All Saints Sunday: The kingdom of God is Ours!

Daniel 7:1-3,15-18

Psalm 149

Ephesians 1:11-23

Luke 6:20-31

Collect: Almighty God, you have knit together your elect in one communion and fellowship in the mystical body of your Son Christ our Lord: Give us grace so to follow your blessed saints in all virtuous and godly living, that we may come to those ineffable joys that you have prepared for those who truly love you; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who with you and the Holy Spirit lives and reigns, one God, in glory everlasting. Amen.

Give ear O heavens, and I will speak; let the earth hear the words of my mouth, 

for I will proclaim the Name of the Lord, and ascribe greatness to our God.

I’ve been thinking about David’s sermon from last week. We had the parable of the tax collector and the Pharisee, and rather than point the fickle finger of fate at the Pharisee and say, “You know where he’s going!” David suggested we stand in the shoes of both the publican and the Pharisee and ask ourselves the question: Where am I on this continuum? 

In what ways am I like the Pharisee? Even when we thank God we’re not a hypocrite like THAT, we discover that’s precisely what we are!

When we look at the tax collector, the collaborator, the traitor, with eyes downcast, not daring to look up towards the altar, towards heaven, he beat his breast and cried, “Woe is me, a sinner.”   David asked, in what ways are we like that? Do you think it was an honest prayer, or do you wonder if he wasn’t feigning humility?

Have you ever done that? Feigned humility?

I do. I make every effort to let others go first at coffee hour, because clergy are supposed to bring up the rear. That’s where we are in the procession. Have you ever noticed that? We bring up the rear, to embody our humility. So when the bishop comes to visit, the bishop takes that last place in the procession, and I find myself just a little miffed. “What are they doing in my spot?”

But that’s the way we are. Pride, humility, all mixed up. Devils one moment, saints the next.

And I say this, not to shame us, but to point out the reality of our lives.

I like how David helped us take a look at the scriptures with new eyes, fresh eyes; listening with new ears, fresh ears.

Because so often we hear and see these same stories day in and day out, week in and week out, year in and year out that our eyes tend to glaze over and our ears plug up.

That’s dangerous, because then we’re tempted to think we know it all, we’ve heard it all, we’ve seen it all. And we haven’t.

As Jesus says elsewhere (Mark 4:12), 

“I speak in parables (in order that) folks may look but not perceive, and may indeed hear but not understand; lest they turn and be forgiven.”

It’s not that Jesus didn’t want folks to change, but to shake them out of their complacency. 

“We know what the Law says,” they said. Torah. The Law. Love God. Honor the Sabbath. Don’t murder, don’t steal, … blah blah blah, yada, yada, yada.”

The danger is complacency. If you know it all, you can’t be taught. You can’t learn. As the Buddha might have said, “You cannot pour fresh hot tea into a cup until you have first poured out the swill that’s in that cup.”

If he didn’t say it, he should have!

So, following David’s lead, I want to take a quick glance at the Gospel for today, because it would be very easy to dismiss it as just a bunch of hooey or wishful thinking.

I mean, 

• Blessed are you who are poor? Yeah, right.

• Blessed are you who are hungry? In your dreams!

• Blessed are you who weep? Hey; Toronto lost. Who says there’s no crying in baseball? Blessed are you who weep? Says who!?

Jesus says these outrageous things, but they’re only outrageous if we’re not paying attention; if we’re not listening; if we’re not looking.

Blessed are you who are poor?

Why?

Because the kingdom of God is yours! 

Don’t think of the kingdom of God as a possession, the way we might think of a car, or house, or cellphone. 

The kingdom of God is the world in which we live and move and have our being. When we are unencumbered by our stuff, we are free to actually look around and see what God is doing and, more than that, see where God is leading us.

We are in that great unsettled time of transition between the priest who was and the one who is to come. In some ways we are like the disciples of John the Baptist who secretly come to Jesus  and ask him, “Are you the one, or shall we look for another.”

John is in prison, and one of the jobs for the Messiah is to proclaim release to the captives. They’re talking in code: “Are you the one who will set John free, or will someone else do it?”

Remember how Jesus answers? He says, “Go tell John what you have seen and heard. The blind see, the lame walk, those with disease are made clean, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, the poor have good news delivered to them … blessed are those who take no offense at me.”

There’s that word again, “the poor.” And did you notice what’s missing in that list of things Jesus was doing? “No offense,” says Jesus, “but releasing prisoners isn’t on the list.”

It’s not that Jesus doesn’t care, but sometimes there’s just nothing we can do. I can’t do everything, but there are things I can do, and that’s where God has called me to go, and what God has called me to do.

