All Saints Day

November 1, 2026

St. James Episcopal Church, Glastonbury, CT

¹ When Jesus saw the crowds, he went up the mountain, and after he sat down, his disciples came to him. ² And he began to speak and taught them, saying:
  ³ “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
  ⁴ “Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.
  ⁵ “Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.
  ⁶ “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.
  ⁷ “Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy.
  ⁸ “Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.
  ⁹ “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.
  ¹⁰ “Blessed are those who are persecuted for the sake of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
  ¹¹ “Blessed are you when people revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account. ¹² Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you.” – Matthew 5:1-12

Today we are going back to the beginning. On this All Saints Day, we take a leap out of order from the texts we’ve been reading through near the end of Matthew’s gospel, and go back to the beginning of Jesus’ ministry. The beatitudes that we just read are, in Matthew’s gospel, the very first public sermon Jesus gives. It sets the stage for what his ministry will be about. It sets the stage for who he is and the world God imagines for us.

Today also happens to be my first sermon among you here at St. James’. I hate to disappoint, but I will be neither as eloquent nor as ambitious as Jesus was in his first sermon. But I’ll tell you that one of the ways I approach preaching is to ask myself the question of where I find myself in the text. And today, with the beatitudes, that question has me a little bit stumped, and maybe it gives you pause as well.

Where did you hear yourself in Jesus’ text today? Did you arrive here today feeling blessed? Or did you arrive feeling in need of blessing? Or a bit of both?

This is a very full day in the life of the congregation. It’s All Saints Sunday, blessing of stewardship pledges, and Celtic vespers. All Saints day is a beautiful festival of the church honoring the joyful mix of saints past, present, and future all together, but it also brings to mind our grief over loved ones no longer here. Stewardship season brings talk of what lies ahead, but also some anxiety because we are formed in a culture of scarcity. I am so excited to experience Celtic vespers, and it’s also a lot of work for many of you here today to pull together. It is a day of feeling both blessed and in need of blessing.

And – oh, yeah – you have a new priest starting today. I feel a sense of excitement, of possibility, of joy in getting to finally be among you after these months of discernment and preparation. I hope you do, too. But in that there is always the uncertainty of new things – how will this all work out? What might change or be different? How will we navigate the partnership of a priest shared in two congregations?

So, maybe, you, like me, are feeling a little bit of all of that today. And all of this in the midst of a national moment of anxiety as we approach Tuesday’s midterm election in the midst of economic uncertainty, wars being fought abroad, and policy challenges that need thoughtful, engaged, careful solutions. Where is the blessing in this divided moment? Where will we find ourselves situated in the midst of the beatitudes when we wake up Wednesday morning after the election and continue our call to live together in community?

I would love to read the beatitudes and just hear God’s blessing pouring out on me. I’d love to live in a world where it was just the positive and not the things that are hard or challenging. But I am imperfect at best in being merciful and making peace in the world. I don’t particularly want to be poor in spirit or meek or mourning. I definitely don’t want to be persecuted and reviled. These places often feel distant from God, and not particularly blessed. And yet Jesus identifies a state of blessing in those things as well.

Some days, too, I know that I land squarely in the position that opposes these things. Some days, perhaps we find ourselves in a state of over-confidence, denying mercy, and perhaps even uttering accusations against others.

I think Jesus wants us, in hearing these beatitudes, to hear ourselves somewhere in this mix being unexpectedly blessed. And I think Jesus very much wants us to not get too comfortable there and recognize, too, the places that we sometimes fall short or work against the kind of world God is envisioning. Jesus’ words both comfort us in our places of pain and challenge us to live into God’s desire for peace and mercy.

Our lives are full and sometimes hard. We are overwhelmed by the news, juggling impossibly busy schedules, struggling as church communities to find the resources to do the things we want to do. We live with chronic ailments, unhealed griefs, fears and sadnesses that run deep.

And our lives are full, too, of joys that surprise us. Delight in God’s creation through this beautiful New England fall, time with friends and family, the opportunity to serve in meaningful ways, moments of rest and peace in the midst of it all.

Our lives almost always feel simultaneously blessed and not blessed. Our lives are always in tension between the saints God makes us and the sinners God made us.

One of the gifts of human community, including church community, is that we get to live in that messiness together. When we are mourning, we have a community that surrounds us with care. When we are persecuted for speaking truth, we have people in our corner who help us process it. When we look at a world with so much anger and violence and war, we have a community to help us think about peacemaking. We come with our own jumble of experiences and sit next to another with their own constellation of experiences, and together we start to see a world that reflects the full breadth of what Jesus is speaking into being with these statements of blessing. Jesus is blessing us into a community that holds all of this tension in God’s presence, in God’s grace, in God’s loving care.

And I think church community gets to live this out in at least two really special ways that are different than the other human communities we form.

The first is something we get to do. Church community is not just something we show up to, it’s something we invest in. We invest with our resources – today we bless – that is, we give thanks for, set apart, and pray for right use of – the pledges we have made for the coming year. That is an investment in the work we do together. But one of the truly amazing things about St. James’ that I’ve noticed from the first time I looked at your website, is that you all are deeply invested in bringing your full selves to this place. You have active ministries that care for each other and for our neighbors. You speak openly about the ways you serve in your work and volunteering beyond this place. It’s that coming together in deep commitment to God and to one another that we start to see the fullness of the blessing that Jesus speaks about today – not just for me, but for us, working together.

The second way that church community is different is something God does. God calls us together around a table with people who are different from us. Where I find myself today in the beatitudes is different from where my neighbor finds herself in the text today. Someone celebrating a great joy may come to the table today next to someone deeply in grief. We gather around this table with people who come from different backgrounds and different political ideologies. We gather with people who may have in some way wronged us and with people we may have wronged. And on this All Saints Day especially we remember that every time we gather at the Eucharistic table we gather together with all of God’s saints who have gone before us, too.

That, I think, is where we find the power of Jesus’ words to us this morning – not in my individual sense of blessedness, not only where I find myself in the text. Not in how well I have lived into the things that Jesus lists, or to what degree we’ve mourned or been persecuted or pursued righteousness. We are not competing here, we are seeking to live together in the experience of God’s blessing that wraps each of our individual stories into the great communion of saints.

However this immediate season turns out, whether we find ourselves unexpectedly feeling God’s blessing or unexpectedly mourning, or persecuted, or hungering for righteousness, whether we succeed in peacemaking and extending mercy or not, what God is doing is reshaping the world into one in which God unexpectedly bestows blessing, in which the fortunes of the struggling ones are reversed, in which all things are restored to new life. So, in the mix of all that is happening today, in the mix of all we are feeling in this season, I look forward to discovering God’s unexpected blessings right here alongside you.

