Sunday, November 16, 2025

The Twenty-Third Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 28 C, November 16, 2025

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, New York

Br. Robert James Magliula

The Twenty-Third Sunday after Pentecost, November 16, 2025







            It’s easy to see why some people might think that the world is ending. Just hold up a newspaper in one hand and Luke’s gospel in the other. “Nations will rise against nation”. There will be great earthquakes. In various places famines and plagues. Dreadful portents and great signs from heaven. They will arrest you and persecute you.” Of course that depends chiefly on who you are, how rich you are, what color you are, or where you’re from. Security, peace, and diplomacy have given way to fear, violence, war, and terrorism. It seems like Temples are falling everywhere.

This frightening passage not only looks forward; it also looks back to the many times before now when humanity experienced all these things and believed their world was coming to an end, only it didn’t. The inexplicable delay in the coming of our Lord at the end time was one of the stickiest problems the early church had to face. Jesus himself did not seem to know the answer. “Truly, I tell you, this generation will not pass away until all things have taken place”, he said, over two thousand years ago.

            He says it as part of his last public teaching. He has come to Jerusalem knowing he will collide with the authorities there. He is sitting in the temple talking with his disciples when some of them begin to admire the place, commenting on how beautiful the stone is, and the gifts dedicated to God. Anyone who knows me would not be surprised that I would be part of that conversation or maybe even initiate it. Then Jesus reminds them that it will all be ruins someday.

            He doesn’t say it to be cruel. He is simply telling them the truth---that the things of this world will not last---that even some place as stunning and holy as the temple will become a ruin when the old world collapses in on itself. The temple was the center of Jewish life. It was what structured their community and gave identity and meaning. It’s the kind of news that makes you look around for someone who can save you---someone who seems to have access to God’s calendar and who will tell you exactly when the ship starts to sink so that you can make it to the lifeboats in time.

            Only Jesus does not recommend that course of action. He warns against it, in fact. “Beware that you are not led astray,” he tells those gathered around him; “for many will come in my name and say, ‘I am he!’ and ‘The time is near!’ Do not go after them. When you hear of wars and insurrections, do not be terrified; for these things must take place first, but the end will not follow immediately.” Do not go after them. Do not be terrified.

We all have temples. Some have been given to us, others we have built for ourselves. Sometimes our temples are people, places, values and beliefs, institutions, dreams. They are the things that we think structure and order our lives, give meaning and identity, providing security and stability. At least we think they do, until they fall. We may not like it, we may deny it, we may resist it, but the reality is things are changing. Our world is changing, our country is changing, our lives are changing. These are dark days when change brings loss or the fear of loss. Darkness, I’ve discovered, is often the way we come to see.  It may create the depressions that, once faced, teach us to trust.  It gives us the sensitivity it takes to understand the depth of the pain in others. It seeds in us the humility it takes to learn to live gently with the rest of the universe. It opens us to new possibilities within ourselves.

Change has a way of pushing us into the future. Many people will begin looking for signs about the future. But if we’re not careful, we will be living in a future created in our heads. When Jesus describes things that will happen, he is not asking us to speculate about the future. He is offering signs that call us to be faithful in the present.

According to Luke’s Gospel they are not signs of God’s absence but signs of God’s sure and certain presence. Nothing is going on that is unknown to God---not the things in the news or the things in our lives. God sees them and encourages us not to be terrified. To become terrified is to become part of the problem. God has something else in mind, what Jesus calls endurance. When all that is lovely to you, when all that is holy looks as if it may soon be reduced to rubble, do not lose heart. Do not be terrified. Hold on to one another and follow through. By your endurance you will gain your souls.  Staying in communion with one another---holding onto one another through all the storms that blow around us---that is how we know that God is still with us, no matter what the headlines say. Come injustices, wars, persecutions, earthquakes, plagues, famines, we are to hold on to one another---we are to endure ---because holding on to one another is how we hold on to our Lord.

Sometimes, after our temples fall, we look for a scapegoat, someone to blame or even demonize. We look for someone or a group who does not think, act, or believe like we do. Democrats and Republicans blame each other as do the conservatives and the liberals. Some simply give up and despair. Some become angry, resentful, and fight back. Others will say it’s God’s will or even God’s punishment. Many will look for easy answers, quick fixes, something that will prop up the old structures and ways of doing things. None of these are Jesus’ response.

