Public Work for the Common Good: Reflections for the 13th Sunday after Pentecost

 

 RCL Proper 21A [i]

23 August 2026

 

Saint Helen’s Anglican Church

Vancouver BC

 

Do well what you do best.

            When my older son, David, was a teenager, he began to take on roles in worship.  He was, and still is, a wonderful reader of the Scriptures, and so he happily took on his share in the reading of the Scriptures on Sundays.  In addition to his being a fine reader, the folks in the congregation were pleased to have a young person as part of the worship leadership.

            One Sunday it fell to David to read Romans 12.1-8, our second reading for today.  This would have been in 1999 or 2002.  In the translation we were then using, verse 8 reads as follows:  “ . . . the exhorter, in exhortation . . . “ rather than “ . . . the encourager, in encouragement . . . “ as we heard this morning. [ii]  David was reading with strength and clarity that morning and he confidently read this verse and said, “ . . . the extorter, in extortion . . . “.  To the credit of the congregation, no one laughed or gasped; they were not going to discourage one of their own young people by reacting to his misreading of the text.

            During coffee hour I was chatting with one of the older members of the congregation who had taken our children under her loving wings.  I mentioned how grateful I was that David’s mistake hadn’t generated any audible or visible response.  ‘Well,’ she said, ‘wasn’t Paul saying that we should do well what we do best?  If you’re going to extort, at least do it well.’

 

Public work for the common good

            In the early days of prayer book revision, a Greek word began to circulate more widely among English-speaking Anglicans – ‘liturgy’.  This word was often translated by the phrase ‘the work of the people’.  Understood in this way, people often thought it meant involving more lay people in the worship leadership of our congregations.  Indeed, the ‘Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy’ of the Second Vatican Council of 1963, which influenced the liturgical renewal of Anglican and Lutheran communities as well as Roman Catholic ones, states, “Mother Church earnestly desires that all the faithful should be led to that fully conscious, and active participation in liturgical celebrations which is demanded by the very nature of the liturgy.” [iii]

            It is a good thing that the leadership of worship has embraced the active participation of all the faithful.  But it is also important to look more closely at what the word ‘liturgy’ meant to the early Christian communities who spoke Greek not English.  For those communities, leitourgia, the original Greek word, meant much, much more.  Leitourgia means ‘a public work voluntarily undertaken by the few for the common good of all’ – ‘a public work undertaken by the few for the common good of all’.

            In ancient Greek literature, a world in which what we call sacred and secular were thoroughly integrated, leitourgia was used to describe a tax used for the well-being of the entire community or even a bridge built by wealthy citizens to connect their community to a major road into a larger market town.  Leitourgia embraced the idea that we are members of a community with obligations to one another and that we were to use our gifts, our charisms, to build up koinonia, the ‘communion’ of our fellow human beings.

 

Midwifing the promise

            When there arose a pharaoh who did not remember Joseph, there was still a community that did remember him and the promises that God had made to the descendants of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob.  When that pharaoh sought to control and even to diminish the Israelites, he had not counted on two midwives, Shiphrah and Puah, devising a plan to do well what they did best – bringing new life into the world.  And so, these two women undertook to do leitourgia, using their gifts to ensure the common good of their people.

            When Jesus reached a critical point in his mission and had turned his face towards Jerusalem, he asked his followers to declare their understanding of who he was and what he was to accomplish.  When he did this, Peter stepped in and did what he does so frequently in the Gospels – speaking the truth even if he’s not sure what that might lead to in the future.  And so, Peter using his gift of speaking the truth declares that Jesus is the Messiah, the one in whom our world finds its meaning and its future.

            When Paul chose to write to the Christian community in Rome, a community he had never visited but hoped to do so, we confronted their struggles to understand what it meant to be a mixed community of Jewish and non-Jewish believers.  When they voiced their belief in their distinctive superiorities, Paul employed his wit and wisdom to remind them of their mutual interdependence, each one upon the other.  And so, Paul reminds them that only the whole body of Christ – not one group or faction or individual – has the gifts necessary to undertake its role in working with God to achieve the divine purposes for the world.

