Peace,

Fr. Cliff+

In Christ,

Fr. Cliff+

Meanwhile, our Shepherd came to give us true life.

Christ is not distant. He speaks. He gives Himself.

In Word. In silence. In His Body and Blood. He bids us follow Him.

I pray you take a couple of moments this week to listen to His Word and follow Him.

In Christ,

Fr. Cliff+

In Christ,

Fr. Cliff+

As Easter approached, I thought about Mary Magdalene going to the tomb simply to grieve. She did not come expecting a miracle, only to be near the One she loved. On that bright Sunday morning, we learn that love and peace are so much closer to our grief than we realize.

He is Risen! Alleluia!

We begin with beauty. We wave palms, we praise, we cry Hosanna. But the liturgy carries us forward, where praise gives way to rejection.

The same crowd. The same hearts.

This is not just their story. It is ours.

We want a god who meets our expectations. And when He does not, something in us grows quiet, turns away, and eventually rebels.

And yet He still comes.

He rides toward the cross knowing all of this, not because we are faithful, but because we are not.

Dear friends, this is our hope:

Not that we hold fast to Him, but that He has already taken hold of us, even when the Hosannas fade.

—Fr. Cliff

This week’s theme: life out of death.

Christ does not call us from a distance. He calls us by name.

If you’ve felt stuck, dry, or burdened, I hope this encourages you.

In Christ,

Fr. Cliff Syner+

See, I have set you this day over nations and over kingdoms, to pluck up and to break down, to destroy and to overthrow, to build and to plant. - Jeremiah 1:10

Have you ever looked at your life and felt like it was an overgrown, abandoned field?

My wife and I once bought a small farm on top of a wind-swept bluff near the Cumberland River. We dreamed of making a market garden, a place of beauty and abundance. Parts of the land were choked with thorns, littered with stones, and tangled with dead branches.

Before we could plant, we first had to uproot.

Day after day, we labored, tearing out weeds, breaking down stubborn roots, hauling away debris. The sun beat down, our bodies ached, and our hands bled from the endless struggle.

Only after weeks of exhausting, grueling work was the land finally ready. Only then could new life take root.

This is not just the nature of gardening. It is the pattern of God’s work in the world and in our own lives.

Breaking Down Before Building Up

Before there is restoration, there is disruption. Before new growth, there is pruning.

This is what God reveals to the prophet Jeremiah and what Jesus proclaims in the synagogue in Nazareth.

In Jeremiah 1, God gives the prophet a twofold task:

* First, to “pluck up and break down, to destroy and overthrow.”

* Then, to “build and plant” (Jer. 1:10).

The order is intentional. Israel had become entangled in pride, idolatry, and false security, trusting in themselves rather than in God.

Before they could be restored, these illusions had to be shattered.

This is how God has always worked:

* Israel’s exodus required Egypt’s power to be broken.

* The return from exile required Babylon’s dominion to collapse.

* Every great movement of God begins by tearing down what is false to make way for what is true.

And in Luke 4, when Jesus stands in the synagogue and declares Isaiah’s prophecy fulfilled in himself, he is doing more than announcing good news, he is dismantling expectations.

At first, the people marvel. But when he speaks of God’s blessings reaching beyond Israel, their admiration turns to rage.

Why?

Because Jesus is uprooting their false sense of entitlement. He is calling them to see that God’s kingdom is bigger than they imagined.

The Hard Truth We Don’t Like to Hear

We often hear that God meets us where we are. And that’s true.

But the lie that cultural Christianity has embraced is that he leaves us there.

That after baptism, the Christian life is just about going to church, being nice, and maintaining the status quo, without ever confronting the deeper transformation Christ demands.

This is a tragic deception.

None of us are good enough. We know it.

No matter how much we prop ourselves up with clichés, affirmations, and cultural posturing. We know.

* We are hurting.

* We are sick.

* We need healing.

To pretend otherwise is to chain ourselves to sin and death.

But thanks be to God—that is not the Gospel.

Transformation is Painful, But It’s Necessary

Meeting Christ is anything but comfortable.

* Sin must be confronted.

* Idols must be torn down.

* Old ways of coping must be ripped out by the roots.

And this is exactly what the Holy Spirit does.

He convicts us. He gently but persistently moves us toward healing.

But we must be willing to trust that even when everything we have known is crumbling, it is for our good.

Christ will meet you where you are.

But he will not affirm you there, he will transform you. He will draw you towards Him, towards flourishing.

* He plucks up the weeds of sin.

* He breaks down the walls of pride.

* He shatters the comfortable illusions we cling to.

And why?

Because new life cannot grow in soil that is still tangled with the roots of the old.

The Cross and Resurrection: The Ultimate Breaking and Building

Nowhere is this pattern clearer than in Jesus’ death and resurrection.

On the cross, he does the ultimate work of tearing down, breaking the power of sin, and overthrowing death itself.

But breaking down is not the end of the story.

Resurrection follows.

New life is planted, eternal life, indestructible and overflowing.

And this is not just a cosmic truth, it is deeply personal.

