Fear or Love? We Choose, Together

August 31, 2025 - The Twelfth Sunday after Pentecost

Good morning.

In a few months, we will hear a collect about the study of scripture. "Blessed Lord, who caused all holy scriptures to be written for our learning, grant us to hear them, read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest them." Now, forgive my metaphor, but we hear large chunks of the Bible every week: Old Testament, Psalm, New Testament, Gospel. That's a lot to swallow, much less digest. So our preacher picks out something to focus on each morning. Usually, this means a section of the Gospel, but not always.

Our current liturgical year is devoted to the Gospel of Luke, which is actually a letter to a new convert, Theophilus. Early Christian tradition says Luke was a physician, though we don't really know if that is so. Scholars do know that Luke worked hard to create a truthful, orderly account of the events described in his letter, and he did so in elegant Greek. His first source was a companion of the Apostle Paul, but he reached out to many others. Writing in the year 80 of the Common Era, Luke managed to fill 24 chapters. That must have run to quite a few scrolls. And copies were circulated among early Christian communities, so there was no chance of this document being lost.

This summer, we have been cruising through tales of Jesus' ministry in Galilee, not always knowing exactly which towns, but the rhythm of his work remains the same. Jesus would heal someone, then having the crowd's attention, would begin to teach. Imagine how much more attentive we would be if John opened with a healing before his sermon... maybe fixing my bum knee. We would surely mark, learn, and inwardly digest everything he had to say, and the next Sunday, the church would be filled to overflowing, with people hoping to see another miracle.

I tried to count the healings in Luke, the man with an unclean spirit, Simon's mother's high fever, a paralyzed man, and my favorite, the centurion who declared himself unworthy, but appealed on behalf of his ill slave. When I got to references of healing many in the crowd, I gave up trying to find the total.

We all know the point. Healing has two benefits. It is a compassionate act toward the suffering, and it gets the attention of the crowd. Sadly, our preachers are not blessed with a healing touch. They must rely on their message to instruct and possibly move us.

In recent weeks, we considered the rich fool. Alan James lifted up the man who built a bigger barn and reminded us that to be generous with others is to be generous with God. Then on August 10th, we were told, do not be afraid, which reminded me of Alan Payton's essay years ago in which he wrote, the opposite of love is fear. Over time, I have encountered this tension more and more, as in John's recent riff on his certainty of love, and his hope that love will spread to take over the world. On the other hand, Christian nationalists lobby for some sort of governmental protection, some sort of official identity. They have not been blind to plummeting church attendance in recent decades. It seems to me that their effort does not arise from a love of Jesus, but from fear for their continued existence, indeed, continued power.

Fear or love? We choose. Read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest.

On August 17th, Emily Ulmer from Plainsong Farm focused on Christ's reminder to the crowd that their confidence about the future is nothing but illusion. She urged us to remember we are not alone, to find courage, to walk through uncertainty, and sing our way home.

Last week, John shared his nightmares, clear expressions of our anxiety over what we cannot control. He told us how turning to prayer has served him as an antidote. How evening prayer has become a grounding, palate-cleansing, foundational part of his week. In a similar vein, Chilton Knudsen, former Bishop of Maine, often said, "When you are in over your head, that is the time to get down on your knees." Read, mark, learn, inwardly digest.

Each Sunday, each preacher selects a part of scripture that captures his attention. Today, the fifth Sunday in August, I am given a heady variety of options. Shall we consider Sirach, the beginning of human pride is to forsake the Lord? Or the psalm, the righteous are merciful and full of compassion. Hebrews asserts, "Do not neglect to do good and share what you have." Now, curiously, the gospel skips the healing of the man with dropsy. By the way, that's edema. I cannot speak for those who set the lectionary, but I think it was a mistake.

Now, the gospel that got my intention, the gospel bit that got my intention by offending me is, "Do not sit in the place of honor." My first reaction was, what is this? A lesson in etiquette? An admonition not to be so full of myself? I cannot think of anyone in this room so tempted. If anything, we tend to undervalue ourselves. Alan James complimented us on our practice of sharing at brunch, prayerfully burying the ashes of strangers of all our ministries. And I think it's okay to take some pride in our corporate work. However, individually, I suspect our temptation is to find the worst seat at the banquet, maybe even pause in the doorway.

Like the Centurion, we tend to believe we are unworthy. If only others knew what a hot mess I am, concealing what failures, mistakes, even sins run through my life.

But what does the healing of the bent-over woman or the man with dropsy teach us, other than the better way is always that of grace and love, including everyone, no exceptions. So read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest this. Michael Ryan once remarked that God does not expect us to be perfect, just faithful, and we are.

We show up. We live out the lessons as best we can. We choose love over fear, at times, a very, very hard thing to do. We choose love over judgment, over anger, over impatience, over disappointment. And we help each other with the choice.

Today, my friends, this is indeed our good news.

Amen.