Year A Proper 12 2026 Know What You've Got

 Year A Proper 12, 26 July 2026

St George’s Epsicopal, Fredericksburg, VA

“Know What You’ve Got”

Collect: O God, the protector of all who trust in thee, without whom nothing is strong, nothing is holy: Increase and multiply upon us thy mercy; that, thou being our ruler and guide, we may so pass through things temporal, that we finally lose not the things eternal; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who liveth and reigneth with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

Matthew 13:31-33,44-52 

Jesus put before the crowds another parable: "The kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed that someone took and sowed in his field; it is the smallest of all the seeds, but when it has grown it is the greatest of shrubs and becomes a 

tree, so that the birds of the air come and make nests in its branches." He told them another parable: "The kingdom of heaven is like yeast that a woman took and mixed in with three measures of flour until all of it was leavened." "The 

kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field, which someone found and hid; then in his joy he goes and sells all that he has and buys that field. "Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a merchant in search of fine pearls; on finding one 

pearl of great value, he went and sold all that he had and bought it. "Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a net that was thrown into the sea and caught fish of every kind; when it was full, they drew it ashore, sat down, and put the good into baskets but threw out the bad. So it will be at the end of the age. The angels will come out and separate the evil from the righteous and throw them into the furnace of fire, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth. "Have you understood all this?" They answered, "Yes." And he said to them, "Therefore every scribe who has been trained for the kingdom of heaven is like the master of a household who brings out of his treasure what is new and what is old."

There are certain moments in life so pivotal that you know they will stay with you forever. If you're fortunate, you recognize their significance even while they're happening. These moments show you what is most important, and what is not.

I had just turned 20 and was living in Hamburg, West Germany—back when there still was West Germany. The campus ministry I participated in at the University of Richmond was part of a large international network that placed summer missionaries throughout Virginia and, in a few cases, around the world. After my sophomore year, I accepted one of those opportunities and began serving as the Youth and Young Adult Minister at Hamburg International Baptist Church, a new church plant in the bustling seaport city. My assignment ran from May through December.

The year was 1989, and Hamburg was celebrating the 800th anniversary of its harbor's commissioning. At the time, I assumed that would be the biggest event I would witness outside of my ministry work.

Then November arrived.

About 180 miles downriver from Hamburg sits Berlin, and for several days in early November, the eyes of the world were fixed on that divided city deep inside East Germany.

Because it was just before Thanksgiving, the missionary couple who supervised me returned home to the United States for a few weeks with family and left this young buck in charge. While they were away, I gave myself two days off and headed to Berlin. I wanted to stand in the middle of history.

My budget was painfully thin. I had enough money for train fare and meals, and not much else. No hotel. No extras. I arrived at the Hauptbahnhof just before the early winter sunset and placed my backpack in a locker. As I turned around, I heard a voice behind me.

"Excuse me," the man asked, "could you tell me the way to Checkpoint Charlie?"

I turned and saw a small, gentle-looking man behind me. He seemed kind, slight, and somewhat vulnerable.

Then he asked, "You are American, yes?"

I definitely looked the part. Baseball cap? Check. Levi's jeans? Check. Nike sneakers? Check. Leather bomber jacket? Check. There was no mistaking me for anything other than an American.

As I looked at this man—perhaps 5'3"—I immediately decided I needed to take him under my wing and make sure he stayed safe.

Although East Germans were crossing through the checkpoints into West Berlin, nobody yet knew what would come of the extraordinary events unfolding around us. The border remained heavily militarized. The Wall still stood.

In places, people had chipped away at it, creating cracks and small openings. A few had managed to carve holes large enough to peer through into the infamous No Man's Land between East and West. The night felt almost cinematic, like a Hollywood set. Fog drifted through the air, illuminated by the yellow glow of sodium streetlights. Every time we peered through one of those openings, East German guards stared right back at us.

Over the next several hours, Dr. Carlo Galen and I embarked on an adventure I have never forgotten.

