"Called to More: A Land We Won't Fully See" (October 25, 2026 Sermon)

Called to More: A Land We Won’t Fully See

Rev. Dr. Stephen M. Fearing·October 25, 2026·Guilford Park Presbyterian Church

22^nd Sunday after Pentecost (Year A)

Deuteronomy 34:1-12

Then Moses went up from the plains of Moab to Mount Nebo, to the top of Pisgah, which is opposite Jericho, and the Lord showed him the whole land: Gilead as far as Dan, all Naphtali, the land of Ephraim and Manasseh, all the land of Judah as far as the Western Sea, the Negeb, and the Plain—that is, the valley of Jericho, the city of palm trees—as far as Zoar. The Lord said to him, “This is the land of which I swore to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob, saying, ‘I will give it to your descendants.’ I have let you see it with your eyes, but you shall not cross over there.” Then Moses, the servant of the Lord, died there in the land of Moab, at the Lord’s command. He buried him in a valley in the land of Moab, opposite Beth-peor, but no one knows his burial place to this day. Moses was one hundred twenty years old when he died; his sight was unimpaired, and his vigor had not abated. The Israelites wept for Moses in the plains of Moab thirty days; then the period of mourning for Moses was ended.

Joshua son of Nun was full of the spirit of wisdom because Moses had laid his hands on him, and the Israelites obeyed him, doing as the Lord had commanded Moses.

Never since has there arisen a prophet in Israel like Moses, whom the Lord knew face to face. He was unequaled for all the signs and wonders that the Lord sent him to perform in the land of Egypt, against Pharaoh and all his servants and his entire land, and for all the mighty deeds and all the terrifying displays of power that Moses performed in the sight of all Israel.

Matthew 22:34-40

When the Pharisees heard that he had silenced the Sadducees, they gathered together, and one of them, an expert in the law, asked him a question to test him. “Teacher, which commandment in the law is the greatest?” He said to him, “ ‘You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’ This is the greatest and first commandment. And a second is like it: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ On these two commandments hang all the Law and the Prophets.”

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Oh, friends, I want to begin this sermon with a simple word of gratitude. Today, for some reason more than others, I am reminded that we are all part of a great village, a great neighborhood, and that together we are the body of Christ. And so I want to say thank you. Thank you for all the faithful work you have done and are doing. Thank you for everything, from pouring water in the fonts to Rona putting in the 81 cents at the Food Lion yesterday.

To those of you who are able and have stepped up to the plate to submit your pledges for next year as we invest in a future we cannot yet see: thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you. As I mentioned last week, 100% of our session, myself included, has submitted our pledges for next year. And to those of you who have, thank you.

Those of you who are giving your money, your time, your talents, your compassion; your gift of cooking; your gift of sitting with someone who is hurting; your gift of standing up for somebody who is feeling vulnerable, weak, or scared. All of those gifts come together to make up the tapestry of Guilford Park Presbyterian Church.

And I’m sorry. I’m getting a little bit emotional. As I said, I’m feeling a little bit under the weather. But I’m standing before a people God has called me to minister to and with. And today I simply want to say thank you. I am grateful for every single one of you as we come together to invest, as I said, and as Kim said with the young ones today, in a future we can’t quite see.

From the Top of Mount Nebo

And that brings us to today’s text from Deuteronomy. It had been a minute, y’all. It had been 40 years. Forty years of wandering. Moses had seen it all, or so he thought, until God took him up to the top of Mount Nebo. Moses was 120 years old. Can you imagine that? A hundred and twenty years old. And God shows him all this land and says, “This is the promised land, where I have promised to take my people, and you have led them here.” And then God says to Moses, “You’re not going to see it.”

And Moses doesn’t say anything in this passage. Notice that. Moses doesn’t say a thing. That really frustrates me because I want to know what Moses thought in this moment. Did Moses talk back to God and go, “Hey, wait a second here — no, no, no, no, no”? Was he angry? Was he grateful? Was he bittersweet? Did he know he had fulfilled his chapter? I don’t know. We don’t know.

But what we do know is that Moses had fulfilled the chapter of his life that God had called him to serve. Then God passes the baton to the next generation — to Joshua, in this case.

Which is actually why I wore this stole today. This stole was given to me eight years ago by the people of my former congregation, and it shows Sarah and Abraham — not from the book of Exodus or Deuteronomy, but from Genesis — looking up at the path God had ordained for them. At the top, you see the stars: all the descendants God promised Abraham and Sarah, or Abram and Sarai. But they’re not in today’s story, are they? They had already passed. And so we have Moses, and then Joshua.

And I think that is truly beautiful. It’s a good reminder for all of us that you and I are part of a story that didn’t start with us. We’re all part of the story of neighborliness, which will not end with us. And yet we have been entrusted with this good treasure that we are guarding together.

And so I don’t think Moses failed. I think Moses finished his part. And then God provides Joshua for the next generation of leaders.

God Has Not Run Out of Joshuas

And so I want to lift that up today, because we’re in a season of transition as a congregation. And God has not run out of Joshuas. Everybody, say that with me: God has not run out of Joshuas! And I’m not just talking about me, Kim, or any other staff member. I’m talking about all of us, y’all. We’re all Joshuas. Each and every one of us has been called to this moment to do justice, to love kindness, and to walk humbly with God.

