Lectionary Commentaries for May 3, 2026
Fifth Sunday of Easter

The night when Jesus is arrested, according to John’s Gospel, Jesus speaks for a long time (John 14–16). He talks about how he is about to leave his followers, and how he is also going to continue to be present with them. This notion of presence-in-absence matters for Jesus’s death, but it matters even more after his ascension, when Jesus is not present in the same physical way at all. Jesus’s Farewell Discourse focuses on how the Advocate (14:26) and this community of followers remaining with Jesus (15:1–17) are two ways in which Jesus “will not leave them orphaned” but will come to them (14:18). 

Don’t trouble your heart

Jesus begins this passage with the instruction, “Do not let your hearts be troubled” (14:1). What does it mean for hearts to be troubled? Readers tend to interpret this as a troubling of emotions, meaning “Do not let your hearts be disturbed.” It is interesting that Jesus is described as troubled (11:33), his soul is troubled (12:27), and his spirit is troubled (13:21). What sense does it make for him to command his friends, not once but twice (14:27), to not let their hearts be troubled, when he has been troubled repeatedly?

In these accounts, Jesus seems troubled in the face of the loss of others, in the face of his own death, and in the face of evil. What he is calling his disciples not to have troubled hearts about, in this case, is his own absence, because he is both gone and not gone. This is an important difference from a general admonition not to be troubled, which generally feels impossible—and potentially unhelpful and unloving—to the world. He calls his followers to trust him even when events happen (death, loss) that threaten that trust.

It is important to consider what Jesus is responding to when he commands the disciples not to have a troubled heart. Immediately before this, Peter claims that he will die with Jesus rather than deny Jesus, and Jesus tells him, prophetically, that he has it all backwards. This is the result of a troubled heart that does not understand that Jesus isn’t really gone. 

Jesus’s command is difficult to render in conversational English: “You all, do not let your [plural] heart [singular] be troubled.” In other words, Jesus says to this group of disciples that they have one heart, and that they, collectively, have a responsibility for it not to be troubled at Jesus’s departure. When they are no longer a community together, it is much more likely for hearts to become troubled, resulting in things like Peter’s denial (and therefore, he is restored and forgiven in the context of community, in John 21:15–19). 

In 14:2, Jesus describes a place, “my Father’s house,” that has room for everyone and which Jesus is going ahead to prepare. Just as he did at the last meal, Jesus is the host, inviting others in (13:1–20). When Jesus says there are many “dwelling places” (monē), this has less to do with heavenly mansions and more to do with the relationship between him and his followers. The point is that “where I am, there you may be also” (14:3). The verb menō, meaning “remain,” “stay,” or “abide,” is used 11 times in Jesus’s extended metaphor of the vine and the branches (15:1–17), emphasizing the “abiding” nature of the disciples with Jesus, and how this is necessary for life and ministry. Jesus is promising that both here and hereafter, he and his followers will be together.

Begging the question

Translating John 14:4 in a wooden way that corresponds to the order of the Greek syntax, it reads: “And where I am going, you know the way.” Unlike in the New Revised Standard Version Updated Edition, there is no Greek word for “place.” This matters because it sets the stage for another of John’s favorite misunderstandings around wordplay (see 3:3–6; 4:10–11). Thomas hears what the New Revised Standard Version Updated Edition translates as “You know the way to the place where I am going.” 

In other words, Thomas is asking about the destination, the place, where Jesus is going, as he says, “Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?” (14:5). Jesus is saying they have the directions (map, GPS), so why do they need to know the final destination? (Also, the directions and the destination are both Jesus!)

This misunderstanding produces one of Jesus’s “I am” statements: “I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me” (14:6). It is important to remember that in the context of this passage, this verse is reassuring (see 14:1–3, 12–14). It is to reassure the disciples that they know more than they think they do and that they should focus on their trust in Jesus. 

Philip continues, “Lord, show us the Father, and we will be satisfied” (14:8; see 1:18). The intriguing part about this verse is Philip’s declaration that “we will be satisfied (arkeō).” It is notable that Philip is taking on the role of speaking for the rest of the disciples here (see also 1:45). Furthermore, this alludes back to a previous episode in John. At the feeding of the 5,000, only the Gospel of John narrates an exchange where Jesus explicitly “tests” Philip by asking him, “Where are we to buy bread for these people to eat?” (6:5). Philip responds, “Six months’ wages would not buy sufficient (arkeō) bread for each to take a little” (my translation). 

