The Handyman’s Shop is gone. I just walked by it the other day, but now it is gone. And by gone I mean, no longer in existence. I don’t mean they moved or I forgot what street they were on. The building itself is gone. It has been razed. (Have you ever wondered why raze sounds the same as raise but means the opposite?) I find this mildly disturbing. I mean I know stores open and close all the time, but buildings don’t come and go quite as often and yet it has become a trend in my neighbourhood lately. In other words, my concern has been raised by all this razing. I am down in the dumps because of all of the dumps that have been downed.

In fact, just in my neighbourhood, I can think of at least three places that have become open spaces. One of them is now on its way to becoming a condo, but another has remained a barren gap in the flow of a commercial block that reminds me of an eight-year-olds’ simile. Missing teeth are cute, in an eight-year-old that is, but missing buildings aren’t. They are just a reminder that something used to be there, until someone comes and fills them in.

Now, I don’t want you to worry about me. I am not going to fall apart because of what has been taken apart. I am sure I can handle all the dismantled. After all, life goes on. But, last year when we were back in PEI, I drove by the location that housed the place in which we lived and the church building in which I served and there was nothing to indicate that either one of them was ever there. The highway has been improved and so the house and the church building no longer exist. What once was an essential part of the community has now made way to an easier exodus out of the community. Apparently all it took was a day to wipe out the one bit of PEI that was most familiar to me.

I couldn’t help but reflect on whether we ever really lived on PEI. I know we did. I know we spent six years there, but at the same time, now with all physical evidence gone, it seemed more of a dream than a reality. That led me to ponder what lasting effect our presence in PEI has had. Since there is no longer any physical evidence, is there any lasting spiritual evidence that we ever lived in PEI? It is a good question, albeit a bit unsettling.

Ultimately I am reminded that our investment in people is by far the most lasting of investments we can make. It is possible to have all physical record of your life removed, razed, and rubbed out, but what you have invested in friends and family and community will remain. One day your own abode will be lowered into a grave and all your investments in the gym will rot and become fast food for worms. But all your investments in people will live on—particularly the Investments of the eternal variety.

One last point—ripping down is part of what is necessary to build up. When you have an established community, the only option you have to build something new is to tear something old down. With that in mind, and as we still see the New Year in our rear view mirrors, what, in your life, has to be razed to raise your spiritual infrastructure? What has to be ripped down so that you can be built up? Often less is definitely more.

Recently, Sheila and I were out for a walk and we saw some massive, inky black plumes rising into the cloudless blue sky just a block or two from where we were. We decided to put our lunch date on hold and go see what was on fire.

As we started our pilgrimage to the site of the fire, many others joined us along the way. One man suggested that it was the rubber factory that was just over on the next block. I immediately prayed that it wasn’t! What a nasty problem that would have been! Finally, we got over onto Cawthra Road. It runs along the railroad tracks, so we had an unobstructed view of the fire a few hundred yards from us, on the other side of the tracks.

The fire was raging. It was so hot that piles of soot and debris rose hundreds of feet into the air before they began their slow, settling descent. By the time ten minutes had passed, we had talked to several groups of people trying to find out about the building. It’s amazing how a good fire builds an instant community of friends and onlookers!

At one point, we were talking to a couple of men who had grown up in the area and they told me that the building on fire was empty and at least a hundred years old. It went up like a matchbox!

While we were talking to these two “old timers” we found out quite a bit about the neighborhood. We found out about the old houses and how this area was all residential at one time. Then we learned about how, in the 50′s, the factories moved into the neighborhood and bought up many of the homes in order to make way for their massive structures. Most of these companies have
long since moved out of the city, but they still leave their old factory buildings behind like hulking corpses of another era. Many of them are now being fixed up into residential lofts and condos.

Interestingly, there was one man, out of all the other families, who refused to sell his house. Large sums of money were offered. Lots of pressure was applied. Houses were ripped down and this man’s next door neighbors became a large bakery and a paint factory. It is now, and has been for decades, the only house on the entire block of factories. I had noticed this house before and I wondered why it was there. It didn’t make sense to see this house surrounded by factories. Why would anyone want to live in that kind of setting? Now, it all made sense.

Some people might consider this man’s decision foolish, or stupid. After all, his property value went down, as did his ability to resell. I, on the other hand, think he is a hero. I love to see a person who stands up against the crowd, against the profit, and against the pressure, in order to do what they feel is right. I love people who take a stand on principle. I love
people who won’t be pushed around, or seduced into doing something they don’t want to do-especially when it costs them!

