Author: Rosemary Lovelace

The Third Sunday of Easter – Mark S. Winward

When [Jesus] was at the table with them, he took bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them. Then their eyes were opened, and they recognized him; and he vanished from their sight. They said to each other, “Were not our hearts burning within us while he was talking to us on the road…”

 – Luke 23:30-32

The Road to Emmaus

Have you ever been so caught up with your own problems that you missed what was happening right in front of you? I certainly have. It happens to all of us: we become so hyper-focused on a particular problem or task that we become oblivious to the world around us. Much of this stems from the fact that we simply don’t expect the unexpected. We look for what we assume will be there, and when something – or someone – extraordinary appears, our preoccupied minds fail to register it.

Jesus met his followers on the road to Emmaus in a completely unexpected way. For these travelers, the news of the empty tomb simply wasn’t enough. To them, the idea of a dead person coming back to life was as ridiculous as it is to us – perhaps even more so. In the ancient world, death was far more visible and visceral. There were no sanitized hospitals where people passed away quietly behind curtains; people saw life end in the streets and in the home. They watched women die in childbirth and saw the horrific trauma of a Roman execution. Having witnessed the torturous death of Jesus just days prior, only seeing him risen with their own eyes would be sufficient to bridge the gap between grief and belief.

This is what actually gives the story its “ring of truth.” Cleopas and his companion were so unwilling to believe that they were eventually “dressed down” by Jesus himself. If the early Church had been fabricating this story, it is highly unlikely they would include details that highlighted the followers’ lack of faith or stupidity. As the 19th-century legal scholar Simon Greenleaf noted, these accounts lack the polished signs of fabrication. A true witness is often artless and disdains calculated effects. This story has exactly that raw, unpolished tone.

The Mystery of Recognition

The Gospel writer describes their initial unbelief with a puzzling phrase: “…their eyes were kept from recognizing him.” For whatever reason, these two followers either couldn’t or wouldn’t see Jesus for who he was. Scholars have speculated on this for centuries. Perhaps the late afternoon sun was in their eyes, or perhaps Jesus wore a hood to conceal his face. Others suggest his resurrected body was dramatically different from his earthly one, while some believe God supernaturally clouded their vision, perhaps as he had once hardened the heart of Pharaoh.

The answer likely lies in a combination of these factors. God has a habit of expressing the extraordinary through the ordinary, and there’s no reason to believe he didn’t do the same here. It’s no accident that Jesus was finally revealed to them only when he sat down with them and broke bread. In the ancient world, the table was the ultimate place of fellowship – even more so than today. Throughout Luke’s Gospel, the table is where Jesus is heard and where people come to know him most personally.

The point is clear: Jesus reveals himself to us – he becomes most real to us – in the context of intimacy. This’s why faith is so important: we can’t truly know Christ unless we risk opening our hearts to him. The fact is: God doesn’t always arrive as lightning flashing across the sky. Instead, Luke suggests Jesus makes himself known in the basic, routine moments of life. He appears when we least expect him, making himself at home in the midst of our everyday chores and quiet walks. When we remain attentive to his presence throughout the day, we find that over the years, he becomes woven into the very fabric of our lives.

The Symbol of Breaking Bread

The act of breaking bread with Christ is a powerful symbol that we continue to celebrate in the Eucharist every week. Consider the feelings the smell of fresh bread evokes. If you grew up in a home where bread was baked in the kitchen, that scent is the smell of home itself. It’s why real estate agents often bake cookies before an open house; for those blessed with a nurturing upbringing, the aroma evokes peace, safety, and love.

You can’t miss the power of this symbol. Bread is the universal sign of “going home.” For the believer, it is also the symbol of Christ. In the bread, we see, touch, and taste something that tangibly and physically connects to Jesus. It is a holy, intimate moment where we connect with the divine through the mundane. And it serves as a physical reminder of our eventual heavenly home.

Conclusion

Jesus has a habit of showing up when he is least expected. He freely enters into a relationship with anyone who will welcome him, replacing their lingering fears with a burning hope. He is the master of revealing the extraordinary in the heart of the ordinary.

The catch, of course, is that you have to be looking – and you have to know who you are looking for. That leads to a vital question: Do you merely know about Christ, or do you truly know Christ? To know him is to walk with him, listen to his words, and enter into his fellowship.

As you leave this place today on your own road with our risen Lord, I pray each of you will catch the smell of the bread.

2nd Sunday of Easter – Byron Tindall

The reading for today from John’s Gospel takes place on the evening of that first Easter. John doesn’t say who all was there, just that Thomas wasn’t with them. The term “disciples” includes followers other than just the 11 or 10 without Thomas.

Regardless of the number of disciples present, I would love to have been the proverbial fly on the wall in order to eavesdrop on the conversation. I can just hear it now.

“What happened?” What’s going on?” “I heard some of the women said they’ve seen Him.” “I’m scared!” “It can’t be true that He isn’t dead, can it?” “I’m confused.” “Peter and the one Jesus loved saw the empty tomb.” I just wish John had recorded at least a little bit of the discussion.

At any rate, John wrote that Jesus suddenly, without fanfare, appeared in the midst of them. After giving His peace to them, Jesus gave them their marching orders and then he showed them his hands and his feet. He then bestows the Holy Spirit on them.

At this point, we need to ask the question, “Is this John’s version of the Christian Pentecost?” It is vastly different from Luke’s account as recorded in the second chapter of the Acts of the Apostles. The Day of Pentecost was the Greek term for the Jewish Feast of Weeks, so named because it fell on the 50^th day following the ceremony of the barley sheaf during the Passover celebration.

Maybe, just maybe, the gift of the Holy Spirit is given to individuals at various times. I think that is the way She acts. This has been going on throughout history. The gift wasn’t given just once to the disciples. Think about what is said at Baptisms and Ordinations. In one of the petitions in the Prayers for the Candidates at Baptism, and leader prays, “Fill them with your holy and life-giving Spirit.” During the service of Ordination, the bishop lays hands on the ordinand’s head and prays, “Therefore, Father, through Jesus Christ your Son, give your Holy Spirit to….”

Could it possibly be that all of us experience “mini” Pentecosts throughout our lives? I happen to think that we do.

The next portion of the lesson from John is one of the most debated statements in the New Testament. “If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them….” Those who are not comfortable with this say that only God can forgive sins. A close look at the prayer in the Ash Wednesday liturgy sheds a little light on the subject.

“Almighty God…has given power and commandment to his ministers to declare and pronounce to his people, being penitent, the absolution and remission of their sins….” It’s not the bishop or priest who forgives the sin. The minister is assuring the penitent of God’s forgiveness. The minister has the right to do so through the power of the Holy Spirit received at ordination.

