Jackson, the young minister of the Buzz, and I talk for almost two hours, sometimes like inhabitants of different planets meeting for the first time and at others like old friends. He confides that he and the other Buzz leaders have agreed not to build or buy a building to officially house the church. He says, “You put all this money and energy into raising the funds and then…” He trails off. I nod, understanding exactly where he’s going with his thought: the struggle for permanence may hurt a congregation whose mission, in part, is stay abreast of current trends. I think back to Vibrant Belief and the amount of creative energy the church leaders must have poured into funding and planning their elaborate building. Did that effort displace their original motivation and message?
For now, the Buzz will continue to rent. Just in the few weeks since my visit to the Buzz, the worship services have moved to an auditorium with built-in seating that accommodates more people than the previous event center. The congregation was able to up and go like a tumbleweed. But if they owned a building, they wouldn’t be able to adapt so easily. They’d be the church on Main Street or at 5th and Elm; they’d be the church with a cavernous space or a square space or a small space or a round space. People think the building is the church. But it’s not: the church is the people inside. The relationships. The ideas. The voices combined in song.
In his talk on Nehemiah, Jackson explains that when Nehemiah comes to Jerusalem he takes a deliberate approach to the enormous task he’s assigned himself of repairing the city’s destroyed walls. In the middle of the night, when everyone else is sleeping, he rides around the perimeter and surveys the damage. He takes an unflinching look at the problem. He acknowledges how bad it is before taking steps to make it better.
As a former servant, Nehemiah may have been an unlikely person for the job, but he was engaged in an unlikely job. His efforts weren’t focused on the most obvious target: the temple, which had also been wrecked. His idea of sacred space was much broader. It encompassed the areas where everyday life took place. Today, it might include the grocery store, the post office, or the sidewalk. Perhaps, too, it is the cyberspaces we occupy: Facebook, websites, and blogs. Nehemiah seemed to understand how everything that surrounds and supports the inner life is worthy of attention and protection too.
The temple may not have been the only thing worth salvaging but, for many, it was still the most important. A physical location for worship or prayer—a designated place where people gather to commune with each other and acknowledge something greater—remains a powerful draw. It seems the effort to build and maintain these structures, as energy-depleting as it may be, continues to be worth it. Even if we are only on the outside, driving past on our way to the grocery store, they remind us of life’s less material aspects.
The buildings that house places of worship have spoken to me my whole life. Not one in particular, but each whispering as I passed, “Why don’t you come inside?”