Foundations of Faith

“By faith Abraham obeyed when he was called to set out for a place that he was to receive as an inheritance, and he set out, not knowing where he was going. By faith he stayed for a time in the land he had been promised, as in a foreign land, living in tents, as did Isaac and Jacob, who were heirs with him of the same promise. For he looked forward to the city that has foundations, whose architect and builder is God.”

–Hebrews 11:8-10

My childhood church building is for sale. I was in Waco recently for a funeral and passed by the old sanctuary near downtown, a place where four generations of my family worshipped. The congregation had sold it and moved 30 years ago, taking with them the beautiful stained-glass windows and interior furnishings. After multiple owners and years of sitting empty, the old red brick building has fallen into disrepair, with some windows boarded up and wood rot visible around the trim. But downtown Waco is booming, with restaurants, condos, and apartments going up all around the area. The near million-dollar price tag for the property suggests that the real value now is the land on which the building sits, and I expect it to be torn down and replaced with a residential complex or commercial property. It’s sad to see such a beautiful structure disappear, and with it so many tangible connections to my own journey—the place where my grandparents and parents were married, where I was baptized and confirmed, where I learned so many scriptures and hymns and prayers.

At the same time, I find a certain comfort in reflecting on the temporary nature of a church building, even a beloved and beautiful one. It’s something of a Lenten image for me, an appropriate picture for a season that begins in the wilderness and ends at the cross. Lent is often a time to strip away pretensions and be vulnerable; it can be a time to remember that we are pilgrims on a journey, but we haven’t arrived there yet. As we remind each other on Ash Wednesday, we are God’s beloved dust—imperfect and limited, mortal and vulnerable—yet beloved creatures made in God’s image and used to bring God’s love and justice to the world, however imperfectly. That little church building is like that too, human and fragile and ultimately temporary. But it was still used to proclaim something that lasts far beyond a human life and a building’s infrastructure. The words of the Lord’s Prayer, recited each week through generations, which now form me and which I now share and pass on; the good news that I’m loved by God and cherished for all eternity that I now get to share, whether from a pulpit or face to face; the words and melodies of hymns that stretch back into the past and across continents, and through us to the future that we can’t even imagine yet. As I shared this past Sunday in my sermon from the Letter to the Ephesians, God is able to accomplish through us “far more abundantly that all we can ask or imagine.” But it’s through vulnerable human flesh, in structures built with hands, temporary things that won’t last forever. That in itself is something of a miracle. God takes what is fragile and brings to birth something that endures.

The Letter to the Hebrews reminds us of that when it recalls the story of Abraham, who journeyed into an unknown place, in tents—temporary dwellings that never put down permanent foundations. But he looked forward to a city that has foundations, the place that doesn’t decay and decline, where all that we pray and hope and labor for now will be realized and where we will dwell together, secure and at peace. That vision is one that we sing each and every Sunday, when we remind each other that we are a light on a hill, looking toward the City of God—the reign of mercy, peace, and justice. The world can look hard right now, with so much that seems to be in decline or decay, whether buildings or institutions, governments or our own spirits. But there is another city, a place that beckons us and gives us the hope and the courage to remain on the journey.

At this halfway point of Lent, I pray that you will find those moments of hope, when you can look beyond the surface and see the City of God on the horizon. And in the meantime, may we have eyes to see the miracles that God will work through us.