1 Lent A 2026

The Rev. Kenneth H. Saunders III
Greeneville, TN 

The First Sunday in Lent
February 22, 2026

• Genesis 2:15-17; 3:1-7
• Romans 5:12-19
• Matthew 4:1-11
• Psalm 32

I remember being a child  and going to the store with my grandfather. I loved those trips. Not because I remember us needing anything in particular, but because I knew that before we left, he would almost always buy me something. 

It didn’t have to be big. Usually, it was a candy bar or a small toy. Something hanging there, right there at the checkout line. You know the place. That last stretch before you pay. Candy. Gadgets. Those little “must-haves.” The things we didn’t know we needed until they were placed directly in front of us.

Now that I’m a father and a grandfather, I see it a bit differently. Marketeers are masters of temptation and Stores are designed with care. Milk is never near the entrance. You have to pass the pastries, all the bright packaging, the sale signs. And the checkout aisle! That’s no accident. It’s a final appeal. It’s the last whisper, “You need this.” Marketers understand something about us in our humanity. They understand temptation.

As children, we depend on adults to say no for us. Even when we protest. Even when we throw a fit. But as adults, who helps us say no? Who steadies us when desire clouds our judgment? Who keeps us grounded when the whispers grow loud?

Because temptations don’t disappear when we grow up. It just changes shape. And if we are honest about it, this isn’t only about candy bars and impulse buys. We are living in a season in our nation when temptations swirl around us constantly. 

The temptation to believe every clickbait headline before we verify it. The temptation to demonize those who disagree with us. The temptation to respond to anger with more anger. The temptation to grasp for power, security, or certainty at any cost. The temptation to despair, or to withdraw or wallow in fear, or to say, “It’s not my problem.”

These are wilderness moments for us in our time. And they are wilderness moments for our souls. In the Genesis story, we hear of the first great temptation. God tells Adam and Eve when they are in the garden that they may eat from every tree, except one. 

It is, in many ways, a parental word, “No. This one is not for you.” But the serpent whispers, “What would it hurt?” And they listen. That’s often how temptation works. Not as a shout, but as a whisper… a small justification.

Then, in the Gospel according to Matthew, Jesus is driven into the wilderness after his baptism. There, he is hungry, vulnerable, and alone. And there he encounters what the Greeks call the "ho diabolo," the tempter or deceiver.

The first temptation is simple: Jesus was hungry, and the tempter says, "If you’re hungry, turn these stones into bread.” Now bread is not bad. Bread is necessary. We must eat to live. Jesus does not deny that. But Jesus reminds us: “One does not live by bread alone.” We all have deeper needs than consumption can satisfy.

In a culture that constantly urges us to consume more... more goods, more media, more outrage, more success, Jesus reminds us that our lives are grounded not in what we accumulate, but in the Word of God. The Church must feed the hungry we do, and we must. But in order to feed others, we must also be fed ourselves, nourished by love, truth, mercy, and grace harvested from what we learn of God from Holy Scriptures.

The second temptation is a little more dramatic. The tempter takes Jesus to the pinnacle of the temple and says, in effect, “Prove yourself. Make a spectacle. Let God catch you.” Prove who you are and everyone will believe! This shows us that even Scripture can be twisted to make the point.

Isn’t that familiar? Words... holy words, mixed with constitutional words, patriotic words... Holy Words that are bent to serve agendas. In our society, faith is being co-opted more and more as a prop for the empire. And God is being invoked to justify what God NEVER intended. But there on the pinnacle of the temple, Jesus refuses to test God. He will not manipulate the holy for personal gain. Jesus will not confuse spectacle with faithfulness. 

In our time, we are constantly tempted to believe that louder is better, that flashier is truer, that if we can only win the argument or get the most attention, we have won the day. But Jesus shows us another way... quiet obedience, steady trust, and humility before God.

Finally, Jesus is taken by the tempter to a high mountain. Jesus is shown ALL the kingdoms of the world. “All this can be yours,” the tempter says, “if you will only bow before me.” Jesus is offered power, influence, and control. The offer is breathtaking. And it is false.

False, because the kingdoms of this world don’t truly belong to the tempter—or to us. They, like everything else, belong to God. And Jesus responds, quoting Deuteronomy: “Worship the Lord your God, and serve only him.” There it is. There’s the heart of the matter. We become like what we worship. 