-Pastor Steven Wilco

11th Sunday after Pentecost
August 9, 2026
Trinity Episcopal Church, Shrewsbury with Good Shepherd, Clinton

A full recording of worship including this sermon is available on Trinity’s Facebook page:

²² [Jesus] made the disciples get into a boat and go on ahead to the other side [of the Sea of Galilee,] while he dismissed the crowds.²³ And after he had dismissed the crowds, he went up the mountain by himself to pray. When evening came, he was there alone, ²⁴ but by this time the boat, battered by the waves, was far from the land, for the wind was against them. ²⁵ And early in the morning he came walking toward them on the sea. ²⁶ But when the disciples saw him walking on the sea, they were terrified, saying, “It is a ghost!” And they cried out in fear. ²⁷ But immediately Jesus spoke to them and said, “Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid.”
  ²⁸ Peter answered him, “Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.” ²⁹ He said, “Come.” So Peter got out of the boat, started walking on the water, and came toward Jesus. ³⁰ But when he noticed the strong wind, he became frightened, and, beginning to sink, he cried out, “Lord, save me!” ³¹ Jesus immediately reached out his hand and caught him, saying to him, “You of little faith, why did you doubt?” ³² When they got into the boat, the wind ceased. ³³ And those in the boat worshiped him, saying, “Truly you are the Son of God.” – Matthew 14:22-33

           “Fear not!” cries many a biblical messenger. Go for it! Try something new! God is calling! Take on the mantle of a prophet, leave your homeland and become the ancestors of nations, bear the son of God within your womb, get out of the boat and walk on water. 

            Experimenting and bold risk-taking have their appeal. Who among us hasn’t read some of the Biblical stories with awe and wonder questioning whether we could ever have the courage to do what the Biblical heroes do? We’d like to think we’d take a step out of the boat and walk on water at Jesus’ invitation, but perhaps we also fear we might not actually have it in us. 

            But the interesting thing is that in pretty much every biblical story arc, the biblical hero experiences failure. Things don’t work as planned. Something falls apart. Abraham and Sarah lie and get themselves in a terrible pickle. David commits murder and adultery. Prophet after prophet speaks truth to ears that will not hear. Peter falls into the water. And Jesus…well…Jesus dies a horrible death as a criminal. We remember these stories because it is God’s work leading fallible human beings through to something new. 

            And yet, we still think of failure as something bad. In a column several years ago by medical researcher Eileen Parkes, she says this about her work and the work of scientists in general: “Failure is something that all scientists experience – but it is hard to tell looking at our shiny conferences, polished presentations, and glossy journals. Comfortable science is an oxymoron. If we want to make new discoveries, that means taking a leap in the dark – a leap we might not take if we are afraid to fail.” 

            I think the same could be said of theology, specifically the lived theology of being church in the world – failure is something all people of faith experience; comfortable church is an oxymoron; if we want to make new discoveries about God, about ourselves we can’t be afraid of failure. 

            Take the disciples in the boat in today’s gospel reading. Jesus sent them out across the Sea of Galilee. It’s a familiar place for the disciples. Even the non-fishermen know the area intimately. And the fishermen among them have been out in all manner of calm and storm in this small but sometimes volatile lake. When the storm arises, they go into action. They are busy steering and stabilizing, trying to keep the bow pointed into the waves and get to the shore they are trying to reach. None of them want to be in the storm. 

            Can you relate? Do you ever feel like you are in the midst of storm you didn’t create, a storm you didn’t want, a storm you didn’t ask to be out in. We didn’t ask for economic struggle, generational changes. We didn’t ask for entrenched inequality, hunger, and homelessness or a way of life that has created drastic climate change. We didn’t ask for illness and death that visits our families all too often. We didn’t ask for political strife and scandal at every level and across both major parties. We didn’t ask for cultural shifts that make it harder to carry on as churches in the way we have in decades past.

            Yet, here we are, trying to keep our boat afloat in the midst of it all. Jesus sometimes feels absent. And when he does show up, his words are, what? “Don’t be afraid?” I don’t know about you, but sometimes those words feel as if Jesus is a little out of touch with what’s going on. The disciples are in a storm! And now what they think is a ghost has come to them in the midst of it! Don’t be afraid? Why the heck not? 

            Blessed Peter, rather than shirking back, doubling down on his grip on the rail of the boat, tests to see if it really is Jesus. Even for an experienced fisherman, this seems risky. The whole scene would be much more comfortable if Jesus calmed the storm first, clearly identified himself, and then joined them in the boat. Or at least let them all hang on til he got in. But in the midst of crashing waves and howling wind, Peter steps out. 

            From there we all know the feeling – suddenly realizing just how dangerous our particular plan is. The feeling when one is strapped into a roller coaster and the chain starts clicking the car up the hill – the fear is now palpable but there is nothing Peter can do about it on his own. Into the crashing waves he begins to sink. The rush of cold water, the feeling of gasping for air, flailing arms reaching – seeking anything that feels firm in the midst of the storm. 

            It’s easy to feel like we’re drowning. The pace of life alone and all the storms of life that crash around us on a daily basis. Reaching for a solid place to stand and finding none. 

            Into this Jesus grabs onto Peter. Grabs a hold of us. The storm continues to rage. The water is still cold. We are not yet on solid ground. But God has a hold of us. 

            A life of faith is not lived on solid ground or in a place of safety and comfort. A life of faith is lived in the midst of the storm, having taken risks that leave us open to even more challenges. But always with God’s grasp on us, holding on to us and refusing to let us go. 

            The storms of life make it sometimes hard to take one more risk. We want church and faith to be a safe haven, a solid ark in the storm. In some ways, of course, it is. It’s a place we come to hear familiar promises, to share the familiar meal, to sing the familiar songs. It’s a place we tune in to God’s firm and loving and life-saving grip on us. 

            But it’s also the place that God calls us to take those risky steps out of the boat, a place that God calls us deeper into the storm for the sake of even deeper recognition of God’s love and grace. 

            That’s work you’ve already done. Good Shepherd folks who are present today – you took a big bold step out of the boat in selling your building and figuring out what it means to do ministry more nimbly from the same location in a different way. Trinity folks, you saw the deep need in your community and began a diaper ministry. It grew way bigger than you anticipated and now you are doing an amazing thing but looking for that solid foundation to keep meeting the growing need. 

