The Houses in Which We Live

Lay Sermon by Barbara Liu

Faith Lutheran Church of East Hartford

Sunday, June 10, 2012

2 Corinthians 4:13 - 5:1

Mark 3:20-35

As I was preparing to talk with you today, studying and meditating on the readings set for this Sunday, I was struck by the references to houses in both Second Corinthians and Mark's Gospel.  The Bible authors often make use of metaphors relating ideas and principles to objects that readers can easily envision and situations to which readers can readily relate.  And houses were just as important to the people of Jesus's time as they are to us today.  After all, shelter is a basic human need.

But in our lives today (and perhaps to some degree in Jesus's time—I'm not sure), houses have become more than just shelter. 

It's a commonly-stated idea in this country that owning one's own house is unquestionably good. That's why we feel good when we volunteer with Habitat for Humanity, helping others to build a house they might not otherwise be able to afford. 

To own your own house is a key part of the American dream after all. Whether our version includes a white picket fence or not, owning a house is a sign that we've made it; it's not just a place to live, it's a status symbol.

Some of the key measures of our country's economic security and prosperity have to do with houses. "Housing starts," that is the number of new houses being built, are used to indicate consumer confidence (you don't start building a new house unless you feel secure and confident that you will be able to afford to finish the project, furnish it, and keep it up once it's built).  And the ups and downs of the real estate market are constants in the financial news.

But as anyone who has ever owned a house knows, there are a lot of headaches that come with that dream.  When the roof starts leaking or the furnace starts giving out, we stress over how we are going to pay for those big ticket repairs.  Whenever a big nor'easter comes through, we keep nervously looking out our back windows at that big old tree with the branches hanging over our kitchen, praying it doesn't come crashing down.  And it seems we spend all of our free time cleaning the house or mowing the lawn or raking the leaves or trimming the branches off that tree or…well, you've got the point.

  ****

Now, you may not know this, but Bing and I used to own a house in Tolland.  It was a nice split level ranch on three quarters of an acre.  There was a tree house in the wooded back part of the lot and lots of grass out front and along the side.  When we bought that house we were thrilled that we were able to afford it, and we envisioned our kids playing on that lawn or climbing up to that tree house someday.

Well, the kids never came, and we accepted that.  But then that yard became a burden.  It seemed like we never enjoyed it. The only time we spent in it was to keep it up: raking leaves, mowing it, picking up ridiculous amounts of acorns.  It didn't help that Bing wanted the lawn to look like a golf course; if he'd had somewhat lower standards perhaps it wouldn't have been quite such a burden, but after a few years, we started to realize that having a house wasn't for us, and we found the condo where we live now.  It's great; we love autumn again because we can enjoy the turning leaves without having to spend a weekend or two raking.  We can watch the snow fall without having to worry about shoveling or plowing. 

But even the condo is more trouble than I'd like, what with the hot water heater on its last legs and waiting for the owners' association to pass a plan for the much-needed new roof and siding (which will cost us a big chunk of change), and so I've convinced Bing that our next home a few years down the road is going to be an apartment.  We won't have to worry about any maintenance, and if the owners are slow to make needed repairs, we can just find another apartment when our lease is up and not have to worry about selling the current one first.

After dreaming about my own home for years, after five years in our own house in Tolland, and after eight years in our current condo, I've come to believe that owning a home is not all it's cracked up to be, and that maybe we shouldn't present it as the ultimate goal for one's life (despite the tax benefits).

 When I own a home, I worry and obsess over it too much.  I want it to look perfect, to reflect my personality (or to portray the sophistication I want guests to think I have), and I stress over the upkeep.  In other words, I spend more time and energy thinking about the quality of my house (or condo), than I do in improving the quality of other aspects of my life--like my relationships with my family and friends—or my relationship with God.

And I believe this is at least a part of what The Word we are given today asks us to consider:  that sometimes we put too much emphasis on the physical structures in which we live our lives (whether those structures be our physical bodies, our houses, or our church buildings) and not the core of our lives—our relationships with each other and with God.

