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.
 
 
 
 

Trinity Sunday, May 31, 2026
First Congregational Church of Cheshire
© the Rev. Dr. James Campbell
 
 
Genesis 1:1-2:3
When God began to create the heavens and the earth, the earth was complete chaos, and darkness covered the face of the deep, while a wind from God swept over the face of the waters. Then God said, “Let there be light,” and there was light. And God saw that the light was good, and God separated the light from the darkness. God called the light Day, and the darkness he called Night. And there was evening and there was morning, the first day.
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And God said, “Let there be a dome in the midst of the waters, and let it separate the waters from the waters.” So God made the dome and separated the waters that were under the dome from the waters that were above the dome. And it was so. God called the dome Sky. And there was evening and there was morning, the second day.

And God said, “Let the waters under the sky be gathered together into one place, and let the dry land appear.” And it was so. God called the dry land Earth, and the waters that were gathered together he called Seas. And God saw that it was good. Then God said, “Let the earth put forth vegetation: plants yielding seed and fruit trees of every kind on earth that bear fruit with the seed in it.” And it was so. The earth brought forth vegetation: plants yielding seed of every kind and trees of every kind bearing fruit with the seed in it. And God saw that it was good. And there was evening and there was morning, the third day.

And God said, “Let there be lights in the dome of the sky to separate the day from the night, and let them be for signs and for seasons and for days and years, and let them be lights in the dome of the sky to give light upon the earth.” And it was so. God made the two great lights—the greater light to rule the day and the lesser light to rule the night—and the stars. God set them in the dome of the sky to give light upon the earth, to rule over the day and over the night, and to separate the light from the darkness. And God saw that it was good. And there was evening and there was morning, the fourth day.

And God said, “Let the waters bring forth swarms of living creatures, and let birds fly above the earth across the dome of the sky.” So God created the great sea monsters and every living creature that moves, of every kind, with which the waters swarm and every winged bird of every kind. And God saw that it was good. God blessed them, saying, “Be fruitful and multiply and fill the waters in the seas, and let birds multiply on the earth.” And there was evening and there was morning, the fifth day.

And God said, “Let the earth bring forth living creatures of every kind: cattle and creeping things and wild animals of the earth of every kind.” And it was so. God made the wild animals of the earth of every kind and the cattle of every kind and everything that creeps upon the ground of every kind. And God saw that it was good.

Then God said, “Let us make humans in our image, according to our likeness, and let them have dominion over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the air and over the cattle and over all the wild animals of the earth and over every creeping thing that creeps upon the earth.”
So God created humans in his image,
    in the image of God he created them;
    male and female he created them.

God blessed them, and God said to them, “Be fruitful and multiply and fill the earth and subdue it and have dominion over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the air and over every living thing that moves upon the earth.” God said, “See, I have given you every plant yielding seed that is upon the face of all the earth and every tree with seed in its fruit; you shall have them for food. And to every beast of the earth and to every bird of the air and to everything that creeps on the earth, everything that has the breath of life, I have given every green plant for food.” And it was so. God saw everything that he had made, and indeed, it was very good. And there was evening and there was morning, the sixth day.

Thus the heavens and the earth were finished and all their multitude. On the sixth day God finished the work that he had done, and he rested on the seventh day from all the work that he had done. So God blessed the seventh day and hallowed it, because on it God rested from all the work that he had done in creation.

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Did I ever tell you about the time that a Unitarian youth group came to worship at my church in Manhattan?  And did I mention that it was on Trinity Sunday – a concept that the Unitarians rejected a long time ago?  Well, as you can imagine, their visit made me nervous.  And so did the multiple expressions those teenagers wore as I preached that day: bewilderment, boredom, amusement, maybe even a little disdain.  (I’ve never seen any of those things from you!)
 
The Unitarians are also Congregationalists.  But once upon a time, we had a big family argument over, you guessed it, the Trinity.  And in the early 1800s, the Congregational churches of New England began to choose one side over the other.  The Unitarians eventually became the Unitarian Universalist Association.  And the Trinitarians mostly became the United Church of Christ.  
 
During that big family fight, both sides appealed to the Bible to make their arguments.  But frankly, we Trinitarians were on the weaker footing there.  Because at best, the idea of the Trinity is only implied in the pages of Scripture.  It took a series of early church councils to finally button it all up, make it the official dogma, and then demand that everyone sign on the dotted line.
 
Except that all these years later, it’s still not buttoned up.  The Trinity continues to perplex most people.  And because it does, we mostly just ignore it or we stick to Sunday School notions about what it means to say that God is Triune – One in Three, Three in One.
 
I remember that my own Sunday School teachers had some very nifty analogies that were supposed to clear up any confusion about the blessed Trinity.   One of them said: “The Trinity is like an egg.  There is the yoke and the egg white and the shell, but they are all still one egg.”  Well, that one was never very convincing to me as a kid, because I knew that none of those things, on their own, was an egg.  Each was just part of the egg.  And besides all that, it made me imagine that God looked like Humpty Dumpty.
 
Another Sunday School teacher said that the Trinity is like water: it can display itself as liquid, solid, or gas but all of those things are still H20.  Well, that one came a little closer to answering my existential theological questions.  But I remained generally unsatisfied.   And I suppose I still am
 
And so, every year, I come to this Sunday and think “Can’t we just sing “Holy, Holy, Holy” and be done with it?  And every year, I look in vain at the Scripture lessons assigned for this day, knowing that they will provide no easy Trinitarian explanations.
 
For example: what on earth does the Creation account from Genesis have to do with the Holy Trinity?  Now, some folks will tell you that the Trinity is right here in the story, simply because God speaks in the plural: “Let us make humans in our image…”  But that’s a stretch, I think.  
 
And so, I struggled with this text, and was about to throw in the towel, lost in the clouds of historical and philosophical arguments, when somewhere from the primordial mist of this ancient story, another idea began to surface.
 
But before we get there, let me say this about Genesis 1: this is not some scientific account about how God created the world.  This story is not in competition with science or current estimates about the age of the universe or the origins of life.  Instead, this beautiful and elevated ancient prose is theology.  And that means it is a story seeking meaning about God, and about us, and how and why we came to live in such a marvelous world.  And more than that, this story contains an essential building block for understanding the nature of God, including the idea of the Trinity.
 
The writer says that after everything else was created, we came along.  But there was something different about us.  The writer put is like this: “Then God said, “Let us make humans in our image, according to our likeness…” “So God created humans in his image, in the image of God he created them; male and female he created them.”  
 
And that, dear friends, is the bedrock of any good theology.  It is the starting place of any doctrine worth believing.  Before anything else we might be, we are bearers of the image of God.  And that means that something essential about God can be known just by paying attention to us – and, I might add, to the rest of creation.  But the church has been so fixated on the idea of Original Sin, of everything that we are not, that we barely give the image of God shining in us a second thought.  In fact, I don’t think we really believe it.  But we should.  
 
There is a marvelous Jewish proverb that goes like this: “Before every person there marches an angel proclaiming, 'Behold, the image of God.”  Now, is that what you say to yourself when you look in the mirror?  Me neither.  But what if that were the place we all started in our thinking about God and ourselves and everyone else?   
 
And if it is true that our best pulses and attributes reflect something essential about God, then we must conclude that God is somehow relational.  And it must mean that God is community.  And God is interdependence and cooperation.  God is dynamic love and movement and flow and malleability and growth and change.  And that must mean that God comes to each of us according to our needs.  It’s not many gods or different gods.  It’s just a God who is not static and will not be contained.  Because neither are we.
 
Here’s an example: most of you relate to me as your Minister.  That’s how you see me.  And you know something about who I am and what I think and how I live based on that particular role and your particular needs.  It’s the real me.  But it’s not the only face I wear.  Marcos relates to me in another way altogether.  He knows other sides of me.  And my family of origin knows yet other sides.  And my friends and colleagues, others still.  All of these are me, but just not all of me.  And the same can be said of you.  You all play different roles in life.  And so, the same can be said of God – not because I am creating God in a human image, but because WE HUMANS reflect something true and essential about the One who made us.
 
The Holy and Blessed Trinity is not something to button up.   The Holy One is either a lived experience in all the days and moments of our lives, or nothing at all.  That’s theology, from the ground up.
 
So, is God Father, Son, and Holy Spirit?  Absolutely.  But God can also come to us as mother and advocate and coach and friend and brother and sister and wind and fire and wonder and awe.  God will not be contained by our labels.  Just like I cannot be contained by labels.  And neither can you.  We are all much more than meets the eye.  
 
And so is the One who made us, whose very image and likeness we all bear.
 