We have now arrived at the point in John’s narrative that really resonates with me, the report of Doubting Thomas. I can relate to Thomas wanting further proof that Christ had risen. He got his proof a week later. I, for one, would like to know what transpired during the time between the gatherings in the house. Oh well, St. John apparently didn’t think it was important enough to record, so I’ll never know in this life at least.

When Jesus appeared again to the assembled disciples, Thomas was present this time. After sharing  His peace with them, Jesus tells Thomas to feel his wounds. Jesus told Thomas, “Do not doubt but believe.” St. John does not say whether or not Thomas actually touched Jesus. It doesn’t make any difference. Thomas’s exclamation says it all. “My Lord and my God!”

Jesus then said to Thomas, not the entire gathering, according to St. John, “Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.”

To whom was Jesus referring when He said, “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe?

John concludes this portion of his Gospel with some very reassuring statements.

“Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of his disciples, which are not written in the book. But these are written so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing you may have life in his name.”

To whom did St. John direct his statement, “…these are written so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah….”

I think that both Jesus and St. John were referring to all the saints throughout all generations down through the ages culminating with you and me.

And if that is so, when say we believe, we are to live our lives following the One who died and rose again for us.

At the conclusion of the lessons, our lectors say, “Hear what the Spirit is saying to God’s people.” We have to ask ourselves, “What is the Spirit saying to me?” “Where is He sending me?” 

Just as He sent forth his disciples, He sends us out to show God’s love for his creation. Our lives are to show the world what we believe.

 Alleluia, Christ has risen.

Easter Day – Mark S Winward

The Easter Acclamation and Welcome

We Episcopalians are known for our worship being conducted “properly and in good order.” Today is a bit different; today we celebrate the risen Christ! It’s OK this morning to join in the Easter response with spirit and gusto as if your hometown team won the championships!

“Alleluia! Christ is risen!” 

[The congregation responds: “The Lord is risen indeed. Alleluia!”]

Well, that is quite good for this early on a Sunday morning! Now, I realize that there are many people who do not make it to church every Sunday—perhaps only twice a year. I once heard those who fall into that category referred to as CEOs. I don’t mean Chief Executive Officers, though I suspect we have a few of those here as well. In this context, it stands for “Christmas and Easter Onlys.” Whether you are a CEO, an infrequent attendee, or a regular, please know that we are absolutely delighted to have you here this beautiful Easter morning.

The Human Need for Victory

Throughout the country today, churches and chapels are packed. Have you ever wondered why people flock to church, at least on these major holidays? In his book The Jesus I Never Knew, Philip Yancey suggests that at a fundamental level, we as humans want—no, we need—this story to be true. Today’s story is about victory over death. Is there anyone here who hasn’t been touched by the death of someone they loved? Whether it was a friend, a family member, or even a cherished pet, something primal within humanity cries out against the reign of death.

This is why fairy tales and modern myths draw us in. Movies like Star Wars: The Last Jedi (think of Yoda), Justice League (where Superman rises again), and The Lord of the Rings (Gandalf the White) all play on that old instinct. Amidst struggle and pain, these stories tell of a victory that replaces tears with hope. The resurrection story does the same, and perhaps that is why, deep in our hearts, it rings so true.

Beyond Wishful Thinking

I do not believe the resurrection is merely the wishful “stuff of fantasy.” At the end of the day, hope for those we love—and hope for ourselves—hinges on whether this story is fundamentally true. I don’t mean true in a sentimental or metaphorical sense, as in “he lives on in our hearts,” but true in concrete reality. St. Paul wrote to the Corinthians, “If there is no resurrection of the dead, then Christ has not been raised; and if Christ has not been raised, then our proclamation has been in vain and your faith has been in vain.” (1 Corinthians 15:13-14). Our survival past the gates of death literally depends on the reality of this event.

More than half a century ago, the late British theologian, John Stott, boiled down the evidence for the resurrection in his Christian classic, Basic Christianity. He made three compelling points. First, the body was gone; the tomb was empty. Critics often offer suggestions to explain this. One is that the women simply went to the wrong tomb because it was dark and they were dazed by grief. But if Mary Magdalene went to the wrong tomb initially, she would hardly have repeated the mistake in the light of day when she stayed until Jesus met her. Furthermore, is it reasonable to assume Peter, John, and Joseph of Arimathea—who actually donated the tomb—would all make the same mistake?

Evaluating the Theories

Another suggestion is the “Swoon Theory”—the idea that Jesus didn’t actually die but merely fainted. Yet, the centurion vouched to Pilate that He was dead after ordering Jesus’s side to be pierced with a spear. Is it reasonable to believe that after the rigors of trial, flogging, and crucifixion, having been dead for thirty-six hours in a cold stone sepulcher without food or water, Jesus would have the strength to move a sealed boulder without disturbing the Roman guard? Could he then appear to his disciples—weak, wounded, and hungry—and still give them the impression he was victorious over death? Such a leap of logic is more incredible than Thomas’s unbelief.

Others suggest thieves stole the body, but this fails to explain how they bypassed the guards or why they would bother leaving the grave clothes behind. A more plausible theory is that the disciples removed the body. However, Pilate was aware of Jesus’s claims of rising again and intentionally placed a hand-picked guard to prevent such a theft. Even if the disciples had succeeded, would they have then preached the resurrection throughout the Roman world—facing torture and death—knowing it was a total sham? That is an awful lot of trouble to go to for a lie.

Finally, perhaps the Roman or Jewish authorities took the body into custody to prevent any sleight of hand. If this was the plan, it was an utter failure. Within weeks, followers were boldly proclaiming the resurrection. If the authorities had possessed the body, all they had to do to end the movement and prevent civil unrest was to put the moldering corpse on display.

The Witnesses and the Transformation

Stott’s second point is that the Lord was seen by multiple people. Over the next six weeks, records state Jesus was seen not only by his disciples but by as many as 500 people. While critics suggest these are mere fabrications, the narratives are sober, unadorned, and devoid of the sensationalism typical of that era. They are graphic depictions enlivened by the details of eyewitness reports. If they were “poor inventions,” the followers surely would have omitted the embarrassing details of their own fear and lack of faith. They would have played up the drama “Hollywood style” with flashes of light. Most importantly, they never would have chosen Mary Magdalene as the first witness; as a woman, her testimony carried no legal weight in ancient Jewish law.

Nor was this a mass hallucination. Hallucinations usually stem from wishful thinking, yet the women were described as terrified, and the disciples were skeptical. Thomas demanded physical proof, and even after worshipping Him in Galilee, Matthew records that “some doubted.” These were not gullible folk, but sober and skeptical people.

