Christ has died. Christ is risen. Christ will come again. We say it every week, don’t we? But what does it really mean? In Jesus, time isn’t the way we think of it. For us, time has weight—death puts a period at the end of our sentence. But in Jesus, time becomes fluid, without beginning or end, because death doesn’t hold the final word anymore. Christ the same—yesterday, today, and tomorrow—the favorite hymn holds. That’s why we can live in the past, the present, and the future all at once. Remember the past. Remember the present. Remember the future. And the Holy Spirit is there—binding it all together, calling us to be present in the now. It’s the Holy Spirit that draws us into communion, into a real connection that goes beyond thought, that re-members us into something much bigger than just ourselves, uniting us with what was, what is, and what will be. We’re not just recalling; we’re re-living, re-joining in Christ’s eternal life, in his unending presence. The challenge? To live here and now, in this moment, without idolizing the past or obsessing over the future. God gives us the grace to live in the moment, to live in the present, free to focus on what really matters.
Let us pray. May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable in your sight, O Lord, our rock and our redeemer. Amen.
Today is a good day!
This is the day the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it!
We’re here today, once again, to celebrate fifty years in this building, marking fifty years of God showing us that our name, Emanuel, truly means “God with us.” Through trials and triumphs, God has stayed by our side, guiding us and holding us together. This Jubilee is a reminder of God’s faithfulness and love that have shaped our story. We’re not just celebrating a building. We’re celebrating God’s work in us and through us as a community. It’s a day to give thanks for how far we’ve come and look forward to where God will lead us next.
Reflecting on our past, I’m drawn to the stone the builders cast aside from today’s psalm. In many ways, that rejected stone is our story. We’ve faced our share of struggles and setbacks, and in those moments, we may have felt cast aside, uncertain if we could ever stand strong again. When Pastor Olson first arrived, back in the early ‘80s, we were weighed down by massive mortgages, and it seemed like the wider church had written us off, expecting us to close within a few years. Fear and confusion swept over us as we struggled to imagine a future for our congregation. It felt like we were being abandoned—by the financial strain, by the circumstances around us, and perhaps even by God.
And then, years later, we found ourselves in the middle of a crisis of leadership. It was a painful and disorienting time for us. Trust was broken, and as a congregation, we were hurt deeply. We felt betrayed and wounded, wondering how we would ever recover. It wasn’t just the leadership that seemed lost—it was a piece of our spirit as a community that felt broken, and we struggled to find our way forward.
Then came the global pandemic, which brought yet another challenge. Our doors were shut, and we were forced to worship apart. The loneliness and disconnection weighed heavily on us. We weren’t able to gather physically, and there was a sense of fear about what the future would look like for us as a church. It felt like we were losing touch with one another and with our sense of what it meant to be a church together.
As if that wasn’t enough, just as we were preparing to gather again after months apart, a fire desecrated our sanctuary. It destroyed our beloved organ and left us feeling once again devastated. That fire wasn’t just a loss of property; it felt symbolic of everything we had endured—the disruption, the fear, the separation. It felt as though our hopes for renewal had gone up in flames along with that organ. Anger, sadness, and the weight of loss pressed down on us, adding to the uncertainty and fear that we were already carrying from the pandemic.
And yet, as I return to the psalm today, I’m reminded of the beauty in the message: that the stone the builders cast aside became the cornerstone. This stone, we know, is none other than Jesus. Without this cornerstone, these hardships would’ve undone us. But Christ, our cornerstone, gave us the strength to persevere through it all. The struggles didn’t destroy us because our foundation was secure in him. He’s the cornerstone of our faith, our relationship with God, and our life together as a church. That’s why we’re still here.
Think about how those early financial struggles turned around. By the grace of God, we went from the brink of closure to a period of growth and flourishing. We didn’t just survive; we thrived. God took the rejected stone of our situation and built something new and vibrant. God’s faithfulness shone through, even in the face of what seemed impossible. We grew spiritually and communally, as well as financially, and God showed us that he was with us every step of the way.
Even in the leadership crisis, though it was painful, we found our strength in Jesus. Human leadership may falter, but Christ’s leadership is always steady. “Do not put your trust in figureheads, in mortals, in whom there is no help,” the psalmist tell us, going on…” When their breath departs, they return to the earth; on that very day their plans perish. Happy are those whose help is the God of Jacob…who is faithful forever.” Through faith, in our relationship with God, founded and centered on Jesus, we endured that storm, rebuilt trust, and moved forward together. Christ, our cornerstone, held us firm when everything else seemed to be crumbling. God’s faithfulness kept us grounded.
During the pandemic, even when we couldn’t gather in person, our worship continued. Jesus spoke in today’s gospel of worship in spirit and truth, and we lived that out in real ways. Our worship transcended the walls of this building, thanks not only to livestreaming, but more importantly, most importantly because our worship was rooted in Christ. He sustained our faith, even when everything around us seemed uncertain. We stayed connected, not because of the building or the unseen wizardry of technology, but because of our shared foundation in Jesus. In the midst of separation, we still worshiped, and God remained faithful.
And after the fire, we rose from the ashes, quite literally. We rebuilt the sanctuary and installed a new, beautiful organ. That physical rebuilding symbolized our resilience, our faith in Christ, and our hope for the future. Just as the rejected stone became the cornerstone, our rebuilding after the fire became a powerful testimony to Christ’s ability to bring new life from devastation. God’s faithfulness was evident once again as Jesus led us from despair to renewal. We rebuilt stronger than ever because Jesus, our cornerstone, made what seemed impossible, possible.
Today, as we reflect on the past fifty years, we acknowledge the struggles we’ve faced, but we also celebrate the ways God has brought us through them. God’s faithfulness has been the thread that’s carried us through financial challenges, leadership crises, a pandemic, and even a fire. Through it all, Jesus has held us together as our cornerstone, turning trials to triumphs. We gather here today, in this beautifully restored sanctuary, as a thriving congregation and a future full of promise, not because of anything we’ve done alone, but because of God’s grace and the unwavering presence of Christ.
As we move forward, we rededicate ourselves—not just to this building, but to Jesus, who is the cornerstone of our lives. We recommit to worshiping in spirit and truth, living out our faith in acts of discipleship, and trusting that just as God has been with us in the past, God will continue to guide us into the future. As we step into the next fifty years, and the next fifty after that, we do so with confidence, knowing that our foundation is firm, our hope is secure, and our triumphs will continue to grow because Christ remains our cornerstone.
In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
The Rev'd Daniel W. Spigelmyer, Jr. 