 

Sunday, May 17, 2026 – Ascension Sunday
First Congregational Church of Cheshire
© the Rev. Dr. James Campbell
 
 
Acts 1:1-11
 
In the first book, Theophilus, I wrote about all that Jesus began to do and teach until the day when he was taken up to heaven, after giving instructions through the Holy Spirit to the apostles whom he had chosen. After his suffering he presented himself alive to them by many convincing proofs, appearing to them during forty days and speaking about the kingdom of God. While staying with them, he ordered them not to leave Jerusalem but to wait there for the promise of the Father. “This,” he said, “is what you have heard from me; for John baptized with water, but you will be baptized withthe Holy Spirit not many days from now.”
 
So when they had come together, they asked him, “Lord, is this the time when you will restore the kingdom to Israel?” He replied, “It is not for you to know the times or periods that the Father has set by his own authority. But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you, and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.” When he had said this, as they were watching, he was lifted up, and a cloud took him out of their sight. While he was going and they were gazing up toward heaven, suddenly two men in white robes stood by them. They said, “Men of Galilee, why do you stand looking up toward heaven? This Jesus, who has been taken up from you into heaven, will come in the same way as you saw him go into heaven.”
 
 
It was a warm summer night.  My little brother and I were out in the backyard playing, when suddenly, I noticed a very bright light in the sky – much bigger than an ordinary star or planet.  We were both transfixed by this shining orb.  But then something strange started to happen.  The object appeared to grow larger and larger as if it were descending upon us.  When it got to be about the size of a baseball to the naked eye, my terrified little brother screamed and ran into the house.  But I was either fearless or stupid or hypnotized, because I just stood there transfixed, waiting to see what would happen next.  
 
The object continued to grow until it was about twice as big as it had been before.  Then it seemed to stop in its descent.  It just hovered there.  And then, without warning, it shot across the sky and disappeared over the horizon.  Slack-jawed and convinced I had witnessed a real, live U.F.O., I ran into the house to tell my parents what I had seen.
 
They likely thought I was full of beans, since, as a kid I had a very vivid imagination.  But then next day my mother told me that there had been a report on local radio about that strange object in the sky.  Apparently, my brother and I were not the only ones to have seen it.  Hundreds of people did.
 
So, what was it?  Who knows?  What are all these strange objects that people – including pilots and military personnel - continue to see in the sky? Who knows?  All I do know is that that event left its mark on me.  I have never forgotten it.  
 
And I guess that I have been looking up ever since.  To this day, I will stare at the moon and feel strangely drawn by its mysterious pull.  I still stare at the stars – mystified by their twinkling fire.  And sometimes, I wonder: what am I looking for?  What am I longing for?  And how am I connected to all of that?    
 
Science says that we are connected to all of that.  On YouTube, there is a video entitled: “We Are Stardust.”  It’s one of those entertaining compilations of sound bites that have been turned into a coherent piece of music via a computer program.  In this video, some famous scientists are talking about how the entire Universe, including us, is made up of the rich guts of exploded stars.  In particular, this video has Neil deGrasse Tyson singing over and over again: “We are part of this Universe.  We are in this Universe.  The Universe itself exists within us.”  We are part of this Universe.  We are in this Universe.  The Universe itself exists within us.”  And then the video concludes with this profound statement: “We are stardust in the highest exalted way.”
 
And maybe that’s why so many of us are taken with the sky.  Maybe deep down inside, we know that we are part of all of that.  Maybe that’s why we think of God as being up there somewhere; up there where the stars are. Maybe, when we stare into space, we’re just trying to see where we came from.
 
The lesson from Acts today is about some other folks who saw a strange sign in the heavens that left them looking up.  The setting of this story is 40 days after the Resurrection of Jesus.  And during those 40 days, the Risen Christ had appeared to his friends on multiple occasions, walking and talking and eating with them.  But now that post-resurrection earth-time was about to conclude.  And perhaps sensing that, the disciples tried to hold onto him.  They pressed the Lord for some very earth-bound details.  
 
“Lord,” they asked, “is this the time when you will restore the kingdom to Israel?”  But that question itself reveals a certain lack of understanding and spiritual maturity.  Had they not, with their own ears, heard Jesus say that the Kingdom of God was already inside of them?  Had they not understood that they were to participate in building an alternative Reign of God?   
 
Well, Jesus replied by saying that it was not for them to know the details about how or when such things would be concluded.  But, he said, they would play a part in it.  The Holy Spirit would come upon them.  They would be given power to do the works of Jesus to the ends of the earth.
 
And then, just about the time they wanted to ask some follow-up questions, Jesus was suddenly and without warning lifted up off the earth and disappeared into the clouds.
 
Well, the disciples were no doubt dumbstruck – eyes up, mouths agape.  Luke, the author of the book of Acts, reports that they were left gazing up into the heavens, incredulous.  Suddenly, two men in white robes appeared and asked what might be the most superfluous question in all the New Testament: “Men of Galilee, why do you stand looking up toward heaven?”  
 
Well, where else were they supposed to look?  Where else would you look?  I would want to see where Jesus went.  I might even want to go with him, soaring through the clouds and away from the troubles of the world.  
 
That has always been our temptation – to build our religion primarily in the sky, in the bye and bye, over yonder, up in heaven.  But those pesky angels keep sending us back down the mountain.  Back to the real world.  
 
And that has been the sermon I have preached on Ascension Sunday, for most of my ministry.  I have paid scant attention to what happened in the sky and have stayed focused on life back down the mountain.  But it’s a lop-sided interpretation.  And without ever meaning to, I have dismissed as secondary the glory of smply staring into space; the spiritual practice of lifting one’s head, of dreaming and hoping for something better.  And I have failed to connect the two – the sky-gazing and the earth-dwelling as two sides of the same spiritual life.
 
And so, I wonder: did Jesus invite his friends up the mountain, into the clouds, precisely because he wanted to them to have that numinous experience as a counterbalance to the hard edges of living in the real world.  And maybe that is what we try to emulate each week in this room – a moment of glory and awe and peace and joy before you go back down the mountain and back to the challenges of your life.
 
This week, I got an urgent text message from an old college friend, asking me to pray.  She had just heard that her beloved and historic church building was on fire – one of my worst nightmares about our beloved and historic church building.  And so, I did pray… for her, for the congregation, for the firefighters, for the town.
 
The next morning, I searched the internet for news of that fire.  And it was far worse that I had feared.  The historic Trinity United Methodist Church in Madison, Indiana had been largely destroyed.  Stained glass and pipe organ and walls hallowed by generations of prayer, all gone in a matter of hours.  And my friend was numb with grief.  And that made me grieve.
 
Later in the day, I was thinking about all of that, and about the transitory and often painful nature of our lives here on earth.  I was lost in those thoughts when rather unconsciously, I looked up into the sky.  And there I saw the white flowers of our dogwood against a brilliant blue sky, decorated with puffy cloud.  It was just so beautiful that I stopped in my tracks, like that kid who was once transfixed by that shining and mysterious orb.  And then, this verse seemed to drop into my consciousness: “Our help is in the name of the Lord, who made heaven and earth.” [1]
 
And it was a moment of pure glory – glory even in a world where churches burn and innocents suffer and creation groans and power is abused. 
 
So, why do we stand looking up into the heavens?  Because we need it… for life back down here on earth. 


[1] Psalm 124:8

Sunday, May 10, 2026
First Congregational Church of Cheshire
© the Rev. Dr. James Campbell
 
 
John 14:15-21
 
“If you love me, you will keep my commandments. And I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Advocate, to be with you forever. This is the Spirit of truth, whom the world cannot receive because it neither sees him nor knows him. You know him because he abides with you, and he will be in you.
 
“I will not leave you orphaned; I am coming to you. In a little while the world will no longer see me, but you will see me; because I live, you also will live. On that day you will know that I am in my Father, and you in me, and I in you. They who have my commandments and keep them are those who love me, and those who love me will be loved by my Father, and I will love them and reveal myself to them.”
 
 
 
As most of you know by now, I recently spent a week on the Scottish Island of Iona with a group of about 35 people, all of whom were there to study Celtic Christianity with the scholar, John Phillip Newell.  As part of that experience, every morning at 10 AM, in the Village Hall, Dr. Newell would give a lecture based on his book Sacred Earth, Sacred Soul.  Those lectures were fascinating on many levels.  But, as is often the case, it was during the more spontaneous Q&A sessions that followed, that some of the more memorable things were said.
 
For example: on one of those mornings, Dr. Newell told us about a recent conversation he had with another theologian I admire named Matthew Fox.  During this conversation, Dr. Fox dropped a bomb.  He said that the Nicene Creed had a gigantic hole right in the middle of it.
 
