Boxed In
Dave Faust
The Old North Church is the oldest church building in Boston. An architectural marvel built in 1723, it is famous because on the night of April 18, 1775, the church sexton Robert Newman climbed the steeple and hung two lanterns that sparked the War for Independence. Paul Revere had arranged for the lanterns ("one if by land, two if by sea") to signal the movement of British troops. Revere's subsequent dash on horseback alerted the American militia, and the next day "the shot heard ‘round the world" officially began the Revolutionary War.
Builders took 22 years to complete the Old North Church, using timber from New England forests and bricks baked in nearby kilns. In classic Anglican style, the pulpit towers atop a spiral staircase at the front of the sanctuary. During a recent visit to the church, however, my wife and I were especially interested in the "box pews." The sanctuary's main floor is divided into about 60 small booths separated by white wooden fences—at least four feet tall, by my estimate—which the church proudly hails as "the highest walls of any church in America."
When I asked about the unusual pews, an attendant explained that the separate boxes were designed to keep worshipers warm back in the days when the church had no central heat. Like box seats at a baseball stadium, the wooden dividers enabled worshipers to observe the service in relative seclusion, sitting with a half dozen family members and friends who snuggled into each private booth. Foot warmers containing hot coals or stones provided additional warmth. A shiny brass plaque attached to each pew box honored the person or family who had paid for it nearly 300 years ago.
Sinking onto a wooden bench inside one of the boxes, I chuckled to my wife, "These pews don't exactly promote a sense of community and interaction!" From inside the box a worshiper could view the elevated pulpit, but the high walls made it impossible to see anyone else in the congregation.
Now, I don't mean to criticize the way people worshiped the Lord back in 1723. If I had gone to church during a frigid New England winter, I would have been glad to huddle with my family in a warm private box. However, the Old North Church is still a functioning church today, home to an Episcopal congregation. Those separate boxes may have made sense back in the 1700s, but why keep them around today except as historical curiosities? On the day we visited the Old North Church, preparations were being made for a wedding that evening. Imagine going to a wedding where the church's interior dividers prevent the guests from seeing one another! With all those walls, it would be difficult even to see the bride and groom.
Robert Frost wrote, "Something there is that doesn't love a wall, that wants it down." Jesus came to remove the walls of hostility that separate us from God and from one another. He prayed for us to "be brought to complete unity" (John 17:23); but for reasons of personal comfort, sectarian pride, and financial gain, we have built our own little booths. We have erected walls so high that sometimes it's hard to see the Bride of Christ in all her glory.
The Bible says, "Make every effort to keep the unity of the Spirit through the bond of peace" (Ephesians 4:3). Let's never divide what God wants united or obstruct what God wants people to see. If we're going to love and serve the whole body of Christ, we can't do it from the seclusion of our own private box.
This column first appeared in The Lookout on Jan 30, 2005.
Bow In
Do you ever struggle to find the right balance between engagement and disengagement? Books like Boundaries by Dr. Henry Cloud and Dr. John Townsend, and Cloud’s *Necessary Endings,* remind us that it’s okay to say “I can’t do that” or “Let’s stop and find a new approach.”
Break Bread Together
For as long as I can remember, I have enjoyed potluck dinners at church. As a young boy, I found myself distracted during worship services on Sunday mornings when the smell of fresh-baked rolls, macaroni and cheese, and baked beans began to waft up from the church basement. I secretly envied the people who skipped the sermon to cut sections of white tablecloth from giant paper rolls and cover the long tables that held the food. As soon as the closing prayer was over, we would go downstairs to enjoy potato salad, green bean casseroles made with mushroom soup and canned fried onions, and baked ham covered with crushed pineapple.