CHURCH WITHOUT A STEEPLE

Written by Joe Ditler in 2008

CORONADO - When I was a child my mother would play this game with me. We would entwine our fingers pointing inwards and create a triangle with our forefingers. Then she would say a little poem:

"Here's the church and here's the steeple …"

As we slowly opened our palms, she would say, "Open the doors … and there's the people." Funny how you remember such things.

It's been a long time since I've thought of that. And, like so many of us, it had been an even longer time since I’ve felt comfortable walking into a church on a regular basis.

Recently I was asked to attend Sunday worship at the Coronado Community Church. Being a long-time Coronado resident, and having been at every church in town at one time or another for funerals and the occasional meeting, my first question was "where the heck is that?"

The answer: "It's in the lunchroom of Village Elementary School."

They are, in fact, a congregation without a church. While their choir could easily convince you you're sitting under the stars at a Mid-West religious revival, the reality is that they meet in Village Hall – a children’s lunchroom.

That threw me momentarily, but my curiosity won out, and I decided to take a closer look. Against all odds this congregation has not only survived but flourished in a community overflowing with traditional churches and organized religion. And they have done so in the most unlikely setting imaginable.

The Coronado Community Church has no steeple. There are no stained glass windows or religious icons hanging from vaulted ceilings. You'll see no expensive choir robes, pictures of Saints, nor polished wooden pews. There is no pipe organ, no elaborate sound system.

In fact, it's quite stark at first glance. But pianist Sharon Axelson pounds out note-perfect music week after week from her stock schoolroom piano as the choir of two dozen, led by Dr. Richard Chagnon belt out some of the most moving religious hymns of the 19th century, and in mouth-watering two and three-part harmony.

This rag-tag group of spiritual wanderers and soul searchers may have sacrificed pomp and circumstance in the Coronado Community Church, but nothing else.

At first you try to forget where you are during the service. The minister, however, seems to take great joy in reminding you that what HE sees when he looks beyond the heads of his congregation, are pictures of cheeseburgers and pizza on the walls, names of elementary school teachers and their room numbers, mixed with children's artwork.

As I looked around this makeshift church I saw many familiar faces. People of all ages and all walks of life filled the seats. There were politicians, community leaders, teachers, artists, writers, musicians, ex-SEALs, and veterans of many wars in fact.

My roaming eyes revealed a variety of backgrounds which may tell you I’ve lived here too long. I saw Protestants, Catholics, Unitarians, Southern Revivalists, and even former John Birchers mixed among the old Coronado families in attendance.

One family in particular seemed to beam with every word from the pulpit - the Lee Mather Family. The preacher, you see, is Rev. Stephen J. Mather, a Coronado product who left to make his mark in the world and now finds himself back home leading family, friends, and neighbors with his special interpretation of worship.

The Reverend Mather roams around a lot, engaging the congregation sometimes one or two at a time. He bears a very strong resemblance to comedian Gary Shandling, and he holds his own against the noted comic with humor and delivery. Laughter is a refreshingly regular occurrence in this church.

Mather must not be paid much, because he's constantly reminding parishioners he is available for lunch or dinner. I suspect this is his way of becoming closer to his congregation which certainly would explain the feeling of "family" when you walk in their doors.

On any given Sunday he may quote from the book, "Love Feast," discuss the un-christianality of the term "illegal aliens," or, as he did one morning, scream from the pulpit with arms raised to the Heavens, "Bring back the ferryboats!"

Mather views his time behind the pulpit as "a teaching opportunity." He jumps from scripture to historical background to practical applications in today's world. And as I look around I see an enthusiastic and appreciative audience of all ages hanging on his every word.

"A church IS the people," Mather says one day over lunch. At his last assignment he preached in an enormous Gothic structure in Anaheim – something you might find in Webster’s Dictionary next to the word "church."

Here in Coronado it has become very clear that a building is just a means to an end to the Reverend Mather. "At first I was nervous about it, but it quickly became clear that we don't need a pipe organ, stained glass, or a steeple to deliver the message," he said.

"This has been an amazing teaching opportunity for me. When you think about it, the New Testament had no buildings, and people met in the catacombs of Rome. Perhaps we need to go back to that simpler structure to remind us why we're here."

I'm just an old surfer who has claimed the "ocean" as my church for the past 40 years. Who am I to say that one church is better than another, or that one religious belief is the more sure path to God.

But I can say that in this Coronado Community Church, with the freshness of Mather’s sermons, the glass windows vibrating from the old hymns being reawakened inside, well, it just feels good. And that's good enough for me.

The Coronado Community Church is located on H Avenue, between 6th and 7th Streets. Church worship is Sundays at 10 a.m. For more information visit their website at www.coronadocommunitychurch.org or call 619.437.8757.