Transfiguration Sunday, February 15, 2026
First Congregational Church of Cheshire
© the Rev. Dr. James Campbell
 
 
 
Matthew 17:1-9
 
Six days later, Jesus took with him Peter and James and his brother John and led them up a high mountain, by themselves. And he was transfigured before them, and his face shone like the sun, and his clothes became bright as light. Suddenly there appeared to them Moses and Elijah, talking with him. Then Peter said to Jesus, “Lord, it is good for us to be here; if you wish, I will set up three tents here, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” While he was still speaking, suddenly a bright cloud overshadowed them, and a voice from the cloud said, “This is my Son, the Beloved; with him I am well pleased; listen to him!” When the disciples heard this, they fell to the ground and were overcome by fear. But Jesus came and touched them, saying, “Get up and do not be afraid.” And when they raised their eyes, they saw no one except Jesus himself alone.
 
As they were coming down the mountain, Jesus ordered them, “Tell no one about the vision until after the Son of Man has been raised from the dead.”
 
 
 
When I was in college, I had a dear friend named Lisa.  Our friendship, like most friendships, was built on a shared sense of humor and a great variety of mutual interests.  We were both Spanish majors and loved the language and the many cultures connected to it.  We both loved to travel, whether it was to the town next door or a country half a world away.  And Lisa and I both loved photography.  We happily snapped away and then waited with great anticipation for those photos to be developed.  (Even saying that makes me feel like a dinosaur.). But more than that, Lisa and I shared a philosophy about photography.  Photos were an artful means to an end.  They were an attempt to capture a moment of glory; a moment of beauty; something true; something transcendent. 
 
Lisa and I used to say that if our houses were on fire, the one thing we would run back into the flames to save would be our photographs, because for us, they represented something far greater than the chemical and the colors on the paper.  
 
If you could only save one material thing, what would it be?  
 
For me, I don’t think it would be my photographs anymore.  Most of those live in the Cloud anyway.  No, at this point in my life, I’m pretty sure I would run back inside to grab our icon of the Virgin Mary.
 
Now maybe that surprises you.  Earlier in my own life, it would have surprised me too.  But you see, this is not just any old icon.  This is a one-of-a-kind icon that was commissioned for us by some dear friends, and created by a respected iconographer in London.  The image is Our Lady of Aparecida, the patroness of the country of Brazil.  And that means that this icon is a representation, not just of the mother of Jesus for whom I have a special attachment, but also of my own Brazilian family, and its culture, and its art, and its faith.  For me, this icon represents the twists and turns my own life has taken.  Therefore, this icon is weighted with far more meaning than what is obvious.
 
That’s the whole point of an icon, you know?  They take on meaning over time.  They are objects of devotion, and since the faithful use them as a way to center their hearts and minds in prayer, they are said to be weighted with spiritual energy.  They themselves are not magic, but they are special because they have been bathed with the hopes and dreams and prayers of the people of God.  
 
Now, maybe icons are not your thing.  But I suspect that something is.  Because it is in our nature as humans to try to grab hold of the divine.  It’s an impulse as old as we are.  
 
In ancient Israel, the people used to pile up stones as memorials to a place where they believed God had appeared.  Other ancient people in other parts of the world built pyramids and other grand structures to mark a divine spot.  Our own world is filled with grand and glorious temples and cathedrals, churches and mosques – all of them an attempt to capture the glory.  
 
We see this impulse clearly at work in the Gospel of lesson the day.  Jesus had been teaching his disciples that the way before them would be far more difficult than they imagined.  He spoke of dark and terrible things like betrayal and trial and death.  But the disciples struggled to comprehend such talk, and so they mostly seemed to ignore it.
 
About six days after hearing these words of Jesus, he invited Peter, James, and John to hike up a mountain with him.  When they reached the summit, suddenly Jesus was transfigured.  The Greek word used here is metamorphosis.  That is, a complete change from one thing to another.  The face of Jesus shone like the sun and even his clothing became as bright as light itself.  Then, Moses the lawgiver and Elijah the prophet appeared and spoke with Jesus.  About what, we are not told.   But we are told how Peter reacted to all of this.  And his reaction has made him the brunt of jokes and derision for 2000 years.
 
“Lord,” Peter exclaimed, “it is so good for us to be here!”  “If you wish, I will set up three tents here: one for you, one for Moses, one for Elijah.”  What was he thinking, we wonder?  Why make such a seemingly out-of-place statement?
 
Poor Peter, we say, always getting it wrong.  Poor Peter, we say, always speaking before thinking.  Well, sometimes he did.  But not always.  And this time, I suspect there was something else going on.  This time, maybe all Peter was trying to do is what all of us try to do when God appears: to grab hold of some of that glory.  Peter simply wanted to erect something so that other folks could come and see this place where God’s glory was as bright as the sun.  
 
The late, great Catholic priest and theologian Henri Nouwen suggests that Jesus gave his friends this experience of transfiguration precisely because they were really going to need it in the difficult and dark days to come.  Because everything that Jesus said would happen to him, did happen to him.  And the faith of his friends would be severely tested.  
 
But even on their darkest days, they could remember what they had seen on that mountain.  They could remember how pure light poured like a stream through Jesus of Nazareth.  They could remember the appearance of two long-dead prophets, and the voice of God that declared “this is my Son, the Beloved, listen to him.”  
 
Erecting monuments on the Mount of Transfiguration was not meant to be.  But the impulse itself; that attempt to capture a moment of glory was noble and faithful and bold.  
 
Today, we launch a Capital Campaign called Vision Fund 300+.  This campaign was born as an outgrowth of the 300th Anniversary of this congregation in 2024.  With the money the team hopes to raise, we intend to enhance this campus, for the glory of God.  You could say this campaign is mostly about bricks and mortar.  But I think it’s far weightier than that.
 
Because as much as I love this building (and I do), this building, in all of its beauty and history and architectural significance is far more than just a building.  It is a monument to a time when the glory of God appeared right here in Cheshire.  Almost 200 years ago now, faithful people, whose lives had been touched by grace, gave of their money and sweat and tears to erect this meeting house.  One young man named Jesse Brooks actually gave his life while working on this meeting house.  
 
Our ancestors in faith wanted to mark the spot.  They wanted a building that would draw the eye and heart upward.  They wanted people like us to remember that the Almighty had visited them here.  And over these 200 years, thousands and thousands of people have encountered the glory of God in this place, because someone erected a monument.  
 
We too have known the glory of God in this place.  Some of us have even had experiences here that we would call transfiguring.  May that still be said 100 years from now.
 
Thanks be to God. Amen.
 
 

​
Sunday, February 8, 2026
First Congregational Church of Cheshire
© the Rev. Dr. James Campbell
 
 
Matthew 5:13-20
 
“You are the salt of the earth; but if salt has lost its taste, how can its saltiness be restored? It is no longer good for anything, but is thrown out and trampled under foot. “You are the light of the world. A city built on a hill cannot be hid. No one after lighting a lamp puts it under the bushel basket, but on the lampstand, and it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.
 
“Do not think that I have come to abolish the law or the prophets; I have come not to abolish but to fulfill. For truly I tell you, until heaven and earth pass away, not one letter, not one stroke of a letter, will pass from the law until all is accomplished. Therefore, whoever breaks one of the least of these commandments, and teaches others to do the same, will be called least in the kingdom of heaven; but whoever does them and teaches them will be called great in the kingdom of heaven. For I tell you, unless your righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.
 
 
My middle school English teacher absolutely terrorized everyone.  But I loved her.  And I loved her, in part, because she so demanding.  Mrs. Walter had us diagramming Shakespeare in the 7th grade!  And she was famous for her pop quizzes.  She would say things like: “Take out a sheet of paper and list the 18 common prepositions.  You have three minutes.  Go!”  It was thrilling!
 
