Losing everything

Sermon by Pr. Craig Mueller on the Fourteenth Sunday after Pentecost + Sunday, August 30, 2026

They lost everything. In a matter of minutes. In Nepal a huge chunk of glacier fell and triggered a devastating flood and mud slide. Survivors sat patiently. Numb with disbelief.

A man named Dawa Lama wept as he told of the thunderclap he heard, followed by a breeze. Then an enormous wave of muddy water carried away not only his home, but also his wife and two young daughters. “They all died, and I lived. I lost everything,” he said. “How long can I remain in hope, I don’t know.”

Loss is a universal human experience, yet its form takes different shapes throughout our lives. We may grieve the loss of a spouse or child or pet or a beloved one. It may be the loss of a dream or image of ourselves. Losses that result from illness and accidents and the unexpected twists and turns of living. And in these and others, it feels like we are losing everything that matters to us.

I have never forgotten the title of a book I read decades ago: Necessary Losses. The author discusses losses throughout the life cycle. As children we eventually let go of the illusion that we are the center of the universe. We learn that the world can be a hurtful place. As adults we face our unrealistic expectations of romance and relationships. As we grow older, we confront our mortality and unachieved dreams.

And then we have Jesus’ words in our gospel today: those who want to save their life will lose it and those who lose their life for my sake will find it. Tough words to take in.

Peter can’t imagine a Messiah that suffers. He wants a military conqueror. A strongman to overturn tyranny. A suffering servant, a crucified leader? Such would be a loser in the eyes of the world.

What a change a few verses make! Last week Jesus declares that Peter’s confession is the rock of faith. This week Jesus calls him out: Get behind me, Satan. You are setting your mind not on divine things, but human things.

With Peter, we wish there could be another way. Not the way of loss and letting go. Not the way of suffering. Yet Jesus flips the equation. Notice what you gain through the necessary losses of living. It’s our baptismal journey, the work of a lifetime.

One author talks about a physics deep in creation that is more profound than our usual way of looking at things. On an outer level everything is about violence and grasping. But a deeper physics reveals something driven by love and humility and generosity. The kind of things St. Paul writes about today. The author goes on: “The logic of self-centered grasping, of trying to save your own life, in the end results in losing it. And the logic of neighborly generosity, of “losing” your life for the sake of Love and Justice, in the end results in saving it!”

How shall we make sense of Jesus’ words about denying ourselves, taking up our cross and following him? We have spent our lives trying to feel good about ourselves and developing self-esteem.

I have no easy answers. On one hand, to follow Jesus means that the stands we take and the values we hold may bring hatred or misunderstanding. To take up our cross isn’t to seek out suffering, but to accept loss and heartache when they present themselves.  

Richard Rohr is a popular spiritual writer and his most recent book is called The Tears of Things. Rohr talks about the alchemy of tears. Rather than railing at the injustice of the world, the unfairness of life, or our own heartbreak, tears move us beyond anger and helplessness. They create within us a space of openness, empathy, and solidarity with all who suffer. Rohr says that it’s the acceptance of things you cannot change that normally makes people cry. Acceptance. He’s dead forever. The relationship is over. The diagnosis is terminal.

And yet, even in the depth of such sadness there can be a space to hold joy. The grief doesn’t go away but we hold it differently. There are people who have faced deep suffering and tragedy who are not only the quickest to tears, but also the quickest to laughter and joy. Have you had the experience of laughing yourself to tears or crying yourself to laughter?

The prophet Jeremiah speaks of the incurable wound of suffering. Yet he finds in God’s word the joy and delight of his heart. Jesus promises that those who lose their lives for his sake will find them. And Paul gives a blueprint for a cross-shaped sacrificial life. Genuine love. Zeal. Hope. Patience. Perseverance. Bearing one another’s burdens and sharing their joys.

Can losing everything bring resilience? We tell our story. We hear the stories of others to inspire us and give us hope for the path ahead.

I end with such a story. John Mury grew up angry and violent. He was caught between two cultures and two always fighting parents. Eventually he found God and opened a church. He married and had three children.

But then he faced a dreadful constellation of terrible events. It was like a ten-car pileup. His wife was diagnosed with stomach cancer, followed by a double mastectomy. One child was diagnosed with autism, another with Asperger’s and third with depression. John’s brother, who had moved nearby to help, died unexpectedly. John’s church failed and needed to close. Soon after he was medicated for mood disorders. And then his marriage was in trouble.

What do you do when you lose everything? John asked for help. He didn’t bury his feelings. He didn’t deny reality. He told his story. He described the shape of his life as a river—always changing as it flows. He dared to believe that there is always more life to live. More grace to receive.

Holy Trinity is in a time of transition, a time of loss, a time of change, a time of hope.

As one hymn puts it, “loss is lifted high.” We reverence the cross—we take up the cross—for it acknowledges all the losses that are life, as well as the promise, in Christ, of resurrection and new beginnings.

Come again to the table. The risen Christ is among us in broken bread and the cup of salvation. Sorrow and joy intermingled. Even in losing everything, we gain our lives. More than we could have ever imagined 

A mystery, for sure. Yet somehow, we sense deep within us that following this path, this Christ, this cross is indeed the way.

SOURCES

Salt commentary for the Fourteenth Sunday after Pentecost

Richard Rohr, The Tears of Things

Bruce Feiler, Life is in the Transitions: Mastering Change at Any Age