That's the explanation we received for why our lovely, contemporary church building was unexpectedly and thoroughly flooded. Eyewitnesses reported squishy carpet and an unpleasant odor. Plumbers, the city, and recovery experts were called and trustees were on hand. But on Saturday, one thing was clear. There would be no service on Sunday in the sanctuary.
It was one more straw on the camel's back. The congregation of Resurrection United Methodist Church, the church I call home, has been struggling with the weight of many straws. Network problems, after plumbing problems from tree roots, all in a congregation that has been dropping members like my pugs shed fur. For weeks, months, we have been looking at each other on Sunday mornings with certain pained pleasure, locking eyes and speaking in silent communication other - "Thank God you are still here."
Because the business of maintaining the church isn't the same business I grew up with. There was A Methodist church and if you were Methodist - you went there. But in a city the size of Durham, there are many to choose from, if you aren't dedicated to being a Methodist, there are even more. We've got megachurches with rock bands, churches with thriving youth programs, churches affiliated with other protestant traditions and churches affiliated with none. And if you believe in God, and resist organized religion, why you can just stay home and tune in.
So despite having an amazing, spirit filled pastor ,who inspires us to grow and embrace our uncertain future, we struggle. We struggle. Our spread sheets show that we can't afford a full time pastor. And as much as we wish we could, we can't. And with dwindling membership, we won't be able to. We must change. We have met and talked with leadership, talked among ourselves, emailed each other, texted each other, had meetings, had studies, prayed, worried, and fretted. Not necessarily in that order. But despite all of that, we are no further in the decisions that must come to define our future.
So the straw that landed on our camel's back yesterday made him sway a bit under the weight.
But then something happened. Our inboxes were filled with an email from the Pastor that we would meet on Sunday. It would be an abbreviated service and we would gather in the prayer labyrinth in front of our church.
And gather we did. We dressed in jeans, we dressed in our Sunday best. We came on foot and in wheelchairs. We drug plastic chairs outside and a portable mic for the pastor. We picked fresh daffodils and secured them at the foot of the cross.We offered our seats to those who were standing. We gathered in a large, and in places a broken, circle. We listened to the community announcements. We heard the Word of God and invited the Holy Spirit to join us amidst the pine trees, the gravel stones marking the labyrinth, the cars whizzing by on one side and the huge green SERVICEPRO truck on the other.We listened to our Pastor's message. And God met us in that unexpected place.
And by the time we passed the plate, and prayed, and sang Jesus Loves the Little Children and Amazing Grace and I am the Church You are the Church! we remembered that WE are the church, not the building behind us. Tall, short, thin, fat, black, white, gray, bald, braids and bobs, stylish and less, bespectacled and eagle-eyed, strong and weak, young and old. We all have a place together at God's table, whether that table is crafted in mahogany or manifest only in our hearts and minds . He is our God and we are his people.
Do I believe the church flooded so that we would worship outside on a warm Sunday in February which happened to rekindle our commitment to God and to each other? No. I don't. Do I think God took that circumstance and used it to the greater glory, to move among us and touch us individually and collectively, to help us shed our attachment to a building and return to him with arms wide open, yes, I do. I definitely do.
So instead of saying to each other "Thank God you are still here" we can look to the heavens and say "Thank YOU God, YOU are still here!"