Finally, Stott points to the dramatic change in the disciples themselves. Peter is the most striking example. In John’s Gospel, we see him deny Jesus three times and cower in fear; a few pages later, he is forcefully proclaiming the risen Christ to thousands. Something extraordinary transformed that frightened band of peasants into a courageous force that changed the world at the cost of their own blood.

A Choice to Be Made

Does this incontrovertibly “prove” the resurrection? Not necessarily. But it does make the leap of faith less a leap into the dark and more a leap into the light. The Bible does not leave room for us to believe Jesus was simply a great teacher. C.S. Lewis famously argued in Mere Christianity:

“A man who was merely a man and said the sort of things Jesus said would not be a great moral teacher, he’d either be a lunatic—on a level with a man who says he’s a poached egg—or else he’d be the Devil of Hell. You must make your choice. Either this man was and is the Son of God, or else a madman or something worse… But don’t let us come up with any patronizing nonsense about his being a great human teacher. He hasn’t left that open to us. He didn’t intend to.”

For those struggling to believe, or who see Easter as merely a quaint holiday, what we celebrate today is either of no account at all or the most important thing you could possibly know. I know Christ is risen not just because I read it in a book, or because “the Bible tells me so.” I know He is risen because I know Him. I know His unfathomable love for me despite my selfishness; I know His sustaining power; and I know His unwavering presence as my constant companion.

Conclusion

Either I have actually and personally encountered the Lord of lords—or I am delusional. I cannot prove to you that I am not delusional, but you can prove it for yourself. If I am wrong and life is meaningless, I have at least found something that gives me strength. But what if I am not delusional?

Philip Yancey concluded that there are two ways to look at history. One focuses on wars, violence, and tragedy, making Easter seem like a “fairy-tale exception.” But, he adds:

“If I take Easter as the starting point, the one incontrovertible fact about how God treats those whom he loves, then human history becomes the contradiction and Easter a preview of ultimate reality. Hope then flows like lava beneath the crust of daily life.”

Why not give Jesus a chance this morning? In the quiet of your heart, invite Him to become a daily part of your life, to be your Lord calling the shots, and your unwavering companion to the end. Then, go from this place proclaiming:

Alleluia! The Lord is risen!”[The congregation responds: “The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!”]

The Great Vigil of Easter – Mark S Winward

The Easter Proclamation

Alleluia. Christ is risen! [The Lord is risen indeed. Alleluia!]

Let’s try that again. Alleluia. Christ is risen! [The Lord is risen indeed. Alleluia!]

Just one more time. Alleluia. Christ is risen! [The Lord is risen indeed. Alleluia!]

That acclamation is known all over the world, and it lies deep at the heart of our identity as Christians.

The Unextinguishable Faith

Around 1930, the Communist leader Nikolai Bukharin traveled from Moscow to Kiev to address a massive assembly. His purpose was to prove the validity of a central tenet of his party: atheism. For a solid hour, he hurled ridicule and every argument he could muster against the “superstitious” faith of the people. Finally, he finished and paused to survey what he assumed were the smoldering ashes of their faith. “Are there any questions?” Bukharin smugly demanded.

A solitary, courageous man arose and asked permission to speak. He mounted the platform and moved close to the Communist leader. The audience was breathlessly silent as the man surveyed them—first to the right, then to the left. At last, he shouted the ancient Orthodox greeting: “CHRIST IS RISEN!” The vast assembly arose as one, and the response came crashing like a literal avalanche: “HE IS RISEN INDEED!”

The Holy Fire of Jerusalem

Every Easter in the Eastern Orthodox Church, the Patriarch of Jerusalem prepares to enter the Holy Sepulcher—the very place where Jesus’ body was laid. The ancient Byzantine church in the heart of the city is dark; the thousands of oil lamps that usually illuminate that sacred space have been extinguished. Following a tradition of more than fifteen hundred years, the Patriarch and the tomb are searched for any sign of fire or the tools to create it.

Then, empty-handed, the Patriarch enters the dark tomb alone. A long period of silence follows as the people pray for what many believe is a recurring miracle. Suddenly, the Patriarch emerges with a flame—a holy and miraculous light. Immediately, he joyously exclaims, “Alleluia! Christ is risen!” And like us this evening, the people respond, “The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!” From that holy flame, the light spreads throughout the darkened church until the entire space is ablaze. That light is then used to keep the church’s lamps burning until Maundy Thursday of the following year.

A Light Breaking In

Where there was emptiness, darkness, and silence, Jesus Christ breaks in this evening—just as He did on that first Easter—with His presence, light, and joy. Throughout the world, Christians remember that they are Christ’s own; by His power and promises, we are dead to sin and alive in Him. In baptizing Annabelle tonight, we remember our own baptism and how God, through His Son, has redeemed us. We celebrate her baptism this evening because, on this most holy of nights, Christ’s glorious resurrection is what makes baptism possible.

Tonight, we recount the mighty and victorious history that leads us to this moment. Each of tonight’s readings describes how God created us, chose us, and loves us. They show how baptism ushers us into a community of His people—a people God saves by drawing them into a relationship with Himself.

The Epic Saga of Creation

Love and betrayal, heroism and defeat, abandonment and victory—these elements make this the most epic of all sagas. The story begins with Creation. I love the way the New International Version puts it: “In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters.” In ancient Middle Eastern culture, water represented mystery, danger, and lifelessness. I imagine God brooding over the emptiness of eternity past. Suddenly, God breaks the darkness, exclaiming, “Let there be light!” In a cataclysmic moment, time and space expanded together in a burst of love and light, dispersing the void. And God saw that it was good.

Created for Relationship

As the crowning achievement of creation, He made man and woman. The text says, “Let us make humankind in our image…” Many people imagine God as a giant Zeus or Saturn, looking like us but on a larger scale. But the text cannot mean a physical image, for men and women are physically distinct. The clue lies in that curious plural: “Let us make humankind in our image.” From the very beginning, God gave us a hint of His nature. He is more than just one; He is a unity. Christians know this as the Trinity—Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. In that mutual, loving relationship, God finds Himself “One.” God created us, male and female, to be relational beings—to be in a relationship with Him and with each other.

The Betrayal and the Bondage

We all know what happened next. Our Eucharistic liturgy puts it clearly: “From the primal elements you brought forth the human race… But we turned against you, and betrayed your trust; and we turned against one another.” We became estranged, bondservants to sin under a sentence of death. Out of our own bondage, we forced others into oppression as humanity spiraled toward a hopeless end.

