This sermon was preached at Grace Episcopal Church in Decorah, Iowa, on June 21, 2026. It is based on the appointed gospel reading for the day: Matthew 10:24-39.
24 “A disciple is not above the teacher nor a slave above the master; 25 it is enough for the disciple to be like the teacher and the slave like the master. If they have called the master of the house Beelzebul, how much more will they malign those of his household!
Whom to Fear
26 “So have no fear of them, for nothing is covered up that will not be uncovered and nothing secret that will not become known. 27 What I say to you in the dark, tell in the light, and what you hear whispered, proclaim from the housetops. 28 Do not fear those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul; rather, fear the one who can destroy both soul and body in hell.[a] 29 Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground apart from your Father. 30 And even the hairs of your head are all counted. 31 So do not be afraid; you are of more value than many sparrows.
32 “Everyone, therefore, who acknowledges me before others, I also will acknowledge before my Father in heaven, 33 but whoever denies me before others, I also will deny before my Father in heaven.
Not Peace, but a Sword
34 “Do not think that I have come to bring peace to the earth; I have not come to bring peace but a sword.
35 For I have come to set a man against his father,
and a daughter against her mother,
and a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law,
36 and one’s foes will be members of one’s own household.
37 “Whoever loves father or mother more than me is not worthy of me, and whoever loves son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me, 38 and whoever does not take up the cross and follow me is not worthy of me. 39 Those who find their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it.
Beloved of God, grace and peace to you in the name of Jesus. Amen.
Lately, I’ve seen a lot of rabbits on my morning walks. It’s remarkable to me how still they can be when they sense danger. My dogs and I approach, and those rabbits become like statues–easily mistaken for cute little yard art–for as long as it takes for us to pass by.
Is there anything more powerful than the drive for self-preservation?
That’s the question I’m contemplating alongside the appointed gospel reading for this morning. I’m trying to imagine the look on the disciples’ faces, the body language they were communicating, perhaps even unconsciously, as Jesus summoned them and prepared them to go out into the world like sheep among wolves. Jesus clearly tells them they’ll be attacked, maligned, questioned, and rejected. They might lose their families. They might even lose their lives. Why wouldn’t they turn and run? Why wouldn’t we?
Jesus, in his unyielding love for all creation, calls the Church–his body alive and at work in the world today– beyond the bounds of self-preservation. We, the Church, continue the work that he began: breaking down barriers, crossing to the other side, touching the untouchable, sharing tables with sinners, remembering the forgotten, healing, teaching, praying, preaching…and in so doing, provoking the powerful.
Jesus–the incarnate, embodied Word of God —inevitably creates division in a world where God’s unconditional grace is denied and God’s unyielding demand for justice is ignored and dishonored. Jesus inevitably creates division in a world where children die of hunger while one person becomes the world’s first trillionaire; in a state where gender identity has been removed from our civil rights act; in a country that disproportionately incarcerates black men even now, 161 years after Union troops arrived in Galveston Bay, Texas to announce that the more than 250,000 enslaved black people in that state were free.
On the eve of Juneteenth this year, the Obama Presidential Center opening was marked by a powerful invocation that began by naming some of those, throughout the history of this country, who have defied self-preservation for the sake of following Jesus: the abolitionists and the marchers, the women who claimed the vote, the saints who crossed the bridge at Selma, trusting that God walked beside them.
That’s the key. Trusting that God walked beside them. Trusting that the God whose will is justice walked beside them. Trusting that the God who in Jesus Christ proclaimed that those who mourn will be comforted, and that those who hunger and thirst for righteousness will be filled, and that those who are persecuted for the sake of righteousness are already blessed, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven–trusting that that God walked beside them.
Theologian and journalist Lisa Sharon Harper, in a recent interview, recounted words she spoke at a 2025 rally calling for an end to the genocide in Gaza. She was speaking primarily to students at the University of Pennsylvania, who at the time faced real repercussions for speaking out, some even being denied the ability to graduate. They were scared for good reason. They knew the cost of living out their values.
