In my previous post, I talked about the members of my parish most referenced reason for being a member as the place where we worship, the people we worship with, and the prayer book we use to worship. In the next three posts, I will address the value of these in connecting us to Body of Christ.
HOLY GROUND
All religions have their places of worship or places of significance. The importance of an identified place of worship is often downplayed in American Christian culture; especially, in North American Christian culture. After all, the psalmist reminds us, "The earth is the Lord's and the fullness thereof. " (Ps. 24:1) In other words, from the perspective of God, all creation is sacred turf.
Added to this, is a strong Protestant ethic that tended to take a dim of view signs and symbols and ritual as a somewhat heathen distraction. In this sense, place is no more liminal than then kneeling beside one's bed to say one's bedtime prayers which, in my opinion, qualifies. Still, over time, place becomes important, even though the thought of it being a liminal environment never crosses one's mind.
Humans, on the other hand, tend to mark those places where encounters with the divine occur as their sacred turf. In the Book of Genesis, Noah, Abraham, and Jacob build altars to God at the places they encountered God. There is not only a sense of sacredness associated with these places but a sense of the sacramental, as sacrifices or ritual in one form or another were performed in order to connect the mundane with the divine.
Many European churches and cathedrals occupy places that have been held sacred long before Christianity. These sacred places were considered so because they were places of encounter with the "other," the holy. In Celtic tradition, such places were considered thresholds between this world and the world of gods and other mystical beings.
Many of these places have fallen into ruin, but they still retain their liminality and some remain places of pilgrimage. Although held in reverence by some as active portals to the other, they are referenced by others as a place of collective memory. In the United States, the church edifice that has been around for some time can be seen as a place of collective memory.
MY CHURCH
My parish church is such a place. It's historical and very connected to my state's history. Governors, legislators of various kinds, a university president, etc. have all been members of this parish. It's neo-gothic, cruciform, and traditional Anglican architecture transports one immediately to a different place: Narthex, Nave, Transept, Rood Screen, Chancel, and Sanctuary, are of a different time and different place, but the materials that built this church are largely local, a stone foundation, bricks made at a local quarry, timber brought in, but fashioned by a local wood craftsman. The environment is dark wood and stained pine. If swallows have not nested their young here, bats have made it their home since as long as anyone can remember. They're not all that intrusive, but do make an occasional fly through to let us know their still hanging around.
It is a warm place, there is an eclectic array of stain glass windows that are unique to this particular structure. There is no thematic scheme to them. They reflect their patron's preference. We have a Masonic window that reflects the fact that our first priest established the Masonic Order of the Scottish Rite in our state. My favorite is a beautiful stained glass portrayal of St. Cecelia holding a hand held portativ organ.
The altar, pulpit and furnishings were all locally made and reflect the craftsmanship of on very talented local man. The organ is well designed for the space and capable of playing any genre of church music. It too is tonaly warm, but has a full tonal palate for this space. It is a beautiful space and I can see why the members of our parish listed it as a reason for their worshiping there. There is a liminal feel to it.
LIMINALITY
The past is present here, even to the point that one could say the place is slightly haunted. Organists know these things because we tend to practice when no one else is around; sounds like footsteps walking along the North side aisle, people taking a seat in the pews, doors opening or closing, hushed voices coming from the sacristy when you know the doors are locked and no one answers when you say "Hello" just in case someone came in and didn't know I was practicing. It's not frightening. In fact, I get a sense of comfortable presence when such things occur.
I get why my congregation loves this place. It has a memory of worship and prayer that has soaked into it warm wooden ceiling, its rafters, and its pews. That sense is very powerful and sitting there alone, as some members of my congregation will do at times, lends itself to prayer. It is, above all, a house of prayer.
The facility has its own ministry, like the ancient cathedrals and churches in Europe. It's there to tell story through it very structure, the symbols (variant forms of circles) carved into its wooden beams, repetitious patterns that are numerically significant: things in two's, threes, fours, fives, sixes, and sevens abound in its wooden shadows. Diamond shapes and the ever present circle motif that surround more familiar Christian symbols in its Windows. It's like reading a coded book.
I'm not sure that most people in our small congregation pay much attention to the details, but I would venture to say they feel the unique atmosphere of the place. It's has the feel of Holy Ground that more modern unadorned worship facilities frequently lack. It is easy to understand that should something destroy this place the congregation would rebuild on the same spot.
Holy ground is about destination, a homing device, a place to get one's bearings, GPS for the soul. It is geographical because humans are geographical. Like the totality of what we call God, we cannot possibly embrace the full meaning that all creation is holy ground, so we break it down to places where for a moment in time we can encounter and contemplate such vastness. All such places bring a tangibility to the transcendent, a place where all five senses can engage in a reality that emerges through the meaning of place.
As such, places of worship are a means of worship, not the end of worship. The distinction is sometimes difficult to make for some. What makes a place Holy Ground is the experience of being drawn to or drawn into something larger than oneself.
Liminality in the Christian experience is sensing the Body of Christ. My congregation has a sense of this mystery in their confirmation that "people are the church" during a recent congregational meeting. Yet, there remains an interplay between place and people, place and prayer, and people in a place at prayer that defines and gives a particular shape and meaning to the incomprehensible mystery called The Body of Christ.
Until next time, stay faithful.
Norm
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