A God Who Never Abandons

Yet, though we abandoned God, God never abandoned us. He sought to raise up a faithful people to call the world back to Him. He delivered the people of Israel from their bondage in Egypt. When they faced certain death at the Red Sea, God allowed them to pass through the waters to life, victory, and hope.

Again and again, He called us to return. But again and again, we chose our own selfish desires. We were free as a nation, perhaps, but still slaves to sin. It would take a miracle to turn us from our self-made gods. Ezekiel prophesied that God would remove our hearts of stone and give us hearts of flesh. Zephaniah prophesied that God would come into our midst to bring victory. Finally, in the fullness of time, He sent His only Son to open for us the way of freedom and peace.

Paid in Full

Tonight, we celebrate the victory of Jesus Christ, which forever broke the power of sin for all who trust Him. Recall Jesus’ last words on the cross: “It is finished.” In ancient legal terms, this meant “Paid in Full.” Out of self-giving love, God in the person of Jesus Christ paid the price for our disobedience while we were spiritually bankrupt. While the debt was settled on the cross, the Resurrection is our “get out of jail free” card. It is the delivery of our freedom.

The New Life in Baptism

Tonight, God has given Annabelle her own “get out of jail free” card. We have been reminded that she—and we—have passed through the waters of baptism. We have moved through death to this world and into the miracle of the Spirit. St. Paul reminds us that “if we have been buried with Christ in baptism, we will certainly also be united with Him in His resurrection.”

But this is not magic. A card must be used to be effective. Moments ago, we renewed our baptismal covenant to renounce evil and put our whole trust in Jesus Christ—not just as Savior, but as the Lord of our lives. The Covenant makes it clear how we do that: by persevering in prayer, resisting evil, proclaiming the Good News, and seeking to serve Christ in all persons.

People of the Light

As the light of the Paschal candle fills this sanctuary, let it remind you that the Resurrection is not merely a dusty historical event two thousand years ago to be studied and debated, but a current reality to be lived. Tonight, we do not just celebrate a miracle that happened two thousand years ago; we celebrate a transformation happening right now in the heart of a young woman and in the soul of this community. We leave this place not as people of the tomb, but as people of the light. Carry that flame with you. Let it burn away the shadows of your fears and light the path for a world still wandering in the dark. For the empty tomb is our open door, and the risen Christ is our eternal home. 

Alleluia! Christ is risen! [He is risen indeed! Alleluia!]

Good Friday – Mark S Winward

The Question of Blame

Who in the world is responsible for this outrage? Naked, beaten, and rejected, the greatest teacher in history comes to Jerusalem preaching the love of God and neighbor, only to be put to death in the most gruesome and demeaning way imaginable. Who is to blame? Some say the Jews—a response that has fueled much of the persecution of Jewish people throughout the ages. Others insist the Romans were responsible for this travesty. I want to suggest this afternoon a different way of looking at this question.

The Role of Religious and Secular Authorities

Despite their corruption, I don’t think we can completely blame the Jewish religious establishment. On more than one occasion, Jesus had publicly proclaimed that “he and the Father were one” and that “no one comes to the Father except by him.” Yet the Law of Moses clearly stated that to claim equality with God was blasphemy—and the Law dictated that the penalty for blasphemy was death.

Neither can we blame the Roman governor, Pontius Pilate, despite his apparent apathy. After all, the religious officials turned Jesus over to Pilate to carry out the Law. More importantly, Pilate allowed the people the opportunity to free Jesus.

A Choice of Obedience

Ah, then it must have been the people, right? The people bear the blame for executing Jesus Christ! But let me ask you: if Jesus was who he said he was, do you really think he was in any danger from the Jewish Council, or the Romans, or even the crowd? Remember what Jesus said in the Garden of Gethsemane: “Do you think I cannot call on my Father, and he will at once put at my disposal more than twelve legions of angels?” (Matthew 26:53). Jesus was not compelled for one moment to go to the cross; rather, it was his choice in obedience to the Father.

Our Responsibility

Surely, then, I cannot be implying God is to blame for Jesus’ death? On the contrary, we must ask why Jesus came in the first place. Jesus was not a helpless victim of a miscarriage of justice. Jesus was on a collision course with the Law as soon as he revealed who he actually was: the Messiah, the Son of God, and—in some mysterious way—God Himself. The point is this: God in the person of the Son came reveal himself and to die on the cross for the crimes against heaven committed by you and me. The blood of Jesus Christ, beloved, does not rest on the hands of the Jews, the Romans, or the Jerusalem mob; it rests with us.

The Agony of Separation

It is impossible for us to imagine the infinite pain Jesus suffered on the cross as a result of our crimes against heaven. In that unimaginably terrifying moment, Jesus experienced the separation from God that our sin brings upon us, both here and in the life to come. If Jesus was indeed who he said he was—both the Son of God and God-become-man—then when the Creator of all that is suffered the agony of the cross and died, the Godhead was torn in a way that is unimaginable to us limited, earthly creatures. In an extraordinary book called Reliving the Passion, Lutheran pastor Walter Wangerin provides a powerful image of what Jesus must have suffered:

No human mockery can match the voice of the storm for mortal scorn. Lightning flashes. The hill outside the city is white-wet and empty. Silhouettes stutter and black out: three crosses, the guards, some women at a distance. Those who laughed at the central figure this morning are gone. No one is laughing now.

Thus the first hour of the afternoon, and the second, and the third.

The few who stood the storm are still on the hill at the end of three hours—the ninth hour of the day. The lightning has fled. The thunder has exhausted itself. But the blackness persists—and suddenly a voice worse than thunder, because it is a human voice, a horrified wailing, arises: Eloi! Eloi! My God! My God!

Who is that? The one in the center. The one in the perfect center of elemental darkness, the focus of this storm, him: Eloi! Lama sabach-thani? Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews, him. He hangs in an abyss, that one. Him.

My God, why hast thou forsaken me?

Who answers him?

The thunder is silent. The city holds its breath. The heavens are shut. The dark is rejection. This silence is worse than death. No one answers him. No, not even God. Not even God, his Father, because he who has become hateful in his own eyes now is hateful likewise to God, his Father.

Jesus. Him. It is against him that heaven has been shut.

In this terrible moment of storm, the loss of light for humanity is at once the loss of love and life for its Christ. He has entered the absolute void. Between the Father and the Son now exists a gulf of impassable width and substance. It is the divorce of despising. For, though the Son still loves the Father obediently and completely, the Father despises the Son completely because he sees in him the sum of human disobedience, the sum of it from the beginning of time to the end of time. He hates the Son, even unto damning him.

