Several years ago a United Methodist church in my mother’s
Baltimore neighborhood closed. As a United Methodist pastor, this was of some
interest to me, though at the time not enough to register many of the details.
What I do recall was that in the months afterwards, as different ideas for the
use of their vacant building were tossed around in the community, there was a
ground-swell of effort to try to save the building, using it for what I can’t
recall. The effort seemed to be to preserve the unique architecture of the
building. Though preserving churches interests me, can I be honest? Preserving
church buildings does not. Not after they have ceased to serve their purpose as
a gathering place for a faith community and a mission center in the community.
I am a pragmatist in that way, I suppose. As long as church
buildings are serving their designed purpose, I think we would do well to
maintain them. This has been a challenge for many congregations, but it is a
worthy one because our buildings not only glorify God, but they enable us to
worship, draw close to the sacred, fellowship, serve, and reach out to the
community.
This week as we watched Notre Dame in Paris burn, and then
saw the outpouring of financial commitments for its rebuilding by many of the
wealthiest people in France, I was reminded of that Baltimore church. I was
also reminded, as many did well to make sure we all were, that Notre Dame wasn’t
the only sacred building devastated by flames that week: three African-American
churches in Louisiana were burned by a man motivated, it seems, by the dark
cloud of racism that continues to hang over our nation.
In the wake of the Notre Dame fire, many were motivated to
donate to help rebuild these churches as well. Pragmatist that I am, I found
this reassuring—people seemed to rightly see the importance of restoring places
of worship, wherever they were. I suspect that in the case of Notre Dame, some
of those donors were motivated not by a desire to preserve a house of worship,
but rather, like some in that Baltimore neighborhood, a desire to preserve the architecture,
the cultural importance of the place. Perhaps the same might be true of some
donating to rebuild other churches (whether in Louisiana or elsewhere) as well.
Art and architecture are important, and I am grateful there
are those who passions seek to support and preserve both. I think such a drive
is an important contribution to society and history—and, well, also the future.
For me, however, I can’t help but ponder why the Notre Dame fire really struck a
chord with so many, and if they are willing to see their concern and interest
through on a broader scale.
Notre Dame was built to glorify God. I have visited and
served in churches which reflected great investment of time and money in their
design, construction and decoration than some of the stark, simple houses of
worship which dot the American landscape. I also understand and stand in the
line of some of those Christians who pushed back against what they felt was the
waste of worship spaces dripping in wealth. Still, I know the connection with
the sacred that such grand places can create. If there is one need we have
today, perhaps a greater connection and openness to the sacred is it. Sometimes
it is towering arches, ornate stained-glass windows and inlaid floors which
conjure not only a glimpse of the glory of God, but also the passion and
commitment of the artisans to use their talents to bring glory to God.
And then sometimes all of these things can become an end
unto themselves. Sometimes, whether we worship in ornate spaces or simple
structures, the buildings can become an end unto themselves. There are far too
many United Methodist congregations, for example, crushed under the weight of
buildings whose deferred maintenance, rising costs and unwieldy upkeep hamstring
efforts to grow—in number, depth of discipleship, and outreach to the
community.
Our buildings serve our mission. For United Methodists, that
mission is to make disciples of Jesus Christ for the transformation of the
world. For Christians more broadly, Jesus’ Great Commission directs us to, “Go
therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the
Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey
everything that I have commanded you.” (Matthew 18:19-20)
If you feel drawn to support the rebuilding efforts at Notre
Dame, I hope it is so that the leaders there can further this mission of making
disciples. If you feel drawn to join the many who have already donated, and support
the rebuilding of the burned churches in Louisiana, I commend you for your
support of the making of disciples in those places.
And if you want to go further, if your sorrow over these
burned churches has stirred in you some sense of the sacred and a desire to
support the work of making disciples and transforming the world, I invite you
to consider visiting a local congregation for worship—to connect with the
sacred and find opportunities to take that experience out into the world.
This evening begins the Triduum, the great three days of the
Christian church. In these days, we commemorate the final hours of Jesus’ life,
mourn his brutal death by crucifixion, then Easter Sunday, join in celebrating
his resurrection. Churches across the country and around the world will be
gathering—under grand arches, in the shadow of stained glass, or in simple
rooms—to remember Jesus’ Last Supper with his disciples, sit in grief and
brokenness in the face of his death, and on Easter Sunday, you might even see
some gathered in cemeteries, like Christians before them, to claim and proclaim
their confidence that because of God’s power in Jesus Christ, death, even the
most brutal of deaths, is not the end.
What the Church needs from you more than anything is for you to show up. To
turn your sadness at the destruction of buildings into a willingness to take
the intimidating step (and boy, do I know showing up at a church for the first
time can be intimidating) of entering into community. If you are connected to a
local congregation already, I invite you to not passively move into Easter, but
to show up—both at your own church and maybe at other churches if your church
doesn’t offer services each day of the Triduum.
Our buildings have never been meant to be an end unto
themselves. Whatever grand architecture, beautiful art or creative design they
may have, our church buildings have always been intended to provide a place for
people to experience the sacred as they enter into God’s presence, and to
connect with others as we all, with differing degrees of faith (or none at all)
and at difference places on our journeys, come together. This world, our lives,
can feel small, broken and discouraging. Our God invites us into redeemed and
reconciled relationship with God and with each other—our buildings provide
spaces for that community to happen. But that community, that mission, only
happens when you show up. Join us.
