StAlbansChurch

September 6, 2026 Reflection by Steve Hitchcock

When we recently moved to Albany – 43 years ago now – the house we purchased started out as one of the turn-of-the century weekend cottages that dot Albany: two tiny bedrooms, one small bath, and a combination living room-dining-kitchen. Along the way, a bigger bedroom and then a wacky bathroom were tacked on back.

A couple of years before we purchased the house, two guys – a master cabinet maker and an electrician – worked for over a year to remodel the house literally from the ground up. In their remodeling, they created a galley kitchen to make room for a hallway and laundry space.

As you can imagine, there is no room in that narrow kitchen. At best, there’s room for one person – who spends a lot of time walking from one end to the other. Once the refrigerator door is open, no one is going in or out. Fortunately, the oven door has a sign that reads “For display purposes only.”

Of course, it’s almost impossible to avoid having two people in the kitchen. And when we have company, they gravitate there as well. So, especially in the last 20 years, there have been lots of dirty looks and cross words spoken.

And, because I’m never happy and always complaining, I’ve lately felt that this sanctuary at St. Alban’s is too big. I try to put the rosy glasses on, and I know the historical and demographic reasons why fewer people are in church on Sunday mornings. But I really don’t like all these empty pews.

That’s why today’s Gospel is such good news. This passage appears only in Matthew’s Gospel, and it is often misinterpreted and misused. It becomes a pretext for removing people from the church, excluding those who don’t toe the line. And then labeling those who are kicked out as “tax collectors and Gentiles.”

But the narrative pattern of Matthew’s Gospel – admittedly not transparent to modern readers – has a very different message.

It’s the same message we hear at that pivotal point in Matthew’s Gospel when Peter –the model disciple – finds himself in rough seas and sinking. The message to Peter is “Take Jesus’ hand and get back in the boat with all the other disciples.”

And this boat – the church – has room for everyone. Especially those who seem outside the boat. Especially those who are tax collectors and Gentiles.

Matthew’s Gospel begins with a genealogy that includes a number of questionable characters – foreigners and women. Early on in a dream, Joseph is urged to take a pregnant woman as his wife. Wise men from the East come to worship Jesus. The newborn child immigrates to Egypt.

Later on, Jesus makes Matthew, a tax collector –the equivalent of an ICE agent – as a disciple. A Roman Centurion – one of Hegseth’s testosterone generals – has his son healed. Jesus calls a Gentile woman called a “dog” – and then goes on to lift up her faith and save her daughter’s life.

Of the course, the church has a long history of excluding people, of saying “not for you” whether because of your skin color or social class or – for we Book of Prayer People – a little too much enthusiasm and innovation for our taste.

This spirit of not enough room has now infected our national politics and that of many other countries. Better to be without doctors or farm workers so we can have only those people around us who confirm our own sense of nostalgia and superiority. Just as troubling, some are saying there’s no room in the workplace or the voting booth for women.

But the passages immediately before and after today’s Gospel reading are clear: in the church, there is room enough for everyone. And, at a time when ten men were required for a synagogue, it takes only two or three to make a church – a church that can move mountains.

The even better – and more surprising – good news is that this gathering of two, three, or 300 is going to experience conflict, disagreement, and suffering. Indeed, this tension is welcomed because this is the way the church lives out God’s endless, overflowing, never give-up-mercy.

For Matthew’s first readers, welcoming everyone and reconciling conflicts were not goals or imperatives, but what was actually happening in their community. It was happening because the Risen Christ was present among them. Christ’s Spirit supplied the sparks, the connections, the push-and-pull between those gathered in Christ’s name.

Following today’s reading, we have another passage that appears only in Matthew: Peter, our star pupil, asks about how many times he should forgive his brother. Seventy times seven was the answer. In other words, as many times as it takes. With Christ at its center, nothing can tear this church apart.

To make this even clearer, Jesus tells the parable of the rich man who forgives a debt of 10,000 talents. In Greek, 10,000 is the largest number, and a talent was the heaviest coin.

All our debts can be paid, our burdens lifted, because in the next chapter, Jesus leaves Galilee and begins his journey to Jerusalem. There, his execution on the cross – at the hands of both the religious authorities and the Roman rulers – is a ransom for many. The earth shakes and the dead rise up from their graves.

Then, at the very end of Matthew’s Gospel, we go back to mountain in Galilee. There, as we heard today, that where two or three our gathered in his name, the risen Christ will always be with us.

Today’s Gospel is part of the fourth of five discourses in Matthew. The first was the so-called Sermon on the Mount where we are taught to pray, “Our father, your will be done on earth as in heaven.”

In Matthew, Jesus announces the kingdom of heaven. In Mark and Luke, it’s the kingdom of God. With his teaching and healing, Jesus is bringing the kingdom of heaven into daily life.

So, it’s no surprise that at the end of today’s reading, we hear that what is happening in our community – welcoming everyone and resolving our conflicts – is actually taking place in heaven.

For Matthew, heaven is not some place in the sky. Heaven is wherever God is, and Jesus sits at God’s right hand. As we hear at the very start of Matthew, Jesus is to be called Immanuel: God with us.

Those of gathered today will soon – in our Prayers of the People – remember those saints who have died. We do so, knowing that they are among us, singing and praying. They are breathing the Spirit of Christ into us. For these saints, what makes their lives so heavenly is that they are part of the life eternal we are living right now.

So, you see, these pews aren’t so empty after all. The prayers we offer and the songs we sing have many voices joining ours. It’s all very heavenly. Amen.

Sermons

August 23, 2026 Reflection by Chanthip Phongkhamsavath

Good morning. In starting this reflection I managed to stumble across the one I wrote at this time last year and will admit I started later than I normally do. Not that the readings were particularly controversial or challenging as some can be. But more so because there seemed to be a number of different messages, good messages, and I was trying to connect them to the Gospel and the current day to day ups and downs that swirl around in my head.

One of the things that struck me about last week’s sermon from Reverend Ryan was the opposing theological interpretations of the Gospel that were brought forth. It made me wonder about the interpretations of this week’s reading and for the first time I googled theological interpretation of Matthew 16:13-20. I am still avoiding the use of Claude, ChatGPT and all that so yes I just googled. And not surprisingly there were several references and interesting publications that I read through.

