Sunday, September 28, 2025

The Sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 21, September 28, 2025

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, New York

Br. Robert James Magliula

The Sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost, September 28, 2025


From beginning to end this parable, like our country, is full of divisions and separations which are painfully obvious in our time. The Gospel today reminds us of the wall between the rich and the poor, the powerful and the powerless. Each new executive order, each new policy implemented, are intended to erase the identity and history of marginalized groups, and each new vindictive lawsuit to terrify into submission any opposition. In the parable, on one side of the gate a rich man lives in splendor, dressed in expensive clothes, feasting every day. A poor man named Lazarus lays on the other side of the gate, hungry, dressed in rags, and unable to even get up and walk. He would gladly eat the scraps that fall from the rich man’s table, but the table is on the other side of the gate.

This story is supposed to raise questions for us, but not for the reasons you might think. Today’s gospel is not a theological analysis of heaven and hell. It’s not about rewarding the poor for being poor and punishing the rich for being rich. It's not about what will happen to us after we die. It’s about how we live today. This parable is asking us to acknowledge and deal with the gates and chasms that separate us from each other. Jesus is telling us that how we live today has consequences for tomorrow, not just for ourselves but for others also.

He’s asking us to face the poverty not only in the world, but in ourselves. Lazarus doesn’t just represent poverty in the other. Through Lazarus we see the rich man’s poverty. That may be one reason why we build walls between the rich and poor, those on the inside and those on the outside. We don’t want to look in the eyes of a Lazarus and see ourselves. If we did, it would require something more of us.

Our choices matter. Our priorities set a direction for where we’re headed. Our values and actions shape what we become. We see it in the rich man. Jesus is warning us that today’s gates become tomorrow’s chasms. At some point the gates we use to shut out parts of ourselves or exclude another become the chasms that isolate and confine us.

The chasm that separates the rich man from Lazarus reflects his impoverishment. It’s another manifestation of the gate that separated them in life. The gate and the chasm are the same thing.

Consider all the ways we set gates between ourselves and others; between rich and poor, powerful and powerless, black and white, gay and straight, Muslim and Christian, immigrant and citizen, neighbor and enemy. The list is endless. Those gates are not a condition of circumstances but a condition of the human heart. The gate that becomes a chasm always exists within us before it exists between us. It’s a symptom of our impoverishment.

This parable challenges us to examine our own heart to name the gates that separate us. We all have them.  What are the closed gates in your life today that are separating you from yourself or another? What is impoverishing you today? It might be fear, anger, resentment, jealousy, indifference, guilt, grief, old wounds, loneliness, cynicism, prejudice, to name a few. What gates do we need to open to experience abundance, to discover our identity, to live with meaning? What gates does our country need to open?

What would it take to open the gates of compassion for others, generosity and sharing, healing and wholeness, forgiveness and reconciliation, justice and peace, vulnerability and love? And what would it mean for our life? I suspect it would change the way we pray, the depth of our relationships, the significance of our lives, and what we hope for the future.

Jesus lived God’s concern for the poor and expects us to do the same. We reveal God’s presence in our lives by acting as God acts. We help the poor, feed the hungry, house the homeless, care for the sick, visit prisoners, love our enemies, and work for justice and peace because that’s simply who and how God’s people are to be. Gates destroy relationships. They unmake God’s purpose for creation.

Whatever gates we carry within us, every time we love our neighbor as ourselves, every time we love our enemies, every time we see and treat another as created in the image and likeness of God, gates are opened, and chasms are filled. It’s a choice set before us every day. It’s not easy work, but it is possible. Jesus demonstrated it in his life, death, and resurrection. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. wrote “Power without love is reckless and abusive. Power at its best is love implementing the demands of justice.1

That’s what the kingdom of God looks like. We already have everything we need to accomplish it. Christ’s love, mercy, grace, and presence make it possible for us to ensure that our gates do not become chasms. This is our work, and the salvation of the world. +Amen.



1 Martin Luther King Jr, Where Do We Go from Here: Chaos or Community? (Harper & Row, 1967),37.

Sunday, September 21, 2025

The Fifteenth Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 20, September 21, 2025

Holy Cross MonasteryWest Park, NY

Br. Ephrem Arcement, OHC

The Fifteenth Sunday after Pentecost, September 21, 2025

Click here for an audio of the sermon

    My joy is gone, grief is upon me, my heart is sick.”  This lamentation of the prophet Jeremiah which opens our Old Testament lesson might as well be, in our moment in time, the common lament of our nation, indeed, the world over.  A despair has spread throughout the land, and we, with Jeremiah, cry out, “the summer is ended, and we are not saved.”  Our poor people hurt, they mourn and are dismayed…and we feel their pain, if only a small part.  “Is there no balm in Gilead?”  No physician to heal us?

