Sermons

A Circle of Grace That Never Stops

Let’s set the scene here; for the gospel and for us here right now in this district, on Capitol Hill, and in this nave around this altar. Jesus has yet again bumped into Samaritans, the people who are hearing this know that they are the worst. For us, they are part of a lovely story and a pretty fabulous stained glass in the chapel. 

Jesus is traveling through an in-between place, somewhere between Samaria and Galilee. It’s not quite one, not quite the other; it is a borderland, a liminal space. I love those in-between places most because that is where I often bump into God, and I see opportunities for something profoundly to shift in my life and in the community I get the honor to serve. 

And in this borderland, ten people call out to Jesus from a distance. These ten people living with leprosy, cut off from their communities, from their families, from their places that people gather, and perhaps even their sense of self, and they cry out. “Jesus, Master, have mercy on us!” 

And Jesus, in his most Jesusey way, says to them, “Go and show yourselves to the priests.” And as they go, they are healed. One of them is the Samaritan, an outsider who we know has the potential to be more than just that. Well, that one stops, turns back, and throws himself at Jesus’ feet, praising God and giving thanks. We know the story, all are healed, and yet only one comes back in gratitude. 

St. Mark’s has long been a place that opens its doors wide. A place where all sorts of people come—questioners, believers, seekers/skeptics, neighbors—and where we try to make the invitation to grace that is not limited or judged. 

This gospel of Jesus and the lepers (those folks who represent the ones on the outside looking for a place of healing and a re-entry into community) reminds us that faith isn’t about being on the “inside.” It’s about seeing the gift and turning back in gratitude. The Samaritan sees that his healing is more than physical—it’s a gift. And he does what people of faith do: he stops, pivots, returns, and gives thanks. 

Every Sunday we gather here for the Eucharist—the Greek word for “thanksgiving.” We come from our own in-between places—between joy and grief, work and rest, despair and hope—and we come here to do what the Samaritan did: to give thanks. On Sunday and during the week we give thanks for the gifts of this community just this past week, we had returned citizens here sharing their poetry, we had children (adults too) joyifully dancing, doing yoga, we had folks in planning a loved ones funeral, we prepared for a double baptism, we had four performances of a play, we had a press conference with congressional members and with ecumenical faith leaders, we had three choirs practice, we sat with one another drank coffee, had theological and slightly non-theological sermon seminar, had classes about scripture, morning prayer, meditation centering prayer, we sat with the dying and we come again and again thankful for the mercy we receive, for the grace that surprises us again and again. 

We at St. Marks, clergy & staff, lay folks, volunteers, the staff of all the studios: dance, music, meditation, the production of Puffs, all are access points that make community. Opens doors for joyful expression and creates opportunities in those spaces for belonging. In the Ancient Near East and many places, it is healing that means belonging. At St. Mark’s, that’s what we try to do too: to create belonging, to make wholeness possible, to restore what’s been lost in the world around us. That’s the work of our ministries, our outreach, our advocacy, our care for one another. It’s healing work, kin-dom work, restoring work. 

And that brings me to another story—this one from the Gospel of Mark, in the fourth chapter, Jesus and the disciples are in a boat when a storm comes up. The wind is howling, the waves are crashing, and the disciples are panicking. Jesus, meanwhile, is asleep in the stern. When they wake him, he says, “Peace. Be still.” And suddenly the wind dies down, and the water becomes calm. I’ll admit—that’s what I’ve been hoping for in my own life lately: a little of that stillness, that peace, and a lot of that healing. 

A lot of the time, this place is one striving for peace, for calm, for steady love when the world outside is storming. Jesus doesn’t calm the sea so the disciples can stay safe and dock the boat forever. He calms it so they can keep going. So they can reach the other side. As Caitlin wrote in her e-gospel article and said this, and I love paraphrasing her, “We haven’t retreated into safety here at St. Mark’s either. We’ve taken the peace we’ve been given, and we’ve used it as strength to engage the world. We’ve hosted protests, written letters, served neighbors, supported refugees, and shown up for one another in countless quiet, holy ways. 

The Samaritan in today’s story didn’t just feel thankful—he acted on it. He turned around. He came back. He threw himself at Jesus’ feet and praised God out loud. That’s what gratitude looks like when it’s alive. It moves us. It changes our direction. It leads us to do something about the grace we’ve received. And that’s what this season of stewardship, what we call our annual fall stewardship campaign, is about. It’s not about obligation or guilt. It’s about gratitude. It’s about returning, praising, and giving thanks in a tangible way. And that’s why I’m pledging again to sustain this place of peace, to support the ministries that matter so deeply, to say thank you for all that God is doing through St. Mark’s. 

That’s why pledging matters. Your pledge not only sustains the daily operations of the church but also the growth of our service and social justice ministry that makes connections to migrants, our homeless neighbors, victims of gun violence, and incarcerated neighbors. We invite people of all ages to do this work and encourage all of us to seek the divine spark in those who do not look or live like us. This is the healing work of bringing God’s love into the broader community. We reach out to the community and we also reach in, those in-between places that need something, a class, a project a way to be knitted into this place more deeply. For some, committing to future giving isn’t feasible right now, especially those who’ve been most affected by the federal cuts or the continuing uncertainty of government work. So let us know and pledge a little, and when things turn around, you can increase your pledge.

We know from practice and this story that pledging/being grateful is not a ticket to belong—it’s a way of saying thank you for already belonging. 

In Luke’s Gospel, there’s a beautiful pattern of people who “return and praise.” At the beginning of Luke’s gospel, the shepherds return from Bethlehem, “glorifying and praising God for all they had seen and heard.” At the end, the disciples return to Jerusalem, “praising God continually.” And in the middle, we have today’s Samaritan—healed, grateful, and returning. 

To “return and praise” is, in Luke’s imagination, what it means to live a faithful life. It’s a rhythm of grace: receive, return, give thanks. That’s the rhythm of our worship, too. We come here, we’re fed, we give thanks, and we go back out to serve. And then we return again, bringing our gratitude with us. It’s a circle of grace that never stops.

So, St. Mark’s—return and praise. Return in gratitude for what this community has meant to you. Return in thanksgiving for what God has done in your life. Pledge your support. Step out of the liminal space of hanging out, let something profound shift, and remember that this isn’t just a building; it’s our shared home of peace and courage. Jesus still says, “Peace. Be still.” And then, “Let’s keep going.” So let’s go—grateful, generous, and ready for whatever lies ahead.

MAY IT BE SO amen.