Sunday, April 26, 2026

Today's Service for Sunday, April 26, 2026

 

Worship Service for April 26, 2026

Prelude

Announcements:  

Call to Worship

L:      Make a joyful noise to the Holy One, all the earth.

P:      We come with glad hearts, ready to worship and sing

L:      Enter God’s gates with thanksgiving and God’s courts with praise.

P:      We bring our whole selves – our joy and our longing.

L:      Give thanks and bless God’s holy name.

P:      For God is good, God’s steadfast love endures forever.

 

Opening Hymn –   All People That On Earth Do Dwell         #220/101  4vs.

Prayer of Confession

Gracious and Loving God, we come before You aware of the ways we fall short—in what we have done and in what we have left undone.  We confess the moments we have chosen comfort over courage, silence over truth, and self-interest over compassion.  Forgive us for the times we have overlooked the needs of others, turned away from injustice, or forgotten the sacred worth of those around us.  Renew in us a spirit of humility and grace.  Open our hearts to love more deeply, to act more justly, and to walk more faithfully in your way.  In your mercy, receive us, restore us, and guide us forward.  (Silent prayers are offered)  AMEN.

 

Assurance of Pardon

L:      Jesus said, “I have come that you may have life and have it abundantly.  In our confession, we return to the shepherd, the guardian of our souls who welcomes us with open arms and a glad heart.

P:      We know that the Good Shepherd never abandons us, is always calling our name, and unfailingly loves and forgives us.  Thanks be to God.  AMEN!

 

Gloria Patri

Affirmation of Faith/Apostles’ Creed

I believe in God the Father Almighty, Maker of heaven and earth; And in Jesus Christ His only Son our Lord; who was conceived by the Holy Ghost, born of the Virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, dead, and buried; He descended into hell; the third day He rose again from the dead; He ascended into heaven, and sitteth on the right hand of God the Father Almighty; from thence He shall come to judge the quick and the dead.

I believe in the Holy Ghost, the holy catholic Church; the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins; the resurrection of the body; and the life everlasting.  AMEN

 

Pastoral Prayer and Lord’s Prayer

Gracious and ever-present God, we come to you this day carrying all that we are; our joys and our worries, our gratitude and our grief, our hopes for the world and our questions that linger in the quiet places of our hearts. 

You meet us here, just as we are.  Not as we pretend to be, not as we wish we were, but as we truly are; beloved, fragile, and held in your care.  We thank you for the signs of new life that surround us—for the greening of the earth, the lengthening of days, and the subtle reminders that renewal is always possible.

In this Easter season, awaken in us again the courage to trust that life can rise even in places we thought were finished.  God of compassion, we lift before you those who are hurting this day; those who carry illness in their bodies, weariness in their spirits, or sorrow that feels too heavy to name.  Be near to them with comfort and healing.  Surround them with your peace and with people who embody your love.  We especially pray today for:

We pray for those burdened by injustice; for communities facing violence, for those whose voices are ignored or silenced, for all who long for dignity and fairness.  Stir in us a holy restlessness that refuses to accept a broken world as it is.  Give us courage not only to pray for change, but to become part of it.

We hold in prayer our own community, this congregation, its ministries, and its relationships.  Strengthen us to be a place of welcome and belonging, where all are seen, valued, and embraced.  Teach us to listen deeply, to forgive freely, and to serve generously.

And in the quiet of this moment, we name before you those people and situations that rest most heavily on our hearts…

 

We offer all this in the spirit of Christ, who teaches us to live and to love boldly, saying together.… Our Father who art in heaven, Hallowed be Thy name.  Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.  Give us this day our daily bread.  Forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors.  And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.  For Thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, forever. AMEN.

 

Hymn –  Rock of Ages   Hymn #342 Brown Hymnal

Scripture Reading(s): 

First Scripture Reading – Psalm 100

Second Scripture Reading – Acts 2:42-47

Sermon              They Devoted Themselves

(based on Acts 2:42-47)

 

We are living in an era when we have never been more connected, yet we have perhaps never felt more alone.  We have devices in our pockets that can beam our faces across the globe in a millisecond.  We can curate our lives on feeds, comment on a stranger’s breakfast, and order groceries without ever looking another human being in the eye.  We have mastered the mechanics of communication, but we are slowly losing the art of connection.

We are experiencing an epidemic of isolation.  The Surgeon General has warned us about it.  Sociologists write books about it.  But we don't need experts to tell us.  The most recent adult generations, Millennials, Gen X, and Gen Z have all said it in various surveys: a deep, aching hunger for genuine belonging.  Not the kind of belonging where you are tolerated because you fit the right demographic, or you vote the right way, or you dress the right way.  But the kind of belonging where you are known, deeply known, and wildly loved.

Today, in our scripture reading, we are looking at a snapshot of a community that figured this out; 2,000 years ago.  No, they didn’t have Smartphones, the internet, or Google.  But they were very isolated from one another in a different way.  There were pockets of community, but they were politically, economically, and even religiously forced to regard one another with suspicion and paranoia. 

