The Riverside Gathering Posts

by Thomas A. Robinson. Copyright 2025. All rights reserved. Philip said it first—quietly, as if wonder required no force. “Come and see” [John 1:46]. To Nathanael beneath the fig tree, to the Greeks with careful questions, to all who asked more than they dared believe. From the city where stone once unsuccessfully sealed a tomb, he walked east, past borders and maps, until the hills of Phrygia received his last breath. No gospel records the words he spoke there. What remains is this: the hill remembers. The stones lean inward. A silence deeper than ruin lingers. I stood there— feet on earth that had cradled his bones, morning sun rising…

A meditation written near Ephesus By Thomas A. Robinson; copyright 2025. All rights reserved. I’m writing from Kusadasi (7 hours ahead of my friends on the East Coast), on the Aegean coast of Turkey—just a few miles from ancient Ephesus. Tomorrow, I’ll join fellow pilgrims in walking the ruins of that early Christian city, and we’ll celebrate Eucharist not far from where Paul once preached and Timothy once served. It’s also here, according to some early traditions, that Onesimus—the runaway slave mentioned in Paul’s letter to Philemon—became a bishop. Whether that tradition is historical or a kind of holy imagining, it stirs something deep. What if the man once called…

“I ask not only on behalf of these but also on behalf of those who believe in me through their word, that they may all be one. As you, Father, are in me and I am in you, may they also be in us, so that the world may believe that you have sent me” [John 17:20-21]. On his last night with his disciples, Jesus did many things. He shared a meal with them, washed their feet, gave them a new commandment to love one another, and answered question after question about where he was going, why he was leaving, and how they would carry on without him. And after…

They were forbidden by the Holy Spirit to speak the word in Asia. When they had come opposite Mysia, they attempted to go into Bithynia, but the Spirit of Jesus did not allow them [Acts 16:6b–7, NRSV]. Sometimes, God leads by telling us where not to go. That’s what happens in Acts 16, in the verses that lead up to the First Reading assigned for this upcoming Sunday [ Acts 16:9-15 the Sixth Sunday of Easter, RCL, Year C]. Paul and his companions are traveling across Asia Minor, sharing the gospel. They’re moving intentionally, faithfully, making plans to go deeper into the province of Asia. But then something strange happens:…

Now the Son of Man has been glorified… [John 13:31]. As the Easter season moves toward its close, the lectionary takes us not forward in time but backward—to the night of betrayal, when Jesus speaks of “glory” even as Judas walks out the door. This Sunday, the Gospel reading is John 13:31–35 [the Fifth Sunday of Easter, RCL, Year C]. In John’s Gospel, glory is not a reward after the cross but is revealed through it. In these verses, Jesus gives his disciples a mandatum novum—a “new” commandment—to love one another “as I have loved you” [13:34]. The timing of that commandment matters. It is given not in triumph, but in…

In the Book of Acts, nestled among more familiar stories of Pentecost and Paul’s dramatic conversion, we find the First Lesson for this upcoming Sunday [Acts 9:36-43, the Fourth Sunday of Easter, RCL, Year C]. It’s a quietly powerful narrative about a woman named Tabitha. Though her story isn’t well known, and spans just eight verses, it opens windows into the nature of discipleship, community, and resurrection that continue to illuminate our understanding of faith today. The narrative is straightforward: In Joppa there was a disciple named Tabitha (in Greek her name is Dorcas); she was always doing good and helping the poor [Acts 9:36]. Luke, with characteristic economy, tells…

Acts 9:1–6, (7–20) Did you think I couldn’t see you, As I rode with authority’s papers clutched in righteous hands? Do zealots consumed by religious fervor Always believe they’re doing sacred work? What would you know of my certainty, The conviction that burned like fire in my veins, The letters from the high priest that authorized my mission, The pride in defending the faith of my fathers? Have you counted the believers I imprisoned, Traced the damage done by my relentless persecution? Can you feel the weight of the stones I approved, As Stephen’s blood stained the ground and my soul? Did the Damascus believers tremble when they heard I…

  Meditation on Revelation 1:4–8 [the Second Reading appoint for this upcoming Sunday, the Second Sunday of Easter, Year C, RCL] Grace to you and peace from Him who is and who was and who is to come… [Revelation 1:4]. In about five weeks, I’ll be walking among ruins—dusty remnants of cities once vibrant with life and faith. Along with about 40 fellow pilgrims, I’ll be traveling through western Turkey to mark the 1700th anniversary of the Council of Nicaea—the first ecumenical council of the Church and the birthplace of the Creed that many of us still say on Sundays. As part of that journey, we’ll visit the sites of…

A meditation for Good Friday He wasn’t at the table. He didn’t kneel for the washing. He didn’t hear the words, “This is my body, broken for you.” While Jesus served the bread and passed the cup, Barabbas was still in chains. By dawn, everything had changed. He stood blinking in sunlight, the iron loosened from his wrists, his sentence lifted—no explanation. And Jesus, silent, stood in his place. No upper room. No garden agony. No lashes, no trial for Barabbas. Just freedom. Freedom he didn’t ask for, purchased by a man he’d never met. And then, the hammer. The cries. The cross. Barabbas wasn’t there to carry it, but…

A Holy Saturday Meditation on Job 14:1–14, the Old Testament reading appointed in Year C, Revised Common Lectionary Man born of woman is of few days and full of trouble.He springs up like a flower and withers away;like a fleeting shadow, he does not endure [Job 14:1–2]. The Frailty of Life Holy Saturday holds a strange place in our faith. It sits between the drama of Good Friday and the triumph of Easter morning—a day of silence, of absence, of waiting. It is perhaps the most honest day in our calendar, the one that most resembles the lives that we actually live: caught between what we’ve lost and what we…