5 Lent A 2026

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

The Fifth Sunday in Lent
March 22, 2026

• Ezekiel 37:1-14
• Romans 8:6-11
• John 11:1-45
• Psalm 130

When we hear the story about the raising of Lazarus from the Gospel according to John, it never comes to us as a simple, one-dimensional account. It is a story with many layers.

As we peel the onion of the story, we find layers of human emotion and divine purpose… layers of fear and courage… layers of grief, love, and hope... all struggling to go together in the same story.

I remember when I first preached this text. I was in seminary and came back to Western North Carolina, to Calvary Church in Fletcher. I will always remember that sermon and the dramatic beginning – Lazarus, Come Out! With the drama and retelling of the story, I was trying to peel back the layers so folks would understand it.

But I think, this time more than most, we hear the story through the layers of our own world. We are living in a time when human grief is not some abstract thing. It’s visible. It’s shared. And unfortunately, it has become global.

The grief is real. Especially when we see it in the images of war zones where families are displaced and lives are lost. We still feel it in communities that continue to recover from natural disasters... from fires, floods, storms that seem stronger and become more frequent each year. We hear it in the anxiety we have of rising divisions, violence, and uncertainty about the future. Grief is not just something that happened in Bethany long ago. Grief is here... Grief is now.

So, I don’t need to spend time creating the drama for you, because the world has already done it for us. This is the context, this is the lens through which we read the Gospel this morning.

Mary and Martha are grieving the loss of their brother. It is raw. It is real. And it is unresolved. But, Jesus, as close as he is to this family, doesn’t try to rush in to fix it. In fact, the delay may be the most unsettling part of this story. He waits two days before going to them. That delay feels uncomfortable… even troubling, because it mirrors the questions we carry with us today: Where is our God when suffering stretches on? Why does help always feel delayed? Why doesn’t the healing come when we expect it or need it the most? The Gospel does not give us a neat answer. Instead, it shows us something deeper.

It shows us that God doesn’t stand apart from grief… but God enters into it. In his compassion and love for his friend, “Jesus wept.” Not as a performance. Not as a symbol. But as a real, human, visceral response. Showing us that God does not avoid or ignore the pains of this world. God absorbs it.

And still, the promising part of the story is that it doesn’t end in grief. Jesus stands at the tomb and calls Lazarus out. “Lazarus, come out!” And what is remarkable is not only that Lazarus comes out… but how he comes out. Still bound. Still wrapped in the cloths of death. And then Jesus turns to the community and says, “Unbind him, and let him go.”

That is where this Gospel meets us now. Because we live in a world where people are still bound. Bound by fear. Bound by systems of oppression. Bound by grief that has no easy resolution. Bound by divisions that keep us from seeing one another as neighbors and children of God.

And the work of resurrection, the work of God’s glory, is not only in calling people out of death… It is calling us to be unbound. And here is the difficult part: God calls Lazarus out... But the community is called to unbind him. Which means that resurrection is not just something we witness. It is something we participate in.

Thomas, who is often remembered for his need for assurance, gives us a glimpse of what that participation looks like. It’s at the beginning of the story, when Jesus says that he is going to Bethany regardless of who wants to hurt him. Thomas says to the others, “Let us also go, that we may die with him.” Thomas doesn’t fully understand. But he is willing to follow anyway.

In a world like ours, that kind of faith matters. A faith that says: Even when we don’t fully understand what God is doing… Even when the path ahead looks dangerous or uncertain… We will still go. We will still show up. We will still love. We will still stand with those who are grieving, displaced, hurting, or forgotten.

Because the truth is, we are not just living in a time of death. We are living in a time where God is still calling people out of tombs. Out of despair... Out of injustice... Out of isolation. The question is NOT whether God is acting. The question is whether we will help unbind them. 

Jesus said to Martha, “If you believe, you will see the glory of God.” Not someday. Not only in the life to come. But here, now, today. We need to understand that this act of Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead sealed the fate of Jesus in the eyes of the religious authorities.

