PROPER 17, YEAR C

August 31, 2025

Saints Matthew and Mark, Barrington, R. I.

 

Sirach 10:12-18

Luke 14:1, 7-14

 

Since the earliest centuries, the Church has traditionally viewed today’s Gospel as a lesson in one of the core Christian virtues: humility.

 

At dinner in the house of a prominent Pharisee, Jesus observes the guests jostling for position, trying to claim the best seats as they arrive. He recognizes in this behavior the signs of a deeper spiritual illness: namely, pride, ambition, and the striving for honor and recognition. As today’s reading from Sirach warns us: “The beginning of human pride is to forsake the Lord, the heart has withdrawn from its Maker. For the beginning of human pride is sin, and the one who clings to it pours out abominations.”   

 

Jesus offers the guests some wise advice. When you arrive at a wedding feast, don’t presume to take one of the best seats—because if someone more important arrives, the host might ask you to move, and you’ll be publicly embarrassed by having to go down to one of the last remaining seats in the least desirable part of the room. Instead, start by choosing the lowest seat so the host can honor you by inviting you to move up.

 

This advice is not merely a tip on successful social climbing, but rather an illustration of a broader principle. Those who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted.

 

To expand on this point: those who attempt to secure the best seats first are assuming a posture of entitlement. They believe they are justified in taking what they see as their rightful due. In contrast, the person who occupies the lowest seat adopts a stance of humility, so that the invitation to “come up higher” comes not as a right but as a gracious gift freely given.

 

Over the years, my observation has been that people who adopt this posture of humility and receptivity tend to be happier and more content than those who assume the posture of entitlement. They have nothing to prove, so they accept life as it comes, with gratitude for whatever blessings they receive along the way.

 

One of my priestly mentors, the Rev. Dr. Richard Cornish Martin of Washington, D.C., wrote and published a short memoir titled Called before he died about ten years ago. He observed that throughout his years of priestly ministry, he never actively sought any of the church assignments to which he eventually was called. Instead, it all seemed to be a series of coincidences—being in the right place at the right time and receiving invitations from a vestry or bishop to take this or that position. Very little was planned; it all simply unfolded according to its own mysterious logic. So, he accepted the opportunities and challenges that came his way with deep gratitude and a sense of profound unworthiness.

 

Not all of us can live that way all the time, and honestly, I can’t say I’ve always approached my priestly vocation exactly like that either. But one thing I've noticed from my own experience is that my most fulfilling tasks, assignments, and responsibilities usually weren’t the ones I actively sought out, but rather those that seemed to come looking for me instead. 

 

For example, I never imagined I would serve on a diocesan Search and Nominations committee for selecting a bishop. That was never an assignment I desired or sought. Then, about fourteen years ago, the head of the diocesan standing committee visited me at my office, told me they needed me, and asked if I would accept the appointment. With some hesitation and trepidation, I said yes. I wasn’t quite sure what to expect, but it turned out to be one of my most interesting, challenging, and rewarding assignments ever.

 

Conversely, I’ve noticed over the years that a common denominator among people who are angry or bitter about their life in the Church is often resentment born of the feeling that, somehow, they’ve been cheated of their rightful due. 

 

For example: a vestry member who resigns in frustration and stops attending church because he believes his ideas and proposals for parish growth have been ignored and not taken seriously. Or: a volunteer in parish organizations who feels bitter because she thinks all her years of hard work for the church have never received proper acknowledgment and thanks. (By the way, I’m not talking about anyone specific here! Throughout my years in ordained ministry, I’ve encountered many examples of both types, as I’m sure we all have. Every parish has them.) 

 

In situations like these, the people involved only make themselves miserable—similar to guests who arrive at a wedding feast and choose the best seats, only to be sent down to the lowest place. Once again, our Lord’s point is that those who gratefully accept whatever blessings come their way tend to be much happier and more content with their lot in life than those who adopt the posture of entitlement and grasping.

