Looking Out My Window

The back wall of our church’s sanctuary is all windows. During worship, when I am not looking at the congregation, I look out these windows. I enjoy watching the snow start and stop, the sun come out, the rain begin, the wind blow. Our church is on a hill and so the visible expanse is wonderfully enormous.

From my office window, beyond the beautiful huge pine and elms, I can see a busy residential area and a not so busy cemetery. At a nearby four-way stop, drivers pause to watch for dog walkers, joggers and cyclists. I love looking out windows, perhaps too much—it keeps me from writing a sermon, or preparing for a study group, or paying full attention to Jian Ghomeshi on CBC Radio.

While at the North American Conference on Christian Philanthropy, I was reminded of the value of looking out the window.

While describing the various ministries of his congregation, Rev. William Barnes from our host church in Florida, spoke to us about the sanctuary. He emphasized the massive windows at the front and the huge cross located outside those windows. He said, “We were intentional about this design. We gather in here, so that we can go out there and make a difference.” He went on to give example after example of things going on “out there” in the local community and how the church found ways to connect with, support, and respond to needs.

There was nothing particularly new about what Rev. Barnes had to say. Perhaps it was his obvious passion. Perhaps it was the blatant practicality of the kinds of ministries in which his congregation was engaged—music lessons provided by retired players to children who could not afford lessons, child care provided by grandmothers or others for single moms who were engaged in training for employment, respite care for primary caregivers whose loved ones are living with Alzheimer’s.

We in the church know that the demands of taking care of “our own people” are enormous. There is always more we could be doing. Since returning from the conference, I notice that I am looking out my sanctuary and office windows asking myself, “What is going on out there and how can my church support it?”

The local food bank is an obvious one. Most churches help out there. But the list of what most of us do “out there” is relatively short.

In Kanata, just outside Ottawa, we have a vibrant arts community and a large athletic community. We have single parents, seniors, separated and divorced people. There are all sorts of communities within our community. But when was the last time someone from our church contacted any of these groups to ask, “How can our church support you?”

Imagine what the local art association would say if I were to appear at their door and say, “We think you bring something of real value to our community. We appreciate the good work that you do. We would like to support you in some way. How might we be able to do that?”

There is a community resource centre in our town—I can almost see their office by looking out my window. They are government funded but their resources are limited. I wonder if I, or someone from my church, should take a walk over there and ask them if there is a particular need or demographic that could really benefit from our support?

Here at Trinity, our vision statement is “To be God’s light in the community through the love of Jesus Christ and the guidance of the Holy Spirit.” But when I reflect upon the amount of time and energy I and others spend on the people and activities here inside this church community, and compare that to the amount of time and energy we spend on people and activities outside this faith community, I have to wonder how we are being God’s light. We are light in the same sense that a brightly lit hotel or restaurant is. Here we are! You should stop here! Come on in!

I wonder if we should be taking our light out to them, rather than staying on our own comfortable turf, inside our own doors and windows. While looking out my window, I became aware of a very popular local pub/restaurant that recently experienced a devastating fire. This place was an historic community landmark and people loved to gather there. A large staff is now unemployed. The young couple who owns the pub have two young children and now have no income. They are not connected to our church in any way, but we share a community. We are looking for ways to reach out and support them through this difficult time.

I am still enjoying looking out the windows of my church, but now, as well as tracking the weather, I am thinking about what we “in here” could be doing “out there.” I am thinking about how what we say and do “in here” equips and calls us to do “out there.”

There are not many conversations between Jesus and his disciples about numbers that are dropping, or not being able to afford to keep the doors open, or considering amalgamation or renting. I can find hardly any record of meetings about contemporary or traditional music, chairs or pews, hymnbooks or screens. Mostly I see them going “out there,” showing up and asking, “What can I do for you?” and “How can I support you?”

I am determined to spend even more time looking out the window and asking myself what I can do to be God’s light, “out there” in my community.