14 Pentecost (Proper 17A) 2026

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

Jeremiah 15:15-21
Psalm 26:1-8
Romans 12:9-21
Matthew 16:21-28

I think one of the hardest things for us to do is admit that we don’t always know what is best. We do because we want to fix things. We want to protect the people we love... We want to make things right. And when the world gets to the point where it feels chaotic and out of control, we want someone to take charge, to do something and make everything better. We want a Messiah who can solve the problem. Peter certainly did. 

Just moments before today’s Gospel (the part that we heard last week), Peter had correctly identified Jesus as the Messiah, the Son of the living God. Jesus even blessed him for recognizing it. But in today’s lesson from Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus begins to explain what it means to be the Messiah.

He tells the disciples that he is going to Jerusalem, where he will suffer, be rejected, and be killed, but on the third day he will be raised. Peter cannot stand it. He says, “God forbid it, Lord!” In other words, Peter is saying… That’s not how this is supposed to work. Peter had a different idea of what the Messiah should be... And it wasn’t suffering, it wasn’t vulnerability, and it definitely didn’t involve a Roman cross. Peter wanted Jesus to have a crown. And I think the Church has been tempted by that same idea ever since. 

We live in a world where power is often measured by who wins, who controls the conversation, who can silence the opposition, who can make the strongest argument, or who can force the outcome they want. And, as Christians, we are not immune to that temptation. We can begin to believe that the Church’s job is to win arguments, gain influence, protect ourselves… or we think our job is to make the world look more like how we think it ought to look.

But Jesus says something very different. He says to Peter, “Get behind me, Satan!” That’s strong language. Peter doesn’t understand yet what Jesus is trying to teach him… He tells Peter not to give in to the temptations of this world, not to be consumed by how the world sees power.

The way of God is not the way of domination. The way of God is the way of the Cross. And then Jesus turns to all of them, not just Peter, and says, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.” 

That sounds like a beautiful saying, especially when we sterilize it, glamourize it, and put it on a banner, a readerboard sign, or a stained-glass window. It becomes much harder when we actually have to live it. Because taking up our Cross is NOT about putting up with life’s difficulties. 

I’ve heard some folks say, “That’s just my cross to bear.” Maybe they’re talking about a difficult job, a difficult relationship, an illness... or maybe some disappointment. We need to realize that Jesus isn’t telling us to passively endure whatever life throws at us. And taking up our Cross certainly doesn’t mean remaining in an abusive situation or accepting injustice as God’s will. The Cross is NOT about seeking suffering. The Cross is about choosing love... choosing love when love costs us something. 

Paul gives us a glimpse of what that sacrificial love looks like in his letter to the Romans. Love one another, he says. Don’t think you are better than others... Don’t repay evil with evil... Care for people who are hurting... Show hospitality, especially to strangers. Bless those who persecute you. Rejoice with those who rejoice. Weep with those who weep. And, perhaps hardest of all, don’t seek revenge. 

That sounds a bit countercultural to our society right now. We are living through a moment of extraordinary division. Public life around us has become hostile, angry, and distrustful. Around the globe, violence continues to take the lives of innocent people. And even some within the Christian faith seem more interested in proving who is right about this or that than showing people what the love of Christ actually looks like. 

But there are also signs of another way… There have been recent appeals from Christian leaders for dialogue, mercy, and peace, but they have faced backlash and ridicule. These leaders are trying to use their prophetic voice to remind us that the Gospel calls us toward something different from the violence and division.

There are generous expressions of unifying faith out there… If we look around us, we can see it… We see churches rebuilding homes after disaster... We see congregations opening their buildings to people in need. We see Christians working across denominational and even political lines to feed hungry people, house families, and care for communities.

Here in Tennessee, churches and church groups continue to help communities that are still recovering from Hurricane Helene almost 2 years later. I even heard the story of another congregation the other day that is turning a portion of its property into affordable housing. 

That is what taking up the Cross looks like. It’s not always dramatic. Sometimes it looks like showing up & listening… Sometimes it looks like forgiving someone who we think doesn’t deserve it. It means standing beside someone who has been pushed to the margins of society. It means giving up our need to be right so that we can remain in relationship with others. Or, it could even mean choosing peace when anger would be so much easier.

