8 Pentecost (Proper 11A) 2026

The Rev. Dr. Kenneth H. Saunders III
Greeneville, TN

The 8th Sunday after Pentecost
July 19, 2026

Isaiah 44:6-8
Psalm 86:11-17
Romans 8:12-25
Matthew 13:24-30,36-43

Just a few seconds ago, we heard the story of Jesus putting yet another parable before the gathering crowds. The parable is commonly known to us as the parable of the weeds and the wheat. But there is something about this parable that rubs us the wrong way.

If we are honest with ourselves, I think most of us would sympathize with the farmhands. They see the weeds growing up among the wheat and immediately ask, “Do you want us to go pull them up?” It seems like the obvious solution. Get rid of the problem... Clean up the field... Protect the crop. Oh, if life were only that simple.

The truth is, we often wish God would work that way. We look at the headlines and wonder why evil seems to flourish. We see war continuing across the globe, political divisions causing violence, and families beginning to fracture. Violence, sexism, and racial bigotry seem to be becoming commonplace.

So much so that one of our local murals, painted by students in honor of the remarkable women who helped shape Greene County, was defaced with sexist and racial hate speech. What was meant to be a celebration of these remarkable women has now been marked by hate and ugliness. As a people, we need to do better. As a community, we need to do better.

Our neighbors are increasingly becoming suspicious of one another. We watch people exploit the vulnerable, spread lies, and seek power at the expense of others. That is where we find ourselves asking the same question the servants asked, “Lord, shouldn’t we do something?” Or perhaps more honestly, “Lord, why don’t YOU do something?”

Jesus tells this parable because I think he knows that question lives deep within every human heart. At first glance, the landowner’s response sounds irresponsible. “No,” he says. “Let them both grow together until the harvest.” Now, to me, that sounds like terrible farming advice. Those of you who garden know better than that. Weeds steal water. They rob nutrients. They choke out healthy plants. If you ignore them long enough, they will take over everything. But Jesus is not giving a lesson in agriculture here.

The weed Jesus describes in the parable is what we know as darnel. It looks almost identical to wheat in its early stages. You really cannot tell one from the other until they begin to mature. Even more, their roots become intertwined. So pulling one out too early risks tearing up the wheat along with it.

The servants think they know which plants belong and which do not. But the landowner knows better. That should make us stop for a minute and think. Because again, if we are honest with ourselves, we think we have become confident in identifying the weeds.

We know who the weeds are... It’s all of “those people.” The people who think differently than us, the people who vote differently, the people who have hurt us, the people who have disappointed us. It’s “those people” whose sins are easier to recognize than our own. We are usually pretty certain about who belongs in the field and who does not.

So Jesus cautions us against that kind of certainty. Not because evil isn’t real. Because it is. The parable never pretends otherwise. The landowner does not deny that an enemy (the evil one) has been at work. And he does not suggest that the weeds are actually wheat if we just look at them differently. Evil exists. Sin wounds us. Injustice destroys lives. The Holy Scriptures never ask us to ignore that reality. The question is not whether evil exists. The question is, how do we, as disciples of Jesus, respond to it?

When Paul writes to the Romans, he does not pretend that the world is fine. In fact, he says that “the whole creation has been groaning in labor pains until now.” That is a powerful image. We know what that groaning sounds like. It’s the groan of parents worrying about their children, the groan of communities recovering from floods and storms, the groan of nations weary of war. It’s the groan of those living with illness, grief, loneliness, or uncertainty. Paul doesn’t deny any of it.

But notice what kind of groaning it is. It is not the groaning of death and destruction. It is the groaning of childbirth. Creation is not simply falling apart. God is bringing forth something new. Our first instinct is almost always elimination. To make it go away… To take it out, cut it out, and get rid of it. But God’s first instinct is redemption. And that difference changes everything.

One of the early church fathers, St. Augustine, pointed out that real wheat never becomes weeds, and weeds never become real wheat. But people are different. This is why God is patient. God sees not only who we are. But God sees, by grace, who we may become. 

Paul reminds us that we have not received a spirit of slavery leading us back into fear. We have received the Spirit of adoption. And reminds us that we are children of God. We need to remember that children are still growing. They are not finished. And neither are we.

That same Spirit that cries, “Abba, Father,” within us is still shaping us into the likeness of Christ. Someone who appears to be wheat today may choose another path tomorrow. Someone who seems hopelessly lost today may become a righteous saint tomorrow. 

Think about the people Jesus gathered around himself... a tax collector, a political zealot, fishermen with hot heads and quick tempers, a man who would not believe anything until he had his own assurance, and a man who denied him three times. If we had been choosing the disciples for Jesus, we might have pulled up half the field before Pentecost ever arrived.

God saw something we could not. That is why judgment belongs to God and God alone, and not to us. Because only God sees the whole story. Only God knows what divine grace may accomplish.

That does not mean justice doesn’t matter. Sometimes folks hear this parable and think Jesus is saying evil does not matter, or that Christians should simply tolerate abuse and injustice. That is not what he is saying. Notice in the parable that the weeds are eventually separated. Justice comes. God doesn’t ignore evil. God simply refuses to let vengeance become our focus and our purpose. That distinction matters.

There is another little detail hidden in this parable that deepens its meaning… at least it did for me… The Greek word, ἀφίημι (aphiēmi), is translated in this parable as “let” meaning “let it be” when the landowner says… “let both of them grow together.” But this word ἀφίημι also carries the sense of “forgive” or “remit.” It is the same word we hear in the Lord’s Prayer when we say “Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.”

Perhaps Jesus is inviting us to hear these words differently. “Forgive them both until the harvest.” Not excuse... Not approve... Not pretend evil is not evil... But refuse to let hatred have the final word. That, of course, is exactly what Jesus does.

He does not simply tell parables about forgiveness. He lives them. When he is betrayed, he forgives. When he is mocked, he forgives. When nails are driven through his hands and feet, he prays, “Father, forgive them.” And after the resurrection, he doesn’t seek revenge against the disciples who abandoned him. He restores them. Peter, who denied him three times, is not cast aside. He is entrusted with the keys of the kingdom and told by Christ to feed his sheep. That is how God works. Patiently... persistently, and always seeking redemption before judgment. 

Perhaps the hardest part of this parable for us is realizing that the field is not just “the world out there.” It is also us. Paul says we wait for “the redemption of our bodies.” Even after baptism, even after receiving the Holy Spirit, we are still becoming the people who God created us to be.

That means discipleship is not about proving we are already wheat. It is about allowing the Holy Spirit to keep cultivating our lives. Every act of forgiveness... Every act of mercy... Every act of generosity... Every time we choose love instead of fear. The Holy Spirit continues producing the fruit of God’s kingdom within us.

If we are being truly honest with ourselves, we know both wheat and weeds often grow together within our own hearts. Love and resentment... Faith and fear... Generosity and selfishness... Hope and despair. But every day we are becoming something. Every day, the grace of God is at work, patiently cultivating what is good while calling us away from that which would destroy us. 

Thank God that God is more patient with us than we are with one another. And that patience is not weakness. It is mercy and grace. It is the mercy that allows each of us time to repent, to grow, to become more than we once were, to become better.

The good news of this parable is not simply that the weeds will one day be removed. The good news is that the harvest will be abundant. Despite everything the enemy has sown... Despite every act of violence... Despite every broken relationship... Despite every disappointment... God’s harvest will not fail. The kingdom of God will prevail. The last word does not belong to the evil one. The last word belongs to grace. The last word belongs to God.

