Final Thoughts, Colossians 4:2-6

Posted on April 14, 2026 by patrick h wrisley

A sermon delivered on April 12, 2024 by The Rev. Dr. Patrick H. Wrisley.

I have never done this before but this morning, since it is the last formal sermon I will preach before I retire, I want to dedicate this sermon to the Educational psychologist who in 1985 was the gatekeeper for Greater Atlanta Presbytery and Columbia Seminary and determined who was allowed to proceed with the educational process and the pursuit of a call. I shall never forget as he looked me in the eye and said, “Mr. Wrisley, I really do not like you, and frankly, it will take a miracle of God to get you through seminary.” Well, Dr. Urie, I believe after over forty years in the ministry, I, sir, believe in miracles!

Our morning text comes from Paul’s letter to the church in Colossae which was a community in what is today’s Turkey. His letter focuses on two primary issues confronting the church at the time. There were some rogue teachers and preachers infiltrating the church with some bad teaching. On the one hand, there were those who were using philosophical arguments saying Jesus was not really who he said he was, i.e., the living embodiment of God – Immanuel. On the other hand were those who said that if you want to know Jesus, you had to know “the secret handshake”; in other words, these folks taught in order to have a relationship with God, you must be taught secret knowledge about Jesus. It is known as the ancient heresy, Gnosticism.

Now at the end of all of Paul’s letters, he takes time to give special encouragement to the letter’s recipients and then circles back around to highlight one more time the letter’s key themes. Today, let us read Colossians 4:2-6. Listen to the Word of the Lord.

Colossians 4:2-6

2Devote yourselves to prayer, keeping alert in it with thanksgiving. 3At the same time pray for us as well that God will open to us a door for the word, that we may declare the mystery of Christ, for which I am in prison, 4so that I may reveal it clearly, as I should. 5Conduct yourselves wisely toward outsiders, making the most of the time. 6Let your speech always be gracious, seasoned with salt, so that you may know how you ought to answer everyone.1

In our text this morning, Paul’s final thoughts to the Church of Colossae are evangelistic in nature, and he is urging the community to focus on prayer. It is not just prayers in general but prayers for the Spirit’s direction as to when and as to how to share the winsome news of Jesus Christ. Specifically, the Church is called to pray for Paul and his companions that the door of opportunity will be thrown open for them to share that faith even though he is in prison.

The second issue he reminds them of is to be mindful of how they, the Church, present themselves to the larger community. He realizes that people outside the Church will not only judge the Church but more importantly, they will judge Jesus by how those of us in the Church act and through what we say or do not say and how we say it. The Message paraphrase has verses five and six reads,

Use your heads as you live and work among outsiders. Don’t miss a trick. Make the most of every opportunity. Be gracious in your speech. The goal is to bring out the best in others in a conversation, not put them down, not cut them out.

So, these are some of Paul’s final thoughts directed to the church in Colossae. I want to offer you, beloved, my final thoughts to you. What is it I want you to remember after I leave?

Whether or not you were aware of it, for the last three years I have been sharing core values I wanted you to marinate in while I was here. As Paul spoke of seasoning our words with salt, I want to share with you six primary seasonings I add to every worship service to marinate and season your soul in the rue with what I think are priorities in our walking the Way of Jesus. This is how I personally, week after week, try to make the most of every opportunity to declare the winsome Word wisely.

How do I start every worship service? Do you remember? I welcome you each week with, “In the Name of the One who is, who was, and who is to come, grace and peace to you in the Name of Jesus Christ, good morning.” I begin each worship service this way because I want you to remember in whose Presence we are gathering; we are gathering in the Presence of God whose Presence has no boundaries. It points us to the Providential nature of a timeless God that is always with us in good times or bad. I then remind us about the nature of this space in which we gather: It’s a space of grace and peace; or put another way, it is a place of acceptance and safety. 

The second dash of seasoning added to worship is that I call for us as a community to become silent, still, and expectant. “Shhh. Listen! The Holy Spirit is in this place!” Each week I begin our worship service by reminding us we are now entering God’s time, and as such, we are to be alert and aware of the Presence of the Spirit in our midst. I want us to prepare ourselves to expect God to show up and make a difference in our lives. It’s a reminder that worship is not about learning “Six Principles for Spiritual Living” or anything like that; no, Church, we are asked to be still and pay attention; we are getting reminded God is here and that Spirit is going to upend your apple cart of status quo.

The third subtle flavor I have tried to instill in you is that when we say the Lord’s Prayer, we end it on a high note, not a low one. It is a powerful, simple prayer straight from the lips of our Lord and so often Church, when we pray it we sound like we are bored: “For thine is the kingdom, power, and glory…amen.” Friends, the early church made a point of adding doxology at the end of this prayer! The Lord’s Prayer ends on a high note because it succinctly reminds us how we are to live our lives in God and with one another. “For Thine is the Kingdom, the Power, and the Glory, FOREVER! AMEN!” It ends on an expectant upbeat!

This fourth thing I do each week is most likely the one you remember most. How do I greet you from the pulpit each week? “Good morning, saints! Good morning, sinners!” I am fully aware there are some of you really dislike when I do this. I had one man tell me that my saying this week after week is hackneyed; I smiled and said, “Brother, that says more about you than it does me and what I am saying!”