In reading Acts 2:42-47 this morning from the lectionary readings we skip a bit ahead of the story chronologically.  In this telling of events, the Holy Spirit has just happened at Pentecost.  We’ll read that in the earlier part of Chapter 2 in a couple of weeks.  Peter has just preached a sermon that turned the world upside down.  Thousands of people have suddenly found themselves swept up in this new movement called "The Way."  We’ve had these moments in history in the past – In the 16th Century we had The Reformation, in the 18th Century The First Great Awakening, in the 19th Century the Second Great Awakening, later in the 19th Century just before the Civil War was the Great Prayer Meeting Revival, in the beginning of the 20th Century about 50 years after the Civil War, The Azusa Street Revival which spawned the Missionary Movement, and finally in the mid 20th Century we had The Jesus Movement, begun by Bill Bright at college campuses and Billy Graham at large secular venues.

But Luke, gives us this beautiful, breathless summary of what day-to-day life actually looked like for 1st Century Christians.  When we read this passage today, in our modern, hyper-individualized, capitalist society, it almost sounds like a fairy tale.  It sounds like a utopian dream that couldn't possibly exist in the real world.  But this isn't a fairy tale.  It’s a blueprint.  It’s a radical alternative to the empire of isolation that we currently inhabit.

Luke tells us they devoted themselves to four things: the apostles’ teaching, fellowship, the breaking of bread, and prayer.  Let’s talk about that second word: fellowship.  In the original Greek, the word is koinonia.  In modern church culture, we’ve watered down "fellowship" to mean drinking coffee and eating donuts in the church fellowship hall while making small talk about the weather.  But koinonia is not small talk.  It means deep, intimate, vulnerable partnership.  It implies a shared life.  It means your well-being is intrinsically tied to my well-being.

This early community realized that you cannot follow Jesus in a vacuum.  Faith is not simply a private transaction between you and God; it is a communal reality.  They devoted themselves to the teaching of the apostles—which was the teaching of Jesus—which was a curriculum of radical grace for everyone, for love of neighbor as well as strangers in your midst and for the person you disagree with even on a fundamental level, and the overturning of oppressive systems.  They grounded all of this in prayer, recognizing that they did not have the strength to do this on their own.

But then, the text takes a turn that makes modern Western Christians very uncomfortable.  Verse 44: "All the believers were together and had everything in common. They sold property and possessions to give to anyone who had need."

Let’s be honest: we like gloss right over this part.  We don’t like it.  So, we spiritualize it.  We say, "Well, they were just being really generous."  But Luke means exactly what he says.  They liquidated their capital.  They recognized that the accumulation of wealth by a few while others went hungry was completely incompatible with the Gospel of Jesus Christ.  For some reason we like to put political labels on this and call it Socialism or Communism.  But, that’s not the concept here at all.

In our modern context, we are conditioned to believe that our security comes from our bank accounts, our property, and our individual safety nets.  We are taught to climb the ladder, hoard our resources, and maybe, if we have a little left over, drop some change in the charity bucket.  Charity is good, but charity still maintains the power dynamic between the giver and the receiver.

The early church wasn't practicing charity; they were practicing something called mutual aid.  Mutual aid says, "I don't just feel bad for your poverty; I am going to dismantle the systems that keep you poor, I’m going to address not just my own financial abundance, but I’m going to address the largest systems that keep you poor.  In the meantime, my home is your home.  My bread is your bread."  It is a progressive economic vision rooted not in a political ideology, but in the theological conviction that everything belongs to God, and we are simply stewards meant to ensure everyone has enough.  Yes, that is radical.  Yes, that is extremely controversial.  But, it is also extremely biblical.

What would it look like for us to practice this kind of koinonia today?  Even saying this words and concepts might make me sound political or at least of one brand of political persuasion, but it is seriously biblical.  For it might mean advocating for affordable housing and working towards universal healthcare because we believe that human dignity is not something you earn; it is something you are born with as an image-bearer of God.

Luke goes on to say, "They broke bread in their homes and ate together..."  In the ancient Near East, who you ate with was a political statement.  The table was highly segregated by class, gender, and religious purity.  You did not eat with people who were "beneath" you, not of your class.

But here, in this new community of Jesus, the walls were coming down.  Masters were eating with slaves or their employees.  Men were sitting alongside women as equals.  Jews and Gentiles were figuring out how to pass the bread to one another.  The table became the great equalizer.

Today, the table is still a place of radical revolution.  When we talk about being a graceful church, a church full of God’s mercy and love, it means the table is wide.  It means that everyone, and I mean everyone is not just welcomed to the table, but they are celebrated, affirmed, and invited to lead at the table.  It means we actively dismantle the white supremacy that tries to segregate our neighborhoods and our pews.