And then one day, long before family conferences were a thing, my father simply announced at dinner that he had taken a new church and that we would be moving to a new city within a couple of months.  The next day, I went to tell Mrs. Walter the news.  She listened carefully, reassured me that I would be fine, and then she organized a grand going away party for me.  And as I walked out of that school for the last time, I vowed that I would never forget her.  And I didn’t. 
 
Fifteen years after that initial goodbye, I invited Mrs. Walter and her husband to my ordination.  They didn’t RSVP, but sure enough, when it was all over, there they stood in the receiving line.  They had driven four hours one way just to be there.  Well, I was so overcome at the sight of her that I burst into tears, right there in front of God and everybody.  And then Mrs. Walter took me by both shoulders, looked me straight in the eye, and in her English teacher voice of authority said: “You can be anything you want to be.  You can go anywhere you want to go.”  
 
I don’t think I actually believed that back then, but her words took root in my heart, as words so often do.  Because words are living things, and so what we say to each other and about each other have the power to either give life or to destroy it.  
 
The Gospel lesson today is full of life-giving words.  This passage is a continuation of the Sermon on the Mount, where Jesus said things like “Blessed are you poor in spirit, for yours is the kingdom of heaven.”  “Blessed are you who mourn, for you will be comforted.”  “Blessed are you meek, for you will inherit the earth.”  
 
But then Jesus shifts gears dramatically.  And instead of referencing the people primarily by their frailties (poor, mourning, and meek), he identifies them for what else they actually are.  He looked out at these largely poor, mostly illiterate, and oppressed people and said: “You are the salt of the earth…  You are the light of the world…” 
 
These words of Jesus always startle me a bit because they seem so counter to all that we have been told, especially at church.  We’re happy to proclaim that Jesus is the light of the world.  But when it comes to humans, we take a far dimmer view.  Instead, we define ourselves and everyone else by all that we are not.  And the only way that we can make sense of these words is by saying that they must be proscriptive as opposed to descriptive.  In other words, this is Jesus telling us to be better – to become salt and to become light.  
 
But that is not what he said.  Instead, Jesus simply announced an identity that is already inherent in us: “You ARE the salt of the earth.”  “You ARE the light of the world.”  
 
OK, pastor, but didn’t Jesus also warn us about losing our saltiness and hiding our light.  True enough.  But in order to lose saltiness, you had to be salty in the first place.  And in order to hide your light, you had to be light in the first place.  
 
But this is largely a lost teaching of Christianity, and mostly because of our obsession with so-called Original Sin.  We get this notion from the Roman Church, out of which all Protestants came.  But that’s not the only faithful way to think about humans.  The Celtic Christians and modern-day Franciscans and Eastern Orthodoxies don’t build their theology from that foundation.  Instead, they start with something called Original Blessing.   
 
It's an idea that comes from the Creation account in the book of Genesis.  You will remember that when, after God created each thing, he pronounced it good.  And when God got to humans, he pronounced us VERY GOOD.  And that means that before anything else we might be because of our sins, we are first and foremost made in the divine image.  There is goodness inherent in us.  We are light and we are salt in a world lacking in both.
 
But it’s a hard sell, because I think that we’re actually in love with the notion that the world is a dark and dangerous place.  That fear serves our purposes.  It moves the markets.  It lets others take charge.  And we can pretend as if there is nothing we can do.  
 
But Jesus said: “You are the salt of the earth.  You are the light of the world.”
 
In the ancient world, salt was a very precious commodity.  Entire empires were built out of the exportation of salt.  Salt was sometimes even used as money.  Salt was used to preserve food.  It was sprinkled on sacrifices and understood as a metaphor for wisdom.  Salt was rubbed on newborn children as a blessing.  So, when Jesus proclaimed, “You are the salt of the earth” it was a declaration of our God-given and innate ability to flavor and preserve and bless the world around us. 
 
The light metaphor is a little easier for us to understand.  We all know that without light, everything dies.  Turning on a light in a dark room banishes fear.  Light helps us to navigate.  So, when Jesus said, “You are the light of the world” it was a declaration of our God-given and innate ability to facilitate growth and banish fear and bring understanding.
 
But can we believe it?  
 
Well, I am not sure that believing it actually matters.  Because the Christian faith is not really about what we think.  It’s about what we do.  As they say in Alcoholics Anonymous, “It works if you work it.”  So maybe friends, these unbelievable words of Jesus would be more believable to us if we thought about them less and acted on them more. 
 
That’s what the Gospel of Jesus is all about.  It’s a religion of “Follow me.  Do what I do.  Love who I love.  Defend the weak.  Feed the poor.  Protect the stranger.”  And when you do, your light will shine.  And when you do, you will preserve and bless the world.  
 
That first audience no doubt was as incredulous as we are.  “What did he say,” they whispered.  “Is he talking to us?” “We are the salt of the earth… we are the light of the world?”  Is he nuts?  Has he seen the state of the world?  Does he know that we have the boot of Rome on our necks?”  
 
He did.  But he also knew who they really were.  And he knows who we are too.  
 
Mrs. Walter took me by the shoulders, looked me in the eye, and told me what she could see.  So, take us by the shoulders, Jesus.  Tell us again what you see.  And then send us into the world, bright and briny with the Kingdom of God.
 
 

​
Sunday, February 1, 2026
First Congregational Church of Cheshire
© the Rev. Dr. James Campbell
 
 
John 1:35-42
 
The next day John again was standing with two of his disciples, and as he watched Jesus walk by he exclaimed, “Look, here is the Lamb of God!” The two disciples heard him say this, and they followed Jesus. When Jesus turned and saw them following, he said to them, “What are you looking for?” They said to him, “Rabbi” (which translated means Teacher), “where are you staying?” He said to them, “Come and see.” They came and saw where he was staying, and they remained with him that day. It was about four o’clock in the afternoon. One of the two who heard John speak and followed him was Andrew, Simon Peter’s brother. He first found his brother Simon and said to him, “We have found the Messiah” (which is translated Anointed). He brought Simon to Jesus, who looked at him and said, “You are Simon son of John. You are to be called Cephas” (which is translated Peter).
 
 
 
We live in a world in which absolutely everyone is absolutely sure of absolutely everything all of the time.  Now maybe we humans have always been like that, but social media now provides an unprecedented platform for us to spread our so-called expertise to anyone and everyone who will listen.  
 
Well, I’m not listening.  I’m skeptical by nature.  And I learned a long time ago that being loud doesn’t make you right.  And I learned a long time ago that opinions are like noses.  Everybody has one.  
 
So, I’m a skeptic.  But that doesn’t mean that I don’t believe in the concept of the truth.  It’s just that the capital “T” truth is often much bigger than mere words.  I think that the truth is just as likely to be an experience as it is an explanation.  When Jesus said: “You shall know the truth and the truth shall set you free,” he was speaking of spiritual transformation.  And that’s much bigger than words.
 
Isn’t it odd, then, that most folks think of religion as being mostly about words.  It’s our own fault, really.  We have encouraged this by our confident declarative statements and elegant creeds and official pronouncements; all delivered with great authority.  
 
That’s exactly the kind of religion I was raised on.  The Christian faith was summed up as having all the correct words about Jesus.  But if you had any questions, it was best to keep those to yourself because questions were a sign of doubt.  
 
In his wonderful book, JESUS IS THE QUESTION, retired UCC pastor Martin Copenhaver challenges the idea that the Christian faith can be or even should be summed up in neat dogmatic statements.  Copenhaver goes back to the source and points out that in the four Gospels, Jesus is asked 183 questions by other people.  But of those 183 questions, Jesus only answered between three and eight of them.  When asked a question, our Lord often replied with a question.  Or he told an open-ended story.  Or he changed the topic altogether.  So, there must be something potentially transformative about ambiguity and the questions.
 
In fact, in the Gospel lesson of the day, we learn that the very first words that Jesus ever spoke to his very first disciples were in the form of a question.  
 
