Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel (Pentecost)

  The readings for Sunday, May 24, 2026:

First Reading: Acts 2:1-21

First Reading (Alt.): Numbers 11:24-30

Psalm: Psalm 104:25-35, 37 (Psalm 104:24-34, 35b NRSV)

Second Reading: 1 Corinthians 12:3b-13

Second Reading (Alt.): Acts 2:1-21

Gospel: John 20:19-23

Gospel (Alt.): John 7:37-39



Ah, Pentecost, day of fire and wind and foreign languages.

Contemplate how much of Scripture circles around the breath of God. Reread Genesis--creation comes into being because God breathes it into life. Something similar happens in the Gospel of John. Jesus breathes on his disciples and transforms them. Likewise in Acts--that great rushing wind. For those of you in love with words and older translations, we often find the same word in these passages: Pneuma (yes, that root that creates our modern word of pneumonia).

The twenty-first century Church, at least some branches of it, is in serious need of the breath of God. Perhaps you are too.

I often think of those first followers, who went out with the breath of God in them, and transformed the world. In the history of social movements, few have been as broadly successful as Christianity. My atheist friends would chime in that few have been as destructive--we both may be right. What an unlikely story: a small band of weirdly talented or distinctly ungifted men and women head out in pairs, carrying very little with them, and they survive enormous obstacles. In the process, they change the culture--and often, then, they move on. Think of the distances that they travelled--often on foot. Think of how hostile the culture was. You wouldn't be able to suspend your disbelief if you read it in a book.

The breath of God can transform us in the same way. Jesus transfers his powers to his disciples; we're given the power to do what he does. Now, if only we could believe it.

Maybe the key is to act as if you do believe it. You can do remarkable things, even if you don't feel like you can.

We're at a point in history that may prove to be a pivot.  We've had plagues and pandemics.  We've had political upheavals from left and right.  Weather related catastrophes happen regularly.  Many people are already considering how to use this moment in history for their own purposes.  How can we use this moment to create a society that's more in line with the vision that God has for us?

Maybe the thought of transformation exhausts you in the best of times.  Maybe the question of transformation threatens to overwhelm you.  Maybe you are already drowning.

So let's begin from a much simpler place.  Let's return to a fundamental religious practice and focus on our breathing.  In his book, Breath: The New Science of a Lost Art, researcher James Nestor points us to a study showing that breathing in for 5-6 seconds and breathing out for 5-6 seconds can help restore our sense of calm and well being.  Breathing more deeply can heal us in all sorts of ways, especially if we remember to focus on our breath more often.

As we focus on our breathing, let's add a powerful meditative element.  As you inhale, envision God breathing into you. Breathe deeply.  Receive the breath of God.  As you exhale, imagine God's grace and goodness flowing into the world. 

The world needs to receive the breath of God.  The planet cries out for healing.  The stories of Pentecost show us ways to begin.

The Feast Day of Saint Dunstan

On this day in 988, Archbishop Dunstan died.  In this blog post, medieval scholar Eleanor Parker calls him "one of the greatest saints of Anglo-Saxon England - statesman, archbishop of Canterbury, scholar, monk, musician, metal-worker, and noted tormenter of devils."

Well, there's a resume!

The blog post talks about the history of Dunstan's time, the tumultuous tenth century, tumultuous in England, at least.  It was a time of Viking raids--but not constant raids.  During the times of no raiding, could people relax or did they always know the raids would start again?

It was also a time of internal fighting, with battles between Scotland and northern England.  To read the timeline in this Wikipedia article exhausts me.  But I remind myself that medieval war wasn't relentless, the way our more modern wars could be.  I imagine that civilian populations might not have known much at all about those battles that are listed.

It was a time of monastic developments, with new orders founded and old monasteries and abbeys resurrected.  Was this renewed interest because of the constant state of war?

Despite my knowledge of English literature, I don't really know much about this time period.  My knowledge of English literature in any kind of deep way begins with Chaucer, who lived from 1343-1400.  Most of us think of the post-Roman, pre-Chaucer time period as the Dark Ages, but historians have often pointed out the limits of that term.  Saint Dunstan shows that the time was much more complex. 

