Monday, June 30, 2008

what the walls say

One of the things I've been thinking about is our buildings.

What do our buildings say about us? I've walked by different churches. Stepped inside some. Peered in the windows of others. Tried to get inside, and couldn't.

"Open daily for prayer" the sign out front said. I couldn't find an open door. Someone from that church comments to me that they don't think it's left open for prayer anymore. I think about my own church, with the sign out front that is accurate MOST of the year. But what about those who come in the summer, looking for that 6:30 service? And they only find a locked building.

I think it says: doesn't matter what we say to the world . . . you really have to already be an 'insider' to know what's going on here. (I make a note to call the Jr Warden about finding a way to adjust our own sign.)

I walk up the street and see lovely modern arches and rounded roofs. A modern building that speaks "Greek Orthodox" to me (who spent some time worshiping with the Greeks when I first left the church of my upbringing). I come around the corner, and sure enough . . . the Greek Orthodox Cathedral. I walk up the front path to the large glass doors and peer in. A large icon sits in the front entrance, with candles lit before it. I can see colored light further in - the sunlight streaming through windows. There are more votive candles flickering in the darker interior of the church. I wish to enter and pray. The door is locked, although I can see people at the other end of a passageway connecting church with what must be classrooms and offices. They stand there and watch me. Nobody moves. I take my pack off and kneel to pray, outside the glass doors looking in. Pack back on, I walk back out to the sidewalk and continue my journey.

A beautiful, absolutely beautiful stone church, sitting at the far side of a grassy 'commons'. Very English looking. Very proper looking. Large rose window in the gothic stone building. They hold the 'family' service in the multi-purpose building across the street. Have they been listening to their own buildings?

My own church - we had to cut down the very very large pine trees that surrounded the property. They had reached the end of their lives, were getting diseased and presented an increasing danger of coming down on their own. Many people, even 6 years later, wonder about why we cut the trees down. But there's the other comment that has stuck with me: "It's like you all came out of hiding! You can be seen now."

The Boston Globe is on the table before me in the morning. The cover story is about the move that the Roman Catholic Archdiocese is having to make. They've had to sell their buildings and are moving into modern, cheaper, office space. The paper quotes Cardinal William H. O'Connell 80 years ago, talking about their location, surrounded by schools and seminaries. Sitting in their beautiful enclave, safely separated from the 'other' world, he says, "Every hilltop now for miles around gleams the sacred sign of our redemption." The paper comments on their new location: "Now their neighboring hilltops feature a multiplex, a sports club, and a lottery billboard."

I walk into a church built not too long ago. The worship space is large and open, 'multi-purpose' feeling, with wood beams and high ceilings. Chairs, rather than pews, are arranged facing an altar in the corner. Clear glass windows are behind the altar, allowing the outside world to be seen. Color and softness are provided by 'liturgical' quilts hanging on the walls. I, who love that English gothic stuff - stained glass and dark wood and stone walls- and who resonates with the Greek Orthodox love of image and icon and symbol, find myself drawn to this space. So different. Modern. Open. Clean. Looking out on the world. I wonder what difference it makes to the worshiping community - to the gathering of God's people.

What difference does it make - - when we open our doors and make every effort to communicate well with the world? When we no longer separate ourselves from the world but allow ourselves to both see and be seen?

1 comment:

Caminante said...

A lot of us in the northeast and other parts north may well be doing heating oil-inspired liturgical innovation. Our vestry voted to move out of the church into the parish house from All Saints' Day to Palm Sunday, except Christmas Eve/Day, Epiphany. Since our church is a separate building with no running water, we literally can shut it down (but leave the doors open anyway). And since our parish hall is basically a one-room building that we share with our nursery school, worship will be quite different. We went this route for three months in 2003 when the church furnace croaked so it's not totally new. Fact is, with one or two people withstanding, everyone else had a good time in the parish house. (I even brought over some votives so people could light them before the service or after communion as they are accustomed.)