In baptism, we are buried with Christ and raised to new life (Rom. 6:4). This is only the beginning.

Throughout our lives, we must undergo this process again and again:

* Dying to our old selves.

* Letting go of sins and false securities.

* Allowing Christ to rebuild us from the ground up.

The more we surrender, the more we reflect his image.

But make no mistake, this work is not easy.

* Tearing out old roots is painful.

* Breaking up hardened soil requires effort.

* Letting go of control is terrifying.

Yet, this is the only path to true flourishing.

Just as a garden cannot thrive unless the ground is cleared, our souls cannot grow unless we allow God to tear down what does not belong.

What Needs to Be Uprooted in Your Life?

What is God calling you to surrender?

* What false securities need to be dismantled?

* What sinful patterns need to be uprooted?

* What misplaced loves need to be surrendered so that new life can take root?

The work is hard, but the promise is sure.

If we allow God to break down what is false, he will build up what is true, what is good, what is beautiful.

If we surrender our old ways, he will plant in us the life of Christ.

And that life?

That life will bear fruit that lasts forever.

Take, for instance, Holy Days. For centuries, Christians set aside days to remember those who had come before us, marked by their righteousness and participation with God.

But as the Reformation lost its moorings, these days were canceled, dismissed by those in power as superstitious or idolatrous. Yet they didn’t simply vanish. Instead, they were replaced by Memorial Day, Labor Day, Presidents’ birthdays, and other cultural or political observances.

Some of these are great, others less so, but they remain "holy days" in essence, even if the secular world now calls them "holidays."

The Virgin Mary has suffered a similar fate. Following Scripture’s depiction, the Church long honored her as a model of faithfulness.

But in response to those in the Middle Ages who elevated her too far, many Christians threw the baby out with the bathwater, ignoring her altogether.

Cultural stories like Cinderella filled this vacuum. Fairy tales now teach children humility and steadfastness, but they do not connect these virtues to God’s grace.

Instead, these stories often promote righteousness as something we achieve on our own, apart from God.Cinderella is a wonderful tale, but it lacks the transformative power of Mary’s example, where humility and steadfastness are empowered by grace.

As we approach the final days of Advent, the Church invites us to revisit Mary’s story and reflect on how we, too, can prepare for Christ’s coming.

Mary’s Participation in Grace

Mary’s story is one of participation with God, beginning in humility. The message is clear: God works with the lowly, cooperating with them and raising them up.

Jesus walks with us in our suffering and transforms it into His glory. When we walk with Him in our lowly state, our suffering unites with His.

Paul echoes this in Colossians, rejoicing in his suffering because it is united with Christ’s afflictions for the sake of the Church.

Mary’s story, then, is the story of the Church—and our own.

Arguably the oldest Christian hymn, the Magnificat, comes from her lips. It has been central to the Church’s worship for centuries, sung at Evening Prayer around the world.

In Luke 1, we see the seeds of this honor:

* The Angel Gabriel greets her, saying, “Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee: blessed art thou among women.”

* Elizabeth, filled with the Holy Spirit, exclaims, “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb!”

She calls Mary the mother of her Lord, which over time has become Theotokos or Mother of God.

These honors stem not from Mary’s works but from her humility and faithfulness. It is God working in her that magnifies her.

Mary as Icon of the Kingdom

Mary’s song sets the stage for Jesus’ life and mission. Throughout Ordinary Time, we read how Jesus proclaimed:“The Kingdom of God is at hand.”

In this Kingdom:

* God raises up the lowly.

* Leadership exists to serve, not dominate.

* Grace flows to those who hunger for righteousness.

This is the promise of the Gospel.

Jesus consistently rebuked those who used power for privilege, wealth, or self-justification. He denounced the deceptions of culture that trade God’s gifts for human distortions.

God’s love meets us where we are but never leaves us there.

Mary embodies this ministry. She is an icon through which we see the beauty, truth, and goodness of Christ.Icons are not idols but lenses that focus us on God. Through Mary’s story, we glimpse the promise of our Savior.

“Let It Be to Me According to Your Word”

Mary teaches us a posture of receptive surrender. When Gabriel told her she would bear the Son of God, she responded:“Behold, I am the servant of the Lord; let it be to me according to your word.”

This willingness to receive God’s grace opens us to the transformative power of the Holy Spirit.

Participation with God begins in grace, as it did with Mary. We are called to carry Christ into the world, just as Mary did, and walk in His way.

In Genesis, Eve turned inward, leading to the fall. Mary, on the other hand, turned toward God, embracing His plan to restore humanity. Her willingness transforms striving into lives empowered by Christ.

Baptism, Eucharist, and the Magnificat

Mary’s story reminds us that participation in God’s Kingdom begins with recognizing our hunger for Him.

* Baptism mirrors Mary’s humility. It is a renunciation of self-reliance and a commitment to live by God’s grace.

* The Eucharist resonates deeply with Mary’s Magnificat. Just as Mary bore the Word made flesh, we receive the Body and Blood of Christ.

Each time we partake of the Eucharist, we echo Mary’s “let it be to me according to your word,” opening ourselves to Christ’s indwelling.