Now, in case you don’t know, the Nicene Creed is considered a definitive creedal statement about what it is that all Christians are supposed to believe.   It was adopted at the Council of Nicaea, called by the Roman Emperor Constantine I, in the year 325 CE.  And ever since, this creed has been a foundational document for the church.  And even though we Congregationalist are non-creedal by nature, meaning that we don’t require adherence to a creed in order to be a member of the church, the Nicene Creed remains the unspoken foundation of our theology too.  
 
And so, to hear someone say that it has a big hole right in the middle of it intrigued me, to say the least.
 
So, what is this hole, this significant deficit in the creed?  Well, according to Fox, it is the stunning failure of the authors to make any mention whatsoever of what Jesus actually said or taught or did.  Instead, this creed, like almost every other creed, including the Statement of Faith of the UCC, is simply a recitation of particular beliefs ABOUT Jesus.  For example, the Nicene Creed declares that Jesus was born of the Virgin Mary by the power of the Spirit.  But then in the very next sentence, it jumps all the way to Jesus being crucified under Pontius Pilate.  And then it continues by stating that he suffered and was buried and the third day he rose again.  He ascended to the right hand of the Father and will come again to judge the living and the dead.
 
Do you see what just happened?  We went from birth to death as if nothing really important actually happened in between.  Now, how Jesus was born and why Jesus died are important points of theological discussion.  But when those events are isolated from Jesus’s actual ministry and words, then, frankly, what difference can those events make to everyday people in an everyday world?  
 
Because intellectual assent to certain faith claims has never made a good Christian out of anyone.  It’s mostly just made arrogant and self-satisfied Christians who enjoy neat little packages.  But real faith in Jesus is not about accepting some dogma.  It’s not some intellectual test we need to pass.  A religion ABOUT Jesus might be interesting, but it’s just not the same thing as the religion OF Jesus.  It’s a matter of prepositions.  And those prepositions make can all the difference in the world.  
 
A religion about Jesus certainly mattered at the Council of Nicaea.  When faith was boiled down to what everyone had to think as opposed to the way Christ followers should live, well, then, the Roman Empire could slap the name of Jesus on anything, and did – even on those things that directly contradicted what Jesus said.  
 
And that has always been the temptation for a religion ABOUT Jesus.  And in all the intervening centuries, many empires have done the same.  In our own day, Christ has been co-opted for the accumulation of wealth and power – even though Jesus said blessed are the poor and the meek.  Nationalist fervor is labeled Christian.  A war can be declared holy.  Cruelty and hatred can be disguised as sincerely held religious belief.  And all of this is permissible because a religion ABOUT Jesus is not the same thing as the religion OF Jesus.  
 
In today’s Gospel lesson, Jesus parses out the differences very clearly.  This passage begins with a rather stark statement.  Jesus said, “If you love me, you will keep my commandments.”
 
Now, when I hear the word “commandments” I almost always think of the Big Ten – commandments, not basketball.  And I also know that there are 600+ more commandments where those came from.  This book is full of commandments.  So, do I need to keep all of them in order to show my love for Jesus? 
 
Jesus, the faithful Jew, never disparaged the Law of Moses.  But, like other great rabbis of the time, Jesus did give the Law a fresh spin.  In particular, Jesus often pointed out what was underneath all of those commandments.  And for Jesus, it all boiled down to love and justice and how we live with one another.  
 
And that is why Jesus could say just a few verses after this one: “This is my commandment – that you love one another.”[1]  In another place, he said that to love God and neighbor was the fulfillment of the Law and the Prophets.[2]  And much later, a famous follower of Jesus named St. Paul would summarize it like this: “Now abide faith, hope, and love.  But the greatest of these is love.”[3]
 
 “If you love me, you will keep my commandments.”  “If you love me, you will love one another.” 
 
Now, maybe knowing this doesn’t make you feel any better, because you know how tough it can be to love.  And you know that love is often confused with weakness.  And you know that the world is cruel place where love seems to make little difference.  
 
And so, it is that one of the great tragedies of our age is that most folks don’t really believe in the power of love anymore.  We’ve given up on it.  Many churches have given up on love.  Prominent religious and political voices have given up on it – no matter what Jesus said.
 
And because of that, this call to love one another is not for the faint of heart.  But neither is the Christian life.  Because true love is a discipline.  Love is action far more than feeling.  Love is something that we decide to do, that we struggle with, that we strive for, against the tide, moment by moment, day by day, person by person. 
 
That’s the only way to love.  Otherwise, the concept is so big that you get lost in it.  Love loses its power when we think in terms of the whole world.  But not when we think of the person right in front of us - the polite one and the one who just cut the line at Big Y.  The one who thinks and votes like you and me, and one who doesn’t.  The ones who is kind and gracious and sweet, and the one whose pain spills out in everything they do and say.  
 
That’s what Jesus did.  He met the needs of those who were right in front of him.  He loved the people that were right in front of him.  That’s the religion of Jesus.  It’s a matter of prepositions.  And those prepositions make all the difference in the world.
 
“If you love me,” Jesus said, “you will keep my commandments.”
 
 


[1] John 15:12

[2] Matthew 22:37-40

[3] I Corinthians 13:13

Sunday, May 3, 2026 – Easter 5
First Congregational Church of Cheshire
© Rev. Dr. James Campbell
 
 
Acts 7:55-60
 
But filled with the Holy Spirit, he gazed into heaven and saw the glory of God and Jesus standing at the right hand of God. “Look,” he said, “I see the heavens opened and the Son of Man standing at the right hand of God!” But they covered their ears, and with a loud shout all rushed together against him. Then they dragged him out of the city and began to stone him, and the witnesses laid their coats at the feet of a young man named Saul. While they were stoning Stephen, he prayed, “Lord Jesus, receive my spirit.” Then he knelt down and cried out in a loud voice, “Lord, do not hold this sin against them.” When he had said this, he died.
 
 
I’ve always loved to collect stones.  I’ve carried them back from the rocky coast of Maine, the mountaintops of Brazil and, most recently, from the holy island of Iona.  For me, stones are the very best kinds of souvenirs, not just because they’re free, but more because a stone is a piece of that place that you actually get to bring home with you.  
 
In the Bible, stones almost always associated with something good.  Psalm 18 declares that “the Lord is my rock and my fortress.”  The epistle of First Peter proclaims that Jesus Christ is the living stone; the cornerstone of our faith. And to emphasize that point, when I was a kid, we sand this marvelous Gospel song: “Jesus is rock in a weary land, a shelter in a time of storm.”  So, stones are good things, solid things, reliable things.  In the right hands, they build cities and bridges and homes.  But in the wrong hands, stones are deadly.
 
And that is the situation we have in today’s rather shocking passage from the book of Acts.  For some odd reason, the lectionary only lifts up the dramatic conclusion of this story, without telling us how Stephen got into such an awful predicament to begin with.  So let me catch you up to speed.    
 
The early church was growing very rapidly.  And at the mother church in Jerusalem, the twelve apostles simply could not do all the work anymore.  This became crystal clear to them upon the occasion of a major church fight between the Jewish Christians and the Greek-speaking Christians.  The Greek-speakers were sure that there was discrimination against them.  They claimed that their widows were not getting a fair share of the church’s food distribution.   And so, the apostles were called in to settle the dispute.  
 
But as I said, the apostles were overwhelmed.  And so, they appointed seven deacons whose job it was to make sure that the food was distributed fairly amongst all the widows.  One of those deacons was a man named Stephen, who, according to the writer, was full of faith and the Holy Spirit – apparently the only two requirements for being a deacon.  
 
Now, at the same time that the early church was growing so quickly, so was the tension between the Jewish followers of Jesus and those Jews who did not follow Jesus.  And, in the midst of all that tension, and the marking of territory, and the vying for power and influence, people did what people always do: they started to spread rumors, and half-truths, and dangerous innuendos about the opposition.  And one of the targets of this whisper campaign was Stephen.  
 
The opposition claimed that Stephen had committed blasphemy, cursing Moses and the Temple, which was a capital offense.  And so they seized him and dragged to the religious court.  But when he was given a chance to speak in his own defense, instead of addressing the charges against him, he began to preach a very dangerous sermon.  He reminded his fellows that God had sent many prophets over the centuries, who, when they spoke real truth to power, often ended up dead.  Finally, Stephen said, God sent a prophet named Jesus, but he ended up dead too.  And it is at this climactic point that today’s lesson from Acts begins.
 
When the religious council heard Stephen accuse them of killing the prophets, and then claiming to have a vision of Jesus seated at the right hand of God, they were wild with rage.  A mob mentality took over, and this mob rushed Stephen and dragged him out of the city to stone him to death for his blasphemy.  
 
