Sunday Musings

KINDNESS IS ITS OWN REWARD

6/29/2026

Sunday, June 28, 2026
First Congregational Church of Cheshire
© the Rev. Dr. James Campbell

Matthew 10:40-42

“Whoever welcomes you welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me. Whoever welcomes a prophet in the name of a prophet will receive a prophet’s reward; and whoever welcomes a righteous person in the name of a righteous person will receive the reward of the righteous; and whoever gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones in the name of a disciple—truly I tell you, none of these will lose their reward.”

America is a culture defined by superlatives and the language of advertising and consumerism.  Thus, we are home to “The Happiest Place on Earth”.  We manufacture “the King of Beers”.  And who else could turn a simple circus into “The Greatest Show on Earth!”

We know how to sell anything and everything!  We know how to convince people that what we have is far better than what they already have.  And it works.  That’s why I can walk into Costco for a bag of oranges and walk out twenty minutes later with $300 worth of stuff I didn’t even know I needed!

This language and culture of consumerism has also influenced and shaped the American church.  Church is a very competitive business, as we struggle for our share of the market.  And since we know that people often “shop” for a new church, we are obsessed with the merchandise we’re trying to move.  And so, we worry that our programs and our worship and our music and our fellowship are not quite as shiny as that church down the street.  And then, we fret and we worry, and we spin and we innovate, always looking for the next best thing, always looking be Number One.

I get it.  We live in the real world of institutional decline.  Religion in America has been on the wane for decades. And still there are bills to pay and buildings to maintain.  And it can be scary.  But as tempting as it is, I don’t think that they key to our success as a church is found on Madison Avenue.  Because I don’t think how we define success and how Jesus defines success are always in alignment.

In the verses that precede today’s very short lesson, Jesus was preparing to send his disciples out into the world to preach the Gospel.  But before he did, he gave them some practical advice about how to be church in the world.  He said things like: “Travel lightly.”  “Don’t expect everyone to like you or like what you’re doing,” “Don’t be surprised if you are misunderstood by everyone, including members of your family.”  In other words, don’t expect to be popular - which, by the way, is what I think most American churches are still trying to do.  We want everyone to like us.

But then Jesus turns his attention to something far more foundational.  And while, at first, it sounds a bit esoteric, these words are about how God measures success.  Jesus said: “Whoever welcomes you welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me.”  “And whoever gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones in the name of a disciple – truly I tell you, none of these will lose their reward.”

Now lots of folks have heard the adage about a cup of cold water.  It’s one of Jesus’s greatest hits.  And because it is, because it’s so familiar, we don’t pay too much attention to the words that precede it, that actually tell us why that cup of cold water is so important.

“Whoever welcomes you, welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me, welcomes the one who sent me.”

Notice what Jesus does here in just a few words.  He breaks down the constructs by which we have organized this world, and by which we understand our lives.  We live in a hierarchical world.  But Jesus, makes absolutely no distinction between himself and his disciples, or between himself and us, or between us and God.  Listen again: “Whoever welcomes you, welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me, welcomes the one who sent me.”  In other words, all of this is connected; all of us are connected.  It’s God in me and God in you and you in God and the cosmos in all of us.

Now that’s shocking to some folks, and heresy to plenty of others, because the Western church has built most of its history on the idea that there is an absolute gulf of separation between God and us.  And somehow the clergy and the church and the rules all help to bridge that gap.

But that’s not the only way to do theology.  It’s just the theological argument that won.  But other Christian theologies, like those of the Celtic church and Franciscans of the Roman church teach a much closer communion between God and us.  These folks take the image of God in all humans very seriously.  And thus they have no trouble reading these words literally: “Whoever welcomes you, welcomes me (literally), and whoever welcomes me, welcomes the one who sent me (literally).”  Everything is connected.  And therefore, the basis of all human sin is disconnection.

