Holy Placemaking
Sermon delivered at University Church, August 4, 2024
The Scripture today comes from the book of Jeremiah 29:4–7; 10–14
Are you from Chicago? That’s a question I get asked a lot when I’m introducing myself to new people. And for my first few years in the city that question was easy. No, I’m from Texas — Austin, specifically (that’s important to add). But in September I’ll have been here for 13 years. And I don’t have plans to move. So can I say I’m from Chicago? That also doesn’t sound right because I did spend the first 18 years of my life in Texas, I’m a fourth generation Texan, which is a big deal. Because I grew up there, I am the only person you know who thinks 90-degree-days are balmy — the summer heat is truly my happy place. I have never felt as at home as when I am in the Hill Country when the wildflowers are in bloom. I have the state flower tattooed on my calf because I always want to be walking through bluebonnets. AND I LOVE this city. I love our diversity, our moxie, our history. I love the LAKE. And I’ve spent my formative adult years here, being educated in and by this city. I’m committed to Chicago, this is where I have put down roots. And after 13 years, yes, I am a Chicagoan…and a Texan.
I know my experience is not unique. The question, “where are you from?” can elicit mental and emotional struggles for a lot of us. And I think that’s because place is so important to our identity. Places make us.
Place is deeply important throughout scripture, but especially the Hebrew Bible. The history and identity of the people, even the different books of the Bible, are shaped by the place that the people and authors were living in. In Egypt, the people were slaves. In the wilderness, they were wanderers. In the Promised land, they were Israelites. And now, in Jeremiah, they are exiles in Babylon. The book of Jeremiah is written to a remnant, a diaspora, who have been forcibly displaced from the land they called their own. And they’re going through an identity crisis because they are in a new place. The book of Jeremiah is beautiful, and full of bad news. Much of it is a lament about the catastrophe that has befallen Israel: Conquest. Exile. Separation. Jeremiah also says that God will restore the people to the Promised Land — someday. In the meantime, the people are told to make their home in Babylon. Build houses and settle down; cultivate gardens and eat what they produce. Get married and have children. Not only that, promote the welfare of the city, for your future is dependent on it.
This is a weird thing for God to say. God moved oceans and mountains to get the people into a very specific piece of land and gave those people a large number of very specific laws about how to live in that land. All that was part of their identity as God’s chosen people. God has been very clear about the cultures and religions outside the land of Israel — don’t trifle with them. And now, here, God says go and make your home in a foreign land. Eat what grows there. Raise your children there. Commit to the wellbeing of that place.
What God says here posed quite a dilemma to the Israelites because they knew where you live has a lot to do with who you are. This is something we still know and see today. There are lots of studies about immigration and assimilation in the United States that bear this out — the first generation prioritizes the preservation of language, religious traditions, politics. The second generation feels pulled between two different worlds, often acting as ambassadors for both their families and wider society; they hold on to some language, some cultural traditions, but also move easily through general American society. The third and fourth generations are not significantly distinguishable, by any metric, from their neighbors of different backgrounds.
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And you don’t have to be a 1st, 2nd, or 3rd generation immigrant to know how place shapes each of us and our life experiences. Chicago may be the best example of how significant place is for each one of us. There’s a dark joke in social work and social justice circles about how every map of Chicago is the same — and it’s true. You can overlay heat maps of crime, concentration of income levels and educational attainment, life expectancy, it is the same map. You can easily see the boundaries of the West and South Sides, where downtown, River North, and Lakeview are, and if you zoom in a bit, you can definitely see Hyde Park.
Places shape our lives and our identities. And it is also true that we shape places. This is another truth that the Israelites in exile should know. Within the many, many laws that are described in the Bible, you can find a lot about how the people are supposed to cultivate their place. Everyone should have enough land to feed their families. You are supposed to share your land and its bounty with people who are hungry. You are supposed to welcome the immigrant and make a place for them in your city. There are processes for planting and harvesting so that the people are taking good care of the ecology of their land. The people shape their place outside of land cultivation — Pastor Julian has been leading us through the books of 1 and 2 Samuel in which the people decided they needed a king and so transformed their society from one governed communally to a monarchy. God may have led the people to the Promised Land, but the people shaped it.