This event was the climactic "sign" in John's Gospel, and it directly led the religious authorities to plot Jesus’s death, because they feared his growing influence. They feared the power his signs displayed... They feared the multitudes of people who were starting to follow... They feared losing their perceived power and position... So they decided to take matters into their own hands. But what they were witnessing was the power of God… The power of life over death… The power of resurrection…

In a world that feels fractured… God’s glory is revealed whenever we see life breaking through death... Whenever we witness acts of resurrection in this world… Every act of compassion. Every moment of courage. Every refusal to let hatred have the final word. That is resurrection.

So the question for us today is, what are we being called to do? Where are the tombs in our world? Who is still bound? How is God inviting us – not just to believe — but to act? Because following Jesus in this day and time… may look a lot like Thomas does in our story. Not fully understanding… but willing to go, anyway.

Willing to walk into hard places. Willing to stand in the breach, in the tension between this world and the next. Willing to trust that even now, God continues to bring life out of death.

And if we dare to believe that… If we dare to follow that… Then we may not only witness resurrection, but we can also become part of it.

4 Lent A 2026

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

The Fourth Sunday in Lent
March 15, 2026

• 1 Samuel 16:1-13
• Ephesians 5:8-14
• John 9:1-41
• Psalm 23

There was a blind man in Jerusalem... There... sitting along a crowded street where people hurried past on their way to the Temple. Scripture tells us that this man had been blind from birth. He had never seen the colors of the sky at sunrise, never watched children playing in the streets, never gazed upon the hills that surrounded the city.

The world that many people experienced through sight, he knew only through touch, sound, and scent. He only knew the warmth of the sun on his face as morning came. He may have known the fragrance of flowers and spices carried by the passersby. He likely heard the bustling footsteps of others heading to worship. But he never saw the beauty of the Temple... that magnificent structure, gleaming with white stone and gold.

What he probably knew too well, however, were the impatient shoves of hurried crowds and the dismissive glances of people who preferred not to see him at all.

In many ways, his life reflected something we still see in our world today. People who are struggling... those who are poor, disabled, lonely, or forgotten... often become invisible to society. There are far too many people in this world who feel unseen. Some are burdened by economic hardship. Some are overwhelmed by anxiety and mental health struggles. Some who feel pushed to the margins because of who they are or where they come from.

Our world moves very quickly, and if we are not being attentive, it is easy for our compassion to be left behind. But on a certain day... There in Jerusalem, along the crowded street, something different happened.

There, Jesus and his disciples were walking along, having just escaped a violent confrontation with the religious authorities. Jesus and his disciples stopped. They stopped in front of this blind man. And in a world that had largely ignored him, Jesus saw him.

Yet the disciples, who reflected the thinking of their time, asked the question, “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?”

In that culture, suffering and deformity were often blamed on personal failure or sin. If something went wrong in someone’s life, people assumed that they deserved it. Unfortunately, there are those who still do this today. When someone struggles, society often asks, “What did they do wrong? Why can’t they just fix their lives? Why don’t they just work harder?”

But Jesus refused that way of thinking. He answers, quite matter-of-factly, “It is no one’s fault that this man was born blind.” Then he said something remarkable. He told them this man’s life would become a place where God's work would be revealed. God would use this situation to bring about healing and restoration.

Then, Jesus did something unexpected. He knelt down, made mud from the earth and his own saliva, and gently placed it on the man’s eyes. Then he told him, “Go now and wash in the Pool of Siloam.”

It was a simple instruction. Just go and wash. And the man did. He made his way through the streets, still unable to see, until he reached the pool. He washed the mud from his eyes. And suddenly… he could see.

Imagine that moment, if you will… Light flooding into eyes that had never known it. Shapes and colors appearing for the very first time. Faces, buildings, sky, and sunlight. The man who had lived his whole life in darkness was now standing in the light. But what followed was not the great celebration that one would expect. 

Instead, the questions started. His neighbors were skeptical. “Isn’t this the man who used to sit and beg?” Some said yes. Others said no, but it’s someone like him. And through it all, the man simply kept saying, “I am he.” They asked him how it happened. And the truth is, he didn’t fully know. All he could do was tell his story. “A man named Jesus made mud, put it on my eyes, told me to wash, and now I see.”