Living the Magnificat

Mary’s Magnificat is more than her song; it is the Church’s anthem. It declares that God overturns worldly powers and brings His Kingdom to fruition.

As we prepare for Christ this Advent, may Mary’s example guide us.

* Humility and surrender are the starting points of true participation in Christ.

* Let us magnify the Lord in our lives, embracing the grace of Baptism, the nourishment of the Eucharist, and the daily call to carry Christ into the world.

Like Mary, may we become vessels of God’s transformative love—living icons of His Kingdom, participants in His redemptive plan.

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“Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight.” - Luke 3:4

Has anybody here ever been to Southern West Virginia? If you have, you know the roads there are pretty curvy and winding, with lots of hills going up and down. In one specific spot, perched high on a mountain, there’s an extraordinary bridge spanning the New River Gorge. This bridge is something to behold. For years, it was the longest steel arch bridge in the world, soaring high above the valley.

To cross the river, there are two options. You can take this magnificent bridge, or you can take the road beneath it—a winding, steep path that descends into the gorge, crosses a small bridge at the river, and climbs right back up the other side. My grandmother used to tell me that when she was young, that winding road was the only way to cross. A trip to the town on the other side took about an hour and a half. Today, with the bridge, it takes just three minutes.

The history of that road is fascinating. Native Americans say it was originally a path for buffalo migration. Over time, it became a road for coal mining, serving the community in its own rough way. Then the bridge changed everything. It was as if the valley had been filled in and the path made straight.

In many ways, that bridge reminds me of today’s Gospel lesson, where we hear about rough places being smoothed, crooked paths being made straight, and valleys being filled to prepare for Christ. These images resonate deeply with our lives. Each of us has rough places and crooked paths—areas that take us away from an intimate connection with Christ. These are places in need of healing, in need of God’s grace to bridge the gap.

This is not just a personal task but a communal one. The prophecy we heard today doesn’t only point to John the Baptist preparing the Israelites for Christ. It also points to the church’s role in preparing the world for Christ’s second coming.

In Advent, we prepare for Christmas, the celebration of Jesus’ birth, His first coming. But we are also called to anticipate His return. Advent is a time to prepare the way, to fill the valleys of our lives, to look at our priorities, our prayer life, and ask: Are they pointed toward Christ?

John the Baptist’s work of preparation is our work too. It is the church’s work—to prepare ourselves and our communities for Jesus. As the Gospel says, “Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight.”

We live in a kind of wilderness, don’t we? Even though we are surrounded by people, even though there are over 85 million Anglicans worldwide, we are just one small parish here in Clarksville. The only Anglican presence in this community of over 300,000 people, and the only church holding together the truth of Scripture and the Sacramental life in the way that we do. It can feel like we are lost in a sea of people.

But our call is clear. We are here to prepare the way of the Lord, to make His paths straight, to fill every valley and smooth every rough spot so that “all flesh shall see the salvation of God.”

John’s ministry was all about pointing to Jesus as the salvation of God. He called people to repentance, to turn from their self-centered ways and turn toward God. As a church, we are given the same job. We are called to repentance, to turn away from the ways of the world—ways that promise ease and comfort but in the end lead only to sin and death—and instead to embrace the life of Christ. The call doesn’t stop there. We are then to take this Good News to the community around us!

The world offers us words like “self-security” and “self-actualization,” buzzwords that are meant to entice us but often leave us feeling anxious and unfulfilled. Instead, we are called to trade those anxieties for true security in God, who loves us, and true flourishing in Jesus, who died for us.

We are tasked with removing obstacles—sin, injustice, apathy—to create a straight path for others to encounter Christ. We are called to address despair, poverty, and spiritual dryness in our community, to help others navigate life’s challenges with grace and truth, and to proclaim Christ clearly in a culture that often confuses truth for personal preference.

And we are not called to this work alone. Christ does not merely leave us, his disciples, to prepare His way by our own strength. He gives us Himself in the Eucharist. It is through the body and blood of Christ that we are empowered to participate in His grace. Through communion, we are united with Him, nourished and strengthened for this holy work. The Eucharist is the bridge that connects our lives to God’s transformative power, filling us with the life of Christ so we can be His hands and feet in the world.

We begin to participate in His work through reflection and self-examination. What rough places in your life need smoothing? What obstacles need to be removed so that Christ can be fully present in your life?

As the Holy Spirit works within us, He also calls us to work outwardly, preparing our community for Him. Like John the Baptist, we must courageously proclaim the truth, even when it’s uncomfortable.

Where is God calling you personally to be a voice in the wilderness? Where is He calling Church of the Resurrection to be that voice? What needs to be removed, bridged, or cleansed so that we can make straight the path to Christ and invite others into the goodness of God?

While this work may seem daunting, we are reminded of the promise: “All flesh shall see the salvation of God.” The work of preparation is not in vain. It points to a glorious end where God’s kingdom is fully revealed.

