February 15, 2026 - Mother Christine Day

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In the name of one God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

Thankfully, the month of January is well over, and we will not be bombarded with all sorts of advertisements, advice columns, and videos showing us how to organize, box, and contain the chaos and clutter of our 21st-century lives. Amazingly, I got through the month without purchasing a single bin, an organizational system, or even a to-do list.

But it's not just clutter and disorganization that often prompt us in our lives to try to box things in, to contain them, and to compartmentalize them. Often, in fact, we try to put our lives into compartments. Now, don't get me wrong. Some boundary setting is necessary. There must be a boundary, let's say, between work and home, or both would suffer, but in different ways. But often we try to impose a boundary between our faith and our lives. And sometimes this is because we are taught that it's not polite to talk about religion, money, or politics. In English culture, I suppose this goes back to William III in the 17th century, when he decided that the fighting over and talking about religious doctrine led to regicide and the Cromwell Commonwealth. And therefore he suspended all of the Church of England's meetings, or synods, for nearly 75 years. Imagine that—the church not meeting for over 75 years. And this left the Church of England totally unable to respond in a coherent and faithful way to the colonization that became known as the vast British Empire. And that worked out so well that, in our 21st-century world, we're still trying to recover from the damage done by that colonization. So much for not talking about religion, money, or politics.

But this is where you and I must pause to do what Professor Diedre Goode always said about reading the Gospels: What does the text say?

At first, this morning's Gospel seems simple. We all know it. It's the Transfiguration, as told in Matthew, Mark, and Luke. After Peter tells Jesus that he is the Son of God, Jesus removes them, takes them from Caesarea, and takes his inner circle—Peter, James, and John—up the mountain. And they see Jesus transfigured, appearing with those prophets, Moses and Elijah. And for the last Sunday in Epiphany, this seems perfectly fitting—a final Epiphany, a revelation of Jesus as the Son of God. But what does the text say? At first, it seems that Jesus himself is doing a bit of compartmentalizing his own ministry.

Peter proclaims Jesus as the Christ, and Jesus takes them away from that proclamation. Second, after the inner circle has experienced the Transfiguration, Jesus says they are also to compartmentalize this experience and not tell anyone about it. But look closer. What does the text say? There's more.

Directly after the Transfiguration, Peter wants to box up and preserve the Transfiguration in the only way he knows how. “I will make three dwellings for you, one for you, one for Moses, one for Elijah,” just like they do for the booths, the Feast of the Booths.

But then a voice from a bright cloud says, “This is my Son, my Beloved, with whom I am well pleased. Listen to him.” In other words, don't put up booths to try to contain this experience of the sacred, to put it in its own special compartment. Instead, listen to Jesus.

And what does Jesus do then? What does the text say?

Jesus touches them and tells them not to be afraid. And then he leads them down the mountain—no staying up on the separate mountaintop experience. Instead, Jesus and his disciples return to their ministry in first-century Palestine, which is occupied by Rome amidst poor economic conditions and strife between the religious and civil authorities. And although Jesus tells them not to tell anyone about it, there's more. It's only until after the resurrection. After the resurrection, they are to tell others about what happened, what Jesus said, what Jesus did.

So think about it. We, as 21st-century disciples, are to listen and to follow Jesus and to not be afraid. Even if we have our own mountaintop experience, we are to go down the mountain and follow Jesus into our 21st-century world. And moreover, we are to tell others what Jesus said and did. And not just “Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so,” and to lose our shy modern adage not to talk about religion, money, and politics. For in fact, Jesus did talk about religion, money, and politics. And if you remove those, there would almost be no Gospel.

We've spent the last couple of Sundays reading, marking, and inwardly digesting Jesus' Sermon on the Mount.

Blessed are the poor.
Blessed are those who mourn.
Blessed are the humble.
Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness.
Blessed are the merciful.
Blessed are the pure of heart.
Blessed are the peacemakers.
Blessed are those who are persecuted.

And, perhaps equally importantly:

You are the salt of the earth.
You are the light of the world.
Let your light shine before others.

At baptism and at other times when we renew our baptismal vows, you and I promised to continue in the apostles' teaching and fellowship, in the breaking of bread, and in the prayers, as we're doing now. But it didn't stop there in this experience, in this building. We also promised to persevere in resisting evil and, whenever we fall into sin, to repent and return to the Lord.

This is a scary one for shy Episcopalians. And we promised to proclaim by word and example the Good News of God in Christ. And we promised to seek and serve Christ in all persons—no exclusions—loving your neighbor as yourself. And the really hard one right now: to strive for peace and justice among all people and to respect the dignity of every human being.

In the light of Jesus' Transfiguration, resurrection, and our baptismal vows, we are not called to be God's chosen frozen, too polite to talk or act about religion, money, or politics. Rather, in light of Jesus' Transfiguration, resurrection, and our baptismal vows, you and I are called to proclaim by our words and, thankfully, by our deeds the Gospel in our 21st-century world and nation. And if Jesus could do it in first-century, Roman-occupied Palestine with economic inequality and civil and religious conflicts, so can we in America. Of course, no one person can do it all.

Each of us can, in our own way, love God, love our neighbors, and strive for the dignity of each person. In our own way, we can strive for justice and peace. In our own way, we can care for the poor, the unhoused, the hungry, the mourning, the refugee, the ill, the young, and the old. And we can act as individuals and also as a community of faith.

Individually, we can donate and support Episcopal Relief & Development. We can donate and support Episcopal Migration Ministries. We can support InterFaith Works, Habitat for Humanity, the Tiny Homes Program, the ACLU, et cetera. And most of you already know and support Grace's ministries, such as the Wednesday night dinners, which will begin again in March, and the food center, or the InterFaith Food Center at 324 University. We collect Tops and Walmart gift cards for InterFaith Works’ refugee program. In the fall, we collect backpacks, and there are various collections for the clothing closet for the Samaritan Center.

But there are also many other ways in our community to follow Jesus and love our neighbor, including helping elementary students to read, helping older students as a mentor, serving as a volunteer in hospitals or in hospice, becoming a literacy volunteer, and so on. And you can check out VolunteerCNY.org, which is a United Way initiative to help connect people and opportunities to live out our faith in our own community.

And of course, because we can listen to and follow Jesus, there are ways we can talk and act politically, as John Lewis said, causing good trouble.

We are called to stop compartmentalizing our lives, to stop putting things in boxes—polite or impolite, private or public, sacred or secular—and to listen to Jesus, to not be afraid, to come down the mountain, and to proclaim by our words and actions the Good News of God in Christ.

Amen.