In this sermon, I fully intend to tell you my vision for the future. I hope you’re ready for it. But first, a reminder of what we’ve learned in this Rooted series—Part 2.

We are rooted in the saints. We are because others were. From those whose names adorn our elementary schools to the quiet souls who simply loved us into being. We are surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses—people who kept the Good News alive by the way they lived. They built this place and handed it to us as a gift.

We were reminded of what is required of us. Not rivers of oil. Not burnt offerings. Not our firstborn. Simply this: do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with God. You can’t buy God off. You have to do this work.

Cornel West says, “Justice is what love looks like in public.” Which means kindness is what love looks like in our daily lives. And humility is what love looks like when we remember that our neighbors are God’s beloved, just as we are. As the title of the Rev Lizzie McManus-Dail stated, “God didn’t make us to hate us.” We were made in the image of love to spread love around. This is what we stand for.

When we live justly, kindly, and humbly, we stop treating faith like a product we consume and start seeing it as a seed we plant. We stop asking, “What do I get out of church?” and start asking, “What am I helping to grow here?”

Then last week, we heard Jesus say, “I am the vine, you are the branches.” God is the gardener. Christ is the vine. We are the branches—twisting, tangling, growing together. Vines aren’t tidy things. They get everywhere: up windows, replacing mortar between bricks, across the floor. That’s the image Jesus uses for his church.

We are not called to be perfect, polished, or efficient. We are called to stay connected—to intertwine our lives, share stories, break bread, learn each other’s kids’ names, and show up when someone is hurting.

That’s what makes this congregation strong: not programs or buildings or budgets, but connection. You can’t have fruit without branches, and you can’t have branches without the vine.

That’s the running start to my vision for the future of this church. What does that future look like? Honestly, it looks a lot like Dick and Dorie Christy.

Dick, who quietly hands out bulletins, rings the bell, and does our 10:30 count. Dorie, who receives each sermon with both her head and her heart. Both here throughout the week, serving faithfully and without fanfare.

The future looks like Medith and Earle Olsen who have walked through deep heartache and yet show us what hope and love can look like. Singing out together in the choir.

The future looks like Deanna and Scott Ockunzzi reading the book Anxious Generation, and wanting to talk about it. So they gathered parents and had a wonderful discussion.

It looks like Dan and Vicki Marty and their faithfulness to The Gathering. Setting up each and every week. Singing out together at the 9 service.

It looks like Jan Coleman and her elves setting up for Advent and Christmas after the 10:30 service, bringing beauty to the church.

But the future also looks like others joining them in the work. In seminary, they taught us that 80% of the work is done by 20% of the people. I’d love to find out how to increase that 20%.

I dream of building a Habitat house here in Medina. Who will lead that? I dream of more park clean-up days, more boots in the mud and hands in the dirt mission for both youth and adults. I dream of affordable housing built here. Yet the environment preserved. The neighborliness of old Medina showing up for the new.

I dream of a stable place where staff are supported and ministry can thrive. Our faith is beautifully simple and endlessly complex. It rests on the Golden Rule Jesus gave us: Love God with everything you have. And the second is like it: love your neighbor as yourself. Simple. And impossible. And necessary.

We look to Scripture as a guide, not as an idol. We don’t worship the Bible; we worship the One the Bible points to. We put Scripture in context. We refuse to weaponize it. No shame. No fear. No fire and brimstone used as leverage.

We refuse to follow a faith about Jesus. We follow the faith of Jesus. I think that’s what sets us apart. Many folks can train others up to hate their neighbor. To demonize LGBTQ people. And illegals. Or whoever the boogieman of the day is. We seek understanding. We seek fellowship. You can look in the Old Testament and find a lot of rules to exclude. And you can use Paul to make a lot of rules. You can’t use Jesus for that. It’s why many folks looking to control others will skip right over the Gospels. Instead, we believe that the church is the people training for love. The world trains for war and division and ding-a-ling rivalries. We train for something else.

They didn’t kill Jesus because he followed the rules. They killed him because of who he welcomed, who he ate with, and where he directed his good news. He crossed boundaries of purity, class, gender, empire, and even death itself. His resurrection is one more boundary crossed.

The future looks like faithful people gathering, singing, and entangling their lives together. And somewhere in that web of connection, something mysterious happens. Call it synchronicity, call it a God-wink, call it providence—those moments when what we give and what someone else needs meet at precisely the right time.

When someone brings a meal, sends a card, gives an offering, or speaks the right word at the right moment that’s the Spirit weaving our small actions into God’s great story.

We might not always see the harvest, but the seeds are growing. Paul writes, “You will be enriched in every way for your great generosity, which will produce thanksgiving to God.” Every gift, every act of care, every bit of time or energy or money given in love multiplies. It creates gratitude, connection, and hope. I see a future where that continues.

And we’re not chasing trends. We’re not doing TikTok theology or hot-takes. We’re more like The Atlantic, or Saturday Evening Post. I’m not as haughty as the New Yorker, but you get the gist. Long-form, thoughtful, rooted, curious. Maybe a bit more interactive.

I would like to see more authors coming into teach us about their books and talk theology. I’m thankful for the Endowment for bringing in Colby Martin, Sarah Lund, and Greg Carey.

But here’s what I want you to know: We are to produce good fruit. But the goal of fruit is not just to be eaten. Think of an apple. The goal of an apple isn’t to be eaten. The goal of an apple is another apple tree.

If the fruit only feeds us, the story ends. But if the seed inside takes root, the story continues. That’s the invitation of this season. Stewardship isn’t about paying bills or keeping lights on. It’s about planting seeds that will become trees that will bear fruit long after we’re gone.

The goal of this church is not to fill pews. The goal is another generation who will live the faith: do justice, love kindness, walk humbly, and stay connected in Christ.

The goal is another tree—more life, more faith, more love taking root. More little Christs running around and erasing hate from the world. Rooting in welcome, standing for justice, and reaching in love, this is how the world is saved. Not by believing, but by people treated with dignity, the hungry fed, the sick visited and healed, and those in bondage set free. The goal of the church is not more church members, it’s little Jesuses running around welcoming, loving, and serving. Just as the fruit of an apple is another apple tree the fruit of the church is people being Christ to one another.

Friends, we are rooted—deeply in our tradition, in our history, in the saints who came before us. But we are also reaching—stretching our branches toward tomorrow, toward God’s unfolding future. Sowing seeds for more trees to sprout. The faith we plant today through our children, our mission, and our giving is how the next tree grows. Maybe that’s the best definition of stewardship there is:
to take what God has given,
to nurture it with joy and connection,
and to plant it again for the sake of tomorrow.

So keep planting. Keep connecting. Keep giving. Cheerfully, abundantly, trustingly.

Because when we do, we’re not just feeding ourselves, we’re seeding the future.

The goal of an apple is not to be eaten. The goal is another apple tree.

May it be so. Amen.