Perhaps that is why Jesus ends the parable with the harvest instead of the weeds. Evil is real. Suffering is real. The groaning of creation is real. But none of those things gets the final word. Paul says, “In hope we were saved.” Christian hope is not wishful thinking. It is confidence that God is still at work, even when we cannot see the finished harvest.

We do not hope for what is already in front of us. We hope for what God has promised. That means we can live differently. It means we can forgive when the world demands revenge. We can sow mercy when others sow division. And we can choose reconciliation over resentment. We can resist the temptation to decide who belongs to God and who doesn’t.

Why? Because we know that the field belongs to God. The harvest belongs to God. And so does the future. One day, Paul says, creation itself will be set free from its bondage to decay. One day, every tear will be wiped away. One day, the groaning will give way to singing. And on that day, Jesus says, “The righteous will shine like the sun in the kingdom of their Father.”

Until then, we keep trusting. We keep loving... We keep forgiving... We keep planting seeds of the kingdom. And we keep hoping — for God, who has begun this good work, to bring it to its promised completion.

7 Pentecost (Proper 10A) 2026

The Rev. Dr. Kenneth H. Saunders III
Greeneville, TN

The 7th Sunday after Pentecost
July 12, 2026

Isaiah 55:10-13 Psalm 65: (1-8), 9-14 Romans 8:1-11 Matthew 13:1-9,18-23

Here we are, in the middle of another summer in Greeneville. This time of year, I enjoy driving around and seeing how green everything is… Especially since we are having those mid-afternoon pop-up thunderstorms. The crops look pretty good… Since I’ve been here in Greeneville, I’ve learned that people who live in Greeneville know how to grow things.

Almost everyone has a garden. Some have a few tomato plants in raised beds. Some grow enough vegetables to keep the freezer full all winter. Others tend to fields and farms that have been in the family for generations. There is something hopeful about putting a seed into the ground. You prepare the soil... You water... You wait... You trust that something you cannot see is happening beneath the surface.

Perhaps we need that reminder this year. Because, if we’re honest, it hasn’t been an easy season for us. Every day seems to bring about another headline that makes us wonder what tomorrow will hold. We continue to hear of devastating floods that have swept away communities, families struggling under the rising cost of living, wars that continue to claim innocent lives, and political divisions that only seem to get deeper.

There is an endless stream of voices competing for our attention. Even when we step away from the television and put down our phones, many of us carry with us a quiet anxiety about the future. In our world, which often feels unsettled, we hear Jesus tell us a story about a farmer sowing seed.

At first glance, it seems almost too simple. But perhaps simple is exactly what we need. Most of us aren’t farmers in the ancient sense. We know enough about gardens to understand that healthy plants don’t just happen. The soil matters... The weather matters... The roots matter. But very few of us know what it means to depend entirely on the harvest for our survival, as Jesus’ first listeners did. 

If their crops failed, there was no grocery store waiting down the road. Still, we understand enough to hear what Jesus is saying when he says, “A sower went out to sow.”

As you know, I like to engage Scripture by imagining ourselves inside the story. So first, I would like us to imagine ourselves as the sower. As Christians, that is exactly who we are. Every day we scatter seeds of God’s Kingdom... Sometimes with our words... Sometimes with our actions. Sometimes simply by choosing kindness when everyone else seems angry. Sometimes by refusing to join the outrage that dominates our social media feeds. Sometimes, by listening before speaking. Sometimes by forgiving instead of keeping score.

In every act of mercy, in every word of hope... and in every moment of compassion are the seeds of God’s Kingdom. And notice something remarkable. The sower doesn’t ration the seed. He doesn’t inspect the ground first. He doesn’t decide who deserves it. He simply sows generously.

That is God’s way. God’s grace is never offered only to the people who have earned it. It is scattered abundantly. That means our calling is not to decide who is worthy of hearing the Gospel or receiving our love… Our calling is to simply keep sowing... To keep telling the story... To keep loving... To keep serving. To keep trusting that God can bring about life where we cannot.

But then Jesus invites us to look at the story from another angle. This time, we are not the sower. We are the soil. And that may be more difficult for us to envision. What kind of soil are we becoming? Have our hearts become like the path? Packed down by disappointment... Hardened by grief... Closed by fear... Have we heard so many arguments, accusations, and angry voices that we no longer hear God’s gentle invitation? 

Or perhaps we are the rocky soil. We receive God’s Word with joy on Sunday… But by Tuesday, the worries of work, family, finances, and the relentless pace of life have crowded it out before it can take root.

Or maybe we recognize the thorns... The distractions. Not necessarily bad things. Just too many things. The endless doom scrolling. The constant notifications. The pressure to produce more, earn more, and accomplish more. The temptation to believe that our value comes from our success rather than from God’s love. The desire to win every argument rather than seek understanding. These things slowly wrap themselves around our lives until they choke the life that Christ desires to grow within us.

And then there is the good soil. We need to understand that good soil isn’t necessarily “perfect soil.” It is prepared soil. It is soil that has been broken open... Cultivated... Watered... and patiently tended. Perhaps this is why some of the deepest faith we ever encounter comes from people who have been broken… people who have suffered. Not because suffering is good. But because hardship often breaks open our hearts in ways comfort never could. God has a way of bringing life from places we thought were beyond hope. 

Unlike many of Jesus’ parables, he actually takes time to explain this one. Yet knowing the explanation doesn’t make it any less challenging. Because this parable of the sower asks us to examine both our mission and our hearts. The seed and the soil...

We are the sowers. As we scatter God’s love freely. Not only toward people who think like us, or vote like us, or agree with us. But toward everyone, because every person bears the image of God. But we are also the soil. Every day, we are deciding whether our hearts will become more open or more closed. More generous or more fearful. More trusting or more cynical.

The remarkable thing is that God never stops sowing. Even when the ground is hard. Even when there are rocks. Even when weeds have begun to grow. God continues to scatter grace with carefree and abundant generosity. That means there is always hope.

The soil can be cultivated. The rocks can be removed. The weeds can be pulled. The heart can be transformed. Perhaps that is the very invitation that Jesus is offering us today. In a world filled with fear, we are to become good soil. In a culture that rewards outrage, to sow peace. In a time when people are quick to condemn, to sow mercy. In a season when many wonder whether hope still exists, to sow hope.

Because the Kingdom of God has always grown this way. One seed at a time, one life at a time, one act of grace at a time. So may God cultivate our hearts to receive the abundance of the word deeply. May Christ remove the weeds, rocks, and thorns… whatever keeps us from growing. And may the Holy Spirit send us into the world as generous sowers of God’s love, trusting that even the smallest seed scattered can bear a harvest beyond anything we could ever imagine.

 

6 Pentecost (Proper 9A) 2026

The Rev. Dr. Kenneth H. Saunders III

Greeneville, TN

6th Sunday after Pentecost

July 5, 2026

Zechariah 9:9-12
Psalm 145:8-15
Romans 7:15-25a
Matthew 11:16-19, 25-30

There was a time in the Episcopal Church when, after confession and absolution, the priest would turn to the congregation and speak the words from Matthew 11:28. Many of us still carry these words deep in our hearts: “Come unto me, all ye that travail and are heavy laden, and I will refresh you.” Or in the modern language we more often hear today: “Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.”