So, what do we do on the day our temples fall?

Jesus’ response is: Be still, be quiet, do not be led astray. Do not allow your life to be controlled or determined by fear. Do not listen to the many voices that would cause you to run and go after them. Endure, he says. Be faithful, steadfast, persevere here and now. He is calling us to be present and faithful in whatever circumstances we find ourselves. If we cannot find God here, in our present circumstances, even amid our temple ruins, we will find God nowhere. Too often, we believe and live as if the fallen temple is the end of the story. It will be if we run away, scapegoat, respond with anger, or try to put it back together like it used to be. The new story is how we discovered God beside us in the temple ruins and how God rebuilt what we could not. It is the ongoing story of God recreating life out of loss, a story of God rejoicing and delighting in us.

The place of fallen temples is the place in which God, speaking through the prophet Isaiah, declares: “I am about to create new heavens and new earth; the former things shall not be remembered or come to mind. But be glad and rejoice forever in what I am creating; for I am about to create Jerusalem as a joy, and its people as a delight. I will rejoice in Jerusalem, and delight in my people; no more shall the sound of weeping be heard in it or the cry of distress” (Isaiah 65:17-19).

Those promises are fulfilled through our endurance, our stability, by remaining fully present, faithful, no matter how dark or uncomfortable life may be. In so doing we discover that God has always been with us – in the changes, chances, and chaos of life; in the pain, loss, and disappointment; in the destruction of our temples. Endurance, perseverance, stability are the ways in which we offer God the fallen stones of our temples. Stone by stone God will restore the beauty of our life and world. Stone by stone a new temple arises from the rubble, and we are that temple.

Do not be terrified, he said, “I am with you always, even to the end of the age.”    +Amen.

Sunday, November 9, 2025

The Twenty-Second Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 27 C, November 9, 2025

Holy Cross MonasteryWest Park, NY

Br. Ephrem Arcement, OHC

The Twenty-Second Sunday after Pentecost, November 9, 2025

Click here for an audio of the sermon

The most beautiful people we have known are those who have known defeat, known suffering, known struggle, known loss, and have found their way out of those depths.

-Elisabeth Kubler-Ross 

          Job was such a man.  He lost his possessions.  He lost his children. He lost his pride. And he was about to lose his life.  Everything was taken away from him…and his wife who remained was encouraging him to just curse God and die.  Yet there was something inside Job that wouldn’t let him succumb to despair: “Yahweh gave and Yahweh has taken away.  Blessed be the name of Yahweh.”  Instead of throwing in the towel, he chooses to fight.  But the fight wasn’t just against his so called “friends” who tried to convince him that his suffering was his fault, it was really against God from whom he demanded an answer for his unjust suffering.  And it was precisely through this contending with God that this thing inside Job matured and was perfected.  What was this “thing?”  We call it faith.

          But what is faith?  Job, I believe, gives us a striking expression of what faith looks like.  For him, faith is the conviction that though he can’t rationally understand something, like the reason for his suffering, and even when others are giving him pat answers and bad, uncaring, unsolicited advice, he knows on the most profound level where the truth lies.  He knows and he risks his life on this knowing, this conviction, this faith.  So, even at death’s door after a lifetime of unjust suffering he can say, “…I know that my Redeemer lives, and that at the last he will stand upon the earth; and after my skin has been thus destroyed, then in my flesh I shall see God, whom I shall see on my side, and my eyes shall behold, and not another.”  Even when he doesn’t understand why God has allowed life to deal him such a despicable hand, he chooses not to feel sorry for himself or to focus on his impending demise; instead, he lifts his head high obstinately in the face of this onslaught of inexplicable pain and sees what no one around him sees: the living Redeemer, Vindicator, Defender who he believes will, in the end, right every wrong and bring him to peace.