And so if we’re in this liminal space, where we see the land God has promised us but are like Moses, not quite there yet, we have our marching orders in today’s passage from Matthew 22. I know y’all have heard me use the word “neighbor” once or twice over the past four years. So maybe you’re sick and tired of this passage. But it’s a good passage to be sick and tired of, because we all need to hear it.

In the meantime, we’re going to keep on loving our neighbor. We’re going to keep on pitching in to feed our neighbor. We’re going to keep on sitting with those who are hurting. We’re going to keep on making beautiful music in this space, music that is good for the soul in these crazy times in which we live.

And so, friends, we’re looking at that promised land. We’re not quite there yet. Maybe you feel more like Moses. Maybe you feel more like Joshua. Maybe you feel caught in between. Wherever you are on that spectrum, remember that our marching orders are simple, not necessarily easy, but simple.

The Way of Jesus

And so I wanted to leave you all with a quote I came across this week from a pastor in New York City named Dan Sadlier. It came up on my social media feed this week, and I thought I’d share it with you all in closing. He says:

“Christianity can be confusing.” Yes, it can. “But the way of Jesus was pretty clear. Move toward the poor. Empower the woman. Create space at the table. Throw parties. Widen the family boundaries. Poke holes in oppressive systems. Don’t retaliate with violence. Forgive your enemy. Don’t store up wealth. Be present with people. Heal. Announce. Push back the darkness. The kingdom of God is near.”

So, friends, Moses saw that land from a distance, and we may too. But the kingdom of God is near. So let us continue to act like it together.

In the name of God the Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer, may all of us, God’s beloved children, say: Amen.

"The Good News Is...Protection and Care for the Vulnerable" (March 15, 2026 Sermon)

Rev. Dr. Stephen M. Fearing

Protection and Care for the Vulnerable

Guilford Park Presbyterian Church
March 15, 2026
4th Sunday in Lent (Year A)

Scripture

Deuteronomy 24:17-22

“You shall not deprive a resident alien or an orphan of justice; you shall not take a widow’s garment in pledge. Remember that you were a slave in Egypt and the Lord your God redeemed you from there; therefore I command you to do this.

“When you reap your harvest in your field and forget a sheaf in the field, you shall not go back to get it; it shall be left for the alien, the orphan, and the widow, so that the Lord your God may bless you in all your undertakings. When you beat your olive trees, do not strip what is left; it shall be for the alien, the orphan, and the widow.

“When you gather the grapes of your vineyard, do not glean what is left; it shall be for the alien, the orphan, and the widow. Remember that you were a slave in the land of Egypt; therefore I am commanding you to do this.

Matthew 19:13-15

Then children were being brought to him in order that he might lay his hands on them and pray. The disciples spoke sternly to those who brought them, but Jesus said, “Let the children come to me, and do not stop them, for it is to such as these that the kingdom of heaven belongs.” And he laid his hands on them and went on his way.

“You were a child once, too.”

You were a child once, too. That's what Mister Rogers said, that's what he wrote down, once upon a time, for the doctors. The doctors were ophthalmologists. An ophthalmologist is a doctor who takes care of the eyes. Sometimes, ophthalmologists have to take care of the eyes of children, and some children get very scared, because children know that their world disappears when their eyes close, and they can be afraid that the ophthalmologists will make their eyes close forever. The ophthalmologists did not want to scare children, so they asked Mister Rogers for help, and Mister Rogers agreed to write a chapter for a book the ophthalmologists were putting together—a chapter about what other ophthalmologists could do to calm the children who came to their offices. Because Mister Rogers is such a busy man, however, he could not write the chapter himself, and he asked a woman who worked for him to write it instead. She worked very hard at writing the chapter, until one day she showed what she had written to Mister Rogers, who read it and crossed it all out and wrote a sentence addressed directly to the doctors who would be reading it: "You were a child once, too.” And that's how the chapter began.^[1]

My friend Tom wrote those words about his friend Fred back in 1998 for Esquire Magazine. You see, Tom made a mistake, a mistake he would later regret. He wrote an article about a very famous person, and in that article, he insinuated something very hurtful, something that wasn’t his story to tell. And it got him into trouble. Tom had developed a reputation for being a ruthless journalist. Ruthlessness is something someone does when they care more about themselves than others.

And so, as he feared that his career had stalled because of his ruthlessness, his editor gave him a new assignment. He called him into his office and told him he wanted him to interview Fred Rogers. “You mean, Mister Rogers? The kid’s show guy?” Tom scoffed. “Yes,” his editor replied, “We’re doing an issue on heroes, and I want you to write a profile on him.” And so, the invulnerable journalist called up the cardigan-wearing Presbyterian minister. “Invulnerable” is a word that means you feel like nothing can touch you, challenge you, or change you. Magical things happen when the invulnerable meet a person like Fred Rogers.