Blessed are the poor, for the kingdom of heaven truly is theirs, truly is ours.

Jesus also lists some woes, and I want to invite you to hear them differently.

I have to confess that whenever I have gone over the list of woes, I have done so with sadistic delight:

• Woe to you who are rich, for you have received your consolation!

• Woe to you who are full, for you will know hunger!

• Woe to you who laugh now, for you will weep and wail and gnash your teeth!

• Woe to you when folk speak well of you, for that’s what your ancestors did to the false prophets (and you can see where it got them)!

I mean, when I say it that way, it sounds more like Snidely Whiplash than Jesus Christ, doesn’t it?

But there is another way to hear the woes; there’s another way to speak them.

When Jesus approached Jerusalem, remember how sorrowful he became? 

Luke 19:41 And when he drew near and saw the city, he wept over it, 42 saying, “Would that you, even you, had known on this day the things that make for peace! But now they are hidden from your eyes. 43 For the days will come upon you, when your enemies will set up a barricade around you and surround you and hem you in on every side 44 and tear you down to the ground, you and your children within you. And they will not leave one stone upon another in you, because you did not know the time of your visitation.”

Jesus wept for the city. In another place he says he wishes he could gather up the people like a hen gathers her chicks. That’s not an angry heart. That’s a loving heart, and I think that’s the heart of Jesus as he lists the woes.

It’s not the finger shaking, “Oh you scalliwags! I’m going to get you, and Toto, too!”

No, it’s, “Oh I wish you could see how much good you could do if you opened your hearts. Oh how I wish you could see how much good you could do if you would open your pantries. Oh how I wish you could help others find the things that bring you joy, or peace, or comfort. But you would not. You prefer to clench your fist than open your hand, your heart – how sad!”

Like the characters in The Great Gatsby, the rich eat, drink, and make merry, and they don’t care what kind of mess they make of things or of lives, or what trail of destruction they leave behind, because they just want to have fun – and they have people – underlings – to clean up the mess.

Jesus weeps for them. They don’t see it. But the kingdom is all around them, too, if they would just take the time to look.

“And I want you to do that, too,” says Jesus. “The kingdom of God is here. It’s all around you. And you all know what to do, don’t you? If someone’s hungry, you feed them. If they’re thirsty, you give them to drink. If they’re cold, you give them a coat. If they’re lonely, you visit them. If they’re in prison, don’t break them out, but you make a home for them when they’re released.”

And here’s the kicker. Jesus says, “You’ve got this. We’ve got this.” 

Jesus knows it. As we heard in Ephesians (1:11-23): we are the treasure God has inherited; As we read in the Psalm (149:7): God takes delight in [God]’s people! God’s not a finger-shaker. God’s a lover. God doesn’t give scorpions, but eggs. God doesn’t spank, but gives hugs!

Today we’re celebrating All Saints. We’re remembering all of the people who have touched our lives. I love the Ofrendas back there. I love the tradition of setting up an altar where folks can bring their offerings (that’s what “ofrendas” means), incorporating the four elements of life: Earth, Wind, Fire, Water. 

You know, as Anglicans, we’re part of a tradition that sees the darkness, that hunts & burns witches, that is scared of ghosts and goblins and things that go bump in the night. 

Our brothers and sisters from Mexico and the Latina/Latino world seem to have a much healthier appreciation for what we SAY we believe, that for us, life is not ended, but changed. I love the light of the candles, the vibrance of the marigolds, how the ofrendas include the three stages of heaven, earth, and the underworld, and how all are connected; I love how the elements are woven, not only there, but all around us.

I hope and pray that you and I will take some time during this service and throughout the day to not just listen to the names of our saints as they are offered to God during the Eucharist, but to see the faces of those saints as we hear their names.

They were, and are, a blessing to God. They were, and are, a blessing to us. And Jesus says, through their witness, we can be a blessing to God and to the world as well. Why?

Because the kingdom of God is ours, and we are the Ofrendas God is presenting to the world. Demos gracias a Dios (Thanks be to God)! 

Luke 6:20-31

Jesus looked up at his disciples and said:

“Blessed are you who are poor,
for yours is the kingdom of God.

“Blessed are you who are hungry now,
for you will be filled.

“Blessed are you who weep now,
for you will laugh.

“Blessed are you when people hate you, and when they exclude you, revile you, and defame you on account of the Son of Man. Rejoice in that day and leap for joy, for surely your reward is great in heaven; for that is what their ancestors did to the prophets."

