To Build or Not to Build?

January 30, 2000

These words, from the Old Testament book of Proverbs, are curiously ambivalent. What kind of vision is meant? Is it the forward-seeing vision of the fortune-teller, the what-might-be vision of the dreamer, or the careful-now vision of the realist? It could be any of them, or it could even be all of them: "Where there is no vision, the people perish."

Vision, after all, is a complicated sense. There is the vision of the soothsayer which sees all; Nostradamus seems to be popular these days, at least on TV. There is inward vision, which probes the interior life, and which is found among the great saints like Theresa of Avila and St. John of the Cross. There is the vision of the great reformers like Dorothy Day or Martin Luther King, Jr. And there is even the vision of a great hitter like Ted Williams, who claimed to be able to see the rotation of the seams on a ninety-mile-an-hour fastball. It doesn’t get much more practical than that! Even the blind, as we know, can sometimes come to see. Asked if there was anything imaginably worse than being blind and deaf, Helen Keller answered, "to be without vision."

What is your vision? More specifically, what is your vision for this church?

Almost four years ago now, in a sermon about "Transitions," I suggested a vision for our church. I suggested that our church was undergoing a sometimes painful, sometimes exciting, period of transition. And I asked, rhetorically of course, "Is it worth it?"

Not much has changed in four years. Or, maybe, everything has changed in four years. It depends on your perspective. Just like this vision thing.

My thesis then, and now, is that transitions are necessary. They may even be essential. But I know, and I said it then, that they are stressful. Change is always hard, and particularly so in the church. Most of us, I presume, come to church at least in part to get some relief from the stresses that change brings in our everyday lives.

We come to church to get a grip. But here’s what I said four years ago:

If you are simply here to escape stress, you might be inclined to say it’s not worth it, and I’m not sure I could argue with you. Transitions are stressful. Those of you who are actively involved in this church know how much there is to be done at such a time, and how difficult it can be to do it. If you are here to avoid conflict, maybe it’s not worth it. Conflict is inevitable in any human institution, particularly one that is in a state of transition.

Gee, I was almost a prophet in my own time! I also suggested a bunch of reasons why one might still choose to answer, "It’s worth it." I won’t repeat that whole sermon here, tempting as that is, because if you want to read it it’s still available in our church library. But let me just add that in that sermon I concluded by suggesting that we were facing some major decisions about our space needs here in the church. And I said that while we might choose to see this time of decision as a crisis, it might also be a great opportunity. Which brings me back to the vision thing.

Because I understand that good people may have different visions about what we ought to do.

Now before I go any further, let me remind you that next Sunday after church there will be a congregational meeting to decide whether we should take the next step in our ongoing space needs process. That step is to hire a fundraising consultant to complete a feasibility study which will tell us how much money we might raise toward our building project and whether or not we are ready to proceed with such a project. I want to make it very clear that it is not a final decision on whether or not to proceed: that decision will not be made until after the feasibility study has been completed, and you will be the ones making it. But let’s pretend for a minute that it’s come down to the decision, "to build or not to build?" (The conceptual plans for our projected project have been on display in the church vestibule for the last several weeks, and more detailed building plans are in the works as we speak.)

Anyone with a cautionary vision can see the many risks involved. It’s going to cost a lot of money. And each of us will be asked to participate in meeting that cost. How committed are you, and, more important, how committed am I? Are our regular operating finances in good enough shape to take on this added financial burden? A small percentage of the membership already gives most of the money, and you’re going to ask them to give even more? What if it costs more than we can raise? What if we put the church into debt?

It’s going to take a lot of work. People around here are already overworked, and there are never enough volunteers for the work we already have. Some folks are already feeling burned out, and we haven’t even started yet.

Maybe we don’t need the extra space. It was good enough for me and my kids. The church may not always be as big as it is right now. What if we build it and no one comes? I really don’t want to change anything; I like it the way it is. Besides, I don’t want the church to grow any more; I liked it better when it was smaller. I don’t know anyone anymore.

Obviously, I can’t respond to all of these questions and concerns today, unless you want to stay until midnight. But I do want to recognize them, and to say that they are all legitimate concerns. And being a cautious Yankee myself, I have moments when I believe in the validity of all of them. I know that a building project is a daunting task, and that it is going to take a tremendous amount of energy, time, and money from all of us, including me.

But let me offer another vision, if I might. Not a competing vision, but a complementary one. It’s a vision tempered by all of those concerns I just mentioned. As I look around Newburyport, I see many of the churches engaging in just the kind of building project we are contemplating.

The Catholics have recently completely refurbished their church, both inside and out. It cost a lot of money, almost a million dollars on their sanctuary alone, and it comes at a time historically when Catholic church attendance has been dropping and priests are in short supply.

