JAMES CAMPBELL
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​IT’S A MATTER OF PREPOSITIONS

5/10/2026

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Sunday, May 10, 2026
First Congregational Church of Cheshire
© the Rev. Dr. James Campbell
 
 
John 14:15-21
 
“If you love me, you will keep my commandments. And I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Advocate, to be with you forever. This is the Spirit of truth, whom the world cannot receive because it neither sees him nor knows him. You know him because he abides with you, and he will be in you.
 
“I will not leave you orphaned; I am coming to you. In a little while the world will no longer see me, but you will see me; because I live, you also will live. On that day you will know that I am in my Father, and you in me, and I in you. They who have my commandments and keep them are those who love me, and those who love me will be loved by my Father, and I will love them and reveal myself to them.”
 
 
 
As most of you know by now, I recently spent a week on the Scottish Island of Iona with a group of about 35 people, all of whom were there to study Celtic Christianity with the scholar, John Phillip Newell.  As part of that experience, every morning at 10 AM, in the Village Hall, Dr. Newell would give a lecture based on his book Sacred Earth, Sacred Soul.  Those lectures were fascinating on many levels.  But, as is often the case, it was during the more spontaneous Q&A sessions that followed, that some of the more memorable things were said.
 
For example: on one of those mornings, Dr. Newell told us about a recent conversation he had with another theologian I admire named Matthew Fox.  During this conversation, Dr. Fox dropped a bomb.  He said that the Nicene Creed had a gigantic hole right in the middle of it.
 
Now, in case you don’t know, the Nicene Creed is considered a definitive creedal statement about what it is that all Christians are supposed to believe.   It was adopted at the Council of Nicaea, called by the Roman Emperor Constantine I, in the year 325 CE.  And ever since, this creed has been a foundational document for the church.  And even though we Congregationalist are non-creedal by nature, meaning that we don’t require adherence to a creed in order to be a member of the church, the Nicene Creed remains the unspoken foundation of our theology too.  
 
And so, to hear someone say that it has a big hole right in the middle of it intrigued me, to say the least.
 
So, what is this hole, this significant deficit in the creed?  Well, according to Fox, it is the stunning failure of the authors to make any mention whatsoever of what Jesus actually said or taught or did.  Instead, this creed, like almost every other creed, including the Statement of Faith of the UCC, is simply a recitation of particular beliefs ABOUT Jesus.  For example, the Nicene Creed declares that Jesus was born of the Virgin Mary by the power of the Spirit.  But then in the very next sentence, it jumps all the way to Jesus being crucified under Pontius Pilate.  And then it continues by stating that he suffered and was buried and the third day he rose again.  He ascended to the right hand of the Father and will come again to judge the living and the dead.
 
Do you see what just happened?  We went from birth to death as if nothing really important actually happened in between.  Now, how Jesus was born and why Jesus died are important points of theological discussion.  But when those events are isolated from Jesus’s actual ministry and words, then, frankly, what difference can those events make to everyday people in an everyday world?  
 
Because intellectual assent to certain faith claims has never made a good Christian out of anyone.  It’s mostly just made arrogant and self-satisfied Christians who enjoy neat little packages.  But real faith in Jesus is not about accepting some dogma.  It’s not some intellectual test we need to pass.  A religion ABOUT Jesus might be interesting, but it’s just not the same thing as the religion OF Jesus.  It’s a matter of prepositions.  And those prepositions make can all the difference in the world.  
 
A religion about Jesus certainly mattered at the Council of Nicaea.  When faith was boiled down to what everyone had to think as opposed to the way Christ followers should live, well, then, the Roman Empire could slap the name of Jesus on anything, and did – even on those things that directly contradicted what Jesus said.  
 
And that has always been the temptation for a religion ABOUT Jesus.  And in all the intervening centuries, many empires have done the same.  In our own day, Christ has been co-opted for the accumulation of wealth and power – even though Jesus said blessed are the poor and the meek.  Nationalist fervor is labeled Christian.  A war can be declared holy.  Cruelty and hatred can be disguised as sincerely held religious belief.  And all of this is permissible because a religion ABOUT Jesus is not the same thing as the religion OF Jesus.  
 
In today’s Gospel lesson, Jesus parses out the differences very clearly.  This passage begins with a rather stark statement.  Jesus said, “If you love me, you will keep my commandments.”
 
Now, when I hear the word “commandments” I almost always think of the Big Ten – commandments, not basketball.  And I also know that there are 600+ more commandments where those came from.  This book is full of commandments.  So, do I need to keep all of them in order to show my love for Jesus? 
 
Jesus, the faithful Jew, never disparaged the Law of Moses.  But, like other great rabbis of the time, Jesus did give the Law a fresh spin.  In particular, Jesus often pointed out what was underneath all of those commandments.  And for Jesus, it all boiled down to love and justice and how we live with one another.  
 
And that is why Jesus could say just a few verses after this one: “This is my commandment – that you love one another.”[1]  In another place, he said that to love God and neighbor was the fulfillment of the Law and the Prophets.[2]  And much later, a famous follower of Jesus named St. Paul would summarize it like this: “Now abide faith, hope, and love.  But the greatest of these is love.”[3]
 
 “If you love me, you will keep my commandments.”  “If you love me, you will love one another.” 
 
Now, maybe knowing this doesn’t make you feel any better, because you know how tough it can be to love.  And you know that love is often confused with weakness.  And you know that the world is cruel place where love seems to make little difference.  
 
And so, it is that one of the great tragedies of our age is that most folks don’t really believe in the power of love anymore.  We’ve given up on it.  Many churches have given up on love.  Prominent religious and political voices have given up on it – no matter what Jesus said.
 
And because of that, this call to love one another is not for the faint of heart.  But neither is the Christian life.  Because true love is a discipline.  Love is action far more than feeling.  Love is something that we decide to do, that we struggle with, that we strive for, against the tide, moment by moment, day by day, person by person. 
 
That’s the only way to love.  Otherwise, the concept is so big that you get lost in it.  Love loses its power when we think in terms of the whole world.  But not when we think of the person right in front of us - the polite one and the one who just cut the line at Big Y.  The one who thinks and votes like you and me, and one who doesn’t.  The ones who is kind and gracious and sweet, and the one whose pain spills out in everything they do and say.  
 
That’s what Jesus did.  He met the needs of those who were right in front of him.  He loved the people that were right in front of him.  That’s the religion of Jesus.  It’s a matter of prepositions.  And those prepositions make all the difference in the world.
 
“If you love me,” Jesus said, “you will keep my commandments.”
 
 


[1] John 15:12

[2] Matthew 22:37-40

[3] I Corinthians 13:13
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THROWING STONES

5/3/2026

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Sunday, May 3, 2026 – Easter 5
First Congregational Church of Cheshire
© Rev. Dr. James Campbell
 
 
Acts 7:55-60
 
But filled with the Holy Spirit, he gazed into heaven and saw the glory of God and Jesus standing at the right hand of God. “Look,” he said, “I see the heavens opened and the Son of Man standing at the right hand of God!” But they covered their ears, and with a loud shout all rushed together against him. Then they dragged him out of the city and began to stone him, and the witnesses laid their coats at the feet of a young man named Saul. While they were stoning Stephen, he prayed, “Lord Jesus, receive my spirit.” Then he knelt down and cried out in a loud voice, “Lord, do not hold this sin against them.” When he had said this, he died.
 
 
I’ve always loved to collect stones.  I’ve carried them back from the rocky coast of Maine, the mountaintops of Brazil and, most recently, from the holy island of Iona.  For me, stones are the very best kinds of souvenirs, not just because they’re free, but more because a stone is a piece of that place that you actually get to bring home with you.  
 
In the Bible, stones almost always associated with something good.  Psalm 18 declares that “the Lord is my rock and my fortress.”  The epistle of First Peter proclaims that Jesus Christ is the living stone; the cornerstone of our faith. And to emphasize that point, when I was a kid, we sand this marvelous Gospel song: “Jesus is rock in a weary land, a shelter in a time of storm.”  So, stones are good things, solid things, reliable things.  In the right hands, they build cities and bridges and homes.  But in the wrong hands, stones are deadly.
 
And that is the situation we have in today’s rather shocking passage from the book of Acts.  For some odd reason, the lectionary only lifts up the dramatic conclusion of this story, without telling us how Stephen got into such an awful predicament to begin with.  So let me catch you up to speed.    
 
