Seventh Sunday of Easter Year A
Christ the King-Epiphany Church, Wilbraham, MA
May 17, 2026

With thanks to the Rev. Mark Bozutti-Jones who inspired this sermon.

¹ After Jesus had spoken these words [to his disciples,] he looked up to heaven and said, “Father, the hour has come; glorify your Son so that the Son may glorify you, ² since you have given him authority over all people, to give eternal life to all whom you have given him. ³ And this is eternal life, that they may know you, the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom you have sent. ⁴ I glorified you on earth by finishing the work that you gave me to do. ⁵ So now, Father, glorify me in your own presence with the glory that I had in your presence before the world existed.
  ⁶ “I have made your name known to those whom you gave me from the world. They were yours, and you gave them to me, and they have kept your word. ⁷ Now they know that everything you have given me is from you, ⁸ for the words that you gave to me I have given to them, and they have received them and know in truth that I came from you, and they have believed that you sent me. ⁹ I am asking on their behalf; I am not asking on behalf of the world but on behalf of those whom you gave me, because they are yours. ¹⁰ All mine are yours, and yours are mine, and I have been glorified in them. ¹¹ And now I am no longer in the world, but they are in the world, and I am coming to you. Holy Father, protect them in your name that you have given me, so that they may be one, as we are one.” – John 17:1-11

Alleluia! Christ is risen!
Christ is risen, indeed! Alleluia!

                  This past week the clergy of the Episcopal Diocese gathered for our annual retreat together for the first time with Bishop Howell, our newly consecrated bishop. It was a full few days, time to pray, to build relationship, to think about who we are and what our ministry is about. 

                  Our chaplain for the days invited us in our closing time of prayer into a practice of praying for one another. He held up for us an Ethiopian cross, which is an ornate style of cross in a diamond shape made of metal, usually with intricate designs that you see through. He held it up in front of his face and invited us to consider what it means to see each other through the cross. How might we view one another in light of Christ’s self-emptying love? 

                  Then he asked us one by one to bless each other. He invited the first person up and held up the cross to see them through it. And said “I see you. I love you,” and then, gently using the cross to lay a blessing on their head, “I bless you.” 

                  “I see you. I love you. I bless you.” Over and over, one at time, each person blessing the next til all 50 or so had given and received blessing.

                  I’ll tell you, at first I wasn’t sure. I thought it would get old as we went through one by one. But quite the opposite happened. The longer we went, the deeper it sunk in. I see you. I love you. I bless you. It changed the way we related to each other. 

                  I know this, but I often need a reminder. It is incredibly powerful to be prayed for, to blessed by another. 

                  That’s what Jesus is doing in the gospel reading this morning. It feels a little wordy and convoluted sometimes as we read it. But as Jesus prepares to leave his disciples, prepares for the pain and suffering ahead, prepares ultimately to send them out into challenging and dangerous ministry – he prays for them. He sees them. He loves them. He blesses them in this prayer. 

                  As people of faith we pray often for one another. We lift up those who are sick or grieving, those who are celebrating joys, those who are serving in harm’s way. We pray for our meetings and our ministry. We pray for our food and bless bread and wine every Sunday. All of that is good and faithful and absolutely deeply meant and felt. 

                  And, I know in my own life there are particular moments I can remember someone praying for me in a way that broke open my heart, that let me release myself into God’s hands in a visceral way that I hadn’t been able to do in that moment. It came at moments you might expect, when the chaplain prayed at my father’s bedside in his last days, in moments when I was deeply fearful about my own future. But also in unexpected moments when a prayer for the whole assembly was worded in just such a way that it touched something deep and made me begin to cry with relief. I felt seen, loved, and blessed. 

                  This is really what Jesus’ whole ministry has been about up to this moment. At the beginning of John’s gospel he sees the first of his disciples and calls them in to accompany him. From the beginning he sees something about them and their gifts, something about their openness to the journey ahead. And in calling them he invites them into that work. 

                  When Nicodemus comes at night, Jesus engages with him in deep theological conversation to match the energy he brings. When he encounters the Samaritan woman at the well he sees her in all her troubled history, speaks to her with compassion, and he blesses her with living water. Jesus sees the hungry crowds with compassion and in blessing bread and fish he blesses the people with an abundance they couldn’t have imagined. The man born blind is seen for who he is, loved, and blessed with healing. When Lazarus dies, Jesus sees the deep grief of his friends, meets them in their tears, and in calling him from the tomb, blesses all of them with new life. 