And if that is the truth; if we are all really connected like the waters of the ocean, then the smallest act of kindness literally ripples throughout the universe.  And that means that a cup of cold water given to a thirsty person is a cup of water given directly to Jesus.  And a cup of cold water withheld from a thirsty person is cup of water withheld from Jesus.

In a nationally broadcast sermon, the Rev. Dan De Leon, Senior Minister of the Friends Congregational Church in College Station, Texas, tells this story.  He and some of his parishioners were on a mission trip to Mexico.  While there, they met a man who had crossed the U.S. border illegally, only to be caught immediately and sent back.  And here I quote Rev. DeLeon: “Penniless and humiliated, (the man) started over. He… took the horrendous journey again, and this time he made it into the United States where he found work. He worked ten-hour shifts with no breaks making less than minimum wage, never stopping even when he cut his hand open washing dishes... And since he couldn't speak English, he couldn't express his needs, let alone defend himself under harsh treatment. After three years of saving up a little money under these conditions, he went back home, where he met his now three-year-old daughter for the first time.”

Rev. De Leon continues, “At this point, I looked over at his wife. She was still knitting, still looking down; and then a tear rolled down her cheek, but she quickly wiped it away, as if it (were) an enemy to which she refused to succumb. Finally, a student in our (mission) group, moved by the man's testimony, asked, "How can we help? What can we do…?" And (the man) looked at us and said, "Just be nicer. Don't treat us like we're horrible. Be kind."[1]

Be kind.  No matter your political opinion about immigration or anything else for that matter, be kind.  Because kindness is not about agreement.  And kindness is not about approval.  And kindness is never toxic or weak.  Instead, to be kind is to be strong.  To be kind is to be conscious, awake, alive to God.  To be kind is an outward expression of a human heart that has been truly converted.

Because how we treat others is exactly how we treat Jesus.  And that cup of cold water we give to others, is the very water that washes us clean.  And a church that practices kindness above all else is successful in the only way that matters.

Because“Whoever welcomes you, welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me, welcomes the one who sent me… and whoever gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones—truly I tell you, none of these will lose their reward.”

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

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A GOD FOR THE BIRDS

6/21/2026

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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.

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IS ANYTHING TOO WONDERFUL?

6/14/2026

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Sunday, June 18, 2023
First Congregational Church of Cheshire
© the Rev. Dr. James Campbell

Genesis 18:1-15, 21:1-7

The Lord appeared to Abraham by the oaks of Mamre, as he sat at the entrance of his tent in the heat of the day. He looked up and saw three men standing near him. When he saw them, he ran from the tent entrance to meet them, and bowed down to the ground. He said, “My lord, if I find favor with you, do not pass by your servant. Let a little water be brought, and wash your feet, and rest yourselves under the tree. Let me bring a little bread, that you may refresh yourselves, and after that you may pass on—since you have come to your servant.” So they said, “Do as you have said.” And Abraham hastened into the tent to Sarah, and said, “Make ready quickly three measures of choice flour, knead it, and make cakes.” Abraham ran to the herd, and took a calf, tender and good, and gave it to the servant, who hastened to prepare it. Then he took curds and milk and the calf that he had prepared, and set it before them; and he stood by them under the tree while they ate.

They said to him, “Where is your wife Sarah?” And he said, “There, in the tent.” Then one said, “I will surely return to you in due season, and your wife Sarah shall have a son.” And Sarah was listening at the tent entrance behind him. Now Abraham and Sarah were old, advanced in age; it had ceased to be with Sarah after the manner of women. So Sarah laughed to herself, saying, “After I have grown old, and my husband is old, shall I have pleasure?” The Lord said to Abraham, “Why did Sarah laugh, and say, ‘Shall I indeed bear a child, now that I am old?’ Is anything too wonderful for the Lord? At the set time I will return to you, in due season, and Sarah shall have a son.” But Sarah denied, saying, “I did not laugh”; for she was afraid. He said, “Oh yes, you did laugh.”