This was a common punishment.  And lots of towns had stoning pits. Historians say that they were approximately twelve feet deep, so that the accused could not escape.  The person was pushed into the pit, sometimes being killed by the fall itself – which, of course, was a mercy.  But if the fall didn’t do the trick, then one of the witnesses, would be lowered into the pit in order to drop a large stone on the person’s chest.  If the accused survived that, then the witness was lifted out of the pit so that the crowd could rain down stones upon the accused until the person died.    
 
Standing in the crowd that day, not stoning Stephen, but holding the coats of those who did and thereby being an accomplice, was a man named Saul.  He would later have a vision of Jesus on the Road to Damascus, and his name would be changed to Paul.  But that’s another story.
 
Stephen’s story ends in a hauntingly familiar way.  In a direct imitation of Christ, he asked Jesus to receive his spirit, just as Jesus, from the cross, had asked God to receive his.  And then Stephen prayed for the forgiveness of his executioners; something else our Lord did from the cross.  And then Stephen died – the very first martyr of the Christian faith.  
 
This story is shocking for many of us, removed, as we are from the unpleasant details of our own capital punishment rituals, or the horrific tragedies of collateral damage in war.  But the human impulse to throw stones is never really that far away from any of us.
 
In 1948, the New Yorker published a short story by Shirley Jackson entitled The Lottery.   In it, Jackson weaves a tale about a modern-day stoning ritual in a small American town.  The story is so haunting because she sets it in a fair-like atmosphere, wherein one person is chosen by lottery each year to be stoned to death in order to ensure a good harvest.  This story is brilliantly subversive because it reminds us of our own propensity toward mob violence, and the all-too-common ways that we learn to accept violence and then to actually participate in violence.
 
Perhaps not surprisingly, when The Lottery was first published, Jackson received hate mail and death threats, sadly proving the underlying premise of her story – that we all have the capacity to throw stones.  
 
I think that most of us reach for those stones out of pain.  You see, some of us have been stoned by judgments that were totally unfair.  For others, religion was the weapon and you were assured that you simply did not belong.  Still others of you been publicly stoned because of your politics or class or race or gender or status – or any of the other things by which we humans seek to divide and conquer.  
 
And if you have ever been a victim of stoning, then you already know how tempting it is, in your hurt and anger, to pick up those same stones and hurl them back with a deadly precision.  Some of us have become quite expert at that.  
 
And that is the tragic history of our race.  It is the cycle of violence that never ever seems to end.  
 
Except that it can.
 
In the stoning pit, with rocks raining down upon his defenseless body, Stephen did the unthinkable.  He actually did what we are all called to do.  He imitated Jesus.  He prayed for the forgiveness of his enemies, not as an afterthought, but as a direct response to the pain.  And when he did that, the cycle of violence was broken like a fragile twig that it actually is.  And when he did that, the power dynamic was flipped on its head.  And his accusers no longer had any real power over him.  Because forgiveness changes everything.  
 
And it‘s the only thing that can save us when we’re in a pit.
 
 
 
 

Sunday, April 26, 2026 – Easter 4
First Congregational Church of Cheshire
The Rev. Dr. James Campbell
 
 
Psalm 23 - King James Version
 
The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.
He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.
 
 Psalm 23 - The Message
 
God, my shepherd!
    I don’t need a thing.
You have bedded me down in lush meadows,
    you find me quiet pools to drink from.
True to your word,
    you let me catch my breath
    and send me in the right direction.
Even when the way goes through
    Death Valley,
I’m not afraid
    when you walk at my side.
Your trusty shepherd’s crook
    makes me feel secure.
You serve me a six-course dinner
    right in front of my enemies.
You revive my drooping head;
    my cup brims with blessing.
Your beauty and love chase after me
    every day of my life.
I’m back home in the house of God
    for the rest of my life.
 
 
I’ll never forget the first time I had a close encounter with a sheep.  We didn’t live on a farm, but some folks in my dad’s parish did.  And one day, one of those farm families invited me to come and experience a day on the farm for myself.
 
I’m sure that my lack of farm-experience was obvious.  And I suppose that this was too great temptation for those farm kids to resist.  And so, they convinced me that one of the best things to do on a farm was to wrangle a sheep.  And by wrangling, they meant tackling.  That sounded reasonable to me.
 
I watched the farm kids go first.  And somehow, each one did manage to grab hold of and subdue a sheep.  And then it was my turn.  I remember that I screwed up all the courage I had.  And then I ran at that sheep with all my might.  Well, this must have scared the poor creature to death, because that sheep bolted like lightening.  But so, did I.  And suddenly, I was gaining on the sheep.  Suddenly, I saw my opportunity.  And so, I leapt through the air but landed short of the goal, only managing to grab hold of one of the back legs.  
 
No one had told me to let go if that happened, and so I held on for dear life.  I held on as that poor sheep ran and kicked trying to get away from me.  I held on, as that sheep drug me across the field.  I held on until finally that sheep knocked me loose.  
 
Well, I was a bit dazed at first, but when I finally stood up, let’s just say that it wasn’t only mud that covered me.  I was also covered with all the souvenirs sheep tend to leave wherever they go.  And when the farm kids saw this, they laughed until they cried.  And when their mother saw it, she laughed until she cried.  And then she took a garden hose to me, leaving me to dry out in the hot Indiana sun.
 
Well, I thought of that story as I trapsed around the island of Iona, off the west coast of Scotland.  I thought of that story because Iona has far more sheep than people.  And I had some close encounters with those Scottish sheep.  I delighted to see them up on the crag behind the hotel, defying the laws of gravity.  And I delighted to see them in the broad green pastures through which I hiked – always stepping carefully, I might add.  And I delighted to see those precious lambs, frolicking and jumping with the joy of new life.  Sheep take center stage on Iona.  And sheep take center stage in the Psalm of the day.  
 
Psalm 23, beloved by so many, is the most requested reading at any funeral over which I have presided.  It is read beside the beds of the dying.  It is memorized by church school children.  And because of all of that, most preachers won’t touch it in a sermon.  It’s just too familiar.  In, fact, I don’t think I ever have preached on it before.  But let’s just say that recent events have given it a new layer of meaning for me.  
 
In the ancient world, a shepherd literally lived with the sheep, 24/7, 365 days a year.  It was a shepherd’s entire purpose in life to keep the sheep from wandering off or into the mouths of predators.  And because these very real dangers existed, a shepherd often needed to be strong and decisive.  A shepherd had to drive those sheep in order to keep them safe, or to get them fed, or to quench their thirst.  And, of course, the sheep didn’t always understand why the shepherd would drive them the way she did.  Maybe sometimes, it even seemed cruel.  But the shepherd knew what the sheep needed more than the sheep did.  
 
As much as I had anticipated that week of study on Iona; as much as the Church Council had supported me in that quest, as much as so many of you had encouraged me to go, by the time the trip actually rolled around, Iona was the last place I wanted to be.  As the events of my life unfolded, and as my family grieved, I just didn’t want to be so far away.  
 
But everything has been set in order.  And it was too late for refunds.  And everyone kept telling me that it would be good for me.  And so, reluctantly, I went.
 
I was soon reminded of why they call it a pilgrimage.  A trip to Iona is not for the faint of heart.  It took me two planes, a train, a ferry, a bus, and then another ferry to actually arrive.  And all of it in the rain.  By the time I actually made it to the hotel, I was exhausted, and wet, and still wondering what on earth I was doing there. 
 
I was the first one off that last ferry, and the first one who arrived at the front desk of the hotel.  All I wanted in that moment was my room key, a hot shower, and a nap.  But when I arrived, I was instructed to go into the sun lounge for orientation.  And so, like a good sheep, I obeyed.  
 
Well, when it was over, and I had warmed myself with coffee and biscuits, I stood at that wall of windows that overlooked the sea.  As I said, it had rained all day.  But suddenly, the clouds parted, and when they did, the most marvelous rainbow appeared over the water.  And something inside of me shifted.  And I felt my sister’s presence so close.  And I was overcome with a sense of gratitude.  
 
Now in that moment, I had no idea how profound that week was about to be, but in that moment, I knew that I was in a very verdant pasture.  And I hoped that my soul would be restored.
 
Our lives can so often feel out of control.  We are all driven by external forces.  We are all forced into places that we would never ever choose to go.  We are like sheep.  And we have all learned the painful lesson that not all shepherds are good.  Not all shepherds are looking out for our best interests.  Not all shepherds protect the flock.  But some do.
 
I know that a pastor is called to be a shepherd.  I know that my job is to look out for this flock here in Ye Fresh Meadows.  I take it very seriously that I am to do my best to make sure that each sheep is safe and fed.  But this is what I have learned.  This is my sheepish observation.  Sometimes, those roles are reversed.  Sometimes, it is the people who shepherd the pastor.  
 
