We are all one.

Proper 12C, July 27, 2025.  The Very Rev. Pamela L. Werntz

Acts 11:1-18. The spirit told me…not to make a distinction between them and us.
Revelation 21:1-6. I am making all things new…to the thirsty I will give water as a gift.
John 13:31-35. I give you a new commandment, [in order] that you love one another.

O God of all, grant us the wisdom, the strength and the courage to seek always and everywhere after truth, come when it may, and cost what it will.


We are celebrating the baptism of Bodie Richard Coulon this morning, so we’ll all be invited to review what our Church teaches about baptism and we’ll be invited to renew our own baptismal vows. Today is a great day for a baptism because our scripture lessons describe beautiful visions of well-being. 

The book of Acts says that while Peter was in a trance of prayer, he had a life-changing dream that revealed to him that there is no distinction between “them” and “us.” In other words, he came to understand that when it comes to the redeeming urge or work of the Holy One, (also known as Jesus Christ for Christians), there is no Jew or Gentile, no free or slave, no male and female, no gender binary; no insiders and outsiders, all people are one. While there are always those in the center and those on the margins, those with more power and those with less, those of us who have and use more than our fair share of the world’s resources and those who do not have their basic needs met, we are all one. Peter realized that he should not be hindering the work of God by deciding who is inside and who is outside of God’s reach. Here’s where Christians often get tripped up, deciding what is godly and what is not. The measure of godliness is love. As our former Presiding Bishop Michael Curry is fond of saying, “if it’s not about love, it’s not about God.” Of course it gets complicated, but that’s where we start. If it looks like there are competing interests that all have to do with love, we might need to enlarge or expand our view. We might need to look at the situation from 30,000 feet where differences between us become imperceptible, because we are all one.

The Revelation to John of Patmos also came through meditation, during which he experienced a vision of the Divine, setting right everything the Roman Empire was getting completely wrong. Exiled on the Island of Patmos, John visualized the Holy One at home among mortals — the Eternal dwelling secure among them. John saw grief and weeping and pain ending – his own and his people’s — and everyone who is thirsty having enough to drink. Sometimes I think that our own vision of the realm of God is limited, constrained by our own lack of thirst for water from the spring of the water of life. John of Patmos’ vision was of God with us (which is what Emmanuel means) – and, building on Peter’s insight, “us” means everyone. There is no them. We are all one.

The Gospel of John envisions a time when Jesus’ followers are known by and known for their love. These few verses are sandwiched between a hard place of Judas leaving to arrange for Jesus’ arrest, and a rock (Peter) whom Jesus predicts will deny even knowing him three times before the rooster signals the dawn. The glory and love Jesus is talking about are set right in the midst of the most painful betrayal and agonizing denial described in all of Christian scripture.

What do glory and love mean here in this dreadful spot? The root of the word “glory” (dox – as in doxology) means appearance as in manifestation. Doxology is language of manifestation. [2] Our word paradox means different from or in contrast to (para) how something seems or appears (dox).

Orthodox means right or correct appearance or manifestation. So the beginning of our Gospel lesson could be translated, “Now the Son of Humanity has appeared and God has appeared in him. If God has been made manifest in him, Gods-very-self will also appear in him and will appear in him right away.” Glorification is an appearance or manifestation of the Holy One in this case, here in the midst of the worst scenario imaginable to Jesus’ followers. 

There are other translation issues. “Children,” Jesus says. (The word “little” isn’t there in the Greek–just children – maybe in the sense of tender and naïve, not fully matured or wizened?) “I am with you only a little,” Jesus says. He says, “You will look for me, and where I am going you cannot come.” In the verse just following our reading, Jesus clarifies – you can’t follow me now, but you will follow afterwards – so it’s sad, but not permanently sad.

Then John the Evangelist’s account has Jesus talking about how he has previously said something to “the Judayoi” – rendered “Jews” in our NRSV. (That has become permanently sad, because, of course they were all Jews. I say permanently sad because our scripture translations continue to incite violence against Jews.) Judayoi here could either be translated Judeans (in contrast with Galileans) or understood as anachronistic and antithetical to Jesus’ life and witness. For our reading today, I translated it “people” to distinguish between Jesus’ public preaching and his teaching in this intimate setting the evening he was arrested. Whenever I encounter this passage, I trip over the line about “a new commandment, that you love one another.” And I always think, that’s not a new commandment. The Torah teaches that we must love our neighbors as ourselves and we must provide tangible care for the strangers or aliens in our midst. Why is loving being called a new commandment? My answer is, it’s not. 

