Michaelmas or The Feast Day of St. Michael and All Angels

 If we lived in an earlier culture, a time more marked by the agricultural shifts of each season, we would celebrate Michaelmas today. It's one of the harvest holidays, one of the quarterly celebrations that kept people rooted to traditions of the seasonal cycles.

I am more interested in the idea of a hinge holiday, the way we shift from one direction to another. In Holidays and Holy Nights, Christopher Hill explains, "In summer we celebrate our at-homeness in the world. Michaelmas balances that feeling (for) in autumn we feel our not-at-homeness, the sense of wanting something else, something we can't name. We feel like wayfaring strangers... Summer is static - in Latin, solstice means 'the stationary sun'" Summer is the sacrament of natural harmony with God... while autumn we fall away from the dreaming paradise of summer back into the conflict of light and dark" (pp. 36-37).

Today, the Church celebrates the role of angels in the divine plan, my prayer book tells me (The Divine Hours, written by Phyllis Tickle). Our Orthodox brothers and sisters handle the question of angels better than most Protestants. Most of the Lutheran churches that I've been a member of don't talk about angels much, and based on the ideas of some of my students, many Protestant churches do talk about angels, but with a very shaky theology.

I'll never forget one time teaching Paradise Lost to South Carolina students in my Brit Lit survey class at a community college. One woman seemed particularly confused about all the angels in the story. "How could there be angels," she asked, "when nobody has died?"

It took me a few attempts to understand her question. She knew about angels from church, but only in the sense that we become angels when we die--which is a very recent idea about angels. I explained the more ancient idea about angels, which is that they are a species completely separate from humans. We got into a bit of a theology lesson, but I could see that she wasn't happy with these ideas about angels. She was much more comfortable with the idea of the angels being Grandma and Grandpa who died when she was a child. The idea of angels as a separate kind of entity with no free will? No thanks.

In a way, I understand. Angels are scary. Death is scary. It's rather brilliant to come up with the idea that we become angels when we die--and yet, this shaky theology defangs several concepts which should, in fact, be scary. We will die--and before that, everything we love will die. How do we cope with that idea?

Some of us cope by clinging to the idea that there is a Divine God with a plan and a vision that's vaster than anything we could develop on our own. This God has more power than we can conceive of--including legions of angels, angels that are there for us too.

Some of us cope with the scariness of death by marking the seasons--we're entering the autumnal season marked by many holidays that remind us that death is unavoidable and perhaps nearer than we'd like:  Halloween, All Saints, All Souls, and Día de los Muertos.  In some ways, today's constellation of holiday and feast day is a start to that season, that shift towards a much darker time of the year in terms of less daylight, at least in the northern hemisphere.  

Let us take a moment and notice as the light lingers.  Let us mark the shift.

Recording of September 27, 2026 Sermon

We had a great Sunday yesterday.  We had planned to have worship in the outdoor picnic pavilion on church grounds, and I suggested we include a pet blessing.  I'm glad we did it, but I'm not sure we'll do it again.  I had a brief youth sermon about authority and then sent them out to be the hands that blessed the pets, instead of bringing all the pets together in the front.

My adult sermon talked about pet blessings and how we make decisions as Christians, both individually and as Church.  I felt good about it.  It's not my most brilliant sermon, but it's solid.  If you'd like to see the recording, I posted it here on my YouTube channel, and if you'd like to read it, I created this post yesterday.

Sermon for Sunday, September 27, 2026

September 27, 2026
By Kristin Berkey-Abbott




Matthew 21:23-32




In the church of my youth, both childhood and teenage youth, we would not have had a pet blessing service. We didn’t have pets in church ever—it was before the days of emotional support animals, and the wider use of service dogs. I remember asking if our family dog would be in Heaven with us, and the adults hesitated—except for my 5th grade Sunday School teacher, a crusty old guy, who probably wasn’t as old as he is in my memory, who had no doubts when he told me that no, our pets did not have souls, and therefore could not go to Heaven.


These days, theologians might strike a more nuanced tone—Sunday School teachers too. Pastors declare that God loves all of creation, making it much harder to declare that humans have been put in place to have God’s favor exclusively. Some activists would remind us that as creatures with the power to reason, we have special responsibilities to take care of all of creation. Of course, that distinction raises other concerns about non-human animals with great reasoning and problem solving skills.


