Husband, Father, and Anglican Priest in the North Georgia Mountains. #Biblestr #ChristIsKing #BTC
Today is Pentecost Sunday — one of the seven Principal Feasts of the Anglican year. The Spirit comes with wind and fire. Three thousand are baptized. The Church is born. The mission begins. And every year the collect asks: pour out this gift anew.
Jesus doesn't pray for his people to be taken out of the world. He prays for them to be kept in his name and sent into it. The new creation is underway and we are part of it through kingdom work — and he is still praying for us at the right hand of the Father.
The ascended Christ is far above all rule and authority and power and dominion — not eventually, but now. Every power that frightens us, every force that seems to govern the world: he is above all of it. This Thursday.
The Feast of the Ascension celebrates not the disappearance of Jesus, but his exaltation — and not his distance from us, but the new and greater intimacy of his priestly presence before the Father on our behalf. The Feast Day still presses its claims on us today.
Jesus doesn't say try harder. He says abide. Stay connected. The branch produces fruit not by effort but by remaining on the vine. Apart from him we can do nothing. Abide in him, and your joy will be full. The fruit comes in its season.
Good Shepherd Sunday invites us to behold Jesus as the loving, sacrificial Shepherd who knows us by name and lays down His life for the sheep. Exploring John 10, Psalm 23, Anglican liturgy, and the call to follow Him, this reflection offers encouragement for every believer this Easter season.
In a world that hides dependence behind supply chains and packaged goods, Rogation Sunday does something quietly subversive: takes us outside, sets us on our feet, and teaches us to ask — holding out empty hands to the Lord of heaven and earth. Ancient faith for modern times.
Thomas asked for directions. Jesus gave him a person. "I am the way, the truth, and the life." One way — exclusive in that there is only one, but wide open to anyone who enters. The way is not a map. The way is Jesus himself.
Jesus doesn't say “I am a gate” — he says “I am the gate”. One narrow way in, open wide to anyone who enters through it. The thief comes to kill, steal, and destroy. The Shepherd laid down his life so the gate could open and brings abundant life. Enter by him, and find pasture.
Two disciples walked away from Jerusalem — grieving, confused, hopes collapsed into past tense. Jesus drew near before they knew who he was, opened the Scriptures, broke the bread, and their eyes were opened. The road to Emmaus did not end in that village.
The disciples hid behind locked doors — afraid, guilty, and grieving. Jesus came, spoke peace and breathed new life into dry bones. The doors could not hold him then. They cannot hold him now. He is still doing this today.
On Easter morning, Mary came weeping in darkness—grieving and hopeless. The risen Jesus met her there, called her by name, and turned her tears into testimony: “I have seen the Lord.” He is calling your name too. Hear. Respond.
"It is finished." One word in Greek — tetelestai — stamped across humanity's debt like PAID IN FULL. The Lamb stepped forward. The price was paid. Good Friday sermon on John 18–19.
On Good Friday, the Church stops. The altar is bare. Silence fills the space. We stand at the foot of the cross and remember: the King gave himself willingly, pierced for our sins. “It is finished.” We do not rush past the darkness. The light is coming — but first, we stay here.
On Maundy Thursday, our Lord shares his Last Supper with his disciples, stoops to wash dusty feet, and gives us His new commandment: “Love one another as I have loved you.” In the Upper Room, He models humble service before the cross. Will we receive His love and extend it to others?
Maundy Thursday blends celebration and sorrow, drawing the faithful into the Upper Room where Jesus shared his Last Supper with his disciples. #ChristIsKing
Palm Sunday: “Hosanna” to “Crucify”—our hearts mirror the crowd's fickleness. Yet the humble King rides to die for us anyway. Follow Him through Holy Week.
Fifth Sunday in Lent (Passion Sunday): A sealed tomb, dry bones, the long ache of unanswered prayer. The God who delayed for Lazarus, who spoke life into a graveyard, weeps at the grave — and still acts. The stone will not stay in place.
Fourth Sunday in Lent: Seven sons passed over. A healed beggar thrown out. Both found by the one who sees what no one else sees. Jesus still walks into the forgotten places and asks: "Do you believe in the Son of Man?" This changes everything.
In this Third Sunday in Lent sermon, we note that she came to the well alone. At noon. When no one would see her. Jesus was already waiting, knowing every chapter, every failure, every empty jar. He sees the full ledger of our lives and still he offers. That is what makes his grace so astonishing. He crosses every boundary to find those of us who have quietly stopped believing anyone would come for us. The living water is not for people who have cleaned themselves up. It is for anyone who has been coming to the same well for years, still thirsty, quietly hoping that this time might be different. Come to the well of living water.
