06/14/2026
Here is the sermon for the Third Sunday after Pentecost, on Matthew 9:35-10:8, for June 14, 2026:
Whatever I know about sheep I have learned from thirty years of spending time at Mt. Saviour Monastery near Elmira. The monks started out farming beef and dairy cattle, but after a few years, they switched to sheep, because they were a little more sustainable and lower maintenance. In bitter winter weather, the sheep stay in the barn, but most of the year, they graze in several large pastures on the hilltop. Mostly, the sheep just do their own thing, but to do so, the fences need to be maintained, and the hay has to be harvested for winter feed, and the sheep dogs go on patrol every night. There are certain times of year when all the able-bodied monks and neighbors need to pitch in to get things done—for vaccinating and docking the tails of the new lambs, or for shearing the fleeces. During lambing season in early spring, Brother Pierre doesn’t get much sleep. In late summer, Brother Bruno gathers up the lambs and drives them to market. Then there are the unplanned situations when a sheep hurts a leg or leaps over the fence, or a pack of wild dogs comes up the mountain. Sheep aren’t as labor-intensive as dairy cows, but they do require some attention and occasional hard work.
Brother Pierre is definitely the shepherd at this monastery. The other able-bodied monks will mow the fields and bring in the hay and maintain the fences and help with shearing. Brother John feeds the sheep dogs and takes them for a walk every afternoon. But Pierre is the one who truly loves the sheep. He refers to them as his babies and his girls. I’m pretty sure he knows every single one as an individual. I’m pretty sure he understands how they think. Where would sheep be without a shepherd to watch over and care for them? They would have no one to rescue them when they get themselves into trouble, no one to assist them with a difficult birth, no one to protect them from coyotes, no one to feed them when the fields are frozen hard and covered with snow, no one to keep them healthy and safe, no one to find them when they get lost.
We are told that Jesus had compassion for the crowds, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd. ‘Having compassion’ sounds gentle and nice, but what it literally says in the Greek is more visceral; his stomach churned with worry and concern; he felt their pain in his gut. Jesus sees the peoples’ suffering and is moved to help them. He heals their diseases and drives away their demons. He teaches them and brings them good news that the kingdom of God has come near. He also realizes that he can’t do it all on his own. There are too many, and their need is too great. So, he commissions his friends to do the things that he is doing. He makes them his deputies and sends them out to help all those lost sheep. At this point in the story, Jesus puts a priority on the need closest to home; just go to the lost sheep of Israel, he tells his friends. Soon enough, he--and they--will also be reaching out to the gentiles and even to the Samaritans. Soon enough, Jesus will expand his mission field to include everyone, not just his own people. But for now, he keeps the focus tight and close to home. I can’t blame him; many of us would have that same instinct to start with our own family and our own community before reaching out to total strangers and perceived enemies. What he asks of his friends is pretty intense—cure the sick; raise the dead; cleanse lepers; cast out demons; and do this all without expecting any payment or reward.
Jesus sent the twelve as laborers into his harvest; he also sends us. Honestly, my gut response is: not me! I can’t do all that stuff. Maybe you feel that way too sometimes. First, it helps to remember that the original twelve were a motley bunch. They did not have any relevant prior experience. They were not particularly qualified for the work he was calling them to do. They were fishermen and doubters. They were not especially good at trusting and obeying. They were often weak in faith. One of them worked for the Romans; another one was a revolutionary fighting to liberate the country from Roman rule. One of them, who seemed trustworthy enough to serve as their treasurer, would eventually betray Jesus for a handful of silver. These are an unlikely bunch of deputies. They were sinners, one and all. Yet, Jesus called and sent them to do his work, just as Jesus calls and sends us.
Second, maybe we can do the stuff Jesus asks of us. Maybe it’s not as intimidating as it sounds. These days, the demons we are called to cast out often look like racism or greed or addiction or hate. So, we pray for peace and support immigrants and call out hate speech and try to live simply and sustainably. We can’t banish addiction, but we host and take part in twelve-step groups, and help people who are struggling to find the resources they need. We might not literally cleanse lepers, but we can welcome and support people who are shunned and isolated and judged because of realities beyond their control. We may not literally raise the dead, but we lift spirits and improve lives. We bring communion to shut-ins. We serve on ambulance crews and fire companies and non-profit boards. We serve in various ways at our local schools. We volunteer at the Caring Place and the Bethany Outreach Center and the food pantry. We shop for our elderly neighbors and mow their lawns. We do prison ministry and visit the sick. We support fundraisers for SOS4Kidz and Habitat and other organizations that make a difference. There are a thousand ways that we already help and heal and bring hope to people who were harassed and helpless. Where Jesus is, the kingdom of heaven is already closer than we think. Amen.
Rev. Jean N. Kuebler, June 12, 2026
