Sermon given for closing Eucharist at the annual and bishop electing convention of the Episcopal Diocese of Southwestern Virginia, January 2026.
O mountains and hills, bless the Lord.[1]
O forests and rivers, bless the Lord.
O railroads and city streets, bless the Lord.
O meadows and gardens, bless the Lord.
O people of these mountains and hills, bless the Lord.
There is something moving in God’s church this week. In the midst of this world which is troubled and struggling, when our communities are uncertain and conflicted, our neighbors angry and afraid, the Spirit is moving, and we can feel it in the journey we’ve just taken, the joy of this new chapter we began yesterday, the history-making election of our own new diocesan bishop-elect, the Reverend Karin MacPhail – just a few days after another history-making naming of an Archbishop on the other side of the ocean. We can feel the Spirit moving in the joy and hope of a journey that is just beginning.
For yes, we have called a bishop, a bishop from the heart of our own diocese, but that is not all of it – for we are not only calling but being called – called to be the church, each in our own space and time, in the mountains and hills of this diocese, on the roads into Highland County and far southwestern Virginia, the sidewalks of downtown Roanoke, Lynchburg and Staunton and everywhere in between. We are being called as a church, to be church in the world.
This morning, we heard those beloved blessings from the Gospel of Matthew[2]. Whenever the Beatitudes come around in the lectionary, I often find myself turning to the words of Lutheran pastor Nadia Bolz-Weber, who reminds us in Accidental Saints[3] what the beatitudes might really be:
“What if the Beatitudes aren’t about a list of conditions we should try to meet to be blessed?,” she writes. “Maybe the Sermon on the Mount is all about Jesus’s lavish blessing of the people around him on that hillside, blessing all the accidental saints in this world, especially those who that world – like ours – didn’t seem to have much time for: people in pain, people who work for peace instead of profit, people who exercise mercy instead of vengeance.”
She points out that the blessings of the Beatitudes don’t land where the world expects them to:
Blessed are the poor in spirit,
those who mourn,
the meek,
those who hunger and thirst for righteousness,
Blessed are the persecuted.
The people Jesus names blessed, the people Jesus names beloved, are people who are impoverished and uncertain and grieving, and they are also people holding hope – the merciful, the pure in heart, the peacemakers – everyday people following this controversial preacher man out into the wilderness – because in a world torn by religious conflict and oppressed by the power of empire, he’s talking about love, he’s talking about compassion, about mercy, about peace. The poor and the grieving and the persecuted and the meek are coming to Jesus for kindness, for compassion, for hope, for blessing. And where they are meeting him, and he is meeting them, is holy ground.
Yesterday, the Reverend Sarah Lusk preached on the first letter from Paul to the church in Corinth[4], reminding them and us that they and we receive a great variety of gifts from the “same Spirit” – that we gather together as the family of God, each blessed by the gifts we receive and the gifts we give. This weekend, we gather together as the family of our diocese, with all our gifts, our life stories, our faith.
For yes, blessed are those who mourn. Blessed are they who are hungry. Blessed are those who make peace and those who teach. Blessed are the parents and the grandparents and the foster parents and the godparents. Blessed are the ones who iron the altar linens and shovel the snow off the church steps. Blessed are the ones who farm and the ones who cook and the ones who sing in the choir on Sunday mornings. Blessed are the ones who make casseroles for the families of cancer patients. Blessed are the committees who meet on Zoom and the seminarians taking their GOEs and the retired priests who remember all the good stories. Blessed are the ones who sleep on air mattresses all weekend with our youth, and blessed are our youth. Blessed are the ones who bake communion bread, who pick up older folks who can’t drive to church, and blessed are the ones who build wheelchair ramps in far southwestern Virginia and raise money for schools in Haiti. Blessed are those who teach Godly Play to five-year-olds, and blessed are the ones who hold the chalice, The blood of Christ, the cup of salvation. Blessed are those who figure out budgets. Blessed are all those who volunteer at soup kitchens and homeless shelters and hospitals. Blessed are our deacons. Blessed are the refugees who come to us for safety and blessed are the protestors; blessed are our friends living in Sudan and Haiti and Honduras and Palestine. Blessed are those who bless the newly born, who counsel the young couples, who anoint the dying and hold their hands as they leave this world. Blessed are the ushers, the sextons, the junior wardens and the senior wardens, the parish administrators, the delegates, and especially blessed are the ones who make the coffee. Blessed are the children and the grandchildren, blessed are the librarians, the historians and blessed are the vestry members.[5]
Blessed are the bishops. Blessed are these communities of faithful people – blessed is this community of faithful people – and blessed be this holy ground we share.
We give thanks for our bishop-elect Karin, and for Paul and Becky and Grant, who have brought their gifts to the work of this church, and their hearts to the journey of this diocese. We give thanks for all who have moved through the work of discernment – this shared journey of faith, of discovering and remembering who we are in the world, of seeking and grounding and listening for the call of the Spirit in our souls and in our places. A call to work that may be loud or quiet, a call to love that may be difficult, a call to joy that strengthens hope, especially in times that are uncertain, impoverished, conflicted, heartbreaking.
Because while we are calling a new bishop to join the work of our diocese in a new way, we are also being called, to be God’s hands and feet, to be church in the world – to recall our baptismal covenant and our ordination vows. To remember that our work as the church is to persevere in resisting evil, to love our neighbors as ourselves, to respect the dignity of every human being, to strive for justice and peace among all people, to do justice, to love kindness, and to walk humbly with our God.[6]
Church walks in the halls of government and in the streets of cities. Church makes casseroles. Church works in soup kitchens. Church opens its doors to strangers, and puts goodness, love, peace and grace in place of fear, hatred, brutality and exclusion. Church loves the ones Jesus loved.
Blessed are the peacemakers. Blessed are the merciful. Blessed are these people. Blessed is this holy ground of altar and public square, hotel ballroom, church tower and Appalachian mountain. Blessed is this holy time, in its goodness, in its newness and in its hope.
O mountains and hills, bless the Lord.
O forests and rivers, bless the Lord.
O railroads and city streets, bless the Lord.
O meadows and gardens, bless the Lord.
O people of these mountains and hills, bless the Lord.
Amen.
[1] Daniel 3:75, and the theme for the diocesan election and 2026 Annual Convention.
[2] Matthew 5:1-12
[3] https://nadiabolzweber.com/accidental-saints/
[4] 1 Corinthians 1:18-31
[5] Inspiration taken in part from the Rev. Nadia Bolz-Weber’s 2014 All Saints sermon
[6] Micah 6:8b, from the day’s lectionary.
