Church architecture is a curious thing to me. It is made all the more curious as I observe people’s strong feelings and convictions as to what it ‘right’, ‘good’ and ‘appropriate’. I have been present when people suggest certain changes in a particular space only to be slammed by others who think the way the space was, nearly, ordained by God to be what it is. Many times these changes are minimal but the emotion it stirs in people is immense. Curious.
Recently I worshipped with the community at St. John’s Abbey. Worshiping in this quite modern space, made of bold concrete angles and little wood, seems to create a contrast with the monks in their simple, ancient brown robes. These devoted men who worship several times a day welcome guests to join them in the front of the sanctuary in what is called the choir. As I sat there following the liturgy of the hours, I looked at this space from their perspective. What I realized is that nearly the entire opposite wall was an enormous stained glass window. The colored glass did not portray scenes from scripture as so many do. Instead, it appeared to be a giant kaleidoscope of color, tiny cut-glass pieces that unfolded with surprise depending on the light. What struck me about this window is that only those who sat in the choir could see it! Outside the building I realized it was hardly even visible standing on the long lawn that leads to the church. This work of art was created for those who would spend their morning, noon and evening in prayer looking out, past the altar and cross, to the other wall where light danced on colored panes.
Last week I was at Westminster Presbyterian Church in downtown Minneapolis. A packed crowd filled this rounded, cave-like space to hear the Quaker author and teacher Parker Palmer. I got there late and was crunched into the end of a pew toward the front. I peered around to look for people I knew. That’s when my eyes took in the stained glass window that makes up the back wall of this sanctuary. Round and brilliant, the colors make shapes that look like a giant fan of peacock feathers. I craned my neck to take in its gold and purple, its deep blues and reds. Again, I realized only those who sat in front, those who led worship through music or word, we’re really able to see the glory of this window. Though I was turning now to see it, come worship time it would be inappropriate to be facing in the direction of this magnificent artwork.
Of course, this should not be news to me. In the sanctuary in which I am often privileged to help lead worship, the window that is visible only to the choir, liturgists and clergy is, in my opinion, the most beautiful one in the space. The window portrays women of the Bible and, depending on the time of day, floods the space with deep yellow, rich purple and a striking red all in the feminine form. Every time I am in this space I look out at these women and pray their blessing on myself and all gathered there.
I am not sure what to make of all this except that it was a realization that caught my imagination. As humans we are creatures of habit and I have often thought it would be a good idea to change up where people normally sit in a worship space. It seems a shame that those who normally find themselves in the pews wouldn’t benefit from sitting up in the choir every now and then allowing this different view to shape their experience. And what might those in leadership learn if they led from another part of the worship space? It is just a thought.
In the meantime, I invite all of you who always sit in the same place…..on the bus, at your dinner table, in your office, in your worship space if you have one….to try a different seat. Who knows? There could be a magnificent view you didn’t even know was there just waiting to be discovered.