 

And what’s at stake isn’t just this life but the next one as well. When you host a dinner or a banquet, our Lord goes on to say, don’t invite your friends, relatives, colleagues, and business associates who can return the favor and pay you back in this life. Instead, invite the poor, the maimed, the blind, and the lame—and you’ll be blessed, precisely because they cannot repay you. You will be rewarded at the Resurrection on the last day.

 

So, again, our Lord isn’t just giving advice on how to host good dinner parties. He’s emphasizing a broader and more vital principle. Sometimes, we must do what we believe is right, even if we’re not rewarded or recognized for it in this life. Doing the right thing might even invite criticism and make us unpopular. But God sees our motives and intentions. And our ultimate reward, the one that truly matters, doesn’t come in the life of this world. With that understanding, then, we move forward, doing what we believe to be our duty in each situation that arises, and—most importantly—doing so with that unwavering good cheer that shows the strength and vibrancy of our faith.

 

SAINT BARTHOLOMEW

Sunday, August 24, 2025

Saint Paul’s Parish, K Street, Washington, D.C.

 

Deuteronomy 18:15-18

I Corinthians 4:9-15

John 1:45-51

 

On this Feast of Saint Bartholomew, I’d like to begin with some verses from the second chapter of St. Paul’s Epistle to the Ephesians. “So then, you are no longer strangers and aliens, but you are fellow citizens with the saints and also members of the household of God, built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets, with Jesus Christ himself as the cornerstone.”

 

Those verses remind us that our identity and life in the Church today are built upon the foundation of the prophets and apostles. So, what we’re doing today—celebrating a Prayerbook holy day in honor of Saint Bartholomew—is more than just an exercise in historical curiosity. It’s an opportunity to reflect on where we’ve come from and who we are as members of a spiritual household standing upon this prophetic and apostolic foundation.

 

In a passage from Chapter 11 of St. Luke’s Gospel, Jesus links the vocations of prophets and apostles to martyrdom. “The wisdom of God said, ‘I will send them prophets and apostles, some of whom they will kill and persecute’ so that this generation may be charged with the blood of all the prophets since the foundation of the world.” So, it seems fitting this morning to consider Saint Bartholomew under the three headings of prophet, apostle, and martyr.

 

First: as prophet. Today’s Old Testament reading highlights this role: “The Lord your God shall raise up for you a prophet like me from among your own people. You shall heed such a prophet.”

 

Down through the centuries, many commentators have identified Bartholomew with the Nathanael we meet in today’s Gospel. New Testament scholars go back and forth on this, and I don’t want to get into their arguments. However, the three synoptic Gospels—Matthew, Mark, and Luke—all list Bartholomew as one of the Twelve Apostles but say nothing about Nathanael. Conversely, John’s Gospel names Nathanael but makes no mention of Bartholomew. If they are the same person, then Nathanael is his first name, and Bartholomew, meaning “Son of Tolmai,” is his patronymic last name. So, his full name would be Nathanael Son of Tolmai, or simply, Nathanael Bartholomew.

 

The Nathanael who appears at the end of Chapter One of John’s Gospel is a fascinating figure. In a way, he resembles doubting Thomas at the end of the Gospel, who’s converted from deep skepticism to an enthusiastic faith in the Risen Lord. Similarly, Nathanael’s initial reaction when Philip tells him about Jesus, son of Joseph from Nazareth, is dismissive: “Can anything good come from Nazareth?” Then there is that mysterious exchange between Jesus and Nathanael about the fig tree. What was Nathanael doing under the fig tree? We don’t know, but whatever it was, the Lord’s words cause Nathanael to do a complete 180: “Rabbi, you are the Son of God! You are the King of Israel!” 

 

Here is a prophet speaking words of prophecy. To which Jesus responds, “You will see greater things than these … You will see heaven opened and the angels of God ascending and descending upon the Son of Man.” We don’t know when these words were fulfilled for Nathanael. But they describe a prophetic vision that must have motivated Nathanael in his subsequent calling and ministry.

 

Beyond this appearance in John 1, the Fourth Gospel names Nathanael only once more, when the risen Jesus appears to seven disciples, including Nathanael, by the Sea of Tiberias. (There, incidentally, his hometown is identified as Cana in Galilee.) Beyond that, the New Testament makes no further mention of the names Nathanael and Bartholomew.