"But woe to you who are rich,
for you have received your consolation.

"Woe to you who are full now,
for you will be hungry.

"Woe to you who are laughing now,
for you will mourn and weep.

"Woe to you when all speak well of you, for that is what their ancestors did to the false prophets.

"But I say to you that listen, Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you. If anyone strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also; and from anyone who takes away your coat do not withhold even your shirt. Give to everyone who begs from you; and if anyone takes away your goods, do not ask for them again. Do to others as you would have them do to you.

Sermon delivered by the Rev. Keith F. Axberg to St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Mount Vernon, WA on All Saints Sunday, November 2, 2025

This, Our Valley: What to do when your life is stuffed

 

"It takes time to live. Like any work of art, life needs to be thought about.” Albert Camus

Where does stuff come from? Every morning I strive to rise and shine, but these days I find myself less vertical as I rise, and I’m not sure “shine” comes close to describing the state of my mind or body as my joints and tendons snap, crackle, and pop into place as I make my way through the darkened manse, seeking to relieve that which needs relieving.

Fortunately, it doesn’t take but a few sips of the blackened brew of some magical beans to put the lead back in my pencil. I always feel like I’m one of those Thanksgiving Day balloons that rises from a shapeless pile of rubber, taking form as it’s inflated. Coffee is my helium!

Back to “stuff” – where does it all come from? Once I’ve gotten my coffee and tackled my morning meditations, I fire up my laptop to check the news (to see if the world has survived) and catch up on any emails that may have arrived by those faithful digital carrier pigeons we rely on. 

What I find choking my inbox (which is helpfully divided into separate tabs for Primary, Promotions, Social, and Update mails) is all the stuff to which I have subscribed and which isn’t, technically, junk mail or spam. It’s just a ton of fliers from every business from which I have ever bought stuff, or businesses that have products I may have been interested in at one time or another over the past thirty years, or trivia pertaining to sports, entertainment, language, education, health, and other such whatnot. Sheesh!

I am a curious sort of soul, so I find myself doing a lot of exploring. My income is limited, so most of my exploring these days is done from the convenience of my home and done via the world wide web. I find myself going down many rabbit holes on my journeys, and I am seldom bored by what I find (while the quantity of information exceeds the quality exceedingly).

Which brings me back to my original question. Where does so much of that stuff come from, and how does one choose which lane to travel? I mean, even Robert Frost never makes clear which road he eventually took when he came to the fork. He just ponders the mystery of what he might find if he were to choose right from left, the more traveled or less traveled path – and the sorrow that comes with making a decision without knowing what might have been missed if the decision had gone the other way.

Life is like that, though. Clutter. Options. Choices. Decisions (or, in my case, indecisions). 

It doesn’t take a lot of brain power to run down the list of overnight stuff that’s come in, enter checkmarks in those little boxes next to each missal, and delete the whole shootin’ match. It doesn’t take but a few seconds, but it’s a few seconds I’ll never get back. Will I miss them? Probably not. 

It just gives me something to grouse about, and the positive side of that reality is that one has to be alive to grouse about the state of things.

That’s the positive side to grumbling (beyond pulse and respiration). There is knowing that things could be better, can be better. To grouse is to say, “I don’t like how things are now,” and then adding, “so what might I do to make them better?”

Emails are easy. Delete what you don’t want. Unsubscribe to things you never read. If you need something, see if it can be acquired locally instead of through an online resource or retailer. The pandemic crisis is over, so it’s OK to leave the house, enjoy the sunshine, snow, rain, or wind. It’s OK to go for walks, wave to the neighbors, rake fallen leaves (or roll around in them), or stop to chat with friends at the local hardware store or grocer.

The point is, deal with stuff as it comes and don’t be such a stuffed shirt. Live! As Camus says, "It takes time to live. Like any work of art, life needs to be thought about.” So let’s put on our thinking caps and live here in this, our valley!

Keith Axberg writes on matters concerning life and faith. Author of: Who the Blazes is Jesus? Good News for a Vulgar World (available through Amazon in Print and e-book)

This, Our Valley: What to do when your “Grrr Friend” comes to visit

 

"Give up anger, abandon fury, do not be vexed; it can only do harm” Psalm 37:8 (TANAKH)

I don’t go out of my way to be obnoxious. I don’t go out of my way to irritate people. I am careful where I tread, where I walk, how I speak, what I say. I strive not to take offense at every little thing, and strive equally not to give offense. So what’s wrong with me?

The first time I saw a copy of Desiderata, I made it my life’s goal (among many) to “go placidly among the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence” (translated by Max Ehrmann, origin unk).