On the day after Jesus was baptized by his cousin John, he came back to the scene.  And when John saw Jesus approaching, he cried out: “Here is the Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world!”  And then the very next day, the very same thing happened again.  John was preaching.  Jesus approached, and John proclaimed: “Look, here is the Lamb of God!”  
 
And this time, John’s message got through to two of his own disciples.  And they decided to change churches, right then and there, and started to follow Jesus instead of John.  
 
Now when folks want to join our church, we really roll out the welcome mat.  But not Jesus.  Instead, he turned around, gave them the once-over, and asked: “What are you looking for?”  
 
With that question, Jesus goes right to the heart of the matter.  Because the human quest for meaning has always been the same.  We’re all looking for something.  In fact, most of you are here today as part of a quest. 
 
So, what is it that you seek?  Why are you here?  Are you looking for peace in a world that is more chaotic and uncertain by the day?  Is it hope - that increasingly rare commodity?  Or maybe you’re hunting for courage, because you’re coming to understand that resisting evil is not for the faint of heart.  Or maybe it is something as simple and profound as forgiveness.
 
Jesus turned to these new disciples and asked them what they wanted.   But instead of answering him, they answered his question with a question of their own, and one that appears to be a non-sequitur.  “Jesus,” they asked, “where are you staying?” 
 
Now, that can read like a rather inane question.  But that’s mostly the fault of translation and the limitations of the English language.  Because they weren’t asking Jesus what his address was.  Instead, they were asking: “Rabbi, where is it that you dwell, rest, settle, endure, abide.” Rabbi, where is it that we might find you on any given day, under any given circumstance?
 
And this time Jesus answered a question, although not with so many words.  He simply replied: “Come and see.”
 
And what did they see?  What do we?
 
In 25th chapter of Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus plainly tells us where we can find him.  He said: “I was hungry, and you gave me food, I was thirsty, and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger, and you welcomed me, I was naked, and you gave me clothing, I was sick, and you took care of me, I was in prison, and you visited me.’ 
 
Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food, or thirsty and gave you something to drink? And when was it that we saw you a stranger and welcomed you, or naked and gave you clothing? And when was it that we saw you sick or in prison and visited you?’ And the king will answer them, ‘Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did it to me.’  
 
Come and see.
 
In these troubling days of such division and anger and loud, bellicose words from every conceivable point of view, I often worry about how this congregation will hold together, knowing that our words do not always agree.  And because I worry, it’s very tempting for me on a Sunday morning to practice a kind of passive agnosticism about the state of the world and the very real suffering of God’s children, for fear that to even acknowledge that suffering will somehow divide us.  
 
But in my heart, I know that silent and fearful agnosticism cannot be my answer.  In fact, it’s not the answer for anyone who claims to follow the One who walks among the least, the last, and the lost and invites us to: Come and see.
 
Because seeing is believing.  And once we open our eyes; once we repent of the idolatry of our words; once we crack open our hardened hearts, then wonder of wonders, we discover that we don’t need to agree about why people are hungry.  We just need to feed them.  We don’t need to agree about why people are naked.  We just need to clothe them.  We don’t need to agree about why folks are estranged or despised or on the margins.  We just need to embrace them and stand with them and protect them.  
 
Because words can sometimes reflect the truth.  But sacrificial love in action IS the truth.  
 
Come and see.
 
 
 
 
 
 

Baptism of the Lord, January 11, 2026
First Congregational Church of Cheshire
© the Rev. Dr. James Campbell
 
 
Mark 1:4-11
 
John the baptizer appeared in the wilderness, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. And the whole Judean region and all the people of Jerusalem were going out to him and were baptized by him in the River Jordan, confessing their sins. Now John was clothed with camel’s hair, with a leather belt around his waist, and he ate locusts and wild honey. He proclaimed, “The one who is more powerful than I is coming after me; I am not worthy to stoop down and untie the strap of his sandals. I have baptized you with water, but he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit.”
 
In those days Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee and was baptized by John in the Jordan. And just as he was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending like a dove upon him. And a voice came from the heavens, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.”
 
 
 
Hindsight, they say, is 20/20.  And if that is true, then our celebrations of Christmas benefit from 2000 years of hindsight.  And that means that there is no mystery left in it.  We know who this child was and we know what this child would grow up to be.
 
But have you ever wondered when Jesus himself actually knew any of that?  When did he first suspect that maybe he wasn’t just the son of a carpenter?  Had his mother ever told him any of the strange stories that surrounded his conception and birth?  Did he suspect he was different when he was 12 and winning debates with religion scholars?  Or did he have a vision?  Or did he hear a voice?  Did this understanding come to him all at once or slowly over time?
 
“In those days,” Mark writes, “Jesus came from Nazareth in Galilee and was baptized by John in the Jordan.”  And that, some scholars say, is the precise moment when Jesus finally got it!  They point out that not only did Jesus hear the voice of God telling him: “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.”  But, they say, it was immediately after this event that Jesus moved with purpose and determination into his public ministry.  It was his baptism that clarified everything.  
 
And if that is true, just what was it about that event that was so clarifying?  Was it something as obvious as hearing the voice of God?  Or was it something John the Baptist said?  Or is it possible that the location itself was key to unlocking this mystery?  
 
Some years ago, I received a phone call from a parishioner who had abruptly disappeared from my life.  That disappearance had perplexed me and hurt my feelings.  So, when I got this call after so much time had passes, I was taken aback.  After a few moments of polite and uncomfortable pleasantries, this person said: “I’m calling to apologize for the way I behaved.  I know now that it was hurtful.  And I am truly sorry.”  Well, I was touched by his apology, but also perplexed.  What had prompted him to pick up the phone after all this time and to say such things?  And then it struck me that maybe my old friend was in recovery and that he was making amends as one of his twelve steps. 
 
Over the years, I have known a number of people in recovery and, while the details of their stories are different, the turning point is often the same.  They speak of hitting rock bottom and of going so low that the only way left to go is up.  And so, with the help of the program and sponsors and a lot of hard work, they move with purpose toward a new life. 
 
Which brings me back to the baptism of Jesus, and why this event might have been the turning point that set him on the course toward his new life.
 
The Jordan River flows into the Dead Sea, that briny place where nothing can live.  And the spot where the river empties into the sea is literally the lowest place on the planet.  It is 1407 feet below sea level.  It’s a bottom place and once you leave there, the only direction left to go is up.  And so, I wonder, was there something about being at the bottom of the world that clarified Jesus’s mission and prepared him to save those of us so often on the bottom?
 
Sometimes we end up there by choices we make.  But sometimes we end up at the bottom through no choice of our own.  We get sick.  The company downsizes.  A lover betrays us.  A gunman walks into school.  A country tetters on the edge of lawlessness.  And suddenly it’s the very bottom of the world.  
 
But even though the bottom is a place we do not seek; even though we would prefer to be anywhere else, there is something about the bottom of the world that is clarifying.  And if we are willing, it can even be transformative.
 
So, there Jesus was at the bottom of the world, coming up out of the water, when all of a sudden, he saw the heavens torn apart, and the Spirit descending like a dove, and a voice from heaven announced, “You are my Son, the Beloved, with you I am well pleased.”  And even though Jesus was, in that moment, as far down as a human can go, was suddenly on top of the world.
 
Many years ago, my mentor in ministry, the Rev. George Bailey, and his wife Betty invited me to spend some time with them on Cape Cod, where they had a small cottage in Wellfleet.  I had never been to the Cape before, so I gladly accepted.  
 
And I really needed the break, because this invitation came during a very turbulent time in my young adult life.  I had just relocated to New Jersey to begin my doctoral studies and to work in a new church.  It should have been a very exciting time, but instead I was plagued with doubts about my faith.  I was haunted by the thought that I was wasting my life in the ministry.  And I struggled to accept myself as God had made me.  I was about as low as I had ever been. 
 
But I trusted George.  And I had a sense that if I talked to him, it would be clarifying.  And so, after a few days on the Cape, I asked him if we could speak alone.  And he suggested we take a walk.   
 
