Never Alone

Texts: First Epistle of Peter 3:13–22 and Gospel of John 14:15–21

Mother’s Day carries many emotions.

For some, it is a day of celebration filled with gratitude and joy. For others, it is quieter and more difficult — a day marked by grief, longing, or remembrance. Many of us hold both joy and sorrow together.

This year, the readings from  Peter, 3:13–22 and  John, 14:15–21 speak powerfully into those emotions.

In the Gospel, Jesus tells His disciples:

“I will not leave you orphaned.”

What a beautiful promise.
Jesus speaks these words to people who are anxious and afraid. They know change is coming. They know loss is near. Yet Jesus assures them that they will not be abandoned. The Holy Spirit — the Comforter and Advocate — will remain with them.

That promise still matters today. There are moments in life when we all feel alone. We carry burdens quietly. We wonder if anyone truly sees what we are going through. Yet the heart of the Gospel is this: God does not abandon His people.
The presence of Christ remains with us even in suffering, grief, uncertainty, and loss.

Motherhood often reflects this sacred presence in beautiful ways. Many mothers and grandmothers spend their lives quietly caring for others — comforting, encouraging, sacrificing, praying, and simply being there when someone needs them most. Some of the holiest acts of love are small and unseen.
A late-night conversation.
A whispered prayer.
A warm meal after a difficult day. A gentle hand during sorrow.

These moments may seem ordinary, but they reveal something extraordinary about love. On Mother’s Day, many of us also remember mothers and grandmothers who are no longer with us.
We remember their voices, their wisdom, their faith, and the countless ways they shaped our lives.

Sometimes grief appears unexpectedly — through a memory, a familiar recipe, or an empty chair at the table.
And yet even in grief, Christ’s words remain:

“I will not leave you alone.”

The Christian faith does not deny sorrow, but it reminds us that sorrow is not the end of the story. Because of the resurrection, we believe that love is stronger than death.
That hope matters deeply on days like this. Peter’s letter reminds believers not to lose heart in difficult times. Faithfulness is not always easy, but God sees every act of quiet compassion and endurance. The world may overlook hidden sacrifices, but God does not.

Perhaps that is part of the sacredness of Mother’s Day — recognizing the quiet ways love sustains life.
Today we give thanks for mothers, grandmothers, and all those who have nurtured others with patience, tenderness, and strength. We honor those still with us, and we lovingly remember those who now rest in God’s eternal care. And above all, we hold onto the promise of Christ:

We are never alone.
Even in grief.
Even in uncertainty.
Even in the ordinary struggles of life.
God remains present.
And because Christ lives, hope lives too.

Popular posts from this blog

When Christ Calls Your Name

Image
Christ is risen. He is risen indeed. Alleluia. Beginning in the Dark The Easter Vigil begins in darkness. Not just symbolically—but truly. The church is dim. The world is quiet. We wait. And that’s important, because this is how God so often works. “In the beginning… darkness covered the face of the deep.” Before light—darkness. Before creation—silence. Before resurrection—the tomb. Again and again in Scripture, God moves in that in-between space: when things are unclear, unfinished, unresolved. The Vigil invites us to stay there for a moment. The Garden of Grief After all the readings, we arrive in a garden. Not the garden of creation—but a garden of grief. In the Gospel we heard tonight from Matthew, the women come to the tomb in fear and trembling. The earth shakes, the stone is rolled away, and the angel speaks: “He is not here; for he has been raised.” It is  a proclamation—clear, powerful, overwhelming. And yet, even with that proclamation, something in the human ...
Read more

Held in the Middle: The Holy Family and the World We Know

Image
It’s easy to picture the Holy Family behind stained glass—quiet, perfect, safe. Mary never worries. Joseph never feels afraid. The baby Jesus seems untouchable. But the truth is far closer—and far more real. Jesus was born into a world that looks surprisingly like our own. An empire makes decisions far away, while ordinary families bear the consequences. Travel is difficult and risky. Stability is fragile. Power protects itself first. That isn’t ancient history. That is the daily news. The Holy Family lives under decree and surveillance, counted but not cared for. Today, too many families live under systems that track, tax, displace, and exhaust them, offering little protection in return. They arrive in Bethlehem because they must. They give birth where they can. The first bed is a feeding trough. The first night is cold. And this is where God chooses to arrive. Not above vulnerability. But inside it. Isaiah says: “The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light.”...
Read more

Called Before We Know

Image
Isaiah 49:1–7 | 1 Corinthians 1:1–9 | John 1:29–42 Isaiah speaks with a kind of quiet boldness when he says, “The Lord called me before I was born; while I was in my mother’s womb he named me.” This is not poetic exaggeration. It is a deep theological claim about how God works. Calling does not begin with our awareness, our choices, or our faithfulness. It begins with God’s knowing. Most of us discover our calling only after the fact.   Looking back, we begin to see how God was shaping us through experiences that felt ordinary—or even painful—at the time. Restlessness. Failure. Long seasons of obscurity. None of these cancel a calling. In Scripture, they often accompany it. Isaiah himself admits discouragement. He confesses that his work has felt pointless, his effort wasted. Calling, after all, does not guarantee that our lives will feel effective. Faithfulness can feel unseen. Obedience can feel unrewarded. And yet God responds not with rebuke, but with a widening of ...
Read more