This is my sermon for August 6, 2025, the Eight Sunday after Pentecost , Proper 13 in Year C. We use the Gafney lectionary, A Woman’s Lectionary for the Whole Church, and the readings were Habakkuh 1:1-13; Psalm 62:8-12; 2 Peter 3:1-11; and Luke 17:20-25. The cento is composed of lines from each of the readings.
Some of you know that I tend to dabble a little bit in poetry. And when I say, “a little bit,” that is quite an exaggeration, but it is what I do from time to time. There is a form of poetry called cento. Basically, that’s creation of a poem from lines from other writings. As I was reading today’s lectionary, praying with it and reflecting on it, with all the news that was swirling around, including the detention of a young Korean woman, a sophomore in college, the daughter of a Korean priest – so a colleague – in the Diocese of New York, a cento practically jumped off the pages. And I want to say now that this reflection – this answer to a prayer – is one of those that raises many more questions than answers.
Holy One, how long shall I cry for help, and you do not save. So the law becomes powerless and justice has been aborted. The wicked surround the righteous, therefore judgment comes forth perverted. Trust not in oppression, and set not your heart on robbery; if force bears fruit, do not set your heart upon it. Trust in God at all times, O people pour our your heart before her. But this one thing do not ignore, beloved that with the Most High one day is like a thousand years and a thousand years are like one day. Be astonished! Be astounded! For a work is being worked in your days that you would not believe if you were told. Therefore, beloved, while for these things you are waiting, strive so that without spot and being blameless is how you all are to be found by God in peace. For, see here, the majesty of God is among you all. For, see here, the majesty of God is among you all.
I don’t know about you, but I sometimes wonder if my prayers, – my cries to God to heal the injustices of the world – are falling on deaf ears. How am I to understand, to preach the Gospel, when all around us there is so much that is not at all about love, and completely and totally about greed and the wrong kind of power.
How are we to have faith in anything when the world seems to be falling apart, in a bizarre kind of whack-a-mole, where previously unimaginable and remarkably creative – albeit horrific and terrifying – injustices pop up more quickly and in more places than it seems possible to address?
How are we to remain true to our commitment to live our faith in ways that make a positive difference?
How do we keep from sliding into the abyss and losing hope that it is possible to be a part of changing the world from the nightmare it is for so many, into the dream God has for it? (to paraphrase former Presiding Bishop Michael Curry)
One of the ways to remain hopeful is to remember that our understanding of things, including time and permanence is not the same as God’s. Granted that seems like a bit of an Escher-type conundrum because how can we understand these things differently outside the bounds of our experience and our brokenness? When we can’t even begin to figure out what we are to do before the next urgent, life-altering need is pressing down on us, because that’s all there seems to be some days? It’s a seemingly impossible call to be hopeful, to be patient with God, while also acknowledging and responding to what’s happening around us, locally, nationally, and globally.
And, yet, that is our call as followers of Jesus. Being found by God in peace is not something that just happens, it happens because we do our part – all of us -to bring about that peace. It is to look around us, to take it in – take everything in – all the while we trust that God is present with us, and that we can grab a bit of the divine majesty and use it to ease the pain that we see and experience in the world.
It is to remember, as our sister, Terese of Avila, wrote so beautifully,
Christ has no body but yours, No hands, no feet on earth but yours, Yours are the eyes with which he looks Compassion on this world, Yours are the feet with which he walks to do good, Yours are the hands, with which he blesses all the world. Yours are the hands, yours are the feet, Yours are the eyes, you are his body. Christ has no body now but yours, No hands, no feet on earth but yours, Yours are the eyes with which he looks compassion on this world. Christ has no body now on earth but yours. Christ has no body but yours, No hands, no feet on earth but yours, Yours are the eyes with which he looks Compassion on this world, Yours are the feet with which he walks to do good, Yours are the hands, with which he blesses all the world. Yours are the hands, yours are the feet, Yours are the eyes, you are his body. Christ has no body now but yours, No hands, no feet on earth but yours, Yours are the eyes with which he looks compassion on this world. Christ has no body now on earth but yours.
My prayer for all of us is that we embrace astonishment, welcome being astounded, and be open to being used by God to change the world in ways that seem more and more hard to believe are possible every single day. And that means we trust in God. We believe the promises God has made to all people. We have faith that each of us doing our part will add up to the kind of change we know the world needs. In short, it means we live our faith each and every moment of each and every day, with each and every decision we make, with everyone we encounter -whether we know them or not, whether we like them or not, whether we’ll ever meet them or not (which means we won’t encounter them in quite the same way as we would with a face-to-face. It means that we just get out there and do it. We do it because we know who and whose we are.
