You Are Here
by R.C. Sproul Jr.

You see them all around you, but you don't know what they are. They could be office buildings for mid-sized companies; they could be shopping malls. The only give-away is the sign. Though there is rarely an oak or a river in sight, the sign says, "River Oaks Worship Center." Step inside and you won't see worship either. You know the kind of buildings I'm talking about. They are essentially as windowless as they are shapeless. If you're in the nice part of town the outside is covered in faux brick. If it's not such a great part of town all you see is the sheet metal on the outside. Inside is the magic, one large room that can comfortably seat hundreds of spectators, and can be configured for a basketball game, a daycare center or a laser show, and a sound system that costs more than the building.

We are, after all, Americans. And the only indigenous philosophy we've come up with so far is pragmatism, the unworkable idea that we are to judge all ideas by whether they work or not. No one wants to put the church into debt for a building used only one day a week. No, it is far better to go into debt for a building used several days a week. And the fastest way out of debt is to disguise the fact that it's a church, so we can attract more yuppies who give, but only if we have the programs and the entertainment they crave. We're too enlightened and modern to believe that there could be such a thing as sacred space. We don't go in for architectural iconophilia. So we smash the icons. We pave paradise and put up a parking lot.

Buildings are not magic. We know, as God warned the children of Israel, that no building can, no matter how grand, contain Him. But they do matter, because they are a medium with a message. Buildings that say "Stodgy"' speak of a stodgy god, just as buildings that are hip speak of a hip god. And buildings that look like businesses often become businesses. And those who go there tend to think like customers, viewing not only the church but God Himself as the provider of goods and services. Pragmatic church buildings exist in the service of pragmatic gods.

So what do we do? Saint Peter Presbyterian Church meets in a building that was once a dentist's office. And it looks like a dentist's office. We'd love to have a cathedral, and the people to fill it, but such is what we can afford right now. But we do not worship a dental god. Buildings do matter, but they do not determine where we worship. No matter how bad they might be, if we remember where we really are, we will worship instead of shop. For we actually worship in a place more magnificent than a thousand Notre Dames, and more eternal than Saint Peter in the eternal city of Rome.

All of us, whether we know it or not, gather every Lord's Day at His house, at the heavenly and eternal temple. And such should drive us to our knees. It certainly rules out comedy hour. Consider the seraphim in Isaiah chapter six. These are the creatures that live in that holy temple, whose job it is to sing the eternal anthem, "Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts: the whole earth is full of His glory." These are creatures who have never known sin from the time of their creation. They have not violated the law of God a single time. When they gather they do indeed love God with all their being. Yet, Isaiah tells us, these seraphim cover both their eyes and their feet with their wings, as they serve in the immediate presence of God. There is no ease here, no casual camaraderie. Instead there is a deep consciousness of the infinitely deep chasm that separates creature from Creator.

How much more must we enter into His presence with fear? In ourselves we are nothing but sin. Of course we are covered in the righteousness of Christ. But the angels don't even need that covering, and still they fear. I fear that we do not worship in reverence because we don't know where we are. God is here. And we are but creatures.

Recently I was asked why we kneel when we come to the Lord's Table during our worship. Some feared that such was Popish and superstitious. I explained that Presbyterians are not Zwinglians. That is, we do not think that the Lord's Supper is a mere memorial. Neither are we Roman or Lutheran, affirming that Christ's body and blood are actually present with us. In fact, even if such were the case we would not bow to His body and blood because they are properties of His humanity, and thus cannot be worshipped. Instead we affirm the real presence of the Lord at the table, again not because He descends to Bristol every Lord's Day, but because He lifts us up to Him. We're not bowing because His body is in the elements; we're bowing because our bodies are in His presence, in a more real and special way than in our ordinary lives. I suggested that, if we could, the correct posture at such a meeting would not be kneeling, but to be dug in beneath the floorboards, quaking.

As we have said before, such doesn't mean that our worship lacks joy. In fact, we can only know joy in our worship when we know who we are and Whom we are with. Happiness, pleasantness, you can have that in any room. But joy is found only in the presence of God. In like manner, you can learn all manner of things about God in a classroom. You can enjoy His people at a picnic. But when we gather to worship we are not seeking to meet the seekers where they are, but to meet the Finder where He is. When we gather on His day we gather to worship, and to worship only.