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"LIVING IN CONDEMNED BUILDINGS" | Mark 13.1-8 | November 16, 2003 |
What we do know is that these earthquakes and famines and wars are birth pains of a world trying to find its way to a new life, and our response can either be one of giving up or growing up. You must be on your guard, Jesus said, to understand the power in these events. All of this had come from an innocent comment from one of the disciples about the magnificent size of the temple and the massive stones of which it was built. But they are deceiving, said Jesus, and one must beware of being deceived. One must be on guard to know where true faith lies and build temples that will last, temples of hope and love. Jesus calls us to be architects of buildings of spirit that cannot be destroyed when buildings of stones crumble.
This building which we have just renovated, including this room that is 113 years old, will eventually crumble. It is ultimately condemned for destruction at some point in time, and yet while it is here, it provides for us a tool for finding faith that will not be destroyed. Within its walls, rubbing shoulders with fellow pilgrims, we explore, we challenge, we discover faith that will last beyond the time when these stones will fall on top of one another. That which we value and treasure in this building is temporary if we do not build WITHIN these walls the faith that sustains us when the building is gone.
“Most of us live within a temple we have built for God that boxes God in,” reminds the Rev. Jon Walton. We build up an illusion that God will do our bidding, that God will make things go our way, that God will turn life in directions that honor our devotion and favor our intentions. But we know better. These condemned buildings will crumble as well when tragedy hits, betraying a false trust in things going our way rather than trusting God’s blueprint even when we don’t know what it is we’re building. (From an article written by William Goettler in Lectionary Homiletics, Oct/Nov 2003)
One of Aesop’s fables tells of a miser who had a large chunk of gold that he buried in a remote corner of his yard to protect it, and each day he would dig up the gold and hold it in admiration and delight, then bury it again for safekeeping until the next day’s repeated ritual. One day the gardener saw the miser dig up the gold and admire it, and after the miser had buried it, the gardener dug it up and carried it off. When the miser realized the loss, he wailed so loudly that a neighbor came to see what was the matter. When the miser told him his plight, the friend sternly told him to stop his crying. “Find a stone the same size,” he said “and paint it gold and bury it, then each day dig it up and admire it as before. It will serve the same purpose since you never intended to use the gold anyway.”
It is too easy to put faith in that which we can see, that which we value with our earthly value systems, and expect God to protect us with these condemned buildings of our own making. Investing in eternal things that will not be destroyed when the building crumbles is faith in things unseen and in a future that is yet to be known. Are we given to anxiety and fear when wars and earthquakes and firestorms ravage the buildings we live in? If so, we are living in condemned buildings. Are we living in a temple of false prayer, expecting God to answer our prayers the way we had hoped because we have been faithful? If so, we are living in condemned temples built upon false expectations and a God of our own creation, and these stones will come tumbling down in time. When anxiety becomes debilitating, when we have locked ourselves in condemned buildings, when we are praying for the wrong thing that is sure to disappoint, perhaps the best thing to do is undertake constructive activity of some kind. Reaching out focuses our energies away from self pity into the labor of more lasting edifices in the lives of others.
Twenty years ago in this building the people in this congregation were the architects of a plan which brought to this country a family from Laos as part of a resettlement plan. They settled into the area with the help of this congregation who provided resources for them to rent a house, completely furnished it, and helped them get jobs. The new family spoke little English but were industrious in all things and soon were able to speak the language and support themselves. And yesterday that family had their Grand Opening of a Thai restaurant which they recently purchased, with members of the family serving as host, cook, server, owner, and manager. Of course I speak of Phomma and Boualavone Thephavong, Mollie and Bounkong, Diana and Jeffery who are in church each Sunday and an integral part of our church family. The building they occupy has a wonderful ambiance, but it is the investment in their new life that is the eternal building that stands as a witness to the abiding faith of people in this congregation who used this physical building to build something that will outlast it.
If we revel selfishly in the new space we are privileged to enjoy, we are living in a condemned building and will crumble with it in the future. If, however, we find in this physical building the tools we need to be architects of faith and hope to build lives of eternal value, then we shall be faithful to our calling as the Body of Christ to be stewards of all that has been entrusted to us. Amen.
–Gary L. McCann
A Reading from “The Compass of Zen”
The Heart Sutra [discourse] teaches that “form is emptiness, and emptiness is form.” [This can be illustrated with] a wooden chair. It is brown. It is solid and heavy. It looks like it could last a long time. You sit in the chair, and it holds up your weight. You can place things on it. But then you light the chair on fire, and leave. When you come back later, the chair is no longer there! This thing that seemed so solid and strong and real is now just a pile of cinder and ash which the wind blows around. This example shows how the chair is empty: it is not a permanent, abiding thing. It is always changing. It has no independent existence. Over a long or short time, the chair will eventually change and become something other than what it appears. So this brown chair is complete emptiness. But though it always has the quality of emptiness, this emptiness is form: you can sit in the chair, and it will still hold you up. “Form is emptiness, and emptiness is form.”
–Zen Master Seung Sahn
| Copyright © 2003 by Gary L. McCann. All rights reserved. |