May 7, 2023 + 100th Anniversary of the Building + Pr. Craig Mueller
If these walls could speak, I would begin with this question. How did Holy Trinity come out of the 1918 Great Influenza pandemic? In May 1919 Holy Trinity went forward with a “New Building Fund” to construct a church at this very site. The tagline on a poster: “$30,000 in Eight Days. No better investment than in a city’s churches.”
“If these walls could talk.” It’s the name of a TV series that ran for many years. Historic houses across America were visited to discover the fascinating secrets, the surprising finds, the rich legends hidden within their walls.
“If these walls could talk.” It’s also the name of a popular song with these lyrics:
If these old walls could speak
Of things that they remember well,
Stories and faces dearly held.
If these walls could speak, I would have more questions. Like what year is this picture taken outside our building? Look at the cars. We’ll have a contest at the brunch later to let you guess the date.
If these walls could talk, I bet they would remind us how Holy Trinity has been aligned with baseball since its inception. When the congregation couldn’t afford its mortgage at the beautiful old structure near LaSalle and Division (now LaSalle Street church), it merged with St. Mark Church, which was located at Clark and Addison. You know what’s there now! We live in the shadow of the Cubs. And we’ll never forget the 2016 World Series. The blue and red shrine we had at the back of the church. And the blue stole I put over my red one during a Reformation sermon in late October that year.
These walls would then remind us that our connection with seminarians goes back much further than the past 25 years when we have mentored 48 seminarians and had another ten of our members go on to seminary. As one Chicago Tribune story put it a decade ago, on the 100th anniversary of Wrigley: “Before there was a Wrigley, there was a seminary.” The article said, that before the block that bounded Clark, Addison, Waveland, and Sheffield was a ballpark, it was God’s country. Chicago Lutheran Seminary opened in 1891. The site was sold in 1910 to build Weeghmann Park which later became Wrigley Field.
The quiet area around the seminary—our neighborhood— was soon surrounded by coal and lumber yards. The young seminarians complained of the coal yard’s “smoke, dust, grime, soot, dirt, foul gases; railroading by night and day; whistles, ding-donging of bells late and early and in between times…the unsanctified men in charge sending the unsterilized particles, odors and speech into the homes, eyes and ears of the seminary habitats.” So they relocated to Maywood, and later merged with other seminaries in the 1960s to form the Lutheran School of Theology in Hyde Park.
But back to this building, dedicated May 6, 1923. The cornerstone was laid in September 1922. Our reading from First Peter invites us to come to Christ, the living stone, the cornerstone, once rejected, but now the very foundation of our faith.
We are now living stones built into a spiritual house. Not to dwell—to live— within these holy walls but sent out with a mission: to declare the mighty acts of God. To share our faith in word and deed. To work for justice and peace in all the earth.
If these stones could listen--and maybe they can--we would speak of our gratitude for our forebears who built this church, established this community, and bore witness to a faith that sustained them throughout their lives.
For if these walls could talk, they—and we—would thank Norm and all the others who lovingly cared for the grounds, the lawn, every nook and cranny.
“How lovely is your dwelling space,” we sing in psalm 84. “One day in your courts is better than a thousand elsewhere.” If these walls could speak, they would echo back to us all the music and singing in this sanctuary for the past one hundred years. Singing, even amid personal loss. Singing, amid the tragedies our country lived through.
As King Solomon dedicated his magnificent temple as a dwelling place for the Lord, he declared that heaven and earth cannot contain the Holy One. And though we need sacred spaces for ritual and song, to mark life passages, and to pray for the world, we come to this holy place, that our eyes may be opened to see the presence of God everywhere and in everyone.
And if these walls could speak, they would tell of all who have come here seeking solace or peace. They would tell of all the baptisms, confirmations, weddings, and funerals held in this sacred space.
These walls would speak of the burdens and struggles that people carried. Their doubts. Their troubled marriages. Their financial hardships. They would also speak of the gratitude expressed here for the blessings of God. All those who gathered Sunday after Sunday to receive the body and blood of Christ, and thus, taste forgiveness and grace.
