direct vision of God that we hope to enjoy for all eternity when, as St. Paul tells us, we shall see him not as through a glass, darkly, but face to face. It must have been quite an experience for Peter, James, and John; one that they would never forget. In fact, Peter refers to it in the passage we read in today's Epistle. Very likely it's a story Peter often told to the early Christians. It was really something to see Jesus talking with those long-dead heroes of the faith, Moses and Elijah. Did you ever stop to wonder how they knew it was Moses and Elijah? How could they have known, except that God must have inspired them with this knowledge. But then, seeing Moses and Elijah wouldn't have been half as awesome as seeing the transfigured Jesus Christ – someone they knew well, with whom they had traveled and shared meals and conversed day after day. No wonder we are told that Peter didn't know what he was saying! And then a cloud came and overshadowed them, and they heard the voice of God: “This is my Son, the Beloved; with him I am well pleased; listen to him!” Well! There couldn't have been a clearer manifestation, a clearer statement from God of just who Jesus was. “This is my Son, the Beloved.” Just in case they hadn't understood this before, God makes it perfectly clear. Let's focus now on what God said next: “Listen to him!” Our NRSV translation has an exclamation point after that sentence – as well it should. These three words could form the basis for numerous sermons and countless meditations. Listen to him. We can't go wrong if we just listen to Jesus. We would do well to make these words our focus: “Listen to him!” How do we do that? Does Jesus still speak to us? When and where does Jesus speak to us? There are probably a lot of answers to that question, but here are just a few. Jesus speaks to us in the words of Holy Scripture, and especially in the words of the four Gospels, which tell us about his life and teachings. Spending a little time each day with our Bibles – reading, praying, and thinking about what Jesus is saying to us in these words – will certainly contribute a great deal toward our ability to “listen to him,” to hear his voice. We are fortunate to belong to a Christian tradition that encourages us to search the Scriptures for meaning and that embraces the possibility that there may be many different meanings for a passage from the Bible. We should take advantage of that freedom and open ourselves to the possibility of transfiguration. Jesus also speaks to us through other people. Our Christian friends have much to say that can inspire us. That’s why we study in groups and worship in groups and often carry out our ministries in groups. Jesus also calls to us through people who are in need. He said, “Whatever you do for the least of these my brothers and sisters, you do unto me.” He also says whatever we don’t do for them, we don’t do for him. We can help in many ways but God sends people into our lives each day. The child in the detention center, the woman who was abused as a child, the veteran struggling with PTSD, those who rely on 4Saints & Friends Food Pantry, families whose hearts are made glad by Laundry Love, those suffering from leprosy who are cared for and fed because of Hopewallah. The “least of these” might be one who says, “I was down in the dumps and you smiled at me?” I had the privilege of serving as Interim Rector at St. John’s Church in Jackson Hole, Wyoming. St. John’s Church owns about an acre of land in Grand Teton National Park and on it sits The Chapel of the Transfiguration. Gay was commissioned to write an icon to be displayed on the wall of the chapel. She had several patterns she was considering. I took the examples with me to the weekday Eucharist on day and asked Lou, one of our regular attendees at that service, which one she liked best. She looked at them and pointed to one with some enthusiasm. “That one!” she said. “What is it about that one?” I asked. She said, “In that one, Jesus and the disciples are not only ascending the mountain, they are also coming down.” I told Gay and that is the pattern she used. You see, Lou’s husband was a mountain climber. He ascended Mt. Everist with Jim Whitaker. But he didn’t come down. He lost his life there. For Lou, it was very personal and very important to remember that Jesus, Peter, James, and John came down, came back, continued on their journey. Jesus spoke to Gay and me through Lou! And here's one more way that we might hear Jesus speaking to us: in the silence. Do you remember the story of Elijah waiting for God in the cave? “Now there was a great wind, so strong that it was splitting mountains and breaking rocks in pieces before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind; and after the wind was an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake; and after the earthquake was a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire; and after the fire a sound of sheer silence.” What kind of a sound does sheer silence make? I think we all remember an earlier translation that said: “a still small voice.” We know what that sounds like, don't we? And perhaps it is the same thing, because it is all too easy to drown out that still small voice with wind and earthquake and fire and the like. Maybe we need to tune out and turn off before we can begin to listen. Turn off the TV for a while, sign off on the Internet, and, most of all, tune out the internal noise that is the hardest of all to still. To put it bluntly, we need to shut up once in a while, even in our prayers. The kind of prayer where we talk to God and tell him about our life and how it is going and the things we are worried about and so forth, is good, but there comes a time when we need to stop even doing that, and just listen. Is it possible to sit still and listen for five minutes? Then do that. Then maybe you can go for10 or 15 or even 20 minutes. If the internal noise starts up again, bring yourself back to the silence with some small word like “Listen” or just “Jesus.” What sound will you hear in the silence? When our ears are opened to listen for the divine voice, what we hear may be an epiphany we ne.  