Dr. William A. Ritter
First United Methodist Church
Birmingham, Michigan
Scripture: Joshua 4:1-7
November 23, 2003
Many of you remember Lee and Jan Loichle who, along with one of my all-time favorite people, Eleanor Chambliss, co-chaired the “Now’s Our Chance” campaign which made our Christian Life Center financially feasible. Lee and Jan now live in Scottsdale, Arizona where, thanks to a Friday phone call, I learned that they are cheering us on this morning.
Midway through this past summer, Lee and Jan experienced one of those adventures of a lifetime, signing on for a whitewater rafting trip down the middle fork of the Salmon River in Idaho. Forty miles of that river flow through an impassable canyon of solid granite. No way in. No way out. And only one way through (that being the river).
“It was one of those trips,” Lee said, “where you do the wild river thing by day and eat gourmet meals by night.” Which, by the way, is my idea of camping. But of greater interest to me were the environmental restrictions placed upon the tour company (in return for a permit to traverse the territory). Nothing could be left at any campsite. Absolutely nothing. Fires had to be built in a fire pan. And any residue (from glowing coals to graying ash) had to be placed in cans, cooled in the river and carted away on the supply barge. Each morning, every square inch of ground had to be combed and groomed. No trash could be buried. All trash had to be carted. If a tree fell across the entire width of the river, it could be removed. But its stump had to be dug out, hauled off and the hole refilled. Rafters could pass through the canyon, but could leave neither trace nor sign of having stayed in the canyon. Which, I suspect, was both lovely and eerie at the same time.
I can understand the environmentalists’ impulse, given that we humans often abuse what we use. In the ongoing tug of war between man and nature, nature needs its protectors. Lee and Jan have nothing but admiration for their efforts. But they did find it difficult to erase all signs of their presence. Not that they could. I suppose they left miniscule samples of Loichle DNA all over the Salmon River shoreline. I mean, criminals take pains to cover their tracks, but eventually all of them leave fingerprints, footprints, skin prints or scent prints. Maybe it’s nothing more than a thin strand of hair or a tiny droplet of blood. But if somebody wants to look hard enough, anybody can be traced. For whether we bull through china shops or tiptoe through tulips, we leave a trail.
But, more often than not, we also mark the trail. The schoolrooms of my boyhood all had wooden desks, the tops of which were sanded and varnished with seasonal regularity. But you only had to lift the lid to see (on the underside) where some kid had carved his name with a penknife. And how many tree trunks and bridge abutments have two sets of initials encircled by a heart, testifying to a pair of lovers who thought they’d be an item forever, yet probably weren’t? And how many of us once took our finger and left a reminder of our existence in wet cement? Or, if we didn’t, certainly wanted to?
Over time, we become more sophisticated about such things. No longer comfortable putting our finger in the concrete, we hire monument makers to do it for us. But cemeteries are not the only beneficiaries of such art. Every church I have served (or known) has, at some point in its history, had a fierce debate over names on furnishings. To plaque or not to plaque, that being the question. Here, most everything you see is nameless. In my last church, everything was named. “Install it, then slap a plaque on it,” seemed to be their motto. Although such designations were always proportional and tasteful (to the point that you never saw them unless you were looking for them).
As a pastor, I’ve always resonated in my head to the “no name” argument. “Let it all be to the glory of God,” folks say. Which sounds….well, it sounds right. We are nothing. God is everything. Let’s not confuse who’s who with names slapped all over the walls and windows. But having lived in both camps….and having served in both churches….there was a certain comfort in seeing all those names….sort of like “communing with the saints.” Or, if that sounds grandiose, how about “being surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses.”
I may have told you about the little church in west Tennessee which got some beautiful Italian-made stained glass windows for virtually ten cents on the dollar. Because when the windows arrived, they didn’t fit the church that ordered them, causing that church to dispose of them…. cheap and quick. The only problem being that there were names etched into the glass….names which had no connection with the little congregation. But, over time, the members decided they liked looking at those strange names. Because, in their words, “it’s good for us in our little church to realize there are other Christian people besides us.”
