There's A Difference
W. Carl Ketcherside
[Page 59] |
Not long ago I visited an old abandoned meetinghouse in a rural area. It was a dilapidated frame building. The siding was truly "drop siding" in some places and the paint had long ago flaked from the surface. The interior was both dusty and musty. A bird flew through a broken window as we entered. Wasps and "dirt daubers" buzzed about, angry at our unwarranted intrusion upon the domain to which they had filed claim. The seats were all gone and now occupied places on the back porches or under the shade trees of homes in the community. But the old speaker's platform was still there with its faded carpet tacked upon it--a carpet from which the pattern had been worn away just behind the speaker's stand. The brackets were still upon the walls indicating where the kerosene lamps had once hung to give forth a pitiable little yellow light falling upon the pages of hymn books held high to catch their dim glow.
The couple who took me to this site then drove to town to display the new brick structure in which the congregation was meeting. This was the second house which had been built since the old rural location was abandoned. The air conditioned interior provided welcome relief from the heat. The cushioned pews offered comfort to a fatigued body. My host broke the silence. "Quite a difference, isn't there?" he said. I agreed but as we talked further it became obvious that there were differences which were not merely material. The more I thought about them the more I wondered if the congregation had gained or lost.
The baptistery with its clever lighting arrangement, its heating element, and its gaudy depiction of the Jordan River for a backdrop, was certainly more convenient than the pool under the big sycamore down at the creek. But those who stood on the bank above the clear water filled with darting minnows and sang, "Shall We Gather at the River?" often found themselves unable to continue the song because of their unashamed weeping that a precious life had been born anew. And as they crowded forward to extend the hand of fellowship to the blanket-shrouded dripping figures there was a warmth of sincerity that all too often is lacking today among those who do not even trouble to catch the name of the one being immersed.
Granted that there are much larger audiences than there used to be, except at the "big meeting" but try to get them to visit the sick and you will be amazed at how many are really concerned. Gone are the days when the wife baked an extra loaf of bread or an apple pie, and the husband came in from the field for an "early supper" so they could have time to visit and sit with a sick neighbor and carry food to help the worried wife of the patient. Gone, too, are the days when friends gathered in to share the grief of those who sat huddled around a casket in the parlor--the room opened only when death or the preacher visited the home. Certainly we feel a sense of relief at a time of sorrow when a smoothly-functioning organization commanded by a suave mortician grabs our dead and whisks them out of sight, not to be seen again until time to debate solemnly whether to leave the glasses on the sightless eyes of the corpse or remove them.
[Page 60] |
I admit there is a difference in the amount of the offering as shown on the polished walnut board hanging on the front wall to the left of the pulpit and that formerly scrawled in uneven figures on the cracked blackboard with a piece of white chalk in the country church building. There has to be if you are going to hire someone to do the things that were formerly accepted as a part of life and done freely without pay. Did one of the members become sick during the summer? All of the members suffered with him. On a chosen day they met to plow his fields, or to gather in his harvest and transport it to market, while the women cooked dinner for the whole group. Not luncheon--but dinner! You would have grossly insulted these people if you had offered them money. They didn't think of it as manifesting their religion or serving Jesus. They simply thought of helping a needy neighbor, and that's why it was really helping Jesus!
They had their troubles in the old days because they were human but they also forgot them in times of stress and need. They couldn't take time out to have a nervous breakdown and they didn't have the money to do it anyhow. It costs to do things like that. So they didn't get the "jumping jitters" when a baby cried at home or in meeting. I think sometimes that cushioned pews have softened one end of our anatomy and cushioned preaching has softened the other end. It seems that the larger our buildings grow the smaller our hearts become. We have cooled both our buildings and our spirits. Maybe we have sacrificed concern for comfort!