Taverns and Tabernacles
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- Created on Sunday, 08 November 2009 00:00
- Written by Stefan M. Jonasson
{player 2009-11-08-9am-sermon.mp3}
Introduction
On an autumn day in 1857, Henry David Thoreau confided to his journal, “One wonders that the tithing-men and fathers of the town are not out to see what the trees mean by their high colors and exuberance of spirits, fearing that some mischief is brewing. I do not see what the Puritans did at that season when the maples blazed out in scarlet. They certainly could not have worshipped in groves then. Perhaps that is what they built meeting-houses and surrounded themselves with horse-sheds for.” As the most noteworthy resident of Concord ever to resign from First Parish, it is somehow comforting to think that he simply preferred the blazing forest groves of autumn to the clean lines of the meeting house as a suitable place to worship. Nearly seventeen years had passed since he had sent the town clerk a note indicating that he did not wish to be considered a member of First Parish, an act which today might lead someone to quip, “he’s just not that into you,” but at least he never said of First Parish what he said of your more orthodox neighbor, after lecturing in the basement of its meeting house: “I trust I helped to undermine it.” While the Transcendentalists here in Concord were institutional gadflies in their own day—sometimes something of a nuisance to First Parish—it’s plain that, a century and a half later, Thoreau and his philosophical companions have long since won the hearts and minds of religious liberals, laying the foundation for the dominant tendencies and expressions of Unitarian Universalism as we know it today.
The Perils of Renovation and Restoration
Thoreau couldn’t possibly have imagined that, a little more than four decades after confiding his cheeky words to his journal, it would be not the maple groves but the meeting house itself that would be blazing. As the 125th anniversary of the Battle of Concord approached, the Women’s Parish Committee developed a plan to refurbish the interior of the old meeting house, which was to be the venue for commemorative exercises on that occasion. With the support of the executive committee, a major refurbishing effort commenced, which included restoration of the sanctuary, electrical wiring throughout the building, and other improvements. The work was nearly complete, slightly ahead of schedule, when, on April 12th, 1900—just three days before Easter—the newly-renovated church was consumed by fire. The blaze was first noticed by Patrick Varley, around 2:30 in the morning, who sent the alarm from box 16 of the town’s brand-new fire alarm system, which failed to generate the desired response, the newspaper account reporting wryly that “the result was not altogether satisfactory.” The sexton of the Congregational Church made his way to the bell rope and began ringing the church bell until he noticed that the steeple itself was on fire. While residents succeeded in removing many treasures from inside the church, the fire progressed so rapidly that there was no saving the building and, within ninety minutes, the old meeting house was completely destroyed. The cause of the fire remained a mystery and the townsfolk were made painfully aware of the fact that even those landmarks which seem most permanent are ultimately temporary habitations.
Less than two weeks passed before First Parish had named a building committee, which quickly engaged an architect, approved plans and solicited bids before heading back to the drawing board after all the bids came in exceeding available funds. After scaling back the project, new plans were put out to tender and the project was underway.
More than 700 people attended the dedication of the new meeting house in 1901, which by all accounts must have been a marathon event, with five separate addresses, interspersed with hymns, prayers and poetry—and the act of dedication itself. One speaker, the Honorable George Frisbee Hoar, spoke for nearly an hour, reportedly holding everyone’s attention from the very first word, although the newspaper account goes on to note that,“There was a vesper service in the evening which want of time compels us to omit.” No kidding! Samuel Atkins Eliot, president of what was then the American Unitarian Association, said, on the occasion of the 1901 dedication, “Our present endeavour in the cause of truth and righteousness does not take place in any lonely arena. About, behind us and before, there stretches a cloud of witnesses.” After naming some of Concord’s most distinguished families, he went on to say, “On this hallowed spot ten generations have, with unbroken fidelity, for these many years, worshipped the God of their fathers.” Some four or five generations later, we can’t make quite the same assertion, but we can say that on this hallowed spot—for sacred this place truly is—for nearly 375 years, the generations have, with unbroken fidelity, kept faith with the evolving covenant of this self-regenerating spiritual community—a covenant which binds together people of goodwill and free spirit, who together seek that transcendant reality and those abiding values which give life meaning and purpose. The content my grow and change with each succeeding generation, but the spirit abides, allowing us to trace one unbroken line from those who built this parish’s first meeting house to those who gather here today to celebrate its most recent renovation and enhancement.
Taverns and Tabernacles
Now, to my knowledge, there are not many churches around which happen to have taverns located on their campuses, as First Parish does, although I do recall reading a newspaper story some years ago about a church in Florida which acquired the bar next door through a bequest from its deceased owner. Unlike Wright Tavern, which I’m told was originally acquired by First Parish so that the taps could be turned off, thereby preventing some of the men-folk from lingering there over a pint or two while the town’s more respectable residents attended worship and meetings, this Florida church continued to operate the bar next door, keeping the spirits flowing freely—but not for free!—under the watchful eyes of its priest, who saw this as an expansion of his mission field rather than an unseemly conflict. The article left me with this frightening picture of “communion on tap” and pretzels that were actually disguised wafers sprinkled with the salt of the earth. I distinctly recall that this arrangement had provided this hitherto declining congregation with a revenue stream that that pretty much solved its financial difficulties. My I’m not here today to suggest that you reopen Wright Tavern as a public house, now that the ministers’ offices have been relocated to the newly-built wing of the church.