Eventually, they brought him to the Pharisees, the religious authorities. But instead of rejoicing, the religious leaders focused on what they saw as a problem... Jesus was healing someone on the Sabbath. In their minds, that meant Jesus had broken the rules. So, they questioned the man again and again. They questioned his parents. They questioned the circumstances. They questioned everything. Everything except the miracle standing right in front of them.

Finally, in frustration, the man said something wonderfully honest, “I don’t know whether he is a sinner or not. All I know is this, I was blind… and now I see.”

Sometimes, that’s where faith begins. Not with perfect answers. Not with carefully constructed theology. But with a simple testimony. "Something in my life has changed." Many of us have experienced moments like this. Moments when God met us in unexpected ways... Maybe in a time of grief, maybe in a moment of forgiveness, or a feeling of quiet strength to keep going, or a new sense of purpose or hope.

But when people ask us to explain it fully, we can’t because we just don’t know how; we just know that something is different. All we can say is, “I once felt lost… but now I see more clearly. I once carried a burden… but now I feel relief. I once lived in fear… but now I know hope.”

The religious leaders could not accept the mystery of what had happened. Eventually, they became so frustrated that they threw the healed man out.

It’s interesting, isn’t it? The man who had been blind could now see... while those religious authorities, who believed they saw clearly, refused to recognize what God was doing right in front of their very own eyes. 

And that brings us to the core of our Gospel story this morning. Later, Jesus found the man and asked if he believed. The man said yes. And the man fell down and worshiped. Then Jesus spoke about sight and blindness. But not just physical sight, spiritual sight.

Because, as we know, there are many kinds of blindness in our world. There is the blindness of convenience to the suffering that is all around us. Blindness to injustice. Blindness to the loneliness of our neighbors. Blindness to the ways God is working quietly among ordinary people.

Some people like to stay blind, because when we open our eyes, we see the horrors of the deep divisions in society. We see anger and hatred in public life, fear in our communities, and a deep loneliness in many hearts.

We see people who continue to argue about truth. arguing about who is right. Arguing about power and control... Some people tend to make a lot of noise… Yet in the midst of all that noise, Jesus invites us to see. To see people who are overlooked... To see dignity in every person... To see that God is still at work 

in places where we might not expect.

Jesus calls us into the light. And that light reveals some things to us. It shows us the broken places in our world. But it also reveals God’s abundant grace moving among us.

During the season of Lent, it is especially important that we continue to work our way out of the darkness into the light. Lent is a time when Christ shines light into the dark corners of our lives. Not to shame us, but to heal us. Not to condemn us, but to help us grow.

Christ opens our eyes so that we can see more clearly... see ourselves honestly, see others compassionately, and see God’s presence more faithfully. 

Like the man in the story who was once blind, we may not have all the answers. But we do have a story. And sometimes the most powerful testimony we can give is simply our story, “I once was blind… But now I see.”

And by the grace of God, may our eyes continue to be opened to the light of Christ shining in our world today.

3 Lent A 2026

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

The Third Sunday in Lent 
March 8, 2026

• Exodus 17:1-7
• Romans 5:1-11
• John 4:5-42
• Psalm 95

Water is one of the simplest and most abundant things in God’s creation, and it is also one of the most essential. Scientists tell us that water covers about 70% of the Earth’s surface. Ironically enough, only about 1 to 3% of that water is considered fresh, with the other 97+% being salt. And of that fresh water, only a small margin of it (Roughly .007 to .04%) is safe for human consumption. Which is strange because our own bodies are made up of somewhere between 50% and 75% water. 

Water is essential to human life… It can be a life-giving force, and it can be a life-taking force… In many ways, our lives are shaped and sustained by water. Pure water has no taste, no smell, and no color. Chemists simply describe it as H₂O, two hydrogen atoms and one oxygen atom joined together. The chemistry of water has not changed since the beginning of time. 