These words after the absolution were words of assurance… They were called “The Comfortable Words.” What a fitting name... They came at that holy moment in the liturgy after we had listened to the Scriptures proclaimed... After we had heard the sermon and reflected upon God’s Word... After we had professed our faith using the words of the Nicene Creed and prayed for the Church and the world... And immediately after we had done something both difficult and deeply human... After we had told the truth... and confessed to God that we had fallen short. That we had not loved God with our whole heart... That we had not loved our neighbors as ourselves... That we had failed in thought, word, and deed.

Having laid down the burdens that we carried... we then heard the absolution and the priest proclaiming the forgiveness... that God, in God’s great mercy, through Jesus Christ, receives and forgives those who repent and desire to be restored to God’s grace. Immediately after that came the words of Jesus, “Come to me.” Come to me… Not “Fix yourself first.” Not “Try harder.” Not “Come back when you’ve earned it.” But simply, “Come to me.”

For generations, those words have been a refuge for weary souls. And perhaps we need to hear them now more than ever. Because we live in a weary world. A world where people carry burdens that can’t be seen. Grief. Anxiety. Loneliness. Fear about the future. Folks are exhausted from trying to hold families together, pay bills, care for aging parents, raise children, or simply make it through another week.

Many folks carry spiritual burdens as well. Burdens of guilt and of shame... Burdens of wondering whether we are enough... Good enough… whether we are worthy… The burden of believing or thinking that God’s love must somehow be earned. And into all of that, Jesus says, “Come to me, and I will give you rest.”

However, if we stop there, we miss something important. Because Jesus doesn’t say, “Come to me, and I will remove you from the world.” He doesn’t say, “Come to me, and you will never struggle again.” Nor does he say, “Come to me, and you will never be asked to change.” Instead, he continues, “Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me.”

Now, that phrase sounds a bit strange to modern ears. After all, who comes to a weary person and offers them a yoke? A yoke is something you put on a work animal. It is not usually associated with rest. But in Jesus’ day, a yoke was a familiar image for a way of life, a pattern of discipleship, a commitment to live according to God’s purposes.

Everyone carries a sort of yoke. The question is never - whether - we will carry one. The question is whose yoke we will carry. Some carry the yoke of achievement, believing their worth depends upon success. Some carry the yoke of perfectionism, convinced they can never afford to fail. Some carry the yoke of anger or resentment, never letting go of what weighs them down. Others carry the crushing burden of public opinion, endlessly seeking approval from people who can never give enough of it. Our culture offers countless yokes... Many of them promise freedom, but most deliver only exhaustion. 

The religious leaders of Jesus’ day had created burdens of their own. They had taken God’s beautiful gift of the Law and turned it into something complicated, intimidating, and inaccessible. Faith became less about loving God and neighbor and more about mastering regulations and avoiding mistakes.

Religion became a heavy burden, and Jesus came to make it light again. Not easier in the sense of requiring nothing, but simpler in the sense of returning to what mattered most. Love God. Love your neighbor. Show mercy. Seek justice. Forgive. Serve. And walk humbly with God. The yoke of Jesus is not the absence of responsibility. It is the presence of grace.

Taking on the yoke of Jesus means that you have the right tool to help you move the heavy load. That you are able to deal with the burden, with God’s help. It is a way of living in which we no longer have to prove our worth because our worth has already been declared in our baptism. It is a way of living in which our obedience to God grows not from fear… but from love.

It is a way of living in which mercy matters more than performance. That is comforting, but it’s also challenging. Challenging, because if we have received Christ’s rest, then we are also called to become His disciples… people through whom others may find their rest as well.

The world does not need more Christians adding burdens to already burdened people. Amen? It does not need more voices spouting outrage, condemnation, suspicion, and fear. It does not need churches that make God’s love harder and harder to find. It needs followers of Jesus… Followers of Jesus whose lives make the Gospel believable. People who offer grace instead of judgment. Mercy instead of contempt. Patience instead of anger and Hope instead of despair.

The Church is called to be a community of folks where weary people discover they do not have to carry the burdens of life alone. A place where forgiveness is real. A place where dignity is restored. A place where strangers become neighbors, and neighbors become friends and family. A place where people encounter - not our demands, but Christ’s invitation, “Come to me, and I will give you rest.”

That invitation remains open to us today. Bring your grief. Bring your questions. Bring your failures. Bring your fears. Bring the burdens you have carried for so long that you no longer remember what it feels like to set them down. Bring them to Christ. And having found rest in him, take on his yoke. Learn from Him. Walk his path of mercy and compassion.

For in the end, Christian discipleship is not about carrying heavier burdens than everyone else. It is about learning to carry the right burden… the burden of love, the burden of grace, the burden of becoming, by God’s mercy, the kind of people through whom others can finally hear and believe those ancient, beautiful, and comfortable words, “Come unto me, all ye that travail and are heavy laden, and I will refresh you.”

4 Pentecost (Proper 7A) 2026

The Rev. Dr. Kenneth H. Saunders III
Greeneville, TN

4th Sunday after Pentecost
June 21, 2026

Jeremiah 20:7-13
Psalm 69: 8-11, (12-17), 18-20
Romans 6:1b-11
Matthew 10:24-39

The Gospel reading we just heard from Matthew is not an easy one. In fact, if we're being honest, it may be one of those passages we'd rather skip over. Last Sunday, we talked about preparation. We talked about how the Christian life is not always easy. We talked about training, formation, and learning to rely on God's strength when life becomes difficult.

This week, the challenge is different. The difficulty isn't that we are unprepared. The difficulty is that Jesus says things we don't particularly want to hear. 

"I have come not to bring peace, but a sword." 

"Whoever loves father or mother more than me is not worthy of me."

"Whoever loves son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me."

Those are difficult words. I love my family. I love my children. I love my parents and the people who have shaped my life. So when Jesus speaks of division within families, it sounds troubling. It sounds harsh. It sounds completely out of character for the One who taught us to love our neighbors and pray for our enemies. But as is often the case with Scripture, we have to look beyond the surface and ask what Jesus is really trying to teach us. 

The readings today help us untie the knot. Because all of them, in one way or another, are about relationships. They are about our relationship with God, and they are about our relationships with one another. And they are about what happens when those relationships come into conflict.

Throughout this long green season after Pentecost, we are learning what it means to be disciples. We are learning how, as followers of Jesus, we are formed, informed, and transformed by God's grace. We are learning what it means to live faithfully in a complicated world. A world that is not so different from Jeremiah's. A world that is not so different from the Roman Church to which Paul was writing. A world that is not so different from the one Jesus walked through.

The details may change, but the human condition remains remarkably the same. In our reading from Jeremiah, we encounter a prophet who is exhausted. Jeremiah has spoken the truth. He has proclaimed God's message. And what has it gotten him? Ridicule... Opposition... Isolation...

People mocked him... People rejected him, and People would rather silence him than hear what God has to say. Jeremiah reaches a point where he wants to just quit. He wants to walk away. But he can’t. He can’t, because God's word has become "a burning fire shut up [his] bones." He can't hold it in. The call of God is stronger than his fear. The truth is stronger than the pressure to conform.

That sounds familiar, doesn't it? Today, we live in a culture where speaking truth (especially truth to power) can be costly. We live in a time when people are pressured to choose sides. Political tribes demand loyalty. Social media rewards outrage. News outlets profit from keeping people angry and afraid. It seems that every issue becomes another opportunity to divide people into camps of "us" and "them."