          Yes, there is!  And today’s readings point us in the direction out of this mire in which we now find ourselves.

          “First of all, then,” writes Paul to Timothy, a disciple trying to pastor a congregation threatened with division because of the spreading of a false teaching, “I urge that supplications, prayers, intercessions, and thanksgivings be made for everyone, for kings,” all would be kings, “and all who are in high positions, so that we may lead a quiet and peaceable life in all godliness and dignity.”  There is no way out of the mess we now or ever will find ourselves in without prayer.  But, you may say, it’s time for action, not prayer.  And St. Paul would say, and I with him, your action will ultimately fail without supporting it in prayer.  And notice the types of prayer Paul lists here: first, supplications…we need to really pray…to cry out…to even beg…not just to knock on the door but to bang the door down till we get what we want; next, prayers…this refers to the opening of your heart and expressing to God your deepest longings and desires; third, intercessions…praying for others, not just yourself…not just your own family, your own clan, church, or political party, but also for the other; and lastly, thanksgivings…appreciating all the gifts from God even when you’re in the mire…and, maybe, that come to us because of it.  And Paul instructs Timothy to direct these prayers to those in authority, presumably that they may have the wisdom and godliness to act and lead according to God’s will and protect the community from the false teachings that are threatening to divide the community and lead people away from the truth.  In light of this instruction, if we really want to realize the kingdom of God and create peaceful societies, the people we need to be praying for the most are those with the authority to affect the most change.  This means praying for our president, our congress, our local government officials, our bishops, rectors, and religious superiors…naming them before God and engaging ardently in these four prayer forms on their behalf.  This means praying for Donald Trump, praying for Vladimir Putin, praying for Benjamin Netanyahu, and praying for whoever it might be that you despise the most…who you believe is afflicting the most harm on the human family or on any part of God’s good creation.  There is a place for prophetic protest, indeed.  But beware of the prophet who doesn’t pray!

          Jesus’ parable of the dishonest steward gives us a second pointer out of the mire.  There’s no need to get bogged down in the details of the story which can be admittedly confusing.  But the moral of the story is clear: Jesus praises the person who is shrewd, who is a good steward in the little things, who is responsible and faithful even when no one is looking, and who, most of all, guards against the lure of wealth but lives for “true riches” with undivided devotion.  Now, if there is a message that cuts through lies, this last one is it!  Exorcise the demon of greed and much of the sickness in the soul of our societies would be healed instantly. 

          But Jesus’ teaching here is about much more than greed.  It’s about something more positive.  Jesus, somewhat shockingly, praises the ingenuity of the steward who got himself into trouble through his wasteful handling of his master’s property.  How much more should the children of light, Jesus says, act shrewdly, or be astute in their judgment of what matters most!  This is a teaching against the complacency and lack of creative will of those who would follow Jesus in the path of discipleship.  If we are serious about ushering in the kingdom of God and building peaceful societies, it will require much more than wishful thinking or hoping the other team fails.  It’s not something we can just “manifest.”  We are called to act intelligently, quickly, skillfully, and creatively.  It requires the total investment of our energies.

          Jesus’ plan for the way out of the mire is also about building character: “Whoever is faithful in a very little is faithful also in much.”  This is about integrity . . . that quality of life that is free of guile and deceit.  At a time when we have our fair share of leaders with such little regard for integrity, to say the least, it is all the more urgent that we take great care to build up a new generation of honest, faithful, humble citizens who see the corruption of character as the corruption of the soul of our society. 

          And Jesus’ most severe warning is reserved against those who have made their money their god: “You cannot serve God and wealth.”  Not only does greed destroy societies, but it does so because, like corrupt character, it destroys the individual soul.  By making things our security, we create sick souls and societies built on sand.  Give it enough time, and it will crumble.  And in order to keep the illusion alive, we get sucked into the vortex of amassing and hoarding stuff, buttressing up our fragile ego on a lie…and promoting lies to protect our fragile ego.  To such…especially to such leaders, Jesus draws a clear line:  Choose this day whom you will serve… “You cannot serve God and wealth.”