Our ancestors might be baffled at the idea of a pet blessing part of worship. Some of today’s worshippers might be wishing we had a pet blessing more than once a year—much the same we might should bless backpacks more than once a year—not so much because backpacks need more blessings, but because it’s such a tangible reminder to pray for our students and all who work with them in schools and after school.


We are not the first generation to wrestle with the question of what Christians should be doing—both in worship and in the world. In today’s Gospel, we see that these questions are there from the beginning. Even Jesus gets asked: “By whose authority are you doing what you are doing?” In other words, where did you get your training?


It’s always a good question to keep in mind as we try new approaches—or as we cling to old traditions. Some people who declare themselves to be church growth experts might advise us to try all sorts of activities to “see what sticks” and to keep doing whatever gets us the most enthusiastic response is what we should be doing. By that metric, we might ditch everything and only offer a fish fry dinner every Friday. And our bishop might have similar questions to those of the chief priests and elders in today’s Gospel—by whose authority are you making these decisions?


In meaningful ways, the chief priests and elders in the Gospel are doing due diligence. Let’s situate today’s Gospel in the timeline of the life of Jesus. Jesus has been attracting attention and followers, and he’s traveled to Jerusalem with the triumphal entry that we celebrate on Palm Sunday. We’re at the point after he’s thrown money changers out of the Temple, but before he’s hauled into court proceedings.


The chief priests and elders need to decide who Jesus is: some scruffy vagabond preacher who will go away or implode on his own? A rebel stirring up problems with both the Romans in charge and Jewish leadership? Is he a serious threat? Or – could he really be the Messiah?


Bible scholar N. T. Wright reminds us that the only one who would have more authority over the Temple than the chief priests and elders would be the Messiah. Jesus was certainly acting like he had more authority than the chief priests and elders, but many others had done that too, and it had not ended well. Then, as now, there are plenty of people who see themselves as the ones having the answers that no one else has received. But could Jesus really be the Messiah? Is he acting this way because God gave him authority?


In fact, this question is a central one that threads through the Gospel of Matthew, this question of how we know the Messiah and how we know that Jesus is the Messiah. I raise that question not to challenge anyone’s faith, but I ask it because it is a Gospel question.


Those of us gathered here have probably settled the Messiah question for ourselves or at least come to a comfortable unsettledness—that’s why we’re here, after all. But like first century Christians, we may be wrestling with how we live our faith as followers of the Messiah.


Jesus answers the question in today’s Gospel by reminding the listeners that God has sent messengers before, most recently in the form of John the Baptist. Some hear and change their lives. Some hear and agree, yet do not have the moral courage to change. What is the faithful response?


We hear the parable of the sons, and we understand the implications. It’s fine to proclaim Jesus as savior. But if our lives are the same as the guy down the street who lives his life in service to profits and money, what good is that proclamation? If a belief does not influence the way we live our lives, it is not a true belief.


Of course, ideally, we would be like neither of these sons. Our actions would match our words. I’ve said it before and it’s worth repeating: the most effective testimony that we can give is living faithful lives, where our actions match our faithful words.


We do that by considering who and what has come before us. We don’t throw out traditions just because they are old. We don’t adopt every new trend that comes our way, just because we hope to attract new members. When people ask, “By whose authority do you do these things,” we’ve done the discernment work, and we can answer. God looked at this creation before and after humans and pronounced it good. We ask God’s blessing on backpacks to remind us to pray for our students and their challenges. We ask God’s blessing on pets to remind us that God has provided us a supportive and loving creation that is good and good for us.


Jesus gives authority to those first believers, and it has been handed down through the ages to us. Let us use our gifts of wisdom and discernment as we decide what traditions to keep and what new ideas to develop. It is our responsibility for what we loose on earth will be loosed in Heaven and what we cling to on earth will be with us in Heaven.

More Thoughts on Housing

ELCA pastor Clint Schnekloth has been doing some interesting thinking and writing about housing and the Church's responsibility in this time of housing lack; this piece about the vacant (not abandoned so much as underused and underutilized) church space is his latest, and this piece has some specific examples of responses by individual churches.