This is a mystery, that Christ can be the obedient, glorious love of God and the full measure of our disobedience, both at once. But right now this mystery is also a fact. And the fact must seem to last forever. Hell’s horror is that it lasts forever.

And this, precisely, is the bitterest drop in the cup: that, crying down eternity unheard, separated absolutely from God—from the God he cannot help but love even still—Jesus is in Hell. The darkness that covers Jerusalem from noon to the middle of the afternoon, it is no less than the damnation of the Messiah, who wails and gnashes his teeth in an utter solitude from now (so it must seem) unto eternity. Hell is eternal. And he has descended into Hell.

The Eternal Plan of Love

The cross is nothing less than the collision between the justice and the love of an infinitely good and unfathomably loving God. Before all things came to be, before time itself, when God—Father, Son, and Holy Spirit—contemplated the creation of the universe, the cross was in the mind of God. Yet God still longed for a relationship with us. So he created humankind with the freedom to turn against Him—knowing full well we would. He created you and me knowing the cost of that relationship would be the cross.

Before time itself, God yearned beyond our wildest imagination to know us. And before time itself, He knew that we would tragically and rebelliously turn against Him who loved us, perversely going our own way. God said through the prophet Isaiah, “We all, like sheep, have gone astray, each of us has turned to his own way…” (Isaiah 53:6). But he yearned to be in relationship with you and me so much that, despite our disobedience, despite the cross, and despite the Godhead itself being rent asunder, he chose the path of love to create us. From the very beginning, God loved us so much that he was willing to pay an infinite cost to restore our relationship with him.

Our Response This afternoon is a good time to ask how to respond to such a costly sacrifice, such unfathomable love, and such amazing grace. The truth is: there is nothing we can do to repay the outrage of the cross. But one thing is clear: what God deserves is nothing less than every corner of our hearts and our full measure of devotion in serving others in his holy name. Amen.

The Sunday of Passion: Palm Sunday – Mark S. Winward

The Paradox of the Palms

As we reflect on Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem and his ultimate death on the cross this Palm Sunday, I want to suggest that the palms we blessed this morning are more than just greenery; they are tangible symbols of our faith, our sin, and our redemption. Even in the midst of betrayal, pain, and tragedy, God’s grace will not be thwarted. It stands out in the darkness as a beacon of hope.

Today, we recall that triumphal entry of Jesus on a donkey, processing up the road to Jerusalem strewn with palms while the crowd proclaimed: “Hosanna! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord! Blessed is the coming kingdom of our father David! Hosanna in the highest!” Yet, the contrast is jarring. Just a few days later, those same people will be shouting, “Crucify him!” In less than a week, raised hands of praise transform into shaking fists of condemnation. Each year, many Christians throughout the world act out this drama on the only Sunday that rightly bears two titles: Palm Sunday and Passion Sunday. As we hold these palms, we find a tangible connection with that crowd—a connection that both glorifies and condemns Jesus. These palms represent the mystery of our own salvation and our own blame. The same crowd that glorifies him also betrays him, and you and I might just as well be standing among them.

Misunderstanding the Messiah

The ancient Judeans had already decided what kind of “messiah” God was going to send them. They believed the true messiah could only come to free Israel from the yoke of tyranny. They had undoubtedly seen many self-proclaimed messiahs come and go, but there was something different about this man. There were the wild stories of him healing the blind, making the lame walk, and even raising the dead, but it was his disarming words and powerful presence that truly captivated the people. Although his parables were often cryptic, there was something about them that made the heart burn with truth. His humility clothed a strength of character befitting royalty, and when he preached that “the kingdom of God is at hand,” the people were certain: this had to be the King of Israel, David’s royal Son, the Blessed One who comes in the name of the Lord.

A Kingdom not of This World

God had far greater intentions for “David’s Son” than the people, priests, or prophets could have ever imagined. Jesus entered Jerusalem as a King intent on freeing not just Israel, but all people. The crowds were right to recognize him as a King coming to claim his crown and throne; they simply did not realize that his crown would be made of thorns and his throne would be an executioner’s cross. Like the people on that first Palm Sunday, we remember the proclamation of Jesus as our King, but Palm Sunday cannot be separated from Passion Sunday—for it is in Christ’s Passion that his kingship shines the brightest.

The Fickleness of Faith

Like the ancient Judeans, we too have a tendency to decide what kind of a king God has sent us. We are often prepared to accept the coming of God’s kingdom only on our own terms, rather than allowing God to shape our character and our lives. Ironically, although the people of ancient Jerusalem proclaimed Jesus as their king, they inevitably rejected both him and his message. We can imagine them questioning how a Nazarene carpenter could possibly be the messiah, or how he dared to disrupt the temple and speak of a “kingdom not of this world.” In the span of a few days, public opinion catastrophically turned. Those very same people who proclaimed Jesus their king later shouted at his trial, “Let him be crucified!” Even Peter, Jesus’ closest friend and confidant, denied any association with him. In a dramatic reversal, the man welcomed only a few days earlier in a magnificent victory parade was left betrayed and friendless.

Standing Among the Crowd

Could any of us really have been among those people who condemned Jesus? We often dismiss that murderous crowd as a group of worked-up, ignorant first-century peasants, but a quick look at modern history dispels such misconceptions. In fact, we have all become all too used to the violence, injustice, and oppression we see on the news. In accepting this as our “normal,” we passively reject the message of Jesus and his kingdom. It was more than just the corporate sin of the world that led Jesus to the cross; it was also our personal and individual sin. Every time we turn aside from God’s way of love to follow our own selfish paths, we reject Jesus. The sting of sin is that it ultimately separates us from our true selves, our neighbors, and our communion with God. Yet, despite our choice to go our own way, Jesus chose the path of the Cross for the very people who rejected him. In doing so, he bridged the gap between a lost humanity and a holy, righteous God.

Redemption in Suffering

Centuries before Jesus stepped foot on this earth, the prophet Isaiah proclaimed: 

He was despised and rejected by mankind, a man of suffering, and familiar with pain. Like one from whom people hide their faces he was despised, and we held him in low esteem. Surely he took up our pain and bore our suffering, yet we considered him punished by God, stricken by him, and afflicted. But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was on him, and by his wounds we are healed. We all, like sheep, have gone astray, each of us has turned to our own way; and the LORD has laid on him the iniquity of us all. (Isaiah 53:3-6).

Through the incarnate Son, God experiences the suffering and pain we inflict on each other. Through the Son, God suffers the penalty of death in our place and demonstrates His infinite love for us. 