          And the final lesson our readings teach us about finding our way out of the mire is the most important of all.  “There is one God,” Paul writes to Timothy, quoting the Shema, adding, “there is also one mediator between God and humankind, Christ Jesus, himself human, ‘who gave himself a ransom for all’….”  More than anything said before, this teaching cuts through the lies of the false teachings spreading like a disease threatening Timothy’s community.

          “There is one God….”  The import of such a statement is the same import we find in Jesus’ saying in Luke: You cannot serve God and wealth…or God and anything else.  The foundational truth of Judeo-Christian faith is the supremacy of God over all creation, especially over human life who has the freedom not to serve the one God.  As long as we walk on this earth with duplicitous allegiances, trying to serve more than one master, we will remain fragmented, divided, and stuck in the mire.  But when we harness all the energies of our will upon the transcendent source above our miry existence, the pathway out of it opens up before us. 

          And “…there is also one mediator between God and humankind, Christ Jesus, himself human, ‘who gave himself a ransom for all….”  Jesus is held up here by Paul as both instrument and exemplar of our salvation.  As instrument, he is the hand of God reaching into the murk to drag us out of it.  And in so doing, reveals that the heart of God is not one of condemnation but of mercy and compassion, not hesitating to get dirty for the sake of the one in need.  But as exemplar, Jesus shows us what our lives must become if we are to cut through the lies that threaten to keep us stuck in the mire.  Jesus is the example of one who allowed himself to be possessed rather than to possess.  He knew where his true, personal wealth and security were found.  He took total responsibility in all the aspects of his life and was faithful to his call to the end, no matter what it cost him.  He saw clearly who his God was and who he was in his God.  And when the tempter came to test him with lies, his intimate knowledge of God gave him the grace to swat them down one by one.  His oneness with the one God, a life possessed rather than possessing, is what constituted his freedom to love with such abandon and gave to the world a new way of being in the world.  This is our way out of the mire…and this is the bar we should set for ourselves and to which we should call our leaders to account. 

          So, while there is certainly a place for the lamenting Jeremiah in our lives, let us also make sure that we give a place to the praying Paul and, most especially, to the loving and sacrificing Christ.  Let us pray, and let us look to Jesus, our mediator, who, for our sake, never tired of giving of himself, and, in so doing, pierced through the darkness of the lies and illusions that greedy living foments and revealed the truth upon which we can stand firm to find our way out of the mire: living lives of mercy and stubborn compassion.  It is the same truth now as it has been for the past two-thousand years…admired more than lived.  It’s now time to live it…to live it with great integrity and fidelity…rising above the miry filth of greed and selfish ambition…and through the sacrificial giving of ourselves through the one who gave of himself…with dirty hands, to become a ransom for a world in need.

Sunday, September 14, 2025

The Exaltation of the Holy Cross, September 14, 2025

 Holy Cross MonasteryWest Park, NY

Br. Francis Beckham, OHC

The Exaltation of the Holy Cross, September 14, 2025


Ave crux, spes unica! Hail to the cross, our only hope! Amen. 


Amidst some of the bleakest and most uncertain days of 2020, gold-and-black signs bearing the words, “Tough Times Didn’t Break Us, They Made Us” began appearing in and around the city of Pittsburgh, where I was then living. To an outsider, this message may have seemed like a nice little bit of encouragement for an unprecedented and trying time. But for Pittsburghers, those eight words, fittingly framed by the city’s iconic colors, were an immediate reminder and rallying cry of who they were: A people shaped over years of enduring times such as these, and how, like the steel forged by generations of their forebears, each pass through the blast furnace had only made them stronger. In fact, nearly everything Pittsburghers have come to be known and celebrated for has roots in the countless challenges they’ve met and overcome; as a result, Pittsburghers understand as well as anyone that the road to the best of times invariably runs through the worst of them. And, with the pandemic showing no sign of letting up any time soon, it was important for Pittsburghers to reflect on that truth and to hang on to the sure hope it offered them. 


I say sure hope because, unlike vain hope, sure hope has much more going for it than mere wishful thinking. Hope that is sure, or certain, is built on a sound and reliable foundation. Simply put, we can be assured that there’s good reason to believe in it, even if at that precise moment it’s unclear how that hope can possibly pan out.


