Sermon preached at All Saints' Rome on the 7th Sunday after Pentecost.
In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. When I was ten years old, my family took me on a trip to Disney World in Orlando. Like any child, I was excited, at least until we reached this particular ride in the Magic Kingdom. For those who have been, this was Splash Mountain. I remember standing there, looking up at the great red mountain rising up above me, watching the logs disappear over the top before plunging down a great drop. I could even hear the screams of the people on board, followed by the enormous splash of water as they reached the bottom. To everyone else, this looked like great fun, to me, this looked like absolute terror. I dug my heels in and said: “I don’t want to, I am scared, go ahead without me”. My mom could have easily said: “it’s fine, we’ll skip it”. Instead, she came over, sat beside me, and gently encouraged me. She simply asked me to trust her, she said I would have been alright. She understood I was frightened but promised...
