“Let yourselves be built into a spiritual house, to be a holy priesthood, to offer spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ.”
Peter’s letters were written to followers of Jesus who were both Jews and Greeks who were trying to figure out how to be faithful to God. They needed a way to escape the influence of the Empire and the trappings it brought, and so these letters focused on ways to follow and glorify God by living in response to the promise of forgiveness of sin and freedom from death.
These early Christians were also trying to sort out what it meant to be God’s people, having included those who were not used to the rituals and customs that had set them apart as God’s people for generations. Most scholars also believe that these letters were written after the temple in Jerusalem had been destroyed. They were meeting in homes and synagogues, and there was simply no way to fulfill the religious rituals and obligations that have given them a sense of identity and purpose for generations.
Sound familiar? Thanks be to God that we have not lost our holy spaces, but it makes me wonder if it was easier for them to build from scratch than to have to literally hold their breath in anticipation of when they might come back together. It makes me look at these walls in a different way and wonder what they would say if these walls could talk.
Come to think of it, the walls kind of do talk, in a way. Mostly it is in the familiarity that many of us feel here, but also it is in the way that the space communicates what we believe about God, about ourselves, and about each other. The austerity of the white bricks speaks to our Reformed understanding of God. God doesn’t want flashy ornamentation. God wants devotion and God wants our resources to be directed toward the common good – especially toward those who are vulnerable.
The same goes for the simple beauty of the furniture – it’s all to God’s glory – yet carved and shaped wood is something that demonstrates in a more obvious way that an inspired hand was at work. You can even see it in the flames carved into the woodwork of the organ to remind us of the power of God’s Holy Spirit, rushing like the wind! Banners and appointments celebrate the seasons of the church year, speak of our accomplishments, and even make for an interesting space that welcomes everyone into the presence of God! Even the clunky, unattractive speakers are here to say, “We want to be sure that you can hear what we have to say!”
Unfortunately, all we have right now is the promise of return, and a video of me standing in this space. Boo. That is totally unsatisfactory – for me and for you. Why is it unsatisfactory for me? Well, it’s because I miss you! Standing in this space, preaching while cars roll by, reminds me more than ever that the living stones of the church and the holiness of this space are totally meaningless without you!
I know that is why so many folks are longing to gather in person, and our Ruling Elders are taking this decision very seriously. We’re looking into creative solutions that will allow us to meet in groups in ways that safeguard the congregation and allow us to be together, but we have to take it slow. We have to remember the primary concern of the gospel for those who suffer and are vulnerable. We have to remember that if what we do is not for God’s glory, then we are lost.
I want you to hold that thought for a minute while I share with you a memory of another Holy space, a Cathedral of sorts. Some time back I had the chance to do some cave exploring with a few different church groups, and on one occasion we went to Luray Caverns in Virginia. This is a commercial cavern with guided tours, and it has this massive room with giant stalactites and stalagmites, some of which have merged to form great semi-translucent columns with lights shining through and around them.
It’s a space that confirms the presence of God just by its magnitude and beauty, but it is also – I am sad to say – a dead cavern. It is dead because the opening has been widened and the climate has been controlled and the beautiful structures inside are no longer growing.
You see, in a live cave, the climate also stays the same, but it’s controlled by the earth and it’s always humid and muggy. It has to be. The moisture rises and gathers on the ceiling, and it collects and distributes minerals along the way. On the ceiling, it forms spikes called stalactites. On the floor, it creates mounds called stalagmites. Over time they grow ever closer, drip by drip, until they form columns that uphold the ceiling, add beauty and elegance to the room, and create space where life can grow.
I’ve been in that kind of cave too, and the thing that was most amazing to me was the absolute absence of light. If you’re in the cave and everyone turns out their lamps, you can touch your face and still not see your hand, yet even in that space, there are living stones being created to the glory of God.
Friends, the same is true with you and with me, except that we are not alone in the dark. We are not waiting on the seemingly random combination of elements, nor are we passively stuck like a brick in a wall.
Being a “living stone” means that you are formed by God’s grace, standing as a testament to God’s love, and pointing toward a time of greater union. It means that you look to Christ for alignment, and no matter the weight placed on you the community built on Christ’s love helps you bear it. More than that, as a part of a spiritual house, others may take shelter, be nurtured, and find purpose and meaning as they become aligned by Christ and joined by love. Being a “living stone” means being the active presence of love, even if that only gets expressed through our longing to connect and the hope that, one day, all shall be one.
