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Early on Friday morning, I was sitting with today’s readings and praying for God’s insight. What is the message God invites us to hear through these beautiful readings today? And then my cell phone buzzed. Much to my surprise, it was a text from a friend — one of those two people who had spent nearly 2 1/2 years diligently making a paten and chalice when I was becoming a priest.  I was surprised because I knew that she and her husband are 5,000 miles away in Spain. They are just beginning the Camino de Santiago. 


The “Camino” is a pilgrimage trail that leads to the burial place of St. James and Christian pilgrims have been walking that trail since the early Ninth Century, when the apostle’s grave was discovered. On the evening before her first day of hiking, my friend was a little bit nervous. Her starting point is 500 miles from Santiago and on the first leg of the hike, she and her husband must cross the Pyrenees Mountains. On foot.


I would be nervous, too.


The first letter of Peter is written to churches located in Asia Minor. Today, we call that part of the globe Turkey. It was written just 50 or 60 years after the crucifixion so it is written by that next generation of people. Their parents remember walking with Jesus. The purpose of the letter is significant. The author addresses a critical situation in the lives of those who will read it. These are people who once were the movers and shakers of their community and their time. But now that they are baptized followers of the Way, they are outsiders. They are persecuted and they are abused.


The author writes to them a beautiful, theological, and pastoral letter, one that still resonates today: “Come to him, a living stone, though rejected by mortals yet chosen and precious in God’s sight, and like living stones, let yourselves be built into a spiritual house….”. 


Like living stones, let yourselves be built into a spiritual house.  It is beautiful imagery meant to be translated into life.


My friend, whose 500-mile pilgrimage is just beginning, has never walked a pilgrimage trail. Brandy did not yet know that every morning she will join people who happen to arrive at the trail head when she does -- people who are also walking the Way.


The group will walk together, and then, slowly, smaller groups will form as hikers match up with others walking their pace. And every day she will meet people she will never forget because they have shared a portion of the journey. Even though she will be on this trail more than 30 days, if my experience is any guide, she will probably never meet the people she met today again.


As each day’s hike begins, pilgrims, like living stones, form a spiritual house on the trail. They care for one another, encourage one another when the trail is challenging, they share water, and band aids for blisters. I remember being welcomed into a makeshift tent when hail unexpectedly just began to pour from the skies.


There are no strangers on the Way.


And Church is like this, too, I think. When we gather to worship, we become the mystical Body of Christ. When Church is done well, we like pilgrims  care for one another and we encourage one another when life is tough. We share our talents and financial gifts. When it’s hailing in our lives, we find safety and shelter in this spiritual tent.


But, it doesn’t just happen. 


The author says, “Like living stones, let yourselves be built into a spiritual house."


We are not inanimate, unthinking, unfeeling hunks of rock. We have been given gifts that allow us to act, think, and feel. We are privileged: we can use our human gifts to resist God’s invitation to stir the pot of discontent, to do acts of violence in the world…Or we can choose the Way. 


Am I willing to give up my autonomy: My right to claim Sunday morning as my own. My right to sit in a corner and ignore the needs of the world. Am I willing be part of something that is not just a Burger King where everything is served up my way?


For this—or any--congregation to become a spiritual house, all of us must choose to be part of the whole and to flourish in the pilgrimage of congregational life. 


Today, we will share two significant events that bear witness to the congregational life of St. Christopher’s. 


In just a few moments, we will celebrate with the Daughters of the King as two parishioners become part of this Order. In our parish life, the Daughters are very active. They pray for us daily. I know that because I’m part of the prayer chain. They show up whenever I call, whenever they're needed. Sometimes I don't even know I need them and they show up anyway. The Daughters form a spiritual house among us because they have allowed their lives to become living stones. 


After our worship time, we will gather in the fellowship hall for a transparency luncheon and conversation. It’s an opportunity for the staff and Bishop’s Committee to share with all of you, all the work we have been doing for the past three months and to wonder, together, how God is inviting each of us to be part of the spiritual house God imagines for us.


And then we will break bread together and enjoy a meal together.

 

On Friday morning, when my friend was feeling nervous, she reached out to a buddy, a relationship that had formed in congregational life many years ago and was 5,000 miles away. But through the magic of technology, I texted back with an excerpt from our Psalm today: 


Be my strong rock…

Lead me and guide me.


It is the pilgrim’s prayer that when our lives feel out of control because they spoiler alert our lives are actually out of our control, we know that God is our strength. We do not have to rely on our own human compass to find the path. God is the Way. And, when we incline our ear to God, God does lead and God does guide us on the Way.

 

Maybe the pilgrimage that all of us will make this year is not a 500-mile hike in some far away place, maybe our pilgrimage is right here, in the Daughters of the King, serving as an acolyte, singing in the choir, helping with Laundry Love, participating in Christian Formation and all the other stuff that makes us a congregation.


Our strength, our life and our very Hope is here—in the community of faithful living stones we call St. Christopher's.  Thanks be to God.

 

 

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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