Pentecost 4A (Matthew 10:24-39)

Matthew 10 is, in many ways, a field guide to discipleship. Last Sunday, we reflected on the heart of the gospel—the good news Jesus proclaims: that the kingdom of God is not somewhere far away, but already present. And more than that—it is present within each one of us.

That is the core of Jesus’ ministry: to help people recognize and trust the presence of God already dwelling in them. Jesus uses a curious image to describe this truth—two sparrows sold for a penny. I always hear a bit of humor in that. It’s almost like a “buy one, get one free” deal. You can’t have just one—you always get two. They come together.

In the same way, you cannot have yourself apart from God’s presence. The two are inseparable. That is the deal. But once we begin to take that seriously—once we begin to attend to this inner presence of God—it changes everything. Especially our relationships.

At first, it actually complicates things. When we try to become quiet, to turn inward and notice God’s presence, we don’t immediately experience peace. Instead, our minds fill up—random thoughts, lingering worries, old memories. It can feel less like peace and more like a battlefield. Not calm, but noise—like swords clashing in our own thoughts and emotions.

Is that a bad sign? Not at all. It’s a necessary part of the process. It may even help explain why, in everyday life, we often feel distant from God, distant from peace. Even in a quiet place like Trinity, even here, we may still feel restless—because our minds are still holding onto what kept us up at night or woke us in the middle of the night.

The presence of God is not something we simply receive as a finished peace placed into our hands. We do not work for it because we must earn it—but because our minds and hearts are so full, so cluttered.
So we begin by finding that presence of God within—and from there, we slowly work our way back into our reality. That is the inner work of discipleship. And at times, it does feel like a battlefield.

Now, what about our relationships? What happens when the presence of God becomes central—when it stands between us?

Take any relationship. Let’s say, for example, G. and me. At one level, it’s just G. and me. But if we take seriously that each of us carries the presence of God within, then suddenly something changes. It is no longer just two people. It is two people standing in the presence of God.

But before we arrive at that awareness, something else has to happen first. I have to learn to see G. through the presence of God.

That means becoming aware of the lenses I bring—the assumptions, interpretations, and projections I place onto G. All of those need to be exposed in the presence of God.

Because the truth is—we all do this. We project onto one another based on our past experiences, our expectations, our fears. It’s a human defense mechanism. And there is nothing inherently wrong with that.

I know, for example, that some of you may see me through your own images of what a priest is or should be. But the problem begins when we confuse the projection with the person—when we box someone in and assume they are exactly what we have imagined. Because no one is identical to the image we have created of them.

We see this clearly in families. A child struggles when they are expected to become the version their parents have imagined—the version shaped by someone else’s hopes or fears. And this is where Jesus’ words about division begin to make sense.

The “division” he speaks of is not about creating conflict for its own sake. It is the necessary separation between a person and the projections placed upon them. It is the moment when a daughter resists being defined by her mother’s image of who she should be.

In that sense, the mother, too, must be set free—from the version of the daughter she has created.
Let her be who she is. And this is not simply a modern idea about self-expression. This is the gospel.
To follow Jesus is to allow every person to be seen—not through our projections—but through the presence of God within them.

To hold onto those projected images of others—and even of our own selves—is, in a way, a kind of death. And to have our eyes opened anew in the presence of God—that is what Paul calls “newness of life.”

When we look at one another in this way, we are no longer projecting fixed images of who someone is supposed to be. Instead, we offer one another a long, loving look—a gaze that hopes, that trusts, that is eager to see the other flourish and live fully.

We begin to become that presence for one another.

Can Trinity Allendale be that place of God’s presence for each other?

May it be so.


Summary: Discipleship is learning to see—ourselves and others—not through our projections, but through the indwelling presence of God, and that re-seeing is what Jesus calls both division and new life.