What Do You Call This Place?

Sermon

May 8

Why I Preached This Sermon

A congregation needs to understand itself. That is, it is good for a Christian to understand the whole and not just see themselves. A few times a year, I will preach a culture sermon, simply pointing out what I see in the congregation. This also allows people to talk to me about their experiences, what brought them to the church, and how they want to contribute to the good of everyone.

This sermon weaves the following three passages together in a narrative-type way: Genesis 28:10–19 · 1 Kings 8:27–30 · Acts 2:42–47

Introduction

Someone asked me a really good question recently: "Jason, you've been here almost a year now. Tell me, what is Freedom Plains to you?"

It stopped me for a second, because that's the kind of question that deserves a thoughtful response.

I said that Freedom Plains is this amazing connection of all kinds of people who have formed a community together. Different backgrounds. Different careers. Different spiritual journeys that brought us all here. People who didn't start the same way and who didn't arrive the same way, but ended up making a church together. This is a community of people who are active. They are service-minded, and they make lots of space for people to come, to be, to grow, without trying to force everyone to live or believe the same way.

Later in the day, I realized something.

That question isn't really one I get to answer alone. It needs to be asked of — and answered by — you: What is Freedom Plains United Presbyterian Church to you?

A few weeks ago we had our first installment of "Meet a Member," and we heard a member talk about his journey. In his talk, he basically answered the question: what is Freedom Plains to me?

I mean, it's amazing that we are all here. Think of how you came here. Think of how things lined up, and you met people, and at a certain point, you felt like — yeah, this is my church.

Today, I want to hold that question while also looking at Scripture and discovering how God comes alive in a person, in a place, for a purpose.

What Is This Place?

Genesis 28:10–19

In the Genesis passage, Jacob has an amazing encounter with God after the fact.

The thing is, Jacob is not on a spiritual retreat. He's made a mess of his important relationships, and now he is running for his life.

Just before this scene, Jacob has made a series of decisions that finally caught up with him. He manipulated his brother Esau out of his inheritance. He stole a blessing that didn't belong to him. Jacob fractured and hurt his family so deeply that Esau essentially said, "The next time I see you, I will kill you."

So Jacob runs. He runs for his life. He runs for his new family and for his future.

He runs until he is exhausted. He puts his head on a stone and falls asleep under the stars in the middle of nowhere. It was those same stars that God told Abraham to look at and count.

Abraham said, "The stars are too vast to number," and God replied, "Then so shall your descendants be — too vast to number."

And now, Jacob, the grandson of Abraham, feels cut off from his family, isolated from the promise. Afraid.

In his dream, he sees angels ascending and descending a ladder that reaches from the earth to the heavens. At the top, he sees the LORD God who says to him, "I am the LORD, the God of your grandfather Abraham and the God of your father, Isaac. The ground you are lying on belongs to you. I will give it to you and your descendants. Your descendants will be as numerous as the dust of the earth! All the families of the earth shall be blessed through you and your descendants."

There, living with the mess he's made of his life, there in the darkness alone, Jacob — whose shortcuts and cheating now endanger everything he's been living for — goes to sleep. And God shows up. Not because Jacob is faithful or good, perfect or right. God shows up because God is faithful to promises.

The dream of the ladder is not about angels commuting between heaven and earth. It's about connection. God is saying: "Even though you've really made a mess, you are not cut off. Not from me, not from the future, not from grace."

When Jacob wakes up, he has that familiar feeling: fear. But this fear is different. It's not the fear he had of Esau. It's not the fear of being hurt.

No — it's the kind of fear that comes when you realize you've experienced something much bigger than yourself. Something stronger than your fear. Something that refuses to leave you alone.

This is the fear that Scripture keeps calling "the fear of the LORD." It's not terror. It is reverence. It is awe.

It's the fear you feel when you discover that grace has found you in a place you thought was godforsaken. The fear you feel when you realize that God showed up not because you cleaned things up or got right — but God showed up in the middle of the mess.