The same molecules that flowed through ancient rivers are the same molecules that fill our lakes, our wells, and even the water bottles we carry today. For most of us, water is something we rarely think about. We take it for granted. If we are thirsty, we turn on the tap. If we want cold water, we open the refrigerator. If we prefer convenience, we can go to our local grocery store and buy a case of bottled water for just a few dollars.

But the truth is that not everyone in this world lives with that kind of easy access to water. Even today, in modern times, millions of people must walk miles every day just to draw water from a single well, hoping the well isn’t contaminated. Entire communities and villages suffer through droughts and contaminated water supplies. In recent years, we have watched heartbreaking images from places (some locally) where floods destroyed homes and lives, while in other regions, the land cracks open from a lack of rain. Water remains one of the great reminders that we are all connected and dependent upon God’s wonderful and beautiful creation, this planet earth.

We come to the Gospel story of Jesus this morning and his encounter with the Samaritan woman at the well. In this passage, we quickly realize that Jesus is speaking about something much greater than physical water. 

The Samaritan woman comes to the well simply to do what she does every day... day in and day out, she comes to draw water for drinking, cooking, and cleaning. Then Jesus tells her that he can give her “living water.” When Jesus tells her that he can give her “living water,” she assumes he is talking about the same thing she came for. The water that she needs on a daily basis: water for drinking, cooking, and cleaning

She thinks he is offering some kind of miraculous water that would mean she would never have to make that daily trip to the well again. But as I said, we realize that Jesus is speaking about something more... Something far greater. He is speaking about a spiritual water... something that quenches not just the thirst of the body, but the thirst of the soul. A well that springs up into eternal life.

Water has a powerful place throughout the Holy Scriptures. In the beginning, the Spirit of God moved over the deep waters of creation… And from that deep chaos, God brought forth life. Later, the waters of the great flood covered the Earth. Yet, God preserved Noah and his family, bringing forth hope out of destruction. And when Moses was an infant, he was placed in a basket and set afloat on the waters of the Nile, where God preserved his life. Years later, Moses would stretch out his staff, and God would part the waters of the Red Sea so that the people of Israel could flee from the Egyptians and escape from slavery. When the Israelites wandered in the wilderness and cried out for water because they were thirsty, God provided water from a rock. And in the waters of the Jordan River, Jesus himself was baptized, and the Spirit descended upon him, and revealed him as God’s beloved Son.

Water, again and again, becomes for us a sign of God’s presence, God’s provision, and God’s saving grace. And so when we come to the moment when Jesus meets the woman at the well in Samaria, we realize the story is about so much more than water. The story is about relationships. It is about understanding. It is about God breaking through the barriers that we build between one another.

The woman and Jesus begin their conversation as strangers from two very different worlds. Jews and Samaritans did not associate with one another. Their histories were marked by suspicion of one another, and division. She expects Jesus to treat her with the same distance and hostility she has grown to expect over time and has experienced before. And yet Jesus does something unexpected.

He speaks to her. He listens to her. He engages her in conversation. And then slowly, something begins to change. The woman begins to see that Jesus is not like others she has encountered. She opens up about her life, even about the difficult and complicated parts of it. And Jesus sees her – not simply a Samaritan woman, but a person of honesty and faith.

In that moment, two people who would normally have remained divided discover they have something to say to each other. This is where the story begins to touch our own lives. This is where the teaching moment is…

Because we live in a world filled with divisions. We see them every day. We see nations at war, we see our own society struggling with mistrust, and we see neighbors who no longer know how to speak to one another with respect. It begins to feel as if everyone is standing at separate wells, guarding their own water.

But the Gospel reminds us that God often speaks to us through the people that we least expect... Through those unlikely encounters with strangers. Those who are different from us. Those who challenge our assumptions. Those whose stories we haven’t taken the time to hear yet.

Jesus’ ministry was full of these moments. He intentionally ate with outcasts. He welcomed sinners. He spoke openly with women in a culture that discouraged and even prohibited such conversations. The scripture tells us that Jesus even healed on the Sabbath. 

