Sermon by The Very Rev Chris Yaw, 6/14/2026
Anyone Need Shoes?
3 Pentecost | 14, June 2026 | St. David’s Episcopal Church, Southfield MI
The Very Rev. Chris Yaw
Good Morning saints!
Two young shoe salesmen graduated from college and took their first jobs with the same company.
They were assigned neighboring territories in Southern Ohio and sent out to see what opportunities they could find.
At the end of the first day, the first salesman walked up to his boss.
"This is hopeless," he said. "I drove all over town. I walked up and down Main Street. How am I supposed to sell shoes here – because you know what I discovered: nobody here wears shoes?!"
Just then the second rookie salesman arrived, practically glowing with excitement.
His boss asked, "Why are you so happy?"
The young man said, "I spent all day driving through my territory, and I'm thrilled. I walked up and down every block – and everyone I met was barefoot - everybody here needs shoes!"
Same town. Same conditions. Same assignment.
One saw impossibility.
The other saw opportunity.
I've often wondered whether the Church has spent the last two thousand years bouncing between those two perspectives.
Jesus tells us to go and proclaim the Good News. He sends disciples into the world to reap a rich harvest. Yet sometimes we look around and see empty pews, declining attendance, social division, cynicism, and skepticism toward religion, and we conclude that nothing will ever change.
Nobody wears shoes.
Nobody cares.
Nobody is interested.
Why bother?
And then there are moments when we look at the exact same world and see something different.
We see loneliness.
We see fear.
We see people exhausted from carrying burdens they were never meant to carry alone.
We see people hungry for meaning.
We see people longing for forgiveness.
We see people searching desperately for hope.
And suddenly we realize:
Everybody needs shoes.
Everybody needs the Gospel.
The difference isn't the territory.
The difference is the vision.
Today's reading from Matthew is one of those passages that can sound strange to modern ears.
Jesus sends out the Twelve and tells them to proclaim that the Kingdom of Heaven has come near.
Heal the sick. Raise the dead. Cast out demons. Share peace.
Then he says something curious.
"Whatever town or village you enter, find out who in it is worthy."
Worthy.
That word can make us uncomfortable.
Because most of us hear "worthy" and think "good enough."
Morally perfect.
Spiritually mature.
Exceptionally holy.
But that's not what Jesus means.
Worthiness here is less about moral perfection and more about receptivity.
A worthy house is a house with an open door.
An open table.
An open heart.
A worthy house is simply a place where people are willing to receive what God is offering.
If you've ever hosted guests, you know the difference.
Sometimes you walk into a home and immediately feel welcomed.
You are offered a chair.
A cup of coffee.
A meal.
Conversation.
You are received.
Other times you know within moments that the door may be open, but the heart is closed.
Jesus isn't asking the disciples to find perfect people.
He's asking them to find receptive people.
People willing to imagine that God might actually have something to say.
People willing to believe that peace is possible.
People willing to trust that another world is possible.
And perhaps that's important because the biggest obstacle to sharing the Gospel is not the resistance of others.
It's often our own uncertainty.
Many people think evangelism begins with somebody else.
How do we approach them?
How do we convince them?
How do we make them listen?
But it actually begins with us.
It begins with whether we believe what we're saying.
Legendary sales consultant Zig Ziglar once managed a large sales team that sold cookware.
He noticed something interesting.
The most successful salespeople had one thing in common.
They owned and used the pots and pans they were trying to sell to others.
The struggling salespeople often didn't.
Some complained that the cookware was expensive.
There were too many pieces.
It seemed impractical.
Ziglar would ask them a simple question.
"If you don't believe they're worth buying, how are you going to answer a customer who says the same thing?"
It turns out people can tell whether you believe in what you're offering.
And that is just as true for faith as it is for cookware.
How can anyone fall in love with the Gospel if God’speople haven't?
How can anyone see the beauty of Christ if God’s people don't?
How can anyone trust God's promises if God’s people treat them like a dusty heirloom tucked away in the attic?
The first step in sharing the Good News is not convincing somebody else.
It is rediscovering the wonder of it ourselves.
That's exactly what we see in today's other readings.
Abraham is sitting at the entrance of his tent when strangers arrive.