When we break bread together—whether it's Holy Communion on a Sunday morning or a potluck on Tuesday night—we are practicing for the Kingdom of Heaven.  We are rehearsing the reality where everyone has a seat, everyone has a voice, and no one is turned away because of the color of their skin, the beliefs they hold, how old they are, who they love, where they come from, or how much money they make.

And what was the result of all this shared life, shared wealth, and shared tables?  Luke tells us they ate together with "glad and sincere hearts, praising God."

Joy is a profoundly subversive act.  We live in a world that profits off our outrage and our despair.  The 24-hour news cycle and the algorithms on our phones are designed to keep us anxious, angry, and divided.  But this early church, living under the crushing weight of the Roman Empire, found a way to be deeply, sincerely joyful.

Their joy wasn't toxic positivity.  It wasn't pretending that Rome wasn't oppressive or that poverty didn't exist.  Their joy was rooted in the knowledge that they were participating in God’s great rescue mission for the world.  They were experiencing the kingdom of God here and now, in the eyes of their neighbors and in the taste of shared bread.

When we commit to one another, when we refuse to let the empire isolate us, we tap into that same well of joy.  Praising God in the midst of a broken world is how we declare that the brokenness will not have the final word.  Love will.

So, with knowledge of the 1st Century Christians and how they lives, where do we go from here?  How do we live out Acts 2 in 2026?

It starts small.  Radical community doesn't happen overnight.  It happens when you decide to invite a neighbor over for dinner or to a fellowship event at the church.  It happens when you show up to a city council meeting to advocate for marginalized voices in your community or to clean up the neighborhood.  When you take pride in where you live and who you live next to.  It happens when you look at your budget and ask the Spirit, "How can my resources be used for mutual aid rather than just personal accumulation?"

It happens when we stop treating church as a weekly event that we attend, and start treating it as a family we are committed to building, no matter who that person might be and how they might look and who knows, maybe we help begin the next Spiritual movement for the 21st Century.

The last line of our passage says, "And the Lord added to their number daily those who were being saved."  Notice that they weren't running flashy marketing campaigns.  They weren't trying to be cool.  They were simply living such beautiful, radically generous, deeply connected lives that the people around them looked at them and said, "I don't know what they have, but I want in."

May we be a community like that.  May we be a people of the wide table, the open hand, and the glad heart.  May our love for one another be so vibrant, so disruptive, and so beautiful that the world cannot help but see the face of Christ among us.

Thanks be to God.  AMEN

Offertory –

Doxology –

Prayer of Dedication –

Holy and most giving God, we who have received so bountifully of your gifts now offer them, and ourselves, back to you in love, that the work of faithful discipleship may continue in the world, under your Mercy.  Amen.

Closing Hymn – The Day of Resurrection    Hymn #118  Blue Hymnal

Benediction

Come through the gate of joy and hope, moving into the world that needs ot hear the words of peace, the words of love, the words of hope.  Go in peace to all God’s people, bringing good news of Christ’s abundant love for them.  AMEN

Postlude

Sunday, April 19, 2026

Today's Service - Sunday, April 19. 2026

 

Worship Service for April 19, 2026

Prelude

Announcements:  

Call to Worship

L:      Sing to the Lord a new song, a song of hope and rejoicing!

P:      Praise God for wonderful acts of mercy and kindness!

L:      God has remembered God’s faithful ones.

P:      God has poured blessing upon blessing upon us!

L:      Praise the Lord, all the earth, shout your praise!

P:      Rejoice, for God is truly with us.  AMEN.

 

Opening Hymn –   Lift High the Cross         #371 Blue Hymnal

Prayer of Confession

Easter is such a wonderful season, Lord.  Hope springs anew in our hearts.  As the earth is being refreshed by the warmth of spring, so we have been refreshed and made new by the resurrection of our Lord Jesus Christ.  And we want to stay in this euphoria forever.  But You have called us to go into the valley, to those who need to hear of Your love and to feel Your caring presence.  In his words of hope, Jesus prepared his disciples to be witnesses.  We have heard these words before, but far too often, we have turned our backs to this message.  We don’t quite believe that we are capable of actually living our whole lives in Your love.  So, we act in ways that are often neglectful and hurtful of others.  We take more time pampering ourselves than we do helping other people.  It is easier to justify our selfish desires than it is to witness to Your transforming love.  Stop us in our tracks, O Lord.  Turn us around.  Help us face our weakness and Your forgiving grace.  Heal us of our sins and place us again on the paths of peace.  We ask this in Jesus’ name.  (Silent prayers are offered)  AMEN.

Assurance of Pardon

L:      God has remembered God’s steadfast love to all people.  We are healed and called to again be God’s beloved children and witnesses.  Receive that healing love.  God is love and in God there is no darkness or fear.

P:      We trust in the word of the Lord and know that we are forgiven.  Thanks be to God.  AMEN!

