Locking the Front Door

In the days soon after the Paris terrorist attacks, some thoughts on religious buildings in times of violence and tragedy.

When do we leave the front door of a church unlocked, and when do we bar the door?

On Sept 11, 2001 churches and synagogues across the US unlocked their doors and invited folks just to come in and sit, pray, meditate, simply have a place to go and not be alone.  The response was tremendous.  I’ve heard that they same thing happened on Nov. 22, 1963.

But this past Saturday the doors of every religious building in Paris were shuttered, as was most of the city, in shock, fear, danger.  So were many religious buildings in Beirut and Kenya after the bombings there this week.  It was still dangerous out there, and people were in shock. 

When it’s not terrorist season (will there ever be such a time again?), in many big cities, New York and London and San Francisco, yes and Paris, you can easily find an unlocked church any day; you are walking down the street and see an interesting building and can just walk in.  Often there’s a friendly volunteer to tell you a little history.  A blessed place to rest your feet, read.  Some tourists even take time to pray.  But in most cases it feels like these churches don’t just have open doors, but are open minded – anyone can come in and no particular devotional acts are expected.  Very trusting. 

I served a church in a low crime US small town that proudly left its doors open all the time, 24/7.  Indeed the sanctuary door was built without a lock, and at its dedication in 1965 they made a big deal about it being ever open.  (Actually, there was one night a year we did lock it, and, since there was no lock, we had to wrap chains around the door handles to keep it shut.  That was Halloween.  Our great Christian trust knew it met its match in adolescent goblins and tricksters.  But other than that, we never had a problem, even sometimes found a thank you note for shelter in the night.)

But this was a small exurban community, and the legacy of the founding pastor who had preached that vision cast a long shadow.  And we locked up the candlesticks. 

I look back and think I was naïve to brag to my colleagues about that door without the locks.  I would pontificate that when you lead with trust rather than fear, people will respect that.  Tell that to the folks in at least five black southern churches that were destroyed by arson this fall.  Or synagogues and mosques – they’d be crazy to leave their door unlocked.  I visited Trinity UCC church in Chicago, where Obama had worshipped, until he disowned the fiery preacher there, Jeremiah Wright, and there were security guards and we had to check our bags.

One way to think about when to open and when to bar the door is to consider what we do in our own homes after tragedy.   Someone dies in our family.  Or is murdered.  Or there’s violence in the streets.  Like the people of Paris, we are sad and scared and mad.  So we hunker down, stay safe inside, lock the doors.  Or if we are a store owner and there is a civic tragedy, we close in respect and solidarity with the suffering.  I think that’s what the shuttered churches in Paris were about Saturday – hunkering down, grieving in private, solidarity.

But then we realize we need to be with others, we need to talk with others about what happened, to rant, pray, organize.  Then we unlock the doors and invite folks in.  Maybe we put a guard at the door.  But we no longer want to be alone.  Sometimes we even go out into the streets to show our solidarity and hope.  That’s starting to happen in Paris.

I’ve been to Paris many times and visited lots of churches there.  I’ve been the tourist with my guidebook, I’ve been a pilgrim sitting and praying and I’ve been a Sunday worshipper.  I did an all night vigil once at St. Gervais – they do that every Thursday night. 

And I’ve been to three different Paris churches for 12 step meetings.  At the American Church on the Quai d’Orsay the sanctuary is unlocked to all, but to get into the offices and meetings rooms there’s an intercom;  the AA meeting schedule tell you what to say to get in.  Once you’re buzzed in they say, “The meetings is down in the crypt.”

Crypt sounds scary and dark, but in this church it’s a room used for church school and the choir; there are kid books and robes hanging around.  It was a great casual setting to share coffee (tremendous French expresso, not the usual horrible instant coffee) and our life stories.  It actually felt sort of appropriate to go down into the depths for a meeting about finding new life.

But after this week’s violence in Paris I got to thinking about how trusting it is to welcome outside community groups into your sacred space, especially your tender children’s space. Sure, come on in, stranger from another country, sit in this ancient beautiful building amid our children’s drawings and pageant costumes.   Try not to spill your coffee and please don’t steal something as a souvenir.  By the way, do you have any weapons on you?

I wonder if that trusting attitude will change.  I looked at the American Church website on Friday and they had two announcements; they had cancelled the planned “Marche de Noel”  (Christmas Market) on Saturday and the building would be closed all day.   But they assured their members and visitors that the church would be opened on Sunday, services held.  We need to be together, it said, we need each other as we mourn and try to recover.  And a reassuring note that extra security had been added, and “we are in regular communication with the Police Commissaire.”

So maybe it’s another example of the wisdom of Ecclesiastes.  To everything there is a season.  A time for locking and a time for unlocking.  Let’s hope it’s not too late.

Copyright © 2015 Deborah Streeter