Sunday, February 23, 2025
First Congregational Church of Cheshire
© the Rev. Dr. James Campbell
Romans 1:8-17
First, I thank my God through Jesus Christ for all of you, because your faith is proclaimed throughout the world. For God, whom I serve with my spirit by announcing the gospel of his Son, is my witness that without ceasing I remember you always in my prayers, asking that by God’s will I may somehow at last succeed in coming to you. For I am longing to see you so that I may share with you some spiritual gift to strengthen you—or rather so that we may be mutually encouraged by each other’s faith, both yours and mine. I want you to know, brothers and sisters, that I have often intended to come to you (but thus far have been prevented), in order that I may reap some harvest among you as I have among the rest of the Gentiles. I am a debtor both to Greeks and to barbarians, both to the wise and to the foolish —hence my eagerness to proclaim the gospel to you also who are in Rome.
For I am not ashamed of the gospel; it is the power of God for salvation to everyone who has faith, to the Jew first and also to the Greek. For in it the righteousness of God is revealed through faith for faith; as it is written, “The one who is righteous will live by faith.”
Mark Twain once wrote that: “Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness, and many of our people need it sorely on these accounts. Broad, wholesome, charitable views of men and things cannot be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the earth all one's lifetime.” [1]
The first time I ever experienced that for myself, I was seventeen and on my way to Spain as an exchange student. From my little Midwestern corner of the earth, I boarded a plane for the very first time. I visited New York City for the first time. I left this country for the first time. And for the first time, I traveled to a place where English was not the dominant language. And I was more excited than I had ever been before.
But anticipation and reality are very often not the same things. The plane landed in Spain and before I knew it, my host family whisked me off to my new home. And the next morning, I was in my new school, where everyone was speaking a language that I was only beginning to learn. I was thrown into the proverbial deep end and had to learn to swim in those strange waters. But eventually, in fits and starts, I learned new ways of speaking and thus, a new way of understanding the world. And my prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness were challenged.
Like travel, learning a new language challenges our preconceived notions about everything because language is the primary tool by which we construct our own versions of reality. When we learn a new language, we don’t just learn grammar and vocabulary. We also learn alternative ways of understanding everything around us. Including other human beings.
Back in 2017, when I started the search process for a new pulpit, Marcos and I had our eyes set on Connecticut. We had spent many weekends here and had dear friends here. And since we were New Yorkers, Connecticut seemed like the natural place to aspire to. But when I mentioned this to clergy friends, their reactions surprised me. They spoke about Connecticut as if it were some strange land where we would be foreigners. They said things like: “But you’re not New Englanders. And besides, Congregational Churches in Connecticut only hire Ministers from Connecticut!”
But I was having none of it. After all, I thought, how different could it be?
But Connecticut is different. And you do speak a different language. And I’m not talking about how the letter “t” is swallowed if it’s in the middle of a word, like “mountain.” And I’m not talking about the great pizza wars of New Haven or the quasi-religious devotion to UCONN Women’s Basketball. What I’m talking about is the language of this church. I’m talking about the way in which your words are always carefully considered, and nuanced, and broad, and non-offensive. I’m talking about your devotion to unity and your aversion to anything that might be considered divisive.
And in the beginning, I did not speak your language. You see, I came from a pulpit in New York in which bold speech about the issues of the day was a hallmark of their ministry. That church has been on the forefront of social justice since its founding. And that congregation expected me to speak out plainly on the issues of the day. I think that sometimes they wished I had done that more.
But in this place, that New York kind of language would not do. And I, who make my living with words, sometimes felt lost or inarticulate or worst of all, unfaithful. Oh sure, I had something to say, but I lacked the facility of the local language.
And that’s where our dear Pastor Alison comes into this story.
Over the last seven plus years, Alison and I have shared many wonderful conversation – most of them spontaneous. And it was during one of those, when I was expressing my own frustration with learning a new language, that she uttered a line that would forever change the direction of my ministry here in Cheshire.
As I poured out my frustrations, she listened patiently. She always does. Have you noticed that? When I finally paused long enough for her to get a word in edgewise, she replied: “But James, we have the Gospel.”
As soon as she said it, the truth of those words passed through me like lightening.
Well, that was a major reset for me. It not only gave me my voice, but it also reminded me that the Gospel of Jesus is the lingua franca that transcends the cultural differences of any church, anywhere. Because the Gospel is not just my language. The Gospel is OUR language. It is the way that we understand the world and the nature of reality and other human beings. WE have the Gospel.
