Did you follow the adventures of Rocky this summer? Not Rocky and Bullwinkle: Rocky is RH58, one of our endangered Hawaiian monk seals, and she’s something of a celebrity. Back in 2017, Rocky gave birth on a very busy beach in Waikiki, which made world headlines. This past June, Rocky gave birth to her 16th pup on Nimitz Beach near Ewa. And, for about five weeks, mother and daughter stayed together while the new pup nursed, grew stronger, learned to swim, and began figuring out what it means to be a Hawaiian monk seal.
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Then on July 20, Rocky did what monk seal mothers do. She weaned her pup and left. No empty-nest syndrome. No tearful goodbye. No calling every couple of days to see if she was eating properly. Rocky headed off to replenish her own reserves, and her daughter was now an independent monk seal.

The problem was that the pup’s birth site wasn’t especially safe for a young seal learning how to live in the wild. There were lots of people around, along with risks from off-leash dogs, fishing gear, and marine debris. So the next day the Hawaiʻi Marine Animal Response group moved her to a more remote, undisclosed shoreline, where she would have a better chance of growing up wild and healthy. They gave her ID tags and a permanent number, RV58. The “58” mirrors her mother’s tag, RH58, so her lineage is easy to recognize. And then, essentially, the message to the rest of us was: Now leave her alone.

There’s something wonderfully countercultural about that. Some of us humans had become interested in this little seal. People watched her and photographed her. Volunteers protected her. Experts monitored her. We wanted to know how she was doing. But now the best thing we can do for RV58 is give her space to become what she was created to be. Because she doesn’t belong to us. She belongs to God.

I thought about Rocky and her pup when I read that wonderful passage from Job we heard this morning.

God takes Job on what amounts to a wildlife safari. “Do you know when the mountain goats give birth? Do you observe the calving of the deer?” Job, do you know what the wild donkey is doing out there in the wilderness? Have you figured out the ostrich? Do you understand all these creatures?

And the answer to God’s questions, of course, is: No, Job. You don’t. There’s some divine teasing in this passage. After all the tragedies that plagued him, Job has been demanding answers from God about the way life in this creation works, and God responds by saying, in effect, “Job, you don’t even understand the ostrich! You’ll never understand me.”

But there’s something deeper going on. God is reminding Job that there’s an enormous world of life flourishing all around him that has nothing to do with human beings. Mountain goats are giving birth where no human being sees them. Wild donkeys are roaming the wilderness. Ostriches are doing whatever strange things ostriches do. And God knows them all.

That’s an important reminder on this Feast Day of St. Francis, the Blessing of the Animals Sunday, because we naturally think about animals in relation to ourselves. This is my dog. My cat. My bird. My turtle. My whatever wonderful creature you may have brought with you this morning. And that’s perfectly natural. Our pets become members of our families. We love them, and they love us. Sometimes I suspect they train us much more successfully than we ever train them.
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But before they are ours, they are God’s. And not only our pets. The monk seal resting on the beach belongs to God. The kolea that flies thousands of miles back and forth across the Pacific belongs to God. The humpback whale, the honu, the gecko on your wall, the bird singing outside your window—all of them belong to God.

St. Francis understood this in a profound way. Francis didn’t look at creation primarily in terms of ownership or usefulness. He saw kinship. Brother Sun, Sister Moon. Brother Wolf, Sister Bird.

Creation wasn’t something God had simply given human beings to use. Francis saw himself as part of  it, surrounded by fellow creatures who shared the same Creator.
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And I think that connects surprisingly with our Gospel today. Jesus tells the story of a rich man whose land produces an abundant harvest. The man looks at everything he has and says: What am I going to do with all my crops? I know! I’ll tear down my barns and build bigger ones. Then I’ll store all my grain and all my goods, and I’ll have everything I need.

He’s so busy planning warehouses and storage units for his stuff. And did you hear all those possessive words? My crops, my barns, my grain, my goods. Mine. Mine. Mine.

And God says, essentially, “You’ve missed the point.” None of it was ever really that rich man’s. The land wasn’t his. The crops weren’t his. Even the life he was living wasn’t ultimately his possession. All of it was gift, entrusted to him for a time.
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That is stewardship in its deepest sense. And here at St. Timothy’s, as we pray, “Lord, widen our hearts,” maybe this is another way God widens them. God teaches us to love and care generously for what we don’t own. Yes, to care about our church and all the people we serve in so many ways. But also to care about the creatures and oceans and forests and reefs, not because they belong to us, but because they belong to God.

Sometimes loving God’s creatures means cuddling them. Sometimes it means feeding them and taking them to the vet and letting them sleep in places we swore we’d never let them sleep.

But sometimes loving God’s creatures means staying away. Keeping our dogs leashed. Picking up fishing line and rubbish. Protecting habitats. Giving a young monk seal enough space to grow up wild. That, too, is love.
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In a few minutes I’ll bless these animals we love. We’ll thank God for the companionship, laughter, comfort, and sometimes chaos they bring into our lives.

But perhaps we aren’t really asking God to make these animals holy. God has already done that.

We’re asking God to widen our hearts enough to recognize their holiness, and the holiness of the vast, astonishing creation of which we and they are all a part.

They are ours to love. They are ours to care for and protect. But they belong to God. And, dear ones, so do we. Amen.

