August 16, 2026 - Twelfth Sunday after Pentecost: Holy Hands: Home

August 16, 2026 Twelfth Sunday after Pentecost
Ladue Chapel Presbyterian Church
Psalm 119:33-40Acts 18:1-3Romans 16:3-5
“Holy Hands: Home”
Melissa K. Smith

What do we need to worship here at Ladue Chapel? If we wanted to have worship exactly the way we like it—what would we need?

Well, we need pastors. We need David. We might need a guest musician or two. And we especially notice in the summer how much the choir adds to our worship, and how much we miss them when they aren't here. We need greeters and ushers to welcome us when we arrive, to welcome visitors and guests, and to make sure we have an order of worship in our hands. Because we are Presbyterian, we need our pulpit, our baptismal font, and our communion table. We need Scripture. We need music. We need hymnals.

And, increasingly, we need microphones and cameras and livestream equipment. And when the sound doesn't work or the livestream goes down, we are reminded very quickly just how much we depend on the people who make those things work. We need technicians who make sure you can hear what is happening here in the sanctuary—and that those who cannot be here in person can still worship with us at home.

But even with all of these things, we still don't see everyone who makes worship possible.

We don't see the Session and the Worship Committee making sure that Communion is ready for us each month. We don't see the Property Committee making decisions about speakers and microphones and cameras. We don't see the hours David and the choir put into preparing music. We don't see the time that goes into studying Scripture, wrestling with a text, and putting together a sermon. We don't see all the work that happens before we ever walk through these doors. And maybe that is because we are accustomed to looking at the stage.

Think about a theater production. When the curtain opens, our attention goes to the actors. We see people under the lights. We hear the music and we watch the story unfold. But behind the curtain are stagehands. They are moving sets and hanging lights. They're running sound and managing equipment. They're making sure that when something needs to happen on stage, it happens at exactly the right moment. We don't usually notice them. And that's actually the point. The best stagehands are almost invisible. Their work makes it possible for someone else to stand in the spotlight.

There are a lot of stagehands in the story of Scripture. We remember the people whose names are in the spotlight. We remember Paul, traveling from city to city, preaching the Gospel, establishing churches, and raising up new leaders. We remember Peter, the rock on which the church is built. We remember Timothy, the young leader whom Paul mentored.

But there are other people whose hands are working just outside the spotlight. People who welcomed, who taught, who encouraged, who opened their homes. People who prayed. People who made it possible for someone else to do the work we remember.

Priscilla is one of those people. She is one of the stagehand holy hands of the early church. We don't get a long biography of Priscilla. We don't have a book of Scripture written by her. We don't have a record of a great sermon she preached. But six times in the New Testament, we encounter her name. And every time, we catch a glimpse of someone whose quiet, faithful work helped make the ministry of others possible. Priscilla and Aquila were a ministry couple who opened their home, shared their faith, welcomed others, encouraged leaders, and helped nurture the early church. And when we pay attention to Priscilla's story, we begin to see that the church has always been built by holy hands that don't always stand in the spotlight.

And sometimes those holy hands are found in the most ordinary place imaginable: Home.

What if home became the center stage for faith?

For Priscilla and Aquila, home was a refuge, a classroom, and a church.

Home was a refuge for them as displacement and uncertainty were part of their lives. They had been expelled from Rome and forced to begin again. But wherever they went, they created a place of belonging. And they ensured that Paul belonged, too. They welcomed him into their family and became his friends, companions, coworkers, and supporters as he established the church.

Home was also a classroom. Later in the book of Acts, Priscilla and Aquila encounter a preacher named Apollos, who enthusiastically proclaimed the Gospel. Scripture tells us that he was speaking boldly in the synagogue, but when Priscilla and Aquila heard him, “they took him aside and explained the Way of God more accurately.”

They didn't publicly embarrass Apollos. They didn't tell him he was wrong and leave him to figure it out. They took him aside. They welcomed him into their home, into conversation, into deeper understanding. They helped him grow so that he could go back out and help others grow.

Home was where they taught. Home was where they learned. Home was where they prepared others to serve.

