More Shall Be Revealed
Sermon by the Rev. Hannah Wilder preached on June 21, 2026 at St. Paul’s. Year A, Proper 7
Today’s Gospel can feel a little disorienting if we hear it by itself. Jesus talks about fear. He talks about persecution. He talks about families divided. He talks about swords. And if we’re not careful, it can sound as though Jesus has suddenly become much harsher than the Jesus we’ve come to know.
But context matters.
This passage is part of a much larger conversation. The entire tenth chapter of Matthew is Jesus preparing the disciples to be sent out into the world for the first time. Last week we heard some of those instructions: don’t take extra supplies, don’t take extra sandals, don’t carry extra money. Depend upon the hospitality of strangers. Trust God.
Jesus is sending them out in an incredibly vulnerable way. And before he sends them, he tells them the truth. You are going out like sheep among wolves. You are going to meet resistance. You are going to encounter people who do not want to hear this message. And then he says three times: Do not be afraid.
Notice that Jesus does not say there is nothing to fear. He says, “Do not be afraid of them.”
And who is “them”?
The verses omitted from today’s reading help answer that question. Just before this passage, Jesus tells the disciples that they will be dragged before governors and kings. They will be arrested. They will be persecuted. Why? Because the good news they are carrying is good news for the poor, the oppressed, the sick, the forgotten, and the excluded. And whenever good news comes to the oppressed, it is usually bad news for the systems that benefit from oppression.
The Roman Empire was not going to celebrate a movement proclaiming that God’s kingdom belonged to the poor and the powerless. So Jesus tells them: Don’t be afraid of governors. Don’t be afraid of kings. Don’t be afraid of those who seem to hold all the power. Because God’s truth is already moving through the world.
“There is nothing concealed that will not be disclosed, and nothing hidden that will not become known.”
That line is at the heart of this Gospel. God is always revealing. God is always uncovering. God is always bringing hidden things into the light.
This is one of the oldest themes in Scripture. God parts the sea and reveals a path where none existed. God splits open a rock and water pours forth. The prophets expose injustice that people would rather ignore. Again and again God opens what is closed and reveals what is hidden. And Jesus says that same work continues through us.
“What I say to you in the dark, tell in the light. What you hear whispered, proclaim from the housetops.”
What begins as a whisper becomes a proclamation. What begins hidden becomes visible. What begins in private becomes truth spoken publicly. And that can be frightening.
Because revelation is not always comfortable.
Sometimes revelation exposes unjust systems. Sometimes revelation exposes wounds. Sometimes revelation exposes truths about ourselves that we would rather not see. But revelation is always part of liberation. You cannot heal what remains hidden. You cannot change what remains concealed. You cannot free what remains bound in darkness.
I was reminded of this while reading the story of Douglas Hegdahl.
Douglas Hegdahl was a young Navy sailor during the Vietnam War when he accidentally fell overboard from his ship and was captured by the North Vietnamese. He ended up in the infamous Hanoi Hilton prison camp. He wasn’t an officer. He wasn’t considered important. So he made a decision: he would let his captors believe he was foolish. He acted confused, uneducated, and harmless. The guards nicknamed him “The Stupid One.”
Because they underestimated him, they gave him unusual freedom to move around the camp doing chores. And while they were dismissing him, he was quietly gathering information. Over two years, he memorized the names and details of 256 American prisoners of war. No notes. No paper. He set the information to the tune of Old MacDonald Had a Farm and carried it all in his memory.
When he was eventually released, he provided the first confirmation that many of those prisoners were still alive. His captors thought they knew who he was. They were wrong. More was going on than they could see. More was being revealed than they could imagine.
And in a way, that’s what Jesus is talking about. The powers of this world often think they know where power resides. They think power belongs to governors and kings, to armies and wealth, to institutions and authority. But God is constantly revealing another kind of power: the power of ordinary people, the power of truth, the power of courage, the power of communities refusing to give up hope.
Jesus tells the disciples that when they stand before rulers and authorities, they need not worry about what to say, because “the Spirit of your Father will speak through you.” What an astonishing claim. At our best, we become conduits for God’s truth—not only the hands and feet of Christ, but the voice of Christ. When we speak truth to power, when we tell the truth about suffering, when we tell the truth about injustice, when we tell the truth about who we are, the Spirit is at work.
And that brings us to the hardest part of today’s Gospel. Jesus says, “I have not come to bring peace, but a sword.” This verse has been misunderstood for centuries. Jesus is not calling for violence. The sword here functions much more like revelation than warfare. It divides. It exposes. It cuts through illusion.
It reminds me of the image in Hebrews of the word of God as a two-edged sword, piercing deeply and revealing what lies beneath the surface. Truth cuts—not because truth is cruel, but because truth separates what is real from what is false. And that process can create tension.
When someone finally tells the truth about the ways they have been marginalized, when someone names a painful reality in their family, when someone points out an unjust system, when someone acknowledges their own complicity in harm—that truth-telling often creates discomfort. Sometimes significant discomfort. Sometimes conflict.
Jesus is preparing the disciples for exactly that reality. Following him means participating in God’s ongoing work of revelation. And whenever hidden things come into the light, people who benefit from the darkness often resist.
That’s why Jesus speaks about taking up the cross. Not because suffering is good. But because truth-telling is costly. Liberation is costly. Transformation is costly. Yet it is also the path to life.
One of the things I love most in this Gospel is the image of amplification. Jesus says, “What you hear whispered, proclaim from the housetops.” Many of us know those whispers. The quiet voice that says: This isn’t right. This person is being harmed. Something needs to change. You need to apologize. You need to speak up. You need to tell the truth. You need to listen. You need to act.
Those whispers are often where revelation begins. And when we courageously bring those truths into the light, something remarkable happens. Other people recognize them. They say, “Yes. That’s true. I see it too. I’ve felt that too.”
And suddenly what began as a whisper becomes a movement. A community. A possibility. A new way forward. The truth is amplified, and God opens a path where none seemed possible before.
So perhaps the invitation today is simple: Do not be afraid. Not because everything will be easy. Not because there will be no resistance. Not because there will be no discomfort. But because God’s truth is larger than any governor, any king, any empire, any system, any fear.
More shall be revealed.
God is already at work revealing what is hidden, opening what is closed, and making a way where there is no way. Our task is simply to listen for the whisper and, when the time comes, proclaim it from the rooftops.