ALOHA! As our stewardship season continues, I hope our prayer, “Lord, Widen Our Hearts,” is beginning to settle into us as more than just a campaign theme. It asks God to stretch our generosity, our compassion, our willingness to serve, and our sense of responsibility for the life we share together at St. Timothy’s. This Sunday, a stewardship packet addressed to you will be available at the back of the chapel. Please pick yours up when you’re here; any packets that remain will be mailed out afterward. If you’re not on our mailing list, feel free to pick up a packet with no addresses on them. Malaho!

THIS SUNDAY is also one of the most joyful days in our church year as we celebrate the Feast of St. Francis and bless the animals who share our lives. Our message, “They Belong to God,” grows out of the remarkable wildlife tour God gives Job (Job 39:1-18) and Jesus’ warning about mistaking possession for ownership (Luke 12:13-21). We love to speak of our pets, our homes, our resources. But Scripture keeps reminding us that creation belongs first to God, and so do we. We’ll think together about what that means for the animals we love, for the wider creation around us, and for the way we live as stewards rather than owners. Sometimes love means caring closely and tenderly. Sometimes it means protecting, preserving, and even giving space. In every case, the call is the same: to widen our hearts enough to recognize the holiness of what God has made. Please join us this Sunday at 9 a.m. in the Chapel, or on Facebook Live!

LAST SUNDAY our message was based on Exodus 17:1-7. The Israelites were in the wilderness again, and this time they were really thirsty. Their fear quickly turned into frustration, and finally they asked the question, “Is the Lord Among Us or Not?” It’s a question people of faith have asked in every generation. We ask it when life doesn’t unfold the way we hoped, when answers don’t come quickly, when we’re anxious about what lies ahead. We reflected on what it means to trust not only in God’s provision, but in God’s presence, especially when we can’t yet see where the water is going to come from. Have you been able to trust that God is with you this past week?

THIS SUNDAY, OUR ADULT CLASS ON THE SACRAMENTS CONCLUDES. Please join us in the Clergy Office after worship for session 3 of the 3-part series, “Signs and Grace.” This week we focus on the meaning of the sacrament of the Eucharist. Join in the conversation!

NEXT SUNDAY Rev. Karen Swanson will be preaching and presiding at the worship service. Don’t miss that blessing! From October 5 through 15, I’ll be off island, returning in time to participate in the Diocesan Annual Convention on October 16 and 17, and back for worship here on October 18. Rev. Karen will also be providing pastoral care as needed. If you need pastoral care while I am away, please call the office at 808-488-5747 or email Paul at Office@sttimothysaiea.org and he will get in touch with Rev. Karen. Mahalo!

DEAR SIBLINGS IN CHRIST, I’m deeply grateful for the many ways you share in the life and ministry of St. Timothy’s. Please continue to pray for our leaders and ministers, for me as your vicar, and for every member of our church ʻohana. As we continue through this season together, may our prayer remain simple and sincere: Lord, widen our hearts. Widen them in generosity, in compassion, in patience, and in love. May God renew us for the work ahead, deepen our care for one another and for our neighbors, and help us move forward with faith, hope, generosity, and joy.

Aloha Ke Akua!
Rev. Pete+

Many years ago after graduating from college, I worked for the West Virginia Hillbilly weekly newspaper. One early morning in 1977 I reported to my legendary boss, Jim Comstock, and he dispatched me to Washington, D.C., 300 miles way, to cover a coal miners’ march on the Capitol the next day. So I had to hit the road right away! It was at least a 6 hour trip. Now, I was young and foolish. And apparently I didn’t worry about details as much as I do now.

Off I drove from Richwood, W.Va. taking twisty mountain roads before I could get on the interstate. I had a gas station map. Remember those? A real paper map that you had to unfold across the steering wheel, try to maintain control of the car, and then could never quite fold back up again? I knew I was supposed to report on this miners’ march, but I wasn’t sure where the march was going to start. I didn’t know where I was going to spend the night, I didn’t have a hotel reservation. I just headed toward Washington figuring somehow I would work it out.

But as I was midway through Virginia, hours after I’d started, and still hours away from Washington, my confidence began to fade. Where would I stay? How would I know where to go and what to do? I began to wonder whether launching out on faith without actually having a plan had been such a brilliant idea.

As my worries increased, I just happened to notice a purple MG ahead of me. Huh, my big brother Greg had a purple MG just like that. But he lived way over in Annapolis, Maryland, which was miles and miles away. What were the odds? Impossible. Even so, I sped up to get alongside the car, looked over, and nearly drove off the road.

Well what do you know! It was my brother! I honked and waved. He looked over at the idiot in the next lane, and the look on his face was priceless! He nearly drove off the road! We pulled over, hugged, and laughed. Turns out he and his wife had been at her family event in Western Virginia and just happened to be heading home at precisely the moment I was driving toward Washington. We made a quick plan: I followed them home to Annapolis, about 30 miles from DC, spent the night at their house, and using their local newspaper the next morning, figured out how to get where I needed to be.

Now, at that young age I had absolutely no difficulty interpreting what had happened. God provided! It was a miracle! Case closed! But… was God really arranging interstate traffic and our schedules so that my brother and I would meet at precisely that moment? I like to think so, but I don’t know. I do know that when I was anxious and had no idea what I was going to do next, suddenly there he was. And I received it as a gift.

