St. Luke’s in the Meadow Episcopal Church
June 1, 2025, Easter 7C
Acts 16:16-34, Psalm 97, Revelation 22:12-14, 16-17, 20-21, John 17:20-26
Homily inspired by Tina Francis and preached by The Rev. Karen A. Calafat

In her impressive Bible study, seminarian Tina Francis writes, “[The disciples] stood in the hollow of time. In the ache between what had been and what had not yet begun. Jesus was gone. The Spirit—that wild, uncatchable thing—had not yet whispered their names. They were between stories, between breaths. The resurrection had happened. But the world had not yet caught up.

‘This week’s readings don’t offer closure. They invite us into the raw, unresolved tension of faith. The kind that bruises but sings. The kind that waits—with breath caught between pain and promise.
A longing stretched out too long. A hope whispered into silence. They had seen a miracle, the impossible. And still—Rome was Rome. The whip still cracked. The coins still clinked in the hands of those with palaces, but no neighbors.

‘And yet, something was moving. Not in the palace. Not in the courts. But in the bruised mouths of prisoners who sang at midnight. In the tremble of the ground beneath men who thought themselves immovable. This kingdom wasn’t coming the way kingdoms usually do. No trumpets. No thrones. Just an empty tomb. A waiting room. A prayer mumbled into the dark.

‘And still—love. A love that sits in the tension of an unfinished story.”

St. Luke’s in the Meadow Episcopal Church
May 11, 2025, Easter 4C, 2025
Acts 9:36-43, Psalm 23, Revelation 7:9-17, John10:22-30
Homily preached by The Rev. Karen A. Calafat

On this Mother’s Day, I remember a voice from my childhood that called me home – to safety and to love. During my elementary years, we live where there were woods across the street from our house. My sister and I, along with a few other kids in the neighborhood, built bike trails and ramps for jumping.  We used any scraps of wood and boards we could find to build tree houses (It’s a wonder we didn’t fall to our deaths or at least break an arm or leg!)  We left home with a lunch bag in tow and the same departure instructions – “be home before dark.”  And if dark was getting too near and we weren’t home, there would be a voice that rang out in the air – that mom voice that yelled my name, drawing out the two syllables over what seemed like forever.  I knew that voice … and I knew hearing that voice meant it was time to return to the safety of home.

I imagine you have similar stories, voices you recognize, voices that belong to you and your history.  Voices that called out to keep you safe and guide your path.

I wonder if those who speak love, and hope, and comfort into our lives are our connection to the voice of the Good Shepherd. Perhaps the voice of a teacher who encouraged your educational pursuits; or a mentor who equipped you for your career moves; or even possibly a preacher who inspired you to action or affirmed your worth.

The voice that roots our faith, is the voice of the Good Shepherd, “My sheep hear my voice. I know them, and they follow me. I give them eternal life, and they will never perish” (John 10:28)

St. Luke’s in the Meadow Episcopal Church
May 4, 2025, 3rd Sunday after Easter, Year C 2025
Acts 9:1-6, (7-20), Psalm 30, Revelation 5:11-14, John 21:1-19
Homily preached by The Rev. Karen A. Calafat

One of the hardest hikes I ever went on called Old Rag in Shenandoah National Park. This was 9 years ago. Old Rag was a 10-mile hike with what the guide book described as “some boulder scrambling.” Now, I had done boulder scrambling for years and really enjoyed it, walking on top of large boulders and occasionally hopping from one to the next. What I wrote in my hiking journal was that it was a 1.5 mile “boulder battle.”  It was not only walking on top of boulders, but literally crawling on hands and knees between boulders that were too low to stand up under.

There was also maneuvering between boulders that required taking off my day pack, shoving it through the slot and then working my body through. Did I mention this was a very hard hike?!? There were places I had to throw my pack over about a 2-foot opening between two boulders, where the land was far, far below and then jump over it myself. Scary! Not recommended! But then, I made it to the top of Old Rag! Well, almost. It was an incredible 360-degree view of Shenandoah, except there was just one more boulder, just a little higher, maybe 6 or 7 feet higher, and required only a little more climbing with finger holds and toe holds and just one more jump to get there. Human nature kicked in, and maybe a little adrenaline. I lost my mind and gained my determination, and I just had to reach the tip-top! So I tossed my pack on the ground and launched myself upward until I was on what seemed like the top of the world!