Every map of Chicago looks the same, and we all know why that is. This is University Church — I don’t have to tell y’all about the Great Migration and Redlining and Urban Renewal and how the effects of human choices — some of which were made by people who were literally 2 blocks away — shaped the experience of generations of our fellow Chicagoans. We also know that our maps could be changed were some people in City Hall and Springfield to make different choices. But we don’t have to go as far as City Council, which is its own…unique…place. We see evidence of people shaping their local neighborhoods. You know without looking at a map when you are in Pilsen, or Chinatown, Devon Avenue, or even Hyde Park. People in these communities have made their home, have shaped their place. One of the things that I love about Hyde Park is that despite the University’s best efforts and probably billions of dollars, you can’t tell when you walk down the street who lives here and who doesn’t. Residents of Hyde Park, Woodlawn, Kenwood and the near South Side have made this place their own.
We cannot ignore or dismiss this odd truth — that place shapes us and that we shape place. And so we need to be intentional about our relationship to any place — to our planet, our country, our city, and our block. That’s what I see when I read this passage in Jeremiah — we are called to be place-makers. To make whatever neighborhood, whatever city we find ourselves in, a place in which we and others can thrive.
You may have heard of “Place-making” recently — it’s the sexy new term in community and urban development. The basic idea, which is not really new, just newly popular, is that we should take a fresh look at public spaces and identify the ways in which they can be used to encourage well-being. These can be big projects, like Sundays on State — where artists, entertainers, and vendors bring people downtown on summer weekends. These can be smaller projects, like the murals and art installations that adorn El stops and makes public transit a more pleasurable experience. Place-making centers the dynamic of people and our environment as something that we shape and that also shapes us.
We, University Church, have our own piece of real estate, a place that we make and that shapes us and others. As a people of faith, place-making would encourage us to ask deeper questions — how can this place help people feel their connection to the Divine? How can this place encourage people to feel safe, and loved, and whole? How can this place glorify God by honoring all of Creation? Place-making in this context is sacramental — it’s making physical objects channels of God’s grace. The last time I was in the pulpit, I talked about how everything we do is a chance to embody God’s love and liberation. Today I’m saying that we can do it here. In this building. In this neighborhood. For ourselves, for others. It is what we are called to do.
And y’all, this is something we know how to do. This church has been making holy places for decades, even though we may not have said it was “place-making.” We have shaped an environment that has in turn shaped people. Over the past few weeks, Pastor Julian has been teasing the story of the Covenantal Community and Woodlawn Development Association. I’m not going to go into that story now, but the Cliff’s Notes are that this church created affordable, cooperative housing in Woodlawn. Some of the people in this room and online DID that. The Blue Gargoyle and later the Sanctuary Café created a place for college students and other residents to cross paths, to gather together, and cultivate relationships across the divide of UChicago. This sanctuary was not always as beautifully diverse as it is now. A generation of members created a place that was welcoming for a historically White congregation and a historically Black congregation to merge — University Church Disciples of Christ and South Community Church. You can find the legacy of that place-making in our bylaws and in the Soul Food Potluck. Those are the big things, but there are a million small ways that this place has been made. Every intern that I’ve seen come through University Church has said “this is a special place,” and many of them stay — that’s not a common thing in churches. And it is not because of some weird accident of geography or some serendipitous encounter — it’s because generations of members have made this place special. Intentionally.
And now it is our turn, this specific configuration and gathering of people that are part of University Church. To make a place that embodies and channels God’s grace so that others may be shaped by love, so that they may know liberation. And our congregation is not the same congregation that was in these pews 20, 30, 40 years ago. We are a smaller membership, in a society that does not prioritize religious engagement, at a time when the Capital-C-Church has a less than stellar reputation, this is gonna be different. We may feel a little bit like the people Jeremiah was writing to, exiled and direction-less. And yet we are called to make a place, to build a home, to cultivate gardens and harvest their fruits. And by playing our part, we will see the plans God has for us “they are plans for peace, not disaster, and a future filled with hope.”
In the silence of the next few moments, I invite you to reflect on what God might be calling you to build or to cultivate here. Whether “here” is 57th and University or our online community. What kind of place might we make?