If we worship power, we will be consumed by power. If we worship fear, we will be ruled by fear. If we worship a party, a tribe, or an ideology, we undoubtedly serve those masters. Jesus shows us there is only one worthy of worship. The Lord Our God…

Because what we learn from all these passages, from Eden to the wilderness, is this... temptation is real, but it is not unstoppable. Jesus, fully human, faced temptation in its rawest form and yet did not succumb to temptation. That means that in our own smaller, daily struggles... in the store checkout line, at work, in our conversations online, in voting booths, and in our family tensions... we are not helpless. We are not alone.

When the quiet voice inside of us says, “No. This is not the way,” that may well be the Spirit of God guarding your heart. When you feel the pull to speak harshly but choose gentleness instead, God’s grace is at work. When you resist the urge to dehumanize someone on the other side of an issue, that is Christ forming himself in you.

There is nothing to be gained by wrestling in the mud with the tempter. Because when you do, you both get dirty! The deceiver promises clarity but only delivers confusion. The tempter promises control and delivers chaos. Promises glory and delivers emptiness.

So we pray together, as we do every week... “Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.” That is not a prayer of weakness. It is a prayer of wisdom. It is the prayer of people who know they are human. And it is the prayer of people who trust that God is stronger. 

In these days of restlessness in our wilderness of life, and in the quiet checkout lines of our own lives, may we remember who we are. May we remember to whom we belong. And may we worship the Lord our God, and serve only him.

Ash Wednesday A 2026

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

Ash Wednesday 

February 18, 2026

• Joel 2:1-2,12-17
• 2 Corinthians 5:20b-6:10
• Matthew 6:1-6,16-21
• Psalm 103 or 103:8-14

There is something about Ash Wednesday that tugs on our hearts. Each year we notice it again... the quiet sight of people moving through their lives, going into ordinary places with dark crosses smudged on their foreheads. 

In a world that usually hides faith, the ashes on our foreheads are visible. They’re Honest and Unapologetic. Over time, the practice of imposing ashes has found a home across the wider Church. Christians of many traditions, Catholic and Protestant, gather on this day to remember their mortality and receive the imposition of ashes on their forehead. 

It has become something that Christians of many denominations share... a sign that transcends denominational lines and draws us together as the body of Christ.

It’s common to have Ash Wednesday services early in the day. People would give up their lunch hour, quietly standing in line, simply to hear the words, “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” Even those who had celebrated exuberantly during Mardi Gras right up until the night before Ash Wednesday would pause their festivities, come, kneel, receive, and remember. In hospitals and nursing homes, in prisons and private homes, faithful folks wait for the minister carrying a small container of ash made from last year’s palms.

For the church, it’s become a means of connection and reconnection. When I was in Maryland, we offered “ashes to go” in the church's driveway. We had an abundance of people who would walk between the municipal parking garage and the county courthouse on their way to work. I met people where they were in the context of their busy lives. This helped passersby stop, reflect, and pray for a minute before going about their day. 

On this one day, this Ash Wednesday, our feasting becomes fasting. Our celebrations soften as we reflect on the words of Psalm 51, our hearts begin to stir – as we plead with the psalmist: “Wash me thoroughly from my wickedness.” We kneel and confess to God: “We have not loved you with our whole heart and mind and strength…” And in those moments, something meaningful starts to comfort our souls.

Ash Wednesday is an intentional space for us. A space of truth in the abundance of God’s love, inviting us to acknowledge our shortcomings without fear. It creates a space for us to remember that we are finite... we are mortal... created from and returning to the elements of this earth. We all need this simple honesty. This is our intentional opportunity to repent... to lay down our burdens before God, and rest in God’s mercy. 

We could say this day is about many things. But, mostly, I feel this day is about belonging. “Remember that you are dust…” These words are spoken to everyone. The wealthy and the poor... the strong and the struggling... the powerful and the forgotten... the confident and the broken... the priest and the seeker. 

In that context, the ashes become the great equalizer for us. They remind us that beneath all our titles and accomplishments, we each share in the same fragile humanity. We are dust. And to dust we shall return.

