Dan Groth

Reflections on the Rejoice & Renew Capital Campaign shared in worship on August 20, 2017

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I’ve been asked to talk about why I support the Rejoice and Renew campaign.  It’s been a long time since I did any public speaking and I’m a little nervous, so I may need to read some of this. Please bear with me. 

I thought it would be helpful to tell you a little about myself and the history of the building you are sitting in.

The Federated Church began as the Disciples of Christ Church in Chagrin Falls in 1835.  I was baptized shortly after that….no, just kidding….but I was actually baptized in this church, many years ago.

When I was a child, Sunday school at the Federated Church was very important to me.  Take a look at the photograph by the coffee dispenser in Fellowship Hall…there are about 200 kids in that picture.  I wasn’t in that class from 1925 but my mother was, third row up, five from the left, thirteen years old. 

In those days you got a medal for perfect attendance at Sunday school, with yearly bars hanging off it, sort of like a military badge.  I strutted about with my medal, proud of my ten years of singing “Jesus loves me.”  In reality, I didn’t have a choice.  You see, my mother was the secretary (and treasurer) of the church at that time and she was required to be present every Sunday morning. She wasn’t about to leave me at home alone, to get in trouble. 

Actually, the church was a pretty cool place and I loved it…we had a full-scale gymnasium and basketball court (where the third and fourth floor classrooms are now) and I belonged to the “Green Deacons” team.  I think someone gave us an over-run of green uniforms. A lot of them had the same number.  I had the number “6” on my back, as did four of my team-mates.  You can imagine what happened when our coach, Rev. Ron Woodruff, said “send in number 6.”

Anyway, we played against the other church teams every week.  We also played against the boys from the reform school in Hudson…we weren’t quite so “churchy” or polite on those days.

My father graduated from Orange High School in 1928, the year before the Great Crash. We never spent a penny if we didn’t have to.   I was always taught to prepare for the worst and celebrate the best…and give thanks for God’s gifts in our lives. 

In the early 1960’s, it became apparent that the Federated congregation was vastly outgrowing the original sanctuary (which is now the chapel) even with three services on Sundays. The Trustees deliberated long and hard with Rev. Townsend on what to do.  It was a tough decision…they had to commit to a vision way beyond their means…building a totally new sanctuary and rebuilding the support areas was far beyond what they thought they could do. Many questioned the decision because it might put the church in debt for decades.  But my father led the capital campaign and with God’s help and guidance they were able to raise more than 60% of the cost to build our beautiful sanctuary and classroom and office areas.

It was not easy. I remember my parents pledged $25,000 to help build the space where you are sitting now.  That was a huge thing for a five-person family with kids in college.  It was nearly a year’s salary for my father and it took them many years to pay it off.  It was much more than they could afford, but they believed it was the right thing to do and they acted on that belief.

That was more than 50 years ago.  My parents are long gone, but I feel their presence often.  They check in with me…they want to know if I am doing the right things.  Sometimes I don’t know. I don’t always understand what God’s will for me is in this life.  We all take wrong turns occasionally..but there are certain “bedrocks” in our lives that we can depend on.  One of those bedrocks for me is the Federated Church.  

I was married in this church (twice…I’m a slow learner, but I think I’ve got it right, this time).  I recently learned that after 50 years of membership, I am a “valued elder.”  How did that happen?  I’m still a teenager in my head.  But I hope to die here and be buried next to my folks. 

My story is not your story…but it could be.  This is the kind of place where you can raise generations of your family. The church will be there when you need it.  Now it’s our turn to be there when the Church needs us.

I live in Florida seven months of the year; I am only here for maybe three months.  When I come back I see the changes that you might not notice.  It’s not just the steeple clock, stuck at 10:55 for years or the ceiling falling down in our sanctuary or the paint peeling in our chapel and our 20 year-old carpet, worn threadbare by thousands of footsteps…it’s everything.  It’s time.  We need to update just about every aspect of the church and we need to honor the commitment of those who came before us, who believed that if they built it, those who would follow would maintain it.  

Can you imagine the vision and sacrifice of our church members…folks like you and me…who in 1964 said “let’s do it” and closed down the church for months while construction took place and Sunday services were held at the Philomethian school auditorium.  There was no nursery or Sunday school…mothers held their children in their laps.  Sunday offerings were in cash, often in coins.  They believed it was the right thing to do.  They were willing to live that belief. 

The time has come for us to live that belief and to honor their commitment with a commitment of our own.  Rejoice that you have the chance!!  In today’s world, we are not often called upon to act on our beliefs.    How about you?  Can you afford a few dollars a day for your bedrock?  The Church needs you.

I think it’s time to step up to the plate. It will make you feel good...and It’s the right thing to do. 

My Mom and Dad would say so and yours will too.

May God add His blessings to my words and to your commitment.  Thank you.   