Let us pray for God’s guidance and courage as we fulfill this mission, both as individuals and as a church community. May the Holy Spirit empower us, just as He empowered John the Baptist. And may we hold fast to the hope-filled truth that Christ’s coming transforms not only our lives but entire communities, inviting everyone into eternal salvation.

Together, let us prepare the way of the Lord.

"Now when these things begin to take place, straighten up and raise your heads, because your redemption is drawing near." — Luke 21:28

When I was in first grade, I was what we might call today “distracted.” A deficit in attention and concentration, to say the least. I vividly remember one particular math test. The task was simple: write numbers from 1 to 100. But somewhere around 65, I got bored and stopped. My teacher handed me back the test marked with a glaring D-.

Afraid of my parents’ reaction, I did what seemed logical to my six-year-old self—I hid the test under a rock on my way home.

That small, shame-filled moment, and many like it, set a pattern for years: avoiding judgment, fearing punishment, and hiding my failures. I lived in dread of being “found out.”

But at age 24, something shifted. While attending the Special Operations Combat Medic Course, I found myself in a completely different mindset. Our nation was at war, and my future role as a flight medic meant life or death for those I served with. Training wasn’t about getting by—it was about mastery.

I didn’t fear judgment anymore. I welcomed it. I wanted to know where I was wrong, what I didn’t know, so I could improve. Judgment became a refining tool, a path to perfection for the mission ahead.

This redefinition of judgment transformed everything. It became less about punishment and more about preparation.

The Call to Stand Tall

This is the difference we see in today’s Gospel passage. Jesus describes distress and chaos in the world—people “fainting with fear” and filled with foreboding. But to His disciples, He says something radical:

"Stand up and lift up your heads, because your redemption is drawing near."

Christians are called to live with expectation, not dread. His judgment isn’t something to fear; it’s the moment we are perfected.

Throughout Scripture, this theme emerges again and again.

* The prophet Zechariah speaks of chaos but ends with hope: “The Lord will be king over all the earth.” God’s judgment establishes His reign of peace and restoration.

* Psalm 50 reminds us that God’s judgment is about setting things right: “Gather to me my faithful ones.” Judgment for the faithful isn’t punitive; it’s purifying and leads to closeness with God.

* Paul’s prayer for the Thessalonians asks that they be blameless at Christ’s coming. This isn’t fear-driven but hope-filled: God’s judgment perfects us in love and holiness.

Without Christ, judgment is terrifying. But in Him, it becomes transformative.

Living in Hope, Not Fear

What does it mean to “stand up and lift up our heads” today?

* Stop HidingJust as I hid my math test, we often hide our sins, afraid of being found out. But God’s judgment isn’t about punishment, it’s about redemption. We’re called to take practical steps, confessing our sins and trusting in His grace to forgive and transform.

* Embrace CorrectionJudgment refines us. Even when it’s hard, Welcoming God's truth sets us free to grow. Spend time in Scripture and prayer, asking God to reveal areas you need to change. Approach the Word expecting God to hone, sharpen, and perfect you.

* Live with ConfidenceLifting our heads means living in hope, not fear. Christ’s return isn’t a threat; it’s a promise of our ultimate redemption.

Redemption and Restoration

As a child, I hid in fear of judgment. As an adult, I’ve learned to embrace correction and refinement. God’s judgment, as today’s Scriptures reveal, is not about condemnation—it’s about redemption.

As Advent dawns, the start of a new liturgical year, we are reminded that Christ’s coming isn’t something to cower before. It’s something to celebrate.

If you find your tests under rocks, afraid to face God, hear this: we serve a God who loves us, who longs to redeem us, to hold us close, to transform us into His image.

So stand tall. Lift up your head. Look forward to Christ’s return, not with fear, but with joy.

For He is coming to make all things new.

“But when you see the abomination of desolation standing where he ought not to be (let the reader understand), then let those who are in Judea flee to the mountains. - Mark 13:14

Imagine standing on the brink of something catastrophic—something that challenges every fiber of your being.

It’s not hard to imagine, is it? Between the political turbulence in our nation and the wars and unrest rippling across the globe, the air feels heavy with uncertainty.

We hear rumors, whispers of doom, and see people rushing to escape a looming disaster.

But what if, instead of being paralyzed by fear, we could hold onto a feeling of anticipation—anticipation that deliverance is near?

In today’s reading from Mark 13, Jesus warns of a coming time of desolation so severe that his followers must flee to the mountains when they see the signs.

The early Church would have understood this warning in layers.

First, for those hearing Jesus’ words, the history of Jewish suffering would immediately come to mind, especially the desecration of the Temple under the Greek emperor Antiochus IV. He desecrated the Holy of Holies, forcing Hebrew priests to eat unclean swine meat.

Later, as Mark’s Gospel was written, Jesus’ prophecy gained fresh relevance. The Roman destruction of the Jerusalem Temple echoed Jesus’ words about a great tribulation.

But Jesus was pointing to something deeper. Drawing on Daniel 12, He spoke of a time of unparalleled trouble but also hope. In Daniel, we see the Archangel Michael rising to protect God’s people, the dead awakening to “everlasting life” or “shame and everlasting contempt.”