 

Gloria Patri

Affirmation of Faith/Apostles’ Creed

I believe in God the Father Almighty, Maker of heaven and earth; And in Jesus Christ His only Son our Lord; who was conceived by the Holy Ghost, born of the Virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, dead, and buried; He descended into hell; the third day He rose again from the dead; He ascended into heaven, and sitteth on the right hand of God the Father Almighty; from thence He shall come to judge the quick and the dead.

I believe in the Holy Ghost, the holy catholic Church; the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins; the resurrection of the body; and the life everlasting.  AMEN

 

Pastoral Prayer and Lord’s Prayer

Gracious God, we come before you as travelers on the road—

sometimes hopeful, sometimes weary, sometimes certain of Your presence, and sometimes wondering if You are anywhere near at all.  Like those disciples on the road to Emmaus, we carry with us conversations of confusion and disappointment.  We had hoped for so many things, O God—healing that has not yet come, answers that still elude us, and peace that feels just out of reach.  And yet, You draw near to us.  Even when we do not recognize You, even when our eyes are clouded by grief or fear, You walk beside us.  Holy Lord, open our eyes, we pray.  Open our hearts to recognize You in the ordinary moments—in the song of the birds in the garden, in the sharing of stories with one another, and in the quiet companionship of those who journey with us.

         Patient God, You listen as we pour out our hearts.  You do not rush us past our sorrow, but meet us within it.  You take what feels broken and begin, gently, to make it whole.  So we bring before You now all that weighs on us: the burdens we carry for ourselves, and the concerns we hold for others.  We lift up those who are walking difficult roads—those facing illness or uncertainty, those grieving losses both recent and long-held, those who feel alone or forgotten.  Be their companion, O Christ.  Draw near to them in ways they can feel and know.  We especially pray for…

         We pray for our community, that we might be people who recognize You in one another, who offer hospitality as freely as You do, who make room at the table for all.  We pray for Your church, that our hearts might burn within us again—not with fear or division, but with the fire of Your love and Your truth.

And we pray for this world, so often filled with brokenness and uncertainty.  Walk alongside all who suffer from violence, injustice, and fear.  Guide leaders toward wisdom and compassion.  Help us to be bearers of your peace in every place we go.

And when our journey feels long, remind us that You are already walking beside us, leading us home.  And now we offer up to You are deepest prayers in this time of silence.

We pray all this in your holy name, Jesus Christ, our companion on the way who taught us to pray together saying… Our Father who art in heaven, Hallowed be Thy name.  Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.  Give us this day our daily bread.  Forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors.  And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.  For Thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, forever.  AMEN.

 

Hymn –  O Love That Will Not Let Me Go   Hymn #384/606

Scripture Reading(s): 

First Scripture Reading – Psalm 34:1-10

Second Scripture Reading – Luke 24:13-35

Sermon –  The Road to Emmaus

Based on Luke 24:13–35

There are some walks in life that change us.  Not because the road itself is remarkable, although it can be.  Not because the scenery is necessarily breathtaking, although that can certainly add to the transformational change.  But most pointedly because of what happens along the way—what is said, what is felt, what is experienced, or who shows up beside us when we least expect it.

Luke tells us about one of those walks.  Two disciples, leaving Jerusalem were headed toward a town called Emmaus which is about seven miles away.  That’s approximately like walking from here to Monongahela—just far enough for grief to settle in, for questions to think about, just far enough for hope to feel like a memory.

These two disciples are talking as they walk, of course they are talking.  Because when life falls apart, we have to find ways of processing it and for many of us that is talking it out, rehearsing how the words sound and feel in our head and heart, retelling what happened.  We try to make sense of what doesn’t make sense.

“We had hoped…” they said.  That might be one of the most heartbreaking phrases in all of Scripture.  “We had hoped he was the one…”  Not we hope.  Not we believe.  But we had hoped.  Past tense faith.

We know that language.  We’ve spoken it ourselves.  We had hoped the diagnosis would be different.  We had hoped this last relationship would be the one.  We had hoped the church would grow.  We had hoped the world would be kinder by now.  We had hoped things would be different.  We had hoped that resurrection would look… clearer.

These disciples were not walking toward Emmaus because they were excited.  They’re walking because they don’t know what else to do.  Jerusalem has become a place of confusion, fear, and disappointment.  So, they leave.  And somewhere on that road, somewhere between grief and resignation, Jesus comes near.  But they don’t recognize him.  Which is strange, isn’t it?  Because you would think that resurrection would be obvious.  You would think that if Jesus showed up, they would know.  But they don’t.

Maybe that’s because resurrection doesn’t always look like what we expect.  Jesus doesn’t transfigure into a gleaming white being in blazing light and not as a triumphant king.  He comes as a stranger, a traveler, just some random conversation partner.  A stranger who accompanies us in our melancholy discontent, our grief, our sorrows or sadness.

“What are you talking about?” he asks them.  And they stop walking.  “Are you the only one who doesn’t know what’s happened?”  Which is kind of humorous if you think about it.  Them explaining the story to him…to the one who IS the story.  But they tell it.