Heavenly Father, we thank you for the vision, effort and sacrifice of those who came before us, to build this beautiful House of Worship.  We thank you also for those who have struggled to maintain it over the years for our use today.  Guide us as we thoughtfully consider what we can do to preserve and enhance this place for the generations to come.  Give us strength to take the extra step and act on our beliefs. Watch over us and our children and guide us in your ways.  In Jesus name we pray, amen.


Katie Swanson-Harbage

A Faith Witness shared in worship on July 30, 2017

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 A seed.  Why do we plant it?  Because of faith.  Faith that a miracle will happen and that this seed will explode with  new life.  My faith journey is a story of the power of the seed.  And how God comes to us in ways we can’t imagine.  


 I had just received an offer to work for the Science Museum in Rochester, NY.  I was ecstatic.  Life was good.

Enter: reality.  


I ran over our mail box.  “Are we moving?” our kids asked.  Finding a flattened mailbox had become a sign to my kids that we’re moving.  I say I’m ok, but evidentially I’m not really ok.  I ran over another one. “It’s a good thing our neighbors like us, Mom!” said my kids, trying to be helpful.    Yes, it is.


I find that I do better with change if I’m moving towards something.  So, when the phone calls started.. I stopped and listened.  “Come train to be a Master Gardener”.   Research, science, growing new life.  Hey, that sounded good.  A new seed was planted in my life.


A year later, the 2nd phone call came.  “Kate, come be a Horticultural Therapist.”  Wait, why me, and what the heck IS Horticultural Therapy anyway?  But Karen was patient.  And something told me to listen.  So I finally did.  Another seed planted.


After 2 years of training, I walked out the door armed with new skill sets.  I was excited!  I have worked with people who are blind, people living at Menorah Park who have Alzheimer’s, people who are trying to create new lives for themselves after strokes, children with chronic health conditions at the Cleveland Clinic.  I have walked into multiple facilities thinking that I was going to help people, that I was going to make a difference.  But what I received back was so much more. 


My first job as a Horticultural Therapist was at a day facility for older adults, those with compromised health and low income.  It was mostly an inner-city population, and I clearly stood out as a minority.  Many of these clients had grown up in the South, raising their own vegetables, an important part of feeding families.  Gardening was familiar and some were willing to try it again.  We planted seeds together.  We shared insights.  We were learning together. 

I admit it.  I had some favorite people. One of the women loved to sing.  I loved to sing.  So, here we were, singing together, and creating new rex begonias.  To do that, you mutilate the leaves, take straight pins, and pin them to moist soil. “You know,” she said, looking at the mutilated plants, “when I grew up in Georgia, we used to walk to school.. barefoot.  Just a small group, walking down a dirt road.  The yellow school bus would drive by, throwing up dust.  The white kids got to take a bus.  They would stick their heads out the windows and spit on us.”  I froze.  She just sat there, this usually joyful woman, with her head hanging down.   Words tumbled out.  “I am so sorry that happened.  You never should have had to go through that.  That was awful.”  Not eloquent, but of the heart.  She nodded.   Maybe a seed had been planted… of understanding in me.  A seed of being heard perhaps,   by her.  


Another woman told me about little white boys hitting her on the back of her legs with switches, trying to get the people to work faster.  The whole time she’s telling this story, she’s helping me with a project.  Huh. One morning a young aid came in to work, all shaken up.  She told me about leaving Aurora Farms, and having her car stopped and totally searched- without a warrant.  Then she was taken to the local police station and interrogated.  She had not been shoplifting; she had been racially profiled.  This was a joyful, well-spoken gal who was going to school at night to get her bachelor’s degree.  The joy of life was visibly gone.


I have heard more stories, and each time have tried to apologize.  Someone needed to.  I’m apologizing for my own prejudice as well.  What do we really understand of another person’s life if we haven’t walked in their shoes?  Or at least walked next to them for part of their journey?

  I have been working with this particular health care institution with inner city populations for almost 16 years now. Despite living with little resources, health difficulties, and prejudice, I hear many participants say again and again: “God is great.  God is good!  God will get me through everything.”    


Clients and staff have taken me under their wing, taken me into their homes, invited me into their churches, and worry about me when I look sad.  They entrust me with their broken stories. I consider many to be friends.  I hope they consider me to be one as well.  I believe we’ve planted seeds of faith together.


  I’m going to challenge myself, and all of you, to plant new seeds.  Talk to someone different today.  Find out what roads they are walking down.  Come to one of Spiritual Formation’s presentations this fall on handicapped individuals, on lifestyles different from yours.  Imagine walking in their shoes.  Come to Telling     Our Story’s presentation on people with Alzheimer’s this October and learn helpful ways to support their families. 

 Jesus walked with lots of people.  And God is still walking with all of us.  I know this.  Some of the best people in my life have told me that “God is great.  God is what gets me through this journey!”  Trees of faith have grown in me from those shared seeds.

I’d like to end this story with prayer.

 “Lord, please help us to join together in our journeys, to hold each other gently and with care.  Help us to listen to each other and to you.  Open us up to planting new seeds, trusting that you will help us work with love.  God is Great.  God is Good!  Amen.”