A message from the Rector
“When I’m working on a problem, I never think about its beauty, I just think about how to solve the problem, but when I finish it, if the solution is not beautiful, I know it’s wrong.” - Richard Buckminster Fuller
In seminary, an entire class of our liturgical training concerned church architecture. We were given certain churches to visit, notable for being definitive in certain architectural and liturgical movements, then wrote papers on the theological significance of the spaces and the design choices that were made within the building.
I know, I know: you've never heard a more boring intro into a newsletter than me yammering on about some dusty old papers I wrote. For the five of you still here, there's a point!
With every decision in our own nave project, I have returned to the question of what we are trying to say about God as we have proceeded.
Safety, of course, is just a baseline expectation. I'll be saying my prayers with less desperation now that the ceiling, support posts, and choir railing are fixed -- though I'm not sure the prayer "Oh God, make speed to save us" will ever stop making me look upwards nervously, since I've spent 2.5 years doing so.
Aural and visual legibility are the next baselines. Can you see the prayers we read? Can you hear the Word as it is preached?
The more subjective question is one of aesthetics. What type of building do we have? What do our aesthetic choices say about God?
The style of church we have is quite Protestant: little adornment, large plain walls with plain wood, simple angles and no frills. From a theological standpoint, this was a style that was a direct result of the Protestant reformation's desire to return to simplicity after the excesses of the Catholic church. They didn't just think it was gaudy, they thought it was idolatrous. Idolatry is one of those sins we don't give much thought to -- we're not bowing down to golden calves, after all -- but it is the 2nd Commandment for a reason.
We Protestants were the original minimalists, not to figure out what sparked your joy, but to eliminate the distractions that turned you from worshiping in spirit and in truth. Idolatry asks hard questions: What is necessary, and what is extraneous? What do I value more than the health of the Christian community around me? What is my precious thing that I jealously guard and cling to, as though it were God? They're worthy questions for far more than just what color the outlets are (and, for the record, we did ask them of the outlets!)
What does our aesthetic say about God? That this is a place of stillness where you can speak to Him, and listen for Him. The aged materials invite you to add your prayers to the generations that preceded you; you are not alone. The arches mimic the directive to "Lift up our hearts" (and now there is no more garish conduit to interrupt that movement.) The gleaming surfaces, polished wood, and brightened walls speak of care, intimacy, and renewal in a harsh, isolated, and industrial world.
To be a clear, a new coat of paint alone will not convert a single soul to our Lord's purposes. But our buildings are a million different aspects designed to point us somewhere. If folks find themselves at ease and at home in a place that is bright and still and warm and sturdy, if their prayers are added to this place that has collected prayers for over 160 years, and if those prayers ascend with renewed truth and tranquility, then our job here will have been well done.
And I trust it has been.
God bless you all.
Amber
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