Pentecost 22 2026

           Our reading from Deuteronomy this morning begins just across the river from Jericho. This is a huge moment in our salvation history as Moses climbs up from the plains of Moab to Mount Nebo, up to the top of Pisgah opposite Jericho, and I’d like for us to stand there beside Moses for a moment as the Lord shows him the Promised Land. Imagine that moment. I’ve stood on top of Pisgah, and it is an absolutely glorious sight looking out over the lands below. Then God says to Moses, I have let you see it with your eyes, but you shall not cross over there. 

           How do you feel, hearing that with Moses — really? It’s complicated, right? There’s a real poignance in this moment, standing there with Moses, looking out over the Promised Land. Everything that Moses and the Israelites have ever done has led to this — all the close calls in exile in Egypt, all of the Israelites’ misunderstandings, blunders, idol-worship (oops), and miracles have finally brought them to this place. It’s amazing! They’ve done it together! So many times it almost didn’t happen, and here they are! And then … Moses dies and is buried there, his exemplary life-long service to God and his community complete. 

           It must have been deeply fulfilling to see their long hope realized — even if Moses himself would not enter the Promised Land, but what is that we feel right now, standing next to Moses? It’s not exactly happiness. There’s even a little tug of sadness that Moses’s chapter as the Israelites’ leader has ended. I’ve sat with it over the past week, and I think what I feel is joy, which is much more complex than happiness. Joy takes into account all the hardships, setbacks, all the effort, help, relationships, conversations and dreams, and the enormous meaning and purpose of a community’s vision as it comes into focus with everyone joining in. Joy is also not as event-based and fixed as happiness, but grows as the community grows and changes over time. 

           Moses was one hundred twenty years old when he died, the Book of Deuteronomy says. Whether Moses’s 120 years would measure out the same way on our calendars, we’ll never know. But we know from his long list of great deeds that he was very old. Still, his sight was unimpaired and his vigor had not abated. The Hebrew word translated as vigor is lēaḥ [LAY-akh], which means moisture, freshness — the sap in a green, growing thing. Scholars have argued about that word for centuries, but I think the gardeners among us understand what that means. Moses is still growing, thriving, changing, and bearing fruit as he looks from Mount Pisgah over everything God had promised God’s people. 

           We all need joy. It’s our vigor and our very lēaḥ [LAY-akh] — sap or lifeblood — and it comes from our lives in community. Kelly McGonigal, a psychologist at Stanford who teaches a course called The Science and Practice of Joy, says that joy helps us sense the value of life itself, but that joy needs tending and cultivation. She encourages us to watch for what she calls micro-uplifts — tiny doses of joy we might otherwise not notice, like grabbing something off a high shelf for a stranger at the grocery store, or greeting someone on the street. These really small moments don’t have to fix everything to matter, she says. But focus in here — what’s going on with these micro-uplifts of joy? They’re all about our interactions with others! In order to feel joy, McGonigle says, you must join in. 

           This brings us to Matthew’s gospel. A lawyer asks Jesus which commandment in the law is the greatest. It’s always the lawyers, right? Lawyers are always asking those inconvenient questions, asking what law and legal precedent say about the question at hand, and generally slowing down the conversation. We lawyers take a lot of criticism for our persistent ways, but let’s zoom in here on the result of my annoying brother at the Bar’s question to Jesus, who himself was a faithful Jew and teacher of the law of Moses: From the lawyer’s question, we get a concise and beautiful summary of the law, straight from Torah. Many of us grew up hearing it every Sunday in the old prayer book language, and it’s still in the Rite 1 Eucharist right after the Collect for Purity (page 324 if you’re checking): Hear what our Lord Jesus Christ saith: Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind. This is the first and great commandment. And the second is like unto it: Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself. On these two commandments hang all the Law and the Prophets. A generation or so before Jesus, the great sage Rabbi Hillel was asked by an aspiring convert to Judaism to teach him the whole Torah while standing on one foot. Rabbi Hillel said, That which is hateful to you, do not do to your fellow. This is the entire Torah; the rest is commentary — go and learn it. 

           Today we celebrate the legacy of Natalie Bayard Brown’s gift of Emmanuel Church to the people of Newport as a home for the whole community. Natalie Bayard Dresser married John Nicholas Brown here in Newport in 1897. Their son was born in February 1900, and John Nicholas Brown died of typhoid fever just two and a half months later. Mrs. Brown never remarried. She built this church to honor her husband’s memory, and then she went out to love her neighbors — building playgrounds, teaching children to grow gardens, and opening a baby clinic and thrift shop. She engaged actively in civic life, and was the first woman to serve on a jury in Newport County. She served on the Newport School Committee, was president of the Newport Art Museum. Mrs. Brown’s lifetime of service inspired her son’s wife — Nick and Angela’s mother — to found Newport Classical. Most of all, she loved this community and this church. 

           Love God, love your neighbor, and repeat. It’s the law. The rest is commentary. Like Moses, Natalie Brown looked out over a land she would not live to enter. She never saw Emmanuel’s collaboration with Newport Classical come to fruition, the Community Bridge completed, or the robins bathing in the new fountain. She grabbed spots of joy as she loved God and her neighbors — building Mrs. Brown’s Big Dream for the whole community to flourish for future generations.

           Paul writes to the Thessalonians in today’s letter that he was determined to share with them not only the gospel of God but also our own selves. THIS is the sharing that gives us meaning and purpose and generates joy. The psalm prays it for us: prosper the work of our hands. Satisfy us by your loving-kindness in the morning, so shall we rejoice and be glad all the days of our life. After the service, we’ll gather by the fountain in the pollinator garden, made from one of the church’s original granite steps — steps that had become stumbling blocks, too difficult for many of us to climb. That step has been cored straight through its center, so water can rise up out of the stone and flow. Moses struck a rock in the wilderness and water came out, and now Emmanuel’s past has become a spring of living water for our future. Look for a spot of joy — a butterfly on the milkweed, or neighbor who needs a hand. Join in. Love God with everything you’ve got, and love your neighbor as yourself. The rest, as Rabbi Hillel says, is commentary. Amen