PROPER 21, YEAR C

September 28, 2025

Saints Matthew and Mark, Barrington, R. I.

 

Amos 6:1a, 4-7

Psalm 146

I Timothy 6:6-19

Luke 16:19-31

 

Today’s three Scripture readings exhibit a remarkable unity. At first glance, their common theme appears to be our relationship with money, riches, and wealth. Throughout the centuries, Christians have grappled with this issue in light of Scripture passages such as those appointed for today.

 

In the eighth century BC, the prophet Amos denounces the ruling classes of Judah and Israel for their luxurious and indolent lifestyles: “Alas for those who are at ease in Zion, and for those who feel secure on Mount Samaria … Alas for those who lie on beds of ivory, and lounge on their couches.”

 

Conversely, Psalm 146 emphasizes the Lord’s preferential care for the poor: “He gives justice to those who are oppressed, and food to those who hunger. The Lord sets the prisoners free … The Lord lifts up those who are bowed down.”

 

In the epistle reading, Paul instructs Timothy to charge the rich in this world “not to be haughty, nor to set their hope on the uncertainty of riches, but rather on God, who richly provides us with everything for our enjoyment.”

 

And in the Gospel reading from Saint Luke, we have the well-known parable of the rich man and Lazarus. The story contrasts a rich man clothed in purple and fine linen, who feasts sumptuously each day, with a poor man at his gate, full of sores, who desires to be fed from the rich man’s table, while the dogs lick his sores.

 

This juxtaposition of readings has furnished the raw material for many fine sermons crafted to tease out the implications for how Christians should use material possessions in this life. I’ve preached such sermons in the past, and I expect that I’ll do so again in the future. But, if we look a little deeper, we can discern another equally profound theme running through these readings: namely, that of divine judgment.

 

It isn’t particularly fashionable to talk about judgment in religious circles these days. One of the worst accusations that can ever be made against anyone is that of being “judgmental.” But without judgment, there is no justice; and if current events teach us anything, it’s that one of our deepest human longings is precisely for justice. When terrorists kill innocent people, for example, we demand justice. And today’s three readings have much to teach us about the justice of God.

 

In the Old Testament reading, the prophet Amos foretells the downfall of the Kingdom of Israel as punishment for its leaders’ lavish lifestyle and contempt for the poor: “Therefore they shall now be the first to go into exile, and the revelry of the loungers shall pass away.” At that time, the concept of an afterlife was not well developed, so the prophet depicts the coming judgment in this-worldly terms as the nation’s conquest by a foreign power and its people’s captivity, exile, and dispersion. Within a few decades, Amos’s prophecies came to pass when the Assyrian empire conquered the northern Kingdom of Israel with its capital at Samaria; its ten tribes were taken into captivity, never to be heard from again. Only the southern Kingdom of Judah remained, with its capital at Jerusalem.

 

By New Testament times, however, the idea had developed of reward and punishment in a life after this life; and this afterlife supplies the context for Our Lord’s parable of the rich man and Lazarus. In this world, it might appear that God has blessed the rich man for his virtues and has cursed Lazarus for his sins. But after they die, the opposite turns out to be the case. Lazarus is revealed as the one favored by God and taken to be with Abraham, while the rich man suffers eternal torment precisely for his rejection and neglect of the poor man at his gate.

 

This reversal of fortunes addressed a pressing theological issue of the time. For several centuries, faithful Jewish believers had been wrestling with the question: Why does God allow the righteous to suffer and the wicked to prosper? The parable suggests that while the outcomes may seem unjust in this life, they’re not in the next. God’s justice prevails in the end. That promise is comfort to the afflicted and affliction to the comfortable!

 

The Epistle reading from First Timothy draws these themes together and focuses them for us. The key sentence that Paul writes to his young protégé is this: “I charge you to keep the commandment without spot or blame until the manifestation of our Lord Jesus Christ, which he will bring about at the right time ...” Here the word “manifestation” renders the Greek word epiphany, which can also be translated “appearing” or “revelation.” This appearing, to which Paul refers, signifies explicitly the Lord’s return to judge the living and the dead at the end of time.

