Imagine with me, an early farmer working his field. Exhausted, he reigns his plow horse to a halt. With a straw hat in one hand and a red bandana in the other, he squints into the bright sun and mops the baptism of hard work from his brow. Perhaps inclined to curse the sun, his gaze falls to the horizon and sees the cross-crested steeple of the local church. Prompted by this reminder of the Lord’s presiding presence, he raises his eyes again—not to the scorching sun, but to acknowledge his God.
In past centuries, church steeples towered over every community; not merely as architectural markers but as visual reminders of God’s presence and provision within each community. In early Europe, church steeples rose above all structures; quietly but adamantly signifying God’s house was more important than every other building. Church steeples were always the highest and most esteemed structure within every village. Steeples served not only as a method to elevate the bell to an effective height but as a visual aid prompting everyone in the community to honor God.
This past Sunday afternoon, Marilyn and I were privileged to participate in the dedication of Oakthorpe Community Church’s new Sanctuary. In 150 years, three new church buildings have risen from the spiritually rich soil of that tiny community. In horse and buggy days, its first wooden clapboard structure rested in the shade of bookend oaks watching over the gravestones of the community cemetery and faithfully served those who lived no more than few miles away. After all, when your “minivan” is powered by one horse power, the best you’re going to do is ten miles an hour at full trot. So, back then, it took at least 30 minutes to traverse five miles of deeply rutted, dust-laden roads in order to attend Sunday Preaching. Exposed to the elements and jostled by roads that were more like pathways than highways, most would agree the first generation of Oakthorpe church-goers were a heartier breed than those who followed.
That first wood structure stood faithfully for 100 years; her bell tolled from its vaulted steeple each Sunday morning and evening, pealing across farm meadows into non-electrified homes that were therapeutically quiet. The bell’s music reminded each hearer of God’s grace and provision, prompting them to continue in their spiritual duties.
Temples of commerce and convenience have since replaced churches as the most prominent man-made structures. I could wring my hands and bemoan the complicated cultural clashes of our new society, but I’m not discouraged. Rather, I believe, God’s message continues to thrive in buildings not made by human hands. The finest structures to God’s glory today remains in His people. If the farmer in our opening story hadn’t encountered godly people—people whose lives were impacted by their faith in God, charitable and considerate people who demonstrated the love and mercy of God—that single spire pointing heavenward may have just as easily caused him to curse the darkness.
I’m sure you agree; the glory of God is never adequately demonstrated by buildings or programs. The glory of God is always best displayed by those who are touched and changed into His likeness. When God grants forgiveness to gnarly old curmudgeons—kneading hard hearts into hearts of generosity and community service—I believe there is no better steeple than his people.
The Apostle Paul catches us all off guard as he makes a mind-altering declaration to believers in the city of Corinth; a cultural crossroads teaming with conflicting moral values. He writes, “You realize, don’t you, that you are the temple of God, and God himself is present in you?” (I Corinthians 3:16)
In a sin-wracked city like Corinth, devoid of any architectural tributes to a Holy God, Paul rightly points out there are no better edifices to point others toward God than us. To misquote Pogo… “We have seen the steeple and it is US!” Be blessed, RG