There was this man, Jesus of Nazareth, a prophet, who was powerful in word and deed, who did miraculous things, handed over be crucified.  “We had hoped…”  And then they add this strange, fragile detail: “Some of the women went to the tomb… and said it was empty.” 

In that small detail, there is a glimmer of hope that flickers just for a moment, but it doesn’t take hold.  Because sometimes even the smallest piece of good news feels too fragile to trust.

And then Jesus speaks.  He doesn’t speak to them with condemnation—but with an invitation.  He walks them through the story, the whole story, beginning with Moses, continuing through the prophets.  In doing so, he reframes everything.  He doesn’t erase their grief—but he places it inside a bigger picture, a larger story.

There’s a scene from the movie “Latter Days” in which a Mormon missionary finds a woman crying on the steps outside the hospital.  He hands her his handkerchief and asks if she’s ok.  Initially she says that she’s fine.  But as they sit together in silence, she says that she wasn’t ready for her beloved to die.  And she can’t make sense of it.  The missionary asks her if she ever reads the Sunday Comics.  Taken aback by this seemingly callous question she doesn’t respond, but the missionary continues.  “When I was a child, I learned that the colors in the Sunday comics are just made of tiny little dots.  I’d hold the newspaper up to my face, as close as I could get and I’d just see this mass of dots.  I’d like to think that from God’s perspective; life, everything is all connected and it’s beautiful and funny, and good.  From this close, we can’t expect it to make sense right now.” 

Jesus explained to the travelers a clearer image of God’s perspective, a story where suffering is not the end, where death is not the final word.  And this is where I think this passage meets us so powerfully today.  Because we are living in a time where many people feel like those disciples walking away from Jerusalem in sadness and disappointment, trying to make sense of things.

Faith after disappointment is not the same as faith before it.  Faith after loss walks a little slower.  It asks deeper questions.  It doesn’t accept easy answers.  But here’s the good news of Emmaus: Jesus meets us there, on the road.  In the middle of our questions.  In the middle of our confusion.  In the middle of our “we had hoped.”

However, recognition doesn’t come right away.  They walk awhile with him.  Hopefully, they listen.  Maybe, there’s something stirring inside that pulls them even if they don’t yet see.  It’s only later that they say, “Were not our hearts burning within us?”  Isn’t that interesting?  Awareness comes after the experience, in hindsight.  After hearing, after listening, after understanding.

Think about the moments in your own life when something sacred was happening, but you didn’t realize it at the time.  A conversation that stayed with you or a quiet moment that later felt like grace, or a person who showed up just when you needed them.  It is often only later that we think, “God was in that.”

My sister Joy died in 2021 after a rather short battle with cancer.  She and I had talked about all the things we’d do when she and I retired.  About the places we’d go, the new hobbies we each wanted to learn and try, about the people in our lives that we’d get to spend more time with.  I had already begun making plans for my Sabbatical and she was excited to think about possibly joining me in some of those travels.  My sister was somewhat of a polyglot, meaning a person that can speak many languages.  She was also fascinated by culture and history.  She was a French Major in college, but fluent in Spanish as well, and knew quite a bit of German.  She had even picked up some of the Asian languages while being an interpreter at Philadelphia’s National Park and Independence Hall.

After she died, I went to Spain as part of my Sabbatical and found an intense connection with her there in Cordoba for some reason.  But it wasn’t until I got to Bayeau, France a small town in Normandy that the gravity of all she’d gone through in her illness and the deep sense of loss I felt over her death hit me.  It was a wonderful little town with a river that ran through it.  Next to the river was a walk that wound it’s way along the banks.  I decided to spend an afternoon walking there.  Thoughts of my sister Joy flooded through me, and that same sadness the disciples felt on the road to Emmaus came to me, as well.  “We had hoped”.  We had hoped to be doing some of this trip together.  We had hoped…so many things.  As her loss poured over me, I saw a willow tree next to the river.  We’d spent many hours playing in and climbing my Aunt’s Willow Tree when we were children.  Not far from the tree was a bench where I needed to sit down.  A woman pulling a cart and her young daughter passed nearby.  The girl started picking up some of the willow branches, playing with them and I started to cry.  The woman noticed me and began speaking to me in French.  Of course, I had no idea what she was saying, and in English simply said, that I was sorry I couldn’t speak French, but I was okay.  I continued in English saying that my sister and I used to play under my aunt’s willow tree back home, and that she had recently died.  The woman didn’t say anything more in French or English, but she and her daughter stayed a little while near the river, under the willow tree.  When they left she passed by me and very briefly placed her hand on my shoulder and went on her way.

The Emmaus story reminds us that God is often present in ways we don’t immediately recognize.  But recognition comes through hospitality, through presence, through a brief touch of a hand on the shoulder, through a shared meal or table, when we sit with one another and care for one another. 