          Job, of course, is a Christ-figure.  Jesus, himself, will undergo a similar existential crisis after spending years of unjust persecution and suffering.  Imagine knowing you are the Beloved of God yet being told again and again that you are a devil.  Imagine having your closest friends and even your family misunderstand you and turn their backs on you.  And imagine that after exhausting all your energyyour heart and soul—on doing everything you possibly can to please the One who called you “Beloved” only to have the feeling of total, utter abandonment at the time you needed this One the most.  What then?  What would your response be?  To curse God and die?  To throw in the towel?  Or would that flickering spark of faith, of conviction, of knowing arise in you and say, “Nevertheless, into your hands I commend my spirit.” 

          And we may naively think that following a crucified Messiah means that we will be saved from a similar fate—that because he suffered unjustly we won’t.  But we would be sorely mistaken.  “I have not come to bring peace but a sword,” so one saying of Jesus goes.  Of course, Jesus is also the Prince of Peace and has, in fact, come to bring peace…but a peace that will last.  And this kind of peace does not come, he teaches, before the sword pierces straight through our hearts revealing what is in our depths and testing that seed of faith, that inner conviction, that deep knowing. 

          So it shouldn’t come as a surprise to see that the early Christians, immediately after experiencing the joy of knowing that their Lord was found to be alive after his crucifixion, that they, too, began to undergo the same trials of unjust persecution and suffering as did their Lord.  This, the community at Thessalonica, was enduring…and their response to their existential crisis…and Paul’s advice to them…is very revealing.

          One thing about suffering is that we want it to end as soon as possible.  We’d prefer a deus ex machina to suddenly appear out of the sky and bring all of this unjust suffering, this cruel chaos, to an end…today, rather than have to endure, persevere, and wait.  Patient endurance amidst the testing of faith sometimes feels like God is playing a cruel joke on us.  No wonder so many characters in the Bible preferred to speak of God’s wrath rather than God’s love.  The Thessalonians, in their despondency, envisioned such a deus ex machina.  They held out hope that Jesus would return “soon and very soon” to save them from their suffering and persecution.  But Paul’s advice to them is to not become fixated on deliverance but to remind them that God has indeed called them to obtain the glory of the Lord Jesus Christ.  But they must stand firm and hold fast to the faith they were taught.  And what were they taught: that through the bearing of the cross, just as Jesus bore his cross, they will know redemption and resurrection, just as Jesus knew redemption and resurrection.

          Another thing about suffering, besides wanting to be delivered of it as soon as possible, is that it has a tendency to command all of our attention.  It is very difficult to think of anything else when our lives begin to fall apart.  And it’s our tendency to create societies to protect us from just such moments of crises.  So we accumulate wealth, power, control, prestige, and anything and everything that shields us from the possibility of living a life that might have to undergo the fearful, anxious, threatening moment of contending with our demise.  But one wrong turn, one unfortunate choice, one inexplicable moment can send us reeling and expose just how thin is the veneer that we sought to live behind. 

          So, maybe we’ve got it all wrong.  Sometimes we are not called to deliverance, to salvation…we are called to suffering and persecution.  Not because God is cruel but because within it an invitation is extended to us that we wouldn’t hear or notice in any other way.  But, often, we don’t hear it, and we don’t notice it.  Instead, we become so fixed on our life’s situation that we get stuck in the perpetuating chaos from which we want to be delivered and saved.  We fail to see beyond the surface and that spark of faith which rose up in Job and rose up in Jesus remains covered under the cloak of our despair. 

          I’ve been alive for over a half century now, and never in my lifetime have I sensed such global despair as I do now.  The fear of many has reached its peak, and one global crisis has piled up upon another.  And those of us who really care about this gross proliferation of suffering, often at the hands of those who hold power and are desperately afraid of losing it, are all the more angered at the justification of this abuse by those in charge and the utter negligence of so many who would prefer to look the other way.  And it remains up to us, those of us whose moral core remains intact and whose conscience hasn’t been rationalized away, to persevere in the work of building God’s kingdom of justice and peace. 

