A couple of months ago, Brothers Damian and Thomas and I suggested to Fr. Jay that we devote some of the adult education calendar to issues concerning those who live on the street. The events of any given day inside this church, immediately outside the church on its steps and sidewalks, the streets surrounding, all give expert testimony to the fact that we are in the center of many people’s unsheltered lives. Fr. Jay immediately agreed and carved out a very generous four weeks for programming. The four of us then met one afternoon after Evening Prayer, and we went to work.

In our last Prayer Book, the celebration of the Eucharist began most Sundays with what was called the Summary of the Law, with the people kneeling: “Hear what our Lord Jesus Christ saith. Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind. This is the first and great commandment. And the second is like unto it: Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself. On these two commandments hang all the Law and the Prophets.[1] These words are found in Mark, in Matthew, and in Luke.

A couple of weeks before last Easter, I ordered a copy of a commentary on the Revelation to John. When I started working on this sermon, at first I didn’t realize that I had something to turn to on the subject of angels. The word “angel”—“messenger”—to be clear, always a heavenly messenger—appears 178 times in the New Testament—of the 178, 77 are in the Revelation to John.

Our Prayer Book still uses a traditional word for our opening prayer of a Eucharist or other service of worship: collect. The Sunday collects, or prayers, are prayed through the week except on a feast day or at a special service like today. The collect for this Burial Mass addresses God as “one whose mercies cannot be numbered.”[1] It’s one of many words in our service that proclaim our confidence, our faith, and our love.

About a week ago, I noticed an email in my inbox from LinkedIn and the subject was something along the lines of: “It’s not what you know, but who you know.”

I want to begin with words from the end of last Sunday’s gospel. Jesus was teaching “the great multitudes”[1] who were following him. As his teaching approaches its conclusion he says, “Whoever ... does not renounce all that he or she has cannot be my disciple.”[2] Who continues to follow him? “Tax collectors and sinners,”[3] along with Pharisees and scribes, whom Luke the evangelist sees as Jesus’ enemies—not only in this gospel but also in Luke’s second book, The Acts of the Apostles.[4] Jesus continues to reach out to all of them, persons separated from God in one way or another.[5] Then follow three parables about the lost and the found, a lost sheep, a lost coin, and lost sons. This last parable, commonly called the Parable of the Prodigal Son, you may recall, is really about two sons, one who finds his way home and one who is angry at his father for celebrating his brother’s return.

My article for our Angelus newsletter for this week of September 8 was called, “Some September Celebrations.” I wrote about Holy Cross Day, September 14, Saint Michael and All Angels, which will fall on Sunday, September 29, this year. I mentioned the special Sung Requiem on September 11. About the Nativity of Mary I wrote, “There is one traditional commemoration of Mary still omitted by our Episcopal Church, but one which has found a home in the Church of England and other churches of the Anglican Communion, the Nativity of Mary on September 8.” It turns out I was wrong.

Last Sunday we heard the beginning of the fourteenth chapter of Luke. On a sabbath day Jesus went to the house of a leader of the Pharisees to eat. A man comes, finds Jesus, and is healed. This causes great consternation to the group of Pharisees who are there. Then Jesus spoke to those present about seeking out the most humble place at a banquet: “For all who exalt themselves will be humbled, but those who humble themselves will be exalted.”[1] There were also words about generosity to those who were poor: “And you will be happy . . . you will be repaid at the resurrection of the just.”[2]

Father Donald Garfield was rector of Saint Mary’s in 1967 when Archbishop of Canterbury Michael Ramsey preached in this pulpit. Ramsey’s chaplain was Father John Andrew, whom many of you knew, and who became rector of Saint Thomas Church in 1972. I never met Father Garfield, who died in 1996, but from conversations with Father Andrew and with my predecessor here, Father Edgar Wells, I know Father Garfield and Father Andrew enjoyed each other’s company.

In 1981, Professor Enrique Nardoni, who taught both New Testament and theology, wrote an important article about the verse that appears in Mark before Mark begins his account of the transfiguration.[1] Matthew and Luke both follow Mark closely. Luke puts that verse this way, “But I tell you truly, there are some standing here who will not taste death before they see the kingdom of God.”[2] Then Luke continues, “Now about eight days after these sayings he took with him Peter and John and James, and went up on the mountain to pray,”[3] the story of the transfiguration. On the mountain these three apostles see the Christ in glory. But they do not understand what they have seen.

