Outside the Walls


If you are like me, then you experienced significant cabin fever during the ice storm. This Sunday there will be no ice, and we will enjoy being together in worship as we continue the series, “Christmas Inside Out.”

My sermon title in sanctuary worship this Sunday is “Outside the Walls.” Jesus constantly took his disciples outside any walls they may have built–or even inherited. Our text for Sunday, Matthew 25:31-40, reminds us that outside or beyond our walls are people with whom Jesus so identified that he said whenever we act in kindness toward them, we are acting in kindness toward Christ himself.

I invite you to think about the walls you’ve built or inherited as we prepare for worship on Sunday, and I invite you to read and meditate on both our scripture for Sunday and Robert Frost’s poem, “Mending Wall,” printed below.

I look forward to seeing you Sunday!

Grace and Peace,

Tim Signature - Tim only




Mending Wall by Robert Frost

Outside the Walls

Something there is that doesn’t love a wall,

That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it,

And spills the upper boulders in the sun;

And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.

The work of hunters is another thing:

I have come after them and made repair

Where they have left not one stone on a stone,

But they would have the rabbit out of hiding,

To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean,

No one has seen them made or heard them made,

But at spring mending-time we find them there.

I let my neighbor know beyond the hill;

And on a day we meet to walk the line

And set the wall between us once again.

We keep the wall between us as we go.

To each the boulders that have fallen to each.

And some are loaves and some so nearly balls

We have to use a spell to make them balance:

“Stay where you are until our backs are turned!”

We wear our fingers rough with handling them.

Oh, just another kind of out-door game,

One on a side. It comes to little more:

There where it is we do not need the wall:

He is all pine and I am apple orchard.

My apple trees will never get across

And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.

He only says, “Good fences make good neighbors.”

Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder

If I could put a notion in his head:

“Why do they make good neighbors? Isn’t it

Where there are cows? But here there are no cows.

Before I built a wall I’d ask to know

What I was walling in or walling out,

And to whom I was like to give offence.

Something there is that doesn’t love a wall,

That wants it down.” I could say “Elves” to him,

But it’s not elves exactly, and I’d rather

He said it for himself. I see him there

Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top

In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed.

He moves in darkness as it seems to me,

Not of woods only and the shade of trees.

He will not go behind his father’s saying,

And he likes having thought of it so well

He says again, “Good fences make good neighbors.”


Subscribe to E-News

Subscribe to Newsletter Footer