Homily October 25, 2026
Love Is at the Heart of Our Calling: From the Heart of a Deacon
Christina (Tina) McKinlay
October 26, 2026
‘Love Thy Neighbour’
Love Is at the Heart of Our Calling
A Sermon on Matthew 22:34–46
Love Is at the Heart of Our Calling:
From the Heart of a Deacon
May the words of my mouth and the meditation of all our hearts be acceptable in your sight, O Lord, our strength and our redeemer. Amen.
At our recent gathering of deacons, we spent time with the writing of Kat Armas ** and the question of what it truly means to belong. One thought has stayed with me: belonging is more than being allowed into a room. It is being seen, being heard, and knowing that we matter.
In a world where so many people feel invisible, judged, or pushed to the edges, the Church is called to be a place where people do not have to prove their worth before being treated with dignity. We belong to God before we have accomplished anything at all.
And that thought has followed me into our Gospel today, because the love Jesus speaks of is not simply something we believe. It is something we are called to live.
In our Gospel reading this morning, Jesus is asked a question.
“Teacher, which commandment in the law is the greatest?”
Now, when we think about all the commandments, the laws, the teachings, and everything that was expected of people trying to live faithful lives, it is a pretty big question.
And yet Jesus gives an answer that is wonderfully simple.
“You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.”
And then he adds:
“You shall love your neighbour as yourself.”
Two commandments.
Love God. Love your neighbour.
It sounds so simple, doesn't it?
But I wonder sometimes if the simplest things Jesus asks of us are also the hardest to live out.
Because loving God is about so much more than coming to church on Sunday morning. And loving our neighbour is about so much more than being kind when it is convenient.
It is about the way we live our lives. The way we treat one another. The way we see people. And perhaps most importantly, the way we respond when someone needs us.
As a deacon, this passage speaks very deeply to me.
When I think about my calling, I think about the Church, of course. I think about worship, prayer, the Eucharist, and the privilege of serving God's people.
But I also think about the world beyond our church doors.
I think about the food bank and the people who come through its doors.
People who are struggling to put food on the table. People who may be worried about paying their rent, keeping the lights on, or simply getting through another day.
And I am reminded that every person who comes looking for food brings something much more than an empty grocery bag.
They bring their own story.
Their worries, their disappointments, their hopes, and sometimes a great deal of hurt.
We may never know what another person has been through. We may never understand the circumstances that have brought them to where they are.
But we don't have to know their whole story to treat them with dignity.
And I think that is where Jesus' words become so important.
Love your neighbour as yourself.
Not just the neighbour who lives next door.
Not just the neighbour who shares our beliefs or sees the world the way we do.
Not just the neighbour who is easy to love.
But the neighbour who is struggling.
The neighbour who is lonely.
The neighbour who has made mistakes.
The neighbour who feels forgotten.
And even the neighbour who may be difficult to understand.
Jesus doesn't ask us to decide who deserves our love.
He asks us to love.
And that can be challenging.
Because if we are being truthful, there are times when loving others is difficult. There are times when our patience runs thin, when we are tired, when we feel overwhelmed, or when we simply don't know what to do.
I certainly don't believe that being a deacon means having all the answers.
In fact, I think ministry teaches us just how much we don't know.
We cannot solve every problem.
We cannot take away every person's suffering.
And no matter how much we might want to, we cannot make everything right.
But perhaps Jesus isn't asking us to fix everything.
Perhaps he is asking us to begin by seeing one another differently.
To look beyond someone's circumstances and recognize the person standing before us.
Someone who, just like you and me, wants to be loved, accepted, respected, and valued.
Someone who is made in the image of God.
I often think about how much difference a small act of kindness can make.
A friendly greeting.
A few minutes spent listening.
Remembering someone's name.
Taking the time to ask how they are, and really wanting to hear the answer.
These things may not seem especially remarkable.
But for someone who feels invisible, they can mean the world.
And isn't that so often how God's love finds its way into our lives?
Not always through grand gestures or extraordinary events, but through the ordinary kindness of another human being.
Through someone who takes the time to care.
Through someone who reminds us, perhaps without even realizing it, that we matter.
Yet I also believe that Jesus is asking something more of us.
Because loving our neighbour means caring not only about the person who is hungry, but also about why that person is hungry in the first place.
It means asking why so many people are struggling to find affordable housing.
Why some seniors are living in loneliness.
Why families are having to choose between groceries and other necessities.
Why people who are already carrying so much hardship sometimes find themselves judged rather than welcomed.
These are difficult questions.
And there are no easy answers.
But they are questions we cannot ignore if we take Jesus' commandment seriously.
Our faith calls us to compassion, but it also calls us to justice.
As Anglicans, we promise in our baptismal covenant to seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving our neighbours as ourselves.
We promise to strive for justice and peace among all people and to respect the dignity of every human being.
Those are beautiful promises.
But they are also challenging promises.
Because they ask something of us.
They ask us to take the love we speak about in church and carry it into the world.