                  The way John tells stories we get the intimate details. There are fewer encounters recorded in this gospel, but we get a glimpse of the way that Jesus stops and engages with individuals in touch, dialogue, care, love, and healing. Jesus rarely just waves a hand to enact compassion and healing, but especially in John we see him taking time with each and every one he meets. 

                  So as he prays this prayer, it is in that context. He prays not just in broad sweeping words, not just for the world as a whole, or the future church at large, but with an urgency and depth of intention that comes from deeply seeing, knowing, and loving each of his followers. 

Jesus prays not just for unity because it’s a nice thing when everyone gets along, but because he cares deeply about everyone and wants all of his followers to live in the way that he has with that same deep love and compassion for others. Jesus prays for all his people, including us gathered here this morning. 

I don’t have an Ethiopian cross to show you or demonstrate looking at one another through the cross, but I will share my own practice as a presider at the eucharist. Every week when I hold forth the bread and wine during the eucharistic prayer I look out and see God’s people. For me it’s in a different congregation nearly every week. But I look, in a way through the bread and wine to see you, the gathered body of Christ. And there I see the way that God sees us, loves us, and blesses us into being the body of Christ for the world. 

When we receive at this table, it is yet another moment that God sees us, loves us, and blesses us. And then we are filled to go and be that for the world. We are invited to go out and see the world through God’s eyes. To see the world through the cross. To see the world in light of this meal we share where there is enough for all. 

Looking at the world through cross and with love will not solve the problems of the world. It will not erase the divisions, it will not end the wars, it will not erase hunger. But it may just change us and the people we get to bless along the way. I know that is work you do here as a congregation. I know you are committed to caring for God’s creation, to supporting your neighbors in need, to caring deeply for one another in so many ways. I see it in the caring ways you hold one another. 

In that hard work of being the body of Christ in the world, I invite us to hold that image of Jesus praying for us, remember that Jesus sees us for who we are, loves us more deeply than we can know, and blesses us for all that lies ahead. 

Alleluia! Christ is risen!
Christ is risen, indeed! Alleluia!

-Pastor Steven Wilco

Clergy Conference – Episcopal Diocese of Western MA
May 12, 2026
Texts for Easter 7A

⁶ When [the apostles] had come together, they asked [Jesus], “Lord, is this the time when you will restore the kingdom to Israel?” ⁷ He replied, “It is not for you to know the times or periods that the Father has set by his own authority. ⁸ But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you, and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.” ⁹ When he had said this, as they were watching, he was lifted up, and a cloud took him out of their sight. ¹⁰ While he was going and they were gazing up toward heaven, suddenly two men in white robes stood by them. ¹¹ They said, “Men of Galilee, why do you stand looking up toward heaven? This Jesus, who has been taken up from you into heaven, will come in the same way as you saw him go into heaven.”

  ¹² Then they returned to Jerusalem from the mount called Olivet, which is near Jerusalem, a Sabbath day’s journey away. ¹³ When they had entered the city, they went to the room upstairs where they were staying: Peter, and John, and James, and Andrew, Philip and Thomas, Bartholomew and Matthew, James son of Alphaeus, and Simon the Zealot, and Judas son of James. ¹⁴ All these were constantly devoting themselves to prayer, together with certain women, including Mary the mother of Jesus, as well as his brothers. – Acts 1:6-14

¹² Beloved, do not be surprised at the fiery ordeal that is taking place among you to test you, as though something strange were happening to you. ¹³ But rejoice insofar as you are sharing Christ’s sufferings, so that you may also be glad and shout for joy when his glory is revealed. ¹⁴ If you are reviled for the name of Christ, you are blessed, because the spirit of glory, which is the Spirit of God, is resting on you.