          But here’s my greatest concern about this current moment.  The sense that I often get from those of us Christians working for peace is not peace but something much more frenetic, anxious, and dark.  I sense anger, pessimism, and not a little bit of hopelessness.  But how can we create a world of peace when we ourselves are not at peace?  Have we succumbed to the tendency to get stuck on the level of circumstance, and has the suffering of the world caused us to lose sight of the One walking on the chaotic waves of our despair?  Are we failing in faith?  This is my greatest concern: that by going out to the periphery we lose touch with the center.  But this need not be the case.  The only way to the realization of the kingdom of God in this world is for the people of God to remain centered on the periphery and to still the chaos of fear through the stability of faith. 

          This is not a denial of the seriousness of our current crises or a dulling of the urgency to make a difference.  It is, rather, a call to remain centered upon the One who enters with us into our existential crises.  Are we confident that he who is in us is greater than he who is in the world?  Do we see the providential hand of God at work in this mess in which we now find ourselves?  Do we feel that spark of faith, of conviction, of knowing arising from within?  Be not afraid!  And be not anxious.  Instead, see what others cannot see and have confidence that God is creating something beautiful through this slow process of painful becoming. 

    The most beautiful people we have known are those who have known defeat, known suffering, known struggle, known loss, and have found their way out of those depths.”  With God our suffering will not end in death, because with God all things live.

Monday, November 3, 2025

The Twenty-First Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 26 C, November 2, 2025

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY

Br. Bernard Delcourt, OHC

The Twenty-First Sunday after Pentecost, November 2, 2025

In the name of our loving, liberating and life-giving God. Amen.


Zacchaeus is very eager to see Jesus. We don’t know what his motivation is. Does he want to see a celebrity? Is he intrigued by stories about this famous healer and teacher? Does he know he needs salvation?


We do know that he has a certain humility, or at least a neglect of convention. Rich people were not expected to climb up trees in their fine apparel and make a spectacle of themselves. He doesn’t care. His desire to see Jesus trumps decency.


When Jesus comes to the sycamore tree where Zacchaeus is perched, he stops and hails him: “Zacchaeus hurry down from there! For I must stay at your house today!” I must he says. That’s quite insitent.


How did Jesus know Zacchaeus’s name? Did Zacchaeus, the chief tax collector of Jericho, have a reputation that travelled? Or did Matthew the Apostle, himself an ex-tax collector, know about Zacchaeus and had told Jesus about him? Or maybe the crowd pointed Zacchaeus out, deriding him.


The name Zacchaeus (a Latin form of the Hebrew Zakkai) means “pure, innocent.” It does not conform with our image of Zacchaeus as a hardened sinner prior to his encounter with Jesus.


Is it possible that Jesus had heard previously about Zacchaeus as benefactor of the poor instead of as a rapacious tax collector and swindler?


You see, I believe those statements that Zacchaeus makes to Jesus are poorly translated in our NRSV version of Luke’s gospel. I was intrigued to discover that in the Greek text, Zacchaeus’ statement is in the present rather than the future tense. The tense used in the Greek text is the present progressive which in his statement denotes repeated, customary practice rather than a single spontaneous act of generosity.


So, consider Zacchaeus as saying: “I am giving, as a habit, half of my possessions to the poor. And if I have cheated someone of something, I make a fourfold restitution.” This changes our perspective on Zacchaeus from an instantaneous conversion to an ongoing conversion in favor of the poor.


And notice the “if” word in the cheating statement. Zacchaeus is not admitting to fraud but is accepting that if he finds out he has defrauded someone, he does restitute what has been defrauded four times (not just an equivalent restitution but the maximum rate demanded by the Torah).


So it would appear that Zacchaeus is doing what John the Baptist exhorted tax collectors to do.  The Baptist said "Collect no more than you are authorized to do" (Luke 3:13).


This said, most Jews would still have considered tax collectors as obdurate sinners, not to mention, collaborators with the occupying Roman Empire. For in order to live, most tax collectors collected more than what Rome was demanding. That was well understood and known by the Roman authorities who cared not one bit about that extortion.


So, it is likely that the crowd assumed that Zacchaeus committed extortion as a matter of course. And maybe he did, but with his winnings he supported the poor. After all, his wealth must come from somewhere.


Jesus was known to hang out with people who were not deemed proper by mainstream Israelite society including tax collectors and prostitutes. Jesus by inviting himself to stay at Zacchaeus’s home is demonstrating that these people, these sinners, too are worthy of care and healing. And Jesus is insistent about it: “I must stay at your house today.