There was one by Dr. Mitzi J Smith, a Professor of the New Testament at Columbia Theological Seminary in Georgia that I found particularly insightful which I linked (in the text below).*

It starts with a statement, “How we identify Jesus will impact the way we interact with one another and with the earth.” In the Gospel reading Jesus asks his disciples what other people are saying about “the son of Man” and they respond with what they have heard. Relaying other people’s interpretation. When Jesus pointedly asked though what people were saying about him, it was only Simon Peter who answered, “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.” For Peter, he was not affirming what others were saying, however identifying for himself through his faith what he knew to be true. In that the foundation of the church was laid. Yet I was initially confused as to why Jesus ordered the disciples not to tell anyone that he was the Messiah.

What we know now, after the fact, is that the disciples’ lives and their messages after Jesus’ crucifixion and resurrection will build the church. Dr. Smith’s commentary goes on to note, “ Their lives will speak louder, more truthfully, and more effectively than their words.”

There are other articles that also tie this Gospel to confessing Christ’s existence as the Son of God on an individual level. Faith is an individual choice, it is something that can be enhanced with a community and with regular study, however at the end of the day it starts with each of us, in our own hearts and minds.

It is in our own minds and words that we identify with Jesus and the teachings. It is the belief and the faith that we are a part of something greater and there is a creator who sent Jesus as a redeemer. It all starts with each of us before it can become anything greater.

This reminds me of the common phrase, “think before you speak,” because the words that are spoken out loud begin to define who you are. Your thoughts are the start, your beliefs echoed in the words you speak and in the actions taken because of them.

In a moment of absolute frustration I remember saying out loud, “You are lucky I am a woman of God.” Truthfully I needed to hear that more than anyone else listening. I needed to remember that despite the situation, I had to pause, breathe, pray and move on. It is the declaration that I am a child of God, that Jesus Christ is my Savior and Redeemer, that I believe the importance of the commandment to love others as I do myself and God.

It is what brings me here on Sundays whether in person or through Zoom, to worship with my brothers and sisters in Christ. To listen to the teachings and let the life I live be the story of my faith. We have this life, these frail bodies, this opportunity to know God and to use the gifts we have to show God’s love.

Part of why I think it took me a bit to get started this week was recognizing I was a little tired. It has been a hectic summer, as usual, as I try to close out the fiscal year at work and as we get the schools ready to start again. A few weeks ago, at our team retreat, we were asked to reflect on what our educational superpowers were and what shapes us as educational leaders. I chose the image of Lady Justice and the balance scales to reflect my educational superpower in part because in my day to day work I am responsible for balancing our budget however I believe that justice can be done when the work I support is rooted in ensuring equitable opportunities for our students.

Being able to voice that with my team and hearing how they use their abilities to support our schools further developed our commitment towards a high quality education for all of our students. Yet for each of us, we came to education because of our own path and recognition and through that we are able to come together to do something more.

In the same way we each have our own relationship with faith and with God and we voice our commitment to it together as we affirm our faith. And that faith manifests in our day to day in different ways. Through our bodies and our existence we have this opportunity to know God and live a life that honors the gifts given to us. In identifying Jesus as our Savior and God’s love, we are able to build a life that honors that.

To show others kindness and compassion. To be able to care for those in need. To open our doors to the community and provide a safe space. A space for talents to develop and grow. Where musical instruments become ministry.

We were blessed with knowing God each of us, and in that we share God’s love through our care for each other. I cannot imagine a greater calling than to be loved by God and share that love by being the best version of myself I can be, each day through my faults and my educational superpowers in a life that honors loving others as I do God.

Amen.

*Commentary by Dr. Mitzi J Smith

Sermons

August 2, 2026 Reflection by Larry DiCostanzo

I hope you all had a nice breakfast this morning because I don’t want you salivating during my reflection. Because I am going to talk about eating. Eating is something we do naturally even without being taught! When I wake up in the morning, the prospect of a beautiful piece of toast is wonderful, something to look forward to.

Charles Dickens writes about eating in a much more extravagant vein. I think we all have heard or read his long story A Christmas Carol and how Ebenezer Scrooge is changed by the visits of three Christmas Spirits that review his own past, present, and future. Here’s how Mr. Dickens describes the appearance of the Ghost of Christmas Present in Scrooge’s miserly house:

[S]uch a mighty blaze went roaring up the chimney, as that dull petrifaction of a hearth had never known . . . for many and many a winter season gone. Heaped up on the floor, to form a kind of throne, were turkeys, geese, game, poultry . . . great joints of meat, sucking-pigs, long wreaths of sausages, mince-pies, plum-puddings, barrels of oysters, red-hot chestnuts, cherry-cheeked apples, juicy oranges, luscious pears, immense . . . cakes, and seething bowls of punch, that made the chamber dim with their delicious steam.

Later on in the same section of the story, Dickens turns to the family of Bob Cratchit, Scrooge’s oppressed and underpaid clerk. He describes the Cratchit family’s much more modest table, but one saturated with the love of those seated round it:

There never was such a goose. Bob said he didn’t believe there ever was such a goose cooked. Its tenderness and flavour, size and cheapness, were the themes of universal admiration. Eked out by apple sauce and mashed potatoes, it was a sufficient dinner for the whole family: indeed, as Mrs. Cratchit said with great delight (surveying one small atom of a bone upon the dish), they hadn’t ate it all at last!

Now consider this — our Bible begins with eating. In Genesis, God gives to us through Adam every plant yielding seeds and every tree with fruit with a seed specifically for food. And he gives every green plant for food to all the beasts with the breath of life. (Genesis 1:29-30) Later on, we learn that God made to grow every tree that is pleasant to the sight and good for food, the tree of life also. (Genesis 2:9)

To me it seems that food and eating were therefore creations and that God endowed us or paired us with eating. I suppose it didn’t have to be that way, but God created Eating.