  ^5:6 Humble yourselves, therefore, under the mighty hand of God, so that he may exalt you in due time. ⁷ Cast all your anxiety on him, because he cares for you. ⁸ Discipline yourselves; keep alert. Like a roaring lion your adversary the devil prowls around, looking for someone to devour. ⁹ Resist him, steadfast in your faith, for you know that your brothers and sisters in all the world are undergoing the same kinds of suffering. ¹⁰ And after you have suffered for a little while, the God of all grace, who has called you to his eternal glory in Christ, will himself restore, support, strengthen, and establish you. ¹¹ To him be the power forever and ever. Amen. – 1 Peter 4-5, selected verses

                  Today we’re intentionally leaning ahead liturgically into the coming Ascensiontide, using the readings for this coming Sunday. This in-between period between Ascension and Pentecost always feels to me like this kind of pregnant pause, an in-between time but one very full of energy and possibility. A time of waiting, watching, praying, wondering. 

When I think about where the disciples have been with Jesus, they’ve been swept up in a wonderful period of ministry. A time when they grew, and a time when lives were changed and God’s love made real. Then they went through the events in Jerusalem – a time packed with events and changes – cosmos-changing level events – the death and resurrection of Jesus! Here they are, Jesus having ascended. But what is next hasn’t quite started yet. Waiting with a new kind of expectation. 

I don’t know about you, but I notice that might describe a little of where our diocese is right now. We’ve completed one season of fruitful, life changing ministry. And now over the last 18 months, a lot has happened. A lot of people in this room have worked even harder than usual to tell the story of our diocese, elect a bishop, welcome her to our midst, and then welcome the Holy Spirit to an incredible consecration. And…with all of that still fresh in our minds, we are still in a way leaning in to hear how we will grow in God’s mission…together. What’s next?? There’s excitement, maybe a little nervousness rooted in change and newness, and perhaps, even at moments, we are a little frozen to our own patterns of doing things. 

                  As I thought about this in between time – for the disciples and for us, I remembered the time that a friend in seminary convinced me to make a long-time wish a reality and took me skydiving. For the two weeks between making the decision to do it and the day it actually happened, I felt this kind of wild, nervous excitement. A kind of pit in my stomach, excited but not always really sure I had made a good decision. The day finally arrived and the nervous excitement continued, rapidly alternating between fear and exhilaration. I got what seemed to me too brief a period of instruction, strapped myself to an instructor I had just met, and boarded an airplane. Once the plane took off it really sank in – I wasn’t planning on still being on the plane when it landed. My nervous excitement turned to paralyzing fear. My body went rigid, and I was pretty sure I was going to chicken out. Once the door opened and people ahead of us began to jump out, I became pretty convinced I could not cross the 10 or so feet forward to the door. I suddenly decided I wanted to stay right there where I was. 

                  That’s the kind of tense waiting I imagine the disciples living into in that period of transition. Fear of the unknown and the real danger they were to encounter alternating with the sheer thrill of resurrection, and, perhaps at times an absolutely paralyzing fear. All of these alternating back and forth and sometimes all at once. I imagine their prayer not as calm, quiet, and pious, but as pacing, crying out, joyful, yearning, exhausted, hearts bursting with excitement – the whole range of emotions as they prayed together.  

                  Is that a little like where we are these days? I don’t want to overstate it, but I do think times of transition like the one we are still in are full of that incredible range of emotion, and sometimes, too, leave us frozen in our fear of the unknown. 

                  And really, isn’t that the ministry we participate in every day? There are always big events, big changes, if not in the life of our particular parish in this particular moment, then certainly in the world around us and in the lives of the people we minister to and minister with in our contexts. That comes with the recognition of the ministry that has gone before. It comes with fear, excitement, and readiness for what is to come.  And sometimes it comes with feeling a little adrift or stuck in the liminal space. 

                  Now, for us, even when we feel ourselves in the in-betweenness of Ascensiontide, we know the story of Pentecost that is just around the corner. We know our own experience of living out the mission of the church at the urging of the Holy Spirit. Peter’s words, though about our mission, echo maybe ominously in our ears. Do not be surprised at the fiery ordeal. Rejoice insofar as your are sharing Christ’s sufferings. After you have suffered a little while… 

                  It doesn’t exactly help with the paralyzing fear when we know that ministry gets messy. Human beings are imperfect. Ministry is hard at the best of times and we know that sometimes there are worse times – when buildings crumbling, when attendance or finances are down, when tragedy or conflict tears a community apart. We know there may be long days, and difficult nights. We know there’s always hard and challenging work ahead. If I were listening to Peter talk about this call to ministry, I’d probably stay just right where I was, rooted in fear. 