There is a time and place for anger, of course. Jesus got angry on occasion, but it was seldom for the same sort of reasons you or I might get our dander up. His anger was generally directed at demons (real and metaphorical) that hurt or injured others. Jesus’ anger generally arose from matters of injustice, hypocrisy, or falsehoods in the world around him. 

Me? My anger tends to be egocentric. I have pet peeves and it really irritates me when people go around petting them all the time. 

I had a doctor’s appointment the other day that got changed while I was on my way to their office. It was a routine visit, nothing major, but my inner peeve snapped and growled – took it quite personally. Why didn’t they tell me it was changed when I confirmed the appointment an hour earlier? Grrr.

I like things to start and end on time. When I expect to see my ball game on the telly, but the earlier game is running long or goes into overtime, pre-empting my show until it’s done (the so-called “Heidi rule”) my peeve’s knickers get all bunched up and twisted. You don’t want your hand to be in my bowl of popcorn when that happens; it just isn’t safe! Grrr.

Then there are the world’s polite drivers who arrive at four way stops at the same time I do. They often have the gall to try to out-polite me, and then stop and go repeatedly as we strive mightily to figure out who is finally going to win the game of four-way chicken. Grrr.

That’s life, though, isn’t it? It’s never the big things that get us down or kill us. It’s the million  tiny little things that simply add up, pile up, and mount up until the soul snaps like the back of the proverbial straw-bearing camel. Which reminds me: Where does one get camel’s milk? From the dromedary.

Anyway, I digress. There’s a lot that can get our goats. We’re only human, and as good as life is for most of us, there are tons of little things that can (and do) get us down from time to time. Grrr.

I have often thought about putting up positive-thinking type sticky notes people post on their bathroom mirrors or refrigerators, but then I realize one of my pet peeves are all those silly positive sayings and the clutter they create on those surfaces. I sometimes want to strangle the people who write that saccharine tripe. Grrr.

So, at the risk of being simplistic, maudlin, saccharine, or falsely perky, let me just say that there has been one thing more than any other that has helped me overcome those bouts of anger or frustration that do fall upon me from time to time, and that is this. Wait. Wait. Wait.

That’s it. I don’t mean stopping in the middle of a four-way intersection or doing anything stupid like that. I just mean, wait. Pause. Take a breath or two. Shift your attention for a moment from the thing that is irritating you to something else. Anything else. 

Picture your child or grandchild’s smile. Your dog’s wagging tail. Your spouse’s return home from a trip away. The brightness of the moon or the coo of a morning dove. 

All it takes is a moment to flush the anger from your system, adjust your panties as needed, and “remember what peace there may be in silence.” Have a grrreat week, my friends here in this, our valley.

Keith Axberg writes on matters concerning life and faith. Author of: Who the Blazes is Jesus? Good News for a Vulgar World (available through Amazon in Print and e-book)

This, Our Valley: Finding the funny bone – that’s humerus

 

"Hear this, you that trample on the needy, and bring to ruin the poor of the land … the Lord has sworn … surely I will never forget any of their deeds.” Amos 8 (excerpted)

There is a lot dividing our country right now, but don’t worry, I don’t do politics in this column. It is almost impossible to avoid the topic during these acrimonious times, and while I certainly have my own perspective and opinion(s) on a great many matters facing us, my goal here is and always has been to provide a space in which one can escape the hellscape that is current affairs. 

I want this to be an oasis of calm where one can find tranquility and peace. Not so much an escape from reality, but a place that is as safe as any sanctuary bounded by seven hundred words (give or take a few).

Humor is my coping mechanism. It isn’t that I take serious matters lightly, but I simply perceive them differently. I am not colorblind, and neither is my wife, but we almost never call anything the same color. Where she sees purple, I see violet. Where she sees chartreuse, I see avocado. My truck is a color that you see everywhere, but whereas one of us sees it as bluish, the other sees it as greenish, and the manufacturer calls it something else entirely, neither of which includes blue or green!

Where does humor come from? 

Funny you should ask. I don’t know the answer as I’m neither a scientist nor a doctor. I haven’t studied the brain (my own or anyone else’s for that matter) except for a few cursory psychology courses in college. I do have three quarters of a century of lived experience, so I’ve picked up  scraps of information about life and humor here and there through the ages, but as to why? What makes something funny or not? I don’t know. 

