Easter 6 2026

Text:    “33 I have said these things to you, that in me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world.” (John 16:33)

Christ is risen. He is risen indeed. Alleluia.

There is an old saying often attributed to Mark Twain: “Better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to speak and remove all doubt.” There is some truth to that. Words are revealing. Sooner or later, what is inside a person tends to come out through the mouth.

But the readings today drive that point much deeper than mere wisdom about avoiding embarrassment. Jesus says, “Out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks” (Matthew 12:34, ESV). Your words do not merely reveal whether you are wise or foolish. They reveal what your heart trusts, what you fear, what you love. They reveal the true condition of your faith. That is why James speaks so sharply: “If anyone thinks he is religious and does not bridle his tongue but deceives his heart, this person’s religion is worthless” (James 1:26, ESV).

Worthless.

Because the tongue is not a small thing in Scripture. God takes your words seriously precisely because He takes your faith seriously. And nowhere does the mouth reveal the heart more quickly than in times of trial.

That is exactly what happened to Israel in the wilderness. Their hardships were real. The road was difficult. The dangers were not imaginary. They truly were in a barren wilderness without any reliable earthly source of food or water. But when those trials exposed their hearts, what came pouring out was not trust in God, but grumbling against Him.

And that is part of what makes this sin so deceptive. Grumbling rarely presents itself as rebellion. It usually arrives wearing more respectable clothing. It can sound like wisdom. Prudence. Concern. “I am only pointing out a problem.” “I am only being realistic.” “Someone has to say it.”

The Israelites were not inventing hardships that did not exist. The wilderness really was hard. Hunger hurts. Fear is frightening. Delayed relief is painful. Scripture does not forbid you from acknowledging suffering, difficulty, or sorrow. The Psalms themselves teach you to cry out to God in distress.

But in the middle of those real struggles, Israel began speaking as though God could not be trusted. As though His gifts were worthless. As though His salvation were not enough. Faith cries out to God in suffering. Grumbling circles endlessly around suffering while speaking against God.

Every complaint against God carries within it, however faintly, the old accusation from Eden: “God is not good. God cannot be trusted. His gifts are not enough.”

Trials uncover what is already there. Pressure exposes the heart. Suffering loosens the tongue. And eventually the mouth begins to reveal whether the heart trusts God—or quietly resents Him.

And you know how quickly this happens in your own life. The moment frustration comes, the mouth immediately seeks an outlet. Complaints. Criticism. Muttering. Sarcasm. Constant negativity. Sometimes spoken aloud. Sometimes quietly and indirectly. Sometimes disguised as discernment or concern when, underneath it all, the heart has simply grown resentful.

And the danger is not merely that sinful words have been spoken. The danger is what those words confess.

Christ says, “In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world” (John 16:33, ESV).

Grumbling acknowledges the tribulation while denying the victory.

That denial may not yet be open or complete. It may appear only in flashes—in bitterness, cynicism, resentment, constant dissatisfaction. But every time you speak as though suffering proves God has abandoned you… every time you speak as though His gifts are worthless… every time frustration drowns out prayer, praise, and thanksgiving… your mouth begins speaking a confession contrary to the one Christ Himself has given you.

And this becomes especially dangerous because grumbling so easily feels justified. You really are tired. The burden really is heavy. The uncertainty really is frightening. Some of you are carrying griefs, pressures, disappointments, and fears that no one else here even sees.

Jesus does not deny any of that. He Himself says, “In the world you will have tribulation.” But He does not say that tribulation gets the final word. He does not say that suffering proves the Father has stopped loving you. He does not say that hardship means His promises have failed. He says, “Take heart; I have overcome the world.”

Consider your own words carefully.

When you speak about your life, your hardships, your frustrations, your congregation, your family, your future—do your words give evidence that you believe God is actually present within those things? Do they show any awareness that Christ is still reigning? That the Father is still providing? That the Holy Spirit is still at work through the Word?

Or do your words speak as though everything finally depends upon human competence, outward success, favorable circumstances, or getting your own preferred outcome?

Israel could see the wilderness clearly enough. But they no longer spoke as though the God who redeemed them was leading them through it.

And the same danger confronts you. Grumbling narrows your vision until all you can see is the hardship itself.

You heard how James assesses that kind of faith: worthless. “If anyone thinks he is religious,” he writes, “and does not bridle his tongue but deceives his heart, this person’s religion is worthless” (James 1:26, ESV).

It is hollowed out from within. It no longer calls upon God, no longer gives thanks, no longer speaks as though Christ’s victory is true, but instead speaks as though tribulation, disappointment, bitterness, and frustration are the final reality.

It is worthless.

The hardship becomes more real than His promises. The wilderness becomes more visible than the God leading you through it. The complaint grows so large that Christ Himself disappears from view. And eventually the mouth begins denying that Christ has overcome the world.

But what now?

Do not despair.

The Lord who once told dying Israelites to look upon the serpent lifted up in the wilderness still calls sinners to look outside themselves and live.

Look away from the complaint that has consumed your vision. Look away from the bitterness that has hollowed out your faith. Look away from the tribulation that has grown so large in your eyes.

Look to Christ.

Look to the One who was lifted up for you.

Look to the cross where the Son of God bore not only death, but also your sinful words against God. Your bitterness. Your resentment. Your endless complaints. Your refusal to trust His promises. Your faithlessness in the wilderness.

The One who never grumbled against His Father was condemned for those who do.

The One who perfectly trusted His Father even in suffering was lifted up for those who have spoken as though God could not be trusted.

And there, at the cross, Christ did not merely suffer tribulation. He overcame it.

Sin did not overcome Him. Death did not overcome Him. The world did not overcome Him. The devil did not overcome Him.

“I have overcome the world,” He says.

And because He has overcome the world, your sin does not get the final word either. Not your bitterness. Not your cynicism. Not your hollowed-out faith. Not your sinful tongue.

Christ gets the final word.

And His word to sinners who look to Him is forgiveness.

There is something worse than opening your mouth and saying something foolish. There is grumbling and complaining that reveal a faith hollowed out and worthless.

So look to Christ. Take refuge beneath His cross. Look to the One who was lifted up for you. And there learn again not merely to bridle your tongue, but to have your lips opened by the mercy of God Himself so that your mouth will declare Your praise.