For many years back in West Virginia a colleague and I were in charge of putting together yearly ecumenical conferences. We had to make all the arrangements with the speakers; even had to pick them up at the local airport in rural West Virginia. Over the years I met some very interesting and exciting people. I'd like to tell you about two of these people, both priests, both who spoke at the same Conference quite a few years ago now. One of the priests lived and worked in the heart of New York City and was a seminary professor. He retired recently. The other lived and worked in the heart of Washington, D.C., and worked for the National Church. He still does.

It was my responsibility to pick up the seminary professor at the airport and then drive him to the Conference Center. It was a warm spring day but the priest from New York was wearing a topcoat. As we drove to the Conference Center, the two of us engaged in the usual small talk about connections, which went fine, and about the weather, if it was cool in New York as he was wearing a topcoat. His reply was quite interesting.

He said that, no, in fact, it really was not. The weather there was similar to the weather where we were, a warm spring day. Then he went on to explain why he was wearing a topcoat on a warm spring day. He said that it had become his practice that whenever he walked around the city and especially when he was in the airport and dressed in his clerical suit, he usually wore a top coat so that he could pull the collar of his coat over his clerical collar.

He explained that there are a lot of panhandlers in the city and that they invariably put the hit on him when they saw that collar. He said that there was also a strong anti-clerical bias in New York and he did not appreciate being recognized as a priest and called names. That was why he was wearing a topcoat on an otherwise very pleasant day.

A little later in the day the Conference began. The priest from Washington was the first speaker. Early on into his presentation he stuck his hands into his pockets and began to absentmindedly and nervously jingle some change. It became rather audible. He caught himself, became a little embarrassed and apologized. Then he explained the change in his pocket. He said that everyday as he walked from his home to his office, he was constantly accosted by panhandlers simply because he was wearing a collar. So he always kept a pocketful of change with him so that he could give them a quarter or two. Then he went on with his talk. I was, at that moment, sorely tempted to sneak a glimpse of the priest from New York. But I resisted the temptation.

I thought of that incident and those two priests when I read today's Gospel, especially the part where Jesus says: "Everyone who acknowledges me before others, I will acknowledge before my Father in heaven; but whoever denies me before others, I will also deny before my Father in heaven."

Well, I am not judging. I am just wondering. Now I fully understand the actions of the priest from New York. If you wear a collar, panhandlers expect, nay, demand, that you give them something. You represent the Church, and the Church is supposed to help. When people call the church looking for help, they expect that the church will help: no ands, ifs or buts. And if you do not, you are likely to be cursed, sometimes in no uncertain terms -- as the priest from New York attested.

To be honest, I did judge the priest from New York even before I heard the priest from Washington explain why he carried so much change. I judged him as he was telling me his story on the way from the airport to the conference center and I judged him adversely. I judged him to myself, of course. I wanted to say to him, perhaps I should have said to him, "Look, you cannot have it both ways. You cannot be a priest only when it is convenient. If you are willing to accept the honors and privileges people bestow upon you simply because you are a priest, because you are wearing that collar, then you had better be willing to accept some of the grief and pain that comes along with it."

I wanted to say that, but I did not, probably because I sometimes find myself running from my responsibilities, hiding the collar. I suspect that I also sympathized with him a little. After all, he lived in the Big Apple where crime is often the order of the day. What did I know of crime in West Virginia, real crime, real fear for your life, clerical collar or no clerical collar? So I said nothing in judgment. I only thought it.

Jesus would have said it. He said it to the Pharisees. He said to them in no uncertain terms: "Look, you men love to parade around in robes with tassels and bells and have people defer to you and call you 'Rabbi.' But, at the same time, you are not willing to also set a personal example for the people by keeping the commandments. You want all the privileges that come with the office but do not want to accept the responsibilities that also come with it." Jesus said that to the Pharisees and he would have said that to my priest friend from New York, and he would say it to me any time I run from responsibility.

Jesus also says that to you as well. We all know what is demanded of us as Christians. We also know that Jesus blesses us in many, many ways simply because we are His followers. He has blessed us abundantly here at Christ Church -- both individually and as a congregation. But Jesus has also given us responsibilities: to keep His commandments, to help the have-nots, to be peacemakers, and all the rest. Again, we know what those Christian responsibilities are. They are writ large in our hearts and in our minds. They are Matthew 25…and all that jazz.

Sometimes it is a very real and a very big pain in the neck to fulfill those responsibilities. Sometimes I would like to put on a topcoat, turn up the collar, bury my head in the coat and run away and hide from my Christian responsibilities. Let's be honest: we all would. We all do. In that way we are no different from the priest from New York, from the Pharisees, from anyone and everyone called to live out one's faith in one's God. I suspect my seminary-professor friend had conveniently forgotten, or overlooked, that lesson. But so do I. I wish that I could say that I do not. But I do. And I suspect that you do too.

Today's Gospel is a reminder that God calls each of us individually and all of us together to be his disciples, to spread his message to everyone we meet. As we have all discovered, sometimes that is a difficult, if not an almost-impossible task. Sometimes, like my friend from New York, we simply do not want to be bothered. We simply want to get to the airport and be on our way. The last thing we want is to have some bum ask us for some money. And we all know what he is going to use it for anyway, don't we?