The Rev. Sara Warfield
While this is not our final Sunday with the pews—that’s next week—this is the Sunday that we are taking the time to reflect on how they have been part of our life of faith here at St. Luke’s. Now before we talk about that, I want to address some of the different reactions I’ve heard to our plan to remove the pews from our sanctuary. There’s been some sadness and grief, some excitement, but there’s also been some confusion. Why is this such a big deal? It’s just a bench, just wood. How different can chairs be? I don’t get why we’re making this a thing.
I think our fact-seeking, certainty-seeking minds can sometimes dismiss how objects can hold presence, feeling, meaning. I remember when my former spouse and I were house-hunting. We walked into a dozen different homes, some furnished, some not. None of them had people in them, except our realtor and us. And each house felt different. Sometimes we could feel a lightness, a joy. Sometimes a house just felt…off. It wasn’t the way they were built or the shape they were in. Each place had its own energy, its own sense of its former inhabitants’ presence that had been absorbed into the wooden floors and soaked in by the walls. Babies’ cries, arguments, birthday parties, illnesses, laughter.
These pews have been in this space for nearly 70 years. They were here in the 80s and 90s when the parish needed two services to hold the fullness of the community. They were here through the struggling years in the 2010s when the congregation dwindled to fewer than 20 and they weren’t sure if they could keep the church going. They held the silence of our absence during the year of pandemic shut-down.
Not to mention that some of us have never worshiped in a church that didn’t have pews. For some of us, pews are an integral part of the very act of worship. Now this, like any attachment, can creep into a kind of idolatry, and we need to be careful of that. But that’s not what today is about.
Today is about telling the stories of what these pews have held for each of us. We tell stories because something matters to us. Something stirs us, and we want others to feel that stirring, too. Or at the very least we want them to know that it matters to us, to hold it with us. The sharing of stories is the foundation of community. And today is about listening to those stories and hearing what matters to one another, even if they aren’t the same things that matter to you.
And we tell stories in different ways. Take all our scriptures this morning.
Esther is historical fiction. A story about things that probably happened but reimagined for a larger purpose: it was written to justify the Jewish holiday Purim. Esther is often considered a comedy, slapstick even. I know today’s reading doesn’t sound like it, especially since we’re taught that the Bible is a very serious book and that’s how we’re supposed to read it. But I like the idea of Esther being a comedy. Who here has never embellished a story a bit to make it funnier? That’s what Esther invites us to do. And, if you’re so moved, you’re allowed to do that today.
And all the Psalms are literally songs. To sing. To take our joy or sorrow or struggle or accomplishment and to sing it. Because a story changes, becomes a different experience, when we sing it. We’ll do a bit of that kind of storytelling today.
James is a written letter. Someone’s thoughts on what they thought Jesus was trying to teach his followers. I know a lot of us are more comfortable putting our thoughts into writing than saying them out loud. Like singing, writing—and reading, rather than hearing—changes the experience of a story. It invites pauses, reflection, slowness. Some of you have brought your written thoughts today, or will write thoughts down, to share silently.
And then there’s Mark, one of the four gospels. The same story told four different ways, each emphasizing the parts of Jesus’ life and ministry that each author found most important, that spoke to them because of who each of them uniquely were.
It just goes to show that just because we’re all seeing or reading or hearing the same thing doesn’t mean we’re all experiencing it in the same way.
So we have lots of options for how we tell our story. The questions we shared to get you thinking about your story are:
What have you seen these pews hold in their time at St. Luke’s?
How have these pews held you through moments of your life and faith?
Now if you’ve been in any kind of small group with me, you know I like to hold the group in covenant, to create safe and respectful space for everyone present. And one agreement we all make is to stand up and step back.
To stand up means that if you feel shy or afraid, to gently challenge yourself to share knowing you are held in covenant. Luckily, one of the options is writing your story down rather than sharing it out loud, so there’s a way for you to share without putting yourself out there in a way that might be uncomfortable or scary for you, especially in front of the whole church.
But I know a lot of you are very comfortable speaking in a group. Which is amazing and I love, AND we want to make sure that everyone’s voice is heard without the service going on for hours—because another agreement we have is honoring one another’s time. So Step Back means to be selective about the story you tell and mindful of the time you’re speaking. If you have a lot of stories, and I imagine some of you do, pick one to tell and then write the others down to place on the altar.
You also have the option not to share anything at all. That’s okay, too. Maybe you’re new to our community, so this feels awkward. Maybe you just don’t have strong feelings about any of this. But what I do hope is that we will all listen for what is important to each person, and that we hold each story with grace and care.
After the storytelling, you’ll be invited to bring whatever mementos or artifacts you’ve brought with you or any stories you wrote down and set them on the pew up front, which has become an altar. If you don’t have a story or a memento, there’s a table up front and in the narthex with mementos you can bring to the front.
Whatever you say during this time, however you participate, this is our way of saying goodbye to these pews that have held each of us in different ways, and have held this church in its life of worship and community for so long. Amen.
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