And this is something I believe lies at the very heart of diaconal ministry.
A deacon is called to be a bridge between the Church and the world.
To bring the needs, the struggles, and the concerns of the world into the prayers and life of the Church.
And to remind the Church that our ministry does not end when we walk out the doors on Sunday morning.
In many ways, that is where it begins again.
But this calling doesn't belong only to deacons.
It belongs to all of us.
Every one of us has opportunities to show the love of Christ.
In our homes.
In our neighbourhoods.
In our workplaces.
In the grocery store.
And in those unexpected moments when another person's life touches our own.
We may not always recognize these moments as ministry.
But I believe they are.
Because ministry is not only about what we do within the walls of a church.
It is about how we live as followers of Jesus.
Now, there is another part of this morning's Gospel that we shouldn't overlook.
After Jesus answers the question about the greatest commandment, he turns the conversation around and asks the Pharisees a question about the Messiah.
Whose son is the Messiah?
They answer, “The son of David.”
And Jesus challenges them to think more deeply about what that answer means, drawing on the words of Psalm 110, where David calls the Messiah Lord.
Jesus is asking them to look beyond what they think they already know.
They have their expectations about the Messiah, about what he should be, and perhaps even about how God should work in the world.
But Jesus cannot be confined to their expectations.
And perhaps that is something worth thinking about in our own lives.
How often do we imagine that God should work in a particular way?
How often do we think we know what faithfulness should look like?
And how often does Jesus challenge us to see something we have missed?
The Messiah is more than the people standing before Jesus have understood. He is not simply another earthly ruler or a figure who will fit neatly into their expectations.
He is Lord.
And the Lord whom we follow calls us into a life shaped by love.
That is what connects these two parts of the Gospel.
Jesus shows us who we are called to be, and he directs us to the one whose love makes that calling possible.
And I find that both comforting and challenging.
Because I know that I don't always get it right.
None of us does.
There are times when we become impatient. Times when we fail to notice someone who needs us. Times when we allow our own worries to take over.
But God's love is not something we have to earn by getting everything right.
It is a gift of grace.
We are loved before we have accomplished anything.
And because we are loved, we are invited to share that love with others.
There is something else in Jesus' words that I think we sometimes forget.
He tells us to love our neighbours as ourselves.
I wonder how often we remember that we, too, are worthy of love and kindness.
Those of us who care for others can sometimes forget to care for ourselves.
We give our time, our energy, and sometimes so much of our hearts that we become exhausted.
But loving our neighbour does not mean that we are expected to carry every burden or meet every need.
We are human.
We need rest. We need prayer. We need encouragement. And we need the love and support of others.
We are not called to save the world.
That is God's work.
We are called to be faithful in the little part of the world entrusted to us.
And perhaps that is enough.
So, as we reflect on this Gospel today, I would like to leave us with a question.
What might happen if we tried to see every person we met as someone deeply loved by God?
Would it change the way we speak to one another?
Would it change the way we respond to someone who is struggling?
Would it make us a little slower to judge, and a little quicker to listen?
Would it help us become a Church where people feel that they truly belong?
I would like to think so.
Because when I think about the Church, I think it should be a place where people encounter the love of God.
Not because they have their lives together.
Not because they have never made mistakes.
Not because they can offer something in return.
But simply because they are God's beloved children.
And I believe the world is longing for that kind of love.
A love that welcomes.
A love that listens.
A love that doesn't turn away when things become difficult.
A love that sees the person rather than the problem.
My friends, Jesus has given us two commandments on which everything else depends.
Love God.
Love your neighbour as yourself.
We will not always live them perfectly.
There will be days when we struggle, days when we become discouraged, and days when the needs of the world seem greater than anything we can offer.
But we can begin again.
We can offer kindness where there has been hurt.
Compassion where there has been judgment.
Hope where there has been despair.
And dignity where someone has been made to feel that they no longer matter.
Perhaps we will never know the difference our kindness has made in another person's life.
But I believe that no act of love is ever wasted.
Because somewhere, in the ordinary moments of our days, through the simplest acts of compassion, the love of Christ becomes visible.
And that, I believe, is what Jesus is asking of us.
Not simply to speak about love.
But to live it.
To carry it beyond these church doors.
And to remember that wherever we encounter another human being, we have an opportunity to encounter Christ.
May God give us the grace to recognize those moments, the courage to respond, and the humility to keep learning how to love.
Amen.
A Benediction of Belonging
May we leave this place remembering that none of us has to earn a place in the love of God.
May we have eyes to see Christ in the person who has been overlooked, and hearts ready to make room for those who have been pushed aside.
May our Church be a place where people are welcomed not for what they can offer, but because they are already beloved; where stories are heard, dignity is honoured, and no one is made to feel forgotten.
When we grow weary, may God grant us rest. When we are afraid to speak, may the Spirit give us courage. And when we do not know how to help, may we begin with kindness.
May we go from here rooted in God's love, ready to love our neighbours as ourselves, and willing, day by day, to help one another know that we belong.
Amen.