For the Jewish people of Jesus’ day, the hope of resurrection gave meaning to their suffering. Faithfulness to God, even in the face of desolation, carried the promise of ultimate justice.

The early Christians saw Jesus’ prophecy not just as a warning of physical danger but as a spiritual truth: the forces of darkness, spiritual and worldly, would try to thwart God’s redemptive plan. Yet, Jesus’ words encouraged them to remain steadfast, for God’s deliverance was near.

What does this mean for us?

Like the early Christians, we face moments of desolation, loss, betrayal, and unrest.

But Jesus reminds us: tribulation is part of the journey, not the end.

When the pressure builds, when the world feels like it’s unraveling, we are called to remain vigilant, to hold on to hope, and to act wisely.

How do we stay ready?

By anchoring ourselves in prayer, Scripture, and fellowship. By gathering for communion, trusting in Christ’s sustaining power. By remaining watchful, prepared to let go of the things that keep us from trusting God fully.

When Jesus told His disciples to flee, it wasn’t a call to despair but a call to wise action, trusting God to guide and protect them. Likewise, we must seek refuge in God’s Word and find safety in His promises.

Think back to the earlier picture of standing on the brink.

The difference for us as Christians is that we don’t stand there alone.

It’s easy to get swept up in the fear we see in the news or on social media. But we know the truth: Jesus has gone before us. He faced suffering and death, and He rose victorious.

Our Savior walks with us in times of trial, promising deliverance. He transforms our suffering, giving it purpose and hope.

Jesus’ words in Mark call us to a dual focus: readiness and hope.

Jesus warns us that trials will come and our faith will be tested. But just as Daniel’s vision pointed to resurrection and deliverance, we too hold on to the promise that God’s justice will prevail.

This week, let’s not be weighed down by the trials we face. Instead, let’s take Jesus’ words as a call to endure, knowing we are never alone.

When difficulties come, let’s hold fast to the hope of resurrection, the promise of deliverance, and the assurance that God will sustain us to the end.

We stand on the brink not of disaster but of redemption. Hold fast, beloved. Our God is faithful.

Jesus answered, “The most important is, ‘Hear, O Israel: The Lord our God, the Lord is one. And you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength.’ The second is this: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ There is no other commandment greater than these.” - Mark 12:29-31

For many Christians, this “summary of the law” is recited every time we gather for communion, reminding us of our call to love God and neighbor. Jesus' answer wasn't new; it reflected the ancient commandments of the Old Testament. This continuity helps us understand how Jesus came to fulfill the law, not to destroy it—a truth we may know but might not fully understand.

Our Anglican liturgy—our collective worship—reveals what it means when we say that Jesus came to fulfill the law.

In Deuteronomy, we learn why following these commandments is so vital. We read,

“That it may go well with you, and that you may multiply greatly, as the Lord, the God of your fathers, has promised you.” Keeping God’s law isn’t about arbitrary rules that define us

as a unique community. It’s about human flourishing. These commandments reflect the created order, the very structure of creation in which we live.

Imagine God’s promises to us like a guide for growing a tomato: “You shall love your tomato plant as yourself. Nourish it, water it, let the sun shine upon it. In doing so, it will go well with your plant; your tomatoes will multiply greatly; your sauce will be rich, red, and flavorful.” These aren’t rules for an elite gardening club. They describe how tomatoes thrive. Likewise, loving God fully and loving our neighbor genuinely is the essence of human flourishing.

Living by these commandments aligns our lives with God’s purpose. We’re promised that doing so will bring us into a flourishing community. This is why we recite these commandments every Sunday. We want to keep them before us. Yet there is a huge problem. We can't keep them through our own will power.  We recognize our need for grace.

Each week, right after reciting this summary, we say the Kyrie: “Lord, have mercy. Christ, have mercy. Lord, have mercy.” This ancient prayer of the Church confronts the reality that, despite our best efforts, we fall short. This acknowledgment brings us to our first glimpse of how Christ fulfills the law: He enables us to keep it by empowering us with His mercy. From this point, our liturgy leads us closer to communion with Him.

As we continue in worship, we listen to Scripture, hear the Gospel proclaimed, and receive a sermon that (hopefully) points us to Christ, stirring our hearts and reminding us of our need for Him. We confess our faith through the Creed, joining in the ancient belief that countless Christians have upheld, even to their last breath. Martyrs who when told that if they renounce Christ they will live, instead recite these words. The same martyrs we pray for during the Prayers of the People. 

Then, we arrive at the Confession of Sin, acknowledging, “We have not loved you with our whole heart; we have not loved our neighbors as ourselves.” Here again is the summary of the law—our realization that we have not perfectly lived it. Yet, it is here that we also receive forgiveness through Christ.

Forgiven, we share the Peace—a mini-evangelizing moment where we proclaim and celebrate the mercy we’ve received as part of God’s family. The offertory follows, and here we offer not only our financial tithe but our hearts, our souls, our minds, our strength, indeed our whole being. In giving back, we run toward Jesus, admitting our blindness yet seeing clearly in our spirit, asking for His healing.

