Today I joined Sunday worship at the church I grew up in, Blackheath and Charlton Baptist, in South East London. Though I last worshipped there regularly in 2005, walking in through the front door for the first time since my mother's funeral in 2018 was a poignant moment. I made my way to the tower and headed to the sanctuary upstairs. Then again, walking through the familiar heavy wooden swing doors, at the top of the stairs also held memories of ages past of the many times I'd stepped through those doors during the 30+ years I was part of the fellowship there.
The sanctuary beyond the doors also had a familiarity, but also difference from the passing of time since I'd last been there. I already knew the pews were long gone, replaced with red upholstered chairs, but the updated lift and the white wall blocking the view of the organ were new.
You might wonder about why the lift was something that caught my eye, but way back in the mid 1970s when the floor was put in at the choir stall level, to bring the sanctuary upstairs and create a hall and rooms downstairs, an indoor house lift was fitted as this was what was could be afforded at the time. This lift was obviously necessary, but woe betide anyone needing the lift, particularly if they arrived late, as there was no way to arrive quietly. As the lift went into action it whirred and clanked loudly frequently causing whoever was leading to have to pause whilst it made its arrival. And the door was one of those metal ones that concertina'd across so needed another door for safety and that meant folk were needed to open the doors to let users of the lift out. This was a job frequently done by the younger folk - my children spent many a year being on duty holding doors open for folk to get in and out of the lift. So you can see why this new sleek version caught my eye - and I have to say I thought it a vast improvement!
For me though, the new sanctuary wall was the biggest change. The traditional pipe organ, the familiar backdrop to worship, and so much of my life at this church, now hidden behind a large white wall with a single central, also white painted, door, This wall acts as the projection screen so I can see why it has been put in, but as I hadn't expected it, the fact I could no longer see the organ did bring a twinge of sadness.
It was good to be there, and to share with the few folk still there who remembered me and I am looking forward to returning tomorrow to take time to remember my parents as well as my time there and how that grounding in the faith laid the foundations for the journey to where I am today.
For this building was, at least in part, the crucible of my own faith. In this building I witnessed my parents living out the faith they professed: in service on the leadership team, in Sunday school, and in involvement in mission, in holiday clubs and Girls Brigade, in prayer meetings and more. Here also I saw faith lived and worked out in the members of my church family - so many wonderful people during my time there who served God with a deep and profound love.
And this building was a place I also lived, and worked, out my own faith - demonstrated in the waters baptism, those 35 years ago now that I commemorated earlier this week. Then in leading Sunday school, supporting creche, and running holiday clubs, in hosting a youth group, leading a home group and editing the newsletter and sorting publicity. Here too was where I first preached and I still have that script based on Deuteronomy 4:7 "What other nation is so great as to have their gods near them the way the Lord our God is near to us whenever we pray to Him?"
Here too, my own children grew up, following in my footsteps, and those of my parents, and my grandparents before that. This is a church that holds a deep resonance of my family's faith journey, my own initial faith walk with God and, perhaps most importantly, God's faithfulness to me and to us over the years.
Today I am reflecting on how blessed I have been by being a part of this church and for that I am so incredibly grateful.
