Scripture: Isaiah 55:10–13; John 15:9–17

Over the past four weeks, we have been walking together. And it has not exactly been a leisurely walk. We have walked through lament and unanswered questions. Through waiting and silence. Through the frenzy that convinces us everything depends upon us. And last week, through the brokenness of a world that can leave us wondering what difference our small lives can possibly make.

We began with that stubborn little word: Why? Why did this happen? Why has this prayer gone unanswered? Why does suffering continue? Why does God sometimes seem so far away? We discovered that walking faithfully does not mean pretending we have no questions. Faith does not require us to tidy up our prayers before bringing them to God. We may come with grief and anger, confusion and disappointment. Sometimes with nothing more than a tired and trembling, “How long, O Lord?” God can bear the truth of us.

Then we considered the waiting—those long stretches when we have prayed all we know to pray, done all we know to do, and still the answer has not come. We remembered that God’s silence is not necessarily God’s absence. Sometimes waiting means tending what has been entrusted to us while the answer has not yet come—tending our relationship with God, tending our bodies and spirits, tending the people God has placed around us.

Then we turned to frenzy—that anxious conviction that everything depends upon us. We remembered that Jesus does not love us because we are useful. We are able to serve because we are already loved. We do not earn our place at the feet of Christ. We begin there.

And last week we looked honestly at the brokenness of our world. We acknowledged that we cannot repair everything. But neither are we excused from doing anything. Faith sees. Faith draws near. Faith acts with mercy. And faith trusts God with what remains beyond our reach.

Which brings us, finally, to the question that may have been hiding underneath all the others: What comes next?

I suspect most of us would prefer God to answer that question with considerably more detail than God usually provides. We would like dates. Directions. Perhaps a schedule. A little reassurance would also be appreciated. “Take this step. Everything will work out. No one will object. You will have enough money, enough help, enough energy, and absolutely no unforeseen complications.” I have yet to discover that particular passage of Scripture.

Usually God does not hand us the whole itinerary. More often, God gives us enough grace for the next movement. A word. A conviction. A person placed before us. A need we can no longer ignore. A door that has not opened completely but has begun to move. The next faithful step is seldom the whole journey. It is simply the place where trust begins to move.

The prophet Isaiah speaks to people who have known disappointment. They have lived with loss and uncertainty. They have experienced the collapse of things they once believed were secure. They have wondered whether the promises of God still had any power. And into that uncertainty, God says: “As the rain and the snow come down from heaven and do not return there until they have watered the earth… so shall my word be that goes out from my mouth; it shall not return to me empty, but it shall accomplish that which I purpose.”

That is a word of promise. God is saying: My work is not finished. My word has not become powerless. My purposes have not been defeated.

We need to hear that, because one of the dangers of disappointment is cynicism. Cynicism sounds reasonable. “We tried that before.” “Nothing ever changes.” “The problems are too large.” “We don’t have enough people.” “We don’t have enough money.” Cynicism offers to protect us from disappointment by convincing us not to hope too much. But eventually it closes our eyes to what God may still be doing.

Isaiah does not tell God’s people to deny what they have suffered. He simply refuses to let their suffering have the final word. God’s word is still moving. God’s grace is still working. God’s future is still opening before them.

“You shall go out in joy,” Isaiah says, “and be led forth in peace.” Notice what he does not say. You shall finally understand everything. You shall receive answers to every question. You shall have complete control over what comes next. No. “You shall go out in joy and be led forth in peace.”

Joy is not the reward for finally gaining control. Joy comes from discovering that God remains faithful even when we do not control the road. Peace is knowing that the God who has accompanied us this far will accompany us into whatever comes next.

Jesus gives his disciples much the same promise in John’s Gospel: “As the Father has loved me, so I have loved you. Abide in my love.” Abide. Remain. Stay connected. Make your home in my love.

Jesus speaks those words knowing his disciples are about to enter a future they did not choose. They will experience grief. Failure. Fear. They will discover that following Jesus does not protect them from difficulty. And Jesus does not give them a map. He gives them himself. “Abide in my love.”

Before Jesus tells them what to do, he reminds them who they are. Loved. Chosen. Friends of Christ. Then he says: “I appointed you to go and bear fruit, fruit that will last.”

There is a beautiful rhythm in those words. Remain. Then go. Receive grace. Then bear fruit. Stay close to Christ. Then carry the love of Christ into the world.

That rhythm sits very near the heart of our Methodist tradition. John Wesley understood that Christian faith requires both a life turned toward God and a life turned toward our neighbor. Prayer and mercy. Worship and service. Scripture and justice. Communion and compassion. We receive grace, and by that grace we are changed. And because grace changes us, we begin to love differently. Serve differently. See our neighbor differently. Not because we are trying to persuade God to love us. God has already done that. Grace comes first. Always.

We remain so that we can go. We receive so that we can give. We rest so that our service comes from love rather than anxiety. We listen so that our work is shaped by God’s call rather than every demand that happens to shout our name.

Faith without action eventually becomes hollow. But action without abiding becomes frantic. And I think we have already established that frantic is not one of the fruits of the Spirit. Jesus calls us to fruitful love.

And that brings me to this congregation.

Newark First, you are not standing at the beginning of the road. You have already taken many faithful steps. For generations, people have worshiped here, prayed here, grieved here, celebrated here, raised children here, buried saints from here, and carried the love of Christ from this sanctuary into this community.

You continue to care for one another through illness and loss, uncertainty and change. You pray for one another. You notice when someone has not been here. You make the phone call. You send the card. You make the meal. And yes, Methodist theology has never officially identified the casserole as a means of grace—but experience suggests we should probably keep the discussion open.

You give generously. You welcome people. You teach, sing, serve, and quietly do things that will never appear in an annual report.