Philip seems to be asking about what would be sufficient or what would satisfy. He does this even after he has seen Jesus bring about abundance, and where he is in the presence of abundant life itself (14:6; see 10:10). Jesus could be concerned that with his departure, those who fear scarcity find their fears aggravated. If Jesus is not around to ensure abundance, will these fears of scarcity grow? They are called both to trust that Jesus hasn’t really left (see: the Spirit) and that Jesus has always demonstrated throughout his ministry that there is more than enough to go around. They have even “seen the Father” because they have seen the abundance of Jesus’s life. They are never alone.

Stephen’s story in the book of Acts powerfully exemplifies a bold, Spirit-empowered witness to the gospel that is expressed in word and deed. The account of his martyrdom in Acts 7:55–60 calls the church to acknowledge both the costly nature of serving the risen Christ and the reality of God’s presence amid suffering and injustice. 

We first meet Stephen in Acts 6, when the nascent church is growing in Jerusalem through the proclamation of the gospel of the crucified, resurrected, and exalted Jesus. Stephen is introduced as “full of faith and the Holy Spirit” (6:5) when he is appointed by the 12 apostles to a group whose ministry is to distribute food equitably within the Christian community, allowing the apostles to focus instead on preaching the gospel.

Apparently, God had additional plans for Stephen. Just two verses after he was commissioned for what some might call diaconal ministry (verse 6), Stephen is performing signs and wonders (verse 8) and preaching the gospel with wisdom and the Spirit’s power (verse 10). He is thereby cast in the same prophetic mold as Jesus in the Gospel of Luke, which was written by the same author as Acts. And as occurred with Jesus, false charges are brought against Stephen that lead to a sham trial before the Jerusalem leadership. 

Stephen’s defense comprises the longest speech in Acts (7:2–53). It is a recitation of the long history of God’s relationship with God’s people that highlights divine faithfulness and deliverance, as well as the people’s tendency to disobey God and turn to idolatry. Stephen concludes by charging his accusers with these same sins because they rejected Jesus, the Righteous One of God through whom God’s salvation is extended to all people (verses 51–53).

Stephen’s prophetic rebuke enrages the Jerusalem leadership (verse 54). Without giving an official verdict or even deliberating Stephen’s case, the leaders rush to drag him outside of the city and stone him to death (verses 57–60). The violence and injustice of their actions is highlighted by the description of Stephen being filled with the Holy Spirit and focusing on a vision of God and Jesus in heaven while his life is in imminent danger (verses 55–56). Stephen’s unjust execution recalls that of the Lord Jesus, to whom he has just boldly testified. 

Now, Stephen gives the ultimate witness to Christ by surrendering his very life into God’s care while asking for mercy for those who murder him, just as Jesus did on the cross (verses 59–60; Luke 23:34, 46). 

This account of Stephen’s martyrdom might evoke a range of reactions:

• Anger at the injustice of an innocent man being brutally executed
• Sadness that Stephen’s promising life and vocation are cut short
• Fear that we too might be persecuted for our faith in Christ, or simply for being misunderstood
• Being inspired by Stephen’s Spirit-empowered trust in God that allowed him to remain hopeful and calm in the face of death
• Feeling convicted that at times, we are like the accusers in this story who fail to recognize how God is addressing them 

Acknowledging the various ways people might experience this text and knowing one’s context will shape how this text is preached or taught. Even so, there are core elements of this text that can be developed in different ways. 

Fundamentally, Acts 7:55–60 proclaims the truth found throughout scripture that God remains present and faithful to God’s people, even amid sin, injustice, and suffering. Contrary to what the prosperity “gospel” would have us believe, illness, poverty, and other struggles are not signs that people lack faith or divine favor. In fact, Stephen was persecuted and killed precisely because he was faithfully living out God’s call. The Holy Spirit who empowered Stephen’s ministry remained with him through his death, when he was received by Jesus. 

