Sunday, December 22, 2024 – Advent 4
First Congregational Church of Cheshire
© the Rev. Dr. James Campbell
 
 
Luke 1:39-55
In those days Mary set out and went with haste to a Judean town in the hill country, where she entered the house of Zechariah and greeted Elizabeth. When Elizabeth heard Mary’s greeting, the child leaped in her womb. And Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit and exclaimed with a loud cry, “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb. And why has this happened to me, that the mother of my Lord comes to me? For as soon as I heard the sound of your greeting, the child in my womb leaped for joy. And blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her by the Lord.” And Mary said, “My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for he has looked with favor on the lowliness of his servant. Surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed; for the Mighty One has done great things for me, and holy is his name. His mercy is for those who fear him from generation to generation. He has shown strength with his arm; he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts. He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty. He has helped his servant Israel, in remembrance of his mercy, according to the promise he made to our ancestors, to Abraham and to his descendants forever.”
 
 
The great W.C. Fields, comedic actor of the early film industry, is said to have offered this sage advice to his colleagues: “Never work with children or animals. They will steal the limelight every single time...”  
 
It’s true, you know.  And it happened here just last week at the Festival of Carols.  As little Eliza Gilchrist climbed the pulpit steps with Pastor Alison, every eye in the house turned toward her.  There she was in a sparkling gold lame dress, with shoes to match.  There she was, with a glittering golden headband, looking every bit the angel.  And when she opened her mouth to read from the book of Genesis, we were mesmerized.  She spoke in the clear, sweet voice of a child, reminding us once again of our original innocence and the tragic events of the Garden of Eden.  Well, by the time that Eliza was done, the rest of us could have just packed it up and gone home.
 
If ever there was another scene-stealing child, it was the Baby Jesus.  After all, when he showed up there were star-shows in the heavens and choirs of angels and mysterious dignitaries from the East.  And when he grew up, he started a movement that changed the world.  God-in-the-flesh, we call him.  That Jesus was a show-stopper from the very beginning.  And everyone, it seemed, got pulled into his orbit, including his mother.  In fact, that’s really all we care to know about her – that she was the mother of Jesus.  But like any other mother, of this, we can be sure: Mary had a life of her own - gifts and graces, hopes and dreams.  She had opinions and a voice and her own message from God before her son ever came on the scene.  
 
Scholars tell us that Mary was likely about 15 years old when she conceived.  And when her parents asked her how this had happened, she told them that the Holy Spirit was responsible.  An angel had told her that.  Well, you can imagine their reaction.  And so, Mary hit the road.  And she ran off to the home of her cousin Elizabeth and Elizabeth’s husband, Zechariah.  And she made that trip all by herself, in a time and place in which women never traveled alone.  Was it fear that drove her to break such conventions?  Or was it a sense of excitement, or destiny, or calling?
 
Elizabeth and Zechariah were much older than Mary.  And they had never had any children of their own.  In the ancient world, that was a shameful thing, almost always blamed on the woman, and seen as a punishment from God.  But something really odd was going on with this whole family, for not only was Mary pregnant, but so was Elizabeth, in her old age.  
 
When Mary entered her cousin’s house, Elizabeth’s baby, another scene-stealer, whom we know as John the Baptist, leapt in his mother’s womb.  And Elizabeth, poked by an elbow or a knee or a foot, cried out: “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb!”  
 
This impromptu family reunion was suddenly charged with Pentecostal power.  The Holy Spirit jumping from one person to the next - first in the unborn John the Baptist and then in his mother Elizabeth and then in the young Mary herself, who was so overcome by the Spirit that she opened her mouth and began to sing.  
 
The great preacher, Barbara Brown Taylor has written, that this simple teenage girl was “no politician, no revolutionary; she simply wants to sing a happy song, but all of a sudden she has become an articulate radical, an astonished prophet singing about a world in which the last have become first and the first, last.”[1]  
 
Her song was astonishing, and for all kinds of reasons.  But it was its content that was the most explosive.  You see, these were dangerous times for a song like hers.  The Roman puppet king, Herod, was on the throne.  And he was a pompous old fool who wanted to leave his mark on the world.  And he did that by building great buildings in honor of himself.  To finance it all, he taxed the people heavily, so heavily that families literally lost their ancestral homes and farms.  And all the wealth was concentrated at the very top.  And the first were first, and the last were last – and thus it shall always be.  
 
