Sermon by The Very Rev Chris Yaw, 8/30/2026
Finding Our Soul
Proper 14, Matthew 16:21-28
St. David’s Episcopal Church, Southfield, Michigan
August 30, 2026
Once upon a time – your rector took horse-riding lessons!
And I was so good, that the riding stable gave me one of its roughest, toughest, meanest, most ornery horses –
Yes, I am kidding – that horse’s name was Marshmallow.
And yes, Marshmallow was not only kind and docile, slow, and longsuffering - but Marshmallow was a lot like me.
My assignment with her was to enter a rectangular riding pen – and to ride her into each corner, turn her, ride her into the next corner, turn her again, ride her into the next corner, rinse and repeat…
And my number one job was to correct her when she did not want to follow my explicit directions –
It was to keep her from doing what I regularly want to do –
Cut corners.
Take the easy route.
Phone it in.
To use Fr. Steve’s Texas analogy -Big hat, No Cattle.
This is at play in this morning’s Gospel as Peter gets dressed down by Jesus for steering him away from difficulty and onto more pleasant things:
“Don’t talk like that Jesus! Can’t we gloss over the tough stuff - the injustice and suffering – and just have peace?”
“Cant’ we look beyond the confrontation and toward the celebration?
“Can’t we skip practice, and just go to the victory party?
But that’s not the road Jesus takes – nor recommends to disciples then – or now –
As you and I fight temptations of our own - to just turn the channel to something more pleasant,
To take on jobs that require less effort –
To live lives that are less complicated.
But Jesus suggests that this is how we lose our soul – when the title of this morning’s sermon is “Finding Our Soul.” –
This, of course, starts with following Jesus out of the Temple and into the world –
Heeding the throngs of people looking for help – giving ear to the suffering and hurting – like those you may have heard about this week in a U-of-M study
If you’re like me, you may have been stunned to hear that nearly 40 percent of Michiganders struggle today to afford the basic necessities of life.
Forty percent.
These are not abstract statistics printed in a policy ledger.
These are our neighbors.
They are our coworkers, parents dropping off children at school, the person ahead of us at Kroger who quietly puts something back after seeing the total - and—if we are honest—perhaps this includes some of us sitting right here in these pews.
Some live below the official poverty line.
But many others get up and go to work every single day.
They earn just enough to be disqualified from assistance, yet still can't keep up with the rising costs of housing, childcare, healthcare, transportation, and basic groceries.
When faced with numbers like these, our immediate cultural instinct is to diagnose the individual. We ask: "What is wrong with these people? Why aren't they working harder? Why can't they make ends meet?"
But maybe we should stop asking what is wrong with these people, and start asking what is wrong with this arrangement.
It is easy to look at systemic struggle and offer polite concern.
It is easy to express sympathy from a safe distance.
But the Scriptures appointed for us this morning push us out of our comfortable spectator seats.
They demand that we look at the structural burdens of our world, examine our own hearts, and ask what it truly means to live the Jesus way - a life of self-giving love.
We see this tension play out today in Matthew’s Gospel.
Let’s recap - Jesus has just begun to reveal to his disciples the true nature of his mission.
He explains that he must go to Jerusalem, undergo great suffering at the hands of the elders and chief priests, be killed, and on the third day be raised.
And how does Simon Peter respond? Like me and Marshmallow.
Peter takes Jesus aside and begins to rebuke him: “God forbid it, Lord! This must never happen to you.”
Now, let's not be too quick to judge Peter here.
His reaction comes from a place of genuine affection.
He loves Jesus.
He left his fishing nets to follow him!
Peter wants a victorious Messiah.
He wants a Savior who can fix the world, overthrow oppression, and usher in the Kingdom of God without anyone having to suffer—without anyone having to risk anything.
Peter wants the glory of the Kingdom without the weight of the cross.
This is why Jesus answers him so sharply:
“Get behind me, Satan! You are a stumbling block to me; for you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.”