This does not mean that all Christians are called to literally die for their faith or should seek to suffer as a mark of discipleship. Rather, the text identifies the reality that proclaiming the gospel in word and deed often meets with opposition in a world whose values do not align with the self-giving love of Jesus. Christians living in contexts where they face ongoing threats of violent persecution for their faith know this well. And other challenges to persevering in Christian faith abound, such as a miscarriage after years of hoping for a child, a negative medical diagnosis, or betrayal by one’s spouse. Stephen’s story calls Christians to acknowledge divine presence in situations that seem God-forsaken and to help each other persevere in times of struggle.

Similarly, this text challenges us to name the specific instances of injustice and suffering in our communities and around the world. It can be tempting to turn off the news when we see children starving in war zones or people battling addiction because it’s too uncomfortable to watch. But the biblical account of Stephen’s martyrdom does not allow us to look away from what makes us uncomfortable. And rather than just lamenting other people’s suffering, Stephen’s bold witness calls the church to speak out against injustice and act in solidarity with those in need. 

None of us can do this in our own strength. Like Stephen, we rely on the power and guiding presence of the Holy Spirit to witness to the risen Christ in the ways that God has uniquely equipped and called us to do. Our testimony may not be as dramatic as Stephen’s, but it is nonetheless a powerful manifestation of the gospel when the Spirit empowers us to forgive someone who has wronged us or refuse to respond in anger when provoked. 

And we can be encouraged by the fact that God calls and equips all Christians to proclaim the gospel in some way—not just clergy or professional church leaders. God’s empowerment of Stephen to preach the gospel does not negate the importance of his initial role of serving food. Acts portrays both vocations as necessary and Spirit-led. We too can expect God to work through us in whatever our daily lives entail. This may not look quite like it did with Stephen, but nonetheless, we can embrace his example of being attentive to the Spirit and being willing to follow God’s prompting.

Psalm 31, along with Psalms 22 and 69, is among the longest and most impressive of the genre known variously as lament, complaint, protest, and/or prayer for help.¹

Not coincidentally, these three psalms figure prominently in the Gospel accounts of Jesus’s passion (see below). Like Psalm 22 in particular, Psalm 31 has a noticeable double intensity—that is, the basic elements of complaint, petition, and expression of trust/praise recur in what Konrad Schaefer describes as a “first movement” (verses 1–8) and a “second movement” (verses 9–22), in which the basic elements match or parallel each other.² For instance, in today’s lection, verse 5 parallels verse 15. John Goldingay notices the same structural feature, aptly entitling his treatment of Psalm 31 “When a Prayer Needs to Be Prayed Twice.”³

As in all the laments (except Psalm 88), expressions of trust/praise like verses 5 and 15 are present; but what is distinctive about Psalm 31 is that such expressions not only begin and conclude the psalm (verses 1a, 19–24), but also appear throughout it (verses 3a, 4b–8, 14–15a). In this regard, Psalm 31 is similar to Psalm 116, a psalm of thanksgiving that is pervaded by expressions of trust (see essay on Psalm 116:1–4, 12–29, Third Sunday of Easter).

The opening line sets the tone of trust, employing one of the most important words in the Psalter—“refuge.” It occurs first in Psalm 2:12, and then it recurs regularly in the prayers that dominate Books I–II (Psalms 1–72; see v. 19; 5:11; 7:1; 11:1; 14:6; 16:1; and 71:1–3, which is very similar to 31:1–3). To “seek refuge” or “take refuge” (Common English Bible) in God means to entrust life and future to God in the midst of trouble, turmoil, and pervasive opposition—all of which are present in Psalm 31 (see especially verses 4, 7–13, 18, 20–22) and in all the other psalmic prayers as well.

For this reason, verse 1a serves as an accurate and admirable summary of the faith of the psalmists throughout the Psalter—that is, they always live in fundamental dependence upon God, not only trusting that God can and will help, but also inviting others to trust and find hope in God (verses 23–24).

The series of synonyms for “refuge” solidifies the point—“rock of refuge” (verse 2; the Hebrew word translated “refuge” is different than in verses 1, 19); “strong fortress”/ “fortress” (verses 2–3); “rock” (verse 3; again, a different Hebrew word than “rock” in verse 2). God can be trusted to protect and preserve.

