An article for the Cathedral Times
by the Very Rev. Sam Candler, Dean of the Cathedral
It was one year ago that I wrote a little Christian piece, titled, “I Want to Tell You Another Story.” It started as a reminder that before there was a Groundhog Day, there was the Christian holiday of Candlemas, looking for light in the midst of winter. I was pointing out that Christian traditions precede cultural traditions and customs. I went on to claim that there is wisdom in telling the ancient Christian story, and in teaching the ancient Christian texts, in the midst of a world that is daily suckered in, by whatever the world media, or world political leaders, claim to be panicked about.
And, surely, there is much to be panicked about. There always is. I salute leaders who present good will and good faith in the midst of uncertain, and even erratic, world events. All of us do well to stay informed, and to listen for truth and good will, in the midst of falsehood and bad faith.
But, to repeat: in the midst of anxiety, I tell you another story. Here is what I said last year:
Before there were social media posts, before there were knee-jerk reactions to every eerie syllable that one might imagine, the Christian Church has witnessed to the value of long-lasting traditions, the value of that kind of prayer which takes years to practice, the value of wise theology which takes time.
From time to time, eager and earnest parishioners have wanted good preachers to mention this or that in their sermons. Are you going to mention “such-and-such” this week? Sometimes those preachers do; sometimes they don’t. Those of you who attend church over time know that good preachers become good by taking their time, by holding fast to a witness and a message that takes time to form.
We might think that the challenge of how preachers respond to contemporaneous political events is a new phenomenon. No. Good preachers have always considered how they are to preach the distinctive Christian witness to God and the world. Good preachers know that they are not meant simply to mimic whatever loud partisan voice is being shouted that day.
Some church members, sometimes, want it to be otherwise. We say things like, “My particular position on this issue is so dire to me that I want, I need, my minister to comment on it this week!” or even, “If my minister does not say such-and-such this week, then I am leaving the parish.” Sometimes, sadly, they do.
And the person who only occasionally visits church can sometimes hear things, many things besides the sermon, that they do not usually hear! In the Episcopal Church, for instance, we pray most every week something that goes like this: “We are truly sorry and we humbly repent. For the sake of your Son Jesus Christ, have mercy on us and forgive us.” You do not have to pray that; but we pray it in our church most every week.
This is our story. This is part of our language. As the great twentieth-century philosopher, Ludwig Wittgenstein, might say, it is part of our grammar. (Paul Holmer called it our “grammar of faith.”) Wittgenstein used the term “language games” to refer to the way various communities use language in their “forms of life.” By “language game,” Wittgenstein did not at all mean something trivial or shallow; he meant the way communities seriously develop our forms of life, our stories.
Those of you who hear me preach, week in and week out, know that I try to witness to a particular message. Sometimes it works; sometimes it doesn’t. But the story that I preach is from a different world than the one we see blasted to us on social media accounts, or hear in loud television transmissions. I want to tell you another story.
So, for those who would have me comment upon the latest social media dagger, either to applaud the jab or to condemn it, I hope you will understand my response: I am not a pawn in that game. It may be a fine game; it may be, for some, the most comfortable way of living in, and engaging, the world. But it is not the only game in the world. I am trying to be part of a larger and more long-lasting story, one that was named long ago in Jesus Christ, and started even before Christ.
My story has endured through all sorts of turmoil, and all sorts of joy. And the story to which I try to give witness is not some cute and quaint groundhog day story. The Christian witness has changed the world, for the better, time and time again. It has taken seriously the words of Jesus (and Isaiah) which we heard in our scheduled lectionary just this past Sunday in church: “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.” (Luke 4:18-19).
Whether I am the preacher or not, I go to church. I go to church in order to see another world, in order to be part of another world. The people and the beauty and the culture transport me to another place. The preaching does. The music does. The prayer does. And the stories do! Oh my! The stories! Our present news media stories have nothing on the long-lasting stories of the Bible. Read them! …
Yes, there is another story than the one you might be hearing the loudest right now. And there is another light! There is another way to spend your time. Join a community of faith, one whose language and culture have been around for a long time.
So, this year, March of 2026, much of the world is still anxious. Much of the world is at war again. Like many other Christian leaders, I have always considered war to be a kind of failure. I do acknowledge that war can be necessary in our world; I am not a pacifist (like the early Christians certainly were, and as was Jesus himself). But war also means that something has failed, and that is a tragedy. War is not peace.
Striving to avoid violence, I pray in a faith community that is honorable, committed to peace and justice, and grown from traditional spiritual values. Those values are the mighty ones, love and justice and peace. But our Christian values are also the Mosaic decalogue: do not steal, do not bear false witness, do not murder, honor your relationships, do not let a lesser image be your God. I preach about those values.
Inevitably, I am glad to venture into territory which my critics claim is “too political.” “Don’t be political,” people advise me, the preacher. To which I respond, “You are mistaken. Everything I say is political.” Yes, even the matters you do not interpret as political, are political. Everything each of us does or says – and everything each of us does not do or say – participates in the political world around us. But we have another world; we have another story. We can choose to play the political game of the moment, or we can live faithfully in the long game, the greater community, in the health and love of long-term justice and peace. I am glad to be part of that other story, part of a greater community of love and hope.
The Very Reverend Samuel G. Candler
Dean of the Cathedral of St. Philip