Epiphany IV

Epiphany IV

The Rev’d Charles Everson

Church of the Atonement

February 1, 2026

“For everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven.” A time to be born, and a time to die. A time to weep, and a time to laugh. A time to mourn, and a time to dance.

Those words from Ecclesiastes remind us that life with God unfolds not all at once, but in seasons. We move through times of clarity and times of confusion, seasons of joy and seasons of sorrow. And that is true not only for individuals, but for families, for communities, for parishes, and even for nations.

In the life of this parish, though it’s not apparent to all of us, we are in a season marked by loss. In recent days we have commended Natalie Archie to God. We have gathered to give thanks for the life of Jim Sewall. And I’m sad to report yesterday evening, Joaquin Villegas died around 5:00. Many among us are walking with loved ones through illness, uncertainty, and decline.

The passage I quoted from Ecclesiastes does not simply name the seasons; it invites us to recognize what each season asks of us. A time to mourn is not only a time to feel sorrow. It is also a time to attend carefully to how we live, how we speak, and how we respond to the world around us.

The same is true beyond the walls of this church. Families, communities, and nations also pass through seasons, and it is hard to deny that we are living in a time of deep upheaval. Fear, anger, and violence feel close at hand. Many people are unsettled, disoriented, and grieving losses that are public as well as private. This, too, is a season that calls for discernment.

As I hope you know, I work really hard to avoid partisanship from the pulpit. Thoughtful Christians can and do disagree about many political questions, including immigration — who should be allowed to enter this country, for what reasons, and how immigration law should be enforced. These are complex matters that aren’t easy to navigate. But beneath those disagreements lies something deeper that we Christians hold in common: our shared conviction that every human being bears the image of God and possesses an inherent dignity that cannot be set aside.

When that dignity is treated as disposable — when our elected government treats migrants – fellow human beings – so violently and cruelly, when immigration enforcement officers shoot people in the street – the Church is not free to remain silent. This is a season that asks us to speak with moral clarity, a season in which the Church must remember who she is and whose she is.

The prophet Micah speaks into such a season with directness. God summons the people into a courtroom and calls heaven and earth as witnesses. This is not the language of private spirituality. It is the language of public accountability. “O my people,” God asks, “what have I done to you? In what have I wearied you?”

God then reminds them of their story — liberation from slavery, guidance through the wilderness, faithfulness across generations. God is not asking for explanations. God is asking whether the people still recognize the covenantal relationship they are living within.

The people respond by wondering what kind of offering might repair the breach. How much sacrifice will be enough? How intense must their devotion become? They assume that if they do enough, give enough, or offer enough, the problem will be solved.

God’s answer cuts through all of that. “He has told you, O mortal, what is good.” What the Lord seeks is a life shaped by justice, kindness, and humility. These are not vague ideals or private virtues. They are the visible marks of a people who remember what kind of God they worship and what kind of world that God desires.

When Jesus sits on the mountain and begins to teach, he speaks from within this same tradition. The Beatitudes are not abstract spiritual advice. They are Jesus’ announcement of what life looks like when God’s reign draws near. “Blessed are those who mourn.” Jesus names grief as a place where God’s promise is already at work. “Blessed are the merciful.” Mercy becomes the way God’s own life takes shape in human community. “Blessed are the peacemakers.” Peace emerges not from domination or fear, but from patience, courage, and costly love.

These words describe a people being formed. They sketch the contours of a community that lives differently because God has come near. They tell us that blessing is not reserved for moments of success or stability, but is discovered in faithfulness lived under pressure.

St. Paul presses this even further when he writes to the Corinthians. God’s wisdom, he says, does not conform to the world’s expectations. God’s power does not announce itself through control or spectacle. The cross stands at the center of Christian faith as a judgment on every system that seeks to secure order through exclusion or violence. In the crucified Christ, God reveals a power rooted in self-giving love.

For the Church, this means that faithfulness is measured not by how well we protect ourselves from the world’s pain, but by how we allow God to shape us in the midst of it. To do justice, to love kindness, and to walk humbly with our God does not demand identical political conclusions. It does demand attentiveness to suffering, reverence for human dignity, and a refusal to look away when lives are diminished or destroyed.

There is a time to speak, and a time to listen. A time to act, and a time to wait. A time to mourn.

This is such a time. And in this time, Jesus blesses those who mourn because God’s reign is already pressing into places of sorrow and division. The kingdom comes near when the Church remembers her calling and allows herself to be formed by mercy rather than fear.

In a moment, we will come to this altar. Here we are not offered explanations. We are fed with Christ’s own life so that we may become, in the world, what we receive here. Bread broken, wine poured out, a people shaped for justice, mercy, and humble faithfulness.

This season asks us to remember who we are and whose we are and to live accordingly. To do justice, to love kindness, and to walk humbly with our God is not a retreat from the world’s chaos and confusion, but a faithful response to it — shaped by the Beatitudes and grounded in God’s reign made known in Jesus Christ.

From this altar, having received Christ’s body and blood, we are sent into the world bearing a different kind of power — the power of the cross. In a world that trusts control, spectacle, and force, we are called to bear witness to God’s justice and mercy made known through self-giving love. This is the wisdom revealed in the cross, and it is the work God has entrusted to us in this season. Amen.