And upon hearing Zacchaeus’s statement of how he conducts himself, Jesus announces Zacchaeus’s honor status as a child of Abraham. He is not to be shunned from the Jericho community despite his economically privileged and shady station in life.


What Luke the evangelist is doing in the story of Zacchaeus the pure, the innocent, is setting a contrast with the story he told just before Jesus’ arrival in Jericho. 


In Chapter 18 of his gospel, Luke told the story of the ruler (probably a religious leader) who wanted to be a follower of Jesus. He observed all the main commandments but was unwilling to go where Jesus suggested he go. 


He couldn’t bring himself to part with his belongings, to sell everything he possessed, and to give it to the poor. Jesus concluded that incident by saying: “How difficult it is for those who have money to enter the kingdom of God” (Luke 18:24b).


Luke the evangelist contrasts the reluctant religious leader with the willing secular leader, both of them rich. We get the examples of two rich people reacting to Jesus’s teaching in opposite manners.


In Zacchaeus, we get the example of a rich person who participates in the building of God’s kingdom even if he doesn’t reach the level demanded by Jesus from his follower. That is: to sell everything they own and give it to the poor. At least, Zacchaeus is giving a large part of what he owns to the poor. Potentially that giving is difficult, if not painful.


But what Zacchaeus says is his practice is sufficient for Jesus to announce: “Today salvation has happened in this house, because Zacchaeus too is a child of Abraham.” Jesus adds: “For the Son of Man came to seek and save what was lost.” By that, he underscores that even so, Zacchaeus is not perfect, nor do we need to be perfect to be saved. Making real intentional efforts toward the building of God’s Kingdom is enough, regardless of outcomes. And thank God that Jesus has come to save the lost ones because, some, if not all of us, belong in that lot.


We have a beautiful collect for the Fourth Sunday of Advent in which we pray that Jesus at his coming may find in us a mansion prepared for himself. But truthfully, how do you prepare your mansion for the coming of the Messiah? We may have fair warning and try, but sometimes Jesus just shows up and says, “Bernard, come on down. I'm staying at your place tonight.” I protest: “Lord, my house is a mess, my mansion is in shambles.”  And I hear Jesus saying: “Not to worry, we'll clean it up together.”  I hope you can hear that as well.

God’s incommensurate grace precedes our acts of virtue. God loves us first. We respond with our love in prayers and actions. And if we’re rich or comfortable, we don’t forget the poor, the apple of God’s eye.


Beloved and infinitely loving God, you shower us with graces, graces from before we were born, graces throughout our lifetime and graces beyond our lives. Give us to love the poor as you do. May we show you our love in loving them. Amen.

Saturday, November 1, 2025

All Saints Day, November 1, 2025

Holy Cross MonasteryWest Park, NY

Br. Francis Beckham, OHC

All Saints Day, November 1, 2025

Click here for an audio of the sermon


“Now therefore arise, O Lord God, into thy resting place, thou, and the ark of thy strength: let thy priests, O Lord God, be clothed with salvation, and let thy saints rejoice in goodness.” Amen. (2 Chronicles 6:41)


Regardless of anything that happens during the next several minutes, I’m happy to be able to assure you with the highest level of confidence possible that we’ll all be going to bed tonight convinced that we heard an amazing sermon here on All Saints Day. And not only will we remember the sermon as being pretty great, but we’ll also recall with wonderment at just how eloquent and wise the preacher was. Yes, we’ll all agree it was one of those sermons that leaves an impression, makes us think. Indeed, today’s sermon has the power – the likelihood, even – to change not only our lives, but also the lives of those around us. 


The sermon is, of course, the one Jesus just preached to all of us in Saint Luke’s Gospel: The Sermon on the Plain. As it’s obviously a perfect sermon, it will not be improved upon by anything anyone – and especially I – could possibly have to say about it. Jesus has just told us that true joy and purpose are to be found by living in love for God and one another rather than for the false and fleeting honors of the present age. In short, Jesus says, if we want to be “blessed” – that is, if we want to be saints (which is the whole point after all!) – we must strive to do the right thing, not worrying about the inevitable inconveniences it causes or the nasty reactions it sometimes incites in certain people, and to treat everybody – especially those who mistreat us – as we would like to be treated ourselves. 


