Sermon bt The Very Rev Chris Yaw, 10/25/2026
You've Got Something More Important to Do Than Love?
St. David's Episcopal Church | October 25, 2026 | Matthew 22:34–46
The Very Rev. Chris Yaw
Good morning, St. David's!
And can I start with a question?
Do we really think we've got something more important to do today than to love?
There’s not – but I go through life oblivious to this…
I look at my calendar. Look at my TO-DO list.
Appointments, errands, meetings, groceries, bills, emails, leaves to rake, and that home improvement project I've been meaning to finish since the Clinton administration.
We're busy people!
But today Jesus interrupts my schedule.
And asks us to reconsider everything.
Because somebody asks Jesus one of the most important questions in religion.
What's the greatest commandment?
And Jesus gives an answer so simple, so beautiful, and so revolutionary that two thousand years later we're still trying to figure out how to live it.
Love God.
Love your neighbor as yourself.
That's it.
Not build an empire.
Not become famous.
Not win every argument.
Not accumulate the most possessions.
And this, just days before November 3rd: Not even win an election.
Love. Job #1.
And then Jesus says something extraordinary:
"On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets."
In other words, everything else depends on this.
Love isn't one more thing I’m supposed to squeeze into my crowded life. Love is supposed to be the reason we're living those lives in the first place.
And friends, that's wonderful news.
Because it means the purpose of our lives isn't nearly as complicated as I've made it.
My hope is that you'll leave here a little less burdened by your commitments, and more encouraged to know that God has already placed within you the capacity to love.
Which is God’s strategy to changing the world.
Now, let's look at this Gospel.
Jesus is in Jerusalem.
The religious authorities have been asking questions, trying to trap him.
It's almost like watching a congressional hearing where everybody gets five minutes to ask a question, but nobody actually wants an answer.
They just want a clip for social media.
And now a lawyer approaches Jesus.
And he asks which commandment is greatest.
Jesus quotes two passages from the Hebrew Scriptures.
Deuteronomy 6:5 - Love God with your whole being.
Leviticus 19:18 - Love your neighbor as yourself.
Notice something important.
Jesus isn't inventing a new religion.
He's drawing from the heart of his own Jewish tradition.
And Matthew gives us this wonderful image:
Everything else hangs on love.
It's the foundation.
The organizing principle.
The thing holding everything together.
Augustine famously said, "Love, and do what you will."
Now, that sounds suspiciously like something my teenager might say to justify staying out until three in the morning…
But Augustine's point was profound.
When genuine love shapes our hearts, it begins to shape our choices.
And that brings us to something fascinating.
This teaching appears throughout the Gospels, but each writer emphasizes something different.
In Matthew, love is the foundation of everything.
In Mark, a scribe agrees with Jesus that loving God and neighbor matters more than religious sacrifices.
Because religious activity isn't necessarily the same thing as love.
We can attend church, know all the hymns, volunteer for every committee, and still miss the point.
That's not an argument against worship.
It's an argument for worship that changes us.
Then there's Luke.
A lawyer asks Jesus what he must do to inherit eternal life.
The lawyer recites the commandments, but then asks, "Who is my neighbor?"
And Jesus tells the Good Samaritan story.
A wounded man lies beside the road.
Religious figures pass him by.
But a Samaritan, a religious outsider, stops and helps.
And Jesus changes the question.
The lawyer wants to know, "Who qualifies as my neighbor?"
But Jesus asks, "Will you become a neighbor?"
The lawyer wants boundaries.
Jesus offers possibilities.
And finally, John's Gospel adds another dimension.
At the Last Supper, Jesus commands his disciples to love one another as he has loved them.
And how does Jesus love?
He welcomes outsiders.
He forgives enemies.
He washes feet.
He gives himself away.
Matthew tells us love is the foundation.
Mark tells us love matters more than religious performance.
Luke tells us love crosses boundaries.
And John shows us what love looks like when it puts on an apron and starts washing feet.
Which, incidentally, is why our offertory hymn today is Jesu, Jesu.
Jesus doesn't merely explain love.
He demonstrates it.
But there's something even deeper here.
Christianity makes an extraordinary claim.
God doesn't merely love. God IS love.
And the Franciscan theologian Richard Rohr offers a beautiful image of what that means.
He describes the Trinity, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, as an eternal dance of love.
A constant giving and receiving.
A perfect communion.
As Rohr puts it, "God is not just a dancer; God is the dance itself."
Although if God is inviting us to dance, I hope there are lessons involved.
Because my dancing generally looks like somebody trying to shake a spider out of his pants.
But think about what Rohr is saying.
At the very heart of God isn't isolation.
It's relationship.
It's communion.
It's love:
Nd: We're invited into that dance.
We're made in the image of a God whose very life is loving relationship.
Which means we're not designed to live isolated, disconnected lives.
We're designed for belonging.
To God.
To ourselves.
To one another.
And to creation.
Suddenly, Jesus' greatest commandment becomes even more extraordinary.
Love God and love your neighbor.
Not because God needs more admirers.
But because love reconnects us to the very life of God.
Now, why would God command us to love?
Is God sitting up in heaven feeling insecure, wondering why nobody has complimented him lately?
Of course not.
God commands love because God knows what makes human beings flourish.
Growing up, many of us had parents who had commandments.
Don't touch the hot stove.
Don't play in traffic.
Don't do anything that will make us grandparents before we're ready.
As a kid, I thought these rules existed primarily to ruin my fun.
But looking back, I realize something.
My parents weren't trying to make my life smaller.
They were trying to make my life possible.
Their commandments were expressions of love.
And God's commandments aren't designed to make us miserable.
