That is the paradox of discipleship: we give away to keep. So what does this mean for us, practically?

The life Jesus describes is not easy. It asks us to loosen our grip on wealth and possessions. It invites us to trust God enough to let go of fear. It calls us to live generously in a world that tells us to look out for ourselves first.

But it is also a life of joy, because it is grounded in the promise that God’s kingdom is already ours.

The life of prayer is not for the faint of heart. It will stretch you. It will confront your ego. It will sometimes feel like nothing is happening. But if you stay with it—if you keep showing up—God will meet you.

So do not be afraid to go out. The harvest is plentiful. You don’t need to be perfect. You don’t need to have all the answers. You just need to be faithful. You just need to go as you are—with peace in your heart and Christ’s name on your lips.

Jesus is still asking, “Do you love me?” And if your heart stirs at all, say yes. Say it again tomorrow. Say it with trembling hands and uncertain feet.

So, as we step into this summer—a time of rest and re-creation—may we do so with intention. Let this be more than just a break. Let it be Sabbath.

So let us come to the altar today with open hearts and empty hands. Let us receive again the Spirit of the living God, poured out upon all flesh. Let us be kindled by the fire of love, made bold in our witness, and gentle in our peace.

In this holy in-between time — between the Ascension and Pentecost, between Christ’s first and second coming — let us be the people Jesus prayed for: united, Spirit-filled, and longing for His return.

And the risen Christ is still speaking: “See, I am making all things new.”

Let us then take seriously his call. Let us love one another, not in word only, but in deed and truth. Let us build bridges, bind wounds, and bear witness to the God who wipes away every tear.

No matter what you’re experiencing this week, this month, or these past few years—your place is here. You are loved. Not for who you used to be. Not for who you might become. But for who you are—right now.

Jesus speaks the same to us. No matter how far you’ve drifted, how empty your nets feel, how broken your past—Jesus stands on the shore, calls you “child,” feeds you, restores you, and says, “Follow Me.”

The journey from Easter Day to Easter faith is not always a straight line. It often winds through grief, questions, and locked doors. But the risen Christ is patient. He comes again and again, speaking peace, showing love, breathing life.

We too are invited to speak the truth of how we have experienced the risen Jesus in our own lives. We too are invited to participate in continuing the work Jesus began; to build a community that is rooted in love; a community that seeks to welcome any and all who are looking for a spiritual home. We are invited to transform the world by serving others.

Jesus rides no high horse, just a lowly colt. He chooses to enter a deadly situation without force or protection. He gives himself freely and without reservation.

“We love because God first loved us.” We can risk pouring ourselves out for God, because God has poured God’s self out for us.

As the father lavished his love upon both of his sons, the sinner and the righteous, so too does God lavish his love upon us. 

A gardening god comes to convince us with another perspective: “Let it alone for one more year, until I dig around it and put manure on it. If it bears fruit next year, well and good. If not, then you can cut it down.” In other words, maybe this tree has more potential hidden beneath its outwardly barren reality.