When I sit in the sanctuary, my eyes rest on the stained glass triptych window above the altar; I can feel my body relax into the moment. On bright sunny days, the light makes the colors very vivid and I think of God’s presence as equally vivid in my heart.
It never used to matter to me, the physical plant of a church’s interior. Over the years, I have primarily attended contemporary churches where mauve and Williamsburg blue drapery hung around a very wide but low stage. A cross hung prominently down the middle of the back wall while fake palm trees skirted the platform. It was the style of the day.
Instruments were corralled into one section of the stage and often, the drum set was surrounded by Plexiglas. Microphones abounded. Often, the pastor’s podium was Plexiglas as well. I was never sure why, but perhaps to give a sense of spaciousness and transparency.
Eventually, these contemporary looks morphed into a more theater-like setting where the house lights would dim and the stage lights would cover the performance teams in artful colors. In some cases, additional effects were added, including flash pots and fast-rotating lights, much like a rock concert.
Please understand, I’m not bashing these choices at all. It’s often a great cacophony of joy and sound.
But in the last ten years, I have needed a different worship experience. I have discovered the wonder of silent prayer and a resonance with the words of liturgy that I could never have imagined possible. And so, it has also transpired, that the architectural lines, from the curves of the chancel (around and above the altar) to the high ceilings and old drop pendulum lights, to the simple colors of the side windows, I am enveloped in a cocoon of peace. In all, our building is all about the light.
Sometimes, as I sit in our old sanctuary (built in 1809), I think about the others who might have sat in the same spot, 200 years ago. Their spirits whisper and sing the old hymns, many of them I hardly know and honestly, some of them I don’t even like. But there is something in the poetry worth inhaling. There is something in the air that speaks to me. History and compassion and determination to remain.
And so, here I am too, in a small church, in a small community, resting in the knowledge that God is here and I’m not going anywhere.
תגובות