So why do I say this each week? Is it simply to get a chuckle out of you before I start preaching? Nope. I greet you that way because I want those of you who feel and act all high and mighty in your faith to remember you are as much a broken mess as everyone else. I want to those of you who feel you are worthless and unlovable to remember you are a dearly loved adopted child of God. The Church is a microcosm of the larger world but with this one difference: Christ-followers understand and acknowledge who we are as redeemed broken people and that we stand equal along with everyone else in need of God’s loving grace.

The fifth and sixth values I have marinated you in are thrown in the rue together. One is an invitation. The other is a blessing. I learned this from the late W. Frank Harrington of the Peachtree Presbyterian Church in Atlanta. I worked as one of his associates decades ago. Although he was not the easiest person to work for, he did love the Church; those who worked for him had the best continuing education opportunity in the denomination.

Frank always gave an invitation at the end of the service. We Presbyterians might grumble that it feels too ‘Baptist’ and we are above the need to belabor the obvious that, “We are personally invited to come and walk with Jesus.” What I have learned over the years is there are very few Mainline pastors, albeit Presbyterian, Methodist, Lutheran, or Episcopalian that invite people to contemplate an offer to follow Jesus or learn what that even means. It does not mean that Bryan plays fifteen stanzas of Just as I Am until someone finally gives up wanting to go home and crawls down the center aisle and gets “slain in the Spirit.” No! It’s just a simple invitation to you that says, “If your week was tough, if you are in crisis at home or at work, if you are in the depths of grief and are at your wits-end, Jesus is gently knocking at the door of your heart, and he wants to come and in and visit with you.” In training younger pastors, I remind them if they do this, they will speak to someone in the congregation who now knows it is safe to come and talk about their faith and learn about Jesus.

Coupled with my invitation each week, I give a blessing. The final pinch of seasoning I pull out of my cupboard is to declare God’s blessing upon you. It’s the old Aaronic Blessing, “The Lord bless you and keep you. The Lord shine his face upon you and be gracious to you. The Lord turn his face upon you and smile brightly, gently, giving you the peace of Jesus Christ.” 2

It drives me nuts when I hear pastors mess up this great blessing when they incorrectly say, “MAY the Lord bless you and keep you. MAY the Lord Shine his face…MAY the Lord turn his face upon you…” One, they are not only quoting it incorrectly but more importantly, they are taking a declarative charge and are making it just a mere possibility.

“God might or might not bless you and keep you. God might or might not shine his face or lift his face upon you.”  Andrew Pervus, Professor of Reformed Theology at Pittsburgh Theological Seminary, says we have taken a declarative blessing and have watered it down into a vacuous optative voice expressing a maybe or maybe not. By misquoting Moses from the Book of Numbers, pastors have blessed congregations with nothing more than a big, empty “Good luck! Because God may or may not be with you!”

Beloved, I want you to know that you know that you know that as you leave worship, God the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost’s blessing is wrapped around you like a warm coat on a cold winter’s night. There’s no maybe about it.

Shhh! Listen! The Spirit of God is in this place! Saints and sinners, with a spirited doxology of gratitude and love, it has been a privilege to serve you in the Name of the One Who is, Who was, and Who is to come. You are the Beloved. And yes, I know calling you that annoys some of you, but it is how Jesus and Paul referred to those they cared for the most who were around them. It is to remind you that you are loved. Be the Church, beloved. You got this! Amen.

© 2026 Patrick H. Wrisley, Pastor, First Presbyterian Church of Glens Falls, 8 West Notre Dame Street, Glens Falls, NY 12801. Sermon manuscripts are available for the edification of members and friends of First Presbyterian Church of Glens Falls and may not be altered, re-purposed, published, or preached without permission. All rights reserved.

1 New Revised Standard Version (NRSV). New Revised Standard Version Bible, copyright © 1989 the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

2 Numbers 6:23-26. The great priestly blessing.

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For Whom Are You Looking For?, John 20:1-18

Posted on April 6, 2026 by patrick h wrisley
Bright sunbeams bursting through dark, swirling storm clouds over a rocky mountain landscape.
“The darkness could not overwhelm the Light.”

A Sermon Delivered on Easter, April 5, 2026 by the Rev. Dr. Patrick H. Wrisley.

A funeral director asked a young preacher to hold a graveside service for a man who had died with neither family nor friends. The service was to be held in a remote corner of the county, and the young pastor got thoroughly lost on the way there.

When he finally arrived a full hour late, he spotted a backhoe and a work crew, but the hearse was nowhere to be seen. Off to the side, the workers were sitting in the shade eating their lunch. The diligent young pastor made his way to the open grave and found the vault lid already in place and covered with dirt. Feeling terrible about his tardiness and sensing that the crew had been waiting on him to finish closing the grave, he launched into his prayers and poured his heart out in a deeply passionate, albeit a rather lengthy graveside service; he was preaching his very best for an audience of exactly one.

When he finally said his “Amen,” he returned to his car feeling he did his best to honor the gentleman who had died; the deceased did not care he ran late; he was not going anywhere. The young pastor was filled with a renewed sense of purpose and dedication to the Gospel ministry to which he had been called.

