by Revd Chrys M Tremththanmor
[Given at a special service offering thanks for those who help contribute to the life and upkeep of St Martin's, Welton]
One pet food company sponsors an annual competition entitled ‘I look like my dog.’ And hundreds of people, who really ought to know better, send in photos of themselves and their doggy companion. When it comes to humans, researchers have found that the longer couples stay together, the more they look like each other. It seems that this is due to shared experiences built up over many years together. So as time goes on, we are influenced with whom and what we have decided to share our lives.
There is a debate in some church circles, namely is the church the place, the building, or is it the people? Being a good Anglican (sometimes), I would like to take a middle option. I think a church is both people and place. Both are important as part of our ongoing efforts to worship God and to follow his will.
Let’s consider our own church here, St Martin’s, Welton. Worship has taken place in this building for over 750 years. I feel that a place takes on a special ambience when it has been a centre for worship and prayer for many years. Those years add to the holiness of a place. For example, have you ever tried to redecorate an old house? You find layer after layer of paint on the walls, each coat added to one another over the years. I think prayer coats the walls of a holy place in the same way. Over the years, our prayers add to those who have gone before us, layer upon layer upon layer. It is this holiness created by prayer that people often feel when they enter a church. God’s Spirit hovers in the air, part of the atmosphere which we breathe as we move around walls and between pews.
When I think of how that Spirit is passed on, I sometimes compare the church to a football team. Now, I will admit, I’m not a sports fan, and so it took me ages to understand why anyone would support the same team for year after year. After all, the players change, the manager gets sacked, and so the team is never the same from year to year. Then I realised that not all the changes happen at once. People come, people go, but the team spirit is passed on. The people may change, but the spirit remains the same.
Same in any church. The people do change, just as the residents in the village the church serves change. People move in, people leave. Think how many times this must have happened since Welton first became a village in her own right.
And that’s why I think the place in which we worship is also important. The people may change, but the building remains. The church building gives us permanence amidst change. We are reminded of those with whom we used to pray, and our own prayers will remain behind when we too move on. The prayers which the Holy Spirit has inspired are held and preserved in these walls, layer upon layer upon layer.
That’s why it’s important that we preserve this building. The church is not only for those who come here every Sunday, or those who come every Christmas, or those who come for baptisms, weddings, or funerals. The church is here as a reminder of something permanent in this village, something which was here before we were born and will be here long after we die.
The church is both the people and the place, and that’s why we’re having this special service to celebrate both. This is our opportunity to thank those who contribute to the continuation of St Martin’s, both those who worship here regularly and those who help to maintain the building and the churchyard. Our presence both changes and is changed by the Spirit in this place, this sacred space. We must look after it, lest we have to build a newer building with dangerous consequences. I have a story to tell which gives us just such a warning.
There was a rector in California who had lots of problems with her church building. Her congregation always sat at the back of the church, and they in turn grumbled that her sermons were too long. So a wealthy computer software designer went to the rector and said, ‘I want you and your husband to take a three month trip to the Holy Land at my expense. When you come back, I'll have a surprise for you.’
The rector accepted the offer and she and her husband went off to the Middle East.
Three months later they returned to their home and were met by the wealthy parishioner, who told them while they were gone, he had had a new church built. ‘It's the finest building money can buy, rector,’ said the man, ‘no expense was spared. Not only that, both the congregation and you will love what I’ve done.’
The building was indeed magnificent. But there was one striking difference: there was only one pew and it was at the very back.
‘I don’t see how this has improved things,’ said the rector. ‘I’m tired of people always sitting at the back.’
‘You just wait until Sunday,’ said the rich man.
When the time came for the Sunday service, the early arrivals entered the church, filed onto the one pew and sat down. When the pew was full, a switch clicked silently, a circuit closed, the gears meshed, a belt moved and, automatically, the rear pew began to move forward. When it reached the front of the church it came to a stop. At the same time, another empty pew came up from below at the back and more people sat down. And so it continued, pews filling and moving forwards until finally the church was full, from front to back.
‘Wonderful!’ said the rector. ‘Marvellous!’
‘I said you’d like it,’ the rich man replied. “And the congregation will love the next bit.’
The service began, and the rector climbed up into the pulpit and began to preach her sermon. She droned on and on about her trip to the Holy Land and, when 12 o'clock came, she was still going strong with no end in sight. Suddenly a bell rang, a trap door in the floor behind the pulpit dropped open, and the rector disappeared from sight.
‘Wonderful!’ said the congregation. ‘Marvellous!’
On that note, I’d better end my sermon!