And all this drove the religious authorities nuts. Again and again, Jesus crosses the boundaries that people carefully construct. He didn’t do these things simply to shock people. He did them because through him God was breaking through the barriers... God was breaking down the barriers that kept human beings from being with one another. He broke down barriers and opened a way for a relationship. 

But unfortunately, those barriers still exist… And they’re the greatest obstacles in our world today. We often try to protect our lives by staying comfortable. We prefer to surround ourselves with people who think like we do, or look like we do, or live like we do, and see the world the way we do. We build walls; sometimes literal ones, sometimes invisible ones, to keep the strange and unfamiliar at a distance.

But when we live that way, something inside us slowly begins to dry up. And our spirits begin to grow thirsty.

There is a line from the play Auntie Mame that says, “Life is a banquet, and most poor suckers are starving to death.” In many ways, that line describes the woman at the well. She stands face-to-face with the Water of Life, yet she can only think of the bucket she carries and the water she needs for the day.

But by the end of her conversation with Jesus, something changes. She realizes that her deepest thirst is not physical... it is spiritual. She discovers that the one standing right in front of her is the only one who can truly satisfy her spiritual thirst, as he offers her the water of life.

And we receive that same invitation today. Christ offers living water to a deeply thirsty world... Thirsty for peace, Thirsty for understanding, Thirsty for compassion, and thirsty for hope and love. And sometimes the place where we discover that living water is not where we expect.

It may be in a conversation with someone who sees the world differently. It may come through a difficult moment that challenges our preconceived notions. It may show up amid a divided and troubled world, where God is quietly calling us toward reconciliation.

So perhaps the invitation today is that simple. Pay attention to the places that feel unfamiliar. Listen carefully to voices you might normally avoid. Notice the moments when your heart reacts strongly to an issue or a person. Those moments might just be the wells where Christ is waiting.

Often, when we are bold and brave enough to enter the conversation, we begin to recognize our own thirst. And only then can we discover what God has already given us... That living water that can satisfy us in the life and love of Jesus.

And that living water, once it begins to flow, becomes a spring within us… a spring gushing up that leads us to life, hope, and grace. A spring of living water that never runs dry.

2 Lent A 2026

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

The Second Sunday in Lent
March 1, 2026

• Genesis 12:1-4a
• Romans 4:1-5, 13-17
• John 3:1-17
• Psalm 121

When I read this Gospel text from John, I always find myself wondering about Nicodemus. Wondering if he ever truly understood… Did this learned man— Did this careful keeper of the law, Did this respected teacher of Israel... Ever loosen his grip on certainty long enough to receive what God was doing right in front of him?

Nicodemus knew the Torah and the Prophets. He knew the commandments of God. He knew the rules and careful boundaries that had guided his whole life. Nicodemus was not careless with his faith. He was devout. He was Serious. And he was considered Moral and righteous.

And when he came to Jesus, he came with respect for him as a great teacher. “Rabbi,” he said, “we know you are a teacher who has come from God. For no one could do these signs apart from God’s presence.” For Nicodemus, this is a remarkable confession. Because folks like Nicodemus were already making trouble for Jesus. Yet, Jesus does not linger there. He doesn't spend a lot of time basking in the affirmation he receives from Nicodemus.

Instead, Jesus turns the conversation, as he always does... he turns the conversation in order to teach. Jesus always reframes the conversation and points it toward what matters most. “Very truly, I tell you,” Jesus says, “no one can see the kingdom of God without being born from above.” And Nicodemus, this learned, devout, moral man, stumbles... “How can these things be?”

He hears Jesus words about being born and he thinks literally. Mechanically. Biologically. “How can someone enter the womb again?” Nicodemus is thinking of flesh. And Jesus is speaking of Spirit.

And before we are too hard on him, we must admit that —so often, we do the same thing. We live in a world that trains us to look at things in a very linear and literal way… Our world teaches us to measure, explain, verify, and prove. 

We have become people shaped by data and headlines, by statistics and breaking news alerts. We scroll through reports of political division, mass violence, racial injustice, economic anxiety, and wars that seem to multiply faster than peacemakers can respond.