 

All the advice that Paul offers about godliness with contentment, not setting hope on uncertain riches, being liberal and generous, and thus laying up a good foundation for the future, is thus aimed at the goal of taking hold of eternal life, in that final critical moment. As one commentator puts it, this passage calls us to view our entire life as preparation for facing God’s judgment.

 

That may seem a frightening prospect, and so it is. But again, without judgment, there’s no justice. And without both judgment and justice, there’s no possibility for mercy. For as the sinners that we are, our only true hope lies ultimately not in God’s justice but in God’s mercy—that is, the mitigation of justice. If, in the end, we all get what we deserve, then we’re really in trouble. So, our only hope is that God will spare us, not in justice but in mercy.

 

The good news of the Christian Gospel is that the fulfillment and perfection of all true judgment, justice, and mercy comes in “the manifestation of our Lord Jesus Christ.” For he’s already borne the just judgment of our sins on the cross. And when we put our faith and trust in him in his mercy, then we take hold of eternal life—that life which is life indeed.

ANNIVERSARY OF THE DEDICATION

Sunday, September 21, 2025

Saints Matthew and Mark, Barrington, R.I.

 

Genesis 28:10-17

Psalm 84:1-6

I Peter 2:1-5, 9-10

Matthew 21:12-16

 

Today is the one day of the year when we celebrate the gift of this church building. In a sense, a church building is like a telescope. When we look at, say, the stars through a telescope, our attention usually isn’t on the apparatus itself but on the heavenly bodies we’re observing through it. Similarly, the church building is a kind of lens that focuses our vision on God. But today we step back, so to speak, and give thanks for the architectural setting of our worship. 

 

In confirmation classes over the years, I’ve asked the young people to define “church.” Their first answer is usually something like the place where we gather for worship on Sundays. That kicks off a discussion of the various meanings of the word “church”—not just a building but a congregation, and not just a congregation, but all Christians everywhere, the Church Universal. It often comes as a new thought to them that we’re the Church and the Church is us. So, the Church isn’t just a building but a living community.

But we can go too far in the opposite direction. I was once present in a clergy gathering where an earnest young curate argued that the church building is—and I quote—“just a tool.” He contended that if we’re preaching the Gospel and engaging in Christian mission, it doesn’t matter whether we meet in a storefront, a warehouse, or a gymnasium. His concern was that congregations with beautiful historic churches often end up worshiping the building rather than God. I suppose he had a point. Yet it seems to me that he was overlooking several profound truths.

 

In a spiritual and sacramental sense, a church’s consecration by the bishop really does make a difference. Today marks the 114th anniversary of the consecration of this building, known then as Saint Matthew’s Chapel, by James DeWolf Perry, the seventh Bishop of Rhode Island. 

 

A consecrated church can never be thought of in purely instrumental or utilitarian terms, as we might think of a meeting hall, a civic auditorium, or a convention center. On September 21st, 1911, this building was set apart from all profane and worldly use to be holy ground and sacred space. True, God is everywhere and can be found anywhere. But a consecrated church is the one place where the God whom heaven and earth cannot contain has promised to be specially present and available to his people whenever they call upon him.

 

This understanding is entirely biblical. Following his dream of angels ascending and descending a ladder connecting heaven and earth, the patriarch Jacob exclaims, “How awesome is this place! This is none other than the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven!” The psalmist rejoices in God’s Temple in Jerusalem: “How dear to me is your dwelling, O Lord of hosts! My soul has a desire and longing for the courts of the Lord…”  And Jesus reiterates the point that God’s house must never be put to profane use: “‘My house shall be called a house of prayer’; but you have made it a den of robbers.” 

 

Furthermore, there’s a deep and intimate relationship between the church building and the worshiping congregation. Over the years, the community shapes the building—adding new furnishings here, or a memorial there, and undertaking periodic renovation projects. The building’s physical characteristics come to reflect the very human stories of its people, their triumphs and failures, their disappointments and dreams, their heartbreaks and joys. 

 

Conversely, in subtle and subliminal ways, the building shapes the community. Our material surroundings profoundly affect our spiritual lives. As we worship in a particular place over the years, it becomes part of who we are. As St. Peter says in today’s Epistle, “like living stones, let yourselves be built into a spiritual house, to be a holy priesthood, to offer spiritual sacrifices to God through Jesus Christ.” 

