If one had accidentally looked in on our most recent Parish Advisory Committee meeting one might have been excused for the laughter that might have ensued. There we were, gathered around the table with gloves and mittens. Some still wore their winter coats, or at the very least, had them drawn around their shoulders. We had arrived for the meeting to discover that the furnace was not functioning, and that the parish hall was incredibl;y cold. As it turned out, at some point in the previous few days, some well-meaning individual had attempted to raise the temperature on the thermostat, and in-so-doing, had managed to take the furnace out of heating mode altogether.
Every parish has its theological flashpoints — questions that have shaped Christian discourse for centuries. Incarnation, Trinity, ecclesiology, and of course the perennial mystery: who keeps turning the church thermostat up (or down, or in this most recent experience, OFF)?
If St. Paul had been writing to a modern congregation, I’m convinced there would be an additional epistle tucked somewhere between Galatians and Ephesians entitled, “Paul, an apostle of Christ Jesus, to the congregation most grievously afflicted by temperature fluctuations.” He would begin, as always, with grace and peace — but he’d quickly get to the heart of the matter: “Brethren, I hear that some among you insist the sanctuary is too warm, while others declare it is colder than a Canadian February — this should not be so!”
Friends, the church thermostat is not merely a beige rectangle on the wall. No, it is a spiritual barometer of the community. In any given parish, there are at least four factions:
1. The Perpetually Frozen
These are the saints who arrive wearing scarves knitted during the first Trudeau administration and who sit in the pews shivering like penitents at the gates of heaven.
They insist the church is “an icebox” and whisper urgent prayers: “Come, Holy Spirit — and bring warmth!”
2. The Radiantly Overheated
This group fans themselves with the bulletin until it resembles a tropical palm frond.
They claim that the temperature has reached “the fourth circle of Dante’s sauna” and ask if the rector is preparing us for life in the desert — or perhaps another dire place where temperatures are said to be warmer still.
3. The Secret Adjusters
These are the sneakiest of parishioners. They move silently during fellowship hour, sidling up to the thermostat like a liturgical ninja, adjusting it by two degrees and hoping no one will notice. Alas—everyone notices.
4. The Switzerland Contingent
These blessed souls sit in equanimity, apparently unaffected by temperature at all. They are the living embodiment of Isaiah’s peaceable kingdom: the lamb lies down with the lion, and apparently the sweltering sit comfortably beside the freezing. These are the people we aspire to be… but usually only after coffee hour.
And then, of course, there is the rector — caught in the middle, like a referee in an ecclesiastical climate summit. I have found that explaining the intricacies of the building’s HVAC system (“It’s actually on a timed cycle,” “It takes two hours to adjust,” “The Spirit blows where it wills”) elicits the same response as preaching a 45-minute sermon on Levitical purity laws: nodding, smiling, and absolutely no change in behaviour.
But here’s the thing: Temperature wars, in all their absurdity, illuminate something true about being the Church. We are a people who gather despite our differences — political, theological, and yes, thermal. We come together because Christ has drawn us into one Body, not by making us the same, but by teaching us how to love each other in our delightful, quirky, contradictory humanity.
When we can sit beside one another — one person wrapped in a shawl, the other peeling off layers like an onion — and still say “Peace of Christ,” we glimpse the Kingdom.
Warm or cool, drafty or cozy, overheated or downright Arctic — the miracle is that Christ meets us there.
And so, the gospel according to the church thermostat is simply this: Love one another, even when you strongly suspect the person next to you just turned the temperature up three degrees.
A Companion Prayer
Holy God,
You who created fire and frost, warmth and coolness,
Teach us to live peaceably with one another—
even when we disagree about the temperature.
Grant patience to the overheated, comfort to the chilly,
wisdom to the secret adjusters,
and grace to all who navigate the climate of community.
Make our hearts warmer than our arguments
and our fellowship cooler than our frustrations.
In all things, knit us together in the perfect harmony of Christ.
Amen.