There's Work to Be Done

2026-36
sermon preached at Church of the Good Shepherd, Federal Way, WA
www.goodshepherdfw.org
by the Rev. Josh Hosler, Rector

The Third Sunday after Pentecost (Proper 6A-tr 2), June 14, 2026

Exodus 19:2-8a; Psalm 100; Romans 5:1-8; Matthew 9:35-10:23

There are moments when Christy and I might find ourselves sitting on the couch after a TV show. Or lying in bed trying to imagine what the day will be. Or just zoning out on our phones. Then one of us will finally say, “Well, there’s work to be done and we’re the ones to do it!” In other words, regardless of the inexorable pull of the couch or the bed or the phone, it’s time to spring into action. “There’s work to be done and we’re the ones to do it!” The phrase empowers us because it honors our personal role: some work is simply our work. It doesn’t belong to anyone else. Even if it just means loading the dishwasher.

Today we hear two stories of divine work given to special people. And what makes them so special? Simply the fact that divine work has been given to them. That’s all. They didn’t apply for the job; they were called. They didn’t go to school and get a degree to prepare them; they were told by a divine voice, “Here’s your work. Don’t worry; I’ll help you do it.”

At the time of their call, the Hebrews have barely lost the scent of salt water from their nostrils and have just begun to taste manna every morning. There is an incident where they almost mutiny against Moses, their leader—not that this will help them find water. Some are still grumbling about that episode. They’ve also survived an attack by some nearby Amalekites, thanks to the leadership of Moses’ general, Joshua. And Moses’ father-in-law, Jethro, has just helped Moses set up a hierarchy of leadership so the work doesn’t all fall on his own shoulders.

This has been phase one of Israel’s freedom: contention and disorientation, but eventually relief and settling into a routine. Now it’s time for phase two, and this is where the real work begins. Moses goes high up on a mountain, and God tells him, “The whole earth is mine, but you shall be for me a priestly kingdom and a holy nation.” In other words, “There’s work to be done, and you’re the ones to do it!”

This should not be news to the chosen people of God, for whom the call came through Abraham centuries before. It’s a fresh version of the same call in a new, unprecedented situation. This is the experience of a people in direct conversation with God, who then allow that experience to change the course of their history. Abraham’s call may have come first, but this is the one that will define God’s chosen people forever.

The people accept the call graciously, answering as one: “Everything that the Lord has spoken we will do.”

Have you ever had the guts to say that to God? “Everything you have spoken I will do.” Yikes. That does take some courage.

Last Sunday—quoting, of all things, a fortune cookie—I described courage as the form of every virtue at its testing point. And I invited all of you to share stories of times you were courageous—stories for me to share with the congregation, with or without your name attached.

Judging by the fact that I’ve received zero stories as yet, I guess it takes courage even to share a story of courage. Or maybe everyone’s just busy, and anyway, I know I don’t typically ask you to produce something specific in response to my preaching.

But I’d like to make the ask again today, because I think one of Good Shepherd’s most necessary tasks right now is to embrace courage. It’s not like we don’t have a history of it. But the church has changed, and the world has changed, and new situations call for new kinds of courage. After 1700 years, Christendom is gone, so the church can no longer expect support from powerful political systems. New understandings from the worlds of psychology and sociology, not to mention the “hard sciences,” mean religion no longer has an assumed voice at the table. I honestly believe that’s a very good thing. The church needs to find its courage and attend ever more closely to where the Holy Spirit may be guiding us next. Developing our own personal courage is just one step in the church’s work ahead.

So I hope I might pave the way for your stories of courage by sharing a courage story of my own.

Now, they told us in seminary that if you’re going to share stories from your own life, it’s generally considered poor form to share one that makes you out to be the hero. Nobody wants to hear clergy toot their own horns. But any story of courage kind of needs to lean in that direction. Anyway, doing something courageous is not necessarily about the outcome. It’s about our realization that there was no better thing we could do, and that we’d do it again even if the result disappointed us.