                  Peter and the early Christians faced some pretty brutal ordeals, to be sure. But I also think we might hear his words a little differently about what he means about ministry. Maybe the ordeal he is describing is a little more like skydiving. 

                  Back to the airplane…I don’t think I was dead weight, but the instructor definitely did the hard work of getting us to the door. One minute I was sitting on the edge feeling my feet touching the plane. The next minute, not having really had any sensation of falling, I became conscious that I was looking up at the plane I had just been on. My brain was having a hard time computing. It was only a split second, but I was staring up at the sky where I had come from, not unlike the disciples, mouths agape staring into clouds where Jesus has just disappeared.  

                  Like the messengers to the disciples, the instructor tapped me on the shoulder to remind me how to hold my body, and suddenly we were facing down to earth, the wind rushing at our faces. I had no option but to be in motion and the fear/excitement dynamic was back in full. It was absolutely exhilarating. And also pretty scary. 

                  But the movement, the rush, the focus required to maintain proper position, kept me from staying in the fear. And then, as the fear began to build again as the ground got closer, suddenly the parachute opened and we were drifting, gently. Still falling. Still moving. Still not safely on the ground. But there was more thrill than fear. 

                  And finally, as the ground became rather close and I could sense just how fast we were going, we prepared to land. It was bumpy but no bones were broken. While the fear was mostly gone, my head was still spinning with the rush of it all. 

                  I think a life of faith, and especially a life of ministry is a bit like all that. If we’re willing to put ourselves out there a bit, often with the gentle or not so gentle push of the Holy Spirit, incredible things can happen. 

                  And good ministry is rarely settled ministry. It’s ministry in motion. It’s ministry that doesn’t always know how it’s all going to work before things start moving. It’s ministry that comes with a kind of excitement and fear all mixed together. It can be quite a challenge. But it’s one that has a lot of possibility and thrill along the way. And when we start looking for God up there, God sends messengers to point us back down to the ground, where God is alive and active – present in bread and wine, present in one another, present in the poor and oppressed, present in the everydayness of our lives. 

                  So whatever challenge you are facing ahead, whatever in your own life or ministry or in our collective life together as a diocese is weighing you down and keeping you from moving forward, know that in baptism we’ve been strapped to the Holy Spirit and she’ll nudge us out in due time, tap us on the shoulder, and fly with us through the whole thing. The landing may sometimes be a little bumpy, but we’ll come out loved and held by God one way or another. 

And that Holy Spirit, she works in all kinds of ways. She works through bishops and priests and deacons, through lay people, through creation. So as we lean into this time together, look out for ways the Holy Spirit is nudging in our conversations together. Where is God inviting us next? Because, as we grow in God’s mission, we’re in this together, and I think it’s going to be a wonderful and wild ride. 

-Pastor Steven Wilco

4th Sunday in Lent
March 15, 2026
St. Mark’s/San Marcos, Worcester, MA

¹ As [Jesus] walked along, he saw a man blind from birth. ² His disciples asked him, “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?” ³ Jesus answered, “Neither this man nor his parents sinned; he was born blind so that God’s works might be revealed in him. ⁴ We must work the works of him who sent me while it is day; night is coming, when no one can work. ⁵ As long as I am in the world, I am the light of the world.” ⁶ When he had said this, he spat on the ground and made mud with the saliva and spread the mud on the man’s eyes, ⁷ saying to him, “Go, wash in the pool of Siloam” (which means Sent). Then he went and washed and came back able to see. ⁸ The neighbors and those who had seen him before as a beggar began to ask, “Is this not the man who used to sit and beg?” ⁹ Some were saying, “It is he.” Others were saying, “No, but it is someone like him.” He kept saying, “I am he.” ¹⁰ But they kept asking him, “Then how were your eyes opened?” ¹¹ He answered, “The man called Jesus made mud, spread it on my eyes, and said to me, ‘Go to Siloam and wash.’ Then I went and washed and received my sight.” ¹² They said to him, “Where is he?” He said, “I do not know.”

