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It’s never been about the building

Editor’s note: This sermon was preached by Bishop Wolfe at the dedication of the new church building for St. David’s, Topeka, on Nov. 10.

What a great night! This always is a great opportunity to get to watch people figure out how this space works. Can we stand here? Can we go there?

There really is something about a holy space, about breaking it in with prayer and with thanksgivings.

There’s a way in which I believe that over time these walls will be hallowed and will become heavy with prayer, that there will be a sanctity that is brought to this space because the people of God prayed intensely here.

They worshipped with joy here. They brought their brokenness here, and they left renewed, in the power of the Spirit, from this place.

Church wasn’t destroyed

Something very important happened on Nov. 10, 2006. A person, acting out of anger or insanity or some combination of both, tried to destroy St. David’s Episcopal Church.

The arsonist’s attempt, like all acts of terrorism, was ultimately unsuccessful. Yes, the building was devastated, a more than $3 million loss, but St. David’s Episcopal Church definitively was notdestroyed.

In fact, by all accounts the church, which is always the people, became stronger and more alive as a result of this trial.

It’s always surprising to me to observe how easyit is to destroy and how hardit is to build.

It didn’t take much time to stack up the Prayer Books and the Hymnals for burning. It didn’t take much time to place the accelerant.

It didn’t take much time to light the fire and make certain it would catch. Five minutes, 10 minutes at the most?

A great part of the church building was destroyed relatively quickly, but it has taken three long years to build a new church, three long years of meetings and compromises and hard work in order to create this magnificent space, which we dedicate tonight.

People were rebuilt, too

But in the arduous building process, something else was taking place, and that process, too, took some time. Because while the building was being rebuilt, the people who make up this parish were being re-formed and molded and changed, too.

No one who was involved in this process will ever be the same as they were before this re-forming and re-building began.

The chapel was destroyed, but the prayers of the people deepened.

Bibles were destroyed, but the Word lived on.

The organ was destroyed, but the notes still played and the song was still sung.

The space was left unusable, but the people of St. David’s became more connected to other faith communities who reached out their hands in love to help.

People we didn’t even know in this city before the fire became our good friends, and we will never be able to feel that we stand alone when we proclaim the love of God and the power of God’s grace in this city.

Darkness doesn’t win

I sometimes wonder about those who sought to destroy us. With whom did they think they were dealing?

Our faith began under Roman rule as our Jewish ancestors followed a crucified rabbi. We were mocked, scorned, beaten, tortured, stoned, crucified, thrown to wild animals, burned at the stake — you could fill books with the methods that have been created to destroy the people of faith over the centuries.

And still, in more than 2,000 years, the forces of darkness have not been able to overcome us. Over the centuries our prayers have deepened, our faith has deepened, the word lives on and the song is still sung.

We continue to meet others along the way who become our fellow sojourners in the quest for faithfulness, and we march on.

When you think about it, a congregation that began in innovative worship and prayer, a congregation that stood up against Fred Phelps and his cult of hatred, a congregation that has cared alike for young and old, rich and poor, weak and strong, for more than 57 years, was not likely to dry up and blow away when challenged by a little fire.

I’ve said — and I didn’t know this before I came to Kansas — but in order to be an Episcopalian in Kansas, you’ve got to be tough! I heard this expression often when I was in Dallas, but it really applies here.

You’ve got to cowboy up in order to be an Episcopalian in this community.

Yes, something important happened on the night of Nov. 10, 2006, but I believe something more important is taking place tonight.

Tonight, we remember who we are and to whom we belong.

Tonight, we remember how God’s promise was kept, and we remember the people who stood by us.

Tonight, we celebrate and give thanks for the blessings we have been given — blessings that we will try to account for, but blessings that are beyond our ability to name.

We are people of the Resurrection, and all that has died and all that has been destroyed and all that has been taken from us, all that is broken and corrupted and false, is finally and wonderfully redeemed and re-formed and rises to new life in Christ.

Tonight we are reminded of the limits of fire and the unlimited power of baptism by water and the Holy Spirit.

Tonight we remember the limits of hatred and the
unlimited power of forgiveness and grace.

Tonight, too, we must be aware that this is a spiritually dangerous time for this community.

When the storm is raging and the masts are in danger of breaking and the sea tosses a boat in a storm to and fro, there is no dissent among the crew. Every man, woman and child aboard has only one objective. How do we stay afloat? How do we stay alive? How do we weather the storm?

Wear this place out

For the past several years there has been but one question at St. David’s:

How do we rebuild?

But when the storm passes and the waters calm and balmy breezes float over the peaceful deck, they often bring with them the seeds of discontent. Old grudges can find new power.

Old patterns for dealing with conflict re-emerge. Old dysfunctions find new authority.

And if we’re not careful, we will find more challenges in a peace-filled time than we did in a time fraught with crisis.

Brothers and sisters in Christ, the church is rebuilt, but so what?

The only reason to have a church built is to wear it out. Wear out this rail by people coming with their prayers and in search of the sacrament.

Wear out this pulpit with preacher after preacher struggling to find some way to bring the word of God to people who wish that just once a preacher would bring it.

I hope we wear out that baptismal font with children experiencing new life in Christ. I hope we wear out the parish hall with one party after another, one celebration after another, one reception after another — over and over again until the walls are dingy and the floor becomes worn.

I hope this great, magnificent organ over time — well, I hope we just wear this thing out. Play it, play it, play it, and sing with it, and ask for more.

If we don’t wear this building out, then we have not been good stewards of it.

Because it was never about the building. It was always about the people we have been called to serve, and this building has always been a tool for that.

Tonight is a great celebration. I hope you will get to meet all the rectors who have come from St. David’s, people who have faithfully loved and served this community of faith, who have gone on to serve other parishes with great distinction. We’re so thankful for their ministry and presence.

I am so thankful as I look down this row of saints dressed in white, and this row — of all the work that has been done by acolytes and vergers, deacons, priests.

I look at this good and faithful rector, and give thanks for his leadership during a trying time.

OK, so now you have it, let’s use it. Let’s bring every person who does not know what it is to be a part of this community into this community so they can experience the love and grace that have brought so many of you into this place.

Let’s reach out to every poor person and every person in need, and let’s be the people we’ve always wanted to be, the people God is always calling us to be.

Let’s use this wonderful place to the glory of God.

Amen.