Sermons By Alan Bentrup

What does it mean that the risen Jesus keeps saying the same thing? To frightened disciples behind a locked door. To Thomas in his doubt. Over and over: "Peace be with you."In this Easter Sunday sermon at St. Martin's Episcopal Church in Keller, Texas, Fr. Alan explores John 20:19-31 and what the resurrection has to do with a plumber named Mike Jesus, a week of doubt, and the moment every Sunday when a room full of people turns toward each other and says the peace.Jesus does not wait for the fear to lift. He does not wait for the doubt to resolve. He walks in and says it anyway.That is not a small thing. That is the resurrection moving through a room.St. Martin's Episcopal Church | Keller, TexasSecond Sunday of Easter | Year AJohn 20:19-31

All week we have been listening.A crowd. Water poured out. A hammer. And then silence.Tonight the ground shook.In this Great Vigil of Easter service from St. Martin's Episcopal Church in Keller, Texas, Fr. Alan offers a brief reflection on what the resurrection actually sounds like: not a quiet next chapter, but an earthquake. The sound of a door torn off its hinges from the inside. The sound of death discovering it has been outsmarted.Hell made its move on Friday. It looked like a victory.It was not a victory.And no one has ever said that better than John Chrysostom. Written in the fourth century and never improved upon, his Paschal Homily is one of the great proclamations of the Christian faith. Rather than compete with it, Fr. Alan steps aside and lets Chrysostom preach.Listen.The Sounds of Holy WeekSt. Martin's Episcopal Church | Keller, TexasScripture: Matthew 28:1–10

Easter is not optimism.The people in this story are not people for whom hope came easy. They watched their friend die. They buried him. They came back to the tomb in the dark because they didn't know where else to go.Jeremiah wrote to survivors who had lost everything: the people who survived the sword found grace in the wilderness. Not after the wilderness. In it.That is the world Mary Magdalene is living in when she comes to the tomb before sunrise. She is not coming in hope. She is coming because grief pulls you back to the last place you saw someone.And then Jesus says her name.One word. One syllable. The whole resurrection in a single breath.In this Easter Day sermon from St. Martin's Episcopal Church in Keller, Texas, Fr. Alan explores what resurrection actually sounds like. Not a trumpet blast over easy circumstances. A name spoken quietly to someone in the wilderness. To someone who came expecting nothing.Grace does not wait for you on the other side of the wilderness. It meets you inside it.H

You know this sound.The hammer comes down. The nail bites in. The sound is blunt and final and it does not apologize for itself.In this Good Friday sermon from St. Martin's Episcopal Church in Keller, Texas, Fr. Alan sits with that sound and refuses to move past it too quickly. Because before we get to Easter, we have to hear what love actually sounds like when it goes all the way.It was not only the soldiers swinging the hammer. It was our failures, our denials, our wounds carried and wounds caused, that drew Jesus to the cross. Not to crush us with guilt. But to show us the length he was willing to go.For us. Because of us. All the way to this.The silence after the hammer is real. We do not explain it away. We do not rush past it. We just hold, quietly, the possibility that it does not have the last word.Tomorrow is silence. Sunday is coming.St. Martin's Episcopal Church | Keller, TexasScripture: John 18:1–19:42

On the night before his crucifixion, Jesus picked up a basin and poured water.In this Maundy Thursday sermon from St. Martin's Episcopal Church in Keller, Texas, Fr. Alan explores the soundscape of the upper room: the water poured out, Peter's protest, the silence of sleeping disciples, and the kiss of a friend who had already decided to betray him.All of it. And still the water kept pouring.This is not a lesson in servant leadership. It is the sound of a love that does not wait for you to deserve it, does not pause when you resist it, and does not stop when you betray it.St. Martin's Episcopal Church | Keller, TexasScripture: John 13:1–17, 31b–35

The healing in John 9 is not the good news. Not for this man.The moment he receives his sight, everything else starts falling apart. His neighbors don’t recognize him. The Pharisees interrogate him twice. His own parents hand him over in the middle of his trial to protect themselves. And by the end of the chapter, he has been thrown out of his community, his synagogue, and every structure that was supposed to hold him.He did nothing wrong. And he ends up completely alone.But then verse 35 arrives, quiet and easy to miss: Jesus heard that they had cast him out. And Jesus goes looking for him.That is the good news of John 9. Not the healing. The finding. Jesus moving deliberately toward the one that everything else moved away from.This sermon is part of our Lenten series Listen to Jesus, preaching through the Gospel of John.

