May 3, 2026 Mother Forfa

Once again, thank you all for having me today, and I hope your rector is having a marvelous birthday and a marvelous run. He told me that the place where he is running in New Mexico holds a very special place in his heart, so please keep him in your prayers today.

As happy as I am to be with you, I did groan a little when I read the readings for today. Historically, the passage from John is usually read at funerals, and I thought, “Oh, is this an omen? I hope not.” I also didn’t want to touch the stoning of Stephen—that wouldn’t be the best choice when standing in for someone else—so the gospel it is.

As I was preparing, I began to wonder why this passage isn’t called “Doubting Thomas 2.” Thomas seems to constantly question—either Jesus directly or others about Jesus. He struggles to believe without concrete proof or a long explanation. One commentary I read described Thomas as the “Eeyore” of the Bible. I like that image. From now on, I’ll always picture him as the pessimistic, droopy‑eared disciple.

But without Thomas, would Jesus’ words have the same power for us? Thomas wanted something tangible, just as he once wanted to touch Jesus’ hands and side. Without his questions, our own faith might not be as strong. I’ve come to think of Thomas not as the doubter but as the disciple who asks the hard questions we all need answered to strengthen our faith.

Today, Thomas asks Jesus, “How can we know the way?” Jesus doesn’t scold him but patiently provides an answer that is foundational to Christian faith: “I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.”

Where have we heard that “I am” language before? Moses and the burning bush. And now we hear Jesus echo it in the New Testament. We don’t know how Thomas reacted, but Philip wanted more—he wanted to be shown. You can almost hear Jesus’ exasperation: “Have I been with you all this time, Philip, and you still do not know me?” I can imagine Him saying, “Really, Philip? All this time and you’re still asking these questions?”

Although it’s not written in the passage, I imagine Jesus continuing, “Let me repeat it: I am in the Father, and the Father is in me. If you have seen me, you have seen the Father, the Creator, the source of all things. Believe me and believe in me.”

I often wonder if Philip was satisfied with that answer. So many powerful yet veiled statements—it makes me pause and ask, Which disciple would I be? I think I’d probably just stand there with my mouth open.

Think about times when you’ve had doubts or wanted to ask more questions. If Jesus were standing right here, what would you ask Him?

John’s Gospel is some of the most complex theology in the Bible, and this passage has seen countless interpretations. Yet Jesus’ words continue to bring comfort and hope. We don’t have to worry about what comes next; He has already taken care of that. What we need to focus on is how, in this life, we choose to be followers. Do we need proof, or can we accept Jesus’ words and let Him guide us?

Each of us has our own answer to that question—and sometimes it changes. Here’s what occurred to me: Jesus’ words are comforting, and if we think of them like a formula, it looks like this—God is in Jesus, Jesus is in us, therefore God is in us. What we do with that truth defines our relationship with Him.

When we act with love and do the work of discipleship, we become whole. Accepting and embracing that relationship means there is a place for us with the Creator and the Son in everlasting life. There are many dwellings in the eternal mansion—one with each of our names on it.

Maybe it’s good that we read this today, not at a funeral, because this passage isn’t just about death; it’s about life. It reminds us that we can live now with the assurance that we are dwelling with God, both now and always. That’s why our hearts need not be troubled.

Once again, Jesus tells us there is one truth—God’s truth. During the crucifixion story, Pilate asked Jesus about truth, and today Jesus reiterates: He is the truth. Are we listening for that truth today? In a world filled with competing voices that often encourage fear, are we listening for Christ’s voice alone?

And what does “the way” look like for you?

If you’re not sure, there are resources to help. One I love, also embraced by our bishops, is The Way of Love, introduced by former Presiding Bishop Michael Curry. It’s based on seven practices that help guide and nurture our faith:

• Turn: Pause, listen, and choose to follow Jesus.

• Learn: Reflect on scripture every day.

• Pray: Dwell intentionally with God.

• Worship: Gather in community to thank, praise, and dwell with God.

• Bless: Share your faith, give, and serve unselfishly.

• Go: Cross boundaries, listen deeply, and live like Jesus.

• Rest: Receive God’s grace, peace, and restoration.