I think, perhaps, one of the reasons we’re losing people to searching for God in other places is that we’re lost the communal nature of being with one another, where the recognition of God’s presence is strongly met.  We live in a world where people are hungry—not just for information, but for connection, for belonging, for a place where they can sit and be known.

And maybe the most important thing this story about Emmaus says to us is this: the story of the resurrection isn’t only about Christ or just an event for us to remember; it’s a presence that walks with us.  Even when we don’t recognize it, even when we feel like we’re moving in the wrong direction, even when our faith feels like “we had hoped.”

In that Christ comes near, walks beside us, listens to our story, reframes our understanding, and then reveals himself in ways we often only recognize later.  So maybe this week, the invitation is simple: pay attention to the road, pay attention to the conversations, pay attention to what feels like the Holy Spirit at work.  You just might discover that Christ is there in the midst of it all and you are no longer walking alone.

And when you do, when your eyes are opened, even for a moment, allow the “we had hoped” to shift inside you to a more profound peace in knowing that hope is always pulling us forward.  Carry the story, tell someone yours, because the transformation in Christ’s resurrection is always moving, always calling, always sending us into the world with hearts that burn, and lives that bear witness to a presence we did not expect but now cannot deny.

Thanks be to God.

Amen.

 

Offertory –

Doxology –

Prayer of Dedication –

Generous and gracious God, we offer these gifts as signs of our gratitude and trust in You.  Take what we bring and use it to bring hope, healing, and new life into the world.  Multiply these offerings, and multiply our willingness to serve, so that Your love may be made known in every place.  In Christ’s name we pray. Amen.

Closing Hymn – I Sing the Mighty Power of God          Hymn #288/128

Benediction

         Go now as people who have walked the road with Christ.  Even when you did not recognize him, he was with you.  And as you go, may your hearts burn within you, with the light of resurrection and the warmth of God’s love.  Go in peace, to love and serve the Lord.  AMEN

Postlude

Sunday, April 12, 2026

Today's Worship Service - Sunday, April 12, 2026


Worship Service for April 12, 2026

Prelude

Announcements:  

Call to Worship

L:      Christ our Savior is risen from the dead!  Alleluia!

P:      Break forth into joy!  Sing together!  God comforts those whose hearts are broken in sorrow.

L:      We who once suffered in death, we who once cried in despair –

P:      Now we know victory over death!  Now we know joy over despair!

L:      For God has raised Christ from the grave.

All:   The tomb is empty and death has been defeated for all the earth!

 

Opening Hymn –   Thine is the Glory           #122 Blue Hymnal

Prayer of Confession

Gracious God, we confess before You our slowness to embrace the new life You offer.  You offer springtime to our souls, but we prefer the winter of coldness and indifference.  We continue in despair and self-doubt, rather than rejoicing in knowing You love us.  We forget that we have been baptized into the death and resurrection of Christ.  Afraid to die, we cannot receive new life.  Rejoicing that You forgive us, with our coldness, self-hate, forgetfulness, or fear, we pray to You with the confidence of Your children.  (Silent prayers are offered)  AMEN.

Assurance of Pardon

L:      For all who have come believing in Christ as the Way, there is rest from your fruitless labors, forgiveness of your sins and the guarantee of eternal life.

P:      Let us then continue our journey of faith and obedience, through the grace of Jesus Christ.  AMEN!

 

Gloria Patri

Affirmation of Faith/Apostles’ Creed

I believe in God the Father Almighty, Maker of heaven and earth; And in Jesus Christ His only Son our Lord; who was conceived by the Holy Ghost, born of the Virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, dead, and buried; He descended into hell; the third day He rose again from the dead; He ascended into heaven, and sitteth on the right hand of God the Father Almighty; from thence He shall come to judge the quick and the dead.

I believe in the Holy Ghost, the holy catholic Church; the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins; the resurrection of the body; and the life everlasting.  AMEN

 

Pastoral Prayer and Lord’s Prayer

Risen Christ, who comes to us even when the doors are locked and our hearts are uncertain, we gather in the quiet glow of Easter’s lingering light.  Last week we shouted alleluia; today we come again—some with bold faith, others with lingering doubt, all of us in need of your presence.

Breathe your peace upon us.  As you stood among the disciples and said, “Peace be with you,” speak that same word into our lives—into our anxious thoughts, our weary bodies, our divided communities.  Where fear has settled in, stir courage.  Where grief still lingers, bring comfort.  Where hope feels fragile, strengthen it with resurrection power.

Patient Savior, you did not turn away Thomas in his questioning, but met him in it with grace.  Meet us there too—in our wondering, our skepticism, our desire to see and touch and know that new life is real.  Hold our doubts gently until they become deeper faith, and help us to trust even when we cannot yet see.