And, as Christians, we are often caught in the middle. When we speak about caring for the poor, someone calls it politics. When we speak about welcoming the stranger, someone calls it politics. When we speak about protecting the vulnerable, someone calls it politics. When we speak about peace, justice, mercy, and reconciliation, people often assume we must belong to one side or another. But Jeremiah reminds us that faithfulness is not about pleasing a crowd. Faithfulness is about following God. Even when it is difficult. Even when it’s costly.

Then Paul reminds us why that relationship matters. He tells the Roman Church… a church he hasn’t met yet... that through baptism we have been united with Christ. He lays out in his introduction to these new believers that we have died with Christ, we have been raised with Christ, and that we belong to Christ.

Our deepest identity is not found in our nationality or our political party. It’s not found in our social status, our ethnicity, or our accomplishments. It’s not even found in the many roles we play in life. Our deepest identity is that we are children of God. Children of God, created by God, redeemed by Christ, and Sealed by the Holy Spirit. Beloved forever.

That relationship is the foundation upon which everything else is built. And that brings us back to the Gospel. Jesus is not telling us to hate our families. He is not encouraging division for division's sake. He is making a statement about priorities. He is asking the fundamental question, Who comes first?

Because sooner or later, every disciple faces that question. What happens when loyalty to Christ conflicts with loyalty to a political movement? What happens when loyalty to Christ conflicts with family expectations? What happens when loyalty to Christ conflicts with cultural assumptions? What happens when loyalty to Christ challenges the values of our tribe?

Jesus says that when those moments come, our relationship with God must come first. That is what makes discipleship difficult. And that is why Jesus speaks of carrying a cross. A cross is not an inconvenience. A cross is not a minor annoyance. A cross represents sacrifice. A willingness to follow Christ even when it costs us something, even our lives.

And I think that’s the challenge facing Christians today. Many people need Jesus as a comforter. Many people want Jesus as a blessing. And many people want Jesus to be their source of personal inspiration. But few people want Jesus to challenge their assumptions. Fewer people want Jesus to rearrange their priorities. And even fewer people want Jesus to stand above every other allegiance. 

Yet that is exactly what Jesus is asking of us. Not because God is demanding. Not because God is insecure. But because God knows that when anything else occupies first place in our hearts, it eventually becomes an idol... And idols always disappoint. Political leaders disappoint. Nations and principalities disappoint... Institutions disappoint... And even families can disappoint us.

Only God remains faithful. Only God remains constant. Only God remains worthy of our ultimate trust. Imagine what our world would look like if more folks truly put God first. Imagine if leaders made decisions not based on power but on compassion. Imagine if nations pursued the common good rather than their own advantage. Imagine if churches were known more for their love rather than their arguments. Imagine if Christians became famous for mercy rather than division. Imagine if we saw every human being as someone created in the image of God. 

Many of the divisions that consume our society today would begin to lose their power. The walls that separate us would become easier to cross. The fear that drives so much of our public life would begin to give way to hope. The Gospel would once again become visible in the way we live.

Like Jeremiah, we may still face resistance. We may still become frustrated, and we may sometimes feel weary and want to quit, but God never abandons God's people.

The psalmist reminds us that God hears our cries. God sees our struggles. God remains present even when we cannot see the way forward. And God continues to call us into a deeper relationship. That is really what all these readings are about. Relationship.

A relationship begun in God's love... A relationship sealed in baptism... A relationship sustained by God’s redeeming grace... A relationship that calls us to put God first.

Because when God occupies the center of our lives, everything else begins to find its proper place. Our families become healthier. Our communities become stronger. Our witness becomes clearer. And our world becomes more reflective of God's glorious kingdom. And we finally discover that the One who asks for our ultimate loyalty is also the One who gives us ultimate life.

In Christ Jesus, we are participants in a divine relationship. And when we put God first, we find that everything else falls into its proper place.

3 Pentecost (Proper 6A) 2026

The Rev. Dr. Kenneth H. Saunders III

Greeneville, TN

3rd Sunday after Pentecost

June 14, 2026

Exodus 19:2-8a
Psalm 100
Romans 5:1-8
Matthew 9:35-10:8(9-23)

When my daughter Kaytlynn was about four or five years old, she knew no strangers. We had to keep a close eye on her because she would walk up to anyone and make fast friends. On the playground. In the grocery store. At restaurants. Everywhere she went. There was something beautiful about that innocence. She simply assumed people were worth knowing. Worth loving. Worth befriending.

As I reflected on today's Gospel, I found myself thinking about Kaytlynn. Because there is a certain simplicity in the mission that Jesus gives his disciples. Not that the work itself is simple. The work is difficult, demanding, and sometimes costly. But the approach is surprisingly straightforward.

Go. Trust God. Meet people. Share the Good News. Offer healing. Leave the rest to God.

In today's Gospel, Jesus looks out at the crowds and sees people who are hurting, searching, and struggling. Matthew tells us they were "harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd." And Jesus has compassion on them. 

When I hear those words of Jesus, I cannot help but think about our own world. We live in a time when many people feel harassed and helpless. We see wars continuing in Ukraine, where families still spend nights in shelters and communities continue to suffer under the weight of violence and uncertainty. We see the ongoing humanitarian crises in Gaza, where families struggle to find safety, food, clean water, and hope for tomorrow. 

We see growing divisions in our own nation, where political disagreements too often become hostility, and where loneliness and anxiety continue to affect people of all ages. It is easy to look at all of this and feel overwhelmed. It is easy to wonder whether anything we do can make a difference. But this is exactly the kind of world into which Jesus sent the disciples.

He didn’t wait until the world was peaceful. He didn’t wait until everyone agreed with one another. He didn’t wait until suffering had disappeared. He looked at the broken world with compassion and sent his followers out as agents of healing, reconciliation, and hope. Then he says, "The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few." 

And he sends the disciples out. He sends them out right then…  Not someday when they have everything figured out. Not after years of additional training. He gives them authority to proclaim the Kingdom of God, to heal the sick, and to bring restoration and reconciliation.

He even tells them not to overpack. Take no extra money. No extra baggage... Just go. Trust God. And trust that God will provide what is needed along the way... Some people will welcome you, some will not. Some things will work out, others will fail.

Just keep going... Keep loving... And keep sharing the Good News. The disciples are sent out with a mission of restoration and renewal. And so are we. But before we can be sent, we must first be formed. Prior to this, the disciples spent two years learning from Jesus.

I know something about that from my own life. When I was growing up, I was never much of a sports enthusiast. I played football with friends in neighborhood yards, but I was never really on a team. I never played organized baseball. Sports just weren't really my thing.

That changed when I got to high school and discovered wrestling. What I loved most wasn't even the matches. It was the training... It was the drills. The repetition. The conditioning. Every athlete learns that desire alone is not enough. It takes discipline. It takes endurance. It takes practice.

The goal of training is not simply to perform well once. The goal is to become the kind of person who instinctively responds well under pressure. The Apostle Paul understood that same truth about the Christian life. 

Writing to the Romans, Paul knows that following Jesus is not easy. There will be hardships, disappointments, and struggles. Yet he says, "Suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint us."