            I wish I could stand here and say to you, “Well done! You’ve taken a bold risk in ministry, and now you get to cruise comfortably on calm waters.” But you know as well as I do that’s not the case. This is not a one-time event, but an over and over again calling from God to step out into the storm. 

            One of the things church does for me, perhaps especially the celebration of the Eucharist together, is remind me that in reaching out to hold onto us, God invites us then to also be the hands that reach out and hold others in the storm. Others who may or may not recognize that it is God’s firm foundation that makes it possible. Others who experience the storms in similar and different ways. How is God calling you as faith communities, us as a diocese, and all of us as individuals into the next bold risk in the midst of it? 

            We may fear that taking that step will look to the world and even to ourselves like failure. It may very well look like falling head first into the crashing waters. And yet, with God’s presence with us in the storm, that failure is simply part of the incredible journey of faith we live held firmly in God’s loving grasp. 

-Pastor Steven Wilco

8th Sunday after Pentecost (Lectionary 16A)
July 19, 2026
Christ Church, Fitchburg, MA

Recording of worship including sermon: https://www.youtube.com/live/Jqn9Tp5mDww?si=fN1iF3d7Gbki8rkG

²⁴ [Jesus] put before [the crowds] another parable: “The kingdom of heaven may be compared to someone who sowed good seed in his field,²⁵ but while everybody was asleep an enemy came and sowed weeds among the wheat and then went away. ²⁶ So when the plants came up and bore grain, then the weeds appeared as well. ²⁷ And the slaves of the householder came and said to him, ‘Master, did you not sow good seed in your field? Where, then, did these weeds come from?’ ²⁸ He answered, ‘An enemy has done this.’ The slaves said to him, ‘Then do you want us to go and gather them?’ ²⁹ But he replied, ‘No, for in gathering the weeds you would uproot the wheat along with them. ³⁰ Let both of them grow together until the harvest, and at harvest time I will tell the reapers, Collect the weeds first and bind them in bundles to be burned, but gather the wheat into my barn.’ ”

  ³⁶ Then he left the crowds and went into the house. And his disciples approached him, saying, “Explain to us the parable of the weeds of the field.” ³⁷ He answered, “The one who sows the good seed is the Son of Man; ³⁸ the field is the world, and the good seed are the children of the kingdom; the weeds are the children of the evil one, ³⁹ and the enemy who sowed them is the devil; the harvest is the end of the age, and the reapers are angels. ⁴⁰ Just as the weeds are collected and burned up with fire, so will it be at the end of the age. ⁴¹ The Son of Man will send his angels, and they will collect out of his kingdom all causes of sin and all evildoers, ⁴² and they will throw them into the furnace of fire, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth. ⁴³ Then the righteous will shine like the sun in the kingdom of their Father. Let anyone with ears listen!” – Matthew 13:24-30, 36-43

            Imagine you are a servant on the farm of Jesus’ parable today. It is sowing season, and your loving, gracious, generous, and well-resourced farm owner has given you good seed to sow. The best possible seed for wheat, perfectly selected for your local climate and soil type. Unlike the wild sower of last week’s parable, you and your fellow servants have gone out into the field that has been carefully tended and tilled, and you have carefully planted that good seed in good soil in order for it to grow and flourish. Its bounty will feed you, and the farm owner, and many beyond the reaches of the farm. You sleep well at night knowing you have done your best. 

            But shortly into the growing season you wake up and discover along with your fellow servants and the farm-owner, that there are weeds growing rampant in your field. Weeds that look remarkably similar to the crop you are trying to grow. Weeds you know you made sure were cleared out before you planted. This is not a stray weed or two, but an entire field suddenly filled with plants that will choke your good wheat. 

            You are outraged! We’ll get to the bottom of this. Right after we go out there and yank out every last little weed, right farmer? Right, God? Can’t we just go out there and take all the people that are acting selfishly, the people that cut us off in traffic, the people who make us angry and get rid of them? Or…well…at least give them a piece of our mind? 

            You see, I think this parable resonates deeply with us in part because we recognize that right alongside good in the world there is bad and even downright profound evil. In our humanness we tend to want to go out there and deal with it, at least when we identify it in others. 

            But the farmer says wait. Not only will the removal of evil root up the good, but sometimes the servants aren’t so great at recognizing evil. A classic definition of sin that goes back to the book of Isaiah, is calling evil good and calling good evil. Sometimes we think we’re doing a good thing or supporting a good thing, only to realize it is doing harm. And sometimes the thing we think is harming or hurtful is really the kind of hard thing that brings about new life. In our humanness sometimes we mistake one thing for the other. So the farmer says to wait. Just hold on. Let things grow. 

            There’s a lot going on in the world right now. I find myself disturbed at the persistent war in the middle east. A place where there are deeply held beliefs, deep ties to the land, realistic fears for safety, and a place into which many have tried to bomb or broker their way to peace. Even the policy experts aren’t in agreement about a path forward that promotes true and lasting peace. How does one engage there without making it worse, without adding to the death and destruction? How does one discern the good that brings about peace versus the bad that brings only more destruction?

            We worry about the economy, climate change, people experiencing food and housing insecurity. We worry about the flood victims in Texas and the earthquake victims in Venezuela, and the people of Cuba struggling with the lack of power and fuel. We worry about refugees and immigrants. We worry about kids who aren’t getting access to what they need to thrive. Alongside what is certainly a huge outpouring of support and prayer and resources, of which we are a part as the church, the world is still full of evil growing up right up alongside. Even when we can identify the challenges, we often can only do so much to alleviate the need because the systems are so entangled. 

            We are struggling as a church to find our place in the current context of our communities. That’s a struggle you all here at Christ Church know well. You have done and are doing and will do good work, good ministry. And still the struggle is real – to balance the budget to keep the building standing, to keep the supply schedule full and all the other things. You’ve been faithful in your transition process – you did good work with a good interim, you’ve kept the ministry alive through a long period of supply, you’ve navigated faithfully the challenges that have come in the search process. And yet, you are still waiting for the person who is ready to come alongside you as your priest and minister with you. It may not be on the scale we’d normally call evil, but I can imagine it is like trying to grow and flourish in a field where there seem to be a lot of other things competing to choke you out. 

            This parable invites us to consider the question that often hovers in our human lives – why does God continue to allow the presence of evil? And it doesn’t provide a neat and tidy answer. One interesting thing to notice, though, is that the evil one who comes in the night to sow the weeds, seems to have no power to kill the wheat or wipe out the farm. The best he can do is sow trouble for the farmer and the servants. Make their work a bit harder. Make the wheat struggle a bit more. What the evil one does is try to sow a bit of trouble, perhaps to try and get the farmer to obliterate everything – a power the evil one doesn’t have. We servants may be easily fooled by that trick. We are quick to point fingers and act out retributive justice. But the farmer isn’t fooled. The farmer is able to see that good will continue to grow and that what is needed is time. 