The Cross is where Jesus shows us that sacrificial love is much stronger than earthly power. And that is why Jesus asks us to take up our Cross. He isn’t asking us to save the world; he’s already done that. He’s just asking us to follow him... He’s asking us to become people whose lives look more and more like his. People who love and forgive... People who serve... People who stand with the vulnerable... People who refuse to answer hatred with hatred. And people who believe that even in a divided and wounded world, God’s love is still at work.

Because when Jesus asks us to pick up our Cross and follow, the question he asks isn’t, “What do you believe?” The question is: What are you willing to live for? What are you willing to give yourself to? What will matter enough to you that you are willing to sacrifice for it?... That you’re willing to die for it?

This week, Tennessee lost one of its most beloved daughters, Dolly Parton. Dolly was a songwriter, performer, businesswoman, and entertainer. But I think what makes her death feel like a loss to so many people is that she seemed to understand that a life is about more than what you accomplish.

She gave herself away. She used her success to give children books through the Imagination Library. She gave generously to people recovering from disasters. She invested in her hometown and in the people of Tennessee. And she did it all with a combination of humility, humor, and joy.

Dolly's life reminds us of something Jesus is saying in today's Gospel. What are we going to do with the life God has given us? We can spend our lives accumulating more money, more stuff, more recognition, more influence, more security. Or we can give ourselves away. Like our Bishop said just a month ago... Our true power is shown through giving ourselves away.

That's what Jesus means when he says, "Take up your cross and follow me." The cross isn't about seeking suffering. It's about giving ourselves away in love. And perhaps that is part of the reason so many people are grieving Dolly Parton this week. Whatever our politics, our background, or our generation…

People saw in Dolly something that transcended all of that. She made all people feel welcome. She made people laugh. She told stories about ordinary people. And she used what she had been given to make life better for someone else. That is a pretty good way to spend a life. And it is remarkably close to what Jesus asks of us.

He doesn't want us to become Dolly Parton or become famous or successful. But to ask ourselves, What has God given me… and how can I give it away in love? Because in the economy of God's kingdom, the life we give away is never wasted. It becomes a blessing. It becomes a legacy. It becomes our witness to the love of Christ. And ultimately, it becomes life.

Jesus says that if we spend our lives trying to preserve ourselves… our comfort, our reputation, our power, and our certainty… we may actually lose ourselves. But when we give ourselves away in love, we discover who we really are. That’s the mystery of the Cross. 

We don’t find life by holding on to ourselves. We find life by following Jesus. So perhaps taking up our Cross means asking ourselves every morning, “Where is Jesus asking me to love today?” Who needs me to listen? Who needs forgiveness? Who needs compassion? Who needs someone to stand beside them? Where can I choose peace instead of winning? Where can I give myself away for the sake of someone else?

Because that is what it means to be disciples who take up the Cross of Christ… Not someone who seeks power... Not someone who has all the answers... Not someone who wins every argument. But someone who emulates Jesus... Someone who loves when it is difficult. And someone who serves when no one is watching. 

We should strive to be disciples who welcome the stranger, care for the hurting, seek justice, practice forgiveness… and refuse to give up on the possibility of reconciliation.

Jesus says, “Take up your cross and follow me.” It won’t always be easy. Jesus never said that it would be… But we don’t walk the way of the Cross alone... Christ goes before us, Christ walks beside us, and Christ promises us that the way of the Cross is the way of love, sacrifice, and grace... and that way ultimately leads to life. So let us take up our crosses and follow Jesus.

13 Pentecost (Proper 16A) 2026

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

The 13th Sunday after Pentecost 
August 23, 2026

Isaiah 51:1-6
Psalm 138
Romans 12:1-8
Matthew 16:13-20

There is a distinct difference between knowing what people say about you and knowing who you are. In today’s world, our reputation can seem almost as important as our identity. We wonder what people think of us, how they will perceive our decisions… whether they understand our intentions…  and, of course, whether we are living up to the expectations they have placed on us.

Sometimes we can be so focused on how we are perceived by others that we forget to ask the deeper question: Who are we, really? That’s the sort of question we hear today in our Gospel lesson. Jesus begins with the question, “Who do people say that the Son of Man is?” The disciples have several answers. “Some say John the Baptist, others Elijah, and still others Jeremiah or one of the prophets.”

The public has an opinion about Jesus. The public recognizes that Jesus is important. They recognize that he is a teacher, a prophet, someone who speaks with authority… and someone who seems to have this interesting and unique relationship with God.

But then Jesus makes the question personal to disciples… He turns to them and asks… “But you… who do YOU say that I am?” And that question changes things. Turning from a question about his public reputation, Jesus asks his disciples to look beyond the humble, dusty, itinerant preacher standing before them and recognize the divine mystery underneath.

