Sermon preached at the Sunday Mass on 6th September 2026 at St. Michael's and All Angels' Episcopal church in Corona del Mar, California.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Whenever I am here in California, I am taken aback by the beauty of nature: the amazing contrasts between the blue of the ocean, the emerald of the palm trees, and the many colors of the splendid flowers, all enhanced by the fair sun that shines here. Very few places in the world have such natural beauty in quite the same abundance. Perhaps I love it because it reminds me of our Amalfi Coast, blessed with a similar Mediterranean climate, where I spent my summers with my family from childhood. 

A couple of days ago, I explored the historic side of California and visited the Spanish mission of San Juan Capistrano. What a special place it was. It made me think of the first missionaries who ventured into this part of the world to spread God’s word. One of them was Saint Junipero Serra, who also reflected in his writings on the beauty of this land. I especially identified with one reflection: we have found the queen of flowers, the Rose of Castile. While I am writing this, I have in front of me a branch with many blossoms, three of them wide open and others opening. It is a delight to see.

There is something about moving between places that makes us notice things we once took for granted. And perhaps that is why these contrasts have been on my mind: California and Cambridge, Italy and England, sunshine and gloom, familiarity and change. Sometimes it is only when we move from one side of a contrast to another that we understand what we previously took for granted.

This is quite a contrast with my current home: Cambridge, England. Between Italy and California, I am trying to soak in the sun as much as I can to build up my vitamin D reserves for the gloomy English weather. (You can tell I wrote my sermon yesterday…) Cambridge is, however, charming in other ways. Right before the end of term, I attended a beautiful evensong at Emmanuel College Chapel, a stunning English Baroque space designed by Sir Christopher Wren, the architect behind St. Paul’s Cathedral and whose many designs for churches he rebuilt after the Great Fire of London inspired the colonial churches of New England and Virginia. Yet, Wren took me back to my hometown, Rome.

Wren traveled to Paris in 1665, where he met Bernini, who was working on his designs for the Louvre. Through his letters, his admiration for the architect is easy to read. He saw him as the greatest of his time and used a wonderful quotation to express his envy of Bernini’s design: I would give my skin for it. An English Protestant architect in Paris looking at the work of a Roman Catholic Italian sculptor and architect, being completely in awe of his work. What I love about art is that it can cross boundaries that can sometimes seem larger than they are. Cambridge can lead us to Rome. British order can be influenced by Italian passion. A building can outlive the arguments of those who built it. And perhaps relationships can do something similar. They can change. They can deteriorate. And sometimes, surprisingly, they can change again.

Under Pope Urban VIII, Bernini was extraordinarily favored. Urban was his great patron, and Bernini received enormous commissions at the Vatican. Yet the pope died in 1644 and was succeeded by Innocent X. With Innocent, Bernini lost favor. His links to the previous pope were a liability. Innocent initially favored other artists, and so Bernini’s position weakened. However, Bernini did not become a lesser artist. The relationship changed for the worst. But only until it changed again when the pope recognized the artist’s genius. Eventually, Bernini and Innocent X were reconciled, and the master received the commission for the famous Fountain of the Four Rivers in the Piazza Navona. 

This made me reflect on what can happen when a relationship changes. Heraclitus used to say that no man steps in the same river twice. The river is never quite the same, and neither are we. And sometimes, when a relationship changes, we assume that what existed before is simply gone forever. But Bernini’s story reminds us that relationships can change more than once.

That brings us to our Exodus story. The Bible itself begins with a contrast. Escaping from captivity in Egypt into freedom, it is going from the old into the new. The Passover is not merely about escaping danger; it is a story of God creating a community of people. God says: this day shall be a day of remembrance for you. He commissions Israel with a shared identity and a shared memory. God doesn’t merely save people; he brings them together. Equally, Saint Paul says: owe no one anything, except to love one another. This is the simplest description there can be of Christian life, yet it is something incredibly demanding: to love one’s neighbor. Love can sound incredibly easy, until someone actually hurts you.

And that brings us into the Gospel passage from Matthew, which actually tells us what happens when relationships turn bitter. Jesus says: if another member of the church sins against you, go and point out the fault when the two of you are alone. This is incredibly important. A few days ago, some of us were reflecting exactly on this passage, and some did mention how they were confronted about some issues in public when they were not expecting it. 