What I do know is that if I obsess over matters about which I have little or no control, I feel miserable. If I have a choice about feeling miserable or cheerful, I look for and find things that promote cheerfulness. Loose synapses and brain chemistry cause me to see things in a way others don’t. That’s just the way God made me. I can cry about it or I can laugh about it. I choose to laugh; I agree with Puck, who said, “Lord, what fools these mortals be.”

There are, of course, some forms of humor I don’t find humorous at all (and which one would not find in the hallowed pages of a family newspaper, or in a preacher’s preaching), so that works out well for me (and the paper, and the church). 

But I do enjoy dad jokes (Where do pirates get their hooks? Second hand stores), puns (a farmer is one who is outstanding in their field), malaprops (Be careful lest you meet the grim creeper), and other forms of wordplay (“Between you and me, something smells,” said one eye to the other). 

I prefer to poke fun at the arrogant (he’s a humble man with much to be humble about) or see the light side of situations (I’m glad war has rules – what we need now are referees).  

I don’t mind poking fun at myself (I identify as intelligent, but haven’t transitioned yet), but I don’t like making fun of other people (unless they REALLY deserve it). 

I enjoy hyperbole (If I’ve told you once I’ve told you a million times, Don’t exaggerate!) as well as incongruity (Why did the elephant paint its toenails red? So you wouldn’t see it hiding in the cherry tree). 

The bottom line for me (which is a funny place to find a line) is that humor can inflame folks (exposing hypocrisy), but it can also change hearts (Ah yes, saving money does make cents). One key to retaining one’s sanity during times of stress is to bear in mind that there is much we cannot control, but we CAN control how we respond to the world around us. 

I prefer to smile – to keep people wondering just what I’ve been up to. So welcome to this, our valley – a parlour where we can parlez-vous in peace.

Keith Axberg writes on matters concerning life and faith. Author of: Who the Blazes is Jesus? Good News for a Vulgar World (available through Amazon in Print and e-book)

This, Our Valley: The Golden Rule is that gold does NOT rule

 

"The twelve gates were twelve pearls, each gate made of a single pearl. The great street of the city was of gold, as pure as transparent glass.” Revelation 21:21

The days are growing noticeably shorter and cooler. The daytime temperatures are fine, and the overnight lows aren’t all that chilly, but the signs of autumn are all around us.

I notice it most with the wood. Every spring and fall, the wood floors around the house sound like crispy rice cereal. The floors snap, crackle, and pop – which wouldn’t be so bad except they aren’t in sync with the snap, crackle, and pops our joints make when we walk. Uff da!

One of the bathroom doors has also decided to shift on its hinges and rub the floor a tad bit before it closes. What’s worse is it won’t stay open or in place. The whole house seems to be twisting on its axis with the change in weather. 

Then there is the garden gate through which we haul our trash bins each week. The change in air temperature and humidity has swollen the planks on the gate so that they rub the threshold when we open or close it. That situation is quite solvable as all I need to do is remove a couple of the boards and lop off a quarter inch or so. But that sounds an awful lot like work (and I’m supposed to be retired). However, since I work for a certain carpenter “of note,” I really shouldn’t put it off. If the wood has swollen, it’s my job to deal with it. I guess that wood [sic] make me a swell carpenter, eh?

I can see why heaven is described as a place with roads paved of gold, gates made of pearl, and walls made of jasper. God wanted a palace that’s swell – not a palace that would swell!

But that’s not the world we live in. We don’t have streets paved with gold; our streets come in a wide variety of gravel, dirt, asphalt, or cobblestones. They come with plenty of potholes, too. 

We don’t have walls made of jasper; our walls are mostly wood (on the outside) and drywall on the inside. We have a couple of walls in the house where the contractor apparently went to lunch and let it dry unfinished before he returned, so he left it as a monument to his meal. Fortunately, I simply don’t see those blemished walls anymore – a blessing that comes with old age and failing eyesight.

The walls are all functional, of course. Even if the plaster job was done by a plastered mud-guy, it holds paint and hides the wall studs, electrical and plumbing lines, so why should I complain (aside from being a crybaby every now and then)? Life is good.

I’d rather deal with gravelly textured walls than walls of hate. I’d rather drive down roads with an occasional pothole than to act like a pothole (or its metaphorical equivalent).

Edith Bunker (an old television character) once suggested that life on earth is possibly rotten so that when we get to heaven we’ll notice the improvement. That was good for a laugh, but could also be cause for tears. I really don’t think God intends for us to die before we can finally experience peace and happiness.

We are all going to die, of course. That’s part of the circle of life. Until then, though, we have a job to do. There is no retirement from taking care of one another, being just and merciful, and walking humbly, hand in hand with God and our neighbor. God gave us hearts of flesh with which to live and love, not of stone to be erected over our graves.