When I crawled in bed that night, my brain said, “What were you thinking?!?” It was one of those moment where human nature kicked in and I lost common sense.

The humanity of it all is what struck me in today’s readings. How sometimes we get caught up in the wrong things, and how sometimes we get caught up in the right things. People can be wonderful and amazing. People can also be dreadful, careless, misled, and faulty. The amazing thing is this: God loves us all! Christ lived and died and rose for all.

St. Luke’s in the Meadow Episcopal Church
Easter 5C – May 18, 2025
Acts 11:1-18; Psalm 148; Revelation 21:1-6; John 13.31-35
Homily preached by the Rev. Canon Linda S. Taylor

Jesus said, “I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you should also love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.”

We tend to get confused about this commandment. It’s a commandment, not a suggestion or a hint. We also tend to get confused about the whole concept of loving one another. Our confusion disturbs our relationships with each other, and it also disturbs our relationship with God. There are several sources of this confusion, and for simplicity’s sake, we can label them as fallacies.

St. Luke’s in the Meadow Episcopal Church
6 Easter – May 25, 2025 – Memorial Day
Acts 16:9-15; Psalm 67; Revelation 21:10, 22-22:5; John 14:23-29
Homily preached by the Rev. Canon Linda S. Taylor

During my senior year in high school, I was a member of Junior Achievement. According to their website, it’s an international NGO dedicated to educating students about workforce readiness, entrepreneurship and financial literacy through experiential, hands-on programs.

I didn’t know all that when I was a member. I have no idea how I even learned about the organization—maybe an announcement at school. What I remember is showing up for the weekly meetings, getting to know the other kids in my assigned group and being mentored by volunteer businessmen—yes, men only—through a process of deciding on a product, building a budget, learning to use the power tools, then trying to sell our product in every venue imaginable. Our product, by the way, was a large key-shaped plywood key-holder. In all truth and with some charity, I have to say it was not a handsome creation, and I am grateful to all those family and friends who plunked down $2.50 to buy one. I don’t think I ever saw any of them in actual use. The Junior Achievement moment that stands out most clearly in my memory occurred during the keynote speech at a regional multistate conference attended by about a thousand students and sponsors. The speaker was a representative of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Really.

The moment I remember was a question that has been with me at some level or another since that day. I have no idea what the lead-up was or where the speech went afterward. All I remember was the speaker asking: “If we had lost the war in Korea, would you think that we were at peace?”

St. Luke’s in the Meadow Episcopal Church
2 Easter – April 27, 2025
Acts 5:27-32; Psalm 150; Revelation 1:4-8; John 20:19-31
Homily preached by the Rev. Canon Linda Taylor

Thomas has been living in my head for a week or so. I’ve wondered yet again where he was that day—why he wasn’t in the room when it happened—and about his experience in general.

He’s one of the shadowy folks in the Jesus story. He’s not out in front like Peter, John and some of the other disciples, but he speaks on three occasions in the scripture that are recognized in our neck of the Christian woods and what he says seems important to knowing who he is.

Although he’s referred to in several scriptures, we only hear his words in the gospel of John. The first time he speaks is related to the death of Lazarus. After Jesus knew that Lazarus had died, he told the disciples that he was going to Judea. The disciples warned him that the authorities would be seeking to kill him, but Jesus said “Let us go to Lazarus.” Thomas immediately said to the other disciples, “Let us also go, that we may die with him.” The second time he spoke was after Jesus had explained that he was going away to prepare a heavenly home for his followers, and that one day they would join him there. Thomas reacted by saying, “Lord, we don’t know where you’re going, and how can we know the way?” Today we hear his response to the story of Christ’s visitation and to finally seeing him for himself.