This can often generate the opposite outcome to the one desired. Addressing problematic issues in public can be humiliating and difficult, and oftentimes it does not lead to a solution, but to a bigger problem. I have noticed, living between different cultures, that we do not all understand confrontation in the same way. In some cultures, like in Cambridge or in some parts of the US, confrontation can be really difficult, while in most parts of Europe, the Northeast here, or even the southern Mediterranean of biblical times, being direct can be seen simply as a sign of clarity. 

Here, it is not necessarily the clarity that is disputed, but the time and place. Jesus still wants the point to be delivered. But he wants it to be done in such a way that doesn’t express: “I have won,” “I proved myself right,” or “I got revenge.” Instead, he wants it to be done in a gentle, humble way, a way that can actually make the other person reflect and which can successfully get the message across.

One of the early Church Fathers, Saint John Chrysostom, writes a homily on this passage and makes exactly this distinction. Jesus doesn’t want us to obtain revenge. Instead, he says that you have gained your brother. Notice the difference. Jesus does not say, “You have won.” He says, “You have gained your brother.” Conflict doesn’t only hurt the one who was wronged. Estrangement means that both people have lost something. This is an extremely profound Gospel passage. Jesus isn’t simply giving us a procedure for handling complaints; he is saying that we matter. He is saying that a broken relationship is a loss to the whole community. The person who has hurt you matters. The person you are angry with matters. And the relationship itself matters.

That brings us back to Bernini. Once highly favored by Urban, he fell into disgrace with his rival and successor, Innocent. His fortunes changed. Yet eventually, his quiet genius allowed even that relationship to change again, producing some of the most beautiful masterpieces the world has ever known.

The lesson here isn’t that every human relationship can or should be repaired. The Gospel isn’t naïve about that. It does contemplate rejection. However, it gives us a suggestion on how to break the escalation. Jesus refuses to let our first response to conflict be the assumption that our relationship is finished. He is trying to tell us how to go and regain those broken relationships, with gentleness and kindness, values the world truly needs right now. 

And then he says: for where two or three are gathered together in my name, I am there among them. This is not a mantra to keep in mind during long church meetings. It is instead a promise to use in a conflict, when we are dealing with disagreement and are in need of reconciliation. Perhaps this is why Jesus ends it here. Christ is not simply present when things are going well. He is present when we are trying to work out how to coexist as a community. Christ’s mission is to hold his community, the Church, together.

When I go back to my hometown, Rome, I see the physical results of relationships that once existed between artists, popes, patrons, and institutions, where they went wrong and where they went well. The Four Rivers Fountain is one of the examples where things went well. Nearby, there is an example of where things went wrong. But because the result is a bit rude, I will tell you about it over coffee if you’re interested…

We think of Rome as a city of marbled monuments and ethereal art, yet behind all those monuments were human relationships and emotions: friendships, rivalries, disappointments, loyalties, forgiveness, and indeed, reconciliation. Our Gospel reminds us that the most important thing we build is not that fountain, but our relationships with other members of the body of Christ.

Life is made of contrasts: Cambridge and Rome, sunny weather and gloomy days, Wren and Bernini, Urban and Innocent, Egypt and freedom, darkness and light, conflict and reconciliation, losing a brother or regaining a sister. Perhaps Christian life is not about eliminating contrasts, but about learning how to live faithfully within them. Perhaps it is about learning that being right is not always the same thing as being faithful. Paul says: owe no one anything, except to love one another.

The Christian message to a broken relationship is not, “Prove that I am right.” It is: How do I regain my brother or sister? When we fight, both sides lose. God is trying to form us into another way of living: a way in which we can tell the truth without humiliating, a way in which we can confront without seeking revenge, a way in which we can disagree without immediately assuming that the relationship is finished, and a way in which we remember that the person in front of us is not simply the person who has hurt us, but our brother or sister in Christ. 

And perhaps this is why Jesus says that when two or three are gathered in his name, he is there among them. Christ is present not only in harmony, but in the difficult work of finding harmony again. Not only when relationships are easy, but when they need to be repaired. Not only when we agree, but when we are trying to learn how to love one another despite our disagreements.

While here in California, Saint Junipero Serra wrote the following inspiring words: just as a tender father is moved to pity because of the misfortunes of his children, so our God and Lord, in His infinite mercy, sympathizes with us... The Lord's mercy is like light. As extensive as the darkness of sin might be in someone, as soon as a remorseful sinner approaches God, that light scatters the darkness instantly.

Perhaps that is another contrast worth remembering: darkness and light, estrangement and reconciliation, loss and restoration. And perhaps the Christian life is not about pretending that the darkness does not exist, but trusting that God’s light can enter even there.

Amen.