"Big House"

1 Kings 8:22-30

Psalm 84

John W. Wurster

August 27, 2006

We still have in our midst people who remember the day the First Presbyterian Church burned to the ground in December, 1951. The sight of a burning church is hard to forget, especially when it’s your church.

I have enough anxiety about preaching that I spend some time here on Saturday afternoon, summoning my courage and trying out the words before I offer them to you on Sunday morning. While I’m here Saturday, it’s not unusual for me to hear a knock on the door or to find someone walking around the church, and sometimes even peering into windows.

They have no interest in the sermon. They want to see the church. "I was confirmed here. Then my family moved away. I haven’t been here for thirty years. But I always have remembered this church. Can I come in?" "We were married here forty years ago and then were transferred away from Findlay. We have our grandchildren with us and we want them to see the church, OK?" "My parents were members here and we had our daughter baptized here, and we’ve always thought this was the most beautiful church anywhere. We don’t get to Findlay very often, but whenever we do, we stop here, hoping to have a look inside." Come on in.

A year ago or so I told you about the fellow who lives in Toledo, works in Columbus, and has seen our steeple regularly from the road, enjoyed the view, even has taken pictures, until one day he just had to stop to have a look inside.

I suppose I have had this experience more than anyone here, though I’m sure many of you have had it – the experience of bringing someone into this sanctuary for the first time. The usual response is "Wow," sometimes, "Oh." Sometimes just a long silence. This is a majestic room. A beautiful space. A holy place. If God is anywhere, surely God must be here.

"How lovely is your dwelling place, O Lord." It’s hard not to hear those words from the psalm and think of this place. How lovely, indeed.

When I’m not here on a Sunday, I like to go to other churches. Sort of. Whenever I go some place else to worship, I find myself missing this sanctuary. The windows, the light, the brightness, the cross. Is it that way for you?

"My soul longs, indeed it faints for the courts of the Lord; my heart and my flesh sing for joy to the living God."

We long to be here not just because the room is beautiful, but because of the beautiful things that happen here, the holy things. It’s the place where water is splashed and bread is broken and people are washed and fed and blessed. It’s the place where hearts are lifted, where burdens are eased, where hearts cry out. It’s the place where we stare into the mystery of death, acknowledge the reality of loss, and claim the promise of life everlasting. We laugh here, we cry here, we sleep here (!), we sing here. Vows are made here. Commitments expressed. Faith professed. The room has to be big to hold all of that. The room is beautiful because of all of that.

An attachment to the place where one worships is not really surprising, nor is it new. The Old Testament is full of passages that reflect the great feeling the people of Israel had for the Temple in Jerusalem. As any of the participants in our Tuesday morning men’s Bible study can tell you, long chapters of the Old Testament are given to the details of the Temple’s construction. Chapters long enough to make your oatmeal cold.

Recording the details mattered quite a lot because the Temple mattered quite a lot. With great precision, the Bible tells us about the gold and the wood carvings and all the dimensions. The Temple was magnificent, constructed with care and skill, under the leadership of King Solomon. Our text today is actually from the dedication ceremony. For several chapters we’ve been following the plan of construction and now, in the climactic moment, Solomon offers a prayer, admitting that the Temple, while exquisitely grand, is not grand enough. For God is grander. God is bigger. God is always more. No space can completely hold the splendor of God. "Even heaven and the highest heaven cannot contain you, much less this house that I have built," Solomon exclaims. Maybe he says it with a sense of exasperation; maybe he says it with a new awareness of just how awesome God is.

This is God’s house, but it’s not the only place God is. For a year now we have had the use of our new addition. Surely, God is in that place, too. Thousands of people have been fed in our Great Room this past year through our monthly community dinners and our bi-monthly food distributions. Groups like the Hancock Christian Clearinghouse and Century Health have had fundraising dinners there. We’ve had lots of children in that space. The Arts Partnership’s Youtheatre has done a couple of productions this past year, with a new season ahead. This summer we hosted a children’s program called SmARTWorks. Hospital chaplains have come for training sessions. Teachers have come for continuing education. Law enforcement officials have come to gain experience responding to mental illness. We’ve had concerts. We’ve had movies. We’ve had lectures. We’ve had wedding receptions. We’ve had Advent Suppers and Lenten Suppers and Vacation Bible School and Youth Sunday and a lot more. It is a Great Room and great things have happened there and God is there.

It is a great room. But God is greater. God is bigger. God is always more. No space can completely hold the splendor of God. Solomon has it absolutely right.

We would do well to follow the direction of Scripture. God is more than any building. God is more than any church. God is more than any idea. God is more than any relationship. God is more than any puzzle, any obstacle, any defeat. God is more than our religion. God is more than our words. God is more than any sermon. God is more than our politics. More than our successes, more than our accomplishments, more than our plans, more than our hopes, more than our fears.

How silly we can look trying to limit God. How foolish to try to define what God can do and who God can be.

God is big. That’s the real beauty of this space – it points us to the grandeur of God. That’s why such care was taken in the building of the Temple. That’s why such care was taken in the building of this church – and in adding on to it. A beautiful church building keeps before us the beauty of God. It can’t contain the beauty, but, at best, only reflect it.

Maybe that’s the best we can do, as well.

Thanks be to God!