They're wisdom designed to make our lives beautiful.
Because living entirely for ourselves doesn't make us happy.
It makes us lonely.
Anxious.
Exhausted.
When everything revolves around my comfort, preferences, and success, the world becomes very small.
And I become the exhausted manager of a universe with only one inhabitant.
But love changes things.
Love opens windows.
Love expands our world.
And as Thomas Merton taught, freedom comes not from endlessly defending the identities we construct around status and accomplishment, but from discovering who we really are in God.
Because when we know we're loved, we don't have to spend our lives proving we're lovable.
We can get on with loving other people.
And don't overlook something else.
Jesus says love your neighbor as yourself.
That means you and I belong in the circle of God's love, too.
Some of us are wonderfully generous toward others and remarkably cruel toward ourselves.
We replay failures.
We compare ourselves with people whose lives look perfect on Facebook.
Which is ridiculous.
Nobody posts pictures of their kitchen at 6:30 on a Tuesday evening when everybody's hungry, the dishwasher is broken, and somebody needs 24 cupcakes for school tomorrow.
Some of you remember our parishioner Dee Bryant, who once asked why I posted an unflattering photo of myself online.
And I tried to explain, well, that's what I look like!
Jesus invites us to be ourselves.
As God sees us.
Beloved children.
Not because we've earned it.
But because that's who we are.
And friends, our world desperately needs people who know that.
It’s been said that:
“The greatest dis-ease facing humanity right now is our profound and painful sense of disconnection—disconnection from God, certainly, but also from ourselves (our bodies and True Selves), from each other, and from creation.
“We see this in political corruption, ecological devastation, war and violence, fearing and even hating each other because of our differences, whether race, religion, or sexual orientation.
“Our world needs to be reminded of our interdependence and our inherent union with what is.”
This is why Jesus keeps calling us back.
Love God.
Love your neighbor.
He asks us to love.
And love isn't passive.
Love sometimes means speaking up.
Standing beside someone who's mistreated.
Challenging injustice.
Telling uncomfortable truths.
Martin Luther King Jr. described justice as "love correcting that which revolts against love."
Love isn't simply being nice.
It's working to make the world more just, compassionate, and humane.
While remembering that the person on the other side of an argument is still human.
Still somebody's child.
Still made in God's image.
Because the answer to disconnection isn't more division. It's deeper communion.
Imagine if, before saying to another person or posting online, we asked:
Is it true?
Is it helpful?
Is it loving?
Imagine if, before a difficult conversation, we asked:
Am I trying to understand?
Or just trying to win?
Imagine beginning every morning asking:
Who might God be inviting me to love today?
Because most life-changing love arrives in ordinary packages.
A phone call.
A visit.
A meal.
An apology.
A hand held beside a hospital bed.
Think about the people who've changed your life.
Most weren't famous or powerful.
But they loved you.
They made room for you.
And now you get to do that for somebody else.
Today's first lesson reminds us that love can extend beyond our lifetimes.
Moses stands on Mount Nebo.
He's led the Israelites through the wilderness for forty years.
Forty years!
After forty minutes in the car with three children, I'm ready to negotiate a peace treaty.
But Moses has spent four decades keeping hope alive.
And now he sees the Promised Land.
But he won't enter it.
Joshua will lead the people forward.
And there's something beautiful about that.
We don't have to finish everything we begin for our lives to matter.
Sometimes our calling is to plant trees whose shade we'll never enjoy.
To build communities whose greatest days we'll never see.
To love people who will carry that love into generations we'll never meet.
And isn't that what we're doing at St. David's?
Think about the people who built this church.
Who taught Sunday School.
Sang in the choir.
Prepared meals.
Visited the sick.
Welcomed strangers.
Many are no longer with us.
But their love is.
And now it's our turn.
Not simply to preserve what they built.
But to carry their love forward.
Imagine what we're building!
A church where loneliness meets friendship.
Where grief meets compassion.
Where children know they matter.
Where older people are treasured.
Where newcomers discover belonging.
Where faith isn't simply something we talk about, but something people experience.
Paul describes exactly that kind of community in today's second lesson.
He tells the Thessalonians that he cared so deeply he wanted to share not only the Gospel, but his very self.
Not just information.
Not just theology.
But his life.
And isn't that what we aspire to do?
To be a community sharing our lives in love.
Participating in God's great dance of communion.
So here's my invitation.
This week, look at your calendar.
Instead of asking only, "What must I accomplish?" ask:
"How can I bring love into what I'm already doing?"
At a meeting, help someone feel heard.
At home, be more present.
In a difficult conversation, choose kindness without abandoning truth.
When you're tired, give yourself grace.
And when somebody needs a friend, show up.
You don't need to rearrange your entire life.
You don't need to become Mother Teresa by Thursday.
You just need to remember what the schedule is for.
And in a few moments, we'll come to this table.
Not because we've loved perfectly.
But because we're hungry for grace.
And God meets us here.
Not with a performance review.
But with bread and wine.
With welcome.
With love.
We come as individuals.
With different stories, opinions, and burdens.
But we share one bread.
One cup.
One life in Christ.
And then God sends us back into the world.
To our families.
Our neighborhoods.
Our complicated, beautiful lives.
So, St. David's, let me ask you one more time.
Do you really think you've got something more important to do today than love?
I don't.
Because when the schedules are cleared, the accomplishments forgotten, and the arguments have faded, what remains?
The love we've given.
The love we've received.
And the love we've made possible for somebody else.
And friends, I can't think of a more wonderful way to spend a life.
Because God is love.
We're made for love.
And every day, in a thousand ordinary ways, we're invited to join the dance.
Amen.