We’ve all experienced it. Traveling down the road when suddenly fluorescent orange signs and flashing lights signal your attention to the impending work which lays ahead. “Fines double in work zone,” whiz by you while you’re trying to keep from slamming into the rear end of the vehicle which has just merged into your lane. Bumper to bumper traffic moving as a centipede through the long landscape of caution cones and barrels keeps you on high alert, anxiously looking for the end, or possibly a turn-off from the monotony of obedience to the rules. We long for a journey that is void of such inconveniences.
Thank goodness that church life isn’t like this, right? Actually, church is the longest running public works project on record. There is scaffolding to reach the heights and tarps to cover up the sacred which probably date back to Peter and Paul still proudly displayed across the globe as a testimony to the crawl with which this work still isn’t complete. Most of the congregants are so use to the dust and debris they’ve even memorialized portions of it just to keep the workers from cleaning up, tolerating temporary barricades and warning lights as they develop into “coming soon” shrines.
Most, regrettably, don’t even notice. To them this is normal. However, there are the few who embrace the work, not as part of the crew, but as those who, on their own feel the compulsion to deconstruct all they’ve been a part of in the realm of churchianity. They’ve lost the awe and wonder of a coming attraction and are drawn to the smell of the grime and dust beyond the barricade. The glory of an artist’s rendering has been supplanted by the glory of a cross-shaped piling sunk deep into the rock bottom of a yearning heart. This impaling can never be expressed in terms the multitude will understand but it is what all, knowing or unknowing, desperately seek.
Many from this intrepid class will feel compelled to toss out past events, personal experiences which drove them to the place they now occupy. It’s as if they missed the sign proclaiming the payment doubles for ignorance. Signposts don’t always need to be a warning. They also declare historical moments along the journey. Even sacred areas are protected during construction. How would you know work needs to be done if you didn’t experience the fleeting peak state of ecstasy?
Church, you and I, us and them, are being built up. We are a work in progress, not a remodel project. Nothing like this was ever here before just so it could be torn down to bring in a new design. This is what most who begin to accept the nature of grace first believe. Rarely do they recognize that rather than being a wrecking ball, grace is the very fabric, the ultimate intention of what the structure of church is truly all about.
We’ve not reached the pinnacle of our stature. While some after 30 years of pew sitting haven’t even got past the excavation work to pour footings, others after one sermon seem ready to install the weather vane over their grass hut to detect which way the wind of the Spirit is blowing. Yet work is in progress even when you don’t feel like attending, singing the same old same old, and hearing the monotone discourse of worn out stories with moral inevitability. We often miss the work that happens to us, the work that shapes us, transforms us, knocks chips off our shoulders and pulls splinters from our eyes.
It is harrowing work detonating the ego and admitting we’re not there yet. However, no progress is ever made unless the truth hidden under the rubble is uncovered. That is the work. Revealing the truth, not some imitation from a bygone era; not some paint chip outdated and called back into a patina of worthlessness; not some ancient fresco using garish modern tiles as a substitute for defining the eyes and mouth; not some IKEA-fashioned cabinetry to compliment the weathered beaten wainscoting.
Knots and worm holes, chinks and cracks are all testimonies to a life lived. One day, suddenly, we realize there is no devil in the details simply because we are the details. Stresses endured and temperatures suffered express a witness to the durability and resolution of the eternal blueprint we comprise.
Caution at the merging ahead of us or blind negligence in taking a short cut around the work. We chose. Meanwhile, work rolls on.
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