|
1 Peter 2:4-5
4 As you come to him, a living stone rejected by men but in the sight of God chosen and precious, 5you yourselves like living stones are being built up as a spiritual house, to be a holy priesthood, to offer spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ.
I think I must have been slow growing out of my boyhood. I know I was slow to grow into my faith. Although my family and my childhood were centered around the small Presbyterian church which my ancestors helped build and supported, my connection to it was more physical than spiritual. I loved to study the beautiful stained glass windows and to feel the presence of Jesus as a shepherd and as a friend to the small children dressed in blue and crimson. The calm and loving look on Mary’s face as she held her happy child in her arms is still with me today.
While my parents and my older siblings did the work of the church, I was busy exploring the nooks and crannies in the old building. I especially liked going into the coal bin which was under the sloping floor of the sanctuary and which became smaller and darker and spookier as you ventured further into it. I decided that must be where the Holy Ghost dwelled when it was not watching over the congregation during the benediction.
Our sanctuary and chapel could be joined by raising a large wall which was cranked up by a series of cables and pulleys leading to a huge geared wheel and crank in the basement. I loved it when the Deacons were called to raise the wall and flip the backs of the pews in the chapel so the late-comers could see the pulpit and the choir near the main altar. Sometimes we kids were asked to help lift the heavy oak backs with metal swivels rotate up and over, making a loud bang as they fell into place.
The hanging lights in the sanctuary were made of metal shields and banners and were just the perfect size for a seven-year-old knight to use as he marched off to the Holy War.
I can still hear the rattle of the silver trays and glass cups as communion was served and the clank of the lids when everything was back in place on the serving table.
Although I did not yet understand adult faith, I had my own faith that the beautiful church and its rituals and the people who loved me and whom I loved would be there every Sunday. I also knew there’d be fried chicken and white gravy and sugar cream pie at the Home Café after the service or after the flannel board story in the tiny room under the back stairs to the basement.
As I matured and searched for a more traditional faith, I realized that the God in my prayers was more tangible than I had expected to find. I saw and heard and felt the Loving God in my day-to-day world: flowers and birds, sunsets and thunderstorms, the wind and waves, landscapes and the faces of everyone, in the inspired music of Bach and Brubeck, of Hank and Hendrix, in the art of Davinci and Dali and in graceful architecture everywhere.
I see Christ in all who lift up the fallen, give shelter to and feed the homeless, call out racism, and give of themselves to others in miraculous ways.
As I look around our beautiful church, I continue to see the many signs of God’s loving touch, of course in the special building and the creative uses it has, but even more so in the loving faces of my friends and neighbors who carry on the work of God and His Son. Thanks be to God!
Here is the church and here is the steeple.
Open the doors and see all the people.
Amen
| 