And the Bible also ends with eating. On almost the last page, the fulfillment, the beautification, sanctification, and salvation of creation is described in the New Jerusalem, the new Heaven, the new Earth. And there is our old friend The Tree of Life. Now, this tree bears twelve harvests of different fruits, one harvest per month. And how does this fruit fit in? It is what was given to us when eating was created, as Genesis narrates. (Revelation 21;22:2)

It seems that Jesus ate a lot too. He ate with with tax collectors and sinners. And it was a big deal. (Matthew 9:10-11) In one of my favorite passages, he calls to Zacchaeus up in the sycamore tree to come down so he can stay at his house. (Luke 19:1-10) After the Resurrection, when he appeared to the apostles on the beach while they were fishing, he cooked a meal of fish for them on a fire of coals. And this was after he advised them to dip their net on the other side of the boat, and then it came up bursting. (John 21)

So, with all this food and eating background around us, let’s look at one of the great eating stories of all time — the miracle of eating that is in today’s Gospel passage of the feeding of the five thousand. Or maybe we should call it the miracle of “five thousand people eating together.” Actually — this is a footnote — it’s more than five thousand: Matthew makes it clear that he counted only the men and not the women and children. (Matthew 14:21) So maybe the number was more like seven thousand or even more. Go figure.

This miracle, this story, was so important and meaningful to the Evangelists that it has two versions in Matthew’s Gospel (Matthew 14:13 and 15:32) and two versions in Mark’s Gospel (Mark 6:30 and 8:1). It appears in Luke. (Luke 9:10) And it even amazingly appears in John’s Gospel which doesn’t quite follow the pattern or style of the other Gospels. (John 6:1) Altogether, the mass feeding of either the five thousand or the four thousand appears six times in the four Gospels.

In this miracle, Jesus takes a little of what we have and creates more and more and more and more out of nothing. Creation from nothing is what God did in Genesis. Jesus’ miracle of creating out of nothing does takes place after the great Creation of Genesis, but it points to the same end — that is, to eating. Jesus’ miracle is looking ahead to the new creation and the new Jerusalem and the tree of life there. It is a way-station or, better, a sign that we are on the way to a new Eden. God’s kindness and the opportunity for all of us to get to the new Eden are signaled in this miracle and in the immense love that the Trinity lives out in Jesus’ passion.

In other words, the miracle is about salvation. It is not a miracle to teach us what to do to follow the Gospel. It is a miracle about the realization of what something is. That is, it is a revelation. It points us to what salvation actually is, not how we get there. It points to the final ends of our faith. What are those ends? Well, we can’t entirely describe them. But we can say that, in our terms, it is like eating together in harmony, like the abundance and cheer to which the Dickens’ Spirit of Christmas Present points, like the love of the Cratchit family Christmas table, like the feeding of the five thousand or, really, the many thousand. The promise or image of salvation is what happened to these people. Imagine their surprise, their delight, and their pleasure. Imagine the laughter. Imagine the noise!

Every time we sit down to eat, we sit down with Our Lord. We can be alone or in noisy, even raucous, company. It is the creation of eating that knots us together. And eating prefigures salvation. No wonder Tiny Tim said, “God Bless Us Everyone.” So, no matter how good your breakfast was today, we should each be sure to go to coffee hour today!

Amen and Thank you.

Sermons

July 26, 2026 Reflection by Christine Staples

After reading this week’s lectionary several times, and pondering the readings, it seems to me that the unifying theme for this week is the intersection of faith and of prayer. And interestingly, not just our faith in God, but God’s faith in us. Ah, my. How is it that these important, foundational things, faith and prayer, can be at once so simple, and yet so complex?

In the Old Testament reading, we see that God favors Solomon’s prayers for wisdom; not just by saying “yes, I give you these things!” but even more importantly, by approving Solomon’s admission of weakness, his desire to do right by his people, and his subsuming his own ego in order to do his best for his people.

In Paul’s letter to the Romans, we see him encouraging the followers to trust in God’s love for them.

And in Matthew’s gospel lesson – oh, my! Parable after parable – so many we can hardly count. It’s a bit comical, really, all the ways that we hear about the value of faith. And, ah, the parable of the mustard seed; how beautiful, how simple – and how devastating!

On its surface, it seems so straightforward; “don’t worry, if you have just a tiny bit of faith, that’s all you need – it’s enough to grow a mighty tree!” But when you read what precedes this parable, it’s pretty daunting. The disciples have just come back from their attempts to cast out demons from an afflicted soul. They tried – and they failed. And when they return home, Jesus is cranky; he chastises them and tells them that they failed because they lacked faith. And, of course, with (I can only imagine!) a heavy sigh, Jesus heads off to do it himself. Oh, dear. I mean, I have full sympathy for Jesus here; he’s preparing for his departure from this plane, and he needs to get his disciples fully up to speed to do the work ahead when he’s gone, and they aren’t able to do it! Who among us hasn’t thought “fine, I’ll just do it myself!” any number of times? Reloaded the dishwasher. Gotten out the plunger. Or despaired that a child, or protege, or loved one, will never master the basic skills to do “it” themselves when we are gone.

However, I do really sympathize with the disciples here; after all, they TRIED to cast out the demons! They went off on their own, and they tried, and they failed. I don’t know about you, but if Jesus came to me today and said “okay, Christine, it’s time for you to go cast out some demons – see you when you get back!” I’m very likely to try to beg off. How on earth could I do it?

And “measuring” faith already feels so harsh; I think that it’s easy to head off in the wrong direction in this area. For instance, if someone prays for a healing and doesn’t receive it, that they – or others – might believe it’s because they didn’t have enough faith, or didn’t pray the “right” way. Or likewise, if someone is dealt a terrible tragedy or hardship. Or, conversely, that if they hit the jackpot of blessings it’s because they deserve it. And that is just not right; the world is full of injustice, tragedies and hardships and disease, and it’s no reflection on the victims – or victors – and what they deserved or “should” have done.

Perhaps I’m feeling a little judged recently; it seems like every good thing I try to do just isn’t good enough. I drive a plug-in hybrid-electric vehicle; every time I reach my destination, it grades me – and seems to always find me wanting. “That was pretty good, but next time, do better!” We have solar panels; every month, PG&E gives us a grade: “your solar profile is pretty good, but similar EFFICIENT homes are excellent!” Man, patronised by my car AND PG&E!

The unhoused woman I bring food to likes to call out what I assume are meant to be encouraging things to me; things like “you’re still walking pretty good!” and “You’ve gained weight, haven’t you? Yeah, you have!” Ummm … okay. Thank you, I guess?

AI keeps offering me helpful suggestions to improve my emails and text messages. Heck, even writing this reflection entailed artificial intelligence essentially telling me that my sentence structure was lousy. So maybe I’m a little hyper-sensitive about my faith vis-a-vis demon-casting-out powers.