As I traveled through the valley of the shadow of death, you were there, with your rods of kindness and staves of your comfort.  And with those, you kept me from getting lost.  And you set before me and my family a table groaning with blessings: cards and food and flowers and gifts, not just for me and Marcos, but for my parents. You filled our cups until they overflowed.  
 
And I learned a new lesson about this beloved Psalm.  Yes, indeed, the Lord is my shepherd.  But he’s also got some wonderful assistants.
 
Thanks be to God.  Amen.
​

Easter Sunday, April 5, 2026
First Congregational Church of Cheshire
© the Rev. Dr. James Campbell
 
 
 
John 20:1-18
 
Early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene came to the tomb and saw that the stone had been removed from the tomb. So she ran and went to Simon Peter and the other disciple, the one whom Jesus loved, and said to them, “They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they have laid him.” Then Peter and the other disciple set out and went toward the tomb. The two were running together, but the other disciple outran Peter and reached the tomb first. He bent down to look in and saw the linen wrappings lying there, but he did not go in. Then Simon Peter came, following him, and went into the tomb. He saw the linen wrappings lying there, and the cloth that had been on Jesus’ head, not lying with the linen wrappings but rolled up in a place by itself. Then the other disciple, who reached the tomb first, also went in, and he saw and believed; for as yet they did not understand the scripture, that he must rise from the dead. Then the disciples returned to their homes.
 
But Mary stood weeping outside the tomb. As she wept, she bent over to look into the tomb; and she saw two angels in white, sitting where the body of Jesus had been lying, one at the head and the other at the feet. They said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping?” She said to them, “They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him.” When she had said this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not know that it was Jesus. Jesus said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for?” Supposing him to be the gardener, she said to him, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away.” Jesus said to her, “Mary!” She turned and said to him in Hebrew, “Rabbouni!” (which means Teacher). Jesus said to her, “Do not hold on to me, because I have not yet ascended to the Father. But go to my brothers and say to them, ‘I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.’” Mary Magdalene went and announced to the disciples, “I have seen the Lord”; and she told them that he had said these things to her.

​
When I was a kid, I had this incredible oversized 3-D postcard of the Shroud of Turin.  The thing was awesome.  If you held it to the light one way, you simply saw the shroud.  But if you moved your hand just a little, that shroud morphed into an artist’s rendering of the face of Jesus, inspired by the photographic negative of the shroud.  But if you continued to move the card around, at a certain angle the eyes of Jesus would pop open.  I used to spend hours flipping back and forth, watching those eyes open and close, and all the while wondering: “What if I am looking at the very face of Jesus the moment he was resurrected?”
 
Believers in the Shroud’s authenticity maintain that this image of the broken body of the Lord was not made by traditional artistic methods.  Instead, they say, it was burned onto the cloth at the very moment of Resurrection, by a sort of radiation, a side effect – if you will - of all that life-giving glory.  For these folks, the shroud is physical proof of that most foundational of all Christian beliefs – that Jesus of Nazareth, crucified by Rome, dead and buried, was raised to new and everlasting life by the power of God. 
 
For some folks, the shroud is a way to try to grab hold of Jesus. It’s as close as we will ever come to an eyewitness account.  Because there were no eyewitnesses.  All four Gospels agree on that frustrating point.  As theologian Barbara Brown Taylor writes: “Whatever happened in (that) cave happened in the dark.  …it happened in complete silence, in absolute darkness, with the smell of damp stone and dug earth in the air.”[1]
 
So, no one saw the actual event.  But lots of folks claimed to have experienced the aftereffect.  Ordinary people, like you and me, at different times and in different places claimed to have had encounters with the strangely elusive figure of the Risen Jesus, who appeared and disappeared at a moment’s notice.  We don’t know exactly what they experienced, but whatever it was, it was enough to change their lives forever.  Whatever it was, it started a world-wide movement that has become the world’s largest religion.  Whatever it was, it was enough that 2000 years later, here we are, in this room, to celebrate it.  
 
Very early on Sunday morning, while it was still dark; while it was dangerous and unseemly for a woman to be traveling alone, a grief-stricken Mary Magdalene went to the grave of Jesus anyway.  And when she got there, she noted with fear that the stone had been rolled away from the mouth of the tomb.  And so, she ran to tell Peter and another unnamed disciple that someone had stolen the body of Jesus.  That was, of course, the most logical conclusion.
 
Upon hearing this distressing news, the three of them ran back to the graveyard, but they found it exactly as Mary had told them.  The tomb was indeed empty, except for the grave clothes that had been neatly folded and placed on the slab, and the face cloth that had been carefully rolled up.  No grave robbers would have taken the time to do that.  So, this was really perplexing to all of them.  But the notion of Resurrection never crossed their minds.    
 
Well, the two men, being men, needing to be in charge, decided that they had to do something, anything about all this!  So, they ran off to tell all the others.  They ran off… and left Mary by herself, still unaccompanied, still grief-stricken, and in the dark.
 
Suddenly, from the shadows, a stranger appeared.  This startled Mary at first.  But then she decided it might be the gardener, there to start his day.  So, she asked him if he knew where the body of Jesus had been moved to.   “Please tell me,” she begged, “so that I can go and take the body myself.”  -- As if she could.  
 
The gardener did not answer her question.  But he did speak.  And when he did, he simply said her name: “Mary.” And that moment was like a flash of lightening.  Because she knew that voice.  And the gears of her mind began to turn.  And the well of her hope began to bubble up.  And the impossible somehow seemed possible.  “Rabbouni; my teacher” she cried.  And she grabbed hold of him, hanging on for dear life.  But then Jesus made this odd statement: “Do not hold on to me, because I have not yet ascended to the Father.”  “Do not hold onto me…” “
 
And in that odd statement, an essential truth about the Resurrection is revealed.  Because it cannot, in any tangible way, be grasped or held onto.  Resurrection cannot be codified, or put in a box, or neatly explained, or proven in a debate.  Because Resurrection was then, and always will be, an experience.  
 
So, was it real?  Was it a dream?  Was it the hallucination of a sleep-deprived, grief-stricken woman?  I don’t know.  But whatever happened to Mary Magdalene in that garden was enough to convince her that Jesus was alive.  And so, she ran back to where the men were now hiding in fear for their lives.  She ran back, no longer chained by her grief and fear.  And Blessed Mary Magdalene preached the first Easter sermon ever, boldly proclaiming: “I have seen the Lord.”
 
If only she’d had her iPhone with her! If only Jesus had whispered the secret word in her ear that only he knew.  If only he had given her something to prove that she wasn’t crazy.  But all she had was her experience.  All she had was that flash of the Resurrection.  And quite frankly, that is all anyone has ever had.
 
Flashes of the Resurrection.  Maybe that’s why you came to church today, seeking a glimpse of the Risen Lord.  The great 20th century Swiss theologian Karl Barth said that the reason people come to church on Easter or any other Sunday is the unspoken question that clings to our hearts and our minds: “Is it true?”
 
In a marvelous short story entitled “See the Other Side” author Tatyana Tolstaya writes beautifully about the human struggle to believe what we hope is true, but cannot prove.  She writes: “We hear whispers, but we plug our ears; we are shown, but we turn away.  We have no faith: we’re afraid to believe, because we’re afraid that we’ll be deceived.  We are certain that we’re in the tomb.  We are certain that there’s nothing in the dark.  There can’t be anything in the dark.”[2]
 
Except that the Risen Jesus is so often found in the dark.  What proof do I have?  Only my own experience. For you see, there have been moments in my own life when I have been so low.  Like you, I have buried those I love.  Like you, my health has faltered.  Like you, my relationships have crumbled.  Like you, I have lost my job.  Like you, I have sometimes lost my faith.  And like you, I have indeed doubted this incredible nonsense about a dead man being raised to life. 
 
But… time after time after time, at the very edge of despair, in the deep darkness of doubt, in the midst of grinding grief, there is this Presence that knows my name.  It’s always just a flash - but it’s enough for me to say with Mary: “I, too, have seen the Lord.”
 
Thanks be to God.  Amen.


[1] Learning to Walk in the Dark, Barbara Brown Taylor

[2] The New Yorker, March 12, 2007

​
Sunday, March 22, 2026 – Lent 5
First Congregational Church of Cheshire
© the Rev. Dr. James Campbell
 
 
John 11:1-45
 
Now a certain man was ill, Lazarus of Bethany, the village of Mary and her sister Martha. Mary was the one who anointed the Lord with perfume and wiped his feet with her hair; her brother Lazarus was ill. So the sisters sent a message to Jesus, “Lord, he whom you love is ill.” But when Jesus heard it, he said, “This illness does not lead to death; rather, it is for God’s glory, so that the Son of God may be glorified through it.” Accordingly, though Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus, after having heard that Lazarus was ill, he stayed two days longer in the place where he was.
 