  ¹³ They brought to the Pharisees the man who had formerly been blind. ¹⁴ Now it was a Sabbath day when Jesus made the mud and opened his eyes. ¹⁵ Then the Pharisees also began to ask him how he had received his sight. He said to them, “He put mud on my eyes. Then I washed, and now I see.” ¹⁶ Some of the Pharisees said, “This man is not from God, for he does not observe the Sabbath.” Others said, “How can a man who is a sinner perform such signs?” And they were divided. ¹⁷ So they said again to the blind man, “What do you say about him? It was your eyes he opened.” He said, “He is a prophet.”
  ¹⁸ The Jews did not believe that he had been blind and had received his sight until they called the parents of the man who had received his sight ¹⁹ and asked them, “Is this your son, who you say was born blind? How then does he now see?” ²⁰ His parents answered, “We know that this is our son and that he was born blind, ²¹ but we do not know how it is that now he sees, nor do we know who opened his eyes. Ask him; he is of age. He will speak for himself.” ²² His parents said this because they were afraid of the Jews, for the Jews had already agreed that anyone who confessed Jesus to be the Messiah would be put out of the synagogue. ²³ Therefore his parents said, “He is of age; ask him.”
  ²⁴ So for the second time they called the man who had been blind, and they said to him, “Give glory to God! We know that this man is a sinner.” ²⁵ He answered, “I do not know whether he is a sinner. One thing I do know, that though I was blind, now I see.” ²⁶ They said to him, “What did he do to you? How did he open your eyes?” ²⁷ He answered them, “I have told you already, and you would not listen. Why do you want to hear it again? Do you also want to become his disciples?” ²⁸ Then they reviled him, saying, “You are his disciple, but we are disciples of Moses. ²⁹ We know that God has spoken to Moses, but as for this man, we do not know where he comes from.” ³⁰ The man answered, “Here is an astonishing thing! You do not know where he comes from, yet he opened my eyes. ³¹ We know that God does not listen to sinners, but he does listen to one who worships him and obeys his will. ³² Never since the world began has it been heard that anyone opened the eyes of a person born blind. ³³ If this man were not from God, he could do nothing.” ³⁴ They answered him, “You were born entirely in sins, and are you trying to teach us?” And they drove him out.

  ³⁵ Jesus heard that they had driven him out, and when he found him he said, “Do you believe in the Son of Man?” ³⁶ He answered, “And who is he, sir? Tell me, so that I may believe in him.” ³⁷ Jesus said to him, “You have seen him, and the one speaking with you is he.” ³⁸ He said, “Lord, I believe.” And he worshiped him. ³⁹ Jesus said, “I came into this world for judgment, so that those who do not see may see and those who do see may become blind.” ⁴⁰ Some of the Pharisees who were with him heard this and said to him, “Surely we are not blind, are we?” ⁴¹ Jesus said to them, “If you were blind, you would not have sin. But now that you say, ‘We see,’ your sin remains.” – John 9:1-41

                  I wish that healing always came quickly. 

                  In truth, it rarely comes quickly enough, and too often it comes not at all. 

                  I think about work that has been done at Reconciliation House in Webster, where others in our diocese created a place for healing from addiction. Some years ago, Rev. Ford and others created a space for men to live in community, supported through their recovery journey and away from situations that might have made it hard to continue their healing. 

                  Like so many other illnesses, addiction is not a one-time change. It’s a lifetime of healing not just physical effects and chemical addiction, but the deep work of reorienting one’s life and ones relationships. 

                  Today’s gospel reading is one that is a frequent favorite among those who have experienced addiction. Because his healing isn’t a one time change that fixes everything. In fact, at first it makes his life a whole lot more complicated. He gets what sounds like an uncomfortable treatment of mud on his eyes from Jesus, he washes in the Pool of Siloam, and now he can see. But that isn’t the end of the story. 

                  The Pharisees want to debate Jesus’s healing on the sabbath. The man himself doesn’t even really understand what has happened. He gives a kind of half-hearted answer when he is dragged in. Then man’s parents get called in. They don’t know much about what’s going on either. 

                  As the leaders begin to argue over top of him, he finds not only his sight but now also his voice. He speaks up: “I don’t know much about your argument, but that man healed my vision.” However, they can’t let allow that to stand. This healing has disrupted their sense of who is worthy and who isn’t. And they drive him out of town. 

