Fri, 07 Aug 2026 13:59:25 -0500WeeblyWed, 29 Jul 2026 20:59:05 GMThttps://www.emmanuelmemorialepiscopal.org/sermons/ninth-sunday-after-pentecost-july-26-deacon-hopkinsWhile I do not usually wear T-shirts myself, I do get a smile every so often when reading what is on others’ torsos. It’s a bit like reading bumper stickers. One shirt I saw recently said, “If Paul were here, we’d be getting a letter! It had a picture of a stamp and those words, “If Paul were here, we’d be getting a letter”.

I wonder, what might a current letter from St. Paul to the Champaign-ians, contain?

From our reading of the letter to the Romans this summer we know that Paul usually writes about a mixture of things in his epistles. He often has comments about cultural issues of the particular time and place. Sometimes he writes about theological issues facing first century followers of Christ, and always he addresses God’s love for humankind and how humans are to pattern themselves after Jesus. Often the Sunday scripture passages these past weeks have included all three topics. Paul has commented on cultural matters, theological disputes, and the depth and greatness of God’s love for all! 

So, what might Paul have to say to us today? He might have a word or two about Christian conduct or morality. Perhaps he might say “Remember Champaign-ians, you have a responsibility to those less well off than you. Can’t you do something about the rise in gun violence in your community?” Or, “Can’t you do something to provide safe housing or food for all in your area?” Or, … 

Perhaps Paul might have an opinion on current theological differences, maybe the issue of women in clergy, or the Christian definition of marriage, or providing safe churches for all… Or,…

Certainly, his letter to Champaign-ians would remind us of the importance of God’s gift of his son. He would also write about the meaning of God’s immense grace for all believers. These are lasting truths, not dependent on the year or place of his text. Paul would most certainly challenge us to be in right relationship with God, molding ourselves to be more Christ-like.

With these thoughts, let’s look at today’s passage from Paul’s letter to the Romans.

Paul’s audience for this epistle is the community of Christ’s followers located in Rome. This community included both Jews and Gentiles. Up until this time, Paul’s ministry to spread the Gospel had been mostly to Gentiles in Asia Minor and he was traveling to Spain to continue the same. His journey would take him through Rome, and this letter preceded his actual meeting of those followers of Christ. An issue for the Roman community, as a mixture of Jews and Gentiles, was the question, would the Gentile converts need to become Jews, to follow Jewish law and customs, and to be absorbed into the Jewish ways? Would those who believed that Jesus was the Messiah, gradually convert the Jewish church from within? Or, would being a Christian be separate from being a Jew? 

I think we know how that controversy was settled from our vantage point. But this is why Paul speaks to the question of predestination. Jews were God’s chosen people. This theme runs throughout the Old Testament. So, in the mind of some of those of Jewish heritage the new converts would need to follow the Jewish laws to be a part of God’s chosen. Paul, even though a Jew himself, was on the other side of this argument. Being followers of Christ did not require following Jewish law. Through Jesus’ death and resurrection, God expanded salvation to the whole world.

Not wanting to get into the thorns of Calvinism versus Arminian interpretation, and personal versus group arguments for predestination, I choose to leave this part of the passage to Paul’s answer to the issue of the time. Gentile believers in Christ were equal participants in receiving God’s grace and the church would not depend on following the Law. God’s call to follow him and to be in right relationship with him was for all.

Even though not specifically stated in this passage, I also think Paul’s belief had room for personal human choice in the issue of being called. 

Topics of theology and culture are things Paul wrote about in most of his letters. He had great intellect and he could talk about the faith in this way. 

However, in today’s passage, Paul changes. He moves from intellectual argument to personal conviction. He is not just talking about the faith. Rather he takes the message of God’s love to a personal level. When he uses the words hardship, distress, persecution, and so on, he knows each of those terms as something he had gone through himself. Paul had been persecuted, faced nakedness, hunger, threats of death and other perils. They were not just theoretical topics; they were real events he had experienced.  He knew first-hand that his sufferings did  not remove him from God’s love. This was personal, not something to talk about but rather something to know and feel deep inside.

Life was not easy for Paul. 

In all honesty, Life is not easy for most of us. Or perhaps I should say, life has its difficult times. 
 
In the words one sixth grade Urbana teacher repeated often to her students, “Life is not fair.” Twelve-year-olds need to hear these words. Maybe at some level we all have not forgotten being 12 and need to be reminded of this. Life is not fair. 

Most of us have had hardships and distress in our lives. Maybe we give thanks for having escaped persecution, famine and the rest, or maybe not. We each have our own story. It becomes personal, not only to Paul, but also to every human being. It is a part of our existence. Life is hard and often may seem unfair.

