Out with the old. In with the new
After this week the carpet in our church building will no longer be older than me, the pastor. At one time it was a bright blue, and over the years it turned to a slightly darker blue. It handled decades of foot traffic well. In some places it bubbled, frayed, and tore, but quick fixes concealed most signs of its aging. While a bright blue color may be jarring at first, over time people got used to it until it became a part of the building itself. The old carpet got walked on repeatedly and was only noticed whenever there was a problem. After so many years of faithful service the old blue carpet was unceremoniously ripped up and removed from the building, never to be seen again. Sounds like a thankless job.
When we pulled up the seating we noticed that some areas of the carpet were pristine. Those areas were twice as thick and double the brightness of the high-traffic places. If we set those like-new pieces of carpeting aside, they probably could have lasted for many more years, but they got ripped up and removed just the same.
As I walked out of the building for the last time with the old blue carpet, I couldn’t help but notice how different everything seemed. The pews were bunched up by a wall and looked so numerous, maybe too numerous. They were designed to pack 150+ people into our worship space every Sunday, but now only about a third of that capacity is needed for morning worship. Just a mere handful of people sit on them for discipleship and prayer during Sunday school and Sunday night services. The unevenness of the pristine carpet and the high traffic carpet was also distinct.
With all the furniture removed I saw our worship space with a fresh perspective. The space was suddenly full of possibilities as I envisioned different uses and layouts, despite knowing that things would go back to “normal” just as soon as the project was completed.
The heritage of our church’s past also whispered to me that night. I thought about all the work that went into the building in the first place. As one of my teachers liked to say about church history, “we stand on their shoulders.” Standing in the silence of an empty sanctuary I prayed aloud, offering words of thankfulness for our past, despite all the changes for 118 years and counting, but also praying with hope for our future.
I walked home that night with several questions swirling about my mind. Would we be willing as Christians to rip up our old sinful selves and let God make us anew in his Spirit, or are we clinging onto our pasts and letting them dictate who we are today and who we will be tomorrow? Are too many of us pristine after so many years of Christian living because we refuse to be trampled upon? In other words, we settle for excess charity when Jesus calls us to needy love. Are we so focused on ourselves and our facilities that we have lost sight of what we are supposed to use the facilities for (e.g., worship, Word, sacrament, prayer, and discipleship)? Have we used up all our time, money, and energy on ourselves and lost our focus outward to proclaiming the gospel to our neighbors near and far?
These questions are not easily answered, and only time will tell what will become of our church as the new carpet ages underneath our gathered feet for years to come. Regardless, I am thankful for Christ’s church and his faithfulness to it. Like sparrows, lilies, and grass, we are much more valuable to our heavenly Father than carpeting that is here today and ripped up tomorrow. God will continue to take care of us, and more than anything I hope our church makes him proud.
When we pulled up the seating we noticed that some areas of the carpet were pristine. Those areas were twice as thick and double the brightness of the high-traffic places. If we set those like-new pieces of carpeting aside, they probably could have lasted for many more years, but they got ripped up and removed just the same.
As I walked out of the building for the last time with the old blue carpet, I couldn’t help but notice how different everything seemed. The pews were bunched up by a wall and looked so numerous, maybe too numerous. They were designed to pack 150+ people into our worship space every Sunday, but now only about a third of that capacity is needed for morning worship. Just a mere handful of people sit on them for discipleship and prayer during Sunday school and Sunday night services. The unevenness of the pristine carpet and the high traffic carpet was also distinct.
With all the furniture removed I saw our worship space with a fresh perspective. The space was suddenly full of possibilities as I envisioned different uses and layouts, despite knowing that things would go back to “normal” just as soon as the project was completed.
The heritage of our church’s past also whispered to me that night. I thought about all the work that went into the building in the first place. As one of my teachers liked to say about church history, “we stand on their shoulders.” Standing in the silence of an empty sanctuary I prayed aloud, offering words of thankfulness for our past, despite all the changes for 118 years and counting, but also praying with hope for our future.
I walked home that night with several questions swirling about my mind. Would we be willing as Christians to rip up our old sinful selves and let God make us anew in his Spirit, or are we clinging onto our pasts and letting them dictate who we are today and who we will be tomorrow? Are too many of us pristine after so many years of Christian living because we refuse to be trampled upon? In other words, we settle for excess charity when Jesus calls us to needy love. Are we so focused on ourselves and our facilities that we have lost sight of what we are supposed to use the facilities for (e.g., worship, Word, sacrament, prayer, and discipleship)? Have we used up all our time, money, and energy on ourselves and lost our focus outward to proclaiming the gospel to our neighbors near and far?
These questions are not easily answered, and only time will tell what will become of our church as the new carpet ages underneath our gathered feet for years to come. Regardless, I am thankful for Christ’s church and his faithfulness to it. Like sparrows, lilies, and grass, we are much more valuable to our heavenly Father than carpeting that is here today and ripped up tomorrow. God will continue to take care of us, and more than anything I hope our church makes him proud.
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