It’s a story of grief and doubt, of dreams seemingly destroyed, and an uncertain future as two disciples returned to their village after Jesus’ death.  We hear of their encounter with a stranger who spoke to them about what their sacred text told them had to happen.  But in their grief, they could not absorb what he was saying. Never the less, upon arriving home, they felt compelled to offer hospitality to this stranger.  They invited him to join them at their table for a meal.  And at the table, something miraculous happened.  In Jesus’ the breaking of the bread, they recognized that stranger as Jesus. 

At worship this Sunday, we will enact that scripture story.  We will also hear words that are  not in scripture, ones that could have been running through the disciples’ heads and ones we might have today. We will hear the scripture story in two parts. The first part will be presented before the Communion.  Then as we share the sacrament, we will recall that in the Sacrament, we commemorate Jesus’ breaking of the bread. Then we will hear the rest of the story.

Let us engage this story of Jesus becoming known to his disciples and to us.  Let us be nourished so that we too might feel our “hearts burning” and feel that desire to share the mystery of Jesus’ Resurrection.  Come, let us worship!

Each of the Gospels tells the story of Easter morning—but not in exactly the same way. In John’s Gospel, the story begins in darkness. Mary Magdalene goes to the tomb alone, before dawn, carrying grief, love, and a longing she cannot quite explain.

Many of us know something about that kind of darkness. We have lived through seasons when hope felt distant—times when we wondered if the light would ever return. And yet, Easter begins right there.

This year at First Congregational Church, we will gather to hear again the good news that meets us in the dark: the tomb is empty, love is stronger than fear, and hope rises even when we cannot yet see it.

Come and celebrate the light that no darkness can overcome.

Good Friday Worship Service

In John’s account of Jesus before Pilate, fear fills the room.  The religious authorities fear that Jesus’ way of love will disrupt the order that protects their power.  Pilate fears what might happen if the rumors are true—if this beaten and mocked man really is the Son of God.  And so, they cling to the words, “We have a law.”

It is a moment when fear tries to hold the future in place.

But the Gospel assures us that God’s love cannot be contained by fear, power, or the systems we build to protect ourselves.  Even in the shadow of the cross, a different kind of kingdom is being revealed—one grounded not in control, but in courage, truth, and love.

This Sunday we will consider the fears that shaped that ancient moment, and the fears that still shape our lives today—and how the way of Christ invites us to live beyond them.

For 25 years, millions of people watched Judge Judy settle disputes in a televised courtroom. There’s something fascinating about watching a judge weigh the evidence and decide who is right and who is wrong.

In John 18:28–40, we encounter a different kind of courtroom scene. Jesus stands before the Roman governor Pontius Pilate as accusations are made and questions are asked. It appears that Jesus is the one being judged.

But as the scene unfolds, the roles begin to shift. What looks like a trial becomes something deeper—an invitation to reflect on how we judge others and how we recognize God’s presence in our midst. Join us this Sunday as we explore this powerful moment in the Gospel of John.

Our scripture reading for the third Sunday in Lent is on the story of Peter’s denial. Peter didn’t just deny Jesus once, but three times and in doing so is also denied who he himself was and is. How did Peter end up in this position? To answer that, I decided to take a bit of a different approach and open with two imaginative letters. The first is a rather accusatory letter to Simon Peter from some imaginary future followers of Jesus Christ and the second is a response to that letter.  Through Peter’s denials, the action of a guard of the high priest, and Jesus’ steady calm presence and commitment to the truth we can ask ourselves questions like, How am I like Peter and How do follow in the path of Jesus? 

This week, we welcome the Reverend Leslie Jackson to the pulpit of First Congregational Church. Since late last year, Rev. Jackson has served as the Area Conference minister for the South Central Region of the SNEUCC, of which we are a part. As an ACM, Rev. Jackson supports clergy, congregations, and associations of the Region as they live out the love and justice of Jesus in their communities. He works closely with Committees on Ministry, supporting their leadership within seven Associations and guiding congregations through the search and call process with strategic insight and steady accompaniment.

Over the past decade, Rev. Jackson has served as a pastor, preacher, and justice advocate in Houston and New Orleans. His work includes nonprofit collaboration, interfaith engagement, and board service with organizations across Texas. His ministry centers on justice, transformation, and helping communities rise with hope.

It’s the shortest verse in the Bible—the first scripture verse I memorized—and perhaps the most important one I’ll ever remember.

When his friend Lazarus was sick, Jesus did not come right away. When he finally comes, he asks Martha an odd question.  “Do you believe in resurrection?”  Martha says she believes, but true to the Gospel of John training plan, she misunderstands. She believes in resurrection on the last day, but Lazarus has been dead in the tomb for four days.  As the coroner in the Wizard of Oz says, “he’s not only merely dead, he's really most sincerely dead.”  

But there is a part of this story that has always amazed me.  It is verse 35, “Jesus wept.”  At least that’s what old King James says.  Our translation says, “Jesus began to weep.”  Either way, it is the shortest verse in the Bible.

I have come to believe, over 40 plus years of ministry, that it is also one of the most important verses in the Bible. But why did Jesus weep when he knew that Lazarus would live again?

I will suggest in my sermon on Sunday morning, borrowing a phrase from my friend, the Rev. Mary Luti, that Jesus knew if you don’t learn to weep, you can’t be a good Christian. 

And so, Jesus weeps, to show us how.

This Sunday, we will read a story from the Gospel of John that unfolds like a one-act play, complete with a surprisingly large cast of characters. The story opens with a question about sin and closes with accusations of sin—but sin is not the point.

The disciples ask Jesus, “Who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?” Jesus answers, neither—and then invites us to look more closely. If we are willing to see, we may just glimpse the glory of God.

What follows is a heated theological dispute, with competing certainties on all sides. But on Sunday, I won’t be taking sides in that argument—because Jesus doesn’t. Jesus is not interested in winning debates, but in revealing God’s glory and doing God’s will.

That is where we will place our focus together, and I invite you to join me in that discernment.

This Sunday, worship invites us into a conversation: one that happens around a well, in the middle of an ordinary day.

In John 4, Jesus meets a woman who has come simply to draw water. What she doesn’t expect is to be transformed by an encounter with a stranger. Jesus doesn’t rush her. He doesn’t lecture. He starts with a simple request and then offers something deeper: living water.

This is a story about thirst in all its forms. The kind we feel in our bodies, yes; but also the thirst for belonging, for dignity, for a life that feels whole. Jesus names that longing gently and promises a water that does not run out, a grace that keeps flowing even when our own wells feel dry.

We’ll experience this story through a Readers Theater, hearing the dialogue unfold through several voices. As the story is shared, we’re invited to listen and imagine ourselves at the well, overhearing the conversation, maybe even recognizing our own questions and hopes in the woman’s words.

If you’re feeling weary, curious, hopeful, or unsure… there is room for you in this story. Come and listen for the living water Jesus offers, flowing freely, offered without condition.

Come to the well. All are welcome.