April 26, 2026 Reflection

There’s something powerful about being known.

Not just recognized in passing, not just someone saying, “Oh yes, I’ve seen you before” but being truly known. Known by name. Known in your joys and your struggles. Known in the parts of your life that are easy to share… and the parts that aren’t.

And if we’re honest, that kind of knowing, real belonging, is something we don’t always experience in the world around us. We live in a time where people can be surrounded by others and still feel profoundly alone. Where connection is constant, and yet community can feel elusive.

And so we come. We come here, carrying that longing. And today, our scriptures meet us right there.

In Acts, we hear this beautiful, almost idealized picture of the early church:
“They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers… All who believed were together and had all things in common… they broke bread at home and ate their food with glad and generous hearts.”

It sounds… almost too good to be true, doesn’t it? I mean, sharing everything? Eating together every day? No disagreements? I have some bad news – I think this even means that those of you who order Doug’s cheesecake every week in the café – you’ve got to share it! The Bible says so!

Shared meals. Shared resources. Shared lives. No one left out. No one standing alone.

Now, if you’ve ever been part of a church for more than about ten minutes, you might be thinking, Well, that’s not exactly how it always goes… And you’d be right.

Because the early church wasn’t perfect. If you keep reading in Acts, you’ll see disagreements, tensions, growing pains. It was messy. Human. Complicated.

And yet, this vision still matters. Because it tells us something about what the Spirit was stirring in those first communities. A way of being together that pushed back against isolation. A way of living that said: You belong here. Your life is bound up with mine. We will look after one another.

And then we hear Jesus, in John’s gospel, speaking of himself as the shepherd. “The sheep hear his voice. He calls his own sheep by name… and leads them out.”

He doesn’t drive them. He doesn’t force them. He calls them. By name. And they follow, not because they are afraid, but because they know his voice. There’s intimacy in that image. There’s trust. There’s relationship.

And Jesus says something even more striking: “I came that they may have life and have it abundantly.”

Not barely-getting-by life. Not isolated, fend-for-yourself life. But abundant life.

And here’s the thing, when you hold these two readings together, something becomes clear: That kind of abundant life Jesus speaks of? It’s not something we experience alone. It takes shape in community.

I was reminded of that this past week. I had the gift of being away on a clergy retreat in Naramata from Monday to Thursday, right on the lake, surrounded by that kind of beauty that makes you stop mid-sentence and just breathe it in. The kind of place where even your email feels like it should apologize for existing.

It was a gathering of colleagues, people from different communities around BC, different contexts, different experiences of ministry. And what struck me wasn’t just the setting, though, I mean, the lake didn’t hurt.

It was the sense of connection. We shared stories. We spoke honestly about the joys and the challenges of ministry. We laughed… a lot. We sat in silence together.  We prayed for each other. We held space for one another in ways that don’t always happen in the busyness of everyday life.

And there was this quiet, steady reminder running through it all: We are not meant to do this alone. Even those of us who are used to being the ones offering care, need to be held in community too.

And I found myself thinking about this place. About Mount Seymour. Because in so many ways, what I experienced there… is what we are continually being invited into here. Not perfection. Not some idealized version of church life. But real, grounded, imperfect, grace-filled community.

At Mount Seymour, belonging doesn’t mean you have everything figured out. It doesn’t mean you always feel joyful. It doesn’t mean you never have doubts or questions or hard days.

Belonging means you show up as you are. And you are met with open hearts.

It means someone notices when you’re not here. It means there’s a place at the table, whether you feel at your best or your most fragile.

It means we try, again and again, to live out that Acts vision in our own way:
sharing what we have, caring for one another, making sure no one stands alone.

And it also looks very concrete here.

It looks like the quiet, steady work of volunteers in the thrift shop, sorting, pricing, welcoming, creating not just a place to find what’s needed, but a place where dignity and connection are offered every day.