Yes, we will all have doubts and moments when discipleship feels difficult or impossible, but we can rest knowing that God in Christ dwells within each of us and that we are loved. And when this life is through, we will dwell in the place already prepared for us.

Let us pray:

Risen Christ, you prepare a place for us in the home of the Father of us all. Draw us more deeply into yourself—through scripture read, water splashed, bread broken, and wine poured—so that when our hearts are troubled, we may know you more completely as the way, the truth, and the life. Amen.

April 26, 2026

Greetings, friends from the great state of New Mexico. I’ve got Albuquerque in my background as I’m here in the foothills of the Sandia Mountains.

I want to take a moment to thank you all for your continued prayers for my travel. As I take this next week in retreat to prepare myself for my marathon and to spend some time in prayer, I’m mindful that New Mexico has always held a special place in my heart. This became even more so during my years in seminary, where I met the Reverend Canon Cornelia Eaton, Canon to the Ordinary for the Episcopal Church in Navajo Land and one of the two current candidates for bishop in that diocese.

I wish I could have had Canon Eaton preach for you all this morning, because she knows intimately what Jesus is talking about today. Canon Cornelia is not only a shepherd in a spiritual sense, but also in a material one. In addition to her church duties, she manages her family’s multigenerational sheep farm on Navajo Nation in Upper Fruitland, New Mexico.

There is something profoundly similar in both aspects of her vocation. Sheep were first brought to the Caribbean in 1493 with Christopher Columbus’s second voyage across the Atlantic. By the 1540s, they had reached Mexico and what is today the American Southwest. The U.S. sheep industry reached its height in the 1880s, when more than 50 million sheep were being shepherded. But with the advent of cheap beef and synthetic fibers, demand for lamb and wool collapsed. Today, there are only about 5 million sheep still tended in the U.S.

What Canon Eaton does is increasingly a lost art — a commitment to something that feels out of touch with the modern world. In a similar way, we find ourselves with a juxtaposition in our readings today.

Regardless of when St. Luke wrote his gospel and Acts, the narrative is set right after Jesus’s resurrection and ascension. There is joy and optimism: “Awe came upon everyone, many wonders and signs were being done by the apostles. They spent much time together, broke bread, and ate with glad and generous hearts.”

But by the time we reach St. Peter’s general epistle — written about 50 years later, in the mid to late 80s — the tone is very different. Peter writes: if you endure suffering for doing right, you have God’s approval. Christ suffered for you, setting an example that you should follow in his steps. We don’t know the exact circumstance, but persecution is close. There is foreboding and oppression, and the joy of the Acts community already feels like a thing of the past.

Still, like Canon Cornelia preserving her ways, St. Peter does not wallow in sorrow. He looks toward perseverance and steadfastness.

So much of what we confront today feels unprecedented, but Scripture reminds us this is not new. The faith of our forebearers shows we inherit both their struggles and their hope. What we face now often pales in comparison to their trials — and even to the dangers faced by modern Christians around the world.

But even beyond physical suffering, there’s another kind: that of feeling out of place. It can feel like sheep herding — a commitment to a way of life that seems outdated. When the flock is small, where is the shepherd? When the world feels dark, what is our guiding light?

Our friends on Navajo Nation offer a response. They have shown resilience through remembrance and faith, whether during their exile at Bosque Redondo in the 19th century or through their continuing efforts to preserve traditional ways like sheep herding. They have “kept on keeping on,” staying faithful to a way of life that endures even as the world changes.

For Navajo Episcopalians, this spirit is evident now as they call a new bishop. For decades, they have remained faithful to a church that did not always respect them equally. Yet they endured, kept the faith, and now see the national church recognizing the vitality of the Holy Spirit among them. They are becoming shepherds of their own people.

So today, friends, let us take heart in our own context — to encounter both the call to follow and the call to lead; to feel lightened in our burdens through the assurance of faithfulness; and to be recommitted to shepherding those entrusted to us.

What we do may feel strange or outdated, but may we remember who we are and whose we are — faithful sheep of the great Shepherd. Let us not lose hope but reclaim the joy and unity of spirit that our ancestors in faith knew.

Being free from sin, may we live for righteousness through the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ.
In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.