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.

6 Easter A 2026

The Rev. Kenneth H. Saunders III
Greeneville, TN

The Sixth Sunday of Easter
May 10, 2026

• Acts 17:22-31
• 1 Peter 3:13-22
• John 14:15-21
• Psalm 66:7-18

“If you love me, you will keep my commandments,” Jesus says. And if we are not careful, we can fall into the trap, and think the words of Jesus today sound less like an invitation and more like a condition… as though Christ’s love must somehow be earned or proven.

But throughout John’s Gospel, Jesus never speaks of love as a transaction. We have spent the past few weeks in what is referred to as Jesus’ farewell discourse in the Gospel according to John. This particular passage comes right in the middle of the tenderness of his farewell discourse, as Jesus prepares his disciples for his departure, for the confusion and grief that will surely come after the cross. 

These are not the cold demands of some distant master. They are the words of one who loves his friends deeply and wants them to remain rooted in that love even when he is no longer physically beside them. So when Jesus says, “If you love me, keep my commandments,” he is not threatening to abandon them. He is describing the shape love takes in human life.

If we allow ourselves to love as Jesus loves, then love always moves us toward something. When we love someone deeply, we begin to care about what matters to them. Their joys begin to affect us and their burdens become our concerns. Over time, that kind of love changes how we live, not because we are forced to change, but because love itself reshapes our desires.

That is the kind of love Jesus is speaking about here. 

And perhaps this is where the wisdom of Julian of Norwich, whose feast day we celebrated on Friday, speaks so beautifully into the Gospel lesson today. Julian lived during a time of plague, political unrest, violence, and uncertainty. The world around her was fragile and frightening. And yet, in the midst of all of that instability, she experienced the overwhelming nearness of God’s love. Again and again, she returned to the conviction that God does not relate to humanity through fear, but through generous love and mercy.

You probably know her by her famous quote: “All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.” She wrote that not because suffering was unreal. Not because the world was easy. But because she knew that divine love was deeper still. And Julian understood something essential about the Christian life. She knew we’re not transformed through fear of punishment, but through remaining in the love of God long enough for that love, God’s love, to change us.

That is exactly the kind of love Jesus is inviting his disciples into.

And today, on this Rogation Sunday, the church invites us to notice something important. The church invites us to notice that love is never only inward or spiritual. Love always becomes embodied - incarnational. It touches the ground beneath our feet.

Traditionally, Rogation Days were times when Christians would walk the fields and pray over the land, asking God’s blessing upon crops and labor, and remember humanity’s dependence on God and God’s creation. People prayed for rain. They prayed for healthy soil. They prayed for protection from famine and disaster. And for the work of human hands.

But Rogation Sunday is about much more than agriculture. It’s about remembering that all of life belongs to God. The earth is not merely a resource to consume. It is a creation, gifted to us, entrusted to us, and sustained by God.

And perhaps we see a need for Rogation Sunday with a particular urgency now. Because we live in a world that feels strained and exhausted. We see wars devastating lives and families. We see refugees searching for safety. We see political divisions deepening. We see systems designed to silence and exclude. We see truth treated as flexible and disposable. And creation itself groans. Storms intensify. Seasons shift. Communities face drought, floods, fires, and uncertainty. Many wonder what kind of future lies ahead for their children and grandchildren. 

In a world like this, it becomes easy to surrender our hearts little by little. To give our loyalty to fear instead of hope. To give our attention to outrage instead of mercy. To give our energy to self-protection instead of compassion.

If you love me, keep my commandments…

And so, Jesus’ words become less of an accusation and more of a gentle question, “What is shaping your heart?” Because love isn’t ever merely a feeling. Love forms, informs, and transforms us. This is why when Jesus speaks of commandments, he’s not talking about a checklist for earning grace, but as practices that teach us how to live within the life of God. 

In John’s Gospel, the commandment Jesus gives us is ultimately simple and profound. We must love one another, Jesus says, "as I have loved you, you must love one another." That kind of love is not sentimental. It is costly, patient, and forgiving. It’s truthful and steady. It looks like choosing compassion when anger would be easier. It looks like telling the truth in a culture of misinformation and distortion. It looks like refusing to let cynicism harden our hearts. It looks like noticing the overlooked person that everyone else passes by.

And the difficult part is that none of this happens overnight. It’s a slow process of us loving and being loved into a relationship with Jesus. Being disciples or followers of Jesus is not about mastering the rules… but it’s about abiding in (or living in) a relationship. 