In addition to that, this Herod was exceedingly cruel.  He ordered the execution of anyone who got in his way or threatened his fragile ego, including members of his own family.  And since everyone hated him, he imprisoned 70 prominent Jewish citizens with the order that on the day of his death they would all be executed to make sure that somebody would cry.  
 
And that’s the world in which Mary sang her protest anthem, about how God had scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts.  God had brought down the powerful from their thrones.  God had lifted up the lowly.  God had filled the hungry with good things, but the rich God had sent away empty.  And notice that Mary sang all of this in the past tense, as if it had already happened.   That’s the thing with prophets… they often have trouble with verb tenses.  
 
Her song was dangerous then.  It’s dangerous now.  
 
In the 1980s, when Guatemala was under a military dictatorship, it was actually declared illegal to sing Mary’s song in church.  I guess those in control were afraid that the people might actually believe her words and then demand the justice and equity of which she sang.  
 
But what about us?  Is this song dangerous for us too?  Well, we live in a nation where 67% of the wealth is in the hands of 10% of the population.  And those with power just get more, while we cheer them on, and make them our heroes.  Meanwhile, the poor get poorer, but we decided long ago that it was all their fault.  And children are hungry and without health care, but we turn a blind eye, because it’s just too upsetting to think about at Christmas.  
 
But this strong woman refuses to sit down and shut up.  And her song has never been silenced, nor will it ever be, because it’s God’s song.  And it’s not just about Herod the King or a 1980s Central American dictator or the billionaires and corporations that run the systems of the world.  This song is also about me.  It’s also about my choices.  It’s about my own willingness to live into the promised Kingdom of God; to use my privilege and my wealth and my influence to make a difference for those who are always, always last.  
 
But what can I do, you might be thinking.  It’s all so overwhelming and my contribution is just a drop in the bucket.  True.  But notice that Mary did not sing her edgy song all alone.  She sang it in community.  The great theologian Henri Nouwen wrote that Mary and Elizabeth … “could wait together and thus deepen in each other their faith in God…  Thus, God’s most radical intervention into history, was listened to and received (and sung) in community.”[2]
 
And that is where the power of this song lies.  Maybe that’s why the dictator of Guatemala did not forbid individuals from singing Mary’s song.  He forbad it in the churches, in the gathered communities of the faithful.  
 
And that is why I will never stop urging you, the people of God, to be regular in your worship; to gather in this room often.  Because left on our own, we are tempted to despair.  But together, in community, the Spirit sings in and through us.  And hope rises, and we can dare to actually believe the words we pray: “Thy Kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.”
 
That has always been the song of the prophets.  It was the song of the great prophet Mary, who sang the Baby Jesus to sleep with it promise, until one day, he sang it too.  
 
 


[1] The Rev. Kate Huey, https://www.ucc.org/sermon-seeds/weekly-seeds-heartbeat-of-justice-liberations-song/, accessed on 12/19/24

[2] Huey, Kate. https://www.ucc.org/sermon-seeds/weekly-seeds-moving-with-marys-song/, accessed 12/19/24

Sunday, December 15, 2024 – Advent 3
First Congregational Church of Cheshire
© the Rev. Dr. James Campbell
 
 
Philippians 4:4-7
 
Rejoice in the Lord always; again, I will say, Rejoice. Let your gentleness be known to everyone. The Lord is near. Do not worry about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.
 
 
 
Hold on to your hats.  I’m about to say something that you may not like.  (Maybe you think that most Sundays!) Are you ready?  I’m one of those people who’s not especially fond of Christmas, at least as we know it.  I once expressed something like that when I was still on Facebook, to which a former parishioner replied, “And you a Minister!  Shame on you!” 
 
I guess she could never imagine a Minister saying such a thing.  Maybe you can’t either.  Maybe you imagine that for people like me and Pastor Alison that this is the most wonderful time of the year!  Well, it’s a time of the year, but wonderful is not the first word that comes to mind.  And it’s not because I’m extra busy at this time of the year.  Every pastor signed up for that.  And it’s not because of all those unspoken expectations at this time of the year.  And it’s certainly not because I don’t love Jesus and long to welcome him again into our weary world.  
 
