Thirtieth Sunday in Ordinary Time
Psalm 84
Rev. Rona Kinsley

A Lovely Dwelling Place

Two Sundays ago, I introduced you to the work of a man named Gary Gunderson, who, at one time, directed the Interfaith Health Program at the Carter Center, in Atlanta. In a book titled, Deeply Woven Roots: Improving the Quality of Life in Your Community, Gunderson lifts up the particular ability of congregations to do just that— to improve the quality of life in our communities.

Gunderson’s work arose from the growing awareness that faith and health are deeply interconnected. In recent years, we’ve become more and more aware that stress, poor life-style choices, and self-destructive behavior all play an important part in the development of disease. Gunderson believes that these negative factors grow out of what he identifies as the root health problem— alienation and meaninglessness. So many, in our individualistic society, feel isolated, alone, and disconnected from their communities. And even more sad and terrifying, they don’t feel that their lives have any real meaning.

Congregations provide an alternative to the alienation and meaninglessness of our post-modern world. They counter alienation with connection and community, and meaninglessness with a framework of faith that helps us to see our lives as meaning-full. By the very nature of our life together as a congregation, we stand over and against alienation and meaninglessness. Gunderson believes that we do this by embodying unique strengths that contribute to the well- being of our community and the world.

Two weeks ago, I talked about the “strength to accompany,” as we considered reaching out to our local school. Last Sunday, Lakeview School Principal, Dr. Eric Erwin, shared his vision of how we might become engaged in “accompanying” the youngest and most vulnerable members of our community. Today, I’d like to talk about the “strength to give sanctuary.”

In any church, but particularly in our historic New England churches, a major chunk of the church budget goes toward our facilities— the necessary upkeep of our lovely, but aging, church “dwelling places.” Think for a moment: What would happen, what would be lost, if this building were no longer here? Woody Allen has said that 90% of success in life is showing up. That may be true for a congregation’s role in community too. As Gunderson notes,We are physically there. Gunderson relates our “thereness,” our physical presence in the community, to the inn in the story of the Good Samaritan: During Jesus’ time an inn was much more than what we now think of as a hotel, he writes. It was a place where strangers could go for rest, but also for help and healing and safety. There were no hospitals, so an inn often functioned like one, offering the amateur comfort that was the limit of medical assistance of the day. Jesus was born in the stable of an inn probably just like the one the Good Samaritan headed for when he tripped over the wounded traveler by the road.

We tend to compare ourselves with the Samaritan in this story, the one who helped the wounded traveler, reminding ourselves that we, too, should stop to help others as we travel about on our busy adventures. Or, more painfully, we identify with the priest and the Levite, the ones who crossed the road to avoid the wounded man, remembering those times we, too, didn’t stop to help. But think about the role of the inn and the innkeeper. According to Gunderson, a congregation’s story is much more like that of the innkeeper, while our church building is like the inn. We are hosts of a place where people can come to find help and healing and safety, on life’s dangerous and bruising journey.

The word “sanctuary” comes from the Latin word sanctus, meaning “holy”— a sanctuary is holy ground. In this special place, this sanctuary, we come to find God, to encounter the holy, and to be made holy— to be sanctified. Listen to how the writer of Psalm 84 expresses the experience of being in God’s dwelling place: My heart and my flesh sing for joy to the living God . . . Happy are those who live in your house, ever singing your praise.

But “sanctuary” has also come to mean a place of safety, such as a wildlife sanctuary where no hunting is allowed. In medieval times, people who were being pursued, justly or unjustly, fled to the nearest church or cathedral, because, inside the sanctuary, they were immune from arrest. In our times, churches used this immunity to house political refugees from Latin America, in the modern-day Sanctuary Movement. Those who find peace and safety in God’s house are like the tiny birds mentioned by the psalmist: Even the sparrow finds a home, and the swallow a nest for herself, where she may lay her young, at your altars, O Lord of Hosts, my King and my God.

