2nd Sunday after Pentecost 2025

Sermon: 2nd Sunday after Pentecost 2025

Texts: Luke 8: 26-39, Galatians 3:23-29

Grace, Peace, and Mercy from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.

I’d like to do something a bit unorthodox today. I want you to listen attentively to this poem written by the renowned Nicaraguan poet Rubén Darío. It is titled “The Wolf’s Motives”. It is an re-interpretation of a legend regarding St. Francis, where he pacifies a violent wolf who was terrorizing a town. In the original legend, the bad wolf is in a sense converted to gospel living by St. Francis, he becomes a part of the community he used to attack until his death, and the community cared for him. But in this poem, it takes a different turn, a kind of warning of the effects of humanity’s inclination towards sin. I believe the story in this poem encapsulates the dynamic in today’s gospel reading; on the one hand, the peaceable kingdom of Christ that liberates the violent and the fearful, represented with the figure of St. Francis; and on the other, the consequences of sin, fear and violence in the community that rejects those Christ liberates and presents to us to care for. Tarry along with me:

The man with heart of lily,
cherub’s, celestial tongue,
the minimal and sweet Francis of Assisi,
finds himself with a rude and grim animal,
fearful beast, of blood and theft,
furious jaws, evil eyes:
the wolf of Gubbio, the terrible wolf,
rabid, has devastated the land;
has cruelly destroyed all the flocks;
has devoured the lamb, has devoured the shepherds,
deaths and damages he has caused are countless.

Strong hunters armed with irons,
were destroyed. The hard fangs
accounted for the toughest dogs
as if they were goatlings and lambs.

Francis went out:
and searched for the wolf
at his burrow.
Near the cave, he found the enormous beast,
who, upon seeing him, ferociously jumped
at him. Francis, with his sweet voice,
and raising his hand,
told the furious wolf: – Peace, brother
wolf! – The animal
gazed at the man with the rough sackcloth;
let down his surly air,
closed the aggressive open jaws,
and said: –Alright, brother Francis! –
What is this! –exclaimed the saint—. Is it the law that you live
by horror and death?
The blood spilt
by your diabolical snout, the grief and terror
that you spread, the crying
of peasants, the screams, the pain
of so many creatures of Our Lord,
should they not contain your diabolical bitterness?
Do you come from hell?
Have, perhaps, Luzbel or Belial,
instilled you with their eternal resentment?
And the great wolf, humbly: Winter is hard,
and hunger is horrible! In the frozen forest
I found nothing to eat; so, I searched for cattle,
and sometimes ate cattle and shepherd.
The blood? I saw more than one hunter
on his horse, carrying a goshawk
on his fist; or running behind the wild boar,
the bear or the deer; and I saw more than one
get stained in blood, hurt, torture,
from the hoarse trunks to the deaf clamor,
the animals of Our Lord.
And it was not due to hunger that they were hunting.

Francis answers: There is bad yeast in man.
When he is born, he comes with sin. It is sad.
But the simple soul of the beast is pure.
You will have,
from this day onward, something to eat.
You will leave in peace
herds and people in this country.
May God mellow your wild being!
“Alright, brother Francis.”

Before the Lord, who binds all and unties all,
in faith of promise, give me your paw.

The wolf gave his paw to the brother
of Assisi, who in return gave his hand.
They walked to the village. People saw,
and what they saw, they almost could not believe.
Behind the religious man went the fierce wolf,
and, with a low head and still, it followed him,
as a house dog, or a lamb.

Francis called the people to the square,
and there he preached.
And said: Here is an amiable hunt.
Brother wolf comes with me;
he swore to me not to be your foe,
and not to repeat its bloody attack.
You, in exchange, will feed
this poor creature of God. Amen!
Answered the people form the whole village.
And then, as a sign
of contentment,
the good animal moved head and tail,
and entered the convent with Francis of Assisi
For some time, the wolf remained quiet
in the holy asylum.
His large ears listened to the psalms
and his light eyes became moist.
It learned a thousand talents and played a thousand games
When he went to the kitchen with the laymen.
And when Francis prayed,
the wolf, the poor sandals, caressed.
He went out to the street,
he went to the hill, came down to the valley,
came into the houses, and was given
some food. They saw him as a gentle greyhound.
One day, Francis went away. And the sweet wolf,
the meek and good wolf, the honest wolf,
disappeared, went back to the mountain,
and his howling and fury began again.
Again, there was fear, there was alarm,
among neighbors and shepherds;
filled the surroundings with fear,
courage and arms were no good,
for the fierce beast,
never gave truce to his fury,
as if he had
the fires of Moloch and Satan.