The fear of Esau pushed Jacob away. But this fear, this reverence for God, doesn't push him away — it pulls him close.

And he exclaims, "How awesome this place is." Awesome — filled with awe — not because of the stone or the ground, but because of how God met him there.

Jacob names the place Bethel, the house of God. And I imagine Jacob would have loved to live in that place with God forever.

Which makes me wonder: How many of us arrived here like Jacob? Not looking for a holy moment. Not expecting much. Just tired. Just trying to get through something. And only later did we realize what God was doing.

Freedom Plains isn't holy because of history alone. It's holy because of how God has met people here.

Maybe this is the place you came to after family tension. Or when you felt isolated or dissatisfied or restless. How many of us thought, "Yeah, I'll try it out. I'll visit the church." And it has become home — Bethel.

Is that what Freedom Plains is to you — a place of mysterious, uplifting encounter?

What Is This House?

1 Kings 8:27–30

Later, God changes Jacob's name to Israel. Jacob's descendants become twelve tribes, then a nation. God liberates them from Egypt. David designed and gathered resources for the temple, and Solomon completed its construction. Now it is time to dedicate it to God.

The people are gathered. This is the high point of Israel's national story. Music is playing. Sacrifices are offered. Everything feels solid.

And King Solomon says something surprising.

"Even heaven and the highest heaven cannot contain you, much less this house that I have built."

Solomon understands the danger. He knows how easy it is for people to confuse the structure with the presence. To protect the building instead of practicing the faith. To assume that because something is impressive, it must be faithful.

So he reframes the purpose of the temple. Solomon did not think that the temple was where God lives. This is where people turn when they pray, repent, celebrate, or suffer.

The temple matters not because it contains God, but because it orients people: this is what matters, this is right and wrong, this is comfort in distress.

Freedom Plains has an address — but this place also functions like a compass. It's where we can come and get our balance back. These walls don't contain God like a box. But they have held real lives. Real prayers. Real grief. Real gratitude.

And Solomon adds something important. After acknowledging God's transcendence, he says this: "Lord, when the foreigner comes, when an outsider comes, and they pray — Lord, please hear them also."

It would have been so easy and convenient to say, "Look at what our hands have done! This is for us!" Yet Solomon pushes their eyes outward.

It includes us, but it transcends us. This is a place of gathering for us — but it is also where we gain a heart for others. Where connection with God and with others becomes possible again.

What Is the Church?

Acts 2:42–47

Jacob describes a place of encounter. Solomon acknowledges that God is here, yet God is also everywhere — but we can build locations where we gather and God ministers to us. Acts doesn't describe a building at all. It describes people. That we can experience God through our relationships with one another.

In Acts, this is a fragile, brand-new movement under pressure. No buildings. No denominational structure. No clergy system. No cultural power.

What they have is a sense of purpose and a heart of devotion to God and one another. They show up to pray, eat together, share life, and to help.

And Luke is very careful to tell us: no one is forced or coerced. No one is managing outcomes. They give themselves to the life of the community because they believe it matters.

The church grows not because it is impressive, but because it is loving.

Acts isn't prescribing a program. It's describing a posture.

The church becomes strong when people stop asking, "What do I get?" and start asking, "How can I help?"

The church grows when it wakes up and understands: we get to decide what kind of church we are going to have.

Will we have a praying church? If so, it begins with you praying. Will we have a loving church? If so, it begins with you loving. Will we have a connected church? If so, it begins with you.

Freedom Plains will not become the church God is calling it to be through strategy alone. It becomes that church when people decide it belongs to them.

So Here's What I'm Noticing

Genesis tells us that places become sacred through encounter. Kings tells us that buildings matter because they orient us toward God. Acts tells us that the church is carried by devotion, not convenience.

Which brings us back to the question.

What would you call this place?

Closing

If Freedom Plains disappeared tomorrow, what would be missing from your life? And what would be missing from the world?

If this place has been a source of welcome, what does it mean to help create welcome? If it has been a place of healing, what does it mean to help hold space for others? If it has been a place of faith, what does it mean to help pass that on?