Last Saturday afternoon I thoroughly enjoyed myself. I listened to the Northfield girls’ state semi-final basketball game on radio. For part of it I was driving, probably being a danger to other motorists. When I got to the house I waited and listened in the car until the first quarter ended and I had time to get into the house and get the radio on there. (I would say I ‘raced’ into the house, but this old body doesn’t race anywhere anymore.) With the radio on I sat down to enjoy the rest of the game. I didn’t sit long, though. I paced, I wandered, I sat, I leaned against the wall, I looked out the window, I got a small handful of pretzels, then immediately forgot them in the table. In my mind’s eye I took what the announcers were saying and transformed that into visible game action. They said the other team had twin sisters who were over six feet. I pictured them in my mind. I could clearly envision the Northfield players, but the Marquette team was fuzzy. The announcers were Northfield fans and when Northfield did something good the lead announcer would give a yell-cheer and I would be left wondering what had happened, but my mind would fill it in. When the game was over and Northfield had lost a tight ballgame, I was as worn out as if I had been there.

          I love radio. Living near Cleveland I enjoyed the Indians from the mid 60s on. As a kid I only saw a few games on TV. We had rabbit ears on the TV and a hill between us and Cleveland called Little Mountain, so TV reception was spotty. But radio was great. By the time the Cavaliers were formed TV reception was much better, but I was also much busier and seldom ever saw a game. I would listen on the car radio, which ruined a few dates, but it was the Cavs. Back in 1991 Marsha and Adam and I went on the only real vacation we were ever able to go on. We went to Disney in Florida. We stopped at a Crackle Barrel and Marsha picked up some tapes to old radio shows. The Shadow, The Lone Ranger and a few others. That made the whole trip. I think we had more fun in the car that at Disney.

          Radio causes your mind to work. The situation is set up by the announcer and then you fill in the gaps. Sometimes you fill the gaps with the wrong picture. I was a big fan of the Cleveland Indians’ second baseman back in the 60s. Tall, fluid motion, a fearsome sight at the plate. Then one game I was at a friend’s house. They had an antenna that seemed to disappear in the clouds. We sat in their basement and watched the game. I was SO disappointed to see that the second baseman who was so impressive in my mind    was a scrawny little 5’5” banjo hitter. Still, the imagination is a wonderful thing. When I read a book or listen to the radio or hear someone tell a story, I can see it in my mind.

          So, let’s give the mind’s eye a work out for just these few minutes.

          It is the 1800s. Sunday morning. In the cool of the morning, men, in some cases helped by their sons, are hitching a horse, or maybe a team, to a wagon or possibly a buggy. At some homes or farms scattered throughout fields it is simply horses being saddled. Already on the farms there has been several hours of work done on this ‘day of rest’, but it would not be considered work since animals needed to be fed and food prepared. Soon, girls began to emerge from the houses and began taking their place in the buggies. Boys were close behind, carrying a basket or two filled with the food for the noon meal. Lastly, the mother/wife who has been bustling around all morning getting breakfast, gathering eggs in the henhouse, making sure her kids were dressed in their best and putting together the noon meal emerged from the house, ticking things off in her mind to make sure she had done all that needed done. Once everyone was aboard (with a final check to make sure all had their Bibles) the family headed down the dirt roads toward church. Along the way they might see another family in the road and they were greeted with a friendly wave. And there would have been one or two homes that they passed where nothing much was happening since that family didn’t go to church. Mother would just lower her head and say nothing. Almost everyone went to church in the 1800s in Indiana.

          Now, in your mind’s eye, you see the steeple of the church in the distance through the trees. You are almost there. Mother gives instructions and the plan for the day. When she is done, her husband turns to where his sons are horsing around. He gives his Sunday morning lecture about the dire consequences that await the boys if they get out of line. And then the buggy pulls into the church lot. Lots of other folks are arriving as well. Horses snort at each other, the kids call out to their friends, a couple of older boys rush up to help the daughters down from the buggy and an older gentleman who has been standing with a group of men separates himself and steps over to the buggy to help the mother down. The father walks over to shake hands with the men while the mother gathers her brood and then the family walks together to the front door of St. Peter’s church.