            Our temptation in the face of challenges – whether it’s big world-scale violence, or the mundane struggles of our every day lives – our temptation is to take action to rid the world of the problem. It’s just that in doing so we realize the evil is tangled up in our own roots. We may very well take action, but it may not always be successful and it isn’t going to solve the problem of evil in the world. It may end up doing more harm than good. It may end up destroying us in the process. 

The farmer’s response in the parable is to let it be. The word in Greek would have resonated with the first listeners to the gospel of Matthew, as it’s the same word in Greek as forgive, as in forgive us our trespasses. God’s response to evil in the world is one of forgiveness for the sake of the growing kin-dom.

            This parable invites us to pause, not in a place of inaction – surely the world still needs our loving care for neighbor in myriad ways. But this parable invites us to notice the ways that God’s good kin-dom continues to grow and thrive and bear fruit that nourishes the earth even with evil in the world. 

            In the midst of war, people whose families and tribes have been at odds for ages find bridges of peace that form a fragile hope for a future. In the midst of devastation of various kinds in Venezuela, Texas, and Cuba, people are making a way, getting creative to share life-saving resources. Food pantries, meal programs, clothing drives, and housing policy organizers are making small inroads that change lives for the better. 

            And here at Christ Church, in the midst of a very long transition, you are finding ways to continue to share God’s good news with the community in your worship, your song, your support of the arts, your welcome to the community. I have no good answer for you about why it hasn’t all come together, except to say that the seeds that God has planted here are continuing to grow, and for reasons we can’t fully understand the weeds grow right along with them. 

            So keep growing. God does not call us to eliminate the evil. God invites us to grow. Tends us, cares for us, sees us. God forgives the evil that sometimes takes root within us and around us. And tends us until we bear fruit the feeds the world. 

-Pastor Steven Wilco

7th Sunday after Pentecost (Proper 15A)
July 12, 2026
Trinity Episcopal Church, Shrewsbury

¹ That same day Jesus went out of the house and sat beside the sea. ² Such great crowds gathered around him that he got into a boat and sat there, while the whole crowd stood on the beach. ³ And he told them many things in parables, saying: “Listen! A sower went out to sow. ⁴ And as he sowed, some seeds fell on a path, and the birds came and ate them up. ⁵ Other seeds fell on rocky ground, where they did not have much soil, and they sprang up quickly, since they had no depth of soil. ⁶ But when the sun rose, they were scorched, and since they had no root, they withered away. ⁷ Other seeds fell among thorns, and the thorns grew up and choked them. ⁸ Other seeds fell on good soil and brought forth grain, some a hundredfold, some sixty, some thirty. ⁹ If you have ears, hear!”

  ¹⁸ “Hear, then, the parable of the sower. ¹⁹ When anyone hears the word of the kingdom and does not understand it, the evil one comes and snatches away what is sown in the heart; this is what was sown on the path. ²⁰ As for what was sown on rocky ground, this is the one who hears the word and immediately receives it with joy, ²¹ yet such a person has no root but endures only for a while, and when trouble or persecution arises on account of the word, that person immediately falls away. ²² As for what was sown among thorns, this is the one who hears the word, but the cares of this age and the lure of wealth choke the word, and it yields nothing. ²³ But as for what was sown on good soil, this is the one who hears the word and understands it, who indeed bears fruit and yields in one case a hundredfold, in another sixty, and in another thirty.” – Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23

                  When we hear the parable of the sower, we often focus on the kind of ground where the seed ends up. That is ultimately the core of the parable, and we’ll get there. But I want to pause for a moment at the very beginning of the parable. For a moment before being cast, the seed rests in the farmer’s hand. 

                  At the risk of mixing Jesus’ metaphor a little, imagine for a moment what it is to be the seed held in the hand of God. What does it feel like to have been chosen by God in this moment? For this moment? Is there a sense of safety? Of warmth? Of comfort? The power of being held is transformative. To be in the hand of God, and to be aware of that is to feel our bodies and souls calmed and regulated, full of the energy of perfect love. 

                  That is where this parable begins. That is where our own lives begin and where our own lives begin anew every morning. Held in the hand of God. 

                  But then the parable takes a turn. The seed goes from that place of comfort, flying through the air landing where it will. Some in sandy soil, some in rocky. Some is eaten by birds. Some falls where it will not germinate for several more seasons. Some falls where it never gets any water. And some, only some, lands in fertile soil where it can thrive. 

                  In contrast to the warm and safe hand of God, this feels frightening and full of danger and risk. I would, perhaps, rather be placed gently, one seed at a time, into a carefully fertilized and watered soil, placed right where the farmer intends, right where the farmer knows to come back to weed and water and tend. 

                  I don’t think this parable is intended to suggest that God is careless with us. But it does seem to speak to the reality we experience in our lives. It seems sometimes that through no fault of our own we are cast into situations that leave us unable to grow and thrive in the ways we know we might otherwise.                  

                  In our world, so much of our futures depends on the situations we are born into. Access to wealth and education, opportunity for earning, access to a citizenship that allows for freedom of movement. Access to places of privilege. Even as basic as access to clean drinking water, a basic amount of food, and a safe place to live free of violence are privileges that are not afforded to everyone born into the world. People still thrive beyond their circumstances, but it’s a reality that not every person has the same advantages. 

                  At Good Shepherd and here at Trinity, as in many of our congregations, you have a beautiful and wonderful ministry. You care for one another. You serve the community. You worship together. You have been thoughtful about how to care for your buildings, share your space in profound ways, and connect with others, all for the sake of sharing the message of Jesus’ love. And some of what you’re experiencing in this time is that the soil is not as fertile as it was in previous decades. Through no fault of anything you all have done or not done, the precious Good News you have is not finding the right soil to grow in numbers, even as it continues to bloom in your own lives and ministry. You aren’t alone in that, but it’s a challenge. 

                  All of us experience the kinds of things that challenge our stability and keep us from thriving. We encounter disease and pain. We struggle with broken relationships. We encounter hard dynamics at work or school. Our communities and our nation are struggling in this moment with the angst of division, fear, anger, and blame. Our economy is uncertain and strains budgets. 

                  I don’t know which of the soils we’re in, but it often doesn’t feel like the fertile soil we long for, the place where we can fully thrive. 

