The Eyes of God

PROPERS:          4 LENT, YEAR A 

TEXT:                1 SAMUEL 16:1-13

PREACHED AT ST. PAUL’S, MOBILE, ON SUNDAY, MARCH 15, 2026.

 

ONE SENTENCE:        We do not see the world as God sees it.        

 

            A speculative parable of Samuel choosing a king for Israel:

 

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            The prophet Samuel was on his way to Bethlehem, only a short distance from Jerusalem. Samuel was a genuine kingmaker. He had anointed Saul as Israel’s first king and now he was tasked to select the second.

 

            A voice within him had called to visit the home of Jesse, father of eight sons.  One of them would be chosen as king to succeed Saul, the flawed incumbent who sat upon the throne.

 

            This was not an easy time for Israel.  They were surrounded by enemy nations; their existence was always in peril.  What’s more, there was a strain in Jewish society that sought to set clear boundaries of who was Jewish and who was not. Who could immigrate, and who could not. They had brutally conquered the tribes which had inhabited Canaan before them.

 

            The purity of people was vitally important.

 

            So, Samuel arrived in Bethlehem. The citizens there were anxious at the presence of this respected man. They wondered if this meant trouble. But he set their minds at ease and asked to see Jesse and his sons.

 

            They gathered at Jesse’s house, Samuel, Jesse, and seven of the eight sons.  Each son would pass before Samuel to be considered for anointing.

 

            Eliab, the eldest, was first. Tall, handsome – much like Saul the current king.  But Samuel had heard:  Eliab was hot tempered and prideful. He would be quick to take the people to war. He was known for his loose morals and many illicit relationships. He had used many people and shuffled them off to the side.

 

            Eliab had heard that Jesse was coming.  He manipulated the process so he would have to win. He stirred up his supporters.  

 

            But Samuel was wise. He heard a voice deep within: Not this one.

 

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            Next came Abinidab.  He stood before Samuel. Samuel knew about Abinidab. He was fiercely Jewish – perhaps too much so.  He believed in the philosophy, Make Israel Great Again. That was fine, Samuel thought, but perhaps he would wall off the grace of God from the surrounding people, and even some in their midst. 

 

            Abinidab, too, knew that Samuel was on his way.  He stoked his followers’ fears that all would be lost to the incoming hordes.

 

            Again, Samuel was wise to the game. He passed on Abinidab.

 

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            Then came son number three, Shammah.  He was the opposite of the other two.  He didn’t believe in any borders for Israel or restrictions on who could be included in the nation. 

 

            He believed Israel could feed and care for everyone. Shammah had already allowed some neighbors to plunder his father’s fields.

 

            The popular perception was that he was so pliable, he would be like putty in the hands of other kings. 

 

            As nice as he was, he should not be king.  He would be a disaster. Samuel recognized that.

 

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            And so, they came, the remaining four who were present.  But each one had a significant flaw. One had serious character and behavior issues. Another could be classified as a socialist. Perish the thought. Still another was too lazy. The final one was living an alternate lifestyle. They certainly couldn’t have that in a king.

 

            Samuel was frustrated.  He had been sent to Bethlehem and to Jesse’s house, and not one of the seven sons he had seen were a good fit. So, Jesse asked: Are there other sons?

 

            Yes, Jesse said.  The youngest, David, who is tending the sheep. Go get him, directed Samuel.

 

            And David came. Samuel knew he had found the one.  Samuel was able to peer into the future. This boy would become the greatest king of Israel. A great warrior. A loyal heir. A musician. And a deeply flawed human being who would commit adultery and conspire to murder. But an icon.

 

            As the 12-year-old David stood before Samuel, Samuel heard these words echo in his spirit: “The Lord does not see as mortals see; they look on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart.”

 

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            Each of us, in our limited vision, does not see as God sees. My message to you today, brothers and sisters, is that the ways of God, though sometimes confusing, will ultimately prevail.

