June 14, 2026 (Third Sunday after Pentecost) - Adam Eichelberger

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In the Name of one God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

I wanted to start by thanking Fr. Steve for asking me to share this morning. It means a lot to me to be here with all of you.

And I also want to thank Deacon Chuck because, as I came into church this morning, he asked, “Which version of the Gospel do you want?” Because some of you know there are shorter versions and longer versions. And I said, “When Fr. Steve asked me, I kind of prepared my thoughts on the longer version.”

So if church goes longer today, it's not Deacon Chuck's fault—it's mine.

I did tell Fr. Steve I was going to shorten this up because we've got a lot going on today. So I'm going to keep this to a tight thirty-five or forty minutes for y'all.

And I promise you, if you see me looking down at my phone, I'm not catching up on the World Cup. This is where my notes are because I'm an elder millennial, so I appreciate your patience.

I want to ask a question as we get started today:

Do you remember a time when you were asked to do something you didn't want to do?

Do you remember a time when you had to be brave when you didn't feel like you could be?

I have a distinct memory of being about seven or eight years old when my family took a trip to Disneyland.

There was a ride in Tomorrowland with rocket ships. It's essentially the same ride as Dumbo, except instead of an elephant, you're in a rocket ship. The other big difference is that you had to go up an elevator about thirty feet before you got on the ride.

If you're not familiar with how it works, you get into a rocket ship and there's a lever. You move the lever up and down, and your rocket ship goes up and down as it spins.

I remember walking through Tomorrowland with my parents and my brother. We saw the ride, and my mom casually asked, “Do you want to go on it?”

I said, “Not really. I don't like heights.”

And my dad said, “No, you're going to get up there.”

I said, “I don't want to do this. I'm scared.”

And he said—you know how parents do that thing where they speak through their teeth—“You better get on that ride!”

So I went by myself as an eight-year-old, took the elevator up, got in line, and rode the ride alone.

As it started circling, I refused to touch the lever because at least this way I was at the lowest possible height.

After the first rotation, I looked over the edge and saw my dad down below, miming the motion of operating the lever.

So I did.

Petrified. Sweating. Terrified of heights.

And I realized afterward that the whole reason my dad asked me to do that was because he was terrified of heights.

This was very late-1980s-style parenting: “No son of mine is going to be scared like I am, so I'm going to make him work it out.”

And to this day, my children will attest that I am terrified of heights. If we go to Destiny USA and we're anywhere other than the basement level, everybody needs to stay away from the railing because in my head someone is going to randomly flip over it.

Sometimes God calls us to be brave in ways we don't want to be.

“The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few; therefore ask the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into his harvest.”

When Jesus says this, I think he's looking for people who are willing to go where he sends them, even when they don't know exactly what that entails.

It's important to me that when Jesus asks the disciples to do something, he says:

“Go nowhere among the Gentiles and enter no town of the Samaritans, but rather go to the lost sheep of the house of Israel. As you go, proclaim the good news: The kingdom of heaven has come near.”

I think this matters because Jesus isn't sending them to unbelievers. He's not even sending them, in this particular moment, to those on the margins.

He's sending them to the lost sheep of Israel.

In a sense, he's sending them back to the church.

And that's scary.

They're going to walk into places where people know them. They're going to hear, “I know Peter. I know these people. Why should I listen to them?”

It's scary to go into spaces where we may face rejection or resistance for doing and saying the things that Jesus convicts us to do.

What does that mean for us?

I think it's important that Matthew names every disciple.

Jesus sees them.

Knows them.

Calls them.

Exactly as they are.

Because I think sometimes we believe we have to check every box before we're qualified to share the Gospel.

We think we have to go to seminary.

Learn everything.

Take all the classes.

Write all the papers.

But remember: Jesus isn't sending out seminary graduates.

He's sending out a bunch of buffoons.

He's sending out people who are wholly unqualified for the task.

And where does he send them?

Back to the church.

I think the church needs our help.

And I'm not talking about Grace Church specifically.

I'm talking about the Church as a whole.

Jesus sees that the church is sick.

He sees the divisions.

And he's asking us to participate in healing it.

He's asking us to promote reconciliation and justice within the church.

He's asking us to help the church become what it is called to be.

To heal.

To cast out.

To raise up.

To cleanse.

Maybe that doesn't literally mean raising the dead.

But it does mean breathing life into things that are dying.

It means healing wounds.

It means confronting injustice.

It may mean casting out the demons of bigotry, misogyny, homophobia, transphobia, racism, sexism, and every form of hate.

We're mindful of that this weekend as we celebrate Pride here in Central New York, joining with our siblings beautifully created by God and repenting of the harm that has been done to them—especially by the church.

And remember, repentance doesn't mean beating ourselves up.

It means changing our minds.

Jesus wants to make the church whole so it can do the work it was created to do.

This isn't a call for uniformity.

It's a call for unity.

Unity is not the same thing as uniformity.

Because we cannot proclaim the Good News to the world if we remain fractured and divided.

This is Jesus saying: put on your own oxygen mask before helping someone else.

This feels hard.

Maybe even contrary to what we think the church should be doing.

But I think it's a reminder that the call for help is coming from inside the house.

And none of this is easy.

In fact, Jesus tells us it won't be.

“See, I am sending you out like sheep into the midst of wolves.”

“Brother will betray brother to death, and a father his child.”

“You will be hated by all because of my name.”

Does any of that sound familiar?

How many of us have experienced difficult conversations around dinner tables?

How many of us have witnessed hateful rhetoric?

How many of us have faced resistance when standing up for the belovedness of all God's children?

So what does this look like?

I'm going to borrow from the Franciscan tradition.

There's a saying often attributed to Saint Francis and his companions:

Heal wounds.
Bind what is broken.
Bring home the lost.

Healing wounds means recognizing suffering and offering physical, emotional, and spiritual comfort.

Binding what is broken means becoming agents of reconciliation in a fragmented world.

It means mending relationships, families, communities, and even the church.

Bringing home the lost means gently guiding those who have strayed from the way of peace back into a place of love and belonging.

Ultimately, Jesus assures us that we are not abandoned.

That should bring us peace.

But it doesn't make the work any easier.

And Jesus tells us this work will take time.

“Truly I tell you, you will not have gone through all the towns of Israel before the Son of Man comes.”

Sometimes I wish he'd come a little sooner because I'm tired.

I think we could all use a break.

But the work remains.

We have a long road ahead.

Today, in this place, in this moment, Jesus is asking us to take the first step toward healing the church.

Every journey begins with a first step.

So today, be bold.

Grace Church, as we remember 150 years since the laying of our cornerstone, since our forebears committed to building this house so that God might be praised and God's people served, let us step out boldly to heal and reconcile the church so that we might change our world.

Amen.