Similarly, the three virtually synonymous verbs—“deliver” (verse 1), “rescue” (verse 2), and “save” (verse 3)—reinforce the point. The phrases “in your righteousness” (verse 1) and “for your name’s sake” (verse 3) invite attention to the character of God. God works to give life, because this activity communicates essentially who God is.

In this regard, it is significant that the Hebrew word hesed, “steadfast love,” becomes a keyword in the psalm, although it occurs only once in today’s lection (verse 16; see verses 7, 21). Rather uniquely, but helpfully, Goldingay translates hesed as “commitment.”⁴ The psalmists always trust that God is committed to them, and they, in turn, commit their lives to God.

Verse 5 is one of the clearest affirmations in the Psalter of the psalmists’ commitment to God: “Into your hand I commit my spirit,” or “I entrust my spirit into your hands” (Common English Bible), or in more of a paraphrase, “I turn my life over to you.” The verb translated “commit”/“entrust” is interesting. In other conjugations and contexts, it is used for passing muster on troops and for appointing military officials.

Given this possible nuance, and given the military metaphor in verses 2–3 (“fortress”) and the pervasive opposition confronting the psalmist (verses 7–8, 11, 13, 15, 18, 20), the choice of words suggests that the psalmist’s battle strategy is to trust God! What a difference it would make if we, as individuals and groups, “fought back” by trusting God instead of lashing out at enemies!

The word “hand” connotes power, and it links verse 5 to verse 15: “My times are in your hand,” or “My future is in your hands” (Common English Bible). The “hand” or power of God is contrasted with “the hand of the enemy” (verse 8; see verse 15). The bad news is that the power of the opposition to the psalmist (and to God’s will for life) is real and must be endured.

The good news is that God’s power is greater and will ultimately prevail. Such conviction and commitment—such entrusting of self, life, and future to God—empowers the psalmist to resist and endure, and even to invite others to love God, to have courage, and to have hope (verses 23–24). We might even call it resurrection power, which makes Psalm 31 appropriate for the season of Easter.

Not surprisingly, according to Luke 23:46, Jesus repeats Psalm 31:5a from the cross, in the midst of powerful and pervasive opposition (the kind of opposition described in 31:13 as “terror all around”—see this phrase also in Jeremiah 20:3, 10, which makes it clear that the prophets, along with the psalmists and Jesus, encountered such opposition). Jesus steadfastly resisted the evil forces arrayed against him, but he did not resist violently. Jesus “fought back” by entrusting life and future to God, and so his resistance took the form of love and forgiveness, grounded in the sure and certain hope of resurrection.

Liturgically, the use of Psalm 31 during both Holy Week (Palm/Passion Sunday and Holy Saturday, Years ABC) and the Easter season invites us to hold together cross and resurrection (see the essay on Psalm 118:1–2, 14–24, Resurrection of Our Lord). A persistent temptation is to separate them, as if resurrection people have put the cross behind them.

Jesus’s invitation, then and now, is to “take up [the] cross, and follow me” (Mark 8:34, Common English Bible). In a world full of powerful forces that oppose God’s will for life, the resurrection power to resist and endure begins, as it did for the psalmist and Jesus, with the simple but profound commitment, “Into your hand I commit my spirit.”

Notes

1. Commentary previously published on this website for May 18, 2014.
2. Konrad Schaefer, Psalms, Berit Olam (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2001), 76.
3. John Goldingay, Psalms, Vol. 1: Psalms 1–41 (Baker Commentary; Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2006), 434.
4. Goldingay, 434–436.

This passage of 1 Peter (like much of the letter) is about group identity formation, what biblical scholar Jennifer T. Kaalund describes as “an identity that will come to be known as Christian.”¹ The author uses the term “Christian” in 1 Peter 4:16, one of only three occurrences of this term in the New Testament. The widespread use of terms like “Christianity” and “Christian” postdate most of the New Testament, and people who followed Christ in the late first or early second centuries CE generally did not think of themselves in these terms.