Sometimes our liturgy speaks more clearly through actions than it ever could through words. As we pray Psalm 51 and the litany of penitence, we pray these together... Together in the context of community. We pray with the ones preparing for baptism, with those seeking reconciliation and reconnection, and with those carrying their own private griefs. 

And together, we begin this pilgrimage through Lent... the journey with Christ toward the Cross. A journey that will, by God’s grace, lead us to the great proclamation of Easter... when we rejoice that heaven and earth are joined and humanity is reconciled to God.

Ash Wednesday gathers up all of the shortcomings and frustrations of our lives. We know the world is broken, and we are broken with it… We lament that the comforts we sometimes enjoy sometimes come at the expense of others. We have remained silent when our courage was needed. We know what it feels like to be caught in impossible situations where sin seems to prevail no matter what we choose.

The liturgy of Ash Wednesday meets us where we are... Right there in the middle of our feelings and helps us with our unrest. It helps us understand that God is still with us and has not abandoned us. It assures us that God sees us and knows what we are going through and understands our pain.

And then come the ashes that are placed on our forehead.

At baptism, we were marked with the sign of the cross with chrism oil on our forehead and we are told we are “marked as Christ’s own forever.” That mark claims us as children of God and members of a holy community, the church. 

Oil was used, almost invisible, yet very real. And in the case of chrism, very fragrant. But on Ash Wednesday, the sign we receive is visible... It’s Dark and Public. It is almost as if our identity as God’s beloved children became more prominent when we acknowledge our need for God’s love and grace. When we are willing to let our hands and our hearts become a little dirty with truth.

Let me offer you an image to hold onto today. This has stuck with me for years since I first heard it, and I hope it sticks with you for a while. At least through these next 40 days…

When the ashes are first placed upon our forehead, the vertical stroke looks a bit like a capital “I.” That “I” represents everything that makes you uniquely you... your gifts and your wounds, your strengths and your struggles, your virtues and your sins. Each one of us is wonderfully different. We know that we are fearfully and wonderfully made. And each one of us is called into a relationship with God that is not only corporate and communal, but also deeply personal and unique, unlike anyone else’s.

But that same “I” can also become for us that place of separation. It can be our ego that insists on standing alone. The self that says, “I can do it all by myself.” The thing that makes us cling to control. The self that nurtures pride and fear. The self that forgets its need for God and neighbor.

There is a difference between “sins” and “sin.” “Sins” are the visible actions; our shortcomings, missteps, and failures. But “sin” is deeper. It’s the condition of alienation or separation... It's the selfish, inward-turning of the heart. The thing that makes us feel distant from God. The vertical line of that “I” helps us remember and name that reality.

But the cross is not complete until the horizontal stroke is traced across it. That second motion gently crosses out the isolating “I.” It does not erase our personhood; it redeems it. It doesn’t destroy our uniqueness; it restores it within the community. 

On that horizontal line, we can see Christ's outstretched arms. Arms wide enough to gather us back into communion. The “I” that separates us is crossed by love... God’s love. And in that crossing, we are set free. Not merely as individuals seeking pardon or forgiveness, but as a people restored to one another. 

The ashes call us to repent of the sin that alienates us and separates us from God. But the ashes also call us back into wholeness, unity, togetherness, and service. The cross of ash marks the intersection of our personal faith and our shared humanity. It reminds us that our relationship with God is never solitary. It always touches the lives of others... Others in the world that God loves.

So may this Ash Wednesday be more than a quiet moment of solace. May it be a source of strength. May it be more than just a search for forgiveness. May it be the beginning of renewal. And may the grace of God, who is here present with us as surely as the ashes upon our heads, make us one in Christ. So that, forgiven, restored, and renewed, we may go forth to serve the world in his name.

Last Epiphany A 2026

The Rev. Dr. Kenneth H. Saunders III

Greeneville, TN

The Last Sunday after the Epiphany 

February 15, 2026

• Exodus 24:12-18
• 2 Peter 1:16-21
• Matthew 17:1-9
• Psalm 2

In this morning's Gospel, we hear that Jesus was transfigured on the mountaintop. His face shone like the sun. His garments became dazzling white. The disciples caught a glimpse of his glory that they had never seen before. And it makes us wonder. What does it mean to be transfigured? What does it mean to be changed? Not just slightly improved, but deeply transformed?