Then after this he said to the disciples, “Let us go to Judea again.” The disciples said to him, “Rabbi, the Jews were just now trying to stone you, and are you going there again?” Jesus answered, “Are there not twelve hours of daylight? Those who walk during the day do not stumble because they see the light of this world. But those who walk at night stumble because the light is not in them.” After saying this, he told them, “Our friend Lazarus has fallen asleep, but I am going there to awaken him.” The disciples said to him, “Lord, if he has fallen asleep, he will be all right.” Jesus, however, had been speaking about his death, but they thought that he was referring merely to sleep. Then Jesus told them plainly, “Lazarus is dead. For your sake I am glad I was not there, so that you may believe. But let us go to him.” Thomas, who was called the Twin, said to his fellow disciples, “Let us also go, that we may die with him.”
 
When Jesus arrived, he found that Lazarus had already been in the tomb four days. Now Bethany was near Jerusalem, some two miles away, and many of the Jews had come to Martha and Mary to console them about their brother. When Martha heard that Jesus was coming, she went and met him, while Mary stayed at home. Martha said to Jesus, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died. But even now I know that God will give you whatever you ask of him.” Jesus said to her, “Your brother will rise again.” Martha said to him, “I know that he will rise again in the resurrection on the last day.” Jesus said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?” She said to him, “Yes, Lord, I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, the one coming into the world.”
 
When she had said this, she went back and called her sister Mary and told her privately, “The Teacher is here and is calling for you.” And when she heard it, she got up quickly and went to him. Now Jesus had not yet come to the village but was still at the place where Martha had met him. The Jews who were with her in the house consoling her saw Mary get up quickly and go out. They followed her because they thought that she was going to the tomb to weep there. When Mary came where Jesus was and saw him, she knelt at his feet and said to him, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” When Jesus saw her weeping and the Jews who came with her also weeping, he was greatly disturbed in spirit and deeply moved. He said, “Where have you laid him?” They said to him, “Lord, come and see.” Jesus began to weep. So the Jews said, “See how he loved him!” But some of them said, “Could not he who opened the eyes of the blind man have kept this man from dying?”
 
Then Jesus, again greatly disturbed, came to the tomb. It was a cave, and a stone was lying against it. Jesus said, “Take away the stone.” Martha, the sister of the dead man, said to him, “Lord, already there is a stench because he has been dead four days.” Jesus said to her, “Did I not tell you that if you believed you would see the glory of God?” So they took away the stone. And Jesus looked upward and said, “Father, I thank you for having heard me. I knew that you always hear me, but I have said this for the sake of the crowd standing here, so that they may believe that you sent me.” When he had said this, he cried with a loud voice, “Lazarus, come out!” The dead man came out, his hands and feet bound with strips of cloth and his face wrapped in a cloth. Jesus said to them, “Unbind him, and let him go.”
 
Many of the Jews, therefore, who had come with Mary and had seen what Jesus did believed in him.
 
 
Jesus said: “I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die.”
 
These are always the very first words I speak at any funeral service I conduct.  And every time I say these words, the people in the pews have different reactions.  Some folks just stare.  Maybe death has made them numb and they aren’t able to connect to these words at all.  Sometimes people scowl.  Maybe they are not the church-going kind and all this talk of eternal life seems like so much nonsense to them.  But then there are always those who seem to grab hold of these words, like a lifeline.  Often, their eyes will lock with mine.  Sometimes they will wipe away tears.  Or they might smile and nod their heads.  It’s as if hope is rising up in them, even in the face of death.
 
I have always loved these words of Jesus.  And I cling to them for myself and all those I love.  But these words do not stand alone.  They are part of a much more complex story about human pain and loss, doubt and fear.  
 
Mary, Martha, and Lazarus – three adult siblings – apparently all unmarried, lived together in a village called Bethany, that was just two miles from Jerusalem.  And John tells us that Jesus was particularly fond of these three siblings.  In fact, in the passage that Henry read for us today, we are told three separate times that Jesus loved them.  
 
One day, Lazarus developed an odd cough.  That night, his whole body shook with a fever.  His sisters their best to cool him down, but to no avail.  As his temperature rose, so did their terror, for not only was their beloved brother at death’s door, but so was their livelihood.  As the only male of the family in a strictly patriarchal society, Lazarus was responsible for his sisters’ financial well-being.  So, this was a potentially devasting predicament in more ways than one.
 
But Jesus loved them.  And Jesus was their friend.  And they had seen Jesus heal other people.  So, Mary and Martha sent word to him, that he should come right away, and do for Lazarus what he had done for others.  
 
But this is where the story takes an ominous and strange turn.  When Jesus received word that his best friend was gravely ill, instead of setting out immediately to get to Bethany, he made an enigmatic statement about this illness not leading to death.  
 
Well, as true as that might have been, the sisters didn’t know that.  And then Jesus decided to stay where he was for two more days.  And the sisters didn’t know that either.  Instead, all they knew was that Jesus wasn’t there and they were desperate. 
 
When Jesus finally did get to Bethany, it was far too late.  Not only had he not been by his friend’s side to hold his hand as he died, but Jesus had also missed the funeral.  How would you ever forgive a friend who seemed so detached from your suffering?
 
When Jesus was still a little way off, word came to the house that he had finally come.  And Martha, leaving the mourners behind, broke protocol and ran out to meet him on the road.  And when she saw him, all her tangled emotions came spilling out with these words: “Lord, if you had only been here, my brother would not have died.”  But then, with a hint of hope she said, “But even now I know that God will give you whatever you ask.” 
 
Then, Martha ran back home to get Mary, who, we might imagine, was simply too hurt and angry to have gone out to meet Jesus.  But now that she knew that the Lord was asking for her, she would tell him exactly how she felt.  When she saw him, grief overwhelmed her and she collapsed at his feet and made the same accusation that her sister had: “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.”
 
And what happens next is one of the most moving scenes of the entire New Testament.  Jesus broke down and wept, great copious tears.  Jesus wept.
 
And if we take at all seriously the idea of the Incarnation, the astounding notion that God was in Christ; revealing God’s very face to us, then this reaction to human suffering tells us that God is not some impassive, unmovable deity who looks upon the pain of the world with divine detachment.  Instead, God looks at the victims of war and genocide, the scapegoats of oppression, the hungry children, the lonely elders, those who mourn, and God weeps with us over the pain of the world and the pain of our lives.
 
Then Jesus asked that the stone that covered the tomb be removed.  And in a loud voice, he shouted: “Lazarus, come out!”  And by God, he did.  The man who had been dead for four days came out of that tomb, alive.  
 
And this is where the story ends, on this note of triumphalism and victory.  Except that this is not where the story ends.  The Gospel of John tells us that it was this very event that finally set into motion the execution of Jesus.  And it was this very event that put into motion the plot to kill Lazarus and thus to get rid of the evidence.  Some scholars surmise that Lazarus was killed very quickly after this event.  And Jesus would go to his cross in a matter of days.
 
Frankly, I like the triumphal ending better.  I want Lazarus raised, restored to his sisters, and all of them living happily ever after.  And I want that story for them because I want that story for me.  I want Jesus to come and protect me from all those things I am afraid of, and restore all of those things that are broken.  But so often, he seems delayed.  
 
As many of you know, my younger sister is gravely ill.  And I have asked Jesus to come and to heal her and raise her up.  But as the diseased has progressed, I have found that I had less and less words to say about it all.  And so, I fell back on this ancient Christian prayer practice, that I have found so helpful over the years when I don’t know how to pray.  You hold the person in mind, and then you simply say, “Lord, have mercy.  Christ, have mercy.  Lord, have mercy.”  
 
So, this was the prayer I was praying for my sister a few weeks ago.  But with each repetition, I was more and more desperate.  When I finally paused long enough to listen, I heard a voice - not audibly – but in my mind, and as clear as a bell.  And the voice asked: “Do you think you are just shouting into a void?”  And I replied, “No, Lord.  I believe you hear me.”  
 
Likewise, there was something in Mary and Martha that would not let go of the idea that when they sent word to Jesus, that he would hear them and come.  They did not know what it would mean when he arrived, but they knew that just his presence would make a difference.
 
And there is something deep inside each of us that clings to that same hope.  And we believe that we are not just shouting into a void when we pray.  Instead, we are speaking to the One who stands outside of the tombs of our lives, and weeps with us over those things that break our hearts, and then whispers into our souls: “I am the resurrection and the life.”
 