I know that you want to do that in this space, and one day we will, but “being the active presence of love” is something that you can do in any space. In fact, “being the presence of love” is what we do in every space. It’s who we are. It’s what we do. The memory of that love and the people we share it with is like the water that flows in and around us as we reach out in hope.
I know of one member who is doing this by sending postcards to all members by going through the directory alphabetically. I hear of others who are thankful for calls from their “Shepherds,” and I hear of others who call people just because they love them.
What is God calling you to do to demonstrate what faith looks like from outside of the temple? Maybe you’re already feeling like a duck – calm on the surface and paddling like mad below. Maybe God is calling you to remember to be centered on Christ, to spend some time in prayer, to read scripture instead of watching an entire season of that show you love that you are watching just because you can.
What matters most is that we recognize that God is the one who is building us up, even here even now. God is no less active than God was before. We are no less dependent on God’s grace than we were before. Just as our spiritual ancestors had to learn to make spiritual sacrifices, so must we, but only in response to the love we have received – only as a testimony to the grace and mercy of God that constantly includes those who previously were not included.
That reminds me, a few years back I went to a symposium on art and faith. Jeanne Moutoussamy-Ashe was one of the speakers. She is a photographer and also the wife of Arthur Ashe, the first African American Grand Slam Tennis Champion and US Davis Cup team member. Mrs. Ashe spoke about her work documenting her husband’s experience with HIV AIDS, as well as other advocacy work, and the way that her faith kept her strong in trials. Most of her work was in the pre-digital era, so she spent a fair amount of time in dark rooms creating images dependent on the focused presence of light.
Somewhere in there, she realized that the darkest moment of human history was the moment of the cross on Calvary. Without it, we would never have the light that breaks forth from the empty tomb!
Friends, if you remember one thing from today, let it be that light has broken forth! Let it be that even our longing is a testimony of our hope! Let it be that, by God’s grace and mercy, our hearts of stone have been given new life and we are being formed and reformed into a spiritual house, a royal priesthood, and a place where our spiritual sacrifices rise like sweet perfume before the One who breathes us in and out so that we may become the presence of love for someone in need.
Ok, so that was more than one thing. Just go, love, as you have been loved. It’s just that simple, and it’s just that hard, and to God be the glory. Now and always. Amen.
Peter’s letters were written to followers of Jesus who were both Jews and Greeks who were trying to figure out how to be faithful to God. They needed a way to escape the influence of the Empire and the trappings it brought, and so these letters focused on ways to follow and glorify God by living in response to the promise of forgiveness of sin and freedom from death.
These early Christians were also trying to sort out what it meant to be God’s people, having included those who were not used to the rituals and customs that had set them apart as God’s people for generations. Most scholars also believe that these letters were written after the temple in Jerusalem had been destroyed. They were meeting in homes and synagogues, and there was simply no way to fulfill the religious rituals and obligations that have given them a sense of identity and purpose for generations.
Sound familiar? Thanks be to God that we have not lost our holy spaces, but it makes me wonder if it was easier for them to build from scratch than to have to literally hold their breath in anticipation of when they might come back together. It makes me look at these walls in a different way and wonder what they would say if these walls could talk.
Come to think of it, the walls kind of do talk, in a way. Mostly it is in the familiarity that many of us feel here, but also it is in the way that the space communicates what we believe about God, about ourselves, and about each other. The austerity of the white bricks speaks to our Reformed understanding of God. God doesn’t want flashy ornamentation. God wants devotion and God wants our resources to be directed toward the common good – especially toward those who are vulnerable.
The same goes for the simple beauty of the furniture – it’s all to God’s glory – yet carved and shaped wood is something that demonstrates in a more obvious way that an inspired hand was at work. You can even see it in the flames carved into the woodwork of the organ to remind us of the power of God’s Holy Spirit, rushing like the wind! Banners and appointments celebrate the seasons of the church year, speak of our accomplishments, and even make for an interesting space that welcomes everyone into the presence of God! Even the clunky, unattractive speakers are here to say, “We want to be sure that you can hear what we have to say!”
Unfortunately, all we have right now is the promise of return, and a video of me standing in this space. Boo. That is totally unsatisfactory – for me and for you. Why is it unsatisfactory for me? Well, it’s because I miss you! Standing in this space, preaching while cars roll by, reminds me more than ever that the living stones of the church and the holiness of this space are totally meaningless without you!
