Last Sunday, I departed north central Pennsylvania and began the journey home. Fifteen hundred miles is a long way, and a lot of driving time to reflect on today’s readings.  My thoughts kept coming back to the Romans text and, particularly, to the meaning of sin as Paul understood it.

 

I grew up in a different denomination. My Sunday School lessons were often centered around the many things that could lead me directly to Hell. There were the 10 commandments, of course, but that was just the beginning. Lying, cheating, stealing, copying someone’s homework, drinking (at least in public), and on and on. A lot of attention was paid to the idea of sin. It was as if God had a giant clipboard where each transgression I committed was recorded for eternity.


But, this notion of sin doesn’t resonate with Paul’s writing.

  

Barbara Brown Taylor is one of my favorite preachers and writers.  She has a way of saying things that is often direct and unexpected.  Thirty years ago, she wrote a great little book titled “Speaking of Sin: the lost language of salvation”. In the book, she digs deeply into the meaning of sin through the lens of the Hebrew Bible, the Bible that Paul knew.


There are three words used in the Hebrew Bible to describe sin.  Barbara noticed that all three of these words share a common thread. In the Hebrew tradition, sin meant going against God’s will—or being out sync with God. These are her words:

“In theological language, the choice to remain in wrecked relationship with God and other human beings is called sin. The choice to enter into the process of repair is called repentance…”[1]


That definition shines some light on what Paul is saying to the church in Rome and to us.

   

Paul draws the short straw in the field of first century evangelism.


The other apostles and disciples will spread the Gospel message to people who expect a Messiah…people who expect God to be engaged in their particular lives…people who expect to hear prophetic messages.


But, Paul is sent to the Gentiles…to us.

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He preaches to people who do not have the Hebrew Bible memorized: people who do not know that a Messiah was foretold, people who do not have a history of prophets calling them back into righteous relationship with Yahweh.   


As he grows in ministry, Paul comes to deeper understanding of the Mystery of Incarnation and Paschal Mystery… a theology that interprets the birth, death and resurrection of Christ.  Romans is his last letter…and Paul is laying down all of his theological cards, face up. He’s out of time. And he wants us to “get it”.


To the church in Rome, he says: ‘Those who have been baptized into Christ must no longer let sin have dominion over them’.  Or to say it with Barbara Brown Taylor’s words, “those who have been baptized into Christ must no longer live in wrecked relationships with God and other human beings”. 


I don’t know about your life, but mine has its own graveyard of broken relationships. Our community is brimming with wrecked relationships caused by political divisions, injustice, poverty, and fill-in-the-blank.


Jesus told us to love our neighbors as ourselves. It’s not going well.

If we aren’t going to let wrecked relationships have the last word then, Taylor says, repentance comes by our choice to enter into the process of repairing broken relationships.


By the time I got to Kentucky on Monday, I was beginning to think about the ways in which St. Chris is working to repair relationships right here in Fort Worth, Texas.


The first connection I made was Laundry Love. One Saturday a month, this ministry helps more than 35 families have clean clothing for school, jobs, and clean pajamas. Last month, I visited with a mom who had spent more than an hour on city buses—with her laundry and three kids in tow—to come to us. There is no other Laundry Love in all of Tarrant County.  Every client at Laundry Love knows there are people in this world who care about them—who want to know them by name—who will help them reach for a better path forward. 


The second connection I made was the Christofolx gathering last Sunday evening. A dozen people walked the streets where Fred Rouse was attacked and lynched 100 years ago. They listened to the story told by Mr. Rouse’s grandson. I watched our group post comments on Facebook after the evening. And I knew that Mr. Rouse’s life held new meaning for every person who walked in his footsteps. Folks were changed by the experience.


The third connection I made was our outreach work through the lives of people in our congregation. We have begun volunteering monthly at 4Saints Food Pantry—an Episcopal ministry of several congregations feeding hundreds of families every month. We have volunteers who routinely work at Union Gospel Mission. We have parishioners who support Brite Divinity, the Butterfly Society, and on and on. 

 

What I love about each of these examples is that our engagement with poverty and injustice is not just about writing a check and driving to the post office to mail it. We are involved in our community. We come face to face with those who are suffering in ways we cannot imagine. We accept vulnerability: a willingness to be changed by the needs of our neighbor.


Paul desires for us a life of flourishing….of becoming the very person God created us to be. It begins with our Baptism—but it does not end there. And that is his point.


In Baptism, we are grafted into the life of Christ. Through our life experiences, our roots grow more deeply into God’s soil. And then our lives bear fruit that is God’s fruit: Love, Hope, Joy, Light. 


We, the Body of Christ, are exactly what our world needs.


Each week, we gather here to worship and to share a Holy Eucharist. And then together we offer a prayer that my friend Fr Ron calls “The prayer of Christian discipleship”. 


Eternal God, heavenly Father,


You have graciously accepted us as living members of your Son our Savior Jesus Christ, and you have fed us with spiritual food in the Sacrament of his Body and Blood. Send us now into the world in peace, and grant us strength and courage to love and serve you with gladness and singleness of heart; through Christ our Lord. Amen.

 

 


 
[1] Speaking of Sin: the lost language of salvation; Barbara Brown Taylor; p58



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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