My church is much smaller, both in terms of space and members, than Schnekloth's church in Arkansas.  We have had members who needed temporary housing, which has led me to ponder our own use of space.  We don't have an educational wing/building with unused space.  It would take some radical rethinking to transform any of the rooms below the sanctuary.  It's a country church, with the sanctuary and restrooms on the first floor, and in the basement, a kitchen, a small fellowship hall, two bathrooms (one with a walk-in shower), three classrooms, one storage area, and a pastor's office.

As a very part-time minister who is only at the church on Sunday, I would be happy to give up my office to be a one room sleeping area for someone in crisis, even if the crisis lasts weeks.  But would the person who comes after me be happy with that decision?

And let me also remember that the Church Council has more say in this than I do.  My church in Bristol is amazing in terms of the members being responsible for the vision and the mission.  They've had very temporary pastors for over a decade now.  I don't want to undercut them.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, September 27, 2026:

First Reading: Ezekiel 18:1-4, 25-32

First Reading (Semi-cont.): Exodus 17:1-7

Psalm: Psalm 25:1-8 (Psalm 25:1-9 NRSV)

Psalm (Semi-cont.): Psalm 78:1-4, 12-16

Second Reading: Philippians 2:1-13

Gospel: Matthew 21:23-32

Before we dig into today’s Gospel, let’s situate it in the timeline of the life of Jesus, according to Matthew. Earlier in the 21st chapter, Jesus has entered the city of Jerusalem in an event we’ll celebrate as Palm Sunday. It’s a triumphant entry, followed by Jesus throwing money changers out of the Temple.

In short, it’s becoming clear to those in charge of all sorts of societal institutions that Jesus will cause trouble. So the beginning of our Gospel shows the leaders of the Temple trying to determine what they should do. If he’s truly sent from God, we imagine they might take one path; if he’s just a scruffy vagabond preacher type, they might take another. But how to know?

They ask a question about Jesus’ authority, and in classic form, Jesus responds with a question. He asks them about the baptism of John, and in doing so, some Bible scholars see him as aligning himself with John and prophets like him. He certainly doesn’t look to the Temple elders for authority.

Here, as in other places, the questions of Jesus are seldom about coming up with the right answers. Jesus asks questions to make the ones who hear the questions think about transformation. And here, as in other places, Jesus offers a parable to help us think further about the questions.

In today’s Gospel, we have another parable set in a vineyard, which those Temple authorities would hear as a story about Israel, the people and the land, since several ancient prophets used that language. For us, listeners in the 21st century, it may be the language of two sons that feels familiar.

Think about how often we have stories of two sons in the Bible: Cain and Abel, Esau and Jacob, the Prodigal son and his disgruntled brother. It’s tempting to approach these parables with the air of a detective. Which brother is the one who is doing the right thing, the good thing? Which one should we cheer for?

Here, as with many a story of siblings, the answer is neither one. Both sons are wrong. Both have acted in a less than upright way. More important, we have been both of these sons. We will be both of these sons.

This parable reminds us, though, that ultimately our actions are important. It’s not enough to say the right things. Action is required.

This idea may fly in the face of what we believe to be good Lutheran theology. What about the idea of grace? Many of us were taught that we're such dreadful humans that there's nothing we could do to justify the gift of salvation. God swoops in and redeems us, even though we're fairly hopeless people. That was the message I got from many a church event, Lutheran and otherwise.

But as a grown up, going back to revisit these passages, I'm amazed at how often God requires more of us than just saying we believe in Christ, more than just accepting Christ as our savior, more than just having faith. In the words of Luther, faith should move our feet. In the words of James, faith without action is dead. We don't confess belief in Christ so that we can say, "Our job here is done." We don't confess belief so that we can collapse and snooze on the sofa. We confess our faith and go to work in the vineyard.

The good news is that the invitation to do the work is ongoing. We may disappoint God—by saying yes and not showing up, or by saying no thanks. God remains steadfast, offering us opportunity after opportunity to be part of the kingdom team.