Sermon for Sunday, May 17, 2026

May 17, 2026

By Kristin Berkey-Abbott




John 17:1-11



The Gospel of John is the only Gospel that doesn’t have the disciples ask Jesus to teach them to pray and have Jesus offer the prayer we use every week in worship, the prayer we call The Lord’s Prayer. Instead, we get this prayer, which appears in our lectionary every year for the last Sunday in the Easter season, the Sunday before Pentecost.


Across the Gospels, we see Jesus pray in a variety of ways, in a variety of places, for a variety of reasons. Here we see Jesus pray as part of the Last Supper, when he’s been doing some last instructing after the meal, and now he prays for the safety and the success of these disciples who have traveled so far with him, yet still have so far to go.


As I’ve thought about this picture of Jesus in prayer, I’ve thought about what it means to have a savior who prays for humans. Does Jesus already know the outcome of his prayers in a way that humans do not, when we pray? That’s another way of asking if the future is pre-determined, and if we believe in free will, we would have to say that even though Jesus is part of our Triune God, he doesn’t know in advance that the disciples will take his teachings to the ends of the known world.

We get this Gospel reading every year, just after the Feast of the Ascension, which we heard about in our first text for today. I think about those disciples getting Jesus back from the tomb. And now, he leaves them again. The Holy Spirit has yet to make an appearance in the spectacular way that will happen on Pentecost. Did any of the disciples think back to this time of prayer? Did they find comfort in a savior who prayed for their protection?


This Sunday is also Rogate Sunday, and at the end of today’s worship, we’ll head outside to do some planting. I’ve been keeping an eye on a neighbor’s garden while they’ve been walking and praying their way across a hundred miles in England on the Canterbury trail. As I’ve thought about prayer and this Sunday’s Gospel, I’ve thought about how much prayer and planting are similar.


Like Jesus, we often pray for something specific. Jesus prays for protection and unity. When we plant a seed or a seedling, we often have something specific in mind. We don’t plant a tomato seed hoping to have an apple orchard by August.


And yet, we don’t have complete control over the garden that will emerge. Maybe we’ll have so many tomatoes that we’ll have to give them away. Maybe it will be a summer of too much rain and the harvest will rot on the vine or never get rooted.


We pray as we plant, not knowing the final outcome. I have to assume that Jesus, being both human and divine, also prayed not knowing the final outcome.


Here’s what struck me as I was thinking about this text and this prayer down on the beach yesterday. Like us, Jesus doesn’t always get his prayers answered, at least not in the way I assume he was hoping.


Think about what we see in today’s Gospel. Jesus prays for safety for the disciples. In many essential ways, Jesus didn’t have his prayer answered. By the time the Gospel of John was written, around 100 AD, hearers of today’s reading would know that Jerusalem was destroyed and the Jews sent into exile. By the time the writer of the Gospel of John records Jesus’ prayer, all the disciples except one had died horrible deaths, often Roman executions, as they attempted to do what Jesus prayed for them to be able to do, to go out to be living witnesses to the truth that Jesus has showed them and instilled in them.


But if we take a longer view of this prayer of Jesus, in another 200 years, the Church has taken root in the places where the disciples died. In another 300-500 years, seeds from the first seedling congregations have sprouted in much more distant places. If we take a longer view, Jesus’ prayers have been answered. His work has been glorified—perhaps in ways that would surprise him.


I'll admit that it's simplistic to look at Jesus' ministry in this way. We might also feel defensive. We might say that these early followers had the advantage of doing something new.


But of course, if we read all of the book of Acts, we’ll see that those first followers of Jesus weren’t always sure that they were doing something new. Many of the arguments circled around whether or not Jesus had called them to a new way of practicing Judaism or a new way of being in community with God and with one another.


We, too, are at a crossroads, maybe several crossroads. The world, as we knew it, no longer exists in the same way. We might envy those disciples, sent out two by two, with just a change of clothes. But those disciples, too, were wrestling with a world that had changed. They were still in need of the protection that Jesus prayed they might have. They still had to figure out how to live the lives devoted to the truth that Jesus had showed them.


