Welcome Sunday, September 13, 2026
First Congregational Church of Cheshire
© the Rev. Dr. James Campbell
 
 
Romans 14:1-12
 
Welcome those who are weak in faith, but not for the purpose of quarreling over opinions. Some believe in eating anything, while the weak eat only vegetables. Those who eat must not despise those who abstain, and those who abstain must not pass judgment on those who eat; for God has welcomed them. Who are you to pass judgment on servants of another? It is before their own lord that they stand or fall. And they will be upheld, for the Lord is able to make them stand. Some judge one day to be better than another, while others judge all days to be alike. Let all be fully convinced in their own minds. Those who observe the day, observe it in honor of the Lord. Also those who eat, eat in honor of the Lord, since they give thanks to God; while those who abstain, abstain in honor of the Lord and give thanks to God. We do not live to ourselves, and we do not die to ourselves. If we live, we live to the Lord, and if we die, we die to the Lord; so then, whether we live or whether we die, we are the Lord’s. For to this end Christ died and lived again, so that he might be Lord of both the dead and the living. Why do you pass judgment on your brother or sister? Or you, why do you despise your brother or sister? For we will all stand before the judgment seat of God. For it is written, “As I live, says the Lord, every knee shall bow to me, and every tongue shall give praise to God.” So then, each of us will be accountable to God.
 
 
Do you ever wonder what people will say about you after you’re dead?  I do.  I won’t be there, of course.  But it still matters to me.  It matters because what people say when you’re dead is a direct reflection of how they experienced the way you lived.  
 
When Dolly Parton died, the whole world seemed to have something to say.  People rightly remembered her kindness and humor, her great generosity, and her absolute unwillingness to judge others.  Apparently, Dolly believed Jesus when he told us to not judge others.
 
And so, I found it ironic, but not surprising, that her refusal to judge others would make her the subject of judgment.  Soon after she died, some self-professed “serious” Christians took to YouTube and TicTok to take Dolly to task, precisely because she refused to say who was in and who was out.  And because Dolly refused to say who was out, she was out.  Some of these folks even went so far as to imply that Dolly Parton is in hell as a punishment for her refusal to judge.
 
Now that might shock you, but that is how some a growing number of folks see the Christian faith.  It’s all black and white, good and bad, in and out – and they know exactly who is out.  I know that because I have been told, many times, that I am out.
 
Sadly, that judgmental kind of thinking is increasingly common in our whole society.  Compromise has become a dirty word and a sign of weakness.  Whole industries make sure that we are always at one another’s throats; always angry, always afraid, and always judgmental – simply because we do not agree.  
 
But here you are, in a church like this one, perhaps because you understand that life and faith are far more complicated than a sound bite.  And you know from experience that the truth is often found in-between the extremes.  And you realize that we all need people who are different from us in order to keep us from the idolatry of our own opinions.
 
And that kind of diverse Christian community is the center of the Scripture lesson today, taken from Paul’s letter to the church at Rome.  Now, at first glance, it just seems like a church fight between the vegetarians and the meat eaters in the congregation.  Not a big deal, right?  We have vegetarians and vegans and carnivores in the pews today.  And to the best of my knowledge, no one here is going to be scandalized if I eat a tuna salad sandwich at our community lunch after the service.  (That’s a hint, by the way, that someone should put a tuna salad aside for the pastor!) 
 
But my tuna salad sandwich would have scandalized the church at Rome because of what it represented.  Food had become a flashpoint in a culture war that threatened the unity of the church.
 
So, what was really going on here?  Well, in the first century, as the Gospel spread to the Gentile world, people who had formerly followed pagan religions were being converted to Christianity.  And a big part of the pagan religions they had left behind was animal sacrifice. Whole businesses were built around making the animals available and slaughtering them in a certain way in order to dedicate them to various pagan gods.
 
But here’s where it gets sticky: pagan temple personnel sometimes also acted as butchers for the general public.   So, when you, a Christian, went to the butcher for your leg of lamb, you had no idea where or what that meat had been. You had no idea if it had been dedicated to another god.  And some of these new Christians wanted nothing to do with their old pagan lives.  They had decided to follow Jesus, and weren’t about to turn back now.  And so, they abstained from all meat in order to avoid any meat that might have been dedicated to idols.  
 
But just like in any church, not everyone agreed with them.  Some thought that these vegetarian purists were just fanatics who had gone overboard.  After all, what difference could meat make in the Kingdom of God?  So, these more “liberated” Christians looked down on the more “cautious” ones as somehow being weak in their faith.  And a great big church fight broke out between the conservatives and the liberals.  And some form of that argument has recurred for the last 2000 years.
 
Now you might expect that bossy old St. Paul would have a strong opinion about who was right and who was wrong.  And maybe he did.  But astonishingly, Paul doesn’t take a side in this fight.  Instead, he called for thoughtful and thorough co-existence and acceptance despite some very “firmly held religious beliefs.”  Listen again to what he wrote: “Those who eat must not despise those who abstain, and those who abstain must not pass judgment on those who eat, (Why?  Because…) God has welcomed them (all).” (14:3) 
 
Now, did that mean that there was no right or wrong answer to that argument?  Well, if there was, apparently it was not more important than the unity of the church.  And here we should pause to really let that sink in.  Unity in Christ is the most important witness to the Gospel that Christians have ever had.  Our witness to the world is not about the right doctrine.  It’s not about having the correct polity.  It’s not about the perfect worship style.  Instead, it’s about a willingness to be in community with other people who are very different from you.  
 
Back in 2018, Dolly Parton recorded a song with the late, great Gospel singer Miss Mavis Staples.  The title of the song is “Why?”  And it’s a Gospel music banger!  I suggest you look it up and have a listen.  In the verses, Dolly and Mavis openly wonder about why they were born and what their purpose is.  They sing about how easy it is to judge others, and why it is that they don’t practice kindness and acceptance.  And in between those verses, they keep coming back to this powerful refrain: 

I wonder why we can't love and be free,
Let everyone be all that they wanna be,
Judge not lest you be judged, let heaven decide
Still we don't do it, and I wonder why.
 
Maybe we don’t do it because acceptance is about humility.  Acceptance is about putting our egos in their place.  It’s about not taking ourselves so seriously. It’s about not confusing our opinions with word of the Lord!  
 
And let me tell you, there is power in that kind of Gospel.  There is healing for this broken nation in that kind of Gospel.  So, let us rededicate ourselves to that kind of Gospel.  Scoot over in your pew to make room for those on your right and those on your left.  Open your hearts once again to the faithful and the forgetful.  Pass the peace with the evangelical and the agnostic.  Sit down at table with the carnivores, vegetarians, and vegans.  Dance and sing with your LGBTQ neighbors. Welcome the black and white, the rich and the poor, the immigrant and indigenous and native-born.  Celebrate them all.  
 
Why?  Because, in the words of St. Paul and dear Dolly, God has already welcomed us all!
 
And let the whole church say AMEN!
 
 

Sunday, August 9, 2020
First Congregational Church of Cheshire
© the Rev. Dr. James Campbell
 
 
Matthew 14:22-33
 
Immediately he made the disciples get into the boat and go on ahead to the other side, while he dismissed the crowds. And after he had dismissed the crowds, he went up the mountain by himself to pray. When evening came, he was there alone, but by this time the boat, battered by the waves, was far from the land, for the wind was against them. And early in the morning he came walking toward them on the sea. But when the disciples saw him walking on the sea, they were terrified, saying, “It is a ghost!” And they cried out in fear. But immediately Jesus spoke to them and said, “Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid.” Peter answered him, “Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.” He said, “Come.” So Peter got out of the boat, started walking on the water, and came toward Jesus. But when he noticed the strong wind, he became frightened, and beginning to sink, he cried out, “Lord, save me!” Jesus immediately reached out his hand and caught him, saying to him, “You of little faith, why did you doubt?” When they got into the boat, the wind ceased. And those in the boat worshiped him, saying, “Truly you are the Son of God.”
 
Right after seminary, I got a church job and moved into a huge parsonage.  It was built in the 1920s in the Dutch Colonial style and had four livable floors.  But on the day I moved in, just as soon as my friends had brought in the last box and left, I was suddenly afraid to be there by myself.  True, it was an old house.  It creaked and groaned.  But it was more than that.  There was an uneasiness there.  
 
