Is there a mission behind that door? What is it?

I don’t want anyone to think that the building determines the mission of a congregation.  It doesn’t or, at least, it shouldn’t.

But thinking about facilities sometimes reveals our underlying sense of mission.

Take a few minutes to imagine that you could wrap any kind of facility around our sanctuary – anything at all.  For just a few minutes, forget cost and the time of construction.  Imagine that, like the commander of the Starship Enterprise, you could just say:  “make it so”.  What space would you create (or re-create), and why would you do it?  Why would you do it adjacent to the sanctuary – as part of our property -- instead of renting the space, as required, out in the community?  What space do you think would consistently have benefits exceeding the cost, in terms of supporting the mission of the congregation?

Should we continue to have a chapel separate from the sanctuary?  How big might a chapel be, and how might it be configured and furnished?  Who do you imagine would use a chapel, and under what circumstances?

Would you enlarge the narthex?  Would you hang pictures of former ministers, or create display or storage space, or decorate the narthex in some way?  Would you want to create a ‘gathering space’ on the same level as the sanctuary, perhaps with a kitchenette and space to put out goodies?  Would you put washrooms on the same level as the sanctuary?

Would you do anything with the kitchen – modernize it, enlarge it, provide new or additional equipment, organize a different work flow?  Should we think about using the kitchen as a teaching and gathering space as well as a conventional preparation space?  Could it be a community kitchen?  Should we have a larger freezer, so that we could store casseroles for congregants who unexpectedly need help with meals?  Are there other ways in which we could use the kitchen?

Is there any program or activity that requires more space than at present, or space that is configured differently, or more reliable access to space than at present?

Have you ever thought about our building offering a community living and dining room, where families and small groups could meet, or hold a reception, or share a meal together?

Do we need more space, and/or dedicated space for Sunday School, youth groups or adult groups?  Should we make more space available to the community, for meetings or social gatherings?  Should we have a larger performance or banquet hall, for Bring-it-on Cabaret or for any other activity?

Should we have space for week-day childcare?  Should we offer hospice beds or transitional beds for singles who leave hospital and can’t return home without temporary care?

Should the church offices be organized in some different way?  Is access an issue?  Should we create a reception or hospitality space adjacent to our offices?  Does anyone (or group) not have an office and need one (or regular access to one)?

Do we need more storage space?  Do we need more display space.  Should our storage or displays be somewhere other than where they are at present?

Is there any place that we need more light?  Is comfort an issue anywhere?

Should we consider providing a small apartment for a resident caretaker?

Do you have any thoughts about developing our grounds?  Should we put a permanent shelter close to the sidewalk, for congregants who are waiting for a ride, or for use as a refreshment venue when the marathon is run past our door, or for some other reason?

What have you imagined that goes beyond the questions in this post?  And why has your imagination gone where it goes?  What mission drives your imagination?

We welcome your thoughts.

The Mustard Seed-Transformed (Jackie Cox-Ziegler)

Yesterday I got an email from a volunteer with The Mustard Seed. Just emailing me to say  “thank you” for the opportunity to volunteer over the last week. She was one of the 100’s of people I met when my place of work, The Mustard Seed, underwent an amazing makeover this Spring. I had invited her back to help out this past week in our foodbank and she found it so rewarding she was thanking me.

I work at The Mustard Seed, a member of the Canadian Baptists of Western Canada. Centering on its faith there is a Sunday Church Service, chapel 3 times a week, Bible study, women’s fellowship and the kinds of activities one might expect in an average church. The Mustard Seed is perhaps better known for its ministries than for its church. There is a foodbank, family centre, recovery farm, drop-in, clothing bank, advocates, hair care, meals, coffee and  our daily bread table, strong volunteer program and the list goes on.

This spring The Mustard Seed was gifted with a community makeover by a program called Hero Work. The founder of Hero Work, Paul built a team of community members and businesses that descended upon The Mustard Seed for eight days and truly transformed our main floor. From new floors, furniture, lights and even toilets the space was transformed to be more welcoming and calm and functional for all who enter.

During this renovation I also saw people transformed. Those that stepped forward to volunteer and give their time found themselves on the receiving end with their involvement in this project. One person involved said to me he was a firm atheist before the project, and for the first time in his life he felt the presence of some greater power, warmth and connectedness to others. Yes, a glimpse of God.
Others shared how they had never been on a construction site before with such harmony before. The politeness: thank you, excuse me, how can I help, what’s next, do you need a hand?  sounds rarely heard on a typical building job. The painters staying on the job until 2 in the morning so the flooring could start at 6 am. The plumber carrying the ladder for the electrician and the organizer jumping in sanding, no one concerned about themselves but instead about the whole.