 

Words and actions

            It is common these days to hear politicians and other public figures respond to the tragedies with assurances of ‘thoughts and prayers’.  To be sure there are times when there is very little one can do in the face of a catastrophe, but ‘thoughts and prayers’ can be symptomatic of an inclination to inaction.  

            Among the different Christian traditions there has always been a debate about the relationship between what we confess as our faith – orthodoxy – and what we do as Christians – orthopraxis.  The writer of the Letter of James sums up this tension succinctly: 

 

What good is it, my brothers and sisters, if someone claims to have faith but does not have works?  Surely that faith cannot save, can it?  If a brother or sister is naked and lacks daily food and one of you says to them, “Go in peace; keep warm and eat your fill,” and yet you do not supply their bodily needs, what is the good of that?  So faith by itself, if it has no works, is dead.  But someone will say, “You have faith, and I have works.”  Show me your faith apart from works, and I by my works will show you faith. [iv]

 

            It would have been a good thing for the midwives to have prayed for salvation, but quite something more to devise their plot to deceive the pharaoh.  It would have been a good thing for Peter and the disciples to confess their faith in Jesus, but quite something more to join him on the road to Jerusalem and to the cross.  It would have been a good thing for the Christians in Rome to rejoice in the gifts that God through the Spirit had distributed in their midst, but quite something more to use those gifts to transform the urban centre of the Roman Empire.

            In the months ahead as Saint Helen’s gathers for worship and service, embrace the opportunity to engage in a public work for the common good, a work that springs forth from our confession that Jesus is Lord.  Discover how the gifts that God has given to this community are enriching and can enrich further the life of the Parish and the life of this neighbourhood.  Some who live here are hungry physically, but you and I know well that there are also others who hunger spiritually, who yearn to find meaning and hope during times of material uncertainty and social transformation.

            Over the past eight months I have seen and can confess that this Parish knows how to use its gifts.  There is a yearning to do and to be more.  The good news is that the gifts the Parish needs are already here.  

            I’ll give Paul the last word.  Just after the words we heard this morning, Paul then writes these:  “Let love be genuine; hate what is evil; hold fast to what is good; love one another with mutual affection; outdo one another in showing honour.  Do not lag in zeal; be ardent in spirit; serve the Lord.  Rejoice in hope; be patient in affliction; persevere in prayer.  Contribute to the needs of the saints; pursue hospitality to strangers.” [v]  May it be so.

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[i] Exodus 1.8-2.10; Psalm 124; Romans 12.1-8; Matthew 16.13-20.

 

[ii] Romans 12.8 (NRSV) compared with Romans 12.8 (NRSVue).

 

[iii] Paragraph 14 of Sacrosanctum Concilium as accessed at https://www.vatican.va/archive/hist_councils/ii_vatican_council/documents/vat-ii_const_19631204_sacrosanctum-concilium_en.html on 10 August 2026.

 

[iv] James 2.14-18 (NRSVue).

 

[v] Romans 12.9-13 (NRSVue).

 

Facing Fear: Flight, Fight or Faith -- Reflections on Matthew 14.22-33

 

 

RCL Proper 19A [i]

9 August 2026

 

Saint Helen’s Anglican Church

Vancouver BC

 

Flight is not an option.

         I’m not sure when it began, but at some point in my life I adopted penguins as my favourite animal.  I think penguins are like the clergy:  we dress up in snappy black and white, sometimes with a little extra colour; we waddle around slippery terrain and fall down – but get back up.  Penguin is one of the few Welsh words adopted into the English language and means ‘white head’, a name given to the birds by the Welsh sailors of Sir Francis Drake when they rounded the Cape of Magellan.

         Penguins are not solitary creatures; they live in large colonies and often form life-long relationships, both heterosexual and homosexual ones.  While they are ungainly on land and, as you may know, flightless, penguins are remarkably agile in the water and will travel great distances to forage for food.