But I also realize that my ego is threaded throughout my efforts in life, and that this can be especially present in my prayers and my faith. I want to not just do right, but to be right. I want to be in control of the narrative and of the outcome. I keep putting myself in the center of the story. Oftentimes, my prayers of “please please please do this thing for me, God!” have actually been me attempting to will God into doing what I want. You will not be shocked to hear that that hasn’t gone so well.

One of my favorite quotes is something I’ve heard Kris Whitten share several times in his always-wonderful reflections: “I know there’s a God – and it’s not me!”

Realizing these things, over the years I’ve shifted my mode of praying. After sitting with the advice to “let go and let God,” and to “pray as though God has already answered my prayers,” I moved from praying for an outcome to simply thanking God for being with me, with us, in good times and bad. For surrounding us with love. For reminding us that God is with us. For each of us holding each other up as best we can. And the very, very most satisfying moments of prayer have been where I have been fully able to release my will, and simply say “I accept.” When I am able to do that, I feel a physical release of pressure, and relief truly washes over me.

Last week, as I listened to Jeffrey play Schubert, and to Linda give her reflection, once again, I found myself with my palms open in front of me. And it came to me that my making that gesture was a physical way for me to try to open myself in acceptance, to say “I accept” to God. I accept your beauty. I accept your wisdom. I accept your love. I accept your grace. I accept your will.

God’s love for us is an expression of their faith in us. Recently Judah played his arrangement of “Great is thy Faithfulness” for us; how good to be reminded that God has faith in us! What is the nature of God’s faith in us? Is it perhaps rooted in “I accept?”

This week I read an interview with the Reverend – and Senator – Raphael Warnock. (I will resist reading you the whole piece, packed as it is with profound wisdom and insights! Ask me later for the link.) In it, he said something remarkable about faith; he said “faith isn’t about knowing. Faith is just that – it’s an act of faith.” Let me repeat that: “Faith isn’t about knowing. Faith is just that – it’s an act of faith.” And that beautiful idea reminded me of how Reverend Warnock likes to say that a vote is a kind of a prayer, something which fills me with joy. Reverend Warnock went on to quote Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel, who marched with Dr. King. Rabbi Heschel said that when he marched with Dr. King, he felt like his legs were praying. There are so many ways that faith and prayers can exist!

So, back to the mustard seed. And back to demon casting. Upon reflection: it strikes me that there are many ways, both large and small, to “cast out a demon” of injustice. Big things, like running for office, like Reverend Warnock did. Or like my cousin Martha’s son, Andrew Floyd, who was a lawyer for the Department of Justice, investigating the January 6th insurrection – until he got canned for it; Andrew was one of the people who filed the suit which successfully blocked the 1776 slush fund. But every time we go to a rally to protest what is happening in our country, we are actually attempting a little demon casting! And every time one among us makes a sandwich for someone in need, well, maybe that isn’t going to solve world hunger, but by golly – one sandwich at a time. Every time we vote. Every time we protest inequity. Every little kindness. Every little gesture of caring and love. Every good deed and generous and loving act – they are all that mustard seed of faith.

So, I accept the challenge. I accept God’s love. Please say it with me: I accept!

Sermons

July 19, 2026 Sermon by The Reverend Linda McConnell

Saints and Sinners — That’s Us

The first thing I’m curious about in this parable is that the relationships are upside down.

The Master is doing the work. The servants , who you would expect to be doing the work, are providing the commentary on the quality of work – negligent or outright stupid. “Hey, Master – didn’t you plant good seed? There sure are a lot of weeds growing there. Want us to pull out the weeds (you obviously accidentally planted.)?”

Ok – ‘fess up. How many times have you thought you could do better with the design of things? With the way things work.

Aging for example. Arthritis, really? Memory loss, hearing loss, teeth falling out, how fair is all that? Why couldn’t we go out on a high note of strength and happiness?

And poison oak, rampant on hiking trails – mosquitos whining in your ears, biting the back of your hand, itching for days.

Birth defects? Early onset Alzheimers?

There is so much beauty, so much goodness, so much pulsing, thriving life – AND there is a lot in this world that could be designed better – you know it and I know it.

But it’s not just the natural world.

You and I are a big mixed up mix of good and bad, of pure and not so pure, of doing good for others partly because, well, it strokes our own ego.

And honestly, it’s hard to tell sometimes which is which. The truth is that when we try to get rid of something we classify as “evil”, there are often unintended consequences, blowback –and we can end up with something even worse.

Pain is a good example. We want to mitigate pain, physical pain, emotional pain, but when we go too far in trying to feel better all the time, we risk creating addictions.

We want to get rid of disease, but when we go too far in trying to stamp out illnesses, we risk creating super-bugs that are resistant to treatment.

We are certainly thankful for science, for the scientific method, for medical advances, for climate controlled housing, for increased food production, for all the ways we have of improving the comforts of our earthly existence.

AND this parable is telling us wisdom – Good and evil, right and wrong, opportunities and challenges, joys and sorrows, they are intermingled and our perceptions are limited – are judgements about which is which is quite possibly incorrect, or at least ill informed.

So Jesus invites us into a spacious place of greater wonder and greater acceptance of the world and other people and ourselves as we are — beautiful and flawed, annoying and endearing, difficult and enjoyable, sinful and faithful. Saints and sinners. That’s who we are. That’s the way of this precious world we inhabit.

Jesus told this parable to Galilean farmers who knew the kinds of weeds he was talking about. They were called darnel, or tares. And darnel looks like wheat. If you Google darnel and wheat you can see photos of the two plants – and they are virtually identical.

But it’s easy to tell which is which by the time the wheat is ready to harvest. Wheat grains are heavy. They make the plant droop with their weight. Darnel, on the other hand, is unproductive. It has no weighty head of grain, so the plant continues to stand up right.

By their fruits you will know them, Jesus says.

So, Jesus says, let it be. Things tend to sort themselves out. And the more we trust that to happen, the happier we will be, and the more room we give God to work all things to their rightful purpose.

Friends, here’s the hope for this morning – that we can more and more accept ourselves and others as we are. Not as we think we should be. Or as we think we need to be. But as we are.

When we stand for the creed and say “I believe in God almighty” – may the Spirit still our doubts in the Master and deepen our trust – in other words, may we give God some space and trust that God knows what God is doing – that God has things in hand.