 

Early Christian tradition does recount Bartholomew’s missionary journeys. So, we come to our second heading: Bartholomew as apostle. In Greek, the term 'apostle' means someone who is sent, often as an ambassador or envoy on behalf of someone greater. After His resurrection, the risen Lord commissions the Twelve to go into all the world, preaching the Gospel to every nation, and baptizing those who respond in repentance and faith.

 

Eusebius of Caesarea, writing in the fourth century, and Saint Jerome, in the early fifth century, record the tradition that Bartholomew traveled to India, where he left behind a copy of Saint Matthew’s Gospel. Ancient writers sometimes used the name India to refer to various places, such as parts of Arabia. However, the possibility that Bartholomew reached what we now call India is not as far-fetched as it might seem. Significant trade flourished during those times between the eastern Roman Empire and the west coast of India, along maritime routes passing through the Red Sea, the Gulf of Aden, and the Arabian Sea.

 

Another tradition holds that after visiting India, Bartholomew traveled to Armenia along with his fellow Apostle Saint Jude. There, he converted the king of Armenia to Christianity. However, the king’s brother had Bartholomew executed by flaying him alive and then beheading him.

 

And so we come, thirdly, to Bartholomew as martyr. St. Paul writes in today’s reading from his First Epistle to the Corinthians: “I think that God has exhibited us apostles as last of all, as though sentenced to death, because we have become a spectacle to the world, to angels and to mortals.” Of the Twelve Apostles, only John the Beloved Disciple is believed to have lived to old age and died a natural death, at Ephesus in what is today Turkey. The Greek word martyr means witness. And the unanimous tradition of the Church is that the remaining eleven Apostles all suffered violent death for their witness to the Gospel.

 

After their earthly deaths, the apostles and martyrs continue to live on—not only as the saints in heaven interceding for us on earth, but also through the traditions of remembrance that have kept their memory alive across generations. To this day, the Armenian Apostolic Church venerates Bartholomew and Jude as its founders and patron saints. And Bartholomew’s principal relics—what are claimed to be his bones and a large piece of his skin—are housed in the San Bartolomeo Basilica in Benevento, in south-central Italy.

 

During the Middle Ages, hospitals were often named after Saint Bartholomew. One example is Saint Bartholomew’s Hospital in London, established in 1123. Attached to it is the Church of Saint Bartholomew the Great—the only medieval church building in the City of London to have survived both the Great Fire of 1666 and the Blitz of World War II. It’s an architectural gem and a must-see on any visit to London.

 

In art, Bartholomew’s symbol is a tanner’s knife, the instrument of his death. Some gruesome artistic portrayals depict him standing naked to his muscles and holding aloft his flayed skin. He’s considered the patron saint of tanners and dermatologists, and is invoked by those suffering from skin ailments. (It all makes sense.)

 

Today, then, we give thanks for the life and witness of Saint Bartholomew: prophet, apostle, and martyr. And we ask his prayers, that in a manner appropriate to our various states in life, we may follow his example of prophetic vision, apostolic mission, and faithful witness until our lives’ end.

 

PROPER 14, YEAR C

Sunday, August 10, 2025

Saints Matthew and Mark, Barrington, R. I.

 

Genesis 15:1-6

Psalm 33:12-22

Hebrews 11:1-3, 8-17

Luke 12:32-40

 

“Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things unseen.” Today’s readings highlight an important aspect of faith, which we might call trusting in God’s promises.

 

It’s one thing to have faith in the sense of acknowledging that God exists, accepting Scripture as God’s revealed Word, or believing the Church’s teachings as expressed in the Apostles’ and Nicene Creeds. We clergy often see it as part of our duty to “teach the faith.” But here, we’re mainly using the word “faith” to mean assent to a system of teachings about God, the world, and humanity that we might alternately believe, question, or doubt.