Hope’s capacity for being born out of the worst of circumstances never ceases to amaze me. One might wonder, for example, how something like the cross – devised as an instrument and symbol of imperial power and intimidation – can possibly be embraced, even celebrated, as a sign of sure hope in God’s loving-kindness. After all, its original purpose was quite the opposite: to inflict one of the most agonizing deaths imaginable on its victims, while simultaneously encouraging anyone else who might be thinking about challenging the state to think again. It was certainly never intended to inspire hope. And yet, we find ourselves here today, in a monastic order named for the cross, in the presence of two very large depictions of the cross, while exalting it in one of the principal celebrations of the church’s calendar. Like the outsider reading those Pittsburgh signs without fully grasping their true significance, we could be forgiven for finding all this cross-honoring a bit odd, especially since its most famous victim just so happens to be the founder of our religion. 


Luckily, it’s Jesus himself who provides the key to understanding the deeper meaning of the cross for us today. In our gospel reading, Jesus has already entered Jerusalem for the last time and is fully aware of the plotting that’s going on against him. Knowing of the Pharisees’ plan to turn him over to the Romans as a revolutionary, crucifixion is almost certainly the death that’s in store for Jesus. And so, he makes a point of proclaiming that God has already defeated the plotters’ plan. “Now is the judgement of this world,” Jesus tells them. “And I, when I am lifted up from the earth (that is, up onto the cross), will draw all people to myself.” Even as they scheme to silence Jesus by killing him on a cross, they’re unwittingly playing into God’s purposes rather than their own. Despite the crowd not quite understanding Jesus, he urges them to pick up and carry his light into the world once he’s taken from them. “While you have the light, believe in the light,” he says, “so that you may become children of light.” Jesus is no lamb being led gently to the slaughter; he’s defiant in the face of injustice, and wants people to realize that they have not only the power, but the duty, to carry on his prophetic mission after he leaves them. 


In saying this, Jesus helps us understand that, regardless of how bleak things may seem in any given moment (and, facing impending crucifixion is definitely pretty bleak), God’s capacity to lead us through our present suffering and into new life is never bound by any human power. For Pilate, the cross seemed the obvious instrument for crushing Jesus and his message. But for Jesus, accepting with sure and certain hope that God would use even his forthcoming crucifixion to lead him – and all of us – more fully into God, the cross became a far more powerful means of subverting Pilate’s plans. In so doing, Jesus transforms the cross from a public spectacle of shame and death into a beacon of hope and new life. In other words, Jesus our High Priest has ripped the cross away from Pilate and offered it directly to God.  


Of course, as we know, humans do have a stubborn tendency to appropriate and misuse the good things of God, which means that even the cross we celebrate here today as a sign of hopefulness has at times been used for purposes more aligned with the cruel cowardice of Pilate than with the merciful message of Jesus. Sadly, and because of this, the cross has come to symbolize for far too many not the Reign of God, but rather cruelty, intolerance, judgementalism, exclusion, violence, and even death. I hope all of us, as a people who have hope in Jesus’ promise to draw everyone to God, will accept his invitation to become children of light and courageously live the cross’ true, transformed meaning in the world with compassion, respect, understanding, and, above all, love. 


Jesus and the disciples lived in a strange and seemingly apocalyptic time, as do we. Initially, the cross must have felt like utter defeat for those closest to Jesus, but it was an absolutely necessary step along the way to the bigger future God had planned for them. Even as the world itself seemed to be falling apart and there appeared to be no certain hope on the horizon, God’s people were being led toward something far better than the past they were already mourning. And God was doing this by overturning and glorifying one of the worst things imaginable in first-century Jerusalem: the cross.


Even as we try – and, at times, struggle – to look ahead with hope at the future God has already prepared for all of us, it’s important that we not lose sight of God’s presence right now, in the struggles themselves. After all, it’s the small moments of grace building one upon another during these stretches of suffering that ultimately move us into the better times for which we long. Although it can be difficult for us to stop and notice them in the here and now, if we dare to, we will surely recognize the presence of God. And, looking back later, we may even be astonished to see all the ways God was here, acting, the whole time. As Saint Augustine, patron of this very monastic church, reminds us in a sermon on Jesus’ Passion: 


“What God promises us for the future is great, but what God has already done for us in Christ is greater still. Who can doubt that he will give us his life, since he has already given us his death? … So my brothers and sisters, let us acknowledge without fear, indeed, let us announce publicly that Christ was crucified for us. Let us proclaim it not trembling, but rejoicing; not shamefacedly, but boasting. As the apostle Paul said, ‘Far be it from me to glory except in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ.’”


Yes, God is here with each of us even now in both our personal and collective struggles, just as God was fully present to Jesus even as he was raised onto the cross. We must never doubt that Jesus is already using our own crosses to lead us more fully into the knowledge and loving presence of God. With sure hope in God, tough times – even these tough times – can never break us.  