Paul is not glorifying suffering. He is describing formation. God uses life's challenges to shape disciples. To build endurance. To strengthen character and to offer us hope. The Christian life is a life of formation. That is why we pray. That is why we worship. That is why we return week after week for Scripture and Sacrament.

Have you ever wondered why we repeat the same prayers? Why our tradition follows the steady rhythms and routines of the Prayer Book? Years ago, I couldn’t have answered that question very well. Then life happened. Loss happened. Challenges happened. And I discovered that those practices had been training me all along.

A mentor once told me that the daily office is "calisthenics for Christians." I have always loved that image. Just as repeated exercise strengthens the body, practiced daily prayer strengthens the soul. The way we worship forms our hearts. Scripture shapes our minds, and the sacraments help us receive and remember God's grace. These practices prepare us for the moments when life becomes difficult.

My Taekwondo instructor, Master Park, often says, "When we train Taekwondo, we become Taekwondo people. And when Taekwondo people are squeezed, Taekwondo comes out." The same is true for Christians. When we pray, worship, forgive, serve, and love, Christ is formed within us. And when life squeezes us, what comes out is the love of God.

That is exactly what God was doing with Israel in our reading from Exodus. Three months after escaping slavery in Egypt, they arrive at Mount Sinai. And God says to them, "You shall be my treasured possession... You shall be for me a kingdom of priests and a holy nation."

Imagine hearing those words. Former slaves are told they are precious in God's sight. Chosen. Called. Set apart for God's purposes. Not because they are better than anyone else, but because God has work for them to do. They are called to be a kingdom of priests. A people whose lives help connect others to God.

Did they know how to do that? Probably not. Much of the Old Testament is the story of Israel trying to figure it out. There was plenty of trial and error. Sometimes more errors than trials. Yet they kept returning to God, they kept learning, and they kept growing. And perhaps that is one of the most important lessons for us today. Faithfulness matters more than perfection.

Because when Jesus sent the disciples out, he did not send perfect people. The Gospels make that abundantly clear. These are the same disciples who misunderstood Jesus' teachings, who argued among themselves, who fell asleep when Jesus asked them to pray, who fled when he was arrested, who struggled to believe in the resurrection. One of them even betrayed him... sold him out for 20 pieces of silver.

And yet Jesus sent them anyway. He called disciples and turned them into apostles. The word apostle means "one who is sent." And despite all their flaws, they answered the call. They went... They proclaimed the Good News... They healed... They reconciled... They loved. And because they said yes, there is a Church gathered around the world today. The same call comes to us.

In the Catechism of the Book of Common Prayer, we read, "The mission of the Church is to restore all people to unity with God and each other in Christ." That is our mission. It’s our purpose as the gathered Body of Christ. It is who we are.

Every time we renew our baptismal covenant, we promise that we will, with God's help, proclaim by word and example the Good News of God in Christ. Notice those words: with God's help. Not because we are perfect. Not because we have all the answers. But because God goes with us.

Too often, we are content to remain disciples gathered comfortably around Jesus. We enjoy worship. We enjoy fellowship. We enjoy being together. And all those things are good. But disciples are meant to become apostles. We are meant to be sent. We are meant to step beyond our comfort zones and go where people are hurting. To bring hope where there is despair. To bring reconciliation where there is division. and to bring love where there is hatred. And that takes courage. It always has.

But we need to remember that we do not go alone. The same Holy Spirit that empowered the apostles empowers us. The same love that sustained Paul sustains us. The same God who called Israel calls us.

And maybe the work begins more simply than we imagine. Perhaps it begins by being with and noticing people. Listening to them. Caring for them and treating them with dignity. Making friends, just like a little girl who believed everyone she met was worth knowing. Because every person we encounter is beloved by God. Every person matters. Every person has sacred worth. Every person is made in God’s image. And every person needs to hear, in one way or another, that God loves them and the Kingdom of God has come near.

Brothers and sisters, we are a kingdom of priests. We are apostles of Jesus Christ. We are agents of reconciliation in a hurting world. We are still being formed. And we are being sent out. Not because we are perfect. But because God is faithful.

The harvest is still plentiful. There are still people longing for hope. There are still people wondering whether anyone sees them, whether anyone cares, whether anyone believes their life has value. There are still children hiding from bombs, families displaced from their homes, neighbors isolated by loneliness, and communities broken apart by fear and suspicion. 

And into that world, Jesus sends his Church. Not to win arguments. Not to conquer enemies. Not to prove that we are right. But to proclaim that the Kingdom of God has come near... To remind people that they are loved by God... To remind people that they are not forgotten... To remind people that hope is stronger than despair because Christ is risen and continues to work through his people.

So let us go into the harvest. Let us proclaim the Good News. Let us heal where there is hurt. Let us love where there is hatred. Let us offer hope where there is despair. And when the pressures of life come, and the world squeezes us (and it will), may what comes out be the love of God that has been poured into our hearts through the indwelling of the Holy Spirit.

For the Kingdom of God has come very near.

2 Pentecost (Proper 5A) 2026

The Rev. Dr. Kenneth H. Saunders III
Hertford, NC (Guest at Holy Trinity Episcopal Church)

2nd Sunday after Pentecost
June 7, 2026

Hosea 5:15-6:6
Psalm 50:7-15
Romans 4:13-25
Matthew 9:9-13, 18-26

I want you to think back for a moment… I mean… way back… Do you remember junior high or middle school? Or high school? Or maybe even college? Think about the school cafeteria for a minute… that great little microcosm of society. Even though it looked like one big room filled with people together, everyone somehow separated themselves into groups.

Now think again… Who did you eat lunch with? Now, when I was growing up, there were the geeks, the preppies, and the jocks. When my kids were in school, those divisions seemed to multiply even more. There were the nerds, the goths, the emos, the stoners, the rednecks, the "holy rollers," the athletes, the outsiders, and all the rest. And somehow everyone knew where they belonged. And unfortunately, some felt like they didn't belong at all.

Because, in those years and even now, who you sat with said something about who you were. Who you eat with defines you in some way. Eat at the wrong table, and suddenly, your identity is questioned.

It is interesting how very little our human nature has changed. In the first part of the Gospel lesson we heard today, people were separating themselves into categories. Only in Jesus' day, those divisions were not just social or economic or based on personality—they were also deeply religious.

The religious purity laws shaped nearly every part of life... what people could eat, how food was prepared; they even extended to who could or couldn't be touched, who was allowed to participate in worship, and even who was considered worthy of belonging.

If someone was labeled a sinner or considered ritually unclean, they were pushed to the outside margins of society. People avoided them. They were excluded from community life. And they were treated as though they did not belong around and among God's people.

And here comes Jesus… Overturning the apple cart and upsetting the status quo. The Gospel today gives us three powerful moments... three moments where Jesus crosses boundaries that everyone else thought should remain in place.

First, Jesus sits down to eat with tax collectors and sinners. Now, tax collectors were despised because they worked for Rome. They were seen as traitors, corrupt, and unfaithful. They were hated by society, and yet Jesus shared a meal with them. The Pharisees are scandalized. They ask Jesus, "Why does your teacher eat with tax collectors and sinners?" Because to share a table with someone, much like today, was to recognize their dignity and worth. It was a sign of hospitality, fellowship, acceptance, and welcome.

But Jesus refuses to organize people according to the categories everyone else uses. Instead, he says, "Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick… Then he says to them… Go learn what this means… "I desire mercy, not sacrifice."

