Spaces move me.
I have never before been able to articulate my connection to places until recently. During one of my seminary classes, the professor made the comment that some people have a connection to places. He called it, "Sacred Space." He gave a few personal examples from his life which forced my mind to begin thinking back to times I have had similar "sacred space" experiences.
Tonight, while reading Eugene Peterson's book, The Pastor, he was retelling the story of building his church. Our church, Loma Vista Community Church, is in this process of building so I felt myself being naturally intrigued as he explained some of their conversations, plans and activities surrounding the building of his church.
The further I read, however, the greater anxiety I felt.
So I paused and put the book down.
"God, why is this causing me anxiety?" I quietly prayed.
Like a waterfall of memory came a torrent of images, feelings, emotions.
In 1982, our church in Louisville, Kentucky was set on fire by an arson. I remember my dad getting the call that our church was on fire. Factoring the windchill, the temperature was -70, so cold the water from the firetrucks simply froze. Helplessly, our church sanctuary burnt to the ground.
I was only six, but the power of memory still has it's hold. Why did it affect me so much and why does it still have a grip over me today?
Sacred Space.
For me, coming to church is about meeting God in worship. My sanctuary at St. Matthew's Baptist Church in Louisville, Kentucky had beautiful, tall and narrow stained-glass windows stretching high- forcing your sight upwards to the heavens. The colors of the glass and the shapes and warmth of the sun streaming through the windows during a worship service was dazzling. I feel like the sanctuary must have faced north, because I can almost feel the sun on the right side of my face. I remember the wooden pews and maroon hymnals all looking forward to the raised stage where we'd focus our attention in worship. This was my sacred space. This was where I would meet God.
After contemplating on this loss, I text my mom to ask her some questions about my memory of that day compared to the reality of that day. Except for the date - I was spot-on in my memory.
My parents still have a small frame with pieces of articles from our sanctuary. The frame has always made me sad. Interestingly, when I asked my mom about the frame tonight, she said the frame "is a promise of restoration." I guess that message didn't get down to the Children's Department. My parents hung the frame on the wall as a memory of restoration, but I only saw loss.
Restoration.
I gave myself time tonight to grieve the loss of my beautiful, sacred space lost 34-years-ago. Though the fire is forgotten for most, it has shaped me. I recognize I am in process and I pray God continues to guide me to books like this which give me hope and vision for architecture and design that points people to God and creates a sense of worship and wonder - the same worship I found as a child years ago. I cannot create space with my heart guarded, afraid to commit to a space. I must allow myself to work through this process, perhaps find some healing along the way, as I am part of a team creating a special space to house the presence of the Most High God. After all, His presence is what remains- even when everything turns to ash.
Blessed be the Name of the Lord.