I heard stories of people first coming to The Mustard Seed for school supplies, of people growing up with the help of foodbanks, of someone putting a job search on hold as they knew they had to volunteer, and another who felt the God compelling them to take a major role, of others who past and present rely on the Mustard Seed and wanted a chance to contribute. I overheard someone say that before this project they never prayed but that was the only way this amount of work could get done was with prayer. Other people taking me aside to ask questions about faith, ask about my faith and/or  to tell me about their walk with God. Sometimes people came to me and asked for prayer and I also turned to others outside this project to hold The Mustard Seed and those participating in this project (myself included) in prayer.  Thank you for your prayers.

This renovation took 8 days, transformed a space with a renovation valued at $500,000. and was made into a touching TV show.  The space is more welcoming and functional and a pride has developed for many of our community that come for help, and are now volunteering.  The people who were transformed the most were those who thought they were coming to give and instead found they were on the receiving end of love, kindness, friendship and the presence of God on Queens Avenue.

Amen.

Enchanted Glass

Diane Wynne Jones (guardian.com)

I have just finished reading Diana Wynne-Jones’ last novel, “Enchanted Glass”. It was published in 2010, and she was clearly intending it to be the first volume of a series, but she died in 2012. I am sorry we will not see the sequel.

The book tells the story of a magician, Andrew, who inherits his grandfather’s old house just outside a small English village, where he lives with his equally magically-talented young cousin Aidan.  Andrew  discovers that his grandfather, also a powerful magician, had the duty of protecting the territory for about ten miles around, and that this task has now devolved upon him. His first task is to walk the entire boundary of his field-of-care. He and Aidan undertake this task.

The boundary is not reliably marked. There are indications that there was once a path around it, but it has become overgrown, ploughed up, and in places actively obstructed with barbed wire and fencing by a force or forces unknown.  Andrew and Aidan can however find the unmarked boundary by trusting their innate sense of where it is; they can ‘feel’ it when they cross it.  Inside the boundary, in the area that is in Andrew’s charge, everything feels “what he now thought of as normal: deep and slightly exciting.” The other side feels, as Aidan says, “boring and dangerous … like standing on a runway in the path of an aeroplane.  Flat, but you’re lucky you’re not dead.”  So he and Aidan navigate the boundary by feeling their way between “deep and exciting” and “flat and dangerous”.

This description resonated strongly for me. “Flat and dangerous” is how the world feels for me when I’m depressed, or anxious.  It’s hard to explain how the world can simultaneously be dull, and full of danger. But that is how it feels, when I imagine a world in which God does not exist.It’s not that a world without God has no danger – quite the contrary – it’s that it seems so pointless.  The world seems paper thin, and there is nothing beyond what I see.

But “deep and exciting” is how the world feels for me on those days when my faith is stronger; when I feel surer that God does exist, and that there is a point to things.  People matter; lives matter; it is our job to care for and protect each other because we all have infinite significance,  and the world itself is our charge, our field-of-care, to protect and nurture.  This is how I feel on the days when I am more open to the Holy Spirit. This is how it feels, I think, to come home.

In “Enchanted Glass”, Diana Wynne Jones tells us that that feeling is a perception of something real - that when we feel that the world is  “deep and exciting”, it’s because it is.  We shouldn’t ignore that feeling when we have it. It tells us that we’re in the presence of the holy, and that the holy is all around us, every bit as real as the material world.  “Walking the boundary” is necessary, to care for and protect it, in a world that often feels flat, dangerous, and dull.  And walking the boundary is best done, as Aidan and Andrew do, in the company of someone who feels the holy too.

Diana Wynne Jones’ books often give me the same sense CS Lewis’ youth novels do, of engaging with important issues, and giving the reader not only something to think about, but the tools to think about it with. They show us how to accept the holy as a real thing, that we are right to feel, and pay attention to.  Wynne Jones isn’t writing direct Christian allegory, as Lewis did; but she is writing about the kingdom of God, about what love and community look like and how much they matter.  It feels, when I read them, as if Diana Wynne Jones is walking the boundary with me.

I go to church because I have a bad memory…Really? (Carol Martin)

Recently I came across a blog about why I go to church…The author like many of us had been in conversation with a young person who “got” why she was spiritual, but why go to Church he questioned.  He saw the many good works of churches and the fun activities as being provided elsewhere in the community.  Church was irrelevant, this “spiritual but not religious” person said.

So the author mused about that…after all he was in part right, she concluded. Then after searching for why she needed to go to church, here is what she decided:

“I have a really bad memory.

It's true. I have a terrible memory, especially when it comes to remembering who I am as a child of God. Especially when it comes to remembering what God has done, and continues to do, in and through Jesus Christ.

I forget who I am. I forget who God is. I forget God's Epic Story of Redemption and Liberation and Renewal and Beauty and Hope.”

And so, I thought…church services offer a reminder of all of this, a memory jog, as it were.

Still it didn’t sit well with me.  I actually spend more time in connection with God personally during the week than on Sunday.  I need to remember that not only am I a beloved child of God but so are the many others I encounter during the week; church goers or not.

I don’t forget the stories of our faith…I actually remember them better during the time I am in relationship with others as I think about the many ways we replay those stories, stories of betrayal, of sacrifice, of curiousity about God, of kindness and of evil.  I marvel at how they have stood the test of time (allowing for some historical updating).