Eventually, I got a dog.  But that didn’t really help because she began to bark at things I could not see.  She would growl at empty corners, the hair standing straight up on her back.  One night while I was brushing my teeth in the upstairs bathroom, I heard party noises: glasses clinking, music, laughter.  Convinced I had left the television on, I went downstairs to discover… that nothing was on; the house was completely quiet and dark.  A friend of mine who is attuned to such strange things declared that my house had a presence.  Not long thereafter, I started to sleep with the bedroom door locked.  And I was afraid of that house until the day I moved out of it. 
 
That house is long gone from my life, but my deep-seated fear of the boogey man is still around.  I think it is for lots of people, although most folks are remiss to admit it.  It’s been a long time since they peered under their beds or looked behind the shower curtain, but they’re afraid, none-the-less.  Fear, like guilt, is the gift that keeps on giving.  We live with fear – either acknowledged or ignored.  We run from it as often as we can.  We medicate ourselves with booze and shopping and doom scrolling just to avoid it.  But some days, we just can’t run fast enough.  
 
Last Sunday, we heard about Jesus feeding the 5000 with the bread of compassion.  You will remember that he had been trying to get some down time, but the crowds found him anyway.  But now, at last, with their bellies full, Jesus was going to get the break he needed.  He even sent his disciples away in a boat so he could finally be by himself.  And then, just to make sure he would have some solitude, he climbed a mountain to rest and talk to God.  
 
Now maybe the disciples had hoped for some downtime too.  A peaceful row across the sea under the stars might just do the trick.  But that night, there were no stars.  Instead, a ferocious and terrifying storm suddenly arose.  
 
Storms are actually quite common on the Sea of Galilee, which is actually just a big lake.  And they always seem to come out of nowhere.  They’re caused by the peculiar topography of a shallow body of water surrounded by mountains.  The wind rushes down the mountains, is forced through tiny openings in the hills and ravines, and then concentrated, blows out upon the shallow water with great force, resulting in sudden tempests.  And that is exactly what happened on that night.  And it scared the disciples to death.
 
And if that were not bad enough, just before the sun came up, a lone figure came toward them, walking on the water.  And not knowing who or what it was, they assumed it was the boogey man.  And Matthew reports that they cried out in fear – grown men, reduced to blubbering, terrified children.  Fear has a way of doing that.
 
Of course, it wasn’t the boogey man.  It was Jesus.  And Jesus, seeing and hearing their fear, quickly moved to reassure them, saying: "Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid."
 
These words, “Do not be afraid” or “fear not” are found more than 100 times in the pages of Scripture.  These are very often the first words out of an angel’s mouth.  Abraham, Moses, Mary, Joseph, shepherds in the fields, Saint Paul in jail, the women at the empty tomb all heard the same words: “Do not be afraid.”  And now Jesus speaks these words to his terrified friends. 
 
The disciples heard the words, but given their present circumstances, were not at all sure that they could be trusted.  Likewise, we hear the words, but are often not sure if they can be trusted.  We need proof.  The disciples needed proof.  And so impetuous Peter, God love him, decided to test the waters, so to speak. And he said: “If it’s really you, Jesus, then let me walk on the water too.  And Jesus replied: “Come on.”  
 
Peter put a tentative foot outside the boat.  And lo and behold, he did not sink.  Then he was completely out of the boat and walking toward Jesus, and still, he did not sink.  In fact, everything was fine until he actually thought about what he was doing.  And he remembered why he had been afraid because the waves were still ferocious.  And as his fears rose, his body sank.  “Help me, Lord!” he cried.  And Jesus took him by the hand, and pulled him up from the angry sea.  He asked Peter why he had doubted, and then put him back into the boat.  And it was only after this that the storm stopped.
 
Ancient Palestinian people were especially terrified of the sea.  For them, it represented all that was dark and foreboding, all that was chaotic and consuming.  That is likely why in the book of Revelation we are told that in the new heaven and new earth, the sea is no more.  It’s a symbolic way of saying that in God’s kingdom chaos and destruction have no place.  In God’s kingdom, no one gets lost in the depths.
 
We may not share their fear of the sea, but we too are terrified of the chaos of life.  Our world is covered with the deep and dark waters of division, and war, and disease, persistent poverty, and a suffering planet, and open discrimination, and hatred on parade.  And sometimes we fear we will perish in these waters.  
 
And yet, Jesus says to us, “Do not be afraid.”  
 
What on earth can that mean in such a fearful world?  Is Jesus suggesting mind over matter?  Is it, as our critics say, an invitation to magical thinking?  Or is it a denial of the physical world?  When Jesus invites us to fear not, what is he actually asking us to do? 
 
On the morning of September 11, 2001, I was on my way to work in Manhattan.  Just before I walked out the door, I had watched a plane hit the second tower on a live newscast.  And yet I refused to believe that it could be that bad.  And so, I left for work.  The whole city was sea of chaos.  The subways were not running, but the buses were – very, very slowly.  And so, I got on one, determined to get to work.  
 
Periodically, the bus driver would come on the intercom to give us updates: the planes were passenger planes, he said.  The Pentagon had been hit; the White House was evacuated.  And with each announcement, the waves of my fears rose.  Finally, when I could no longer deny the ferocity of that storm, I leaned my head against the bus window and closed my eyes against my tears.  And then I began to pray with ancient and wise words, because I had none.  “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want… Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.”  And with those words, I simply did what the faithful have always been called upon to do when great and fearful storms arise.  I flung myself upon the mercy of God and put my whole trust in God alone.  
 
The invitation to not be afraid is not an invitation to deny the pain of the world and the pain of our lives.  It is not some spiritual hocus-pocus that will protect us like a talisman from the storms of life.  Instead, it is an invitation to do what Peter did – to grab hold of the hand of Jesus and to trust that he will never let you go, even when the chaos is up to your neck.  That One has promised never to leave us, never to forsake - come hell or high water. 
 
Thanks be to God.  Amen.
​

Sunday, August 2, 2026
First Congregational Church of Cheshire
© the Rev. Dr. James Campbell
 
 
Matthew 14:13-21
 
Now when Jesus heard this, he withdrew from there in a boat to a deserted place by himself. But when the crowds heard it, they followed him on foot from the towns. When he went ashore, he saw a great crowd; and he had compassion for them and cured their sick. When it was evening, the disciples came to him and said, “This is a deserted place, and the hour is now late; send the crowds away so that they may go into the villages and buy food for themselves.” Jesus said to them, “They need not go away; you give them something to eat.” They replied, “We have nothing here but five loaves and two fish.” And he said, “Bring them here to me.” Then he ordered the crowds to sit down on the grass. Taking the five loaves and the two fish, he looked up to heaven, and blessed and broke the loaves, and gave them to the disciples, and the disciples gave them to the crowds. And all ate and were filled; and they took up what was left over of the broken pieces, twelve baskets full. And those who ate were about five thousand men, besides women and children.
 
 
 
In the church of my childhood, Bible memorization was a very big deal.  And we started young.  We used to have contests and prizes for the children who memorized the most and the quickest.  I won’t regale you with all the verses of Scripture I could recite by heart, but let’s just say… I used to win a lot.
 
And I still remember the first verse I ever committed to memory.  I was just a little tiny kid, so the verse was tiny as well.  John 11:35 simply reads: “Jesus wept.”  That was easy for a tyke like me to remember - just two words.  But it has taken me a lifetime to wrap my mind around such a profound statement.
 
Because if you take the Incarnation at all seriously; if somehow God was indeed in Christ, then that means that God stood outside that tomb and wept over a dead man named Lazarus.  And that means that God stands beside us in the cemeteries and hospitals and empty rooms of our lives, wrapping us in everlasting arms, and weeping with us over all those things that break our hearts.
 
A weeping God.  Sadly, that is not a popular image of Divine right now, in this age of uber-masculine Christian Nationalism.  Instead, there is plenty of talk about God as judge and warrior, full of vengeance and anger - a Clint Eastwood kind of God!  But a weeping God?  Well, that doesn’t serve the dominant narrative.  Because tears are a sign of weakness, or so we have been told.  And yet, Jesus wept.
 
Today’s passage opens with these words: “Now when Jesus heard this, he withdrew from there in a boat to a deserted place by himself…”.  So, what had Jesus heard that caused such an emotional reaction?  Well, it was the awful news that John the Baptist had been unjustly executed by the state.  
 
You will remember that John was Jesus’s cousin.  They had been born within months of one other.  Their mothers were close.  Likely they played together as boys.  Eventually, they both went into the ministry: first John and then Jesus.  John baptized Jesus.  Maybe John even taught Jesus a few things before Jesus became the star attraction.  So, they were tight.  
 