He welcomes them.
Offers hospitality.
Sets a table.
Opens his home.
And through that open door comes an impossible promise.
Sarah will have a child.
Sarah laughs because the promise sounds absurd.
But the promise comes anyway.
Hospitality creates room for grace.
Openness becomes the doorway through which God enters.##
Paul says something equally remarkable in Romans.
He boasts in hope.
Not because life is easy.
Not because suffering has disappeared.
Not because everything is working out.
He boasts in hope because he has encountered Christ.
He has discovered something so transformative that even hardship cannot extinguish it.
That is not the voice of a salesman trying to move inventory.
That is the voice of someone who has used the product.
Someone whose life has been changed.
Someone who knows what God can do.##
Years ago, I visited Haiti.
The poverty was overwhelming.
Many people survived on almost nothing.
Homes were fragile.
Food was scarce.
Nobody was worried about dieting.
People worked incredibly hard simply to survive.
And yet every Sunday the churches were packed.
Standing room only.
People arrived in clean, pressed clothing.
They sang.
They laughed.
They prayed.
And afterward they shared food until there was enough for everyone and often leftovers besides.
Now let's be clear.
There was suffering.
Political instability.
Violence.
Loss.
People died far too young.
Nobody would romanticize those realities.
But there was also something else.
There was peace.
There was gratitude.
There was contentment.
There was joy.
There was a profound awareness that God was present.
I remember thinking that these communities understood something many wealthier societies often forget.
The Kingdom of God is not the same thing as comfort.
The Kingdom of God is not getting rich.
Or powerful.
Or famous.
Or successful.
The Kingdom is learning to receive God's peace even in the middle of uncertainty.
The Kingdom is trusting that we belong to God.
The Kingdom is discovering gratitude for what is.
And hope for what will come.
The people I met there were worthy in the sense Jesus describes.
Not because they were perfect.
But because their hearts were open.
They knew they needed what God was offering.
And because they knew their need, they were ready to receive it.
That strikes me as particularly important this week.
June is Pride Month.
This week our nation also observes Juneteenth.
And this month we remember victims of gun violence and pray for safer communities.
These observances are different from one another, but they share a common thread.
Each asks a question about human dignity.
Who belongs?
Who is free?
Who is safe?
Who is welcome?
Who has a place at the table?
The Kingdom Jesus announces always pushes us toward a wider table.
A larger welcome.
A deeper commitment to seeing the image of God in every person.
The Church at its best has always opened doors.
The Church at its best has always proclaimed that every human being bears God's image.
The Church at its best has always offered peace in a world that profits from fear.
Not perfection: Peace.
Not exclusion: Hospitality.
Not fear: Hope.
And perhaps that is why Jesus sends the disciples out before they feel fully ready.
Because if we're waiting until we're perfect, we'll never go.
If we're waiting until we know everything, we'll never speak.
If we're waiting until our faith is flawless, we'll never share it.
There is simply too much to do and too little time.
The harvest is plentiful.
The world is hungry.
People are hurting.
And Jesus sends ordinary people anyway.
Not because they have all the answers.
But because they have encountered him.
Friends, there are days when the world can feel lost.
There are days when we feel lost.
There are days when the problems seem too large and our efforts too small.
There are days when we look around and say:
Nobody wears shoes.
Nothing will ever change.
But Jesus invites us to see the world differently.
To see not impossibility but opportunity.
To see not strangers but neighbors.
To see not scarcity but abundance.
To see not hopelessness but harvest.
The question before us is not whether the world needs what Christ offers.
The world desperately does.
But it challenges us with a deeper question: Whether we ourselves have become receptive enough to receive it.
Whether our hearts remain open.
Whether our tables remain open.
Whether our doors remain open.
Whether we still believe the Gospel is good news.
Because when we do, we will discover what every good salesman eventually learns.
The most convincing witness is not a polished argument.
It is a transformed life.
And people who encounter peace eventually want to know where it came from.
People who encounter joy eventually want to know its source.
People who encounter hope eventually want to know its secret.
May we become worthy houses.
Houses with open doors.
Open tables.
Open hearts.
Ready to receive Christ.
And ready to share him with a world that needs him more than ever.
Amen.