In a sense, the people’s expectations of the Messiah were right—Jesus certainly came to free us from the yoke of tyranny, but it was the tyranny of sin. Those palms we hold become both a confession of faith and an admission of the sin that ultimately brings Jesus to the cross. Without the rest of the story regarding Jesus’ loving sacrifice, Palm Sunday is hollow. Each time we hear that story, we know the triumphal entry will end in betrayal and death; yet in that death lies the way of redemption. In acknowledging his sacrifice in our hearts, we can genuinely exalt him as King of Kings and Lord of Lords. As you reflect today, remember that these palms are symbols of our faith, our sin, and our redemption. In the words of Isaiah, “All we like sheep have gone astray.” Indeed, we are that Jerusalem crowd!

Amen.

The Fifteh Sunday in Lent – Mark S. Winward

Lazarus and the Lord of Life

In the Gospel of John, the story of Lazarus—the brother of Mary and Martha—serves as a turning point in Jesus’ ministry. When Jesus arrives in Bethany, Lazarus has already been dead for four days – and that’s far from accidental. In first-century Jewish thought, it was believed that the soul lingered near the body for three days, hoping to re-enter it. However, once the body began to decompose on the fourth day, the soul was said to depart for good. By waiting until the fourth day, John ensures readers understand Lazarus wasn’t merely unconscious or resuscitated; he was definitively, irreversibly, dead.

The Anatomy of the Tomb

To understand the scene, we have to appreciate how burials took place in first century Palestine. Lazarus would have been buried in a rock-cut tomb, typical of those found throughout the Judean hills. These tombs functioned as family property. The body of the deceased was prepared, wrapped, and laid upon a burial bench within a stone-hewn tunnel to decompose. Around a year later, family members would return to gather the bones and place them in an ossuary—a stone burial box—which was then stored on shelves alongside other ancestors. The entrance to these tombs was often sealed with a massive, wheel-shaped “rolling stone” fitted into a stone channel. This is also the exact type of tomb we see later in the Easter story.

“I AM” and the Authority of Life

Despite her deep faith, Martha struggles to grasp the power of Jesus. She complains that if Jesus had been there, her brother wouldn’t have died – yet she clearly doesn’t expect a miracle so extra-ordinary. Jesus responds with one of the most profound “I AM” statements in the Gospels: “I AM the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die.”

For a first-century Jew, this was a staggering claim. The phrase “I AM” echoed the sacred name of God—Yahweh—revealed to Moses at the burning bush. Jesus isn’t simply claiming to be a middleman who grants life; he is claiming to be life itself. Jesus makes it very clear eternal life isn’t just a “benefit” we receive from God; it is the natural byproduct of being in a relationship with him. When he calls Lazarus forth, he doesn’t offer a quiet prayer or pleas with the heavens. He issues a command of raw, sovereign authority over the grave: “Lazarus, come out!”

Symbols vs. Reality

John tells this story to prevent us from watering down Jesus’ resurrection into mere metaphor. For the author of this Gospel, Jesus isn’t a metaphorical figure. He is the Light of the World who brings actual sight to the blind; he is the Resurrection who brings a literal dead man out of a literal grave.

Despite this extraordinary miracle, this story isn’t really about Lazarus’ resurrection but who Jesus is. It unveils a vision of Jesus exercising lordship over death, shattering our preconceptions about how the world works. Like the shock Mary and Martha must have felt, we are confronted with a power that refuses to play by the rules – that the dead stay dead.

The Modern Denial of Death

In contrast to the ancient world, our society does its best to sanitize and deny the reality of death. Most Americans have never witnessed a death firsthand. Unlike the ancient Jews who physically handled the bones of their loved ones, we bury our dead in plush, car-like coffins and maintain cemeteries that look like manicured botanical gardens. I often wonder if this denial makes the experience of traumatic death even harder for us to process. While grief is a natural response to loss, our cultural habit of pretending death isn’t there – especially for the young and “invincible” – leaves us ill-equipped when the reality of death finally arrives.

A New Creation

Even within the church, we often lapse into a watered-down version of our faith’s hope. N.T. Wright famously challenged the popular “clouds and harps” view of heaven, calling it a “distortion and serious diminution of Christian hope.” Wright argues that the biblical truth is much more grounded: resurrection is a real moment in history where the deceased are remade—a “life after life after death.” It isn’t about escaping the world to sit on a cloud; it is about the “new creation” described by Paul and the author of Revelation.

The raising of Lazarus is the great foreshadowing of this Christian blessed hope. It grounds our faith in the concrete. As Paul writes in Romans 6, “If we have been united with [Christ] like this in his death, we will certainly be united with him in his resurrection.”

Conclusion: More Than a Metaphor

The story of Lazarus is recorded to give each of us the strength to face the reality of the grave. It tells us that Jesus’ power isn’t sentimental symbolism; it is a reality we can lean on both in the hope of the world to come and in our relationship with Him today. Now I appreciate the concept of resurrection is a “hard pill to swallow” for many people. But if this story is a mere myth, then our hope for anything beyond this life is founded on nothing but myth. Paul is blunt about this in 1 Corinthians 15: “…if Christ has not been raised, your faith is futile… we are of all people most to be pitied.”

But if you believe in a life beyond this world, you have already acknowledged that there is much more to reality than meets the eye. If death isn’t the final word, then a universe of miraculous possibilities opens up. As Philip Yancey suggests, we have two ways to look at history. We can see it as a long string of wars, squalor, and tragedy, where Easter is just a “fairy-tale exception.” Or, we can take Easter as the starting point—the one incontrovertible fact of how God treats those He loves. If Easter is the “preview of ultimate reality,” then hope flows like lava beneath the thin crust of our daily lives.

The Feast of the Annunciation – Mark S. Winward

The Scandal of the Ordinary

If you were planning a global revolution—the kind that would alter the fabric of time, reset the calendar to “Year Zero,” and bridge the gap between the Infinite and the finite—you probably wouldn’t start in Nazareth.

In the first century, Nazareth was the definition of “nowhere.” It was a tiny, farming, backwater village in Galilee. It didn’t have the prestige of Jerusalem or the intellectual weight of Athens. It was the kind of place people came from, not a place anyone of importance went to. And yet, as we see in Luke 1, when God decides to step into His own creation, He bypasses the marble halls of the Temple and the golden thrones of the capital. Instead, He sends the Archangel Gabriel to a girl in a village that most “serious” people couldn’t find on a map.

There is a profound, holy wisdom in God’s geography. He loves to work in the margins.

The Disruption of Grace

The text tells us that Mary was “greatly troubled” by Gabriel’s greeting. Now, let’s be honest: if a celestial being appeared in your living room and shouted, “Greetings, highly favored one!” you’d be troubled, too. You’d probably be looking for the exit or checking to see if you’d accidentally eaten a questionable mushroom.