As he rolled down his windows and caught his breath, he began to overhear the workers talking in the shade. One man, foot propped up on a stump, leaned over to his friend and said:

Ya’ know, I’ve been putting in septic tanks for 29 years and I ain’t never seen anything like that before.

Surprise!

This Easter morning, we also have a wonderful, surprising story that takes place. I invite you to turn in your Bible to John 20:1–18 and listen for the Word of the Lord.

John 20:1–18 (NRSV)

20.1 Early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene came to the tomb and saw that the stone had been removed from the tomb. 2 So she ran and went to Simon Peter and the other disciple, the one whom Jesus loved, and said to them, “They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they have laid him.” 3 Then Peter and the other disciple set out and went toward the tomb. 4 The two were running together, but the other disciple outran Peter and reached the tomb first. 5 He bent down to look in and saw the linen wrappings lying there, but he did not go in. 6 Then Simon Peter came, following him, and went into the tomb. He saw the linen wrappings lying there, 7 and the cloth that had been on Jesus’ head, not lying with the linen wrappings but rolled up in a place by itself. 8 Then the other disciple, who reached the tomb first, also went in, and he saw and believed; 9 for as yet they did not understand the scripture, that he must rise from the dead. 10 Then the disciples returned to their homes. 

11 But Mary stood weeping outside the tomb. As she wept, she bent over to look into the tomb; 12 and she saw two angels in white, sitting where the body of Jesus had been lying, one at the head and the other at the feet. 13 They said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping?” She said to them, “They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him.” 14 When she had said this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not know that it was Jesus. 15 Jesus said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for?” Supposing him to be the gardener, she said to him, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away.” 16 Jesus said to her, “Mary!” She turned and said to him in Hebrew, “Rabbouni!” (which means Teacher). 17 Jesus said to her, “Do not hold on to me, because I have not yet ascended to the Father. But go to my brothers and say to them, ‘I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.’ ” 18 Mary Magdalene went and announced to the disciples, “I have seen the Lord”; and she told them that he had said these things to her.

Can you imagine being there at that tomb on the first Easter? It’s still dark and you are there to finish what could not be completed on Friday at the beginning of the sabbath. Friday was a whirlwind and Mary came to ensure Jesus’ dead body was properly prepared for burial. She arrives and discovers the tomb’s covering removed. She panics and runs to fetch Peter and John and tells them her discovery. They run to discover the body missing but the grave clothes remained intact. What did the two pillars of the church do then? They went home. Sure, we read how John believed but his belief did not translate to action. And while the men went home scratching their heads, Mary lingered. She was grieving, crying because Jesus had now been taken away twice from her – once at his death and now his empty tomb.

And then the angels spoke: Daughter of Eve, why are you crying?

As readers of the Story, we mentally reply to the angels for her, “Why wouldn’t she be crying!? What else would she be doing?” She came to see Jesus and now he is gone. A cemetery is a place of remembering and with remembering often comes tears.

You have seen people do that, haven’t you? When someone dear to us dies and is buried, that place of burial becomes a holy place for the living. It becomes the last point of physical connection between those who are here and those who are gone. Standing at a graveside is a place of reflection and remembering; it is the place where we contemplate the way things were, and the way things might have been.

So, it was for Mary Magdalene. She came to mourn. She came to remember. All those walks with Jesus. All those meals around the table together. All those times he played with the village children or challenged the young people at the synagogue to read Moses and the Prophets with fresh eyes. All those people he healed. All that courage he carried. Mary came to emotionally reconnect with Jesus.

So, let me ask you, beloved: What did you come out to see this Easter morning?

Is it the music and the choir? Is it the new clothes and the familiar faces? Is it the Easter dinner waiting at home? Is it simply the obligation of showing up at church once a year and checking the box?

Our culture works hard to push Jesus to the margins on this day. We tend to make Easter about the arrival of spring, a long weekend, a family meal, a basket of candy, or fulfilling an obligation requested from a parent or spouse. The evidence of pushing Jesus to the margins is proven by the fact many people come to worship only two days a year: Today and what is the other one? Oh yes – Christmas. We find ourselves doing exactly what Peter and John did: come to look in the tomb, acknowledge it, nod at it, and then go back home as nothing has happened.

My prayer is that we, like Mary, will be interrupted by the angels of Easter and be reminded of what today is all about. Easter is so much more than Easter eggs, bright clothes and colors and Sunday dinners. I suggest we do two things this resurrection morning.

First, let us begin by suspending all our formerly held assumptions about this story and experience what the Lord wants us to see today.

Like Mary, many of us come to the tomb defined by our past. We sit beside the grave of our old life, our old hurts, our old failures, and we think about the way things were, or the way things should have been. Easter is the day when the angels of God shake us by the shoulders and says: “Wake up! Look at this! The tomb is empty!”

When we step inside the empty tomb for ourselves, when we examine what the resurrection of Jesus really means, something shifts within us. We no longer look backward with nostalgia but turn our head and face the present moment and the incredible possibility of a different type of future. We begin to wrestle with the living Jesus as opposed to simply remembering the historical one.

When we look and truly see the tomb is empty, we experience life differently. We start to see:

•  Life’s open doors instead of only its dead ends.

•  Possibility where the cynic sees only the status quo.

•  Hope and potential in people and situations when everyone else says, “There is no use.”