We ended up on a beautiful stretch of beach on the bluest day in May you can imagine.  There wasn’t another person in sight.  It was just me and George and all my fears.
 
We sat on a piece of driftwood and a deep silence ensued.  Finally, I screwed up my courage and told him my story – all of it.  I told him about the dark nights of the soul, and the plaguing doubts, and the deep fear.  And when I was all done; when I said all I wanted to say, it was silent again – neither looking at the other – eyes out to sea.  
 
And then, the most marvelous thing happened.  George put his arm around my shoulder and simply said: “I’m so proud of you.”  -- It was a transformative moment I shall never forget.  Because the heaven opened and grace came pouring down and I could breathe again.
 
I had no idea what the future would hold, but I understood that I was loved and accepted by George, and for me, that meant I was loved and accepted by God.  And my life has never, ever been the same.   
 
“And a voice came from heaven,” Mark writes, “You are my Son, the Beloved, with you I am well pleased.”
 
We all know the muddy bottom of life.  Some of you might be there now.  Maybe you wonder what you’re even doing in church, with the mud of doubt and fear and anger clinging to your hair and clothes and soul.  But here’s the thing: muddy is the only way we come.  And God, who loves us body and soul, loves us, mud and all.  And by his grace, he washes us clean, and calls us beloved, and sends us on our way. 
 
Thanks be to God.  Amen. 
​

Epiphany Sunday, January 4, 2026
First Congregational Church of Cheshire
© the Rev. Dr. James Campbell
 
 
Matthew 2:1-12
 
In the time of King Herod, after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, wise men from the East came to Jerusalem, asking, “Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews? For we observed his star at its rising, and have come to pay him homage.” When King Herod heard this, he was frightened, and all Jerusalem with him; and calling together all the chief priests and scribes of the people, he inquired of them where the Messiah was to be born. They told him, “In Bethlehem of Judea; for so it has been written by the prophet: ‘And you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah, are by no means least among the rulers of Judah; for from you shall come a ruler who is to shepherd my people Israel.’” Then Herod secretly called for the wise men and learned from them the exact time when the star had appeared. Then he sent them to Bethlehem, saying, “Go and search diligently for the child; and when you have found him, bring me word so that I may also go and pay him homage.”
 
When they had heard the king, they set out; and there, ahead of them, went the star that they had seen at its rising, until it stopped over the place where the child was. When they saw that the star had stopped, they were overwhelmed with joy. On entering the house, they saw the child with Mary his mother; and they knelt down and paid him homage. Then, opening their treasure chests, they offered him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. And having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they left for their own country by another road.
 
 
I was a shy little kid, and so, it was completely against type when I decided to try out for a solo in my Middle School’s Musical Extravaganza.  Well, I didn’t get the solo, but I did make it into the chorus… as did everyone else in the class.  Even so, it was thrilling to stand on the risers in that gymnasium, wearing my red plaid bell bottoms, and swaying to the music as we sang: “When the moon is in the Seventh House and Jupiter aligns with Mars, then peace will guide the planets, and love will steer the stars.  This is the dawning of the Age of Aquarius!”
 
Oh, I loved that song.  But looking back, I can hardly believe that my parents allowed me to sing it.  You see, like some of you, I was raised to believe that astrology was the devil’s work.  And I believed that until I was 26 and studying in Israel.  
 
We had traveled to an excavation site in Galilee where they were unearthing the remains of a first century synagogue – one, we were told, that Jesus might have visited.  In the middle of that synagogue was a beautiful mosaic floor.  Of course, after being buried for so long, it was dusty and faded.  So, our guide took some water and splashed it on those tiles to reveal their beauty.   And the world stopped spinning on its axis.  Because right there, in the center of a Jewish place of worship, were the twelve signs of the Zodiac.  
 
And right here, in the middle of our Christmas story, in this center of Christian worship, astrology takes center stage.  Because in Matthew’s account of the birth of Jesus, it’s not angels appearing to shepherds in the fields that announce the birth of the Savior.  Instead, it is a star rising in the east that astrologers interpreted as a portent of an important birth.  
 
Astrologers… and pagans.  The wise men were likely members of a priestly class of Zoroastrianism, an ancient monotheistic faith, that is older than Judaism.  And Zoroastrianism was and is heavily influenced by astrology – the belief that heavenly bodies influence earthly events.  
 
So, when such a brilliant star appeared in the East, the wise men were certain that it was a sign.  And so, they set out to discover who this important person might be.  They took the long and arduous journey from modern-day Iran all the way to Jerusalem.  
 
But here’s the thing: they weren’t exactly sure what they were looking for.  So, they did the only sensible thing they could think of.  They asked the current king where a royal birth had taken place.
 
But they had no idea who they were talking to.  You see, Herod was a toady little man, who was so easily threatened that he had once ordered the assassination of members of his own family who got in the way of his ego.  And so, when he heard about a potential pretender to his throne, he knew he had to get rid of him.  
 
And so, like all toady little men, he pretended to be something that he wasn’t in order to get what he wanted.  Herod called all of his religious scholars together and asked them where the Messiah was to be born.  “In Bethlehem,” they told him, “for so it has been written by the prophets.”  So, Herod feigned interest in this child and made the wise men promise to come back and tell him where to find him, so that he too might pay him homage... on the end of a sword.
 
And you know the rest of the story.  The wise men set out for Bethlehem and that strange star went before them.  And it came to rest over the place where the Child was.  Upon entering the house, these three strangers knelt down and presented gifts fit for a king: gold, frankincense, and myrrh.  But having been warned in a dream about what Herod really wanted, they took another road home.
 
Joseph had a dream too, in which he was warned about Herod’s plans.  And so, Joseph took his family and ran for their lives.  Theirs is a story as old as the human race – desperate people crossing international borders, depending upon the kindness of strangers in a strange land.
 
Well, when Herod realized that he had been outfoxed by foreigners, he was possessed.  And so, he ordered the murder of every male child two years old and under, in Bethlehem and vicinity.  If he couldn’t kill this one boy, he would kill all the boys.  We call this horrible event the Slaughter of the Innocents.
 
And that, dear friends, is how Matthew ends his Christmas story.  It not exactly a Hallmark movie, but it certainly rings true for the way the world still works.  But so do the actions of the wise ones.  They show us how to live in a world of slaughtered innocence.  So, remembering them, let me offer three brief thoughts for your consideration as we embark upon this Year of our Lord, 2026.  
 
First of all, these wise ones remind us that doing the right thing is often not doing the easiest thing.  After traveling about 900 miles over the span of months, and having paid homage to Jesus, they were no doubt eager to go home.  The easiest thing to do would have been to turn their camels around and head back the way they came.  But that convenience would come at a horrible human cost.  And so, they inconvenienced themselves and took another way.  In doing so, they broke the king’s command. But they understood that to obey would make them complicit in the violence of the world.  And so, they resisted. 
 
And so must we.  I think it would do us well to regularly remember that resisting evil is at the very heart of our baptismal vows.  To be a Christian is to resist evil and oppression wherever we find it.  And sometimes, they only way to do that is to take an unknown path, and disobey.
 
Second, this story is a vivid reminder that God often appears in unlikely people and places.  Think about it.  These wise men are heroes of our faith.   And yet, they do not share our faith.  They practiced a strange religion and wore strange clothes and spoke a strange language.   And yet, we know about Jesus, because of them. 
 
Matthew’s not-so-subtle message here is that when looking for the light, make friends with everyone.  And don’t be surprised to find God in the most unlikely places.  For our God is a trickster, who wears the most brilliant disguises.
 
And finally, when fear and dread lower your heads, make it a spiritual discipline to look up.  Keeping your head down is easy to do because the overwhelming darkness of the world can make us frightened and lonely and feeling helpless.  But it is in the darkest night, that the stars are their most brilliant.  And so, we must lift our eyes to the hills from where our help comes.  Our help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth, and all those brilliant stars.
 