And yet, Paul, reminds us that it is Christ Jesus who died, who was raised, who is at the right hand of God, who intercedes for us. So, then, what is it that can separate us from the love of God?

There are many reassurances in this passage, many reasons to hope. Even when we are beaten down from life’s difficulties, the Spirit can and does pray for us. We are precious beings to God. When we suffer Jesus knows exactly what that is and Jesus is right with us, in those sufferings. We are not alone in our difficulties. 

Especially at the worst times of our lives, we need to read and remember Paul’s experience. These are not mere words. These are Paul’s conviction of the depth of God’s loving support. We are never abandoned, even in times when we think we cannot feel his love; God is there. 

Paul tells us that God is able to bring good out of any circumstances, even those that are incredibly painful. This does not mean that those bad things become good, but rather that in the middle of all circumstances, God is faithful. And as God was faithful to Paul, God is faithful to you and to me. Even during suffering and death God’s love is solid, unwavering and the source of peace and comfort.

This is why the end of the 8th chapter of Romans is often read at funerals. It brings hope and comfort to those who are in the middle of loss and grief. 

But it is not just at the time of death we sorrow. Paul’s words offer hope whenever we are separated from what we have known and loved. This passage offers comfort in all times of hardship and distress and loss. 

Life is hard, sometimes harder than others. And these verses heard this morning carry the eternal truth that God is always with us. He will not ever abandon us. 

As we may think about what Paul might have to say to us in a letter today, we realize we don’t really need such a letter. Because, in all his writings, Saint Paul’s focus is on the work of God; what God has done and what God continues to do to show how much he loves us. These truths are lasting truths. This letter to the Romans carries the same truth to all readers throughout the ages wherever they may be. 

Remember, Paul is not just talking about truth. This is not one of his philosophical arguments. Rather, he is giving his whole self, his whole experience, sharing his deep conviction of his belief in Christ. Hear again, Paul’s words.

“What then are we to say about these things? If God is for you, who is against us? He who did not withhold his own Son, but gave him up for all of us, will he not with him also give us everything else? Who will bring any charge against God’s elect? It is God who justifies. Who is to condemn? It is Christ Jesus who died, yes, who was raised, who is at the right hand of God who intercedes for us. Who will separate us from the love of Christ? Will hardship, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword? As it is written, “For your sake we are being killed all day long; we are accounted as sheep to be slaughtered.”

No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

Amen, Paul, amen.]]>Tue, 28 Jul 2026 18:58:33 GMThttps://www.emmanuelmemorialepiscopal.org/sermons/feast-of-st-mary-magdalene-july-22-fr-robertsA hundred and seventy thousand soldiers have surrounded one small town in the hills of Israel. The siege is in its second month; the cisterns are empty, and the children are fainting in the streets. The leaders have given up: unless God acts within five days, they will surrender. That is how the Book of Judith begins, with Israel at its weakest. No army, no water, no hope. And God's answer is not an army but one widow, Judith. Where the leaders count the enemy and despair, she prays. She prays at the very hour the evening incense is offered in the temple in Jerusalem, far away, and we heard that prayer this morning: your strength does not depend on numbers; you are the God of the lowly, the helper of the oppressed, the savior of those without hope. Then she walks alone into the enemy camp carrying no weapon, and with the general's own sword God delivers Israel by her hand.

That is the teaching of the book: God saves his people not through their strength but through their weakness, when weakness turns to him in faith. And that is what the Gospel shows us on Easter morning.

Mary Magdalene's whole life with Jesus began in weakness. Seven demons had gone out of her, Luke says: she had been helpless under a power she could not master, and Jesus freed her. So she followed him and provided for him. She stood near his cross when most of the disciples had fled. Early on the first day of the week she came to his tomb in the dark and found it empty. Peter and John came, saw, and went home. Mary stayed. She had nothing left but grief and the need to be near her Lord, and she stood outside the tomb and wept. And the God of those without hope came to her first. She did not recognize him; she took him for the gardener. Then he spoke her name: Mary. She turned and knew him, and he sent her to his brothers, and she went and said, I have seen the Lord. She did not find him; he found her. She did not win the victory; she received it and carried the news to the apostles, and through the apostles to us. Once again, God's strength did not depend on numbers.

