July 5, 2026 The Fifth Sunday after TrinitySt. Juniperro Serra

July 5, 2026

The Fifth Sunday after Trinity

St. Juniperro Serra

On a sunny Saturday last year at Wimbledon, Centre Court had the pleasant buzz of a summer outing — the kind where spectators sip Pimm’s, nibble strawberries drowned in champagne, and pretend they are simply out for a gentle afternoon rather than watching world-class athletes battle nerves and destiny. Amanda Anisimova — young, immensely talented and having just played the match of her life, beating top-ranked Aryna Sabalenka in the semis — walked onto the court for the women’s final. It was her first Grand Slam final. Expectations were enormous. Commentators were already envisioning her name on the trophy. The buildup was perfect.

But the match wasn’t.

What unfolded was startling, painful and unforgettable. Amanda didn’t just lose. She didn’t win a single game, dropping the final 6-0, 6-0 to Iga Swiatek on one of tennis’s most prestigious stages. She lost in front of the entire world, including the Princess of Wales, no less! In fact, this was the first time in over a century that a Wimbledon singles final ended with one player not winning a game, and only the second time in the Open Era that a women’s major final finished with a “double bagel” scoreline — a level of dominance virtually unseen in modern Grand Slam tennis. The match took just 57 minutes. She lost, a total failure to launch. The conventional wisdom was that her career was over.

And then came the moment people still talk about: the interview.

Standing there with tears in her eyes, voice shaking, the magnitude of the loss hanging visibly on her shoulders, she didn’t hide behind clichés or defensiveness. She didn’t blame the crowd, the pressure, the weather or nerves. She didn’t minimize what had just happened. Instead, she did something remarkably rare in elite sports — or in any arena of life.

She was honest.

“I’m devastated,” she said. “I’m disappointed in myself. I wanted to do better. And I’ll learn from this.” She talked about her mistakes without trying to spin them into excuses. She acknowledged her heartbreak without collapsing into self-pity. She was vulnerable without being defeated. And because she was vulnerable, she was strong.

One year later, few people remember what the winner had to say in accepting the Wimbledon trophy. But they remember what her vanquished opponent said. Observers across the sports world called it one of the most emotionally intelligent post-match interviews in years.

One voice in particular stood out: Amy Edmondson, an academic who studies failure. In her 2023 book, Right Kind of Wrong: The Science of Failing Well, she argues that thriving individuals and flourishing organizations are not the ones who never fail; they’re the ones who learn to fail well. She watched Anisimova’s interview and recognized what most people miss: the courage it takes to face your own shortcomings without excuses. The courage to name your mistakes honestly. The courage to acknowledge what went wrong yet still choose to grow.

“It was courageous,” Edmondson said. “It was honest, and then you realize how compelling it is and how few people truly take that opportunity to be honest and vulnerable after a devastating failure.”

That’s a rare thing. Most of us don’t want to be that honest with ourselves, much less in front of anyone else, because honesty means acknowledging the gap between the person we aspire to be and the person we are.

And yet Romans 7 — our Epistle for today — is nothing but honesty.

It’s Paul, stripped of pretense, without excuses, without spin doctors or self-protection. And he says, “I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate.” These are not the words of someone making excuses. They are the words of someone who has found the courage to tell the truth.

We live in the golden age of self-improvement. There are podcasts promising to fix your bad habits. Books guaranteeing a “new you” in 30 days. Apps that claim they can reshape your mindset. Gyms that promise transformation. And influencers who swear that if you’ll just follow their morning routine, you’ll finally have everything together.

Some of these tools can be helpful. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to grow, mature or live wisely. But beneath it all is a quiet, unspoken assumption: that with just a little more effort, the right strategy, or one more life hack, you can finally conquer yourself.

But here is the question nobody asks out loud: Why are you the hardest person in your life to manage?

Why is it that you can change your schedule, your diet and your phone settings, but you can’t seem to change yourself? Why do we circle back to the same struggles year after year? Why does life feel like rinse, repeat, regret? Paul understands this with startling clarity. He says it plainly: “I do not understand my own actions.”

Few verses in the Bible are as universally relatable as this one. Because every thoughtful, reflective person knows exactly what Paul means.

As we age and look back on our lives, we dwell on the times we:

· ruptured relationships that we wish we had handled differently;

· nurtured old habits that keep resurfacing;

· being unwittingly drawn into arguments with the same person/while not with anyone else

· regretted decisions made too quickly or harshly;

· indulged in moods we didn’t manage well;

· constantly making rash decisions

· gave into temptations we thought we had outgrown; or

· ignored weaknesses we thought we had conquered.

Even those who have lived long, full lives of faith recognize that the inner battles don’t magically disappear with age. If anything, we grow more aware of them.

Paul continues: “I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate.” He doesn’t deny that he wants to live a godly life, nor does he say that he is ignorant of right and wrong. He doesn’t deny that he understands what the law requires (Lord knows he has tried to do the right thing) or restrain himself from doing stupid, sinful things.

We are all familiar with Paul’s dilemma. We know better, but we don’t do better. We have all lived with that inner frustration, the gap between who we want to be and who we really are.

