Revelation 22:13 (ESV) “‘I am the Alpha and the Omega, the first and the last, the beginning and the end.’”
I am grateful that my God is One without borders. My God is the Great I AM, the Alpha, Omega. Omniscient. Omnipresent. Omnipotent. He is not confined to spaces built by human hands. He is the Creator, we are the created.
As a child of God, I wondered why my human emotions held fast in reflective sadness to see the Notre-Dame aflame. Even the earliest reports indicated that there were no human casualties; otherwise the narrative would have been a much graver one. I was relieved to hear of no loss of life, yet still melancholy that such a monumentally historic structure and house of worship was undergoing so much physical damage.
But why? Aren’t the people--the faithful followers of Christ--the Church? If our church buildings serve as the physical framework for where the Church gathers, then why does the damage or loss of a building affect us so much?
I believe the answer lies within our humanity, our sentimental memory. Many believers have experienced at least one congregation in their lifetime that simply feels like home to them, perhaps more strongly than others. Perhaps it’s where they and their family have worshiped for generations. Maybe they’ve connected and built a family out of their fellow worshipers. It could be that years of fellowship, baptisms, weddings, and funerals recall beautiful, if yet sometimes painful, memories.
Do any churches you have been a part of come to mind? Perhaps it’s the church you are currently a member of. Or it could be one from your childhood. Or both.
Now imagine if that particular church building were destroyed in a natural disaster.
You’d still have the memories of what God had done through His people in the congregation. A strong, faithful church will come together and rebuild. But the phrase, “it will never be the same” tugs in our memories, reminding us of our human sentimentalities.
Now imagine if your church building had also been standing for hundreds of years, and had been home to historically significant events for your nation, drawing in countless visitors from around the world.
The loss would not only affect the local congregation, but it would leave an imprint on those who had, at one point or another, sought the beauty, history, and craftsmanship of the cathedral.
Paris, France has been a special place for this native Texan to visit over the years. It was the first European city I visited, and it was one Brian and I returned to time and again when we were living in Germany. We always sought out different tourist attractions throughout the city and surrounding areas, but one thing remained consistent: we almost always paused for a moment to reflect within the towering stone walls of the Notre-Dame Cathedral.
As a Christian, I believe that prayer and worship of God can happen anywhere: at home, in a car (with eyes open if driving!), on a mountaintop, in a hospital room, in a classroom, or in a busy train station. There are moments when that urge to pray and praise comes quickly, and we should obey God by coming to Him, even if we have but a breath in the midst of a crisis. I also believe that seeking God can also mean finding a quiet, distraction-free place to focus on Him. The hustle and bustle of a city as intense as Paris made finding those solitary moments a bit difficult. Even the parks were filled with noise from nearby streets and vendors selling their wares. But the moment I stepped inside the Notre-Dame, I was able to sit or kneel, close my eyes, and pray. The white noise of fellow visitors whispering in corners melted away, and no one was going to take note or bother me. I prayed, and found a moment of peace during those visits.
It wasn’t that I couldn’t pray or worship God anywhere else--God hears our prayers and knows our needs before we even realize them. But it was a place I knew that I could find a semblance of solitude and focus for a few moments praying to and worshiping my Savior. In the midst of a day as a visitor in a busy city, I had a place to be still.
The Notre-Dame was also the place where I had some reflective moments thinking about my fellow man. I paused often, to look up at a beautiful stained-glass window, or at a carved statue, or even the very masonry I stood upon, and pondered the countless souls who had toiled long, arduous hours, pouring their artistry and skill into the structure. What were their lives like? Did they have faith in God? How were they treated by the governing authorities? Did they understand God’s truth? What lessons could we learn by those who were crowned with the earthly power of man in those same halls?
I Corinthians 15:58 (ESV) “‘Therefore, my beloved brothers, be steadfast, immovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, knowing that in the Lord your labor is not in vain.’”
What lessons can we apply to our own lives today? Are we using our own churches, whether they are rented spaces in schools or are grand auditoriums for thousands, to glorify God? Are we more caught up in how nice the sound system is and how comfortable the chairs are rather than the Gospel we are to be teaching with love and grace?
Our buildings will fade with time. Our eternal treasure rests with God in Heaven. We must remember to put everything into perspective with regard to our Salvation and our eternity. What, then, is most important?
