We just heard from Matthew in our Gospel lesson for today. And Matthew, when the four Gospels are symbolized as four creatures, as is often done, is usually depicted as a human. But, not always. St. Augustine had him as a lion.

Good evening. I bring greetings from just across the East River in Queens, from the people of All Saints Church, Woodhaven. I want to thank Fr. Wood for extending the invitation to preach to you this evening. I know he is unable to be here. I want to thank Fr. Smith and Fr. Jacobson and all of you for your warm welcome thus far. It is truly a pleasure and an honor to speak at this historic place on a holy day that honors your Patron Saint.

The Gospel this morning is about judgment. I will be talking a lot about judgment. Let me start by defining judgment. Judgment means that you and I are important. What we do matters to God. If there is no judgment then our lives are meaningless since what we do doesn’t matter.

Jesus of Nazareth is the son of a village artisan and his spouse, righteous, just, and observant folk, willing to oppose evil and to do what is right. Mary and Joseph hear and do God’s will at some risk to their own lives and reputations, but they are not without wills of their own.

After Pentecost last Sunday, when we celebrated the gift of the Spirit descending on the apostles, we can now turn to Trinity Sunday. The last piece of the puzzle is in place, so to speak, for us to contemplate the fullness of God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Of course, this doesn’t mean God changed in any way that day on Pentecost. The Trinity has always been, which is one reason the lectionary offers us that first reading from Genesis.

The ancient hymn, “Veni, Creator Spiritus”—“ Come Holy Spirit”— is sung at Vespers, on the Day of Pentecost, at the Dedication of a Church, during the Sacrament of Confirmation, at Ordinations, and whenever the Holy Spirit is invoked.

Today’s Gospel reading is a passage that can be the proof text for much mischief. It seems to me that in the history of the church, texts like this that talk about pruning, are frequently used to justify deciding who is and who is not a Christian. I am walking that fine line and it is a cautionary note for this sermon.

In the First Letter of Peter, we hear that, “we have been born anew…through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead.” It reminds me of the passage from St. Paul at the Easter Vigil where he says that we “were baptized into [Christ’s] death” and “buried with him,” so that as “Christ was raised…we too might walk in newness of life.”

I was struck recently reading something by Fr. Andrew McGowan, a professor of liturgy and the early Church at Yale Divinity School. He describes both Easter and baptism as older than the Church itself. I had to pause for a moment to guess at where he was going with this, but soon realized that Fr. McGowan’s point is that both Easter and baptism clearly have earlier roots.

The infant child is born, takes her first breaths, and begins to cry, announcing her arrival. She must breathe to live. But very soon, another need arises: she is hungry, and so she reaches out, and if she is lucky, she receives food in return, and, so, life begins with its distinctly primal needs—oxygen, touch, intimacy, warmth, and food.

You’ve just heard a lot of bible and it has to be hard to keep it all in your head as I stand here preaching to you. Fortunately, the lessons are in your bulletin. I’m going to start with the OT lesson so look at the lesson from 1st Samuel. I will be quoting from the Common English Bible so you will notice a contrast between what you read and what I say. I am a fervent proponent of using a lot of English translations to tease the meaning out.

Today in our Gospel lesson we hear about Nicodemus. He’s a Pharisee, probably a member of the Sanhedrin, a council of Jewish religious leaders, and he comes to see Jesus by night. Presumably, at night, because he doesn’t want anyone else to know what he’s up to. We hear that he already acknowledges that Jesus “come[s] from God” and that “God is with him.” He wants to learn more. We could say that he’s coming in from the darkness of night and approaching Jesus, the light­, “the true light” that came “into the world.”

My great-nephew Max is two, almost three. He is a compact, wiry boy, with a shock of unruly blond hair. He has lots of energy. He likes to be on the move, which is to say that he likes to run, climb, and jump up and down. He thinks this is dancing. He likes slides, trampolines, and, recently, pools. In the short videos I receive from my nephew, his father, Max does fall now and then in the middle of all the running, climbing, and dancing, but it doesn’t seem to bother him much.

The Transfiguration story begins with the phrase “six days after Peter acknowledged Jesus as the Messiah.” This is to drive home the point that Peter never has an inkling about why he’s saying whatever he says. Had Peter understood what it meant for Jesus to be Messiah then he would’ve responded differently at the Transfiguration. He is clueless. He equates Jesus with Elijah and Moses. Peter was looking for a Messiah who would free him from political oppression and human suffering.

In today’s Gospel passage, we meet Jesus in the middle of his Sermon on the Mount. Jesus goes up on mountain. I picture it as a hot day, though with a bit of a refreshing breeze up there. He sits down and his disciples come around him. However, this sermon isn’t just going to be for the disciples—the inner circle. They may be sitting up close to Jesus, but the crowds are packing in too, listening and astonished with what they’re hearing.

For some years now I have served on the Commission on Ministry of the Diocese of New York. I've also, throughout my 36 years as a member of the Order of the Holy Cross, worked with hundreds of people as vocations director or spiritual director.  We get used to hearing about calls: calls to ordained ministry, calls to monastic or religious life, calls to a certain career path or to one or another personal or family relationship.  And all of this is usually framed with questions:  Is this what God is calling me to do or be, and how do I know?

A few years ago, while on pilgrimage in Great Britain, I had the opportunity of taking in a meal at The Eagle and Child Pub in Oxford. While the food was good, the actual reason for visiting The Eagle and Child was that it was a regular meeting place for a literary group known as “The Inklings,” of which authors C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien were members.

Almost all the church’s great holy days emerge as a way of recalling and celebrating the biblical story. The Church’s celebrations on January 1 are no exception. The events described in this morning’s gospel are one of the things that bring us here today. We come to praise God for his many blessings and, especially in this season, for sending us his Son, who “emptied himself, taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men” (Philippians 2:7), and who lived as a human being, constrained by time and mortality, just as we are.