The Baptists are building a new building on Hale Street. It’s huge; they must think that if they build, people will come. (I hope they succeed, but not at our cost.) The Assembly of God is also building a new building on Hale Street. Take a drive out there if you haven’t already seen them. I happen to know that both of those congregations are much smaller than ours.

The Central Congregational Church just over the street is in the process of renovating its parish hall. They have already completed a restoration of the outside of the building, and the next step will be to refurbish their sanctuary. Their congregation is almost exactly the same size as ours.

Obviously, other religious groups in town feel that this is a good time to build. And, obviously, they have a vision for the future which is optimistic and hopeful. There are no guarantees that any of those projects will pay off, either spiritually or numerically. But I would hate to miss the opportunity to keep pace with other religious institutions in this community. After all, we were first! (Let’s not let Jesus’ prophecy about the first being last become a reality here.) And let’s face it, some people in our community would probably be happy to see our liberal church dwindle and die, theologically speaking.

Stockbrokers are fond of asking, "How much risk can you stand?" We’re kind of in the same boat. A building project is pretty risky. And, personally, I’m a bit of a chicken. But I also feel the pull of "nothing ventured, nothing gained." Oh, I know that we have some unresolved issues in the church. But let me tell you that there will always be unresolved issues in the church, and that there will never be a perfect time to do a project like this. (In hindsight, the 1970’s would have been good, at least from a cost standpoint. But what’s past is past, and all we ever really have is the present moment.)

In my sermon a few years ago, I said of the need to expand our meeting space,

We could choose to see it as a crisis, but it just might be a great opportunity for us: not only to build something for the future, but also, and especially for those who are new to us, an opportunity to become a part of this community, to take ownership of it, in ways that would not otherwise be possible.

This is exactly what has happened at Central Church. Rather than being a drain, their project has actually energized people, particularly those who are newer to the church, and brought in more money than they expected. It’s the newcomers’ first chance to take a significant role in the future of their church. And they took on their project at a time when they had already strained their budget by calling an associate minister. Of course, only time will tell if the risk pays off, but I’m betting on them.

My fondest wish is that we might all pull together behind this project, giving it our time, our energy, and our resources. But I realize that not everyone will be able to do this. If enough of you are unwilling to proceed, the feasibility study will tell us that. Some of us will have other priorities in our lives, and other commitments which are more important. I know that, and I understand it, because I have other priorities and commitments in my life, too. Each of us will have to decide how important this project is to us.

Our individual and corporate vision will have a lot to say about the answer to that question. At times like this, God knows, we need our fiscal conservatives and our cautionary critics! But we also, always and at the same time, need our dreamers, those who see something where there is presently nothing. Both kinds of people are essential to the church and to its mission in the world.

Finally, I want to say a few words in response to those who ask what "bricks and mortar" have to do with the life and message of the church, and with the spiritual community that we are trying to build here. Well, unless many of you are lying, this building in which we meet this morning is a big part of why you are here. OK, so it’s timbers and clapboards, and a pretty nice steeple. And windows: lots of windows, which let in that intangible quality of light that I, for one, love so well. A house for our dreams, a way station for our weary souls. A place of music, a place for friendship, a place for our children to grow and learn and experience the beauty and fragility of life, a place for joy and a place to gather amidst the storms of life.

No, the church is not a building: the church is people. I know that. But the building is important, and the space we presently have is no longer adequate to the spiritual work we need to do, and whether we build or not, that’s a fact, and not an excuse.

Besides, a project like this can actually help to build up that sense of community that we are so desperately seeking to find.

I didn’t go into the ministry to become a fundraiser or a clerk of the works. I did go into the ministry to become an institution builder, and sometimes I guess that means the more mundane aspects of building, like budgets and bricks and mortar. Of course, what I really went into the ministry for was, figuratively speaking, to seek God. On my worst days, I wonder what on earth I am doing in the church! But on my better days, I see that maybe what we call God is right here, in the midst of this struggling community of people, with all their shortcomings, all their faults and foibles, and all their differing visions of just what it is that we are supposed to be about. And God--figuratively speaking--is certainly in this building, this ancient and fragile old timber-frame barn of a building that so many of us love and cherish.

In the long run, it doesn’t matter a whole lot what I think we should do. (Lest I have left you in any doubt, I think we should do it, in spite of the risks involved.) Ministers come and they go, although in this church, they haven’t come and gone all that often! But it’s not "my" church, fond as ministers are putting it that way. For better or for worse, it’s your church. You have to decide what to do. Only you can know how much this church means to you, and how much this or any other project means to you, and how much of your time and treasure you are willing to commit to it.

It all comes down to vision. "Where there is no vision, the people perish." It’s not about right or wrong, it’s about which vision you ultimately subscribe to. We all need a vision to sustain us. May the spirit of this community be strengthened by the joining of all our visions, as we live out this present day and move onward into the uncertain but ever hopeful future. So may it be.

Amen.

The Rev. Harold E. Babcock