It’s good to be here. It’s good to grow together in wisdom and trust and compassion.

Sermons

July 12, 2026 Reflection by Larry DiCostanzo

I think that everyone has been on a farm. Maybe we’ve visited just a place like The Little Farm in Tilden Park. Once there were two big hogs there with a bunch of piglets. My grandkids named the hogs Lisa and Jason after their parents.

Speaking of names, my father’s cousin, Jimmy, had a good-sized farm in Connecticut. It’s where I first drove a car, and a tractor had to come and pull the car out of a ditch. Years past, Jimmy’s farm dog had been a Saint Bernard. But in his later years, Jimmy drove around in his pickup with a very lively pug. Jimmy was always feeding him, and the pug became quite a little fatty. Jimmy would shout at him, “Get over here, damn you!” And the pug would run and literally jump into Jimmy’s arms. Or Jimmy would shout, “Hurry up, damn you!” And the dog would jump into the cab. The family had named him “Pumpkin” or something like that. But the dog thought his name was “Damn You.”

Jesus is said to have been a carpenter or a carpenter’s son. But, like Jimmy, he seems to have known a lot about farming. Jesus talks about seeds, mustard trees, fields and vineyards, grape vines, day laborers. His disciples snack on standing heads of grain. And he knows animals too — sheep and goats and donkeys. The Gospels are full of the open air, growing things, and probably the noises of animals. And since Jesus tells the story of today’s Parable of the Sower from a boat, I am reminded that he also knew a lot about fish.

So, I wonder how Jesus’ contemporaries, the people on the beach, listened to the Parable of the Sower. A sower was a guy they all had seen at his work and also met on the roads and in the marketplace. He was a pretty important cog in the economic machinery of the time. Everybody lived close to the land.

Jesus’ listeners were probably saying to themselves: “So, what’s Joe the sower going to do in this story?” But Jesus surprises them because the sower and the seeds are background to the story. The surprise is that the story is about the dirt. And, as it turns out, the dirt is actually the people listening to Jesus — the people who are the thorny patch, who are the path or the rocky patch, who are the field itself. Jesus challenges them to ask themselves what kind of dirt are each of them, how do they fit into the parable.

But do Jesus’s listeners really understand this story or are they confused? Jesus doesn’t quite answer this question. There’s a part of this passage that today’s reading leaves out. In it, Jesus talks, in a kind of positive and negative way, about why he tells parables or at least why he tells this parable of the sower. He says that he tells parables because the listeners actually do not understand. Jesus says that they’re like the people that the prophet Isaiah talks about: They can’t hear, they can’t see, they can’t understand with their heart. That’s pretty bleak or perhaps it means simply that people learn better through stories. Personally, I think that’s actually true.

So, as Jesus goes on to explain the Parable to his followers, we see that he knows that there are in fact people that are going to hear the message he gives, people who are the rich soil, people out of whom the seed will bear a thirty- or hundred-fold harvest. This has to be so because it’s fits with how a sower behaves. The sower’s object as a farmer is to sow the field where the rich soil lies. From where the sower stands or walks, the field is bigger than the path around it or by it. It’s bigger than the thorny patch. Now we come to see that the sower, who seems so careless, is Jesus himself. He travels and tosses out his preaching and actions everywhere, as widely as he can, so that he can reach every single little corner of the field. He casts the seeds this way and that in any way he can — parable, miracle, preaching, and resurrection — just so that the maximum number of people will have the opportunity to receive the word about the Kingdom. He’s casting seeds even to people who don’t hear or understand. As we know, even today there are people who need to hear it, who do not get it. Just look at the comments sections in the New York Times! It’s like evangelical radio says today: We’ll keep on preaching the Gospel until everyone in the whole world has heard it.

What about us? We are actually not the people who heard Jesus preach from the boat. They heard this story before the Crucifixion and Resurrection and Descent of the Holy Spirit. We hear the parable after all these great events. So, how is this story meaningful for us?

The good soil, the path, the rocky place, the thorny patch, are us humans. In this, we are like the people on the beach. The seeds are still the delicate, magical, immensely strong carriers of the Gospel. They are always being sown.

But nowadays I am actually every type of soil Jesus mentions. Sometimes, I’m the path where the seed just lies and the birds find an easy meal. Maybe this is when I’m sinning, when my store of love is not an ocean, but a puddle. Sometimes, I’m the thorny ground where the seeds get choked because there are a million distractions every day. There’s the news, there’s the article I absolutely must scroll, there’s balancing the bank account, there’s watching TV, there’s just a general skittishness that makes me restless. Sometimes, I’m the thin soil when I don’t pay attention, when I enjoy worship, but don’t carry it into my world. But, sometimes, even sometimes, I am the rich soil. I say this because, no matter what, my mind, my heart, my soul, the Holy Spirit in me always seem to tap me on the shoulder, to point me to the seeds. So, I turn alternately from being bad dirt to being good dirt, over and over.

But how can this be? How can I alternate this way? If I’m still a sinner, if I fail at love every time I take a step, how can I ever be the rich soil? Here is where Saint Paul helps us out. He reminds us not of our perfection, but of our advantage. St. Paul can be really grouchy and complicated. But he really loves us. He says, in today’s epistle reading, that we have been freed from the law of sin and death — not from sin and death, but from the law of sin and death. So, I can still sin and I will still die. But somehow I am no longer locked in. I can still be the bad soil for a time. But, through the Incarnation and Jesus’s hard work, we have the Spirit in us. And the Spirit is our reminder, the person who knocks on the door. I think this is what Saint Paul says today in the reading from Romans:

The Spirit of God dwells in you . . . [I[f Christ is in you, though the body is dead because of sin, the Spirit is life because of righteousness. If the Spirit of him who raised Jesus from the dead dwells in you, he who raised Christ from the dead will give life to your mortal bodies also through his Spirit that dwells in you.

We are really lucky because we have the Spirit and we are the body of Christ. So we can be the rocky ground, the path, the patch choked by thorns, but only at times — not all the time because we are also rich soil and we bear fruit. Just remember the Apostles’ Creed: I believe in the Holy Spirit; I believe in the forgiveness of sin. As a priest once said to me, God has already forgiven you.

Sermons

July 5, 2026 Sermon by The Reverend Linda McConnell

Jesus is feeling a bit out of sorts in today’s gospel. Why?