 

Valid and necessary as that type of faith is, today’s readings take us farther and deeper. “By faith,” the Letter to the Hebrews tells us, Abraham “obeyed when he was called to set out for a place that he was to receive as an inheritance; and he set out, not knowing where he was going.” That kind of response to God’s call goes far beyond faith as assent, taking us into the realm of trust and obedience. As Psalm 33 concludes: “Let your loving-kindness, O Lord, be upon us, as we have put our trust in you.”

 

In all three of today’s readings, this quality of faith as trust arises in response to a promise made by God. In the reading from Genesis, God appears and says to Abram, “Do not be afraid, Abram, I am your shield; your reward shall be very great.” That marks the beginning of the promise. When Abram protests that God has given him no offspring, God takes him outside and invites him to try to count the stars in the night sky, which are, of course, uncountable. Then God promises Abram, “So shall your descendants be.” When Abram believes the promise, God credits his belief to him as righteousness.

 

The reading from Hebrews highlights another aspect of God’s promises to Abraham—the promise of land as an inheritance. Trusting in this promise, Abraham sets out and dwells in that land as a stranger, living in tents, just as his offspring Isaac and Jacob do, who also inherit the same promise.

 

But the author of Hebrews adds, “All of these died in faith without having received the promises …” Nonetheless, the reading concludes, even in death, “they desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one …” And God, indeed, “has prepared a city for them.” So, there we see the ultimate promise that God makes to Abraham— not merely descendants as numerous as the stars in the sky, not merely a land to be their inheritance, but eternal life in the City of God, in the heavenly country.

 

It's the same promise that Jesus takes up and makes to his disciples at the start of today’s Gospel reading. Just as God once told Abram, “Do not be afraid, Abram, I am your shield, your reward shall be very great,” so Jesus tells his disciples, “Do not be afraid, little flock, for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom.”

 

The rest of today’s Gospel simply explains the results of complete and perfect trust in that promise. If we truly believed in God’s promise to give us the kingdom, we wouldn’t hesitate to sell our possessions and give to those in need. We would focus on making for ourselves purses that do not grow old and storing up an unfailing treasure in heaven, where no thief comes near and no moth destroys.

 

Similarly, the parable of the faithful servants waiting for their master’s return shows what perfect trust looks like in action. If we truly trust God and believe his promises, then we’ll stay alert and ready, always prepared to open the door when we hear the Lord knocking.

 

The parable also teaches us something crucial about the kingdom of God. When the master returns and finds the slaves waiting to greet him, he will “fasten his belt, and have them sit down to eat, and he will come and serve them.” That mysterious detail suggests to me that the social and economic distinctions that separate us are only for this life. In the life of the world to come, everyone will be equal, and all will serve one another.

 

Today’s readings encourage us to trust in God and believe His promises. This trust allows us to respond with faithful obedience to God’s call, as Abraham did, and to stay alert, ready to open the door to the Lord, like those faithful servants in the parable.

 

The key questions for us to think about and pray through are these: What has God promised us? What has God promised each of us individually, and what has He promised all of us together? We would do well to spend some time reflecting prayerfully on these questions. 

 

And then: What difference would it make in our lives if we truly trusted in God’s promises and acted on that trust? That’s a question I believe each of us must ask and answer for ourselves. I can’t answer it for you, nor you for me, even though we might learn a lot from discussing and discerning the answers together.

 

Where do we find this trust? I believe that faith in God ultimately comes from God Himself, as a gift. For me, one sentence in the reading from Hebrews sums it all up: “Abraham  …  considered him faithful who had promised.” In other words, God’s prior faithfulness to us is what enables us to be faithful to Him in return.

 

Jesus concludes the parable by remarking, “If [the master] returns in the middle of the night, or near dawn, and finds them so, blessed are those slaves.” Likewise, if the Lord returns and finds us so—waiting faithfully in trust and hope, ready to serve him in whatever way he requires—then blessed are we as well.

PROPER 13, YEAR C

August 3, 2025

Saints Matthew and Mark, Barrington, R. I.

 

Ecclesiastes 1: 12-14; 2:18-23

Psalm 49:1-11

Luke 12:13-21

 

As we go through today’s readings, we notice a recurring theme of pessimism, even cynicism. The Old Testament reading from Ecclesiastes sets the tone: “Vanity of vanities, all is vanity!”

