|
|
|
|
Psalm 84:
1-12 January 10,
2010
OUR MEETINGHOUSE AND THE STORIES OF JESUS: This year, 2010, marks the 100th anniversary of this beautiful building that we call our Meetinghouse. The original was built in 1817, but tragically an arsonist burned that building to the ground on the fateful night of July 2, 1907. From what they could tell, the arsonist entered the building and started a fire somewhere up here in the pulpit area, and by the time neighbors noticed the flames, it was already too late. To my knowledge, no one ever confessed to this crime, but whoever did this must have been quite troubled as there were others cases of arson at that time. As I mentioned in our January newsletter, when I first came to Old Lyme back in the early 1970’s, some of the older members of the church recalled how the church bell was tolling midnight even as the whole church building was engulfed in flames, if you can imagine it. We pray that nothing like that will ever happen again, but it does give us pause to consider what we would do in the face of such a disaster. Would we have the same generosity, the same determination, the same artistic integrity, the same courage, the same faith, the same spirit that our spiritual ancestors did in 1907? The congregation, indeed, the whole community gathered together immediately following the fire. The next day, July 3rd 1907, there was nothing left of the beloved Meetinghouse, only the outline of the foundation. Looking down into the empty hole, the congregation resolved – they unanimously resolved – to rebuild the meetinghouse exactly as it was, or at least as “exactly” as possible, given the fact that there were no architectural drawings, only photographs and paintings. This building in which we worship today is a testament to the faith and the integrity and the generosity of those who sat in these pews 100 years ago, and so this year, I hope we will have lots of birthday celebrations to honor this extraordinary gift bequeathed to us by those in 1910. The congregation at that time was considerably smaller than what it is today, and the economy then, as it is now, was rather precarious and uncertain, and yet church members, artists, community citizens, even those who were members of other churches and some who were not members of any church at all rallied together and built this magnificent building. Be that as it may, we’re not here to worship this building, as beautiful as it is. It’s only as good as what we do with it. It’s only as good as the gospel of Christ that we exemplify, only as good as the ministries that we take on, only as good as the integrity of our convictions, the circumference of our outreach, the depth of our compassion, the faithfulness of our generation. And without these ministries, this building would be an empty shell, beautiful but empty. And yet, I believe that the beauty of this place works in wonderful harmony or synchronicity with our church’s strong sense of mission. Indeed, for me, this place and what we do in this place on a Sunday morning and our other worship services is the nerve center for everything else we do as a church. For me, one of the highlights of the year is on Christmas Eve as this building is lit by candlelight and we all sing, “Silent Night” That, for me, is what T.S. Eliot called “the still point of a turning world” and the beauty of the architecture of this building is an indispensable part of that sacred moment. So, here in this series of sermons, I’d like to offer my own birthday celebrations for this sacred place, and to do so, each week, I’d like to concentrate on some of the details of this building and show how they are connected, intimately, inextricably connected to the stories of Jesus. As you look around this room, there should be things that remind you of Jesus, his life, his teachings and his spirit. In the celebration of this building, one might be tempted to concentrate on the building as a whole with the magnificent spire, but if the “devil” is in the details, divinity is as well, and so I would have us narrow our focus and see how God is present, how the spirit of Christ is present in the details of this building, and for this morning, I would have us contemplate and give thanks for the baptismal font. In the church year, today is a day in which we remember how Jesus was baptized in the Jordan River by John the Baptist, and every baptismal font, in every church is a reminder of that baptism. This baptismal font was made by the well-known sculptor, Leo Lentelli and is made out of a very soft marble – Caen Marble – from Normandy, France. The architect was very careful in choosing the color of this font, not wanting a marble that was too white, fearing that it would appear too cold – especially important for these cold winter mornings! Ernest Greene was the architect and this is but one of many illustrations of his exquisite attention to detail. The poet William Blake said that “we must do good to one another in minute particulars.” This baptismal font is surely a reflection of the architect’s love for beauty, his attention to “minute particulars”, but also the warmth of its color a reflection