The Story Cannot Be the Whole Story
Ezekiel and Jesus challenge us to notice the stories we tell about ourselves, about others, and about the world—and to recognize when those stories might be excuses, blinders, or barriers to God’s work. Rather than remaining trapped in blame, defensiveness, or our expectations of how things should be, we are invited to ask, “What is mine to do?” God calls us to turn, become receptive to new life, and participate in God’s dream for all creation.
The Glimpses of Grace podcast is a ministry of Grace Episcopal Church in Gainesville, Georgia. We are passionate about supporting the spiritual growth of souls, and we hope these sermons and conversations meet you where you are and enrich your soul as we all continue to make meaning in the world today.
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Transcript
This morning, the prophet Ezekiel shares a word,
an argument between God and Jewish exiles living in Babylon. The people have been leaning on a mantra:
“The parents have eaten sour grapes, and the children’s teeth are set on edge.” I think we can understand the meaning:
children suffer from their parents’ mistakes.
Whether they’re applying an existing folk wisdom to their situation, or creating a new saying,
it’s memorable because it’s true.
What parent hasn’t mourned their own limitations?
What child hasn’t been hurt by a childhood experience?
But God tells those in exile the truth:
they must give up the mantra. It’s become a problem.
Not only does it allow them to blame others,
it provides blinders for the actual situation at hand,
for the work to be done.
God urges God’s people to remove the blinders, to take a step back, to see— to acknowledge what is theirs to acknowledge,
to take responsibility for what is theirs to take responsibility for, and to live. And maybe giving up the mantra is a first step.
I think back to Miriam’s song and Stuart’s sermon for a few weeks ago: the songs we sing.
There is the song of gratitude:
I have been given so much.
Every morning is a gift.
There are more blessings around me that I can possibly name. How can I participate in what God is doing?
And there is another song. The song of entitlement:
I deserve what is given to me.
Things should have happened this way.
It isn’t fair. You need to fix this.
Why should I be responsible?
It can sound like justice. It can sound like righteousness.
But underneath, the song might be:
God should arrange the world according to my expectations.
So, God says:
That story cannot be the whole story.
Not because history doesn’t matter.
Not because consequences aren’t real.
Not because we aren’t shaped by what comes before us.
But because we are not powerless.
We are not simply the product of someone else’s choices.
We are not trapped inside the stories we inherit.
God says:
“Get yourselves a new heart and a new spirit.”
God is interested in life.
We can get so caught up in our expectations of what is to come, or determining who is responsible for what is past,
that we lose sight of our agency here and now
and our responsibility for the future.
We become experts at analyzing and explaining
why things are wrong as they are.
We explain who started it and what they did incorrectly.
We explain why we are justified in feeling the way we feel.
We become rigid, unmoving, paralyzed in our self-righteousness. God asks: What are you going to do now?
Turn. Live.
Become something new.
And we come to Jesus.
Jesus has entered the temple, and elders and leadership come to him and ask, “By what authority are you doing these things?”
A question about control:
Who gave you the right? Who put you in charge?
Who says you can disrupt the way we expect things to be?
And Jesus asks them about John,
“Did the John’s baptism come from heaven or from humans?” And suddenly they realize they are trapped. Trapped in their own cycles. If they say heaven, they risk facing themselves.
If they say human origin, they risk conflict with others.
They are standing in the presence of God’s activity,
the risky, uncomfortable work of the soul,
and their primary concern is how to protect themselves.
So he tells a story of two sons.
One says, “yes.” But does nothing.
One says, “no.” But makes a change.
Jesus asks, “Which of the two did the will of his father?”
Here the answer is obvious.
The one who does the work.
The one who caught up with the invitation.
The one who turned.
Which is where Ezekiel has already taken us.
Turn. Live.
Become something new.
Whether we can let go of our defensiveness.
Whether we can release our need for things to be just right.
Whether we can stop projecting our own expectations onto God and become receptive to what God is actually doing.
Consider the difference between expectation and anticipation. Expectation has a way of controlling the future.
Expectation has a way of telling us what we deserve,
or who is responsible…
what God ought to do, what the church ought to do,
what the world ought to become or look like.
Because, then, when reality doesn’t match our expectation,
we can decide that something has gone wrong.
Anticipation says: something is coming, I may not know what. But I’m going to pay attention. I want to be surprised.
I’ve said before: our fire and brimstone view of repentance isn’t quite right. The important piece of repentance is becoming receptive again. Turning, opening our hearts, making room for a new spirit.
Allowing God to interrupt the story we have been telling ourselves.
We like to write the ending, assign roles, decide right and wrong for ourselves. But then we lose sight of God’s dream.
We project motives onto other people.
We assume we know what others think.
We interpret actions, usually assuming the worst.
We imagine our perspective is the reality that all experience.
It’s human. We all do it. But it isn’t the full truth.
Ezekiel asks us to consider; What is mine to do?
Rather than getting trapped in that loop of:
“Why did they do that?” “I don’t deserve this.” “I need to prove that I’m right.” …
“What is mine to do?” “What would bring new life?”
“Where is God inviting me to turn?”
Responsibility is claiming the ability to respond; claiming:
This is where I am. This is what has happened. This is how I contributed. This is what I can do now.
I can pivot. I can turn.
God’s dream is bigger than our individual need to prove something. God’s dream is bigger than our comfort.
God’s dream is bigger than our privilege.
God’s dream is bigger than the limited worlds we construct around ourselves. God’s dream is life. Life for all of God’s creation.
“For I have no pleasure in the death of anyone, says the Lord God. Turn, then, and live.”
That is God’s dream.
The song of the heart becomes:
What have I been given? Where is God at work? What is mine to do? God, help me receive what you are bringing to birth.
The way we have been formed in the world,
the stories that make us who we are,
and the folks who played roles in those stories
complicate this, it’s true.
Our hearts want to sing the song of self-protection and defense. It can be so uncomfortable to be receptive,
so tempting to be consumed by shame.
But the voice of God says:
You can turn.
You can begin again.
You can have a new heart.
You can have a new spirit.
Please, participate in what I am doing.
You can live.
God’s dream of life is before us.
Let’s not spend the energy defending the world as it is.
Or explaining why we are the way we are.
Or deciding where to point the finger.
What is ours to do?
Let us turn.
Let us decide to work the vineyard.
Amen.
Rev. Dr. Brandon Nonnemaker
September 27, 2026