Lyfting Me Up

“Ground Breaking”

We attended the groundbreaking ceremony for Bear Creek Christian Church—formerly known as First Christian Church of Colorado Springs. Like many churches over the centuries, they have experienced the truth that the only permanence is change.

This congregation holds a special place in my heart. It was the church my dad’s family found in 1934 when they moved to “The Springs.” My parents met there in 1946 at a church picnic—for this I am very grateful.

It was a building that exuded stability. But between COVID and other shifts in culture, staying there no longer seemed sustainable. They found a thriving congregation that wanted a bigger space and sold the building to them. Then they located a great space where they could build a more usable, accessible, and manageable facility.

When I showed up at the new location, I knew I would know a number of the folks who had been part of this journey. A handful of them had grown up with me at Central Christian in Pueblo. Immediately, we began to reminisce about the “groundbreaking” we attended as kids when Central Christian moved from downtown to the sprawling new development called Belmont.

I was in the sixth grade when we made the move. I will forever remember my first day in the brand-new Sunday School room, which smelled of paint and all the other scents a new building brings. The most distinctive thing about that day, however, was the rattlesnake hiding in the wall. Needless to say, Mrs. Rump (I am not making this up) had a hard time keeping our attention on the lesson.

I have often talked in this space about “the unwelcome gift of grief.” We become attached to spaces because of the memories they contain. If you live to 77, you are going to get to say goodbye—and hello—to a whole lot: homes, family, friends, jobs, churches, and on and on.

I went to the groundbreaking braced to feel sad.

That did not happen.

I had a great conversation with one of the congregation’s longtime pastors, who has invested a whole lot of his life with them. His joy was contagious. Perhaps his years serving as a lead chaplain in the U.S. Army in Iraq taught him something about embracing life as it is. Moving on can be an act of faith.

Simply put, the day was full of hope.

I remembered a moment I had in 2012, standing among the lakeside ruins of Capernaum in Galilee—the town that adopted Jesus after Nazareth ran him off. What once was there was barely there anymore. The foundations remained, including those of the synagogue. The buildings might be gone, but the ripple effects of what happened there changed the world.

Maybe that is what buildings are for in the first place.

They give us a place for something to happen.

I graduated from Pueblo East High School in 1967. A classmate has taken it upon himself to compile an ever-growing list of “Fallen Eagles.” It now has 88 names on it. Some of those names made the list way too early. Leslie Williams made the list as a result of Vietnam.

This week another name was added.

I went down the list, reading each name and taking time to remember. Then I posted:

“I am trying to stay off this list.”

I did get some like-minded amens!!!

The truth is, I am trying to put off as long as possible my final groundbreaking.

And in the meantime, I intend to enjoy every day—and leave behind a few ripples of my own.

Onward and Upward,

Mark