 

            To paraphrase Robert Burns: “O what a powerful gift he’d give us, to see ourselves as God would see us.” 

Thirsting for Living Water

PROPERS:          3 LENT, YEAR A 

TEXT:                EXODUS 17:1-7; JOHN 4:5-42

PREACHED AT ST. PAUL’S, MOBILE, ON SUNDAY, MARCH 8, 2026. (At 5:00 p.m. only)

 

ONE SENTENCE:        Despite the fact our thirst for justification is quenched, and we have received more – the eternal grace of Baptism.

 

            Years ago, in the sweltering heat of East Central Mississippi, I embarked on my yearly journey to Boy Scout camp. The camp was incredibly rustic, deep in the piney woods, some 10 miles south of Meridian – off Causeyville Road.

 

            It was there that scores of adolescent boys would flock for a week. We were free to go without showers, to sleep in steamy tents, to utilize rustic latrines, and if we so dared, to adopt a snake to be our best friend.  The food was what you would expect. The highlight of the day was when the canteen opened.

 

            It was during the camp sessions that we would work to earn merit badges – to advance us to higher levels within scouting.

 

            One session, I sought the Hiking and Camping Merit Badges – two coveted badges on the way to becoming an Eagle Scout.

 

            To attain those badges, I embarked on hike through the woods with a fully loaded backpack. The journey was to the Outpost Camp, where we would set-up tents, roll out our sleeping bags, and eke out our frontier existence for one night.

 

            Keep in mind this was July in East Central Mississippi. It was stiflingly hot.  It is hard to describe how hot it was. I told myself that the hike must have been five miles in the woods – with a heavy backpack. It was more likely one mile.  The mind begins to wander and exaggerate in such conditions. I felt like I was on the Bataan Death March.

 

            I had never been so thirsty in my life.  My lips were parched. My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. As a seventh-grade boy, I thought I was nearly delirious.

 

            After what seemed like hours, we arrived at the Outpost Camp. Our journey through the steamy woods was done.  And blessing of blessings! Near to the camp site was a gurgling spring – yielding cool, refreshing, sweet water, all for the drinking.

 

            To this day, I have never had any sweeter water.  It refreshed me – in mind, body, and spirit.

 

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            From that experience, on some level, I can identify with Hebrews, led by Moses, wandering in the desert wilderness.  Their thirst was deep and profound. They were afraid for their lives. They wondered if Moses had brought them out of Egypt to die of thirst in the desert wilderness.

 

            They did not die. Moses struck a rock and water issued forth.  They drank deeply. Their human craving as slaked. 

 

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            Some 1,200 years later, Jesus walked into Sychar – a Samaritan town, southwest of Galilee. He would be an odd visitor there – a Jew in a Samaritan town. It was not done; there was no mixing of the faiths. Nor would there be conversation between genders.

 

            Jesus was thirsty from his travels.  Remarkably, he asked a Samaritan woman for a drink from the well. She said, “Why are you, a Jew, asking me, a Samaritan for a drink?”

 

            Jesus answered her – and more. Jesus said to her, “Everyone who drinks of this water will be thirsty again, but those who drink of the water that I will give them will never be thirsty. The water that I will give will become in them a spring of water gushing up to eternal life.” The woman said to him, “Sir, give me this water, so that I may never be thirsty or have to keep coming here to draw water.”

 

            Jesus was speaking of two waters – water to quench a parched throat, and water which would bring union with God. Water to quench a parched throat, and water which would bring union with God. 

 

            The wandering Hebrews had thirsted for the first, but they did not know to seek the second – the eternal water which would bring union with God.

 

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            Each of us here occasionally yearns for the water which quenches our thirst – after tennis, walking, golf, or just the daily routine.  That’s normal.  But we are also recipients of the second – the waters of baptism, which bring us into the household of God.

 

            The rubrics of the Prayer Book say that Baptism “is the full initiation by water and the Holy Spirit into Christ Body the Church. The bond established by God in Baptism is indissoluble.”