I think what bothers me is the expectation about how I am supposed to feel at this so-called “most wonderful time of the year.”  You know what I’m talking about.  There is this tremendous peer pressure to be happy!  We’re all supposed to make merry!  We’re supposed to cast aside every worry and pretend as if we all live in a Hallmark movie.  And, at first glance, the Scripture lesson of the day seems to back up that happy worldview! In his letter to the Philippians, Saint Paul wrote: “Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice.”  
 
This third Sunday of Advent is also known as Gaudete Sunday.  Gaudete is a Latin word meaning “Rejoice!”  And on this Sunday, we do rejoice.  We lay aside the penitential purple tones and instead we go pink.  It’s a pink candle and pink stoles and pink attitudes.  Think pink!  It’s like the color itself shouts at us: “Be happy!”  “Be cheerful!”  “Be positive!”  To which I am tempted to reply, “Bah humbug!”
 
Now it’s not that I don’t like to be happy or cheerful or positive.  I do.  But I also suspect that we have mistaken something profound, like joy, for something cheap, that is often helped along by eggnog.  Furthermore, sometimes these cheap seasonal imitations get turned into battering rams against folks whose lives are difficult and challenging and painful; who suffer from loss or depression or loneliness, while the whole world screams at them: “Be merry!”
 
The book of Philippians is sometimes referred to as the Epistle of Joy because it has more references to joy than any other book of the Bible.  Be that as it may, this Epistle of Joy was written to a congregation without a lot of reasons to be happy.  They were engaged in turmoil and in-fighting and parking lot gossip.  And Paul wrote this Epistle of Joy from prison, where he was awaiting trial and likely execution.  It was bleak time.  So, I think, we can reasonably conclude that the command to rejoice is not about seasonal merriment or how others think we are supposed to feel.  In fact, it’s not about a feeling at all.  It’s far deeper than that.  It’s about a way of life.  I’s about a practice.  It is about the cultivation of the life of your soul.
 
The cultivation of the life of the soul.  Do we even talk about that in church anymore?  Do we even teach folks how to do that in church anymore.  Or have we become content with information dumps and the related idea that faith primarily resides in the mind, as if what we think is somehow the sum total of our practice.  
 
 
But I think that is a big mistake.  I don’t think God really cares that much about the nuances of our theology; the finer points of what we believe about the Trinity or predestination or Holy Communion.  It’s not that theology is unimportant, but faith is as faith does, not what faith thinks.  And according to Paul, what faith does is to cultivate the interior life, so that it bears fruit in the world.  Plainly put, what Paul is calling for in this passage is a consistent life of prayer and supplication and contemplation.  These things have anchored the Christian life since the beginning.  How many times do we read in the Gospels that our Lord Jesus went off all by himself to pray, often early in the morning, to be quiet, and care for his soul?
 
But I fear that in the place of prayer and quiet and contemplation, most Christians, of all stripes, have substituted non-stop news and social media distractions and shopping frenzies and forced merriment - and then slapped the name of Jesus on it like that makes it OK.  And then we wonder about the poverty of our souls, the emptiness we feel, the longings that have no resolution.
 
I say this not as a judgment, but as a confession.  I too have known the poverty of my soul.  I too have taken in the empty calories of corporate babble about everything, as if it were the Holy Gospel.  And then I wonder why I’m anxious and depressed and fearful.  I wonder why I am angry when gentleness is supposed to be my language.  I wonder why God feels so far away, even though Paul assures us that the Lord is near.  And rejoicing always?  You’ve got to be kidding.  
 
But there’s something to be said about the school of hard knocks.  My own foundations have been shaken pretty hard lately.  Some old illusions invincibility have been shattered.  I say this, not for the sake of pity, but for the sake of solidarity.  We are all in this human thing together.  And part of that shaking of the foundations was the stark realization that all those things I thought I could count on, I suddenly could not. 
 
At first, I just felt naked and vulnerable and afraid and angry.  But then I thought, “Jmaes, you know what to do.”
 
And this is what I did.  I stopped grabbing my phone upon waking to see what had happened in the world since I went to sleep.  In fact, I decided that a steady diet of bad news was poisoning my soul.  And I don’t read my email first thing in the morning either.  In fact, I don’t connect at all.  Instead, I do this: early in the morning, before the rest of the house is awake, I go into the living room and I sit.  And I watch the daylight come.  And I breathe.  And I try to be conscious of the fact that I am alive.  And I stay in the now as much as I can.  And I pray.  I pray for all of you.  I pray for my family.  I pray for the people of the world.  I pray for Creation.  I pray for myself.  It’s just me and the Lord and good cup of Brazilian coffee.  
 