In this short phrase, he was telling them that God cares more about how we treat people than about perfect religious performance or practice. He emphasizes compassion over maintaining religious boundaries. And he was teaching them that Love of neighbor is the true expression of the Love of God. Religious practices are only valuable when they flow from a heart transformed by mercy.

When Jesus says, "I desire mercy, not sacrifice," Jesus is not setting mercy against worship. He is teaching us that worship without mercy is empty. He's saying God is less interested in the sacrifices we place on the altar than in the compassion we show to the people we meet in our daily lives. The truest sacrifice is a human heart that is shaped by God's own mercy. 

When we open ourselves to receive God's compassion, we can begin to extend that same compassion to others. In all this… Jesus wants us simply to know that mercy comes first. True "mercy"… meaning steadfast Love, loving-kindness, or covenant faithfulness always comes first. Not status. Not appearances. Not religious performance... Not theological or biblical correctness, but mercy.

Then comes the second encounter. which shows us, through his actions, what Jesus is talking about… As Jesus is on his way to the synagogue leader's house, a woman who has suffered hemorrhages for twelve years comes up behind him and touches the fringe of his cloak. Now, according to the religious laws of the time, her condition made her ritually unclean. She should not have been in the crowd, and she certainly should not have touched anyone.

And yet she reaches out in hope and touches the hem of Jesus' tunic. And instead of recoiling from her... Instead of defaming her as stupid and condemning her action, Jesus turns to her with compassion. He says, "Take heart, daughter; your faith has made you well." Notice what Jesus does. He restores not only her health, but also her dignity. He gives her back her place in the community. Jesus shows us again that mercy triumphs over exclusion.

And then comes the third example. Jesus arrives at the house of the synagogue leader, where a little girl has died. The mourners are already gathered. The crowd is already grieving. But Jesus enters the room, takes the little girl by the hand and raises her up. 

We hear the story from Matthew this morning, but Mark, the Gospel of little detail, goes so far as preserving the Aramaic words… "Talithia Cum” – which means little girl, arise. To touch a dead body was considered one of the clearest forms of ritual impurity. There were all kinds of rules governing who and how bodies were handled after death… It specifies what actions must be taken for the persons tending to the dead to be restored to community life. Numbers tells us that one who touches a dead body is to be considered "ritually unclean" for seven days. And yet Jesus is not afraid to touch death itself and raise the little girl to life...

Mercy comes first… Jesus shows us that God's Love and mercy always come first… Where others see contamination, Jesus brings restoration. Where others see exclusion, Jesus brings inclusion and community.

In each of these moments, the tensions between Jesus and society keep building. Jesus eats with sinners. Jesus allows himself to be touched by the unclean. And Jesus touches the dead. Again and again, Jesus crosses the lines that society and religion had drawn. He crosses them, NOT to admonish people or tell them how sinful they are, but to restore them. Not to shame, but to heal. Not to condemn, but to redeem.

And the interesting part is… The only people truly offended by this are the ones most concerned with protecting their own sense of righteousness. The Pharisees couldn't understand a holiness that looked anything like mercy.

Throughout the Gospel, Jesus reveals that true holiness is not about separation from people. True holiness is Love. Steadfast Love. Mercy. Compassion and forgiveness. Restoration and redemption. Jesus echoes the words of the prophet Hosea, saying, "I desire mercy, not sacrifice." And Jesus lived those words by example.

We still struggle with this today. We may not divide ourselves according to ritual purity laws anymore, but we still separate people into categories. It may not be a middle school cafeteria, but unfortunately, we still act like it… because we still decide who belongs and who doesn't. We still draw lines and erect barriers, deciding who is worthy and who is not. And then we define worth based on those we are comfortable sitting beside and those whom we would rather avoid.

But Jesus keeps crossing those boundaries. And if we are going to follow him, then we are called to do the same. Not to judge. Not to shame. Not to push others aside because they don't conform to the purity ideal we have in our head… But, as followers of Jesus, we are to strive to become people of mercy.

People who see dignity and worth where others see labels. People who offer compassion where others offer condemnation. People who help restore those whom the world has pushed to the margins or cast aside. Because that is exactly what Christ has done for us.

Again and again, Jesus reaches toward those whom the world rejects. And Jesus heals. He restores. He welcomes, and He raises up. Jesus shows us again and again what it means to follow him – that's what Jesus means when he says, "I desire mercy, not sacrifice…" It means that we should become agents of God's mercy, steadfast Love, and healing presence in the world.

Trinity Sunday A 2026

The Rev. Dr. Kenneth H. Saunders III
Greeneville, TN

Trinity Sunday
May 31, 2026

• Genesis 1:1-2:4a
• 2 Corinthians 13:11-13
• Matthew 28:16-20
• Psalm 8

I'll be honest with you… Trinity Sunday can feel a bit intimidating for preachers. Especially in Churches where there are no curates or seminarians… No newly ordained folks who can give you the expanse of their freshly developed wares…

Trinity Sunday is the Sunday when preachers sometimes become amateur mathematicians trying to explain how God is three in one, and one in three… They try to do this without accidentally wandering into heresy. They do this, trying to explain the unexplainable.

Preachers often use images and try to be clever but end up being very wrong, back themselves in a corner, and make theologians wince. They try to explain the Trinity as water, as ice, as liquid, and as vapor; they use clover leaves; the sun with heat and light. Yet every analogy eventually breaks down, leading to one heresy or another…

Because the Trinity was never meant to be solved like a mathematical equation. The Trinity is not primarily a doctrine to explain. It's more of a relationship we are invited into.

Today's Gospel from Matthew does not show the disciples gathered in a classroom learning theological definitions. Instead, they are standing on a mountain in Galilee together with the risen Christ. Matthew tells us something startling about this encounter… "When they saw him, they worshiped him; but some doubted."

Notice that... Resurrection has happened. The risen Christ stands before them. And still, some were uncertain… They waivered… they hesitated… they doubted. We've talked before about faith and doubt, that they often complement each other… How they co-exist, one making the other stronger. Faith and uncertainty often live together. We can see it in the fact that we can worship and still wrestle with the teaching. We can believe and still ask questions. We can follow Christ and still wonder. 

In the Gospel lesson, Jesus doesn't condemn the disciples for their doubt. Jesus doesn't say, "Come back when your faith is stronger." Instead, Jesus entrusts these imperfect disciples with the greatest mission imaginable… "Go therefore and make disciples of all nations… baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit…"

Not after their certain. Jesus sends them out, now, He sends us out, NOW… Go… Make Disciples and Baptize. In our weakness. In the midst of questions. In our brokenness and incompleteness. Because the Christian mission depends upon God's faithfulness… it never depends on flawless disciples. If it did, it would have ended years ago.

And Jesus sends them out to do this in the name (not names) of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. One name. One God. One divine life. The God we encounter is eternally relational Father loving Son, Son loving Father, Spirit proceeding in Love… All together as ONE in an endless communion of self-giving relationship. At the center of that reality is not isolation. It's not competition or domination… The center of the reality of the Godhead is Love. Pure undefinable, unifying, restoring, redeeming, and life-giving Love. 

That's a difficult concept to grasp in this day and age… Many people are beginning to wonder whether division is simply the way things are. And the way things are going to be from now on…We see very few examples of unity in our society… No ideas or images that we can point to and say that's what it's supposed to be… That's what harmony and redeeming love look like.

