3 Epiphany A 2026

The Rev. Dr. Kenneth H. Saunders III

Greeneville, TN

The Third Sunday after the Epiphany

January 25, 2026

• Isaiah 9:1-4
• 1 Corinthians 1:10-18
• Matthew 4:12-23
• Psalm 27:1, 5-13

This morning, we hear the familiar story of Jesus calling his first disciples once again. It doesn’t begin with scholars or rulers or people who seem especially prepared, but with four fishermen... ordinary men, doing ordinary work, on an ordinary day.

Four fishermen who heard something in the voice of a teacher from Nazareth that stirred their hearts. Four fishermen who sensed perhaps without being able to name it... that God was near, and that life could be more than what they already knew.

Andrew and his brother Simon. James and his brother John. Men whose lives were measured in tides and nets and the hope of a good catch. Men who understood hard work, disappointment, and the quiet persistence it takes to show up again after a long night.

Last week we heard how Andrew and Simon were first disciples or followers of John the Baptist. They had already been waiting, already listening, already longing. And when John pointed to Jesus, declaring him to be the Christ, the Son of the living God... they followed.

Today’s Gospel gives us another angle on that moment. In Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus is walking along the shore. He sees Simon and Andrew casting their nets. A little further on, he sees James and John, weary and mending their nets that have been torn.

And to each of them, he offers the same simple invitation... “Repent. Believe. Follow me.” No long speech. No list of requirements. Just a call.

They leave what they know... their nets, their boats, their livelihood, the security of their family, and their routine, and they step into a way of life that will eventually lead to joy and wonder, but also to misunderstanding, suffering, and even death.

This moment matters because it comes at a turning point in the gospel story. John the Baptist has been arrested. The world has shown resistance to God’s truth. And now Jesus steps forward in faith to proclaim the good news. The good news that God is still at work... the good news that God’s kingdom is drawing near, the good news that light is breaking into darkness. That was good news then. And it is still good news now.

Because we, too, are living in a time when the darkness feels very close. Too close. We live in a world marked by war and displacement, where violence continues to unfold in Ukraine and in the Middle East. Where families grieve lives lost, homes destroyed, and futures uncertain. 

We live in a nation that remains divided by fear, anger, and mistrust. We witness the violence taking place on the streets because of overzealous immigration enforcement... citizens being restrained, detained, and even killed because of the fear of the other.

All around us, we see the effects of poverty, addiction, racism, and loneliness... It’s all come too close to home. It is no wonder that so many feel weary and exhausted... like James and John at the end of a long night, sitting with torn nets and tired hands.

And it is into this world, our world, that Jesus still comes. Not waiting for things to be fixed. Not asking us to have it all figured out. But meeting us right where we are, in the middle of our wearyness... in the middle of our ordinary lives, and he pleads with us again... “Repent. Believe. Follow.”

Sometimes, that call can sound so daunting. We may wonder what it would really mean to follow so freely, so completely. Would we need to give up our sense of security? Our comfort? The things we rely on to make life feel manageable? Most of us are honest enough to admit how hard that is. Sometimes it is difficult enough just to carry the faith we proclaim here out beyond these walls.

We worry about what others will think. We fear being misunderstood. We are tired. At times, we may feel closer to the people Isaiah describes... those who walk in darkness and long for light.

And yet, the good news is this... Jesus does not call us out of guilt, shame, or pity. Jesus calls us out of love. Jesus meets every one of us without exception. Across every race, nation, language, and border. American and immigrant, Black and white, Ukrainian and Russian, Palestinian and Israeli, young and old, 

confident and uncertain. All of us are met with the same grace-filled invitation. Repent, believe, and follow.

To follow Jesus is not simply to attend church and be involved in and support the community of faith, as important as that is. It is to let our lives be shaped by the love of Christ. It is to allow the compassion we receive at this table to flow outward into the world.

Following Jesus means learning to live out the Gospel in our daily lives in our actions… Monday through Saturday, not just Sunday morning. It means caring when others hurt, speaking hope when despair seems loud, working for reconciliation in a fractured world.