The other two occurrences of “Christian” in the New Testament come from the second-century book of Acts, where the author depicts hostile parties using the term to describe Jesus’s followers, making the term appear derogatory. When 1 Peter uses the term, the author alludes to this derogatory meaning, connected to “suffering” as a criminal. First Peter calls its audience to “glorify God because you bear this name,” beginning a process of claiming a term of criminality and transforming it into an identity.

First Peter 2:2–10 makes claims that draw this group together into a coherent identity that only later will be claimed as “Christian.” “You are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s own people, in order that you may proclaim the excellence of him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light” (2:9). Citing terms and scriptures from Jewish texts and traditions, the author summons together an audience that he describes as dispersed exiles (see 1:1; 2:11) and claims them, as a newly formed group, to be God’s holy chosen. First Peter’s language of exile appropriates the terms of Jewish diaspora in the aftermath of Babylonian conquest.

First Peter shifts to a theology that distinguishes identity by replacing Judaism with a superior Christianity. The author takes the rhetoric of rejection from Psalm 118:22 and Isaiah 8:14–15 and orients these quoted texts in ways that enable anti-Judaism. The declaration of holy identity in 2:9 distinguishes Christian identity from the Jewish tradition that the letter declares “disobeyed” (see 2:8). The author presents a Judaism that has stumbled in order to forge an audience who can claim an identity that the author presents as a superior replacement.

Jesus Christ becomes “a living stone” (2:4) that brings life to his followers, who will be “built into a spiritual house” (2:5). Christian life emerges from the implication that other stones are inert and lifeless. When read alongside the language of rejection and the appropriation of Jewish scripture, 1 Peter’s common “Christian” identity calls one group “into marvelous light” by casting another into darkness.

What does it mean to be “Christian” in an era of Christian exceptionalism?

First Peter 2:2–10 coheres Christian identity through strategies of exceptionalism. The author makes their audience feel exceptionally superior by praising their group in distinction to others who have, via their stumbling, been made exceptions. The group is distinguished as excellent because others have been excluded from being “a holy nation, God’s own people.” This group formation betrays a lack of solidarity with Jewish folks who were also living in the aftermath of Roman conquest, occupation, and a new sense of exile.

While interpreters should appreciate how the author and their gentile audience seem to have been suffering under the hostile conditions of Roman imperialism, they should also reflect how the author’s exceptionalism distinguishes the group so they might live honorably as model subjects to both God and Rome (“Fear God. Honor the emperor,” 2:17). The author’s rhetoric works toward forming a group and poising them to respect the empire with whom, only a few centuries later, this group will become synonymous.

The roots of the Christian supremacy that defines our contemporary context can be perceived in the text, if readers are willing to notice. Christian supremacy was built on a cornerstone of Christian colonialism that rendered and continues to render countless cultures and religious traditions aliens and exiles.

It is good and right that pastors and congregations condemn and work alongside others to dismantle Christian nationalism. However, these condemnations often rely on the same exceptional strategies of identity formation found in 1 Peter 2:2–10. Christian nationalism isn’t “Christian”—that’s not us. They have stumbled; we have light and love. Christian identity continues to be forged in opposition. Embedded in this rhetoric is an unspoken assumption that when these texts have been interpreted “correctly,” a superior, revolutionary Christianity shines from the first century into the 21st. Christianity remains exceptional merely by adding another group onto its list of exceptions.

Christian nationalism represents only one current and dangerous iteration of Christian Supremacy Culture. Uncritical engagement with texts like 1 Peter 2:2–10 continues to form Christians with a pride in a group identity that can perpetuate our own sense of superiority. This underlying superiority continues to enable present and future dangers that arise when Christian supremacy moves from unspoken assumption to a loudly claimed political stance.

Christians need to notice and speak aloud the dangers of our own unspoken assumptions. More critical engagement with the identity-forming rhetoric in this passage invites us into more critical engagement with our own sense of Christian identity. How does our own sense of being “Christian” rely on strategies of feeling exceptional? How can exposing 1 Peter’s and our own exceptionalism enable us to look for solidarity with others?

Notes

1. Jennifer T. Kaalund, Reading Hebrews and 1 Peter with the African American Great Migration (London: T&T Clark, 2018), see ch. 5 title.