The end of this parable makes clear that the stakes are high: we may think we’ve already done the work. We may think we’re part of God’s team. We might be rather self-righteous about that. At the end of this parable, Jesus reminds us that the last shall be first. And when we look at that list, it’s clear that those who would be last in the hierarchical society of Jesus would also be last in our time. Jesus tells us that these people on the margins might be the ones who recognize the Good News before the rest of us do.

We have time to recognize the truth, the truth told to us by people like John the Baptist and Jesus. We have time to change our minds. We have time to think about our own claims to righteousness and to change course.

When we look at the totality of Jesus’ teaching, we hear a more complete good news. Even when we fall short, God will still love us. If we've said we'd do the work, and we fail to do it, we have other days when we can show up. God will still welcome us.

There's plenty of work to be done: weeding out the thorny vines of injustice, tending the seedlings that can grow to produce good fruit. We can each do the tasks that are ours to do. God invites us to be part of a much grander vision. Let us say yes to that invitation today and every day. Let us say that we will do the work, and then, let us do it.

Of Apple Farms and Alternate Futures

Later today, I will stop by my favorite apple orchard on the way home.  I will be buying apples today and then again later in October--all for the sake of writing projects for my classes.  Tomorrow my Nonfiction Writing will have 3 kinds of apples, and we'll discuss the kinds of reviews we could write.  Then on Friday, we'll write those reviews.

I have a memory from a past autumn of driving to my favorite orchard and seeing a farm for sale.

This morning, I went back through my blog to find the reference, and I did; this post from September 29, 2011 has this bit:  "I continue to try to convince myself that a farm for sale is not a sign about my life's direction. I'm trying not to think about the proud tradition of poet-farmers in this country. I'm reminding myself that a farming life would leave me too exhausted to write. Too exhausted and broke to boot."

Each time I make the drive, I try to remember which property was for sale, and today will be no different.  But I do wonder if the house that was part of the property has since been torn down. It was looking old and tired 15 years ago:

Fifteen years ago!  I didn't ever call to find out how much the farm would cost, but I assume that even 15 years ago, I couldn't have afforded a 38 acre farm.  It is one of those choices, though, that still intrigues me.

If I see a farm for sale today, on my way to the apple orchard, I might make a different choice.  I would imagine keeping my teaching job in Spartanburg, while also running an apple orchard, while also teaching online classes part-time, while also preaching part-time in Bristol, Tennessee.

And then, I probably would make the same choice I made in 2011.  I would back out of the driveway and try not to look back.

I am so grateful to have arrived to living in this area, even without buying a farm 15 years ago.  If I had bought that farm, I might have missed out on my dream jobs that I have now:  teaching English classes at a small, liberal arts college (a dream job for my whole adult life) and preaching every Sunday at a small, country church (only very recently recognized as a dream job).

God's Generosity: Youth Sermon and Adult Sermon

It was a good Sunday at Faith Lutheran, in Bristol, Tennessee.  I didn't have any brilliant new ideas for a youth sermon, so I went with a standard approach, modified a bit from last time.  I encouraged a thought experiment, stressing that no actual money would be given out.

The text was Matthew 20:  1-16:  laborers in a vineyard arriving at different times, all paid the same amount of money at the end, regardless of arrival time.

The 4 youth who are regulars, I asked if they would make a banner for the church.  It would be an all day project, from 9-6, and I'd pay each one of them a thousand dollars.  They agreed--no surprise.

What if I included some newer members of our youth church?  They could come at noon and be paid the same.  A bit of hesitation, but nodding heads.

What if toddler Malachi joined us at 3 p.m.?  Same amount of money, but starting much later.  Wrinkled noses, less agreement.

Now what if I included some adults, let's say, Carl, Pete, and Diane?  They could come at 5 p.m., work for an hour, get $1000 each--are we O.K. with that?  Definitely not.

After the thought experiment, a brief talk about God's generosity and ideas of fairness.  The adult sermon covered much the same ground.  I think that the youth sermon was more engaging, as it often is, on some level, even though the ideas are developed differently.

You can see the adult sermon here, on my YouTube channel.  If you'd like to read along, I posted the sermon manuscript in this blog post.