So here’s my story of courage. I was 19 years old, a sophomore in college, and I was dating a freshman named Robin. One winter day, Robin fell on the ice, and her injury led doctors to discover that she had cancer in her leg. Her family had few resources and weren’t sure how to handle her medical care. We were very young, and I adored Robin, but I wasn’t sure how I could possibly help her in this situation.

Then, one day, Robin managed to get a medical appointment back home. But that was a four-hour drive away, and she couldn’t drive on her injured leg. Nobody in her family offered to drive down to get her; I have no memory of what factors prevented them. So Robin resigned herself to missing the appointment.

In that moment, Robin looked to me like a sheep without a shepherd—harassed and helpless. I felt compassion, but I also felt anger. This was an unacceptable injustice. Well, I didn’t have a car of my own. So on a Monday afternoon, I dropped everything and drove Robin, in her car, all the way to her hometown. Robin would have to remain for a whole week for various tests, and I had no way of getting back to school for my classes. I began to wonder whether I had made a foolish decision.

It was then that three college friends—Matt, Dave, and Tom—surprised me. They drove all the way up that very night to get me and bring me back! We returned to campus mid-morning on Tuesday, just in time for me to take an important exam and to pass it—barely.

It seems that courage shown by one can inspire courage in others. I realized that if I didn’t get Robin home, nobody was going to get her home—so I just did it. And then my friends caught the spirit of my decision. They didn’t ALL need to come get me, but they all wanted to join in the rescue effort. Sometimes you just have to help each other out, even if it costs you something.

Here’s the thing, though: it’s not our acts of courage that make us worthy of love. If anything, it’s the other way around: once others understand us to be worthy of love, they can be courageous on our behalf. Everybody deserves love, simply because we are God’s creatures. So everybody deserves to be shown courage.

In his letter to the Romans, Paul clears up all questions about who deserves what. He writes, “We are justified by faith.” Rather than pit faith against works, a centuries-old Christian debate that I think is ultimately tiresome, I suggest we look at this from higher up. Faith doesn’t originate with our actions, but with God’s love. When we understand that God finds us to be worthy of love, we are able to act courageously on behalf of others. If we accept that our existence is blessed, and that our souls are justified in continuing to exist, and that God is love, this really can free us up to act in the world with courage.

And so Jesus calls his followers to courage as well. “The harvest is plentiful.” Humanity is ultimately loveable, and there is abundance! But who will do the work of gathering the people together in the cause of loving one another? “Ask the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into his harvest.” Jesus is daring the disciples to cast around for anybody other than themselves to do the work—only to find that nobody else is lining up. It’s dangerous to ask God to provide. We may look around and discover that we’re the provided ones!

So we are to do the work as best we can, but also, we are to trust in God’s provision. Jesus instructs his disciples: “Take no gold, or silver, or copper in your belts, no bag for your journey, or two tunics, or sandals, or a staff.” You are enough, and to equip you for the work, you will be given enough of what you don’t have.

Now, none of this means your life will be free of sacrifice. You may even lose your life for the work God calls you to. I daresay Alex Pretti knew only that a woman had been shoved to the ground, and he needed to help her up. And Renee Good knew that if her neighbors were going to keep being kidnapped, she and her wife needed to show up and unmask that evil. Compassion drives some people all the way to martyrdom.

So when I hear Jesus say “The one who endures to the end will be saved,” I don’t know exactly what that means. But I suspect it has more to do with the quality of our work than with the inherent value of our souls. Our continuing existence is already justified. What will be the legacy of our courage?

What has been the legacy of your courage? Email me a story. You can think theologically in your head all you like. But until you start doing the work that is given you to do, you’re not a functioning Christian. Don’t get me wrong—God’s love is assured no matter what, and God will always love you, even if you take a pass on every single tug of the Holy Spirit! I’m just here to make clear the nature of the call.

There’s courageous work to be done, and we’re the ones to do it. Amen.