 

I must admit that I love the Book of Ecclesiastes because of its brutal honesty and realism. The author, who calls himself “the Teacher,” laments that he’s destined to leave everything he’s worked for all his life to those who will come after him, and who knows whether they’ll be wise or fools? What have we gained from all our toil and labor under the sun? All our days are filled with pain; our work is a vexation; even at night, our minds find no rest. All is vanity and chasing after the wind. 

 

I’m sure we all have days like that. I suspect most of us undergo moods when we can relate to those sentiments. Ecclesiastes is utterly devoid of sanctimonious piety. A somewhat vulgar contemporary saying sums up its message: Life is a [you-know-what] and then you die!

 

Psalm 49, ingeniously chosen to complement the Old Testament reading, takes up the theme: “There be some that put their trust in their goods; and boast themselves in the multitude of their riches” … but “we see that the wise die also; like the dull and stupid they perish and leave their wealth to those who come after them.”

 

Then in the Gospel reading, we have the Rich Fool: again, one of my favorites among all Our Lord’s parables. A wealthy landowner’s land yields abundant harvests, so that he pulls down his barns and builds larger ones to store his crops. Then, noting with satisfaction that he has goods laid up for many years, he says to himself: “Relax, eat, drink, be merry,” only to be told by God, “You Fool! This very night your life is being demanded of you. And the things you have prepared, whose will they be?”

 

What a bummer. After reading these lessons, the question I find myself asking is: Where’s the good news here?

 

At my seminary, incidentally, we were taught always to ask ourselves that question when preparing sermons. Our job as preachers is to proclaim the Gospel. And the word Gospel means good news. That’s a valuable question to ask ourselves as we listen to sermons. Where’s the good news here? If we can’t find an answer to that question, then that’s a sign that the preacher isn’t doing his job. So, when a sermon begins, always expect to hear, always listen out for, the good news!

 

In today’s Gospel reading, I think that the good news comes in Our Lord’s statement preceding the parable: “Take care, and be on your guard against all kinds of greed, for one’s life does not consist in the abundance of possessions.” That statement is good news because it implies that there is a life available to us—true and everlasting life—that we can enjoy apart from material wealth and possessions. That life is equally available to rich and poor alike; and it’s the one thing worth seeking above everything else that competes for our time, attention, and effort. (To circle back to the Old Testament reading for a moment, part of the beauty of the Book of Ecclesiastes is that it describes so accurately the futility of a life lived apart from God.)

 

So, then, the question becomes: How do we gain this life of which Jesus speaks? Here, I think part of the answer can be found at the end of the Gospel, where Jesus contrasts laying up treasure for ourselves with being “rich toward God.”

 

The rich fool’s mistake lies not in accumulating wealth per se, but in what he chooses to do with it: hoarding it and then settling down to relax, eat, drink, and be merry. He’s seeking first his own interests, his own comfort and enjoyment, rather than trying to understand how he might use this wealth in God’s service for the advancement of God’s Kingdom. He could donate at least some of those stored crops to the poor and the hungry, but he doesn’t think of that. That choice, to lay up treasures for himself rather than to be rich towards God, is what makes him a fool in the end.

 

So, the parable’s point is not that there’s anything intrinsically wrong—for those who are that fortunate—with pensions, 401ks, investment portfolios, and homes with paid-off mortgages. The question of eternal importance for us is, instead, how we use our wealth and our possessions: to what end and to whose benefit?

 

Indeed, no matter how much or how little material wealth we may enjoy in this life, the crucial question for each of us is whether we’re laying up treasures for ourselves or being rich towards God. So, in the days of this coming week, let’s each of us reflect and pray about this question. What does it mean in my unique circumstances to be rich towards God? What does richness towards God look like in my life? The answers might not be immediately apparent, but sometimes the best we can do is keep on asking the right questions, and that is absolutely the right question to ask.

 

For by being rich towards God, we take hold of and enter into that life which does not consist in the abundance of possessions. And that life, in the end, is the only one that matters.