This harkens back to Jesus’ words in the Desert - as Satan tempted Jesus in the wilderness –
Today it’s the same temptation – different person.
You see, temptation can come from anywhere –
From devils who want to destroy us – people who want to protect us –
Which brings up the question: What’s the temptation facing YOU today?
Where’s it coming from?
How are we being lured to look away, to climb back into our safe little silos and cocoons?
We can rationalize anything – listening to our emotions, intellects, bodies – but what are our Spirits saying?
What is Jesus telling us?
We know what he’s telling Peter: it’s that the ultimate temptation is to choose comfort over calling.
Does anyone else here struggle with that – or am I the only one?
Human thinking seeks self-preservation.
Human thinking seeks a safe, risk-free faith that protects our status, our comfort, and our peace of mind.
But divine thinking chooses the costly way of love.
Jesus turns to the crowd and sets the terms:
“If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it.”
For centuries, Christians have misunderstood what it means to "take up your cross."
We reduce it to enduring life’s ordinary nuisances—“Oh, I have such a difficult relative,” or a chronic ache, or a bad day at work.
But taking up a cross in the ancient world was not a metaphor for a minor inconvenience.
It was a deliberate choice to carry a burden for the sake of fidelity to God.
Let me be clear: this does not mean that struggling, impoverished families should quietly accept poverty as "their cross to bear."
Jesus never asks the oppressed to bless their own oppression.
Instead, his words are a direct challenge to those of us who have enough.
Taking up our cross means that those of us with privilege, resources, and stability must ask ourselves: what are we willing to sacrifice so that others can have enough too?
When Jesus calls us to deny ourselves, he is calling us to dismantle the idolatry of self-interest.
This isn't just an abstract theological ideal; it is a lived, practical ethic.
We saw a powerful testament to this posture recently with the death of Dolly Parton.
Any Dolly fans here?
For decades, the world knew her as a mega-star, an icon of country music, and a larger-than-life figure.
But behind the rhinestones and the quick Appalachian wit was a woman whose life was quietly anchored in self-denial for the sake of serving others.
Many of us know the story - Born into absolute poverty in a one-room cabin in East Tennessee—the fourth of twelve children—she never forgot where she came from or what it felt like to have nothing.
When fame and hundreds of millions of dollars came her way, she didn't hoard it to gain the world. Instead, she routinely denied her own right to self-aggrandizement to lift up the vulnerable.
Through her Imagination Library, she gave away over 200 million free books to children worldwide, driven by the memory of her own father, who never learned to read.
When wildfires devastated her home county in Tennessee, she pledged monthly checks to thousands of displaced families to help them rebuild their lives.
When a global pandemic struck, she quietly wrote a million-dollar check to fund critical medical research.
And when offered national awards or political platforms that could raise her own profile at the expense of dividing people, she routinely declined them, choosing instead to serve as a bridge.
In so many public aspects of her life, she lived out what we heard Paul describe Romans:
“Let love be genuine... outdo one another in showing honor... Contribute to the needs of the saints; extend hospitality to strangers... Do not be haughty, but associate with the lowly.”
Dolly Parton demonstrated that real power is not found in how much wealth you accumulate, but in how much of your life you give away.
She showed us what it looks like when someone refuses to let the world press them into its mold of greed, choosing instead to let their life be an instrument of radical, generous grace.
This posture of radical giving aligns with the heart of God revealed to Moses at the burning bush that we heard about in our first reading in Exodus 3.
Moses was tending sheep in the back of the wilderness—living a quiet, self-contained life—when he encountered a bush that blazed with fire, yet was not consumed. When Moses turned aside to look, God called out to him:
“Remove the sandals from your feet, for the place on which you are standing is holy ground.”
Why was that patch of sand in the desert holy?
Because it was the place where God revealed God’s heart for the suffering.
God said to Moses:
“I have observed the misery of my people who are in Egypt; I have heard their cry on account of their taskmasters. Indeed, I know their sufferings, and I have come down to deliver them... So come, I will send you.”
