05.05.2026
Saint Francis
The Rev. Christian Jennert, Bridge Pastor
Sermon, Easter 5 - May 3, 2026
Grace, mercy and peace to you from Jesus Christ, the way, the truth, and the life. Amen.
Here we are – still on the journey. Not at the very beginning, and not at the end – but somewhere along the way together.
When I first arrive as your bridge pastor a few months ago, everything was new – for me, and in many ways, for you. And now, even in this short time, something has already taken shape: rhythms of worship, shared laughter at coffee hour, the quiet (and sometimes not so quiet) but always faithful work of this community continuing day by day.
And still, this is a time of transition. A time of remembering what has been. . .and discerning what is becoming. That’s why this Gospel meets us so well today. Jesus says, “I go to prepare a place for you. . .and I will come again and take you to myself.”
These are words we often hear at funerals and memorial services. Words spoken at the edge of grief, when we are trying to make sense of endings. But today, we hear them in the light of Easter. Not looking at an urn of ashes or standing at a grave – but rather standing before a tomb that has already been emptied. And that changes everything.
Because in Christ, endings never have the last word. God is always doing something new, often quietly, often gradually, but always faithfully. And yet, if we are honest, times of transition can feel uncertain.
Like the disciple Thomas, we might wonder: “Jesus. . .we don’t really know where this is going. How can we know the way?” It’s a deeply human question. And Jesus’ answer is just as direct as it is mysterious: “I am the way, and the truth, and the life.” Not a map. Not a set of instructions. Not a perfectly laid-out three-year strategic plan. But a person.
Which means this: Our hope does not rest in having everything figured out, written down, and mapped out. Our hope rests in who walks with us. Christ is the way – not because every step is clear, but because we are not walking alone. And that matters in a time like this – when a congregation is carrying both gratitude for the past and questions about the future – it can be tempting to look for the certainty. Jesus offers something deeper than certainty. He offers presence. “Do not let your hearts be troubled,” Jesus says. Not because everything is resolved, but because God is here.
And then there is this beautiful image: “In God’s house there are many dwelling places.” Not just in the life to come, but as a vision for the life we are living now. There is room. There is space. There is welcome. And that is part of our calling, as the people of St. Francis Lutheran Church – to reflect that same spaciousness right here in the heart of the Duboce triangle on the cusp to the Castro in San Francisco.
To be a community where people can come as they are, with questions, with doubts, with hope, with longing, with their truest selves – and find a holy place. A place to belong. A place to be held. A place to be seen. A place to encounter the risen Christ.
Peter puts it this way in the reading for today: “You are a chosen race, a royal priesthood
. . .God’s own people, in order that you may proclaim the mighty acts of the one who called you out of darkness into marvelous light.”
Notice – this isn’t about having everything together. It’s about being shaped into a people who live the good news. A people who embody the way of Jesus. We saw it in the martyr Stephen, in the Book of Acts – even in the face of suffering, Stephen entrusts himself to God: “Lord Jesus, receive my spirit.” That kind of trust doesn’t come from certainty. It comes from relationship. From knowing – deeply – that our lives are held in God’s hands. And so, the question for us is not simply: “Where are we going next?” But perhaps more importantly: “Where are we walking the way of Christ, right here, right now?” In this neighborhood. In this community. With your Bridge Pastor. In this season of transition.
What does it look like for St. Francis to be the place where Christ’s welcome is real?
Where healing is possible?
Where people – whether long-time members, new faces, or those just passing by – catch even a glimpse of God’s abundant love?
Jesus says something striking near the end of this passage: “The one who believes in me will also do the works that I do – and, in fact, will do greater works than these.” Not because we are extraordinary, but because Christ is at work through us. Through ordinary acts of care. Through presence. Through hospitality. Through courage. Through a community that keeps showing up again and again, even in uncertainty, trusting that God is not finished yet.
And that is the quiet promise of Easter.
Not that everything is clear. Not that the path is easy. (It never was!) Not that we don’t struggle . . .relationships end, a dear neighbor moves away, loved ones are getting older, a friend receives a new diagnosis, a job is terminated. But in spite of it all, we trust that Christ is the way – and this Christ is with us.
So, we keep on walking. With trust. With openness. With deep hope. Because the journey is not over. For we know that God is still making all new things new – right here, even now, amongst us.
Amen.
