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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Christianity 101: Getting the Basics Right, John 3:1-7

Posted on March 2, 2026 by patrick h wrisley
Nicodemus and Jesus by Henry Oss

 A Sermon Delivered on March 1, 2026 by the Rev. Dr. Patrick H. Wrisley.

Our New Testament reading on this Second Sunday of Lent is a text most of us know well, perhaps too well. Yet it serves as a primer for Christianity 101, a reminder we all need from time to time as we journey toward the Cross and Easter.

There are three primary characters in our story this morning. First, there is Nicodemus; he is a Pharisee, the equivalent of a Ph.D. in religious studies, who spent his life studying Torah and teaching his fellow Jews. Next, there is Jesus. And finally, there is you and I, the ones overhearing this whole conversation. We are drawn into the whole conversation in verse 11 when John shifts his narrative voice. You see, beginning in verse 11, he uses the second person plural and has Jesus speaking directly to us.

Listen carefully to what Jesus is saying. May the Holy Spirit give each of us ears to hear this familiar scripture anew. Hear the Word of the Lord from John 3:1-17.

John 3:1-17

            Now there was a Pharisee named Nicodemus, a leader of the Jews. He came to Jesus by night and said to him, “Rabbi, we know that you are a teacher who has come from God; for no one can do these signs that you do apart from the presence of God.”

            Jesus answered him, “Very truly, I tell you, no one can see the kingdom of God without being born from above.“

            Nicodemus said to him, “How can anyone be born after having grown old? Can one enter a second time into the mother’d womb and be born?“

            Jesus answered, “Very truly, I tell you, no one can enter the kingdom of God without being born of water and Spirit. What is born of the flesh is flesh, and what is born of the Spirit is spirit. Do not be astonished that I said to you, “You must be born from above. The wind blows where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes. So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit.“

            Nicodemus said to him, “How can these things be?“ Jesus answered him, “Are you a teacher of Israel, and yet you do not understand these things? Very truly, I tell you, we speak of what we know and testify to what we have seen; yet you do not receive our testimony. If I have told you about earthly things and you do not believe, how can you believe if I tell you about heavenly things? No one has ascended into heaven except the one who descended from heaven, the Son of Man. And just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life. For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life. Indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him.“

As careful readers of the text, we learn three critical lessons about what it means to call oneself a Christian in today’s world. The first lesson is this: Jesus Cannot Afford Hidden Followers.

John gives us two crucial facts immediately: Nicodemus is a prominent religious scholar and official, and Nicodemus is afraid to publicly show his faith in Jesus. He came by night. He came when the streets were clear, when he wouldn’t be noticed, when everyone else was winding down for bed. He came in secret, protecting his reputation. Nicodemus came to Jesus when it was convenient for him to do so.

Bless Nicodemus’ heart, and I truly mean that in the sincerest way. I want to cheer him on, but his late-night skulking around does not come across well. Fortunately, Nicodemus begins living his faith-life more openly and moves it into the daylight in his two later appearances later in John’s gospel.

The unfortunate reality is that the Church today is full of Nicodemus-like followers; the fact is, it always has been. John Calvin in the sixteenth century referred to Nicodemites, i.e. Christians who sympathized with the Reformation but were reluctant to be publicly identified with it. Closet Christians. You could not recognize them as Christians unless they wore a sign announcing it.

The church today cannot afford nighttime, hiding-in-the-shadows followers of Jesus Christ. It forces us to ask ourselves: Is my faith out in the open where others can see what I believe in my daily living? Can people tell I am a follower of Jesus? Am I a nighttime follower like Nicodemus? Am I a Nicodemite?

If the first lesson is that Jesus and the Church can ill-afford in-name-only hidden followers of the Way, the second lesson is our salvation stems from God’s initiative, not ours. Salvation is a precious gift given to us by God’s gentle hand as opposed to being hastily grasped by our desire. Verse 3 is too often translated “born again” when the ancient word equally means “to be born from above.” This translation better fits the context of their table talk. Eugene Peterson translates verse 3 in The Message as, “Unless a person is born from above, it’s not possible to see that I am pointing to God’s Kingdom.” 

Western Christianity has long pushed the belief that if we simply give mental assent to good doctrine and decide Jesus is God’s Son, then we earn eternal life. In other words, our present-day healing, our eternal destiny rests upon our saying whether we mentally assent in Jesus. Friends, if it is up to you or me to determine our own salvation, it makes a mockery of Jesus and the Cross. If our salvation boils down to my individual decisions, then why did Jesus come in the first place? Why did he have to die and rise again if it is all up to you and me saying, “I believe”?

Jesus tells Nicodemus it is not following the minutiae of Jewish Law that earns God’s love; he is trying to let Nicodemus know that God’s love has already been extended! All Nicodemus has to do is be an open vessel for God to pour the Spirit into him. Think of it like this: We are shy, timid teenagers lining the gym wall at a middle school dance. Jesus takes the initiative to come up to us and asks us to get out onto the dance floor; shall we let ourselves go and dance?

The third lesson in our basic understanding of what it means to call ourselves “Christian” is that Kingdom and Realm of God is both a future hope and a present reality. Jesus speaks of salvation in the present tense. We tend to associate eternal life with only what happens to us when we die; in scripture however, we learn eternal life is both a present and future reality. It is a much richer than we typically make it out to be. You see, in John’ gospel, the word for faith is a verb, not a noun. As a noun, faith refers to having ownership of something specific. Faith as a verb means pledging fidelity and loyalty to someone which requires present-tense action, effort, and a demonstration of that fidelity.

So, for example, when a couple stands before the church and pledges their loyalty and fidelity to each other at a wedding, it signifies they will from that moment forward live a new life. It means they detach from their families of origin and begin a new family of their own. It means they no longer date others but pour everything into this new relationship. Their lives are now bound together; when something happens to one, it affects them both. This is what Christian faith means as a verb: It is living devotedly to another through active reciprocating love. For Nicodemus’ quest for eternal life, it simply means he must take all that religious knowledge stuck in his head and place it in his heart and then reach across the table separating them and grab Jesus’ hand as they take an adventure together.

Another way our text teaches that salvation is a present reality is the word for salvation itself. For too long the church has equated salvation with “not going to hell.” It is time we reclaim the larger meaning. Salvation also means to become healed, restored, and made whole and complete once more. When we understand salvation this way, we hear Jesus’ words as: God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might become healed and made whole again.” 

This is what the esoteric reference to Moses lifting the bronze serpent up in the desert means. In Numbers 21, we read how poisonous vipers kept biting and killing the wandering Hebrews. God told Moses to make a bronze staff shaped like a serpent, and if any Hebrew got bit, they simply had to look at the snake-shaped staff Moses held and they were at once healed and made whole once more.

For Nicodemus, for you and me, healing, wholeness, and restoration all occur in the present moment. When we pledge fidelity to Jesus and walk in a way that shows our loyalty to him, our healing and restoration begins immediately.

So, what does this mean for us today? It means we are urged to step out of the shadows and into the light of discipleship. It means we accept that God has taken the initiative in our healing and that we need only respond with open hearts and lives. And it means we live into the present reality of God’s Kingdom and Realm right this moment, proving our fidelity to Christ by bringing healing, restoration, and wholeness to our families, our neighbors, our colleagues, our government and even to this home of ours we call Earth.

The question Nicodemus came with to Jesus in the night is still the question we must answer in the daylight: Will we be born from above and open the windows of our hearts and let God’s Spirit blow into us like warm spring winds flushing out the vestiges of winter in our lives?  In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. 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.

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