And somehow, this simply practice has moved around the furniture of my mind… and made room for joy - not happiness or merriment, but a sense of blessedness that comes from knowing that the Lord is near.  And this nearness, this joy does not depend upon the state of the world or what is happening in my family or with my health.  In fact, it has nothing to do with all of those things that I cannot control – which is, actually, everything.
 
Does that joy last all day?  No.  But it’s last long enough to give me strength and courage for the day ahead.  It last long enough to reorient me for the challenges ahead.  
 
Friends, at this most wonderful time of the year, don’t forget your souls.  Feed yourself with goodness.  Learn stillness.  Talk to God.  Make room for joy.  
​

Sunday, December 8, 2024
300th Anniversary of 
the First Congregational Church of Cheshire
© the Rev. Dr. James Campbell
 
 
Psalm 46 declares: “There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God…”
 
The Wabash River was a few blocks from my house when I was a boy. The neighborhood kids and I would gather there to fish and wade and skip stones.  I was fascinated by that river for many reasons, not the least of which was that I knew my geography.  I knew that eventually the Wabash River ran into the Ohio River.  And I knew that the Ohio ran into the Mississippi.  And the Mississippi ran into the Gulf of Mexico.  And the Gulf met the Atlantic Ocean.  So, when I dipped my toes into the Wabash, I had a sense that I was connecting to all of those other bodies of water, and through that water to the whole wide world. 
 
“There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God…”
 
The church is a river.  And as such, it is never static.  It is never the same body of water.  It moves and shifts.  It is wild and untamable.  It ebbs and flows.  
 
That might seem an odd description for this formidable New England institution.  We think of this church as representing stability itself.  We are the center of this town and intricately tied to its founding, for every village in colonial Connecticut needed a Congregational Church.  And so, it was, in part, that the area known as Ye Fresh Meadows became the Village of New Cheshire because of this church.  That’s stability.
 
We live in an historic building well-known for its architectural significance.  Our steeple adorns the town seal and is thus THE symbol of the whole community.  The land upon which this church rests, and the Church Green, and the Town Hall, and the old Hillside cemetery were gifts from the Rev. Samuel Hall, our founding pastor and a wealthy man.  That’s stability.
 
And stability is attractive.  Stability replicates itself.  Perhaps that is why from the thirty or so founding members, this congregation quickly grew into one of the largest in New England, with 400-500 communicants.[1]  And since 1724, at least 5000 more people have been admitted to membership here.  At least 6224 children and adults were baptized here.  At least 1531 couples were married here.  That’s stability.
 
During these 300 years, three meeting houses have been erected – each one larger and more elaborate than the one before.  We started in what was essentially a 40 by 30-foot barn, near the intersection of Route 10 and Lanyon Drive.  Then a mere thirteen years later, a larger space was needed and so the second meeting house was erected.  It was twice the size of the first.  And ninety years after that, in 1826, the cornerstone of this final and finest meeting house was laid.  It was completed in 1827.  And here we still gather, 197 years later, in one of the finest examples of Federal-style architecture to be found anywhere.  That’s stability.
 
But story of this church, and of any church, is not only about its string of successes.  For the water of a river does not only flow.  It also ebbs.  It knows the variations of the seasons and the harshness of the climate.  
 
From the very earliest days of our existence, there have been many hardships, many sacrifices, much loss.  Our first Minister, the Rev. Samuel Hall, knew this great ebb of life.   Not only did he live long enough to bury his wife Ann and five of this thirteen children, but Rev. Hall “lived to bury all those who originally formed this church when he was ordained.”[2]  Imagine that – laying to rest the entire original congregation.  And since those days, at least 3762 people have been buried by this congregation.  And the river ebbs.
 
And then there were the wars – twelve major conflicts since 1724.  And the sons and daughters of this church, black and white, rich and poor, served their nation.  Some of them never came home.  Some of them are memorialized throughout this building.  And the waters ebb.
 