Here again, Jesus shows us a path forward. We can pray, like Jesus prays.


We plant our seeds of prayer, not knowing how they will take root or sprout. We pray our gardens, not knowing if we will see the answers to our prayers in our lifetimes. We pray, as Jesus did, knowing that we are only part of the process. We pray for others and for the larger world. We pray, trusting that God will find a way.


We pray for many of the same reasons that Jesus prayed. We have troubles that are bigger than ourselves. We pray because we need power greater than our own. We pray to calm our nerves, so that we can face the tasks that must be done.


God calls us to resurrection not just once, but daily. God calls us to ascend above all the earthly powers that try to hold us in their grip. Prayer is one of the ways that we stay rooted in God, planted in a garden designed for our flourishing. This summer, as we watch our gardens grow, as we go to farmer’s markets to find the food that nourishes our bodies, let us take care to nourish our souls as well, by tending to our prayer lives the way we care for tender seedlings.

Notes from an Off-Season Beach

We are at the beach in a slightly off season, here in mid-May.  It's warm enough to work up a summer-like sweat in the late afternoon.  But my morning walk today had a chilly enough wind that it was almost unpleasant.  Let me record a few other observations.

--Being here in mid-May means that the only children who are here are younger than elementary school age, which translates into lots of cute toddlers.

--We are also here with lots of older people, the ones with either very flexible vacation times or retired people.

--I am likely in the same age category as many of these older women, yet I am working from a different jewelry sensibility:  a nice way of saying that I love colorful glass beads that aren't very valuable, and I'm surrounded by precious gems and metals that are.  I am not wearing jewelry on vacation, and I'm in the minority.

--I have started judging restaurants by their playlists.  High marks go to Poseidon for having 3 Queen songs, including the more obscure "Hammer to Fall," which I am listening to in my earbuds right now.  What a great song--and it still feels very relevant.

--I do realize that "Hammer to Fall" was released as a single and went up the charts.  When I say it's more obscure, I mean that it no longer gets much airplay.  We're much more likely to hear "Somebody to Love," when we're out and about.

--A different musician performs by the pool each day.  Yesterday the musician could play steel pan drums, guitar, and saxaphone, but he didn't always know the song lyrics.  Strange to hear his version of Sting's "Englishman in New York," which didn't sound very English-y, and we're far, far away from both England and New York.

--Yesterday was my last Lutheran Confessions class.  It was a good class, and I learned a lot, although I'm not sure that much of it will be useful in my future life.  I love the idea that the creeds are not like a pledge of allegiance, but more like a love song of the early Church, more like a hymn than a confession of faith.  It seems counterintuitive--we say we confess our faith using the words of the _____Creed.

--It's been a good week, both bittersweet and tiring and inspiring.

The Feast Day of the Ascension

Today is the Feast Day of the Ascension, 40 days after Easter, 10 days before Pentecost. This feast day commemorates Jesus being taken up into Heaven.

In the church of my childhood, we must have celebrated this festival on a Sunday. I have memories of hearing the story in church; I don't have much memory of celebrating Pentecost as a child. Now, Ascension can go by without a peep.

Imagine it from the eyes of those who have followed Christ from traipsing around Galilee, Crucifixion, and then Resurrection. You have just gotten your beloved Messiah returned to you, and then, poof, he's gone again. What a whipsawed feeling they must have had.

How do we celebrate this day, so many thousands of years later? Many churches have chosen to simply ignore it. We march on to Pentecost.

By the point that the disciples witness the Ascension, are they used to these sorts of wonders? Their savior has risen from the dead, after all. Maybe being scooped up into heaven wasn't as wonder inducing--and yet, I suspect it was.

When I think of the events of Holy Week, Easter, and the time up to the Ascension, I wonder if any of them came close to a breaking point. I think of the Pentecost story, where once again we find the disciples holed up in a room. I wonder if some of them were rocking themselves in a corner, muttering about how the world had cracked open, and not in a good way.

