 Dr. William A. Ritter Senior Minister |
Leaving
a Mark
Sermon:
Scripture: |
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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….
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?
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