(704) 599-9810 | Worship Sundays @ 10:55 a.m.
(704) 599-9810 | Worship Sundays @ 10:55 a.m.
At Holy Covenant United Church of Christ in Charlotte, NC, worship is more than a weekly ritual—it’s a living expression of love, justice, and community.
Worship Service – March 15, 2026 | Fourth Sunday in Lent (Star Wars Sunday)
💧 Seeing with God’s Eyes — At the well, Jesus crosses every boundary and meets a weary soul with dignity, compassion, and living water.
Worship Service – March 8, 2026 | Third Sunday in Lent
Scripture: John 4:1–15 (CEB)
This Sunday at Holy Covenant United Church of Christ, we gathered around one of the most intimate encounters in the Gospel: Jesus meeting the Samaritan woman at the well. On this Third Sunday in Lent, worship invited us to consider what it means to truly see one another—not through the labels and divisions of the world, but through the compassionate eyes of God.
The service began with the reflective beauty of “The Old Rugged Cross” on violin, creating a quiet space for stillness and breath. Pastor Chris’ centering prayer invited us to release the burdens we carried through the doors and remember a deeper truth: we are already and always tethered to the divine presence within us.
Through the Call to the Heart, we named the many ways our world separates people—citizen and stranger, insider and outsider, worthy and unworthy. Yet our shared response declared another vision: to see with different eyes, the eyes of God who beholds the sacred in all. In that moment, worship became an act of re-learning how to look at one another with reverence rather than suspicion.
In our communal prayer of transformation, we confessed how easily we fall back into the categories of race, class, nationality, religion, and identity that determine who deserves compassion. But grace met us there. The assurance reminded us that even when we fail to see clearly, God has never stopped seeing us—as beloved children made in the divine image.
The Modern Lesson from Brazilian theologian Rubem Alves offered a profound reflection: to see another person as God sees them is to look beyond usefulness and notice beauty. Love, he writes, is not blind—it sees more, not less. It notices the fragile places, the unfinished places, the trembling places where human life is most real.
Then we arrived at the well. In John 4:1–15, Jesus meets a Samaritan woman—someone separated from him by culture, religion, and social expectation. Yet Jesus refuses those divisions. Instead, he speaks to her, honors her humanity, and offers something deeper than the water she came to draw: living water that becomes a spring within.
In his sermon, “Seeing with God’s Eyes,” Rev. Christopher Czarnecki reminded us that the miracle of the story is not only the promise of living water—it is the act of seeing itself. Jesus sees the woman not as a category, not as a problem, not as someone to avoid, but as a beloved child of God. And that same vision becomes our calling. To see the immigrant, the refugee, the marginalized, the politically different, the socially unfamiliar—not as strangers, but as neighbors whose sacred worth reflects our own.
The invitation to generosity carried the theme forward. Jesus did not go to the well to take; he went to see, give, and transform. Our gifts—including our support for One Great Hour of Sharing—became acts of shared belonging, reminders that another person’s thirst is also our own.
By the time the congregation sang “Fill My Cup, Lord”, the imagery of the well had deepened into a prayer. We were invited to draw from a source deeper than the divisions of the world—deeper than fear, prejudice, or exhaustion. Christ offers living water that restores the soul and reminds us that we are seen, known, and loved.
As worship concluded with a prayer for peace, we left carrying a simple but powerful invitation: to learn to see as God sees. And in that vision, to recognize that every person we encounter is already standing at the well with us.
“Love is not blind; it sees more, not less.”
🌙 Born Anew — In the quiet of night, questions become holy ground and the Spirit whispers of rebirth.
Worship Service – March 1, 2026 | Second Sunday in Lent
Scripture: John 3:1–8 (CEB)
On this Second Sunday in Lent, Holy Covenant gathered beneath the theme of rebirth. The cover image of Nicodemus meeting Jesus in the night set the tone: faith is not always loud or certain. Sometimes it comes as a quiet conversation, a courageous question asked in the dark.
Our prelude, “Lead Me to Calvary”, opened a reflective space. In the Centering Prayer, we asked God to quiet the noise within us and make us receptive to being made new. Again and again throughout the liturgy, we named this truth together: “We are being born anew.” In grief and love. In questions and awakening. In justice and in courage.
Singing “Gather Us In”, we proclaimed that new light is streaming even now. Our prayers of confession and transformation acknowledged how we sometimes resist change—clinging to certainty or fearing what transformation may cost. Yet the Words of Grace reminded us that God does not rush or force our becoming. The Spirit works patiently, inviting us to grow gradually, one moment at a time.
A Modern Lesson from Kahlil Gibran reflected on the quiet miracle of rebirth: that every ending prepares the ground for a beginning that could not have existed before. Then in John 3:1–8, we listened as Nicodemus struggled to understand Jesus’ words: “Unless someone is born anew, it’s not possible to see God’s kingdom.” Born of water and Spirit. Born beyond literalism. Born into mystery.
In his sermon, “Born Anew,” Rev. Christopher Czarnecki invited us to see rebirth not as a single dramatic moment, but as a lifelong unfolding. We are reborn when our hearts break open. Reborn when our compassion deepens. Reborn when we allow old versions of ourselves to fall away so that something truer can emerge. The Spirit, like wind, cannot be controlled—but it can be trusted.
At the Mystic Supper, voices across generations reminded us that this table belongs to all. Bread was broken and the cup lifted as signs that God’s love and presence remain constant through every stage of becoming. In sharing Communion, we practiced what it means to be one body—diverse, questioning, beloved, and continually made new.
We closed singing “Lord Jesus, Who through Forty Days”, stepping further into Lent with humility and hope. The benediction sent us into the week carrying this assurance: transformation is not a threat. It is grace. And we are always, always being born anew.