We need to overcome fear and anxiety by standing together, standing united. We need to stop looking for faults and start finding solutions. We need to stop fixing blame on those with nothing, or who come from other places, and expect better of all the misers who believe their gold has made them gods.

“Those to whom much has been given, much is expected,” said Jesus. God has faith in us; we need to remember that and act like it here in this, our valley.

Keith Axberg writes on matters concerning life and faith. Author of: Who the Blazes is Jesus? Good News for a Vulgar World (available through Amazon in Print and e-book)

Proper 18C -- The Cost of God's Mercy

 

Collect: Grant us, O Lord, to trust in you with all our hearts; for, as you always resist the proud who confide in their own strength, so you never forsake those who make their boast of your mercy; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.

Lessons: Track 1: Jeremiah 18:1-11 – I (the Lord) am the potter; Psalm 139:1-5, 12-17 – You (O Lord) created my inmost parts

Track 2: Deuteronomy 30:15-20 – I set before you life & death; Psalm 1 – Blessed are those who delight in Torah

Epistle: Philemon 1-12 – I appeal to you on the basis of love

Gospel: Luke 14:25-33 – Parables of the Tower and Waging War: Count the cost!

Now large crowds were traveling with Jesus; and he turned and said to them, "Whoever comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, yes, and even life itself, cannot be my disciple. Whoever does not carry the cross and follow me cannot be my disciple. For which of you, intending to build a tower, does not first sit down and estimate the cost, to see whether he has enough to complete it? Otherwise, when he has laid a foundation and is not able to finish, all who see it will begin to ridicule him, saying, `This fellow began to build and was not able to finish.' Or what king, going out to wage war against another king, will not sit down first and consider whether he is able with ten thousand to oppose the one who comes against him with twenty thousand? If he cannot, then, while the other is still far away, he sends a delegation and asks for the terms of peace. So therefore, none of you can become my disciple if you do not give up all your possessions."

Give ear O heavens, and I will speak; let the earth hear the words of my mouth, for I will proclaim the Name of the Lord, and ascribe greatness to our God.

How many of you have read Judith Viorst’s book: Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day?

The story details a long list of misfortunes Alexander encounters, from finding gum in his hair when he wakes up, to tripping on a skateboard,  finding a cavity at the dentist’s office, getting criticized by his teacher, having lima beans to eat for dinner (which he hates). 

It’s the sort of day you and I could probably relate to – except for the lima beans, which I do like. Some days you just can’t win.

I wonder if Jesus was having one of those days when we got to the Gospel reading. I know he sometimes had trouble with his family. His mom and siblings were worried about him and tried to get him to come home (at one point in the gospels).

I think for the most part Jesus loved his family and respected them. The way Jesus talks about God as Abba (Father) says something about the relationship he had with his own father (Joseph).

I think when Jesus was dying up on the cross and committed his mother to John and John to his mother – even in the midst of that really terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day – Jesus had the presence of mind to set aside his own pain, his own grief, his own sorrow, and make sure his mother and beloved disciple were both taken care of. 

So I look at the Gospel and find myself somewhat perplexed and puzzled by about what Jesus says:

"Whoever comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, yes, and even life itself, cannot be my disciple."

That word “hate” is a very strong word. It means to detest, and while some of us may have had bad family relationships, this seems pretty harsh.

It is tempting to say Jesus was exaggerating or using hyperbole to make a point, and certainly he is, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t stop and look at it for a minute. 

It’s tempting to gloss over it, because, I don’t know about you, but I don’t like to think of Jesus being harsh or mean. 

Jesus is all about love of God, love of neighbor, being kind, being gentle, open, welcoming, generous, and all of that. 

But if we yield to a temptation to gloss over what Jesus said, we may miss the importance of hearing what Jesus has to say – to us!

My Dad was a fairly soft-spoken man, but when he got his dander up, he would grow in stature; his 5 foot nine would become 6 foot twelve, his chest would expand in a way that would make King Kong jealous, and his roar would send Godzilla back into the ocean. 

Jesus is doing that here. It’s not that he’s having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. Perhaps He’s worried the people may be confusing his grace and mercy with weakness.

There’s an old story where Herod the Great is reputed to have said, “The Lord likes to forgive sin; I love to commit sin; ah, the world is admirably arranged.” We call that cheap grace, and maybe that is what Jesus is challenging us with, today.