And finally, home was church. Paul writes to the Romans, “Greet also the church in their house.” The church was not confined to a building. Worship, teaching, fellowship, prayer, and discipleship happened around their table and within their walls. For Priscilla and Aquila, the boundary between church and home was intentionally porous. They brought their faith home. And perhaps that is one of the invitations Priscilla offers us today as she calls us to consider what happens when we bring our faith home.

We sometimes think of church as the place where faith happens. We come on Sunday to sing, pray, hear Scripture and a sermon, receive Communion, and then return home.

But what if faith does not end when we leave? What if the rhythm of worship shaped the rhythm of our homes? What if our kitchens became places of prayer, our dinner tables places to practice gratitude and forgiveness, and our living rooms places of welcome for someone who is lonely or grieving? What if children could ask hard questions about God at home and know they would be taken seriously? What if Scripture lived not only on the pages of the Bible, but also in the conversations around our tables? What if faith was not something we came here to perform, but something we carried home to practice?

One of the stage-hand holy hands in the history of the church was Saint Monica, the mother of Augustine, one of the great theologians of the early church. Monica is remembered for her persistent prayer. Her son Augustine lived a wild and restless life and turned away from the faith in which he had been raised. Tradition tells us that Monica prayed for him for years—persistently, patiently, faithfully. And eventually Augustine returned to faith, was baptized, and became one of the most influential Christian thinkers in history.

We remember Augustine. But behind Augustine was Monica. Behind the theologian was a mother who prayed. Behind the public ministry was a private faithfulness that no one may have seen.

Monica and Priscilla both had holy hands—hands that held up the church and raised others up to continue sharing the good news of Jesus Christ. Their hands were behind the scenes, praying, loving, teaching, welcoming, encouraging. And just because we are focused on the stories and legacies of Augustine and Paul does not make the work of Monica and Priscilla any less important. Their work was different. And it was necessary.

That is true for us, too. Some of us will serve where everyone can see—standing before the congregation, leading music, preaching, teaching, serving on committees, or welcoming people at the doors.

But some of the most important ministry we will ever do may happen where nobody else sees it. Around a kitchen table. In a hospital room. On a couch with a grieving friend. At bedtime with a child. Over a cup of coffee. In a phone call to someone who needs to hear, “I'm thinking about you.” In a quiet prayer for someone we love. In the ordinary places of our lives, our hands can become holy hands.

Scripture tells us that when two or three are gathered in Christ's name, Christ is there among them. And here we are—far more than two or three, with microphones and cameras and music and bulletins and committees and choirs and sermons and all the things that make worship possible.

But the presence of Christ does not depend upon these things. Christ is present here. And Christ goes home with us. So perhaps the question is not simply, “What do we need to worship here at Ladue Chapel?” Perhaps the deeper question is, “What do we need to make our homes places where the Gospel lives?”

Priscilla and Aquila remind us that a home can be more than a place where we rest from the world. It can be a place where faith is nurtured. A place where people belong. A place where questions are welcomed. A place where forgiveness is practiced. A place where Scripture is shared. A place where people are prayed for. A place where the weary can rest. A place where the next generation learns what it means to follow Jesus. A place where holy hands are prepared and sent. The church has always been built not only by the people in the spotlight, but by the people behind them.

The kingdom of God has always depended upon holy hands that are willing to welcome, teach, pray, encourage, nurture, and serve.

We have the chance to be Priscilla in one another's lives. We have the chance to open our homes and our lives to the work of God. We have the chance to let Sunday worship spill over into Monday morning. To let the prayers we pray here shape the prayers we pray at home. To let the grace we receive here shape the grace we offer there. To let the table we gather around here remind us of all the tables around which we can welcome others. And perhaps that is where our holy hands begin. Not always on a stage. Not always in a pulpit. Not always where everyone can see. Sometimes they begin around a kitchen table. Sometimes they begin in a quiet room. Sometimes they begin with a hand on a shoulder, a meal shared, a lesson taught, a prayer whispered. Sometimes the most important work of the church happens where nobody is watching.

But God sees.

And God takes those ordinary hands—our hands—and makes them holy. So may this place be a place where we are nourished. May our homes become places where faith is lived. And may we leave both with hands ready to welcome, hands ready to serve, hands ready to teach, hands ready to pray— holy hands, ready to carry the Gospel into the world.

Thanks be to God. Amen.