In the second letter to the Corinthians, Paul is reminding the believers in Corinth, that faith is what sustains us, and that working for God's purposes should be our focus. Now, when he says "if the earthly tent we live in is destroyed, we have a building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens" he is speaking metaphorically.  He isn't writing about an actual tent getting blown away in a storm or burned in an accidental fire, but about our physical bodies which are destroyed by age, disease, violence, or our own sin.  He isn't writing about a literal building in heaven that we will go live in, but about the new, clean spiritual body that flows from our baptism and becomes more real each day as we live into God's Kingdom. So he is telling his readers that all their physical sufferings now (perhaps due to the common afflictions of human life, but more especially due to persecution for their faith) are ultimately for their good and God's glory. "Even though our outer nature is wasting away, our inner nature is renewed day by day," he says. "This slight momentary affliction is preparing us for an eternal weight of glory beyond all measure," not "what can be seen" and is "temporary" but what "cannot be seen" and is "eternal."  And I say, "Amen Paul!" 

In my own case, I probably spend more time before I go to sleep each night stretching my hip so that my bursitis doesn't keep me awake than I do on my knees praying for the spiritual hope that is just as important to my well being as a good night's sleep.  I'm not saying that I shouldn't do those stretches; I really do need that sleep, after all.  But I think that Paul would urge me to pay just as much attention to my spiritual health as my physical health—if not more.

I think there is more that we can and should take from these references to houses in Paul and in the Gospel, however, than just balancing our physical and spiritual health.  As I've said, Paul is talking about our bodies here and not literally about tents or buildings, yet I think we can learn much by taking his metaphor a bit more literally. For many of us today, the destruction, sufferings and afflictions in our lives often have to do with the actual buildings in which we live those lives, like our houses.  We get caught up in dreaming about, planning for and worrying about buildings, instead of dreaming about and planning for and praying about how we can renew our souls and reach out to other souls in need of God's grace.

And in the same way that we as individuals or couples focus too much on the buildings in which we live, I think that when we think about our lives as Christians, especially as members of this congregation of Faith Lutheran, we focus too much on this building which we call our church.

***

In the gospel today, Jesus is responding to his opponents who are using Jesus's acts of exorcism against him.  Basically, they are accusing him of using witchcraft, of being possessed by or aligned with demons. When Jesus says that a house divided against itself cannot stand, he is simply pointing out that his accusers are illogical.  Why would Satan use Jesus against Satan's own purposes?  And when Jesus says that "no one can enter a strong man's house and plunder his property without first tying up the strong man," he is noting that Satan is strong, but that Jesus—as the Son of God working with the Holy Spirit—is the one who can tie Satan up and plunder his house; God is stronger than Satan.  He then says that whoever blasphemes against the Holy Spirit—that is, whoever says that the strength for good that comes from the Spirit is actually an evil that comes from Satan—can never be forgiven.  We must, in other words, acknowledge the goodness of God and the gifts of the Spirit; when we do not, we commit the ultimate betrayal. 

While I don't think we commit this unforgivable blasphemy when we put so much of our hopes and energy into the physical structures of our lives—after all, they are also gifts from God—I'm afraid that when we focus so much of our thought, time, and energy on them, that we neglect the more important of God's gifts, those that Paul says we should put the most store in--our spiritual health and the ways in which we glorify God.   Paul says that everything—our gifts and our sufferings—is for our sake "so that grace, as it extends to more and more people, may increase thanksgiving, to the glory of God."

How often do we focus on how we can use our bodies to glorify God? Is it as often as we worry about our aches and pains? 

How often do we consider how the resources we put into our houses (or how our houses themselves) might be used to increase thanksgiving and glory to God?  Is it as often or as much as we think about our next home improvement project?

How often—when we think about this building—do we think about the many ways in which (and the people for which) it offers spiritual sanctuary?  Is it as often or as much as we worry about the aging boiler, the sagging acoustical tiles in the fellowship hall, or the grass-filled cracks in the parking lot? 

Certainly, there is a lot of pride in this building. Yesterday, as we have for several years, we opened our doors to show off the beautiful windows that this congregation joined together to craft themselves many years ago. 

