Synod sermon 2025: "What does it mean to follow Jesus today?"
Homilies & Addresses
“What would it look like to take the dignity lens to the work we do — to the way we see our churches and face the adaptive challenges before us? How might it shift our conversations, reframe our approaches, and expand our imaginations? Could it increase our capacity for hard conversations, give us the courage to speak from the pulpit on tough topics, and grow in new competencies? Might it help us realign with our mission and speak boldly to the structures that hold us back?” asks Dr Beth-Sarah Wright
In the words of Isaiah 55 verse 11, “let my word that goes out from my mouth; not return to me empty, but accomplish what I desire and achieve the purpose for which I sent it.” Amen
Good evening!
I bring you greetings from the Episcopal Diocese of Atlanta, where my family and I have lived for the past 23 years. I also bring greetings on behalf of my husband, who has served as Bishop of Atlanta for the past 14 years, and from the Absalom Jones Episcopal Center for Racial Healing, where I now serve as Acting Executive Director.
My heartfelt thanks to Archbishop Jeremy for this invitation. I was delighted to meet him through the Principals’ Retreat for the Anglican Schools Commission, and now, to be here as the inaugural Professor-in-Residence with the Commission, for the next six weeks is a tremendous honor. I look forward to working alongside courageous educators, chaplains, students, principals, and faculty as we strive to live more authentically into our Anglican identity.
As the daughter of an Anglican priest in Jamaica, Synod was a formative part of my upbringing. It was always a time of energy and openness, full of possibility and deep reflection — a chance to lean more fully into our identities as Christians and Anglicans.
So, in this sacred time of discernment and renewal, I offer a sermon inspired by Jesus’ compelling words in Matthew’s Gospel: “Follow Me.”
“Follow me, and let the dead bury their own dead.” (Matthew 8.22) Jesus says to his disciple. Simple. Clear. An invitation to follow Christ and leave everything, all other distractions behind. Even the devastating loss of a parent. An act, we can all empathise with — wanting to honor their father — but Jesus demands his undivided attention. This is an invitation not dependent on the disciple’s timeline or to soothe and comfort him in his grief, but rather an invitation to awaken. To unsettle. It is urgent. It is disruptive.
But this is the nature of God — disruption not for destruction, but for transformation. God disrupts in order to realign, to re-root us in what is real and life-giving. It’s the same invitation extended to each of us: to leave behind distraction, even deeply human obligations, and to step fully and authentically into the mission of Christ.
This invitation is echoed in the rite of Holy Baptism. It is the church’s way of partnering with God’s invitation to be different in this world. Even Jesus was transformed through baptism. At its heart, Baptism is an invitation to a new way of life: to see differently, act differently, and live in new alignment.
In the service of Baptism as written in your Book of Common Prayer, I’m drawn to how this moment is called “The Decision”. Beautiful! Because that’s precisely what it is — a choice. A deliberate act of free will. And the first question is deceptively simple: “Do you turn to Christ?” Not when you’re ready. Not when it’s convenient. Not when life is orderly. Not when your resume or education says you are ready. Just: Do you turn to Christ?
And we say yes — not abstractly, but in practice. In our leadership, our communities, our service to the Church — flawed, beloved, full of hope. But people don’t look like their goals, they look like their choices. Organisations don’t look like their goals; they look like their choices. Author Alice Walker says it is this way, “Look closely at the present you are constructing. It should look like the future you’re dreaming.” So, in a world full of noise and shifting priorities, we must ask now: what choices do we need to make to follow Jesus today?
Distractions are everywhere. Expressions of Christianity abound that feel so perpendicular to the Jesus of the Gospels. Church attendance is declining, especially among the young. Restorative justice is increasingly elusive. The world’s systems continue to push more and more people to the margins — through no fault of their own.
So again, we ask: What does it mean to follow Jesus today?
Jesus’ answer is plain: don’t miss what’s in front of you by clinging to what should be left behind. “Let the dead bury their own dead.” Let go of what is lifeless. Look toward what is living; life-giving. What are the dead things we cling to — old habits, outdated structures, fear, comfort? What must we release to truly follow Jesus? This is not just a call to obedience — it is an invitation into relationship. A call to know Jesus intimately. The nature of God is outward-reaching, other-centered, always seeking partners — no matter who or what they may be or what they may be going through — to participate in God’s work in the world.
And because this is a call to relationship — not just belief — we must now look again at who we are and our purpose as Christians. To remember what we are called to do and be. To ask not only what our mission is, but whether we are truly living it. And Jesus gave us a roadmap etched on his body, in his words, in his stories, in his questions, in his actions, even in his leadership style!
Nestled in “follow me” is an invitation to see differently. Earlier in this chapter, Jesus meets person after person with eyes of deep vision, corrected to a lens of dignity. He sees past status, illness, nationality, to see possibility. Divine possibility.