Though slight and unassuming, Carlo embodied the American Dream. Orphaned after World War II, he had been relocated from Italy to New Orleans through Catholic charities, a journey that left him with one of the most unusual accents I have ever heard. He went on to attend Tulane University, earned his medical degree, and built a successful medical practice.

After years of hard work, Carlo and his wife decided to retire in Italy and build a villa outside Rome. But shortly after construction began, his wife was diagnosed with cancer and passed away within months. Heartbroken, Carlo moved forward with finishing the villa, and somewhere along the way developed the same desire for adventure that had brought me to Berlin.

After I guided him to Checkpoint Charlie—the American crossing point into East Berlin—we began walking along the Berlin Wall toward the Brandenburg Gate. The distance was only about a mile, but it took us hours.

Along the way we met a group of French medical students who, like us, had come simply to witness history firsthand. At one point, they found a crowd-control barrier and repurposed it as a ladder. Together, we climbed onto the top of the Wall while East German border guards shouted at us to get down.

I was still young and naive enough to believe the men pointing machine guns in our direction weren't entirely serious.

By the time we reached the Brandenburg Gate, some of the openings in the Wall had grown larger. We began sticking dollar bills through the gaps, hoping to trade with the East German soldiers. The response was immediate: machine gun barrels appeared through the openings.

Still, the trading continued.

I emerged with a belt buckle, a set of epaulets, and a soldier's cap. At that moment, I knew the Wall was doomed. When capitalism starts breaking through the Berlin Wall, the end cannot be far behind.

Those hours remain etched in my memory.

Yet the most transformative part of the trip happened later, in an all-night coffee shop near the Hauptbahnhof.

Carlo and I had several hours to wait before our trains departed—his at 6 a.m. for Rome and mine for Hamburg. After spending the night in the cold, we were grateful for warmth, coffee, and a place to sit.

There, Carlo shared the grief he still carried over the loss of his wife. He told me how Catholic missionary organizations had declined his offers to volunteer because of his age. In return, I shared my own story—how my faith had led me to ministry and why I had come to Germany in the first place.

Then Carlo gave me a gift that changed my life.

This man—an orphan who had come to America with nothing, built a remarkable life, achieved professional success, and returned to Italy to retire in comfort—looked me directly in the eye and said:

"If only I had known at your age what you know now, my life would have been so different."

His words caught me completely off guard.

I admired him. I respected everything he had accomplished. Yet here he was, envying something in me.

What he envied was not my youth. It was not my opportunities. It was not my future.

It was my faith.

Until that moment, I had never thought of my faith that way.

I never saw Carlo again. We spoke on the phone several times over the years, but we never met in person. Yet that night changed me. It reaffirmed my calling to ministry and strengthened my commitment to the path I was already beginning to follow.

I still treasure my fragments of the Berlin Wall and the souvenirs I carried home from that extraordinary night. But the greatest treasure I received in Berlin wasn't a piece of concrete or a soldier's cap.

It was the realization that my faith is the greatest gift I will ever possess.

And that is what I think that Jesus was getting at with our string of one-line parables here. All of them in this batch speak to knowing what you’ve got and its worth. Mustard Seed, Yeast, Treasure in a Field, or the Pearl of Great Price. All these speak to how something small and possibly overlooked could be of the greatest value. The final one, the Net thrown into the Sea, is about many things, but knowing the value of each. And then Jesus gives us the admonition.

“Therefore every scribe who has been trained for the kingdom of heaven is like the master of a household who brings out of his treasure what is new and what is old.”

So fellow citizens of the Kingdom, trained up for the service of it, our task is to know the worth of what we have, and to bring out the best of what we have been given and what we can create. The old and the new. And to make a difference in the world we have been given.

What role does your faith play in your life? 

Is it like a mustard seed, small, but ready to grow when called upon? 

Is it like the yeast that makes everything else in your life rise?

Is it that treasure in the field, where it is worth risking everything else so that it can be yours? Or the pearl of great price, much the same?

Are you able to plumb the depths for the riches that are there, or create new and beautiful things for the Glory of God?

Know what you’ve got, my friends, and give thanks! Amen