Finally, we reach the pinnacle of worship: Communion. In this Eucharistic moment, we experience thanksgiving as Christ becomes present to us in bread and wine. Here, in a mystery we can’t fully explain, we receive His grace. Jesus tells us in John 6,

“Unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you.” Communion with Christ enables us to flourish in His life.

Through Christ’s sacrifice, we receive the strength to keep the law, empowered to love God wholly and to love our neighbors as ourselves. The post-communion prayer sends us out to “do the work you have given us to do, to love and serve you as faithful witnesses.” Christ infuses us with the power to live as He lived, loving and witnessing as the Body of Christ.

Isn’t that amazing?

Do you see it? Christ came to empower us to keep these commandments, to redeem creation, and to help us love God and others as faithful witnesses of His truth.

This is the Gospel!

Living within God’s created order is still the path to flourishing. God has given us a beautiful world filled with everything we need. But without Christ at our center, we misuse it. We desecrate creation by idolizing it. We needed Christ to die for our sins, to rise again, and to reorder our brokenness. Through Him, we are again co-creators, children of God who are called, as the Church, to love Him completely and love our neighbor as ourselves.

Jesus said to him, “Go your way; your faith has made you well.” And immediately he recovered his sight and followed him on the way. - Mark 10:52

Have you ever felt unseen, reaching out for help but feeling like your voice is silenced by the noise of the world? For many, disability, illness, or simply life’s challenges can create a sense of invisibility, of being overlooked or unworthy of true attention.

At RISEN Wellness, a functional medicine clinic our church community runs, we regularly meet patients who, like the biblical Bartimaeus, have called out for help only to feel ignored or reduced to symptoms and diagnoses. They often arrive at our door after seeing numerous specialists, feeling as though they’ve been lost in a system that seems to prioritize treatment over true healing.

This isn’t to suggest that physicians lack compassion. It’s a product of a healthcare culture focused on efficiency, treating the symptom more than the person. Yet, historically, Christian care centered on listening and being present with the suffering, modeled after Jesus’ ministry.

In Mark 10, we encounter Bartimaeus, a blind man who, despite the crowd's attempt to silence him, cried out to Jesus, “Son of David, have mercy on me!” Risking ridicule, he called out, trusting that his faith would be heard. Bartimaeus’ cry wasn’t just a plea for healing; it was a bold affirmation of who he believed Jesus to be—the Messiah. Jesus stopped, called Bartimaeus over, and asked a profound question, “What do you want me to do for you?” This simple question gives Bartimaeus the dignity of agency, asking him to state his need plainly and giving him room to express his faith.

Bartimaeus asked to “recover his sight,” showing that his faith wasn’t only bold but anchored in Jesus’ ability to heal. Jesus responded, “Go your way; your faith has made you well.” In a world that often silences or overlooks those in need, this act of Jesus reveals that no voice calling out to Him is insignificant. Each cry, each need, is seen and valued. And once healed, Bartimaeus followed Jesus, a powerful testament to faith that sees and faith that follows.

Embracing Compassionate Care

The early Church’s hospitals embodied this care-centered approach. Christians, often in times of plagues and illness, began hospitals that were places of presence, not just treatment. The Church Fathers, many of whom practiced medicine, understood that healing involves the whole person, not just a physical cure. Care was their first priority—listening, relieving suffering, and seeing the patient’s humanity. This approach echoes the ministry of Jesus, who constantly listened to those society overlooked.

At RISEN Wellness, we’re inspired by this heritage. In our clinic, we aim to restore that same compassionate care, listening beyond the diagnosis and making space for each patient’s voice. The healing work we do is grounded in the truth that each person holds extraordinary worth, as C.S. Lewis noted in The Weight of Glory, “There are no ordinary people.” Through listening and being present, we help those who feel unseen to know they are deeply valued.

We Are Bartimaeus, Too

There’s also a Bartimaeus in each of us. Every one of us has moments when we call out in faith, asking Jesus for healing, guidance, or peace. And Jesus still asks each of us today, “What do you want me to do for you?” He invites us to bring our needs, hurts, and desires into His presence, to be fully known and fully seen.

After receiving sight, Bartimaeus didn’t go his own way—he followed Jesus. His life transformed, he became a participant in the Kingdom. His faith called out, saw, and then followed. In the same way, when we encounter healing, we’re invited to join this journey of restoration, becoming vessels of healing for others.

As we care for those who are hurting, we’re part of a legacy that started over 1600 years ago when Christians opened the first hospitals. This calling continues in our clinics, workplaces, homes, and communities—wherever people need to be seen, heard, and loved.

So let’s call on Jesus with bold, humble faith, and once healed, let’s follow Him wholeheartedly. May our faith, like Bartimaeus’, not only see who Jesus truly is but move us to participate in His Kingdom work of mercy, healing, and compassion wherever we go.