 

            That is an incredible gift of God’s grace – beyond generous. Each of us has been blessed. That thirst is satisfied.

 

            That grace is ours.  It is with us wherever life takes us – or wherever we choose to go. Through the metaphorical woods or deserts of life.

 

            Yet we come to this table – this altar and this rail – again and again for more.  To continue the journey… to ask for strength… for wisdom… for the ability to grow in that grace. 

Death is Nothing at All

PROPERS:          BURIAL OF THE DEAD                

PREACHED AT CHURCH OF THE RESURRECTION, STARKVILLE, ON FRIDAY, JANUARY 9, 2026 (Stuart Vance’s funeral)             

 

ONE SENTENCE:        Death is not an eternal loss; our friends are very close.

 

            We have all sustained a loss – a meaningful loss.

 

            Perhaps. Death may deceive.

 

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            I first came to know Stuart 33 years ago.

 

            He was a member of the early church crowd – a devoted group of early Sunday service worshippers here at Church of the Resurrection.

 

            As the new rector, I was invited into their fellowship.  After the early service on Sunday, we would regather at the old McDonald’s on Highway 12.  We called our gathering “McWorship”.

 

            It was a remarkable group. Stuart and Mike Vance. Sam and Jane Polk. Walt and Bettye Hillen. Bill and Sherley Richter. Vera and Fred Wiles. Ernie and Allison Russell. Tommy and Jeanne Wakeman. We would even see Jerry Clower there on some Sundays.

 

            Today we remember Stuart’s energy, vision, leadership, passion, and vitality.

 

            With the loss of Stuart, only Jeanne Wakeman survives. All were remarkable saints.

 

            Where have they gone?

 

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            A couple of years ago, I had the chance to speak by telephone with my friend and former Mississippi priest Tim Jones, who now serves a diocese overseas – in Wales.

 

            Tim had made some interesting comments on Facebook about life after death.  It is a subject each of us has speculated about – the specifics of a remarkable aspect of the Christian faith. I suspect that those of us who cling to Christianity have important images of the life beyond in mind.

 

            Tim had an interesting perspective.  His point of view is that we have misdefined death, and likewise, we have constricted our understanding of life. His point was this: death is not clinical death – such as lack of brain activity, cessation of heartbeat and respiration. Life – in some dimension beyond our ability to grasp – can continue beyond that state.

 

            One-hundred-fifty years ago there was a theologian at Christ College in Oxford, England – a position not easily attained. His name was Henry Scott-Holland. He was a profound thinker, steeped in the Christian faith. He, too, wrestled with the mystical life beyond this veil of tears.

 

            His reflections reached their fruition in a poem Death is Nothing at All.

 

            I encourage you to think of our friend Stuart – and all our other departed saints – as I read this poem:

 

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Death is nothing at all. 

It does not count.

 
I have only slipped away into the next room. 

Nothing has happened. 

Everything remains exactly as it was. 

I am I, and you are you, and the old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged. 

Whatever we were to each other, that we are still. 

Call me by the old familiar name. 

Speak of me in the easy way which you always used. 

Put no difference into your tone. 

Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow. 

Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes that we enjoyed together. 

 

Play, smile, think of me, pray for me. 

Let my name be ever the household word that it always was. 

Let it be spoken without an effort, without the ghost of a shadow upon it. Life means all that it ever meant. 

It is the same as it ever was. 

There is absolute and unbroken continuity. 

What is this death but a negligible accident 

Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight 

I am but waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near, just round the corner. 

All is well. 

Nothing is hurt; nothing is lost. 

One brief moment and all will be as it was before. 

How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting when we meet again!

 

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            Until later, my friend.

 

  

The Long and Winding Road

PROPERS:          BURIAL OF THE DEAD                

PREACHED AT ST. PAUL’S CHAPEL, MAGNOLIA SPRINGS, ON SATURDAY, DECEMBER 13, 2025. (At Ronnie Miller’s funeral)

 

ONE SENTENCE:        Regardless of where life leads us, we can always “return home”.