Lisa recalled the words of the psalmist, words that she had committed to memory years before when she herself was a college student: Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence, O God? She asked the students, “What can they do to us? What can they do? They can put us in jail; God is there. They can deport us; God will be there. They can kill us, and God will be there. So what can they do? They can’t do anything to us. Not really.”
Do we believe it?
Later in that same interview, Lisa Sharon Harper made the argument that “what the church needs now is to actually believe in God.” Do we actually trust God to act? To work for justice through the church? To move through us?
There are days I know I doubt. Days when I feel helpless. Days when I want to look away and not make eye contact, just hoping that Jesus doesn’t call on me. Days when I want to freeze like those rabbits and be mistaken for a lawn decoration rather than actually do something that puts my reputation or my comfort at risk. There are days when I despair even of the Church’s ability to act for justice, because I’ve seen the cost of preaching the gospel. I’ve seen people be offended and leave. Is the cost of following Jesus simply too great?
There is a force more powerful than self-preservation. Trust in God walking beside you. And that trust is not something we manufacture, not something we earn, not something we can subscribe to on our own. That trust that God walks beside us is a gift of the Holy Spirit–the breath of God filling our lungs, filling our lives, and giving us the courage and conviction to live as followers of Jesus, to be his body in this world.
The reality, even when fear and the desire for self-preservation tells us otherwise, is that the power of sin and death has already been defeated. The reality is that goodness is stronger than evil. The reality is that we are united with Christ in his dying and in his rising. The reality is that we are never alone, never reliant on our own power, or wisdom, or strength, because we are never apart from God.
One of the most beloved gospel hymns of the 20th century was inspired in part by our gospel reading this morning. His Eye Is On the Sparrow was written in 1905, and in 1958, the great gospel singer Mahalia Jackson put her signature on this hymn. Please, when you go home today, listen to Mahalia Jackson sing this hymn.
The Reverend Martin Luther King Jr. said Mahalia had a voice that came once in a millennium. She didn’t just sing the song. It was her story. I pray this day that it would be our story too. Just listen to these lyrics.
Why should I feel discouraged? Why should the shadows come? Why should my heart be lonely and long for heaven and home when Jesus is my portion? My constant friend is he. His eye is on the sparrow, and I know he watches me.
Whenever I am tempted, whenever clouds arise, when songs give place to sighing, when hope within me dies, I draw the closer to him. From care he sets me free. His eye is on the sparrow, and I know he watches me.
I sing because I’m happy. I sing because I’m free. His eye is on the sparrow, and I know he watches me.
Jesus is our portion. United with Christ in baptism, we follow Jesus into all those places of injustice and sorrow we’d rather not go. We love as Jesus did, and we love Jesus himself, as we embrace the most vulnerable among us—believing the testimony of the wounded, defending the humanity of the marginalized, welcoming all.
That powerful invocation at the Obama Presidential Center concluded with a plea for God to move in our futures: unleash justice where it is lacking. Loosen democracy from those who would tie it up, and unfurl the type of change that sets captives free.
The reality, even when despair tells us otherwise, is that God is still moving in and through the Church, in and through us. And God will not stop until justice is won.
Opal Lee, who will celebrate her 100th birthday in October of this year, is affectionately known as the grandmother of Juneteenth. When she was just 12 years old, on the very night of Juneteenth, she experienced the worst the world could do, as her family home burned to the ground at the hands of a white mob . She did not let that experience stop her. She did not harden. She did not freeze in fear. Instead, after a life of service, at age 89, she organized a symbolic 1400 mile walk from her home in Forth Worth to Washington, D.C.
Not many years after that, Juneteenth finally became a federal holiday, and in 2024, at age 97, Opal Lee moved into a new home, built by Habitat for Humanity volunteers, on the same piece of land where evil had tried to destroy not just her childhood home but her very being. A leader of the project was quoted as saying, “Hate tore the house down, love is going to build the house.”
Indeed. Love is building this house, this Church, this state, this nation, this world. The love of God is building this house–unleashing justice and unfurling freedom. And don’t we want to be at home in it? By the power of the Holy Spirit, may we go where Jesus is leading. Thanks be to God. Amen.