         Now I think that the algorithms that shape our social media feeds have caught on to my love of penguins.  Recently on Facebook an ad popped up for t-shirts, hoodies and mugs that featured penguins.  My favourite one was a hoodie with a penguin holding a drawn sword.  Underneath was the caption:  ‘Flight was never an option!’

 

Flight or fight

         At some point in our evolutionary history, our brains developed what is known as the ‘fight or flight’ response to an external, and I think, internal threats.  It is a response that we make with little or no thoughtful reflection.  We size up the situation in the blink of an eye and decide what we’re going to do.  This ‘fight or flight’ response is not only present in individuals but also in communities.

         In some ways this ‘fight or flight’ plays a role in today’s familiar story of Jesus walking on the water to join his disciples who are struggling in troubled waters.  Faced with something that they have never seen before, a human being walking on the surface of the waves, the disciples hunker down – with the exception of Peter.  In one of his finer moments, Peter chooses to ‘fight’ the moment, to take the risk to cross over to Jesus.  But, as we all know, that choice to ‘fight’ soon gives way to ‘flight’ as the reality of the situation grips Peter.  I know what Matthew puts into the mouth of Peter, but I am tempted to think that Peter said something more like this:  ‘Jesus, what was I thinking?  Get me out of this!’

         Most of the time we don’t pay close attention to what Jesus says once he and Peter are in the boat.  Jesus does not say that Peter and the others have no faith; Jesus says, “You of little faith, why did you doubt?” [ii]  In those few words I see Jesus doing two things – (i) he acknowledges the power of fear and (ii) he proclaims the greater power of faith.  Faith, I think, is the choice to dare to take the risk to assess the moment rather than simply react.  Faith takes a longer view of a situation, whereas our ‘fight or flight’ response is only concerned with the immediate moment.

 

Faith and the choice of fight or flight

         Some of you may have read Frank Herbert’s now classic Dune series of novels; perhaps you have seen both of the recent screen adaptations.  One of the themes that threads throughout the novels is the importance of taking a longer-term perspective on human history.  Some characters in the novels look backwards and then seek to ‘do the math’ regarding the probabilities of a strategy achieving their purposes.  One character looks forwards and sees all the possible paths, some that overwhelms him and ultimately leads to his doom.  But what links all of these characters is their willingness to face their fears with wide open eyes.

         If you are familiar with the novels, then you will know that one of the ways the characters face their fear is by reciting what is known as the ‘Litany Against Fear’.

 

I must not fear.  Fear is the mind-killer.  Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration.  I will face my fear.  I will permit it to pass over me and through me.  And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path.  Where the fear has gone there will be nothing.  Only I will remain. [iii]

 

While Frank Herbert was not a fan of organized religion of any sort, his words do remind us of a simple truth in a life of faith:  Faith is the choice to face our fears.

 

“Ventures of which we cannot see the ending” [iv]

         When Joseph’s brothers sold him into slavery, they had no idea what they were setting into motion.  What they intended as a convenient way to rid themselves of an annoying sibling who enjoyed their father’s favour ends up being the salvation of the entire family.  But there’s one thing about Joseph.  Throughout his entire ordeal, he believes that God is at work to bring about the divine purposes for Joseph, for his family, for Egypt.

         When Paul witnessed the stoning of Stephen, he had no idea what was being set into motion.  The martyrdom of Stephen and Paul’s own efforts to suppress the early Christian movement came to no avail, and even Paul found himself caught in the web of the love of God made known in the person of Jesus of Nazareth.  Paul the persecutor on behalf of a rigorous fidelity to what he understands to be God’s Law becomes Paul the apostle to those who by that Law are deemed outsiders.

         In the more than four decades since I was ordained, I have witnessed communities such as ours react in a communal ‘fight or flight’ response.  Some communities have fought against the ending of our privileged place in Canadian society and refused to look courageously at what we might learn from this and how our faith might lead us into a more life-giving response.  Other communities have fled and turned inward and then, one day, simply turned out the lights and turned in the keys.