You may recall last week we heard the parable of the great banquet and all the excuses people made for missing the wonderful meal. They had to test drive their oxen, or check out a piece of property that was coming up for sale, or get going on a belated honeymoon. So the rich man sent his slaves out to gather people from the fields and highways and by-ways. It was a “Y’all come,” invitation.

The irony of the story is that those who were invited would rather be dead than go to the party. Has that ever happened to you? You’ve got an invitation to a party and you just don’t want to go? It doesn’t matter why. 

Maybe you’re too tired. Maybe you’ve been to too many parties already. Maybe you heard your loud-mouth uncle with all his political views will be there, or your aunt with all her gossiping and nit-picking, or your nieces and nephews who run completely out of control and ruin everything because your in-laws can’t control them – or won’t.

You’d rather be dead than go, so you make up some lame excuse – after all, you don't want to be rude, so you develop a headache or tell them you’ve got to get up early tomorrow to write a sermon, or something.

Not that I’ve ever done those things, but I’ve heard others will sometimes do that.

So we make excuses. We shrug our shoulders because, frankly, it just isn’t important for us to be there. It isn’t important. We’re really not interested.

It’s to these folks Jesus says, “Now wait a minute, maybe it isn’t important to you, but don’t you see? It IS important to God. God isn’t satisfied with a house half full or (God forbid) empty. 

“The kingdom is like this,” says Jesus. 

“God has prepared a banquet for us – for you and for me and for our friends and neighbors and, when it comes right down to it, for all those strangers you find lost in the weeds. 

“God says, ‘Y’all come,’ and if there are those who don’t want to, that’s fine. Let them make light of the invitation. That’s not going to stop the meal. That’s not going to stop the party. God has Leviathan roasting on the spit, so let’s get a move on!”

That brings us to the Gospel today, where Jesus tells us we need to hate father, mother, and so on. When Jesus says something that sounds like fingernails on a chalkboard, we want to cover our ears like the lady on Jaws, but that’s really the time to put our hearing aids in and listen.

Jesus isn’t telling us to literally hate these people. We know that. 

Jesus is very clear that we are called to love God with all our heart, soul, strength, and mind; and our neighbor as ourselves. Jesus is real clear that “neighbor” includes those we’d rather be dead than let them touch us – no matter who that might be – even if they wear red hats, 49er shirts, or drive too slowly down Division.

The Gospels are full of stories detailing family love: Jairus who begs Jesus to come heal his daughter. The Syro-Phonecian woman who begs Jesus to come heal her daughter. The widow who mourns the death of her son. The man whose son suffers from epilepsy, who begs Jesus to do what the disciples could NOT do. 

What these family members all have in common was their willingness to die for the sake of their families.

“I don’t care if I’m a dog,” says the woman. I’m nothing; Help my daughter.”

“I don’t care if I am a ruler of the synagogue,” says Jairus. “I am nothing; Help my daughter.”

“This is what God is like,” says Jesus. “The feast has been prepared, and maybe there are those who would rather be dead than to show up. That’s fine. There is MORE than enough for everyone else. Forget those who would drag you down, including your family if it comes to that. You’ve got to be willing to let them go. Why? 

“Because God is building a tower. God has considered the cost. You may look and say, ‘Hey, there’s not enough,’ but God knows the cost. We’ll see that on Good Friday (if we keep reading).

“God is going to war with Satan and all the spiritual forces of wickedness. You may look and say, ‘Hey, you’re going to need more soldiers; you’re going to need a bigger boat,’ but God knows the cost. We’ll see that on Good Friday.”

Because, here’s the point. It’s not about us. It’s not about the sacrifices we make. God has rolled up her sleeve; she’s got the shrimp on the barbie and rolls in the oven. The dinner is ready. The calf has been slaughtered. The tower is already up. The war is already won. Our job, our task, our privilege is to suit up and to show up! We start by dying to self. That’s the point.

Right now we are in that interim period between rectors. It’s scary. People are running hither, thither, and yon to do what they can to keep things going. There are committees to form, services to organize, music to choose, newcomers to greet, bills to pay, linens to wash, and all that sort of stuff.

It can seem so overwhelming. There are those who want to slow down and catch their breath, and others who want to run off and get things over with yesterday. That’s who we are. That’s what we are. 

It can feel like everything is resting on our shoulders. It can feel like everyone is relying on us to “get ‘er done, Dude” whatever “it” is. But John Wayne’s not in charge here.  Jesus is. Jesus is the bishop and shepherd of our souls -- not the Duke, but Jesus!

Jesus knows the cost, because Jesus paid the price in full. Jesus knows the cost of everything and, what’s more important, Jesus knows the value of everyONE.

