So today, as we hear Jesus call us to take up our cross, we might hear it not as a threat, but as an invitation. Remember that you belong to God.

And our common life is not only about how we serve. It is also about how we pray. How we worship. How we allow God to renew our minds and hearts, so that we may discern the will of God for us and this parish.

The purpose of Christian tradition is not to preserve a museum. It is to form a people capable of loving God and loving neighbour. Worship does not simply remember the past; it makes us available to the living God in the present.

So let us pray, knowing that when our words falter, the Spirit prays with us.

The weeds do not get the final word. Evil does not win. Suffering, sin, and death do not have the last word.

Where in my life is God trying to plant something new? What needs softening, uprooting, or watering? Where might the Spirit already be bringing forth fruit I have not yet noticed?

“You have made us for yourself, O Lord, and our heart is restless until it rests in you.” 

We need to come to the table as if we know nothing but are hoping to learn.

There is a place for you at the table, and when we take our seat and join the divine drama, we may discover once again that nothing is too wonderful for the Lord.

The God who called Abraham, who counted faith as righteousness, who healed the woman, who raised the girl, and who raised Jesus from the dead is still at work among us.

The Trinity is not a static doctrine sitting on a shelf but living, dynamic relationship.

A broken promise wounds trust. A kept promise builds it. And Pentecost declares that God is trustworthy. God remains faithful even when circumstances are difficult.

The Ascension is not the story of Christ leaving the world behind. It is the story of Christ trusting the world enough to place his mission into human hands.

Is there something in your life that is troubling you?

Is there something that is causing you to fear?

Is there something that is making you anxious?

“The one who believes in me will also do the works that I do, and, in fact, will do greater works than these.”

Greater works?

How could that possibly happen in and through me?

“I am the gate.”
“I am the shepherd.”

Not: I was. Not: I will be someday. But: I am.

Often it is only in hindsight—when we look back and say, “He was with us there.”

So, when doubt comes—and it will—bring it into the presence of the risen Christ. Bring your questions. Bring your fears. Bring your uncertainty, just as it is. And no matter when those doubts surface—in your thoughts, your prayers, or your heart—Christ is already there, meeting you with patience, mercy, and love.

So this morning, as the earth still trembles beneath our feet, we are invited into that same strange mixture of fear and joy.

Empires rely on fear.
God relies on love.