Jesus said, “it shall not be so among you. But whoever would be great among you must be your servant,and whoever would be first among you must be slave of all. For even the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.” - Mark 10:43-45

Imagine a man tirelessly climbing a ladder toward the sky, each rung representing his achievements and accolades. He believes that the higher he climbs, the closer he will get to true greatness. The ladder extends into the clouds, and he cannot see the top, but as he climbs, others assure him that he is on the right path. They are headed the same way, after all.

Yet, upon reaching the top, he finds the ladder leads to nothing—his view is empty, fulfillment elusive. He is alone.

In our world, greatness is often measured by status, power, and recognition. We are constantly prompted to follow this formula for a successful life. But Jesus presents a profound paradox in Mark 10:35-45: true greatness does not come from elevating ourselves, but from humbling ourselves to serve others.

In this passage, we see a clear distinction between the way of the world and the way of the cross. James and John, the Sons of Thunder, boldly ask Jesus to grant them seats of honor. Their request reflects a universal human desire for privilege and importance. How often do we seek recognition in our careers, social circles, even within the church?

But James and John, like so many of us, are climbing a ladder of ambition that will not lead to the peace they hope for. The allure of prestige can blind us to the true nature of discipleship. Even the other disciples become indignant—not because they understand servanthood better, but likely because they, too, desire positions of honor. Competition and envy disrupt community and fellowship, as we see even among Jesus' closest disciples.

In Mark 10:42, Jesus contrasts the Gentile rulers who "lord it over" others with the model He sets. In the world, authority often means exerting power over others. But Jesus says, "Not so with you." Greatness in God's kingdom is marked by service: "Whoever wants to become great among you must be your servant." The Son of Man came not to be served, but to serve, and to give His life as a ransom for many.

Only through Christ can we live out this call to servanthood. Without Him, we are stuck climbing the ladder to nowhere, teaching others to chase empty ambitions. Jesus speaks of the suffering He will endure and tells His disciples they will share in it too. To be a disciple of Jesus is to suffer, to be baptized in Christ is to renounce the self. To drink His cup means to give up our wants for His Kingdom, even to the point of death on a cross.

True Christianity is not a self-help option; it is the way of the cross. Isaiah 53 describes a servant who bears our pain and is pierced for our transgressions. Jesus embodies this prophecy through His life and sacrificial death. He teaches us that emptying ourselves, not building ourselves up, is the way to eternal life—a life of flourishing and peace that surpasses all understanding.

Servanthood is not merely performing tasks; it is a willingness to sacrifice for others. It is a posture that loves deeply.

This explains how Jesus could face oppression and affliction without fighting back or defending Himself. His posture was rooted in assurance. As Psalm 91 says, "Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty." As we step out to serve, we rest in God's protection and provision.

Where do we find His presence? Where do we find assurance? We find them both in God’s Word. Praying and immersing ourselves in the Scriptures provides the comfort in Christ that allows us to stop climbing on our own. Hebrews 4:12 says,

"For the word of God is alive and active. Sharper than any double-edged sword."

God's Word exposes our true intentions, challenges our motives for seeking honor, and equips us for service.

We have a great high priest who empathizes with our weaknesses. We can approach God's throne of grace with confidence, receiving mercy and grace to help us trust in Him. Through Christ's grace, we are empowered to serve others. This grace is made real to us through the Eucharist, where Christ nourishes us with His very life. In communion, we receive the true body and blood of Jesus, the remnants of His own sacrifice, and the heavenly reward for servanthood.

After communion, we pray: "Father, send us out to do the work you have given us to do, to love and serve you as faithful witnesses of Christ our Lord." We go out into our community and identify needs—loneliness, poverty, injustice. Sometimes this means meeting material needs; sometimes it means addressing spiritual or emotional poverty in our own homes.

Wherever we see the marks of a broken and fallen world, we are called to be present, offering compassion and support, being the hands and feet of Christ. By helping those who can never repay us, who will never give us accolades, we shift our focus from self-promotion to the well-being of others. We become the servant that Christ has called us to be.

Embrace humility, recognizing that our worth is found in Christ, not in the praise of others. Our ability to serve flows from our union with Christ, strengthened through the Eucharist, where He gives Himself to us so that we might give ourselves to others. Serving others reflects God's love and transforms lives. It fosters unity and builds up the body of Christ.

So, what is the man to do who, upon reaching the top of a ladder to nowhere, finds himself alone? He takes a deep breath, repents, and descends—sharing the truth with everyone he passes on the way down. The greatest view is found not at the top, but alongside those we lift up.

Let us embrace the paradox of greatness through servanthood. As we serve, we follow in the footsteps of Jesus, the ultimate servant. God's grace empowers us to serve, and His presence accompanies us on this journey. Through Baptism and the Eucharist, Christ empowers us to serve, feeding us with His life so that we can be His presence in the world.

In a world obsessed with climbing higher, may we find the courage to step down, to serve, and in doing so, discover the true greatness that comes from following Christ's example—empowered by His grace and nourished by His body and blood.

And Jesus, looking at him, loved him, and said to him, “You lack one thing: go, sell all that you have and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; and come, follow me.” Disheartened by the saying, he went away sorrowful, for he had great possessions.

