Smashing Statues

I once served at a school founded before the Protestant reformation. In the entrance of the chapel are a series of pedestals on which statues of saints once stood. I say, once stood, because the reformers came and smashed the statues when they tried to remove all things that stood in their way of worshiping God, all things that were a part of the faith tradition they wanted to reform. Looking up at the empty pedestals on a recent trip back, I saw remnants of that dramatic moment of history and realized what an important faith lesson sat above me.

I’m not sure why, but I’ve always liked to collect meaningful things. Looking around my studio, I see reminders of my ancestors, my career, and the people I love most. Below the portraits is a ticket from a show I directed in college, a note-finding device used for the barbershop group I led in high school, and a handkerchief I left in the pulpit when we dedicated a chapel. The collection is plentiful, but I’ve recently begun to clear out my studio. Looking at the empty space, I feel as if I’m looking at the lonely pedestals in England.

I realize now how stuck I’ve been. While trying to move forward, I’ve been surrounded (and held back) by the past. Who are you now, the voice within me asks, now that all those “statues” from the past are gone? It’s as unsettling a question as it is freeing.

It’s a question that can be asked of our faith as well. Over time, we collect things that speak of our faith. Whether it’s a leather-bound Bible, a program from an important church service, or a plaque honoring years of service, such mementos are comforting. They can also hold us back.

It’s also true of our understanding of God. It is comforting to hold a view we’ve held all our lives, but just as it may comfort, it might also hold us back. “God is never-changing,” a neighbor likes to say when defending his firm opinions of what is and is not “true faith.” So often, we cling to what we’ve known and can’t look beyond such “statues.”

Perhaps we should follow the example of those reformers of old and smash the things that stand in our way of worshipping God. Who would we be, what would we believe, and what would we do if we smashed the “statues” that surround us? Churches would no longer be museums; our connection with the past would be found through living in the future.

The thought is as unsettling as it is freeing. Perhaps we would learn to give thanks for the things that have comforted us in the past while looking forward. Who knows, we might find a God who’s both never changing and always changing. God’s not a statue. Like us, God is alive.

Pine Trees

The four tall pine trees had been looming over our house for years. Given they sat at the top of the steep hill behind our house, their presence was imposing. Every storm reminded me that we needed to remove them before they fell, but then the storms passed, and I put the work off. Recently, we hired someone to remove them, and, today as I sit looking out the window at the trees swaying in the outer bands of hurricane Helene, I’m so glad we did the work.

I can’t help but think of the important life lesson this has given me. It makes me think about a speech a friend of mine once gave about the pain of discipline. He pointed out that making the decision to do something, while painful or inconvenient, is often far less that what awaits you if you don’t.

I felt convicted as I listened to him. I could name many instances when I knew what I needed to do (or stop doing) but chose not to. The pine trees behind our house could well have been on that list this morning, but they’re not. It makes me not only grateful to have done the work before this storm, but also makes me wonder what other “pines” are out there that I need to address.

In twelve step recovery circles, they speak of “doing the next right thing.” It comes from people who have rarely, or never, done the right thing and now find themselves in deep holes of their own making. Doing the next right thing is their way of climbing out of the holes, one step at a time. It’s not pleasant work and always takes longer than anyone wants, but it’s the best way to new life.

Whether it’s a hole, a tree looming, or an ignored situation or relationship, doing the work when we’d rather not often leads to less work and pain if we don’t. “A stitch in time saves nine,” I’ve heard. Now I’m trying to listen.

"My Church"

“Even though we had some standing as Christ’s apostles, we never threw our weight around or tried to come across as important, with you or anyone else.” I Thessalonians 2:6

“It’s my church,” said the frustrated rector speaking to a group of parishioners. There was a sudden moment of silence when the church members looked at one another as if to say, “Did I just hear what I think I heard?” I wish it was an uncommon mistake born out of exasperation, but it is more common (in word and action) than one might think.

When we are at our best, we are all imperfect people doing the best we can with the help of God’s grace in the company of others. Yes, there are leaders within the community of faith who help us on our way, but when ego and insecurity fester, the trappings of the church become a quick fix to low self-esteem.  Whether as clergy or church members, we cling to roles, years of our membership, or the number of 0’s in our annual pledge. It happens everywhere, but when it’s found in the church it’s more tragic.

There was a time when I was wrapped up in my role and feasted on the respect that came with the position. It pains me now to admit it, but it also makes me understand how this minister could make such an outlandish claim. The church, our jobs, bank accounts, homes, partners, and children are gifts given. When we receive them as such, God’s grace has breathing room. When we cling tight as if they’re our possessions, grace and gratitude suffocate.

Paul understood this when writing to the early church, and we would do well to listen to him 2000 years later.