It’s easy to think we might get some sense as we age. But there’s an old Pennsylvania Dutch proverb that feels especially true the older we get: “We get too soon old and too late smart.” In other words, by the time we figure out how to handle ourselves, we’ve already spent decades proving we can’t. Paul says exactly the same thing, only with better theology.

But better theology, knowledge or willpower isn’t enough. This isn’t Paul saying, “I’m failing.” This is Paul saying, “I cannot fix myself.” Make no mistake, Romans 7 is not the diary of a wimpy kid. It is the woeful confession of someone who has stopped pretending. Paul has hit the wall, the limits of self-help.

You can optimize your morning routine. You can drink more water. You can get more sleep, read more books, listen to more sermons, set more goals and attend more workshops.

But none of this can touch the deep fractures, disordered loves and habits of mind and heart that shape how you behave, respond and choose.

This isn’t to say we shouldn’t strive to be the best version of ourselves. But let’s get real. Self-help can only do so much. It can help you get organized, but it can’t heal what’s broken. It can help you be productive, but it can’t make you whole.

It’s a little like that famous song from Wicked, “defy gravity.” It might be a great Broadway moment, but when the show is over, no one walks out of the theatre expecting to fly home. You can sing about defying gravity, but you’re not going to float off the ground. And, Paul says, neither can you defy the gravity of human nature by sheer willpower.

(For a moment, I want to pause and say something about a word often used in passages of Paul’s letters. In the various Bible translations, there are multiple passages that Paul uses the term “flesh.” When he says we should not allow sins of the “flesh” in our lives, those passages would be better translated to say we shouldn’t live by the sins of our “human nature.” When our modern ears hear the word “flesh” used in the Bible, we think of sexual sins, but that is not what it means. “Flesh” in the Bible means “human Nature.”)

So, back to Paul saying, neither can you defy the gravity of human nature by sheer willpower Paul identifies a surprising truth here. “I see in my members another law at war with the law of my mind.” Another gravity. Another pull. Another force. It’s not just sin out there. It’s sin in here.

No wonder he cries out, “Who will rescue me?” Notice he doesn’t ask, “What will deliver me?” Or what program, book, app, TV show, routine or technique will deliver him.

Paul knows that his problems are not going to be solved by things. It is going to be a Who, and in all honesty, he now understands and confesses that the Who ain’t him.

One of the gifts of Romans 7 is that Paul refuses to clean himself up before speaking. He doesn’t present himself as the polished apostle who founded churches, endured shipwrecks and wrote half the New Testament. He gives us the version of himself he’d probably prefer to hide, the version who struggles, contradicts himself, wants what is right and somehow still does what is wrong. Paul isn’t being dramatic; he’s being truthful. And his truthfulness is the very place where grace begins to appear.

We sometimes imagine that God is impressed with our strength, discipline, competence or ability to get our act together. But Paul suggests something different. What moves God toward us isn’t our performance but our honesty. Pretending doesn’t attract God; honesty does. The person who finally says, “I can’t do this on my own,” discovers that grace was waiting for that admission all along. It’s like God is saying, “What took you so long?”

How many times have we arrived at a place in our lives when we just can’t seem to get our life in order? How often have we said that our life is such a mess and we know no way out? Paul’s Epistle we read today is not just a confession of his sins, but a realization that the help he needs cannot be accomplished on his own – nor with any other person in our lives.

Paul reaches that moment in this chapter. After describing the tug-of-war inside himself, he runs out of explanations and strategies. He has tried willpower, knowledge and resolve. He has even tried the law itself. And none of it has been enough. There is a quiet desperation in his question, “Who will rescue me from this body of death?” It isn’t a request for another round of self-improvement. It is a confession that he needs someone outside himself to step in, someone who is stronger and wiser.

And then, almost as if the answer arrives in the very breath after the question, Paul says, “Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord.” The shift is subtle but profound. Paul isn’t rescued because he finally figures himself out. He is rescued because he finally stops pretending he can. Grace is not God congratulating us for almost getting there. Grace is God meeting us at the place where we finally admit we can’t.

What Paul discovers is something many of us learn only after we have exhausted ourselves — that surrender is not the end of effort but the beginning of healing. When we stop managing our image, trying to outrun our flaws, or curating a version of ourselves we think God prefers, something profound happens. We experience a flood of mercy and grace. “Thanks be to God!”

Romans 7 ends on a complicated note. Paul says, essentially, “I have two selves. One delights in God’s law. The other pulls me toward sin. And that battle continues.”

If we are honest, this is probably true for all of us. Being an earnest, committed believer doesn’t mean we aren’t going to face inner struggles and near-fatal doubts. St. Paul aside, just read the histories of such spiritual luminaries as Augustine and his struggles with sex and food; Martin Luther’s  “terrors of conscience”; Saint John of the Cross who introduced the phrase “dark night of the soul” into our spiritual lexicon; or C.S. Lewis who, after his wife Joy succumbed to cancer, admitted that his faith “was a house of cards.” There are many other examples. The inner struggle continues. But the battle itself is won! Being a person of faith doesn’t cause your struggles to disappear; rather, it reframes them. Another way of putting this is to say that Romans 7 is not the final word, but Romans 8 is.