In today’s lesson, the children of Israel have just returned from Egypt. They have taken the long route….the forty year long route. It’s a corking good story. And they tell it well. Moses, who led them, isn’t with them. He died, remember? Wanted to finish. Didn’t get to finish. Joshua gets to finish. Having circled wide, they are coming back at it from east to west….crossing the Jordan at Jericho. God speaks. Waters part. People cross. Which was the second time that happened. I mean, if it worked once….
At any rate, it’s accomplished. Whereupon Joshua says to twelve leaders (one leader per tribe): “Let’s not let this moment slip by without marking it for posterity. I want each of you to fetch a stone from the floor of the river. Then I want you to put those stones on your shoulders and carry them to the place where we bed down for the night…our first night. Then pile them up. That way, when your children ask (in days to come), ‘So what’s up with these stones?’, you’ll know what to tell them. In fact, you’ll tell them the whole story. You’ll tell them of the Egypt years and the wilderness years. Then you’ll tell them about suffering, leaving, marching, bickering, arriving, crossing and claiming….all of which we know to be God’s doing.”
So they did….pile up the stones, I mean. And the place where they set them down was called Gilgal. And while we can no longer find the stones, we are still telling the story. Amazing.
* * * * *
Well, we’ve piled up a lot of stones, you and I, over the course of these last thirteen months. To be precise, we’ve piled up 29,700 square feet worth of stones. Which weren’t cheap. But now they’re in place….wonderfully arranged, if you haven’t seen them. Maybe even award-winningly arranged. At least that’s what the contractors say….and the architects pray.
Better yet, they are durable stones. They’ll be here longer than we are. As Bill Pettibone will soon say in his ribbon cutting remarks: “Every time we came to a question over keeping something in the plan or cutting something out of the plan, I asked our architect (Kevin Marshall) whether the matter under consideration would still be architecturally significant fifty years from now. And if Kevin said yes, it stayed. And if Kevin said no, it went.”
Fifty years from now….think about that….people will remember us. And some of you might even be those people. I won’t. But some of you will. Which is why churches have to look down the road further than tomorrow. Few do. Although I think we did.
The vision, as most of you know, belonged to Ed and Sylvia Hagenlocker. They had seen what such a building could look like (and accomplish) when they participated in a similar effort in Marysville, Ohio. But while Ed and Sylvia had one eye south of the border, they had the other eye here on this corner, where they were seeing signs and hearing needs of a congregation that was as much on the grow as it was on the go. So they took Kris and myself to dinner at the Ocean Grille and said: “The sparks are already there. Along with plenty of kindling. If you want us to fan the flame, we will.” And they did.
But this building is not a monument to them….to me….to the committed….or even to us as a congregation. Rather, like Joshua’s pile of stones at Gilgal, this building is a monument to God’s glory and a sign to God’s people.
First, God’s glory. Simply put, I believe we wouldn’t have it if God weren’t in it. Not that God dropped it on us….gave it to us….or predestined that we should build it. I am too much a believer in free will to suggest that. But there were times in this process (a number of times in this process) when it seemed that God was partnering with us….planting visions in us….raising leaders among us….opening doors for us. So much that could have been so hard came together so smoothly. When asked, almost every leader stepped up. When polled, virtually every member said “Yes.” And when challenged, almost every giver dug deep.
I had an interesting experience at a recent funeral. A lady from another church who, for as long as I have known her has never seen a glass that wasn’t half empty, said (concerning our nearly-completed building): “Yes, but I heard that you had a lot of people who weren’t very happy about it.” To which my response was something like: “I’m sorry, but I really don’t know what you are talking about.” Because, from day one, it has felt like an empowered effort. To God be the glory, great things he has done.