                  Now he can see but he has lost his community all over again, because they could not accept his transformation. There – on the outskirts of human community, feeling lost, alone, and in need of a place to continue his healing in supportive community – there, Jesus meets him again. We don’t know exactly what happens later, but at least in that moment the man not only sees but is seen. He is made new, not just in his body but in his relationships and deep in his soul. 

                  I wonder – what kind of healing are you longing for? So many among us live with chronic health challenges. Every family has strained and broken relationships. Most of us know people who experience depression and anxiety. We are always longing for healing.

                  We are people whose whole world is in need of healing. We are at war again as a nation, another round of a conflict that has no easy answers and no quick solutions for peace. We live in a divided country where some people try to cast out others from the halls of power and wealth and who refuse even to give one another safe community in which to live. 

                  Our churches are struggling. We have an incredible gift in the presence of God with us, and yet: our buildings weigh us down; we wish for more people to experience the gifts we have and to share in our ministry; we get anxious and fearful about what comes next. Jesus has come and been among us, brought healing even! But often it feels as if the healing is incomplete. Like the man in the gospel reading we are still caught in the fray of messy human community. 

                  Jesus is with us, but healing is often so much slower than we’d like it to be. Even when we resolve some smaller challenge, hundreds more seem to await us. 

                  In this season of Lent we remember the ways we are broken people. Not just bodies that get sick, and age, and one day die. But also people whose relationships are imperfect, whose actions don’t always match intentions, whose hopes are not always realized. And we come together Sunday after Sunday to remember that Jesus comes to be among us. Here, now, in the midst of our unfinished healing. 

                  In Lent we are awaiting Easter, now just a few short weeks away. It will, I pray, be another glorious Easter for you here at St. Mark’s and for all people of faith celebrating around the world. But Easter will not solve the world’s problems. It will not, in most cases, bring healing to all the broken bits of our lives we carry in prayer day in and day out. It will not, unfortunately, bring peace to the world. It will not make doing ministry in our present context any easier. 

                  But maybe this Lent and this coming Easter, we can learn from this man who encounters Jesus and begins a long journey of healing. Perhaps this story invites us to look around and see God at work resurrecting the world in ways that feel imperfect and incomplete to us for now, but which might be signs for us of God’s all-powerful love pouring out daily for us, the ones God so dearly loves. 

                  I see it in places like Reconciliation House that provide a safe community for healing. I see it in the ways that you seek to build relationships with your community here at St. Mark’s. I see it in the ways we begin to work together across lines of race and language and parish and denomination. I see it in the ways that when a member of our community is ill or grieving that we surround that person and those families with food and companionship and prayer. 

                  Some days it all feels like not enough. I wish sometimes that God would swoop in and fix it all. But I do know we meet God here in this place and out there in the world. And that God is slowly opening our eyes to the resurrection that is already blooming here in our broken and hurting world until that day that God has promised when all things are made new. 

-Pastor Steven Wilco

22nd Sunday after Pentecost
November 9, 2025
Zion Lutheran, Oxford & Reconciliation Episcopal, Webster

          Anyone who knows me just a little bit knows that I’m a planner, and organizer, a type-A personality. I have a plan A, B, and C, knowing what I’ll do if things don’t go the way I expect. When I go on vacation there are spreadsheets involved in planning. If you know anything about the Enneagram personality type system, I’m a 5, one of my core drivers is to get information, and the belief that if I just had all the information I could fix all the things. I want to understand how things work and how to make a system that maximizes benefit for everyone. Like any personality traits, this is both a strength and a weakness.      

            But I share it with you because it makes me a little sympathetic to the Sadducees. They have taken in the information they have available to them and they’ve come to seriously question that an afterlife is possible. Their question is meant, I’m sure, to trap Jesus. But I think it also comes from their own deep desire to understand – if God’s going to resurrect people, how will this really work? I mean, it’s pretty implausible when you think about it. 

            The scenario they choose highlights a vulnerable woman. Someone acquainted with tragedy and grief. Someone who through social norms was likely on the margins. They create a hypothetical not out of care and concern for the subject of their story but in order to prove a point. These are men in power who are using the plight of a vulnerable woman to argue a point. That’s not to say they didn’t also in their faith make meaningful acts of charity and support the vulnerable. But not unlike in our own day when recipients of SNAP food aid are caricatured in the media and used as a pawn in bigger political game, they ignore the humanity of the very people they are seeking to lead and guide. 

