Sermon by The Very Rev Chris Yaw, 6/21/2026, Father's Day
The Sword, the Toilet, and the Pitcher’s Mound
Matthew 10:24-39 | June 21, 2026
The Rev. Chris Yaw, Presiding
"Do not think that I have come to bring peace to the earth... but a sword.
“I have come to set a man against his father...
“Whoever loves father or mother more than me is not worthy of me."
So from all of us here at St. David’s... Happy Father’s Day!
Good morning everybody.
I’m glad you’re here with me today as we work our way through one of the most deeply challenging, profoundly uncomfortable sections of Matthew’s Gospel.
This is the part of the scripture where Jesus abruptly shifts from comforting his disciples to warning them about the cost of discipleship.
It’s the moment the friendly, gentle, Shepherd Jesus pulls out a metaphorical sword and says, "Alright, let's see who's actually staying on the bus."
To orient us a bit, we are still in what biblical scholars call the "missionary discourse" of St. Matthew’s Gospel.
As many of you know, Matthew brilliantly structures his telling of Jesus’ story into a series of five major discourses, mimicking the five books of the Torah.
This is the second discourse.
Jesus is sending the twelve out on their first solo mission trip.
But instead of giving them a pep talk full of "You guys are going to do great!" and "Don't forget to take photos for the church newsletter," he gives them a survival briefing.
If I had to pull out the big, sweeping themes from this text that can help you and me follow Jesus more nearly, more dearly, and more clearly today, they would be these three:
So, first off—let's talk about resistance.
To understand how human beings deal with new things, let's journey back to the early 1800s.
This was the era when "flush toilets"—or "water closets," if we want to be polite—were first introduced into modern homes.
Now, from our 21st-century perspective, we look back and think, What a magnificent triumph of human ingenuity!
But you might be surprised to hear that most people at the time found indoor toilets to be absolutely disgusting.
People were horrified.
They said it was bringing the outhouse into the inhouse! They argued it was unhygienic, dangerous, and that the "sewer gas" would literally seep through the floorboards and poison the entire family while they slept.
It took decades of marketing, plumbing overhauls, and cholera outbreaks for people to finally say,
"Okay, fine, maybe pooping indoors is a good idea."
The point is this: even one of the greatest strides in human convenience and public health faced massive, angry pushback.
Why?
Because we hate change.
Sir Isaac Newton nailed it with his First Law of Motion:
An object in motion will stay in motion, and an object that is staying put... will stay put!
This is a physical law, but it’s also a psychological and spiritual law.
It’s why organizations resist new ideas.
It’s one reason why churches everywhere have had such a hard time rebounding and reinventing themselves post-COVID—
but that is a completely different sermon for a day when I have more job security…
The reality is that whenever we try to do something new—
whether it’s starting a good habit,
stopping a bad behavior,
or launching a new ministry:
We will face resistance.
And Jesus?
Jesus was all about starting something radically new.
He came to bring hope to an apathetic people,
courage to a beaten-down tribe,
and joy to a desperately sad situation.
He was breaking paradigms left and right.
So, nobody should be surprised when Jesus looks at his disciples, sends them out, and says,
"Expect resistance. They called me the devil; they’re going to call you worse."
But this morning, I’d like to concentrate on the resistance that comes not just from outside our walls, but from inside our own heads.
We all have Newton’s Law written on our hearts.
We want things to stay put.
We want ourselves to stay put.
Neurologists and psychologists tell us that our brains are literally wired to resist transformation.
We are walking bundles of cognitive biases designed to keep us exactly as we are.
Think about Confirmation Bias: that's your brain’s tendency to automatically reject any new piece of information that does not already fit in with your current understanding, political belief system, or theological paradigm.
If it agrees with us, it’s truth; if it challenges us, it’s fake news.
Or think about our Complexity Bias: our brain’s lazy preference for a simple lie over a complex truth.
We want the world divided neatly into good guys and bad guys, black and white, because sitting in the gray area requires too much emotional calories.
Then there’s Community Bias: our brain’s terrifying tendency to reject any idea that might threaten our status in our social circles.
We will routinely choose tribe over truth because being cast out of the tribe feels like death.
We also suffer from Comfort Bias: the psychological shield that instantly rejects information that is inconvenient or threatens to disrupt our pleasant complacency.
And finally, my personal favorite to watch on television, Confidence Bias: our built-in tendency to believe people simply because they come across as loud and certain.
This leaves us incredibly susceptible to those who come on strong even when they are completely wrong—like authoritarians, late-night infomercial hosts, and con men.
These are just a few of the built-in biases we all carry.
This is the internal resistance.
So when Jesus comes along and says, "Love your enemies, bless those who curse you, give away your money, and put the needs of the immigrant and the orphan ahead of your own comfort," our internal plumbing goes wild.
We start screaming about sewer gas!
We cry out that this new way of living is dangerous, unhygienic, and disruptive!
Before we head out to change the world, we must allow Jesus’ radical message of acceptance, forgiveness, hope, and love to conquer the resistance inside of us first.
We have to let him renovate our internal plumbing.
----
Now, let’s turn from facing resistance to facing fear.
Because once you decide to overcome resistance and actually move forward, the next giant waiting for you on the road is fear.
Twenty-six years ago, a 21-year-old St. Louis Cardinals pitcher named Rick Ankiel took the mound.
It was Game One of the National League Divisional Series.
