The church as building

I was watching the news the other week as reports came in about the fire in Jasper. Footage of the area panned across the screen: the structures that had burned and the ones that against all odds remained standing. According to the reporter, “all of the critical infrastructure had survived”: the hospital, an emergency services building, schools, an activity centre and a wastewater treatment plant. 30% of the townsite and a number of Indigenous grave sites were destroyed. The Anglican Parish of St Mary and St George had burned to the ground. 

It is all so devastating, of course. What has stuck with me in the days since is the reporter's classification of critical infrastructure. Despite being within one block of several of the buildings that were preserved, neither the historic Anglican Church nor neighbouring Indigenous gravesites were on that list of critical infrastructure. This gave me great pause, not because I think the firefighters should have worked harder to save the church or that they purposefully overlooked Indigenous gravesites. It gave me pause because the church building nor a sacred memorial site were considered critical infrastructure for a town. It made me wonder: what would it take to be considered critical infrastructure in a place? What would St Clement’s have to do to be considered critical infrastructure in Lynn Valley? 

We know that the church doesn’t hold the same place in Canada today as it did say, even 20 years ago. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing. The church has had to accept responsibility, apologize, and reconcile with communities it has harmed. There is also the reality of declining religious affiliation: statistics continuing to mark British Columbia as the most secular province in the country. Folks have a hard time identifying as religious these days. 

Then, there is the question of whether we ought to have church buildings at all, if there are fewer and fewer people attending them. “The church isn’t the building; it’s the people,” we often say. Certainly, this was proven to be true as stories came in about members of the Jasper Anglican Church who had been the hands and feet of Christ in formal and informal ways throughout the evacuation. Certainly, if the church in Jasper is anything like the community here, which I suspect it is, these same members will be equally involved as the hands and feet of Christ as the community rebuilds. 

“The church isn’t the building; it’s the people.” There’s a lot of truth to this statement. And, perhaps it isn’t the whole truth? I wonder in what ways the church is the building? And, why, when disasters like the Jasper wildfire happen, there is a grieving that needs to take place for its sometimes overlooked role in society?

We get a number of cues from scripture as to the church as building and its critical role in society. There are the attempts of King David and others throughout the Old Testament to build a house, a physical building, for the LORD. There is Solomon and the construction of the temple. There is the ark of the covenant: a physical structure which the people of God carry with them from place to place as they’re wandering in the wilderness. The ark of the covenant was a wooden chest coated in pure gold. Inside were the ten commandments written on the stone tablets which Moses brought down from Mount Sinai and a pot of manna sent down from heaven, a bowl containing the bread which, as per God’s instructions, Moses had fed the ancient people of God with when they were living in exile. 

Even as the people move about carrying out the will of God, they bring with them this physical ‘church building’, if you will, a structure that demarcates the tangible presence of the holy among them. God is everywhere, yes, but God has promised to be present in the ark of the covenant—namely, in the ten commandments and in the bread, which sits inside.

There is a related example of the church as building in our reading from the gospel of John this morning. Jesus’ disciples keep pestering him for a sign that Jesus really is who he says he is, the saviour of the world. They tell him about how their ancestors were given bread from heaven—referring to the time when they had carried this ark of the covenant with the manna inside. They’re wondering, is Jesus going to give them this bread? How will they carry it? What should they build to host it? Was the bread that he just fed the 5000 with, was that bread the new manna? Should they find a vessel and be ready for the next time Jesus decides to feed 5000 people?

In response, Jesus makes a radical statement: “I am the bread of life” he says. “Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.” 

Jesus, namely his teachings and example among them, is the bread that will sustain them. Jesus is the manna that they now “house” and carry within them as they seek to live out Jesus’ ministry in the world. They have become the church buildings, as it were.

So, then, do the disciples, do any of us who follow Jesus today need a building, a physical church to remind us of this radical statement that Jesus made all those years ago? For a long time, I probably would have been among those who said, ‘No’ to that question, holding fast to the adage that the church isn’t the building, it’s the people. But, as I reflect more on the scriptures and the history of the church gathered in buildings, I am coming to see why it is that church buildings are indeed critical infrastructure when it comes to the wellbeing and flourishing of society.

Here's an example that helps, I think, to illustrate this point. In a recent video by “The Pink Hat”, a Vancouver historian describes the organizing and mobilizing that took place in the 70s and 80s in Vancouver’s queer villages: namely, the Davie Street Village and the lesser publicised Commercial Drive. The historian talks about how queer people of that time began to take over buildings in the neighbourhood. It wasn’t just the purchasing of homes in the area, it was the queer community becoming regulars in cafes and restaurants, hosting events and meet ups in pubs and bars, and bookstores. It was physical space that kept queer communities safe and helped to define them, spaces where political movements were grown, protests organized, and policy drafted, all of which were essential to LGBT liberation in Canada. 

Near to the end of the video, the historian comments on how, as the cost of living in Vancouver sky rockets, increasingly queer communities are being priced out of these historical ‘gay neighbourhoods’. He closes the video with a question: “Can we remain a community without a village?”

Can the church remain the church without a building? It was in a building, in an upper room to be exact, that Jesus broke bread with his disciples, promising them and all who follow in his name, that whenever they break bread it will be a sign of Jesus’ physical presence among them. It’s here in this building that we gather to break bread, sharing in that sacred meal of justice and community which sends us out into the world to be the hands and feet of Christ. It’s here in this building that we organize and mobilize, becoming regulars and finding safety when we might find exclusion elsewhere. It’s here in this building that councils meet and policy is drafted for how we are called to meet the needs of our neighbours. It’s here in this building that every week, at this table, we receive bread which has come down from heaven, a reminder that whoever comes to Jesus ought never to go hungry. 

Can the church remain the church without a building? I wonder what you think? Amen.


Work referenced and further reading:

The Pink Hat, “Why does Vancouver have two queer villages?”. Accessed online.

History: Jasper Anglican Church

Photo credit: JJ Rajan