Building Site - 1 Corinthians 3:10-23

We move to another metaphor this week: God’s building. Not only God’s building, but God’s temple. From babies, to field, and now to the holiest of places. Paul places his work at Corinth as a wise master builder, setting a foundation based on the cross of Christ. The foundation was crafted by Christ crucified, the edifice built above the foundation will be crafted by the giftedness of leadership and the shared life of the community, bringing both wood and precious stone, straw and gold, hay and silver. Some parts of the structure will be refined by the cleansing fire of Judgment Day. Some parts will stand tall in the midst of those very fires.

A temple in those days was more than a building. It was a place where whatever god it was dedicated for was thought to live. It was a place where those who wanted to declare their trust and offer their best gifts shared in the rituals and life of the god.

We may think of ourselves as more advanced in our knowledge of the physical world than our ancient ancestors. Yet, we still love beautiful and pleasing buildings, spending energy and resources into all kinds of institutions. We are also turf conscious. The structures we build also include fences, storage and space. Oftentimes structures can divide and separate. Fences cordon off our land from our neighbors, and often are called “good neighbors.” We build larger barns and bigger bedrooms to give us a sense of security. The size of our city lots has become larger in order to keep strangers at a distance.

All of these fences, large residences, and acres of open space between neighbors prohibit us from venturing out, taking risks, or breaking away from our self-built mausoleums of self-interest better known as comfort zones. Rather than build relationships, we build empires. Instead of living in faith, we find more reasons and arguments to live in fear; afraid to meet new people, resisting opportunities that stretch us, and living in our own little worlds that we have created, thus forgetting the source of everything.

To truly be the church where the Spirit of God is in our midst we have to take some risks and not be consumed with being successful. Paul wanted his listeners to realize that everyone has talent and their talents need to be included in the building of the church.

It should come to us as comforting words that Paul draws Corinth from babies, these fighting members within the church that are yet still the very place where the Spirit of God lives, God’s temple.

I sometimes wish that all the you’s in the Bible would be clearer in meaning. Sometimes you means you only, as in not me. Other times you means you all, or you plural. When Paul writes “Do you not know that you are God’s temple and that God’s Spirit dwells in you?,” he is referring to you-all, the people of God, the community of faith, the congregation of Corinth. Paul uses this again in chapter 6, and often it is that later passage that is quoted to talk about taking care of your physical body by avoiding alcohol, tobacco, and other “sins.” In the shared life of the community, God lives.

Think about it. In the shared life of our community here at Prairie Avenue, God lives. Whenever we treat each other poorly, God lives. Whenever we share with our neighbors, God lives. In whatever we do, in whatever circumstances we confront, God lives, moves, and reside in our shared life. Our community is more than the building surrounding us, protecting us from real physical threats, whether heat, cold, wind, or water. Our building is not the temple of God; we are. And if the temple of God is found wherever there are a faithful people, God’s presence can be found anywhere. It is that presence alone that gives life to the church.

We are building a temple of God at this place. We bring both perishable and imperishable materials. We can only offer ourselves, both good and bad.  Often we also bring our own barriers and obstructions to the building site, gating off our time, talents, and treasure from being used, or, allowing usage only according to our preferences. For Corinth, their divisions over preferred leaders was actually tearing God’s temple down, halting the construction work of any leader and prohibiting their materials from being used.  Is the construction work of God’s temple at Prairie Avenue suffering from the same work stoppage? Are you stopping God’s work in your life, barricading certain aspects of your lifestyle and living for your own selfish desires? How many fences, storage units, and wide spaces are you using to separate yourself from the will of God?

There are some things we do today that will not stand the test of time, or the fires of judgment. Hopefully we come to realize what things do not ultimately matter nor help spread the good news of God’s grace to everyone and remove it.  

Too often we revere furnishings in a church parlor more than our own members needs.

Too often we are more concerned about our fragile reputations and egos than sharing the good news with someone with a checkered past.

Too often we look longingly into a misremembered past instead of responding to the present needs around us.

Too often we are already pre-approving of God’s disapproval of others not like ourselves, and pre-approving God’s approval with our own flawed character and sinful nature.

The building materials of judgment, intolerance, holier-than-thou, us against them, reputation and bloated self-importance cannot be build on a foundation placed on the truth of Christ crucified.

Let us gather instead the ability to respect and value all persons, regardless of reputation and status, and love them as much as Jesus Christ already has loved them.

Let us not be the probation officers of God’s laws and rules, but rather see any sin as forces opposing God’s will and intent and do all things possible to lift someone out of the living hell they may already experience each and every day.

If we commit ourselves to building our lives on the foundation of Jesus Christ, we cannot fail. If we refuse to provide the necessary time, talents, and treasure to build ourselves and others on this foundation, we will fail. Whatever fences, secured storage, or measured space we withhold from God will ultimately be taken from us and given to another in God’s realm of justice and righteousness.

The building site is ready for construction. Are you ready to build lives for God? Bring the best materials you can to the construction site. Stop halting the work of God in self-serving ways. Let us build together a community of faith in Jesus Christ in such a way that all who look upon our lives and living may declare, “I was glad when they said to me let us go to the house of the Lord.”

Requiem & Epilogue for a Home

On the morning of January 13, 2015, my childhood home was destroyed by fire. The aftermath was pretty shocking. Rooms full of memories reduced to burnt timber and open sky. Loving shelter now open to the elements of nature. For 23 years, this was the memorized address, phone number, and identity of "home" I would have. From learning to bicycle on the back yard sidewalk, to venturing around the "hometown" as a growing teenager, to finally commuting to college mostly from my still vibrant revolutionary war soldier wallpapered bedroom with star curtains gradually changing to blinds and solid valances, my life revolved around a small speck in a Central Illinois village until I moved out as an adult.

It is an odd coincidence that in the midst of hearing my childhood home being destroyed, that I also heard my Grandmother's (and even my Great-Grandparents) home had been demolished in the little village in southern Illinois where generations of my family were born, nurtured, died, and buried. Again, it was not something destined to be a landmark to tourists. But it was a landmark to our family story.

Funny how such places can, in a sense, live with you even after your daily life has settled elsewhere. In my mind's eye, I can recall the various pieces of furniture my parents bought and sold and their locations within walls now damaged, probably irrevocably, by fire. I can recall the black telephone that sat on an end table in my grandparent's house, the staircase in their dining room, and the way the curtains flapped against the cabinets in the kitchen when caught by a warm Southern Illinois breeze.

Physically, they have vanished. The timbers, plaster, vinyl floors, and berber carpets are gone.

I said goodbye to both houses years ago. My grandmother left her house for a nursing home not long after I began college. My mother sold the fondly remembered Butterick Homestead in 2004, but I had already moved into my own home in 1999.

But now I cannot go back "home" ever again. My grandparent's town, with its stores, even a bank, gas station, was already fading away in the 1950s, as better opportunities grew in larger towns a few more miles away. My hometown seems to change a little slower, but still changes nonetheless. I can still stand in the high school, walk the elementary school hallways. But I know the school district has fewer students than when I attended. Nostalgia is casting its polish over the cherished childhood memories and story.

Many of my friends will recall fondly the neighborhood parties my parents hosted at their home. Many of my cousins will recall visiting our home and wandering the streets and parks of Bement. I knew that my family had arrived in the pantheon of small town citizens when someone referred to the fire location as "the old Butterick house."

Cast a set of good memories, stories, struggles, and celebrations where you live. Take them with you whenever you leave. Let nostalgia tickle your soul a little. It is in those things that one can truly always find a way to home, again.