Ezra 3:12-13
But many of the
priests and Levites and heads of fathers' houses, old men who had seen the
first house, wept with a loud voice when they saw the foundation of this house
being laid, though many shouted aloud for joy, so that the people could not
distinguish the sound of the joyful shout from the sound of the people's
weeping, for the people shouted with a great shout, and the sound was heard far
away.
An
indistinguishable noise! With certainty, anyone present could conclude that a
celebration was going on; given that the priests, fully dressed in their
ceremonial regalia, gathered the entire city of Jerusalem to celebrate the
laying of the Temple foundation. After seventy years of captivity, God’s people
were finally allowed to return to their city, which for the same amount of time
lied in ruins. The laying of the Temple foundation, therefore, carries more
meaning than the mere accomplishment of a building project. Its laying meant
that the people returning considered the privilege of worship to the one true
God the central treasure of their story. The God who was present back then,
through the laying of this foundation, was being called on to be present all
over again. The captives have been set free: free to live, free to build their
city and free to worship. However, the excitement that surfaced concerning the
joys of now, mixed with the sobering
reflection on the way things were then
produced an indistinguishable noise that can best be described as nostalgia.
The black
community knows something about nostalgia, at least the one that produced me.
The church of my upbringing was the oldest black church in a virtually
all-white city. The building that housed it was is about thirty-five years old,
so everyone worshiping there could remember when the congregation worshipped at
the old church: a two-story white wooden building that sat in the heart of the
neighborhood. One could imagine a time when blacks in the city could wake up
and walk to church on Sunday as they were greeted outside to the joyous singing
of gospel hymns inside. Most of my Sunday school teachers and mentors never
ceased to reminisce on the warm fellowship that abided among them in both a
place and time that now belong to ages.
My last
visit to the old church was to celebrate the anniversary of the congregation
that presently worships there. This congregation was birthed out of our church,
so the pastor and many of the founding members had their roots in the historic
congregation that once worshipped there and could relate very personally to its
fellowship. For them, occupying this space meant more than merely having the
deed to a piece of property. It meant keeping this sacred historic space in the
care of a community that once held it at their center. It meant holding
precious the place where many, whose hair now grey and steps now slow, came to
know Christ and found perpetual community and encouragement for a week that
held much travail in its outlook. It meant holding sacred all the memories,
people and milestones that now belong to the ages.
Just before the
anniversary celebration came to an end, the time had come to open the floor for
remarks and testimonies. As I listened to each remark, I noticed that a lot was
said about the church’s past and
little concerning its present. This bothered
me. After all, we were there to celebrate the work God was doing now: a new congregation, a new vision, a
new ministry. Here they were, in the heart of the city once again. Though the
location and building were old, the opportunity was new and the field was ripe
for a fresh work of ministry. So, it bothered me that people were only
remarking about the church that used
to worship there: the preachers that used
to preach there, the choirs that used
to sing there, the deacons that used
to pray there.
After a
while, all the reminiscing gave way to tears and laughter. Some would tell
embarrassing stories and everybody would laugh (although the stories they told
were stories that some spent decades trying to forget). Others would remark
about loved ones passed on and would choke up as they spoke (they alone know
whether their tears were of joy, mourning or regret). After a while, the noise
testified to a different kind of sentiment. I could no longer call it joyous,
and was not quite ready to call it despairing. It was indistinguishable.
The danger
of the indistinguishable noise we call nostalgia lies in the purpose of its
pause. It is the pause of Lot’s wife, who could not resist looking back at her
beloved city as it was being burned to the ground at God’s command. It is a paralyzing
pause that plays on every impulse in us that wishes to relive eras and moments
that now belong to the ages, while causing us to intentionally neglect what God
has called us to now.
Like the
worshippers in Jerusalem who stood on a temple foundation, so stand we in
communities that lie in rubble: HBCU’s are closing their doors, black school
districts are dissolving, black boys are being targeted by toy cop vigilantes, the black
family is under attack and black cities are going bankrupt while its churches
meet every Sunday to give off an indistinguishable noise. This noise testifies
to the reality that while we have much to celebrate in both our history and our
future, a view in our past reveals points and places where our stewardship of
God’s goodness was poorly carried out. Such reflection causes us to stand
before God with guilt-laden praises and regret-filled adoration. It causes us
to enter His presence with a kind of worship that lacks the necessary elements which
distinguish weeping from witnessing.
If any hope
lies in store for our community, the church must not let God’s call on us to a
fresh work of transformation through the gospel be lost in our own nostalgia. Our
preaching and worship cannot be an indistinguishable noise. Rather, it must
remain a fresh gospel that transforms lives in this generation. Such lives will
go into the world to rebuild our families and our communities, all for the
glory of God.
Samuel J. Doyle is a teacher–preacher, and currently serves as the Youth
Pastor at the East Saint Paul Baptist Church in Fort Worth, Texas.
