There is no reason to regret that I cannot finish the church. I will grow old but others will come after me. What must always be conserved is the spirit of the work, but its life has to depend on the generations it is handed down to and with whom it lives and is incarnated.~Antonio Gaudi

“Here is the church. Here is the steeple. Open the doors and see all the people.” This child’s hand game is one many people know. It may have been created to teach and remind us that all those waving fingers really represent what church is meant to be…people gathering in a variety of ways, worshiping, praying, singing, caring for one another. The message was meant to convey that the church is more than the building. Those ten wiggling fingers made up the most of what church is.

During these last months as the pandemic swirls around us putting everyone at risk, especially those most vulnerable by virtue of age, ethnicity or health condition, this message that church is people has never been stronger. Each Sunday I am in awe of those in church leadership who do amazing, creative work allowing people to worship virtually…something none were trained to do… and yet they are about the work of calling people together and reminding them what it means to be true church…people. It has been inspiring to receive. As the time has lengthened from a few months edging into nearly a year, as Easter came and went, and now as we move into Advent and the Christmas season, it is clear that this way of coming together as the church is not going to change anytime soon. And the truth is, many of us have learned new ways of being church.

I am a self-described church nerd. I have always loved being the church. And I also love the buildings in which people gather to act on being a faith community. While I totally agree that the pandemic has been a powerful reminder of what it means to be church, I also miss being able to go into a space created for acting on what it means to experience the Sacred. I miss the strength of the stone, the dark wood, the smell of candles and the light that shines through stained glass. To be able to sit in a less than comfortable pew and have the wash of color illuminate images from stories that have shaped my life brings a deep comfort. Not being able to be in the buildings that illicit this weighs heavy on my heart.

I live within a five minute drive of the Cathedral of St. Paul and while it is not my congregation, over the years I have found solace within those walls. Especially at this time of year, I will miss going to kneel at the alcove that holds the statue of Mary and to make my way to the Celtic corner where St. Francis, St. Brigid and St. Columba look down at my upturned face. I will, of course miss the church buildings where I have worshiped. The one where I served on staff for many Christmas seasons has a bank of stained glass images of women of faith…having those women reign down on me gave me such strength. And the church building I have now come to call home has an image of Jesus whose face has a green tinge to it. I have loved it since the first time I noticed it. Whether it is the aging of the glass over time or the intention of the artist I do not know. AlI I do know is that it reminds me of the call to be present in Creation, to care for the land under our feet and to grow, grow, grow.

Over the years I have visited sanctuaries large and small and I have found each and every one sacred space. Sitting in the chapel at  St. Hywyn’s Chapel in Aberdaron, Wales I was astonished that one of my favorite poets, R.S. Thomas had been a part of the community. I could feel his words emanating from the stone walls as the powerful winds off the Atlantic whipped at the outside walls. Standing in awe and climbing the precarious stairs of La Sagrada Familia in Barcelona, I was folded into Gaudi’s dream of creating a sanctuary that would express Heaven and Earth. Stone, wood, glass, the play of light and darkness, each building holds not only the stories of those who worship there but of the architects and artists who tried to give form to what words cannot express. 

More than once I have been asked what I’ll do when we can leave our houses and move about freely again in the world. Yes, I do want to eat in a restaurant and go to a movie and attend a concert. And I really want to go and sit in a sanctuary, in a pew, feel its hard surface digging into my back and legs, stare up at the windows and breathe in the scent of candle and story, listen to the play of music bouncing off stone and space, and savor the silence of sanctuary.