Sunday, September 14, 2025
/Proper 19
Exodus 32: 7-14; Psalm 51: 1-11; 1 Timothy 1: 12-17; Luke 15: 1-10
The Rev. James M.L. Grace
In the Name of God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. AMEN
One winter day St. Francis of Assisi was coming to St. Mary of the Angels from Perugia (Peru-ja) with Brother Leo and the bitter cold made them suffer. St. Francis called to Brother Leo, who was walking a bit ahead of him and he said: ‘Brother Leo, even if the Friars Minor in every country give a great example of holiness and integrity and good edification, nevertheless perfect joy is not in that.’
And when he had walked on a bit, St. Francis called him again, saying: ‘Brother Leo, even if a Friar Minor gives sight to the blind, heals the paralyzed, drives out devils, gives hearing back to the deaf, brings back to life a man who has been dead four days, perfect joy is not in that.’
And going on a bit further, St. Francis cried out again in a strong voice: ‘Brother Leo, if a Friar Minor knew all languages and all sciences and Scripture, could speak with the voice of an angel and knew the courses of the stars and knew all about the treasures in the earth true that perfect joy is not in that.’
And going a bit farther, St. Francis called again strongly: ‘Brother Leo, even if a Friar Minor could preach so well that he should convert all infidels to the faith of Christ, perfect joy is not there.’
Brother Leo in great amazement asked him: ‘Francis, I beg you in God’s name tell me where perfect joy is.’ And St. Francis replied: ‘When we come to St. Mary of the Angels, soaked by the rain and frozen by the cold, all soiled with mud and suffering from hunger and we ring at the gate of the Place and the brother porter comes and says angrily: Who are you? And we say: We are two of your brothers.’ And he contradicts us, saying: ‘You are not telling the truth. Rather you are two rascals - go away!’ And he does not open for us, but makes us stand outside in the snow and rain, cold and hungry, until night falls — then if we endure all those insults and cruel rebuffs patiently, without being troubled and without complaining, and if we reflect humbly and charitably that the porter really knows us and that God makes him speak against us, oh Brother Leo, perfect joy is there! If we bear it patiently and take the insults with joy and love in our hearts, that is perfect joy!”
That story of St. Francis was told to a group of men attending a men’s retreat. After the story, the men stood in two lines facing each other, a man walked between both lines, one at a time. “State your core wound,” a man said. One man said “I am worthless. I will never amount to anything” He began to walk between the two lines of men who echoed his core wound to him. “You are worthless, you will never amount to anything,” all the men said to the wounded man walking between the two lines of men.
Another man stood up. “State your core wound,” one man said. The other said “I am a terrible father and husband.” He then walked between the two rows of men, who verbally repeated his core wound to him.
And then it was my turn. “State your core wound,” a man said. I looked down the path I would soon walk between two long rows of men who were about to verbalize my own deep woundedness. I was terrified. “My name is Jimmy,” I said, “my core wound is that I will never be good enough for God.” My secret now revealed, I took my first steps between the men, on either side of me who whispered, yelled, or commanded “you are not good enough for God.”
Prior to this walk, I was instructed to assume the posture of St. Francis who in the story just shared instructs us to receive insult and wounding with gratitude. So I walked, slowly, between all those men with my hands in prayer position. “Jimmy you are not good enough for God” “Thank you.” “Jimmy you are not good enough for God” “Thank you.” At the end of the line, I embraced another man who said, “Jimmy, you are beloved of God.”
Every one of us have a core wound. In Psalm 51 today we hear the author openly admit their failures and wounds. This psalm was likely written by King David after he was confronted by Nathan the priest. Nathan confronted David because David took advantage of a married woman named Bathsheeba. After sleeping with her, and learning that she was pregnant, David arranged to have Bathsheba’s husband, Uriah, murdered, to cover up his adultery. David was considered Israel’s greatest king, yet he broke fifty percent of the ten commandments, including adultery and murder.
Nevertheless, David’s errors were forgiven. That is the power of this psalm. Within it three Hebrew words are used throughout to describe God’s character: (1) hanan, meaning gracious and merciful, (2) hesed, meaning steadfast love, and (3) rahamim, which might more appropriately be translated as “motherly compassion.” The point of the psalm is not David’s misery and brokenness. It is about God’s forgiveness.
“Where sin increased, grace abounded all the more” wrote the Apostle Paul in Romans 5:20. God’s grace and mercy will always exceed human sin and brokenness.
You may know what your core wound is, or you may have no idea. Regardless, it is inside you, and that is good news. Today’s psalm reminds us that God’s mercy is greater than our wound. However - our wound is necessary to point us toward receiving that mercy. That is the true joy Francis teaches us today – a joy birthed out of our misery and pain, which becomes a rooted oak tree able to withstand all wind and storm and darkness. It is the only joy worth having. AMEN.