So we need the Trinity in our life… Because the Trinity proclaims the truth that relationship, not separation, is God's deepest reality. Communion is holy… Not alienation, or isolation. And Love, NOT fear, has the final word.

Perhaps that is why Paul ends his second letter to the Corinthians not with an argument, but with a benediction and blessing: "Put things in order, listen to my appeal," he says. "Agree with one another, live in peace…"

Like us today, the Corinthians were struggling with conflict, mistrust, and division within their own community. Sometimes folks look at scripture and don't realize that they're as messed up as we are. The world hasn't changed so much…Why? Because we fail to listen… We fail to act and love as Jesus taught us… We fail to Go, Make Disciples, Baptize, Teach, and Remember! 

Paul doesn't tell them merely to behave better. He has them strive for something deeper… Something rooted their reconciliation in God. "And the God of Love and peace will be with you... The grace of the Lord Jesus Christ, the Love of God, and the communion of the Holy Spirit be with all of you." Grace, Love, communion.

Notice how those are not abstract ideas. Grace is Christ coming toward us when we fail. Love is the Father holding all creation together, even when we wander. Communion is the Spirit binding us together despite our differences.

The Trinity must be experienced in relationship before we can even begin to understand it. We know God whenever grace meets guilt. We know God whenever Love overcomes fear. And we experience God whenever people who are opposed to one another choose peace. The Trinity becomes visible whenever communities carry one another through struggles & grief and whenever forgiveness disrupts anger.

I think churches understand the Trinity best through simple, ordinary acts… not complex creeds or doctrines. The examples I've seen this past week are… A meal shared with someone grieving. Prayers spoken beside a hospital bed. Hands assembling lunch bags for the homeless. A congregation singing while still carrying sorrow. A community welcoming the lonely regardless of their circumstances. That's Trinitarian life. That's divine life… A life where Love is received, Love is shared, and Love is multiplied.

Jesus ends Matthew's Gospel with words that many of us cling to… "And remember, I am with you always, even to the end of the age." And from there, we are expected to Go, Make Disciples, Baptize, Teach, and Remember. Do this and be a witness to the Good News in this weary world…

The weight of the world is heavy. The work of mercy is exhausting. Peacemaking is costly. And sometimes faithfulness feels lonely. Yet Christ does not say, "Go and figure it all out alone." He says, "I am with you, always." The Father's Love surrounds us, the Son walks beside us, and the Spirit breathes within us. So we are never sent out alone and unsupported. 

Perhaps Trinity Sunday bids us ask one burning question: What kind of people are we becoming if we worship a God whose very life is communion? If God is relationship, then faith cannot stay individually private and personal. If God is self-giving Love, then discipleship cannot remain proud and self-centered. If God is unity and communion, then our divisions cannot be what the world sees when it looks at the Church.

The Church is called to become what it proclaims! We are called to be a people of grace. A people of peace. People who carry Christ's presence into the world. People who embody the blessing Paul spoke long ago, "The grace of the Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God, and the communion of the Holy Spirit be with all of you." 

Not simply with us. But through us, for the life of the whole world.

Pentecost A 2026

The Rev. Dr. Kenneth H. Saunders III
Greeneville, TN

Pentecost
May 24, 2026

• Acts 2:1-21
• 1 Corinthians 12:3b-13
• John 20:19-23
• Psalm 104:25-35, 37

In the book of Acts, Pentecost does not begin as a triumph. Similar to the account in John's Gospel, when Jesus breathed on his disciples… It begins in a closed room. The disciples were all there, gathered together, not because they were brave, not because they had everything figured out, but because they were uncertain...

The resurrection has happened. Jesus has ascended. And now they are waiting for the unknown paraclete… That advocate, comforter… The helper that Jesus promised them.

Waiting can be a holy experience, but it can also be frustrating and frightening. The disciples don't know yet what it will be like. Nor do they know what the ecclesia… the small gathered community, the church, will become. They don't know yet what their faithfulness will cost them. And they don't yet know how to live without Jesus standing physically beside them… patiently teaching and guiding them…

And then, without warning, the Holy Spirit comes. Not quietly… Not politely… Not safely. But with a sound like a violent rushing wind. Like tongues like fire… With their voices speaking in languages they never learned.

Pentecost is not a convenient, private, spiritual moment. It is a major disruption. The Spirit of God crashes through locked doors and pushes the frightened disciples out into the streets. And what happens next may be the most astonishing part of the story. People understood one another.

Parthians, Medes, Elamites, visitors from Rome, Egypt, Libya… people from every imaginable place. They all hear the Good News about the mighty power of God spoken in their own language. Not one language replacing another or being forced… But a mixture of diverse sounds and tenses, not uniformity. Not erasure. But honoring culture and communication…

The miracle of Pentecost is not that everyone suddenly becomes the same. The miracle is that God speaks through diversity and difference. And we need to understand this right now. In our day and age…

Because we continue to see brokenness and fragmentation all around us, brought about by some folks who see diversity as a threat. We are surrounded by division, suspicion, rage, tribalism, nationalism, and fear. People are constantly speaking over and past one another. We see nations fracture, churches splinter, and families dissolve.

Yet, Pentecost shows us that the Holy Spirit still speaks. Not to people who only look alike, vote alike, or worship alike. The Holy Spirit speaks across those boundaries. The boundaries that we create for ourselves out of fear. The Holy Spirit does not remain trapped inside the upper room. Faith is pushed outward into the chaos and noise… Into the complexity and the diversity of the world. 

And that is the challenging part… Because some of us would rather have a manageable Holy Spirit. A Spirit that comforts us privately and doesn't inconvenience us publicly. A Spirit that reassures us without transforming us.

But that's not how the Holy Spirit works…The Holy Spirit in Acts behaves less like a docile houseguest and more like wildfire burning out of control. The Spirit creates movement and fosters courage. The Holy Spirit creates community where community shouldn't naturally exist. And perhaps most importantly, the Spirit creates the ability to communicate and be understood.

People who were silent and uncertain begin proclaiming. People who were hiding begin publicly witnessing. People who assumed they had nothing to offer discovered that God can speak through them. 

And that's still true. Because Pentecost is not only about the apostles long ago. It is about us in the church now. It is about ordinary people through whom God still breathes. Sometimes we imagine that the church's strength depends upon strategy, numbers, budgets, or influence.

But the Pentecost story in Acts reminds us that the church was born powerless. It had no buildings, no institutional standing. No political leverage… Only the Holy Spirit. And that was enough.

Because the Gospel, the Good News of Jesus, has never depended on human strength. It depends upon the living breath of God. And that's the Good News that our weary churches need to hear. It's Good news for tired Christians. Good news for those wondering whether hope still exists in this cynical age.

My friends,  God has not abandoned the world. The Holy Spirit of God is still moving... Still moving and working among us. She moves in hospital rooms, in grieving families, in exhausted caregivers. She moves in acts of mercy that no one notices… in congregations that keep showing up week after week, and in prayers whispered through tears. The Holy Spirit moves in young people longing for relevance and meaning, and in older saints who continue loving faithfully.

The fire of Pentecost has not gone out. But the world, as it is, remains skeptical. It will still mock and ridicule what it doesn't understand… When the crowd hears the disciples speaking, some are amazed, but some folks mock them. "They are filled with new wine," they sneered, thinking they were drunk at 9 o'clock in the morning.

