Sermon for the Eighteenth Sunday after Trinity, 2026
“Teacher, which is the great commandment in the law?” The lawyer wanted to know which commandment weighed the most. So Jesus answers him with the words every son of Israel prayed morning and evening: “You shall love the Lord your God.”
Not simply “God” in general, whom the spiritual, if not religious, seek: either within themselves or upon the mountain. Not even “a God,” over whom the churches wrangle. No, your God.
That word is a claim. Before the command ever asks for your heart, it tells you whose you are. He is the Lord your God. He made you: your body and soul, your eyes, your ears, and all your members, your reason and all your senses. And what He has made, He requires whole: all your heart, all your soul, all your mind.
So, whose are you?
You say “my God” readily enough. You sang it a moment ago, “Thee will I love, my God and Lord.” You even pray it: at times in earnest, at others in vain. Yet what about the other words you say all the week long, and far more often: my time, my money, my weekend, my rights, my way? Each one draws a line around something and says, “This much, at least, is mine.” Is He your God when times are good, or only when there’s trouble or difficulty of some sort? Is He the God you thank and praise, serve and obey throughout the week, or just the One to whom you give a few hours, or less? Is He your God only when it’s convenient to you? Or is He your God even when it costs you? When you say “my God,” who is doing the claiming? Is it He, or is it you?
God Himself says, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind.” Or, in other words, “We should fear, love, and trust in God above all things.” Above all things. Above all your things. Above you.
Readings:
Old Testament: Deuteronomy 10:12-21
Epistle: 1 Corinthians 1:1-9
Holy Gospel: Matthew 22:34-46
Comments