The Maker of All

The church I attend has a massive presence in the quiet residential neighborhood that surrounds it. Built in 1927, the brown brick building with the bulky Gothic Revival tower occupies almost an entire city block. It houses a soaring sanctuary that seats 1,600 people and was the largest auditorium space in the city for decades in the mid-20th century.

These days about 160 parishioners attend services. The congregation is still vital, but demographic changes have left plenty of empty pew space. I love to slip into the sanctuary midweek for quiet reflection. Glowing amber windows, discreet burgundy carpet, dark pews, pale walls—the space fairly reeks of sacred.

The demons are downstairs, in the fellowship hall. These are not the “unclean spirits” that Jesus vanquished. They are modern devils—habits and diseases and addictions that bring together people seeking to escape the destructive forces that are preying on them and to wrest back control of their lives.

People in 12-step recovery programs pay about a thousand visits a week to the church. The people downstairs rarely come to services on Sundays (though they are welcome), but they create their own worship each time they gather. They forge the bonds with one another that allow them to get in touch with their own healing reality. They are not the only people who use our building. We host a food pantry, a winter farmers market, election polling, large community meetings, and most recently a prom for LGBTQ+ high schoolers. I am in awe of how people moved by their steadfast faith in Jesus more than ninety years ago built this building so that later generations could find healing and spiritual health. The words of the psalmist come to mind: “Those who trust in the LORD are like Mount Zion, which cannot be moved, but abides forever.”