                  It’s a sort of miracle in the parable, first told on land with limited fertile soil, that any of it grows at all. It’s the other end of the parable from the safety of the farmer’s hand – the fertile soil where one blooms as intended, bearing fruit that both fulfills one’s purpose and feeds others. That’s a feeling we long for. 

                  But even there, in the fertile soil, growth is not easy. The nature of a seed is to break open and die in order for new life to grow. The stretching and growing always strikes me as a hard struggle as I watch the plants in my own garden. Those that survive often hit a period of rapid growth, then a period of growing the fruit. 

                  Sometimes I wonder if we can’t always tell the difference between the pain of growing and changing and the difficulty trying to bloom in bad soil. And yet, whatever it is that causes our struggles, the farmer notices. The seed that falls along the path and gets snatched up. The farmer sees and notices. The seed on rocky ground, the farmer can see the challenge – notices the inability to grow healthy roots that help the plant last. The seed among the thorns, the farmer notices the struggle to compete with the environment and the struggle to grow. 

                  That farmer who held the seed with care, the farmer who desires growth for the sake of the seed and for the sake of the world, that farmer sees what happens to the seed. There is a kind of love and care there in the way that Jesus speaks of it. No blame for the seed. 

                  And when the message of God comes to us, I suspect we all know times in our lives when the message of God has taken root and born fruit, and times when it has felt distant, shallow, or even when it feels that God’s love and care has been snatched away. But the farmer comes again and again, picking up seed, holding with love, and sending it out into the world believing in that power to grow and spread and bear the fruit of God’s love for the world. 

                  It invites us perhaps to consider how it is that we hold the message we desire to share with the world and how we hold one another with that same care. God invites us into that work of sharing the good news and noticing where it lands. God invites us through baptism into the work of sharing that good news and caring for our neighbors wherever they are. We are not responsible for making things grow, but only for sharing generously and tending where we can to the needs of others. This parable invites us not only to think about where the message of Jesus is thriving, but how we might cultivate the landscape around us to create opportunities for that growth. 

                  It’s a calling that is not easy. It will be at times rocky, thorny, or dry. We will feel our own growth and potential at times choked off and needing to start anew. And that is where we trust where this parable begins and ends: safely and loving in the hands of God who makes all things grow and flourish. 

Pastor Steven Wilco

Seventh Sunday of Easter Year A
Christ the King-Epiphany Church, Wilbraham, MA
May 17, 2026

With thanks to the Rev. Mark Bozutti-Jones who inspired this sermon.

¹ After Jesus had spoken these words [to his disciples,] he looked up to heaven and said, “Father, the hour has come; glorify your Son so that the Son may glorify you, ² since you have given him authority over all people, to give eternal life to all whom you have given him. ³ And this is eternal life, that they may know you, the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom you have sent. ⁴ I glorified you on earth by finishing the work that you gave me to do. ⁵ So now, Father, glorify me in your own presence with the glory that I had in your presence before the world existed.
  ⁶ “I have made your name known to those whom you gave me from the world. They were yours, and you gave them to me, and they have kept your word. ⁷ Now they know that everything you have given me is from you, ⁸ for the words that you gave to me I have given to them, and they have received them and know in truth that I came from you, and they have believed that you sent me. ⁹ I am asking on their behalf; I am not asking on behalf of the world but on behalf of those whom you gave me, because they are yours. ¹⁰ All mine are yours, and yours are mine, and I have been glorified in them. ¹¹ And now I am no longer in the world, but they are in the world, and I am coming to you. Holy Father, protect them in your name that you have given me, so that they may be one, as we are one.” – John 17:1-11

Alleluia! Christ is risen!
Christ is risen, indeed! Alleluia!

                  This past week the clergy of the Episcopal Diocese gathered for our annual retreat together for the first time with Bishop Howell, our newly consecrated bishop. It was a full few days, time to pray, to build relationship, to think about who we are and what our ministry is about. 

                  Our chaplain for the days invited us in our closing time of prayer into a practice of praying for one another. He held up for us an Ethiopian cross, which is an ornate style of cross in a diamond shape made of metal, usually with intricate designs that you see through. He held it up in front of his face and invited us to consider what it means to see each other through the cross. How might we view one another in light of Christ’s self-emptying love? 

                  Then he asked us one by one to bless each other. He invited the first person up and held up the cross to see them through it. And said “I see you. I love you,” and then, gently using the cross to lay a blessing on their head, “I bless you.” 

                  “I see you. I love you. I bless you.” Over and over, one at time, each person blessing the next til all 50 or so had given and received blessing.

                  I’ll tell you, at first I wasn’t sure. I thought it would get old as we went through one by one. But quite the opposite happened. The longer we went, the deeper it sunk in. I see you. I love you. I bless you. It changed the way we related to each other. 

                  I know this, but I often need a reminder. It is incredibly powerful to be prayed for, to blessed by another. 

                  That’s what Jesus is doing in the gospel reading this morning. It feels a little wordy and convoluted sometimes as we read it. But as Jesus prepares to leave his disciples, prepares for the pain and suffering ahead, prepares ultimately to send them out into challenging and dangerous ministry – he prays for them. He sees them. He loves them. He blesses them in this prayer. 

                  As people of faith we pray often for one another. We lift up those who are sick or grieving, those who are celebrating joys, those who are serving in harm’s way. We pray for our meetings and our ministry. We pray for our food and bless bread and wine every Sunday. All of that is good and faithful and absolutely deeply meant and felt. 

                  And, I know in my own life there are particular moments I can remember someone praying for me in a way that broke open my heart, that let me release myself into God’s hands in a visceral way that I hadn’t been able to do in that moment. It came at moments you might expect, when the chaplain prayed at my father’s bedside in his last days, in moments when I was deeply fearful about my own future. But also in unexpected moments when a prayer for the whole assembly was worded in just such a way that it touched something deep and made me begin to cry with relief. I felt seen, loved, and blessed. 

                  This is really what Jesus’ whole ministry has been about up to this moment. At the beginning of John’s gospel he sees the first of his disciples and calls them in to accompany him. From the beginning he sees something about them and their gifts, something about their openness to the journey ahead. And in calling them he invites them into that work. 

                  When Nicodemus comes at night, Jesus engages with him in deep theological conversation to match the energy he brings. When he encounters the Samaritan woman at the well he sees her in all her troubled history, speaks to her with compassion, and he blesses her with living water. Jesus sees the hungry crowds with compassion and in blessing bread and fish he blesses the people with an abundance they couldn’t have imagined. The man born blind is seen for who he is, loved, and blessed with healing. When Lazarus dies, Jesus sees the deep grief of his friends, meets them in their tears, and in calling him from the tomb, blesses all of them with new life. 