I don’t propose to know what this new year will hold for any of us.  But come what may, remember this: resisting evil is always holy.  Extending your hand to strangers is a sacrament.  And God is still in his heaven.  So, lift up your heads!
 
 

​Christmas Eve 2025, 9 pm
First Congregational Church of Cheshire
© the Rev. Dr. James Campbell
 
 
In those days a decree went out from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be registered. This was the first registration and was taken while Quirinius was governor of Syria. All went to their own towns to be registered. Joseph also went from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to the city of David called Bethlehem, because he was descended from the house and family of David. He went to be registered with Mary, to whom he was engaged and who was expecting a child. While they were there, the time came for her to deliver her child. And she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in bands of cloth and laid him in a manger, because there was no place in the guest room.
 
Now in that same region there were shepherds living in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night. Then an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid, for see, I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord. This will be a sign for you: you will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger.” And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God and saying,
 
“Glory to God in the highest heaven,
    and on earth peace among those whom he favors!”
 
When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let us go now to Bethlehem and see this thing that has taken place, which the Lord has made known to us.” So they went with haste and found Mary and Joseph and the child lying in the manger. When they saw this, they made known what had been told them about this child, and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds told them, and Mary treasured all these words and pondered them in her heart. The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen, just as it had been told them.
 
 
 
I remember the very first time I ever stepped into this pulpit.  And I remember how amazed I was by the bird’s eye view.  From up here, I can literally see everyone in this room.  I can make eye contact with every person, in every corner.  And that means that I know when you pull your phones out.  I can see those surreptitiously exchanged whispers and giggles.  And that eyeroll you think I didn’t catch?  I did.
 
But of all the vantage points of all the services, the most enjoyable is Christmas Eve.  Because on Christmas Eve, I get to watch you try to stay awake!
 
Now, that is not a judgment.  It’s late for some of you.  And church is boring for others of you.  And besides all that, even if you’re a night owl; even if you love church, by this point in the season, we are all just exhausted.  We’ve been at this jam-packed Christmas thing for about a month now.  But hang on because the finish line is in sight!
 
Now, truth be told, the only reason I’m still awake tonight is sheer adrenaline and continued employment.  Because I’m tired too.  Christmas is my most taxing time of my year.  By comparison, Easter is a piece of cake.  It’s over in a week: Palm Sunday to Easter.   But Christmas – well, it just goes on and on and on.  
 
A few weeks ago, when the staff and I were working on ten different Christmas services at the same time, I hit a wall.  And I laid my head on my desk and said out loud, to no one in particular: “I’m just so tired.”
 
But that’s the thing about speaking to no one in particular.  The Lord is always around to hear it.  And I wonder if it wasn’t the Lord who whispered right back to me: “Exhaustion is part and parcel of the Christmas story.”
 
“In those days, a decree went out from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be registered.”  And that meant that everyone had to go back to their ancestor’s home, even if that was a place they themselves had never lived.  And since Joseph was descended from King David, and since King David was from Bethlehem, Joseph and Mary had make the 90-mile trip from Nazareth to Bethlehem.
 
Tradition says that a very pregnant Mary rode a donkey to get there, but that’s not explicitly stated anywhere.  So maybe it was on a donkey or in the back of a wagon or on foot.  But however she did it, the journey itself was arduous and exhausting.  Because the terrain was hilly.  And the roads were bumpy.  And there was danger around every corners.  
 
And Mary’s body ached.  And the baby took much of her energy.  And her feet were swollen.  And she was so very tired.  So tired, in fact, that by the time they got to Bethlehem, she would have slept anywhere.
 
In that same region, there were shepherds abiding in the fields, keeping watch over their flocks by night.  That’s a nice way of saying they were on the night shift.  To keep watch over the flock meant that you took turns looking out for wolves and thieves and wandering sheep.  You ate with the sheep and slept outdoors with the sheep.  And you never had a day off.  And it was exhausting.
 
But on this night, an angel of the Lord appeared to them and announced the birth of the Savior of the World.  And then the sky filled with an angel choir singing Peace to everyone and goodwill for all.  Well, this was the most exciting thing that they had ever experienced.  And so, they got up, bones creaking and joint aching, and traveled to Bethlehem to see this thing that had happened.  
 
So, you see, exhaustion is part and parcel of the Christmas story.  It’s baked right in.  But this story has been told so often and in such a sanitized way that we barely see these people as humans.  We’re so busy placing halos on their heads that we cannot see the exhaustion on their faces.  And that means we cannot see ourselves in their faces.  And we miss the point.
 
In 1891, an American painter named Julius Garibaldi Melchers unveiled his riveting work entitled “The Nativity.”  Melchers was a proponent of “naturalism” - the idea that visual art should portray the subject matter truthfully.  And that is what he does in his stark portrayal of the Holy Family on that first Christmas night.
 
Melchers paints Mary sitting on the floor, her back against the wall, and leaning heavily on Joseph.  Her eyes are closed.  Her face is pale and almost lifeless.  At her feet there is the hint of blood - a sign of the struggle of childbirth.  The mother of the Lord is seen for what she actually was: exhausted and spent.
 
Likewise, Joseph sits in a stooped position.  His hands are clasped, and he is lost in thought, worried about his wife, wondering if this child would even survive the night.  And his own back ached.  And his mind raced.  And he had never been so tired.
 
And that’s how some of us feel.  And it’s not just about the busyness of Christmas.  It’s also the state of the world on this Christmas Eve.  It’s the anger and the cruelty of our common language.  It’s our fear about the future of this planet, and the pain in our own bodies, and the relationships which we fear may not survive.  It’s about our wavering faith.   And we are all so very tired.
 
I have always loved the carol “It Came Upon the Midnight Clear.” I love it because of its unflinching recognition of the state of this weary world and the crushing loads we all carry.  But I love it more for its relentless hope of a world made right, and for its gentle invitation to “rest beside the weary road and hear the angels sing.”
 
And maybe that’s why you’re here tonight, long past your bedtime.  Maybe that’s why you’re here tonight, unsure as you might be about any of this.  You want to hear the angels sing again.  You want, if only for a moment, to rest beside the weary road.  You want to dream God’s dream of “peace on this earth” and “goodwill for all.”  
 
 

​Matthew 1:18-25
Sunday, December 21, 2025 – Advent 4
© the Rev. Dr. James Campbell
 
 
 
Matthew 1:18-25
 
Now the birth of Jesus the Messiah took place in this way. When his mother Mary had been engaged to Joseph, but before they lived together, she was found to be pregnant from the Holy Spirit. Her husband Joseph, being a righteous man and unwilling to expose her to public disgrace, planned to divorce her quietly. But just when he had resolved to do this, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said, “Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife, for the child conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. She will bear a son, and you are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.” All this took place to fulfill what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophet:
 
“Look, the virgin shall become pregnant and give birth to a son,
    and they shall name him Emmanuel,”
 
which means, “God is with us.” When Joseph awoke from sleep, he did as the angel of the Lord commanded him; he took her as his wife but had no marital relations with her until she had given birth to a son, and he named him Jesus.
 
 
I caught the travel bug early in life, even before I went to school.  My parents used to call me their little gypsy – claiming that I was always ready to go – anywhere, any time.  And so, when at 17, I had the opportunity to be an exchange student to Spain, I was over the moon.  
 
Before that experience, I had never flown on an airplane before.  I had never been abroad before.  I had never seen Roman ruins or eaten blood sausage or been to a disco before.  My world view had never been challenged before.  I had never been in the minority before.  But Spain changed all of that.  Spain changed me.
 
But lo these many years later, I have discovered that not all trips are as delightful.  Not all first experiences are enlivening.  Sometimes to utter the words, “I have never been here before” is actually an expression of terror.  “I have never had a brain scan before.”  “I have never been in court before.”  “I have never lost my job before.”  “I have never made funeral arrangements before.” 
 