         But this has not been the story of this Parish.  This Parish has, on more than one occasion, faced its fears and, instead of becoming combative or enclosed, has chosen to learn, to grow and to respond.  This is not a Parish that responds instinctually to fear; it is a Parish that prays, reflects and then acts to share the good news of God in Christ in a neighbourhood where that good news is truly needed.

         Next Sunday this Parish will enter into a new chapter of its story.  No doubt the waters in which we sail are choppy; no doubt there will be moments of uncertainty.  But there is more than a little faith here.  There is a belief that God is here in our midst, leading us, healing us, challenging us, so that we and all God’s children shall be saved, made whole, in witness to what God can do.

         On this Sunday, as I preside and preach for the last time as your priest in charge, I close with a prayer from the Lutheran tradition that I believe in a prayer for such a time as ours, a time in which our boats are shaken but not swamped, a time when our fears are real but need not be paralyzing, a time in which our hopes are greater than our doubts:

 

O God, you have called your servants to ventures of which we cannot see the endings, by paths as yet untrodden, through perils unknown.  Give us faith to go out with good courage, not knowing where we go, but only that your hand is leading us and your love supporting us; through Jesus Christ our Lord.  Amen.[v]

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[i] Genesis 37.1-4, 12-28; Psalm 105.1-6, 16-22, 45c; Romans 10.5-15; Matthew 14.22-33.

 

[ii] Matthew 14.31b (NRSVue).

 

[iii] https://www.goodreads.com/author/quotes/58.Frank_Herbert accessed 8 August 2026.

 

[iv] Evangelical Lutheran Worship (2006), 317.

 

[v] ELW 2006, 317.

 

Unintended Consequences: Reflections on Genesis 29.15-28

 

 

RCL Proper 17A [i]

26 July 2026

 

Saint Helen’s Anglican Church

Vancouver BC

 

Not hiding the flaws

         I may have shared with you in a sermon sometime over the past seven months the Japanese art form known as kintsugi.  Kintsugi is the art of repairing broken porcelain objects by using metal, often silver or gold, to attach the broken pieces back together.  When finished, the object does not hide the flaws, the fractures, but reveals the beauty of an object that has been broken yet now repaired and functional once more.

 

         Unlike our desire to have things put back together so that they are ‘as good as new’, kintsugi is not afraid to show the cracks.  I wonder if kintsugi is the source of the chorus in Leonard Cohen’s sung, ‘Anthem’:

 

 

Ring the bells that still can ring.

Forget your perfect offering.

There is a crack, a crack in everything.

That’s how the light gets in.

 

Even an imperfect situation, a flawed individual or community or family, can become a vehicle of God’s grace.

         Over the past several weeks and in the weeks to come, we have heard and will continue to hear the stories of a flawed family, a family that gave rise to three great religious communities – Judaism, Christianity and Islam – the family of Abraham and Sarah and their descendants.  I imagine that there have been a few Sundays when we’ve all wondered what to say and to think after the reader finishes and says, ‘Hear what the Spirit is saying to the Church.’

 

         John Holbert, the emeritus professor of preaching at Perkins School of Theology in Nashville, writes:  “What are we to make of this story of trickery, deception, and clever dealing?  No character here is to be emulated:  the Bible does not say ever ‘be like Jacob’ or ‘take Laban as your model for living.’  What the Bible instead implies is:  just how is the great God going to make anything out of these rascals?” [ii]

 

         Well, let’s take Leah for just one moment.  She ends up being the wife of a man who does not want her and who is treated so badly that even God notices and decides to give the gift of many sons to ease her pain. [iii]  Two of those sons, Levi and Judah, will become important for those of us who see ourselves as Abraham’s descendants through our faith that Jesus is the Messiah.  Why?  Levi is the ancestor of John the Baptist.  Why?  Judah is the ancestor of Jesus of Nazareth.

 

         Jacob, Laban, Leah, “ . . . these are the characters through whom God is advancing his covenant to save all the nations of the earth . . . . We need the earthy, gritty, and yes at times the unsavory reality of it all to sink in.  Sunday school gives us plastic saints.  The Bible gives us real people with foibles and flaws and faults.” [iv]  And yet, these are precisely the people through whom God’s grace flows into the whole messy project we call human history.