But now John had been beheaded by the pompous and ruthless Herod.  And this news had shaken Jesus to his very core.  And so, he did what many of us do when life breaks our hearts - he withdrew and sought solitude.  He got into a boat and rowed all the way across the Sea of Galilee just so that he could be by himself.  
 
But as we all know, life goes on, even when we are having a terrible day.  And our obligations never take a break.  And there are folks who depend on us - like those multitudes who depended upon Jesus.  They had no way of knowing what kind of day he was actually having.  They had their own problems to deal with.  They were sick and poor and hungry and looking for meaning and purpose.  And they had seen, with their own eyes, what Jesus could do.  And they wanted Jesus to do that for them too.  
 
And so, when he suddenly disappeared across the lake, they pursued him.  They walked around the long perimeter of that lake until they found him. 
 
Now, this would really have irritated me.  You see, I tend to have strong borders around certain parts of my life.  And my time away when I need it is one of those parts.  But the Gospel writer says that when Jesus saw the crowd, despite his own sadness and fear, he had compassion on them.
 
Compassion.  What a marvelous word – and one that seems to have almost completely disappeared from our common lexicon.  Compassion literally means to “to suffer with.”  But in the Greek of the New Testament, the word takes on a stronger meaning.  It’s more visceral.  It means that when Jesus saw the suffering of the people, it “ripped his guts out.”  
 
Now maybe the disciples also felt compassion.  But they likewise knew that these people would be hungry after such a long walk.  And they knew that they didn’t have anything to give them.  Perhaps that’s why they said: “Send them away, Lord, so that they can go get something to eat.”  Maybe that was an expression of their compassion.  But Jesus replied: “They don’t need to go anywhere.  You give them something to eat.”  And here again the Greek is stronger.  What Jesus actually said was: “You, yourselves, you give them something to eat.”  
 
Well, you know the rest of the story.  It’s the only miracle of Jesus that is retold in all four Gospels.  There were only five loaves and two fish.  And Jesus took the bread and blessed and broke it.  And when he did, somehow there was enough for everyone to have all they wanted.  
 
Scholars believe that the early church retold this story every time they celebrated the Lord’s Supper because of the strong Eucharistic parallels.  Just like at the Last Supper, Jesus took the bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to the disciples.  All he had was five loaves and two fish.  And on this day, all we have are pieces of cracker and a common cup.  But now, as then, when Jesus blesses it, it is enough.  
 
Now that, in and of itself, is a sermon.  And I could stop here.  Some of you might even be glad if I did.  But there are two more wonderful truths found in this beloved tale that deserve at least an honorable mention.  
 
The first is this: Bible editors often label this story as “Jesus feeds the 5000” or “Jesus feeds the multitude.”  But actually, Jesus didn’t feed anyone that day.  What Jesus did was to bless and break the bread.  Then, he gave it to his disciples for them to give to the people.  The disciples were the ones who looked those hungry people in the face, and smiled at them, and exchanged a greeting, and touched their hands.  It was the disciples who made the compassion of Jesus a reality for others.  
 
And that basic arrangement has never changed.  We receive from the gracious hand of God, and then we are sent into the world to give it away, face-to-face, hand-to-hand, one piece of bread at a time.  
 
The second wonderful truth is this: in the practice of compassion, Jesus himself was moved from sadness to gladness.  
 
Remember how this story started.  Jesus was having a terrible day.  He had every right to sequester himself and to insist upon being left alone.  But in the face of human need, Jesus answered the call.  And when that compassion welled up in him, it lifted him in the process. 
 
Now maybe it was only a temporary relief.  Maybe later that night, all the grief and fear came flooding back.  That is so often how it works.  But for one brief shining moment, Jesus was lifted up out of his gloom by being compassionate.  And if the practice of compassion can lift Jesus, surely it can lift us too.  
 
We are not called to be superhuman.  We are not called to deny our pain.  Jesus didn’t.  We can feel whatever we feel.  We can cry and mourn and doubt.  It’s just that we can’t live a steady diet of that.  So, God gives us the bread of compassion – a kind of Wonder Bread, that feeds the one who receives it while it feeds the one who gives it.  And there is always enough.
 
Thanks be to God.  Amen.
 
 
 

Sunday, July 26, 2026
First Congregational Church of Cheshire
© the Rev. Dr. James Campbell
 
 
Matthew 13:31-33, 44-52
 
He put before them another parable: “The kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed that someone took and sowed in his field; it is the smallest of all the seeds, but when it has grown it is the greatest of shrubs and becomes a tree, so that the birds of the air come and make nests in its branches.” He told them another parable: “The kingdom of heaven is like yeast that a woman took and mixed in with three measures of flour until all of it was leavened.”
 
“The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field, which someone found and hid; then in his joy he goes and sells all that he has and buys that field. “Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a merchant in search of fine pearls; on finding one pearl of great value, he went and sold all that he had and bought it. “Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a net that was thrown into the sea and caught fish of every kind; when it was full, they drew it ashore, sat down, and put the good into baskets but threw out the bad. So it will be at the end of the age. The angels will come out and separate the evil from the righteous and throw them into the furnace of fire, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth. “Have you understood all this?” They answered, “Yes.” And he said to them, “Therefore every scribe who has been trained for the kingdom of heaven is like the master of a household who brings out of his treasure what is new and what is old.”
 
 
 
When I was a boy, we lived in a parsonage that had a very long sidewalk that led from the back door all the way out to the alley, where the trash cans were kept.  One of my jobs was to take out the trash and to burn it. You could do that in those days.  And since most little boys are budding pyromaniacs anyway, I loved that job, especially when there were cardboard boxes to be consumed.  
 
But I had another chore that also involved that long sidewalk.  And that job I hated. The sidewalk was raised very high off the ground and the lawnmower couldn’t get close to the edge, so of course, that’s where the weeds grew.  And it was my job to get rid of the weeds – all the weeds, on both sides of that very long sidewalk. We didn’t have a weed whacker, but we did have my two hands.  But no matter how many weeds I pulled, they always came back.  And that was when I first learned to hate weeds.  
 
I have a kinder, gentler attitude towards weeds now.  And at this point in my life, I would concur with the great 19th century American philosopher, Ralph Waldo Emerson, who once said that a weed is “a plant whose virtues have yet to be discovered.” 
 
But even so, I still would never make it my business to plant weeds.  But Jesus said that the Kingdom of God can be compared to someone who planted weeds on purpose.
 
 
He put it like this: “The kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed that someone took and sowed in her field; it is the smallest of all the seeds, but when it has grown it is the greatest of shrubs and becomes a tree, so that the birds of the air come and make nests in its branches."
 
Now we might think of mustard as something to be cultivated.  But first century Middle Eastern people thought of it as a weed – and an invasive species at that. The Roman naturalist, Pliny the Elder, who was alive during the time of Jesus, wrote: “Mustard grows entirely wild… when it has… been sown it is scarcely possible to get the place free of it, as the seed when it falls germinates at once.”  
 
And that’s the problem with weeds.  They multiply, sometimes wildly.  And mustard seeds are tiny and easily carried by the wind.  So, you always had to be on the lookout for the sprouts.  But Jesus said: “The kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed that someone took and (purposefully) planted in her field…”  Which begs the question: why would anyone import that invasive chaos?  
 
Well, it was an absurd idea to a first century crowd who knew something about agriculture and even more about the Law of Moses that required the separation of different kinds of plants.  So, when Jesus said there once was a farmer who planted mustard in her fields, eyebrows shot up and a murmur rippled through the crowd.  “What did he say?!”
 
And if that statement were not enough to electrify them all, Jesus introduced birds to the story: squawking, ravenous birds.  Now if you’ve ever planted a garden, you know what birds can do to all your glistening vegetables and glorious flowers.  And they’re not just occasionally annoying.  In the Bible, birds are often metaphors for unclean people: Gentiles and sinners and outsiders – the very folks you want to keep away from your garden.  But Jesus said that the Reign of Heaven is full of birds.  --And when he said that, a gasp went up in the crowd.
 
And if we were completely honest, we might allow ourselves to gasp too.  Most folks are fonder of order and the separation of kinds than we let on.  And we live in a time when some people want there to be even more separation of kinds.  But Jesus said that God’s dream for the world is wild and weedy. God’s dream of a perfect community is one filled with colorful people who squawk and flap and eat too much. And according to Jesus, there is profound beauty in the chaos of God’s weedy and bird-filled garden, if only we have the eyes to see it. 
 