“I have never been here before” is something we now say every day.  It is our daily mantra, as we teeter on the verge of ecological collapse.  And class and economic and racial divisions only widen.  And the vitriol and cruelty of our political discourse rivals the days before the American Civil War.  What does it all mean?  I don’t know, because we have never been here before.
 
Once there was a man named Joseph who was engaged to a very young woman named Mary.  To be engaged in first century Palestine did not mean what it means for us today.  Back then, to be engaged was a legally binding agreement that preceded the marriage feast, sometimes lasting as long as a year. During this time, the man and the woman did not have sexual relations or live with one another.  But they were, in a very real sense, already in the first stage of matrimony. 
 
One day, Mary came to Joseph with the jaw-dropping news that she was pregnant.  The implication, of course, was that she had been unfaithful.  And in that moment, Joseph’s whole world imploded.  He had definitely never been there before. 
 
Suddenly the once happy bridegroom had to make a heart-rending decision.  He had two choices in how he ended this engagement, but it must be ended. He could do it publicly and expose Mary to the judgment of society.  If he did, according to the Law of Moses, Mary could be put to death for her supposed sexual impurity. Deuteronomy 22:21 starkly states that if a young woman, ready to marry, is not found to be a virgin then “she shall be brought to the door of her father's house and there the men of her town shall stone her to death. She has done an outrageous thing in Israel by being promiscuous while still in her father's house. You must purge the evil from among you.” 
 
And even if by some chance Mary escaped this fate; even if by this point in history, that law was no longer followed to the letter, she would still be shunned for the rest of her life. No other man would ever have her. 
 
But Matthew says that Joseph, being a good-hearted man, could not bring himself to publicly divorce Mary.  Instead, he chose to divorce her quietly, without any public charges of sexual impurity.  Perhaps he hoped that in doing so he could shame the real father into marrying her and bringing up this child as his own.  
 
And so, it was decided.  Until, that is, an angel of the Lord came to Joseph in a dream. And the angel claimed that the child in Mary’s womb was not the result of unfaithfulness, but instead, incredulously, was from the Holy Spirit. The angel said that Joseph should raise this child as his own and should name him Jesus.  And that instruction is especially significant because in ancient Palestine, a naming ceremony could also double as an adoption proceeding.  To name a child publicly was to claim a child publicly. 
 
Mary was also in a terrifying place she had never been before. Although the Gospel of Matthew is told from Joseph’s perspective, the Gospel of Luke is told from Mary’s perspective.  And in Luke when the angel of the Lord announced that she would bear a son, Mary was incredulous and replied: “But how can this be since I am a virgin?”  
 
The virgin birth is one of those doctrines that causes a lot of modern people to stumble.  What are we to do with this tale of a miraculous conception, accomplished outside normal biological functions?  
 
Well, some folks just flat out dismiss it as the superstitious belief of ancient people.  Others take a more nuanced approach and consider it a very clever allegory or literary device, and one that other ancient cultures also used. Still others simply accept the virgin birth without the need to demythologize it or parse it.  After all, they say, isn’t the Bible already full of miracles?  Why should this one be any different?
 
But no matter how you view this story and its details, what we are all left with is the tale of two people who, through no choices of their own, were taken to a frightening place they had never been before. 
 
So why all this drama? Couldn’t God accomplish God’s purposes in a more natural and orderly way?  Why put these two poor people through all this stress? 
 
I don’t know.  But I do know this: that in their stress, I see my own.  In their inability to control their circumstances, we see our own inability to do the same.  And just like them, we are called to trust in the Lord, whose preferred method of self-revelation is always through messy humans like us.  God always comes to us disguised as one of us.
 
And that makes God vulnerable.  What else could an infant in a feeding trough mean?  But I don’t think that’s the kind of God we really want.  It’s not the kind of God we have been taught to believe in.  We’d much rather have a magician God, who swoops in to rescue us from all that frightens us.  But instead, what we have is Emmanuel, a Hebrew phrase literally meaning “with-us God” or as we say it “God is with us.”  
 
God is with us, in this moment.  God is with us, as we stand at the edge of a new year full of uncertainty.   God is with us, as we prepare to be taken to places we have never been before.
 
Blessed Mary was not rescued from her doubts and fears and dreadful predicament.  Faithful Joseph was not rescued from his nagging questions and heavy responsibilities.  But they would come to know for themselves what the angels first announced - that God was with them - not above, not beyond, not remote - but right there, lying in a manger.
 
Thanks be to God.  Amen.
 
 

​
Sunday, December 14, 2025 – Advent 3
First Congregational Church of Cheshire
© the Rev. Dr. James Campbell
 
 
Matthew 11:2-11
 
When John heard in prison what the Messiah was doing, he sent word by his disciples and said to him, “Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?” Jesus answered them, “Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, those with a skin disease are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them. And blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me.”
 
As they went away, Jesus began to speak to the crowds about John: “What did you go out into the wilderness to look at? A reed shaken by the wind? What, then, did you go out to see? Someone dressed in soft robes? Look, those who wear soft robes are in royal palaces. What, then, did you go out to see? A prophet? Yes, I tell you, and more than a prophet. This is the one about whom it is written,
 
‘See, I am sending my messenger ahead of you,
    who will prepare your way before you.’
 
“Truly I tell you, among those born of women no one has arisen greater than John the Baptist, yet the least in the kingdom of heaven is greater than he.
 
 
In the early 1960s, an 18-year-old African American man named Robert King was sentenced to the Louisiana State Penitentiary at Angola for armed robbery.  He was a troubled man and would be in and out of that same prison for most of the rest of the decade.  In 1969, King was once again sentenced to Angola.  And then in 1973, he was convicted of a prison murder.  But the murder charge he consistently denied.
 
Of course, with a record like his, no one believed him.  But in 2001, after 29 years in solitary confinement, the court did believe him and overturned his murder conviction.  The state decided not to charge him again, and in a deal with the prosecutor, he was set free for time served.  
 
Since 2001, King has lived successfully on the outside, but he has never been free of Angola.  His sight is permanently impaired because of spending so much time in the dark.  And he cannot accurately judge long distances because of spending so many years in such a tiny space.  
 
The politics around law and order are complicated.  And we all have our opinions.  But politics is not really my point today.    
 
Jesus told us to visit those in prison.  But this is a commandment that we feel free to ignore.  We mostly just lock them up and throw away the key.  Out of sight, out of mind.  But I think that Jesus told us to visit those in prison so that we wouldn’t do that, but instead would remember their humanity.  Face-to-face interactions turn statistics into people.  And relationships are the primary means of grace in this world.  
 
And it all makes me wonder: who are these people in addition to the crimes they committed?  And what about those convicted who are actually innocent?  And what about political prisoners, people like John the Baptist?
 
John the Baptist – who had once lived in the wilderness, under the sun and off the land, free to roam wherever his heart desired.  John the Baptist, that unconventional prophet who mesmerized crowds of up to 50,000 people at a time, scholars say.  
 
But now he was all alone, confined in a dark, dank prison.  In ancient Palestine, prisons were often just holes in the ground, underground dungeons, full of disease and starvation and despair.
 
King Herod had John arrested because John was preaching that a new King was coming.  And that kind of free speech made the Romans very nervous. And nervous Romans made King Herod nervous. And so, he did what all political bullies do.  He used his power to silence the opposition.  And he threw John in jail.
 
So, there John was, all alone, except for his swirling doubts and fears.  There John was, with all the time in the world to ponder his life and his message.  What had it all been about?  And what about his cousin, Jesus?  
 
You see, by this point, Jesus really perplexed John because Jesus didn’t turn out to be the rabble-rousing Messiah that John, and everybody else, expected.  Instead of preaching like John did about the proverbial ax at the root of the tree, and threshing floors, and unquenchable fires of judgment, Jesus healed the sick and accepted the outcast and fed the hungry and visited the prisoner.  
 
So, it was all very confusing.  And John needed to know: was he in that dungeon awaiting execution for nothing?  
 