He isn't asking any longer what the crowds think of him. He isn't asking what the religious authorities think. He isn't even asking what the disciples have heard. He is asking his small, close group of direct followers what they have come to believe because they have walked with him… they have learned from him… And then Simon answers, “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.”

Simon recognizes something deeper about Jesus. He recognizes the divine mystery within… And then Jesus tells him that this understanding has come from God.  Jesus gives Simon a new name: Peter – or Petros — the rock. A nickname… a term of endearment and love… A descriptive loving name that Jesus uses to describe Simon’s character.

Jesus says, you are Rock and “On this rock I will build my ecclesia...” (my community of ones who are called out for a specific purpose) … translated here as church. And then Jesus gives Peter the keys of the kingdom. I love that image because keys are meant to open doors. Jesus doesn't give Peter the keys so that he can decide who is worthy to enter. He gives him keys so that the doors can be opened.

And that is where Isaiah speaks so powerfully to us today. “Listen to me, you that pursue righteousness, you that seek the Lord. Look to the rock from which you were hewn.” Look to the rock. Remember where you came from. Remember the faith that shaped you. Remember Abraham and Sarah. Remember that God's work often begins with something small, something seemingly insignificant, and then grows into something far greater than anyone could ask or imagine.

Isaiah is speaking to people who have every reason to be discouraged. Their circumstances make it difficult to imagine any kind of future. And then God says, Look back... Look back and remember. You have not come this far by yourselves. Your story began with God. And God is not finished with you yet.

That is important for us to hear again today. Because we can spend an enormous amount of energy worrying about ourselves or worrying about what other people think about us. We worry about all kinds of things… We worry about numbers... Budgets and Buildings... We worry about relevance, politics, attendance.

We worry about whether or not the church has a future… And then Isaiah says to us: “Look to the rock from which you were hewn.” Remember who you are... Remember to whom you belong... Remember the God who called you out... Remember the God who carries you... Remember the God who is still at work in you.

And then Isaiah gives us this beautiful promise: “For the Lord will comfort Zion; he will comfort all her waste places, and will make her wilderness like Eden, her desert like the garden of the Lord.” Only God can transform wilderness into paradise. Only God can bring forth life out of places that seem deserted. Only God can take what looks like the end of the story and begin something brand new.

That is the kind of community (or ecclesia) Jesus is creating. A community that opens doors... A community that carries hope... A community that makes the love of God visible... And that brings us back to Jesus questioning the disciples, “Who do you say that I am?”

I’ve got to admit, it is tempting to answer that question with words. Especially if we consider ourselves well informed… We can recite the creed... We can write a theological treatise on how we can say with confidence, “Jesus is the Christ, the Messiah, the Son of the living God.” But I think Jesus is asking for more than just the correct answer on a theology exam. He is asking for a life that reflects that answer.

Because if Jesus is who Peter says he is, then our lives should look different. Our lives should be different... If Jesus is the Messiah, we should be a community (a people) who bring hope and restoration. If Jesus is love, we should be people who love. If Jesus welcomes strangers, we should be people who make room for others. If Jesus forgives, we should be people who model and practice forgiveness. If Jesus serves, we should be people who serve others. If Jesus breaks down barriers, we should be people who build unifying connections and strive for justice and equity.

The world is constantly asking what Christianity is about. And sadly, sometimes the church doesn’t give very good answers… Because the answers they do give usually don’t look anything like the Jesus they claim to serve. Over the years, the church has sometimes become known more for what we oppose than for what we proclaim. The church has become associated with Judgment, fear, and exclusion... That ought to bother us. I know it bothers me...

It bothers me because Jesus gave Peter keys, not locks. He called the church to open doors, not build walls. He called us to be an ecclesia, a called-out community through which God's love enters the world.

My friend, Jonathan Tobias, reminded me, "Death imprisons. Christ liberates." Hades locks, but Christ opens. Christ only opens." And when Christ comes to open the doors to rescue those trapped in sin, even the gates of Hell cannot prevail.

So perhaps the question for us today is not only, “Who do you say Jesus is?” It is also, “What does the way you live tell the world about Jesus?” Isaiah says, “Look to the rock from which you were hewn.” Peter tells us that Christ is the foundation, and Jesus gives us the keys. We are here to open doors... To make God's love visible... To bring hope into places of despair... To bring life into places of death... To help make the wilderness bloom.

