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