In our reading from Exodus this morning, the Israelites have a much bigger problem. They’re making a much longer journey in the wilderness, and there’s no water to drink. So they turn on Moses: “Give us water to drink!” Moses says, “Why do you quarrel with me? Why do you test the Lord?” But the people keep complaining. “Why did you bring us out of Egypt, to kill us and our children and livestock with thirst?”

You know, it’s easy to make fun of the Israelites because they complain so much. Last Sunday they were hungry. Now they’re thirsty. Moses is probably asking himself, what are they going to gripe about next?

Last week they were saying, “If only we’d stayed in Egypt, where we sat by the barbecue pit and ate our fill of malasadas!” Well, that’s not exactly what Exodus says, but that’s how they remembered it. They had forgotten slavery pretty quickly. They were hungry, and suddenly Egyptian slavery seemed wonderful. So God acted, providing quail in the evening and this strange flaky substance called manna in the morning. They looked at it and said, “What is it?”—which is essentially what the word manna means. God was in a sense giving them a breakfast cereal called “What the Heck Is It?”

But now, they’re thirsty, and that’s a big deal. They really do need water. Their children, their livestock—they need water! They’re scared. And fear does strange things to us. It narrows our vision. It makes yesterday look better than it really was and tomorrow look worse than it may actually be. Fear makes us focus so completely on what we lack that we can no longer see anything else.

Finally Moses cries out to God, “What shall I do with these people? They’re almost ready to stone me!” And God tells Moses to take some of the elders, go ahead of the people, take the staff he used to strike the Nile, when he turned the river to blood back in Egypt before they escaped, and strike the rock at Horeb. And water flows out. God provides.

But I wonder if the most important thing God provides in this story is really the water. Moses names the place Massah and Meribah, because there the people quarreled and tested God by asking one of the most fundamental questions of faith: “Is the Lord among us or not?” And haven’t we all asked that question? “Is God here with me or not?”

Well, my Washington adventure turned out fine—I made it back to Richwood and filed my story. Some years later, back in the late 1980s, I was working for a Christian organization in Atlanta where the work culture had become increasingly difficult and, I believed, dysfunctional. Unhealthy. One Easter weekend I was told to stay in Florida to oversee the editing of a video series we were producing. My kids were still little, and I was missing Easter with them! And me working for a Christian organization! A week later I finally came home exhausted and angry and told my boss I couldn’t keep doing this. It was the last straw.

But I couldn’t quit! I had a family to support, though that job didn’t pay much to begin with. I didn’t know what I was going to do. But that very same day, I got a phone call from a man I’d done some freelance advertising copywriting work for. “Pete, would you be at all interested in coming to work for me as my senior copywriter?” Would I!

I took the job. I figured I’d work in advertising for a year or two, lick my wounds, and find my way back into some sort of ministry. Instead, I worked there 11 years. I loved the creative work, my boss, and the people I worked with. We worked with Christian organizations and publishers and secular clients. And during those years I found the Episcopal Church, which changed the direction of my life and eventually led me back into ministry in ways I could never have anticipated.

So God provided, yes. But not in the way I had expected. And perhaps that’s something I understand better now than I did when I was that young reporter driving toward Washington. Sometimes a purple MG appears just when you need it. Sometimes the phone rings with a job offer on precisely the right day. But, dear ones, sometimes it doesn’t. Those were only two days in my life of over 70 years.

Sometimes the answer doesn’t come. Sometimes the manna doesn’t fall. Sometimes the diagnosis isn’t what we hoped. Sometimes the relationship isn’t repaired. Sometimes the money really is tight.

Sometimes we strike the rock and, at least for now, we don’t see any water. “Is the Lord among us or not?” What do we do then?

Well, during these weeks at St. Timothy’s we’re praying, “Lord, widen our hearts.” And maybe part of having a widened heart is learning to recognize God’s presence and provision where we didn’t expect to find it. We can become so focused on what we lack that we fail to notice what God has already set before us.

The thirsty Israelites saw only dry wilderness. God saw a rock with water in it. And maybe the deepest answer to their question wasn’t finally the manna, or the quail, or even the water. God’s answer was that God kept going with them. Through their hunger and thirst with them. Through their fear and complaining with them. Through forty years of wilderness. God stayed with them.

So, I can’t promise you a purple MG will appear just when you need one. I can’t promise the telephone will ring with the perfect job offer. I can’t promise that God will solve every problem in the way we want or on our timetable.

But I do believe this: the Lord is among us. God is with us through it all!

God is with us in abundance and scarcity. In clarity and confusion. When the road opens beautifully before us and when we haven’t the slightest idea where we’re going next. The Lord is among us. God is with us.

And perhaps faith is learning to trust that God enough to keep going.
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Amen.

ALOHA! As we continue through our stewardship season at St. Timothy’s, we keep returning to that simple prayer: “Lord, widen our hearts.” It’s a prayer about generosity, certainly, but it’s also about trust. Can we learn to see beyond what seems scarce, beyond what worries us, beyond what we think we need to control? Can we trust that God is present with us even when the way ahead feels uncertain?

