THE FIRE, THE FIREPLACE AND THE WARMING

A sermon delivered by the Rev. Dr. Thomas D. Wintle at The First Parish Church in Weston, Massachusetts. The scripture readings were Acts 2:1-11 and John 20:19-23.

I

Soon after we moved into the parsonage of my first church, one of the fireplaces was repaired. Because of the very real danger of chimney fires (the place almost burned down more than once), the fireplaces had not been used for nearly thirty years. After exploring various methods of repair, carefully-crafted steel liners in four-foot sections were bolted together and lowered into the chimney flue; a diagonal section of chimney in the attic was completely dismantled and rebuilt with tile liners, and that was connected to the main flue, which was patched, partially rebuilt and lined.

As that work was being done, I learned a lot about fireplaces, their construction and how they work. This fireplace was a thing of beauty, with over ten feet of massive foundation under it, an elaborate mantle and molding and even impressive wooden paneling above it. It had a kind of historical charm: even when not in use, the darkened bricks suggested the warmth given to nearly two centuries of inhabitants, earlier ministers and all the way back to the colonial judge who had the place built in 1785. But here’s the interesting thing: without a fire, it had no use, it gave no warmth, it was only a museum piece.

On this Day of Pentecost, I want to suggest that a Christian church (as an institution) is like a fireplace. Like a fireplace, it is made of bricks and stones and mortar. The “bricks” are our buildings, the music, the hymnals, a Bible, the organ, the pews. And the “mortar,” that which holds it all together, are our traditions, our ways of doing things, our congregational meetings and committees, our ability to work together to give form to make those bricks into a recognizable structure called The First Parish Church. Like that fireplace, it can be a thing of beauty, and it can be a charming reminder of our heritage. But, also like that fireplace, it has its true meaning and purpose only as it is used to provide warmth by making available the fire, the fire of Pentecost.

These three elements together – the fireplace, the fire, and the warming – constitute the full reality of the Church. Each has its own dangers of misuse, of course (any klutz can fill the room with smoke by mistake, as I have demonstrated many times), but together they can save us from being spiritually frozen to death in an often cold and indifferent world.

II

Let us look at those elements individually.

We are good housekeepers here. Our fireplace is in good shape. We go about the business of institutional maintenance quite well. Of course, sometimes there are needed repairs (as when the tower was struck by lightning), but this place is sound and solid and built on a firm foundation.

The danger of tending the fireplace itself, of course, is that some may occasionally confuse the fireplace with the fire. Ministers, I’m afraid, are sometimes the worst offenders – for we can become so busy tending to the bricks and mortar that we give more attention to it than to the fires of faith, with the result that we and our parishioners can be left in the cold. One of the most ancient images of the clergy, the priest, is that of the “keeper of the sacred flame.” When we forget that primary responsibility (and all of us are occasionally guilty) we should be struck by lightning, or by Pentecost.

Just what is the fire that warms us? It is the source, the hot center of the universe, the fiery brightness around which the worlds revolve. Moses encountered it in a burning bush, out of which God spoke to him. The children of Israel went out of bondage in Egypt to the promised land, according to the Book of Exodus, led by a pillar of fire by night and a column of smoke by day. The fire, which danced on the heads of the disciples, that which is announced by the prophets and proclaimed by the Church, is the reality of God. It is that which enlivens, redeems and fills our lives with meaning and purpose. It is that which kindles our faith and gives light to our understanding.

Without that fire, a church is like an empty unused fireplace. With that fire, a church is alive and vibrant, conveying that warmth to one another and to the world outside. There is a story told about evangelist John Wesley who, when asked why his sermons attracted so many people, is said to have replied “I set myself on fire and people come to watch me burn.” Well, sermons here may not be as fiery as his – it is not our style – but the point is well made: WE are the fuel. What provides the warming is a people on fire. We experience the divine fire and our faith is kindled when we take the scripture seriously, when we pray here as if we really mean it, when we take the imperatives and command of Jesus and make them our own, when we receive Christ’s love and show it to the world by serving meals at Bristol Lodge, bringing Partakers to prisoners and Christmas gifts to Mary’s House.

There are two dangers here, two often-made mistakes about dealing with divine fire. One is the attitude of the teenager who is excited by Jesus but is bored by the church, or the adult who says “sure I believe in God but I can worship him just as well on the golf course or fishing on a lake.” The adult is possibly right, one can worship outside of church, but most don’t. And the teenager may be right also – the fire can strike you anywhere, but it can be diffused and go out if not tended properly. That tending is what we do in church.

A similar mistake is that of the evangelist, who also wants the fire but without the confines of the fireplace. He can indeed ignite a wild brush fire, but brush fires are fast and temporary. They burn quickly and then die out when the fuel is spent. In fact, in the 18th century revival called the “Great Awakening,” areas that had been ignited almost like an explosion and then died out were called “burned-over districts.” The secret of a well-tended divine fire, you see, is that like the burning bush encountered by Moses: it burns but does not consume itself. The divine fire, well-tended in the church as a fireplace, is designed to warm but not destroy.

Thirdly, there is the warming itself. What of its nature? It is the goal and end-product of both the fireplace and the church. It neither burns down the house nor burns out people. Rather it is a constant, steady, glowing warmth that, like my fireplace at home, warms one both inside and outside. A well-tended divine fire in the church provides that inspiration within that enables us to find a measure of peace and contentment with ourselves and our world, a degree of intellectual enlightening, and a sense of relatedness and togetherness. It also provides that inspiration to move us outside beyond ourselves to lead lives guided by justice and mercy, to create a community of support and friendship and service, to work to heal the broken-hearted and to lift up weary spirits.

The New Testament uses two images to speak of the way in which the fire of the Holy Spirit comes to us. One is that image of Pentecost, when the fire comes in with a rushing wind, uprooting old disappointments and complacencies and instilling a new spirit. The other is the image of the gospel reading this morning, in which the risen Christ appears to the disciples, says to them “Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, even so I send you. And when he had said this, he breathed on them, saying, receive the holy spirit.” Rushing wind or quiet refreshing breath, the result is the same: we find that we are the recipients of a power and a grace not of our own making.

It is the recognition that I cannot make it by myself. I need some help.

III

Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a German theologian who was imprisoned for his opposition to Hitler, wrote of his despair and his hope while in prison. Listen.

“I vividly recall that night (of torture) in the Lehrterstrasse and how I prayed to God that he might send death to deliver me because of the helplessness and pain I felt I could no longer endure and the violence and hatred to which I was no longer equal. How I wrestled with God that night and finally in my great need crept to him, weeping. Not until morning did a great peace come to me, a blissful awareness of light, strength and warmth, bringing with it the conviction that I must see this thing through and at the same time the blessed assurance that I should see it through. Solace in woe. This is the Holy Spirit, the Comforter. This is the kind of creative dialogue he conducts with mankind. These are the secret blessings he dispenses which enable a man to live and endure . . . .”

“To live and to endure.” And more, for as Jesus said, “to have life, and to have it more abundantly.” This, my friends, is the warming, the gift of the Holy Spirit. This is why we tend the fireplace and dare to light/invite the fire.

The fire, the fireplace, the warming. Do you feel it? Then tend it well.