No, I concluded.  I don’t go to church because I have a bad memory.  I am not sure of all the reasons I go; habit may be part of it, but it is to connect with others who share my faith in God, and with whom I can comfortably explore what that means for them and for me.  It is because I can watch how people live that out, I can ask questions, I can learn and I can sing.

But it is not because I have a bad memory.

Our foremothers, on Mother's Day

I was in North Ontario last week at a memorial service for my Aunt Babe, who died of pneumonia this winter, at the age of 90.  Aunt Babe was very active in the local Presbyterian church  - the same one her father, a stonemason from Scotland, had cut the stone for when he first came to Canada - throughout her life. Although she did not force her views on anyone, I had always assumed that she was quietly conservative.  That is, I assumed she believed in traditional gender roles, as I would expect a Presbyterian lady of her generation to do.

It turns out I should have talked to her more.  At the memorial service I learned that she had trained as a nurse at Western, worked as a hospital and public health nurse until my cousin was born, and later ran volunteer services at the hospital in North Bay for many years.  She was one of the two women first elected to the Board of Elders at her church, and eventually served for years as the Clerk of Sessions.  While on the Board and running volunteer services she worked tirelessly to promote women to positions of influence and authority, and believed that women ought to be taking more of a leadership role in the church and the community.  She was quiet because she was a doer, not a talker, and thought she could do more by arranging to find positions for women than she could by arguing about it.

But she was ferociously Christian too.  And I realise as I write this that I am the one that is assuming, still, that she should have felt tension between her Christianity and her work to promote women's efforts in the church and the professions.  She doesn't seem to have done so.  She seems, judging from her actions, to have believed that the Holy Spirit animates us all, male and female, and that all our contributions are of value to God.

Of course I believe that too; but I thought that was my generation that believed it.  Now, once again, I realise that all the advances my generation has made in the position of women in church and society have been made because the women who came before us quietly did their best to promote women's causes, sometimes by argument, but more often, like my Aunt Babe, by influence, example, and the occasional word to a niece that should have been listening harder.

So on Mother's Day, I want to salute all of our mothers, and grandmothers, and aunts, all the women who went before us and worked so hard to make the world a better place for all their daughters.  You succeeded, and we will carry on your work.  Thanks, Aunt Babe.  And thank you, all of you.

Why going to church is good for us

A recent study (reported on in "Why going to church is good for you" , T. M. Luhrmann, NYT) shows that going to a religious service even an average of only once a month is apparently good for you. It lowers blood pressure, boosts the immune system and apparently can add as much as two or three years to your life.  Nobody really knows why.

T. M. Luhrmann, in the linked article, suggests that it is likely at least partly because of the increased social interaction that members of any religious community will have; since there are lots of studies showing that more social contact is good for us in all kinds of ways.  We aren't born to live a solitary life.

(Not even hermits, according to folklore.  One of my mother's friends used to tell the story of the hermit who lived 20 miles from the nearest village.  He had no contact with them; never visited, never got offerings from them, had no interaction at all.  But one day the entire village burned down, and the inhabitants packed up and left, all going to families in other towns.  So the hermit packed up and found another village to live 20 miles away from.)

There is also the point that church-goers tend to live healthier lives - on average we drink less, smoke less, use fewer drugs, and so on, than non-church-goers.  And of course that doesn't hurt.

But Luhrmann suggests, and I think she's right, that there's more going on than simply having friends to hang out with, and cutting down on our bad habits.  She suggests that one thing people who go to church - or mosque, or synagogue - get from the experience is regular training in seeing the world as more than a material place.   We are encouraged, in every service, to experience as real something that we cannot see or hear or touch; and moreover, to experience it as good.    And somehow, by some mechanism she doesn't understand, this seems to be good for our health. Somehow this positive thinking isn't just good for us psychologically;  it's good for our bodies, too.

She is right about what goes on in a church service. We are encouraged to believe that a loving God we can't see or hear directly nevertheless exists, and loves us, and is present in our every moment.  We are encouraged to believe that when we least think there is help for us, that is when we should reach out, because help is present for all of us, all the time.  And of course believing this is a comfort to us, and perhaps it relieves our stress and that, in turn, makes us healthier.

But here is where I would go farther than Luhrmann; and it's one of the reasons - and I keep compiling more of these reasons as I go through life - that I do believe that God exists, independent of our faith or lack of it.   Because it makes no sense to me that believing something would be good for us, if what we believed weren't true.

In every other area of our lives, believing something that isn't true is never helpful.  It is at best neutral, and frequently it's disastrous.  Why would belief in a loving God who didn't actually exist be  somehow good for us, when false belief doesn't help us in any other area of our lives?

I'm aware that this doesn't prove the existence of God.  Nothing does that.  But still, for me, it's at least persuasive. There might be a hundred reasons that a belief that a loving God exists would be good for us.   But one of those reasons is surely because maybe we're right: God does exist, and loves us, and knowing that helps us through our day.