Ankiel was an absolute prodigy, a phenom, a young ace who threw smoke.
The Cardinals had a commanding lead, the crowd was electric, and Ankiel looked unstoppable.
But then, suddenly, out of nowhere, it happened.
The yips.
If you aren't familiar with sports terminology, "the yips" is a sudden, inexplicable loss of fine motor skills in athletes, completely driven by anxiety.
Ankiel threw a pitch, and it flew wildly past the catcher.
Then another.
And another.
In a single inning, he threw five wild pitches.
He looked terrified.
He walked six batters—a Major League postseason record that still stands.
Fear had completely overcome his nervous system.
His body refused to do what his brain knew how to do.
Few of us have had "the yips" on a major league pitcher’s mound with millions of people watching on TV.
But every single person in this sanctuary knows exactly what it is like to face the paralyzing voices of fear and doubt.
If fear doesn’t cause us to throw wild pitches, it causes us to throw wild defenses.
It causes us to stay silent when we should speak up for someone being mistreated.
It causes us to refuse to start that new project, or enter that recovery program, or end that toxic relationship.
Fear causes us to shrink.
It forces us to hide the person God uniquely created us to be because we are too scared of what people will say, or what we might lose, or what might happen if we fail.
Think of all the good God’s people could do in this city if we weren’t scared of the pushback.
Imagine if every church in this community—was completely cured of fear.
What ministries would be started?
What financial risks would be taken?
Who would be invited to the table who are currently ignored out of social anxiety?
Fear tells us that resources are scarce, that our reputations are fragile, and that we are ultimately on our own.
But look at what Jesus says right in the middle of this terrifying passage.
He says, "Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground apart from your Father. And even the hairs of your head are all counted. So do not be afraid; you are of more value than many sparrows."
Jesus doesn't promise that the world won't be scary.
He doesn't promise that you won't throw a wild pitch.
He promises that you are held.
He promises that the Creator of the cosmos knows the exact topography of your soul, down to the number of hairs on your head—which, for some of us, is getting easier for God to count every year…
God’s care is deeper than any threat.
When we realize we have nothing left to lose because our identity is secure in Christ, fear loses its grip on the ball.
-----
Now, let’s move from resistance and fear to our final destination: loyalty.
Specifically, Christ as our highest loyalty.
To illustrate what Jesus is getting at with this difficult "sword" language, let me tell you about my friend Marcus.
Marcus works at a high-growth tech firm.
He is highly in demand, incredibly smart, and immensely talented.
But Marcus routinely misses family dinners.
He misses his daughter’s school plays.
He hasn't been to a church service or a community gathering in months.
Why?
Because Marcus is intensely loyal to his job.
Whenever I call him out on this—as a good friend should—he always gives me the exact same line:
"Oh, it’s just for a season, man. Once this product launches, things will quiet down."
But here’s the secret about corporate America: the season never ends.
There is always another launch.
There is always another quarter.
And the tragic thing is, if you ask Marcus who he is, he won’t tell you about his character.
He won't tell you about his faith, his passions, or his relationships.
He will just give you his job title.
His loyalty, like millions of people in our culture today, is completely anchored in his productivity and his career.
This is the modern-day equivalent of what Jesus is warning against when he talks about loving father, mother, son, or daughter more than him.
Now, let's be fair to the text.
Jesus isn't telling us to hate our families.
This is classic near-eastern hyperbolic language. Jesus is making a point about alignment.
In the ancient world, your ultimate loyalty was to your biological family system.
Your family determined your religion, your politics, your economics, and your identity.
If your father told you to do something, you did it, no questions asked.
The family unit was the highest authority.
Jesus steps into that world and says, "Not anymore. I am the center of gravity now."
If Marcus’s story tells us anything, it’s that we haven't actually gotten rid of ultimate loyalties; we’ve just swapped them out.
Instead of family, we worship productivity.
Or we worship political parties.
Or we worship our own financial security.
We build shrines to our comfort and our social status.
And Jesus brings a sword to cut those ropes.
Why?
Because Jesus is a tyrant who wants total control?
No.
Because Jesus knows that whatever holds your highest loyalty will eventually destroy you if it isn't Him.
If your highest loyalty is your job, it will chew you up and spit you out the moment your productivity drops.
If your highest loyalty is your family's approval, you will live a suffocated life of codependency, never becoming who God made you to be.
If your highest loyalty is your political tribe, you will eventually have to sacrifice your integrity to stay in their good graces.
The Kingdom of God demands difficult choices.
It demands that we look at our jobs, our families, our political affiliations, and even our own mirrors, and say,
"You are good, but you are not God."
True life—the vibrant, unshakeable, joy-filled life that Jesus promises—is found on the other side of that surrender.
As Jesus beautifully concludes in verse 39:
"Those who find their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it."
--------
So, my friends, as we step out into this week, let us leave behind the outhouses of our old biases and expect a little resistance as we try to live out the gospel.
When the "yips" of fear and anxiety strike your heart this week, remember the sparrows.
Remember that you are known, you are valued, and you are held by a Love that will not let you go.
And finally, let us look honestly at where our anchors are dropped.
Let us have the courage to yield our lesser loyalties—our productivity, our comfort, our tribalism—to the one who gave everything for us.
Put down your wild pitches.
Pick up His cross.
Lose your life, and watch how beautifully Jesus helps you find it.
Amen.