We are transformed slowly through communion with Christ... through prayer, Scripture, worship, acts of mercy, and life together in community. Love grows through practice. Obedience to Christ in John’s Gospel is never separated from a relationship with Jesus.

Jesus doesn’t ask us for blind compliance. He invites us to follow him into a way of life grounded in trust, intimacy, and love. That’s what we need to start living and teaching as a church... because many people hear the word religion and think of it as an obligation rather than a relationship.

Because Jesus isn’t saying, “Perform well enough, and perhaps I will love you.” He is saying, “You are loved already. Remain in that love. And live from that love.”

And even when we fail, and we will fail, that love doesn’t go away. There will be days for us when fear wins. There will be days when we lose our patience. Days when we realize we have allowed other voices to shape us more deeply than the voice of Christ. But our failure is never the end of the story.

Because in the very same farewell discourse, Jesus promises that we will not be left alone. We will not be orphaned because we will receive the Spirit of Truth. He promises us that the Advocate, the Holy Spirit, the abiding presence of God, will continue to guide us, comfort us, convict us, and restore us.

Because the Christian life isn’t sustained by our perfection. It is sustained by God’s presence in our lives… By the indwelling presence of Christ through the power of the Holy Spirit. And perhaps that is what we most need to hear right now.

Because the world certainly doesn’t need more cruelty. It doesn’t need more outrage, suspicion, or fear. And it especially doesn’t need any of that being spewed from the pulpit.

It needs a people… a good faithful people, whose lives have been shaped by the love of Christ. People who forgive. People who serve quietly. People who refuse to let hatred have the final word. People who embody hope in the middle of despair. 

So perhaps the question before us today is not simply, “Do we love Jesus?” Perhaps the deeper question is, “How is that love (our love of Jesus, and Jesus’ love for us) shaping the way we live?” How is it changing the way we speak to one another? How does it influence the way we use our time… Or how we respond to suffering? How is it changing the way we care for our neighbors? Or the way we show unity, restoration, and hope to a divided world?

Because when the love of God in Christ truly takes root in our lives, it always leads somewhere. Toward mercy. Toward courage. Toward generosity. Toward a deeper compassion. Toward lives that begin, however imperfectly, to resemble Christ himself. Jesus does not demand flawless disciples. But he does invite our whole hearts.

“If you love me…” he says… And then he trusts that love… That love nurtured by grace, and sustained by the Spirit… He trusts that love, which is renewed again and again in his mercy, will slowly begin to shape everything else in the world. So may we learn, day by day, to abide in Christ’s love, not only with what we say, but in how we live.

5 Easter A 2026

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

The Fifth Sunday of Easter
May 3, 2026

• Acts 7:55-60
• 1 Peter 2:2-10
• John 14:1-14
• Psalm 31:1-5, 15-16

Most of you know that I managed companies that built houses for about ten years before becoming a priest. I was responsible for building over 700 houses, but I would like to think that I was really helping build 700 homes.

And that raises a question worth asking, "What makes a house… a home?" Is it the structure?... The wood and plaster, brick and mortar? Is it a roof that shelters us from the storm? Is it a place of safety and refuge, or is it something deeper? Is it the lives lived inside the walls? Is it the love shared? The tears shed? Or the laughter that lingers in the rooms?

When you hear the word “home,” what comes to mind? For some, it’s comfort. For others, belonging. For many, it’s the place where we are known and still welcomed. We carry this longing for home deep within us. When we are lonely, we long for home. When we are afraid, we long for home. When life feels uncertain or fractured, we long for a place where we can rest.

It was St. Augustine who once wrote, “Our hearts are restless until they rest in you.” Here is where Scripture begins to reshape what we think home really is. Because the Bible doesn’t just speak of homes as places built with wood and nails, it speaks of homes built with “stones.”

In the First Letter of Peter, we hear this: “Like living stones, let yourselves be built into a spiritual house.” Living stones. Not cold, lifeless rock, but a people. You. Me. All of us.

God is building something, not out of bricks and mortar, but out of human lives. A spiritual home. And yet, before we get to that beautiful image, we are confronted with another kind of stone in the Book of Acts. Stones used not to build, but to destroy.

In Acts, we meet Stephen... One of the first seven deacons chosen by the church... a man full of faith and the Holy Spirit. A man who spoke truth with courage. A man who saw the glory of God even when others could not.