And perhaps most importantly, to remember who we are and to whom we belong… The world may tell us there is no hope. The world may tell us that division is inevitable. The world may even tell us that there isn't enough grace, enough forgiveness, enough love, or enough possibility to go around. But Isaiah reminds us, "Look to the rock."

Remember the God who brought you this far. Remember the God who can make a wilderness into a garden. Remember the God whose salvation reaches beyond our boundaries. And then hear Jesus ask once again, “Who do you say that I am?”

Peter answers, “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.” May that be our answer. But more importantly, may that be the answer our lives give. Because every day, in the way we love, forgive, serve, welcome, and care for one another, we are answering Jesus' question. Who do you say that I am?

May our lives say, "Jesus is the Christ; Jesus is the Son of the living God; Jesus is hope; Jesus is life; Jesus is Salvation, and Jesus is love. And may the world encounter the living Christ not simply because we tell people who Jesus is, but because they can see Jesus in the way we live.

12 Pentecost (Proper 15A) 2026

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

The 12th Sunday after Pentecost

August 16, 2026

Isaiah 56:1,6-8
Psalm 67
Romans 11:1-2a, 29-32
Matthew 15: (10-20), 21-28

It is remarkably easy to draw circles. We draw them around ourselves and around other people. We decide who belongs inside the circle and who belongs outside. We decide who is “one of us” and who is “one of them.” Sometimes the circles we draw are obvious... race, nationality, gender, sexuality, age, politics, or economics. Sometimes they are more subtle. 

We draw circles around the people we consider respectable and those we do not; around those who worship like we do and those who worship differently... We even draw circles around people whose opinions make us comfortable and those who make us angry. Sometimes we draw circles simply because someone is different. We look at someone and think, “They’re not like us because they don’t look like us.” 

Our Gospel this morning speaks directly to our temptation to draw circles. Jesus has crossed into Gentile territory, the region of Tyre and Sidon. And there, a Canaanite woman approaches him. Matthew deliberately calls her a Canaanite. That designation carries centuries of history. She is a foreigner, an outsider, someone whose ancestors had been enemies of Israel. 

And yet she comes to Jesus. “Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David.” Notice what she calls him: “Lord. Son of David.” She recognizes something about Jesus that many who were supposed to recognize him did not. And what do the disciples say? “Send her away.” There it is... The circle. Jesus and the disciples are inside the circle. And the Canaanite woman is outside.

So, to the disciples, the simplest solution is to make the outsider go away. But before we go too far unpacking the Gospel, we need to hear Isaiah. Centuries before Jesus, Isaiah spoke to people wrestling with the question: Who belongs to the people of God? And Isaiah gives us this remarkable word... “Maintain justice, and do what is right.” Then God speaks specifically about foreigners... people who might have been considered outsiders... “The foreigners who join themselves to the Lord… these I will bring to my holy mountain, and make them joyful in my house of prayer.”

And then comes the line that changes everything... “For my house shall be called a house of prayer for all peoples.” ALL peoples... Not some peoples... Not people who look like us, worship like us, or have the right background, history, nationality, politics, sexuality, or credentials. ALL peoples.

And God goes even further... “I will gather others besides those already gathered.” God is not finished gathering God’s people. There are always more. There are always more people standing at the edges of the circle whom God is already inviting in toward the center.

That is the backdrop for today’s Gospel lesson. The Canaanite woman is not simply an individual asking for a miracle. She represents everyone standing outside the boundaries and barriers that society has drawn. The disciples see her as an outsider. God sees her as someone to be gathered. The disciples see a problem. Jesus eventually sees faith. The disciples want to close the circle, and God keeps widening it.

Now, this is not an easy story. Jesus does not immediately respond to the woman. When she becomes persistent, Jesus says something that sounds a bit shocking to our ears... “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” This is not a comfortable Jesus. But perhaps that is why this story has endured. Let’s unpack that a bit…

The woman will not leave… She will not accept the disciples’ judgment that she does not belong. She responds, “Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.” And as she persistently claims her dignity and worth, something changes.

Jesus sees her... Jesus hears her... And Jesus recognizes her faith. Jesus says to her, “Woman, great is your faith!” And her daughter is immediately healed. She doesn’t have to become Jewish first. She doesn’t have to become somebody else. She doesn’t have to keep proving that she belongs. She comes to Jesus as she is.