-Mark 10:21-22

Over the last few weeks, we’ve been exploring how Jesus guides His disciples into a redeemed way of leadership. Today, we continue this theme with a slight twist.

In the story of the rich young man, the focus is not on his leadership of others but on his inward posture toward security, an issue many of us understand, especially as leaders.

The young man approaches Jesus with anxiety. Despite doing everything the law requires, he still asks what he must do to inherit eternal life. There is something restless inside him, a disquieted feeling that drives him to seek more.

In ancient Israel, as in our culture today, wealth and power were often seen as signs of God’s favor, evidence of one’s righteousness. This belief lingers in our hearts. How often, in moments of pain, loss, or grief, have we thought,

“God, what have I done to deserve this?”

Beneath that thought lies the assumption that good actions earn favor and that righteousness protects us from suffering.

The rich young man shares this mindset. He has kept the commandments and amassed wealth, yet neither his obedience nor his possessions bring him the peace he desires. Kneeling before Jesus, he seeks wisdom and assurance of eternal life.

At this moment, the Gospel tells us that Jesus looked at him and loved him.

Imagine that Jesus looks into this man's heart, sees his anxiety and striving, and instead of reproach, He responds with love.

When we fail, when our best efforts leave us empty, and we turn to Christ, He meets us with love. He cares for us. He lived for us, died for us, and rose for us. Of course, He loves us, but it’s good to be reminded.

Jesus sees the rich young man’s desire for security, and like the Great Physician He is, He offers the prescription the man needs:

“Go, sell all that you have and give to the poor... and come, follow me.”

This is more than a call to renounce wealth. It is an invitation to trust. Jesus calls him to let go of the illusion of self-sufficiency and to find security in God alone.

But the young man is unable to accept this invitation. He walks away sorrowful, for he had great possessions. Jesus sees the anxiety born of wealth and accomplishment, knowing there is only one remedy: letting go of the very things that create the illusion of control.

In the eyes of the world, his wealth signaled God’s favor, but Jesus turns that belief on its head. Eternal life, the peace that surpasses all understanding, is not earned through hard work or wealth. It begins by trusting fully in Christ.

The rich young man’s story points to a larger truth: true peace doesn’t come from what we cling to in this life. True peace comes when we let go and entrust ourselves to Christ.

Jesus said, “I am the way, the truth, and the life.” His invitation to the rich young man to sell all and follow is ultimately about trusting that Christ is enough. It’s about recognizing Jesus as the source of life, peace, and eternal security.

For the rich young man, self-reliance was his idol. He believed his wealth and righteousness could secure his standing with God. But the Gospel confronts us with this question: How often do we believe our goodness, our works, or our control over life can keep us safe?

Jesus invites us to stop clinging so tightly to self-reliance that our hands bleed. He invites us to trust that God’s grace is sufficient, that His power is perfect in our weakness, and that eternal life comes not from what we do but from whom we follow.

So, how do we respond to Jesus’ invitation? Are we afraid to let go? Or are we willing to trust that His arms are strong enough, that His invitation is worth the leap?

Today, remember that when Jesus looks at us, He loves us. When He calls us to let go, it’s not to deprive us but to invite us into a deeper joy and greater security than we could ever build on our own. Let’s lay down our burdens and illusions of control, trusting that following Him is worth everything we have and infinitely more.

Lessons for today are

2 Chr 36:14-23

Ps 122

Eph 2:1-10

John 6:1-15

Prereading these will help with the context of the sermon.

Lessons for today are

Ex 20:1-21

Ps 19:7-14

Rom 7:12-25

John 2:13-22

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Lessons for today are

Gen 22:1-14

Ps 16:6-12

Rom 8:31-39

Mark 8:31-38

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Lessons for today are

Gen 9:8-17

Ps 25:3-9

1 Pet 3:18-22

Mark 1:9-13

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Lessons for today are

1 Kings 19:9-18

Psalms 27

2 Pet 1:13-21

Mark 9:2-9

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Lessons for today are

Gen 12:1-3

Ps 86:8-13

Rev 7:9-17

Matt 28:16-20

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Lessons for today are

Deuteronomy 18:15–22

Psalm 111

I Corinthians 8

Mark 1:21–28

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Lessons for today are

Jeremiah 3:19–4:4

Psalm 130

I Corinthians 7:17–24

Mark 1:14–20

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Lessons for today are

Isaiah 42:1–9

Psalm 89:1–29

Acts 10:34–38

Mark 1:7–11

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Lessons for today are

Isa 61:10—62:5, Ps 147:12-20, Gal 3:23—4:7, and John 1:1-18

Prereading these will help with the context of the sermon.

Lessons for today are
Isa 9:1-7, Ps 96, Titus 2:11-14, and Luke 2:1-14.

Prereading these will help with the context of the sermon.

Lessons for today are 2 Sam 7:1-17 Ps 132: 1-7, Rom 16:25-27, Luke 1:26-38. Prereading these will help with the context of the sermon.

Lessons for today are
Isa 65:17-25, Ps 126, 1 Thess 5:12-28 and John 3:22-30.
Prereading these will help with the context of the sermon.