And what did the people do? They picked up stones. They covered their ears. They rushed at him. And they stoned him. The same object we were talking about before, a stone, becomes a weapon of fear, anger, violence, and rejection. And Stephen stands there, not retaliating, not cursing, but praying, “Lord, do not hold this sin against them.” Even as stones are hurled at him, Stephen entrusts himself to God.

This is a devastating scene. But, it reveals something important to us… It shows us that stones can be used to tear down or to build up. And the difference is found in the human heart.

Peter reminds us that Christ himself is the cornerstone rejected by the world, yet chosen and precious in God’s sight. Rejected… like Stephen. Rejected… like so many even now. And yet, God takes what is rejected and builds something holy.

“You are living stones,” Peter says. “Being built into a spiritual house.” That means the home we are longing for now… the home that our restless hearts seek is not just somewhere we go someday. It is something God is building right now. In us. Through us. And between us.

Every act of love is a stone laid in that house. Every moment of forgiveness is part of its foundation. And every time we choose compassion over anger, we are building. 

But, in the same light, every time we harden our hearts… every time we use our words or actions like weapons… every time we let hate and fear rule our hearts… we are throwing stones instead. So the question becomes, What kind of stones are we holding?

Are they stones of judgment? Stones of resentment? Stones we throw to protect ourselves or to wound others?

Or… 

Are they living stones… offered to God, placed carefully into something larger than ourselves? Because the truth is, home isn’t just where we feel safe. Home is where God dwells. Home is where God chooses to dwell, not in buildings alone, but in people... among people… in communities shaped by love and grace.

This is why the church matters. Not that it’s a perfect structure, because it’s not. Not that the people are flawless, because we aren’t. But because the church is how God uses us to build something. Slowly. Patiently. Stone by stone. A place where the broken are welcomed. A place where the weary find rest. A place where, even in the midst of pain, we begin to get a glimpse of what it means to belong.

Even Stephen, in his final moments, was not homeless. He looked up and saw the heavens opened and Christ standing at the right hand of God. And that was his home. And nothing, not even the stones that were being hurled at him, could take that away.

So perhaps home is not what we thought after all… Our home with God is not just a place we long for someday, but a reality we are invited to live into here and now. Every time we love as Christ loved, every time we forgive, every time we choose to build rather than destroy… we are in the process of becoming the very home our hearts have been searching for.

“Lord, you have made us for yourself, and our hearts are restless until they rest in you.” And perhaps that rest begins when we finally place our stones in God’s hands and allow God to build.

4 Easter A 2026

The Rev. Dr. Kenneth H. Saunders III

Greeneville, TN

The Fourth Sunday of Easter

April 26, 2026

• Acts 2:42-47
• 1 Peter 2:19-25
• John 10:1-10
• Psalm 23

Today, we take a moment and step away from the familiar rhythm of resurrection appearances… Those wonderful encounters where Jesus meets his disciples in locked rooms, on dusty roads, and around shared tables. 

We know those stories too well... How Jesus is recognized in the breaking of bread... how hearts burn as he opens the scriptures... how fear slowly gives way to wonder.

Today, our focus is on the words of Jesus in Chapter 10 of the Gospel according to John. A passage that is unexpected in the Easter Season. And, if we're honest, a bit more puzzling at first hearing.

Jesus is addressing a group of folks in Jerusalem that includes both his closest followers and those who are suspicious of him. He is standing within earshot of people who have just witnessed conflict over authority… Of who has the right to interpret God, and who belongs in God's community, and who does not.

That's the scene we're in…and Jesus paints a picture for us… A sheepfold enclosed by a wall or pen. A gate that provides the proper entrance. A shepherd who enters through that gate. And other figures who try to get in by climbing over the wall. The listeners gathered there would have recognized this scene immediately. 

Sheep were often gathered into communal pens at night for protection. A gatekeeper would allow the legitimate shepherds to enter in the morning, and each shepherd would call his own sheep out of the mixed flock using his voice, and the sheep would follow because they recognized the shepherd's voice.

Here, Jesus doesn't begin with shepherding as we expect. He starts with a sheepfold, a gate, and the difference between those who enter rightly and those who do not. "Anyone who does not enter the sheepfold by the gate but climbs in by another way is a thief and a bandit." It's a striking image. There is this place where the sheep are gathered… a place of belonging, of relative safety. 

And there is a gate, a proper way in. The one who enters through the gate is the shepherd. The others… those who sneak in, who bypass the gate… come with very different intentions. Jesus is naming, right from the start, that not every voice, not every leader, not every influence that reaches the sheep is trustworthy. 

