I’m building a shed. Nothing special, just a place to park my tools and get some of the clutter out of the house. I wanted something that would look nice and have a little more headroom than the pre-fab types you can have hauled in and dumped. So I went to the town for a building permit. There I found the need not only for a building permit, but for a zoning thingy too; another $30.00, just to be sure I wasn’t encroaching on my property line.
“Do you have a plan?” asked the town official. “No, but I’ve got a guy who builds really good sheds and he knows what he’s doing.” I said (hoping that would sound reasonable). Something about the way he rolled his eyes as he smiled indicated I would probably need a plan. He handed me a plan for the foundation that would meet code, and I could pencil in some dimensions. I noticed the requirement for two foot deep footings and said, “Hey! What do I need this for? It’s just a shed.”
“That’s the code.” was the reply, which I was supposed to understand was all the explanation required. “Come back after we inspect the site and we’ll have your permit ready to go.” When I came back, there were several more pages of plans attached to the permit. These had to do with framing the building.
We have scrupulously followed directions and now have nails every 1½ inches top and bottom of the siding, hurricane clips with ten screws each on each rafter and all studs and rafters on 16 inch centers. All this sits on a reinforced concrete slab with footings and block. So far, my simple 12X16 shed has fifteen pounds of nails in it, and rather little wood left to hold them. The building is not yet complete, but that didn’t seem to bother the County Tax Assessor when he showed up to review this and possibly other additions to my property. The added expense of absurd code compliance made his job all the more enjoyable.
I have since reconsidered my original intent. I shall begin to etch cryptic symbols throughout the interior of the building. These will indicate to archeologists some 5,000 years hence that they have unearthed not a common shed, but rather the temple to the goddess Minutia, who, along with her consort, the god Redundance, govern all things mortal. Together they serve to remind humanity of its subservience to the capricious will of the celestial pantheon of divine bureaucracies. I wonder if I’ll need a permit.
All this caused me to think about the work of the church. Our primary function is to make disciples for Jesus Christ. Yet we live in such a permission oriented society that we have to follow certain codes before we begin. We have to be careful not to offend the sensitivities of insensitive people. We must not present Christianity in such a way that non-Christians might consider their own faith inferior. We may not present our views on sinful behavior so that sinners might feel guilty and seek repentance. Unfortunately, much of this caution is issued not by government, although the powers that be are starting to catch on, but by the turn-of -the-century church itself.
The endeavor to become inoffensive effectively removes from the church the pivotal role it plays not only in redeeming the lost, but of speaking out against injustice. We can already see the effects of such a vacuum in the decline of decency in the media, the indifference to true victims of crime, and the rationalization of every form of oppression and perversion. With every new condition imposed on our ability to present the Gospel freely, souls are lost and the church looks more and more like the plaything of Minutia and Redundance.
Yet the permit to present Christ to the world, or even to your neighbor, has already been issued by the highest authority. It is not a licence to offend indiscriminately. The code of conduct is actually quite simple: to present Christ in such a way that even those being criticized will know it comes from a concern for their welfare and is motivated by love. If you want to know more, the specifications can be found in your Bible.
Rev. Dennis P. Levin