                  The way John tells stories we get the intimate details. There are fewer encounters recorded in this gospel, but we get a glimpse of the way that Jesus stops and engages with individuals in touch, dialogue, care, love, and healing. Jesus rarely just waves a hand to enact compassion and healing, but especially in John we see him taking time with each and every one he meets. 

                  So as he prays this prayer, it is in that context. He prays not just in broad sweeping words, not just for the world as a whole, or the future church at large, but with an urgency and depth of intention that comes from deeply seeing, knowing, and loving each of his followers. 

Jesus prays not just for unity because it’s a nice thing when everyone gets along, but because he cares deeply about everyone and wants all of his followers to live in the way that he has with that same deep love and compassion for others. Jesus prays for all his people, including us gathered here this morning. 

I don’t have an Ethiopian cross to show you or demonstrate looking at one another through the cross, but I will share my own practice as a presider at the eucharist. Every week when I hold forth the bread and wine during the eucharistic prayer I look out and see God’s people. For me it’s in a different congregation nearly every week. But I look, in a way through the bread and wine to see you, the gathered body of Christ. And there I see the way that God sees us, loves us, and blesses us into being the body of Christ for the world. 

When we receive at this table, it is yet another moment that God sees us, loves us, and blesses us. And then we are filled to go and be that for the world. We are invited to go out and see the world through God’s eyes. To see the world through the cross. To see the world in light of this meal we share where there is enough for all. 

Looking at the world through cross and with love will not solve the problems of the world. It will not erase the divisions, it will not end the wars, it will not erase hunger. But it may just change us and the people we get to bless along the way. I know that is work you do here as a congregation. I know you are committed to caring for God’s creation, to supporting your neighbors in need, to caring deeply for one another in so many ways. I see it in the caring ways you hold one another. 

In that hard work of being the body of Christ in the world, I invite us to hold that image of Jesus praying for us, remember that Jesus sees us for who we are, loves us more deeply than we can know, and blesses us for all that lies ahead. 

Alleluia! Christ is risen!
Christ is risen, indeed! Alleluia!

-Pastor Steven Wilco

Clergy Conference – Episcopal Diocese of Western MA
May 12, 2026
Texts for Easter 7A

⁶ When [the apostles] had come together, they asked [Jesus], “Lord, is this the time when you will restore the kingdom to Israel?” ⁷ He replied, “It is not for you to know the times or periods that the Father has set by his own authority. ⁸ But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you, and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.” ⁹ When he had said this, as they were watching, he was lifted up, and a cloud took him out of their sight. ¹⁰ While he was going and they were gazing up toward heaven, suddenly two men in white robes stood by them. ¹¹ They said, “Men of Galilee, why do you stand looking up toward heaven? This Jesus, who has been taken up from you into heaven, will come in the same way as you saw him go into heaven.”

  ¹² Then they returned to Jerusalem from the mount called Olivet, which is near Jerusalem, a Sabbath day’s journey away. ¹³ When they had entered the city, they went to the room upstairs where they were staying: Peter, and John, and James, and Andrew, Philip and Thomas, Bartholomew and Matthew, James son of Alphaeus, and Simon the Zealot, and Judas son of James. ¹⁴ All these were constantly devoting themselves to prayer, together with certain women, including Mary the mother of Jesus, as well as his brothers. – Acts 1:6-14

¹² Beloved, do not be surprised at the fiery ordeal that is taking place among you to test you, as though something strange were happening to you. ¹³ But rejoice insofar as you are sharing Christ’s sufferings, so that you may also be glad and shout for joy when his glory is revealed. ¹⁴ If you are reviled for the name of Christ, you are blessed, because the spirit of glory, which is the Spirit of God, is resting on you.

  ^5:6 Humble yourselves, therefore, under the mighty hand of God, so that he may exalt you in due time. ⁷ Cast all your anxiety on him, because he cares for you. ⁸ Discipline yourselves; keep alert. Like a roaring lion your adversary the devil prowls around, looking for someone to devour. ⁹ Resist him, steadfast in your faith, for you know that your brothers and sisters in all the world are undergoing the same kinds of suffering. ¹⁰ And after you have suffered for a little while, the God of all grace, who has called you to his eternal glory in Christ, will himself restore, support, strengthen, and establish you. ¹¹ To him be the power forever and ever. Amen. – 1 Peter 4-5, selected verses

                  Today we’re intentionally leaning ahead liturgically into the coming Ascensiontide, using the readings for this coming Sunday. This in-between period between Ascension and Pentecost always feels to me like this kind of pregnant pause, an in-between time but one very full of energy and possibility. A time of waiting, watching, praying, wondering. 

When I think about where the disciples have been with Jesus, they’ve been swept up in a wonderful period of ministry. A time when they grew, and a time when lives were changed and God’s love made real. Then they went through the events in Jerusalem – a time packed with events and changes – cosmos-changing level events – the death and resurrection of Jesus! Here they are, Jesus having ascended. But what is next hasn’t quite started yet. Waiting with a new kind of expectation. 

I don’t know about you, but I notice that might describe a little of where our diocese is right now. We’ve completed one season of fruitful, life changing ministry. And now over the last 18 months, a lot has happened. A lot of people in this room have worked even harder than usual to tell the story of our diocese, elect a bishop, welcome her to our midst, and then welcome the Holy Spirit to an incredible consecration. And…with all of that still fresh in our minds, we are still in a way leaning in to hear how we will grow in God’s mission…together. What’s next?? There’s excitement, maybe a little nervousness rooted in change and newness, and perhaps, even at moments, we are a little frozen to our own patterns of doing things. 

                  As I thought about this in between time – for the disciples and for us, I remembered the time that a friend in seminary convinced me to make a long-time wish a reality and took me skydiving. For the two weeks between making the decision to do it and the day it actually happened, I felt this kind of wild, nervous excitement. A kind of pit in my stomach, excited but not always really sure I had made a good decision. The day finally arrived and the nervous excitement continued, rapidly alternating between fear and exhilaration. I got what seemed to me too brief a period of instruction, strapped myself to an instructor I had just met, and boarded an airplane. Once the plane took off it really sank in – I wasn’t planning on still being on the plane when it landed. My nervous excitement turned to paralyzing fear. My body went rigid, and I was pretty sure I was going to chicken out. Once the door opened and people ahead of us began to jump out, I became pretty convinced I could not cross the 10 or so feet forward to the door. I suddenly decided I wanted to stay right there where I was. 