· Whereas Romans 7 says, “I cannot fix myself,” Romans 8 says, “There is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus” (8:1).

· Whereas Romans 7 says, “There is another law waging war within me,” Romans 8 says, “The Spirit sets you free.”

· Whereas Romans 7 says, “Who will rescue me?” Romans 8 says, “God already has.”

So, in one sense, the set continues, but the match is decided. Our lives, in the end, were not meant for here on earth. They were meant for eternity with God.

This is good news for those who carry private burdens of conscience, memory or regret. Romans 7 tells you that God isn’t surprised by your humanity. God isn’t scandalized by your weakness. God doesn’t turn away from your struggle.

Instead, God’s grace meets you precisely where you are – if you but let it.

After that devastating 6–0, 6–0 loss at Wimbledon in Amanda’s first Grand Slam final, she had every reason to hide, deflect or withdraw. But she didn’t. She chose honesty, vulnerability and truth-telling.

And what happened next?

She recovered, trained and grew. She returned to the court with humility and grit.

Within 60 days, she was playing in another major, and once again met the adversary who had humiliated her on Centre Court in front of the Princess of Wales and an astonished world. This time, she handily defeated her 6-4, 6-3, reaching her first U.S. Open semifinal and avenging the Wimbledon loss. She even went on to her second consecutive Grand Slam final, contesting fiercely before yielding to Aryna Sabalenka.

Failure was not the end. It was the beginning of something new.

She lost. She learned. She launched!

And this is the gospel truth of Romans 7:

· Our failures are not final.

· Our shortcomings do not have the last word.

· Our inner battles do not define us.

· Our regrets do not disqualify us.

Because, like Amanda standing on Centre Court, grace means we can be honest without being destroyed. You can’t fix what only grace can repair. This is why the God of grace meets us in our weakness and rescues us with mercy that doesn’t let us go.

Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

Let us pray.

In today’s Epistle Reading, St Paul reminds us that in baptism the Spirit of God has made a home in us. We pray that we be always mindful that the Father resides in us, so that in our every word and action we seek to carry out His holy will. We pray to the Lord.         

We pray for all who have lost loved ones in the past month that they may be comforted by the words of Christ that those they mourn will find rest for their souls with him. We pray to the Lord.           

We pray for those who are sick, both at home and in hospital, that our loving and generous Father look down on them with compassion and give them relief in their illness.  We pray to the Lord.                                   

We pray for all those who work in our health service that they be rewarded for the care and love they bestow on the sick and dying. We pray to the Lord.            

We pray for an end to violence and killing in the Holy Land, where Jesus shed his blood so that all peoples could live in peace and love. We pray to the Lord.  

For world leaders, that they may act with courage and justice for the common good of all people, we pray to the Lord.

For those of us carrying heavy burdens, that we may turn to Christ, we pray to the Lord.

For those who are suffering, in mind, body or spirit, that they may be restored to the fullness of health, we pray to the Lord.

We pray, that like the patron of our diocese, St. Junipero Serra, we will cultivate your message of loving God our Father, and loving our neighbors as ourselves. We pray to the Lord.

We pray for an increase of priests, deacons, and religious. We pray to the Lord.

We pray that those with generous means may be led to our small church and give generously to our mission so that we may continue to be a church open to all peoples . We pray to the Lord.

For those on our parish prayer list, that they may receive swift answers to their needs and that they may find consolation through Christ’s healing presence. We pray to the Lord.

We bow our heads and remember in silence our own personal intentions and the intentions of those who have asked for our prayers (pause). We pray to the Lord.

Father God, we praise you for our country as we celebrate its 250^th anniversary. We thank you for having guided and protected it throughout these years. May it continue to grow and flourish into a nation under God with political leaders who follow the will of the people, for the people, as our founding fathers intended.

Lasting God, we read how your Son, our Lord, spoke to the people that we should turn to him and take upon us his yoke. Let us remember that he was making reference to the way the Pharisees “lorded it over” the people by  teaching the laws you gave Moses in such a way that your people were overwhelmed, while they themselves did not follow the same laws, much like we feel in our own country. Jesus taught we should follow those laws he gave, laws much easier to follow.

Creator God, maker of dancing stars and awesome rainbows, sender of gentle breezes and swirling winds, finder of lost chances and mender of broken dreams, you bless us with beauty, and you grace us with understanding. You know us inside and out. When the heart sighs with grief too large to carry, you are there. When tears flow like an angry stream, you are there. When doubt snares us like a trap, you are there. When hope dwindles to a thin strand, you are there.

You know our comings and goings. You know when we succeed and when we fail. You know the deepest longings of our hearts. Through it all, your love surrounds us, embraces us and sustains us. In the stillness of this moment, let us abide with Christ in your love. Amen.

God Love You +++

The Most Rev. Robert Winzens

Pastor – St. Francis Chapel

San Diego, CA.

As a small parish, we come to you all as beggars! Share with us this Christmas, a little sacrifice for the Christ Child. Your generous support also allows us to continue these important projects that fuel the movement of progressive Christianity. Thank you and God bless you! +++

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