Sermon for the Fifth Sunday after the Epiphany (February 8, 2026)
Transcript
This transcript was generated by YouTube AI and edited for clarity.
May only truth be spoken here and only truth be heard. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.
Amen. Please be seated.
You are the light of the world, a city built on a hill, a light to the nations.
I think about how, from the beginning, our own nation—those who founded it—saw it as a place of hope, a new kind of governance, a new kind of people: a city on a hill. And we also know that from the beginning that light was hidden, tarnished, damaged by the insidious thread of racism and dehumanization and degradation—these two strands woven together from the founding of our nation. And yet, there was still the desire to be a city on a hill.
I think of these words from the prophet Isaiah, where he says to God’s people:
“You seek me and delight to know my ways
as if you were a nation that practiced righteousness
and did not forsake the ordinance of your God.”
What does it mean to be a people seeking righteousness—seeking to live according to the ordinances of our God—within a nation that is not seeking righteousness, that is not abiding by the ordinances of our God? How do we be a people within a people?
God says to us, “What I would have you do is remove the yoke from among you. Remove oppression from among you. Feed the hungry. Bring the homeless poor into your own house. If you satisfy the needs of the afflicted and attend to the people among you whom God has given you to care for, then—then—your light shall rise in the darkness.”
Then your light will shine before others. Then you will be the city on a hill. You will be like a watered garden, like a spring whose waters never fail. Or, as the Psalms say, like trees planted by streams.
In other words, when we do what is right, when we live according to the commandment of God, then we can count on being able to stand—on being steadfast—and on being the light that shines in the darkness. On being the people within a people: people who seek justice and do righteousness and walk humbly with God, and who show a world cast into deep darkness what is still possible and what we might still hope for.
This week, a member of the congregation sent me an article. Many people are sending me many articles these days. This one was about the people of Springfield, Ohio.
You may remember that during the last presidential election, Springfield, Ohio was very much in the news. Since 2014, Springfield has been revitalized by the presence of a large number of our Haitian brothers and sisters—people who came to this country seeking refuge, light, and hope, and who brought with them light and hope.
And you may remember that during the election, lies were told to denigrate these children of God—racist lies. Now many of the thousands of members of the Haitian community in Springfield are living in fear, as the specter of the removal of temporary protected status—status that has allowed them to live in this country of refuge—has come under threat of suspension.
This article explained all of that. And we care about this deeply because of our partnership with the New York Haiti Project here. These are our brothers and sisters. We do not hide our face from our own kin.
And it turns out that the people of Springfield, Ohio care too. The article described the organizing being done to protect vulnerable members of the community: people making phone calls, delivering food, cooking meals; faith communities gathering to sing and pray and plan for what they will do to protect our siblings in Christ, should it come to that.
And as we know—as we are seeing all over our country—it very well may come to that, in Springfield and in many other places, and maybe here.
The person who sent me this article said to me—and I wrote it down—“Seeing what the people of Springfield are doing together to care for one another, I think the decent people greatly outnumber those under the influence of evil.”
That is why it is important to be a light shining in the darkness. That is why it is important to be a city on a hill. That is why it matters that we let our light shine—because to be able to make a statement like that, even now, means there is still reason to hope. Even so, the good outnumber those who have fallen into sin. Even as darkness gathers around us, we continue to be who we are.
I have struggled this week. I have been thinking about what the news tells us about what it means to be a human being.
I wrote to my bishop this week. As many of you know, Bard College is an Episcopal school, and I am the bishop’s representative to the Bard College Board of Trustees—as a graduate of the school myself, a very proud graduate. But as many of you have read, the president of the college has had his name appear at least two thousand times in the Epstein files, in connection with soliciting a relationship with Epstein for fundraising purposes.
I wrote to the bishop and said, “This is really bringing out my inner Calvinist.” Sorry—that’s a priest joke. But what I meant was the doctrine of the total depravity of humanity. You don’t need to be a theology major to understand what that means. It becomes more believable in some seasons of our collective life than in others.
I said to Christopher last night, “What is human nature?” And he looked at me and said, “We’re sinners,” and he kind of winked. That is a strand of Christian theology: “All have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God.” And all you need to do is turn on the news to think, “Yes, that checks out.”
But that is not the Anglican teaching about human nature.
You all know we have a catechism in this big old book with a cross on it. I want you to turn to page 845.
The very first question asks: What are we by nature?
If you’re there, will you read me the answer?
[People] We are part of God’s creation, made in the image of God.
What does it mean to be created in the image of God? It means that we are free to make choices: to love, to create, to reason, and to live in harmony with creation and with God.
This is the gift of your Anglican heritage—one of the great gifts of our tradition. What are we by nature? We are part of God’s creation, made in the image of God. We see the face of God in ourselves and in one another. We bear the image of the divine.
One of the gifts of your Anglican heritage is the trust we place in the Incarnation: that God created us and said, “It is good.” It is good.
And as often as we forget that we are good; as often as we lose sight of who we are; as often as we hide our face from our own kin or cover over the image of God—God calls us back again and again. God calls us to return through prophets and teachers and judges.
And ultimately, God takes our nature upon himself, to live and die as one of us.
The teaching of your heritage is that there is good—that this is your essential nature—and that you are made in the image of God.
There is a beautiful prayer we rarely hear, for the Second Sunday after Christmas, in the great cycle of the feast of the Incarnation:
“O God, who wonderfully created
and yet more wonderfully restored
the dignity of human nature…”
God is still restoring us to ourselves.
Remember also in the catechism: the mission of the Church is to restore all people to unity with God and one another.
We can do this because there is light shining in our hearts. We can do this because we remember, deep down, that we bear the image of the one holy and living God, and that we can seek and serve that God in all persons.
And if we do this, then our light will break forth like the dawn, and we will be like springs of water that never fail.
So let your light so shine before others, that all who see you may glorify God in heaven.
Give thanks to God who creates us in the image of the good, and the true, and the holy, and the loving.
Amen.