Good morning church family,
Driving west through Worcester, Massachusetts on Interstate 290, the roadway seems a conveyor belt; rolling steadily along above the downtown just below. Looking out either side of the car, you see signs of industry: warehouses, smokestacks, depot yards, and shipping containers stacked two and three high. There are grander constructions as well: golden-domed government buildings, libraries with pillared front porches, and the stately headquarters of old-money industries. There are also plenty of those twenty-first century edifices that reflect the modern utilitarian indifference to beauty: unimaginative office boxes of glass and steel, soulless structures for the public to register their vehicles in, and community colleges that inspire neither community nor collegiality. And, of course, your eye is easily drawn to all the commercial properties with their loud colors and splashy logos: the fast-food restaurants, strip mall shops, and box store bonanzas. But there’s yet another thing you’ll be sure to see out the windows – steeples. Lots and lots of steeples.
All across America and throughout New England in particular, the cityscapes are punctuated by the spires of church steeples; each attracting the attention of the populace in order to point, day and night, to Heaven above. When you pause to consider them, steeples are really an odd kind of construction; serving little to no practical purpose. They don’t offer additional storage, house important plumbing or wiring, or create additional meeting space. But they do fill a prophetic role; calling poor souls caught up in the hustle and bustle of the world to pause for a moment and consider what lies above. Steeples also, without the help of a Google search, direct those weary souls to the houses of worship that sit beneath them, that they might apply within for fellowship, instruction, and spiritual nourishment. In this way, I love steeples. Like God allowing Jeremiah to be made a spectacle as he was paraded around in stocks or John the Baptist called to wear camel’s hair in the wilderness, churches attach these large steeples to the ridgelines of their sanctuaries. Church buildings should stand out amongst all the other constructions in our cities and towns that they might be both an outpost of the Above and a conscience for everyone treading the ground below. They’re a civic blessing.
But as you drive around New England and pass by the old churches standing tall on Main Street or towering over the town green, you may look up and notice that many of these steeples are in a sad state of disrepair. The paint is chipping, the roofing tiles are weathered and lifting in the wind, the slanted slats in front of the belfry are broken and missing, and the spire is rusted red. The builders designed the steeple to catch the eye and draw it upward and therefore the dilapidation cannot be hidden.
One such sad steeple stood above a prominent church building in the town my parents live in. The Brandon Congregational Church sits in the center of town and is featured prominently in the life of the village. The town’s parades go directly in front of the big brick building, the weekly farmer’s market is across the street, and the Fourth of July fireworks that explode in the night sky, illuminate the sacred landmark. It’s a beautiful building but I couldn’t help but notice how shabby its wooden steeple had become and it always made me blue whenever I saw it.
Well, upon our visit to my parent’s house this summer, I was delighted to drive into town and see scaffolding set up all around the church’s steeple and men busily working to restore it. As I paused to look at the progress, I noticed several work trucks parked along the street in front of the building. On the side of the trucks, I saw the name of the company: Robert Morgan Steeple & Building Restoration located out of Errol, New Hampshire. “Wow,” I said to Lisa and the kids. “Who knew there was a company devoted to maintaining and refurbishing steeples – and from good ol’ New Hampshire too!”
Come to find out there’s a name for such an occupation. Someone “whose work is building smokestacks, towers, or steeples or climbing up the outside of such structures to paint and make repairs” is called a “steeplejack”. A band of steeplejacks from Errol, New Hampshire had traveled to Brandon, Vermont to restore the steeple of the Congregational Church to a sterling and pristine condition that it might better fulfill its vocation in the village. I was thrilled! I’m looking forward to running into Brandon the next time I’m visiting my folks and see the finished work – I’m sure it’s beautiful.
I’ve often thought that every believer is a lot like a steeple. Our actions, manner, language, countenance, and lifestyle are intended to point people not just to Heaven above but to the Christ who dwells there; seated at the right hand of God. But I’m afraid it won’t require very close inspection to find that many of our personal steeples are, like those of the churches of our land, in a pretty rickety, ramshackle way. Our witness is not what it should be. We need to call upon the Lord to once again raise up the mighty men and build pulpits for powerful prophets who will once again call God’s people to pursue lives of holiness and righteousness. We need to implore the Lord to raise up some steeplejacks to restore the testimony of His saints. And just like with the Robert Morgan company – why not have the Lord start right here in good ol’ New Hampshire; calling you and me!
We’re looking forward to gathering together tomorrow morning to enjoy all that the Lord has prepared for those seeking Him. Because we have a Good Shepherd, our time will surely be spent in green pastures beside quiet waters. It’s going to be wonderful. May the Lord, mighty God, bless and continue to keep us!
- Pastor Tate