And that lands close to home. Because we live in a world full of entrances... full of voices trying to get our attention, shaping our thinking, claiming our loyalty. Some come openly, honestly, with care. Others slip in quietly, subtly, promising life but bringing something else entirely.

Jesus doesn't soften the language. He calls those who sneak in "thieves and bandits"... those who come not to care for the flock, but to take from it.

Then he says something even more intimate. Speaking about the true shepherd…He says, "The sheep hear his voice. He calls his own sheep by name and leads them out." This is where the image deepens. The shepherd does not drive the sheep. He calls them by name. And they respond—not because they are forced, but because they recognize his voice. And he leads them… 

This is not about control. It's about relationship. And that's important to understand in a time like ours, when so much leadership (religious, political, and cultural leadership) relies on fear, urgency, and pressure. So many voices try to push us, to drive us, to tell us we must act now…  think this way… fear that group… and secure ourselves at all costs.

But the voice of Christ is different. It is known. It is steady. It calls rather than coerces. And, as the passage tells us, the sheep follow "because they know his voice." Not because they are naïve, but because they are familiar with the one who leads them… leads them to good pasture and still water…

That raises a hard but necessary question for us… How do we recognize that voice? Can we distinguish it from all the others? Because Jesus also says, "They will not follow a stranger… because they do not know the voice of strangers."

Yet if we're honest, we sometimes do follow strangers. We get pulled in by voices that sound convincing... voices promising security, success, or certainty. Voices that tell us we don't need one another. Voices that encourage division, suspicion, even hostility.

We see it playing out all around us… communities fractured, public trust eroded, people increasingly isolated even while we are more "connected" than ever. The noise is constant, and it becomes harder to tell which voices lead toward life and which do not.

And it's into that confusion that Jesus speaks again, with one of the clearest declarations in the Gospel: "I am the gate." Not just the shepherd, but "the gate.

"I am the gate. Whoever enters by me will be saved, and will come in and go out and find pasture." This is a shift in the image, but it's an important one. Jesus is not only the one who leads; he is also the way to life itself. He is the place of safety... He is the point of passage between danger and nourishment, between scarcity and abundance.

To say that Christ is the gate is to say that life, true life, is found in and through him. Not through the competing promises of the world, not through fear-driven self-reliance, not through systems that divide and consume... but through relationship with the one who knows us and calls us by name.

And then comes that line in the text that echoes so powerfully in our day and age… "The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly."

There is no neutrality here. It's no secret that some voices... some paths... some ways of being in the world diminish life. They take. They erode. They isolate. They leave people more fearful, more guarded, and more alone.

But others, grounded in Christ, lead toward abundance. Not abundance as excess or accumulation of stuff, but as fullness - as enough… A life marked by connection, by purpose, by love, by a deep and steady trust that we are loved and we are held.

That kind of life is not always easy. It doesn't shield us from hardship or uncertainty. But it is real. It is sustaining. And it is shared.

Because the sheepfold is not a place for one sheep alone. It's a place where we are called together. In a moment when so many forces in our world encourage separation, drawing lines, building walls, defining who is "in" and who is "out," this passage reminds us that Christ gathers. Christ calls. Christ leads us not into isolation, but into a community shaped by his voice.

And that has implications for how we live. It means we should listen carefully... not just to what is loud or urgent, but to what is true. It means we test the voices we hear, asking whether they lead toward life or away from it. It means we resist the temptation to follow those who would exploit fear for their own purposes.

And it means we stay close to the shepherd's voice… through prayer, through scripture, through the shared life of the community… so that, over time, we learn to recognize it more clearly. Because the promise of this passage is not that we will never hear other voices. It is that we are not left to sort through them alone.

The shepherd calls. The gate stands open. Life, abundant life, is offered. And so the invitation today is both simple and demanding... To listen for the voice of Christ. To enter through the gate that leads to life. And to follow, not as isolated individuals, but as a people gathered, known, loved, and led.

For it is there, in that following, that we begin to discover what Jesus means when he says, "I came that they may have life, and have it more abundantly."

2 Easter 2026

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

The Second Sunday of Easter
April 12, 2026

• Acts 2:14a,22-32
• 1 Peter 1:3-9
• John 20:19-31
• Psalm 16

The disciples are hiding. The doors are locked. The room is tense. Fear has settled in. They have seen too much. They have lost too much. And now they do not know what comes next.