Let me say that again. Jesus knows the cost of everyTHING, and the value of everyONE. What we need to do is learn to “Let go and let God” (as they say in 12-step programs). 

That’s what Jesus means by us giving up our possessions. I mean, if you brought the titles to your cars, homes, and bank accounts to church today in anticipation of today’s lessons, I appreciate that (and I’m sure Maggie can handle those transactions for you, if you wish), but Jesus isn’t talking about that stuff. Jesus is talking about letting go of the things that hold us back from being the people God calls us to be, the people God knows we can be – for the banquet is ready.

As we’ll see next week, the sheep that was lost has been found. The coin that was lost has been found. All we need to do is go beat the bushes and tell the folks that not only is dinner ready, but God has paid for it all (tip included), and is looking forward to spending eternity with us – we, who were lost and are now found; we who were dead, and are now alive.

God has taken our terrible, horrible, no good, very bad lives and transformed them into Terrific, Wonderful, very good lives, indeed. And that's worth celebrating. Amen? Amen!

Sermon delivered by Keith Axberg to St. Paul’s Episcopal Church (Mount Vernon, WA) September 7, 2025

This, Our Valley: When you’re thirsty, go for the gusto

"He turned the desert into pools of water, and the parched ground into flowing springs."  Psalm 107:35

I am not a water drinker. I drink water if it has first been heated up and dribbled through coffee grounds and a filter. Sometimes I’ll change things up and drink boiling water that has been colored by a bag of Red Rose or Lipton. I am not a connoisseur of teas or coffees, but if I am to hydrate this carcass in which I reside and with which I perambulate, then that water had best be flavored with something more than hydrogen and oxygen!

That’s the rule of thumb by which I live and move and have my being, but I must admit that (if no one is looking) I will sneak a few sips of ice water at a restaurant when we go out to eat. I always do so feeling a bit like a fraud, because I don’t really like the taste of water. The problem is it has no taste, and that’s what I find so tasteless about it.

But as I’ve gotten older, I’ve discovered the benefits of drinking water and the need for staying hydrated. The water where we live is clean, fresh, and soft. It is still tasteless and odorless, but it can be made palatable. I discovered an outfit that sells little squirt bottles of fruit flavors. They have no artificial flavors or sugars or sugar substitutes. Just fruit concentrate in a bottle from which a quick spurt of juice is enough to both flavor and color the water, and that’s all I need. A hint of substance!

Interestingly, water has been growing on me. My wife and I traveled back to Indiana last month to visit our daughter, family, and grandkids. We boarded the train and I came down with either a summer cold or allergies, making for a miserable trip (schnozola-wise, anyway). I had no interest in coffee (an experience unparalleled in my lifetime), but I was parched. It was as if we were stumbling through the desert sands of Beau Geste with Gary Cooper. 

What I craved, during the trip, was water (evidence that I was beyond delirium). Fortunately, we were in a sleeper unit, the price of which included all the bottled water we could drink – for free. I am not one to ever take advantage of free stuff just because it is free, but I threw caution to the wind and enjoyed guzzling down water throughout our trips East and West. I don’t know if the air in the railroad coaches was just dry, or if it was my allergies and/or cold that were making me so thirsty, but I was thankful to the nth degree for the water onboard, and having permission to draw from the well as freely as I was able.

I thought about that this week as I observed the continuing disintegration of the world around us. I see a world struggling in many ways and in many areas. What I notice mostly is a world where people are thirsty for something they just haven’t been getting – waters of justice, mercy, and grace.

The world is out of balance, and as we age, doctors tell us we need to drink more water; losing one’s balance and falling down is often a sign of dehydration. I joke about my love of coffee, which is no joke, but I do recognize and appreciate the value of water, and its contribution to our health and well-being (no pun intended). 

I also appreciate justice and freedom, which brings to mind another portion of Psalm 107, “(The Lord) pours contempt on nobles and makes them lose their way in trackless deserts; but lifts the needy out of their affliction” (v. 34ff).

It’s important to not only drink plenty of fluids, but to also find oases where one can rest one’s soul, replenish one’s spirits, and heal one’s wounds. There are places where the grass is green, the air quiet, the waters still; we will find there One holding a stout staff, standing their watch. Find that spot, lay out your blanket, and be at peace, for pain is inevitable, but misery optional. So, drink up here in this, our valley, and stay balanced, my friends. 

Keith Axberg writes on matters concerning life and faith. Author of: Who the Blazes is Jesus? Good News for a Vulgar World (available through Amazon in Print and e-book)