Tonight we have a long and complicated liturgy. It reflects the depth of what we celebrate. We get to hear only a few chapters of the whole miracle of God’s love for us. Even with this small taste, we get a sense that God has been at this for a long time. God has been slowly wooing us over the millennia. Tonight we celebrate the result.
The news is so good that it isn’t really over. God’s love for us is so deep that God wants to re-create us and start a new thing. The ancient texts we hear and the old songs we sing can hide the truth that what God is doing is a new thing.
Over the past year I’ve been working on my Doctor of Ministry degree. I’ve been interested in how we live in community. I’ve been studying how we create that new community. We are gathered to be new people in new relationships. We are called to examine the world in which we find ourselves and discern how we can be transformed into the blessed community – how we can become the body of Christ.
I’ve learned about the need to move from a community of retribution into a community of reconciliation; from a community of blame to a community of hope; from survival to new life. It is difficult to see the difference sometimes. We all know our problems. The boiler if broken, the organ is broken and our budget is out of balance. We need more people, but where are they? We could use more resources, but we wonder if there are any to spare. But I also think that we have seen this community slowly transform into something it hasn’t been for some time.
Think about the last three months. We found ourselves in here because the boiler failed in the sanctuary. None of us knew it would take this long to fix (and it’s still in the works.) We didn’t know how to use this space or if we could hold everything we needed, but we did. Instead of blaming others for bad building maintenance, we pitched in and made the space work. Instead of giving up, people showed up and moved chairs and books. In the end, we discovered we could do something different. We discovered (or remembered) that the church is not the building – it’s us.
There have been a number of benefits to being here. We can hear each other when we sing. We can see each other across the room. We are closer. This emergency has called for new gifts and new participation, and people have come forward to offer them. There has been little complaining – mostly because there is no use complaining. We’ve made the best of it, and discovered we even enjoy the change a little.
We have lost the majestic and beautiful space we all love. It will not be easy to return to that cold (and dark) room. The sound system is better and the seats are more comfortable. It’s easier to find a personal space and sense of quiet rest. But lets not forget what we have learned here.
We like each other – so lets continue to sit together. Go against the natural instinct to fill the space by sitting equidistant from one another. Sit with your friends. Sit up front! Don’t just listen to the choir. Sing along. It sounds better. If we sit near one another and everyone sings, we all sound better. Don’t be afraid to open you mouth and speak when invited. When we share our prayers, we all pray with better intention. We know how to care for each other better.
The church is us. We don’t come here to join some sort of group rooted in an antique room. We are the community we choose to make. We are blessed and we grow when each of us offers whatever we can to help and encourage the rest.
Soon we will be in a different space. It will feel different and we will face new problems. It will be colder. Music will be different for a while. I don’t know how it will turn out. I do know this. We got through three months in this space, relying on the patience and helpfulness of each other. We got through that (and truth be told, this congregation has been through much worse.) We will get through the next thing.
Maybe the hardest thing to give up is the idea that we are a solid and established institution that will remain the same forever. This is a fantasy. Nothing ever stays the same for very long – even if it’s made of stone. This is a good thing. We don’t need empty tombs very much. God is always making new things. We are not memorial people. We are resurrection people. God is always renewing us. God will make us new again.
The news is so good that it isn’t really over. God’s love for us is so deep that God wants to re-create us and start a new thing. The ancient texts we hear and the old songs we sing can hide the truth that what God is doing is a new thing.
Over the past year I’ve been working on my Doctor of Ministry degree. I’ve been interested in how we live in community. I’ve been studying how we create that new community. We are gathered to be new people in new relationships. We are called to examine the world in which we find ourselves and discern how we can be transformed into the blessed community – how we can become the body of Christ.
I’ve learned about the need to move from a community of retribution into a community of reconciliation; from a community of blame to a community of hope; from survival to new life. It is difficult to see the difference sometimes. We all know our problems. The boiler if broken, the organ is broken and our budget is out of balance. We need more people, but where are they? We could use more resources, but we wonder if there are any to spare. But I also think that we have seen this community slowly transform into something it hasn’t been for some time.
Think about the last three months. We found ourselves in here because the boiler failed in the sanctuary. None of us knew it would take this long to fix (and it’s still in the works.) We didn’t know how to use this space or if we could hold everything we needed, but we did. Instead of blaming others for bad building maintenance, we pitched in and made the space work. Instead of giving up, people showed up and moved chairs and books. In the end, we discovered we could do something different. We discovered (or remembered) that the church is not the building – it’s us.
There have been a number of benefits to being here. We can hear each other when we sing. We can see each other across the room. We are closer. This emergency has called for new gifts and new participation, and people have come forward to offer them. There has been little complaining – mostly because there is no use complaining. We’ve made the best of it, and discovered we even enjoy the change a little.
We have lost the majestic and beautiful space we all love. It will not be easy to return to that cold (and dark) room. The sound system is better and the seats are more comfortable. It’s easier to find a personal space and sense of quiet rest. But lets not forget what we have learned here.
We like each other – so lets continue to sit together. Go against the natural instinct to fill the space by sitting equidistant from one another. Sit with your friends. Sit up front! Don’t just listen to the choir. Sing along. It sounds better. If we sit near one another and everyone sings, we all sound better. Don’t be afraid to open you mouth and speak when invited. When we share our prayers, we all pray with better intention. We know how to care for each other better.
The church is us. We don’t come here to join some sort of group rooted in an antique room. We are the community we choose to make. We are blessed and we grow when each of us offers whatever we can to help and encourage the rest.
Soon we will be in a different space. It will feel different and we will face new problems. It will be colder. Music will be different for a while. I don’t know how it will turn out. I do know this. We got through three months in this space, relying on the patience and helpfulness of each other. We got through that (and truth be told, this congregation has been through much worse.) We will get through the next thing.
Maybe the hardest thing to give up is the idea that we are a solid and established institution that will remain the same forever. This is a fantasy. Nothing ever stays the same for very long – even if it’s made of stone. This is a good thing. We don’t need empty tombs very much. God is always making new things. We are not memorial people. We are resurrection people. God is always renewing us. God will make us new again.
RSS Feed