At the beginning of this chapter, we find John the Baptist in prison for making things too hot for Herod. He’d been criticizing the powers that be for too long and it got personal when he started talking about the illegitimacy of his marriage – so Herod arrested him. John rightly thinks that he might not be getting out of prison alive.

So he’s reassessing his life. His ministry. And who Jesus is. The one he had baptized in the Jordan and said that this one was full of power, full of dynamite power, as the Greek term has it. That this is the Messiah, the one sent by God.

But now, sitting in the cold dark prison, hungry, facing most likely his death, John wonders. There has been no mighty act of God to change things. No sweeping reforms, No revolution, No massive transformations. Could he have been mistaken about the whole thing?

Ever feel like that? Looking over your life and wondering if you actually got it right? Spent your time and energy in the most productive ways? Moved the needle of your family forward? Of your work life? Of anything? It can be tempting when you look around and wonder what change all the activism has accomplished/

At any rate, John sends a few of his disciples to ask Jesus straight out – “Are you the one? Are you the one who is to come from God, or should we be waiting for another?”

And Jesus says, “Tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the poor have good news brought to them.”

And that’s it. That’s what God has. Small acts of mercy. That’s the Messiah at work. The Kingdom of God come to earth. Small. Not really noticeable on a big scale. Little plants of milkweed scattered here and there. Enough for some of the monarchs. Maybe enough of the monarchs.

That’s the news John gets, and whether he’s content with that or not, the Bible doesn’t tell us. Whether he goes to his death contented with what God is doing or not, we don’t know. What the Bible does tell us, is that he stays faithful. He does not recant. He goes to his death, faithful to the God who has promised salvation.

Friends, let’s be honest. I don’t think the God of Jesus who works mostly in small ways is what we are looking for either.

The day after our nation’s 250th anniversary, I am in mind of Robin Wall Kimmerer’s beautiful declaration of interdependence. – A cease to an extractive economy, but an economy built on mutual flourishing. A recognition of our inter-dependence with the monarchs and the whales and the hummingbirds and the trees.

And our recognition that the only real way to bring this about is neighborhood by neighborhood, block by block. Not in any fell swoop. Most likely not in any large change way. Maybe… but our own neighbors are what we are given.

Tell John what you hear and see. The blind, one or two of them at a time, receive their sight.

So, today’s gospel – and we see Jesus’ own frustration. His own frustration with the folks around him, who can’t even celebrate the bits of the kingdom that are happening. Who can’t even praise God for their neighbor who was begging because he couldn’t walk, and now he’s walking!

“What shall I compare you all to?” He says. “You are like children who won’t play the game. We play the flute and you won’t dance. We wail, and you won’t mourn.”

“John fasted and you called him crazy. I eat and party and you call me a glutton and drunkard.”

God cannot win with you all. Prophets. Teachers. Messiahs. The dead raised to new life. You basically don’t want any of us.

And then, as if to prove the point – the lectionary skips Jesus’ prophetic warnings! Woe to you, he says. His warnings that this refusal to listen, this refusal to engage with God’s mercy, this refusal to acknowledge the power of mercy and forgiveness and grace, leads to judgement.

It’s not that God rains down fire, but when a people will not share, will not welcome others, will not extend grace – destruction follows. It is the natural outcome of crossing your arms, pouting and saying no – no to the stranger, no to feeding the hungry or housing the unhoused or offering grace and the hand of friendship to ones enemies. There’s outcomes to all of that.

And it looks like death. It feels like contraction and emptiness. That’s the part the lectionary skips.

And then our lectionary picks up again with these beautiful verses – some of my favorite in the gospels – come to me all you that are weary and I will give you rest.

But notice who he is saying this to – Not the wise intelligentsia, the powerful people, who rely on their own forecasts and their own desires to have things their way, not to the presidents and the commandants – he is turning towards those who are truly burdened, the little ones who are more towards the bottom rungs of power. He’s not saying I will give you rest to the ones who drop the bombs but the ones upon whom the bombs are dropped. Not to the ones who pump out more and more oil, but to the ones whose homelands are being threatened by rising sea waters.

To the little ones – which means the hungry, the homeless, the children, the blessed ones to whom the Beatitudes are addressed, to those who hunger and thirst for justice and for righteousness, to those who are merciful and pure in heart. These are the ones who carry real burdens, and they need real rest.

“For my yoke is easy and my burden is light,” Jesus says. He doesn’t say, there’s not going to be any yoke, there’s not going to be any work or any responsibility, in other words. But there are ways of being in this world that are easier than other ways.

I’m offering you an easier way. A lighter way. A freer way. Dance with me. He says. Step away from the kingdoms of this world and play the game of the kingdom of God.

And what is the game of the kingdom of God? Planting milkweed. Sharing your pears and your lemons and your deviled eggs. Walking to the bus stop with someone else. Stopping to greet your elderly neighbor and chat with them. Finding ways to make someone else’s day better. Voting in ways that lighten people’s burdens of not being able to pay higher and higher rent and not being able to get medical care. Thinking through policies that make it easier for immigrants and working to get those policies passed. And while you’re doing that, making friends with strangers and maybe even learning another language.

Acts of mercy, as the church has traditionally talked about them. Acts of mercy can get short shrift as they seem so inconsequential. But, according to Jesus, they are not. This is how the Kingdom of God arrives.

Tell John what you hear and what you see. The poor have good news brought to them. The blind receive sight, the deaf receive hearing.

May we have the ears to hear/ The eyes to see / and the lightness of heart to dance. And to cry.

Sermons

June 28, 2026 Sermon from The Reverend Jim Stickney

Instead of pouring in more better stop while you can

making it sharper won’t make it last longer

rooms full of treasure can never be made safe

when your work is done retire this is the way of Heaven

This poem expresses ancient wisdom from a Chinese text called the Tao Te Ching, and it is a foundational document in the practice of Taoism. I picture Taoist thought as the negative space in much of Chinese painting — a recognition of the background needed so that the foreground stands out.

When I do Morning Prayer, in addition to Christian texts, I often include readings from other traditions, such as the poems of Rumi, or stories from the Sufis. I often read these poems from the Tao Te Ching — but they can be rather impersonal. So I’ll balance this quote with a couplet from the Old Testament Book of Sirach. It is advice given to a venerated elder who is presiding at a festive celebration. So this morning I am assuming the role of your local venerated elder.

