July 13, 2025
Fifth Sunday After Pentecost
Good morning, Church Family.
It’s an honor to be here today. I want to start with gratitude—for your hearts, your vision, and this season’s theme: “Discovering Our Hope.” It resonates deeply with me because hope has never come easy in my life. But it’s always come—often in unexpected, messy, miraculous ways.
I want to talk today about how I found hope—and how I now spend my life helping others find it, too.
The scripture I chose to focus on is—Luke 10:25 through 37— which tells the story of the Good Samaritan. Many of us know the basics: a man is beaten, stripped, and left for dead on the side of the road. A priest passes by. A Levite passes by. But a Samaritan—someone outsiders called “unclean” and unworthy—stops. He not only helps, but he gives. He gets involved. He risks being misunderstood. He becomes the embodiment of compassion.
I didn’t always know I’d be the Samaritan in anyone’s story.
I’ve been the man on the side of the road.
I’ve been left broken by life, by loss, by systems that don’t see us as whole. I served fifteen years in the New York prison system—four of those years in solitary confinement. I know what it’s like to be forgotten, labeled, judged, and dehumanized. I know what it’s like to feel beyond saving.
But I also know what it’s like when someone stops.
A letter.
A poem.
A visit.
A law passed because someone cared enough to fight for me.
Those moments—the ones when someone chose to see me—they lit a fire of hope that I carry to this day. And they taught me something sacred: we all have the power to reach across, to kneel beside someone society would rather ignore, and to say: “You matter.”
Today, as Director of Community Engagement for IAHR and through my nonprofit Broken Crayons Can Still Color, I advocate for people who are still in the ditch—forgotten in solitary confinement, locked away without a voice. I sit with families grieving loved ones who’ve died in prison. I work to change laws so that no one has to suffer in silence. And I remind people who’ve made mistakes—just like me—that God’s grace is bigger than their past.
You see, the story of the Good Samaritan isn’t just a parable. It’s a call.
A call to stop walking by.
A call to risk our comfort.
A call to restore hope.
The Samaritan wasn’t a savior—he was a neighbor. And in this world, we don’t need more saviors. We need more neighbors.
Hope is discovered in the act of showing up.
Not with perfect answers, but with a willingness to care.
To bind wounds. To ask hard questions. To challenge systems. To tell someone:
“You are not alone.”
And when we do that—even if it’s messy, even if it’s uncomfortable—we create space for God to do what only God can do: heal, transform, and redeem.
So today, as we reflect on the hope we’re all searching for, I invite you to think about where you might be called to stop.
Is there someone in your life who needs to be seen?
A community God is asking you to walk toward instead of away from?
A cause you’ve avoided because it feels too big?
I am here to tell you: hope lives there.
Right there in the ditch.
Right there in the discomfort.
Right there where love meets action.
Discovering our hope doesn’t mean avoiding the pain. It means looking it in the eye—and answering it with mercy.
Because the Kingdom of God is built by those who stop.
Who kneel.
Who care.
And who choose to be neighbors in a world desperate for love.
Before I close, I want to extend an invitation — not just to reflect, but to respond.
If today moved you, if the story of the Good Samaritan sparked something in your spirit, then I ask you to take a step further — and walk this road with us.
There are people still lying on the side of the road today — in solitary confinement, in overcrowded prisons, in trauma and despair — just waiting for someone to care enough to stop.
You can be that someone.
Here’s how:
- Contact your legislators. Your voice carries power. When people of faith speak up, lawmakers listen. Let them know that justice, compassion, and human dignity matter to you.
- Volunteer. We need hands, hearts, and presence. Whether it’s writing letters to people inside, helping with community events, or offering support to returning citizens — your time and energy can change lives.
- Donate. Grassroots work runs on passion, but it also requires resources. Your giving helps us reach those in need, build safe spaces for healing, and keep fighting for humane treatment for all.
This isn’t about charity. This is about solidarity.
It’s about answering the call of Christ — to love our neighbor not in theory, but in truth, and in action.
If you feel led, please come see me after service. I’d love to connect, share more about our work, and explore how you — as individuals and as a church — can be a part of this fight for humanity.
Because hope isn’t just something we discover.
It’s something we create — together.
Thank you for letting me share my story.
And thank you for being the kind of church that stops.
May we all go forward with eyes open, hearts soft, and hands ready.
Amen.