Sermon Text: Psalm 66.1-12 Title: Come & See What God Has Done

Preached: October 11, 1998

No one knows exactly how the fire started. Some think it was the wiring in the water heater, but no one knows for sure. Since it was August, [in Northern California] everything was pretty dry, and a westerly wind fanned the flames. It didn't take long for everything made out of wood to burn to ash. All the pews were gone, the bibles and the books. The grand towers crashed over the building as the walls began to collapse. Inside, the organ, the brand new organ, the expensive, brand new, beautiful pipe organ, was gone. By morning there was a charred wooden skeleton and a lot of ashes. And the congregation faced a time of great difficulty.

At first the people were devastated. It was hard to imagine that the holy place that they had met for so long, within which so many of their best relationships had been formed, that it was destroyed so quickly. There was a sense of sadness and loss. There was shock and confusion. Many asked why, and many prayed, and many wondered what it would mean for the congregation's future. But no one doubted that they would continue -- their mission was still unquestionably alive and necessary, and their church was unquestionably more than a building.

So the congregation rented meeting space. They began to talk. They decided, with much discussion, and some conflicting views, that they would move to a larger location, would build a newer, more modern building. The congregation's choice was to find a new location and then design a space which spoke of their mission. They could get a better, new and very expensive organ, and build in some space for Sunday School. Not with a completely unified mind, but with a unified body, they took the necessary actions, and a renewed sense of mission set in. Within two months, the new church property was purchased; within a year, construction had begun.

Three years into their project, as the interior was beginning to take shape, the earthquake hit -- the big one: and the newly built towers were so damaged that they needed to come down. It could have been the final straw, the turning back point. The future seemed dimmer even than when the old church had burned. But the congregation's faith could only move them forward. The towers were razed and rebuilt. The cornerstone was re-laid. And the architect was inspired to build an incredible interior, with beautiful windows, and a grand wooden ceiling. It spoke of God's splendor, and gave the worship of the congregation a sense of importance.

Between August 10, 1902 and April 12,1908, First Baptist Church of Oakland walked in faith through the story of the Exodus. They experienced exile as they met in other churches and civic auditoriums; they experienced murmuring in the desert, with people who didn't really want to leave 14th and Brush Streets; they experienced the dismay of the sea ahead and the chariots behind when they look at the damage caused by their earthquake collapsed towers; and they also received much manna in the form of generous contributions from East Coast Baptists. And they showed a lot of faith. The congregation, like the people of the Biblical Exodus, came out the other side into what surely must have seemed like the promised land.

We remember, of course, the story of Exodus. We remember the oppressed slaves laboring to make bricks; we remember the baby floating in a basket; we remember Moses' early exile and his encounter with the burning bush. We remember the terrifying plagues and the flight from Egypt. We remember the manna in the wilderness and the giving of the ten commandments. And, thanks to the magic of Cecil B. DeMille, we really remember the crossing of the Red Sea.

We remember the Exodus events, though, for a better reason than the old movie. The Exodus stories are stories of the need of the faithful and God's strong response to their need. They're stories of liberation, and stories of covenant. They're stories of God's power and God's promise. They spoke to the Hebrews, and the Israelites, and the Jews. The Exodus story, for instance, is mentioned in ten or twelve Psalms, relating it to the current needs of the people. When in distress, God's people recalled God's miraculous deliverance.

Today's scripture readings talk of part of the Exodus story. We heard the story of the crossing of the Red Sea as told in the book of Exodus; then we heard the crossing as recounted in Psalm 66, a Psalm of praise. Let's re-read a bit of that Psalm: {Read verses 5-8}. We remember that the God we worship is a God who works miracles in unexpected ways. God is particularly good at helping his people discover a road of faith out of a seemingly hopeless situation. With a Sea ahead of them and an army of chariots behind, God offered a path of deliverance, requiring great faith, and the people walked across.

The Red Sea crossing is part of our heritage, too. For the church has found it necessary to walk a path of faith many times with crashing waves on either side, usually making the crossing only because of the pursuing chariots. The First Baptist congregation walked the path of faith many years ago. With two disasters to their church building within four years, they continued on, wounded, but with assurance that God would keep the waters from breaking over their heads. When massive financial assistance eventually came from the East Coast, the pathway was cleared, and their walk of faith led them through to the other side of that particular Red Sea.

