2026-04-20
Brooke Strong
Sermon Text...
We Had Hoped: Learning to Belong Again
Rev. Michael Anthony Howard
The Federated Church of Chagrin Falls
Third Sunday of Easter (Year A)
Sunday, April 18, 2026
“We had hoped…”
That’s not just a sentence.
That’s a feeling.
That’s what it sounds like when something you trusted…
something you believed in…
something you thought was going to hold…
doesn’t.
And I think a lot of us know that feeling right now.
Not just in our personal lives…
but in the world.
Because it feels like we are living in a moment
where the same events are happening…
the same facts are out there…
and yet people are walking away
with completely different realities.
And we’re not talking about this in the abstract.
We’re talking about real life.
Family members we used to sit with around the table…
and now it’s tense just being in the same room.
Friends we used to talk to easily…
and now we don’t even know how to start the conversation.
People we used to trust…
who now say things or believe things
that make us wonder
if the people we love are even safe around them.
Holidays that used to feel like home…
now feel like something you have to brace yourself for.
People who don’t feel like they can fully be themselves anymore…
who feel like they have to hide part of who they are
just to sit at the table.
That’s not abstract.
That’s what it feels like
when the story we’re living in
stops holding us together.
Because we’re not just disagreeing about opinions anymore.
We’re living inside different stories about the world.
And when the story you’re living in
can’t hold what’s happening anymore…
you don’t just lose clarity.
You lose your place.
You don’t know where you belong.
And that’s where this story begins.
Not in a sanctuary.
Not in a calm moment.
But on a road.
A real road.
Dust under their feet.
Heat rising off the ground.
The long walk out of Jerusalem.
And they are not wandering.
They are leaving.
Because Jerusalem is not safe anymore.
They have just watched their teacher…
their hope…
the one they believed God was working through…
executed by the state.
Publicly.
Violently.
As a warning.
This is what empire does.
And if you were associated with him…
if you were known to be part of that movement…
you don’t stay.
You flee.
Quickly.
Quietly.
Maybe even looking over your shoulder.
Because you don’t know who might be next.
And as they walk…
they’re not silent.
Luke says they were “discussing” what had happened.
That word is too soft.
They are arguing.
Voices raised.
Trying to piece it together.
“What just happened?”
“How did we get it so wrong?”
“Where is God in this?”
And then they say it.
“We had hoped…”
that he was the one
to redeem Israel.
We had hoped
this was the moment.
We had hoped
everything was going to make sense.
And now?
They don’t know who they are anymore.
They don’t know what story they’re living in.
They don’t know where they belong.
They didn’t just lose hope…
They lost their place in the story.
And when that happens…
it feels like God is gone.
Not as a statement.
As an experience.
“We thought God was here…”
“And now?”
Silence.
And if you’ve ever had a moment like that…
where something you trusted collapsed…
where the story you were living in
couldn’t hold what happened…
then you know this road.
Because that’s the moment we’re living in, too.
And here’s where the gospel turns.
As they walk…
as they argue…
as they try to make sense of it…
someone joins them on the road.
Not with an announcement.
Not with authority.
Just walking.
Listening.
And after a while, he asks:
“What are you talking about?”
“What are you arguing about so intensely?”
He already knows.
But he asks anyway.
Because before anything can be restored…
it has to be spoken.
So they tell him.
“Are you the only one who doesn’t know?”
“Don’t you know what just happened?”
And they say it again:
“We had hoped…”
They tell him their version of the story.
The facts.
The events.
The disappointment.
And here’s the truth:
They are not wrong about what happened.
What they don’t yet understand…
is what it means.
And Jesus doesn’t say,
“You got it wrong.”
He says…
“You’re missing the story.”
And beginning with Moses and all the prophets…
he starts to tell it again.
Not a new story.
The one they already knew.
The one they had lived in…
the one they thought had just ended.
And slowly…
they begin to hear it again.
He takes everything that has happened—
the death…
the fear…
the confusion…
and places it inside a bigger story.
A story where suffering is not the end.
A story where death does not have the final word.
A story where God has not abandoned them…
even here…
even on this road…
even in this moment.
And something begins to happen.
Not all at once.
Not dramatically.
But slowly…
their hearts begin to burn.
Not because everything makes sense…
but because they’re starting to recognize
where they are again.
They’re starting to find their place again.
And that’s what belonging is.
Belonging is not having all the answers.
Belonging is knowing
that your life is still inside God’s story.
Even when you didn’t recognize it.
Even when it didn’t feel like it.
Even when everything you hoped for fell apart.
And here’s the thing…
This is not just their story.
This is ours, too.
Because we are living in a moment
where truth gets bent…
where stories get shaped…
where people start to believe
that it’s okay to exaggerate…
or distort…
as long as it serves the version of the story
they want to tell.
But it’s not okay.
Because the moment we start bending the truth
to serve the story we want…
we are no longer living in God’s story.
We’re creating our own.
And that never leads to belonging.
So hear this clearly.
We are called
to be people
who tell the truth.
Not exaggerated truth.
Not weaponized truth.
But clear, grounded, honest truth.
Because truth is what allows us
to live in reality together.
And that’s why the gospel matters.
Because it gives us a story
big enough
to hold the truth.
A story where pain is real.
Where suffering is real.
Where confusion is real.
But where none of it
has the final word.
Because the story we belong to says:
God has not abandoned you.
God will never leave you
nor forsake you!
Not when everything makes sense.
Not when everything is clear.
But right here.
On the road.
In the confusion.
In the uncertainty.
God is still present.
Got is still speaking.
And more than that—
God is still at work.
There is a redemption
unfolding in the world.
And we have been invited
to participate in it.
Right here….
In Chagrin Falls.
In Northeast Ohio.
In our homes.
In our relationships.
In the very places
where belonging feels most fragile.
And I don’t know about you…
but I want that!
I want that moment
where something inside of me
comes back to life again.
Where the confusion may still be there…
the questions may still be there…
the world hasn’t magically fixed itself…
and yet—
something in me knows…
I’m still in the story.
“Were not our hearts burning within us…”
Not after everything was resolved.
Not after everything made sense.
While they were still on the road.
While they were still confused.
Their hearts began to burn.
And oh…
that our hearts would burn within us like that.
Not with anger.
Not with fear.
But with the steady fire
of recognition of the love of God!
God is still here.
The story still holds.
You still belong.
Even here.
Even now.
Even in this moment
that doesn’t make sense.
So the invitation is simple.
Live your life
inside that story.
Tell the truth.
Refuse what is false.
Stay present to one another.
And trust…
that even when you didn’t recognize it…
God was walking with you the whole time.
“We had hoped…”
Now we belong.
Amen.