The Holy Spirit has always appeared foolish to a world that is organized around money, power, and control. To the world, forgiveness looks foolish. Generosity looks reckless. Loving your enemy looks irrational, and hope looks silly.

But the church was never called to look impressive. The church was called to bear witness to the Love of God and the Good News of Jesus Christ. 

And Peter stands right in the middle of that crowd and declares, "This is what was spoken through the prophet Joel. I will pour out my Spirit upon all flesh." All flesh…Young and old... Women and men... Servants and free… Insiders and outsiders…

Pentecost tears down the assumption that God only belongs to a select few. The Holy Spirit can't be hoarded. She spills outward and overflows with God's great abundance.

And that means the church must continually ask itself, Where are we resisting the movement of the Spirit? Where have we mistaken comfort for faithfulness? Where have we closed the doors that God is trying to open?

Because Pentecost is not merely a celebration of some event that happened once, a long time ago… But, it's an invitation to us to become the kind of people through whom the Spirit still speaks. People of courage. People of compassion. People who listen before condemning. People who cross boundaries. People who carry hope with us into weary places. People who are willing to believe that God isn't finished with this world yet. That God isn't finished with us yet.

The same Spirit that hovered over creation, that filled the prophets, that raised Christ from the dead, that shook the house at Pentecost... that same Spirit continues to breathe new life into the world. She's still unsettling. Still healing. She is still sending.

So we are called to pray, with open hearts and open minds. Come, Holy Spirit. Come into our fears.  Come into our divisions. Come into our weariness. And come into your church again. Set our hearts on fire not for ourselves, but for the life of the world. Amen.

7 Easter A 2026

The Rev. Dr. Kenneth H. Saunders III

Greeneville, TN 

The Seventh Sunday of Easter 

May 17, 2026

• Acts 1:6-14
• 1 Peter 4:12-14; 5:6-11
• John 17:1-11
• Psalm 68:1-10, 33-36

Today, the Church is in a tween space. We are in that in-between place where the Feast of the Ascension has just passed (we celebrated on Thursday) and the Feast of Pentecost has not yet arrived. And so we find ourselves right where the disciples once stood... looking upward in wonder, somewhat bewildered, waiting in uncertainty… We're trying to figure out what faithfulness looks like when Jesus is no longer standing right in front of us.

In our Gospel lesson today, we go back in time a bit. Back to the time before Jesus' arrest and crucifixion… to the end of the farewell discourse when Jesus is preparing his disciples for his departure. 

In this passage, Jesus is praying for his disciples. He's not teaching a parable. He's not performing a miracle. And he's not debating the religious authorities. He is praying. And what he prays for is the interesting part.

He's not praying for success…or power. He's not even praying for safety. He is praying for UNITY that they may be one... Unfortunately, the Church has yet to figure out what that means.

Jesus' prayer for unity feels foreign to the reality we see around us. Because Christianity today is deeply fragmented. There are countless denominations, movements, opinions, and ideologies. Christians divide over theology, politics, worship styles, social issues, and even interpretations and translations of scripture. Sometimes it seems as though every little disagreement creates another separation.

And the fractures go way beyond the Church… the world itself feels fractured. Nations are at war. Communities are polarized. Families sit at tables where people don't know how to speak to one another. Many folks feel isolated, anxious, suspicious, and exhausted.

Into all of that noise… Into all of that stress and division, Jesus still prays, "That they may all be one." But what does that actually mean? What does it mean to be one in Christ Jesus? Surely Jesus is not praying that everyone become identical. That would be silly… He is not asking us to think the same thoughts, or vote the same way, or agree on every question.

Unity is not uniformity. God did not create human beings to be xerox copies of one another. I think that the greatest beauty of creation can be found in its diversity. Different voices… Different gifts… Different cultures... and Different stories. The Body of Christ has many members, so Christian unity cannot mean sameness.

Instead, the unity Jesus is talking about is about something much deeper. It's a unity, rooted in relationship, in belonging, and in love. It's the recognition that even when we disagree, we still belong to one another because, together, we belong to Christ.

And that is where the Feast of the Ascension, the Feast that the Church celebrated just this past Thursday, where Jesus was raised up into the heavens right in front of his disciples, becomes so important for us today.

Sometimes people hear the story of the Ascension and imagine it simply as Jesus leaving. I even heard a joke that started during the pandemic… saying the Ascension was when Jesus finally got to work from home… Some folks treat the Ascension as just another happening in the calendar… knowing it's there, but not really understanding it...

Maybe thinking something like, Easter is over, and the work is finished, and Jesus has left... He's gone somewhere far away. But the Ascension is not about Christ abandoning the world. It is about Christ filling all things. The risen Jesus does not disappear from creation; he draws creation (all life) into the life of God.

In the Ascension, humanity itself is lifted into the heart and life of God. Jesus carries our humanity… all of it… our wounds, our joys, our fears, our lives into the divine life of the Godhead. Which means that our life, our human life, matters eternally to God. It also means that Christ is no longer confined to one place, time, or people. Through the Ascension, Christ becomes present to us everywhere.

Present with the suffering. Present with those who are lonely. Present with the grossly fragmented Church scattered across the earth. Present with us now. The Ascension reminds us that Jesus is still Lord... not Caesar, not an empire, not fear, not violence, and not division.

That's important because we live in a world that is constantly trying to convince us that anger is strength, that domination is power, that division is inevitable... and that other people, the other, just because they're different, are supposed to be considered threats to be feared rather than neighbors to be loved.

But the ascended Christ reigns differently. His Body is still marked by scars that we caused. His authority still looks like self-giving love. And his glory is revealed through his mercy. It's from that place that Jesus continues praying for us. That we may be one. Not because unity is easy. Not because conflict disappears. But, because love is stronger than separation.

The disciples themselves struggled with this. They misunderstood one another. They argued with one another. And yet Jesus still gathered them together. He still called them his Body, and he still entrusted them with the Gospel. That's what gives me hope for the Church.

Because Christian unity has never depended on our perfection… It depends on Christ. And perhaps unity doesn't begin with big declarations, but in small acts of grace. I think it starts with listening before judging, choosing compassion over contempt, and refusing to dehumanize those we disagree with. Making room at the table for everyone... Being there for one another and bearing each other's burdens, and remaining in relationship even when it is difficult.

That kind of unity is hard work, it's Holy work. And it's work we will engage in all our lives. And the great part is, we don't do it alone. We do it with the help Jesus promised us.

This Sunday stands between Ascension and Pentecost for a reason. The Church stands waiting for the arrival of the comforter and guide that was promised to us… We are waiting for the Holy Spirit that will descend on the followers of Jesus at Pentecost. Because we cannot become the Body of Christ through our own strength alone. The Spirit must teach us and correct us... comfort us, form us, and transform us.

The Spirit is what makes unity possible without erasing our differences. 

And so today, we wait with the disciples... And we pray with the disciples in hope… trusting that the ascended Christ has not left us orphaned. Trusting that he continues to hold the world in love. Trusting that even now, amid all our divisions and failures, God is still drawing humanity toward communion, reconciliation, and peace.

Christ has gone ahead of us into the fullness of God so that the whole world might one day be drawn together in him. But until that day comes, the Church is called to live as a sign of that coming unity… a broken people being together, learning to love one another in the light of Christ.

May the ascended Lord continue to gather us, hold us, and make us one.