I love our church building. Every Sunday, the morning sun pours through the stained-glass windows, coloring the walls with light. This new logo reminds me of that same moment—how God’s light shines through all we are and all we do.

Yet I didn’t build this. And most of you didn’t either. Unless you were around in the 1870s, none of us built this building. It was a gift from our ancestors. The sermon in six words or less is “We are because others were.”

The first book I had to read in seminary was Material Christianity. The premise was simple: you can tell a lot about people’s faith by what they have around them; their art, their architecture, their style. Ours reveals an interesting tension. There’s simplicity in the exposed brick of the chapel and the beams of the fellowship hall and sanctuary. We’re not trying to hide anything.

And yet, our ceilings soar. Our windows point upward. While we value simplicity, our dreams are bold. We won’t settle for anything less than heaven on earth—daily bread for all our neighbors.

Our ancestors gifted us this building. They put their faith into the brick and mortar of this place—a faith that has lasted more than 200 years. It’s inspiring, a physical manifestation of the “great cloud of witnesses” that surrounds us even now.

Hebrews chapter 11 recounts those ancestors in faith—Abraham and Sarah, Isaac, Jacob, Esau, Joseph, Moses, and so many more. I love verse 32: “What more shall I say? I don’t have time to tell about all the others.”

We are because they were. Surrounded by these witnesses, we throw off all that entangles us and run with perseverance the race before us. We fix our eyes on Jesus and give thanks for those who passed on his message to us.

Today is All Saints—a day to remember our ancestors. Our mission statement says we are welcoming, loving, and serving. When we look back, we can see how these values were handed down to us from that same cloud of witnesses.

Did you know many of our local schools are named after them?

Eve and Sam went to Eliza Northrop. Her family helped settle Medina and was among our founding members. Hers was the first wedding in Medina, a town-wide celebration where everyone was welcome. The spirit of that first open invitation still lives here today.

Then there’s H.G. Blake. He started as clerk of courts, became a lawyer, and later organized the Phoenix Bank—named for the town that had burned down twice in his lifetime. He edited the Gazette, served as a conductor on the Underground Railroad, fought for abolition, and even served in Congress. It’s said he befriended Abraham Lincoln after both lost young sons. From him, we inherit our call to serve—through justice, compassion, and courage.

And Sydney Fenn—a school superintendent whose family loved this church deeply. I remember Bob and the late Linda Fenn, regulars at our Gathering Service. Bob once told me, “We have three names: Medina, that’s where we are. UCC, that’s who we are. Congregational, that’s who we were. All three matter.”

I’ll never forget my first council meeting with Linda. Two hours long. I was exhausted. On the way out, I joked I wasn’t sure I could survive many more meetings like that. She smiled and said, “Oh, they’re usually only an hour. That one was long because we were teaching you how we do things.” That was Linda—ever the teacher, ever the guide. Quiet, humble, but strong. She didn’t just do things; she helped others understand why we did them and how to do them with care. That’s loving.

And then there’s A.I. Root—the innovator. He watched a swarm of bees one day and got curious. He revolutionized beekeeping, published a journal, made candles, brought electricity to Medina, and—of course—to this church. We were the first in town with electric lights, thanks to the candle guy.

He corresponded with Helen Keller and the Wright Brothers. He even witnessed one of their first successful flights, the one where they figured out how to steer. When no one believed his report, he published it in his beekeeping journal. That’s how the Smithsonian has an accurate record today. From him, we inherit our call to innovate.

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.

Jesus looked at the crowds and taught them the Beatitudes:
Blessed are the uncertain. Blessed are those who mourn. Blessed are the humble. Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness. Blessed are the merciful, the pure in heart, the peacemakers, and the persecuted.

It’s a countercultural list. As we learned in our Revelation series, we’re called to be faithful and true even when our culture blesses the loud and proud, the victorious, the unjust, and the divisive. We resist returning violence for violence. We seek a third way.

In topsy-turvy times, it helps to look back—to remember mentors and heroes of the faith who loved us into being.

On this All Saints Sunday, we gather at the table to remember those who have died—those who are now fully known in the presence of God. We see dimly, as through glass, yet the table and these candles remind us: stay true. Stay rooted.

Our ancestors didn’t set out to have schools named after them. They simply lived out their faith and values. The community took notice. Our ancestors built this church. Now we sustain it, grow it, and keep its light shining.

When we give, when we serve, when we welcome—we add our names to the story they began. We become the ancestors of faith for someone yet to come.

So let us give not out of obligation, but out of gratitude.
Let us live not in fear of scarcity, but in trust of God’s abundance.
Let us build not just for ourselves, but for those who will one day stand here and say: “We are because they were.”