No matter who you are, or where you are on life’s journey, you are welcome here at University Congregational United Church of Christ. Young, old, sure of your path, or still searching — we invite you to join us in imagining love and justice – as Jesus did – and acting to change the world.

Right now, during the pandemic, we are still united as church. Our service is streamed on YouTube and Facebook. You will find the links just below this section on our home page. New services are offered weekly at 10 am on Sundays, and are available on line after that.

We strive to walk in the path of Jesus, and to offer an authentic welcome to everyone who walks through our door. If you are new to us, we would love to get to know you and answer your questions about our church, even though we cannot greet you in person. A member of our Welcome Committee, or a pastor, would be happy to correspond on email or talk with you on the phone. Click here to arrange for a “meeting.”

Our worship service starts at 10 am and includes hymns, prayers, scripture reading and a sermon. It usually lasts about an hour. Right now we are worshiping online and will adjust this message once we are able to meet together in our sanctuary once again.  More information here.

Children are an important part of our community, and are welcome for all or part or the service. 

UCUCC Parking Map

View for detailed Google Map.

Parking can be a challenge in the University District! Persistence, patience and an early start are keys to success.

UW has free parking on Sundays. Enter the main campus gate at NE 45th and 17th Ave NE and turn left past the toll booth. It's about a three-block walk to the church. The UW Meany Garage at 15th Ave. NE and NE 41st St. is a five-block walk.

The church also owns three parking lots - Lot A is across the street from the church on 16th Ave. E. Lot B is beneath Sortun Court, just north of the church on the east side of 16th Ave. E. (It closes at 2 p.m.) Lot C (for those with difficulty walking, young children and visitors) is at the corner of 15th NE and NE 45th St., next to the church.

If you need to be assured of a close parking spot, you can call the church office before noon on Friday to reserve one: 206-524-2322.

During this pandemic, we have discontinued our in-person lunches. We would love to meet with you via email or phone, however. Click here to arrange a meeting with a Welcome Committee Volunteer or pastor.

We can explore and explain a range of topics about our church, from history, to theology, to membership. Please contact us at the link above for more information.

We are an inter-generational church and strive to be family-friendly, with an active ministry for children and youth. All ages are welcome in worship. We also offer nursery and child-care, Younger children begin the service with us and usually leave after about 15 minutes. Older children have the option of leaving for a special sermon time. Junior high and high school youth meet at 9 am and then often sit together in worship. Give us a call at 206-524-2322 for more specifics.

Our programs for children and youth continue during this pandemic. Sign up at the bottom of the home page to receive our Children's Ministries and/or Youth Ministries newsletter.

Hearing Impaired: Our sanctuary has an induction loop system that uses the T-Coil mode of your hearing aids. You can get the necessary equipment just before entering the Sanctuary on the right or ask any usher.

Visually Impaired: We offer each Sunday's program in large print for easier readability.

Wheelchair Access: The front entry is wheelchair accessible as are the rest rooms. Please don't hesitate to ask for assistance.

The lesson for the day is patience.

Lamb Watch 2020 reminds me of that on a regular basis. In all the years since lambing season here on the farm became a community invitation to join me as I watch for lambs, there hasn’t been one like this. Lamb Watch began over a month ago. The first lamb was born over three weeks ago. We then watched another ten days for lamb number two. And now, two weeks later, we are still waiting for the last two ewes to give birth. I just returned from an early morning trip to the barn, and in a refrain now so familiar that two year old Frederick who checks in on Lamb Watch with his mom has taken to chanting it every morning with me, I can report that I found “no new lambs.”

I don’t know why lambing has been so stretched out this year. It could be because my ram is brand new at this. It could be, as my shepherding mentor Ruthann reminded me, that the ewes stretched out the time they were ready for that young ram’s advances. Or it could be that the universe is simply giving us a longer time to be together in anticipation, while we binge watch the antics of the two lambs we have. It could be that this is our season for learning patience.

I am not a person who has any refined capacity to wait. As a child I bullied my sister into telling me what my Christmas presents were long before Christmas. Now, more than half a century later, I am not much better at it. I like to know things as soon as possible, I like to act on what I know, even before I really know it, and I like to move first and then decide if I’m moving in the right direction. When I go out and buy some new toy or device, I rarely make it all the way home before I have opened all the packaging and played with it a little bit.

And, of course, I was raised in a culture that has little use for patience. From microwave “baked” potatoes, to Amazon overnight delivery, I have been schooled with the best at the University of Immediate Gratification. Such an education however, does not serve the soul.

But this year, as I wait longer than usual for lambs, I have also joined the whole world in a season of waiting. I spend my days at the farm, in my physically distant space, alternating between chores, church work, and listening to the news of the global pandemic. Every now and then I look out the window or walk out to the field to check for lambs.

The lesson for the day is patience.

My new book is titled “Shepherding the Seasons, Stories from a Life With Two Flocks.” When I was discussing that title with the editor, I suggested the subtitle could be “Lessons from a Life With Two Flocks.”

“‘Lessons’ sounds too pedantic,” the editor said.

So we went with “Stories.” But today, I am circling back to “lessons.” In this pandemic time, I want to learn. I want to keep my eyes open. I want to be in the world in a new way. And the lesson for me, for today, is patience.

I have heard it said that I can know I have truly learned my lesson if I start doing things differently. And sometimes those lessons are short and create immediate change. It took about two instructional sessions for me to learn not to go into the barn with my good shoes on. Now it is farm boots only, even if I have to go up to the house to change.

But this lesson in patience seems like a different kind of thing. Just like the word implies, it is a lesson that requires time; a life lesson, offered every day, and especially right now. I also suspect it is not something one masters and then moves on from. There is no “Now that I have learned to be patient, I can tackle the next thing.” I return to my lessons in patience again and again, each time with a slightly changed perspective. “Oh, patience makes me more present in the moment,” I observe while I wait for Lent to end and chocolate to resume. “Oh, patience keeps me grateful for what I have,” I note when I decide to wait before I hurry to acquire the next new thing. “Oh, patience keeps me centered while I am till waiting for lambs,” I mutter sleepily in the barn late at night, when my flashlight reveals no new lambs.

“Oh, patience is one of the deepest forms of hope,” I realize again, in this long season of waiting, in this coronavirus time. Presence. Gratitude. Centeredness. All of those practices are practices of hope. They serve me and serve our world, and they are practices we have needed all along. They will not only hold us in this time, but will help us emerge into a better world.

Last night, like every night for the last month, I headed down to the barn. Twice in those two months I have been rewarded. And on the rest of those days, as today, the lesson of the day is patience.