That question sits right at the heart of this Sunday’s reading from Exodus 17:1-7. The Israelites are in the wilderness again, and this time they’re thirsty. Really thirsty. Their fear quickly turns into frustration, and finally they ask the question that gives this week’s sermon its title: “Is the Lord Among Us or Not?” It’s a question people of faith have asked in every generation. We ask it when life doesn’t unfold the way we hoped, when answers don’t come quickly, when we’re anxious about what lies ahead. This Sunday we’ll reflect on what it means to trust not only in God’s provision, but in God’s presence, especially when we can’t yet see where the water is going to come from. Please join us this Sunday at 9 a.m. in the Chapel, or on Facebook Live!

LAST SUNDAY, our gospel lesson (Matthew 20:1-16) offered an intriguing story about a landowner who hired workers throughout the day, then paid the ones who worked only an hour the same amount as those who labored from morning until evening. That doesn’t seem very fair… and that may be exactly the point. We’re very good at measuring, comparing, and keeping track of what we think we deserve. But Jesus keeps inviting us into a different way of seeing, one shaped less by comparison and more by grace and generosity. When God widens our hearts enough to trust abundance instead of scarcity, we experience God’s grace. How have you experienced that this past week?

THIS SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 27: OUR ADULT CLASS ON THE SACRAMENTS CONTINUES. Please join us in my office after worship for session 2 of the 3-part series, “Signs and Grace,” developed by The Episcopal Church and Forward Movement. This week we focus on the meaning of the sacrament of Baptism. Join in the conversation!

OUR OUTREACH MINISTRY NEEDS YOUR HELP: We’re deeply grateful for the faithful volunteers who make our outreach ministry possible each week, especially on Tuesdays when we provide groceries from the Hawai‘i Foodbank to our neighbors in need. We always welcome additional helping hands, and we especially need volunteers who are able to lift and move boxes of food and tables on a regular basis. However, we have a particular need for extra help on October 6 and October 13, when several of our regular volunteers, including outreach leader Lauralee Kawamata, Nancy Chun, and Dan and me, will be traveling. If you’re able to help on either of those Tuesdays, or would be willing to serve at other times, please let us know. Your help would make a real difference to this important ministry. Remember that all volunteers must wear closed-toe shoes. Thank you for helping us continue to serve our neighbors with care and aloha!

DEAR SIBLINGS IN CHRIST, I’m deeply grateful for the many ways you share in the life and ministry of St. Timothy’s. Please continue to pray for our leaders and ministers, for me as your vicar, and for every member of our church ʻohana. As we continue through this season together, may our prayer remain simple and sincere: Lord, widen our hearts. Widen them in generosity, in compassion, in patience, and in love. May God renew us for the work ahead, deepen our care for one another and for our neighbors, and help us move forward with faith, hope, generosity, and joy.

​Aloha Ke Akua!

Rev. Pete+

I needed a new desk chair recently in the Clergy Office because the one I’d been using had developed this unfortunate tendency to make me gradually slide out of it. I don’t know whether the chair was wearing out or I was, but something had to be done.

So I went down to Office Depot and found a chair that worked well for me. I wasn’t looking for anything fancy, and this was the cheapest decent one I could find. The price on the card was $350. I took a picture of it, came back to the office, looked it up online, and there it was: same chair, same price, $350. I started to click on it to order it, and suddenly the page reloaded and the price changed to $199! All right! I didn’t complain. I didn’t call Office Depot and say, “Excuse me, but I believe you’re charging me $151 too little.” No, I ordered that chair!

But now imagine that the next day I told somebody else about my great bargain. And they went online to buy the very same chair, but when they clicked on it, their price dropped to $99. Wait a minute! That’s not fair! Yesterday I was delighted with $199. It was a terrific deal. Nothing about my deal had changed. But suddenly I’m unhappy because somebody else got an even better deal.

And that, my friends, is pretty much the parable Jesus tells us this morning.

A farmer goes out early in the morning to hire workers for his vineyard. He agrees with them on the usual daily wage, and off they go to work. At nine o’clock he goes back to the marketplace and hires some more. He goes back again at noon, again at three, and finally at five o’clock, when the workday is almost over. Each time he finds people still waiting for work and sends them into his vineyard.

At the end of the day, the farmer tells his manager to pay everybody, beginning with the ones who arrived at five. And amazingly, those workers receive a full day’s wage. Now imagine you’re one of the people who started working at sunrise. You see the five-o’clock crew getting a full day’s pay, and you immediately start doing the math. If they got that much for one hour, just imagine what we’re going to get!

Except when your turn comes, you receive exactly what you agreed to that morning: one day’s wage.

“That’s not fair!” But the farmer says, “Friend, I am doing you no wrong. Did you not agree with me for the usual daily wage? Take what belongs to you and go.” And then comes the question at the heart of the whole parable: “Are you envious because I am generous?”

Ooh--that question stings a little, doesn’t it? Because the workers who started early haven’t been cheated. They received exactly what they were promised. They were perfectly happy with their wage until they discovered what somebody else received. The problem isn’t what they have. The problem is comparison.

We know something about that, don’t we? I can be perfectly happy with my house until I see yours. Perfectly happy with my car until you pull up in a new one. Perfectly satisfied with my salary until I discover what somebody else makes in a similar job. I can even be grateful for my $199 desk chair until you tell me you got yours for $99!