 

I’ve always suspected that if the same group of people worshiped for a period of years in a different church building, their corporate character and identity would be different—not necessarily worse or better, but different. So, it’s a reciprocal relationship: the community shapes the building, and the building shapes the community.

 

Within living memory, some here have come from Saint Mark’s, Warren, and Saint Mark’s, Riverside. Those church buildings and their congregations helped shape the spiritual gifts you brought here with you—and I understand that you also brought with you some of the furnishings from Riverside. But now, this humble but beautiful house of worship, dedicated to Saints Matthew and Mark, has become your adopted spiritual home. And it continues to form the identity of the merged congregation that gathers here every Lord’s Day.

 

I expect that we’ve all heard the old saw that “the church is the people, not the building.” Yes? But, with all due respect to those who say that, it’s not true. First, it misses the most profound point of all: namely, that the Church is a mystery. It cannot be reduced to any particular community. It’s greater than the sum of its parts. With Christ as its head, its members comprise all Christians who’ve ever lived, all those alive now, and all those yet to be born. So, the Church is a divine society, a supernatural organism spanning heaven and earth, the past and the future, this world and the world to come.

 

Still, today we celebrate the Universal Church’s embodiment in a particular place: this building. Here we experience the incarnational principle of the Christian faith. Just as the eternal Son of God came down from heaven and made himself known to us as the human being Jesus of Nazareth, so the invisible Church takes visible shape not only in human communities but also in material edifices—cathedrals, churches, chapels, and shrines.

 

An ancient text associated with today’s liturgy remarks that this building and its furnishings “are but the figures” of God’s true House of Prayer in heaven. Nonetheless, it’s precisely in and through these earthly figures that we catch glimpses of heaven itself.

 

So, a consecrated church building is a visible symbol of the Universal Church. As such, it becomes the dwelling where a living community of faith encounters the living God. To those who repeat that “the church isn’t the building but the people,” I answer that a congregation without a church building is like a family without a home—that is, homeless. And in most cases, homelessness is a deprivation to be remedied at the first opportunity. (Experiments in “churches without walls” are the exception that proves this rule.)

 

Today, then, we give thanks for all the ways in which this church building continues to shape the life of our community. We recommit ourselves to its care as a gift entrusted to us by those who’ve gone before us. We give thanks for the parish family that worships here and calls this place home. Above all, we rejoice in our membership in the Universal Church, of which this building stands as the visible symbol here and now, in this time and place.

HOLY CROSS DAY

Sunday, September 14, 2025

Saints Matthew and Mark, Barrington, R. I.

John 12:31-36a

The celebration of Holy Cross Day on September 14th dates back to the fourth century. In the year 312, the Emperor Constantine was about to do battle with his rival, Maxentius, at the Milvian Bridge, just outside Rome. Constantine was familiar with the Christian faith, but he was not yet a Christian himself. On the eve of the battle, however, he saw a vision in the sky: a cross, and under it the words, “In this sign, conquer.” 

 

Immediately, Constantine replaced the pagan symbols on the standards of his armies with crosses. The next day, he decisively defeated his rival and became the unchallenged ruler of the Roman Empire. In gratitude for his victory, he ended the persecution of Christians and converted to Christianity himself, although he delayed being baptized until he was on his deathbed.

 

Constantine became curious about what had become of the actual cross on which Jesus had been crucified. In the year 325, he sent his mother, Helena, to the Holy Land to try to find the true cross. Helena was 80 years old and a devout Christian. When she arrived in Jerusalem and began making inquiries, some of the local Christians pointed out the traditional location of Golgotha. At that spot now stood a temple of Venus, erected by the Emperor Hadrian in the second century. 

 

Helena had the temple demolished and undertook excavations at the site. The excavators discovered a rocky outcropping with a nearby burial chamber, matching exactly what one would expect if searching for Golgotha and the Holy Sepulcher. And, at the bottom of a nearby cistern, they found three wooden crosses.