And that’s pretty much it! There’s nothing else to add to the message. The only thing for us to do is to take Jesus’ words to heart, believe and understand them, and decide how we’re going to put them into practice. As we know, of course, this is far easier said than done much of the time. But, as it happens to be All Saints Day, we have the benefit of learning from so many people who have gone before us – as well as many who are journeying to Heaven with us in the here and now – to discover what living into the Reign of God in everyday life, as Jesus has just invited us to do, actually looks like. 


First, of course, there are the great saints of history, including those from the Hebrew and Christian Bibles. Take Daniel for instance. The passage immediately preceding today’s first reading contains Daniel’s famous ordeal in the den of lions. He was made to endure this by people who were angry that he was continuing to pray to God rather than to the earthly king Darius. And, sure enough, Daniel suffered. But because he was faithful to who he was and how he knew God wanted him to live, Daniel was indeed “blessed” in spite of being mistreated, and, through his example, he even eventually helped the king and others see and acknowledge the greatness of God. 


But the saints don’t only live in Bible stories and hagiographical legends. I can think of many times when complete strangers have unknowingly preached the Gospel to me simply by doing to others as they would have others do to them, or to their loved ones. In many ways, these are my favorite examples of the saints at work because, if we pay attention, we can see them happening almost anywhere – little Gospel vignettes playing out in real life. 


I remember riding the bus home from work on a very rainy afternoon, and people were getting on wearing raincoats and carrying wet umbrellas. But one man got on who hadn’t been prepared for the deluge and he was soaked to the skin. As he sat down, I could imagine how uncomfortable he was pressed against the seat with his wet clothes, his waterlogged socks squishing inside his work shoes, and the air conditioning chilling him out. But I wasn’t the only one who noticed him. There was a woman sitting across the aisle and a row back who immediately began pulling paper towels from her bag and handing them across. Even though he still stayed pretty wet, he could at least dry his head, face, arms, and hands. The gratitude on his face and in his voice said it all: he was profoundly thankful to have been unexpectedly blessed by this kind and caring saint. 


Then, of course, there are the saints we know more personally – our relatives, friends, classmates, coworkers, baristas – whose saintliness can often be a bit disguised, but who nevertheless bring Jesus’ words to life for us. Here in the monastery, I’m often touched and, frankly, shocked, by the many acts of thoughtfulness shown to me by my brothers when they notice that I could use a little extra kindness or understanding in a given moment, such as offering to cover a work assignment because they know I’m not feeling well, or patiently rearranging part of their own schedule to help me cope with a project or task that’s gotten away from me – and all without grumbling (at least outwardly) or expecting anything in return. In such cases, I can see the spirit of Jesus’ instructions to “Give to everyone who begs from you” being put into action in a real and holy way, and both the brother and I are indeed made “blessed” by this. 


In the beginning, I promised we’d go to bed thinking about the sermon we heard from Jesus this morning. But why wait until tonight? I’d like to invite all of us to spend time today thinking about some of the saints who have preached the Sermon on the Plain to us through the examples of their lives. These could be the celebrity saints of history, as well as our grandparents or parents; siblings, cousins, and other family member; friends; classmates; co-workers; people on the bus, train, or street – anyone whose actions, words, or presence have helped us see the path to God a little more clearly. 


And while we’re at it, let’s also honor those times when we, as saints-in-training ourselves, have been the bearers of Christ to others. Yes, it’s almost certainly a fact that, somewhere out there, a stranger still remembers you because you once smiled at them on a bad day; or you pulled their suitcase off the baggage claim belt when others were crowding it and they couldn’t get through; or maybe you casually waved them into your lane on the freeway when they were rushing to the hospital, desperate to see someone they loved for the last time. You just never know. As we think of all these saints – those both known to us and unknown, alive and at rest – let’s join with Saint Paul in praying for them and never cease giving thanks for the ways God’s love has shone – and continues to shine – through their lives. And may peace and all goodness be upon each and every one of us, now and always. Amen.