Biking my daughter Rynn to school today, I witnessed the shortsightedness of modern efficiency. I stopped. My heart sank. On the far side of a chain link fence a front end loader pulverized the dusty remains of our neighborhood Lutheran church. Ashes to ashes dust to dust.
You might expect that the local Presbyterian minister’s sadness would be a response to the diminishing number of congregations in his neighborhood. However, this was not the heart of my sorrow. I am confident that the saints who once worshipped inside those walls have been scattered like salt to season this world with grace and life. My incredulous grief was in response to the growing pile of good wood, stone and copper becoming no more than rubbish and waste. A living building would soon lie useless, lifelessly buried in a landfill grave.
I asked the foreman of the demolition crew, “Are you going to salvage those beams, or the stone?.”
“No time. They just want it down and gone,” he said. We both shook our heads, knowing the value and gift of the earth those 100 year old timbers and moldings truly are. Our woodlands no longer have gifts like those to give.
With patience and time a craftsman could have salvaged enough tight grain timbers to build a fine and sturdy home or two – better materials than you could ever find at Home Depot or your local lumber yard. Solid wood doors were splintering between the teeth of the diesel beast. Wood flooring, hardwood window frames, the copper steeple and cross – all pulled down in haste, without gratitude or imagination.
The stone-flesh and timber-bones of this church awaited a wise and patient craftsman. But the executioners arrived first. The empty building could have been reborn as a home – place of shelter, life, and beauty. Instead, it was damned to rubble. The trees that collected sun and water for hundreds of years gave their gift, and we, like spoiled children on Christmas morning, forgot the the gift given.
In three days this building will be dead and gone – broken and buried. For this gift of stone and timber there will be no resurrection, only the dying memories of her former congregation and several passers-by who shook their heads and walked on.