Speak, you who are older for it is your right

But with accurate knowledge and do not interrupt the music

I have arranged that this day shall be the last time I preach and celebrate here — and a Taoist might observe that this is a “propitious” time to retire. The church observed the feast of St. Alban just this last Monday — June 22nd.

Forty years ago, on July first, 1986, was my first official day as your Rector. As it happened, I was also forty years old at that time.

Thirty years ago, I met a parishioner here named Joni, who became my wife — and she has wedding photos she would like to share with you at the reception.

Twenty years ago I stepped down as your Rector to begin serving as an interim pastor. I was 60, and after a long pastorate, it was time for a major change.

I did agree to return on a volunteer basis as the church dealt with Covid, and continued to serve once a month for in-person services. But I’m eighty now and today concludes forty years of my service here.

So — what next? I’m pretty excited for your future. Your numbers did decrease during Covid, but you have proved very resourceful. Other churches closed, and even our flagship Episcopal seminary in Berkeley has been revisioned for the digital age. Its buildings are repurposed. But you are still here! You serve the community with much-needed childcare, and you support the arts with Calliope, and a range of musicians here.

As for me, it’s no secret that I have become possessed by the benign spirit of the Muses. Every day I am either working on stained glass projects, or at least thinking about my current and my next projects. I post motivational quotes in my shop. Here are a couple of them. Richard Diebenkorn tells me: “Art is not delivered like the morning paper — it must be stolen from Mount Olympus!” Or Picasso: “Art is a lie that tells the truth.” Or from a Japanese artist group: “Fracture is simply the revenge of the material for being extracted from the earth.” Glass is mostly sand that has been tortured into a molten state and then annealed and sliced up. If not treated with respect, the glass will fight back.

My shop can resemble a monastic cell, but with music and a dart board. From the letter to the Romans: “God calls into existence things that do not exist.” We share in God’s creative actions when we create new things. From the Angelic Doctor Thomas Aquinas: “God is an artist, and the universe is God’s work of art.” Some of our parishioners have visited a hermitage on the Big Sur coast. The founder of that order of monks, St. Romuald, wrote this, which I see every day in my shop: “Sit in your cell as in Paradise. Put the whole world behind you and forget it. Watch your thoughts like a good fisherman looking for fish.”

When this church undertook a capital funds drive and remodeled the church. you brought in this well-crafted table to serve as your altar. So — do you remember what happened to the big seven-foot altar that was here before? Well, I’ve got it! now Your old altar has become my work-bench. It’s ergonomic, and I store supplies and tools in the spaces that used to hold the communion kneelers.

In his book, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, James Joyce makes a connection between what the artist does and what the priest does in celebrating the Eucharist: The artist “transmutes the daily bread of experience into the radiant body of everlasting life.” I suggest that all of us are artists of our own lives.

Each of us has to take the daily details of our ordinary days, with all their limitations and potential, and create something out of them — not just anything, but something we are proud of, worthy of divinity. Each one of us has a divine spark within — which is why we gather here — to remember our divine calling and to recharge us on our spiritual quests.

Well, I have just exceeded my two-page limit for my sermons. Time to wrap it up.

First, a repeat of that gentle poetic nudge from the Tao Te Ching:

Instead of pouring in more better stop while you can

making it sharper won’t make it last longer

rooms full of treasure can never be made safe

when your work is done retire this is the way of Heaven

So far, so good — reasonable and balanced words, a little cool and impersonal.

Now, that sage advice from the wisdom of Sirach — for that venerated elder:

Speak, you who are older for it is your right

But with accurate knowledge and do not interrupt the music

Sermons

June 21, 2026 Reflection from Margaret Doleman

“The Price of Discipleship”

Interesting readings today.

First, Sarah convinces Abraham to send Hagar and her son away. God reassures Abraham, but not Hagar, that the boy has a future.

Next, Paul tells us that to belong to Christ, we need to die to sin.

Finally, we have Jesus laying out in detail to his disciples what their commitment to him will cost them.

These are the kinds of passages that make me wonder if I have any business calling myself a Christian.

What is the cost, for us, in our time and place, of following Jesus?

And how do we deal with our fear?

Most of us here probably won’t be called to put our lives on the line for our faith. Some may have religious divisions in their families that are painful, especially if any of the people involved believe that the consequence of wrong belief is eternal damnation.

But for many of us, the worst reaction we’ll face for believing in Jesus is ridicule, or possibly a verbal outburst from someone who sees nothing in religion but shame and blame and war mongering.

So, no, it really isn’t much of a risk for us to show up at church every week. Of course, we do have more responsibilities than that, as Christians.

This congregation is pretty conscientious about offering practical help to people in need. But sometimes, I think, our faith asks us to step out of our comfort zones. For example, this spot right here is not my comfort zone.

And this is where fear comes in.

I read a commentary on this Gospel reading that talked a lot about fear. Fear as a powerful motivation, and fear as a tool for politicians (and I would add advertisers) to manipulate us.

I imagine that physical reactions to deep fear are probably the same for everyone, but the things that we’re afraid of are not. One person’s exciting challenge is another’s worst nightmare. I know that’s true. I’ve seen pictures of people appearing to sleep soundly on a portable ledge, attached to the face of Half Dome.

But I would guess that almost everyone would be afraid of the kind of violent death that Jesus warns his disciples about. And we know that many of them did die violently and probably very painfully.

So, how do we overcome our fears?

Jesus tells his disciples that they need not fear those who can only kill the body but not the soul. I thought about that for a long time, wondering if I could really trust even God enough to look death in the eye.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized that I do see how this works. Jesus is telling them that if they can don’t run away from this physical danger, they will be rewarded with something much better than a few more years on earth. I remembered times when I found a way through my fear because I trusted that the outcome would be better than if I gave in to the fear. Sometimes the equation is very simple, like standing up here and reading what I’ve written, because for me, it’s worth a few butterflies to dig into the readings like this.

Other times, it’s harder. Once, on a hiking trip, I found myself looking at a more or less vertical rock face, which the guides informed us we would be climbing. This was really not my idea of fun, as I think I hinted earlier. But there were rewards, getting to finish the hike, for one, and at least equally important, not feeling like a wimp in front of the rest of the group. The guides assured us it wasn’t that hard, and I made sure that a couple of people were ahead of me, so I could watch how it went for them. It was fine. And I was really glad when it was over.