The command here is not “to love one another.” A closer translation is, “A new command I am giving to you in order that you may love one another, just as I loved you in order that or so that you may love one another.” The word “should” is another  translator’s opinion. The new commandment that Jesus has given in the portion just before this reading is to wash one another’s feet. Serve one another, care for one another. Get your hands dirty – risk contamination, risk becoming unclean in service to one another. As far as I know, the command to wash one another’s feet, assuming a posture of kindness, of presence, of service, behaving as if we are all servants of one another, is a new command. There are Torah instructions to wash one’s own hands and feet. There is customary hospitality to offer water and a place to wash, and when available, servants to help. But Jesus takes a towel and kneels down and washes his followers’ feet and then tells them to do that for one another. Wash the muck off of one another’s feet. That’s the new commandment. 

The purpose is to demonstrate your love for one another. Just as I have loved you, in order that you have love for one another. This is how people will know that you’re Jesus followers – when you demonstrate your presence, your kindness, your service for one another. Jesus says, “in order that, or so that, you love one another” three times. That’s how we know he really means it. It also means it probably wasn’t happening. If it had been happening, there wouldn’t be any need to write it down and to emphasize it by saying it three times. I mean, no one says three times “I’m giving you this new mop so that you will wash the floor” if the floor is already washed, right? And of course, it’s hard enough to do this for our family and friends. Jesus teaches that we must perform humble acts of presence, kindness and service for our enemies as well. Jesus has just washed the feet of the one who would betray him and the one who would deny even knowing him.

There are times in the history of Christianity when Christians have been known for our works of presence, kindness, and service. There are times when Emmanuel Church is and has been known for our works of presence, kindness, and service. But building a beloved and beloving

community doesn’t happen without intentionality and work, especially in difficult times. Listen to Tertullian’s description of church practice in the good old days of the early second century of the common era: “On the monthly day… each puts in a small donation; but … only if he [or she] be able: for there is no compulsion; all is voluntary. These gifts are…piety’s deposit fund. For [funds] are not taken thence and spent on feasts, and drinking-bouts, and eating-houses, but to support and bury poor people, to supply the wants of [those] destitute of means and parents, and of old persons confined now to the house; such, too, as have suffered shipwreck; and if there happen to be any [slaving] in the mines, or banished,…or shut up in the prisons…. it is mainly the deeds of a love so noble that lead many to put a brand upon us. [“Christian” was a derogatory name.] See, they say, how they love one another, …they… do not hesitate to share …earthly goods with one another. All things are common among us but our wives. [it really says that]…. Whatever it costs, our outlay in the name of piety is gain, since with the good things of the feast we benefit th[ose who are] needy.” Tertullian didn’t quite get the lack of distinction between us and them (which can be encouraging for us!), but he beautifully described what it means to act like a Jesus follower. His vision is true to my experience when we are functioning well. 

When we are functioning well, we are actively engaged in behaviors that are encouraging those who are afraid, nourishing those who are hungry, healing those who are suffering, forgiving those who are guilty, redeeming those who have been undervalued, freeing those who are stuck or imprisoned, inspiring those who are dispirited, protecting those who are most vulnerable, reviving those who are tired. When we are functioning well, our service is mutually beneficial; we are both giving and receiving, and we are trustworthy people in a trustworthy community. [4] The work of Christian community, as Brother Curtis Almquist has said, is the three-step work of moving from “judgment of others to compassion for others to identification with others.” When we are functioning well, we are practicing radical empathy as our flag outside says. When we are functioning well, we are all one.

You know, baptism is a ritual of identification with others, others who are not necessarily of our own choosing, a bigger community than our own families and friends. Baptism is not only for or about the person being baptized; it’s for and about the whole church represented by this gathering today. This morning Bodie’s baptism means he will be identified as Christian, and as he grows up, I pray that he will join in the work of serving others as well as appreciatively receiving the service of others as gifts and signs of love. I pray that love will always animate his life. I pray that whenever he finds himself between a hard place and a rock, in the midst of betrayals or failures, ignorances or misunderstandings, he will have a community of people who will help him to turn away from cynicism, sarcasm, and fear, and move toward authentic and deeply respectful relationship with the Divine and with others. I pray that love will always show him that we are all one.