 

            My first recollection of Ronnie is from 1970. I was a student at Meridian Junior College, and he was on faculty.

 

            I was a lowly freshman, and he was on the Fine Arts faculty.  He was also a Golden Gloves boxing champion. I wanted to stay out of his way.  I knew of him only from a distance.

 

            Little did I know what I would learn from him in the decades to come.

 

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            As I noted, Ronnie was on faculty – teaching classes, directing plays.

 

            On the other hand, I was a student – getting by on as little as I could.

 

            While Ronnie was being an adult faculty member, teaching classes and directing plays, one of my activities was serving as an announcer on our college radio station. It was not much of a radio station; it was limited to the cable system in Meridian. I was known as DJ the DJ – a moniker which has long-since died (may it rest in peace).

 

            It was 1970.  The Beatles were still around, though barely. One song that I repeatedly played on the station was “The Long and Winding Road” – written by Paul McCartney in 1968. It is a song he will not sing today. It is too emotional for him. It was the story of the challenges of getting to his love.

 

            But it had metaphorical meaning – then and now.

 

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            The Long and Winding Road. An appropriate image for today. For Ronnie. For you. For me.

 

            It is a profoundly biblical image, too. The travels of Abraham and patriarchs Isaac, Jacob, and Joseph – from the Tigres-Euphrates Valley in modern day Iraq, to modern-day Israel.  The wandering of the Israelites through the wilderness of Egypt, Jordan, and finally to Canaan for 40 years.  The exile of the Jews in Babylon. Jesus’ travels by foot through Galilee, Samaria, and ultimately into Jerusalem.  And, of course, Paul’s journeys through the known Mediterranean world.

 

            A long and winding road, indeed. None of it was easy. But God’s call was relentless.

 

            Ronnie had already begun his long and winding road. A native of south Tennessee, he had entered Mississippi College. He aspired to be a Baptist pastor – but life had other plans for him.  The riches of his life and wisdom would shape many others.

 

            The Long and Winding Road was just that for him – with many unanticipated turns. Classes to be taught. Plays to be directed. The death of a young spouse. Children to be nurtured. Matches to be boxed. New love and a new marriage.

 

            Yet, he stayed the course. Faithfully.

 

            Our lives would connect repeatedly as the road wound through the years. My life had taken a unique turn, but Ronnie continued a faithful path – traveling, teaching, molding, bearing witness.

 

            I would later encounter him when he had become active in the Episcopal Church.  The Church of the Mediator and St. Paul’s Church in Meridian, and later, St. Paul’s Chapel here in Magnolia Springs.  He had married Judy – whom I had known as a high school classmate.

 

            Our pathways would continually cross.  He had been faithful to the journey.  He was a rock – steady in his faith.  He would not veer.

 

            And here we are. Ronnie has been true to the long and winding road. We give thanks for his life, his steadfastness, his example. Ronnie taught us by example.

 

            Despite what life threw in front of him, he continued his journey.  It tells us a deep truth – no matter where life leads us, we can come home.  The road may be long and winding, but, if we allow it, it can lead us home – to the place where Ronnie has journeyed.

 

            Life can throw us many curves. Or Ronnie might say left hooks. But if we stay the course, or turn to the course to which God calls us, we can find home.  

Looking Toward Change

PROPERS:          PROPER 19, YEAR C 

TEXT:                1 TIMOTHY 1:12-17

PREACHED AT ST. PAUL’S, MOBILE, ON SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 14, 2025. (My last Sunday at St. Paul’s, Mobile)

 

ONE SENTENCE:        Life’s direction can always be changed – to “The Road Less Travelled”.

 

            My first Sunday to preach here, last November, I began with a “point of personal privilege” to welcome my two grandsons, Wilt and Harris – who incidentally are here today.