I am led to believe that we are heading toward another sea. Some people here have seen it coming for the past ten or so years. Now we've begun to see the seagulls and hear the waves. And the age of much of the membership seems to be an army of chariots catching up with us. The congregation will need to proceed with the faith that God will open a path through the sea; and we don't know how that seas gonna open right now: we don't know what it will take, or who it will involve -- in 1906 it took Baptists from another coast giving money; but to escape the on-rushing chariots of time, we will have to boldly step forward; and our ankles may well get wet, but if we step forward in solid faith, then we shall believe that the sea shall part, and that there shall be a future on the other side.

I wish to read from letter written almost 70 years ago. It was written after the worst war in human history, after the stock market had just plummeted. It was written 27 years after the fire, and 23 after the earthquake, by Dr. Homer J. Vosburgh, pastor during Oakland First Baptist's turn of the century Exodus:

Mr. Arthur E. Caldwell

Piedmont, Calif.

My dear Arthur:

I have received your gracious letter in which you ask me to send a few words to be read in connection with the approaching seventy-fifth anniversary of the dear old church. I am happy to respond though my letter will be brief. If I should say all that my heart suggests and my memory recalls my letter would be of interminable length. Moreover there are many who can remember accurately the events of my time and therefore it is not necessary for me to supplement your memories.

My most insistent recollection as I write is concerned with our fiftieth anniversary in 1904, which to me is as fresh as the sun which has only recently risen and is flooding my room with light as I write. The program of that memorable occasion is before me and I shall compare it with interest and discrimination with your present program to see just how far you have advanced in understanding and in spiritual appreciation. We were then trying to 'live dangerously.' We were in the midst of an enterprise that called for faith and endurance. Some difficult problems were behind us and some more difficult problems were before us, the nature of which at that time a wise and merciful providence spared us from foreseeing.

The period covered by my pastorate was certainly a 'time that tried men's souls.' The burning of the old church at Fourteenth and Brush, the removal to a new location, not without some dissenting opinions, the erection of a new edifice, the launching of work on a new field, the havoc wrought in the building by the earthquake and the consequent labor of rebuilding, constitute a series of trying experiences without parallel in the history of any church of my acquaintance. Undoubtedly these experiences constituted a discipline in endurance and in resourcefulness that made us all more efficient and trustful men and women, It is altogether probable that the qualities that have rendered possible the remarkable developments of the past quarter century would not have been attained without these stern trials. In contrast with severe experiences we may recall the happy circumstance that the Free Baptists, few in numbers but great in character, joined us then.

I can remember across the years with vivid and warm appreciation the experiences of myself and family while we were with you. My wife was a young woman when we came to Oakland. I am more grateful now than I was then, for I know life better, for the amazing wealth of affection with which she was received and with which she was surrounded during our whole stay with you.

There my older children, little girls when we came, grew toward young womanhood and there my youngest was born. We left you an unbroken circle. In view of the devastating changes that have come to us I can never hope to have a similar experience, at least, not in this life. For all the kindnesses of those years I send grateful thanks to all who remain, feeling acutely the inadequacy of written words to express the deepest emotions of the heart.

It would be a delightful though tearful task to pay tribute to the many who were faithful leaders and high privates then and have since passed into the great beyond. Silently and without ostentation of verbal praise we should all feel the debt we owe to good men and women who helped to make the church what it is today and who, as I believe, from the heights of a serene and unassailable peace, are the interested witnesses of our present task. To keep faith with the faithful dead is a supreme obligation. As he is the last to cross the great divide, it may be permitted me to say a word of personal affection for E.J. Parker, whose devotion was memorable during many long and fruitful years.

Trusting that this anniversary may send the church forward with high hope and courage for the last quarter of your first century and that many may survive to share in the celebration of your approaching centennial, I remain, with affectionate greetings to every member of the church. As always, Faithfully yours, H.J. Vosburgh.

Dated: November 23, 1929.

Perhaps in another twenty five years, another letter will be written, which will remember our time. And perhaps someday people will read it and, with awe and joy, sing: "Come and see what God has done, the amazing things God has done for the people."