08.07.2026
Saint Francis
Sermon (Pentecost 5A, 2026)
Pr. Christian Jennert, Bridge Pastor
Matthew 11:16-19, 25-30; Romans 7:15-25a
Grace to you and peace from God our Creator and our Savior Jesus Christ. Amen
Last Sunday, many of us experienced something beautiful. We gathered for worship here at St. Francis and then joined thousands of others in the Pride Parade, marching with our friends from United in Spirit and other faith communities. It was a joyful witness that God’s love is for all people and that Christ’s church can be a place of welcome, healing, and hope.
Whenever Christians publicly live out the Gospel, however, not everyone applauds. Some celebrate. Others question. Some understand. Others criticize. That, it turns out, is nothing new.
In today’s Gospel, Jesus says, “To what will I compare this generation?” He describes children sitting in the marketplace who cannot agree on how to play. One group plays wedding music, but no one dances. Another sings a funeral lament, but no one mourns. No one is satisfied. Jesus then applies the image to John the Baptist and himself.
John lived an austere life in the wilderness. He fasted. He called people to repentance. People said, “He has a demon.” Then came Jesus.
He ate with tax collectors and sinners. He attended banquets. He shared meals with those others avoided. And people said, “Look at him – a glutton and a drunkard.”
John was criticized for being too strict. Jesus was criticized for being too welcoming. The point is not that one approach was better than the other. The point is that many people had already decided they did not want to hear God’s voice. Whatever God did, it would never be enough.
It is tempting to hear this Gospel and think about everyone else. But then today’s reading from Romans quietly turns the spotlight toward us. Paul writes words that have echoed through the centuries because they are so deeply human:
“I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate.”
Who among us has not felt that? We want to be patient – and then lose our temper. We want to trust God – and then anxiety takes over. We want to forgive – and somehow resentment lingers. We want to love our neighbor – and sometimes find ourselves judging instead.
Paul is not describing someone else’s struggle. He is describing the divided human heart. If Jesus diagnoses the world around us, Paul diagnoses the world within us. Perhaps that is one of the greatest burdens we carry – not simply busy schedules or too many responsibilities – but the quiet exhaustion of trying to become the people we long to be.
This weekend our nation celebrates Independence Day. For some, these celebrations come easily; for others, they are accompanied by questions or concerns about our country’s present moment. Even so, freedom is precious gift, and we rightly give thanks for it.
But Paul reminds us that there is another kind of freedom we long for. The freedom to live without fear. The freedom to stop pretending we have everything together. The freedom to stop measuring our worth by our successes (or failures). The freedom to know that God’s love is not something we achieve but something we receive. That is why Jesus’ invitation at the end of today’s Gospel is so beautiful.
“Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.”
Notice what Jesus does not say. He does not say, “Get you life together first.” He does not say, “Fix your failures.” He does not say, “Become more spiritual.” He simply says, “Come.”
Come with your questions. Come with your divided heart. Come with your disappointments. Come with your joy. Come with your grief. Come with your hopes. Come with your burdens.
The rest Jesus offers is not merely an afternoon nap or a vacation – wonderful as those may be. It is the deep rest of knowing that we belong to Jesus before we have managed to get everything right.
That is grace. And perhaps that is also what we witnessed last Sunday.
Our witness in the Pride Parade was not about claiming that Lutherans have all the answers or that we always get everything right. Quite the opposite. It was simply our way of saying that Christ’s welcome is wider than our fears, deeper than our failures, and stronger than our divisions.
That welcome begins here. It beings with us. Before we are sent out to welcome others, we ourselves are welcomed by Christ. Week after week, Jesus gathers around Word and Table. He speaks forgiveness. He gives himself to us. He lightens our burdens. He teaches us again what grace looks like.
So whether you come today feeling joyful or weary, confident or uncertain, whether you find yourself identifying more with the crowds, with Paul, or somewhere in-between, hear again Christ’s gracious invitation: “Come to me.”
Because in him, weary hearts find rest. In him, divided hearts find peace. And in him, we discover the freedom to live as God’s beloved. And the peace of God that passes all understanding…
Amen.