The early church was growing very rapidly.  And at the mother church in Jerusalem, the twelve apostles simply could not do all the work anymore.  This became crystal clear to them upon the occasion of a major church fight between the Jewish Christians and the Greek-speaking Christians.  The Greek-speakers were sure that there was discrimination against them.  They claimed that their widows were not getting a fair share of the church’s food distribution.   And so, the apostles were called in to settle the dispute.  
 
But as I said, the apostles were overwhelmed.  And so, they appointed seven deacons whose job it was to make sure that the food was distributed fairly amongst all the widows.  One of those deacons was a man named Stephen, who, according to the writer, was full of faith and the Holy Spirit – apparently the only two requirements for being a deacon.  
 
Now, at the same time that the early church was growing so quickly, so was the tension between the Jewish followers of Jesus and those Jews who did not follow Jesus.  And, in the midst of all that tension, and the marking of territory, and the vying for power and influence, people did what people always do: they started to spread rumors, and half-truths, and dangerous innuendos about the opposition.  And one of the targets of this whisper campaign was Stephen.  
 
The opposition claimed that Stephen had committed blasphemy, cursing Moses and the Temple, which was a capital offense.  And so they seized him and dragged to the religious court.  But when he was given a chance to speak in his own defense, instead of addressing the charges against him, he began to preach a very dangerous sermon.  He reminded his fellows that God had sent many prophets over the centuries, who, when they spoke real truth to power, often ended up dead.  Finally, Stephen said, God sent a prophet named Jesus, but he ended up dead too.  And it is at this climactic point that today’s lesson from Acts begins.
 
When the religious council heard Stephen accuse them of killing the prophets, and then claiming to have a vision of Jesus seated at the right hand of God, they were wild with rage.  A mob mentality took over, and this mob rushed Stephen and dragged him out of the city to stone him to death for his blasphemy.  
 
This was a common punishment.  And lots of towns had stoning pits. Historians say that they were approximately twelve feet deep, so that the accused could not escape.  The person was pushed into the pit, sometimes being killed by the fall itself – which, of course, was a mercy.  But if the fall didn’t do the trick, then one of the witnesses, would be lowered into the pit in order to drop a large stone on the person’s chest.  If the accused survived that, then the witness was lifted out of the pit so that the crowd could rain down stones upon the accused until the person died.    
 
Standing in the crowd that day, not stoning Stephen, but holding the coats of those who did and thereby being an accomplice, was a man named Saul.  He would later have a vision of Jesus on the Road to Damascus, and his name would be changed to Paul.  But that’s another story.
 
Stephen’s story ends in a hauntingly familiar way.  In a direct imitation of Christ, he asked Jesus to receive his spirit, just as Jesus, from the cross, had asked God to receive his.  And then Stephen prayed for the forgiveness of his executioners; something else our Lord did from the cross.  And then Stephen died – the very first martyr of the Christian faith.  
 
This story is shocking for many of us, removed, as we are from the unpleasant details of our own capital punishment rituals, or the horrific tragedies of collateral damage in war.  But the human impulse to throw stones is never really that far away from any of us.
 
In 1948, the New Yorker published a short story by Shirley Jackson entitled The Lottery.   In it, Jackson weaves a tale about a modern-day stoning ritual in a small American town.  The story is so haunting because she sets it in a fair-like atmosphere, wherein one person is chosen by lottery each year to be stoned to death in order to ensure a good harvest.  This story is brilliantly subversive because it reminds us of our own propensity toward mob violence, and the all-too-common ways that we learn to accept violence and then to actually participate in violence.
 
Perhaps not surprisingly, when The Lottery was first published, Jackson received hate mail and death threats, sadly proving the underlying premise of her story – that we all have the capacity to throw stones.  
 
I think that most of us reach for those stones out of pain.  You see, some of us have been stoned by judgments that were totally unfair.  For others, religion was the weapon and you were assured that you simply did not belong.  Still others of you been publicly stoned because of your politics or class or race or gender or status – or any of the other things by which we humans seek to divide and conquer.  
 
And if you have ever been a victim of stoning, then you already know how tempting it is, in your hurt and anger, to pick up those same stones and hurl them back with a deadly precision.  Some of us have become quite expert at that.  
 
And that is the tragic history of our race.  It is the cycle of violence that never ever seems to end.  
 
Except that it can.
 
In the stoning pit, with rocks raining down upon his defenseless body, Stephen did the unthinkable.  He actually did what we are all called to do.  He imitated Jesus.  He prayed for the forgiveness of his enemies, not as an afterthought, but as a direct response to the pain.  And when he did that, the cycle of violence was broken like a fragile twig that it actually is.  And when he did that, the power dynamic was flipped on its head.  And his accusers no longer had any real power over him.  Because forgiveness changes everything.  
 
And it‘s the only thing that can save us when we’re in a pit.
 
 
 
 
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A SHEEPISH OBSERVATION

4/26/2026

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Sunday, April 26, 2026 – Easter 4
First Congregational Church of Cheshire
The Rev. Dr. James Campbell
 
 
Psalm 23 - King James Version
 
The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.
He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.
 
 Psalm 23 - The Message
 
God, my shepherd!
    I don’t need a thing.
You have bedded me down in lush meadows,
    you find me quiet pools to drink from.
True to your word,
    you let me catch my breath
    and send me in the right direction.
Even when the way goes through
    Death Valley,
I’m not afraid
    when you walk at my side.
Your trusty shepherd’s crook
    makes me feel secure.
You serve me a six-course dinner
    right in front of my enemies.
You revive my drooping head;
    my cup brims with blessing.
Your beauty and love chase after me
    every day of my life.
I’m back home in the house of God
    for the rest of my life.
 
 
I’ll never forget the first time I had a close encounter with a sheep.  We didn’t live on a farm, but some folks in my dad’s parish did.  And one day, one of those farm families invited me to come and experience a day on the farm for myself.
 
I’m sure that my lack of farm-experience was obvious.  And I suppose that this was too great temptation for those farm kids to resist.  And so, they convinced me that one of the best things to do on a farm was to wrangle a sheep.  And by wrangling, they meant tackling.  That sounded reasonable to me.
 
I watched the farm kids go first.  And somehow, each one did manage to grab hold of and subdue a sheep.  And then it was my turn.  I remember that I screwed up all the courage I had.  And then I ran at that sheep with all my might.  Well, this must have scared the poor creature to death, because that sheep bolted like lightening.  But so, did I.  And suddenly, I was gaining on the sheep.  Suddenly, I saw my opportunity.  And so, I leapt through the air but landed short of the goal, only managing to grab hold of one of the back legs.  
 
No one had told me to let go if that happened, and so I held on for dear life.  I held on as that poor sheep ran and kicked trying to get away from me.  I held on, as that sheep drug me across the field.  I held on until finally that sheep knocked me loose.  
 
Well, I was a bit dazed at first, but when I finally stood up, let’s just say that it wasn’t only mud that covered me.  I was also covered with all the souvenirs sheep tend to leave wherever they go.  And when the farm kids saw this, they laughed until they cried.  And when their mother saw it, she laughed until she cried.  And then she took a garden hose to me, leaving me to dry out in the hot Indiana sun.
 
Well, I thought of that story as I trapsed around the island of Iona, off the west coast of Scotland.  I thought of that story because Iona has far more sheep than people.  And I had some close encounters with those Scottish sheep.  I delighted to see them up on the crag behind the hotel, defying the laws of gravity.  And I delighted to see them in the broad green pastures through which I hiked – always stepping carefully, I might add.  And I delighted to see those precious lambs, frolicking and jumping with the joy of new life.  Sheep take center stage on Iona.  And sheep take center stage in the Psalm of the day.  
 
Psalm 23, beloved by so many, is the most requested reading at any funeral over which I have presided.  It is read beside the beds of the dying.  It is memorized by church school children.  And because of all of that, most preachers won’t touch it in a sermon.  It’s just too familiar.  In, fact, I don’t think I ever have preached on it before.  But let’s just say that recent events have given it a new layer of meaning for me.  
 
In the ancient world, a shepherd literally lived with the sheep, 24/7, 365 days a year.  It was a shepherd’s entire purpose in life to keep the sheep from wandering off or into the mouths of predators.  And because these very real dangers existed, a shepherd often needed to be strong and decisive.  A shepherd had to drive those sheep in order to keep them safe, or to get them fed, or to quench their thirst.  And, of course, the sheep didn’t always understand why the shepherd would drive them the way she did.  Maybe sometimes, it even seemed cruel.  But the shepherd knew what the sheep needed more than the sheep did.  
 
As much as I had anticipated that week of study on Iona; as much as the Church Council had supported me in that quest, as much as so many of you had encouraged me to go, by the time the trip actually rolled around, Iona was the last place I wanted to be.  As the events of my life unfolded, and as my family grieved, I just didn’t want to be so far away.  
 
But everything has been set in order.  And it was too late for refunds.  And everyone kept telling me that it would be good for me.  And so, reluctantly, I went.
 
I was soon reminded of why they call it a pilgrimage.  A trip to Iona is not for the faint of heart.  It took me two planes, a train, a ferry, a bus, and then another ferry to actually arrive.  And all of it in the rain.  By the time I actually made it to the hotel, I was exhausted, and wet, and still wondering what on earth I was doing there. 
 
I was the first one off that last ferry, and the first one who arrived at the front desk of the hotel.  All I wanted in that moment was my room key, a hot shower, and a nap.  But when I arrived, I was instructed to go into the sun lounge for orientation.  And so, like a good sheep, I obeyed.  
 
Well, when it was over, and I had warmed myself with coffee and biscuits, I stood at that wall of windows that overlooked the sea.  As I said, it had rained all day.  But suddenly, the clouds parted, and when they did, the most marvelous rainbow appeared over the water.  And something inside of me shifted.  And I felt my sister’s presence so close.  And I was overcome with a sense of gratitude.  
 
Now in that moment, I had no idea how profound that week was about to be, but in that moment, I knew that I was in a very verdant pasture.  And I hoped that my soul would be restored.
 
Our lives can so often feel out of control.  We are all driven by external forces.  We are all forced into places that we would never ever choose to go.  We are like sheep.  And we have all learned the painful lesson that not all shepherds are good.  Not all shepherds are looking out for our best interests.  Not all shepherds protect the flock.  But some do.
 
I know that a pastor is called to be a shepherd.  I know that my job is to look out for this flock here in Ye Fresh Meadows.  I take it very seriously that I am to do my best to make sure that each sheep is safe and fed.  But this is what I have learned.  This is my sheepish observation.  Sometimes, those roles are reversed.  Sometimes, it is the people who shepherd the pastor.  
 
As I traveled through the valley of the shadow of death, you were there, with your rods of kindness and staves of your comfort.  And with those, you kept me from getting lost.  And you set before me and my family a table groaning with blessings: cards and food and flowers and gifts, not just for me and Marcos, but for my parents. You filled our cups until they overflowed.  
 
And I learned a new lesson about this beloved Psalm.  Yes, indeed, the Lord is my shepherd.  But he’s also got some wonderful assistants.
 
Thanks be to God.  Amen.
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​FLASHES OF THE RESURRECTION

4/5/2026

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Easter Sunday, April 5, 2026
First Congregational Church of Cheshire
© the Rev. Dr. James Campbell
 
 
 
John 20:1-18
 
Early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene came to the tomb and saw that the stone had been removed from the tomb. So she ran and went to Simon Peter and the other disciple, the one whom Jesus loved, and said to them, “They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they have laid him.” Then Peter and the other disciple set out and went toward the tomb. The two were running together, but the other disciple outran Peter and reached the tomb first. He bent down to look in and saw the linen wrappings lying there, but he did not go in. Then Simon Peter came, following him, and went into the tomb. He saw the linen wrappings lying there, and the cloth that had been on Jesus’ head, not lying with the linen wrappings but rolled up in a place by itself. Then the other disciple, who reached the tomb first, also went in, and he saw and believed; for as yet they did not understand the scripture, that he must rise from the dead. Then the disciples returned to their homes.
 
But Mary stood weeping outside the tomb. As she wept, she bent over to look into the tomb; and she saw two angels in white, sitting where the body of Jesus had been lying, one at the head and the other at the feet. They said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping?” She said to them, “They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him.” When she had said this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not know that it was Jesus. Jesus said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for?” Supposing him to be the gardener, she said to him, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away.” Jesus said to her, “Mary!” She turned and said to him in Hebrew, “Rabbouni!” (which means Teacher). Jesus said to her, “Do not hold on to me, because I have not yet ascended to the Father. But go to my brothers and say to them, ‘I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.’” Mary Magdalene went and announced to the disciples, “I have seen the Lord”; and she told them that he had said these things to her.

​
When I was a kid, I had this incredible oversized 3-D postcard of the Shroud of Turin.  The thing was awesome.  If you held it to the light one way, you simply saw the shroud.  But if you moved your hand just a little, that shroud morphed into an artist’s rendering of the face of Jesus, inspired by the photographic negative of the shroud.  But if you continued to move the card around, at a certain angle the eyes of Jesus would pop open.  I used to spend hours flipping back and forth, watching those eyes open and close, and all the while wondering: “What if I am looking at the very face of Jesus the moment he was resurrected?”
 
Believers in the Shroud’s authenticity maintain that this image of the broken body of the Lord was not made by traditional artistic methods.  Instead, they say, it was burned onto the cloth at the very moment of Resurrection, by a sort of radiation, a side effect – if you will - of all that life-giving glory.  For these folks, the shroud is physical proof of that most foundational of all Christian beliefs – that Jesus of Nazareth, crucified by Rome, dead and buried, was raised to new and everlasting life by the power of God. 
 
For some folks, the shroud is a way to try to grab hold of Jesus. It’s as close as we will ever come to an eyewitness account.  Because there were no eyewitnesses.  All four Gospels agree on that frustrating point.  As theologian Barbara Brown Taylor writes: “Whatever happened in (that) cave happened in the dark.  …it happened in complete silence, in absolute darkness, with the smell of damp stone and dug earth in the air.”[1]
 
So, no one saw the actual event.  But lots of folks claimed to have experienced the aftereffect.  Ordinary people, like you and me, at different times and in different places claimed to have had encounters with the strangely elusive figure of the Risen Jesus, who appeared and disappeared at a moment’s notice.  We don’t know exactly what they experienced, but whatever it was, it was enough to change their lives forever.  Whatever it was, it started a world-wide movement that has become the world’s largest religion.  Whatever it was, it was enough that 2000 years later, here we are, in this room, to celebrate it.  
 
Very early on Sunday morning, while it was still dark; while it was dangerous and unseemly for a woman to be traveling alone, a grief-stricken Mary Magdalene went to the grave of Jesus anyway.  And when she got there, she noted with fear that the stone had been rolled away from the mouth of the tomb.  And so, she ran to tell Peter and another unnamed disciple that someone had stolen the body of Jesus.  That was, of course, the most logical conclusion.
 
Upon hearing this distressing news, the three of them ran back to the graveyard, but they found it exactly as Mary had told them.  The tomb was indeed empty, except for the grave clothes that had been neatly folded and placed on the slab, and the face cloth that had been carefully rolled up.  No grave robbers would have taken the time to do that.  So, this was really perplexing to all of them.  But the notion of Resurrection never crossed their minds.    
 
Well, the two men, being men, needing to be in charge, decided that they had to do something, anything about all this!  So, they ran off to tell all the others.  They ran off… and left Mary by herself, still unaccompanied, still grief-stricken, and in the dark.
 
Suddenly, from the shadows, a stranger appeared.  This startled Mary at first.  But then she decided it might be the gardener, there to start his day.  So, she asked him if he knew where the body of Jesus had been moved to.   “Please tell me,” she begged, “so that I can go and take the body myself.”  -- As if she could.  
 
The gardener did not answer her question.  But he did speak.  And when he did, he simply said her name: “Mary.” And that moment was like a flash of lightening.  Because she knew that voice.  And the gears of her mind began to turn.  And the well of her hope began to bubble up.  And the impossible somehow seemed possible.  “Rabbouni; my teacher” she cried.  And she grabbed hold of him, hanging on for dear life.  But then Jesus made this odd statement: “Do not hold on to me, because I have not yet ascended to the Father.”  “Do not hold onto me…” “
 
And in that odd statement, an essential truth about the Resurrection is revealed.  Because it cannot, in any tangible way, be grasped or held onto.  Resurrection cannot be codified, or put in a box, or neatly explained, or proven in a debate.  Because Resurrection was then, and always will be, an experience.  
 
So, was it real?  Was it a dream?  Was it the hallucination of a sleep-deprived, grief-stricken woman?  I don’t know.  But whatever happened to Mary Magdalene in that garden was enough to convince her that Jesus was alive.  And so, she ran back to where the men were now hiding in fear for their lives.  She ran back, no longer chained by her grief and fear.  And Blessed Mary Magdalene preached the first Easter sermon ever, boldly proclaiming: “I have seen the Lord.”
 
If only she’d had her iPhone with her! If only Jesus had whispered the secret word in her ear that only he knew.  If only he had given her something to prove that she wasn’t crazy.  But all she had was her experience.  All she had was that flash of the Resurrection.  And quite frankly, that is all anyone has ever had.
 
Flashes of the Resurrection.  Maybe that’s why you came to church today, seeking a glimpse of the Risen Lord.  The great 20th century Swiss theologian Karl Barth said that the reason people come to church on Easter or any other Sunday is the unspoken question that clings to our hearts and our minds: “Is it true?”
 
In a marvelous short story entitled “See the Other Side” author Tatyana Tolstaya writes beautifully about the human struggle to believe what we hope is true, but cannot prove.  She writes: “We hear whispers, but we plug our ears; we are shown, but we turn away.  We have no faith: we’re afraid to believe, because we’re afraid that we’ll be deceived.  We are certain that we’re in the tomb.  We are certain that there’s nothing in the dark.  There can’t be anything in the dark.”[2]
 
Except that the Risen Jesus is so often found in the dark.  What proof do I have?  Only my own experience. For you see, there have been moments in my own life when I have been so low.  Like you, I have buried those I love.  Like you, my health has faltered.  Like you, my relationships have crumbled.  Like you, I have lost my job.  Like you, I have sometimes lost my faith.  And like you, I have indeed doubted this incredible nonsense about a dead man being raised to life. 
 
But… time after time after time, at the very edge of despair, in the deep darkness of doubt, in the midst of grinding grief, there is this Presence that knows my name.  It’s always just a flash - but it’s enough for me to say with Mary: “I, too, have seen the Lord.”
 
Thanks be to God.  Amen.


[1] Learning to Walk in the Dark, Barbara Brown Taylor

[2] The New Yorker, March 12, 2007
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HOPE IN THE MOURNING

3/22/2026

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Sunday, March 22, 2026 – Lent 5
First Congregational Church of Cheshire
© the Rev. Dr. James Campbell
 
 
John 11:1-45
 
Now a certain man was ill, Lazarus of Bethany, the village of Mary and her sister Martha. Mary was the one who anointed the Lord with perfume and wiped his feet with her hair; her brother Lazarus was ill. So the sisters sent a message to Jesus, “Lord, he whom you love is ill.” But when Jesus heard it, he said, “This illness does not lead to death; rather, it is for God’s glory, so that the Son of God may be glorified through it.” Accordingly, though Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus, after having heard that Lazarus was ill, he stayed two days longer in the place where he was.
 
Then after this he said to the disciples, “Let us go to Judea again.” The disciples said to him, “Rabbi, the Jews were just now trying to stone you, and are you going there again?” Jesus answered, “Are there not twelve hours of daylight? Those who walk during the day do not stumble because they see the light of this world. But those who walk at night stumble because the light is not in them.” After saying this, he told them, “Our friend Lazarus has fallen asleep, but I am going there to awaken him.” The disciples said to him, “Lord, if he has fallen asleep, he will be all right.” Jesus, however, had been speaking about his death, but they thought that he was referring merely to sleep. Then Jesus told them plainly, “Lazarus is dead. For your sake I am glad I was not there, so that you may believe. But let us go to him.” Thomas, who was called the Twin, said to his fellow disciples, “Let us also go, that we may die with him.”
 
When Jesus arrived, he found that Lazarus had already been in the tomb four days. Now Bethany was near Jerusalem, some two miles away, and many of the Jews had come to Martha and Mary to console them about their brother. When Martha heard that Jesus was coming, she went and met him, while Mary stayed at home. Martha said to Jesus, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died. But even now I know that God will give you whatever you ask of him.” Jesus said to her, “Your brother will rise again.” Martha said to him, “I know that he will rise again in the resurrection on the last day.” Jesus said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?” She said to him, “Yes, Lord, I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, the one coming into the world.”
 
When she had said this, she went back and called her sister Mary and told her privately, “The Teacher is here and is calling for you.” And when she heard it, she got up quickly and went to him. Now Jesus had not yet come to the village but was still at the place where Martha had met him. The Jews who were with her in the house consoling her saw Mary get up quickly and go out. They followed her because they thought that she was going to the tomb to weep there. When Mary came where Jesus was and saw him, she knelt at his feet and said to him, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” When Jesus saw her weeping and the Jews who came with her also weeping, he was greatly disturbed in spirit and deeply moved. He said, “Where have you laid him?” They said to him, “Lord, come and see.” Jesus began to weep. So the Jews said, “See how he loved him!” But some of them said, “Could not he who opened the eyes of the blind man have kept this man from dying?”
 
Then Jesus, again greatly disturbed, came to the tomb. It was a cave, and a stone was lying against it. Jesus said, “Take away the stone.” Martha, the sister of the dead man, said to him, “Lord, already there is a stench because he has been dead four days.” Jesus said to her, “Did I not tell you that if you believed you would see the glory of God?” So they took away the stone. And Jesus looked upward and said, “Father, I thank you for having heard me. I knew that you always hear me, but I have said this for the sake of the crowd standing here, so that they may believe that you sent me.” When he had said this, he cried with a loud voice, “Lazarus, come out!” The dead man came out, his hands and feet bound with strips of cloth and his face wrapped in a cloth. Jesus said to them, “Unbind him, and let him go.”
 
Many of the Jews, therefore, who had come with Mary and had seen what Jesus did believed in him.
 
 
Jesus said: “I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die.”
 
These are always the very first words I speak at any funeral service I conduct.  And every time I say these words, the people in the pews have different reactions.  Some folks just stare.  Maybe death has made them numb and they aren’t able to connect to these words at all.  Sometimes people scowl.  Maybe they are not the church-going kind and all this talk of eternal life seems like so much nonsense to them.  But then there are always those who seem to grab hold of these words, like a lifeline.  Often, their eyes will lock with mine.  Sometimes they will wipe away tears.  Or they might smile and nod their heads.  It’s as if hope is rising up in them, even in the face of death.
 
I have always loved these words of Jesus.  And I cling to them for myself and all those I love.  But these words do not stand alone.  They are part of a much more complex story about human pain and loss, doubt and fear.  
 
Mary, Martha, and Lazarus – three adult siblings – apparently all unmarried, lived together in a village called Bethany, that was just two miles from Jerusalem.  And John tells us that Jesus was particularly fond of these three siblings.  In fact, in the passage that Henry read for us today, we are told three separate times that Jesus loved them.  
 
One day, Lazarus developed an odd cough.  That night, his whole body shook with a fever.  His sisters their best to cool him down, but to no avail.  As his temperature rose, so did their terror, for not only was their beloved brother at death’s door, but so was their livelihood.  As the only male of the family in a strictly patriarchal society, Lazarus was responsible for his sisters’ financial well-being.  So, this was a potentially devasting predicament in more ways than one.
 
But Jesus loved them.  And Jesus was their friend.  And they had seen Jesus heal other people.  So, Mary and Martha sent word to him, that he should come right away, and do for Lazarus what he had done for others.  
 
But this is where the story takes an ominous and strange turn.  When Jesus received word that his best friend was gravely ill, instead of setting out immediately to get to Bethany, he made an enigmatic statement about this illness not leading to death.  
 
Well, as true as that might have been, the sisters didn’t know that.  And then Jesus decided to stay where he was for two more days.  And the sisters didn’t know that either.  Instead, all they knew was that Jesus wasn’t there and they were desperate. 
 
When Jesus finally did get to Bethany, it was far too late.  Not only had he not been by his friend’s side to hold his hand as he died, but Jesus had also missed the funeral.  How would you ever forgive a friend who seemed so detached from your suffering?
 
When Jesus was still a little way off, word came to the house that he had finally come.  And Martha, leaving the mourners behind, broke protocol and ran out to meet him on the road.  And when she saw him, all her tangled emotions came spilling out with these words: “Lord, if you had only been here, my brother would not have died.”  But then, with a hint of hope she said, “But even now I know that God will give you whatever you ask.” 
 
Then, Martha ran back home to get Mary, who, we might imagine, was simply too hurt and angry to have gone out to meet Jesus.  But now that she knew that the Lord was asking for her, she would tell him exactly how she felt.  When she saw him, grief overwhelmed her and she collapsed at his feet and made the same accusation that her sister had: “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.”
 
And what happens next is one of the most moving scenes of the entire New Testament.  Jesus broke down and wept, great copious tears.  Jesus wept.
 
And if we take at all seriously the idea of the Incarnation, the astounding notion that God was in Christ; revealing God’s very face to us, then this reaction to human suffering tells us that God is not some impassive, unmovable deity who looks upon the pain of the world with divine detachment.  Instead, God looks at the victims of war and genocide, the scapegoats of oppression, the hungry children, the lonely elders, those who mourn, and God weeps with us over the pain of the world and the pain of our lives.
 
Then Jesus asked that the stone that covered the tomb be removed.  And in a loud voice, he shouted: “Lazarus, come out!”  And by God, he did.  The man who had been dead for four days came out of that tomb, alive.  
 
And this is where the story ends, on this note of triumphalism and victory.  Except that this is not where the story ends.  The Gospel of John tells us that it was this very event that finally set into motion the execution of Jesus.  And it was this very event that put into motion the plot to kill Lazarus and thus to get rid of the evidence.  Some scholars surmise that Lazarus was killed very quickly after this event.  And Jesus would go to his cross in a matter of days.
 
Frankly, I like the triumphal ending better.  I want Lazarus raised, restored to his sisters, and all of them living happily ever after.  And I want that story for them because I want that story for me.  I want Jesus to come and protect me from all those things I am afraid of, and restore all of those things that are broken.  But so often, he seems delayed.  
 
As many of you know, my younger sister is gravely ill.  And I have asked Jesus to come and to heal her and raise her up.  But as the diseased has progressed, I have found that I had less and less words to say about it all.  And so, I fell back on this ancient Christian prayer practice, that I have found so helpful over the years when I don’t know how to pray.  You hold the person in mind, and then you simply say, “Lord, have mercy.  Christ, have mercy.  Lord, have mercy.”  
 
So, this was the prayer I was praying for my sister a few weeks ago.  But with each repetition, I was more and more desperate.  When I finally paused long enough to listen, I heard a voice - not audibly – but in my mind, and as clear as a bell.  And the voice asked: “Do you think you are just shouting into a void?”  And I replied, “No, Lord.  I believe you hear me.”  
 
Likewise, there was something in Mary and Martha that would not let go of the idea that when they sent word to Jesus, that he would hear them and come.  They did not know what it would mean when he arrived, but they knew that just his presence would make a difference.
 
And there is something deep inside each of us that clings to that same hope.  And we believe that we are not just shouting into a void when we pray.  Instead, we are speaking to the One who stands outside of the tombs of our lives, and weeps with us over those things that break our hearts, and then whispers into our souls: “I am the resurrection and the life.”
 
 
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I CAN SEE CLEARLY NOW

3/15/2026

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Sunday, March 15, 2026 – Lent 4
First Congregational Church of Cheshire
© the Rev. Dr. James Campbell
 
 
John 9:1-41
 
As he walked along, he saw a man blind from birth. His disciples asked him, “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?” Jesus answered, “Neither this man nor his parents sinned; he was born blind so that God’s works might be revealed in him. We must work the works of him who sent me while it is day; night is coming, when no one can work. As long as I am in the world, I am the light of the world.” When he had said this, he spat on the ground and made mud with the saliva and spread the mud on the man’s eyes, saying to him, “Go, wash in the pool of Siloam” (which means Sent). Then he went and washed and came back able to see. The neighbors and those who had seen him before as a beggar began to ask, “Is this not the man who used to sit and beg?” Some were saying, “It is he.” Others were saying, “No, but it is someone like him.” He kept saying, “I am he.” But they kept asking him, “Then how were your eyes opened?” He answered, “The man called Jesus made mud, spread it on my eyes, and said to me, ‘Go to Siloam and wash.’ Then I went and washed and received my sight.” They said to him, “Where is he?” He said, “I do not know.”
 
They brought to the Pharisees the man who had formerly been blind. Now it was a Sabbath day when Jesus made the mud and opened his eyes. Then the Pharisees also began to ask him how he had received his sight. He said to them, “He put mud on my eyes. Then I washed, and now I see.” Some of the Pharisees said, “This man is not from God, for he does not observe the Sabbath.” Others said, “How can a man who is a sinner perform such signs?” And they were divided. So they said again to the blind man, “What do you say about him? It was your eyes he opened.” He said, “He is a prophet.”
 
The Jews did not believe that he had been blind and had received his sight until they called the parents of the man who had received his sight and asked them, “Is this your son, who you say was born blind? How then does he now see?” His parents answered, “We know that this is our son and that he was born blind, but we do not know how it is that now he sees, nor do we know who opened his eyes. Ask him; he is of age. He will speak for himself.” His parents said this because they were afraid of the Jews, for the Jews had already agreed that anyone who confessed Jesus to be the Messiah would be put out of the synagogue. Therefore his parents said, “He is of age; ask him.”
 
So for the second time they called the man who had been blind, and they said to him, “Give glory to God! We know that this man is a sinner.” He answered, “I do not know whether he is a sinner. One thing I do know, that though I was blind, now I see.” They said to him, “What did he do to you? How did he open your eyes?” He answered them, “I have told you already, and you would not listen. Why do you want to hear it again? Do you also want to become his disciples?” Then they reviled him, saying, “You are his disciple, but we are disciples of Moses. We know that God has spoken to Moses, but as for this man, we do not know where he comes from.” The man answered, “Here is an astonishing thing! You do not know where he comes from, yet he opened my eyes. We know that God does not listen to sinners, but he does listen to one who worships him and obeys his will. Never since the world began has it been heard that anyone opened the eyes of a person born blind. If this man were not from God, he could do nothing.” They answered him, “You were born entirely in sins, and are you trying to teach us?” And they drove him out.
 
Jesus heard that they had driven him out, and when he found him he said, “Do you believe in the Son of Man?” He answered, “And who is he, sir? Tell me, so that I may believe in him.” Jesus said to him, “You have seen him, and the one speaking with you is he.” He said, “Lord, I believe.” And he worshiped him. Jesus said, “I came into this world for judgment, so that those who do not see may see and those who do see may become blind.” Some of the Pharisees who were with him heard this and said to him, “Surely we are not blind, are we?” Jesus said to them, “If you were blind, you would not have sin. But now that you say, ‘We see,’ your sin remains.
 
 
 
On March 19, 2014, a man named Fred Phelps died.  And when Fred died, people around the world rejoiced.  When Fred died, I rejoiced.  Maybe I shouldn’t have, but I did.   
 
So just who was this Fred Phelps that so many people were glad to see him go?  Well, he was the pastor and founder of the Westboro Baptist Church in Topeka, Kansas.  Maybe you’ve heard of them.  
 
These folks are best known for their protests at the funerals of people in the news, like fallen soldiers, and the children of Sandy Hook, and the murdered patrons of the Pulse nightclub.  They stand outside with their bullhorns and placards, declaring that these deaths are the judgment of a very angry God, who just happens to hate all the same people they do.  
 
They use the Bible as justification for their actions and their attitudes.  And they feel righteous in what they are doing.  They believe that they are prophets, warning us all of the judgment to come.
 
So, when Fred died, people rejoiced.  But here’s the thing: before Fred did all that damage in the world; before he inflicted such needless pain, Fred Phelps actually did some good.  His New York Times obituary revealed that before Fred began to preach hate, he was a very successful civil rights attorney.  He took on the cases that no one else wanted, and won many of them.  At one time, Phelps’s law firm made up 1/3 of the state of Kansas’s federal docket of civil rights cases.  There was even a local chapter of the NAACP that honored him with an award.  
 
Which begs the question: what on earth happened to Fred?  How did this one so full of promise become so full of darkness?  How did Fred lose his vision of the love of Jesus?  Sadly, the answer to that question is religion.  
 
Religion can let loose a lot of hatred in our world.  Religion is at the root of much of the anger now plaguing our country.  And sadly, this is nothing new.  In the wrong hands, religion has always been a powerful weapon of control and manipulation.  And sometimes it makes this pastor despair.
 
There once was a man who had been born blind.  And in that world and in that time, everyone thought that there had to be someone to blame for this misfortune.  Their religion had taught them that.  So, it was really no surprise when the disciples asked Jesus: “Who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?”  But Jesus didn’t buy into their presupposition.  Instead, he replied: “Nobody sinned.  But this illness will be an avenue for the glory of God.”  And, by the way, all of this transpired on the Sabbath.
 
What happened next is strange as strange can be.  Jesus spat on the ground and made a muddy poultice of saliva and dirt.  And then, he rubbed it on the blind man’s eyes and told him to go wash it away in the public bath.  And lo and behold, when the mud fell off, for the first time ever, this man who had never seen his own face, now saw it reflected in the water.  
 
When his neighbors saw the man, with his sparkling, curious eyes, they didn’t even recognize him.  They had always defined him by what he didn’t have.  Even when he told them who he was, they didn’t believe him.  And so, they took him to the religious authorities to have all this checked out.  But when the man described how Jesus had made some mud and rubbed it on his eyes, the authorities were incensed because the act of kneading mud was one of 39 things that was expressly forbidden to do on the Sabbath.  
 
Well, that sealed the deal.  Jesus could not be from God because he has broken the rules.  And that meant the miracle could also not be divine.  Therefore, this man had to be a fraud.  And so, they decided to prove it.  They called his parents in for a conference.  But the parents were no fools.  When the religious authorities asked them how it was that their once-blind son could now see, they replied: “He’s an adult.  Ask him.”  And then they went home.
 
When they asked the man again about how he had received his sight, this time his answer was bolder still.  Maybe his self-esteem had been repaired along with his vision.  Whatever the case, his new attitude was just too much for these religious people who thought they knew everything about the way God works.  And so, they kicked him out.  
 
It was at that precise moment that Jesus reappeared looking for the man.  And the two of them talked about who Jesus was and what he came to do.  And the man believed it.  And he worshipped Jesus - the only time anyone worships Jesus in the entire Gospel of John.  And then Jesus said, “I came into this world for judgment so that those who do not see may see, and those who do see may become blind.”
 
Which takes me back to the tragic character of Fred Phelps.  Doesn’t old Fred seem to be a poignant example of the second part of Jesus’s enigmatic statement about those who see becoming blind?
 
Now, truth be told, we much prefer our sermon stories to go the other way.  We want stories about people who gain their sight, not about people who are blinded by the light.  Wouldn’t it be better if old Fred had once been a hateful bigot who was saved by Jesus and then became an award-winning civil rights attorney?  Then we could all feel good and praise God together for the miracle of someone who once was blind but now he sees.  
 
But the truth is, that is not how everyone responds to the light of Christ.  Some people, in the blaze of all that glory and the brightness of all that love, lose their sight.  They shut their eyes.  They refuse to see what is right in front of them.  For some folks, the simple fact that love always wins is just too much of a challenge to the way they want the world to be; and the vengeance and fire and fury they seek to exact.  
 
But truth be told, that also makes me wonder about myself.  Because I am remembering all those times I hated Fred.  Oh, it seemed perfectly reasonable, respectable even.  Because Fred had done so much damage.  He had compounded so much misery.  He beat his chest and yelled at the world and bullied everyone around him.  And he seemed to delight in the pain of it all.  So, when he died, I thought: maybe the hell he used to threaten everyone else with is exactly what he deserves.
 
Except that when Fred died, he saw everything clearly – maybe for the first time ever.  In the presence of Jesus, his eyes were opened.  The mud of his religion and pride and anger was washed away.  And in the presence of all that pure light and amazing grace, is it really so hard to believe that Fred was truly sorry for all that he had not seen? 
 
And I can either hold onto that hope for someone like Fred, or I can choose to be blind.      
 
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​THE REST OF THE STORY

3/8/2026

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Sunday, March 8, 2026 – Lent 3
First Congregational Church of Cheshire
© the Rev. Dr. James Campbell
 
John 4:5-29
 
So he came to a Samaritan city called Sychar, near the plot of ground that Jacob had given to his son Joseph. Jacob’s well was there, and Jesus, tired out by his journey, was sitting by the well. It was about noon.
 
A Samaritan woman came to draw water, and Jesus said to her, “Give me a drink.” (His disciples had gone to the city to buy food.) The Samaritan woman said to him, “How is it that you, a Jew, ask a drink of me, a woman of Samaria?” (Jews do not share things in common with Samaritans.) Jesus answered her, “If you knew the gift of God and who it is that is saying to you, ‘Give me a drink,’ you would have asked him, and he would have given you living water.” The woman said to him, “Sir, you have no bucket, and the well is deep. Where do you get that living water? Are you greater than our ancestor Jacob, who gave us the well and with his sons and his flocks drank from it?” Jesus said to her, “Everyone who drinks of this water will be thirsty again, but those who drink of the water that I will give them will never be thirsty. The water that I will give will become in them a spring of water gushing up to eternal life.” The woman said to him, “Sir, give me this water, so that I may never be thirsty or have to keep coming here to draw water.”
 
Jesus said to her, “Go, call your husband, and come back.” The woman answered him, “I have no husband.” Jesus said to her, “You are right in saying, ‘I have no husband,’ for you have had five husbands, and the one you have now is not your husband. What you have said is true!” The woman said to him, “Sir, I see that you are a prophet. Our ancestors worshiped on this mountain, but you say that the place where people must worship is in Jerusalem.” Jesus said to her, “Woman, believe me, the hour is coming when you will worship the Father neither on this mountain nor in Jerusalem. You worship what you do not know; we worship what we know, for salvation is from the Jews. But the hour is coming and is now here when the true worshipers will worship the Father in spirit and truth, for the Father seeks such as these to worship him. God is spirit, and those who worship him must worship in spirit and truth.” The woman said to him, “I know that Messiah is coming” (who is called Christ). “When he comes, he will proclaim all things to us.” Jesus said to her, “I am he, the one who is speaking to you.”
 
Just then his disciples came. They were astonished that he was speaking with a woman, but no one said, “What do you want?” or, “Why are you speaking with her?” Then the woman left her water jar and went back to the city. She said to the people, “Come and see a man who told me everything I have ever done! He cannot be the Messiah, can he?”
 
 
I remember the first time I ever heard the phrase “sex shaming.”  It was spoken by the young female associate minister at my previous church in Manhattan.  I had made some off-the-cuff comment about someone, and she challenged that comment and then referred to it as sex-shaming.  I didn’t know what she meant then, but I do now.
 
Sex shaming is exactly what it sounds like.  It can be self-directed, as in judging yourself and your behaviors based on some external set of rules.  Or more often, it is directed at others, and involves making judgments about how other people live their lives, based on our perceptions, our rules, our expectations. 
 
We engage in sex shaming mostly, I think, because we are trying to deflect attention away from our own lives.  We engage in sex shaming, I’m sure, because gossip is fun – especially if sex is involved.  But whatever our motivations, it can be exceedingly damaging.
 
Many years ago, when I was in seminary, there was a young couple in the student body whom I had also known at college.  And when we all were in college together, the word on the street was that this couple was rather wild.  And people whispered salacious tales about their personal lives.  I was one of those whisperers.
 
But now they were married and in seminary and preparing for a life of service.  Still, one day I made the awful mistake of repeating one of those old salacious tales to some other seminary students.  And right on cue, we all giggled like naughty children.  But then feeling guilty, and so I swore them to secrecy.  
 
But the secret didn’t keep.  I know that because a few days later, when I saw this couple on campus and greeted them like the friends we had been, the look of sadness and betrayal on their faces haunts me to this day.  I had sex shamed them.  I had defined them based on nothing more than rumors and innuendos.  And in the process, I destroyed a friendship.
 
I bring all of this up because the woman in the Gospel less today is likewise a victim of sex shaming.  At least that’s what I’ve always heard about her.  She is forever defined by her so-called sexual choices.
 
Jesus and his disciples had traveled to Samaria – that place where no self-respecting Jew would ever go on purpose.  You see, Samaria was inhabited by Jewish people whose ancestors had intermarried with the invading Babylonians all those centuries before.  And that made them collaborators and pagans and half-breeds.  By the time of Jesus, Samaritans were so despised that most Jews, when traveling from Judea to Galilee, would walk an extra nine hours just to avoid setting one foot in that place.  
 
But Jesus walked right into the middle of it.  Think about that.  Jesus went right into the middle of a place everyone else avoided; to people everyone else hated.  
 
It was high noon and hot as blazes.  And Jesus was tired from the journey and very thirsty.  As luck would have it, he came upon Jacob’s well, that mythic place revered by both Jews and Samaritans, who counted Jacob as their common ancestor.  But Jesus had no bucket and the well was deep.  
 
All of a sudden, a lone Samaritan woman approached the well.  When Jesus saw her, he asked her for a drink.  But she was incredulous, as well she should have been, that a Jew and a man would even speak to her.  
 
But he did speak to her.  In fact, their conversation is the longest one ever recorded in all four Gospels.  And the topics they discussed were wide-ranging.  They talked about ethnic differences, and theology, and the purpose and meaning of life, and economic and social conditions.  It was a very lively exchange.  But no one ever preaches a sermon about that.  
 
Instead, sermons might point out how odd it was for Jesus to speak to a woman at all.  Jewish men simply did not speak to unrelated women.  In fact, this prohibition was so strong that there were some Pharisees known as the “bruised and bleeding Pharisees” because they would shut their eyes when they saw a woman, even if it meant walking into a wall and breaking their noses.  
 
Or, a sermon might point out the enmity between Samaritans and Jews, and why it was so deep and wide, and why these two people groups despised one another.  And yet, there was Jesus bridging the gap.
 
But most of the sermons I’ve ever heard are, in some way or another, about this woman’s sexual life.  They are about a woman who, supposedly, just went from one relationship to another.  And so, in order to uncover her secret sin, Jesus tricked her by asking her to go get her husband so that they could drink together from his living waters.
 
But here’s the thing about this strong and intelligent woman.  She was a straight shooter.  “I have no husband,” she replied.  To which Jesus said: “You’re right.  You have had five husbands and the one you’re living with now, well, you’re not married to him.”
 
And then those sermons bring this point home: if Jesus could forgive a fallen woman like that, surely he could forgive me (even though I’m not nearly as bad as she is!). 
 
But was she bad?  Was she loose?  Was she fallen?
 
Here’s the thing: having five husbands was not necessarily an indication that she was the Elizabeth Taylor of the ancient world.  You see, in that time and place, multiple marriages were not uncommon, as husbands died in war and from illness or injury, leaving the woman to marry again if she didn’t want to starve to death.  In addition to that, marriages could be annulled by male family members if a better financial offer came along.  And then there’s this: the right to marry was restricted.  For example: slave could not marry.  Roman soldiers could not marry.  A Roman citizen could not marry a non-citizen.  So, the truth is we don’t know why this woman had all these husbands.  And we have no idea why she was not married to the one she had now.  But none of that has ever stopped us from sex shaming this nameless woman.  
 
Except she has a name – at least in the traditions of Eastern Orthodox Christianity.  She is called “Photine” or “Svetlana” meaning “the illuminated one.”  For Orthodox Christians, the thing that defines her is not her so-called sin.  What defines her is the role that she played during and after this conversation with Jesus.  When it was all said and done, Photine ran back into town and announced to anyone who would listen: “Come and see the man who told me everything I have ever done.”  
 
And that, Orthodox Christians say, is what makes Photine the first evangelist to proclaim that Jesus is the Messiah.  And that, Orthodox Christians say, is why her name can also be translated as “equal to the apostles.”  This so-called loose woman, this sex shamed character is on the same footing as those twelve men who knew Jesus best.
 
“Come and see the One who told me everything I’ve ever done.” “Come and see the one who spoke to me like an equal.”  “Come and see the one who asked me my name.”  “Come and see the one who really saw me… and loved me just the same.”  
 
In that world, in that time, likely no man had ever seen Photine for who she really was.  But Jesus did.  And it caused in her a well of living water to bubble up to eternal life.
 
And just like her, when we are seen and accepted and loved, those same waters well up in us.  And the dirt of our past is washed away.  And the thirst for dignity is quenched.  And we say with her: “Come and see the One who told me everything I have ever done, and loves me just the same.”
 
 

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JESUS, IN SMALL DOSES

3/1/2026

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Sunday, March 1, 2026 – Lent 2
First Congregational Church of Cheshire
© the Rev. Dr. James Campbell
 
 
John 3:1-17
Now there was a Pharisee named Nicodemus, a leader of the Jews. He came to Jesusby night and said to him, “Rabbi, we know that you are a teacher who has come from God, for no one can do these signs that you do unless God is with that person.” Jesus answered him, “Very truly, I tell you, no one can see the kingdom of God without being born from above.” Nicodemus said to him, “How can anyone be born after having grown old? Can one enter a second time into the mother’s womb and be born?” Jesus answered, “Very truly, I tell you, no one can enter the kingdom of God without being born of water and Spirit. What is born of the flesh is flesh, and what is born of the Spirit is spirit. Do not be astonished that I said to you, ‘You must be born from above.’ The wind blows where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes. So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit.” Nicodemus said to him, “How can these things be?” Jesus answered him, “Are you the teacher of Israel, and yet you do not understand these things?
 
“Very truly, I tell you, we speak of what we know and testify to what we have seen, yet you do not receive our testimony. If I have told you about earthly things and you do not believe, how can you believe if I tell you about heavenly things? No one has ascended into heaven except the one who descended from heaven, the Son of Man.And just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life.
 
“For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.
 
“Indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world but in order that the world might be saved through him.
 
 +++
 
When I was seven years old, my parents sent me away for a week of summer church camp.  They did this against my will, as I really, really did not want to go.  But this was long before family negotiations were a thing.  And so, on the appointed day, off I went.
 
In some ways, this church camp was a lot like other summer camps.  There was horseback riding and boating, softballs and crafts, campfires and camaraderie.  But there was also a very heavy dose of fundamentalist religion scattered throughout each day.  
 
We had morning devotionals and afternoon Bible studies and evening worship services.  They even had a high-powered preacher whose job it was to convince us elementary school students, that we were hopeless sinners.  Well, I was actually a pretty good kid, and so I resisted this messaging for as long as I could.  But by the end of the week, I could resist no more.  
 
When the evening service rolled around, an invitation was given for us to come forward and give our hearts to Jesus.  And that’s what I did.  I asked Jesus to forgive me and to come into my heart.  I still remember that sense of euphoria as the counselors told me that I had been born again.  
 
When my parents came to take me home, I couldn’t wait to tell them what had happened to me.  And they were as pleased as pleased could be.  And soon thereafter my father presided over my baptism.  
 
This remains a foundational spiritual experience for me.  But I don’t tell this story very often.  I don’t tell it because I cannot condone the emotional manipulation of those camp counselors and that charismatic preacher.  I don’t tell it because I don’t believe in scaring the hell out of people in order to convert them.  And I steer clear of the phrase, “born again” for all kinds of reasons.  Mostly because it implies a kind of intellectual certitude that I have come to see as the opposite of faith.  And then, of course, in recent years, the phrase “born again” has been co-opted by politicians.  To say that one is born again or evangelical is no longer just a religious identity.  It’s a political one – and one often associated with the heresy of Christian nationalism.  And so, I don’t tell this story very often.  And I don’t use the phrase “born again.”  
 
But this phrase, no matter what you think about it, is front and center in the Gospel lesson of the day.  The main character is a respectable man named Nicodemus.  In addition to being a Pharisee, Nicodemus was a member of the Sanhedrin, that religious court charged with interpreting and implementing religious law.  That made Nicodemus part of the establishment, while Jesus was very firmly part of the anti-establishment.
 
Despite the differences between them, Nicodemus was intrigued by this charismatic, itinerant rabbi who spoke so eloquently about the Kingdom of God.  And so, one day, he screwed up his courage and decided to go see the young rabbi for himself.  But he couldn’t do that in the bright light of day.  He has his reputation to consider.  And so old Nick went under the cover of darkness.  
 
When he met Jesus, Nicodemus was deferential: “Rabbi,” he said, “we know that you are one of God’s teachers because no one could do all things you’ve done without God’s blessing.”  Now that was a very nice compliment to come from such a respectable person.  But Jesus did not respond to it at all.  Instead, he replied: “No one can see the Kingdom of God without being born again.”  
 
And what follows is an almost comedic conversation in which both men seem to talk past each other.  Nicodemus took Jesus literally and asked how it was possible for someone to re-enter his mother’s womb and be born twice.  Jesus answered in metaphors, making a reference to how the Spirit, by which we are born again, is as wild and unpredictable as the wind.  
 
In the middle of this conversation, both men seem to lose their patience with the other.  And the whole story ends without a satisfying conclusion.  Jesus can’t get Nick to quite understand what he means by being born again.  And Nick leaves as confused as he was when he arrived.
 
And because of that, throughout church history, Nicodemus has been presented in a rather negative light.  We think of him as the man who just didn’t get it, despite all of his impressive credentials.  He’s the guy who had a face-to-face with Jesus Christ and walked away unchanged.  Or so we say.
 
But I think that we sell him short.  Because there is something very familiar about him.  Because just like so many of us, Nicodemus was on a spiritual journey.  He was still traveling toward the truth.  And that makes Nicodemus the patron saint of the spiritually curious and cautious.  He is the father of seekers everywhere.  He is so much more than this one encounter with Jesus.  
 
Because his story does not end here.  In fact, the Gospel of John tells two more stories about Nicodemus that clearly imply that his journey continued; that he kept on looking for that promise of new life.
 