            

            My reason is different today… especially since my daughter has observed that this may be my last Sunday to preach. That sounds ominous, doesn’t it?

            But here are my observations.

 

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            For most of my 38 years of ordained ministry, I have dealt with solving problems. Attendance… clergy behavior… budget issues… clergy placement… parish vacancies. I guess you could say that I came to view ministry with somewhat of a jaundiced eye.

 

            And then I came to St. Paul’s.  I had always been a bit skeptical of large churches. Bloated… privileged… spoiled… under functioning – those were some of the words I would use to describe large parishes.

 

            Then I was blessed to come to St. Paul’s – and those adjectives disappeared into the mists.  

 

            It has been my pleasure to see, especially, the many aspects of lay-led ministry.  I’ve watched as people organized meaningful efforts to touch people’s lives. I’ve seen the weekly ministry to deliver flowers to those challenged by life. The regular activities of Eucharists in homes, hospitals, and personal care facilities. I’ve witnessed the ministry of the Cracked Plates. I’ve seen the dedication of Daily Bread and Meals on Wheels.

 

            Gospel ministry, we could call it.  And that was just a sliver of volunteer ministry in this congregation.

 

            Then, the staff. The clergy staff, Jody and Brad, are like Joe DiMaggio – they make the hard ones look easy. Peggy and the choir make our worship sing in ways we wouldn’t otherwise. The lay office staff has been a pleasure to work with.

 

            And my thanks to a wonderful group of octogenarians who have welcomed Nora and me into your midst.

 

            Not bad, I would say, for a swan song.

 

            Thank you.

 

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            Rob Nichols, a fellow Mississippian now a priest in this diocese, tells the story of a seminary classmate taking the final, comprehensive General Ordination Examination during his senior year at Virginia Seminary.

 

            The test was comprised of short answer, essay, and some objective criteria. Open book and closed book. Some single essays lasted all day. Much like a Bar or CPA exam. It was aimed at seeing how much the student had learned during three-years in graduate school. Wags called it God’s Own Exam.

 

            As Rob tells it, one question was this: Who was the mother of Augustine of Hippo?

 

            The answer was obvious – St. Monnica. We had learned that fact during our middler year.

 

            But Rob’s friend was flummoxed. He did not know. Who was the mother of Augustine of Hippo?

 

            Indeed. He did not know. He wrote his answer: Mrs. Hippo.

 

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            Monnica’s son was one of the great figures of the early church.  Some call Augustine the greatest of all theologians.

 

            But he was not always so. Augustine lived an early profligate life in North Africa.  This was the fourth century. He was very bright – schooled in rhetoric and philosophy. 

 

            He was spoiled. He had a succession of concubines, eschewing marriage.  He was an adherent to pagan beliefs, especially Manicheanism, which saw the world as either evil or good, with nothing in between.

            

            It was during this paganistic period that he uttered his insincere prayer: “Grant me chastity and continence, but not yet.”

 

            One afternoon, when he was 31 years old, Augustine was sitting in a courtyard, and he heard a child’s voice repeating, “Tolle legge, tolle legge” – take up and read, take up and read.

 

            He looked to his side, and there was a copy of Paul’s Letter to the Romans.

 

            He read it, and life and the church were never the same. 

 

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            Augustine’s life was like Paul’s – not simple, righteous, or one-dimensional.

            In the epistle today, Paul writes to his close friend Timothy: 

 

              “I am grateful to Christ Jesus our Lord, who has strengthened me, because he judged me faithful and appointed me to his service, even though I was formerly a blasphemer, a persecutor, and a man of violence. But I received mercy because I had acted ignorantly in unbelief, and the grace of our Lord overflowed for me with the faith and love that are in Christ Jesus.” 

 

            Paul knew a truth that Augustine lived as well – the pathway of our lives is never set in stone – nor is it ever beyond redemption. No matter where we go, we can always change paths. The ability of God to change lives is remarkable. 