Thomas was not there when the risen Christ came into the room. So the disciples told him what had happened, and he did not believe it. He could not believe it. He said, “Not until I put my finger in his hands and put my hand in his side will I believe.”         

He didn’t say that because he was a doubter—but because he had lost the center of his life.

St. Luke’s in the Meadow Episcopal Church
1 Lent—March 9, 2025
Deuteronomy 26:1-11; Psalm 91, Romans 10:8b-13, Luke 4:1-13
Homily preached by the Rev. Canon Linda S. Taylor

This is the first Sunday of the season of Lent. The color of our worship has changed to purple, signifying our sorrow for the ways we have separated ourselves from God by the choices we have made. Lent is a time for rethinking our lives—a time to bring our lives closer in alignment with the teachings Jesus gives us. It’s a time for recognizing the choices we face every day and focusing on ways that we can choose the actions that bring us closer to God, to each other and to our community.

Today’s gospel is about choices. After his baptism, Jesus goes away into the wilderness. The tempter is with him, but there’s no mention of anyone else. Jesus is alone—he’s alone with temptation. He can do anything he wants. He can turn stones into bread, enough to feed all the poor people of his land—enough to feed all the people of his world. He can test out those words he heard at his baptism. He can show himself and the world he is the Son of God by using his power for parlor tricks. He can have power and dominion over the whole world. He can change the way the world’s nations are run—bring an end to war, change the distribution of wealth, make peace and justice reign throughout the world. All he has to do is worship the tempter. That’s all.

Most of us know about the tempter. We know about temptation. The American Sign Language sign for temptation is a couple of taps on your elbow—like someone inviting you rather surreptitiously to an action we’d really rather not talk about out loud—even to ourselves.

St. Luke’s in the Meadow Episcopal Church
5 Epiphany – February 9, 2025
Isaiah 6:1-8; Psalm 138; 1 Corinthians 15:1-11; Luke 5: 1-11
Homily preached by the Rev. Canon Linda S. Taylor

I want to shout out to Heather Cox Richardson—just because everyone needs to know about her. She is an historian whose daily blog—Letters from an American—puts all the things we’re experiencing in context and usually gives me hope to go on.

Yesterday we were at diocesan council with about a million people in a room that was about 43 degrees. I had about seven or eight sermons ready for today, and I thought I was ready to go for today. Then I read Diana Butler Bass’s blog for yesterday. She’s a theologian and writer, and also writes an excellent blog, The Cottage. It popped open, and there it was. It made me realize how superficial my understanding is of the cultural and political context of today’s gospel. I knew that they’re caught up in the Roman occupation, but I didn’t realize the implications of that for Simon and his friends. I tend to think about the generations of fishermen that preceded Simon, and my picture of that has been one about hardworking men who go out and find the fish and then somehow make their living from that.

I knew about the soldiers and the tax collectors, and the ways they hurt the people, but I hadn’t realized the impact of the tax situation or the low cultural status of fishermen, fish-sellers, poultry-raisers, butchers and cooks. Lake Gennesaret and therefore everything in it, belonged to Caesar.

Lent 2C.2022
The Rev. Karen A. Calafat

You know when a fox and a hen show up in the same story, danger is surely lurking.

Luke’s gospel has Jesus calling Herod a fox, not exactly a term of endearment. In Greek thought, like in our own context, the fox is regarded as clever but sly and unprincipled. The Old Testament associates the fox with destruction. Then Jesus likens himself to a hen gathering her chicks, her brood, under her wings.

Epiphany 6C 2025
The Rev. Karen A. Calafat

I assume at least some of you came here today seeking blessing. Well, now you know how to find it – blessing – that is. Give away everything you own and move down on Lancaster to the tent city under the freeway. For Jesus preaches that God’s blessing is upon the poor, the hungry, and those who are weeping.

If this gospel reading doesn’t make you a little bit uncomfortable, you may not have been listening. It is easy to hear blessed are the poor, the hungry, the weeping when we identify in those categories – you know like “poor in confidence, poor in health, poor in friends or family;” or “hungry for justice, hungry for connection, hungry for peace,” but we are truly not among the poorest of the poor.