Feast of St. James 2026

The Rev. Dr. Kenneth H. Saunders III
Greeneville, TN 37745

The Feast of St. James the Apostle & Martyr
July 26, 2026

• Jeremiah 45:1-5
• Acts 11:27-12:3
• Matthew 20:20-28
• Psalm 7:1-10

Today we celebrate St. James, Apostle and Martyr… our patronal feast. Every parish has a story, and ours just happens to bear the name of St. James. Long before any of us arrived here in Greeneville, generations of faithful Christians gathered on this little piece of Church Street to worship God… to baptize their children, to celebrate marriages, to mourn their dead, and be nourished at this altar under the patronage of St. James.

Today we give thanks not only for the apostle whose name we bear, but for all those who have carried his witness in this place. A patronal feast is more than remembering a saint. It asks a deeper question… It asks us, what does it mean to be St. James Church? What kind of people are we called to be if we bear the name of this apostle?

James, the son of Zebedee, was among the first disciples Jesus called. He stood with his brother John and Peter at the raising of Jairus’ daughter, the Transfiguration of Jesus, and in the garden at Gethsemane. He witnessed some of the most extraordinary moments of Jesus’ ministry. Yet the Church remembers James not because he occupied a place of honor, but because he remained faithful, even unto death.

There is something deeply human in today’s Gospel… James and his brother John, through their mother, ask Jesus for the seats of honor in his kingdom. While we may smile at their boldness, if we’re honest, we totally get it. We all want our lives to matter. We all hope our sacrifices will be recognized. We all long for significance and security.

The disciples imagined God’s kingdom as another earthly kingdom, where closeness to Jesus meant influence, power, and prestige. And like he does with many things we think we understand… Jesus turns that understanding upside down. “You do not know what you are asking,” he says. Then comes the real question: “Are you able to drink the cup that I am about to drink?”

The cup Jesus offers is not one of privilege but one of sacrifice. It is the cup of crucifixion and death. And James answers confidently, “We are able.” I seriously doubt that James understood what Jesus was saying. Few of us do when we first decide to follow Christ. We often imagine discipleship will somehow make life easier. Instead, we discover that following Jesus means learning patience when prayers seem unanswered, practicing forgiveness when resentment feels justified, giving generously when resources feel scarce, and offering hope when the future seems uncertain.

Discipleship is less about climbing higher than it is about learning to kneel lower. “Whoever wishes to be great among you [Jesus says] must be your servant.” Not because service is another strategy for success, but because service reveals the heart and nature of God. The Son of Man came not to be served but to serve and to give his life for others. That is what greatness looks like in the Kingdom of God.

Our reading from Acts shows us what that meant for James. Luke tells us this story from the Acts of the Apostles with remarkable simplicity: “King Herod... had James, the brother of John, killed with the sword.” One sentence. No farewell speech. No dramatic miracle. No escape plan.

James becomes the first of the Twelve to die as a martyr. Peter will be rescued from prison. Paul will travel across the Roman Empire. And John will live into a ripe old age. James simply dies. It almost seems unfair. Yet Luke’s uncharacteristic lack of detail teaches us something profound.

The importance of a disciple is never measured by fame, influence, or longevity. It’s measured by faithfulness. Some of the holiest acts of discipleship happen quietly. A caregiver tending a spouse. Parents raising children in faith. Someone visiting the lonely. Someone praying every day for a hurting world. Someone forgiving and healing wounds no one else ever sees. The Kingdom of God is built as much through hidden acts of love as through public acts of leadership.

When I think about our St. James, our patron, I cannot help but think about this parish and its people. The history of St. James Greeneville has not been written primarily by bishops or rectors. It has been written by generations of faithful people whose names may never appear in a history book. The folks who taught Sunday School. The ones who sang in the choir. Those who prepared meals for the hungry. 

They maintained this beautiful place, packed lunches for our neighbors in need, and visited the sick. They prayed faithfully, week after week, trusting that God was at work even when no one else noticed. They discovered what James eventually learned: greatness in God’s kingdom is found in faithful service. That truth is especially important in today’s world. Because our culture constantly measures worth by visibility… followers, influence, platforms, likes, success. Even churches can be tempted to measure themselves by attendance, budgets, or even online engagement. 

Those things may matter, but Jesus asks different questions. Not, “How many people noticed you?” But, “Whom did you love?” Not, “How much influence did you gain?” But, “Whom did you serve?” Not, “Were you admired?” But, “Were you faithful?”

Those are liberating questions, because faithfulness is available to every Christian. It belongs to the volunteer serving a meal, the healthcare worker offering compassion, the teacher treating every child with dignity, and the parishioner who quietly prepares this altar before anyone else arrives. These are Kingdom people. Their names may never appear in history books, but they are known to God.

Acts also reminds us that the Church has never lived without hardship. James is executed. Peter is imprisoned. The Church is always under pressure. Yet the Gospel advances anyway. Our own age knows this anxiety. Wars that seem endless, continuing political divisions, economic uncertainty, loneliness, and questions about the future of the Church. It can all feel overwhelming.

But Christ’s Church has NEVER depended upon favorable circumstances. It has always depended upon faithful disciples. James couldn’t control Herod. He couldn’t shape public opinion. James could only remain faithful to the One who first called him beside the Sea of Galilee. And that was enough.

Perhaps that is Christ’s invitation to us today. Not to seek places of honor. Not to worry endlessly about outcomes we cannot control. But to remain faithful right where God has placed us. To pray. To worship. To forgive. To serve. To love. To proclaim Christ by the way we live.

As we celebrate our patronal feast today, may we remember that bearing the name “St. James” is both a gift and a calling. Every act of compassion, every child nurtured in faith, every hungry person fed, every stranger welcomed, every prayer offered in this place becomes another chapter in the witness of St. James here in Greeneville.

The same Lord who called James still calls us not to live lives measured by worldly success, but lives shaped by humble service, steadfast love, and faithful witness. May future generations remember us, not because we were successful by the world’s standards, but because we were faithful to Christ.

It is said that when headed toward the Kingdom of God, the road to glory always passes through service, and the path to life always passes through the cross. And the One who calls us to follow him is the One who has already gone before us into resurrection.

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.