 

            My ordaining Bishop Duncan M. Gray, Jr., observed, “No one’s life is a complete loss.  They can always be a negative example in a sermon.”

 

            But it is much greater than that. We can be transformed.

 

            That is one reason the Twelve Step Programs are so important – people can change and lead new lives. Healing can take place. Wounds can be mended. Broken lives can find new direction. We can emerge from the pit.

            And more. Much more. Paul, Augustine, and countless others through centuries tell us we can change. We can be touched by the healing hand of God. We, too, can find – and take – The Road Less Traveled. 

Guideposts for Decisions

PROPERS:          PROPER 12, YEAR C 

TEXT:                COLOSSIANS 2:6-15, (16-19)

PREACHED AT ST. PAUL’S, MOBILE, ON SUNDAY, JULY 27, 2025.

 

ONE SENTENCE:        Our actions and teachings as Christians should be grounded in the teachings of Christ and virtues described by Paul, and not in transient, popular movements.     

 

            There is an oral tradition which circulates in this part of South Alabama that describes a somewhat cynical approach to human motivations.

 

            It is said that the late restauranteur Oliver Wintzell, founder of Wintzell’s Oyster Bar, once ran for sheriff of Mobile County.  It is said that his campaign slogan was “I’ll stand for whatever the people will fall for.”

 

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            Regardless of your theological orientation, I suspect you can identify with that philosophy being used by some folks – past or present. Various movements have claimed adherence to the truth, but there have been times when those movements were nothing more than theology du jour.

 

            When I first preached here last November, I mentioned a book, The Kingdom, the Power, and Glory, written by Tim Alberta. As well and thoroughly as anything I have read he describes the golden calf many congregations are worshiping today. I suspect, while they flourish today, they will pay an enormous price in the future.

 

            False gods turn to dust.

 

            Our patron saint, Paul, issues a warning to the church in very clear terms in the lesson from Colossians today: “See to it that no one takes you captive through philosophy and empty deceit, according to human tradition, according to the elemental spirits of the universe, and not according to Christ.”

 

            That’s good counsel.  And fair enough. But here’s the rub. One person’s treasure is another person’s trash. Sometimes there is a difference between which course should be taken.  Look back over history. Ample examples abound. Wherever two or three gather, there are four or five opinions.

 

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            But I am not a nihilist or a relativist.

 

            Our choices are not the equivalent of options at Morrison’s Cafeteria. We are not left to guess about what we should do.  There are guideposts along the way.

 

            First and foremost are the essential teachings of Christ, also known as the Summary of the Law – to love God, ourselves, and one another with all our being. We affirm that wisdom in our liturgy. It is the core Christian admonition. These are more than words in a prayer book.

 

            Secondly, we have the scripture.  There are motivations that are verboten for us. Our lesson from Galatians four weeks ago quotes Paul: “fornication, impurity, licentiousness, idolatry, sorcery, enmities, strife, jealousy, anger, quarrels, dissensions, factions, envy, drunkenness, carousing, and things like these.”

 

         That’s a pretty good start. But the church – over the centuries – has designated seven deadly sins: pride, greed, wrath, envy, lust, gluttony, and sloth. 

 

            In addition, we Anglicans can draw on tradition, reason, and experience.

 

            Can we agree that – regardless of our perspective – these directions and prohibitions are significant?  That we can guide our ministry and lives on these directions and these barriers?  Does your life and philosophy align with these?

 

            If not, you better think again.  Or you may need to look in a mirror and do some personal moral accounting.  Not because I say so, but because Christ, Paul, and the church say so.

 

            On which side of that ephemeral moral line do you wish to reside?

 

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            But here’s the upshot: No matter how despicable a person’s approach to life is… no matter how much you disagree with that person’s philosophy… no matter how liberal or conservative they may be… that person is still a child of God.

 

            We are under Christ’s most explicit directive to love them and love ourselves. Not with pride or a sense of superiority… not with condescension or judgement… but with humility. Just as Christ loved and loves us.