And the person the disciples wanted to send away becomes the person through whom Jesus teaches them… and in turn teaches us something about the kingdom of God. Sometimes the person we want to keep outside the circle is the very person God is using to teach us about God's love. Isaiah tells us that this isn’t a new idea. God has always been pushing the boundaries outward... Widening the circle… “For my house shall be called a house of prayer for ALL peoples.” Now, the Gospel is NOT about making our circle a little larger. The Gospel is about discovering that God's circle has ALWAYS been larger than ours. 

We live in a time and society when people are increasingly sorted into categories... Us and them... Red and blue... Christian and non-Christian... Citizen and immigrant... Conservative and liberal... Believer and unbeliever... American and foreigner. Once we place someone in the “them” category, it becomes remarkably easy for us to stop seeing them as a person.

We see the label instead of a human being. We see the immigration status instead of a mother or father. We see the religion instead of a neighbor. We see a political party instead of a child of God. We see an opinion instead of a person. But then the Gospel says to us, "Look again." 

Look at the person, not the label. Not the category or the political talking point... Not the immigration status or the religion... Not the mistake. Look at the human being standing right in front of you. Because that person bears the image of God... That person is loved by God... That person may have something to teach you about love and faith... And that person may be someone whom God is already gathering.

One of the great themes that runs through Scripture is that God keeps gathering people whom God's people thought did not belong. The early Church had to wrestle with the same question. Could Gentiles become Christians? Did they first have to become Jews? Did they have to conform before they could belong? 

Again and again, the Church discovered what God had already been showing them... that God's grace was bigger than their boundaries... The Gospel was bigger than their categories, and the love of Christ was bigger than their circle. And that still remains true.

It is true in our communities. It’s true in Greeneville, and in Tennessee. It is true in this country. And it is true here at St. James. The Church is not called to be a place where everybody is the same. The Church is called to be a place where people who are different can discover that they are all loved by the same God.

That doesn’t mean we will agree about everything. It doesn’t mean we will all vote the same way or share the same political opinions or even cultural preferences. It means none of those things is greater than the love of God. Perhaps that is one of the most important things the Church can say right now.

We don't have to become enemies simply because we disagree. We don't have to dehumanize one another. We don't have to turn our neighbors into political abstractions. We can disagree and still love. We can be wounded and still forgive. We can be afraid and still choose compassion. We can be uncertain and still choose faith.

Our identity is NOT ultimately determined by the circle other people draw around us or even the circles we draw around ourselves. Our identity is determined by the God who created us, redeemed us, sustains us, and loves us. And that God says: “I will gather others besides those already gathered.”

That’s the promise... That God is still gathering us… God is still calling us… God is still widening the circle. And the Church's task is not to decide whom God is allowed to gather. Our call is to join God in the gathering.

So the question for us this morning is not simply, “Who is inside my circle?” I think the better question is, “Who have I placed outside God's circle?” Because, remember, God's circle is always wider than ours. There is always someone we have forgotten, dismissed, or judged. Along the way we have decided that someone is not quite one of us. And then, the Gospel invites us to look again.

Look at the Canaanite woman... Look at the stranger... Look at the foreigner... Look at the person whose politics make our blood boil... Look at the person who does not fit neatly into our expectations or norms... Look at the person we would rather send away, and then look at Christ. Because, be assured, Christ is already there. God has already made the circle bigger.

God's circle is wider than we think. It's wider than our fears, our politics, our history, or our differences. It's even wider than our failures, and it's definitely wider than our divisions. It's wide enough for every person whom God is calling home. Thanks be to God.

11 Pentecost (Proper 14A) 2026

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

1 Kings 19:9-18
Psalm 85:8-13
Romans 10:5-15
Matthew 14:22-33

When I was in my twenties, I worked as a Volunteer Firefighter and EMT for the Goose Creek Rural Volunteer Fire Department in Goose Creek, SC. One of the skills we had to master was climbing a tall extension ladder. Once we reached the height where we were supposed to work, we would secure ourselves, or lock in, by wrapping our non-dominant leg through a rung of the ladder. That way our hands were free to operate a hose, use extrication tools, or perform whatever task was needed.

I tell you this because it was one of the scariest things I have ever done. Even though I’m a bit of an adrenaline junkie, I don’t like heights. I don’t like that feeling when your stomach suddenly rises into your throat. I don’t like the weakness that creeps into your legs or how your mind seems to freeze. Standing thirty or forty feet in the air on nothing but a ladder is not my idea of a good time. 