The Holy Spirit is actively at work in the world, our SaviorJesus Christ is with us every moment, until the end of the ages, just as he promised he would be. We must simply take the time to listen, and to look for the one who is the light of the world, the one whose light we shall one day see face to face. As St. Peter tells us in today's reading: “You will do well to be attentive to this as to a lamp shining in a dark place, until the day dawns and the morning star rises in your hearts.” Amen 1
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We all look for something to steer for us. My mom often said, “Be careful what you wish for”. She never explained what it meant…she didn’t have to. Often, when we wish for something, there are unintended consequences. I’m an early-adapter with all things technology. When self-driving cars became a thing, it was at the top of my wish list. And then one night, my car downloaded a software update that allowed me to try fully self-driving mode for thirty days. Free. They were speaking my language. Much of the time, that software worked beautifully. But one night I was driving home from the church…through the Fort Worth mix-master. At the best of times, the mix-master is a test of faith. That night, I realized…a little too late…that my car didn’t “see” vehicles merging from my right at highway speeds. A car darted in front of me at 55mph. My car panicked. It slammed on the brakes, forcing everyone behind me to do the same. Tires were squealing and I may have said a few choice words. Then a calm robotic voice came through my speaker: “What just happened?” Without thinking, I answered, “We’re all going to need clean clothes!”—a reminder that trusting the wrong kind of power can create more chaos than good. Three thousand years ago, the Israelites faced a similar challenge. They had judges—and they had Yahweh—but they were not satisfied. The nations around them had kings and queens…and Israel longed for a visible symbol of power: a government that looked strong and invincible to their neighbors. “Give us a king,” they said, “like other nations.” [1] Samuel warned them: “…in that day you will cry out because of your king, whom you have chosen for yourselves; but the Lord will not answer you in that day” [2] Be careful what you wish for. God’s warning is clear: the king you want will take more from you than he gives. And history shows it. Saul and David and their successors ruled. But, human power systems fail…they always have…we are no strangers to that in our own time. After Solomon, the kingdom split into the northern kingdom of Israel and the southern kingdom of Judah. Leaders often sought their own gain instead of tending to the people, especially the most vulnerable. By Jeremiah’s time, Judah itself teetered on collapse. Yet God speaks through the prophet, offering hope, promise, and vision of restoration. “I will gather the remnant of my flock…I will raise up shepherds over them who will shepherd them, and they shall not fear any longer. The days are surely coming, says the Lord, when I will raise up for David a righteous Branch, and he shall reign wisely and shall execute justice and righteousness in the land.” [3] Jeremiah is speaking God’s words here—a promise of a king unlike any human ruler. Not a king who exploits or coerces, but a shepherd who tends the scattered, who watches over the vulnerable, and who leads with justice and care. Luke shows us that shepherd in the most unexpected place: on a cross. Even there, Christ gathers the lost and welcomes the outsider—the very people no one expects to matter. Colossians describes the cosmic dimension of this shepherd—the One who reigns over all creation and reconciles all things through love. This shepherd’s kingdom is not defined by force—but by mercy; not by fear—but by reconciliation; not by scarcity—but by eternal gift. And here is the Advent connection: the King we await is already among us—reigning in ways that the world does not expect—and has never expected. Christ’s reign is not deferred to the end times. It is now. For those who long for a dramatic return of Jesus…scrutinizing hidden messages and timetables…be careful what you wish for. Christ’s reign is not waiting on a cosmic clock. It is already present, entrusted to us --the mystical Body of Christ-- in this world, in this moment. And that realization is sobering. Because if Christ reigns through mercy, reconciliation, and self-giving love, then we—his Body—are called to reign in that way too. In our families, we are called to speak truth in love and care for one another. In our workplaces and communities, we are called to act justly, to lift up the vulnerable, to speak for those without voice, and to forgive the one who has wronged us. In the simple moments of everyday life—offering a kind word, feeding the hungry, welcoming the outsider—we participate in the Shepherd’s reign. Advent invites us to practice that reign, to trust that heart, to embody God’s kingdom in the everyday moments of our lives. We all look for something to steer for us. Christ the King reminds us: the safest driver is not me…or a throne…or even a Tesla. The only true driver is God. In Advent, we learn to let go, trust God, and follow, even when the road ahead is uncertain. Thanks be to God. [1] 1 Samuel 8:5 [2] 1 Samuel 8:10-18 [3] Jeremiah 23:3-5
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