1John 3:16-18,23-24
Here’s a question
for you: Would anyone notice if our church disappeared?
I remember the first time I heard someone ask that question. It
was something I had never thought of before, because church has been a central
part of my life for my whole life. Every time I have moved to a new place,
finding a church was always on the A-list of things I needed to get done. I had
never even given a thought to the possibility of church disappearing.
So I was intrigued by the question. But I have to admit, my first
thought on hearing it was quite literal. The church we were talking about takes
up almost an entire block of Market Street. If it was suddenly one day gone,
leaving behind a big vacant lot, people would notice. Of course, people would notice.
It might even warrant a headline in the local paper: “Historic
Presbyterian Church mysteriously disappears.”
I couldn’t get that vivid picture out of my head, the image of the
void that would be left in the middle of town were the church to disappear. But
even while I was imagining that, the person who asked the question answered it
for me.
Yes, many people would miss this church, because if this church
disappeared, the place where Alcoholics Anonymous and Narcotics Anonymous and
Al-Anon groups meet every day of the week would be gone too. It would mean that
the local Salvation Army Service Center would be gone too. It would mean that
the gathering place for the Mothers of Young Children Group would be gone, and
the kitchen where the county extension service held cooking and nutrition
classes for low-income families would be gone. It would mean that the sanctuary
where the university music program holds so many of their concerts is gone. And
the list could go on. Sure, the members of the congregation would miss it if it
disappeared. But the reality is that there are quite a few other stakeholders
too. People would notice; and people would care that it was gone.
And that is a good thing.
I once worked at a church that everyone in town drove past every
day but very few had ever been inside. Because, other than a few church
activities, nothing happened in that building. Monday through Saturday it was
as quiet as a tomb. I always felt that was such a waste.
I much prefer to see a church building in use every day of the
week by anyone and everyone we can invite in – the Sweet Adelines singing their
pretty harmonies; the Garden Club demonstrating new table centerpieces; the Ham
Radio Club … doing whatever those ham radio guys do. Just bring them on – all
of them; bring it on.
But even while I was listening to this person describe all the
groups that would miss our building if it disappeared, I felt a “yes, but …” tugging
at me.
We have all heard it said many times that the church is not its
building. The church is the people who are, all together, the body of Christ.
And as much as we get attached to our building, we have to acknowledge that
even if our building disappeared it would not change our calling. It would not
change our identity as the body of Christ. So, the more important question to
me is this: If our church building disappeared, how would we do that? How would
we continue to be the body of Christ? Would we still be the church? and would
anyone know it?
I do worry sometimes how other people would know we were the
church if we didn’t have this church building. In fact, I even worry about how we
would know we were the church if we suddenly were without our building.
Can we still be the church without a steeple? Without pews? Can we
still be church without an organ?
Can we be church without walls?
I am asking these questions today because of all that we have been
through in the past year. Suddenly in March of last year we stopped gathering
within these walls – something I never thought would happen – and didn’t come
back for almost a whole year. All during that time one of the questions we
faced was how to still be the church in all the important ways.
This was a formidable challenge for us. So much energy went into
figuring out how to livestream worship and how to hold committee meetings on
zoom. The Deacons and the Mission Committee held some long conversations, on
zoom, about if and how they could continue to support the
needy organizations in our community that perhaps were needier now than ever
before. We worked hard at these things. Yet I have to admit that because we
were putting so much new energy into a few things that we had to keep going, I
was always wondering if we were letting the ball drop on some other things.
It was suddenly much harder than ever before to demonstrate the
love of Christ to the people who live in our town.
When we stop doing the things that we have always done, how do we
know if we are still the body of Christ? How do we know if Christ still abides
in us?
Even now, these questions feel painful to me. I felt like I was
frantically trying to hold onto this identity during a time when all the
identifying markers were being stripped away. The dance I had been doing all my
life, I could no longer do. Would it be possible to learn new steps and keep on
dancing?
While I was thinking about these things, I heard something that
gave me a new perspective. The image of church as a demonstration plot – or
experimental plot. It’s not an especially pretty image, and if you didn’t spend
a good portion of your life in America’s farm belt, you might be thinking,
“huh?”
At the University of Illinois, where I attended college, there are
experimental plots on campus, where the College of Agriculture studies soil
quality and agricultural productivity. You know, just trying to make things
grow well. The plots are so important to the University that when they needed
that space to build a new library, they built the library underground, so as
not to disturb the plots or affect the sunlight they receive.
You see these kinds of plots all around the middle section of the
country where so much of the economy is agricultural. But you see them other
places too. They serve farmers everywhere to help them get the most out of
their land, to help them feed the country as best we can.
So the image of church as an experimental plot was appealing to me:
the church, wherever it exists on earth, as a place where we experiment with
living as the kingdom of God – feeding Christ’s sheep, if you will. The only problem
is, though, where to start?
Then, last year – unexpectedly – some new steps revealed
themselves.
An organization called Rebirth, one of our tenants at the LMB,
said they wanted to begin a virtual school support center for students and
their families. When school went online, some kids were left behind. Families
with limited resources, families with language barriers – these kids were
struggling, or giving up. Rebirth wanted to build a bridge to help these
families keep up. Would we allow them to do it in Makemie Hall on Mondays,
Wednesdays, and Fridays? We said yes, and our Mission Committee supported them
with funds to purchase educational supplies they would need.
Then the organizers of CESP, the Community Emergency Shelter
Project, said we have a need we hope you can fill. They wanted a location where
the shelter could be set up, safely, for the entire season. Would we allow them
to use Makemie Hall seven nights a week for 12 weeks to make room for up to 30
homeless men to be safe and warm and have some degree of stability for a period
of time? And so we did.
We were learning some new dance steps. We were learning how to be
the body of Christ in strange new times. When the Spirit led us to say yes, by
this we knew that he still abides in us.
And so it goes.
When we read the New Testament we don’t see much about the church
buildings, but we see the many ways the people of the church acted in love. The
many ways they were led by the Spirit to care for one another. The first letter
of John asks: How does
God’s love abide in anyone who has the world’s goods and sees a brother or
sister in need and yet refuses help?
How, indeed?
During the hardest days of the past year when I was unsure if we
were doing much of anything right, God’s Spirit worked in mysterious and
powerful ways, giving us opportunities to say yes. When we were approached with
a new request, it was as if the Spirit was inviting us to dance in a new way. When
we say yes – when we accept the invitation to learn a new dance – we are assured
that Christ abides in us.
Now we will be challenged in a new way, as we once again leave
this sanctuary so the work on the walls can begin. We, too, will be using
Makemie Hall, that wonderful gift we received that keeps on giving again and
again. We will learn another set of steps as we figure out how to worship
there; how to reach out with love and invite new ones in with us.
The Spirit is always inviting us to learn new steps, to step out
in love. Last week I talked about the joy we can share with one another, and we
watched Dancing Matt, share his joy all around the world with his dancing. Today, I
have another Matt video to show you, and in this one Matt is learning new dances from
the people and places he visits. You see, it goes both ways. Accept the
invitation, follow the steps we are shown, and learn to dance a new dance.
No comments:
Post a Comment