In fact, my fear nearly prevented me from qualifying. Then my captain said something that has stayed with me ever since. He said, “Just climb. Keep your eyes on the horizon or whatever is directly in front of you. But whatever you do, don’t look down. If you look down, you’ll freeze. And if you freeze, you won’t be able to do your job or help anybody.” I’ve thought about those words many times over the years. When I was reading today’s Gospel, it seemed to me that Peter was climbing his own type of ladder. Except his ladder is water.

We know the story pretty well. Jesus went away again to try to find some peace and quiet. The disciples get in a boat to go to the other side of the lake, but have spent the night fighting against the wind. Their small fishing boat is being battered by waves. They’re exhausted, they’re frightened, and they’re completely alone or at least they think they are.

Then, just before dawn, they see someone walking toward them on the water. Naturally, they think they are seeing things and assume it’s a ghost. They know the storm is real, the waves are real. Their fear is definitely real. If you’ve ever been caught in a small boat when the wind suddenly comes up, you know exactly what they’re experiencing. Then Jesus speaks those wonderful words, “Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid.”

Peter, being Peter, doesn’t simply want reassurance. He wants to know for real that he’s not just seeing things. “Lord, if it is you,” he says, “command me to come to you on the water.” And Jesus simply says, “Come.” Jesus doesn’t offer a long explanation... No theological lecture... No detailed instructions... No training... No preconditions… Just one word, “Come.”

Peter steps out of the boat and, incredibly, begins walking across the water toward Jesus. For a few moments, Peter does what should be impossible. But then Matthew tells us something very important. “When Peter noticed the strong wind, he became frightened.”

He took his focus off of Jesus. He looked at the waves. He looked at the storm. He looked down. And that’s when Peter began to sink. Notice that the storm didn’t suddenly become stronger. The waves didn’t suddenly get higher. The circumstances hadn’t changed. What changed was Peter’s focus. Fear took over.

The funny thing is, Peter isn’t the first servant of God whose fear became greater than his faith. Elijah had been there long before him. Just before today’s Old Testament reading, Elijah stood on Mount Carmel and witnessed one of the greatest miracles in Scripture. 

Fire fell from heaven. God’s power was unmistakable. And yet one threat from Queen Jezebel sends Elijah running for his life. Because of his fear, Elijah hides in a cave, convinced that he is alone, thinking that he has failed, convinced that the future is over. Then God comes... not in the wind, not in the earthquake, not in the fire... but in the sound of sheer silence.

Why? Because sometimes what frightened people need most is not another display of God’s power. They need the quiet assurance of God’s presence. Isn’t that exactly what happens in today’s Gospel? The disciples don’t need Jesus to stop the storm first. They just need to know he is there. Before he calms anything, Jesus says, “Take heart. It is I. Do not be afraid.” The miracle begins, not when the wind stops, but when they recognize the One who is standing in the middle of it.

Elijah teaches us that God’s presence is often quieter than our fears. Peter teaches us that our fears become louder when we stop focusing on Christ. Both stories remind us that faith is not the absence of storms. Faith is focusing on the fact that God is already present in them. So, in effect, both of these readings are about focus… and keeping your attention on what’s most important. And, isn’t that true for us?

Y’all know that I ride a motorcycle. When riding a motorcycle, you’re taught to keep your head up and your head and eyes focused on what’s in front of you. It’s said if you look down, you go down… It’s the oddest thing, really… If you see a pothole or an obstacle in front of you and you stare at it, the bike will go in that direction, and you’ll end up driving right into the pothole. 

I don’t have to tell you what it’s like to look down. We all know what it is like. We look at the medical diagnosis, we look at our bank accounts, and we look at our broken relationships. We look at all the challenges before us and the uncertainty of our future. We look at the divisions in our communities and our nation. We look at wars, disasters, violence, and suffering. And it’s not long before the fears begin to overwhelm us, and, like Peter, we begin to sink.

The interesting thing is that Peter’s greatest obstacle wasn’t the storm and it wasn’t even the water. It was actually the boat. The boat feels safe. It’s familiar. It’s what is comfortable. Yet, the boat is still being tossed about by the storm.

How often do we build boats of our own? How often do we place our trust in our possessions, our careers, our savings... our accomplishments and our reputations? Sometimes we even trust the certainty that we know what’s right; we think we know all the answers and have everything figured out. These become our boats... these become our places of false security that promise safety but can’t save us.

