Many years ago, our church was thinking about building a building.  We called around to find out which churches had buildings similar to what we wanted to build.  We loaded up the church bus with the Building Team and took a field trip.  Some things you must see for yourself. 

One church still stands out in my memory, not for the design, but for the experience.  We got off the bus and were met by an older gentleman, a long-time member of the church, who was chair of the Building and Grounds Committee.  To those of you unfamiliar with church life, most churches have a committee or a team that is responsible for taking care of the building.  What they don’t tell you when you volunteer for this Committee is they expect you to do all the minor repairs on the church building that you haven’t around to in your own home. 

The gentleman was very kind as he toured us through the building, patiently answering our questions.  It turned out he had been on every committee ever involved with the building, from the first committee that built the building to the committee that took care of it once it was built.  Though several years old, the building was in good condition.  The adult classrooms were neat and painted, the children’s space was clean and organized.  Then we went upstairs to the youth space.

In most churches, youth space is a disaster.  Teenagers are not neat creatures and churches usually do not invest much in their space.  Middle and High Schoolers get the leftovers: the broken-down couch that was almost put on the curb, but instead was donated to the church; grandma’s dining room table that is hideous and you wouldn’t allow in your house, but you thought the students might like it, and the stained chairs no longer clean enough to be used in adult space.

This youth space was different.  The furniture matched. Bibles were neatly stacked.  The floor was picked up.  Someone had strung a paper chain across the room, but it looked fine.  In an effort to make the room look cool, every other ceiling tile was painted a bright color: red, orange, yellow.  The space looked good.  Except to the gentleman who was our host.

“I can’t believe this.  No one asked my permission to paint those ceiling tiles.  This is awful,” he said.  I was surprised.  The room looked fine to me.  The kids painted the ceiling tiles, big deal.  This was not the Sistine Chapel.

Our guide turned to our group and apologized.  “I am so sorry you had to see this.  Believe me, I after you leave, I am going to call our Youth Pastor and demand to know why he did this.” 

I thought the older gentleman was overreacting.  I offered a mild comment to help him get perspective: “I think it looks nice.  Makes the room feel more welcoming for students.”  Old men can give you dirty looks when you step on the territory.  I got a dirty look that told me to go back to Sumter and never set foot in his building again.   We made a hasty exit and our host walked away, searching for a telephone. 

It was not just me; everyone in our group noticed the old man’s reaction and wondered why the ceiling tiles were such a big deal to him.  I was not sure if he was more upset the tiles had been painted or if he had not been consulted.  One member of the group put it perfectly, “I think he forgot who the building belongs to.”

This is not the first time I have seen this.  People forget the church does not belong to them.  They confuse their preferences with God’s will.  Yes, I have heard people say only organ music is acceptable to God (wonder what was acceptable to God before the organ was invented?).  In my home church, my Aunt Ouida and Mrs. Eva Robertson nearly got in a fist fight over the color of the carpet in the new sanctuary (I think Aunt Ouida could have taken Miss Eva in two rounds).  I guess they forgot that in ten years, that carpet would be worn out and replaced by a new committee. 

Churches waste energy and time over small stuff that doesn’t matter.  When did Jesus ever tell us to be obsessed with carpet and ceiling tiles?  Sure, take care of the buildings; that is good stewardship.  But let stuff go. 

Never forget, the church does not belong to you.  The church belongs to the babe in the manager, whose death and resurrection give him the right to say what matters – and even to tell you do not get cranked up over ceiling tiles.  They do not belong to you; they belong to him.