Some years ago, I was in my church office when I was told I had a phone call from a former parishioner named Barbara.  Now typically, this would delight me, but to tell you the truth, this was one parishioner I really didn’t want to talk to.  You see, she was calling from that parish where I had served as an Associate Minister and from which I left the professional ministry for ten years.  
 
But that was all behind me now.  And I had gotten on with the business of planting a new garden, in a new parish.  And I had worked very hard on leaving all that pain behind me – or so I thought.  
 
When I was told who was waiting to speak to me, I thought I handled it very well.  First, I cursed, and then I took the call.  
 
It turned out that the congregation was compiling its history and they wanted to know where I was currently serving and to remind them about my education, etc.  After some polite, strained, and orderly chitchat, Barbara gave me her email address and I promised to respond with all the requested information.  As is my want, I replied right away to get it off my plate but mostly so that I would not have to think about her or them anymore.  
 
A few hours later, a new email arrived in my inbox.  It was from Barbara.  “Oh God,” I sighed and then I took a deep breath and I opened it.  She thanked me for responding so quickly.  Then she ran through a list of people who had sent their love to me through her.  And then she closed with the absolutely shocking salutation: “Love, Barbara.”  Now I would have been tempted to simply dismiss that sentiment had it not been for her peculiar post-script.  “PS,” she wrote, “Lucky Broadway United Church of Christ.”
 
And this took me by complete surprise, because quite frankly, I had always thought of Barbara as being particularly happy to see me go, eager to plow my messy garden under and restore order just as soon as I was out of town.  
 
But apparently, mustard seeds are heartier than that.  They are not so easily disturbed by the plows of cruelty or injustice or neglect.  They thrive under a burning sun, even when completely ignored.  And somehow, during the time I served that church, however imperfectly I did, something I said or did planted a seed.  And that seed grew a weed.  And that weed became a tree.  And wonder of wonders, somehow Barbara had found rest in its shade. 
 
But more than that, now Barbara was planting a seed of her own, with her words of reconciliation and peace, that challenged my ability to continue to dismiss her and to allow bitterness to grow in my heart.  
 
Barbara planted a seed.  And all these many years later, right here in Cheshire, CT, this old bird continues rests in its shade – a shade I didn’t even know I needed.  
 
Thanks be to God.  
​

Sunday, July 19, 2026
First Congregational Church of Cheshire
© the Rev. Dr. James Campbell
 
 
Matthew 13:24-30
 
He put before them another parable: “The kingdom of heaven may be compared to someone who sowed good seed in his field, but while everybody was asleep an enemy came and sowed weeds among the wheat and then went away. So when the plants came up and bore grain, then the weeds appeared as well. And the slaves of the householder came and said to him, ‘Master, did you not sow good seed in your field? Where, then, did these weeds come from?’ He answered, ‘An enemy has done this.’ The slaves said to him, ‘Then do you want us to go and gather them?’ But he replied, ‘No, for in gathering the weeds you would uproot the wheat along with them. Let both of them grow together until the harvest, and at harvest time I will tell the reapers, Collect the weeds first and bind them in bundles to be burned, but gather the wheat into my barn.’”
 
 
Here are some wise sayings that didn’t make it into the Bible, even though lots of folks think they did.  Are you ready?  Number one: “Waste not, want not!”  Nope, as wise and as New England as that might be, it is not in the Bible.  Number two: “The Lord helps those who help themselves.”  Once again, no!  Not in the Bible.  And finally, number three and my personal favorite: “A place for everything and everything in its place.”  Again, not in the Bible, but this one really should be!  Because, it seems to me, that is the only way to live.  Or, at least, that is the way I like to live.  I want to go to a drawer knowing exactly what I will find inside.  I like to go to the shed knowing where I left my pruning shears.  I like things to be done, in the words of St. Paul, “decently and in order.”  And if I had my way, that’s the way the whole world would work.  
 
But I don’t have my way and that is not the way the world works.  There is not a place for everything (and everyone) and everything is certainly not in its place.  That is the nature of our life on this planet.  But then, unfortunately, there are those who seek to make it worse.  There are people who delight in being what I call “chaos agents.”  And many of them are quite good at it.  They sow seeds of confusion in order to manipulate others.  They say that up is down and down is up just to get their way when no one is looking.  Their work is purposeful, insidious, and very effective.  And it’s a game as old as time.  
 
Jesus said that the Kingdom of God is like a farmer who went into his field and planted some wheat.  And the day was hot and the work was long and backs were sore.  And when it was all over and night fell, the farmer likewise fell into a very deep sleep.  And so did all the exhausted household servants who had been in the fields with him.  In fact, they all slept so deeply that they didn’t hear the creak of the garden gate as the chaos agents invaded their fields.  
 
Those trespassers were there for one reason and one reason only: to sow chaos.  And they worked all night at planting something called ‘bearded darnel” or in the King James Version of the Bible, “tares” – thus, the Parable of the Wheat and the Tares.
 
Bearded darnel is insidious and invasive.  Its roots surround the roots of the good plants and suck up the precious nutrients and the scarce water needed for the crops.  And because the roots of the tares entangle themselves with the roots of the good plants, it is impossible to remove the tares without also damaging the wheat.  
 
And even if you could untangle the roots, it would be hard to know where to even begin, because bearded darnel looks identical to wheat, until, harvest time.  That’s when its true colors show.  You see, the seeds of the tares look different.  And the seeds of the tares are poisonous.  They can cause everything from hallucinations to death.  And that makes them the worst kind of imposters - pretending to be something good so that they can wreak havoc.
 
So, this was an act of eco-terrorism.  It was an agricultural disaster.  It was meant to bring on economic ruin and suffering.  And so, the good-hearted and eager servants – people just like us - wanted to go into the fields immediately and uproot the bad plants.  They wanted to put everything back the way it should be.  They wanted balance and order.  That’s what I want.  A place for everything and everything in its place.
 
But separating the good from the bad is never quite as easy as we imagine.  And the wise farmer understood that.  He knew that sometimes you just have to let things play before you can know what your next steps ought to be.  
 
And so, the farmer said: Let the wheat and the tares grow together until harvest time; until it is clear what we are dealing with.  And then my farm hands can actually see what seed has been produced and can judge rightly about what should be burned and what should be saved.  
 
In the end, this is a story about evil.  And I don’t really like preaching about evil.  In fact, I don’t even like to think about it.  But apparently, Jesus does not share my squeamishness.  Jesus said that evil is real and insidious, organized and dangerous.  And if I’m honest, I know that to be true.  I’ve lived long enough to see that some people do truly awful things to others.  And some people seem to delight in causing that harm.  And while I endeavor to give everyone the benefit of the doubt, and while I know that people are very complicated, I am no longer sure that every act of cruelty, vengeance, avarice, and violence can always be chalked up to poor socialization or mental illness.  
 
Maybe that is why Jesus taught us to pray: “Deliver us from evil.”
 
So, then, what are we to do when evil rears its ugly head?  How are we supposed to respond when it springs up in the fields of the world? 
 
Well, my own instinct is to run into that field and chop it down, pull it out, roots and all.  That’s exactly what the servants in the parable wanted to do.  That is often what society wants to do.  But the Farmer knew the potential for overreach.  The Farmer knew the great damage that can be done by overzealous reformers.  The Farmer knew that in the desire to purge evil, sometimes more evil can be born.  As the great preacher Barbara Brown Taylor once said of this parable: “Turn us loose with a machete and there is no telling what we will chop down and what we will spare.”
 
And don’t we know it.  The history of our race is full of machete-wielding zealots, who often start out with good intentions, only to become chaos agents themselves as they destroy goodness in the process.  
 
But according to this parable, there is but one wise and good Farmer.  And this Farmer, otherwise known as God, knows how to deal with the tares.  And while we are indeed called to go into the fields of the world and plant goodness and to bring in the sheaves, we do that only at the Farmer’s direction and in the Farmer’s good time.  Otherwise, relying on our own instincts alone, we risk becoming what we hate.  We risk uprooting the good trying to do away with the bad.
 
So, that’s one way to read this parable.  But here is another: Maybe this isn’t a story about the whole world.  Maybe it’s about us.  Maybe our hearts are the fields of the Lord.  And maybe we are the ones who have toiled and tried our best to only plant the good seeds of compassion and mercy and peace.  But despite our best efforts, sometimes wild, invasive things appear, like bitterness and envy, anger and hatred, selfishness and greed.  We don’t even know how those seeds got there!  And, once they sprout, all we want is to get them out by any means necessary; to chop them all down.  But as Barbara Brown Taylor said: “Turn us loose with a machete and there is no telling what we will chop down and what we will spare.”
 