The Lord dealt with Sarah as he had said, and the Lord did for Sarah as he had promised. Sarah conceived and bore Abraham a son in his old age, at the time of which God had spoken to him. Abraham gave the name Isaac to his son whom Sarah bore him. And Abraham circumcised his son Isaac when he was eight days old, as God had commanded him. Abraham was a hundred years old when his son Isaac was born to him. Now Sarah said, “God has brought laughter for me; everyone who hears will laugh with me.” And she said, “Who would ever have said to Abraham that Sarah would nurse children? Yet I have borne him a son in his old age.”

Recently someone told me that they loved my laugh because, they said, it comes from your belly.  And I thought: Dear Lord, am I really that loud?  But I took their comment as the compliment it was.  Because truth be told, I do like a good laugh – the kind that clears your mind and sends oxygen to your vital organs and releases all those marvelous endorphins.  Maybe that’s why the book of Proverbs says that a cheerful heart is good medicine.

But not all laughs are good medicine.  Sometimes, we laugh out of regret or embarrassment or bitterness.  Sometimes we laugh so we will not cry or scream or curse.

And it is laughter, in all its various forms, that takes the main stage in today’s well-known story from the book of Genesis.  But before we get to today’s story, we need to understand the whole story of how we got here.

One day, an old man named Abram, later to be called Abraham, heard some disembodied Voice tell him to pack up his family and all of his possession and move to a land he hadn’t even heard of before.  And once they got there, the Voice said, Abram and his wife, Sarai, later to called Sarah, would have a family that would become a great nation.

But they were already really, really old to be starting a family.  And Sarai had never been able have children.  But that disembodied Voice was compelling and the promise was alluring, and so they set out, living as nomads in a foreign land.

But years passed, and no children were born.  And just about the time that Abram was going to toss in the towel, the Voice, otherwise known as God, offered this teaser: “Look toward the heavens and count the stars, if you are able to count them… So shall your descendants be.”

Well, God sounded pretty sure about all of this, so Abram and Sarai kept trying.  But no children came.  Finally, Sarai, being the practical one, decided that enough was enough.  So, she called her husband aside and said: “Look, if you really want to have children, then I suggest you have them with my young slave, Hagar.”

Dollars to donuts, Abram didn’t need a lot of convincing.  And sure enough, Hagar conceived and gave birth to a little boy named Ishmael, whom tradition says is the ancestor of the Arab people.  And so, at long last, Abram had a son at the ripe old age of 86.  Except remember that the promise had also been made to Sarai.  And that promise had not been fulfilled.

And it was at this point that God changed both of their names.  Abram’s name was changed to Abraham and Sarai’s name to Sarah, which means Princess.  This is the only time in the Bible that a woman is renamed.  And that’s a very big deal, because renaming always signifies a divine calling.  Sarah was called right along with Abraham.

And with that, we arrive at today’s story, when three strangers appeared at the entrance of Abraham and Sarah’s tent.  But these were not just any visitors.  Instead this was a “theophany,” a fancy word that means an appearance of the deity to humans.

But Abraham didn’t know that.  Still, he offered them the extravagant hospitality that his culture required.  He bent low to the ground before them as a sign of humility and service.  He asked them to sit in the shade and brought them some cold water to drink.  He told Sarah to make some fresh bread.  And he ordered a servant to slaughter a calf so that a feast could be prepared.

During that feast, with a mouthful of veal, one of the strangers asked: “Where is Sarah?”  Now, that was an odd question, because the women never sat down to eat with the men.  “Why do you want to know?” asked Abraham.  And the stranger replied: “Because your wife is going to have a son.”

Well, Sarah was eavesdropping just inside the entrance to the tent.  And that detail always makes me laugh.  That’s something I would do!  And when she heard the same tired tale about a long-promised baby, and from some stranger, no less, she laughed.  And the more she tried to contain it, the harder she laughed.