of his and the building committee’s concern for all the little ones who would be blessed in this place. God is in the details. If you look at the base of this baptismal font, you’ll see that it was given in memory of Rosa Brown Griswold who apparently died when she was only 14 years of age, born in 1890 and died in 1904, and so it’s touching to think that her parents, only a few years later, would honor her memory with such a beautiful and what for them must have been a very poignant gift, a baptismal font for the children of the congregation. What a wonderful and wonderfully extraordinary way to express their grief for the loss of their child – a soft and warm marble baptismal font, a place where generation after generation would bring their children to be baptized. Just out of curiosity, how many of you were baptized in this place? As I was preparing this sermon, I was humbled as I thought about all the many times I have had the honor standing here by this baptismal font, probably well over 500 times in the 35 years I have been a minister here, and it has occurred to me that too often I have taken it for granted the hopes and the dreams and the generosity and the labor of those who turned that empty hole in the ground into this magnificent structure and provided this beautiful baptismal font for the enlightenment and edification of us all. Now, baptism is one of only two sacraments in a congregational church, and for each of us, baptism may mean different things, and I’d like to take a moment to share with you something of my own philosophy or theology of baptism. When I meet with families to talk about a baptism, I share with them that the two most important words in the Sacrament of Baptism are the words, “celebration” and “covenant.” Baptism is a reminder for us all that we were, each one of us, created in God’s Image, that our dignity as human beings comes not from anything we have done or achieved, and certainly not from our status or station in life, but rather from the intrinsic goodness of our souls, our true identities as children of God. At the baptism of Jesus, Jesus heard those words that I hope all of our children hear: “this is my beloved child with whom I am well pleased.” Just as Jesus came from God, and to God returned, so I believe it is true for each one of us. Too often we think of “life eternal” as that which begins after we die, but really, we ought to think of “life eternal” as the life, the quality of life that we live now, but also the life, the spirit that was there before we were born. I’ve always rather liked what the Greek philosopher Plato referred to as “the doctrine of reminiscence.” Education, enlightenment, epiphanies are not really a matter of learning something entirely new, but rather a matter of remembering eternal verities that were there long before we were born. The English poet, William Wordsworth was deeply influenced by Plato when he wrote these words in his poem, entitled, “Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood.” Our birth is but a sleep
and a forgetting: And cometh from afar: Not in entire forgetfulness, And not in utter nakedness, But trailing clouds of glory do we come From God, who is our home. In the course of our lives, in the humdrum of our daily existence, in our errors and bad decisions, we too often forget our place of origin and our true identities, and so every baptism is a reminder, a celebration that the spirit of Christ was not only in Jesus but also in each one of us, that we were born in the image of God, each one of us being an embodiment of God’s love, each one of us being an expression of God’s hope that someday Divinity and Humanity might be reconciled. And so this morning, I give thanks for the parents of Rosa Brown Griswold for making it possible for us to have this warm and beautiful baptismal font and for all the thousands of baptisms that have taken place since 1910, each of them a blessed reminder, a blessed celebration of our true identities. But not only is baptism a celebration; the other all important word is the word, “Covenant.” The spirit that God has given us is a very fragile, vulnerable spirit, and in the Sacrament of Baptism, we covenant, we promise to do all that we can to nurture that tender spirit. For that reason, we always try to celebrate the Sacrament of Baptism on a Sunday morning, during a worship service – not on Sunday afternoon or some other day of the week, but rather on a Sunday morning so that we all might reaffirm our covenant to one another, for let’s face it. As much as we may talk about being “children of God” having intrinsic worth, “trailing clouds of glory”, most of us feel unworthy of that identity. Most of us know ourselves well enough to know that we have marred the image of God that is imprinted on our soul, and so we need each other to nurture that tender and ever so fragile spirit. A number of years ago a family visited our Meetinghouse, and as I was showing them around, having had little or no experience in any other church, one of the children, maybe 9 years of age, looked at our baptismal font and said, “how come you have a birdbath in here?” The parents were noticeably embarrassed, but I tried to reassure them, and if I had been quicker on my feet, I might very well have shared with them our scripture lesson for this morning from Psalm 84: How lovely is thy dwelling
