It has been said that for every year we live, a single year becomes a smaller percentage of the life that we have lived. This idea supports the perception that the older we get the more quickly time passes. Perception at times defies explanation, but this is one that might work.
Through the magic of cable news, the passing of Senator Kennedy has occasioned another tsunami of historic images–images that bring us a nostalgic connection with our own past. Every photograph or newsreel seems to call us to a moment in our own lives when the world was different. And so were we.
Those of us who engage in parish ministry jump on a slowly moving train like some sort of spiritual drifter moving from one place to another. What we often fail to understand is that the journey has begun long before we hopped on. It will continue far past the location from which we depart it. For the duration of our “ride” we place our particular stamp upon the historic images that other generations will view with only slight curiosity. It is interesting to look at the past. Our history gives us a sense of where we’ve been, but it only begins to live when we find our own blueprint for a new future.
Our predecessors at North Church took bold steps of faith during the Great Depression to respond to the needs of the world around them. In the waning days of the Roaring 20’s, the North End of Middletown, New York was a burgeoning community of railroad workers and their families, a lively bustling industrial area that needed a spiritual center. Today that same neighborhood is bustling with the pulse of ethnic, racial, and religious diversity, a place where English is perhaps a second language, a place sadly lacking in terms of industry or employment, but one that still needs a spiritual center.
To re-create the North Church that “was” is an exercise in futility. In order to do that we would need to return to the Middletown that “was.” Each generation must take bold steps to address the possible irrelevance of what we do. For the Congregationalists in the North End eighty years ago, it meant climbing a high hill with stones and mortar to create a space from which to express some Good News. It meant becoming a social center and an environment where struggling parents found help and hope as they raised their young ones in an uncertain world. It was a place that reminded them that there was something greater, something outside of themselves that gave them meaning in a world that was turned upside down through economic hardship and another world war.
This is a day of new beginnings, time to remember and move on . . . . The world that “was” may seem to be gone, but human need is the same as it has always been. The gospel is no longer housed in stones and mortar where people put on their Sunday best and climb the steps. The Good News is alive and well and its presence is known in a “tweet” on Twitter, or in a Facebook status entry. Ancient truths live just as comfortably in cyberspace as they do in a wooden pulpit. It’s not a matter of “either/or.” It is a “both/and.”