 

Hear what the Spirit is saying to the Church.

         Friends, you and I are real people with foibles and flaws and faults.  That is the ‘bad news’.  But the ‘good news’ of God in Jesus is this:  we are precisely the people who need God’s grace in our lives and who also become conduits of God’s grace in this world of ours.  God does not wait “ . . . for us to clean up our own acts perfectly before or until God will work in us and through us.” [v]

 

         Of all the writers in the New Testament, Paul was keenly aware of his own foibles and flaws and faults.  He speaks of them often.  But he is also able to affirm that “(we) know that all things work together for good for those who love God, who are called according to his purpose.” [vi]  He knows, and I hope that we know, that “neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord” [vii] -- even our foibles, our flaws, our faults.  

 

         Unlike those who want to pretend that ‘everything is as good as new’, we are unafraid to show our cracks and flaws, because like the silver and gold of kintsugi vessels, God fills those cracks and flaws with the light of love and compassion, the silver and gold of hope and perseverance.

 

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[i] Genesis 29.15-28; Psalm 105.1-11, 45c (BAS); Romans 8.26-39; Matthew 13.31-33, 44-52.

 

[ii] John Holbert on Genesis 29.15-28 at https://pcpe.smu.edu/blog/what-goes-arounda-reflections-on-genesis-29-15-28 accessed on 24 July 2026.

 

[iii] Genesis 29.31-35:  “When the Lord saw that Leah was unloved, he opened her womb, but Rachel was barren. Leah conceived and bore a son, and she named him Reuben, for she said, “Because the Lord has looked on my affliction, surely now my husband will love me.”  She conceived again and bore a son and said, “Because the Lord has heard that I am hated, he has given me this son also,” and she named him Simeon.  Again she conceived and bore a son and said, “Now this time my husband will be joined to me, because I have borne him three sons”; therefore he was named Levi.  She conceived again and bore a son and said, “This time I will praise the Lord,” therefore she named him Judah; then she ceased bearing.

 

[iv] Scott Hoezee on Genesis 29.15-28 at https://cepreaching.org/commentary/2023-07-24/genesis-2915-28-3 accessed on 24 July 2026.

 

[v] Hoezee 24 July 2026.

 

[vi] Romans 8.28 (NRSVue).

 

[vii] Romans 8.38-39 (NRSVue).

 

Heavenly Minded and Earthly Good: A Reflection on Matthew 13.24-30, 36-43

RCL Proper 16A

19 July 2026

 

Saint Helen’s Anglican Church

Vancouver BC

 

Tending the garden given to us

         I have a confession to make.  Although I admire and sometimes even envy those folks whose homes are surrounded with gorgeous gardens and well-manicured lawns, I am not one of those people.  I try my best to keep things under some control, but no one would ever put my home on the cover of Better Homes and Gardens except as a cautionary tale. 

 

         For many years I have borne a light burden of guilt, but recently I have been given a reason to lay that burden aside – at least for some of the time.  You may know that we are facing a crisis – there is a serious decline in bee populations with a potentially disastrous effect on our food production and those very gardens I envy.  The causes are manifold and some are linked to global climate change as well as environmental pollution.  But there is one small thing we can do:  let your dandelions blossom.

 

         I have often seen dandelions as a metaphor for the kingdom of God.  They are resilient and they spread their seeds far and wide.  They will spring up in places that no other plant will.  Despite all the best efforts of gardeners throughout the world, dandelions continue to blossom.  But there is something else about them.  Dandelions are among the first plants to flower in the spring.  As the bees awake from hibernation, dandelions often provide them with their first meal.  By allowing our dandelions to blossom in the early spring, we are doing our bees great service.  

 

You have heard said, but I say to you.

         One of the things that we frequently hear Jesus say in the Gospels is this:  ‘You have heard said, but I say to you . . . .’  Well, today I am going to offer a reflection that may seem to diverge somewhat from what Jesus says about the parable of the wheat and the weeds.