Yes, a building to God’s glory. But also a sign to God’s people. What people? Well, let’s start with God’s little people. I am talking about children. Every church wants them. Every church needs them. Most churches wonder why they don’t have them. But those same churches spend precious few dollars on them. When I came here in 1993, I couldn’t believe how much had been lavished on the first floor and how little on the second floor. The second floor being where the children are. But it’s that way in every church. The only thing most churches want to do with children is put choir robes on them, line them up, march them down the aisle and listen to them sing. But I’ve got to tell you that every one of our kids who have sneaked into the CLC….and they all have, trust me….has said two things. They said “Wow, that’s cool” with their lips.
Then they said “That’s for me” in their hearts.
A sign, too, for our youth, whose abundance and exuberance five years ago was impossible to contain in the room that was named for them, but overgrown by them. And little has changed since. Needing room for youth to play as well as pray, we have now created it. And I have every expectation they’ll enjoy it.
And a sign for young adults in our midst (a truly different generation). For this is the group that understands, unlike any generation before them, that the second most important trinity is that of spirit, mind and body. For it is this group of Christians who understand that recreation is an acceptable route to new creation and that play is a fitting partner for prayer.
And a sign for the rest of us who, early on, scratched our heads and said: “Yes, but what’s in it for us?” We are now on our way to discovering there’s a lot in it for us….from worshiping in the evening to walking in the morning….from studying to socializing….and yes, for those who wondered and worried, for rummaging.
And a sign to this community, confirming that all of their initial assessments were correct….that our doors swing wide….our welcome runs warm….and, at a time when more and more churches are choosing to define themselves with the word “clubhouse,” this church defines itself with the words “guest house.”
As well as a sign to mainline denominations (I’m talking Presbyterians, Episcopalians, Congregationalists and Lutherans) who have watched young, no-name, upstart congregations build buildings like this and steal members like ours for the last twenty years, while making no response except to say: “We didn’t need a building like this (or expect a building like this) in the ’50s or the ’60s.” Well, I’ve got to tell you, as hard as it was to build this building, it was a whole lot easier than trying to roll back the clock (with the choir singing endless but futile choruses of “The Way We Were”). I can do a lot of things as your pastor, but the one thing I can’t do is make it be 1955 all over again.
So for God (and for the future of God’s people), we’ve done it. Take a bow, congregation. In fact, take two bows. The first, in reverence. The second, to applause. You’ve left quite a mark. People who will never know your name will honor your memory.
I once had a friend with a rather offbeat sense of humor. He liked to picture future archeologists (hundreds of years from now) sifting through the rubble of our churches. And upon finding the one thing that had not disintegrated over time (namely, the stainless steel steam tables from our church kitchens), he pictured the archeologists scratching their heads and pondering what kinds of altars these were and what weird sacrifices we made on them.
Well, at this moment, the warming kitchen in the Christian Life Center has no steam tables. But let there be no mistake about it. That building wouldn’t be standing, were it not for a ton of sacrifices….yours….mine….too many to name….but not too many to honor. As buildings go….
your names are on it,
your bucks are under it,
your hearts are in it,
and your faith is shot clean through it.
Now, all you have to do is find your way around it and invite others to it, while asking what God would have you do with it.
I’ve heard at least a hundred variations on the story of the duke who decided to take a greater interest in the “little people” on his payroll….those employees who did menial jobs in and around the castle. Bringing them in one at a time, he finally met with a fellow whose name he’d never heard and whose face he’d never seen. “And what, pray tell, is your assignment?” the duke asked.
“As it pleases my lord,” the fellow said, “I feed and groom the family dog.”
“But,” said the duke, “if memory serves me correct, the dog died eleven years ago.”
Leading to the comeback: “So what, pray tell, would my lord have me do next?”
Ah, my friends, isn’t it amazing that such a lowly servant should ask such a timely question? So what, pray tell, would my Lord have me do next?