•  Our spouses, our children, our parents, our friends not only as they were or what we wanted them to be, but we can begin seeing them as they are and what they can be for us today.

That is what it means to investigate the tomb. It is not a passive glance at an old story. It is an encounter with the living God that changes the way we see and experience everything now.

The second task of Easter is equally urgent: Jesus tells Mary to go and tell.

Mary came to the tomb to look quietly and grieve but the angels and Jesus’ presence moved her from being a spectator to a messenger. She was commissioned to go tell others what she had witnessed. The resurrection was never meant to be a private experience.

Beloved, how does the world around us know we have experienced the empty tomb this morning? It is not by simply going home and hoping on the train called Status Quo. People know we experienced the empty tomb and Christ’s gentle presence through the tone and tenor of our everyday lives. Does our life reflect new-life energy or tomb-like thinking?

Peter and John’s experience of the empty tomb is to simply return home after the fact. Do we? Do we experience the empty tomb and resurrection only to treat the people around us as though they are disposable? Do we experience Easter only to ignore the poor and the broken? Do we meet the risen Christ only to live as though absolutely nothing has changed?

Friends, Easter demands a response from each of us: We are to come and see and then we are to go and tell. Let me share the heart of what Easter means for how we understand our own lives.

When we come to the tomb only to look and then walk away unchanged, we tend to live as though life is a sentence that ends with a period. We are born, we live, we die. The end. Period. Full stop. Life is a closed chapter.

But that is not who we are. We are not period people. We are resurrection people and resurrection people live their life with an exclamation point! If you want a piece of punctuation that captures the Christian life, it is not a period. It is a semicolon followed quickly by an exclamation point!

When death comes to someone who belongs to Christ, we place a semicolon, not a period. A semicolon says: we are still in the middle of the same sentence, but a new and glorious clause is beginning. This earthly life may be over — semicolon — but because of Easter, the second half of the sentence is the story of eternal life in the presence of God — exclamation point!

Death is not the final word. Death is not even the last chapter. It is merely the transition to life’s second half and that is a life in the presence of God that, remarkably, begins not only in eternity but in this very moment, as we walk with the risen Christ today.

Yes, come, look, and see the empty tomb. Let it surprise you all over again, as though you were hearing it for the very first time. Let the angels interrupt whatever you carried in here this morning and say to you: He is not here. He is risen.

But do not linger at the tomb. It is Easter! Beloved, the tomb is not the or our final destination; the tomb is the starting line.

Today is God’s exclamation point. Like Mary that first resurrection morning, we too are sent from this place not merely as people who have heard a story, but as people who have met the living Lord and are commissioned to go and tell. We are not period people. We are semicolon-and-exclamation-point people!

Because the tomb is empty. 

Because he is risen.

He is risen indeed! Amen.

© 2026 by Patrick H. Wrisley. Sermon manuscripts are available for the edification of members and friends of First Presbyterian Church of Glens Falls, 8 West Notre Dame Street, Glens Falls, NY 12801. This sermon may not be altered, re-purposed, published or preached without permission. All rights reserved.

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Were You There When Love Came to Town?, Matthew 21:1-13

Posted on April 1, 2026 by patrick h wrisley

A Sermon Delivered on March 29, 2026 by the Rev. Dr. Patrick H. Wrisley

Looking forward to your left and to the West, you see the gleaming marble of the Temple. On your right towards the east, rising a bit higher than the city of Jerusalem, is the Mount of Olives. Just on the other side of the Mount of Olives are a few small villages called Bethany and Bethpage. Continuing down to the mountain towards Jericho is what the locals call the Road of Fire. A hot desolate road meandering through the Judean wilderness winding its way to the Jordan River.

This was the road Jesus took as he was summoned to come and heal his friend Lazarus. Who knows that he might have been staying with Lazarus, Martha, and Mary the night before in Bethany. He and his companions have come close to the summit of the Mount of Olives and this is where Matthew picks up in his Story. Listen to the Word of the Lord as it describes the moment when Love rode into town.

Matthew 21:1-11

21 When they had come near Jerusalem and had reached Bethphage, at the Mount of Olives, Jesus sent two disciples, 2 saying to them, “Go into the village ahead of you, and immediately you will find a donkey tied, and a colt with her; untie them and bring them to me. 3 If anyone says anything to you, just say this, ‘The Lord needs them.’ And he will send them immediately.” 4 This took place to fulfill what had been spoken through the prophet (Zechariah), saying,

5  “Tell the daughter of Zion, Look, your king is coming to you,humble, and mounted on a donkey,and on a colt, the foal of a donkey.”

6 The disciples went and did as Jesus had directed them; 7 they brought the donkey and the colt, and put their cloaks on them, and he sat on them. 8 A very large crowd spread their cloaks on the road, and others cut branches from the trees and spread them on the road. 9 The crowds that went ahead of him and that followed were shouting, (quoting Psalm 118),

“Hosanna to the Son of David!Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in the highest heaven!”

10 When he entered Jerusalem, the whole city was in turmoil, asking, “Who is this?” 11 The crowds were saying, “This is the prophet Jesus from Nazareth in Galilee.