For many of us, transformation begins with what we might call a “mountaintop experience.” Perhaps it was the moment we first realized Christ was not just a story, but a presence in our lives. Perhaps it was a season of prayer, or a crisis that drove us to our knees, or a worship service where something stirred in our hearts.

But if we are honest about it, most of life is not lived on mountaintops. Most of life is lived in the valleys... in hospital waiting rooms, in strained relationships, in financial anxiety, in a world that feels increasingly divided and uncertain. 

We live in a time of trauma, war and scandal that wounds our global community… political hostility and division that fractures trust, and economic pressures that leave many families stretched thin. We see anger amplified, truth questioned, and human compassion exhausted. 

And it is in that world... not a peaceful one, nor a tidy one... into that world, that Jesus is transfigured. There is something that I want you to notice about this scene. The Transfiguration of Jesus doesn’t remove him from the world’s suffering. But it strengthens his disciples for what is coming. 

Immediately after their time on the mountain where Jesus is shown in all his glory and majesty, he begins to speak more plainly about the cross. The mountaintop prepares them for the valley. 

Peter says to Jesus that he wants to build tents/tabernacles and stay there. Preserve the moment, house the holy… but who wouldn’t? When we encounter moments of clarity, beauty, and certainty, we want to preserve them. To keep them… But Jesus leads them back down the mountain. Because the glory they witnessed was not intended to be contained. It was meant to change them and shape them. 

The Christian life and following Jesus is not a “one and done” experience. It is a lifelong journey of formation and transformation. God is never finished shaping us / transfiguring us... sanding the rough edges, strengthening weak places, opening the closed hearts. 

Kind of like those home renovation shows you see on HGTV, that we like so much… Especially the classic... This Old House. God does not discard us when the structure is worn. God renovates from within. But unlike those television transformations that happen in an hour or over a short sequence of 4 shows, 

Spiritual transformation unfolds over a lifetime.

Our rites of Baptism and Confirmation are not a graduation. They are a beginning. An invitation and license to learn. You and I, as baptized Christians, are called to continuous and conscious lifelong growth not only through worship, but through study, prayer, service, and community. 

We gather for formation not because we have mastered faith, but because we are continually being shaped by it. And in times like these, our formation matters more than ever.

Our broken world does not need louder Christians. It does not need angrier Christians. And it does not need Christians who mirror the hostility of the culture. Our world needs transfigured Christians. It needs transfigured and faithful people whose lives reflect Christ’s light... Christ’s light in dark conversations. It needs patience in the face of outrage. Mercy where there is condemnation. And truth spoken peacefully and gently in a climate of increasing fear.

On that mountain stood Moses and Elijah — the Law and the Prophets — bearing witness to Jesus. Everything converged in him. And when the cloud overshadowed them, the voice of God said,  “This is my Son… listen to him.” 

Listen to him. Listen to Jesus... Listen to him, not to the loudest voice online. Listen to him, not to the most inflammatory headline. Listen to him, not to the constant churn of fear and chaos. Listen to him. And when we listen to Jesus, what do we hear? We hear, Love your enemies. Bless those who persecute you. Get up and do not be afraid. Take up your cross & follow me.

Transfiguration is not about escaping reality. It is about listening to Jesus and seeing reality through the light of Christ. And we do not need to climb a literal mountain to have an encounter with God. Every Sunday, we step into a sacred space. We hear the scriptures, we learn, we confess, we pray, and we pass the peace. Then we come forward to break the bread and share the cup. 

In that Eucharistic meal… In that holy moment… heaven and earth meet. Christ is present, not in blazing white, dazzling our eyes, but there, nonetheless, feeding our souls. That is our mountaintop. That is our transfiguration experience. And it’s from this table that we are sent back down the mountain. Back into our homes, workplaces, schools, and civic life, not unchanged, but strengthened and transfigured…

Jesus was transfigured on the mountain so that the disciples would know who he truly was. And we are transfigured so the world may know who Jesus is through us. 

In anxious times, may we be steady. In divided times, may we be reconciled. In cynical times, may we be hopeful. In dark times, may we be luminous. God is not finished with us yet. We’re still growing and being changed and transfigured into more of what God calls us to be.

May we allow ourselves to be continually shaped, continually renewed, continually changed, continually tranfigured… until our very lives become the windows through which others see the living Christ.