She didn’t come to the well at noon by accident. She came because it was the only time no one else would be there. She had arranged her whole life around not being seen.And Jesus was already waiting.In John 4, Jesus crosses every boundary that should have kept him silent — and has the most theologically rich conversation in the Gospel with a Samaritan woman who has known grief, loss, and the weight of surviving in a world that didn’t give her many choices. He sees all of it. He names it. And he doesn’t look away.This is what Lent is actually about. Not sin management. Not spiritual performance. Being seen — fully, honestly, completely — and discovering that grace meets us there.This is the third sermon in our Lenten series Listen to Jesus, preaching through the Gospel of John. If you’re exploring faith, returning to church, or just trying to make it through the week, this one is for you.

In this sermon from St. Martin's Episcopal Church in Keller, Texas, Father Alan explores one of the most honest questions people ask in the dark: Does God really love? Drawing from John 3:1–17 and the story of Nicodemus, this message unpacks the radical scope of John 3:16, what it means that God loved the world, and why that changes everything.This sermon is part of the Lent series Listen to Jesus at St. Martin's Episcopal Church.

What does Lent really mean? Sometimes it’s not found in grand gestures or perfect spiritual disciplines, but in ordinary interruptions.In this Ash Wednesday reflection, I share a simple encounter at the gym that completely reframed how I see Lent. An old friend, recovering from surgery and carrying concern for his wife’s upcoming procedure, asked me to pray for him. It happened because my routine had shifted. A different gym. A different time. An unexpected moment.Lent is a season of disruption. Ash Wednesday reminds us, “Remember that you are dust.” Not to shame us, but to wake us up. To slow us down. To make us interruptible by grace.In this video, we explore:The spiritual meaning of Ash WednesdayWhy Lent is about more than giving something upHow routine keeps us on autopilotWhat it means to be present to God and othersFinding holy moments in ordinary lifeIf you are looking for a thoughtful Christian reflection on Lent, spiritual growth, prayer, and everyday faith, this message is for you.#AshWednesday #Len

Before you even walk into church on Sunday morning, you have already heard dozens of voices. Kids. Spouses. News alerts. Inner criticism. Expectations. Demands.In Matthew 4:1–11, Jesus walks into the wilderness and hears a different kind of voice: “If you are the Son of God…”This sermon begins our Lenten series, Listen to Him. But this is not a self-help message about how to resist temptation better. It is the story of Jesus Christ doing what we have not done, cannot do, and will never do on our own.From the desert to the cross, the same whisper follows him: “If you are…” And in both places, Jesus refuses to prove himself. He trusts the Father’s voice instead.Where we fail, he stands firm.Where we grasp, he trusts.Where we would come down from the cross, he stays.This Lent is not about trying harder. It is about listening to the faithful Son who has already won the battle for us.In the wilderness, many voices speak.Only one voice leads to life.Listen to him.

On the last Sunday before Lent, we stand between celebration and ashes.At the Transfiguration, Jesus shines with divine glory on the mountain. But the heart of the moment is not just the light. It is the voice from heaven: “This is my Son, the Beloved. Listen to him.”As we move from Jazz Mass joy and Shrove Sunday celebration toward Ash Wednesday and the road of Lent, this sermon invites us to see what God is doing. Before the cross. Before the darkness. Before the ashes.God shows us who Jesus truly is so that we can follow him when the road grows dark.Lent is not about climbing up to God. It is about listening to the One who has already come down to us.This message launches our Lenten theme: Listen to Him.Ashes are coming. But so is the voice of the Beloved Son.And that is the voice we will follow.

In this sermon, we turn to Matthew 5 and the Beatitudes to ask a simple but brave question: Who are we becoming as a church?Jesus’ Beatitudes are not rules to follow but a vision of the kind of community God is already forming among us. This sermon explores how a Beatitude shaped church becomes authentic, merciful, courageous, and grounded in grace.The question is not whether we can achieve this vision, but whether we trust that God is already at work bringing it to life.Blessed are we, not because we are finished, but because God is not finished with us.

What do we do when violence silences a voice and the world feels less safe?In Matthew 4, Jesus begins his public ministry not in a moment of calm, but after John the Baptist is arrested. This sermon reflects on how Jesus responds to injustice and violence, how lament becomes the soil of God’s work, and what it means to follow Christ when silence would be unfaithful.Preached in the shadow of real-world violence, this message names grief honestly and holds fast to the hope that when voices are silenced, God still speaks and Jesus still calls people to follow him into the broken places of the world.