He sees the leper not as contagious, but as worthy of healing. He sees the Roman centurion not as outsider, but as a man of extraordinary faith. He saw beyond the world’s limitations to see possibility He recognises the image of God in each one — the breath of God inside of them woven into their DNA despite their stature, their present condition, their perceived marginalisation.
How might we begin to see like that? To see the immigrant, the homeless, the poor, the prisoner, the refugee through the lens of dignity?
We all know how easy it is for us to bring past experiences, past stories, biases to our encounters of first sight. We know how simple it is to be blinded by them and to short circuit opportunities for bridge building, forgiveness, love even. Especially when they are different from us or when they have brought us harm or sinned against us. But this is not our calling. This is not our way of living out our faith. Jesus calls us to something different. To see the breath of God even in those who are difficult to understand or easy to dismiss. When you look at a caterpillar do you see the butterfly? And when you look at a beautiful butterfly do you also see the transformation it had gone through to achieve that beauty? I am so glad God knows us intimately, all our blemishes, all our joys, all our missteps in our thoughts, words and deeds and yet chooses to see our dignity. Because God is merciful. Always merciful.
Seeing differently leads to doing differently. And that doing is often hard work. Jesus did not promise an easy road. He said, “Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.” This path, this sacred journey has never been about safety or predictability or comfort. It has always been about surrender. About trust. About faith. About growing into something deeper—even when it costs us.
In the book of James, the brother of Jesus encourages scattered Jewish Christians in the Roman Empire — facing real and pressing challenges — on how to build community in uncertain times. He writes, “you can develop a healthy, robust community that lives right with God and enjoy its results only if you do the hard work of getting along with each other, treating each other with dignity and honor.” Isn’t this what we all want?
What would it look like to take the dignity lens to the work we do — to the way we see our churches and face the adaptive challenges before us? How might it shift our conversations, reframe our approaches, and expand our imaginations? Could it increase our capacity for hard conversations, give us the courage to speak from the pulpit on tough topics, and grow in new competencies? Might it help us realign with our mission and speak boldly to the structures that hold us back?
This is hard work. At times, it can feel overwhelming. But the good news is — we are not alone in it. We don’t do this by our own strength or will.
The Psalmist says, “The righteous cry, and the Lord hears them; He delivers them from all their troubles.” Because God is a promise-keeper. The promise was never that it would be easy — but that we would never be left to do it alone. “I will, with God’s help.” Remember?
This is the comfort we are given — not that trouble will never come, but that God will be with us in it. Listening. Sustaining. Delivering.
So do not grow weary. Keep going. We do not labor in vain. As the great theologian Walter Brueggemann once said: A healthy church is just a gathering of people using their best resources to try to follow Jesus. That’s enough. (On Being with Krista Tippett).
And Titus gives us this charge: “Show yourself in all respects a model of good works, and in your teaching, show integrity, gravity, and sound speech.” This is the leadership the world longs for: steady, honest, aligned. Aligned with the very purpose, mission we say we believe. And what is that? Our baptismal promises call us again:
- Do you turn to Christ?
- Do you repent of your sins?
- Do you reject selfish living and all that is false and unjust?
- Will you, by God’s grace, strive to live as a disciple of Christ?
These are not questions for ceremony alone. They are invitations to live with intention and with integrity. Invitations to this daily decision. To examine our words, our decisions, our direction—and ask, are we aligned? In my work I call this an integrity audit. Are we doing what we say we are doing?
There is often a space —a gap— between what we proclaim and what we practice.
But it is in that space that grace invites us to grow.
To be re-formed.
To become more of who we say we are. That is our hope!
Before I take my seat, I want to leave you with a story. As a young woman in Britain, Charlotte Elliott gained fame as a poet, known for her literary talent and sharp wit. Yet she struggled deeply with feelings of uselessness and depression, particularly after a serious illness left her permanently disabled at the age of 32. Convinced she had nothing left to offer God; she was asked by her minister whether she had truly given her heart to Christ. With some consternation, she replied that she wanted to serve God but didn’t know how. Her minister, César Malan, gently encouraged her: “Just come to him as you are.”
That moment became a turning point in her life — and the inspiration for the timeless hymn “Just as I Am”, which we will hear later in the service from the choir.
Jesus calls us just as we are. Not when we feel ready or polished. Not when our resume, or number of ministries or average Sunday attendance say we are ready. Jesus is not waiting for our perfection. Jesus is waiting for our yes.
So, say yes to God again. Say yes again to Jesus’s invitation and to his story. Say yes again to our baptismal promises. Say yes to seeing the dignity in every human being. Say yes to seeing the world, our work, our mission, our purpose with new eyes, new courage, new hope, new capacity. Say yes to the hard work of being Church and of being community. Say yes to living as a disciple of Christ: fight the good fight, finish the race and keep the faith.
“Follow me.” Jesus said. Yes, Lord. We will. Amen.
Sermon given at St John’s Cathedral during the Second Session of the 81st Synod of the Diocese of Brisbane on Friday, 27 June 2025.
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