I know that is why so many folks are longing to gather in person, and our Ruling Elders are taking this decision very seriously. We’re looking into creative solutions that will allow us to meet in groups in ways that safeguard the congregation and allow us to be together, but we have to take it slow. We have to remember the primary concern of the gospel for those who suffer and are vulnerable. We have to remember that if what we do is not for God’s glory, then we are lost.
I want you to hold that thought for a minute while I share with you a memory of another Holy space, a Cathedral of sorts. Some time back I had the chance to do some cave exploring with a few different church groups, and on one occasion we went to Luray Caverns in Virginia. This is a commercial cavern with guided tours, and it has this massive room with giant stalactites and stalagmites, some of which have merged to form great semi-translucent columns with lights shining through and around them.
It’s a space that confirms the presence of God just by its magnitude and beauty, but it is also – I am sad to say – a dead cavern. It is dead because the opening has been widened and the climate has been controlled and the beautiful structures inside are no longer growing.
You see, in a live cave, the climate also stays the same, but it’s controlled by the earth and it’s always humid and muggy. It has to be. The moisture rises and gathers on the ceiling, and it collects and distributes minerals along the way. On the ceiling, it forms spikes called stalactites. On the floor, it creates mounds called stalagmites. Over time they grow ever closer, drip by drip, until they form columns that uphold the ceiling, add beauty and elegance to the room, and create space where life can grow.
I’ve been in that kind of cave too, and the thing that was most amazing to me was the absolute absence of light. If you’re in the cave and everyone turns out their lamps, you can touch your face and still not see your hand, yet even in that space, there are living stones being created to the glory of God.
Friends, the same is true with you and with me, except that we are not alone in the dark. We are not waiting on the seemingly random combination of elements, nor are we passively stuck like a brick in a wall.
Being a “living stone” means that you are formed by God’s grace, standing as a testament to God’s love, and pointing toward a time of greater union. It means that you look to Christ for alignment, and no matter the weight placed on you the community built on Christ’s love helps you bear it. More than that, as a part of a spiritual house, others may take shelter, be nurtured, and find purpose and meaning as they become aligned by Christ and joined by love. Being a “living stone” means being the active presence of love, even if that only gets expressed through our longing to connect and the hope that, one day, all shall be one.
I know that you want to do that in this space, and one day we will, but “being the active presence of love” is something that you can do in any space. In fact, “being the presence of love” is what we do in every space. It’s who we are. It’s what we do. The memory of that love and the people we share it with is like the water that flows in and around us as we reach out in hope.
I know of one member who is doing this by sending postcards to all members by going through the directory alphabetically. I hear of others who are thankful for calls from their “Shepherds,” and I hear of others who call people just because they love them.
What is God calling you to do to demonstrate what faith looks like from outside of the temple? Maybe you’re already feeling like a duck – calm on the surface and paddling like mad below. Maybe God is calling you to remember to be centered on Christ, to spend some time in prayer, to read scripture instead of watching an entire season of that show you love that you are watching just because you can.
What matters most is that we recognize that God is the one who is building us up, even here even now. God is no less active than God was before. We are no less dependent on God’s grace than we were before. Just as our spiritual ancestors had to learn to make spiritual sacrifices, so must we, but only in response to the love we have received – only as a testimony to the grace and mercy of God that constantly includes those who previously were not included.
That reminds me, a few years back I went to a symposium on art and faith. Jeanne Moutoussamy-Ashe was one of the speakers. She is a photographer and also the wife of Arthur Ashe, the first African American Grand Slam Tennis Champion and US Davis Cup team member. Mrs. Ashe spoke about her work documenting her husband’s experience with HIV AIDS, as well as other advocacy work, and the way that her faith kept her strong in trials. Most of her work was in the pre-digital era, so she spent a fair amount of time in dark rooms creating images dependent on the focused presence of light.
Somewhere in there, she realized that the darkest moment of human history was the moment of the cross on Calvary. Without it, we would never have the light that breaks forth from the empty tomb!
Friends, if you remember one thing from today, let it be that light has broken forth! Let it be that even our longing is a testimony of our hope! Let it be that, by God’s grace and mercy, our hearts of stone have been given new life and we are being formed and reformed into a spiritual house, a royal priesthood, and a place where our spiritual sacrifices rise like sweet perfume before the One who breathes us in and out so that we may become the presence of love for someone in need.
Ok, so that was more than one thing. Just go, love, as you have been loved. It’s just that simple, and it’s just that hard, and to God be the glory. Now and always. Amen.
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