 

Sunday, March 15, 2026 – Lent 4
First Congregational Church of Cheshire
© the Rev. Dr. James Campbell
 
 
John 9:1-41
 
As he walked along, he saw a man blind from birth. His disciples asked him, “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?” Jesus answered, “Neither this man nor his parents sinned; he was born blind so that God’s works might be revealed in him. We must work the works of him who sent me while it is day; night is coming, when no one can work. As long as I am in the world, I am the light of the world.” When he had said this, he spat on the ground and made mud with the saliva and spread the mud on the man’s eyes, saying to him, “Go, wash in the pool of Siloam” (which means Sent). Then he went and washed and came back able to see. The neighbors and those who had seen him before as a beggar began to ask, “Is this not the man who used to sit and beg?” Some were saying, “It is he.” Others were saying, “No, but it is someone like him.” He kept saying, “I am he.” But they kept asking him, “Then how were your eyes opened?” He answered, “The man called Jesus made mud, spread it on my eyes, and said to me, ‘Go to Siloam and wash.’ Then I went and washed and received my sight.” They said to him, “Where is he?” He said, “I do not know.”
 
They brought to the Pharisees the man who had formerly been blind. Now it was a Sabbath day when Jesus made the mud and opened his eyes. Then the Pharisees also began to ask him how he had received his sight. He said to them, “He put mud on my eyes. Then I washed, and now I see.” Some of the Pharisees said, “This man is not from God, for he does not observe the Sabbath.” Others said, “How can a man who is a sinner perform such signs?” And they were divided. So they said again to the blind man, “What do you say about him? It was your eyes he opened.” He said, “He is a prophet.”
 
The Jews did not believe that he had been blind and had received his sight until they called the parents of the man who had received his sight and asked them, “Is this your son, who you say was born blind? How then does he now see?” His parents answered, “We know that this is our son and that he was born blind, but we do not know how it is that now he sees, nor do we know who opened his eyes. Ask him; he is of age. He will speak for himself.” His parents said this because they were afraid of the Jews, for the Jews had already agreed that anyone who confessed Jesus to be the Messiah would be put out of the synagogue. Therefore his parents said, “He is of age; ask him.”
 
So for the second time they called the man who had been blind, and they said to him, “Give glory to God! We know that this man is a sinner.” He answered, “I do not know whether he is a sinner. One thing I do know, that though I was blind, now I see.” They said to him, “What did he do to you? How did he open your eyes?” He answered them, “I have told you already, and you would not listen. Why do you want to hear it again? Do you also want to become his disciples?” Then they reviled him, saying, “You are his disciple, but we are disciples of Moses. We know that God has spoken to Moses, but as for this man, we do not know where he comes from.” The man answered, “Here is an astonishing thing! You do not know where he comes from, yet he opened my eyes. We know that God does not listen to sinners, but he does listen to one who worships him and obeys his will. Never since the world began has it been heard that anyone opened the eyes of a person born blind. If this man were not from God, he could do nothing.” They answered him, “You were born entirely in sins, and are you trying to teach us?” And they drove him out.
 
Jesus heard that they had driven him out, and when he found him he said, “Do you believe in the Son of Man?” He answered, “And who is he, sir? Tell me, so that I may believe in him.” Jesus said to him, “You have seen him, and the one speaking with you is he.” He said, “Lord, I believe.” And he worshiped him. Jesus said, “I came into this world for judgment, so that those who do not see may see and those who do see may become blind.” Some of the Pharisees who were with him heard this and said to him, “Surely we are not blind, are we?” Jesus said to them, “If you were blind, you would not have sin. But now that you say, ‘We see,’ your sin remains.
 
 
 
On March 19, 2014, a man named Fred Phelps died.  And when Fred died, people around the world rejoiced.  When Fred died, I rejoiced.  Maybe I shouldn’t have, but I did.   
 
So just who was this Fred Phelps that so many people were glad to see him go?  Well, he was the pastor and founder of the Westboro Baptist Church in Topeka, Kansas.  Maybe you’ve heard of them.  
 
These folks are best known for their protests at the funerals of people in the news, like fallen soldiers, and the children of Sandy Hook, and the murdered patrons of the Pulse nightclub.  They stand outside with their bullhorns and placards, declaring that these deaths are the judgment of a very angry God, who just happens to hate all the same people they do.  
 
They use the Bible as justification for their actions and their attitudes.  And they feel righteous in what they are doing.  They believe that they are prophets, warning us all of the judgment to come.
 
So, when Fred died, people rejoiced.  But here’s the thing: before Fred did all that damage in the world; before he inflicted such needless pain, Fred Phelps actually did some good.  His New York Times obituary revealed that before Fred began to preach hate, he was a very successful civil rights attorney.  He took on the cases that no one else wanted, and won many of them.  At one time, Phelps’s law firm made up 1/3 of the state of Kansas’s federal docket of civil rights cases.  There was even a local chapter of the NAACP that honored him with an award.  
 
Which begs the question: what on earth happened to Fred?  How did this one so full of promise become so full of darkness?  How did Fred lose his vision of the love of Jesus?  Sadly, the answer to that question is religion.  
 
Religion can let loose a lot of hatred in our world.  Religion is at the root of much of the anger now plaguing our country.  And sadly, this is nothing new.  In the wrong hands, religion has always been a powerful weapon of control and manipulation.  And sometimes it makes this pastor despair.
 
There once was a man who had been born blind.  And in that world and in that time, everyone thought that there had to be someone to blame for this misfortune.  Their religion had taught them that.  So, it was really no surprise when the disciples asked Jesus: “Who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?”  But Jesus didn’t buy into their presupposition.  Instead, he replied: “Nobody sinned.  But this illness will be an avenue for the glory of God.”  And, by the way, all of this transpired on the Sabbath.
 
What happened next is strange as strange can be.  Jesus spat on the ground and made a muddy poultice of saliva and dirt.  And then, he rubbed it on the blind man’s eyes and told him to go wash it away in the public bath.  And lo and behold, when the mud fell off, for the first time ever, this man who had never seen his own face, now saw it reflected in the water.  
 
When his neighbors saw the man, with his sparkling, curious eyes, they didn’t even recognize him.  They had always defined him by what he didn’t have.  Even when he told them who he was, they didn’t believe him.  And so, they took him to the religious authorities to have all this checked out.  But when the man described how Jesus had made some mud and rubbed it on his eyes, the authorities were incensed because the act of kneading mud was one of 39 things that was expressly forbidden to do on the Sabbath.  
 
Well, that sealed the deal.  Jesus could not be from God because he has broken the rules.  And that meant the miracle could also not be divine.  Therefore, this man had to be a fraud.  And so, they decided to prove it.  They called his parents in for a conference.  But the parents were no fools.  When the religious authorities asked them how it was that their once-blind son could now see, they replied: “He’s an adult.  Ask him.”  And then they went home.
 
When they asked the man again about how he had received his sight, this time his answer was bolder still.  Maybe his self-esteem had been repaired along with his vision.  Whatever the case, his new attitude was just too much for these religious people who thought they knew everything about the way God works.  And so, they kicked him out.  
 
It was at that precise moment that Jesus reappeared looking for the man.  And the two of them talked about who Jesus was and what he came to do.  And the man believed it.  And he worshipped Jesus - the only time anyone worships Jesus in the entire Gospel of John.  And then Jesus said, “I came into this world for judgment so that those who do not see may see, and those who do see may become blind.”
 
Which takes me back to the tragic character of Fred Phelps.  Doesn’t old Fred seem to be a poignant example of the second part of Jesus’s enigmatic statement about those who see becoming blind?
 
Now, truth be told, we much prefer our sermon stories to go the other way.  We want stories about people who gain their sight, not about people who are blinded by the light.  Wouldn’t it be better if old Fred had once been a hateful bigot who was saved by Jesus and then became an award-winning civil rights attorney?  Then we could all feel good and praise God together for the miracle of someone who once was blind but now he sees.  
 
But the truth is, that is not how everyone responds to the light of Christ.  Some people, in the blaze of all that glory and the brightness of all that love, lose their sight.  They shut their eyes.  They refuse to see what is right in front of them.  For some folks, the simple fact that love always wins is just too much of a challenge to the way they want the world to be; and the vengeance and fire and fury they seek to exact.  
 
But truth be told, that also makes me wonder about myself.  Because I am remembering all those times I hated Fred.  Oh, it seemed perfectly reasonable, respectable even.  Because Fred had done so much damage.  He had compounded so much misery.  He beat his chest and yelled at the world and bullied everyone around him.  And he seemed to delight in the pain of it all.  So, when he died, I thought: maybe the hell he used to threaten everyone else with is exactly what he deserves.
 
Except that when Fred died, he saw everything clearly – maybe for the first time ever.  In the presence of Jesus, his eyes were opened.  The mud of his religion and pride and anger was washed away.  And in the presence of all that pure light and amazing grace, is it really so hard to believe that Fred was truly sorry for all that he had not seen? 
 