And there was the Smallpox epidemic that closed the church and killed parishioners, and the Spanish Flu pandemic that closed the church and killed parishioners, and the Covid 19 pandemic that closed the church and killed parishioners.  And there were pastor scandals and member scandals.  And there was the very great shame of captive people forced to worship in the shadows of this very room.  
 
And generations of people came and went.  Babies were born and elders died.  Faith was tested and tragedy endured.  Money was raised and food was cooked and charities were funded and the Gospel was faithfully proclaimed… in the great ebb and flow of life.   
 
“There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God…”
 
More than 30 years ago, I made a pilgrimage to the Abbey of the Genesee in Western New York.  I had never done such a thing before and had no idea what to expect.  Many things there impressed me: the beauty of the chanted Psalms, the intense quiet, the delicious food.  But underneath all of that, there was something far more profound at work – a river of sorts, deep and wide.  I first became conscious of it while worshipping with the monks.  We were chanting the ancient Psalms of David when quite suddenly, I felt an intense connection to all the faithful who had ever gone before me and all those who would come after me.  I understood that the worship happening in that moment had actually been happening since the beginning of time.  And I saw myself not so much as an individual, but as part of a greater whole.  I was but one drop of water in a very great River.  And just like that kid who dipped his toes in the Wabash and felt connected to the whole wide world, worshipping in that abbey connected to me the whole people of God, in all times and in all places, through the great ebb and flow of human history. 
 
It is one of the great honors of my life to stand in this pulpit on this 300th Anniversary Sunday.  What a privilege for both of your pastors.  But if I am honest, there is also something about anniversaries that makes me anxious.  As we get older and as we celebrate more of them, we cannot help but wonder: “How many more of these are left?”  
 
The same can be asked of institutions.  300 years is a very long time.  And on a day like this, we might wonder: will people actually gather here 300 years from now to celebrate a 600th Anniversary?  Who can know?  But “There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God…”
 
For 300 years this congregation has been a stream, making these Fresh Meadows glad.  But this stream and all streams exist but for one purpose: to feed the River.  The River is the point. 
 
And I take great comfort in that.  For when my time on this earth is done, when my own name is but a footnote of history; when this church’s time on this earth is done, we will not cease to be. We will simply be absorbed into the greater work of God; the great cloud of witnesses; the great communion of saints, the River. 
 
And for our part in something so broad and deep and wide and pure and everlasting, let us with one voice say: Thanks be to God! Amen!


[1] An Historical Sketch of Rev. Samuel Hall, First Minister of Cheshire by Theodore Parsons Hall and EC Baldwin, p.13

[2] An Historical Sketch of Rev. Samuel Hall, First Minister of Cheshire by Theodore Parsons Hall and EC Baldwin, p.14

Advent 1 – Sunday, December 1, 2024
First Congregational Church of Cheshire
© the Rev. Dr. James Campbell
 
 
1 Thessalonians 3:9-13
 
How can we thank God enough for you in return for all the joy that we feel before our God because of you? Night and day, we pray most earnestly that we may see you face to face and restore whatever is lacking in your faith.
 
Now may our God and Father himself and our Lord Jesus direct our way to you. And may the Lord make you increase and abound in love for one another and for all, just as we abound in love for you. And may he so strengthen your hearts in holiness that you may be blameless before our God and Father at the coming of our Lord Jesus with all his saints.
 
 
 
It all started with a simple winterberry wreath.  The wreath was very tasteful.  Very reserved.  Striking but not ostentatious against our dark blue front door.   Oh… and we also had one of those small “trees in winter” with the tiny clear lights that we put on the front porch. That looked nice too.  But then we realized that we had some outdoor lights.  So, it only made sense to put those on a few bushes.  But one or two bushes with lights, well, that just looked a little sad, like we weren’t trying very hard.  And so, we added another string of lights.  And then another.  And another.  Until we ran out… and so we ran to Lowe’s.  Because when you start with outdoor lights, it can be hard to tell when enough is enough.
 
When we finally got the bushes in order, we noticed that the dogwood tree looked rather forlorn by comparison. But lo and behold, we had some of those gigantic Christmas ornaments that we could tie to the branches.  And so, we did.  But there were not enough of them.  And so, we bought some more.  And then some more.  
 