This is the example set before us: not strength, but faith in weakness. Judith's faith was to pray when the town had given up. Mary's was to stay when the others had gone home. God's way with his people has not changed. He hears the weak who turn to him; he calls them by name and sends them. The collect asks for exactly this: that by his grace we may be healed of all our infirmities, and know him in the power of his endless life.]]>Tue, 21 Jul 2026 20:38:38 GMThttps://www.emmanuelmemorialepiscopal.org/sermons/feast-of-st-peter-and-st-paul-june-29-fr-robertsToday we are celebrating the feast of St. Peter and St. Paul. You may find it interesting that we celebrate a feast where the two of them are commemorated together. This, however, is not the only time we commemorate Peter and Paul during the year. On January 18th we commemorate Peter and his confession of Jesus as the Messiah, and on January 25th we commemorate Paul's conversion. But here we remember them together because of their shared end as martyrs in Rome. Both brought the Gospel to Rome. Paul was eventually granted the dignified death by beheading afforded to Roman citizens, while Peter was crucified upside down.

Our readings today point us to each of their deaths. In the Epistle, we hear Paul say, "the time of my departure has come. I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith." And in the Gospel we read of Christ foretelling the way in which Peter would die.

Feasts and commemorations are meant to guide us. To form us. To show us something about the way we are to live ourselves. Today we are being reminded of death, and of the way two leaders of the church died. They died sharing the Gospel. Proclaiming the good news of salvation for sinners. That God had become man, destroyed death, and made a path for all people to once again be in the presence of God.

This proclamation is also present in each of our readings today. Peter confesses his love for God, and Paul urges Timothy to proclaim the message regardless of what trials may come. He urges Timothy to remain consistent with the Gospel message and not exchange it for something new. 

Paul warns that "the time is coming when people will not put up with sound doctrine, but having itching ears, they will accumulate for themselves teachers to suit their own desires, and will turn away from listening to the truth and wander away to myths." Proclaiming the Gospel, and proclaiming it boldly, consistently, and accurately, is a difficult task. One that Paul foresees.

While this day is largely a call to be leaders and proclaimers of the truth, and a reminder that we will likely have to endure suffering on account of the counter-cultural nature of the Gospel, it is also a call to be careful followers. Followers choose their leaders. Paul warns that followers strongly desire to find teachers who will tell them what they want to hear rather than the truth that is more difficult to hear. While it is true that we should all be leaders in the bold proclamation of the Gospel, we will not all be leaders of the Church in the same way that Peter and Paul were. Every one of us, however, will be followers regardless of our leadership status. We must be careful about who we follow. We must be discerning about whether we are looking for leaders who simply tell us what we want to hear rather than leaders who speak the truth of the Gospel.

This is what leadership looks like. It looks like martyrdom. It looks like people who are not celebrated by our societies, but accused by them. It looks like people who are patient in their teaching and remain committed to the Gospel as it has been handed down to us over many generations. We should seek leaders who fight the good fight, who keep the faith, who lead us to proclaim the Gospel to all people, and who truthfully guide us toward a death that will result in our attaining our own crown of righteousness
]]>Tue, 21 Jul 2026 20:37:21 GMThttps://www.emmanuelmemorialepiscopal.org/sermons/seventh-sunday-after-pentecost-july-12-fr-robertsA few verses before our reading this morning, Paul described a man at war with himself. Willing the good, but doing the very thing he hates. His struggle bottoms out in a cry: "Wretched man that I am! Who will rescue me from this body of death?" And he answers his own question: "Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord!" That is where we pick up. Paul now shows us not only who saves us but how. How this body of death has been saved.

As Fr. Zach mentioned last week, there is no shortage of opportunities to reflect on sin in the Epistle to the Romans. And it can be difficult to hear about it week after week. After all, we know ourselves to be sinners. We know ourselves to be imperfect. And I am sure we can all resonate with Paul when he cries, "Who will rescue me from this body of death?" But here is where we should take a moment this week. To clarify something here that is important for understanding Paul's argument. That is, the word "of."

You have likely heard "body of death" and thought of decay. A body that is dying. True, as far as it goes. But Paul means more. We can see it by looking at how he uses the word "of" throughout his letter. Slaves of sin. Slaves of righteousness. Slaves of the one whom you obey. For Paul, "of" names a master. It tells you whose you are. So a body of death is not merely a body that will die. It is a body that belongs. A body under dominion. Whose? We were sold as slaves to sin. Sin rules us as Pharaoh ruled Israel in Egypt. So completely that we cannot escape. And the wages of sin is death. Death is the wage sin pays, and the whip it holds. That is a body of death. Owned by sin. Owed to death. This is why we cry for rescue.