That is exactly why we the wisdom of the Farmer.  We need the patience of the Farmer.  We need the kind and skilled hands of the One who knows how bring the good out of us; out of our enemies; out of the whole world - and to finally burn away all that which destroys and poisons the beautiful fields of the Lord.
 
 

​
Sunday, July 12, 2026
First Congregational Church of Cheshire
© the Rev. Dr. James Campbell
 
 
Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23
 
That same day Jesus went out of the house and sat beside the sea. Such great crowds gathered around him that he got into a boat and sat there, while the whole crowd stood on the beach. And he told them many things in parables, saying: “Listen! A sower went out to sow. And as he sowed, some seeds fell on the path, and the birds came and ate them up. Other seeds fell on rocky ground, where they did not have much soil, and they sprang up quickly, since they had no depth of soil. But when the sun rose, they were scorched; and since they had no root, they withered away. Other seeds fell among thorns, and the thorns grew up and choked them. Other seeds fell on good soil and brought forth grain, some a hundredfold, some sixty, some thirty. Let anyone with ears listen!” “Hear then the parable of the sower. When anyone hears the word of the kingdom and does not understand it, the evil one comes and snatches away what is sown in the heart; this is what was sown on the path. As for what was sown on rocky ground, this is the one who hears the word and immediately receives it with joy; yet such a person has no root, but endures only for a while, and when trouble or persecution arises on account of the word, that person immediately falls away. As for what was sown among thorns, this is the one who hears the word, but the cares of the world and the lure of wealth choke the word, and it yields nothing. But as for what was sown on good soil, this is the one who hears the word and understands it, who indeed bears fruit and yields, in one case a hundredfold, in another sixty, and in another thirty.”
 
 
 
What did you want to be when you grew up?  What was your dream profession?  And did any of you actually do it?
 
Well, in addition to my own childhood dreams of wanting to be a doctor or a lawyer or a journalist or a professor, I also really wanted to own a greenhouse.  And long before I ever moved to Manhattan, I dreamed of a place like Cheshire where people would buy my plants and seek my advice and create beauty in their own little corner of the world.  
 
It was a perfectly natural dream for me because as a kid, I always seemed to have my hands in the dirt - whether it was by force in my mother’s garden or whether it was in the seedlings I planted and nurtured as a young boy.  Some of my most vivid childhood memories are directly connected to the earth. I remember eating blackberries fresh from the brambles and still warm from the sun.  I remember the peppery goodness of a radish pulled from the ground and washed under a garden hose.  
 
But these experiences are not unique. me.  We humans are part and parcel of the earth – made from the earth, one with the earth.  And perhaps that is part of the reason why the parables of Jesus continue to speak to us.  We can all relate to his agrarian images -– even if our idea of a plentiful harvest is the produce section at Whole Foods.  
 
“Once upon a time,” Jesus said, “there was a farmer who went out to plant seeds.  But some of those seeds fell on the garden path.  And the hungry birds, who are always watching, swooped down and gobbled them up.  -- Some other seeds fell on rocky New England-type soil and quickly sprang to life.  But the rocks kept their roots from going deep, and when the hot sun came out, they quickly withered and died.  -- Still others of those seeds fell among the thorns and the weeds.  And we all know how strong weeds can be.  And they chocked out the crop.  -- But some of those seeds actually hit the mark and fell on good soil.  And those seeds took root and grew.  And they didn’t just grow – they went crazy, like they had been doused with Miracle Grow, and produced 30, 60 and even 100 times more than usual.
 
We call this story the “Parable of the Sower.”  But after hearing about all those seeds being scattered hither and yon, perhaps a more accurate description might be the “Parable of the Sloppy Farmer.”  
 
But here’s the thing: that’s the way they farmed back in Jesus’s day.  The farmer would walk into a field, grab a handful of seeds from the bag he carried, and throw them into the air on a windy day.  The wind would pick up the seeds and scatter them.  And then the farmer would plow, after the seeds were already on the ground.  Some of the seeds found good soil and some didn’t.  And isn’t that what life is like, Jesus said.  Isn’t that what the Kingdom of God is like?  
 
So, what are we to make of this Parable of the Sloppy Farmer?  Well, one way to interpret this parable is to simply use Matthew’s interpretation.  Matthew says that the seeds on the garden path, so quickly eaten by the birds, are like people who receive God’s word, but then the Evil One comes and snatches it away before it can do any good. And the seeds on the rocky ground are those folks who receive the good news with joy but then learn that the Christian life requires sacrifice and service.  And that’s not what they thought they were signing up for in a New Member Class.  And the seeds that fell among the thorns are those people whose spiritual lives get choked off by the love of money and the cares of the material world.  But the seeds on the good ground represent those who hear the Gospel and let it produce a harvest of abundant goodness.
 
Using this interpretation, it’s very easy to divide humans into different categories of receptiveness, and then to judge others and ourselves accordingly.   But as far as I can tell, the world is already too full of quick judgments and bellicose pronouncements about who is good and who is not.  And besides that, I know that I am only good soil some of the time.  The seed of the Gospel only sinks so far into my rocky heart some of the time.  And there have been plenty of times when the seed has been snatched away by my own self-interest.  And as for sacrifice, well I don’t like sacrifice any more than the next person.  I want to be good soil.  I try to be good soil.  But I only am good soil some of the time.  
 
I don’t think Jesus was dividing people into rigid immutable categories here.  I just think Jesus was just describing me on four different days.
 
Well, that’s an interpretation with the emphasis on the soil.  But we could also read this parable with an emphasis on the sloppy farmer.  What does it say about God that God has never seen fit to improve her farming methods?  What does it say about God that there are just seeds flying everywhere!  
 
The Creator walks around the fields of our lives filled, with the stones of our grudges and the weeds of our regrets - and just throws seeds everywhere, hoping for any chance that they will take root.  With abandon, God tosses seeds of justice, mercy, and healing high into the air, while the Spirit blows them in all directions.  And God does this again and again even though God knows that most of it will not find root.  But some of it will.  And apparently, God thinks it’s worth it.
 
But we could take that emphasis on the sloppy farmer even further.  This interpretation is a little out there, a little edgy, but I think it I think it has wings.  And it is simply this: maybe God is not the farmer at all in this story.  Maybe we are.  
 
Now, in case you haven’t noticed, churches are very methodical places – especially New England Congregational churches!  We are obsessed with planning and methodology and verifiable results.  We never have more animated discussions in this church than the ones about budgets and bottom lines and membership trends.  
 
But here’s a newsflash: while the modern church might indeed be a business, the Gospel of Jesus most definitely is not.  And maybe our obsession with planting such straight rows is not the most faithful way to farm.  Maybe this church’s job is to throw as many seeds into the air as we can and leave the rest to God.
 
Now, I am not talking about wasting the church’s money or resources.  But I am talking about a joyful extravagance when it comes to kindness and justice and mercy and acceptance and hospitality and grace and peace.  We must never be stingy with those seeds.  We ought to be emptying our seed bags as fast as we can go, handful after handful scattered to the four corners.  
 
Because there is no such things as a diminishing return in the Reign of God.  You never run out of seeds in the Reign of God.  Every time we reach into the bag for more justice and love and mercy, there is always more.  And just about the time your arm gets tired and you think that all of this is a waste of time, suddenly a patch of green appears.  And a life is changed.  And hope blooms.  And there is human flourishing.
 
And sometimes the humans that flourish are us.  Because in the wild, windy fields of the Lord, some of that seed we so generously scatter, will fall back on us.  And find root.  For as Jesus once said, “You reap what you sow.”  

Sunday, June 28, 2026
First Congregational Church of Cheshire
© the Rev. Dr. James Campbell
 
 
Matthew 10:40-42
 
“Whoever welcomes you welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me. Whoever welcomes a prophet in the name of a prophet will receive a prophet’s reward; and whoever welcomes a righteous person in the name of a righteous person will receive the reward of the righteous; and whoever gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones in the name of a disciple—truly I tell you, none of these will lose their reward.”
 
 
 
America is a culture defined by superlatives and the language of advertising and consumerism.  Thus, we are home to “The Happiest Place on Earth”.  We manufacture “the King of Beers”.  And who else could turn a simple circus into “The Greatest Show on Earth!”  
 