But Mary’s trouble wasn’t just about the supernatural pyrotechnics. It was about the word “favored.” In the Greek, this is charitoō—it’s rooted in charis, or grace. Gabriel wasn’t saying, “Mary, you’ve won the spiritual lottery because you’re the most perfect person on earth.” He was saying, “Mary, you are the object of God’s sovereign, unearned grace.”

This is the first thing we learn from the Annunciation: Favor is not a reward for a resume; it is an invitation to a journey. God didn’t look for a woman with the right social credentials, the most followers, or a PhD in Theology. He looked for a heart that was open. As our commentary points out, Mary brought nothing to the table but her availability. And in the economy of Heaven, availability is the only currency that matters.

The Difference Between Doubt and Wonder

We often compare Mary to Zechariah, the priest who received a similar announcement about John the Baptist just a few months earlier. Zechariah, the professional religious man, asked, “How can I be sure of this?” He wanted a guarantee. 

Mary, on the other hand, asks, “How will this be?” It sounds similar, but the heart behind it is worlds apart. Zechariah asked out of doubt; Mary asked out of wonder. She wasn’t asking for proof; she was asking for instructions. She knew she was a virgin. She knew the biological “math” didn’t add up. She wasn’t denying the reality of her situation—she was simply acknowledging that if God was going to do the impossible, she’d like to know the logistics.

Gabriel’s response is the ultimate mic-drop of the New Testament: “For nothing is impossible with God.” This wasn’t just a pep talk. It was a reminder that the same God who spoke light into existence and parted the Red Sea was now “overshadowing” a teenage girl in Galilee. The Virgin Birth isn’t just a biological curiosity; it is a declaration of God’s creative sovereignty. He can make something out of nothing. He can bring life where there is no path for it.

The “Yes” that Changed Everything

Then we reach the climax of the story, when Mary says, “I am the Lord’s servant. May it be to me as you have said.” We often paint this scene in soft, glowing colors—a peaceful girl in a blue robe surrounded by soft light. But let’s get real for a moment. Mary’s “Yes” was a death warrant for her reputation. She was betrothed to Joseph. In a small town like Nazareth, an unexplained pregnancy wasn’t just a “scandal”; it was a legal and social catastrophe.

When Mary said “Yes,” she was saying:

“Yes” to the whispers at the village well.

“Yes” to the look of confusion and hurt on Joseph’s face.

“Yes” to a life that would eventually lead to a cross.

She didn’t have the whole map. She only had the next step. She trusted that the God who was “with her” in the greeting would be “with her” in the fallout.

Our Nazareth Moment

So, what does this mean for us, sitting here centuries later?

Many, if not most, people feel like they live in “Nazareth.” We feel ordinary, unqualified, or perhaps disqualified by our past or our limitations. We wait for God to use the “great” people—the ones with the platforms and the perfect lives. But the Feast of the Annunciation reminds us that God is an unpretentious God. He doesn’t need your credentials; He wants your “Yes.”

If God can bring the Savior of the world through a humble, farm maiden in a “nothing” town, what can He do through you if you begin making yourself available?

Maybe you’re facing a situation right now that feels like a biological or circumstantial impossibility. Maybe you feel “barren” in your spirit or stuck in a life that seems too small for God to notice. Hear the words of the angel again: “Nothing is impossible with God.”

Conclusion

Mary’s greatness didn’t lie in her ability to do big things for God. It lay in her willingness to let God do big things through her. Today, as we celebrate her “Yes,” may we find the courage to offer our own. We don’t need to understand the “how.” or to see the end of the road. We only need to be like the little girl from Nazareth—standing in the middle of an ordinary life, looking at the Infinite, and saying: “I am your servant. Let it be.”

Because when a human “Yes” meets God, “impossible is where miracles are born. Amen.

The Fourth Sunday of Lent – Byron Tindall

Welcome to the Fourth Sunday in Lent. Notice the preposition “in.” In is used rather than “of.” If you look carefully at a calendar and do a little counting, Sundays are not included in the 40 days. At any rate, this fourth Sunday in Lent has also gone by another name for centuries.

How many of you have heard and know the meaning of “Mothering Sunday”? Those of you who know about Mothering Sunday have my permission to take a short power nap if you desire to do so.

The Church of England website is full of information about the Fourth Sunday in Lent.

“Here are some of the traditions that have shaped Mothering Sunday into the celebration recognized today:

“The Journey to the Mother Church

“In the 16th century, Mothering Sunday was less about mothers and more about church. Back then, people were given time off and would make a journey to their ‘mother’ church once a year. This might have been their home church, their nearest cathedral or a major parish church in a bigger town. The service which took place at the ‘mother’ church symbolized the coming together of families. This would have represented a significant journey for many.

“A day off to visit Mother

“Another tradition was to allow those working in the fields on wealthy farms and estates in England to have the day off on the fourth Sunday of Lent to visit their mothers and possibly go to church too. This was a variation on the theme of visiting the ‘mother’ church and was a move toward a more family focused occasion. Before the days of cars and roads, family get-togethers were far more rare, (and Facetime was still a long way off). In some ways this tradition is still alive today as grown children often visit their parents on mothering Sunday.

“Simnel Cake

“Simnel cake has a strong affiliation with Mothering Sunday as it is usually associated with spring and Easter. It resembles a Christmas fruit cake but should be slightly lighter in texture. The other difference is the two layers of marzipan. Simnel cake should have a layer of marzipan running through the middle like a Victoria sponge and then another layer of marzipan on the top. Traditionally, you should also roll some marzipan into eleven eggs and place these on the top. The eggs are supposed to symbolize the disciples who followed Jesus – note that Judas is excluded. Mothering Sunday falls in the middle of Lent and it was traditional for people to relax their fasting on this day – hence making the cake.

“Traditions today

“This Sunday, churches around England will be sharing their own traditions, celebrating and giving thanks to the huge impact mothers have on each of our lives. The main service on Mothering Sunday in churches across England is central to the life of the church.

“The church recognizes that the day may be difficult for some people and so it is common place for services to include prayers for those who don’t find the day particularly easy.

“Families across England will be preparing little presents and cards and in some churches flowers are blessed and handed out during the main service.

“Families come together to have lunch, or children make breakfast in bed for their mothers, leaving all the mess to be cleared up later! It’s all about showing appreciation and many make a huge effort to make their mother feel special.”

This explanation of traditions today in England reminds me of some of the activities of Mothers’ Day in the U.S.

OK. Enough of the history lesson. It’s time to wake up anyone taking a power nap.