Now, what is this master? What is sin? It is the creature turning from God. Seeking our own will instead of his, and so distorting our relationship with God, with other people, and with all creation. It is disobedience. It is transgression. But it is never a thing of its own. Every sin is a real act of a real will, bent away from its end. It adds nothing to the world. It only takes away. Sin is to the soul what blindness is to the eye. Blindness is not a thing in the eye. It is the sight, gone. It is us looking away. But God does not look away. He holds us in being even as we flee him. The absence is not in God. It is in us. Augustine confessed it: "You were with me, but I was not with you." So it was in Egypt. Israel cried under the whip, and God answered from the bush: "I have seen the misery of my people. I have heard their cry. I have come down to deliver them."

This is precisely the rescue achieved in Christ Jesus. We stood condemned, and death was the sentence. Even the law could not help us. It could name the good, but it could not free the slave. Yet we are no longer condemned, because the law of the Spirit of life in Christ Jesus has set us free. How? God has done what the law could not do. "Sending his own Son in the likeness of sinful flesh, and as an offering for sin, he condemned sin in the flesh." The condemnation did not disappear. The sentence over us fell on sin instead. And it fell in the flesh of Christ, on the cross. Israel did not walk out of Egypt because Pharaoh softened his heart. They walked out through the blood of a lamb. That night God did not only spare Israel. He judged Egypt. "On all the gods of Egypt I will execute judgments," he said. God broke every power that held his people. Pharaoh would not let go. He took his chariots and came after his slaves. God drowned him in the sea. Israel walked through on dry ground. 

The army behind them went in and never came out. Christ our Passover is sacrificed for us. In his flesh, sin was condemned, and the master’s ownership was broken.

And God did not free them and leave them. He moved into the middle of the camp and walked the whole way with them. His plan since the foundation of the world has been to tabernacle with his people. Paul says: "If Christ is in you, though the body is dead because of sin, the Spirit is life because of righteousness. If the Spirit of him who raised Jesus from the dead dwells in you, he who raised Christ from the dead will give life to your mortal bodies also through his Spirit that dwells in you."

This is what the Spirit's indwelling does. It carries the verdict of the cross into you. Sin was condemned in the flesh of Christ so that it could be driven out of yours. And in you, it is driven out by presence. God upheld you even in Egypt. Now he comes nearer. He comes to dwell. Sin hollowed you out. The Spirit fills the hollow. When the sun rises, the darkness does not fight back. Where the light falls, the darkness is simply not there anymore. Where God dwells, sin cannot reign. Our master has been changed. From sin to Christ. From death to life. God has made a home within you, and among you. Here, in you, it has begun.

But it does not always feel like it, does it? Our bodies still die. We are still tempted to sin. We still fail each other. How is this possible? Because we are out of Egypt, but we are not yet home. Paul says, "sin shall not have dominion over you." Dominion. Pharaoh's rule is broken. But Egypt's training is not yet out of us. Israel crossed the sea in a night. Then spent forty years unlearning the old country. Grumbling for its food. Reaching for its gods. 

The same is true of us. We crossed our sea at the font. And the old master could not follow us through the water. He drowned behind us. But the body still carries the old master's habits. And his last mark, which is death itself. Paul says both things at once: the body is dead because of sin, but the Spirit is life because of righteousness. Both are true. In the same baptized person. The sun is up, but it is early. The shadows have not yet fled.

Under the old master, it was impossible not to sin. That is what slavery means. In the wilderness, with God in the camp, it is possible not to sin. That is what grace means. The chain is off. But being unable to sin is a different thing. That has a name: resurrection. The promised land. And unfortunately the territory of the passage Fr. Zach will have the joy of preaching next week. But there is mercy in the wilderness. When you fall, you have not gone back to Egypt. The sea stands between you and the old master.

This means the war you feel is not evidence against what God has done in you. It is evidence of it. A corpse does not fight. You fight as a freed person. And even the struggle is the Spirit's life in you. Sin can still wound you. It can still shame you. But it can no longer condemn you. And nothing in all creation can separate you from the love of God in Christ Jesus. You were once a body of death. A body sin owned and death claimed. You are now a body of the Spirit. And the One who dwells in it has plans for it. "He who raised Christ from the dead will give life to your mortal bodies also, through his Spirit that dwells in you.
]]>Tue, 21 Jul 2026 18:23:59 GMThttps://www.emmanuelmemorialepiscopal.org/sermons/eighth-sunday-after-pentecost-july-19-fr-guilianoThe sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory about to be revealed to us. For the creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the children of God…

As we’ve made our way through St Paul’s Letter to the Romans this summer, I’ve been thinking about how Paul’s lens has narrowed and widened. Sometimes, he is focused strongly on the struggles of the individual. Think of the verse cited in recent weeks: “Wretched man that I am! Who will save me from this body of death?”
   
At other times, this letter has a truly cosmic scope, taking in the whole human race and also the whole creation. We find that our struggles are not individual. They are part of a common experience, something in which all creation participates: a struggle towards freedom.