Living Lord, you send us as you were sent—into a world still marked by brokenness and longing.  Make us bearers of your peace: in our homes, in our neighborhoods, in our work, in places of conflict and in quiet moments of need.  Let our lives proclaim what our lips confess: that death does not have the final word, and love is stronger than fear.

We pray for your church, that we may be a community of the resurrection—welcoming, forgiving, courageous, and alive.  We pray for those who suffer this day: the sick, the grieving, the lonely, the oppressed.  Stand among them as you stood among your friends, and let your peace take root where pain has been.  We especially pray today for…

 

And now, in this time of quiet rest, hear our innermost prayers that we cannot say aloud…

 

And as we continue this Easter journey, keep shaping us into people who recognize you in our midst—in the sharing of stories and the quiet assurance that you are still alive and at work.  We offer all of this in the name of the Risen One, who still comes, still speaks, and still sends us forth, praying together… Our Father who art in heaven, Hallowed be Thy name.  Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.  Give us this day our daily bread.  Forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors.  And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.  For Thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, forever.  AMEN.

 

Hymn –  Jesus Shall Reign   Hymn #423/375   485/56  4 vs.

Scripture Reading(s): 

First Scripture Reading – Psalm 16

Second Scripture Reading – John 20:19-31

Sermon –  The Transformative Encounter with the Risen Christ

(based on John 20:19-31)

 

Today’s New Testament passage from John 20 begins on that first Easter evening when the disciples were huddled in a locked room, gripped by fear.  They had just witnessed the arrest and crucifixion of Jesus, and now they were unsure of what the future held.  Rumors are swirling.  Mary has just told them that she has seen the Lord.  The atmosphere was thick with anxiety and uncertainty—an experience many of us can resonate with today.  The disciples are not out proclaiming the good news.  They are not out singing alleluias, like we did last week.  Instead, they are huddled together, hiding, trying to make sense of it all.

I think we often find ourselves like the disciples behind closed doors, figuratively speaking.  Perhaps it’s the fear of the unknown, that things are changing around us too fast, the stress of financial instability, or even the emotional turmoil from broken relationships.  When we shut ourselves in, we isolate our fears and doubts, thinking that we are alone in our struggles.  Yet, in that locked room, something miraculous occurred.

Without knowing, without warning, Jesus comes and stands among them.  The doors are still locked.  The fear is still real.  But Jesus is there.  Just as Jesus appeared to His fearful disciples, He desires to meet us in our places of vulnerability and uncertainty.  Are we open to recognizing His presence in our lives?  Are we willing to let Him into our fears?

The first words out of his mouth aren’t correction, not disappointment, not, “Where were you?”  “Why are you hiding here?”  But rather he says, “Peace be with you.”  In the midst of their chaos, He brings peace, a profound sense of calm in the storm.  They know this calm.  He’s provided it before.  In the midst of a real storm, He calmed the wind, and settled the turbulent seas.  This greeting is not merely a salutation but an expression of His desire to settle and restore their shattered hearts.

Imagine the w eight that was lifted from the disciples’ shoulders as they see their Lord standing before them.  They went from despair to joy in an instant.  Jesus understood their doubts and fears, and instead of rebuking them, He comforts them from the very outset.

This is the essence of our faith, isn’t it?  Believing that in the middle of all the fear and chaos and turmoil, Christ extends His peace.  Calming the storm that rages around us and bringing joy to our hearts.  How often do we forget to seek out that peace?   In times of anxiety or decision-making, let us remember to turn first to the Lord, inviting His presence into our lives.

And yet, at the same time, Jesus doesn’t wait for the disciples to unlock the door.  He doesn’t wait for them to get their courage together.  He doesn’t say, ‘When you’re ready, come find me.”  He comes to them.  So many of us believe that we have to get ourselves together before God shows up.  We think we need to get rid of our doubts, clean up our lives, fix our own brokenness, unlock our fears.  We just need to be open to the possibility of God showing up and He is there.

He meets us in those locked rooms.  In the room of grief you have processed yet.  In the room of anxiety you can’t explain.  In the room of doubt that you’re afraid to name out loud.  It is into those rooms that Christ shows up and says, “Peace be with you.”

After he speaks peace, Jesus shows them his hands and his side.  This is not incidental, it’s essential.  The risen Christ still bears the wounds.

Resurrection does not erase the story of suffering—it transforms it. The marks of violence, the evidence of pain, the scars of betrayal—they don’t just go away.  They are not hidden.  Instead, they are revealed.  They show where we’ve been, they tell our story, they prove that we are unique and individual.  In showing them, Jesus is saying: “This is still me.”  The one who was crucified is the one who is risen.  I still bear the wounds, the scars, the story of suffering.  The one who suffered is the one who stands before you in peace.

We live in a world that wants to hide wounds.  To move on quickly.  To pretend everything is fine.  But the gospel tells a different story: healing does not mean pretending we were never hurt.  It means that our wounds no longer have the final word.  That what we’ve been through is real, but it will not be the last of us.

