November 7, 2026, University of Southern Maine, Portland, Maine
First, two simple words: Thank you. Four months ago, you did something extraordinary for me. You packed me up, gave me your blessing, and sent me out into the world on sabbatical. To be granted the gift of extended time to rest, read, pray, and simply be is a profound privilege in our frantic world. It is a grace for which I am and shall always be grateful.
But I want to tell you a secret about what happens when a bishop steps away from the cathedra: When far enough away, the obligation of daily ecclesial and administrative life fades, and things are seen with a new perspective and startling clarity. Reflecting on Maine from across an ocean, or from across a river, what I became most aware of was you.
I was reassured as the life of this diocese moved forward with beauty and vitality under the superb stewardship of our diocesan staff, our canon to the ordinary, and our Standing Committee. The business of the church did not stop because the bishop sat down. And that is exactly as it should be.
Because of this my time away became a masterclass in our convention theme: Cherishng the Wondrous Works of God. I realized that the most wondrous work I have the privilege to witness is the quiet, fierce, loving, faithfulness of you—the people of the Diocese of Maine.
I cherish the way you care for your neighbors, the way you tend your parishes, and the way you made it safe for me to rest—knowing that the Holy Spirit among us never takes a sabbatical because she’s constantly alongside us, guiding and governing our ways, and continually inspiring us.
So I return to you today to share a little about where I’ve been, but primarily to look at where we are going, and ready to cherish what God is doing right here, today in our midst.
What Does it Mean to Cherish?
Our theme this year calls us to cherish. We use the word in wedding vows and when we talk about our deepest, most fragile human relationships. But what does it mean for a diocese to cherish?
To cherish is fundamentally different from merely “appreciating” or “preserving” In the church, we’re good at preserving. We preserve historic buildings, liturgies, endowments, and committee structures. While it’s a key part of our institutional and missional life, preservation is about safeguarding something to keep it from changing.
Cherishing, however, also looks forward. To cherish something means to treasure and hold it with deep affection, to protect its core essence, and to actively foster its growth. When you cherish a child, you love and nurture them so that they have the capacity to grow up, to love and be loved. When we cherish the works of God, we’re not archiving the past, we’re embracing what God is creating in our midst, as we meet, right here and right now.
This summer, I witnessed the wondrous works of God in two entirely different keys.
First, I saw it in the breathtaking human ingenuity of northern European cities—where community, sustainability, and deep care for one another are interwoven into the design of everyday life, and a historic past beats alongside a vibrant, digital future. There, I saw that God’s creative work is active, collaborative, and moving forward with an undeniable energy.
Second, I saw the wondrous works of God in the total, unforced silence of the St. Lawrence River. Sitting on the porch required nothing of me but to observe the ancient water, wondering how long it took to get there from Duluth, Minnesota, and how long it would take to reach the Atlantic Ocean. There, God was busy being God without any administrative help from me.
During my travels, I also spent an afternoon with leaders from our full communion partners in the Diocese of Stockholm. Twenty-five years ago, the Church of Sweden was disestablished. Having lost a great deal of institutional income, and operating in a culture where only five percent of the population regularly attends worship, they’ve had to find new ways to fund ministry and remain present in their neighborhoods. I learned how they are cherishing their local communities by transforming their historic buildings to support local education and the arts. I even joined the bishop for fika—the traditional Swedish coffee break where the point isn’t the coffee or the cardamom buns, but intentional conversation and human connection.
Baptism as Primary Identity
This call to cherish is not a new programmatic slogan. It is rooted in our deepest theological foundation: the waters of Holy Baptism. When the 1979 Book of Common Prayer recovered an ancient, radical truth, it reminded us that Holy Baptism is not a polite social custom or a private family ritual. It is the definitive moment to claim our primary identity as disciples of Jesus Christ. In that framework, we were given five baptismal promises outlining how a follower of Jesus behaves in the world. And now, as we experiment across the wider Episcopal Church with the trial addition of a sixth question, we ask: Will you cherish the wondrous works of God, and protect and restore the beauty and integrity of all creation?
My friends, we must be absolutely clear about something. If we treat this new question as merely a political position, an environmental policy, or a civic duty, we have missed the mark entirely. If it is just a secular platform, it has no business being read at the font. This question belongs in the Baptismal Covenant because it is a direct consequence of following Jesus.
We protect the earth not because we are secular environmentalists, but rather as disciples of the One through whom all things were made. We care for creation because the cosmic Christ we follow loves this world, died to redeem it, and is actively renewing it. When we say “I will, with God’s help” to this sixth promise, we are declaring that a disciple cannot love the Creator while exploiting the creation.
We are asserting that our stewardship of the soil, the waters of Maine, and the air we breathe is a direct, visible metric of our faith in Jesus Christ. Our faith must be primary. Our baptismal identity must eclipse every other tribal identity we hold—whether political, regional, or generational. In the waters of baptism, we regard the world not with the anxiety of the culture, but with the deepest reverence of and for the saints.
The Discipline of Mutual Affection
But if Holy Baptism claims our identity as followers of Jesus, then the primary laboratory for this identity is not the global environment. It is how we treat the person sitting next to us right now. Our convention theme invites us to cherish the wondrous works of God, and that includes the most complex, challenging and breathtakingly wondrous work of God here in this room: us.
Those with differing theological or political perspectives, the nearby parish sometimes viewed as a rival for members and/or resources, the community that looks, votes, or prays differently must also be an object of our cherishing. In doing so we commit to our primary identity as one church who value mutual respect, support, and unity.
It means we refuse to look at a struggling neighbor parish and think, “Thank God that’s not us.” Instead we say, “Your grief is our grief; your joy is our joy; our vitality and mission are inextricably linked to yours.” It means pledging to see each other through the lens of the font, remembering that we are all claimed by the same Christ, washed in the same water, and fed at the same altar. My challenge to you at this 207th Convention is to leave with a fierce, protective and mutual love for one another, unified and focused on protecting, restoring and cherishing all of God’s creation.
Conclusion: Re-Tuned to Awe
I return to you today not with a basket full of new administrative programs, but with a heart that has been re-tuned to awe. I return knowing that the same God who leads the Church in Sweden to share their buildings, and the same God who holds the stones of the St. Lawrence River, is alive, awake and moving through the parishes and people of the Diocese of Maine.
Commit with me to a baptismal identity where we’re known as the church whom the Wabanaki Confederacy can trust to support their sovereignty; commit with me to a baptismal identity in which our landscape and water, our towns and our schools are just as precious to us as our church buildings, or our ideas about what a diocese is or should be. Commit with me to a baptismal identity where we embrace each other with a deep and immeasurable affection.
Whether we face the complex, changing dynamics of what it means to be a Christian community in Maine in 2026, or pray quietly in the beauty of holiness, we’ll cherish the work God is doing in our midst, we’ll cherish each other, and we’ll celebrate the incredible growth and faithfulness which surrounds us on every side.
It is good to be home. Now, let us roll up our sleeves and join the Holy Spirit in the wondrous work that lies ahead. Amen.