We gathered in a lovely old building that has been turned into an arts center. Lots of events, including weddings, are held there. The building dates to 1889, when it was constructed to house St. Andrews Presbyterian Church. That church long ago merged with another Presbyterian church in town, but the building remained with the name above the door and an old Sunday School chalkboard in one of the event spaces. Alexander McClure was the minister for many years; he was active in the community and highly regarded. When he died, the businesses in the whole town closed so everyone could pay respects as his funeral procession passed. He also established ministries beyond St. Andrews. One of them, founded in 1926, was named in his memory: McClure Memorial Presbyterian Church. I was the pastor there for just over four years. There was a picture of him hanging in the hallway at the church.
And there is a picture of him at the arts center – hanging over the bar. I wondered last night what he would think about that, and about that place where he preached all those years now hosting weddings and fancy parties.
And I thought that maybe the spirit of the church was still in that place. There was so much love and joy present there. People were looking after each other -- loving their neighbors -- by wearing masks and being careful. We shared bread and wine (and cake!). There were laughter and tears, story-telling, remembering. There were prayers and blessings. It wasn’t a church, but somehow it was still church – people gathered in love, offering thanks for God’s gift of marriage, giving and receiving blessing.
Sometimes people come to the church (the building), but more and more I think, the church needs to come to the people. Last night, I felt that I brought the church to the people, in that old once-consecrated space that was yet again made holy by Love.
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| Sunday School attendance board |
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| The Rev. McClure's portrait hanging in the bar..... |
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