John 10:11-17 ; 1 John 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.