Notice the sequence of divine action:
God sees the misery.
God hears the cry.
God knows the suffering.
And then, God calls a human being—Moses—to step out of his comfort zone and become the instrument of that deliverance.
Moses immediately makes excuses:
“Who am I that I should go?” But God simply replies, “I will be with you.”
God reveals God’s eternal name: “I AM WHO I AM.”
The living God is not a passive spectator in human history.
God is actively present where people are hurting, and God calls God’s church to be on the frontlines of that healing.
And you know what?
Holy ground is not just found inside the sanctuary of a church building.
Holy ground is anywhere the cries of the suffering are heard.
Holy ground is in the Lighthouse housing office where families wait for assistance.
Holy ground is in the breakrooms where workers calculate if their paycheck will cover prescription medicine and gas.
Holy ground is in our neighborhood schools where teachers see children coming to class hungry.
When we encounter the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, we can no longer remain indifferent to the systemic burdens around us.
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So what does it mean for us—here and now—to deny ourselves, take up our cross, and align our lives with this God of liberation?
It means recognizing that taking up our cross is not a theoretical exercise.
It requires practical, tangible sacrifice.
If nearly 40 percent of our neighbors in Michigan are struggling to survive, taking up our cross means that those of us who have enough must be willing to accept a personal cost so that someone else’s burden becomes lighter.
It may mean supporting affordable housing initiatives—even when those developments are proposed near our own neighborhoods, even if we worry about property values or changes to our view.
It may mean practicing radical hospitality—opening our bank accounts, our time, and our lives to contribute to the needs of those around us.
It may mean changing the way we advocate politically—asking elected officials not simply
"What will this policy do for my tax bracket?",
But
"How will this policy impact the single mother working two jobs to keep food on the table?"
It may mean accepting that helping working families will cost us something—whether that cost comes in taxes, in personal convenience, or in relinquishing control over how our communities are run.
Now let me be clear: The safest way to hear Jesus’ words about sacrifice is to just sit back and admire them.
We love to put scripture on plaques.
We love to sing songs about taking up the cross.
We admire Jesus for his sacrifice, and we admire humanitarians for their generosity.
But admiration is safe. Admiration costs us nothing.
The faithful way to hear Jesus' words is not to admire them, but to ask where they are pointing us.
Jesus leaves us with a sober, piercing question in Matthew 16:
“For what will it profit them if they gain the whole world but forfeit their life? Or what will they give in return for their life?”
A person can acquire all the wealth, comfort, security, and prestige the world has to offer, and in the process, lose their very soul to selfishness and apathy.
And what is true for an individual is true for a community, a church, and a nation.
A society can gain immense economic productivity, technological marvels, and luxury... yet if 40 percent of its people cannot afford food and shelter, that society is in danger of forfeiting its soul.
Following Jesus means helping people, helping our community—and helping our own hearts—find that soul again.
This week, I want to challenge you to move beyond abstract concern.
Choose one specific burden that working families in our community are carrying right now.
Spend an hour learning about the housing crisis in our county.
Research what local organizations are doing to combat food insecurity or childcare shortages.
Write or call an elected official to advocate for living wages and social safety nets.
Sign up to volunteer or set up a recurring financial gift for a local ministry meeting these basic needs.
Do something that costs you a little bit of time, a little bit of money, or a little bit of comfort.
Because taking up a cross is far more than expressing heartfelt concern.
It is accepting a real, practical cost so that someone else’s heavy burden becomes a little lighter.
The safest way to hear Jesus' words of denial and sacrifice is just sit back and admire, enshrine, maybe even memorize them.
But the faithful way is to ask where they are pointing.
What suffering have we trained ourselves not to see?
Whose dignity is being denied?
What truth are we avoiding because telling it would cost us something?
And perhaps we get brave enough to ask the Moses question:
What if the person God is sending to do something about it is not somebody else?
Amen.