A Sermon for Easter 6A and Mother’s Day

10 May 2026 – 6th Sunday of Easter (A) – Mother’s Day – Kenmore
Acts 17:22–31; Psalm 66:7–19; 1 Peter 3:8–22; John 14:15–21

Preacher: Kevin Lapthorn
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May the words of my mouth and the meditations of all our hearts be acceptable in your sight, O Christ, our strength and our redeemer.

This August, I will retire from my legal career, which has spanned some 40-plus years.  The last 21 of which I have served as a judge, hearing family law cases.  Early in my career, I attended the Children’s Court to argue a child protection matter.  Somewhat unusually, the subject child, a girl aged about 7, was sitting outside the courtroom with her case worker.  Out of her hearing, we adults huddled around in conversation to see if we could find a solution for her.  During our discussion, I looked up and captured an image that has stayed with me throughout my career.  This girl gently took the case worker’s hand.  She didn’t say anything.  What I saw was a child seeking assurance that she was not alone.

I always think about that moment when I read the words of Jesus:

“I will not leave you orphaned.”

You do not need to be a child to feel orphaned.  In his farewell discourses, Jesus was at pains to reassure his disciples that they would not be left alone.  He gave them a promise: “I will come to you.”

And then: “You will know that I am in my Father, and you in me, and I in you.”

Let’s hear that again:

“You will know that I am in my Father, and you in me, and I in you.”

We are not talking about some divine help from above.  This is not distant.  It is relational indwelling.  In theological terms, this is nothing less than participation in the life of God. 

My friends, the opposite of orphanhood is relationship.

And perhaps this is one of the great crises of modern life.  We live in an age of greater technological connectivity than any previous generation, yet many people experience profound loneliness.  We can communicate instantly across continents and still feel unseen.  We can live surrounded by people and still feel isolated.  There is a difference between contact and communion.  And Jesus does not merely offer contact.  He offers communion: “I am in my Father, and you in me, and I in you.”

I want to suggest: the Christian faith is not ultimately about subscribing to an idea about God.  It is about being drawn into the very life of God.  Into relationship, into belonging, into love.

If I may return briefly to the courtroom.  The law does something essential and good.  It seeks to protect the vulnerable.  It sets boundaries.  It aims to intervene when harm is present.

But we all know, the law also has limits.  A court can: order a person to be protected, make parenting arrangements, or allocate responsibility.  But it cannot create love.  It cannot manufacture belonging.  And it cannot guarantee presence.

At its best, the law creates the conditions in which care might flourish.  But it cannot itself supply what the human heart most needs.

And that is where today’s Gospel speaks. What Christ offers is precisely what no system, however necessary, can provide: unconditional, enduring presence.

Okay, let’s leave the courtroom but go back in time to Athens.

Paul understood this relational presence and was keen to spread the message.  Yet he was respectful in doing so.  He affirmed the truth where he found it in Greek culture and used familiar language to build a bridge to the Gospel.  He wasn’t being original when he said: “In him we live and move and have our being.”   He was likely quoting a hymn to Zeus, attributed to Epimenides, a Greek philosopher-poet who lived about 600 years before Paul’s visit.  Then he went on to quote another poet, Aratus: “For we too are his offspring.”  Paul picked up the inner truth of Greek philosophy to make his point.

Standing among the Athenians, in a city that took its religious and philosophical ideas seriously, Paul declares: “God is not far from each one of us.”  He wanted his listeners to know that God was not a remote deity. Not a being who observes from a distance.  God is already closer than we realise. 

And yet, like the Athenians, we can still experience God as “unknown.”  Which is why Christ’s promise matters: “I will come to you.”  The unknown God becomes the known presence.

And Peter’s letter brings this down to earth.

“Have unity of spirit, sympathy, love for one another, a tender heart, and a humble mind.”

In other words, the presence of Christ is not merely something we receive; it is something we embody.

If Christ does not leave us orphaned, then we are called not to leave others in that state either.  In our families, our friendships, our communities, and in the life of our church.  We, too, my friends, are participants in Christ’s promise.  And perhaps that calling matters now more than ever.  There are many forms of orphanhood in modern society.  Not only literal abandonment, but emotional abandonment.  Social isolation.  The quiet experience of believing nobody really sees us.

Sometimes the Church speaks as though evangelism is mainly about argument.  But often the first proclamation of the Gospel is much simpler than that.  It is the person who listens.  The friend who stays.  The parish that welcomes.  The grandparent who prays faithfully.  The neighbour who notices suffering.

Long before people understand Christian doctrine, they often recognise Christian presence.  And perhaps that is one of the ways Christ continues to fulfil his promise: “I will not leave you orphaned.”

Today is Mother’s Day.  May it be a blessed day for all mothers.

At its best, motherhood reflects something of this promise: faithful presence, patient care, and love that sustains and forms.

Today, many will give thanks for those who have embodied that.

But again, we must be honest.  Mother’s Day is not simple for everyone.  There are those whose mothers have died, whose mothers are absent in their lives.  There are those who experience strained or painful relationships with their mothers or their children.  Many have longed to be parents and have not been able to experience that part of life.

And so, we return, not to idealised images, but to the words of Christ: “I will not leave you orphaned.”

Whatever our experience of human relationships, this promise stands.

Remember, this promise is grounded in the one who makes it: Jesus Christ.  The one who says, “I will come to you,” is the one who goes to the cross, enters abandonment, crying out, “Why have you forsaken me?” and yet is raised into life.

Christ does not promise to avoid suffering.  He promises to be present through it.  He enters even the deepest experience of abandonment to transform it from within.

I often think back to that little girl outside the Children’s Court all those years ago.  She would be an adult now.  Maybe a mother, or even a grandmother herself.  Back then, surrounded by adults discussing her future, she reached out quietly and took the hand of the case worker beside her.  No speech.  Just the deeply human need to know: Someone is with me. I am not alone.

And perhaps that is one of the deepest longings of every human life.

Beneath our achievements, our confidence, our education, even beneath our faith itself, there remains that vulnerable question:  Will anyone remain with me?  Into that question, Christ speaks: “I will not leave you orphaned.”  This is not sentimental or wishful thinking.  It is a promise.

The one who went to the cross said to his disciples, and says to us, “I will come to you.”  And so, the heart of the Gospel is this:  We are not forgotten. We are not abandoned. We are not alone.

For in Christ, “we live and move and have our being.”

In the name of God:  Creator, Redeemer, and Sanctifier.  Amen.