But Jesus is talking about something much deeper than salaries and desk chairs. He’s talking about grace.

And that brings us back to our Old Testament reading this morning. The Israelites are out in the wilderness, and they’re hungry. They begin complaining to Moses and Aaron, even remembering Egypt rather selectively: “If only we had died in Egypt! At least there we had plenty to eat!” Well, not if you’re dead! I guess slavery wasn’t so bad if you got hungry enough.

But notice how God responds. God doesn’t say, “You ungrateful people! After everything I’ve done for you, figure out your own dinner.” No. God says, “I am going to rain bread from heaven for you.”

And there is enough. Every morning, there’s enough manna for everybody. Psalm 105 looks back on that story and says that God “satisfied them with the bread of heaven.” Israel is learning one of the hardest lessons of faith: God can be trusted to provide enough.

That same conviction is underneath Jesus’ parable. The farmer keeps going back to the marketplace. At five o’clock he finds people still standing there and asks why they haven’t been working. Their answer is poignant: “Because no one has hired us.” Maybe they weren’t the strongest workers.

Maybe they were older. Maybe they had a disability. Maybe nobody thought they looked promising enough. Jesus doesn’t tell us. All we know is that everyone else had passed them by.

But the farmer doesn’t. “Come into my vineyard too.” And at the end of the day he gives them enough to live on.

Now here’s where this parable gets uncomfortable. Most of us naturally identify with the workers who arrived first, right? We’ve worked hard. We’ve tried to be responsible. We’ve shown up. We’ve paid our bills. We’ve done our share. Surely we’ve earned what we have.

But what if, in the economy of God’s grace, every one of us is really the five-o’clock worker who gets the gift of a full-day’s wage?

What if the breath in our lungs this morning is God’s gift? What if the people who love us are God’s gift? What if the abilities we have, the opportunities we’ve received, the food on our tables, the forgiveness we’ve needed and received, even this new day itself are all God’s gracious, generous gift? What if none of us is standing before God with a timecard proving that we’ve earned our place?

Then suddenly the question changes. Instead of asking, “Why did they get so much?” we begin asking, “How did I receive so much?”

During these weeks at St. Timothy’s, we’re praying, “Lord, widen our hearts.” Perhaps this is one way God widens them: by loosening our grip on comparison, on envy, and helping us recognize abundance.

A widened heart can rejoice when somebody else receives a blessing. A widened heart can celebrate another person’s good fortune without wondering why not me? A widened heart can become generous because it has finally realized how much it has already received.

There was enough manna in the wilderness. There was enough work in the vineyard. There was enough generosity in the farmer’s heart. And there is enough grace from the hand of God for each and every one of us.

So maybe when we see someone else receive an unexpected blessing, an undeserved second chance, an extravagant welcome, or a really good deal, instead of saying, “That’s not fair!” we can learn to say, “Thanks be to God.”
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Because, thank God, grace isn’t fair. It’s grace. Amen.

ALOHA! It feels to me like September has a way of gaining momentum. The routines of our O‘ahu fall are settling in, our stewardship season has gotten underway, and life at St. Timothy’s is moving into a fuller rhythm as we move into the rest of “Ordinary Time” on our way to Advent and a new liturgical year. Over these upcoming weeks we’re praying with our stewardship theme, “Lord Widen Our Hearts,” asking God to stretch us beyond habit, beyond fear, and beyond the limits we sometimes place on generosity.

THIS SUNDAY, our gospel lesson (Matthew 20:1-16) gives us an intriguing story about just how difficult that stretch can be. Jesus tells of a landowner who hires workers throughout the day, then pays the ones who worked only an hour the same amount as those who labored from morning until evening. You can almost hear the grumbling: “That’s not fair!” And that may be exactly the point. We’re very good at measuring, comparing, and keeping track of what we think we deserve. But Jesus keeps inviting us into a different way of seeing, one shaped less by comparison and more by grace. So this Sunday we’ll ask what happens when God widens our hearts enough to trust abundance instead of scarcity. The sermon is called “That’s Not Fair!”

Please join us this Sunday at 9 a.m. in the Chapel, or on Facebook Live!

LAST SUNDAY we began our annual stewardship season. Stewardship, of course, is about much more than money. It’s about the shape of our lives and the openness of our hearts. What happens when God asks us to loosen our grip, let go of keeping score, and make more room for grace? That question was at the heart of last Sunday’s Gospel from Matthew 18:21-35. Peter asked Jesus to calculate for him how many times he must forgive someone who sins against him. Jesus gives him an answer that blows up his whole accounting system. In the sermon, “Lord, Widen Our Hearts,” we explored what it means to receive the grace God so generously offers, and how to let that grace reshape the way we live with one another. How have you experienced God’s grace this week?

STARTING THIS SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 20: ADULT CLASS ON THE SACRAMENTS. If you’re interested in learning more about the sacraments of the Church, including Baptism and the Eucharist, please join us in my office after worship starting this Sunday. This 3-session series, “Signs and Grace,” was developed by The Episcopal Church and Forward Movement and features videos and discussion. It’s sure to be a meaningful time!