                  That’s the kind of tense waiting I imagine the disciples living into in that period of transition. Fear of the unknown and the real danger they were to encounter alternating with the sheer thrill of resurrection, and, perhaps at times an absolutely paralyzing fear. All of these alternating back and forth and sometimes all at once. I imagine their prayer not as calm, quiet, and pious, but as pacing, crying out, joyful, yearning, exhausted, hearts bursting with excitement – the whole range of emotions as they prayed together.  

                  Is that a little like where we are these days? I don’t want to overstate it, but I do think times of transition like the one we are still in are full of that incredible range of emotion, and sometimes, too, leave us frozen in our fear of the unknown. 

                  And really, isn’t that the ministry we participate in every day? There are always big events, big changes, if not in the life of our particular parish in this particular moment, then certainly in the world around us and in the lives of the people we minister to and minister with in our contexts. That comes with the recognition of the ministry that has gone before. It comes with fear, excitement, and readiness for what is to come.  And sometimes it comes with feeling a little adrift or stuck in the liminal space. 

                  Now, for us, even when we feel ourselves in the in-betweenness of Ascensiontide, we know the story of Pentecost that is just around the corner. We know our own experience of living out the mission of the church at the urging of the Holy Spirit. Peter’s words, though about our mission, echo maybe ominously in our ears. Do not be surprised at the fiery ordeal. Rejoice insofar as your are sharing Christ’s sufferings. After you have suffered a little while… 

                  It doesn’t exactly help with the paralyzing fear when we know that ministry gets messy. Human beings are imperfect. Ministry is hard at the best of times and we know that sometimes there are worse times – when buildings crumbling, when attendance or finances are down, when tragedy or conflict tears a community apart. We know there may be long days, and difficult nights. We know there’s always hard and challenging work ahead. If I were listening to Peter talk about this call to ministry, I’d probably stay just right where I was, rooted in fear. 

                  Peter and the early Christians faced some pretty brutal ordeals, to be sure. But I also think we might hear his words a little differently about what he means about ministry. Maybe the ordeal he is describing is a little more like skydiving. 

                  Back to the airplane…I don’t think I was dead weight, but the instructor definitely did the hard work of getting us to the door. One minute I was sitting on the edge feeling my feet touching the plane. The next minute, not having really had any sensation of falling, I became conscious that I was looking up at the plane I had just been on. My brain was having a hard time computing. It was only a split second, but I was staring up at the sky where I had come from, not unlike the disciples, mouths agape staring into clouds where Jesus has just disappeared.  

                  Like the messengers to the disciples, the instructor tapped me on the shoulder to remind me how to hold my body, and suddenly we were facing down to earth, the wind rushing at our faces. I had no option but to be in motion and the fear/excitement dynamic was back in full. It was absolutely exhilarating. And also pretty scary. 

                  But the movement, the rush, the focus required to maintain proper position, kept me from staying in the fear. And then, as the fear began to build again as the ground got closer, suddenly the parachute opened and we were drifting, gently. Still falling. Still moving. Still not safely on the ground. But there was more thrill than fear. 

                  And finally, as the ground became rather close and I could sense just how fast we were going, we prepared to land. It was bumpy but no bones were broken. While the fear was mostly gone, my head was still spinning with the rush of it all. 

                  I think a life of faith, and especially a life of ministry is a bit like all that. If we’re willing to put ourselves out there a bit, often with the gentle or not so gentle push of the Holy Spirit, incredible things can happen. 

                  And good ministry is rarely settled ministry. It’s ministry in motion. It’s ministry that doesn’t always know how it’s all going to work before things start moving. It’s ministry that comes with a kind of excitement and fear all mixed together. It can be quite a challenge. But it’s one that has a lot of possibility and thrill along the way. And when we start looking for God up there, God sends messengers to point us back down to the ground, where God is alive and active – present in bread and wine, present in one another, present in the poor and oppressed, present in the everydayness of our lives. 

                  So whatever challenge you are facing ahead, whatever in your own life or ministry or in our collective life together as a diocese is weighing you down and keeping you from moving forward, know that in baptism we’ve been strapped to the Holy Spirit and she’ll nudge us out in due time, tap us on the shoulder, and fly with us through the whole thing. The landing may sometimes be a little bumpy, but we’ll come out loved and held by God one way or another. 

And that Holy Spirit, she works in all kinds of ways. She works through bishops and priests and deacons, through lay people, through creation. So as we lean into this time together, look out for ways the Holy Spirit is nudging in our conversations together. Where is God inviting us next? Because, as we grow in God’s mission, we’re in this together, and I think it’s going to be a wonderful and wild ride. 

-Pastor Steven Wilco

4th Sunday in Lent
March 15, 2026
St. Mark’s/San Marcos, Worcester, MA

¹ As [Jesus] walked along, he saw a man blind from birth. ² His disciples asked him, “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?” ³ Jesus answered, “Neither this man nor his parents sinned; he was born blind so that God’s works might be revealed in him. ⁴ We must work the works of him who sent me while it is day; night is coming, when no one can work. ⁵ As long as I am in the world, I am the light of the world.” ⁶ When he had said this, he spat on the ground and made mud with the saliva and spread the mud on the man’s eyes, ⁷ saying to him, “Go, wash in the pool of Siloam” (which means Sent). Then he went and washed and came back able to see. ⁸ The neighbors and those who had seen him before as a beggar began to ask, “Is this not the man who used to sit and beg?” ⁹ Some were saying, “It is he.” Others were saying, “No, but it is someone like him.” He kept saying, “I am he.” ¹⁰ But they kept asking him, “Then how were your eyes opened?” ¹¹ He answered, “The man called Jesus made mud, spread it on my eyes, and said to me, ‘Go to Siloam and wash.’ Then I went and washed and received my sight.” ¹² They said to him, “Where is he?” He said, “I do not know.”