 

The problem was that no one could tell which of the three crosses was the one on which the Lord had suffered and died. At this point, Macarius, the Bishop of Jerusalem, proposed a solution. A dying woman was brought on a stretcher, and each of the three crosses was lowered and touched to her body. When the third cross miraculously healed her, the onlookers knew that they had identified the True Cross. Helena had part of this cross enclosed in a silver reliquary and left it in Jerusalem. Construction of the great Church of the Holy Sepulcher began at the site.

 

Nine years later, on September 13, 335, Bishop Macarius dedicated the newly completed church. The next day, September 14th, he brought the relic of the True Cross outside and lifted it for all to see and venerate. This action became known as the “Exaltation of the Holy Cross” from the Latin verb exaltio, meaning to lift up. 

 

The Church of the Holy Sepulcher still stands in Jerusalem, although it’s been destroyed and rebuilt several times since the fourth century. I visited it three years ago, in 2022. Within its walls, you can still see the rock of Golgotha, or Calvary, where Jesus was crucified, and a short distance away, under the great central dome, the burial chamber from which he rose from the dead.

 

However, the relic of the True Cross is no longer there. It was captured by the Persians in 614 and recovered by the Byzantine Emperor Heraclius in 629. Finally, the Muslim forces of Sultan Saladin captured it from the Latin Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem at the Battle of Hattin in the year 1187. No one knows what happened to it after that.

 

However, from the beginning, fragments of the True Cross had been taken to Rome and Constantinople, broken up into smaller fragments, and distributed all over Europe. In the sixteenth century, the Swiss Reformer John Calvin jibed that if you added up all the known fragments and splinters of the True Cross in Christendom, you’d have enough wood to build a ship. But he was wrong about that. A scientific study undertaken in the nineteenth century calculated the cubic volume of all the properly documented and certified relics of the true Cross. It concluded that they amounted to only about two-thirds of the likely cubic volume of the original cross itself. 

 

We have no way of knowing whether the cross that Helena discovered in 326 was the actual cross on which Jesus was crucified. But we can be reasonably sure that the various relics that we can see and venerate today in multiple cathedrals, shrines, and churches around the world do come from the cross that Helena found at Jerusalem in the fourth century. The Church’s procedures for investigating, authenticating, and documenting such relics are rigorous.

 

And even if we don’t know whether the cross that Helena unearthed in 326 was the actual cross on which Jesus died, it could have been—and that “could have been” speaks volumes about the nature of our faith. The Christian Gospel is based not on abstract philosophy or timeless myth, but on God’s dealings with real flesh-and-blood people who lived and died at identifiable times and places in history. Jesus of Nazareth suffered and died on a real cross made of real wood on a hill outside Jerusalem sometime around the year 30 to 33 AD. Whether the relics we possess today are authentic or not, the cross remains a historical reality, not an abstract symbol.

 

Today, we celebrate the paradox that by suffering and dying upon the cross, our Lord effectively transformed an instrument of torture, shame, and death into a sign of healing, life, and glory. In a sense, Holy Cross Day offers us another perspective on Good Friday. During Holy Week, we tend to experience the crucifixion as a moment of defeat and darkness that we somehow have to get past to arrive at the Resurrection glory of Easter.

 

But Holy Cross Day reminds us that the cross is also a sign of victory. In today’s Gospel, Jesus says: “Now is the judgment of this world, now the ruler of this world will be driven out; and I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all people to myself.” Although to all outward appearances, Jesus is about to be judged and cast out, nonetheless, he identifies his approaching death as the judgment that casts out the devil and the cosmic forces of evil. And when he speaks of being “lifted up,” he depicts the cross almost as the throne on which he shall be exalted as king over all nations.

 

Before the conversion of Constantine, the Romans found it utterly perverse that we Christians should take as our central symbol an instrument of shameful death reserved for the worst sorts of criminals, traitors, and brigands. They had yet to understand that Christ had transformed the cross into a sign of victory and triumph.

 

Whenever we see a cross, we do well to reflect for a moment on what it signifies: not just a piece of jewelry on a neck chain, not just an architectural ornament on a building, but the deepest symbol of our faith and hope. We gaze upon the cross in awe and give praise and thanks to the Lord who died to give us eternal life.