But since I've been a member of Faith, and especially since I've been on the council, I have heard as much complaint and concern about this building as I have pride.  I hear a lot of complaining, for example, about how run down our fellowship hall is.  Some people talk about the day when we can just blow it up and build a newer, better space.  Yet many wonder and worry about how we'll ever be able to afford to rebuild it when our congregation is aging and pledges don't cover our regular operating expenses. 

But do you know that for others that fellowship hall space is beautiful? For the Living Word and Mount Horeb Baptist congregations, it is beautiful simply because God provided it for them.  While a building consultant from the ELCA told us not to bother putting any money into it, these other congregations have invested in curtains, curtain rods, installed a projector, and more, because it is a space they are proud and happy to worship in.  As Pastor Luis of Mount Horeb told those of us who gathered there last Saturday with members of all the congregations who worship at 1120 Silver Lane, "We asked so many churches to use their space and they all said no, and then I came to Pastor Bill at Faith and you said 'yes.'"  In other words, there was not room at the inn, but what we see as a lowly barn, is the place where Christ is reborn and renewed in their hearts every week.  Why can't we see it through their eyes and have pride not just in these windows, but in the fact that we have the simple gift of space that in Paul's words extends grace "to more and more people" and "may increase thanksgiving to the glory of God"?

Do we, like the Pharisees, question the work of God when it happens in ways we find surprising or somewhat frightening?  Do we hear the loud preaching, the exclamations, and the speaking in tongues, and secretly shake our heads and wonder why they have to be so noisy?  Do we look at the curtains that may not be our taste and think them a waste of money?  Do we see few openings on the calendar for our own special activities and events and think what an inconvenience it is to have all these people using our space all the time? I'll admit, I've occasionally entertained some of these thoughts.  And do we quiet these thoughts by telling ourselves that it may be inconvenient or uncomfortable but that we are being good, charitable Christians, by sharing our space?

Well, yes, we are being good, charitable Christians, but guess what?  It isn't our space.  Certainly members of this congregation helped build and furnish this building--not only with their money but with the hard work and skill of their hands—and we should be proud of that accomplishment. But even though we feel the pride of home ownership, that we've achieved a Christian version of the American dream, we do not own this church. God owns this church, and God built it for us. And God built it for Living Word, and God built it for Mount Horeb Baptist, and God built it for the Indian Christian Fellowship. And God built it for Alcoholics Anonymous, Narcotics Anonymous, and Overeaters Anonymous, groups that find healing from addiction through reliance on God. 

If we realize this, if we believe this and give thanks for and marvel at the working of the Holy Spirit in all that happens here, then we can realize that what we have here is a building from God, not made with hands.  That though its outer nature might be wasting away, it is being renewed day by day.  And if we stop looking at the other congregations that God has gathered here as renters, or guests, or charitable projects, we will see that the Spirit has brought them here to take part in that renewal. 

Yes, sharing this space means that things get worn out faster, or that we have to communicate our needs to one another so that we don't step on each other's toes or damage each other's prized possessions.  It means that someone will sometimes leave a mess that we will grumble about cleaning up, or that someone will forget to turn down the thermostat before leaving (we are all human here, after all).  But it also means that we have someone else who will share with us the responsibility for this space as well, and that will contribute according to their gifts and abilities to maintain it. 

If we see those who share this space as our equals, if we understand that this building is just as much God's gift to them as it is to us, it could be that in a few years, when we are ready to blow up that hall, destroy that earthly tent, that it is not just this congregation that contributes their vision, their money, and their hard work to a new building from God, but that there are two or three or four congregations working together, the many hands that God has gathered making the work lighter.  Then, we will be able to offer shelter to even more people in the community. And because we will worry less about the building that God has provided, we can use more of our energy to extending God's grace to more and more people, and increasing thanksgiving to the Glory of God.

Or maybe those congregations will move on to invest in other buildings.  Who knows?  Only God.

But whatever happens, I'm pretty sure that God wants us to put as much or more energy into what happens inside this building and what happens inside our hearts, to how we worship here and how our lives worship him in our homes, in our community, and in our work, as we put into thinking about the physical quality of this building.  As long as we remember that the eternal gifts of God matter more than these temporary structures, we will be in God's grace no matter what kind of building we live in.

An mp3 audiorecording of this sermon can be downloaded at this Google docs link.