And yes—following Jesus is not easy work. He never claimed it would be. Ministry, whether ordained or lived out in daily faithfulness, can be costly. Costly, because it asks something of us. But we know that we don’t do it alone.

Jesus goes with us. He feeds us with his own life... his body broken for us, his blood poured out for the sake of the world. In this broken world, we are made one body, held together by God’s grace that is stronger than fear.

The light of Christ goes before us, not removing all shadows at once, but showing us enough to take the next faithful step. So today, we return again to that simple invitation... Repent. Believe. Follow.

Not because we are perfect. Not because we are fearless. But because the one who calls us is faithful. And as we follow, may our lives, here in Greeneville, Tennessee, and beyond bear a quiet, steady witness to God who is still at work, still calling, who is still making all things new.

2 Epiphany A 2026

The Rev. Dr. Kenneth H. Saunders III

Greeneville, TN

The Second Sunday after the Epiphany

January 18, 2026

• Isaiah 49:1-7
• 1 Corinthians 1:1-9
• John 1:29-42
• Psalm 40:1-12

Last week, we heard the story of Jesus' baptism from Matthew's Gospel. Today, we hear that story again, but told differently, through John's eyes. And I think that difference matters. John's Gospel doesn't linger on the water or the ritual. Instead, it focuses on testimony. Over and over again, John the Baptizer tells us who Jesus is. He points. He names. He bears witness. 

And in doing so, he helps us on our Epiphany journey; this season when the light of Christ is revealed, again and again, in a world that so often feels shadowed. John says, "Look. There he is! The Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world." He says, "This is the one I've been telling you about. He is the anointed one of God. He is the Christ."

And then John tells us why he is so sure. He says, "When I baptized him, I saw the Spirit descend like a dove, and I heard God's voice saying, 'This is my Son, the Beloved, in whom I am well pleased.'"

In our world flooded with voices, opinions, outrage, fear, and misinformation, John's clarity is a gift to us. He reminds us that faith begins with pointing and naming, with eye witness testimony, and with light shining in the darkness.

We know that baptism is the beginning of life in that light. We are baptized because something deep within us begins to respond to God's call. And that word, call, is the thread that ties all of today's readings together.

What strikes me about John's version of this story is how different it is from the others. In Matthew and Luke, Jesus walks along the shoreline calling fishermen away from their nets. But in John's Gospel, Jesus doesn't call Simon directly. He calls Andrew. Andrew hears John the Baptizer testify about Jesus, and something within him stirs. He follows Jesus. 

And then Andrew does one of the most important things in all of Scripture. He goes and gets his brother. Andrew brings Simon to Jesus and says, "We have found the Messiah."

And then comes one of my favorite moments in the Gospel. Jesus looks at Simon, whom he has just met, and gives him a new name. Cephas. Peter. The Rock. I love nicknames. Nicknames are signs of intimate relationships. They say, I see you. I know something true about you, even if you don't yet.

Jesus sees in Peter a steadiness, a grounding, a future Peter himself does not yet understand. Jesus says, "This is the one upon whom Christ will build my ekklesia, my community, my church.

Andrew and Simon are called. But notice how that call unfolds... quietly, relationally, and personally. No spectacle. No pressure. Just an invitation. The writer Parker Palmer says that our true vocation, our true calling, is something we "can't not do." It's something that is woven into the fabric of our lives. It's that deep yearning that keeps coming back, even when we try to ignore it or run away from it.

Isaiah names it beautifully... "The Lord called me before I was born… before I was knit together in my mother's womb, you knew me." Paul names it too—called to be an apostle, writing to an ekklesia, a church, called to be saints, even while they struggled to live into that calling. Calling doesn't mean perfection. It means belonging.

In today's Gospel, Jesus turns to those first seekers and asks a simple, searching question, "What are you looking for?" It's a question the church has asked ever since. It is still the first question asked of those preparing for baptism in the context of the Catechumanate, "What do you seek?" they are asked... And the ancient response is just as simple, "Life in Christ."