Christians have articulated this view of the world in different ways over time. We might remember the phrase “original sin,” which points to the stories of Adam and Eve and sees in human disobedience a cosmic catastrophe: consequences. The human person -- made for freedom, made to ensure the wellbeing of other creatures – chose instead to seize powers, pleasures, and knowledge not their own; human beings tried to become “like god.” 

The result? Misery; a rupture of the relationship between heaven and earth; distance placed between one human and another; consequences for each person, consequences for the land, the sea, the sky. “The creation was subjected to futility” (Romans 8:20).

We modern people may think ourselves beyond this old vision, but let us ask whether it retains its explanatory power. Does it not describe the world in which we live?

Is this a world of freedom for all? Are the nations living in peace with one another? Have you noticed a sudden uptick in neighborliness? When you walk in the park or in the woods, are the animals afraid of you, or do they gather around you like you’re Cinderella or St Francis? The human relationship with the earth does not reflect total harmony. 

Finally, do you feel at ease with your self?

We feel our estrangement, even if we find it hard to buy the biblical story of sin and redemption. We feel our bondage. And we yearn for something better. “We groan inwardly while we wait” it.

Everything around us is subject to decay. You might even say the world depends on it. It runs on death. The soil from which we sprang and from which we derive our harvests and to which we return at death – what is it, if not a strange blend? Minerals and water and air, organic matter, countless worms, fungi, and bacteria converting dead things into an environment for life. Generation depends on death. 

We depend on death in other ways, too. We harvest and eat plants; we kill and eat animals. Things that were alive once land on our plates, juicy and delicious, and we make them part of our selves. Is this freedom? Is this a glorious liberty for which creation longs? Not quite, however much we enjoy a steak, a glass of wine, a fresh salad, our daily bread. We live in a complex web of relationships, dependencies, subjections. 

Consider our home. Three-quarters of this state’s land is given to agriculture: some 27 million acres, generating millions of bushels of corn and soybeans, wheat, oats, sorghum, hay, pumpkins, beans, 5 million hogs raised for slaughter a year, about a million cows… much else. We rely on all this life and death, all this use of space, all this animal husbandry. I’m not criticizing farming or farmers. I’m reminding us of the world in which we live. 

The food looks glorious at the market and on our plate. It should. It still comes from dirt and hard work, labor and groaning and sweat, death and decay. 

What a world we live in! The suffering and work are baked in. We don’t know another way. And we are not alone in our suffering or in our sins; we have brought the cosmos into them.

And so: “The whole creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the children of God…” The whole creation waits for that great day of freedom, when we have fully learned a new way of being, when the bondage to decay is ended, when our bodies are changed…raised, when the world is free from death. 

This is the goal to which all things are moving. When the Son of God took flesh for our salvation, it is the purpose for which he worked – not just the undoing of our sins, not just our forgiveness, but the renewal of the world, the healing of all wounds, the restoration of cosmic harmony. 

A new world is coming; “it’s just around the bend”; a new world “coming in peace, [it’s] coming in joy” (Nina Simone). 

It is an unimaginable hope. What God has promised and done, what God is doing and will do, far surpasses our present troubles. We are being prepared for glory. “The sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory about to be revealed.” 

Let me unpack those phrases a little. 

I think St Paul means something very specific when he says that our sufferings are not worth comparing to the glory that is to come. He’s not saying don’t think about them. “Don’t think about the sufferings or the glory.” No, if you read his letters closely, he does plenty of both, sometimes describing his sufferings at length, as well as waxing poetic about glory.

Paul is pointing to something different. He means that the sufferings and the glory are not comparable; they cannot be weighed side by side. If we imagined a set of scales in which all the sufferings were on one side and all the glory on another, they would be wildly tilted. The glory that we hope for, the freedom that we are expecting is so much greater. 

The gifts we are receiving outweigh our trespasses, and sins, and all the consequences wrought on the world by human transgression and failure. 

In the age to come, you will finally know what it is to be free: morally, physically, spiritually; to not only choose what is good, but always to do it, to live outside the cycle of death and regeneration, to know and love God as fully as you are known and loved by him. 

That’s not your life now. Right now, you are like a stalk of wheat growing amid weeds, and you have no experience outside their choking and smothering influence. In the present, those weeds cannot be uprooted without peril. But when the harvest comes, things will be different. 

“There will be mourning nor crying, nor pain anymore.” “There will no longer be death.” For the former things will have passed away. There will be no futility, no waiting, no hoping for what we do not see. There will only be joy and rest and abundant life. There will be only freedom
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