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. We strive to walk in the path of Jesus, and to offer an authentic welcome to everyone who walks through our door. We invite visitors to wear a name-tag from the pew register folder so we may more easily greet you by name.

Our worship service starts at 10 am and includes hymns, prayers, scripture reading and a sermon. It usually lasts about an hour and 15 minutes. More information here.

Children are an important part of our community, and are welcome for all or part or the service. You will be met at the door with a warm handshake and welcome, and our friendly greeters can help direct you and answer your questions.

Wear clothes that you are comfortable in and sit on the main floor or in the balcony - wherever you feel most at ease. We look forward to welcoming you.

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.

We offer a complimentary "inquirers Lunch" on the second Sunday of the month for people interested in learning more about us. It is an informal session over soup, salad and dessert where you can meet others who may be on a similar spiritual journey and learn how to plug into this church community from long-term members and clergy.

We'll explore topics from history, to theology, to membership. To RSVP, or let us know about special needs (Including childcare or food sensitivities) email us at gro.ccuytisrevinu@sreriuqni or call 206-979-7539.

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.

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.

For over eight years now I have invited my Facebook friends and church community into Lamb Watch, as we wait together for the birth of spring lambs on the farm. It is a joyful and wondrous time, as I provide regular updates about how the flock is doing. Anticipation builds as day by day I announce “No lambs.” And then, one day, as we all know will happen, I go out to the barn, or look out to the field, and see that our waiting has been rewarded. I let the community know, with the happy declaration, “Lambs!”

I have always been aware that creating a community around the anticipation of lambs is a risky proposition. Every shepherd knows the reality of lambing season: sometimes our anticipation of new life ends in sadness rather than celebration. That has happened here on my farm as well. One year a ewe was unable to deliver her big lamb. My good vet came out in the middle of the night and performed a c-section right there in the barn, with only me as his assistant. We saved the ewe but the ram lamb didn’t make it. Over the years I have also lost lambs who did not get enough milk in their first day of life to survive. I know at lambing time there are no guarantees.

But in the years since Lamb Watch began, I have not lost a lamb. Until this year.

It had already been an unusual Lamb Watch this spring. Because of the coronavirus, I have been isolated here at the farm since mid-March, keeping an eye on the farm flock from my home office window, and connecting with my Seattle flock only virtually. Of the four ewes that were pregnant, two delivered their lambs later than I expected, and a surprising two weeks apart. Usually once lambing begins, most of the lambs are born within a week or so. And after that second lamb’s birth, on May 1st, the Lamb Watch community entered a long period of waiting for more lambs. My regular updates of “No new lambs” has become monotonous.

Then, just after midnight on Tuesday morning, I headed out to the barn for my nighttime check. I had been watching one ewe very carefully, convinced she might give birth any time. I always get up in the night when lambing seems imminent. Even though I would rather stay in bed I know that once I am awake, my busy mind will be occupied by the thought that a ewe might need my help, and since my thoughts are in the barn, my body may as well be too.

Once in the barn I swept my flashlight over the ewe I was watching and saw she was asleep. Then I saw the other ewe, lying on her side in distress and barely moving. And I also saw, there on the barn floor, the not-fully-formed body of a lifeless lamb. Instantly, I could feel my heart breaking. Not just for this ewe and her lamb, not just for myself, but for the whole Lamb Watch community.

When I was in Great Britain ten years ago, a Welsh shepherd told me that he loved lambing season not only because of the new lambs everywhere, but because, as he said, “It’s all of life right there. Birth and death and all of it.” Now as I was again experiencing this other side of spring shepherding, I knew that my beloved Lamb Watch community was going to experience it too.

I looked closely at the ewe. With no lamb to give her the energy to rise, she simply lay on her side, exhausted. I took the lamb’s body out to the field for burial and then checked on her again. She still lay there, barely moving. I sat with her awhile, wondering if I should be doing something more. In the end I realized there was really nothing I could do. I decided to let her rest, and maybe recover, or maybe not. I went back to the house and back to my bed, but not back to sleep. It was a long time until morning.

When the sun was finally up, I walked back down to the barn, not sure at all what I would find. I opened the door and looked to the place where I had left the ewe. She wasn’t there. I looked around the barn and finally spotted her, standing with the others and chewing her cud. If I had not know of her trauma the night before, I would not have thought her any different from the other ewes.

Sheep are that way. Sometimes, for no apparent reason, they get sick and die. And sometimes, like that morning, they just get up and go on. It is part of the mystery of shepherding.

In this pandemic time, the whole world seems to be experiencing mystery as well. The reality of our lives, our vulnerabilities, our interdependencies, and the puzzle of it all are right here in front of us. We have witnessed death and loss. And we have seen friends and family make it through. Sometimes it is all we can do to remain open and be present to it all.

Last Tuesday morning, I let the sheep out of the barn, and watched the ewe whose life had hung in the balance earlier that morning trot out to the field with the rest of the flock. Then I took a deep breath and signed on to Facebook for my regular Lamb Watch update. I had invited my friends and my congregation to share the joy of lambing season. Now I would trust this community to be able to carry the other side of spring’s reality.

“I have some sad news from the barn today,” I began, and told them about the stillborn lamb and the ewe who was somehow ok. It was when I saw the comments start to come, expressing sadness and support, that I finally felt myself start to choke up. I kept talking through the tears, reassuring myself and the community that we would make it through this too, and thanking them for showing up even when this was not what they had planned to show up for. Then for awhile I focused the camera on the two lambs we did have, and together we watched them enjoying their morning, and full of life.

As of this morning, the two lambs are continuing to play together and to grow. The ewe who lost her lamb is continuing to recover. And there is still one more ewe we are watching, maybe more realistically and perhaps more cautiously, to see if we might receive the gift of one more lamb. There it is. All of it. The reality of shepherding – joy and loss both- and the reality of life. I am grateful we are in it together. And I am grateful for a community that shows up for it all. You are in my prayers. May I be in yours.