Bishop Gayle is one of the members of the faculty who teach our deacons in formation. She comes twice in their three- year cycle to teach the prophets. She loves to share their lives and ministry with us particularly, I think, to remind us that our call as deacons is closely related to the call of the prophet. Like many who are called to ordained ministry, the prophet is never really sure that God is calling him. Like many of us the prophet soon begins to feel overwhelmed by all that God requires. Like many of us the prophet begins to question whether God is really in the work that is to be done and darn it! Why can’t God just tell the people what God wants them to know. Why shouldn’t we run? Why shouldn’t we be angry? Why shouldn’t we quit? God doesn’t need us and, besides, it is too hard.

Our Anglican tradition follows an ancient Christian teaching, that Jesus of Nazareth is God incarnate – the Divine Word become truly human. God from God, Light from Light, true God from true God, as we proclaim in the Nicene Creed. Even when we are having trouble believing that this good news is possible – and we all do – we know ourselves part of a great river of the faithful who hold each other up whenever we find ourselves unable to do it on our own. We are met daily with challenges to that faith – skepticism and even scorn from those around us; our own weariness and reasonable doubt; a world full of evil and injustice and disaster. All these things and more make it difficult to trust that God would actually become human, or, if it did actually happen, that it makes any difference at all.

May the words of my mouth and the meditations of all hearts be acceptable in your sight, O God, our Rock and our Redeemer.

Well, beloved, in the three weeks since I last had the honor of preaching with you, I wish I could say that the great storm of this pandemic has passed us by. But alas, we are still in the midst of it. And it is only in faith that we can say that Jesus is saving us from the storm. We do not yet have the benefit of hindsight to say exactly how he’s saving us, as he did Peter. So this morning, I want to talk about how we can prepare ourselves for better perceiving God’s saving acts as they happen in our personal lives and as a community. And I want to use the story of Elijah from our first reading to do so.

Isaiah 55:1-5 – Psalm 145:8-9, 15-22 – Romans 9:1-5 – Matthew 14:13-21

It has been impossible for me to hear the readings for today without remembering, so long ago it seems now, this community gathered around the altar at St. Paul’s, our hands reaching out to receive the body and blood of Christ.

When you heard the words from Isaiah, “Ho, everyone who thirsts, come to the waters; and you that have no money, come, buy and eat,” did you find yourself recalling and longing for Holy Communion? I did.

When you heard the evangelist Matthew describe Jesus blessing and breaking the loaves, and giving them to the disciples, did you see in your mind’s eye the host being lifted up, broken, and shared among us? I did.

The Gospel reading today marks the end of a series of parables that Jesus tells to his disciples to describe the Kingdom of Heaven. Many thanks to Elise and Isaac who so ably shared the parable of the sower and the parable of the wheat and weeds in the last two weeks. Three Sundays of “The Kingdom of Heaven is like….” Do we think we understand? It is certain that Jesus used the images common in the lives of his hearers to describe the uncommon, unknowable, and extraordinary. The words of one commentary drew all six parables together for me: the Kingdom of Heaven is many-splendored but we see glimpses through the parables. “Jesus held the Kingdom up to the light, turned it as a prism, and, in parables, told us what he saw. Listen, enjoy, ponder”, the writer encourages. Let the parables do their work in us as they did in Jesus’ followers.

May the words of my mouth and the meditations of all our hearts be acceptable in your sight, O God, our Rock and our Redeemer. Amen.

It’s hard to believe, beloved, but it’s now been over four months since we have been able to gather in person for our worship. And I’m finding there is more bleakness in my heart now than when this strange new life took hold. The physical threat of a dangerous virus grows once more. Our nation yet again reckons with the reality that Black, brown, Asian, and indigenous lives seem to matter less, but with much rancor and division. Economic and psychological damage takes an increasing toll on tens of millions of people and any sense of certainty is painfully minimal.