Jesus doesn’t call Peter to stay comfortable; he calls him to trust. In our lessons, I think that’s where Christ is inviting us today. What boat are we afraid to leave? What fears keep us from responding to God’s call? What has us fixated and frozen, looking down, instead of looking toward Christ? The good news is that Peter’s story doesn’t end with him sinking and drowning.

The moment Peter realizes he can’t save himself, he cries out, “Lord, save me!” It’s not a polished prayer or a carefully crafted speech. It’s just a simple prayer of three desperate words, “Lord, save me!” And immediately, Matthew says, Jesus reaches out his hand. That’s divine favor, that’s grace, that’s love. Before Peter can climb back into the boat, before he can explain himself, Jesus reaches out. That’s what Jesus always does.

And that’s where Paul’s words in Romans become a powerful complement to the Gospel lesson. “The word is near you,” Paul says, “on your lips and in your heart.” Reminding us that salvation isn’t something we earn by being fearless. It’s something we receive by trusting the One who reaches out for us. Paul says that if we confess with our lips that Jesus is Lord and believe in our hearts that God raised him from the dead, we will be saved. Faith doesn’t pretend that the storm doesn’t exist. Faith is trusting that Christ is present in the middle of it.

My fire captain taught me that if I kept looking down, I’d freeze. But Jesus teaches us something even deeper. If we keep looking only at the storm of our lives, our fears will overwhelm us. But if we keep our eyes fixed on Jesus, we discover that he has been holding us all along. 

Every one of us is facing some kind of storm. Every one of us has a boat we would rather stay in. And every one of us will have moments when fear gets the better of us. The invitation today is not to become fearless. The invitation is to become faithful... To step out... To trust.

Elijah hears the quiet voice. Peter reaches for the outstretched hand. Paul tells us that “the word is near you, on your lips and in your heart.” The message is the same in every reading... God is nearer than we imagine.

We tend to look for God in dramatic displays of power in earthquakes, in miracles, in the wind and waves. But more often, we discover God in a whispered promise, “Take heart. It is I. Do not be afraid.” And when our fears finally overwhelm us, we pray the simplest, most humble prayer that we know. “Lord, save me.” And immediately… immediately... Christ reaches out his hand.

10 Pentecost (Proper 13A) 2026

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

The 10th Sunday after Pentecost
August 2, 2026

Isaiah 55:1-5
Psalm 145: 8-9, 15-22
Romans 9:1-5
Matthew 14:13-21

In the lessons we read during worship throughout the month of July, Jesus taught us about the Kingdom of God. Week after week we have heard parables… Parables about sowers and seeds, and wheat and weeds… If we hadn’t gone on the St. James detour last week to celebrate our patronal feast, we would have heard parables about hidden treasure, pearls of great value, and fishing nets. More parables about the Kingdom of God.

Again and again Jesus tells us through the scriptures, "The kingdom of God is like..." or "The Kingdom of Heaven is like..." When Jesus speaks of the Kingdom, he is inviting us to imagine something greater… greater than we have ever known. I like to think of the Kingdom of God as the very best thing I could ever possibly imagine, and then to remind myself that God's Kingdom is even better than that. This morning, however, something changes. Jesus stops talking about what the Kingdom is like. Instead, he shows us.

Our Gospel lesson from Matthew begins in a moment of grief. Jesus has just learned of the death of John the Baptist. Seeking some quiet time to process what has happened, he gets into a boat and withdraws to a deserted place. He is exhausted. He is mourning. Like any of us, he longs for a quiet place to pray, to grieve, and just to rest. But instead, the crowds find him.

By now his reputation has spread throughout the countryside. People have heard about this great teacher who heals the sick, restores the broken, and proclaims good news to the poor. Thousands follow him on foot until they reach that lonely place. Matthew tells us there were five thousand men, besides women and children. 

This is not simply a large gathering. This is an enormous multitude. And when Jesus sees them, he does not turn them away because he is tired... Matthew tells us that "he had compassion for them." Compassion is one of the defining characteristics of God's Kingdom. Even in his own grief, Jesus sees the suffering of the crowd before his own. He heals the sick. He welcomes all those whom the world often overlooks.

As evening approaches, the disciples begin thinking practically. "This is a deserted place," they say. "The hour is late. Send the crowds away so they can buy food." Honestly, I have a little sympathy for the disciples here. If you've ever planned a church dinner, you know exactly what they're thinking. 