Andrew and his brother don't yet know how to say that. Instead, they ask, "Where are you staying? Where do you live? Where are you rooted? Where do you abide? Where is your life found?" And Jesus answers with three of the most gracious words in Scripture, "Come and see."

No test. No prerequisites. No purity checklist. No demand for certainty. Just "Come and see."

That matters, especially now. We live in a time when many people are exhausted. We are worn out by conflict, by violence, by political division, by anxiety about the future. Many are wary of institutions, including the church. Many are searching for meaning and don't trust easy answers.

But Jesus does not offer easy answers. He offers a life. The Gospel is not a concept to be memorized; it is a life to be lived. Faith is not something to argue people into; it is something we invite them to experience. That invitation, "come and see," is at the heart of evangelism. 

And yes, I know that word can make Episcopalians nervous. It has been misused, distorted, and even weaponized. But at its core, evangelism is the heart of Jesus' message. It's simply sharing good news. It is inviting others to share in the life that is found in Christ Jesus.

In this season of Epiphany, we are reminded that Christ's light does not stay contained. It spreads. It reflects. It moves through ordinary people... Through fishermen. Through those who quietly say, "Come and see." 

On some level, each of us is still being invited by Christ to go deeper. By virtue of our baptism, each of us is also invited to extend that same gentle invitation to others. We never know what God may be setting in motion through a simple act of invitation and welcome. 

What if Andrew had not followed? What if he had not gone back for his brother? How would Simon have found his way and received his new name? We don't know what God will do with our faithfulness. We only know that God uses it in his mission of restoration.

So today, in a world hungry for hope, Jesus still asks us, "What are you looking for?" And Jesus still invites us to "Come and see." Come out of the darkness into the light... Come into community... Come into a life shaped by grace, mercy, and love. You may not find all the answers. But you just might find the life you are seeking.

1 Epiphany A (Baptism of Our Lord) 2026

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

The First Sunday after the Epiphany
The Baptism of Our Lord Jesus Christ
January 11, 2026

• Isaiah 42:1-9
• Acts 10:34-43
• Matthew 3:13-17
• Psalm 29

I’ve spoken before about the Season of Epiphany... That it’s a season of Light and Enlightenment... A season of revelation to us of who Jesus is. 

In Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus doesn’t begin his ministry in a palace or a synagogue or at any place that is a center of power. He begins his ministry out in the wilderness among the people… He begins it by standing in line. Matthew tells us that Jesus comes from Galilee to the Jordan to be baptized by John. This alone should make us stop and think. 

Why? Because John’s baptism is a baptism of repentance. It is meant for people who know they have missed the mark, people confessing their sins… people preparing for God’s coming judgment and renewal. And yet here comes Jesus, stepping into the same river, waiting his turn like everyone else.

John sees the problem immediately. He tells Jesus, “I need to be baptized by you, and yet, you come to me?” John knows who Jesus is, or at least who he ought to be. Stronger than John. Holier than John. Above all of this stuff that John is doing. But Jesus chooses to remain humble. “Let it be so now,” he says, “for it is proper for us in this way to fulfill all righteousness.” This is the first revelation to us of who Jesus is. 

Righteousness, in Matthew’s Gospel, is not moral superiority. It’s about faithfulness to God’s saving purpose. To “fulfill all righteousness” is not to avoid sinners, but it’s to stand among them and with them. Jesus does not come to rescue humanity from a distance. He comes by entering fully into the story. To enter our story… And the story matters. 

The Jordan River is not just some convenient body of water. It is what is known as a boundary river. Much like the Mississippi River that separates Tennessee from Arkansas. Israel once crossed it to enter the Promised Land. Elijah crossed it before being taken up into heaven. To go into the Jordan is not just a step into a river... but it’s a step into a place of transition, a place of repentance... a place to begin again. 