 

         You have heard Jesus say that the good seed are the children of God and the bad seed the children of the evil one.  And so we have believed and taught for many generations. But the dandelions have taught me that there might be another way of looking at this parable, one that does not have such an either/or interpretation.

 

         Discerning what is the good seed is not difficult.  Whenever we see someone who is practicing a Christ-like life, whose love of God reveals itself in self-giving love of neighbour, who builds bridges rather than walls, who respects the dignity of every human being, then we know that we are witnessing the good seed of the kingdom.

 

         I dare say that discerning what is the bad seed is also not so difficult.  When leaders care more about self-interest and less about the common good, when the powerful use any means to secure their power at the expense of others, when communities embrace division rather than unity, then we know we are witnessing the bad seed that only denies God’s sovereignty and human dignity.

 

         But there are moments when we are less certain.  Rather than rush into judgement about what is the good seed and what is the bad seed, might the parable also be counselling us to practice patient discernment.  There is wisdom in the householder’s words:  ‘Let both of them grow together until the harvest, and at harvest time I will tell the reapers, Collect the weeds first . . . ‘  When the time is right, we might discover that some of what might have, at first glance, been thought weeds, when they might actually be dandelions, providing an unexpected source of grace.

 

         I love Paul’s words in the 8^th chapter of Romans:  “I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory about to be revealed to us.  For the creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the children of God . . . . But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience.” (Romans 8.18-19, 25)  We wait eagerly and yet patiently for what will emerge from the soil of our lives.

 

         Soon Sebastian will arrive and take up his role as a member of the leadership of this Parish.  Just like the householder, the lay and ordained leaders of this Parish will wait to see what emerges from the variety of seeds that have been sown in our midst.  In some cases, we will be able to discern quickly what is life-giving and what is not.  In others, we will have to wait patiently to discern what fruit they will bear.  But led by the Spirit, we can wait and trust that God is working the divine purpose in us, through us and for us.

  

O God of unchangeable power and eternal light,

look favourably on your whole Church,

that wonderful and sacred mystery.

By the effectual working of your providence,

carry out in tranquillity the plan of salvation.

Let the whole world see and know

that things which were cast down are being raised up,

and things which had grown old are being made new,

and that all things are being brought to their perfection

by him through whom all things were made,

your Son Jesus Christ our Lord.  Amen.

 

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[i] Genesis 28.10-19a; Psalm 139.1-11, 22-23 (BAS); Romans 8.12-25 ; Matthew 13.24-30, 36-43.

Whose Service Is Perfect Freedom: Reflections for the 6th Sunday after Pentecost

 

RCL Proper 14A [i]

5 July 2026

 

Saint Helen’s Anglican Church

Vancouver BC

 

Editing matters.

            For most of my career I have been an editor of theological journals, liturgical texts and graduate students’ papers.  Most readers of books and essays are unaware of the importance of editors.  We read the printed word differently with an eye to clarity of expression so that the reader has the best possible experience.            

            Some years ago, when I was in the midst of a particularly difficult editing task, a colleague suggested that I read Lynne Truss’ book, Eats, Shoots and Leaves:  The Zero Tolerance Approach to Punctuation.  Her book begins with a joke:  ‘A panda walks into a bar, eats some peanuts, pulls out a gun and shots into the air.  Then he leaves.  The bartender, quite rightly disturbed by this, chases the panda, stops him and says, “What was that all about?”  The panda pulls a copy of an encyclopedia article out of his shoulder bag and reads the following:  “A panda eats, shoots and leaves” ’.  The presence of a misplaced comma between ‘eats’ and ‘shoots’ explains the panda’s behaviour.  Remove the comma and you have a gentler description:  What do pandas eat?  They eat shoots and leaves.

            Over the past several weeks, we’ve been listening to Paul’s wrestling with a question that has theological significance:  What makes a Christian a Christian?  And grammar matters.