This building provides sanctuary in both meanings of the word— it is both a sacred space and a place of safety. Here, amid the beauty of polished wood and stained glass, we find a quiet respite from all the noise and hustle of modern life. As we still ourselves and open ourselves to God’s presence, we encounter the holy, the tremendous mystery, and, if we are quiet enough, we can even hear the echoes of all those who worshiped and prayed here before us. Here, too, we find safety— to be who we really are, to bring all that troubles and disturbs us, to grieve our losses, to cry out our pain over the hurt we have received, to pour out our regret for the hurt we have caused, to ask forgiveness— confident that the healing touch we seek comes from the One who loves us beyond measure and without end.

And our ability to give sanctuary is not just confined to this room that we call the “sanctuary.” Gunderson notes that the sanctuary is like the living room of a home. It is where we display family mementos and welcome important friends. But if you want to know what a family believes, he writes, you have to go down the hall and enter the kitchen, the bedrooms, the dining room, and the backyard. These other parts of the building are the “working sanctuary,” the safe and holy place where words turn toward deeds. When we move from words to deeds— from talk to action— we move from the worship space to the “working sanctuary,” to the Library, Fellowship Hall, the Sunday School room, the offices, the kitchen. For words to become deeds, they need a place where it is safe to talk and learn about God, a place to meet and plan.

As I said before, we are living in a time when individualism is more valued than community, and spirituality has become increasingly private. This move is reflected in the words of those who say that they are “spiritual but not religious,” and tell us that they don’t need to go to church to have a relationship God. But against the tide of individualism and private spirituality, Gunderson claims,

God calls people together into a physical place, on a real corner amid sheetrock and lumber and plumbing . . . Spirituality is nurtured and bears fruit in a congregation that can be found in a physical space. It is exactly when [we are] weak, sick, in despair, and broken down that [our] faith is likely to be inadequate too.

And what happens? In a congregation people pray for [us], come to [us], feed [us], and send [us] cards to tell [us] they believe in [our] future, that they know God loves [us] even when [we] cannot believe it [ourselves]. And when [we] cannot find [our] way forward, or even find [our] way home again, the congregation— not [our] own little faith— holds [us] up and reminds [us] of who [we are] and who calls [us] by name. Even those of us who are currently doing OK want to be part of such a people, to be physically present when they gather, to raise children up in such a caring space.

It is through the things that happen in this caring space that we come to know of God’s love for us and are moved to share that love with others. The community needs a space where our loving God can be experienced, both because the wounded need a place to rest and helping people need a place to serve.

In addition to our own ministries— those ministries that take place in, and move out from, this sacred space— this building is a resource that is shared for community good. Every month, Bronwyn posts a calendar that shows all the events taking place in the church in the coming weeks. This place hums, and not just with church events. The Growing Stronger exercise program meets here. Global Campus meets here. Tai Chi meets here. American Heritage Girls meet here. Artists hold ,classes here. Concerts and plays take advantage of the wonderful acoustics in the sanctuary. Presentations on topics of interest to the community happen here, and, once a year, the whole town meets here! This space is a ministry in itself, and, in the future, God may call you to share your building to meet as yet unforeseen community needs. Our physical space is also a connecting point to other resources, a place with a telephone that can be called, and a door that can be entered, when someone needs food or other assistance.

When we look around at all that is wrong in the world today, it can be easy to veer toward despair and toward the kind of survival thinking that says, “I’m going to get what I can, while I can, and the heck with the future.” But despair about the future has never been a part of the good news of our faith. And although we can’t know what the world will be like when we are no longer here, We can guess, Gunderson writes, that there will be people on a journey then who will need a place to recover, to learn, to be nurtured. And we trust that there will be people to keep the inn who will need a place to serve. And we certainly trust that there will be a graceful God who will need a place to be found.

I hope and pray that this lovely dwelling will continue to provide a gathering place for all whose souls long for the courts of the Lord, and a place of safety where vulnerable sparrows and swallows can find a home. And I hope and pray that it will continue to fill this community’s need for a space where our loving God can be experienced, both because the wounded need a place to rest and helping people need a place to serve.

Amen.