Matthew 6:19-21 (ESV) “‘Do not lay up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal, but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroys and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.’”
I am grateful that my God is One without borders. My God is the Great I AM, the Alpha, Omega. Omniscient. Omnipresent. Omnipotent. He is not confined to spaces built by human hands. He is the Creator, we are the created.
As a child of God, I wondered why my human emotions held fast in reflective sadness to see the Notre-Dame aflame. Even the earliest reports indicated that there were no human casualties; otherwise the narrative would have been a much graver one. I was relieved to hear of no loss of life, yet still melancholy that such a monumentally historic structure and house of worship was undergoing so much physical damage.
But why? Aren’t the people--the faithful followers of Christ--the Church? If our church buildings serve as the physical framework for where the Church gathers, then why does the damage or loss of a building affect us so much?
I believe the answer lies within our humanity, our sentimental memory. Many believers have experienced at least one congregation in their lifetime that simply feels like home to them, perhaps more strongly than others. Perhaps it’s where they and their family have worshiped for generations. Maybe they’ve connected and built a family out of their fellow worshipers. It could be that years of fellowship, baptisms, weddings, and funerals recall beautiful, if yet sometimes painful, memories.
Do any churches you have been a part of come to mind? Perhaps it’s the church you are currently a member of. Or it could be one from your childhood. Or both.
Now imagine if that particular church building were destroyed in a natural disaster.
You’d still have the memories of what God had done through His people in the congregation. A strong, faithful church will come together and rebuild. But the phrase, “it will never be the same” tugs in our memories, reminding us of our human sentimentalities.
Now imagine if your church building had also been standing for hundreds of years, and had been home to historically significant events for your nation, drawing in countless visitors from around the world.
The loss would not only affect the local congregation, but it would leave an imprint on those who had, at one point or another, sought the beauty, history, and craftsmanship of the cathedral.
Paris, France has been a special place for this native Texan to visit over the years. It was the first European city I visited, and it was one Brian and I returned to time and again when we were living in Germany. We always sought out different tourist attractions throughout the city and surrounding areas, but one thing remained consistent: we almost always paused for a moment to reflect within the towering stone walls of the Notre-Dame Cathedral.
As a Christian, I believe that prayer and worship of God can happen anywhere: at home, in a car (with eyes open if driving!), on a mountaintop, in a hospital room, in a classroom, or in a busy train station. There are moments when that urge to pray and praise comes quickly, and we should obey God by coming to Him, even if we have but a breath in the midst of a crisis. I also believe that seeking God can also mean finding a quiet, distraction-free place to focus on Him. The hustle and bustle of a city as intense as Paris made finding those solitary moments a bit difficult. Even the parks were filled with noise from nearby streets and vendors selling their wares. But the moment I stepped inside the Notre-Dame, I was able to sit or kneel, close my eyes, and pray. The white noise of fellow visitors whispering in corners melted away, and no one was going to take note or bother me. I prayed, and found a moment of peace during those visits.
It wasn’t that I couldn’t pray or worship God anywhere else--God hears our prayers and knows our needs before we even realize them. But it was a place I knew that I could find a semblance of solitude and focus for a few moments praying to and worshiping my Savior. In the midst of a day as a visitor in a busy city, I had a place to be still.
The Notre-Dame was also the place where I had some reflective moments thinking about my fellow man. I paused often, to look up at a beautiful stained-glass window, or at a carved statue, or even the very masonry I stood upon, and pondered the countless souls who had toiled long, arduous hours, pouring their artistry and skill into the structure. What were their lives like? Did they have faith in God? How were they treated by the governing authorities? Did they understand God’s truth? What lessons could we learn by those who were crowned with the earthly power of man in those same halls?
I Corinthians 15:58 (ESV) “‘Therefore, my beloved brothers, be steadfast, immovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, knowing that in the Lord your labor is not in vain.’”
What lessons can we apply to our own lives today? Are we using our own churches, whether they are rented spaces in schools or are grand auditoriums for thousands, to glorify God? Are we more caught up in how nice the sound system is and how comfortable the chairs are rather than the Gospel we are to be teaching with love and grace?
Our buildings will fade with time. Our eternal treasure rests with God in Heaven. We must remember to put everything into perspective with regard to our Salvation and our eternity. What, then, is most important?
Matthew 6:19-21 (ESV) “‘Do not lay up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal, but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroys and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.’”