These walls would speak of the changes in the neighborhood over the years. Migration to the suburbs in the 1960s, and then a resurgence of new life in the 1980s. They would tell of this congregation’s bold decision in 1990 to become a Reconciling in Christ congregation, welcoming gays and lesbians not only as members, but into all facets of leadership.
If these walls could speak, they would tell of the rapid growth in the 2000s. The welcome presence of young adults, Holy Trinity becoming more diverse by welcoming straight people, and eventually a burgeoning number of babies and children.
If these walls could speak, they would tell of Holy Trinity sponsoring refugees, and then taking another bold step in making antiracism an integral part of its mission, leading to our current discernment on how we might repair and heal the wounds of racism in our church and country through the spiritual act of reparations.
If these walls could talk, they would tell how this vibrant and remarkable congregation has become a spiritual home for hundreds and hundreds of people in the past decades. Most of them at a transient time in their lives, and many now living in other places.
Oh, how we need a place to belong. In our gospel, Jesus tells his followers that though he is going away, he is preparing a place for them in his Father’s house. The Spirit of Christ now dwells in us, in our bodies. If these walls could speak, they would recite the thousands of sermons preached here, inviting people to come to Christ, the way, the truth, and the life. Christ, our cornerstone. Christ from whom our mission, our purpose, and our calling flow forth.
Last Sunday a group of us watched the Oscar-winning movie CODA. I strongly recommend it. Ruby grows up in a family where her brother and parents are deaf. Ruby’s family tries to support her when she discovers her love for singing, but of course they cannot hear her songs. At one of her choir concerts, the sound cuts out at one point, and we see Ruby’s family looking around at everyone else hearing and responding to the music. Following the concert, her father Frank asks Ruby to perform her choir solo for him. He wants to understand her passion and find out what he missed at the performance. Delicately, Frank places his hands on Ruby’s throat to feel the vibrations of her vocal cords as she sings. His face melts from a serious, curious focus, to one of awe at the power his fingers register.
What if we could feel the vibrations in these walls from the past one hundred years? From the organ. From exuberant Lutheran singing. From the vibrant energy that makes of us a community.
Dear people of Holy Trinity, these walls are speaking and vibrating this day. You are part of something much larger than your individual self. Much more than bricks and stones and mortar. You are God’s dwelling place, the very body of Christ. Nourished here by word and sacrament, music and silence. And then sent to be living stones, alive with the grace and mercy you have received.
So listen. Listen to the walls. Feel the vibrations. Listen to the spirit of our ancestors. And then with newfound faith, with gratitude, with confidence, and with hope . . . rise to face a future yet to be revealed.
The Welcome from Sunday, May 7th
These walls have heard it hundreds of times.
Centered in God’s grace.
Because of God’s mercy.
Grounded in divine forgiveness.
We welcome one another.
Whatever the color of our skin.
Whoever we love or marry.
Whatever our gender identity or pronouns we use.
However we worship or pray.
However we feel about organized religion.
Whatever our age, income, body size.
However we vote and see the world.
Whatever our physical and mental abilities.
Whatever joys or sorrows we hold this day.
We seek to welcome one another as Christ welcomes us.
This is at the heart of our identity.
And our mission and calling in the world.
And so we give thanks for our forebears who built this church.
For pastors and musicians and other leaders who have served here.
For all those baptized, confirmed, married here.
For all whose bodies or ashes were brought here after their deaths.
For these walls and floors.
For our organ, piano and other instruments.
For our kitchen and Passavant Hall.
For our offices and classrooms.
For our lift and accessible restrooms.
For all whose financial gifts supported the care and repair of the building.
For those who have gone before us, especially these most recently:
Mark Bangert
Kathryn Vigen
Leon Stevens
Louise Goos
Richard Bough
Norm Kaiser
Judy Mayers
Joyce Reichardt
Claire Evans
Elvina Moen
Edith Stevenson
Al and Halen Rabens
Jim Kozel
and many others over the past century.