Thoughts While Mopping—May 6, 2021
“Now Moses was faithful in all God’s house as a servant, to testify to the things that would be spoken later. Christ, however, was faithful over God’s house as a son, and we are his house if we hold firm the confidence and the pride that belong to hope.” [Hebrews 3:5-6]
There was water on the floor downstairs in the kitchen this morning at the one church I serve, no doubt produced by the day-long deluge of rain we had had yesterday, which was preceded by a pretty rainy Saturday the day before. Despite our best attempts, and the valiant effort of many a dedicated property committee member, there was a wet floor, right on the newly installed nice flooring which had been installed last fall.
Luckily, I had taken the classes they offered at the seminary on how to use a mop and a shop-vac, and the floor is drying out nicely as I write. But between bouts of squeezing out the mop and corralling the flowing puddles, a thought struck me: this clean-up is important to do because a lot of faithful saints gave generously over a very long time to have a nice floor in this building, and the best way to honor their dedication is to try and take care of what their giving made possible. Okay, fair enough--so I was mopping as a way of thanking those church members who have given their own hard-earned money as well as their time. That by itself would be enough of a reason.
But then, that got me thinking even further: as the storytelling around here goes, the church basement in which I had been mopping was once hand-dug by an earlier generation of saints around here--people who didn't just give money, but gave their sweat, their bodies, and sometimes their health to dig out a basement under the building that had already stood on this spot well over a hundred years ago. They didn't even know me, or any of the people who belong in this congregation right now, and they knew they wouldn't get to enjoy all of the things that would eventually happen in the church kitchen and social hall they made possible... but they did it anyway, looking ahead into a future beyond their own lifetimes. They loved people in they would never meet in advance by serving them.
Oh, wow. So now it occurs to me that an awful lot of people have spent an awful lot of time time, labor, money, and energy toward making this space possible... in the hopes that, at a moment like this in history, there would be a place for the sharing of God's love in Christ to people of all ages who are aching to hear it is for them, too. An awful lot of love has gone into the brick and mortar and floor of this place, but more than that, it was built not merely as a monument to the church-members of a distant past, but for the sake of a future that those devoted church folk knew would extend beyond both their lives and their vision.
They made cooked vegetable soup and baked lemon bars in the hopes that some part of their efforts would create a safe place for children to hear that they are beloved, just as they are. They gave up hours of days off, or hours after long shifts at the plant, or days of their post-retirement "golden years" for the sake of creating a building where hungry bodies could be fed, grieving hearts could be comforted, and hurting souls could be given relief and good news. Mopping up a wet floor isn't enough to honor their vision and dedication--once the floor is dry, the question becomes, "How will we become what those who went before us made possible for us to become?" Nobody built this space just to have a floor. Nobody dug with shovels and wheelbarrows just to have an empty room. The calling of this moment is to embody the future they dreamed of, even though they couldn't quite see with clarity what it would look like.
And if I can wrap my mind around that notion, then maybe I can grasp the awesome gift the writer of Hebrews sees for us as the followers of Jesus. We are the community God has been creating for a very long time, with people who have given their energy, time, resources, love, and lifetimes in order to make our life together possible. Not only the soup and bake sale crew of your local congregation, but even old Moses himself, along with prophets like Isaiah and Jeremiah, Deborah and Huldah, all contributed energy, love, and labor for there to be a new kind of community grounded in God's love. We are here because their faithfulness has made it possible for communities of God's love to exist all around the world now, and those saints of generations past were glad to have made those sacrifices to make this possible. But now the question becomes--what will do with this blessed and vital gift we have been given?
We aren't here simply to make the church a museum full of monuments for those who went before us--they didn't intend that, even when they were spending the time, talent, and treasure of their lives to create the congregations and buildings we inhabit. And they would have been the first to admit they couldn't predict what God would do as a result of their dedication, either. So our calling is not to ask, "What would the people fifty or a hundred or a thousand years ago have pictured, and then let's make the church be like that?" No, our calling to is to be what they hoped for without having seen clearly: a house where God's love is the mortar that holds everything together... a community that reflects the character of God as we have come to know it in Jesus.
That may not mean we build something new or leave an edifice behind with our names on it. But if we have spent this day's time and energy in ways that show others the love of God in Jesus, all of those sacrifices of saints past will have been worth their effort, and they will surely be proud of what they spent their lifetimes making possible.
How will we spend this day, then?
Lord Jesus, we give you thanks for the love and time of those who have gone before us, and we ask that you would inspire us to live and love in ways that honor their gifts and dedication by embodying your love here and now.
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