The disciples asked Jesus, “‘Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?’”

“Jesus answered, ‘Neither this man nor his parents sinned…’”

The disciples were thinking of retributive justice, as it has become to be called. “Did this man’s parents do something so bad that their son was born blind as a punishment for their action?” “What did this man do even before he was born to deserve to be born blind?”

An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth is purely retributive justice.

In our western society, we say justice has been served when the so-called bad guys have been caught, convicted of their crimes and locked up. Again, retributive justice.

Jesus was the victim of retributive justice. After what I call a kangaroo trial, he was convicted of being an insurrectionist and sentenced to death on a cross by the Roman occupation forces. His public execution was supposed to show the rest of the population what would happen to anyone who defied the Romans.

Both the Old and New Testaments talk about a different kind of justice, restorative justice instead of retribution.

The prophet Amos wrote in in the Eighth Century BCE. His basic message was that God was about to punish the Israelites for their sins. However, in Chapter 9, verse 14 he wrote, “I mean to restore the fortunes of my people Israel. They will rebuild their ruined cities and live in them, plant vineyards and drink their wine, dig gardens and eat their produce.” That’s restorative justice.

Isaiah 55:8-9 sums it up nicely. “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways my ways, says the Lord. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.”

 Jesus practiced restorative justice.

In the eighth chapter of the Gospel of John, we read, “The scribes and the Pharisees brought a woman who had been caught in adultery, and, making her stand before all of them, they said to him, “Teacher, this woman was caught in the very act of committing adultery. Now in the law, Moses commanded us to stone such women. Now what do you say?” … When they kept on questioning him, he straightened up and said to them, ‘Let anyone among you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her.’ … Jesus straightened up and said to her, ‘Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?’ She said, ‘No one, sir.’ And Jesus said, ‘Neither do I condemn you. Go your way, and from now on do not sin again.’”

Restorative justice at its finest. The woman’s life was given back to her. She was admonished to change her ways, but she was allowed to live.

The Rev. Richard Rohr wrote in his daily meditation for March 2, 2026, “What history has needed is a positive and inspiring universal vision for the earth and the people of God. Harping about individual sin and convicting wrongdoers might shame a few individuals into halfhearted obedience, but in terms of societal change it has been a notorious Christian failure. Retributive justice has backfired because it is not founded in a positive love and appreciation of the good, the true, and the beautiful in the world or in creation. Negative energy feeds on itself, but positive energy evokes a positive vision.”

The Third Sunday of Lent – Mark S. Winward

This coming Saturday will mark the twenty-eighth anniversary of my ordination to the priesthood – but the beginning of that journey goes back to a call to ministry when I was but 15 years old. Looking back over these fifty years, I find myself asking what I’ve learned. Today’s Gospel, the story of the woman at the well, gives me one answer. And it says something important about who Jesus is and about how we are meant to live as his followers.

Usually, when we hear this passage, we focus on the woman from a distance. But it may help to picture the moment as she experienced it. Imagine it is noon near Sychar. She has come to draw water in the middle of the day, alone. It is hard work, and she is by herself for a reason. Her life has left her isolated, even within her own community the Jews viewed as outcasts. Then Jesus speaks to her and asks for a drink. That may not sound unusual to us, but it would have been unusual to her. Jews and Samaritans did not relate to each other easily, and men did not normally start public conversations with women this way – let alone a Samaritan woman. Jesus ignores those boundaries. He speaks to her directly and treats her as someone worthy of attention and respect.

That matters because it reflects something basic in our life of faith. The Bible repeatedly calls God’s people to care for the stranger, the foreigner, the immigrant, and the vulnerable. This is hardly a minor theme in Scripture – it appears again and again. Our Baptismal Covenant expresses the same calling when it says that we are to seek and serve Christ in all persons, love our neighbor as ourselves, and respect the dignity of every human being. So concern for vulnerable people isn’t separate from the Gospel – it’s part of what faithfulness looks like.

But then Jesus moves the conversation deeper. He offers the woman living water, shifting the focus away from the old dispute about the proper place of worship. Instead, he points instead to worship in Spirit and in truth.

That part of the passage speaks very directly to me. Over the years, I have increasingly come to believe that liturgy matters, theology matters, and the outward practices of faith matter – but none of them is enough by itself. As important as they are, they aren’t the core of our faith. That center is a living relationship with God that calls us, sustains us, and changes us. If that’s lost, everything else becomes a hollow shell. And that relationship is most often brought sharply into focus when we meet Christ in people who are afraid, vulnerable, or pushed to the edges.

That’s why this Gospel feels so relevant at this moment in our history. We’ve all seen reports of immigration enforcement in other cities, and many people in church communities like ours are worried about what may happen next. Families, especially those from Hispanic backgrounds and other immigrant communities, live in fear, uncertainty, and real distress. Some are worried about separation. Some are living with ongoing instability. Some are simply trying to make it through each day without knowing what comes next. When that’s true, the Church cannot ignore it. Prayer is necessary, but so are compassion and practical support.

I agree with our bishop that a country can maintain secure borders, remove dangerous criminals, and expect law enforcement to do its work faithfully and with integrity, while also providing a haven to those who are fleeing danger and a path to stability and citizenship for those who live and work among us. I hardly think those commitments cancel each other out. What I believe is that a more compassionate immigration policy is possible, and I believe it can be pursued without losing sight of anyone’s dignity.

Later in the story, Jesus reveals his identity in striking way. He doesn’t begin with the powerful or the respected. He reveals himself to this woman, someone on the margins of her community. And this outcast Samaritan woman, rejected by Jesus’ own people, becomes the first proclaiming to her community what she has seen. That is one of the things ministry has taught me over and over again: God often works through people we might overlook. Insight, faith, and grace don’t always reveal themselves in ways we might expect. But regardless of the nature of the encounter with God, it always changes us. It changed the woman at the well, and it affected the people who listened to her. The same should be true for us. If we open our hearts to hear Christ’s voice, then we should expect that something in us will need to change.

Please know that I deeply appreciate the diversity of perspectives on this crisis in this nation and in our own parish. My hope is that the Holy Spirit may strengthen what needs strengthening among us, soften what needs softening, and draw us more deeply into devotion to God in Christ for the sake of all God’s beloved children. So I invite you to join in continued prayer and faithful action: for adults and children in detention, for families living in fear, for a more just and merciful immigration policy, and for our own deeper obedience to the commandment to love our neighbors as ourselves. That tension between justice and compassion isn’t simple, and it’s not always comfortable. But rest assured, God’s grace is present in it – and present more fully than we might know this side of heaven. Amen.