Well, it must have been a belly laugh, because the visitors heard her.  “Why is she laughing?” the stranger wanted to know.  And then he asked a question that God continues to ask the faithful in every generation: “Is anything too wonderful for the Lord?”

Well, Sarah was rather embarrassed that she had been caught, and so she did what lots of us do when we get caught.  She lied.  “I did not laugh,” she said.  And the stranger smiled, with a twinkle in his eye.  “Sure, you did,” he replied.  And maybe Sarah smiled too.

Soon thereafter, Sarah became pregnant at the age of 90.  And she gave birth to a son named him Isaac.  In Hebrew, Isaac means, “he laughs.”  And this story ends with Sarah’s marvelous words: “God has brought laughter for me; everyone who hears will laugh with me.”  And Sarah, who had been the brunt of jokes all her married life, had the last laugh.

It is said that Abraham is the father of our faith.  And if that is so, then Sarah is the mother of our faith.  But she’s more than that.  Sarah is also the mother of our very real humanity, and the mother of our doubts.  In her, we see something of ourselves, so weary of promises that never seem to be fulfilled.  In her, we see laughter that is a defense mechanism and a mask for pain.  In Sarah, we see those of us who has held onto hope for so long that we are exhausted enough to just laugh at the prospect.

But did you notice that when the divine stranger asked Sarah why she was laughing, and even when she lied about it, there was no judgment about the laughter?  And this underscores an essential truth about our faith: there is no judgment in our being human.  It is not a sin or some sign of weakness to struggle with doubt.  There is no punishment for our periodic lapses into cynicism.  And perhaps best of all, God doesn’t take back God’s promises just because we don’t always believe them.

I don’t always believe them.  How can I?  I look at the state of the world.  And when I do, cynicism is just so much easier.  And the idea of Eden restored just seems impossible.

Sarah did not live to see the mighty nation that would come from her offspring.  But she did live long enough to see the beginning of the dream in the birth of her son. And so, have we.  We have all witnessed moments when truth is triumphant. And we have all experienced a love that wins.  And we have known that whenever goodness and mercy and justice spring up in this world – and in us – that the Reign of God has come very near.  It is not the full dream fulfilled, but it’s enough for us to cling to the promise that nothing shall be too wonderful for the Lord.

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WE’VE GOT WALLS!

6/7/2026

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Sunday, June 7, 2026 – 200th Anniversary of the Meeting House
First Congregational Church of Cheshire
© the Rev. Dr. James Campbell

Ephesians 2:17-22

So (Christ) came and proclaimed peace to you who were far off and peace to those who were near, for through him both of us have access in one Spirit to the Father. So then, you are no longer strangers and aliens, but you are fellow citizens with the saints and also members of the household of God, built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets, with Christ Jesus himself as the cornerstone; in him the whole structure is joined together and grows into a holy temple in the Lord, in whom you also are built together spiritually into a dwelling place for God.

In my office I have two vintage postcards that are matted and framed together.  The first postcard is of this remarkable Meeting House, taken many years ago when there were full growth trees on the Green.  My friend Dean found it in an antique shop up in Maine the summer before you actually called me to be your Senior Minister.  But immediately after the purchase, Dean, being the superstitious type, feared that he had jinxed my chances of getting the job by buying the postcard before I had the job.   But almost nine years later, here I am.

The second postcard in that frame is of the Broadway Tabernacle Church in New York City.  It was a magnificent edifice taking up half a city block in Midtown Manhattan and once-upon-a-time was known the Cathedral Church of Congregationalism.  And it was the last building that my previous congregation ever owned.  As with many city churches after the Second World War, membership declined as people moved to the suburbs.  Finally, in 1969, a controversial decision was made to sell the church to developers and to use the proceeds for mission and outreach.  The building was demolished and the Broadway congregation became “a church without walls” moving in and sharing space with another congregation.

“The church without walls” was a bold and noble idea, but as with other bold and noble ideas, it was much harder to execute in the real world.   And while it did indeed free up a lot of money to do good, it did not help to strengthen the membership.  And as for living with another congregation in their house, well, we all know how challenging sharing can be.