But what does that actually mean, you might be wondering. Well, let me first remind you of what the Gospel is not. The Gospel is not psychotherapy, even though a sermon might have some psychological insights. And preachers are not psychologists, even though we offer spiritual counseling. And the Gospel is not social theory, even though it might speak of the way society is ordered. And preachers are not social workers. And the Gospel is not partisan politics, even though the message of Jesus was and is deeply political. And your pastors are not politicians. We do not have a hidden agenda. And we are not seeking political power.
But we are seeking Jesus. We want his words to mold us and you. We want his actions to inspire us. And we want his judgments to heal us, because we are all deeply wounded.
So, what, then is the Gospel? Well, it’s actually pretty simply. It’s being a disciple, an apprentice of Jesus. And Jesus always identified with the poor. He told us, as did all the prophets before him, that God takes the side of the poor, every time. That’s the Gospel. And of that Gospel, we must not be ashamed. Jesus told us to love our neighbors exactly as we love ourselves. And when the people pushed back and asked who their neighbors were, Jesus told a story about a man, robbed and beaten and left to die on the side of the road. And the only one who would stop to help him was a despised foreigner. “That’s your neighbor,” Jesus said. And of that Gospel, we must not be ashamed.
Jesus told us to that whatever we do to anyone else, we are doing to him. He told us that we are our sisters’ and brothers’ keepers. Jesus told us that however we judge others, we ourselves will one day be judged. Jesus told us that the first will be last and the last will be first, and that if we want to be great in the Kingdom of God, there is only one way: we must be servants of all. That’s the Gospel. And of that Gospel, we must never be ashamed.
The language of the church, in all times and in all places, is the language of justice and mercy and peace. It is the language of acceptance and inclusion and salvation and welcome for the least, the last, and the lost. And of that Gospel, I will never be ashamed.
As our time with Pastor Alison draws so quickly to a close, maybe you have your own memories of something she said or did or created that embodied the Gospel of the Lord for you. For me, my dear friend, it will always be those six words: “But James, we have the Gospel.”
And so, we do. And so, we must. Thanks be to God. Amen.
[1] The Innocents Abroad
First Congregational Church of Cheshire
© the Rev. Dr. James Campbell
Romans 1:8-17
First, I thank my God through Jesus Christ for all of you, because your faith is proclaimed throughout the world. For God, whom I serve with my spirit by announcing the gospel of his Son, is my witness that without ceasing I remember you always in my prayers, asking that by God’s will I may somehow at last succeed in coming to you. For I am longing to see you so that I may share with you some spiritual gift to strengthen you—or rather so that we may be mutually encouraged by each other’s faith, both yours and mine. I want you to know, brothers and sisters, that I have often intended to come to you (but thus far have been prevented), in order that I may reap some harvest among you as I have among the rest of the Gentiles. I am a debtor both to Greeks and to barbarians, both to the wise and to the foolish —hence my eagerness to proclaim the gospel to you also who are in Rome.
For I am not ashamed of the gospel; it is the power of God for salvation to everyone who has faith, to the Jew first and also to the Greek. For in it the righteousness of God is revealed through faith for faith; as it is written, “The one who is righteous will live by faith.”
Mark Twain once wrote that: “Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness, and many of our people need it sorely on these accounts. Broad, wholesome, charitable views of men and things cannot be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the earth all one's lifetime.” [1]
The first time I ever experienced that for myself, I was seventeen and on my way to Spain as an exchange student. From my little Midwestern corner of the earth, I boarded a plane for the very first time. I visited New York City for the first time. I left this country for the first time. And for the first time, I traveled to a place where English was not the dominant language. And I was more excited than I had ever been before.
But anticipation and reality are very often not the same things. The plane landed in Spain and before I knew it, my host family whisked me off to my new home. And the next morning, I was in my new school, where everyone was speaking a language that I was only beginning to learn. I was thrown into the proverbial deep end and had to learn to swim in those strange waters. But eventually, in fits and starts, I learned new ways of speaking and thus, a new way of understanding the world. And my prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness were challenged.
Like travel, learning a new language challenges our preconceived notions about everything because language is the primary tool by which we construct our own versions of reality. When we learn a new language, we don’t just learn grammar and vocabulary. We also learn alternative ways of understanding everything around us. Including other human beings.
