Third Sunday after the Epiphany
January 25, 2026
Matthew 4:12-23

Whenever it gets cold, real cold here in Galveston, I think back to my predecessor, our founding rector, the Rev. Benjamin Eaton. He arrived in Galveston on January 13th, 1841 during one of these cold snaps. And he wrote a letter back home to his bishop, he said:

“The people here say that this weather is very unusual, and of course it must be so. Two men, I understand, have been frozen to death in this neighborhood, and upward of forty horses on Galveston Island.” He goes on, “I am much disappointed with Galveston, but, of course, allowance must be made for the unpleasant circumstances under which I have seen it. There is, however, no business doing at present, and almost all the inhabitants are poverty-stricken. I fear that the few who possess any attachment to the church would not at present be able to scrape together one hundred dollars for any religious purpose whatever.”

That, my friends, was the beginning of Trinity Episcopal Church. Just a few cold, poverty-stricken church members who could barely scrape together one hundred dollars. So as we gather on this cold day for Trinity’s one hundred and eighty-fifth annual meeting, we must pause and thank God for our faithful ancestors in this place. Could they imagine what they have given us? Could they even dare to dream of what we are today?

And, think of what you have given. For the first time ever, in 2025, our annual budget exceeded one million dollars. That goes to everything – from personnel, to insurance, to utilities, to our outreach, to the copious amounts of coffee you all drink on Sunday mornings. Just this weekend, Trinity Church has helped provide the food for the homeless warming center at Galveston Church Church. That was you. If old Benjamin Eaton could see our finances now, he would be astounded. 

As, I am astounded. Since 2019, the amount that you give for our operating budget has nearly doubled. On top of that, you have already given over a million dollars for our building preservation. There are also more people around. Our average Sunday attendance is up nine percent from where it was last year. Old Benjamin Eaton may have disappointed in the people of Galveston. I am not. I am immensely proud of your commitment to the Church of God; of the ways you have answered the call of our Lord Jesus Christ.

I saw you commit yourself in faith through baptism and confirmation. I saw you show up to funerals, to support those who are grieving. You check on each other and pray with each other. You helped out with Vacation Bible School. You showed up to pray on that day we remembered the Great Storm of 1900; you showed up to pray that day this summer when so many perished in the floods. Folks from Trinity cooked food for homeless people; we helped kids get to Camp Allen. We studied the Nicene Creed. We committed to praying daily during Advent. Chase relaunched our college ministry. The numbers and the people are nice because you can put them all down on a spreadsheet, but what matters, what matters are the stories of faith. Of how you, like Peter and Andrew and James and John, dropped your nets to follow Jesus. That, that is what astounds me the most.

And that’s precisely what we would expect to happen. Jesus tells Peter and Andrew and James and John that they will start fishing for people. And think of it – they’re fishing with nets. This isn’t sitting on some dock, with a fishing pole, waiting for one fish to maybe come by and take the bait. No, this is the hard work of the gospel. Of throwing the net and bringing it back in, over and over again. And when you do that, when you fish with a net,  you bring in all sorts of different people. That’s what we’ve seen here. Retired people and children; folks of all different walks of life and identities; all coming here. This thing that started one hundred and eight-five years ago by a few poverty-stricken inhabitants; and here we all here, a gaggle of fish with all sorts of backgrounds, caught in God’s net together.

See, that’s the other thing about this story from the gospel. If Peter and Andrew and James and John are fishing for people; well, that means that we’ve been caught. We’re the fish. And you know, fish don’t like to be caught. That’s why they struggle. And maybe that’s why the image of fishing for people is so compelling. Because we humans, we like to do our own thing. We want to go our own way. And here is God, pulling us into this net. That’s why so often the Christian life is a struggle. It’s a struggle pray, it’s a struggle to make it a habit of reading the Bible, it’s a struggle to live in a church with some people who might rub you the wrong way; it’s a struggle to get out of bed on a cold day like this one and get to worship. But the struggle is part of the process; part of the process of growing closer to God. So if you are struggling in your faith, then you are exactly where you ought to be; caught in God’s net.

I mean, even Benjamin Eaton felt that. As he was writing back home to his bishop, from this frozen island, he admitted to his struggles. That he had already seen enough of this dingy little town to “cool his Texas fever.” And my favorite line – that he had suffered “more in Texas from destitution of comfort, and want of what I have been used to think common convenience.” And yet, look at what came from his struggles. Here we are, by God’s grace. So let’s admit, that we, too, have our own struggles before us, and hope that God will provide for this parish once again. 

Because in a church that is growing like ours, there is never enough. Never enough adult leaders to get the youth group really going; not enough staff to do everything we want up to our standard; not enough money to provide for all the programs and people we know we need to have. Never enough ushers, servers, leaders for all the worship services and community gatherings and outreach we know we want to do. It’s a struggle. But it’s in the struggle, that we come alive in faith.

So consider this your opportunity, your opportunity to join in that struggle of faith. We’ll need your presence, your leadership, your support. This year more than other years. Because, for a time this summer, I will not be here. See, every seven years, clergy in the Episcopal Church are entitled to a sabbatical. That is three months away from regular work for study, rest, and reconnection with family. And that time has come for me. And that’s what I plan on doing. This time will give me the space to work on my next master’s degree in theology; it will give me some time to be with my family this summer. While I’m gone, Chase will be here and our Vestry. But more importantly, you will be here. Because the church is not about who stands in this pulpit, or who sits in my office. It is about you, deciding to drop your nets and follow Jesus. We’ll need you to help out with Vacation Bible School; we’ll need you to step up and help out on Sunday mornings; we’ll need you to keep on doing all that you do. This can be a great lesson for this parish – that the life of faith is found in the struggle. And I can commit to you – that while I’m gone this summer, for the months of May, June, and July – I will keep up my pledge to this church. My bank sends the money automatically anyway, so the robots will just keep doing that. And I expect you will keep it up, too. Plus, I will be in church for worship. I’ll be sitting in the pews at other churches with my family. And I expect you will keep that up, too. I do not worship the Lord God because it’s my job – I worship the Lord God because I have felt that call on my life, when I decided to drop my net and follow. 

It’s hard for me to believe that I’ve been doing this long enough now, that this will be my second sabbatical of ordained ministry. And I know the privilege that it is to be given something like this. And I’m grateful to each of you. For you, the people, are the heartbeat of this church because you have dropped your nets to follow.

So as we look to year ahead, on this cold and wintry Sunday, to all the work that is laid before us, my mind goes back once again Benjamin Eaton. Faced with such hardship, such cold, such a gloomy outlook, he, too, recognized that his discipleship was defined by struggle. And that he would follow the Lord Jesus, even with such difficulties. And I pray that his words would become our words, as he wrote: “I hope and pray however, that the Almighty will give me strength to persevere, and crown my labors with more success that present appearances would induce to anticipate.” 

And so as we look to the year, I, like you, cannot help but thinking about the discord of these times. These times of anger, violence, and death. As a Christian, what am I supposed to do? What am I supposed to say? The call is to drop our nets, like those disciples of old. More than giving a statement, we are called to repent, to hold fast to each other and to the Lord God, and to follow Jesus, the Lord of life.