“The Spirit blows wherever it wishes… and we are invited to trust the wind.”
🌵 Out of the Desert — At the edge of promise, fear distorts vision, but God restores courage and calls us forward in faith.
Worship Service – February 22, 2026 | First Sunday in Lent (Black History Month)
Scripture: Numbers 13:27–33; 14:6–10a; 14:40–45
This Sunday at Holy Covenant United Church of Christ, we stepped into Lent through the wilderness. The desert landscape on our bulletin cover reminded us that promise is rarely reached without first passing through uncertainty. We gathered, as the liturgy declared, at the edge of promise—a place where fear and faith stand side by side.
The prelude, “Lonesome Valley,” carried the sound of solitary courage, followed by the sung welcome of “Salaam”—peace spoken over every race and every place. In the Call to the Heart, we named the giants that loom in our lives—barriers, delays, distorted perceptions—and answered together with resolve: “We will not turn back. We walk together in love.”
Our hymn, “Lord, I Want to Be a Christian,” became a prayer for formation—more loving, more holy, more Christlike. In our Black Christian History Moment, we honored Dr. Katie Cannon, remembering her pioneering voice in womanist theology and Christian ethics, and her insistence that faith must be lived in embodied justice.
The anthem, “N’kosi Sikelel’i Afrika,” widened our prayer beyond ourselves, blessing nations and peoples in need of healing and protection. Scripture from Numbers confronted us with a hard truth: the scouts saw abundance in the land, yet described themselves as grasshoppers before giants. Fear shaped their perception. Joshua and Caleb, however, saw the same landscape and declared, “Do not fear… the Lord is with us.”
In her sermon, “The Cost of Delay: A Perception Disorder at the Edge of Promise,” Rev. Windy Allison named how fear can quietly distort discernment. Delay is not neutral. When we linger too long in anxiety or self-doubt, opportunities for transformation shrink. Lent, she reminded us, is a season for healing our vision—learning to see not as grasshoppers before giants, but as beloved people walking with God.
The congregation responded in song with “Oh Freedom”, declaring liberation not as abstraction but as lived commitment. “We’ve Come This Far by Faith” sent us forward grounded in resilience rather than bravado. The benediction echoed as promise and marching orders alike: We will walk with God. We will go rejoicing till the kin-dom has come.
“At the edge of promise, fear distorts vision — but love restores courage.”
A Service of Ashes • Turning Toward Repair • Holy Covenant UCC
🕯️ “Remember that you are dust… Yet, out of death comes new life.” — An Ash Wednesday journey of truth-telling, release, and transformation.
Worship Service – February 18, 2026 | Ash Wednesday (First Day of Lent)
Scripture: Psalm 51 (CEB)
On Ash Wednesday at Holy Covenant United Church of Christ, we entered Lent the way we most need to: not by pretending we are fine, but by telling the truth with tenderness. We were welcomed into a Service of Ashes that named both the ache we carry and the hope God keeps offering—moment by moment, breath by breath, new beginning by new beginning.
Our Call to Worship framed the night as a shared pilgrimage: a journey of learning to love, learning the ways of peace, and returning home to God—together. We came to listen to each other’s stories, to acknowledge our complicity in the state of the world, to receive forgiveness and to practice reconciliation as authentic community.
The opening hymn, “Near to the Heart of God”, did what true worship does: it made room. A place of quiet rest. A place of comfort. A place of release. Then the opening prayer asked for what Lent always asks for—clean hearts, renewed spirits, and lives worthy of love.
In Psalm 51, we heard the raw honesty of a soul that refuses denial: Create a clean heart for me, O God… put a new, faithful spirit deep inside me. It was confession without self-destruction—truth spoken in the presence of mercy.
The hymn “Sunday’s Palms Are Wednesday’s Ashes” held up a mirror: naming jealousy, pride, impatience, wasted resources, ignored suffering—then turning that naming into offering. Not to wallow, but to return. Not to spiral, but to begin again.
The heart of the service came through Pastor Chris’ reflection on han—a Korean word for the deep sadness and suffering that emerges from violence and injustice, a sense of powerlessness that can become a heavy “lump” in a life. Han was described as tangled webs of wrongs and hurts—fear, resentment, hostility, neglect—layer upon layer. And then we were invited to do something holy: to gather our own layers, and bring them into the light.
In a symbolic act of transformation (han-pu-ri), we wrote what needed release—what needed forgiveness, what needed to die—then carried it to the fire. We did not burn these truths to forget them, but as a sign that we will be aware and choose differently. We offered our han to God, praying it might be transformed into power and hope.
Afterward, the ashes of our prayers were mixed with the ashes of last year’s palms—a profound sign that our endings are never wasted, and that even grief can become soil. Then came the invitation that makes Ash Wednesday unmistakably real: traditional ashes and glitter ashes.
Glitter ashes were offered as a visible witness that repentance and hope can coexist—and as a reclaiming of this day for those harmed or excluded by the church. Glitter, a symbol of resilience and flourishing in the queer community, was blended with ashes to proclaim a faith that reconciles rather than harms, a faith that reflects Christ’s radical and boundless love for all.
As each person received the sign of the cross, we heard the ancient words—“Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” And we answered with a promise shaped by Easter before Easter arrives: “Yet, out of death comes new life.”
We closed with prayer that God can hold what we cannot admit, name what we cannot speak, remember what we try to forget—and make us whole through Christ. Then we sang “Abide with Me”, a hymn for twilight seasons, trusting the One who stays when other helpers fail.
“Repentance is not punishment—it is turning. And even now, God is already at work: releasing, renewing, making all things new.”
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