DEAR SIBLINGS IN CHRIST, I’m grateful for the many ways you share in the life and ministry of St. Timothy’s. Please continue to pray for our leaders and ministers, for me as your vicar, and for every member of our St. Timothy’s ʻohana. May God renew us for the work ahead, deepen our love for one another, and widen our hearts to receive and share the grace Christ so freely gives. And may we move forward with faith, generosity, and joy.

Aloha Ke Akua!
Rev. Pete+

Every couple of months I get together for lunch with two clergy friends—Pastor JP from Joy of Christ Lutheran Church and Pastor Ron from Mililani Presbyterian. Usually we meet at Zippy's. We have wonderful conversations, solving all the problems of the church, the community, and sometimes even the world. But whenever the meal comes to an end, and the server lays the check on the table, we all look at each other.

"Whose turn is it?" "I think you got it last time. "Didn't Ron pay in July?" "Wait... JP bought lunch the time before that."

We sit there trying to reconstruct the financial history of our lunches over the last several months. Same thing happened recently with Fr. Greg Johnson, but he keeps clear notes as to which of us paid last!

Now, there's nothing wrong with how we do this. We're just trying to be fair. But it struck me that most of us spend a good part of our lives keeping score. We keep score over who called whom last, who apologized first, who remembered the birthday, who did more of the work, who always gets their way, who owes whom. It seems we're natural accountants of personal matters.

Well, Saint Peter was too. Last week, Jesus gave instructions on how to deal with someone who has hurt another brother or sister. Now, in today's Gospel, Peter asks Jesus what sounds like a generous question. "Lord, if another member of the church sins against me, how often should I forgive? As many as seven times?" In Peter's day, many rabbis taught that forgiving someone three times was enough. Peter doubles it—and adds one for good measure. Surely forgiving seven times ought to do it.

Peter wants a formula. He wants Jesus to hand him a holy calculator. "Just tell me the number, Lord, when I can finally say, 'I've done my Christian duty. I've forgiven enough times.'" But Jesus isn't interested in giving Peter a number. "Not seven times," he says, "but seventy-seven times."

Now, Jesus isn't asking us to keep a bigger accounting book. "Well, that's number seventy-six... only one more to go!" Seven in the Bible is the number of completeness or perfection. Jesus is saying, Peter, you've asked the wrong question. Stop counting. God’s kingdom doesn't run on calculators and spreadsheets. It runs on grace. So forgive infinitely.

Then Jesus tells a story. A servant owes his king an unimaginably large debt—so large that he could never repay it in a lifetime. He falls on his knees and begs for mercy. To everyone's astonishment, the king doesn't arrange a payment plan or reduce the amount owed. He simply forgives the entire debt. Wipes the slate clean. The servant walks away free.

Now, you would think that someone who had received such astonishing grace and forgiveness would become the most gracious and forgiving person in the kingdom. Instead, he immediately finds another servant who owes him a comparatively tiny amount, grabs him by the throat, and demands payment, now! When that man pleads for patience using almost exactly the same words the first servant had spoken to the king, there’s no mercy. No compassion. He has him thrown into prison.

It's a shocking story. And Jesus intends it to be. The point isn't that the second debt didn't matter. Forgiveness never pretends that nothing happened. It doesn't excuse evil or deny justice. Rather, forgiveness is choosing not to let the hurt be the end of the story. It’s refusing to allow bitterness to become the defining reality of our lives.

Some of us are old enough to remember one of the most unforgettable photographs of the Vietnam War. A little girl, her clothes burned away by napalm, is running down a road with an expression of unimaginable terror. The image became one of the defining pictures of that conflict. We talked about it in one of our Confirming Faith classes this summer.

The girl’s name was Kim Phúc. She survived, though it took years of painful surgeries to recover. Eventually she became an international ambassador for peace. In 1996 she spoke at a Veterans Day observance in Washington, D.C. During her remarks she said that if she could meet the man responsible for the bombing, she would tell him that they could not change history, but they could choose to do good in the present.

Sitting quietly in the audience was a former Army helicopter pilot named John Plummer. For years he had carried the burden of that photograph and the horrors of the war. After Kim finished speaking, he wrote a short note: "I am that man." He made his way through the crowd until he reached her, handing her the note. Overcome with emotion, he could barely get the words out. "I'm so sorry," he kept saying. "I'm so sorry."

Kim opened her arms. He fell into them sobbing. And she said simply, "I forgive you."

That didn't erase history. It didn't undo the suffering. But it did mean that grace proved stronger than bitterness. Many of us can vouch for the fact that forgiveness doesn't erase the past. But it does keep the past from imprisoning our hearts.

This morning we begin our stewardship season here at St. Timothy's with the theme, "Lord, Widen Our Hearts." Over the next several weeks we'll be reflecting on that theme, and we’ll hear from members of our ‘ohana about what that prayer, “Widen our hearts,” means to them.

But I hope you've noticed something this morning. I haven't been talking about money. Because stewardship doesn't begin with our wallets. It begins with our hearts.

A narrow heart keeps score. It remembers every slight, every offense, every unpaid debt. It asks, "What's the least I have to do?"
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But a widened heart has been so transformed by the extravagant grace of God that it begins to reflect that same grace toward others. It forgives generously. It welcomes generously. It serves generously. It gives generously. Not because it has to, but because it has discovered that God's love can never be earned, only received and shared.

