Proper 25, Year A · Matthew 22:34–46
Preached on October 25, 2026 by the Rev. Pierre-Henry Buisson, Rector
Too often, we make things more complicated than they need to be, especially in matters of faith. I still remember how some colleagues reacted when someone knocked at the church door asking to be baptized. The first response was often: “Well, this is going to be a long and complicated process.” Rather than: “Congratulations! This is wonderful! Thanks be to God!” Then came a list of requirements and forms—as if following Jesus were an obstacle course designed only for the initiated.
Yes, faith is serious. It is the most serious thing in our lives. But it is not complicated. It is a love affair with the Lord. And at its heart is a simple movement: we receive love, and then we give love. That movement is at the center of today’s Gospel.
A lawyer steps forward to test Jesus with a classic theological question: “Teacher, which commandment in the law is the greatest?” Jewish tradition would later count 613 commandments in the Torah, and even in Jesus’ day teachers debated which carried the greatest weight. Jesus goes straight to the heart of the matter. He quotes Deuteronomy: “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.” And without even being asked, he adds a second, from Leviticus: “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” On these two commandments, he says, hang all the Law and the Prophets.
In both, Jesus uses the same Greek word for love: agapaō. Not a passing feeling, but a love that commits itself to the good of the other and takes shape in what we do. And Jesus joins the two together. As John would later write in his first letter “Whoever says, ‘I love God,’ and hates a brother or sister, is a liar.” 1 John 4:20 We cannot claim to love God while refusing to love the people God has placed around us.
But where does that kind of love come from? The love we receive from God shapes how we love God and how we love our neighbors. Love received becomes love given. We cannot sustain a life of love for our neighbors unless we are continually receiving love from God. At this time of the year, I can’t help but think that these commandments help us to understand stewardship.
Stewardship is not first about what we give. It is first about what we have received: life, grace, forgiveness, community, and the unearned love of God. We are not trying to purchase God’s favor or earn our place at the table. We are responding to a love that has already welcomed us. And receiving love changes us. Love does not stay locked inside us. It seeks expression. It becomes generosity, service, compassion, hospitality, and care.
We know these commandments by heart. But if we are honest, do we really give God first place? Our lives are so busy—families to care for, bills to pay, worries that keep us awake at night. God knows all of that. But we still need to ask: Does God receive my first attention, or only what remains when everything else is done? Too often, God gets what is left over—of our time, our talents, and our treasure.
Most of the time, this is not because we don’t care. It is because we are afraid there won’t be enough—enough time, enough energy, enough in the bank account. And that is where many sermons on this passage stop: on the high moral demand to love more, give more, and do better. But the Gospel does not end there.
While the Pharisees were still gathered, Jesus turned the tables: “What do you think of the Messiah? Whose son is he?” “The son of David,” they answered—the familiar answer. But after quoting Psalm 110, Jesus asked them: “If David thus calls him Lord, how can he be his son?” They could not answer. The Messiah is not simply David’s successor. He is David’s Lord. And that changes everything.
The one who commands us to love God and neighbor is not just another teacher offering good advice. He is Lord. But what kind of Lord? Not a king who demands everything while giving nothing. Not a ruler who enriches himself at the expense of his people. He is the Lord who kneels to wash his disciples’ feet. The Lord who welcomes sinners, touches lepers, feeds the hungry, and gives his own life upon the cross. He is the Lord whose power is revealed in love.
And here is the good news: before Jesus asks us to love God with all our heart, God has already loved us with all his heart. “We love because he first loved us,” 1 John 4:19
And if this is the Lord we follow, then stewardship is not simply a matter of deciding how much we can afford to give. It is about learning to live as he lived: with open hands, generous hearts, and a willingness to share what we have received. It is not simply an annual fundraising campaign to keep the lights on—though, of course, the electricity bill still needs to be paid! It is recognizing that everything we have, even our very breath, is a gift entrusted to us. Not to keep for ourselves alone, but to share in the service of God’s love. And we see that love at work here at St. Peter’s.
Every time someone prepares this church for worship, welcomes a newcomer, visits someone who is lonely or sick, teaches a child, or simply listens to someone who needs a friend, the love of Christ becomes visible. Our financial giving is part of that same offering. Every dollar helps sustain worship, pastoral care, outreach, and Christian formation—ministries none of us could sustain alone. Even the heat in winter and the paper in the copier serve a greater purpose: they help make St. Peter’s a place where the love of Christ can be experienced and shared.
I know that generosity is not always easy. For years, I too struggled with the question of how much to give. I looked at what was left after the bills were paid and wondered what I could afford. And I have had to learn, slowly, that generosity is not simply a financial calculation. It is also an act of trust. Moving from scarcity to generosity is a spiritual discipline. It takes time. It takes prayer. And sometimes it involves real sacrifice. But I can tell you from the depth of my heart: it is spiritually liberating. Not because giving guarantees that we will have more money. It doesn’t. But because generosity helps free us from the fear that our lives depend entirely on what we possess.
Love, when it is genuine, naturally wants to give. Next Sunday, we will begin our four-week stewardship season, titled Invited to the Table. I cannot think of a better way to describe what stewardship is really about. At God’s table, we are not customers paying for a meal. We are guests welcomed by grace. We do not give to earn our place at the table; it has already been offered to us through Jesus Christ. We give because we are grateful for that invitation, and because we want to make room for others.
You will receive more information this week, but I want to invite you, starting today, to spend some time in prayer and reflection. Look at your time, your gifts, and your financial resources, and ask yourself: How can I respond more fully to the love I have received?
If you have never pledged before, perhaps this is the year to begin, even with a small, faithful commitment. If you already pledge, prayerfully consider whether you might increase your giving—not out of guilt or pressure, but out of gratitude. Generosity is not measured simply by the amount. It is measured by the love with which we give.
Being a Christian is not complicated. We love because God first loved us. We love God with all our heart, and we love our neighbor as ourselves. And every time we come to this altar, we are reminded that everything begins with God’s generosity. We come with empty hands, and God fills them with grace. So when we offer our time, our talents, and our treasure, we are not paying God back. We are sharing the love we have received.
We have been invited to the table. Now let us make room for others. Amen.