In my books there is nothing foolish about knowing what you have and then doing all you can to keep it. I, and every other Christian, could learn a thing or two from the man who owns the only house on Cawthra Road.

When was the last time you went into a REAL store? What do I mean by real store? I mean a store that isn’t one of those cookie cutter chains. I mean a store that doesn’t have words like, “super”, “mart”, “city”, “outlet” or “shack” in the title. I mean a store that isn’t part of a strip mall, or shopping complex. I mean a store that is an independently owned and family run.

While you scratch your head and try to figure out if such a store really exists in this world of megamarts and franchisehuts, let me tell you about the REAL store I recently visited. It’s called Taylors Shoes and it is just around the corner from where I live.

I had noticed the store before. Actually, I had dropped by and looked at the display case many times, but I never entered the store because I knew by the quality of the merchandise in the window that this wasn’t the kind of shoe store a guy with a wife and three kids frequents. Still, I admired the quality. I wondered what it was like on the other side of the door, but I was afraid to enter, lest I be found out by my discounted, discontinued, slightly irregular Nikes.

But, then the unimaginable happened-I won a $50 gift certificate to Taylor’s shoes from some Father’s Day draw. Here was my opportunity to have some really good quality shoes for preaching in on Sundays (everyone knows that good preaching shoes are essential. You need something substantial to stand up to all that fire and brimstone!) After talking with Sheila, I decided to take the plunge and I entered the store with a quite sense of reverence.

I knew that the store had to have been there for at least sixty years. It has weathered the ups and downs of our area and it has remained a viable entity. I appreciate longevity. Longevity says something. Longevity proves something.

As I walked in the store, my senses took me back to my childhood. I immediately remembered the smell. It was the smell of a REAL shoe store. I remember the service. The gentleman, seasoned by the years, was professional, dignified, and helpful without being pushy. More than that, this man knew shoes. He ushered me around and we discussed what I was looking for. My gasps at some of the price tags gave me away, as did the sweat on my brow, but Mr. Taylor never drew attention to the fact that I was shoe store riff raff. Instead he got me to sit down, took off my shoe and pulled out his wooden foot measurer. Do you remember them? They have two sliders on them, one to measure width and the other to measure length. He did the measuring; being careful to get me to stand so that the measurements would be accurate, and he measured both feet! Then he got the shoes. He took them out of the box and used a beautiful shoehorn to insert my feet into the shoes then he tied the laces. He checked the fit and made me walk around and basically treated me like royalty-at least that’s how it felt. It had been so long since I had been treated that way in a store that I almost felt embarrassed! If I wasn’t a manly man, a tear may very well have welled up in one (only one) of my eyes.

Throughout this experience all I could do was think of when I was a small boy. The smells, the wooden foot sizer, the shoe horn, even the tying of the laces sparked familiar memories. Experiences I had long forgotten surfaced again. For a few brief minutes I was in another time-a time when people valued costumers, a time when knowledge and skill and service touched your soul and not just your wallet, a time when customers were people and not just profits.

I went to pay for the shoes and noticed that he still had his original cash register. He did have a calculator-one concession to the modern age, but the cash register was one of those big, ornate steel and brass jobbies with well worn keys. I asked him about it and his reply was quite simple-”it still works well, so why would I replace it?” Why indeed! I walked out of the store feeling better than when I went in. Why? Well, it wasn’t because of my purchase-although I love the shoes. No, I felt better because, for a brief period of time, I was made to feel valued, important and comfortable. No wonder the store has weathered the storms of retail-treating people with dignity and care will never go out of style!

Seems to me that the Church could learn a thing or two from Taylor’s shoe store-I sometimes wonder if we have gotten into the cookie cuter franchise business where we follow around the latest success story and try to duplicate it in our context. I know that many think that new things are better-just because they are new, but isn’t that our culture coming into the Church? Isn’t that the advertiser’s brainwashing speaking? You know, we always have to have the new, improved, latest thingie on the market.

Don’t get me wrong-new things reach new people and we need to make sure that whatever we are doing is communicating the gospel in a relevant way. But, having said that, can we not see that there is great value in connecting each generation to the generations before them? Isn’t there something we can learn from the faithful we follow? Aren’t there some familiar sights and sounds and smells to a sincere faith that will touch anyone’s heart? I am not talking about mindless tradition here, or religious observance, I am talking about genuine faith that speaks to any time.

Regardless of what we try, let’s make sure that the gospel remains the gospel and that the hallmark of your church is that you treat everyone with the same kind of care and dignity with which Taylor shoes treated me. Trust me–love, care and respect will never go out of style. If I’m wrong, I’ll eat my shoes. No, not my new ones!