Crucibles make everything urgent.  And suddenly we need to know what we do not know.  And suddenly we long for reassurance and comfort.  And we want it right now.  And so, John sent one of his disciples to ask Jesus: “Are you the one, or are we to wait for another?” 
 
And Jesus answered: “Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them.”  
 
In this answer, Jesus used a patchwork of verses from the book of Isaiah regarding what the Messiah would do in the world.  It was an answer to John’s question, but it was a rather cryptic one.  And in the crucible, we don’t want poetry.  We want straight talk, a definitive “yes” or “no.”  
 
And yet, it has been my experience that any significant spiritual growth that I have ever had did not come to me in a simple yes or no answer.  Instead, it comes in silence and struggle of a crucible.  The 16th century Spanish mystic, St. John of the Cross, famously called this “the dark night of the soul.” 
 
We have all known them.  
 
For John the pressing question was “Are you the Messiah?”  But for us it might be “Does God really exist?” “Does God answer prayer?” “Why am I suffering?” “Why does evil so often seem to win?” “Is death the end?”  
 
And we want a “yes” or “no” answer.  Our desire for certainty is ultimately about control.  Because the world so often seems out of control.  But faith is not about certainty.  Faith is about trust in uncertain times.
 
Jesus’s answer to John’s question was just enough to entice John to trust what he could not prove.  It was enough to give John hope, at least on that day.  And so, he took the next step.
 
I was about 28 when I experienced my first real dark night of the soul.  And it happened while I was busy being a young pastor.  All I really wanted from God in that moment was a simple answer and some relief from my nagging questions.  But instead, God was silent.  Even so, I did not give up right away.  I persisted.  But after a year or so of trying to believe what I no longer could, I was angry and at the very end of my rope. And so it was that one night, I did my best to send God away forever.  Oh, the things I said!  I railed against that God.  And then I rolled over and went to sleep, exhausted.  
 
When I woke up the next morning, I was surprised to be alive.  But I was alive and so I got up, and took the next step, and got on with my life. I got up and kept moving.  Now nothing spectacular happened when I did.  But over time, with each step, as my trust grew, my faith was reborn in marvelous new ways.  And I’m still here trusting in the Lord.
 
Faith is not certainty.  Faith is a journey of trust.  And it is, in part, about disillusionment – that is the loss of those illusions we have mistaken for the truth.  Faith is the discovery, through the hardships of life and from the prison cells of our days, that we are not abandoned.  For we have a Savior who has promised never to leave us; never to forsake us.
 
Thanks be to God.  Amen.
 
 

Sunday, December 7, 2025 – Advent II
First Congregational Church of Cheshire
© the Rev. Dr. James Campbell
 
 
Isaiah 11:6-9
 
The wolf shall live with the lamb;
    the leopard shall lie down with the kid;
the calf and the lion will feed together,
    and a little child shall lead them.
The cow and the bear shall graze;
    their young shall lie down together;
    and the lion shall eat straw like the ox.
The nursing child shall play over the hole of the asp,
    and the weaned child shall put its hand on the adder’s den.
They will not hurt or destroy
    on all my holy mountain,
for the earth will be full of the knowledge of the Lord
    as the waters cover the sea.
 
Romans 15:7-13
 
Welcome one another, therefore, just as Christ has welcomed you, for the glory of God. For I tell you that Christ has become a servant of the circumcised on behalf of the truth of God in order that he might confirm the promises given to the ancestors and that the gentiles might glorify God for his mercy. As it is written,
“Therefore I will confess you among the gentiles
    and sing praises to your name”;
and again he says,
“Rejoice, O gentiles, with his people”;
and again,
“Praise the Lord, all you gentiles,
    and let all the peoples praise him”;
and again Isaiah says,
“The root of Jesse shall come,
    the one who rises to rule the gentiles;
in him the gentiles shall hope.”
May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that you may abound in hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.
 
 
 
“The wolf shall live with the lamb, the leopard shall lie down with the kid, the calf and the lion and the fatling together, and a little child shall lead them.”
 
Years ago, Marcos and I and some American friends hiked to the top of a Brazilian mountain to catch a bird’s eye view of the colonial village below and the Atlantic just beyond it.  At the top of that mountain there was an old fort.  It was closed that day, but strangely the gate was open and so we decided to go have a look.  
 
While exploring, we noticed a very large bird circling overhead and having no idea what it was or what it wanted, we asked Marcos, but he wasn’t sure.  About the same time, two other people arrived.  So, Marcos decided to ask them about the bird.  But when he turned, his foot got caught in the large stone outcropping upon which he was standing.  The next thing we knew, he was flying through the air and crashing to the ground below.  And once we got to him, it was clear that there was something wrong with his arm and shoulder.  
 
The two strangers rushed to our sides.  And before I could understand what was really happening, Marcos was on the back of their motorcycle and on his way down the mountain to the tiny village hospital below.  The rest of us followed on foot as quickly as we could.  
 
Inside that simple hospital, afraid and relying on my limited Portuguese, I struggled to find out what had happened to him and where he was.  But soon enough, they took me back to see him.  
 
The fall had dislocated his shoulder and fractured a bone.  And Marcos was in a great deal of pain.  But the doctor was at lunch and so, all he could do was wait.  When the doctor returned, Marcos was taken to x-ray.  I followed as far as I could.  But even in the hallway with the door of the x-ray room closed, I could still hear his pain.     
 
There were seats there and so I sat down.  And that’s when I noticed her: a little girl of about 8 or 9, all by herself in another seat.  Marcos would cry out.  I would wince.  And the little girl would watch me.  Finally, trying to distract myself and not to frighten her, I smiled and said hello.  She smiled and asked me if that was my friend in the x-ray room.  “It is,” I said.  She nodded her head to acknowledge that she understood, because after all, if she was in that hallway, then someone she loved was in one of those closed-door rooms too.  
 
And then this little girl did a most extraordinary thing.  She reached into her pocket and pulled out a box of orange-flavored Tic Tacs.  She smiled and handed the box to me and said: “Maybe some candy will make you feel better.”  Well, it did make me feel better.  A lot better, because in that moment I understood that I was not alone, and neither was Marcos.  
 
In the years since that difficult day, I have sometimes pondered the little girl’s meaning to me.  I have always assumed that her kindness was an extension of the grace of God; a simple but powerful reminder that we are never alone.  But as I considered the lectionary texts for this week, it also struck me that this little girl was more than that.  She was also an agent of welcome.  I was an outsider, and it was obvious – by the way I looked and the way I spoke.  I was not home, but she was.  And so, with a box of Tic Tacs, she welcomed me into her world.  She made room.  She took me in.  
 
“And a little child shall lead them.”
 
In the first five books of the Bible alone, we are commanded to welcome the stranger more than 36 times.  Welcome and hospitality are the foundations of true religion.  And Jesus underscored this dictum when he said to us: “I was a stranger, and you welcomed me.”[1]
 
Sometimes I think that if the church could just get this one right, then maybe God would forgive us for all the other things we have screwed up so badly.  But welcoming strangers is hard work.  It’s far easier and more expedient to fear them and scapegoat them and use them for our own advantage.  
 
And welcoming strangers was hard work for the early church too.  Remember that most of the first Christians were Jews, who saw in Jesus the fulfillment of the Messianic promise.  But as the Gospel spread around the Roman Empire, more and more Gentile strangers began to respond to the Jesus story.  And as they did, established customs and comfortable norms were challenged.  New ideas and customs were introduced.  And what had been a rather homogeneous group became a salad bowl of human difference.  
 
And nowhere was this clearer than in the church at Rome.  It had been founded by Jewish followers of Jesus but in the years since its founding, had had a large influx of Gentile converts.  And so, the church confronted the same old question: should these Gentile outsiders observe Jewish customs in order to be truly Christian?
 
