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“We Have a Building from God,” Rev. Melissa St. Clair, 6/7/15

“We Have a Building from God”

A sermon preached at

Heart of the Rockies Christian Church (Disciples of Christ)

Fort Collins, CO

by the Rev. Melissa St. Clair

June 7, 2015

I think it’s probably a mathematical error, but supposedly my 10-year college class reunion is this year.  As reunions have the tendency to do, much as I hate to admit it, that got me thinking about my 32 year-old body, which is undoubtedly much different than my 22 year-old body.  Which I can only extrapolate will be very different from my 42 and 52 and 62 and 72 and 82, and God-willing, 92 year-old body.

As my squinty-eyed, pinkie-finger-shaking, cane-wielding, beloved former parishioner Dorothy always used to quote, “Getting old ain’t for sissies.”

I’ve read this excerpt from one of Paul’s letters at many a funeral.  And not for the reason you might think.  It’s fitting, in part, because it has something to say about our dying, and yet it reveals so much more of our living.

READ 2 CORINTHIANS 4:13-5:1

Have you ever played the Whack-a-Mole carnival game?  The reason I ran cross-country and track in high school and college is because my reflexes and agility are, roughly, nil.  A game like that was never worth the quarters, and these days, probably dollars, for someone like me.

And yet I can’t help but feel, a lot of days, like I’m playing one giant game of Whack-a-Mole.[1]  Between the calendar and the to-do list and the office phone and the cell phone and the Facebook messenger and the day planner and the texts and the stack of snail mail, life can seem like one giant attempt to smash everything as hard as we can to make it go away, all the while knowing that something new will pop up in its place.

In this sense, believe it or not, our way is not God’s way.

There is an old story about a disciple and his teacher.

“Where shall I find God?” the disciple once asked.

“Here,” the teacher said.

“Then why can’t I see God?”

“Because you do not look.”

“But what should I look for?” the disciple continued.

“Nothing.  Just look,” the teacher said.

“But at what?”

“At anything your eyes alight upon,” the teacher said.

“But must I look in a special kind of way?”

“No, any ordinary way will do.”

“But don’t I always look the ordinary way?”

“No, you don’t,” the teacher said.

“But why ever not?” the disciple pressed.

“Because to look, you must be here.  You’re mostly somewhere else.”[2]

Probably looking for the next mole to whack.

There’s a balance, isn’t there?  Between being present enough in the moment to see it for what it is, to see what can be seen and what God is doing here and now and looking ahead enough to be faithful to where God is leading us next, to the unseen or at least the not-yet-seen.

We’re within an inch of our primary goal for pledges for the two-year Building Fund campaign that will cut the amount of payments remaining on our existing mortgage in half.  That financial commitment and generosity is something worth noticing, as is the generosity of spirit that undergirded this campaign.

Our congregation’s leaders, who were asked to make their commitments ahead of the congregation as a whole, led by example, pledging well over two-thirds of our primary goal and over half of our stretch goal that would allow us to continue pursuing the possibility of a building addition.

Several of you opened your homes to the congregation to break bread together and learn more about our hopes for the campaign and our potential next building project.

Three of you said yes, eagerly, to sharing your testimonies in front of the congregation in worship about God’s mission and ministry in our midst as made possible, in part, through our building.

While we didn’t reach the goal that would’ve allowed us to move forward with further pursing the possibility of an addition to our existing building just yet, we still have the opportunity to consider what God is calling us to next in terms of space.

This week, starting today after worship, we’ll have several really important congregational conversations about the potential for community partners to build on the land we have here.  It’s really important that you’re here to listen, to learn, to ask questions, and most importantly, to share your input and ideas.

We make our best decisions as a body when as many of you as possible are active and engaged in these kinds of processes.

We’ve been faithful stewards of the building we have, yet we know it limits the ways we’re able to do mission and ministry.  God knows it, too.

And so we have before us the opportunity to think and pray and talk and explore and dream and imagine where God is leading us next in terms of space.

Maybe it’s to waiting to build an addition on this building.

Maybe it’s to connecting in intentional, strategic, and faithful ways with our potential community partners and their building plans.

Maybe it’s to finding space outside our building and this land to be more present in the community.

Maybe it’s to crowd-funding.

Maybe it’s to something that not one of us has seen or thought of yet.

No matter where God leads us next, we are assured of this:

We have a building from God.  The space we occupy now – in this physical building and in all the places we seek to be church in the world – God is present.  God will be present in whatever ways we move forward.  We do not lose heart.  We do not know what the future holds, only that God will forever and always be a part of it.

Friday evening and all day yesterday, I gathered in Denver with the Executive Regional Search Team – the diverse group of folks who have been asked to lead our region in the process of calling our next Executive Regional Minister.

We spent most of our time together around tables – in the restaurant adjoining our hotel and in the conference room where we did most of our orientation, which included anti-racism and cultural competency training.

Yesterday afternoon, we brought our time together to a close in the way you’d expect – around the communion table.  The regional minister from the Montana Region, who is our partner in this search, reminded us that change is difficult.  As much as we know it’s a fact of life, it can also be one of the most difficult aspects of being human.

She painted a picture for us of the early church, gathering in homes that would’ve been a fraction of the space we gather in now.  12 x 12 rooms at most; many of which were built above storefronts.  People would’ve entered on the ground floor and likely would’ve stayed there, situating themselves as comfortably as possible among kegs and barrels that doubled as tabletops.  You’d have to imagine that churches had to stay relatively small in numbers to fit in such tight quarters.  Not much room for growth.  When it came time for several churches to gather, they’d head for the hills.  Literally, to the hillsides where larger villas had been erected.

What did these gatherings consist of?  The book of Acts tells us, “They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers” (Acts 2:42).

Sound familiar? What do our gatherings today consist of?

Teaching and fellowship, the breaking of bread and prayers.

This is the thing that remains the same in the midst of change.  This is identity is what is being renewed even when everything else seems to waste away.

After we had broken bread together, we sang a song sung by the Blackfeet Tribe in Montana:

Good where we’ve been.

Good where we’re going too.  (That’s t-o-o. )

Good where we’ve been.

Good where we’re going too.

Which really isn’t so far off from another truth we know:

God where we’ve been,

God where we’re going too.

[1] Whack-a-Mole analogy from Melissa Bane Sevier’s blog Contemplative Viewfinder, “Life as Adventure” posted June 1, 2015.

[2] As told by Mark Barger Elliot in “2 Corinthians 4:13-5:1: Homiletical Perspective” in Feasting on the Word, Year B, Vol. 3. 115.