When the divine saint came back to the village,
all came to him with complaints and tears,
and with a thousand wails they gave testimony,
of what they suffered and lost
by that infamous demon wolf.

Francis of Assisi went grave.
He went to the mountain
To look for the false butcher wolf.
And found the vermin by his cave.
“In the name of the father of the holy universe,
I conjure you” – he said –, Oh wicked wolf!,
to answer to me: why have you gone back to evil?
Answer. I hear you.
As in a deaf struggle the animal spoke,
the foaming mouth and the fatal eye:
male were like dogs,
and then came the day when they all hit me with sticks.
They saw me humble, I licked their hands
and feet. I followed your sacred laws,
all creatures were my siblings:
brother men, brother oxen,
sister stars and brother worms.
And thus, they hit me and threw me out.
And their laughter was like boiling water,
and the beast revived within my gut,
and I suddenly felt a bad wolf again;
but always better than those bad people.
And restarted to fight here,
to defend myself and to feed myself.
As the bear does, as the wild boar does,
that in order to live they have to kill.
Leave me in the mountain, leave me in the crag,
let me be at my liberty,
go back to your convent, brother Francis,
go back to your way and sanctity.

The holy man from Assisi said nothing.
Looked at the wolf with a profound gaze,
and parted with tears and heartbroken,
and spoke to the eternal God with his heart.
The wind from the forest carried his prayer,
which said: Our father who art in Heaven…

How many times do we need to return to that prayer, Beloved. How easy it is to break the vulnerable balance of peace. Currently it seems, we are living in a world that has not learned it’s lessons. God’s Kingdom seems far away, and the ugly head of war raises its head. We are a society that is gripped by a legion of fear and despair, a toxic combination. Some want us to believe that we are to hate a particular group of people, that we are to be suspicious of them, that we are to keep them away and attack them. Beloved, we are called to a different kind of life. We are called to see the presence of God in every person. In the Gospel story, the community failed to see beyond the exterior of the possessed man, but Jesus has come to break down these barriers. In the poem, Francis sees the God presence in the bad wolf, and mends the relationship. Jesus is always about reaching out and bringing us out of isolation and despair, into beloved community again and again. God desires to brings all people together in one table. If the Iranian is absent from our table it is not complete. If the Palestinian is not at the table, it is not complete. Even if we’re upset about it, God does not suggest, He commands to build a larger table. We heard the apostle Paul writing to the Galatians: “There is no longer Jew or Greek; there is no longer slave or free; there is no longer male and female, for all of you are one in Christ Jesus”. We are called to be universal brothers and sisters to all, we are all one in a God that reveals Himself in Love. God does not desire the separation of human beings, He desires our unity. To come together in a love based not on our worthiness or ability, not about how good we are, but as recipients of a shared gift from God, the gift of new life in Christ. A life that is liberated from the powers of death and the tomb, a life of forgiveness that renews us when we fall short, a life of mercy that takes in those cast out and rejected. A beloved community that does not see lost causes, but rather persists like Christ, who yearns for our wholeness and liberation.

Like in the poem, perhaps our prayer and preaching may seem like an hollow echo in the wind. But not so. We are God’s sign, no matter how small, for all to see that another world is possible. In the poem, the heartbroken prayer of Francis is still God acting and yearning for restoration of relationships in a world possessed by the demons of violence. Violence is never the answer, it only leads to isolation and more sorrow. God help us to continue to pray, preach and witness to Christ. The persistence of these words and these acts of faith remind us that hope is still blowing in the wind, being carried forward to liberate and bring new life to those in the tombs. So as it is our practice, let us pray: