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
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
RSS Feed