May peace and all that is good remain with us, and all those we love, and may we keep the cross of Christ ever before us, showing forth the light and hope of God into our world. Amen. 


The Thirteenth Sunday after Pentecost, September 7, 2025

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY

Br. Bernard Delcourt, OHC

The Seventh Sunday after Pentecost, July 27, 2025
In the name of the Lover, the Beloved and the Love ever flowing. Amen.

 

Jesus and his disciples are travelling followed by a great crowd. What are the motivations of the people in the crowd? Are they convinced by Jesus’s preaching and want to be his disciples? Are they fascinated by Jesus’s signs and they want to see (or eat) more? Are they there because everyone else is?

 

Jesus turns around on the crowd and addresses them about the cost of discipleship. Is Jesus trying to thin the crowd behind him? He is definitely trying to make his audience consider what they need to commit to to be his disciples. As German theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer wrote in the time of ascending fascism, cheap grace will not take you far on the road to discipleship.

 

Jesus uses images of how we belong to our closest relatives to convey his view of the cost of discipleship. And he turns those relationships upside down. Our biological family or family of origin is not his focus for building up the Kingdom of God.

 

 It is useful to consider that throughout the gospel Jesus’s family values are at odds with traditional family values. Clearly, Jesus sees the community of the believers as the primary locus of belonging for his disciples.

 

Jesus uses harsh language in conveying that message. He uses the verb hate; misein in the original Greek text of the gospel. It is useful to note that misein does not denote the emotional baggage that hate carries in our own English language. Misein connotes the attitudes and modes of action involved. Misein could be ignoring, neglecting or overlooking the object of the hate. This still pretty nasty stuff no matter who it is directed to.

 

So could it be that Jesus is using a time-honored rhetorical device in Hebrew scripture here? It is called hyperbole. Hyperbole is the use of exaggeration as a rhetorical device or figure of speech. As a figure of speech, it is usually not meant to be taken literally.

 

One indication that hyperbole is involved is that drawing on the same Jesus tradition as Luke, the evangelist Matthew seems to have interpreted the starker language of “hate” to refer to primary allegiance.  

 

In Matthew (10:37) we read: “Whoever loves father or mother more than me is not worthy of me; and whoever loves son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me.” For Matthew, this saying indicates that our primary allegiance must be to Jesus rather than to family. Hate is not required in Matthew’s view of Jesus’s teaching.

 

Also, if you take Jesus’s teaching throughout the gospels, his literally advising for literal hate as a course of action does not seem to make sense. This is the same Jesus who asked us to love our neighbor as ourselves, even to love our enemies.

 

Still, Jesus’s language is powerfully emphasizing that discipleship involves a high cost (up to and including our own survival). If discipleship is on our mind, we can’t be tepid or tentative about it. We need to be all in or not bother with the adventure at all.

 

We need to be willing to take up our cross and carry it. Is this cross language another example of hyperbolic language or should we really consider losing our lives for following Jesus?

 

If you consider what happened to the apostles after Jesus’s death, the odds are that our lives are on the line; all but one apostle died as a martyr. But it could also be that we need to lose the life we wanted or the life we were used to in order to follow Jesus. Maybe the life we need to loose is the life of our false self. Maybe on the way of no-self, losing our physical life might be involved in that transformation.

 

Next, Jesus gives us a couple of parables to illustrate what’s involved in counting the cost of discipleship. One involves counting the cost of building a tower. He’s probably referring to watchtowers that were common in vineyards to prevent marauding and pilfering of the vineyard’s produce. The other involves kings about to go to war with their armies. The morale regarding discipleship seems clear: don’t consider it if you cannot afford the full cost of it.


And finally, Jesus adds one more thing, or a heap of things, to give up: our possessions, all of them. And this might not be hyperbolic, this time. This last exhortation illustrates again what Jesus is pointing at in my opinion. He wants us to let go of our many attachments in order to be fully free to follow him.

 

There are many attachments this refers to: attachment to our family, our in-group, our nation; attachments to our way of life and all its paraphernalia; attachments to what we believe gives us safety and security, including attachment to whatever money, power and influence we have.

 

All considered, Jesus is putting up the bar to becoming his disciple very high. Can we imagine ourselves letting go of our several attachments in order to let us be what Jesus is desiring us to be.

 

Beloved Lord, thank you for making us count the cost of loving you as a disciple. Give us courage to detach from what derails us from following you first and foremost.

 

Amen.