They are afraid... afraid of what might happen to them because they followed Jesus, afraid of being cast out, rejected, or even worse. And in many ways, that fear is not just theirs. It reflects the experience of the early Christian community... a people trying to hold onto faith while navigating tension, uncertainty, and even exclusion.

And if we’re honest, it reflects something in us too. Moments in us when faith feels fragile. Moments around us when the world feels uncertain. Moments when we are not quite sure what comes next. 

And into that space... into the fear and uncertainty... Jesus comes. Not by opening the door. Not by removing the threat. But by standing among them and saying, “Peace be with you.”

Jesus appears in that upper room, not once, but twice. Peace... not as the absence of trouble, but as the presence of Christ there, in the middle of it. And then he shows them his hands and his side. The wounds, the marks of his crucifixion, are still there. Still there, because the resurrection doesn’t erase what happened and what he suffered. It transformed it.

And then Jesus speaks the words that change everything for them: “As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” The story is not over. Their fear is not the end. They are being called forward. The same God who sent Jesus into the world in love now sends them into the world with that same love. And they are not sent alone.

Jesus breathes on them and says, “Receive the Holy Spirit.” The Ruach, the very creating breath of God... the breath that gave life in the beginning, is given to them again. And there in that closed-off room, they are refreshed, renewed. Re-created. Given what they need for what lies ahead of them. And part of what lies ahead is this: They are to go out into the world and “forgive.” Jesus says, “If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven…”

This is not about pretending that harm doesn’t exist. It’s not a cover-up of the cruelty… It is about participating in the life of God. A life rooted in mercy, compassion, and restoration. We forgive because we have been forgiven. We extend grace because grace has been extended to us. And that kind of life is not easy. But it is the way of Christ.

Then our story from John’s gospel turns to Thomas. Thomas, who was not there the first time. Thomas, who missed the great moment when Jesus appeared to the others. Thomas heard the others say,  “We have seen the Lord.” Thomas must have felt left out because he wasn’t able to share in their experience. And still, he stays with them.

This made me ask: where was Thomas when the others were cowering in the room, hiding from the religious authorities? Where was Thomas, the one who boldly said, "Let us go too, that we may die with him," speaking of Jesus deciding to return to Judea? Where was Thomas? The scripture doesn’t tell us, but we can assume that he was bold enough to go out when the others weren’t. That he was willing to take the risk rather than hold onto his fear.

Thomas has been told that the Lord appeared to them when he wasn’t there, and this caused him to be unsure… And even in his uncertainty, Thomas remains there with them. Connected to them as part of the community.

A week later, Jesus comes to them again. “Peace be with you.” And this time, Thomas is with them. Jesus turns to Thomas and says, “Put your finger here… See my hands… Do not be unbelieving, but believe.” There is no shame in these words. Only invitation. And then Thomas responds with a confession that echoes throughout the ages: “My Lord and my God.”

Jesus then speaks to everyone who would come after those who are gathered there in that closed room, “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.” This is where we are – this is where we live. We have not stood in that room. We have not seen the nail scars in his hands and feet. We have not touched those wounds. And yet—we are here. We believe.

Each week… We gather. We pray. We share a sacred meal. We return. Even after the great celebration of Easter has passed. Why, because we know something in this story has claimed us. Claimed us in ways that we can’t always explain. We have encountered the living Christ in scripture, in sacrament, and in one another.

The Gospel lesson today ends by telling us why all of this has been written, “So that you may come to believe… and that through believing you may have life.” Not just any life. Abundant life. A life shaped by love and forgiveness. A life grounded in truth. A life sustained by the presence of God. But this life is not passive. It calls us to act. It calls us to follow Jesus into places we may not wish to go. It calls us to live as Jesus lived. To love as Jesus loved. And to walk in his way.

So what does that mean for us here, now? It means, like the first apostles, we are sent. Like the earliest and closest followers of Jesus gathered there in their fear, it sends us into a world that is still fearful, still divided, still searching. It sends us, not with all the answers, but with the peace of Christ. We are sent to embody love. Sent to practice forgiveness. Sent to be signs of hope in the places where hope feels pretty thin.

And when we find ourselves like Thomas, being unsure, with questions, with hesitation, with a longing for clarity... we know that we are not outside the story. We are right in the middle of it. And Christ meets us there. Speaking peace. Giving us comfort. Offering us presence. And calling us forward.

So, this season and always let us live as those who are sent. Let us love as those who are forgiven. And let us trust the presence of Christ among us, here and now. And with our lives, and with our hearts, let us proclaim: “My Lord and my God.”