We hear strong, loud voices telling us exactly what to think and believe... What to believe about our nation, about our neighbor, and about truth itself. We are told that if we could just pass the right laws, elect the right leaders, and silence the right opponents, then everything would be made right.

In such a world, mystery tends to make us uncomfortable. But in this passage from John, Jesus invites Nicodemus, and us, into the deep mystery of God. Jesus speaks of water and Spirit. He speaks of wind that blows where it chooses. “You can hear the sound of it, he says but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes. The wind is real, even when you can’t chart its path. So it is with the Spirit of God.

Nicodemus was a member of the Sanhedrin, a leader among his people, and a guardian of religious stability. He had spent the better part of his life preserving order. And perhaps that is why he comes at night. Night is safer. Night is quieter. Night protects reputations. Night also shields us from critical evaluation and scrutiny. Whatever the reason that Nicodemus has for coming to Jesus at night, Jesus meets Nicodemus there... right there in his darkest hour.

And perhaps that is good news for us. Because many of us are also coming to Jesus by night, right there in our darkest hour. We come to quiet our fears about the future of our country, as we callously bomb other countries in order to show how powerful we are. We come with private grief over the harshness of public discourse, bullying, and name-calling. We come weary from watching Christians weaponize Scripture against one another. We come confused about how faith fits or makes a difference in a society that seems both deeply spiritual and deeply skeptical. And like Nicodemus, we whisper, “How can these things be?”

How can there be a loving God in a world that’s so fractured? How can we speak of being “born again” when those same words have sometimes been used to exclude, judge, and divide? How can we hold together truth and compassion, conviction and humility?

Jesus does not shame Nicodemus for asking. He invites him to go deeper, to think deeper. To be born from above is not to deny the world’s pain. It is NOT to retreat from national crises. It is NOT to ignore injustices or cling to empty slogans. To be born of the Spirit is to have our hearts reshaped by the love of God.

“For God so loved the world…” the scripture tells us… Not just a party. Not just a nation. Not just those who agree with us. God so loved the world… The WHOLE world...

That means the neighbor who votes differently. The family down the street... struggling under economic strain. The immigrant seeking safety. The child... afraid of violence in their school. The police officer. The protester. The skeptic. The believer. God so loved the world!

To be born of the Spirit means that we begin to see others the way God sees them... Not as threats to eliminate or defeat, but as neighbors… as souls to love.

Jesus tells Nicodemus that the kingdom of God cannot be reduced to rules alone. The law matters. But without a transformed heart, even holy words become heavy burdens.

And that's the word for today’s church. We can memorize verses. We can argue about theology. We can defend our positions. But unless we are willing to let the Spirit soften us, humble us, and break us open, we will miss the very life of God that is standing right before us.

Nicodemus does not understand that night. But he keeps trying… He keeps showing up. Later in the Gospel, he speaks up cautiously in Jesus’ defense. And after the crucifixion, he shows up again. This time, not in the dark of curiosity, but under the veil of grief, bringing spices to prepare Jesus’ body for burial.

Something in Nicodemus began to change. He might not have understood everything. But he kept moving toward the light of Christ. And maybe that is where hope lies for us. We may not have all the answers. We may not know how to solve every crisis that shows up on our screens.

We may not be able to untangle every theological debate. But we can keep moving toward Christ. We can keep asking the hard questions. We can confess our fears. We can allow the Spirit to disrupt our certainty and enlarge our love.

This Lenten season invites us into that difficult work. To be born again is not a slogan. It is a surrender. It is allowing God’s Spirit to breathe into us… Into our bitterness... into our cynicism. And give new life to our exhausted hope.

The wind still blows. The Spirit still moves... often in ways we cannot predict, control, or explain. God’s love for the world has not grown thin. Regardless of how much we mess up, God’s love has not been shaken. The invitation remains.

Trust this love. Step into this mystery. And let your heart be broken open. And even if we don’t yet fully understand, like Nicodemus, we can keep coming into the light. We can keep listening.

We can keep being born, again and again, into the transforming life and love of Jesus Christ through the power of the indwelling Spirit.