Jesus’ scars become signs of life, not defeat.  And in the same way, the places in our lives where we have been broken—those places can become the very places where grace is most visible.

Following His greeting of peace, Jesus commissions His disciples, saying, “As the Father has sent me, I am sending you.”  This is the pivotal moment in the gospel record.  For the disciples move from being fearful followers to empowered witnesses.  Jesus is not only restoring their faith but he is giving it a direction for a greater purpose.

He breathes the Holy Spirit onto them, granting them authority and responsibility.  This moment shifts the narrative from passive waiting and waiting in fear to active engagement in the world with joy and wonder.  He doesn’t give them a test.  They don’t have to prove that they’ve gotten everything right.  Christ sends them as they are.  “Receive the Holy Spirit.” He says.  This breath echoes the very beginning of creation when God breathes life into the world.  This is new creation language and action.  Resurrection is not just about Jesus, it’s about the renewal of the whole world, beginning with these fragile, fearful disciples.

What does this commissioning look like for us?  It could be volunteering for a variety of different ministries, speaking out against injustice, or simply being the light in our workplaces and in our friends’ lives.  Our faith should propel us into action.

Enter Thomas, one of the twelve disciples, who wasn’t present when Jesus first appeared.  When the others share their experience, his skeptical response reflects a deeply human reaction: “Unless I see the nail marks in his hands and put my finger where the nails were, I will not believe.”

Thomas often gets labeled “the doubter,” but let’s be honest—he is also the truth-teller.  He refuses secondhand faith.  He refuses to pretend certainty that he does not feel.  And Jesus does not reject him for that.

Thomas' doubt isn't an isolated incident; it exemplifies the struggle many of us face in our faith journeys.  In a world filled with uncertainty, doubt often creeps in, challenging our beliefs and trust in God.

Rather than condemning doubt, we should acknowledge it as a natural part of our faith journey.  God invites our questions, our struggles, and our search for understanding.  Like Thomas, we are encouraged to seek whatever evidence we need.

A week later, Jesus appears again, same greeting, “Peace be with you.”  And He turns directly to Thomas inviting him to touch the wounds in His hands and side.  “Put your finger here.  See my hands.  Reach out your hand and put it in my side.”  Jesus meets Thomas exactly where he is.  In that moment of intimate connection, Thomas declares, “My Lord and my God!”  This declaration exemplifies a profound acknowledgment of Jesus not just as a teacher or healer but as Lord—the One deserving of our utmost devotion.

This story of Thomas and Jesus is not about shaming doubt – it’s about honoring the journey of faith that we each take.  Doubt can be the place where faith grows deeper, more honest, more real.  Jesus is not afraid of your questions.  He is not threatened by your uncertainty.  He doesn’t withdraw when you struggle to believe.  Instead, Christ comes closer.  He invites you to see.  To touch.  To wrestle.  To know.  And in that encounter, change begins and Thomas sees, knows, and believes.

Jesus responds to Thomas, “Because you have seen me, you have believed; blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed.” Here, across the eons of time, Christ speaks directly to us, praising those who trust in Him without the need for tangible evidence.

It challenges us to embrace faith beyond the visible.  We may not always see God’s hand at work in our circumstances, yet we are called to trust His promises.  How can we cultivate a faith that sees beyond our immediate perceptions, especially in difficult times?

John concludes this passage by stating that the miracles of Jesus were written so that we may believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that by believing, we may have life in His name. This is the core of our Christian experience—faith that brings life, meaning, and purpose.

As we walk through our lives, let us remember that we, too, are a part of this narrative.  Our doubts, fears, and victories intertwine with the ancient story of Christ’s resurrection.

Today, let’s commit to a faith that isn’t flawless but is authentic and engaged.  Let us not be content with simply hearing about Jesus’ peace or power; let us experience it in our lives.  As we journey forward, may we represent Christ’s love and hope, making Him known in every corner of our lives.

Because we, too, are called to be agents of change and ambassadors of Christ in our communities.  We, too, are being sent out, not because we are perfect, but because we are called.  We are being sent out, not because we have no doubts, but because we have encountered grace.  We are being sent out to carry peace into a world that desperately needs it.

Thanks be to God.

AMEN.

Offertory –

Doxology –

Prayer of Dedication –

Generous and faithful God, every good gift comes from you, and in gratitude we return a portion of what we have received.  Bless these offerings—not only the gifts we place before you, but the time, compassion, and courage we carry into the world.  Multiply them in ways we cannot yet see, so that your love may be known, your justice made real, and your grace extended to all.  Use us and these gifts for your purposes, that we may be living signs of your resurrection hope.  In the name of Christ, we pray.  AMEN.

Closing Hymn – He Lives                              Hymn #368 Brown

Benediction

         May the risen Lord meet you in your doubts, strengthen your faith, and send you out with courage and hope.  Go now into the world as people of the resurrection—carrying the peace of Christ into every place of fear and uncertainty.  AMEN

Postlude