The Intersection of Grief & Gratitude - The Rev. Brenda Sol

I know this might come as a shock to some of you, but my sermon won't make sense, unless I tell those of you, who either weren't with us last week or missed the eblast announcements, I have accepted a call to serve as rector of a church in St. Louis, Missouri. I don’t leave until Feb. 1st, but we are officially in a time of transition.

I mention this because, when I met with my interfaith clergy colleagues a few weeks ago, we got to talking about transitions. One smart Lutheran minister commented that she’s been thinking about, and exploring with her congregation, the intersection of grief and gratitude—especially during transitions. As we prepare to say goodbye to each other, and as you prepare for an interim rector, and then a new rector, most of us will experience some sadness along the way. At the same time, we have so much for which to be grateful.

Because we’ll be bringing our pledge cards forward shortly as part of our Ingathering ceremony, I’ve been thinking about how important this idea is that we always lead with gratitude, yet how grief is an inherent part of the process. In the pledging process, it’s probably not the kind of grief we experience when we lose someone we love. That kind of grief leaves us mourning for months—even years.

Sometimes our grieving is momentarily as we make a hard decision, or it can be an ongoing awareness of the sacrifice we’ve chosen to make. As each of you prayed—or will pray—about how much you can commit to supporting the St. Andrew’s 2026 operating budget. Whether you’re someone living on limited income, or a couple trying to be wise about how to best use your retirement funds, or you’re single and feeling comfortable with the generous salary you’re earning, committing to give back the first fruits of your labors to God requires sacrifice.

Some of us will sacrifice a weekly latte. Others will choose to forego a vacation. Maybe some will decide to give less expensive gifts to friends this Christmas. When I purchased my condo nine years ago, I purposefully limited the size of my home so that I could keep my commitment to tithe 10% of my salary back to St. Andrew’s. I believe in the mission here of nourishing people through acceptance, worship, service and learning.

So, that grief of sacrifice—momentarily or not—is offset by deep gratitude for the ways we’re able to help so many people experience God’s love—inside the church and out in the neighborhood. I also hear, from many of you, your gratitude for the ways we experience belonging here. And our sense of community with each other is one that easily integrates newcomers. There’s some of all of that in this morning’s readings.

In honor of Saint Andrew, both today’s Collect (or opening prayer) and Matthew’s Gospel remind us that Andrew made a huge sacrifice in following Jesus. He gave up all that he knew to become a disciple: his livelihood, his family, his community. No matter how excited he was to take on this new endeavor, he surely experienced a great deal of grief.

And, yet, there's the sense that Jesus’s invitation to Andrew was very compelling. Andrew didn’t weigh the options and research outcomes for months, rather, we’re given the idea that Andrew couldn’t help but blurt out “Yes!” right away. Not only was he willing to make his own sacrifices, he, then, invited others to join the movement.

Part of what makes Jesus’s invitation so compelling is the mission he set for his followers. I often say one of the things that makes this parish so healthy and vital is that you’re not sitting around, arguing about what color to paint the walls or how many millions we should spend on a new organ. Rather, you all take seriously God’s call to help—and be in community with—those who have less than they need.

So, the mission Jesus lays out for Andrew, and the others, is: “I will make you fishers of people.” But it's not to just increase the number of people who can be called “followers of Christ,” Jesus’s purpose, in this mission, is to reconcile the world to God—to help as many people as possible experience God’s love. We need that kind of love. The world needs to feel that kind of love.

Now, here’s where all of that leaves the realm of polite society, which demands we not talk about money, religion or politics. But our Episcopal tradition insists we have to talk about all those things. Jesus was political. He pushed back against the Roman Empire every chance he had, demanding justice—especially for the sick, the hungry and the outcast.

Jesus talked about money and how we ought to be careful not to make money an idol. Instead, he insisted on sharing our resources. Jesus also modeled for us that religion isn’t just a club with special status. Rather, we strive to be Christians, so that we can help others experience God’s love.

So, I need to tell you, not only is pledging part of a spiritual practice to show our gratitude to God, committing your financial support (hopefully 10-15% more than you pledged last year) ensures we can keep paying an all-star team to manage all the details of our compelling mission. We’re not just paying for utilities, we’re keeping food fresh to feed those who are hungry. We’re turning on the lights in here so we can worship God together. We’re engaging landscapers who lovingly care for this beautiful campus.

And as I said in my announcement last week, we do all of this because God is our center, and is at our center. This morning’s reading from Deuteronomy reminds us of this, saying: “Moses said to the people of Israel, ‘Surely, this commandment…is not too hard for you, nor…too far away. It is not in heaven…the word [of God] is very near to you; it is in your mouth and in your heart for you to observe.’”

God is right here with us, calling us into mission. And, one of the best ways I know how to live into that knowing—that God is at our center—is to practice gratitude in every moment,  noticing the extraordinariness of God’s creation. I do that by learning the names of birds and flowers; savoring the laughter of friends and the flavors of a good meal; feeling the vibration of my kitties purring as we snuggle in the morning.

Thich Nhat Hanh once said: “The miracle is not to walk on water. The miracle is to walk on the green Earth in the present moment, to appreciate the peace and beauty that are available now.” Yes, there will be heart-wrenching moments of grief along the way, but practicing gratitude, and living into Jesus’s mission of helping others experience God’s love will be life-giving in ways we can’t even begin to imagine.

-AMEN