By the time they called me to be their minister in 2006, the dream of the church without walls had definitely faded.  And that congregation, despite its very best efforts and generosity, was always defined by its homelessness.

After twelve years of ministry there, I began my ministry here.  And on the very first Sunday that I stood in this pulpit, my friend and my predecessor at the Broadway Church, the Rev. Dr. Bonnie Rosborough, surprised me by showing up in the pews, right back there.  After the service, Bonnie found me in my office and we delighted together in the incredible promise of this place.  And then, just before she left, she took me by the shoulders, looked me straight in the eye, and with a broad smile declared: “You’ve got walls now, baby!”

And so, I do!  And so, we do!  These magnificent walls.  These remarkable walls.  If only they could talk, what stories they would tell, of love and faith, of doubt and fear, of war and peace, of heartbreak and hope.  They would tell of weddings and funerals, of baptisms and conversions, of music and community and laughter.  This Meeting House has seen it all.  And sometimes, when I sit in this room all by myself, it seems that these walls actually radiate with spiritual energy.

So, I love these walls.  And I am honored to steward them along with all of you.  But despite their magnificence, I also know that walls alone do not a church make.

That sad truth is evidenced all over this country.  Plenty of other magnificent American church building have come and gone as congregations dwindled.  Some have been turned into restaurants or event venues or museums.  Or worse yet, they sit empty and decaying – a home for pigeons and lost dreams.

Experts tell us that approximately 4000 Protestant congregations cease operation each year in the United States. In our own United Church of Christ, more than 100 churches a year close down; churches like the Devon Church in Milford, who, next Sunday, will conclude its ministry after 119 years.

This is all part of a much larger trend called “the Europeanization of the American Church” – that is, just as in Europe after the Second World War, there is now in America a massive religious disaffiliation born of disinterest and disdain and disappointment in organized religion.

So, you might be wondering: how is it that we are still here?  Why are we healthy and alive when so many other congregations are not?

I wish I knew!  If I did, I could write a book and go on a speaking tour and retire into the lap of luxury and give Ted Talks!  But here’s what I think: I have a suspicion that is has something to do with a Cornerstone.

And it’s a cornerstone that we are actually celebrating today.  On June 3, 1826, the cornerstone of this building was laid and then construction began.  Today cornerstones are mostly symbolic, but 200 years ago, they played a far more crucial role.

Long before computer simulations or elaborate architectural calculations, the cornerstone of a building guided all that was to follow.  When architect, David Hoadley designed this building and when the workers began its construction, it was the cornerstone that served as THE reference point for determining the position, orientation and dimensions of the overall structure.  The cornerstone was used to align these walls so that this building would still be here 200 years later.

In the reading from Ephesians today, we heard this: “You are fellow citizens with the saints and also members of the household of God, built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets, with Christ Jesus himself as the cornerstone; in him the whole structure is joined together and grows into a holy temple in the Lord…”

And so, it was in 1826 that the integrity of this building was squarely based upon its alignment with the cornerstone.  And so, it is in 2026 that the integrity of this congregation is squarely based on its alignment with THE Cornerstone.

In a world of change and fear, in a time of deep division when foundations tremble and temples fall and long-held values evaporate, there is a Rock that does not move.  There is a Cornerstone upon which the whole structure holds together.  And his law is love and his Gospel is peace.  He came to save the least, the last, and the lost.  He came to bring all people together.  He came to feed the hungry and clothe the naked and welcome the stranger and set the prisoner free.

That is the foundation of this structure.  Because it was in his name that this house was built.  And it is from this house that his Gospel is still proclaimed.

May it ever be so! Amen.

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KINDNESS IS ITS OWN REWARD

A GOD FOR THE BIRDS

IS ANYTHING TOO WONDERFUL?

WE’VE GOT WALLS!

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