And I can either hold onto that hope for someone like Fred, or I can choose to be blind.      
 

Sunday, March 8, 2026 – Lent 3
First Congregational Church of Cheshire
© the Rev. Dr. James Campbell
 
John 4:5-29
 
So he came to a Samaritan city called Sychar, near the plot of ground that Jacob had given to his son Joseph. Jacob’s well was there, and Jesus, tired out by his journey, was sitting by the well. It was about noon.
 
A Samaritan woman came to draw water, and Jesus said to her, “Give me a drink.” (His disciples had gone to the city to buy food.) The Samaritan woman said to him, “How is it that you, a Jew, ask a drink of me, a woman of Samaria?” (Jews do not share things in common with Samaritans.) Jesus answered her, “If you knew the gift of God and who it is that is saying to you, ‘Give me a drink,’ you would have asked him, and he would have given you living water.” The woman said to him, “Sir, you have no bucket, and the well is deep. Where do you get that living water? Are you greater than our ancestor Jacob, who gave us the well and with his sons and his flocks drank from it?” Jesus said to her, “Everyone who drinks of this water will be thirsty again, but those who drink of the water that I will give them will never be thirsty. The water that I will give will become in them a spring of water gushing up to eternal life.” The woman said to him, “Sir, give me this water, so that I may never be thirsty or have to keep coming here to draw water.”
 
Jesus said to her, “Go, call your husband, and come back.” The woman answered him, “I have no husband.” Jesus said to her, “You are right in saying, ‘I have no husband,’ for you have had five husbands, and the one you have now is not your husband. What you have said is true!” The woman said to him, “Sir, I see that you are a prophet. Our ancestors worshiped on this mountain, but you say that the place where people must worship is in Jerusalem.” Jesus said to her, “Woman, believe me, the hour is coming when you will worship the Father neither on this mountain nor in Jerusalem. You worship what you do not know; we worship what we know, for salvation is from the Jews. But the hour is coming and is now here when the true worshipers will worship the Father in spirit and truth, for the Father seeks such as these to worship him. God is spirit, and those who worship him must worship in spirit and truth.” The woman said to him, “I know that Messiah is coming” (who is called Christ). “When he comes, he will proclaim all things to us.” Jesus said to her, “I am he, the one who is speaking to you.”
 
Just then his disciples came. They were astonished that he was speaking with a woman, but no one said, “What do you want?” or, “Why are you speaking with her?” Then the woman left her water jar and went back to the city. She said to the people, “Come and see a man who told me everything I have ever done! He cannot be the Messiah, can he?”
 
 
I remember the first time I ever heard the phrase “sex shaming.”  It was spoken by the young female associate minister at my previous church in Manhattan.  I had made some off-the-cuff comment about someone, and she challenged that comment and then referred to it as sex-shaming.  I didn’t know what she meant then, but I do now.
 
Sex shaming is exactly what it sounds like.  It can be self-directed, as in judging yourself and your behaviors based on some external set of rules.  Or more often, it is directed at others, and involves making judgments about how other people live their lives, based on our perceptions, our rules, our expectations. 
 
We engage in sex shaming mostly, I think, because we are trying to deflect attention away from our own lives.  We engage in sex shaming, I’m sure, because gossip is fun – especially if sex is involved.  But whatever our motivations, it can be exceedingly damaging.
 
Many years ago, when I was in seminary, there was a young couple in the student body whom I had also known at college.  And when we all were in college together, the word on the street was that this couple was rather wild.  And people whispered salacious tales about their personal lives.  I was one of those whisperers.
 
But now they were married and in seminary and preparing for a life of service.  Still, one day I made the awful mistake of repeating one of those old salacious tales to some other seminary students.  And right on cue, we all giggled like naughty children.  But then feeling guilty, and so I swore them to secrecy.  
 
But the secret didn’t keep.  I know that because a few days later, when I saw this couple on campus and greeted them like the friends we had been, the look of sadness and betrayal on their faces haunts me to this day.  I had sex shamed them.  I had defined them based on nothing more than rumors and innuendos.  And in the process, I destroyed a friendship.
 
I bring all of this up because the woman in the Gospel less today is likewise a victim of sex shaming.  At least that’s what I’ve always heard about her.  She is forever defined by her so-called sexual choices.
 
Jesus and his disciples had traveled to Samaria – that place where no self-respecting Jew would ever go on purpose.  You see, Samaria was inhabited by Jewish people whose ancestors had intermarried with the invading Babylonians all those centuries before.  And that made them collaborators and pagans and half-breeds.  By the time of Jesus, Samaritans were so despised that most Jews, when traveling from Judea to Galilee, would walk an extra nine hours just to avoid setting one foot in that place.  
 
But Jesus walked right into the middle of it.  Think about that.  Jesus went right into the middle of a place everyone else avoided; to people everyone else hated.  
 
It was high noon and hot as blazes.  And Jesus was tired from the journey and very thirsty.  As luck would have it, he came upon Jacob’s well, that mythic place revered by both Jews and Samaritans, who counted Jacob as their common ancestor.  But Jesus had no bucket and the well was deep.  
 
All of a sudden, a lone Samaritan woman approached the well.  When Jesus saw her, he asked her for a drink.  But she was incredulous, as well she should have been, that a Jew and a man would even speak to her.  
 
But he did speak to her.  In fact, their conversation is the longest one ever recorded in all four Gospels.  And the topics they discussed were wide-ranging.  They talked about ethnic differences, and theology, and the purpose and meaning of life, and economic and social conditions.  It was a very lively exchange.  But no one ever preaches a sermon about that.  
 
Instead, sermons might point out how odd it was for Jesus to speak to a woman at all.  Jewish men simply did not speak to unrelated women.  In fact, this prohibition was so strong that there were some Pharisees known as the “bruised and bleeding Pharisees” because they would shut their eyes when they saw a woman, even if it meant walking into a wall and breaking their noses.  
 
Or, a sermon might point out the enmity between Samaritans and Jews, and why it was so deep and wide, and why these two people groups despised one another.  And yet, there was Jesus bridging the gap.
 
But most of the sermons I’ve ever heard are, in some way or another, about this woman’s sexual life.  They are about a woman who, supposedly, just went from one relationship to another.  And so, in order to uncover her secret sin, Jesus tricked her by asking her to go get her husband so that they could drink together from his living waters.
 
But here’s the thing about this strong and intelligent woman.  She was a straight shooter.  “I have no husband,” she replied.  To which Jesus said: “You’re right.  You have had five husbands and the one you’re living with now, well, you’re not married to him.”
 
And then those sermons bring this point home: if Jesus could forgive a fallen woman like that, surely he could forgive me (even though I’m not nearly as bad as she is!). 
 
But was she bad?  Was she loose?  Was she fallen?
 
Here’s the thing: having five husbands was not necessarily an indication that she was the Elizabeth Taylor of the ancient world.  You see, in that time and place, multiple marriages were not uncommon, as husbands died in war and from illness or injury, leaving the woman to marry again if she didn’t want to starve to death.  In addition to that, marriages could be annulled by male family members if a better financial offer came along.  And then there’s this: the right to marry was restricted.  For example: slave could not marry.  Roman soldiers could not marry.  A Roman citizen could not marry a non-citizen.  So, the truth is we don’t know why this woman had all these husbands.  And we have no idea why she was not married to the one she had now.  But none of that has ever stopped us from sex shaming this nameless woman.  
 
Except she has a name – at least in the traditions of Eastern Orthodox Christianity.  She is called “Photine” or “Svetlana” meaning “the illuminated one.”  For Orthodox Christians, the thing that defines her is not her so-called sin.  What defines her is the role that she played during and after this conversation with Jesus.  When it was all said and done, Photine ran back into town and announced to anyone who would listen: “Come and see the man who told me everything I have ever done.”  
 
And that, Orthodox Christians say, is what makes Photine the first evangelist to proclaim that Jesus is the Messiah.  And that, Orthodox Christians say, is why her name can also be translated as “equal to the apostles.”  This so-called loose woman, this sex shamed character is on the same footing as those twelve men who knew Jesus best.
 
“Come and see the One who told me everything I’ve ever done.” “Come and see the one who spoke to me like an equal.”  “Come and see the one who asked me my name.”  “Come and see the one who really saw me… and loved me just the same.”  
 
In that world, in that time, likely no man had ever seen Photine for who she really was.  But Jesus did.  And it caused in her a well of living water to bubble up to eternal life.
 
And just like her, when we are seen and accepted and loved, those same waters well up in us.  And the dirt of our past is washed away.  And the thirst for dignity is quenched.  And we say with her: “Come and see the One who told me everything I have ever done, and loves me just the same.”