12 Then Jesus entered the temple and drove out all who were selling and buying in the temple, and he overturned the tables of the money-changers and the seats of those who sold doves. 13 He said to them, ‘It is written (in Isaiah and Jeremiah),

“My house shall be called a house of prayer”;
 but you are making it a den of robbers.’

Anglican scholar, N.T. Wright, has a book entitled, The Day the Revolution Began, and if we were there, we could feel that type of energy building up in the crowds. Jesus sitting atop a donkey is surrounded by throngs of people and could look west and see the Temple and the walls of Jerusalem rising up out of the Kidron Valley he was about to descend into. Scanning the crowd he saw a few faces he knew; the Twelve were no doubt nearby but there were just too many faces, so much cheering and singing for Jesus to make out all who were there.

Like the young couple who got married here last week, they were too wrapped up into the moment to notice all the friends and family who had gathered to celebrate their wedding. A couple enters a time vacuum where the event is so large for them at that moment all they are aware of is putting one foot in front of the other and making sure they say the right thing at the right time. It is why near the end of the wedding service, I have the couple turn and face all those who gathered and really soak it in. I want them to have a hard stop so they can see, not just faces, but the actual people who made the commitment to come and support them on their big day.

I do not imagine there was a hard stop for Jesus that day as he was getting swept up into something that was much larger than he was. Jesus knew he was on a mission for his Heavenly Father but the folks around him had their own agenda.

To begin with, there are Jesus’ close disciples. They have been directly tutored and taught by their friend and Rabbi but even they did not fully understand the sacrifice Jesus was going to make. All they knew is that they were like the special wedding attendants to the groom and held a special place in the groom’s life and heart. Soon James and his brother John would argue with one another who was going to be Jesus’ right hand man when Jesus came to power and their mother would soon pull Jesus aside and ask him for a decision. Peter, who Jesus specifically called the Rock and foundation of the Church, no doubt heard of the Zebedee brothers angling for position and must have wondered what that meant for him. Already rifts were beginning within the inner circle and fellowship about who was more important than the others. Pride, ego, and jockeying for position was infecting the Twelve.

But most of the people in the thronging crowds were the hoi polloi, the unnamed masses of people who were witnesses of Jesus’ mighty works and miracles or had heard about all he did. Social media of the first century was simply the rumor mill and word of this charismatic preacher, teacher, and healer who could summon power over evil spirits and humble the religious scholars of the day exploded through the thousands and thousands of people making their way to Jerusalem for the upcoming Passover Festival. Word on the street he was the Christ, the Anointed One of David, who was coming to set all things right and reestablish peace, balance, and justice in their homeland.

Who else was there that day? No doubt the religious officials were off to the side disapproving of what was unfolding in front of them. The Sadducees, the Pharisees, the run of the mill rabbis were seeing the masses run to this Nazarene and as more and more fled to follow Jesus, more and more power and influence they welded as religious leaders waned and evaporated. The closer Jesus came to entering the gates of the city, the more intense their insecurity rose. Jesus was upsetting not only the religious status quo but was undermining their social power in and influence. Lord Acton was on the mark when he famously wrote, “Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.”           

And less we forget, there were the smug Roman politicians and soldiers watching all this drama unfold before them. Caesar was their Lord and to Caesar their loyalties were committed. In their eyes, Jesus was a political agitator who was calling Roman rule, law, and governance into question. These Palestinian Jews were always a troublesome bunch and the Roman garrisons were sent there to ensure there would be order and peacefulness through brutality and intimidation. Sitting atop their royal horses and Jerusalems high walls, they saw a political threat and potential riots. Jesus’ entrance into the city gave them reason to sharpen their swords.

What a varied group of people. Faithful disciples totally clueless about what was about to go down. Well-meaning followers caught up in the frenzy and the hope Jesus was bringing. Religious leaders fearful this radical rabbi was polluting the Law of God and stealing sheep from their spiritual flocks. Roman political and military leaders only concerned with the Pax Romana and ensuring it was kept at any cost. But there is yet one more group of people gathering that day.

As there are today, there was a group of people who saw something was going on but also had no idea of what it was all about. They were not so much as excited about Jesus as they were anxious of the crowds and armed soldiers. They simply came to Jerusalem for the Passover celebrations because they were expected to go and take part. In church parlance, I would call them Chreasters – those who only come to church on Christmas and Easter.

This morning, we are invited to the Table prepared by the Lord. As we prepare to eat this holy meal, let us reflect upon who we are in the crowd greeting Jesus that fateful day. Pray with me.

© 2026 by Patrick H. Wrisley. Sermon manuscripts are available for the edification of members and friends of First Presbyterian Church of Glens Falls, 8 West Notre Dame Street, Glens Falls, NY 12801. This sermon may not be altered, re-purposed, published or preached without permission. All rights reserved.Were You There When Love Came to Town?

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When God Stands at the Grave, John 11:27-37

Posted on March 24, 2026 by patrick h wrisley

A Sermon Delivered on March 22, 2026 by the Rev. Dr. Patrick H. Wrisley.

Let’s set the scene: Today we have a story about four friends separated from one another by distance.  Sisters Martha and Mary, along with their brother Lazarus, live in Bethany, a small village just a few miles from Jerusalem. Jesus had recently been in the city for the Feast of Dedication, but had to make a hasty retreat when the religious officials became so angry with him that they tried to stone him. So, Jesus took the long, hot road down to the Jordan River, to the very place where his cousin John had baptized people before John’s beheading.