We know how to sell anything and everything!  We know how to convince people that what we have is far better than what they already have.  And it works.  That’s why I can walk into Costco for a bag of oranges and walk out twenty minutes later with $300 worth of stuff I didn’t even know I needed!  
 
 
This language and culture of consumerism has also influenced and shaped the American church.  Church is a very competitive business, as we struggle for our share of the market.  And since we know that people often “shop” for a new church, we are obsessed with the merchandise we’re trying to move.  And so, we worry that our programs and our worship and our music and our fellowship are not quite as shiny as that church down the street.  And then, we fret and we worry, and we spin and we innovate, always looking for the next best thing, always looking be Number One.
 
I get it.  We live in the real world of institutional decline.  Religion in America has been on the wane for decades. And still there are bills to pay and buildings to maintain.  And it can be scary.  But as tempting as it is, I don’t think that they key to our success as a church is found on Madison Avenue.  Because I don’t think how we define success and how Jesus defines success are always in alignment.
 
In the verses that precede today’s very short lesson, Jesus was preparing to send his disciples out into the world to preach the Gospel.  But before he did, he gave them some practical advice about how to be church in the world.  He said things like: “Travel lightly.”  “Don’t expect everyone to like you or like what you’re doing,” “Don’t be surprised if you are misunderstood by everyone, including members of your family.”  In other words, don’t expect to be popular - which, by the way, is what I think most American churches are still trying to do.  We want everyone to like us.
 
But then Jesus turns his attention to something far more foundational.  And while, at first, it sounds a bit esoteric, these words are about how God measures success.  Jesus said: “Whoever welcomes you welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me.”  “And whoever gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones in the name of a disciple – truly I tell you, none of these will lose their reward.”
 
Now lots of folks have heard the adage about a cup of cold water.  It’s one of Jesus’s greatest hits.  And because it is, because it’s so familiar, we don’t pay too much attention to the words that precede it, that actually tell us why that cup of cold water is so important. 
 
“Whoever welcomes you, welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me, welcomes the one who sent me.”  
 
Notice what Jesus does here in just a few words.  He breaks down the constructs by which we have organized this world, and by which we understand our lives.  We live in a hierarchical world.  But Jesus, makes absolutely no distinction between himself and his disciples, or between himself and us, or between us and God.  Listen again: “Whoever welcomes you, welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me, welcomes the one who sent me.”  In other words, all of this is connected; all of us are connected.  It’s God in me and God in you and you in God and the cosmos in all of us.  
 
Now that’s shocking to some folks, and heresy to plenty of others, because the Western church has built most of its history on the idea that there is an absolute gulf of separation between God and us.  And somehow the clergy and the church and the rules all help to bridge that gap.
 
But that’s not the only way to do theology.  It’s just the theological argument that won.  But other Christian theologies, like those of the Celtic church and Franciscans of the Roman church teach a much closer communion between God and us.  These folks take the image of God in all humans very seriously.  And thus they have no trouble reading these words literally: “Whoever welcomes you, welcomes me (literally), and whoever welcomes me, welcomes the one who sent me (literally).”  Everything is connected.  And therefore, the basis of all human sin is disconnection.
 
And if that is the truth; if we are all really connected like the waters of the ocean, then the smallest act of kindness literally ripples throughout the universe.  And that means that a cup of cold water given to a thirsty person is a cup of water given directly to Jesus.  And a cup of cold water withheld from a thirsty person is cup of water withheld from Jesus.  
 
In a nationally broadcast sermon, the Rev. Dan De Leon, Senior Minister of the Friends Congregational Church in College Station, Texas, tells this story.  He and some of his parishioners were on a mission trip to Mexico.  While there, they met a man who had crossed the U.S. border illegally, only to be caught immediately and sent back.  And here I quote Rev. DeLeon: “Penniless and humiliated, (the man) started over. He… took the horrendous journey again, and this time he made it into the United States where he found work. He worked ten-hour shifts with no breaks making less than minimum wage, never stopping even when he cut his hand open washing dishes... And since he couldn't speak English, he couldn't express his needs, let alone defend himself under harsh treatment. After three years of saving up a little money under these conditions, he went back home, where he met his now three-year-old daughter for the first time.”
 
Rev. De Leon continues, “At this point, I looked over at his wife. She was still knitting, still looking down; and then a tear rolled down her cheek, but she quickly wiped it away, as if it (were) an enemy to which she refused to succumb. Finally, a student in our (mission) group, moved by the man's testimony, asked, "How can we help? What can we do…?" And (the man) looked at us and said, "Just be nicer. Don't treat us like we're horrible. Be kind."[1]
 
Be kind.  No matter your political opinion about immigration or anything else for that matter, be kind.  Because kindness is not about agreement.  And kindness is not about approval.  And kindness is never toxic or weak.  Instead, to be kind is to be strong.  To be kind is to be conscious, awake, alive to God.  To be kind is an outward expression of a human heart that has been truly converted.
 
Because how we treat others is exactly how we treat Jesus.  And that cup of cold water we give to others, is the very water that washes us clean.  And a church that practices kindness above all else is successful in the only way that matters.
 
Because“Whoever welcomes you, welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me, welcomes the one who sent me… and whoever gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones—truly I tell you, none of these will lose their reward.”
 


[1] “Hospitality: A Crucial Cup of Cold Water” – a sermon by the Rev. Dr. Dan De Leon, www.Day1.org, accessed on June 22, 2020. 

First Congregational Church of Cheshire
Sunday, June 21, 2026
(c) the Rev. Dr. James Campbell
 
Matthew 10:24-39
 “A disciple is not above the teacher nor a slave above the master; it is enough for the disciple to be like the teacher and the slave like the master. If they have called the master of the house Beelzebul, how much more will they malign those of his household!
“So have no fear of them, for nothing is covered up that will not be uncovered and nothing secret that will not become known. What I say to you in the dark, tell in the light, and what you hear whispered, proclaim from the housetops. Do not fear those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul; rather, fear the one who can destroy both soul and body in hell. Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground apart from your Father. And even the hairs of your head are all counted. So do not be afraid; you are of more value than many sparrows.
“Everyone, therefore, who acknowledges me before others, I also will acknowledge before my Father in heaven, but whoever denies me before others, I also will deny before my Father in heaven.
“Do not think that I have come to bring peace to the earth; I have not come to bring peace but a sword.
For I have come to set a man against his father,
and a daughter against her mother,
and a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law,
and one’s foes will be members of one’s own household.
“Whoever loves father or mother more than me is not worthy of me, and whoever loves son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me, and whoever does not take up the cross and follow me is not worthy of me. Those who find their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it
 
When I was 4 years old and still the only child of the local pastor and his wife, the people of the church used to love to give me gifts.  I guess I was cute.  I got coloring books and crayons, toys, and lots of candy.  But the best gift I ever received was from a kind woman in the congregation who gave me a couple of parakeets.  And I was delighted.  
 
Not too long after I received them, the weather turned colder.  My mother was afraid that the birds might be too cold in the living room and told me that she would put them in the utility room where the furnace was, because it was always warm in there.
 
The next morning, I bolted out of bed, ran down the hall, and flung open the door to the utility room.  And there they were… on the bottom of the cage, feet in the air, stiff as boards.  And I was crushed.  And my poor mother was mortified.  And you guessed it.  There was a gas leak no one knew about.  The gas had killed the birds, but perhaps the birds had saved our lives.  
 
That was my first experience with death; with its shock and brutality.  But it certainly was not to be my last.  And that was my first experience of being disappointed with someone who was supposed to protect me.  But, likewise, it would not be my last. When I was four, it was about my mother.  But now, and for many years since then, it’s about God.  
 
Now there are plenty of people who will tell you that with the right kind of faith, you can be saved from this unmanageable world.  In fact, some of the most prominent voices in American religion today, at the highest echelons of power, regularly hype this idea.  And they make a lot of money doing so, because it is exactly what we want to hear. 
 
But Scripture is full of stories about the suffering of God’s people.  And so, it begs the questions: What is faith in a world of suffering?  And where is God in the midst of that suffering?  
 
Theologians call this “theodicy.”  That’s a fancy seminary word for “the problem of evil.”  That is, how can a good and loving and powerful God allow so much suffering in the world.  It’s a really good question and has been THE challenge for the faithful since the beginning of time.
 