I wonder if the disciples felt invulnerable. “Disciples” is a word for people who want to follow Jesus. If I were his disciple, I would be tempted to feel invulnerable. How does one not feel that way when your teacher is a man who feeds thousands with table scraps, or resists Satan’s seduction, or calms a tempest, or summons the very dead from their slumber? Hang around with stuff like that long enough, and it goes to your head. Which is why, of course, when the children came to Jesus, they shooed them away. “This is grown-up business,” they tell them with the sort of condescension little ones are all too familiar with. “Condescension” is a word for when grown-ups think they always know better.

But Jesus bristles. He bristles because the disciples haven’t been listening. Just a few days earlier, he had placed a child on his knee and reminded them that whoever welcomes such a child in his name welcomes him. Now they are telling children that this is “grown-up business.” This is, of course, a silly notion, because the Kingdom of Heaven is neither “for” grown-ups nor a business.

“The Kingdom of Heaven is, first and foremost, for the vulnerable.”

The Kingdom of Heaven is, first and foremost, for the vulnerable. The kingdom is open to all, of course, but again and again Jesus insists that it is the vulnerable, the overlooked, the little ones, who are nearest its center. And this is good news for kids, especially for those whom Jesus welcomed in today’s passage. Being a kid back then was no easy thing. According to Michael Joseph Brown in his book True to Our Native Land, “Fifty percent of children died before the age of five. They were the weakest members of society. They were fed last and received the smallest and least desirable portions of food. They were the first to suffer from famine, war, disease, and natural disasters. Many, some say more than 70 percent, would have lost one or more parents before reaching puberty. A minor had the same status as an enslaved person, and it was not until adulthood that they would be considered a free person.”^[2]

And being a child here and now, for many, is a similar kind of struggle. My work with A Simple Gesture has made me more aware of the scandal of child hunger right here in Guilford County. Close to one in four children here is food-insecure. In many parts of our county, families live in food deserts, far from a grocery store, dependent on public transportation just to buy food. And if you ride the bus in Greensboro, you are allowed only two bags. If you carry a purse, that counts as one. It should not be this hard to feed a child.

“Let the children come to me,” Jesus said. “You were a child once, too,” Fred Rogers said. Too often, our nation’s policies and priorities tell children and their families: your hunger is not urgent enough.

I began this sermon with an anecdote from Mr. Rogers for several reasons. First of all, this upcoming Friday would have been Mr. Rogers' 98th birthday, and as such, our denomination has designated that day in his honor, celebrating his memory and his message of neighborliness. Second, Fred Rogers was someone who had an innate gift for seeing the world through children’s eyes, to remember what it was like to be a little kid navigating a very big world. And that’s a spiritual gift that we all could do more with these days.

Last night, Tricia and I went to the Tanger Center to see The Sound of Music. It had been quite a while since I last saw the show, so I had forgotten several parts. One of those was how funny “Uncle Max” is. He is Captain von Trapp’s friend and a music agent and producer trying to get the von Trapp Family to perform at an upcoming festival. But beneath Uncle Max’s comic relief is a much more dangerous motive. Time and again, he tries to convince Captain von Trapp to adopt a stance of neutrality (at best) or tacit support (at worst) of the German annexation of Austria. “What’s going to happen is going to happen,” he tells Georg von Trapp at one point, “just make sure it doesn’t happen…to you.” In other words, he implies that von Trapp has the power and privilege to stay out of the mess and let the worst happen to others.

However, I trust you know how the story goes. His heart is hardened for good reason. He is devastated by the death of his wife, the children’s mother, and the sound of music has been verboten from his home. Maria and the children soften the Captain’s hardened heart. Together, they bring melody and joy back to his life, and he learns to see the world as his children do. And, indeed, see himself as his children see him. It is this softening that leads the “invulnerable” Captain to open his eyes to how the fascists are preying on the vulnerability of those around him. And he refuses to be complicit. With the help of the nuns, he defies Berlin’s “invitation” (i.e., command) to join the Navy of the Third Reich.

“Remember that you were once a slave in Egypt. Remember that you were once a child, too.”

“You were once a slave in Egypt, too,” God says to the Israelites. “You were once a child, too,” Fred Rogers says to each of us (not just the ophthalmologists).

You see, the gospel is asking us to remember:

Remember that you were once a slave in Egypt. Remember that you were once a child, too. Remember what fear feels like. Remember what hunger feels like. Remember what it is to need gentleness from a world that can be so hard.

And then let that remembering soften you:

Soften you enough to leave grain in the field. Soften you enough to make room for children. Soften you enough to resist every voice that says, “What’s going to happen is going to happen—just make sure it doesn’t happen to you.” No. Not for those who follow Jesus. For those who follow Jesus, the vulnerable are not interruptions. They are where the kingdom shows up first.

So let the children come. Let the stranger come. Let the hungry come. And may they find, in us, not a closed hand or a hardened heart, but the welcome of Christ himself.

In the name of God the Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer, may all of us, God’s children, say: Amen.

Notes

[1] Junod, Tom. “Can You Say...Hero?” Esquire, November, 1998.

[2] True to Our Native Land: An African American New Testament Commentary, edited by Brian K. Blount, Gay L. Byron, and Emerson B. Powery, (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 2024). 120.

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