What does Christmas mean once the carols fade and the candles burn low?In this sermon on John 1:1-18, we turn to the opening of John’s Gospel, where Christmas is not told through shepherds and mangers, but through mystery and meaning. John pulls the curtain back to the very beginning and shows us who Jesus really is: the eternal Word, the Light that shines in the darkness, and God who has come near in flesh and grace.This sermon explores what it means to live not just hearing the story of Christmas, but knowing it deeply. Knowing that God is not distant. Knowing that darkness does not win. Knowing that grace keeps coming, again and again.As we move from Christmas Day into ordinary time, this message invites us to carry the truth of Christmas into everyday life, trusting that God is still with us, still shining light, and still offering grace upon grace.

On Christmas Eve, we asked a question: Do you hear what I hear? We listened for the sounds of good news, hope, and love. On Christmas Day, the question shifts: Do you see what I see?In this sermon on John 1:1–14, we explore how the Word who spoke creation into being did not remain distant or abstract, but became flesh and moved into our neighborhood. Christmas is not only something we hear sung or proclaimed. It is something we are invited to behold.This message reflects on how God’s glory is revealed not in power or spectacle, but in grace and truth. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness does not have the final word. For anyone who comes to Christmas weary, grieving, or unsure, this sermon proclaims the good news that God comes close, knowing the risk, and still choosing love.Christmas Day is not about striving or having it all figured out. It is about receiving. Grace upon grace. God with us.

On Christmas Eve we hear the same story every year. The same Scripture from Luke 2. The same carols. The same familiar sounds. And yet, we never hear Christmas quite the same way twice.In this sermon, Do You Hear What I Hear, we explore how Christmas speaks differently to us each year because we come carrying different joys, losses, hopes, and fears. Like bells that all ring but sound different because of what they are made of, the Christmas story rings into our lives in unique ways depending on what this season has been for us.Luke tells the story of Jesus’ birth through sound. The noise of empire. The quiet vulnerability of a manger. The song of angels. The hurried footsteps of shepherds. The silent pondering of Mary. Everyone hears the same birth, yet each hears it differently.The good news of Christmas is that Jesus still speaks today. He speaks in the language we most need. The language of hope, forgiveness, healing, belonging, or joy. We may not all hear the same thing, but we all hear it from the same

A short children’s sermon from our 3pm Christmas Eve family service built around the theme “Do You Hear What I Hear?” Using the sound of bells, this message invites kids to discover that Jesus speaks to each of us in ways we can understand. Just as one bell can mean different things to different people, the good news of Jesus’ birth was heard differently by the shepherds, Mary, and Joseph. The sermon reminds children that Jesus still speaks today through music, stories, kindness, and moments of peace, and that when we slow down and listen, we can hear the same message of love meant just for us.

On this Thanksgiving Eve, Father Alan reflects on John 6:25-35 and the honest truth that none of us are ever fully satisfied.He begins with his recent HYROX race, where even after beating his goal he crossed the finish line wanting more. That feeling, he says, is something we all carry. We try to satisfy our restlessness with achievement, success, possessions, or praise, but the hunger always returns.Jesus meets a crowd in John 6 who feel that same hunger. They have just witnessed a miracle, yet they come searching for more. Instead of shaming their need, Jesus invites them to be honest about it. He reminds them of the manna in the wilderness, when God provided enough for one day at a time. Then he makes the central claim: “I am the bread of life.” Jesus does not offer something to fill us. He offers himself.Father Alan reminds us that Thanksgiving is not about pretending we are full. It is about naming our dependence on God, the one who meets us in our hunger with grace we cannot earn. Like the Eucharist, Th

In this sermon, we reflect on Paul’s final words to Timothy, a charge to keep preaching the Gospel in every season.From an old Boston church that still proclaims the Gospel after centuries of change to Paul’s prison cell awaiting execution, this message reminds us that the world may change, but the Word still works.We all crave words that make us feel strong or self-sufficient. But Paul warns against “itching ears” that chase comfort instead of truth. The Gospel is not meant to tickle us. It is meant to heal us. It is the Good News that Jesus sees you, Jesus loves you, and Jesus is for you.

Most sermons on the healing of the ten lepers focus on the one who came back to say thank you. But what about the other nineIn this message, Fr. Alan Bentrup invites us to listen for the stories we don’t hear. The stories of grace that continue beyond the page. Ten people were healed. All ten received God’s mercy.God’s grace is not earned or repaid. It is given freely, without condition or transaction.What if the nine went home and shared their healing in their own way: feeding neighbors, mentoring kids, paying off debt, making lunches for the hungry, or building a community where others could find life again?Gratitude is not just about returning to say thank you, but about living thankful lives.Our stewardship, our service, and our giving are not transactions, but responses.