In the time it took Jesus to make that two-day walk from Jerusalem to the river, his dear friend Lazarus had become deathly ill. Martha and Mary sent word to Jesus: Lazarus is dying but if you come quickly, you might still save him.

Jesus then waited two more days before he and the disciples climbed the long mountain road back up to Bethany. By the time he arrived, Lazarus was not just dead, but he had been in the tomb for four days.

We pick up the story as Jesus walks into Bethany and is met on the road by Martha. The very first words out of her mouth in verse 21 are an honest, grief-laced indictment: Jesus, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.

In response, Jesus simply asks her: Do you really believe in the resurrection and the life? Hear now the Word of the Lord.

John 11:27–37

27 She said to him, “Yes, Lord, I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, the one coming into the world.”

28 When she had said this, she went back and called her sister Mary and told her privately, “The Teacher is here and is calling for you.” 29 And when she heard it, she got up quickly and went to him. 30 Now Jesus had not yet come to the village but was still at the place where Martha had met him. 31 The Jews who were with her in the house consoling her saw Mary get up quickly and go out. They followed her because they thought that she was going to the tomb to weep there. 32 When Mary came where Jesus was and saw him, she knelt at his feet and said to him, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” 33 When Jesus saw her weeping and the Jews who came with her also weeping, he was greatly disturbed in spirit and deeply moved. 34 He said, “Where have you laid him?” They said to him, “Lord, come and see.” 35 Jesus began to weep. 36 So the Jews said, “See how he loved him!” 37 But some of them said, “Could not he who opened the eyes of the blind man have kept this man from dying?” (NRSVU)

Imagine this scene in your mind: Jesus walks into Bethany, and he is at once surrounded by a crowd of mourners. The village is practicing what Jewish tradition calls sitting Shiva, the ancient custom of surrounding a grieving family with your physical presence for up to seven days. You speak of the one who has died. You cry and wail on behalf of the bereaved because the family may simply have no more tears left to cry. Death, for our Jewish neighbors, both then and now, is a deeply social event. In the Jewish tradition, you do not grieve alone.

So, picture this very emotional reunion. Jesus is surrounded by weeping friends and neighbors huddled around the two sisters. First Martha had met him on the road. Now it is Mary who makes her way to him. She falls at his feet and greets him with now a twice-voiced indictment: Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.

It is at this moment that something breaks open in Jesus. Surrounded by the tears of people he loves, he becomes undone and it is here we arrive at what is often called the shortest verse in the Bible: John 11, verse 35. Jesus wept.

His best friend is dead. He looks at these two sisters, women who now have no one to provide for or protect them and his grief is simply too much. He just loses it.

Our text this morning uncomfortably reminds us of a question all of us have asked at one time or another.Reading this text honestly, we cannot miss the gentle but pointed dig from Mary and Martha: Why didn’t you come sooner? Jesus, you could have prevented all this pain and sadness! And then the crowd gossips about the same thing, “This guy could open the eyes of a blind man so why could he not save his own friend? Why, Jesus? Why?”

If we are all honest, we have asked that same question. It seems everyone is levelling the proverbial “would’ve, should’ve, could’ves” at Jesus.

“Would only you intervened, Jesus!”

“Shouldn’t you have helped me when I prayed?”

“Couldn’t you have cured my mom?”

Events have occurred in our lives that have caused us to pause, look up toward heaven, and ask, “Why, God?”  So why did Jesus wait, not only until his friend was dead and buried, but as we read further in this story, and as the King James Version so eloquently states, he waited so long that the body stinketh?

Here is my best shot at an answer.

In John’s Gospel, Jesus is fully and deeply aware of his identity as the very presence of the Almighty dwelling in the world. His claim as the Great I AM, woven throughout John’s narrative, affirms that. And it is my conviction that Jesus knew something important: if he was truly the Resurrection and the Life, if he was truly God-among-us in the fullness of our humanity, then he was going to need to fully enter our human condition in every possible way. Including way all of us travel: To experience the journey of the pain of loss of a loved-one.

Lazarus was different from the throngs of crowds and strangers who came to him for healing and solace. In John’s gospel, the love Jesus expressed toward the crowds and strangers he healed is the familiar ancient word, agape. Agape is the sacrificial, intentional, willful, gracious love offered to those who have done nothing to earn it. It is a self-giving love. But agape-type love describes a different kind of bond than what Jesus had with Lazarus.

Notice what the crowd says in verse 36, “See how he loved him.” The word John has the crowd using here is notagape. It is the word for filial love, brotherly or sisterly love that is deeply personal and affectionate, full of emotional intimacy. It is the word for the kind of love that exists between people who truly know and get one another.

Lazarus was not just somebody to Jesus. Lazarus was a soul brother. He was family. He was the kind of friend with whom Jesus could be authentically himself. Lazarus’ house was the place where Jesus could let his guard down, rest his feet, and simply be himself. No crowds. No noise. Lazarus’ home was a sanctuary.

So why let Lazarus die? Why not spare his dearest friend?