place, O Lord of Hosts! And so it’s okay to think of this beautiful piece of marble as a birdbath for sparrows. I would guess that there are very few of us that would identify with bluebirds, scarlet tanagers, Baltimore orioles and cardinals, but all of us from time to time think of ourselves as being “sparrows”, usually adding the prefix, “nothing but” sparrows. And of course it often has very little to do with our “plumage”, our outward appearance, but a lot to do with our own self-evaluation. And sometimes we, more than anyone else, can be quite accurate in those evaluations. We know deep within ourselves the ways in which we have violated the trust that God has placed in us. We know more than anyone else how we have failed to live up to our true identities. We know how and when and where we have been selfish and narcissistic and narrow-minded. We know very well how we have failed to deal very faithfully or even productively with the “slings and arrows of outrageous fortune”, how we have dealt with such things not with grace and dignity but rather with an arsenal of angers and resentments and jealousies and negativity, an arsenal that has become like arsenic for the soul, bitter emotions that have marred the blessed spirit with which we were born. And so we look in the mirror and we say to ourselves “you know, you’re nothing but a sparrow.” And so, in that regard, I’m happy to think of this baptismal font as being a birdbath, and I’m grateful that our baptisms are not only for our tiny children but also the rest of us “sparrows” as well. For every baptism is a reminder that this is a place where “sparrows” are always, always welcome, a place where hopefully, the “doctrine of reminiscence” can be at work, a place where we can be reminded of our true identities. But this morning, in thinking about the history of our church, and this baptismal font, I’m thinking of one sparrow in particular. I’m thinking about the poor troubled soul that set our beautiful Meetinghouse ablaze on the night of July 2, 1907. As far as I know, this person was never apprehended, and so we do not know what his motivations may have been. I think of him (or her) coming into the Meetinghouse late at night. I wonder which door he may have used. I wonder what his thoughts may have been as he walked past the baptismal font. I wonder if he himself may have been baptized in this place. I wonder what his thoughts may have been as he climbed the stairs leading to the pulpit and there struck a match that would destroy the pride and joy of this community. And then, the next day, I wonder if he was on the periphery of the crowd that surveyed the damage. I wonder if he saw the tears in their eyes, and I wonder if perchance he was baptized by those tears. I wonder what his feelings may have been when the congregation on that very day voted unanimously to rebuild their Meetinghouse exactly as it was. I wonder if he was chastened and humbled in direct proportion to the strength and the determination of the congregation at that time. I wonder what his thoughts were when he went home and looked at himself in the mirror. We’ll never know for sure, but I would guess that he looked at himself, and said, “I’m nothing but a sparrow”, and if he did, maybe, maybe that was the beginning of his redemption. John the Baptist spoke of how Jesus would baptize not only with water but also with fire, and maybe this poor troubled soul was baptized by the fire that he himself had set. It may seem outrageously ironic, but this Meetinghouse and this baptismal font were built precisely, precisely for “sparrows” such as this, and at least in my imagination, I like to think for whomever that troubled soul may have been, that the way this congregation responded to that tragedy of July 2, 1907 was for him a part of the Doctrine of Reminiscence, a reminder of what it truly means to be a Child of God, a visible reminder of the tenacity and the resilience of our God given spirit. I know I have a wild imagination, but I like to think of that man as being chastened by what he had done, and 3 years later, after the Meetinghouse had been rebuilt, I like to think of him as coming to a worship service, and in the quiet sanctuary of his own heart, I see him asking God for forgiveness. I see him looking around at this sacred place and saying, “How lovely is thy dwelling place” and then saying to himself, “here is a place where even a sparrow such as myself can find a home. I am that sparrow, O Lord, but that’s not all that I am, and I am thankful to the people of this congregation for being for me the Doctrine of Reminiscence, for showing me and reminding me of what my true identity is.” I know I have a wild imagination, but every time we have a baptism, I pray for such a miracle, and in the Sacrament of Baptism, I hope and pray that we all might rediscover our true identities as children of God. Amen.
David W. Good Old Lyme, Connecticut
|
|
|
