Lent 3A 2026

THE REV. E. WAYNE ROLLINS

​ A few weeks ago the active clergy in our diocese met for one of our Clergy Day sessions. We talked about lay licensing for various ministries and heard reports about events affecting all of us. At one point, we sat around our tables to discuss some questions presented to us. 

I don’t remember what those specific questions were. I do remember a discussion about hierarchies and proper places for folks exercising some of the ministries we discussed. I said that as heirs of a tradition based in England, we had to admit that a lot of our structures are based in a highly defined hierarchy—royalty, nobility, aristocracy, all the way to those of us who have to work for a living. 

Much of our canonical structure is hierarchical. The alternative to that comes from the congregational polity of the Presbyterians, Baptists, and other Reformed traditions. Opposition to our hierarchical structure played a large part in the Puritans’ sailing to these shores, especially since beheading a king and seizing Parliament for eleven years didn’t work out all that well for them as they might have hoped. It's also a big factor in the decision to not have a state-sanctioned religious denomination in this country. You might discern the wisdom behind that when you consider the effects of state-sanctioned religion in the history of the world. Everything from the crusades to empire-building to September 11, 2001 and pretty much any day in the Middle East finds its roots in religious posturing, even when at heart actions were more about power and wealth. 

During our discussion, a colleague said that every communal tradition has its hierarchy. Whether it be a formal, defined structure, or tribal customs, every community pays deference to its leaders who might be elected, or simply considered wise due to the experience of age or particular spiritual gifts. This is true for families as well. 

One community is set-up differently, if it defines itself in ways that are not the customs of traditional worldly structures. That different community is one that took on a derogatory name in its early years. We’re told that it was in the ancient city of Antioch, Syria, that its name was first pronounced. Christian. 

Years ago it became apparent to me that there is one group of people whom Jesus denounces, even shuns. Those people are the religious leaders who tried to maintain their status by judging Jesus because of those with whom he associates. He hangs out with outcasts and “sinners.” He touches the ill and infirm. Why, one time, he made mud with his own spit and rubbed it on a blind man’s eyes. 

He doesn’t obey every jot and tittle of the law when pastoral concerns supersede it. And to beat it all, he sits down—and stays a few days with—those considered mortal enemies. You know, Samaritans. You have to say and hear that word with the same disdain as the people of Antioch said “Christian.” Or as some of our own leaders might refer to folks from Caribbean, African, and Central American ancestry.

Jesus has a favorite word for those of us who like to use those terms to feed our own desire for superiority. It means, in the translation from the original Greek, actors. Scripture usually uses the English version of the Greek. “Hypocrites.”

But we aren’t here, bearers of that disdained identity Christian, to be actors on a stage as if God posted our Playbill on the heavenly refrigerator door. We are here to be ministers, a word meaning those who use their skills and resources to help others.

It might be as simple as looking beyond accepted practice and sitting with a stranger to share a cold drink and warm conversation. It could be a conversation where truth is spoken in love in such a way that each life is changed for the better. It’s always where a child of God dares to see a sibling—another child of God—and shares life in as much abundance as is possible in that moment.
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Who knows? Perhaps the encounter of God’s children with one another, and the realization that each bears that identity, will cause one to jump up to spread the good news of the presence of the Savior of the world in our own time. It caused an outcast to recognize Truth sitting next to her. It caused a German priest named Martin Luther to turn in a new direction when he came to understand that it’s more about what God has done—and continues to do—than what we do.
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Why, it could even be the witness of a fountain of life-giving sustenance gushing from our own, and hopefully formerly, rocky hearts.