 Now, we might expect that Paul, an observant Jew and a Pharisee, might insist on observing Jewish laws and customs.  But he doesn’t.  Instead, he makes the bold claim that the Christian faith is far broader than most of us could ever imagine; and that welcoming strangers remains a foundational idea.  Paul wrote: “Welcome one another, therefore, just as Christ has welcomed you...”  
 
And then Paul implies that a by-product of welcoming strangers is HOPE.  And isn’t that odd, in world in which we have been told that HOPE can only be found in conquering the opposition?  HOPE can only be secured by winning and by dominance.  
 
But of this welcome that gives birth to HOPE, Paul writes: “The root of Jesse shall come, the one who rises to rule the Gentiles; in him the Gentiles (also) shall hope.  May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that you may abound in hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.”  
 
In two short verses, Paul punches the word HOPE three times so that we will not miss the point that HOPE is nurtured in welcome.  Hope springs from difference and diversity and making room for all.  
 
And I think that this is exactly what happened to me in that small town hospital, so far from home. That little girl had every reason to be suspicious of me.  How many times had her mother told her not to speak to strangers?  But you see, she hadn’t yet learned to be cynical.  She hadn’t yet learned to wear her anger like a badge of honor.  She hadn’t yet learned to make a fortress of her opinions.  Instead, she saw need.  She saw me.  And she welcomed me.  And the result was hope.  
 
And in that little girl, all those years ago, the words of the prophet Isaiah were fulfilled: “The wolf shall live with the lamb, the leopard shall lie down with the kid, the calf and the lion and the fatling together, and a little child shall lead them.”
 


[1] Matthew 25:35

​
Sunday, November 30, 2025 – Advent 1
First Congregational Church of Cheshire
© the Rev. Dr. James Campbell
 
 
 
Matthew 24:36-44
 
“But about that day and hour no one knows, neither the angels of heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father. For as the days of Noah were, so will be the coming of the Son of Man. For as in those days before the flood they were eating and drinking, marrying and giving in marriage, until the day Noah entered the ark, and they knew nothing until the flood came and swept them all away, so too will be the coming of the Son of Man. Then two will be in the field; one will be taken and one will be left. Two women will be grinding meal together; one will be taken and one will be left. Keep awake therefore, for you do not know on what day your Lord is coming. But understand this: if the owner of the house had known in what part of the night the thief was coming, he would have stayed awake and would not have let his house be broken into. Therefore, you also must be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an unexpected hour.
 
 
 
A few months ago, a South African man named Joshua Mhlakela was interviewed on a religious YouTube channel.  And during that interview, he claimed, with absolute certainty, that the world as we know it would end on September 25, 2025.  Mr. Mhlakela said that he was certain of this date because Jesus Christ himself had revealed it to him.  
 
Well, obviously the video went viral.  And millions of people believed what he said.  And so, in preparation for the end of the world they quit their jobs and sold their cars and gave away all their savings.  Some of them transferred the deeds of their houses to those they were sure would be “left behind” in an event called the Rapture.  Maybe you’ve heard of it.  
 
The Rapture as it is popularly conceived is actually a relatively new 19th century theological idea.  Before that time and for the first 1800 years of the church’s history, no Christian person had ever heard of the Rapture or expected anything like it.  
 
But be that as it may, many do expect it now.  In fact, this might just be the dominant view of how all things will end.  But it is not a view that I share, even though I grew up with Rapture theology.  
 
It seemed that we spoke of little else.  And all of that “end of the world talk” used to scare me to death.  Even at church camp, when I was riding horses and learning archery, there were daily doses of this theology and the horrors that would be brought upon all those who were left behind.
 
In addition to literally scaring the hell out of me as a kid, this theology also had some other very negative and lasting effects.  It set up an “us versus them” approach to everything.  It divided the world into two categories: the saved and the unsaved.  And because we were so fixated on being saved and rescued out of this awful world, we had little time to even think about serving our neighbors, or caring for the earth, or simply enjoying the incredible blessing we call “being alive.”
 
But what of the passage we just heard?  Doesn’t it seem to describe something like the Rapture?  Matthew puts it like this: “Two people will be in a field.  One will be taken.  The other left behind.  Two women will be grinding meal together.  One will be taken.  The other left behind.”  
 
What that means, exactly, no theologian can say with certainty.  It’s all a bit of a mystery.  But the conclusion of this discourse is startlingly clear.  Jesus said: “Therefore you must also be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an unexpected hour.”
 
Now, it's very important for us to remember that when the disciples heard Jesus say that they all believed that they would be the ones who saw the return of the Lord in their lifetimes.  In fact, all early Christians believed that. These folks could have never imagined that 2000 years later we would all still be waiting.
 
This waiting so disturbed the second and the third generation of early Christians that it caused a serious crisis of faith.  We know that because we see it reflected in some of St. Paul’s epistles, as he tries to explain to people what it means to wait for the coming of the Lord when the Lord seems to be delayed.  And so, in every generation since then, we seek to explain what it means to still be waiting for the coming of the Lord.
 
Now, you might be wondering why we’re talking about such things in a sanctuary bedecked with garland and festooned with a Christmon tree, and at a time when you’ve already heard Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas Is You” at least a half a dozen times!  
 
But if you’ve been around here for a while, you already know what the answer is.  You know that I’m one of those Advent sticklers.  And I don’t believe that Advent is just a run-up to Christmas.  Instead, Advent is a season of repentance and introspection, with a very specific purpose: to help us to see Christ when he comes.  And that takes preparation.
 
The first time he came, Wise Men first studied the stars and then traveled a great distance to find him.  The shepherds came in from their fields and scoured the streets to find him.  And to find him, you had to let go of your expectations about where he would be, for Jesus always comes amongst the poor and the humble and the outsider.  
 
That was a scandal back then.  But 2000 years has a way of softening a scandal.  We are so familiar with the story at this point that there is no surprise left in it for us.  We know all the characters.  We know how it ends.  And it’s all lost in a vast sea of sentimentality.
 
But what we still do not know, what we can never know, is how and when Christ will come again to us.  Are we ready?
 
Back about 2019, our church sponsored a presentation about the humanitarian crisis at the southern border.  This presentation was not about the politics of how to handle immigration.  We all know that we do not agree about that.  Instead, this presentation was about those things Christian people must agree upon – that is, treating the outsider and the foreigner and the desperate with dignity, kindness, and mercy – just as Jesus taught us. 
 
Part of this presentation was a slide show of some of the ministries that local churches were doing with the migrants as they waited: providing food and medicine and spiritual support; books for children, toys and crafts.  
 
Amongst all those slides, there was one that really captured my attention.  It was a drawing by a little girl, attempting to illustrate the journey that she and her family had made from Guatemala to northern Mexico where they were waiting as they applied for political asylum in the United States.
 
This little girl had drawn the footsteps of her journey between the two places.  She had thrown in some colorful flowers and butterflies to signify the natural beauty she had seen along the way.  And then across the top, in her child-like handwriting, she had written this: “Todo lo puedo en Cristo que me fortalece.” Which translates, “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.”
 
And in that moment, I knew that Christ had come again to that child on her long journey; that the Crucified One had walked with her every step of the way.  But I was also sure of this: that Christ had also just come to me in that moment.  His presence was as real as the folding chair I sat upon.  And once again I knew that Jesus will not be bound by a Manger or by our eschatological schemes.  Instead, Christ will come again and again, when we least expect him, in places we would never look, and to those who need him the most.
 
So much about our world makes it hard for us to see Jesus.  So much of our own opinions makes it hard for us to see Jesus.  But Advent is four short and precious weeks, given to us year after year, so that we may make ourselves ready to see him.
 
And so, I ask you: how will you prepare?  How will you make your heart ready to receive him?  How will you open your eyes to behold him?  For just as surely as he came to Bethlehem, and just as surely as he will come again at the end of the age, he will come to us in the faces and stories of the poor and dispossessed.  He will come among the dehumanized and the ill.  He will come in the lonely and the forgotten, the hated and the misunderstood.
 
“Keep awake therefore, for you do not know on what day your Lord is coming.”