  ¹³ They brought to the Pharisees the man who had formerly been blind. ¹⁴ Now it was a Sabbath day when Jesus made the mud and opened his eyes. ¹⁵ Then the Pharisees also began to ask him how he had received his sight. He said to them, “He put mud on my eyes. Then I washed, and now I see.” ¹⁶ Some of the Pharisees said, “This man is not from God, for he does not observe the Sabbath.” Others said, “How can a man who is a sinner perform such signs?” And they were divided. ¹⁷ So they said again to the blind man, “What do you say about him? It was your eyes he opened.” He said, “He is a prophet.”
  ¹⁸ The Jews did not believe that he had been blind and had received his sight until they called the parents of the man who had received his sight ¹⁹ and asked them, “Is this your son, who you say was born blind? How then does he now see?” ²⁰ His parents answered, “We know that this is our son and that he was born blind, ²¹ but we do not know how it is that now he sees, nor do we know who opened his eyes. Ask him; he is of age. He will speak for himself.” ²² His parents said this because they were afraid of the Jews, for the Jews had already agreed that anyone who confessed Jesus to be the Messiah would be put out of the synagogue. ²³ Therefore his parents said, “He is of age; ask him.”
  ²⁴ So for the second time they called the man who had been blind, and they said to him, “Give glory to God! We know that this man is a sinner.” ²⁵ He answered, “I do not know whether he is a sinner. One thing I do know, that though I was blind, now I see.” ²⁶ They said to him, “What did he do to you? How did he open your eyes?” ²⁷ He answered them, “I have told you already, and you would not listen. Why do you want to hear it again? Do you also want to become his disciples?” ²⁸ Then they reviled him, saying, “You are his disciple, but we are disciples of Moses. ²⁹ We know that God has spoken to Moses, but as for this man, we do not know where he comes from.” ³⁰ The man answered, “Here is an astonishing thing! You do not know where he comes from, yet he opened my eyes. ³¹ We know that God does not listen to sinners, but he does listen to one who worships him and obeys his will. ³² Never since the world began has it been heard that anyone opened the eyes of a person born blind. ³³ If this man were not from God, he could do nothing.” ³⁴ They answered him, “You were born entirely in sins, and are you trying to teach us?” And they drove him out.

  ³⁵ Jesus heard that they had driven him out, and when he found him he said, “Do you believe in the Son of Man?” ³⁶ He answered, “And who is he, sir? Tell me, so that I may believe in him.” ³⁷ Jesus said to him, “You have seen him, and the one speaking with you is he.” ³⁸ He said, “Lord, I believe.” And he worshiped him. ³⁹ Jesus said, “I came into this world for judgment, so that those who do not see may see and those who do see may become blind.” ⁴⁰ Some of the Pharisees who were with him heard this and said to him, “Surely we are not blind, are we?” ⁴¹ Jesus said to them, “If you were blind, you would not have sin. But now that you say, ‘We see,’ your sin remains.” – John 9:1-41

                  I wish that healing always came quickly. 

                  In truth, it rarely comes quickly enough, and too often it comes not at all. 

                  I think about work that has been done at Reconciliation House in Webster, where others in our diocese created a place for healing from addiction. Some years ago, Rev. Ford and others created a space for men to live in community, supported through their recovery journey and away from situations that might have made it hard to continue their healing. 

                  Like so many other illnesses, addiction is not a one-time change. It’s a lifetime of healing not just physical effects and chemical addiction, but the deep work of reorienting one’s life and ones relationships. 

                  Today’s gospel reading is one that is a frequent favorite among those who have experienced addiction. Because his healing isn’t a one time change that fixes everything. In fact, at first it makes his life a whole lot more complicated. He gets what sounds like an uncomfortable treatment of mud on his eyes from Jesus, he washes in the Pool of Siloam, and now he can see. But that isn’t the end of the story. 

                  The Pharisees want to debate Jesus’s healing on the sabbath. The man himself doesn’t even really understand what has happened. He gives a kind of half-hearted answer when he is dragged in. Then man’s parents get called in. They don’t know much about what’s going on either. 

                  As the leaders begin to argue over top of him, he finds not only his sight but now also his voice. He speaks up: “I don’t know much about your argument, but that man healed my vision.” However, they can’t let allow that to stand. This healing has disrupted their sense of who is worthy and who isn’t. And they drive him out of town. 

                  Now he can see but he has lost his community all over again, because they could not accept his transformation. There – on the outskirts of human community, feeling lost, alone, and in need of a place to continue his healing in supportive community – there, Jesus meets him again. We don’t know exactly what happens later, but at least in that moment the man not only sees but is seen. He is made new, not just in his body but in his relationships and deep in his soul. 

                  I wonder – what kind of healing are you longing for? So many among us live with chronic health challenges. Every family has strained and broken relationships. Most of us know people who experience depression and anxiety. We are always longing for healing.

                  We are people whose whole world is in need of healing. We are at war again as a nation, another round of a conflict that has no easy answers and no quick solutions for peace. We live in a divided country where some people try to cast out others from the halls of power and wealth and who refuse even to give one another safe community in which to live. 

                  Our churches are struggling. We have an incredible gift in the presence of God with us, and yet: our buildings weigh us down; we wish for more people to experience the gifts we have and to share in our ministry; we get anxious and fearful about what comes next. Jesus has come and been among us, brought healing even! But often it feels as if the healing is incomplete. Like the man in the gospel reading we are still caught in the fray of messy human community. 

                  Jesus is with us, but healing is often so much slower than we’d like it to be. Even when we resolve some smaller challenge, hundreds more seem to await us. 

                  In this season of Lent we remember the ways we are broken people. Not just bodies that get sick, and age, and one day die. But also people whose relationships are imperfect, whose actions don’t always match intentions, whose hopes are not always realized. And we come together Sunday after Sunday to remember that Jesus comes to be among us. Here, now, in the midst of our unfinished healing. 

                  In Lent we are awaiting Easter, now just a few short weeks away. It will, I pray, be another glorious Easter for you here at St. Mark’s and for all people of faith celebrating around the world. But Easter will not solve the world’s problems. It will not, in most cases, bring healing to all the broken bits of our lives we carry in prayer day in and day out. It will not, unfortunately, bring peace to the world. It will not make doing ministry in our present context any easier. 

                  But maybe this Lent and this coming Easter, we can learn from this man who encounters Jesus and begins a long journey of healing. Perhaps this story invites us to look around and see God at work resurrecting the world in ways that feel imperfect and incomplete to us for now, but which might be signs for us of God’s all-powerful love pouring out daily for us, the ones God so dearly loves. 

                  I see it in places like Reconciliation House that provide a safe community for healing. I see it in the ways that you seek to build relationships with your community here at St. Mark’s. I see it in the ways we begin to work together across lines of race and language and parish and denomination. I see it in the ways that when a member of our community is ill or grieving that we surround that person and those families with food and companionship and prayer. 

                  Some days it all feels like not enough. I wish sometimes that God would swoop in and fix it all. But I do know we meet God here in this place and out there in the world. And that God is slowly opening our eyes to the resurrection that is already blooming here in our broken and hurting world until that day that God has promised when all things are made new. 

-Pastor Steven Wilco