Then Marcos, who is very creative, decided that our outdoor lawn lamp post would look much better with some lights of its own.  And he didn’t just wrap them around the pole.  No, no, no.  He strung those down to the ground in the shape of a Christmas tree.  
 
Each year, it seems, Christmas at the Campbell-Martins house has become exponentially brighter and bigger and more festive.  Of course, our house cannot compare to some of yours.  We know that because we’ve seen them.  Sometimes just for fun we get out the church directory and just drive around town to see what you’re up to.  
 
Now I say all of this as a way of coming clean… because I spent many-a-year gleefully playing the role of The Grinch Who Stole Christmas.  I would squawk and complain and criticize all of the extravagance because I assumed that it always detracted from the reason for the season.  And I suppose it can and it does.  But I’ve also learned that it doesn’t have to.  Because the capital “R” Reason for the Season taught us the blessings of plenty and abundance and feasting and dancing and rejoicing.  Jesus taught us that sometimes in this world, more is actually more.  
 
Our Scripture lesson today is taken from the first letter to the church at Thessalonica in modern day Greece. Scholars tell us that this letter is probably the very first epistle that St. Paul ever wrote to any of the early churches.  The reason for his letter was that he was worried about the congregation there.  He worried that they were overburdened and stressed.  
 
So, just who were these early Christians?  Well, this tiny congregation was made up mostly of day laborers who lived and worked in that busy port city.  But it wasn’t just a port.  Thessalonica was also a religious center - a city full of the Greek gods.  There were temples and statues and holidays everywhere.  And so, when these folks decided to follow Jesus, they were suddenly cut off all of those supports: from friends and families and holidays and traditions.  And it was a lot for them to carry.  And so, Paul worried about them.
 
Now, if I were their pastor, knowing how busy and complicated their lives were, I likely wouldn’t have asked them to do anything else.  I likely would have told them to take care of themselves first.  That’s how we do pastoral ministry in the modern-day America.  We are very careful about asking you for too much of anything, which I suspect is likely a big part of the problem of a church in decline.  
 
But Paul understood, perhaps better than I, that when it comes to the Gospel lived out in the world, more is more.  And more is better.  And more actually gets us the satisfaction that we crave.  
 
And this is what he wrote to those overburdened, busy people: “May the Lord make you increase and abound in love for one another and for all, just as we abound in love for you.  And may God so strengthen your hearts in holiness that you may be blameless before our God and Father at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ with all his saints.”
 
Increase in love for all.  Abound in love for all.  And if you do, then you will be blameless when Christ comes again. 
 
During these weeks of Advent, we talk a lot about the coming of Christ.  We speak of hearts that prepare him room.  And we know it’s important, and so we try to squeeze it in to our overly busy lives.  We might come to church more often.  We might even come to the Wednesday evening Communion Services or the Quiet Christmas Service or to church on Christmas Eve.  Or we might be more intentional in our prayers and Bible readings and quiet times.  But, you might be thinking, that’s about all I can do, James, so please don’t ask me for anything more.  
 
I’m tempted not to.  I know how busy your lives are.  I know how busy this time of year is.  But friends, we’re talking about getting ready for Jesus.  And according to Paul, there is only one way to do that.  It’s increasing and abounding love!  And I am not talking about some mawkish sentiment or some Hallmark movie-induced feeling – but love that changes lives; love that is spent and poured out into the world.  
 
Paul actually described what that kind of love would look like, later on in the fifth chapter.  And his advice is very practical and just as applicable in modern-day Cheshire as it was in ancient Thessalonica.  This is what he wrote: Respect others; be at peace; admonish the idlers; encourage the faint hearted; help the weak; be patient with all; never repay evil for evil; always seek to do good; rejoice always; pray without ceasing; give thanks in all circumstances; don’t quench the spirit; listen to the words of prophets; test everything; abstain from evil; and hold fast to what is good.
 
In these times of uncertainty and distress, when the promises of peace on earth and good will to all can seem like a distant dream, there is only thing to do: you go and make peace.  You go and spread good will.  You go and increase and abound in love.  Because of those things, more is always more.  
 
For years now, I have used a little prayer book to anchor my own morning prayers.  And those morning prayers always end with this benediction: “We go (now) in peace to love and serve the Lord, and to live our lives so that those for whom love is a stranger will find in us generous friends.”
 
We can do that.  We can get ready for Jesus.  Let's go!