And together with the faithful people whose story continues through Emmanuel Outreach Center, something new is taking shape. People are being fed. Older adults are gathering around tables. Families are receiving emergency food. Personal-care items, medical equipment, clothing, and other necessities are reaching people who need them. And they are offered, I hope always, with dignity rather than pity—neighbor caring for neighbor. A building once centered primarily upon the worshiping life of one congregation is becoming a place where the wider community may encounter compassion, hospitality, and hope.

Do not hurry past that. And do not allow everything that is still unfinished to keep you from noticing what God is already doing. Fruit is already growing here. The word of God has not returned empty. The love of Christ has taken visible form in meals and wheelchairs, winter coats and prayers, friendships and open doors.

So the question is not: Has God ever worked through us? The evidence is all around us. The question is: What is the next faithful step?

For some of us, that step will be inward. Perhaps you have spent too long pretending with God. You carry anger you thought faithful Christians were not supposed to feel. Or grief you thought you should have gotten over by now. Perhaps your next faithful step is simply to sit before God and say: “This is where I am. This is what hurts. This is what I do not understand. Meet me here.” And trust that grace is already there.

For someone else, the next step may be waiting. Not passive resignation. Faithful tending. You cannot hurry another person’s healing. You cannot force an answer. Perhaps your next step is simply to stay near those places through which God has promised to meet us: prayer, Scripture, Communion, worship, Christian fellowship, acts of mercy. Not because these practices manipulate God into giving us what we want. But because they keep us open to grace.

For another person, the next faithful step may be rest. You have confused being needed with being necessary. Perhaps your next faithful step is Sabbath. To turn off some of the noise. To leave something unfinished. To let somebody else refill the coffee pot. To remember that while we sleep, God remains God.

And for another, the next faithful step will move outward. There is a person you need to call. A wound for which you need to apologize. A lonely neighbor you have intended to visit. A need you have noticed but kept walking past. An injustice about which Christian love will no longer allow you to remain silent. The step does not have to be impressive. It simply needs to be faithful.

And then there is the question we must ask together: What is the next faithful step for Newark First?

I do not believe that question belongs to one person standing in a pulpit. It belongs to the whole church. It requires prayer. Conversation. Listening. Discernment. And a willingness to try some things that may not work perfectly the first time.

Perhaps there will be a baccalaureate service, blessing our graduates and reminding them that their worth has never been measured by a transcript. Perhaps there will be concerts in the park—genuine gifts of music and friendship offered to our neighbors. Perhaps there will be ministries none of us has imagined yet.

But perhaps our next faithful step will not be a program at all. Perhaps it will be listening more carefully. To young families. To teachers. To older adults. To people struggling quietly. To those who once came to church and stopped. To those who have never imagined there might be a place for them here.

Perhaps it will mean crossing some of the spaces that divide our community. Listening before labeling. Choosing curiosity over assumption. Refusing to allow political disagreement to teach us to despise people whom Christ has commanded us to love. Standing beside people who are vulnerable. Seeking justice where people are harmed. Becoming a church known not simply because we occupy a building on Main Street, but because the people of Newark can recognize the love of Christ in the way we live among them.

The vision before The United Methodist Church says that we are to form disciples of Jesus Christ who, empowered by the Holy Spirit, love boldly, serve joyfully, and lead courageously. Those words describe a way of walking faithfully.

Love boldly. Take the next step toward someone you might once have avoided. Serve joyfully. Take the next step toward a need you are able to meet. Lead courageously. Take the next step when faithfulness requires you to speak, change, risk, or begin again.

And remember: we do this empowered by the Holy Spirit. Not by sheer determination. Not because the future of Christ’s church rests upon our ingenuity. Not because everything depends upon us. It doesn’t. The church belongs to Christ. Grace precedes us. Grace accompanies us. Grace continues its patient work within us, shaping us little by little into people who love more fully.

Jesus says, “I have told you these things so that my joy may be in you and that your joy may be complete.”

Sometimes Christians make discipleship sound terribly grim. Heads down. Teeth clenched. Shoulders burdened. Trying desperately not to disappoint God. But Jesus speaks of joy. The joy of discovering that even our smallest act of mercy can become part of God’s larger work. The joy of realizing that we do not walk alone. The joy of companions beside us. Grace beneath us. Christ before us. And the Spirit alive within us.

So perhaps after five weeks, this is where we arrive. We may still have questions. Take the next faithful step. God may still seem silent. Tend what has been entrusted to you, and take the next faithful step. You may be weary. Rest in the love of Christ, and when you are ready, take the next faithful step. You may look at this broken world and feel cynicism rising. Look instead for the person God has placed before you. And take the next faithful step.

We do not know exactly what this congregation will look like five years from now. Neither did those who came before us. They simply did what faithful people have always done. They prayed. They worshiped. They served. They built. They changed. They grieved what needed to be released. They welcomed what God placed before them. And then, eventually, they entrusted the church to us.

Now the road has reached our feet. This is our moment to walk faithfully. Not perfectly. Not fearlessly. And never alone. The Christ who says, “Abide in my love,” is the same Christ who says, “I have chosen you to go and bear fruit that will last.”

So we will abide. And we will go. We will pray. And we will serve. We will listen. And we will act. We will receive grace. And by grace, we will become more fully the people God is calling us to be.

God’s word is still moving. Christ’s love is still holding us. The Holy Spirit is still leading. So let us go out in joy. Let us be led forth in peace. Let us love boldly. Serve joyfully. Lead courageously. And together, let us take the next faithful step. And then the next. And then the next. Until the mercy of God becomes visible among us, the joy of Christ lives within us, and through ordinary people taking ordinary faithful steps, the world catches another glimpse of the kingdom of God already drawing near.

Amen and Amen.

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