John stands there like a prophet of old, calling on the people to turn around, to prepare... Prepare because God is about to do something life-altering... Something world-changing. And then God does. As Jesus comes up out of the water, the heavens are torn open. This is not gentle language. Heaven doesn't just politely separate; it breaks open. The barrier between God and humanity is ruptured, and the Spirit descends on Jesus like a dove, echoing the Spirit hovering over the waters in the beginning of creation.

Matthew is telling us that this is not just a moment in Jesus’ life... it is the beginning of a new creation. And then the voice speaks, “This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.” This voice gathers all of Israel’s Scriptures into a single declaration. 

This is more of that high-context language that Matthew uses. Language the hearers of Matthew’s message would understand… The voice calls Jesus, “My Son,” recalling the psalmist’s parental prayer for guidance and strength… as in Psalm 2:7, “You are my son; today I have begotten you.”

It calls Jesus “Beloved,” echoing Abraham and Isaac... Where God tells Abraham to take his only son, his beloved son, up to Mt. Moriah and offer him as a sacrifice… And the phrase “With whom I am well pleased” or “My chosen, in whom my soul delights” points the hearer to Isaiah’s suffering servant. The one Isaiah speaks of, who is divinely chosen, is rejected and endures immense suffering on behalf of others.

Kingship, sacrifice, and servanthood all converge here in the statement, "This my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased." Jesus didn’t begin his ministry in great power or conquest, but in a man dripping wet from the waters of repentance. A man who is embodied to be loved, and to love.

I want you to notice in this passage what doesn’t happen. Here at the beginning of his ministry, Jesus isn’t given a bunch of instructions. He doesn’t get a big to-do list or any marching orders. He is not told to earn his status. Before he heals, before he preaches, before he faces temptation or the cross, Jesus is named and claimed in love. This is my son, the Beloved.

This declaration of Jesus should matter deeply to us because we live in a world that teaches the exact opposite. We are told by the world, implicitly and explicitly, that our value must be proven. In society, we are told to measure our success by productivity and our worth by being right.

Even in the church, we can begin to believe that God’s pleasure is something we must earn through good behavior, correct belief, or even visible faithfulness. But there at the Jordan, God disrupts all of that logic. Jesus steps down into the waters of baptism not because he needs cleansing, but because we do. 

And in those waters, God declares that belonging comes before achievement, grace comes before performance, and that love comes before worthiness. This is why the baptism of Jesus isn’t just about Jesus. It’s about us also…

It tells us the truth about the God whom we meet in Christ. It tells us that this is a loving God who doesn’t wait for humanity to get its act together. It tells us that this is a God who enters fully into our story… Into our mess, into our repentance, and into our vulnerability. We have a God who stands with us and by us, a God who stands where sinners stand and then calls that place holy. And that is good news.

Good news, because many of us carry the quiet fear that we are not enough... not clean enough, not faithful enough, not confident enough for God to truly delight in us. We sometimes imagine God watching from a distance, arms crossed, giving us that judgy look of an impatient parent waiting for us to get our act together. But the Gospel tells us otherwise.

The same God who called Jesus “the Beloved” meets us in our baptism... not as finished products, but as people who are still becoming... Still trying to figure out what it means to be beloved. Baptism does not mean we will never struggle again. It means we will never struggle alone. Because, hopefully, we are learning to do things with God’s help.

It means our lives are anchored not in our ability to be faithful, but in God’s faithfulness to us. We know that from the waters of the Jordan River, Jesus is driven out into the wilderness, and then into ministry, into social and political conflict, and eventually to the cross. The waters of baptism do not spare him suffering, but they name him before it. And that name sustains him through everything that follows. So it is with us.

We go into those hard places of our lives. We face temptation, grief, uncertainty, and fear. But we go as people who have already been named. Already been claimed. Already been loved.

The baptism of Jesus proclaims that our God has chosen to be one with us, not above us. God meets us where we are in the murkiness of the water, not after we dry off. And God’s first word over our lives isn’t judgment, but love.“This is my beloved, with whom I am well pleased.” Thanks be to God.