I have no way of knowing whether Henry David Thoreau ever stopped by Wright’s Tavern before it was subject to a hostile takeover by the tithing-men of First Parish, but I do know that he seems to have viewed taverns more positively than meeting houses, perhaps because there were fewer Puritans and town elders to be found in taverns. In other words, he considered the company more respectable and congenial. He himself envisioned a day when, “The tavern will compare favourably with the church. The church is the place where prayers and sermons are delivered, but the tavern is where they are to take effect, and if the former are good, the latter cannot be bad.” Of course, Thoreau neglected to say just how he imagined the goodness of those prayers and sermons would make their way into the lives of tavern patrons, in the absence of their actually showing up at church, which leads me to think that he felt that the tavern bore a greater kinship to the high colors and exuberant spirit of the forest grove than it did to the stayed environment of the meeting house.
The words “tavern” and “tabernacle” share a common Latin root, taberna, which was the diminutive form of the word tabernāculum, which was simply a tent. Over the years, I’ve had occasion to visit many of your homes here in Concord and they are overwhelmingly beautiful and substantial, but in the end, whether we recognize it or not, we human beings are forever dwelling in tents. In time, nature will reclaim the essential elements of even our most substantial homes, just as nature ultimately reclaims each of us. No less is true of the temples we build to our highest values. We dwell in tents—and we worship in tents, too.
In biblical times, the tabernacle was the portable sanctuary that the people of Israel carried with them as they made their way through the wilderness, en route to the Promised Land. The book of Exodus goes into some considerable detail about the size, shape and layout of the tabernacle, the dimensions of which have led more skeptical biblical scholars to question whether Exodus can be trusted in its description of this mobile wilderness sanctuary, which sounds like a backward projection of Solomon’s Temple. Then again, it doesn’t sound any less plausible than a circus tent to me, albeit with greater refinements. It’s said that the furnishings of the tabernacle were of the finest quality and the most costly of materials, as you would expect from a nomadic people who were erecting a place of worship that reflected their lifestyle and practices. Whether or not the details of Exodus can be trusted, it seems abundantly clear that ancient Israel maintained a collective memory of a time when its people worshipped together in a “tent of meeting,” which would have been entirely natural in a desert tradition.
As it happens, taverns and tabernacles are both gathering places—and gathering places of the spirit, no less! Sociologist Ray Oldenburg has suggested that most adults orient their lives around three places—their homes, their workplaces, and some “good third place,” which offers them an informal but public place wherein they round out their lives. Unless we’re reclusive or workaholic, we all have need of some third place which is neither our home nor our workplace, but rather a gathering place where we can find companionship and meaning—a place where we are identified as the unique individuals we are, not by our occupations or by our kinship ties. The “good third place” is that venue “where everybody knows your name and they’re always glad you came,” to quote a couple of lines of the theme from Cheers. So it won’t surprise you to know that the neighborhood tavern is a classic example of a good third place. So is the tabernacle, which is to say the places where we gather to worship together in community and explore the deepest of life’s questions and concerns.
The Soul of the House
In the end, every church is a tabernacle of sorts—a tent, however sturdily constructed, which is valuable, not in and of itself, but because it shelters that which is most precious to a religious community. For the ancient Israelites, it was the Ark of the Covenant; for us, it is the covenanted community which is most precious. The Puritans in their wisdom distinguished between the meeting house and the church, because they understood that the meeting house was a shelter only, but that the church was found in, and through, and among the people. So while I join you today to celebrate the beautiful renovation of your historic meeting house, the addition of a spacious and well-appointed new wing to house offices and classes and meeting rooms, and the enhancement of your campus in so many significant ways, it’s the soul of this house and not its outward forms that we celebrate the most. These facilities demonstrate what creative and dedicated people can accomplish together, but the genius of First Parish, the spirit which animates it all, is found in the remarkable people who have made this their spiritual home across the generations.
This accomplishment is all the more remarkable because this congregation defies the pontifications and prognostications of so-called church growth experts who proclaim that it is the destiny of churches in old New England to decline in numbers and vitality until, at last, their buildings stand as museum pieces in mute witness to the congregations who once inhabited them. First Parish today is as strong in numbers and as vital in spirit as it has ever been, at any point in its long and distinguished history. This place overflows with a spirit of abundance and possibility.
Conclusion
At a church dedication in the Upper Midwest in 1887, the Reverend Henry M. Simmons reminded his parishioners that, “Churches come and go, creeds are formulated and forgotten, but the heart still ponders the mysteries of life and everywhere hands are being lifted to the eternal.” It is in that spirit that we build meeting houses wherein we may gather to worship. We are not, as Thoreau suggested, fleeing the high colors of the forest grove, fearing that some mischief is brewing, seeking a safe haven in worship. No, our temples grow out of the very exuberance of spirit that he found in the woods, and which we find in this meeting house on the green.
“Here we restore ancestral dreams,
Enshrined in floor and wall and beam,
A monument wherein we build
That their high purpose be fulfilled,
A tool to help our children prove
An earth of promise and of love.”
— Kenneth L. Patton
References
Henry David Thoreau, Journal, October 7, 1857.
Henry David Thoreau, “The Landlord” (1843), in The Writings of Henry David Thoreau, vol. 5 (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1906), 161-162.
Dictionary of Word Origins, 521.
Harper’s Dictionary of the Bible, 1013-1014.
Lyle E. Schaller, The Very Large Church, 101-104.