Well, it is about God’s passion for us. To fully relate to all humanity in the depths of our common experience, Jesus not only had to face the death every person faces, but he also had to feel the searing, gut-level anguish of losing someone intimate. Not from a divine vantage point above the pain, but as Jesus a man living fully inside human skin. He had to know what it feels like when the person you love most in the world is gone. 

This moment at Lazarus’ tomb reaches forward to Good Friday. Just as Jesus felt the sting of losing his beloved friend, God the Father would feel the sting of losing his only Son on the cross. Grief is not one-sided but experienced physically, emotionally, and relationally within the whole Triune God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Father, Son, and Holy Spirit experience the depths of our darkest pain, confusion, and loss. God gets it.

Jesus wept neither as performance nor pretense, but as a man who felt the full weight of what death does to the people left behind. And in his weeping, he sanctifies our tears. He showed that grief is not about a lack of faith. Grief is love with nowhere to go. The Good News is God knows that feeling from deep within God’s self.

So beloved, where is Jesus when it hurts, when life goes sideways and nothing makes sense? He is in the middle of it all.

It means that as you read the headlines, as you carry the fears that silently hum in the background of your thoughts through the day – fears for your family, for your health, for our country and the tyranny of war, for all this hurting world – the God who created all that is, was, and ever shall be is not watching off from a safe distance. God is present. God is deeply moved. God is weeping with you and me.

As we finish looking at our text this morning, reflect upon the fact that the Christian faith is the only faith in the world that draws its strength from the fact that the God we worship and serve is a God who personally knows how to cry. This our God cries for us. Our God cries with us.

And here is the miracle of it: those tears do not mean God has been defeated, but when Jesus wept at Lazarus’ tomb, he then called Lazarus out of it. The One who weeps is the same One who resurrects. The One who stands in our grief is the same One who conquered the grave.

As we move through this season, let this text be a source of genuine comfort for you. In the moments when you look to heaven and ask, “Why God?”, remember that heaven is not silent or indifferent. The God who is, was, and ever shall be holds every star in its place and numbers every hair on our heads, feels us in our pain and is affected by it. But he does not want us to wallow in it but just like with his best friend, Lazarus, he calls us forward into new life and into hope. 

In the Name of the One Who Is, Was, and Is to come. Amen.

© 2026 by Patrick H. Wrisley. Sermon manuscripts are available for the edification of members and friends of First Presbyterian Church of Glens Falls, 8 West Notre Dame Street, Glens Falls, NY 12801. This sermon may not be altered, re-purposed, published or preached without permission. All rights reserved.

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For I Am with You, Psalm 23

Posted on March 16, 2026 by patrick h wrisley

A Sermon Delivered on March 16, 2026 by the Rev. Dr. Patrick H. Wrisley.

I want to begin with a word from Dietrich Bonhoeffer, the German pastor and theologian who was martyred by the Nazis in April of 1945, just days before the end of the war. Writing from his prison cell, he wrote:

Whenever the Psalter is abandoned, an incomprehensible treasure vanishes from the Christian Church. With its recovery will come unsuspected power.[1]

Bonhoeffer, even as he built his underground seminary in defiance of the Reich, taught his students the Psalms, not as an academic exercise, but as a survival skill. He taught them the Psalms to teach them how to pray. He taught them the Psalms to teach them how to be a community when everything around them was collapsing. The Psalms, he believed, were a treasure. They are honest prayers, sometimes joyful, sometimes utterly broken. They are raw. They are real. They come from the gut.      

And here we are, in this season the church has set aside for our honesty before God and we come to perhaps the most beloved of all the Psalms.

Psalm 23 is so familiar that we are in danger of not really hearing it at all. We’ve heard it at bedsides and gravesides, at weddings and in moments of personal crisis. We may have memorized it as a child. But this very sense of familiarity can become a fog that prevents us from encountering its power freshly.

Over-familiarity does three things to us. First, it causes us to take something for granted, we stop noticing it, stop being grateful for it. Second, it robs us of a thing’s deeper purpose and meaning. We become laissez-faire: casual, indifferent, assuming it will always be there when we need it. Finally, over-familiarity produces what I call value-drift. Whatever it is we once cherished simply doesn’t mean as much as it once did.  

So, this morning, I want us to dig in and marinate in this Psalm. This is a Psalm for Lent precisely because Lent is about waking up to our need, our brokenness, our frailty, and the astounding grace of a God who does not abandon us. Listen, then, with new ears. This is the Word of the Lord:

PSALM 23

The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the LORD forever.

Initially, we note there are two figures in this poem. There is the one who prays and there is the Shepherd who watches but who is also a Host, a generous table-setter, who appears in the psalm’s second half. Holding the whole poem together are three great movements: God as Protector, God as Provider, and finally a declaration of Praise and Trust.

Let’s begin by looking at God as Protector. Notice that this Psalm is saturated with verbs, God’s verbs. He makes. He leads. He restores. He leads again. He comforts. He prepares. He anoints. These are not passive observations. These are active, working descriptions of a God who is on the move on our behalf. Every verb in this Psalm is God reaching toward us.

And then, and this is the moment I want you to feel, there is a sudden, breathtaking grammatical shift right at the heart of the poem. In verses 1 through 3, the Lord is spoken of in the third person. He is myshepherd. He leads me. He restores me. But then, in verse 4, there’s a shift:

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me.