In our current time, we may have lost our sense of wonder. When I watch us talking or tapping on our cell phones, I sometimes remind myself of the miraculous developments that the cell phone represents. For better or worse, it provides phone coverage to places that once were remote. It puts an enormous amount of commuting power in a very portable container. Satellites circle the earth to assist with these processes.

Sure, we might use them in the most mundane way: to coordinate the car pool pick up or dinner plans or to find each other in a crowd. And yet, maybe it's profound, in ways we don't acknowledge. We ascend by way of satellites to find each other, to tell each other of our love.

I think of Jesus and all of the others who have ascended before us. I think of the love that is our mission. I think of times I've watched the moon rise. I think of satellites, the ones we've made of metal and the ones that existed long before we hurled things into space. All of us, circling, all of us lost in both our daily orbits and our larger obsessions.

On this feast day of the Ascension, let us keep our eyes on the Savior who has gone before us. Let us stay grounded in the love that declares us wondrously made. Let us go forth and love similarly.

Prayer for the Feast of the Ascension:

Ascending God, you understand our desire to escape our earthly bonds, to hover above it all, to head to Heaven now instead of later. Remind us of our earthly purpose. Reassure us that we have gifts and talents that are equal to the tasks that you need us to do. Help us close our gaping mouths and get to work.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The lessons for May 17, 2026:

First Reading: Acts 1:6-14

Psalm: Psalm 68:1-10, 33-36 (Psalm 68:1-10, 32-35 NRSV)

Second Reading: 1 Peter 4:12-14; 5:6-11

Gospel: John 17:1-11

In today's Gospel, we see Jesus at the end of his mission. We see Jesus praying, telling God all the things he (Jesus) has done. We also see Jesus handing over his ministry to his disciples.

Notice that all of Jesus' followers were given responsibilities. They didn't just show up at church and wait to be entertained. They didn't march off in a huff when Jesus didn't do things the way the last savior did. I'm sure that Jesus lost some people along the way--after all, he made some stringent demands. But he also gave people ownership and expectations.

Jesus taught his followers to live in the moment, to not worry so much about 5 year projections or the future of the faith. He taught people to focus on the needs of the community and not on power structures that they hoped to maintain.  He taught people how to live in community and how to resist the very powerful structures of empire.

Jesus commanded his followers to be dependent on each other and to trust that God would provide for them.  When they're sent out, they're sent out two by two, with only what they can carry (and it's a light load). This ensures that they'll make connections in the new community, not just trust in each other and the people that they already know.

I'll admit that it's simplistic to look at Jesus' ministry in this way. We might also feel defensive.  We might say that these early followers had the advantage of doing something new.  In our century, we have all sorts of burdens:  tradition, responsibilities, buildings.  We can't decide to start over in thinking about the way we do ministry.

Or can we?  These last several years have showed us that we can do things differently.  And our time of innovation is not yet done.

God calls us to resurrection not just once, but daily.  God calls us out of all that has left us abandoned in our tombs.  Let us fold our gravecloths and emerge.

Sermon for Mother's Day Week-end

May 10, 2026
By Kristin Berkey-Abbott




John 14: 15-21



Jesus speaks the words in today’s Gospel reading to the disciples in the last hours they’ll have together before the Crucifixion. He is preparing them for the hard times of separation that will be coming—not only his Crucifixion and death, but the Ascension too.


We will celebrate the Ascension on Thursday. Every year as Ascension Day approaches, I think of those poor disciples. They have such a short time with their resurrected Lord, before He goes away again. How on earth do they cope with these developments, the fierce grief moving to great rejoicing, moving back to grief again?


I wonder if they thought back to this teaching. I imagine them remembering the Crucifixion—nothing could have prepared them for what came next. They were probably just getting used to the idea of Jesus defeating death. So why can’t he stay?

I also see this situation as a metaphor for our own modern lives. We may be feeling a bit whipsawed by grief and loss ourselves. We may recover from one crisis, only to find ourselves staring down the next one. As I've gotten older, I've noticed that these crises seem to be increasing in frequency and severity in the lives of those I love. I look back to the dramas of my high school and college years, and I understand why so many elders chuckle dismissively at the troubles of youth. We forget, however, that trouble is trouble, no matter what our age.