          Inside, the cool of the morning has disappeared. The crowd of people has brought the temperature up to sweating hot. The windows are open so that the breeze will come in. But with the breeze comes an assortment of insects as well as the aroma of gathered horses. In the 1800s, though, it is hardly noticeable. That is the way church is. One of the older ladies is giving the piano a work out as a prelude and folks are visiting and talking. Then, the preacher walks in and the talk settles down to whispers. The preacher steps up to the pulpit and all gets quiet. He bows his head and begins to pray, the only amplification being the natural force of his voice.

          And so starts a typical three to four hour worship service back in the 1800s in a little crossroads in Indiana. Back in those days there wasn’t any Sunday School, but the singing and testimonies and prayer time and the preacher’s message more than made up for it. Imagine the heat building and the bugs getting worse or, in the winter, the drowsy warmth all those bodies created. Everything was different then. If we could transport back in time and sit in a St. Peter’s service then, we would be going crazy before the music was even over. By the same token, if someone from that day was plopped down in one of our services now, they would be totally befuddled when we were done in just a little over an hour. Times change because people change. It is inevitable.

          Now we come to another inevitable event. The last service at St. Peter’s.

          Those of us that are part of the church know the story. There are plenty of others in the community who think they know the story, but they do not. The story is based on reality, not on wishes. One congregation inhabiting two buildings across the road from each other, six months in one, six months in the other. Even though each building is used for only six months, both have to be kept up and maintained. Most churches struggle to keep one building operating, but to keep two going has been an ongoing thing for us for a long time. And, actually, it could have continued for a while longer. But there has been a growing concern as to whether or not that maintenance money couldn’t be better used to further the kingdom of God. Missions, outreach, Youth, music, camp……the list goes on. After months of study and consideration and, most importantly, prayer, a plan was formed and taken to the congregation. Decisions were made. Now, as we are ready to move to a fulltime worship center at Grace church, all the renovations and construction and new upgrades have been accomplished without having to borrow any money. If we had waited even another year, that would not have been possible.

          Personally, I have no stake in either building. I was born and raised in Ohio and I expect I will die there. Why burden the good folks here when I can be a burden to my son? But, in addition to Ohio, we lived in Tennessee, Alabama and Florida. The point is, there is no place that is ‘home’ for me like this is home to the people in our church. But even though I have no strong feeling for either St. Peter’s or Grace, my mind, my imagination, feels the power of life in both buildings.

          What do I mean by that? 1917. World War I. In my mind’s eye I see a mother, burdened with care and concern, asking for prayer for her son who has gone over seas to war, far from home. A few years later that same son standing up in church and asking for prayer for his mother who is suffering from the flu epidemic that is killing tens of thousands around the world. In my mind’s eye I see a young woman in the 1930s walking down the aisle of the church on her father’s arm as she heads for the young man who will be her husband. I see a young man who has struggled with alcohol finally make the decision to follow Jesus in all things. A building is just a building, but how many lives have been changed in the building? How much laughter, how many tears?

          After this Sunday, St. Peter’s will be closed. Urbana Yoke Parish will continue and will do great. But the church building on te west side of the road will be empty. Decisions will still have to be made as to what to do with it, and that will create more sadness. However, this is not a loss. Those who built the building knew there was a time when its usefulness would come to an end. The same will be true one day for Grace. But that building, with all of its history and with all that has happened there and with all the people who have passed through those doors……that building that was built for the glory of God, has accomplished what it was intended to accomplish. The Lord has been praised there. The Lord has been beseeched there. The Lord has been called upon there thousands of times. One Sunday morning as a few of us met for prayer before church, Claud Newcomb prayed and asked the Lord to allow His Spirit to roam among our pews. I had never heard that before and it moved me. On Sunday morning when I look out over the pews and the congregation I will know. He has allowed His Spirit to roam those pews for a long time.

          GOD IS GOOD ALL THE TIME; ALL THE TIME GOD IS GOOD!