 

Faith before works

            Paul has been writing to a community that he has never visited and that is being wracked by disputes about the relationship between Jewish law and practice and the influx of non-Jewish believers in Christ.  Some people seem to be saying this:  If you behave in such and such a way including following Jewish law and practice, then you are a Christian.  Paul sees this as an impediment to the inclusion of non-Jewish believers.  Paul turns the sentence around and says this:  If you believe in what God has done in Jesus of Nazareth, then you will follow in the ways taught and embodied in Jesus.  

            Paul understands that how we live our lives has greater integrity when it is rooted in what we believe, what has become beloved to us.  Actions do matter to Paul, but actions that are not fuelled by our choice to be disciples of Jesus can lead us towards judgementalism and self-righteousness rather than love of neighbour. 

            We find this understanding of the life of discipleship in the baptismal covenant we proclaim and re-affirm at every baptism and confirmation.  It is a covenant that reminds us of the danger of separating our love of Christ from our actions that arise from that love.  It is a covenant that seeks to empower us to keep judgementalism and self-righteousness at bay.

 

·      We persevere in resisting evil because we know that often fall into sin and need to repent and return to the Lord.

·      We love our neighbours as ourselves because Christ comes to us in them.

·      We strive for justice and peace because we recognize how we so often fail to respect the dignity of every human being.

·      We strive to safeguard the integrity of God’s creation because this fragile earth is our island home and failure to care is a form of self-harm.

 

But it is not by doing these things that we become Christians.  It is because we are Christians that we do these things.  The wellspring of discipleship is the image of God found in each one of us.

 

An easy yoke and a light burden

            It is this way of reading Paul that helps me understand what may be behind one of Jesus’ sayings that I have always struggled to understand.  Last week you heard me preach on the centrality of love of neighbour in our walk of faith and how difficult that love is, especially in our highly partisan and siloed world.  So it is that I have always struggled to interpret these words of Jesus:  “Come to me, all you who are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.   Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.  For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” [ii] 

            If I look at this passage from the perspective of Paul’s opponents in Rome, then there is no easy yoke nor light burden.  Trying to love my neighbour, to be forgiving, to work for peace and justice, to care for the earth become a to-do list that becomes overwhelming.  I remember when a classmate of mine was bemoaning all that he had to do in the coming months.  Another classmate told him to remember that God never gives us more than we can bear.  My friend responded, ‘Well, God has seriously over-estimated my ability!’ 

            But if I look at this passage from Paul’s perspective, then the yoke does seem easier and the burden lighter.  It is not the list of my accomplishments that matters, but how my love of Christ and choice to be a disciple fuels whatever efforts I make to manifest the life of the Spirit in my everyday affairs.  The yoke is easy because I am yoked to Christ and to all who believe in Christ.  The burden is light because I do not carry it alone; With Christ and with you we carry a burden of compassion, joy and open-handedness rather than an onerous burden of unending drudgery.

            Chesley Harmon, a pastor of the Christian Reformed Church in Langley, writes, “In our cultural moment, judgementalism is being sold to us as good judgement. . . . As we become so entrenched against one another, . . . we become more and more judgemental without actual information.  I wonder how many of us are aware of how wearying it is to carry such a way of being in the world.  Jesus’ way of compassion and curiosity may seem hard to follow, but it turns out to be much lighter a load.” [iii]

 

Trusting the editor

            My friends, editing does matter.  How we word our faith and then write it in the daily conduct of our lives matters.  What gives me hope and confidence is that there is an Editor at work whose wisdom exceeds my own.  Sometimes all we can do is recite the alphabet of faith and trust that the Spirit will fashion the Word from the letters.  At that seems to me to be an easy yoke and a light burden to bear.

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[i] Genesis 24.34-38, 42-49, 58-67; Psalm 45.11-18 (BAS); Romans 7.15-25a; Matthew 11.16-19, 25-30.

 

[ii] Matthew 11.28-30 (NRSVue).

 

[iii] https://cepreaching.org/commentary/2026-06-29/matthew-1116-19-25-30-4.