Again and again, across the span of life, we find ourselves wrestling with similar questions. Why is there so much suffering? Why did God create a world where cancer and other diseases have their ravaging way with people? Why do the rich and powerful care so little about the world they’re living in and why doesn’t God punish those who don’t care? Why do we lose the ones we love, while the ones we wouldn’t mind losing are the ones who live the longest?

We are not the first to ask these questions, of course. Theologians have been happy to give us answers—here’s a favorite: it’s because Eve ate the apple. Or maybe we’d prefer this explanation: it’s because God and Satan are in a battle, and some days, Satan is winning.



But notice how Jesus does not answer the questions that we might wish we could ask God directly. Jesus did not come in human form to explain the ways of God to us. No, Jesus came to show us how to live more God-drenched lives, by living among us and showing us the way.


So now our question might be, why does he have to leave? Here, too, Jesus doesn’t explain why he can’t stay forever, why he is resurrected, only to leave again 40 days later.


Instead, Jesus offers this assurance: we will never be alone. Although we may feel orphaned, we are not. We may feel desolate, another way of translating verse 18. But we have a holy comforter on the way.


Today’s Gospel ends by Jesus reassuring us that we are not losing him. Indeed, the Gospel ends with an expansive vision of how we will abide with the Triune God, all of our lives intertwined, a place to rest and a place to be energized.


On this Mother’s Day, it doesn’t seem like much of a stretch to notice how Jesus describes a relationship that is nurturing, in the way that the best mothering relationships are. These days that celebrate parenting—Mother’s Day today, Father’s Day in June—can be emotionally wrenching for people. Parenting is not always an easy relationship, so these holidays can remind us of what we didn’t have with our parents or our children, or maybe they remind us of times together that are gone forever. Mother’s Day can remind us of paths not taken. Maybe we wish we’d had a different family configuration: more children or more time with extended family or children spaced apart differently. Maybe we made sacrifices for our children, and we wonder what would have happened if we made different choices. Mother’s Day can be a holiday that comes with emotional landmines.


In this context, too, the words of Jesus take on fresh meaning. We are not left orphaned, even though we may feel orphaned in our family relationships: children grow up and start their own families and most of us will outlive our parents. It’s enough to leave us feeling desolate, and the stories of the disciples might not make us feel much better. We don’t hear much about the family relationships of these men as they went out to spread the Good News of the inbreaking Kingdom of God to all of the Roman empire.


On Mother’s Day, let us turn our attention to the mothers in the Bible, particularly those at the beginning of the story of Jesus. I’m thinking of Elizabeth, mother of John the Baptist, who is very old, much too old to have a child. I’m thinking of Mary, mother of Jesus, who is very young, much too lacking in resources to be a good mother. And yet, both women received unexpected invitations from God, and both women said yes.


Today, I invite you to think about who you are in these stories. Are you one of the disciples, careening between joy and grief, as you move from Holy Week to Easter to Ascension? Are you Elizabeth, a woman who comes to fulfillment late in life? Are you Mary, facing huge hurdles as you discern a way forward? Are you the main nurturer in your life? Are you in need of nurturing? Do you feel orphaned or desolate?


Hear with your ears and with your heart the words of Jesus, who promises us that we are not abandoned, we are not left orphaned, we are not desolate, stripped of everything that might have mattered to us.


If we’re feeling old and washed up, God still has a place for us. If we’re feeling young and insignificant, God has opportunities that the rest of our culture may not offer. If we’re worried that we never understood Jesus the way we should, we have an advocate in the Holy Spirit. If we feel too weighed down by our burdens, Jesus assures us that our lives are knit with his; we’re not carrying our burdens alone.


No matter how many ways we feel barren, new growth is possible. God’s good news is more inclusive than we dared imagine. And we are at a hinge point of history where it is more important than ever to deliver that good news to a world that is so hungry to hear it. Rest assured that we are up to the challenge. We are nurtured by Jesus as we abide with God and the Holy Spirit, all our lives sewed together into a comforter of peace that passes all human understanding.