So that's our prayer this season. Not just, "Lord, help us meet the budget." But, "Lord, widen our hearts." Now one of the reasons I love being your vicar is that the people of this church do have such wide hearts! But, I think all of us can ask God’s Spirit to make them even wider.

To widen our hearts to forgive. Widen our hearts to love. Widen our hearts to welcome. Widen our hearts to give.

And when God answers that prayer, I suspect we'll discover that generosity—in every part of our life—is no longer something we have to force. We won’t have to keep tabs on who paid what when.

No, when God answers our prayer, generosity simply becomes the natural overflow of hearts that have first been enlarged by the grace of Christ.

Thanks be to our generous, gracious God. Amen.

ALOHA! THIS SUNDAY we begin our annual stewardship season with a meaningful theme our stewardship team, led by David Caldwell, came up with: “Lord, Widen Our Hearts.” That’s a simple prayer, but a searching one. Over the coming weeks, we’ll be hearing from members of our ʻohana about the ways they are living into that call through service, generosity, compassion, and commitment here at St. Timothy’s.

I have recorded a video about the upcoming stewardship season. You can view it on Facebook at www.facebook.com/reel/1040275518840941​ or on St. Tim's YouTube channel here.

Stewardship, of course, is about much more than money. It’s about the shape of our lives and the openness of our hearts. What happens when God asks us to loosen our grip, let go of keeping score, and make more room for grace? That question is at the heart of this Sunday’s Gospel from Matthew 18:21-35. Peter asks Jesus to calculate for him how many times he must forgive someone who sins against him. Seven times? That sounds pretty generous! But Jesus gives him an answer that blows up the whole accounting system. In this Sunday’s message, “Lord, Widen Our Hearts,” we’ll explore what it means to stop keeping score, to receive the grace God so generously offers, and to let that grace reshape the way we live with one another. Please join us this Sunday at 9 a.m. in the Chapel, or on Facebook Live!

LAST SUNDAY, we focused on Matthew 18:15-20, which begins with a subject every church, family, and community knows something about: what do we do when people hurt one another? Jesus offered a way forward with teachings about truth-telling, accountability, forgiveness, and the hard work of reconciliation. Sure, we won’t always agree. We’ll sometimes disappoint or wound one another. But Christ keeps calling us back into relationship, back toward grace, and back toward one another. Have you had opportunities to practice reconciliation with loved ones or neighbors in your life this past week?

STARTING SEPTEMBER 20: ADULT CLASS ON THE SACRAMENTS. If you’re interested in learning more about the sacraments of the Church, including the Eucharist, please join us in my office after worship starting next week. This 3-session series, “Signs and Grace,” was developed by The Episcopal Church and Forward Movement and features videos and discussion.

THANKS TO GRACE MEDEIROS! Mahalo to Grace (and Logan for filling in!) for leading the Tech Tips class the past two Sundays. Those who participated really appreciated the help and information. Grace has agreed to offer more classes in October, so be watching for information. In the meantime, she’s always available to help or answer your questions about your smartphones, tablets, or computers. We give thanks to God for her—and please continue to pray for her healing. Aloha, Grace!

DEAR SIBLINGS IN CHRIST, I’m grateful for the many ways you share in the life and ministry of St. Timothy’s. Please continue to pray for our leaders and ministers, for me as your vicar, and for every member of our St. Timothy’s ʻohana. May God renew us for the work ahead, deepen our love for one another, and widen our hearts to receive and share the grace Christ so freely gives. And may we move forward with faith, generosity, and joy.

Aloha Ke Akua!
Rev. Pete+

​A few weeks ago I was talking with another Episcopal priest who had just gone through one of the toughest experiences of their ministry. A church member had become a little bit out of control and my priest friend finally had to remove them from positions of leadership in the church. The priest didn’t tell this person they couldn’t come to worship, and I understand they’ve continued to attend. They were welcome to worship, but for the health of the community they could no longer serve in a position of responsibility.

My priest friend wasn’t happy about this sad situation. But I thought, you know, that’s exactly the kind of painful state of affairs that Jesus is talking about in today’s Gospel reading from Matthew 18.

Now, in case you haven’t noticed, churches are made up of human beings, and yes, even their clergy are human beings. We disappoint one another. We misunderstand one another. We hurt one another. Sometimes we wound one another deeply. As I heard someone say when they were exhausted by various tensions with others, “Well, people gonna be people!”  The question isn’t whether conflict will come. The question is: What do followers of Jesus do when it does?

It’s like Jesus is giving us a set of instructions in this gospel story. I hope you don’t have to ever do this! But: “If another member of the church sins against you,” Jesus says, what? Don’t gossip about them. Don’t recruit allies to your side. Don’t discuss the problem with everyone except the person involved. Go and speak to that person privately.

“If the member listens to you, you have regained that one.” Notice Jesus’ goal. It isn’t to win an argument. It isn’t to prove who’s right. It isn’t punishment. It’s relationship. “If the member listens to you, you have regained that one.”

Some of you may remember the 1928 Book of Common Prayer, which outlined rules for a priest to refuse communion. One reason was “unreconciled malice.” David reminded me at our Bible study last Wednesday that such a person could not take communion until they made open repentance, and reconciled with the person they had wronged! For some reason that’s not in our current prayer book!