In my homily last evening at our Sunday Vigil Mass, I didn’t mention yesterday’s mass shooting in El Paso, Texas. But awakened with the news of a second mass shooting in Dayton, Ohio, in the early hours of this morning, I want to say something about this evil that is abroad in our country in our lifetime. Living and working at Saint Mary’s, I know I listen and worry when I hear the sirens of more than one ambulance at a time passing by the church. Things have happened here, and evil things can happen here again.

I dislike the readings appointed for the daily Eucharist on Thursday after the First Sunday in Lent so, that if I can, I avoid being celebrant and preacher that day. The lesson is from the part of the book of Esther that belongs to the Apocrypha.[1] The psalm for that day is the same as today’s, Psalm 138, with its words, “When I called, you answered me.”[2] The gospel is Matthew’s version of the last part of today’s gospel from Luke: “Ask, and it will be given you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you.”[3]

In Mark, when Jesus leaves Capernaum in Galilee, his disciples go looking for him to bring him back. When they find him, Jesus says, “Let us go on to the next towns, that I may preach there also; for that is why I came out.”[1] And that is what he does. But in the parallel passage in Luke, when the people of Capernaum try to stop him from leaving. Jesus says to them, “I must preach the good news of the kingdom of God to the other cities also; for I was sent for this purpose”—the same language used by Gabriel to Mary: “I was sent to speak to you, and to bring you this good news.”[2]

I was surprised earlier this week when I realized that I’ve never written a sermon on Luke’s account of Jesus’ last supper. As I started to work, I came across this comment from the late biblical scholar G. B. Caird, “the Lucan account of the Last supper is a scholar’s paradise and a beginner’s nightmare.”[1] I think I now know why the church has shied away from its use in the Lectionary. Luke’s is by far the most distinctive and most complex of the New Testament accounts of the last meal Jesus and his disciples shared with words about the bread and the cup. The others are from Mark, Matthew, and Paul’s First Letter to the Corinthians.[2]

Matthew’s gospel ends with these words. I quote the King James Version that I memorized as a child: Go ye therefore, and teach all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost: Teaching them to observe all things whatsoever I have commanded you: and, lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end of the world. Amen.[1]

If you know the story of Moses and the burning bush, you realized that the lectionary editors left out part of the story as we usually hear it. Moses questioning God about his name. So, “God said to Moses, ‘I am Who I am.’ And [God] said, ‘Say this to the people of Israel, “I am has sent me to you.” ’ ”[1] I think the revelation of the name of God is the highpoint of the passage. Why the omission?

Shay and Rich are the first couple who have ever asked me to preach on the beginning of the Sermon on the Mount. It’s the first and by far the longest of five sermons given by Jesus in Matthew. Its words are among the most well-known passages of the New Testament. My own favorite words are these:

Generally, the earliest short prayer addressed to Mary is dated to the third century. It’s known by its Latin beginning, Sub tuum praesidium: To your protection we flee, holy Mother of God [“God bearer”]: Do not despise our prayers in [our] needs, but deliver us from all dangers, Glorious and blessed Virgin.[1]

New Testament Professor Joel Marcus, in his commentary on today’s gospel lesson from the last chapter of Mark, draws our attention to a narrative in the early part of Mark to help us to understand its ending. He refers his readers to the story “of storm-tossed disciples, surrounded by darkness and rising waves, and afraid they are about to perish.”[1] Wind and sea are calmed. Then, Jesus said to them, “Why are you afraid? Have you no faith?”[2] Saint Mark’s answer to fear and to suffering is faith.

Over a year ago, I started adding explanations for any additions to or reordering of the appointed readings. After hearing today’s lesson from Exodus, you might be surprised to read this note: “Other details of the priestly vestments (Exodus 28:5–29, 39–43) are omitted by the lectionary.” In other words, we heard a total of 14 verses that describe the vestments. There are 30 more. I am glad of that omission.