Back in 2017, when I started the search process for a new pulpit, Marcos and I had our eyes set on Connecticut. We had spent many weekends here and had dear friends here. And since we were New Yorkers, Connecticut seemed like the natural place to aspire to. But when I mentioned this to clergy friends, their reactions surprised me. They spoke about Connecticut as if it were some strange land where we would be foreigners. They said things like: “But you’re not New Englanders. And besides, Congregational Churches in Connecticut only hire Ministers from Connecticut!”
But I was having none of it. After all, I thought, how different could it be?
But Connecticut is different. And you do speak a different language. And I’m not talking about how the letter “t” is swallowed if it’s in the middle of a word, like “mountain.” And I’m not talking about the great pizza wars of New Haven or the quasi-religious devotion to UCONN Women’s Basketball. What I’m talking about is the language of this church. I’m talking about the way in which your words are always carefully considered, and nuanced, and broad, and non-offensive. I’m talking about your devotion to unity and your aversion to anything that might be considered divisive.
And in the beginning, I did not speak your language. You see, I came from a pulpit in New York in which bold speech about the issues of the day was a hallmark of their ministry. That church has been on the forefront of social justice since its founding. And that congregation expected me to speak out plainly on the issues of the day. I think that sometimes they wished I had done that more.
But in this place, that New York kind of language would not do. And I, who make my living with words, sometimes felt lost or inarticulate or worst of all, unfaithful. Oh sure, I had something to say, but I lacked the facility of the local language.
And that’s where our dear Pastor Alison comes into this story.
Over the last seven plus years, Alison and I have shared many wonderful conversation – most of them spontaneous. And it was during one of those, when I was expressing my own frustration with learning a new language, that she uttered a line that would forever change the direction of my ministry here in Cheshire.
As I poured out my frustrations, she listened patiently. She always does. Have you noticed that? When I finally paused long enough for her to get a word in edgewise, she replied: “But James, we have the Gospel.”
As soon as she said it, the truth of those words passed through me like lightening.
Well, that was a major reset for me. It not only gave me my voice, but it also reminded me that the Gospel of Jesus is the lingua franca that transcends the cultural differences of any church, anywhere. Because the Gospel is not just my language. The Gospel is OUR language. It is the way that we understand the world and the nature of reality and other human beings. WE have the Gospel.
But what does that actually mean, you might be wondering. Well, let me first remind you of what the Gospel is not. The Gospel is not psychotherapy, even though a sermon might have some psychological insights. And preachers are not psychologists, even though we offer spiritual counseling. And the Gospel is not social theory, even though it might speak of the way society is ordered. And preachers are not social workers. And the Gospel is not partisan politics, even though the message of Jesus was and is deeply political. And your pastors are not politicians. We do not have a hidden agenda. And we are not seeking political power.
But we are seeking Jesus. We want his words to mold us and you. We want his actions to inspire us. And we want his judgments to heal us, because we are all deeply wounded.
So, what, then is the Gospel? Well, it’s actually pretty simply. It’s being a disciple, an apprentice of Jesus. And Jesus always identified with the poor. He told us, as did all the prophets before him, that God takes the side of the poor, every time. That’s the Gospel. And of that Gospel, we must not be ashamed. Jesus told us to love our neighbors exactly as we love ourselves. And when the people pushed back and asked who their neighbors were, Jesus told a story about a man, robbed and beaten and left to die on the side of the road. And the only one who would stop to help him was a despised foreigner. “That’s your neighbor,” Jesus said. And of that Gospel, we must not be ashamed.
Jesus told us to that whatever we do to anyone else, we are doing to him. He told us that we are our sisters’ and brothers’ keepers. Jesus told us that however we judge others, we ourselves will one day be judged. Jesus told us that the first will be last and the last will be first, and that if we want to be great in the Kingdom of God, there is only one way: we must be servants of all. That’s the Gospel. And of that Gospel, we must never be ashamed.
The language of the church, in all times and in all places, is the language of justice and mercy and peace. It is the language of acceptance and inclusion and salvation and welcome for the least, the last, and the lost. And of that Gospel, I will never be ashamed.
As our time with Pastor Alison draws so quickly to a close, maybe you have your own memories of something she said or did or created that embodied the Gospel of the Lord for you. For me, my dear friend, it will always be those six words: “But James, we have the Gospel.”
And so, we do. And so, we must. Thanks be to God. Amen.
[1] The Innocents Abroad
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