Do you hear it? We move from He to Thou. We go from speaking about God to speaking to God. We move from being at a distance to an embrace. The Psalmist has been describing the shepherd from afar, and then suddenly the shepherd is right here next to us, speaking to us directly. It is one of the most intimate movements in all of Scripture.

In the ancient Near East, a shepherd’s life was not romantic. It was dangerous, demanding, and at times, boring. Sheep, as any farmer will tell you, are not particularly bright creatures. They wander. They stumble. Sheep do not see too well. They require relentless oversight. Here in upstate New York, you may have seen a flock of sheep on a hillside pasture, and they look peaceful enough, but a shepherd knows better. There are gaps in the fence. There are dogs that run wild at night. There is always the question of where the grass is good.

He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: He leadeth me beside the still waters.

The shepherd knows the terrain. He leads the sheep to the patches of good grass because he knows where to look. He leads them to water that is calm and still enough to drink from without fear. And when the sheep will not rest on their own, the shepherd makes them lie down. He insists on their rest, even when they resist it.

The shepherd also carries a rod and a staff. The rod, a heavy club, was for defense against predators. The staff, that iconic crook, was for drawing the wandering sheep back into the fold. These are instruments protection and correction; they are instruments of love. They bring comfort.  

But now we come to the center of this Psalm, and the center of our Lenten focus.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil:

The phrase is sometimes rendered “the valley of deep shadows.” It is not merely a poetic description of dying; it is an image of any darkness so thick and heavy that it seems to have substance. You know that type of valley of shadows, don’t you? Maybe you are walking through it right now.

Perhaps it is the darkness of a diagnosis, those words a doctor said that rearranged everything, and now the shadow of that reality falls over every ordinary day. Perhaps it is the darkness of anxiety, that low, grinding, relentless cloud that doesn’t lift, whether its source is a hurting relationship, a financial crisis, a child who has walked away, or simply a sense that something is deeply and irreparably wrong. Perhaps it is the darkness of grief, still raw even years later. Or the darkness of feeling invisible, of being in a room full of people and feeling entirely, utterly alone.

Lent names that darkness. Lent does not pretend the valley isn’t real. The ashes of Ash Wednesday were honest: “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” Lent looks the shadow in the face and does not blink. And then it says this:

For thou art with me. You are with me.

Not He is with me. Not the Lord is with me, at a safe theological distance. It says Thou are with me – You, right here, right now, in this valley with me.

This psalm is not about the absence of darkness in our lives but is all about the presence of God in that darkness. It is not about rescue from the valley of shadows but our Lord’s companionship through it. God does not promise us a life without shadow. God promises us something better:

I will be with you in it.

That is the promise at the heart of Lent, and at the heart of the gospel itself. And then the Psalm turns and surprises us completely.

Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.

The imagery shifts from shepherd to host, and this is no ordinary hospitality. In the ancient Middle East, to receive someone as a guest in your home was to take on full responsibility for their safety and their welfare. When Abraham received his three visitors beneath the oaks of Mamre, he immediately slaughtered a calf and set a feast before them. When Lot welcomed the angels into Sodom, he placed himself between them and the violence of the city. A host, in that world, was a sanctuary. A host was protection made personal.

And here is God, not as the recipient of our sacrifices and offerings, but as the Host who sets the table for us and then serves us. God does this in the very presence of our enemies. In the middle of all that threatens us, the God of the universe spreads a table and says: sit down. Eat. You are my honored guest.

And as if that were not enough, God anoints our heads with oil, a public act of dignity and worth. In a world where the people around us may overlook us, diminish us, or simply fail to see us, God says: I see you. You matter. Your cup is not half-empty; it runs over.

This is the lavish, almost reckless generosity of God. And it is not reserved for the strong or the spiritually accomplished but it is a table set for the weary, the wounded, and the wandering. And now, having been led, protected, accompanied through the valley, and seated at the table and honored as a guest, what else is there for the psalm to say?

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the LORD forever.

This is not wishful thinking. This is not naive optimism. This is a declaration of praise forged in the valley, a trust that has been tested and has held. It is a declaration of confidence from someone who has walked through the shadows and found, on the other side, that they were not alone.

Beloved, where is your valley this Lent? Where do you feel abandoned, threatened, afraid? Where is the shadow falling heaviest in your life right now?

And now, let me ask you something deeper: What would it feel like to truly know you are not alone, to know that Thou art with me? What would change if you allowed that promise to soak all the way in?

This Lenten season, I invite you to meet God in your valley. Walk with the Lord, speaking directly to him as friend to friend, because that what Jesus calls us. The Shepherd is not waiting for you on the other side of the darkness. He is already in it, walking with you, rod in hand, calling your name.

For you are with me. Thanks be to God. Amen.

© 2026 by Patrick H. Wrisley, Pastor, First Presbyterian Church of Glens Falls, 8 West Notre Dame Street, Glens Falls, NY 12801. Sermon manuscripts are available for the edification of members and friends of First Presbyterian Church of Glens Falls, New York and shall not be altered, re-purposed, published, or preached without permission. All rights reserved.

[1] Dietrich Bonheoffer, Psalms: The Prayer Book for the Church (Minneapolis: Augsburg Publishing Co., 1970) 26.

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