            They come to Jesus with this hypothetical situation and ask how this will all work in the resurrection that Jesus and other Jewish groups at the time believed in. Come on, Jesus, they say, this whole thing just doesn’t make sense! Just admit it, it’s just a fantasy to make everyone feel better. People have been wrestling with what happens when we die since long before Jesus and they still are today. Among Christians in the 21^st century you’ll find faithful people who have very different ideas about what God means by resurrection and ideas about heaven. That’s to say nothing of those people of other faiths who have their own breadth of beliefs about the afterlife, and those who are not people of faith who certain include those who point to a logical argument to debunk the idea. 

            Jesus doesn’t explain how it will all work. God doesn’t have a rulebook that explains whose husband she will be in death. It’s not as if God pulls out volume 73 of the Heavenly Code and recited section 574 subsection B, defining the marriage rules of heaven. Instead Jesus’ answer is that they’re asking the wrong question. Falling into the fullness of God’s love isn’t about rules, or even human relationships and conceptions. It’s something so outside of what we can conceive that we wouldn’t even understand it. 

            What Jesus is doing, this whole resurrection thing, isn’t about fixing up the world as it is, it’s about an entirely new creation. Something beyond what we can conceive. 

            We have our own existential questions when faced with death – our own or the death of those we love. We want some assurance that we will be together again, some promise that it isn’t the ending. These become very real questions for us – will my pet be with me in heaven? Will my body be fully healed in resurrection? How will I be both the child my parent remembers and the adult my children know me to be? Will the streets be paved with gold? Will heaven be an endless feast or a joyful unending worship? 

            God’s answer to our deepest longings, the hopes we cling to in grief, is not to give us definitive answers, but to show us resurrection. Jesus doesn’t explain it all for us, but invites us to trust his leading through death into new life. God’s answer to every last one of those deep questions is “I love you. You are mine. I am bringing you new life.” 

            Jesus not long after speaking with these Sadducees goes to the cross and the grave. Jesus shows us the fullness of life and death. And then, when all hope seems lost, when the end has come, new life begins again. Jesus’ resurrected body is both familiar and mysterious, both comforting and challenging, both wounded and restored. In response to the fear and grief and pain of his followers Jesus shows himself to them and calls them forward into yet another new life, another restart, another resurrection. 

            The answer to what happens after we die is beyond our knowing. But God’s love and God’s promise of new life is already erupting in our world. Every time we get caught up in trying to puzzle out how everything works, every time we try our hardest to organize our life and our plans, God has something more in store. 

            When congregations are no longer sustainable on their own, God finds a way to continue the work of the gospel – for some through the generous releasing of resources, for others like you here at Zion/Reconciliation – in partnership that enriches and strengthens the opportunity for ministry. These are resurrection moments. And that’s really the way of the church – it’s not a place where everything is neat and orderly and life is made simple and easy. It’s a place where embodied people gather to be together and celebrate the ways that God is doing something new and unexpected in our midst. 

            When people go without food and strangers are not fully welcomed, our ministries make the table a little bigger and stretch the loaves and fishes until all are fed. When veterans are struggling to find a community that cares, a table is set to provide not just food but community. These are resurrection moments. 

            A few of you might have heard that my family and I traveled to Jamaica to attend a dear friend’s wedding and we ended up having to shelter there through the hurricane and its aftermath. We were and are safe, we were in a place of incredible privilege in the midst of disaster. As we talked with local people afterward, they not only spoke with a sense of togetherness, community that has and will support one another through whatever comes. It was a terrible tragedy that will take years and even lifetimes to recover from. Many are very much in survival mode still. And yet, there is resurrection already happening. They aren’t focused on how, they are focused on life. 

            This is what Jesus is about. Not careful plans, not everything going right, not everything working out neatly and orderly. Jesus is about life, wherever it is and however it comes. Jesus does not ignore death and all of the questions and grief that comes along with it. Instead Jesus walks us through it, not just telling us the answer but leading us there in this life and the one to come. 

-Pastor Steven Wilco