The next time we see him is in the 7th chapter of John.  Jesus had caused a dust-up by preaching a dramatic sermon in the Temple in which we referred to himself as Water of Life and then invited the people to come and drink.  This incensed the Pharisees, who gathered to devise a plan on how to declare Jesus a fraud, and thus to silence him.  But Nicodemus, who once was ashamed to come to Jesus in the daylight, now spoke up in support of him, and in front of his intellectual peers.  He encouraged his fellow scholars to listen to what Jesus actually said before they passed final judgment.  
 
And then, much later on, in chapter 19, after Jesus had been crucified, it was Nicodemus and Joseph of Arimethea who took the body of Jesus to give it a proper burial.  And John tells us that Nicodemus, in an act of pure devotion, purchased one hundred pounds of spices and perfumes to anoint the dead body of the Lord.  
 
After Nicodemus helped to bury the body of Jesus, John never mentions him again.  But that doesn’t mean he didn’t keep on traveling.  Is it really such a stretch to imagine that come Sunday morning, Nicodemus was among those who heard the incredible news that the tomb empty?  
 
The late great preacher and author, Frederick Buechner put it like this: “When (Nicodemus) heard the next day that some of the disciples had seen Jesus alive, he wept like a newborn child.”    
 
Nicodemus simply couldn’t handle Jesus all at once.  And frankly, I don’t think anyone can.  We take our Jesus in small doses, because that is precisely how enlightenment happens.  
 
The word Nicodemus actually means “the people’s victory.”  Isn’t that marvelous?  That means that his quest is our quest.  His faith is our faith.  His victory is our victory.  Because no matter how we come to trust in Jesus, or how long it takes us to get there, eventually we all end up at the same place: a new beginning, a fresh start, an empty tomb.  And we are born again.

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A JOURNEY INTO DARKNESS

2/22/2026

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February 22, 2026 – Lent 1
First Congregational Church of Cheshire
© the Rev. Dr. James Campbell
 
Matthew 4:1-11
Then Jesus was led up by the Spirit into the wilderness to be tested by the devil. He fasted forty days and forty nights, and afterward he was famished. The tempter came and said to him, “If you are the Son of God, command these stones to become loaves of bread.” But he answered, “It is written,
 
‘One does not live by bread alone,
    but by every word that comes from the mouth of God.’ ”
 
Then the devil took him to the holy city and placed him on the pinnacle of the temple, saying to him, “If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down, for it is written,
 
‘He will command his angels concerning you,’
    and ‘On their hands they will bear you up,
so that you will not dash your foot against a stone.’ ”
 
Jesus said to him, “Again it is written, ‘Do not put the Lord your God to the test.’ ”
 
Again, the devil took him to a very high mountain and showed him all the kingdoms of the world and their glory, and he said to him, “All these I will give you, if you will fall down and worship me.” Then Jesus said to him, “Away with you, Satan! for it is written,
 
‘Worship the Lord your God,
    and serve only him.’ ”
 
Then the devil left him, and suddenly angels came and waited on him.
 
​
We called her Freda the Witch.  We called her that because she seemed so mean. We called her that because there were dark rumors about Freda and her husband - the kind that gave a twelve-year-old pause before provoking her.
 
But I did provoke her, or at least my dog did.  You see, Pepper was an outside dog, a wild mut.  At night he would turn him loose to roam the whole neighborhood.  And in the mornings, we would often find his gifts on the back steps: rabbit ears, frog legs, the tail of a squirrel.
 
But Freda didn’t want my dog in her yard at night, which was her right.  And she warned me that I would be sorry if I didn’t keep him where he belonged.  But I didn’t listen.
 
One morning soon thereafter, Pepper didn’t come home.  We looked for him all day, roaming the neighborhood and calling his name, but to no avail.  Then, along about dusk, two kids knocked on our door while we ate our dinner, and asked if we had a black and white dog.  They asked because they had seen a dead dog on the road to the gravel pit near our house.  And we all knew that it was Pepper.  
 
My father told me to put on my shoes and get the shovel out of the garage.  It was dark by then and the road to the gravel pit was darker still.  And I was afraid. “Let’s go in the morning, dad,” I pleaded.  But he was undeterred.  Because he had another motivation beyond just burying the family dog.  And so, with shovel and flashlight, we set off, the gravel crunching under our feet, mosquitos swarming our heads.  And I was so angry at my father for forcing me into all that darkness. 
 
We found Pepper right where the kids said he was.  My dad said that he had been poisoned.  And we all suspected that Freda the Witch had done it.  And so, we dug a hole, and said a prayer, and buried our dog.  And then we headed back home.  
 
We walked in silence for a while.  But then my father asked me why I was so afraid of so many things.  I didn’t know then.  And then he told me that eventually I would have to learn to face my fears because that was the only way to vanquish them.  Instead of avoiding the darkness of life, I would need to go deeper.  
 
That’s what Jesus did.  Today’s lesson begins with one of the strangest verses in all of the New Testament: “Then Jesus was led up by the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted by the devil.”  This was the same Jesus who taught to pray, “And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.”  How odd that we are taught to pray for deliverance from evil while at the same time, it seems, the Spirit can lead us into some dark places, where we must confront our fears. 
 
The wilderness of Judea was an awful place, harsh and barren and full of danger.  But you don’t have to make a trip to the Holy Land in order to understand that the wilderness represents any place that is dark and foreboding.  It is any place of testing.  And it is any place where at the end, we have gained some clarity.
 
And I suspect that that was the reason that the Spirit led Jesus there.  He needed clarity of purpose.  Because what he was about to face would take all the fortitude he had.  And so, the Spirit led him there, where he fasted and prayed for forty days and forty nights.  
 
Well, that’s a very long time to be without food.  And when it was over, Jesus was famished.  But he was also in the wilderness, far away from any village where he might find something to eat.  And it was in that precise moment of desperation that the devil appeared.  That’s when the devil always appears.
 
In Greek, the word for devil can be translated as “one who attacks, misleads, diverts, discredits, slanders and deceives.”  That’s why the devil is sometimes referred to simply as The Deceiver, that voice that confuses our perceptions and makes the truth of God seem like foolishness.
 
So, this Deceiver-in-Chief laid out these three tempting propositions to Jesus, all of which, I might add, on the surface seemed perfectly reasonable. 
 
“Jesus,” he said, “use your magic powers to turn these stones into bread to fill your belly.”  “Jesus,” he said, “throw yourself off the pinnacle of the Temple like a superhero and wait for the angels to catch you.” “Jesus,” he said, “worship me and I will make you rich beyond your wildest dreams.”  
 
All of these temptations are variations on an old theme: the abuse of power.  All of these temptations appeal to an overblown egocentrism, and a narcissistic worldview where I want, what I need, and what I say… trumps everything else.  
 
How sad that some things never change.  The Deceiver still uses the same lines and we humans still believe the lies.  And when enough humans believe the lies it’s enough to make you fear for the future of our race.  It’s enough to make this whole world into a wilderness.
 
And so, in every generation, we want someone, anyone to save us from this present darkness, to get us out of this wilderness.  But the history of God’s people in all times and in all places is not that we are magically saved from the darkness.  Instead, we are saved through it.  
 
Why else would the Spirit lead Jesus into the wilderness, except to prepare him for all that was to come?
 
I was so angry at my father for making me walk down that dark road to bury my dog.  But my dad was right.  Because I was afraid of too many things.  And the only way for me to vanquish that fear was to confront it.  
 
For some of us today, the journey into darkness is a very individual journey.  For others, it’s more corporate.  It’s your family or your friends that are being led into the wilderness.  Some would say that our nation is in a wilderness.  Or that the planet itself is.  But whether it is you alone or with everyone else, the temptations are always the same.  Will we grab at selfishness and self-aggrandizement and the abuse of power?  Or will we resist the Deceiver, and those old, old lies that never produce what we want or what we need?
 
In the season of Lent, we are invited into a closer imitation of Jesus, who was led by the Spirit into the Wilderness. In Lent, we spend 40 days in the shadows, seeking clarity of purpose and newness of life.  In Lent, we must choose again whether we will curse the darkness or let it do its perfect work.  
 
Cursing the darkness is easier, but it’s full of despair.  But the way of Jesus is ultimately bright with angels, who suddenly appear with food and drink and courage for all the days of our lives yet to be. 
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​CAPTURING THE GLORY

2/15/2026

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

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"The glory of God is the human person fully alive."
Saint Irenaeus of Lyon, 2nd century