But we're still here

7/13

We’re gathered on a hot Saturday afternoon. To once again consider options. Jamie soon joins us. She’s biked up, one day before her participating in the New York City Triathlon. Everything’s on the table. It’s wearing...several times over...to have worked for months on a plan and then at the last minute see it go south. Marsha even wonders if there might be a curse. 

We know churches aren’t buildings. They are the people. And yet I have learned that buildings can have a spirit, a soul. Maybe this one has spirits in conflict with in another. All that has happened here, this deep rich social-religious-cultural history, has been done by people. And yet all of that has become part of the place. It is palpable. Some people feel it. All that beauty of the indomitable human spirit. And yet there is an underlying undertow of sadness. And we recognize that the broader community ultimately cares only about the exterior. And don’t care who or what’s inside. And in fact would be just as glad to see us gone and some quiet, stable institution here instead. 

As for me, I feel an obligation to see that whatever happens here is consonant with what has gone on before. I remember a famous country-western venue back in Tulsa that became a punk rock place. One night, it burst into flame and burned to the ground. One of my music friends said, It’s like the cosmos just said no...That stays in my mind. So that’s a commitment.

We need to get past the building to the work of (re)building the church, the community of faith. We’re remembering all who came here excited with dreams, put their whole heart and soul into the work, then after enough frustration, gave up the ghost and moved on. We all nod our heads. And then Don says, But we’re still here. And we look at each other and nod again. We take a deep breath. The conversation begins again.