They're mentally counting casseroles, wondering whether someone remembered the potato salad, and quietly praying that Mrs. Smith brought her famous banana pudding again. Feeding even a dozen people can be stressful. Feeding more than five thousand? That's enough to make even the most experienced fellowship committee chair break into a cold sweat.

We can relate, because this is the kind of solution most of us would suggest. But Jesus answers with words that must have stunned them. "They need not go away. You give them something to eat." Can you imagine the disciples looking at one another? "Us?" – Find something for all these people to eat? They gather everything they can find. They come up with five loaves and two fish.

Then the disciples begin doing what church leaders have done for two thousand years. They form a committee. They assess the resources. They identify the problem. And then they conclude that there just isn't enough money in the budget. 

If we're honest, most vestries, and probably most clergy, would have reached exactly the same conclusion... Five loaves and two fish simply don't make a balanced budget for feeding five thousand people. But Jesus has never been particularly constrained by our spreadsheets.

5 loaves and 2 fish. That’s hardly enough for the twelve of them, much less thousands of hungry people. And yet those meager gifts are placed into the hands of Jesus. He takes them. He looks toward heaven and blesses them. He breaks them, and He gives them away. There are no fireworks. No dramatic displays of divine power. No thunderclap from heaven. Just a simple act of thanksgiving, generosity, and trust.

This week, during our clergy Bible study, we asked each other a simple question: Where is the miracle? There are several schools of thought on this… Was the miracle that Jesus multiplied the bread and fish? Did new food somehow appear? Or was Jesus' willingness to give away everything he had so contagious that everyone else opened their own baskets and began sharing with one another?

Faithful Christians have answered that question in different ways throughout the centuries. But perhaps the greater miracle is this: Somehow, in God's hands, scarcity became abundance. That's how the Kingdom of God works... That’s the economy of the Kingdom of God… That somehow, Jesus sees that there is enough when the disciples didn’t…

What was seen as not enough became more than enough. And everyone ate... Everyone was satisfied. And twelve baskets were gathered afterward. Not because people had earned it. Not because they had paid for it. Not because they deserved it. Simply because the Kingdom of God had broken into the world.

That is exactly what Isaiah had promised centuries earlier. "Come, everyone who thirsts, come to the waters. And you that have no money, come, buy and eat. Come, buy wine and milk without money and without price." Isaiah imagines a day when God's economy of abundance replaces the world's economy of scarcity. Isaiah looks forward to a day when no one is excluded because they cannot afford the invitation. A day when God's grace cannot be bought because it is already being freely given.

The feeding of the five thousand is Isaiah's prophecy made visible to us. The hungry are fed. The forgotten are welcomed. The weary find rest. The poor receive abundance. No one is sent away empty.

For the past several weeks, Jesus has been telling us what the Kingdom is like. Today, he lets us see it. The Kingdom of God is not merely a future destination waiting for us after we die. It is God's life breaking forth into this world whenever compassion triumphs over indifference, generosity over fear, and abundance over scarcity.

The Kingdom begins to appear whenever we stop asking, "Is there enough?" and begin asking, "How can what I have become a blessing for someone else?" In that deserted place, thousands of ordinary people found themselves sitting at the feet of the Creator of the universe. He made no grand announcement of his authority. He claimed no earthly throne. 

In teaching us about James last week, Bishop Brian told us that people with power and authority truly exercise it by giving it away… Jesus revealed his divine power and authority by giving everything he had away. That is the kind of leader Jesus is. He’s a leader who feeds his people before feeding himself. He heals before seeking his own comfort. He gives his own life so that others may live.

The feeding of the multitude points beyond itself to another meal. On the night before he died, Jesus would once again take bread. He would bless it. Break it... And give it to his disciples. And every time we gather around this altar, we are invited into that same miracle. We come carrying our own five loaves and two fish... our limited strength, our imperfect faith, our broken hearts, our ordinary lives. They never seem like enough. But in the hands of Christ, they become more than enough. They become an abundance... He takes us. He blesses us. He breaks us open in love. And he gives us to the world.

Today we leave behind the parables about the Kingdom because, for a brief and beautiful moment, we are allowed to see the Kingdom itself. And once we have seen it, once we have tasted its generosity and abundance, once we have encountered the living Christ in our lives, we cannot remain the same.

May we become people who trust God's abundance more than our fears. May we become people who feed the hungry, welcome the stranger, and offer what little we have into Christ's hands. Because whenever we do, the Kingdom of God breaks forth into the world.