I do remember years ago at the church where I became an Episcopalian, one Sunday we read this gospel text. And rather than preach a sermon, the priest encouraged those of us sitting in the nave, if we had a problem with someone else in the congregation, or needed to forgive or be forgiven, to go and make things right, right now! And after an awkward silence, people actually did.

It was powerful, very moving, and frankly very scary! There were lots of tears and hugs. Rather than storing up resentment and anger, the priest said, we can ask for forgiveness. We can offer forgiveness. We can try to regain the relationship.

But Jesus says, if that doesn’t work, take one or two others with you—not to gang up on the person, but because perhaps a few trusted voices can help bring understanding and healing. Then, if that doesn’t work, involve the wider church community. Only after every effort at reconciliation has failed does Jesus acknowledge that the relationship may at least for now be broken. This is just how my priest friend handled it.

Frankly, I find all of this a little uncomfortable. But then Jesus says something even stranger: “Whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven.” Now, two weeks ago, in Matthew 16, Jesus spoke those words to Peter. Here, he speaks them to the whole community of disciples. And it’s an enormous responsibility. But I think the key to understanding it comes from the verses surrounding today’s Gospel.

Just before this passage comes the parable of the lost sheep. The shepherd leaves 99 sheep to search for the one who has wandered away. Jesus concludes, “It is not the will of your Father in heaven that one of these little ones should be lost.”

Then comes today’s passage with Jesus’ instructions. And then immediately after it, Peter asks, “Lord, if another member of the church sins against me, how often should I forgive? As many as seven times?” Jesus replies, “Not seven times, but seventy-seven times.”
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Do you see what the writer of Matthew’s gospel is doing? He has surrounded this difficult teaching with two great themes: seeking the lost and forgiving without limit.

That tells us how we’re meant to understand today’s Gospel. God’s heart is all about binding people together. God’s desire is that no one be lost. God’s first instinct is reconciliation. Even those difficult words at the end take on a different meaning when we remember who Jesus is. “If the offender refuses to listen even to the church,” Jesus says, “let such a one be to you as a Gentile and a tax collector.”

That sounds bad, doesn’t it. Gentiles and tax collectors were despised by good Jewish people. But let’s ask ourselves: how did Jesus treat Gentiles? How did he treat tax collectors? Oh! He ate with them. He welcomed them and hung out with them. He healed them and their children and beloved servants. He loved them.

So even when trust has been broken, even when someone can no longer serve in leadership, even when a relationship cannot be restored right now, that person never ceases to be someone Jesus loves. And neither should they cease to be someone we love.

Jesus closes with one of the most beloved promises in all of Scripture: “Where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them.” We often quote those words when only a few people show up for Bible study. I quoted them a couple of weeks ago when Lala was in town and we only had 12 souls in church! But notice the context: Jesus is talking about a community doing the hard work of reconciliation.

He is saying that when we gather prayerfully, humbly, and honestly, seeking not our own victory but God’s will, Jesus himself is present among us.

Here in Hawaiʻi, we have a powerful example of what this difficult work can look like. After the overthrow of the Hawaiian Kingdom, Queen Liliʻuokalani was imprisoned in an upstairs room of ʻIolani Palace. She had been stripped of her throne. Her people had been denied their sovereignty. Some who supported her had taken part in an unsuccessful effort to restore the monarchy, and the new government threatened them with severe punishment. The Queen faced an agonizing choice.

She believed the lives of some of those supporters were in danger. So, while she was still a prisoner, she voluntarily surrendered her claim to the throne, hoping to secure pardons and protect the lives of those who had risen in her cause.

Think of the cost of that to her. She didn’t say the overthrow was right. She didn’t bless the injustice done to her or to the Hawaiian people. She continued for the rest of her life to tell the truth, to protest, and to advocate for her people. But neither did she allow bitterness to rule her.

During those months of imprisonment, among many other hymns and songs, she wrote the Queen’s Prayer, and we sing verse 1 at the end of every service, but another verse says: Behold not with malevolence/ the sins of man,/ but forgive and cleanse... and let peace be our portion/ now and forevermore.

So beautiful! And this isn’t cheap forgiveness. This isn’t pretending nothing happened. It’s forgiveness born in suffering—the kind of forgiveness that tells the truth about what has been broken while refusing to surrender the soul to hatred or bitterness.

Maybe that’s part of what Jesus means by binding and loosing. There are things we must bind ourselves to: truth, justice, mercy, the dignity of every human being, and the hard work of forgiveness and reconciliation.

And there are things we must ask God to loose from us: resentment, vengeance, the need to belittle another person, and the desire to answer wound with wound.

That is also the wisdom behind the Hawaiian concept of hoʻo ponopono: not sweeping conflict under the rug, but bringing what is broken into the light so that, through honesty, repentance, forgiveness, and reconciliation, things might be made right again.

In just a few minutes, we’ll come together to this table. None of us comes because we’ve never hurt anyone. None of us comes because we’ve gotten every relationship right.

We come because Jesus is still reconciling us—to God and to one another. Week after week. Person after person.

And if Jesus hasn’t given up on us, there’s no reason we should ever give up on one another.

Amen.