Human suffering is front and center in the Gospel of Matthew, because this Gospel was written for people who were suffering.  That original audience was a group of Jewish Christians undergoing an intense persecution.  They had been thrown out of the synagogues and expelled from their communities.  Families had been ripped in two.  Christians were labeled as dangerous and expendable by Rome.  It was a time of terror, as neighbors, friends, and family members turned on one another.  And it was to these people that Matthew wrote.
 
But notice that in this passage, Matthew doesn’t promise them his readers that if they only have the right kind of faith, that everything will be OK.  Instead, Matthew simply names what they are going through: sons turning against fathers, daughters against mothers, swords of division ripping through the fabric of families and faith communities and society.  
 
But wedged in the middle of all of this talk of pain and calamity, we find some very sweet words that, at first, seem to be out of place.  In an apparent non-sequitur, Jesus suddenly says: “Are not two sparrows sold for a penny?  Yet not one of them will fall to the ground without your Father knowing it.  And even the hairs of your head are all counted.  So, do not be afraid; you are of more value than many sparrows.” 
 
 
Not one of them will fall to the ground without your Father knowing it.  
 
I went to seminary a very long time ago now.  And I learned all kinds of interesting things, most of which I have forgotten!  But there is one concept that found a lodging in my brain; one idea that has transformed me and the way I think about ministry and about God.  This idea is called “the ministry of presence.”  
 
Simply put, it is the notion that when others suffer, one of the most healing things we can do is to stay with them, to enter into the place of suffering with them.  Simply by our presence, we can help the person to feel seen and heard and validated and valued.  And you do not need any training to do this.  You do not need any pious platitudes or vain promises.  All you need to do is exactly what it sounds like: be present.
 
Now, to those folks who promise escape from suffering if you only believe what they tell you to believe, the ministry of presence sounds like a cop oout, a weakness.  But the longer I live and the more I walk with God, I think that the ministry of presence is nothing less than an imitation of Christ, who is called Emmanuel, God-is-with-us.  
 
This is not God as Santa Claus, granting us wishes, giving us the perfect American life.  Instead, this is God where it counts - in the trenches, at the hospital bedside, in the family court, in the dark night of the soul.  This is a God who loved us enough to become one of us, even to a point of suffering on a cross.  
 
On the day I wrote the first draft of this sermon, I was working from home.  And my dog Max let me know that he wanted to visit the back yard.  So out we went.  But I was stopped in my tracks by a little bird lying on the ramp.  At first this chickadee appeared to be dead.  A window strike was likely to blame.  But when I nudged him, there were some signs of life.  
 
I spoke gently to the bird and then carefully picked him up.  He struggled a little, but not a lot.  At first, I laid him in shade garden but then decided that at ground level he was far too vulnerable.  So, I went to the shed and got a small container, put some grass clippings in it, and put it up on table that was likewise shaded.  And then I called Bob Giddings.
 
Bob told me to cover the container so that the bird could rest in the darkness.  But beyond that, Bob said, you’ve done what you can do.  Maybe, he said, the bird was just stunned or had a concussion and would recover in a few hours.
 
And so, I waited.  And I kept checking on him, probably more than I should have.  But I was keeping watch.  And praying.  And hoping.  And I didn’t want that bird to feel alone.
 
A few hours later, the little chickadee died.  And when I buried him, I thought of this lovely passage and said: “Remember little bird, that the Father who made you, loves you.”
 
If the plight of one bird could move a crusty human heart like mine, then how much more does the heart of God move whenever we suffer.  And if not one bird falls that the Father does not see it, then how can we imagine that we suffer alone, in an uncaring Universe? 
 
We don’t.  For this is one who has promised never to leave us, never to forsake.  His eye is on each sparrow.  And I know he watches me… and you… and the whole world.
 
Thanks be to God.  Amen.
​

Sunday, June 18, 2023
First Congregational Church of Cheshire
© the Rev. Dr. James Campbell
 
Genesis 18:1-15, 21:1-7
 
The Lord appeared to Abraham by the oaks of Mamre, as he sat at the entrance of his tent in the heat of the day. He looked up and saw three men standing near him. When he saw them, he ran from the tent entrance to meet them, and bowed down to the ground. He said, “My lord, if I find favor with you, do not pass by your servant. Let a little water be brought, and wash your feet, and rest yourselves under the tree. Let me bring a little bread, that you may refresh yourselves, and after that you may pass on—since you have come to your servant.” So they said, “Do as you have said.” And Abraham hastened into the tent to Sarah, and said, “Make ready quickly three measures of choice flour, knead it, and make cakes.” Abraham ran to the herd, and took a calf, tender and good, and gave it to the servant, who hastened to prepare it. Then he took curds and milk and the calf that he had prepared, and set it before them; and he stood by them under the tree while they ate.
 
They said to him, “Where is your wife Sarah?” And he said, “There, in the tent.” Then one said, “I will surely return to you in due season, and your wife Sarah shall have a son.” And Sarah was listening at the tent entrance behind him. Now Abraham and Sarah were old, advanced in age; it had ceased to be with Sarah after the manner of women. So Sarah laughed to herself, saying, “After I have grown old, and my husband is old, shall I have pleasure?” The Lord said to Abraham, “Why did Sarah laugh, and say, ‘Shall I indeed bear a child, now that I am old?’ Is anything too wonderful for the Lord? At the set time I will return to you, in due season, and Sarah shall have a son.” But Sarah denied, saying, “I did not laugh”; for she was afraid. He said, “Oh yes, you did laugh.”
 
The Lord dealt with Sarah as he had said, and the Lord did for Sarah as he had promised. Sarah conceived and bore Abraham a son in his old age, at the time of which God had spoken to him. Abraham gave the name Isaac to his son whom Sarah bore him. And Abraham circumcised his son Isaac when he was eight days old, as God had commanded him. Abraham was a hundred years old when his son Isaac was born to him. Now Sarah said, “God has brought laughter for me; everyone who hears will laugh with me.” And she said, “Who would ever have said to Abraham that Sarah would nurse children? Yet I have borne him a son in his old age.”
 
 
 
Recently someone told me that they loved my laugh because, they said, it comes from your belly.  And I thought: Dear Lord, am I really that loud?  But I took their comment as the compliment it was.  Because truth be told, I do like a good laugh – the kind that clears your mind and sends oxygen to your vital organs and releases all those marvelous endorphins.  Maybe that’s why the book of Proverbs says that a cheerful heart is good medicine.  
 
But not all laughs are good medicine.  Sometimes, we laugh out of regret or embarrassment or bitterness.  Sometimes we laugh so we will not cry or scream or curse.
 
And it is laughter, in all its various forms, that takes the main stage in today’s well-known story from the book of Genesis.  But before we get to today’s story, we need to understand the whole story of how we got here.  
 
One day, an old man named Abram, later to be called Abraham, heard some disembodied Voice tell him to pack up his family and all of his possession and move to a land he hadn’t even heard of before.  And once they got there, the Voice said, Abram and his wife, Sarai, later to called Sarah, would have a family that would become a great nation.
 
But they were already really, really old to be starting a family.  And Sarai had never been able have children.  But that disembodied Voice was compelling and the promise was alluring, and so they set out, living as nomads in a foreign land.
 
But years passed, and no children were born.  And just about the time that Abram was going to toss in the towel, the Voice, otherwise known as God, offered this teaser: “Look toward the heavens and count the stars, if you are able to count them… So shall your descendants be.” 
 
Well, God sounded pretty sure about all of this, so Abram and Sarai kept trying.  But no children came.  Finally, Sarai, being the practical one, decided that enough was enough.  So, she called her husband aside and said: “Look, if you really want to have children, then I suggest you have them with my young slave, Hagar.”  
 
Dollars to donuts, Abram didn’t need a lot of convincing.  And sure enough, Hagar conceived and gave birth to a little boy named Ishmael, whom tradition says is the ancestor of the Arab people.  And so, at long last, Abram had a son at the ripe old age of 86.  Except remember that the promise had also been made to Sarai.  And that promise had not been fulfilled.  
 
And it was at this point that God changed both of their names.  Abram’s name was changed to Abraham and Sarai’s name to Sarah, which means Princess.  This is the only time in the Bible that a woman is renamed.  And that’s a very big deal, because renaming always signifies a divine calling.  Sarah was called right along with Abraham.
 
And with that, we arrive at today’s story, when three strangers appeared at the entrance of Abraham and Sarah’s tent.  But these were not just any visitors.  Instead this was a “theophany,” a fancy word that means an appearance of the deity to humans.  
 