I don’t know if this is helpful or not, or if it applies to everyone or every situation. Personally, it’s been interesting to think about fear, because I see myself as a rather fearful person, and I know it holds me back sometimes. There are some things I can’t imagine I could ever do, no matter what the situation was. Maybe there are things like that for you, too.

Trusting in God is a good thing. So let us all pray for the courage to do what we need to do, and to be spared from challenges that are too much for us.

Amen.

Sermons

June 14, 2026 Reflection by Steve Hitchcock

Several of us in this congregation read lots of mystery novels. Others of us count on Britbox TV, so we can watch those British detectives at work. And some of you are highly skilled with crossword and jigsaw puzzles.

Part of our pleasure – okay, addiction –is that we like to solve puzzles and see how all the pieces fit together. There’s also the satisfaction that the bad guys get caught. Life may not be perfect, but some measure of justice can be achieved. There is at least some level of “righteousness” – of things being made right.

But there’s another reason why we’re drawn to these stories. In every mystery novel and every TV show, no matter how brilliant the central character is, he or she never solves the mystery alone.

At least one other character – and more often several – help the lead detective get to the solution. And we are intrigued and enchanted by the interactions – both playful and poignant – of the team of detectives who solve the mystery.

To be sure, team members almost always make mistakes, get distracted by false leads, fight among themselves, and are often more bumbling than brilliant.

Today and the next two Sundays, our third reading will be from Matthew’s Gospel, from what is known as the Mission Discourse, the second of five long speeches that Jesus makes in Matthew’s Gospel.

The Pentecost Season is how we experience the reality of what the Easter Season promises – that the Risen Christ is present among us, that we have been raised to new life, that our worn-out lungs and frazzled brains are now Spirit-filled.

Listening to Matthew’s Gospel is an ideal way to keep the Easter promise alive because this Gospel invites us to follow Jesus … to be his disciples … to join the Jesus team.

Matthew wasn’t written at the end of the first century to be a story about what happened 30 or 40 years earlier. Rather, it’s a story about what was happening to those Christians, probably in Syria, two generations after Jesus. And it’s our story today.

And that story is good news, good enough to move us – as Reverend Linda suggested last week – from fear to faith. More than that even: from despair to hope, from paralysis to joy, from dark to light.

All that’s possible because we are being invited to join a team, to be part of a circle that helps – if you will – solve the mystery of life, to help make things right.

Matthew’s Gospel highlights the significance of this team by focusing on the 12 disciples. They represented the 12 tribes of Israel. And Matthew calls them “Apostles,” the post-Easter name given to the 12 disciples.

What this team of 12 disciples constituted was nothing less than the restoration of 12 tribes of Israel before civil war and exile decimated all but two of the original tribes. Jesus’ words about a shepherd and the flock and about the harvest are promises that God’s kingdom is coming and all things will be made right. And this team of disciples – this new Israel – will be a light to all nations.

To turn this promise into a reality, Jesus gives the disciples and us today – a mission. And that mission is the same mission as Jesus’ mission.

In the chapters immediately before this reading, Jesus has been doing exactly what he instructs the disciples to do: Cure the sick, raise the dead, cleanse the lepers, cast out demons.

It wouldn’t have been lost on Matthew’s first readers that what Jesus was doing was – in actuality – going on a mission only to Israel. The “lepers” cleansed suffered not from what we know as leprosy but from a “skin disease” more akin to eczema. These disfigured individuals were excluded and cut off from society, but Jesus says his mission now brings them in.

And, even more startling, in the verses immediately following the cleansing of the leper in chapter 8, a centurion – a Gentile and an enforcer of the brutal Roman occupation – asks Jesus to heal his paralyzed son. Jesus does so and thereby makes it clear that revenge and violence have no place in God’s new kingdom.

In today’s reading – and in the next two weeks – Jesus will offer detailed and forceful instructions to his team. Helen Mirren would be proud! But, boy oh boy, does this team run into trouble.

In subsequent chapters we will see that the disciples failed to understand and to follow Jesus. In Matthew’s own community two generations later, the breakdown of community and the behavior of its leaders left a lot to be desired.

As we read in today from Romans and as is hinted in Matthew’s Gospel, it’s not only internal problems that threaten the Jesus team. There will be rejection, there will be suffering, there will be evil that drives us to fear and despair.

Right now, all our efforts seem so futile. Our prayers, our protests, and our political action have so little impact. Illegal and insane wars go on. Diseases are surging as science and medicine are underfunded and scorned. Millions of people in our own country and around the world are struggling to get enough food to eat.

And, in the midst of all this evil, our mission team – we as Jesus’ disciples sent on a mission – seem so ineffective.

But we really shouldn’t be surprised that our “Jesus team” is so dysfunctional, so likely to make mistakes The One we follow also ended up failing, failing so badly that he was crucified as a common criminal and a political renegade.

Matthew’s Gospel – as we hear in Eucharistic Prayer A – Jesus stretched out his arms on the cross, as a perfect sacrifice for the world. Through his death, we have the forgiveness of sins, the wiping away of our failures, an end to our fear and our arrogance.

But the curious thing is that, after all the instructions they receive in today’s Gospel reading, the disciples don’t actually go out on a mission. They have to follow Jesus to the cross.

We see now that the solution to this mystery – the big mess of our lives and our world today – is that, in swallowing death, Jesus overcame death and the grave and was raised to newness of life. And, in Matthew’s Gospel at the crucifixion, there is an earthquake and all those dead bodies – including us – come out of their graves and start walking around.

That’s why Matthew’s unique ending to his gospel is so powerful. In these final verses, after his death and resurrection, Jesus does actually send out the disciples – and us today – into the world. But unlike the meager supplies we hear about in today’s reading, Jesus sends them – and us – with lavish resources. He tells them he – as the Risen Christ – will be always with them.

And Jesus doesn’t send us out one by one, but two by two, and 12 x 12, and 70 x 70. As we stumble along together on the hard road ahead, the Risen Christ joins us, he walks beside us, he stays in the midst of us.

So, as we gather together this morning and as we go out in the world, our spirits are lifted, our hearts strengthened, and our minds comforted. Thanks to the Spirit’s work, this team – our team – has the mind and the heart of the Risen Christ to heal the sick, welcome the outcast, and proclaim good news.