  1. Galatians 3:28.
  2. Leftbehindandlovingit.blogspot.com, April 18, 2016.
  3.  Tertullian, Apologeticus, Ch. XXXIX (http://www.ccel.org/ccel/schaff/anf03.toc.html#P253_53158)
  4.  Jesse A. Zink, Faithful, Creative, Hopeful (New York: Church Publishing, 2024), p.162.

It’s Love that will never abandon.

Epiphany 3A, 22 Jan. 2023. The Very Rev. Pamela L. Werntz

  • Isaiah 9:1-4. For the yoke of their burden…you have broken.
  • 1 Corinthians 1:10-18.  Beyond that, I do not know whether I baptized anyone else. [To me, this is one of the funniest lines in all of scripture.]
  • Matthew 4:12-23.  He saw [them] … and he called them

O God of darkness and light, grant us the strength, the wisdom and the courage to seek always and everywhere after truth, come when it may, and cost what it will.


We’ve returned to the Gospel of Matthew; and so again, our lesson from Isaiah sounds as if it were teeing up the Gospel lesson. To Christian ears, it may even sound as if Isaiah was anticipating Jesus. But, as I said two Sundays ago, Isaiah wasn’t anticipating Jesus any more than Isaiah was anticipating George Frederic Handel. Isaiah wasn’t anticipating Emmanuel Church either, but here we are again! It’s is exactly the other way around. Probably in Antioch of Syria at least two generations after Jesus’ death, Matthew was living and growing in the teachings and stories of Jesus. Matthew’s audience was living with the political, economic, legal, religious, and cultural consequences of Roman imperialism, just as we are living with the consequences of American imperialism. [1] Retelling those teachings and stories about Jesus in a written Gospel toward the end of the first century of the Common Era, Matthew was thinking, “These stories sound so much like the stories that Isaiah told eight-hundred years ago!” Matthew wanted to make sure that his community heard and understood the connections. I want to make sure that my community hears and understands the connections, too. 
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Do you not know how to interpret the present time?

The 10th Sunday after Pentecost, August 14, 2022; The Rev. Dr. John D. Golenski

Luke 12:56. Do you not know how to interpret the present time?


Believe me when I tell you that clergy in Christian churches using the Revised Common Lectionary dread August.  That’s when we have to deal in our preaching with the apocalyptic passages in the Synoptic Gospels.  When last we shared a meal, I joked with Pam that she always takes her vacation during this month so she can escape all these “doom and gloom” passages.  Seriously, there is a lot of gloom in the portions from the Gospels of Matthew, Mark, and Luke that are assigned for August’s Sundays.  Suffused with what we could call an apocalyptic vision, they focus on the inevitability of divine judgment and the imminence of the end of time.

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Belonging to Truth

Last Sunday of Pentecost:  Christ the King.
Proper 29B.  21 November 2021. The Rev. Pamela L. Werntz

2 Samuel 23:1-7. The spirit of the LORD is upon me.
Revelation 1:4b-8. Grace to you and peace.
John 18:33-37 .  For this I was born, and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth.

O Wondrous Power of Love, grant us the strength, the wisdom and the courage to seek always and everywhere after truth, come when it may, and cost what it will.


We have come to the end of our liturgical year on the last Sunday in the season of Pentecost, now known as The Feast of Christ the King. It’s a newish holiday, first declared by the Bishop of Rome, Pius XI, in 1925 as he was trying to make friends with Benito Mussolini. As Episcopalians keep our ecumenical commitment to use the Revised Common Lectionary, Christ the King Sunday has become a part of our annual observance, printed on our calendars and planning books (that’s how we know it’s real). If I didn’t feel so strongly about the redeeming urge of the Holy One, I’d say that we shouldn’t observe this feast at all; maybe take the Sunday off before the holidays. But I think we have a moral obligation to acknowledge that, as Frederick Buechner observes in his book Telling the Truth, “the Gospel is often bad news before it’s good news.” Continue reading