But Abraham didn’t know that.  Still, he offered them the extravagant hospitality that his culture required.  He bent low to the ground before them as a sign of humility and service.  He asked them to sit in the shade and brought them some cold water to drink.  He told Sarah to make some fresh bread.  And he ordered a servant to slaughter a calf so that a feast could be prepared.
 
During that feast, with a mouthful of veal, one of the strangers asked: “Where is Sarah?”  Now, that was an odd question, because the women never sat down to eat with the men.  “Why do you want to know?” asked Abraham.  And the stranger replied: “Because your wife is going to have a son.” 
 
Well, Sarah was eavesdropping just inside the entrance to the tent.  And that detail always makes me laugh.  That’s something I would do!  And when she heard the same tired tale about a long-promised baby, and from some stranger, no less, she laughed.  And the more she tried to contain it, the harder she laughed.
 
Well, it must have been a belly laugh, because the visitors heard her.  “Why is she laughing?” the stranger wanted to know.  And then he asked a question that God continues to ask the faithful in every generation: “Is anything too wonderful for the Lord?” 
 
Well, Sarah was rather embarrassed that she had been caught, and so she did what lots of us do when we get caught.  She lied.  “I did not laugh,” she said.  And the stranger smiled, with a twinkle in his eye.  “Sure, you did,” he replied.  And maybe Sarah smiled too.
 
Soon thereafter, Sarah became pregnant at the age of 90.  And she gave birth to a son named him Isaac.  In Hebrew, Isaac means, “he laughs.”  And this story ends with Sarah’s marvelous words: “God has brought laughter for me; everyone who hears will laugh with me.”  And Sarah, who had been the brunt of jokes all her married life, had the last laugh.
 
It is said that Abraham is the father of our faith.  And if that is so, then Sarah is the mother of our faith.  But she’s more than that.  Sarah is also the mother of our very real humanity, and the mother of our doubts.  In her, we see something of ourselves, so weary of promises that never seem to be fulfilled.  In her, we see laughter that is a defense mechanism and a mask for pain.  In Sarah, we see those of us who has held onto hope for so long that we are exhausted enough to just laugh at the prospect.
 
But did you notice that when the divine stranger asked Sarah why she was laughing, and even when she lied about it, there was no judgment about the laughter?  And this underscores an essential truth about our faith: there is no judgment in our being human.  It is not a sin or some sign of weakness to struggle with doubt.  There is no punishment for our periodic lapses into cynicism.  And perhaps best of all, God doesn’t take back God’s promises just because we don’t always believe them.
 
I don’t always believe them.  How can I?  I look at the state of the world.  And when I do, cynicism is just so much easier.  And the idea of Eden restored just seems impossible.
 
Sarah did not live to see the mighty nation that would come from her offspring.  But she did live long enough to see the beginning of the dream in the birth of her son. And so, have we.  We have all witnessed moments when truth is triumphant. And we have all experienced a love that wins.  And we have known that whenever goodness and mercy and justice spring up in this world – and in us – that the Reign of God has come very near.  It is not the full dream fulfilled, but it’s enough for us to cling to the promise that nothing shall be too wonderful for the Lord.
​

Sunday, June 7, 2026 – 200th Anniversary of the Meeting House
First Congregational Church of Cheshire
© the Rev. Dr. James Campbell
 
 
 
Ephesians 2:17-22
 
So (Christ) came and proclaimed peace to you who were far off and peace to those who were near, for through him both of us have access in one Spirit to the Father. So then, you are no longer strangers and aliens, but you are fellow citizens with the saints and also members of the household of God, built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets, with Christ Jesus himself as the cornerstone; in him the whole structure is joined together and grows into a holy temple in the Lord, in whom you also are built together spiritually into a dwelling place for God.
 
 
In my office I have two vintage postcards that are matted and framed together.  The first postcard is of this remarkable Meeting House, taken many years ago when there were full growth trees on the Green.  My friend Dean found it in an antique shop up in Maine the summer before you actually called me to be your Senior Minister.  But immediately after the purchase, Dean, being the superstitious type, feared that he had jinxed my chances of getting the job by buying the postcard before I had the job.   But almost nine years later, here I am.
 
The second postcard in that frame is of the Broadway Tabernacle Church in New York City.  It was a magnificent edifice taking up half a city block in Midtown Manhattan and once-upon-a-time was known the Cathedral Church of Congregationalism.  And it was the last building that my previous congregation ever owned.  As with many city churches after the Second World War, membership declined as people moved to the suburbs.  Finally, in 1969, a controversial decision was made to sell the church to developers and to use the proceeds for mission and outreach.  The building was demolished and the Broadway congregation became “a church without walls” moving in and sharing space with another congregation.
 
“The church without walls” was a bold and noble idea, but as with other bold and noble ideas, it was much harder to execute in the real world.   And while it did indeed free up a lot of money to do good, it did not help to strengthen the membership.  And as for living with another congregation in their house, well, we all know how challenging sharing can be.  
 
By the time they called me to be their minister in 2006, the dream of the church without walls had definitely faded.  And that congregation, despite its very best efforts and generosity, was always defined by its homelessness.  
 
After twelve years of ministry there, I began my ministry here.  And on the very first Sunday that I stood in this pulpit, my friend and my predecessor at the Broadway Church, the Rev. Dr. Bonnie Rosborough, surprised me by showing up in the pews, right back there.  After the service, Bonnie found me in my office and we delighted together in the incredible promise of this place.  And then, just before she left, she took me by the shoulders, looked me straight in the eye, and with a broad smile declared: “You’ve got walls now, baby!”
 
And so, I do!  And so, we do!  These magnificent walls.  These remarkable walls.  If only they could talk, what stories they would tell, of love and faith, of doubt and fear, of war and peace, of heartbreak and hope.  They would tell of weddings and funerals, of baptisms and conversions, of music and community and laughter.  This Meeting House has seen it all.  And sometimes, when I sit in this room all by myself, it seems that these walls actually radiate with spiritual energy.
 
So, I love these walls.  And I am honored to steward them along with all of you.  But despite their magnificence, I also know that walls alone do not a church make.
 
That sad truth is evidenced all over this country.  Plenty of other magnificent American church building have come and gone as congregations dwindled.  Some have been turned into restaurants or event venues or museums.  Or worse yet, they sit empty and decaying – a home for pigeons and lost dreams.
 
Experts tell us that approximately 4000 Protestant congregations cease operation each year in the United States. In our own United Church of Christ, more than 100 churches a year close down; churches like the Devon Church in Milford, who, next Sunday, will conclude its ministry after 119 years.  
 
This is all part of a much larger trend called “the Europeanization of the American Church” – that is, just as in Europe after the Second World War, there is now in America a massive religious disaffiliation born of disinterest and disdain and disappointment in organized religion.
 
So, you might be wondering: how is it that we are still here?  Why are we healthy and alive when so many other congregations are not?
 
I wish I knew!  If I did, I could write a book and go on a speaking tour and retire into the lap of luxury and give Ted Talks!  But here’s what I think: I have a suspicion that is has something to do with a Cornerstone.
 
And it’s a cornerstone that we are actually celebrating today.  On June 3, 1826, the cornerstone of this building was laid and then construction began.  Today cornerstones are mostly symbolic, but 200 years ago, they played a far more crucial role.
 
Long before computer simulations or elaborate architectural calculations, the cornerstone of a building guided all that was to follow.  When architect, David Hoadley designed this building and when the workers began its construction, it was the cornerstone that served as THE reference point for determining the position, orientation and dimensions of the overall structure.  The cornerstone was used to align these walls so that this building would still be here 200 years later.  
 
In the reading from Ephesians today, we heard this: “You are fellow citizens with the saints and also members of the household of God, built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets, with Christ Jesus himself as the cornerstone; in him the whole structure is joined together and grows into a holy temple in the Lord…”
 
And so, it was in 1826 that the integrity of this building was squarely based upon its alignment with the cornerstone.  And so, it is in 2026 that the integrity of this congregation is squarely based on its alignment with THE Cornerstone.  
 
In a world of change and fear, in a time of deep division when foundations tremble and temples fall and long-held values evaporate, there is a Rock that does not move.  There is a Cornerstone upon which the whole structure holds together.  And his law is love and his Gospel is peace.  He came to save the least, the last, and the lost.  He came to bring all people together.  He came to feed the hungry and clothe the naked and welcome the stranger and set the prisoner free.  
 
That is the foundation of this structure.  Because it was in his name that this house was built.  And it is from this house that his Gospel is still proclaimed.  
 
May it ever be so!  Amen.