It looks like the café, coffee being poured, conversations unfolding, laughter shared between people who may have arrived as strangers and leave as something more like neighbours.

It looks like serving on Council, or joining a committee, not always glamorous work, but deeply meaningful, because it shapes the life of this community and ensures that no one voice carries it alone.

It looks like gathering in smaller circles too, walking the Pilgrim’s Path together, sitting in stillness in the meditation group, sharing stories and creativity in the craft circle. These are places where people are known more deeply, where connections grow over time.

And sometimes belonging looks like saying yes to something small… and then realizing six months later you somehow have a key, a schedule, and people asking you questions. We have certainly heard over the last months when people introduce themselves before reading scripture, that this is the way it has happened for some of you in this congregation!

And sometimes belonging looks like noticing something that isn’t there yet… and feeling a nudge to begin it. To start something new. To create space for others who are also longing for connection in that same way.

And we don’t always get it right. But we keep practicing. Because this kind of community doesn’t just happen. It’s something we build together.

And that brings us to today. Because after worship, we’re gathering for our Annual Meeting. Now, I know “Annual Meeting” doesn’t always sound like the most spiritually exciting part of church life.

It might not have quite the same ring as “abundant life.”
No one wakes up on Sunday morning thinking, “I hope there’s a really good budget discussion today.”

But here’s the truth: This is part of how we live into that life together. This is part of how we practice being a community where everyone has a voice. Where we reflect on where we’ve been… and discern where we’re being called next.

It’s where the practical meets the spiritual. Where budgets and reports and decisions become expressions of our shared commitment to one another.

Because belonging isn’t just a feeling. It’s participation. It’s investment. It’s showing up, not just for what we receive, but for what we are building together.

The early church didn’t just gather for worship, they shared their lives. And this is one of the ways we do that.

And for those who are feeling that this community is becoming home, there’s also an invitation through our membership classes. A chance to explore what it means to say more intentionally, this is my community; I want to be part of its life and its future. Not as a requirement, not as a boundary, but as a doorway. A way of saying, “Yes, I’m in.” (And don’t worry, we don’t make you memorize anything or pass a test.)

And I want to say a word, too, to those who might be visiting today. Maybe you’re here just for this morning. Maybe you’re passing through. Maybe you are checking us out online. Maybe you’re still figuring out what you believe, or whether church is even something you want in your life. Honestly, some of us are still figuring that out too.

This message is for you too. Because the longing for belonging, the desire to be known, to be connected, to not walk through life alone, that’s not just a “church thing.” That’s a human thing.

And wherever you find yourself, whether it’s here, or in another community, or still searching, pay attention to the places where that kind of life begins to take root. Pay attention to the voices that call you by name, not with pressure or fear, but with invitation and care. Pay attention to the communities where people show up for one another, where generosity is practiced, where there is space to be fully human. Because that is where abundant life begins to unfold.

So today, we’re invited to listen. To listen for the voice of the Shepherd, who calls each of us by name. To listen for the ways we are being drawn deeper into community. To listen for the quiet nudges of the Spirit, inviting us to reach out, to include, to care, to connect.

And maybe to ask ourselves: Where am I being called to deepen my sense of belonging? Where might I be called to help someone else feel that they belong?

Because the truth is, there are people, even here, even now, who are still wondering if there’s a place for them. Still wondering if they’ll be seen. Still wondering if they’ll be known. And we get to be part of the answer to that question.

Jesus says, “I am the gate… Whoever enters by me will be saved, and will come in and go out and find pasture.” There is space here. There is room to come in… and to go out… and to live. And together, we are learning what it means to be a people who hold that space open. A people who listen for the Shepherd’s voice. A people who share life with glad and generous hearts. A people who, imperfectly, faithfully, look after one another.

So come. Come as you are. Come as one who is seeking. Come as one who is already found. Come and be part of this living, growing, grace-filled community.

Thanks be to God. Amen.