Staying Out of God's Way

Conversations with B= ricks, Dancing with Colors, Finding God in the Spaces

I Kings 8:22-30; =

I Corinthians 3:1= 6-17

= ;

A highly regarded Japanese Tea Master built a teahouse on the side of a hill overlooking the sea. Three guests were invited to the inaugural tea ceremon= y. Hearing about the beautiful site, they expected to find a structure that to= ok advantage of the wonderful view. When they arrived at the garden gate, they were perplexed to discover a grove of trees had been planted that obstructed the panorama. Before entering the house they followed the traditional custo= m of purifying their hands and mouths at the stone basin near the entry. Stoopin= g to draw water, they noticed an opening in the trees that provided a vision of = the sparkling sea. In that humble position they awakened to the relationship between the cool liquid in the basin and the ocean in the distance, between their individuality and the ocean of life. In such a humble position, perha= ps Christians would be reminded of the words of St, Paul, “Do you not kn= ow that you are God’s Templ= e and that God’s Spirit dwells in you?” There are architecturally designed spaces that are so stunning that they become sacred, and remind us of the sacred nature of our lives and bodies.

The rebuilding of the Church House has dramatically changed the transition time= in this congregation. It has forced us to connect consciousness with architect= ure, demanding that we support the current movement toward the healing of a fundamental disease of our time – the fragmentation of the world into isolated parts. We know how t= he split between humans and nature has fouled the earth’s ecology almost beyond repair.

But what about the separation of body, mind and spirit from matter? The industrial culture that has separated spirit from matter has left us wandering in an alienated, mechani= stic wasteland. I have long observed that architecture provides direct experience with matter through the precise languages of shape, color and texture; a gr= eat visual and tactile feast through which God nurtures the soul when we arrange ourselves in humble positions where we can catch the transforming view!

Through the years Pat and I have moved often. An attorney friend of mine often rema= rks, “Gee, Fuerstenau, you sure have a tough time holding a job!” We= ll, since we have been married we have moved a total 15 times. We have always sought architecture in a dwelling that speaks to us; that speaks peace and healing to the human spirit, and encourages our minds and souls toward crea= tive work. Robert Sardello says: “The house is more than a box within whic= h to live; it is soul activity to be retrieved from the numbness of the world of modern objects.” I am not talking about grand architecture and expens= ive spaces. I am talking about everyday architecture that feeds the soul. When = our daily activities in our dwelling place are attuned to the workings of the s= oul, then wonderful conversations take place with the spaces, colors and texture= s of the house. When moving from the East Coast back to <= st1:State w:st=3D"on">Michigan, under a time crunch we bough= t a home that we knew was not quite right for us. It never spoke to us no matter how hard we tried. We left it after just two years. When we lived in downto= wn Detroit, we were fortunate to live in a neighborhoo= d designed by Mies Van Der Rohe. These were minimalist glass townhouse built on steel beams. There was wonderful movement in the house, a journey if you please f= rom outside to inside, for each room had a full wall of glass. The reflections = of light filtered through trees, placed in precise places by the architect, de= nied that you were living in the midst of a gritty city. The conversations within those spaces I will never forget.

Certainly churches, and by this I mean church buildings, and the materials of which t= hey are made, are to be places for the workings of the soul; to become sacred space, that is, space that becomes transparent to the transcendent.

That experience is easy for me in this space in which we worship. I first encountered this space as a freshman at Alma College. I was a member of the Acappella Choir, and we sang here for a morning worsh= ip service. I could feel the texture of the stone, the earthiness of the floor, the shape of the arches, dance with the colors reflected through deeply col= ored glass on the pews and the floor of the center aisle. My spirit soared throu= gh vast spaces, all of this space carrying on wonderful conversations with me. Thomas Moore says: “A tall steeple and a rose window are not designed= to allow additional seating or better light for reading. They speak of the soul’s need for beauty, for love of the building itself, as well as i= ts use, for a special opportunity for sacred imagination.”

But now in the Church House, we have all of these spaces where the spatial rela= tionships have changed. Chapel, offices, classrooms, where people experienced explora= tion into God, and the presence of God became real to them in times of joy and sorrow, and encounters with the Word of God brought new discoveries and experiences of transformation, are but memories now. There is no familiar matter to nudge the memories into being. I was in a seminar with Thomas Moo= re in Jackson last week-end and he talked about how important memory is to the care of our sou= ls. He told of being in Chicago once at a meeting of futurists, and confessed to them, “I am a pastis= t!” But these new spaces do not speak to people in the same way, they confuse memory, and it causes consternation and unusual objections to all that is n= ew.

But I remember the day I first stood in the north and south gloss tower entrywa= ys. They were not yet finished, but I was instantly grasped by a sense of the sacred. And I saw them as symbols of a church moving into the 21^{st
century. They are symbols of light and openness. And you see, people need to
see what is going on inside the church!&nb=
sp;
That encourages integrity, honesty and faithfulness to the gospel on=
the
inside! And for those of us o=
n the
inside, the towers become symbols of our viewing the passing parade of a
diverse humanity in Brons=
on
Park; the homeless,=
the
poor, those seeking to be entertained, children playing in water, people
enjoying leisure time. There are views of art and nature. We take into our
consciousness the churches around the park, calling us to solidarity of min=
istry
in the city. And not far beyond is the city on all sides, calling us to meet
the needs of urban A=
merica.}

But what about the rest of the new spaces – spaces that do not yet speak = to us- spaces still without conversations? Louis Kahn says we need to spend ti= me in such spaces; meditative time, lively time, relational time with the spac= es and the materials. Kahn writes about carrying on conversation with the materials of the spaces. He suggests a conversation as spaces are being created: You say to brick, “What do you want?” Brick says, R= 20;I like an arch.” If you say to brick, “Arches are expensive, and I can use a concrete lintel over the opening. What do you think of that, brick?” Brick says, “I like an arch.” Kahn goes on to say that the challenge of a floor plan is developing a plan where the rooms spe= ak to each other; creating a society of rooms! I confess that I walk often throug= h the upper level and I have yet to have a conversation with those rooms. It is important. Someone has said: “A striking building stands before us as= an individual every bit as soulful as we are.” Indeed, everything in lif= e is speaking, is audible, is communicating in spite of its apparent silence.

Well, how will these new spaces become sacred? This is important, for the sacred = is the most intimate part of ourselves. I think it means settling into spaces, engaging the Spirit of God with us in the space, listening to the space, encountering others in the space, closing our eyes and feeling the space, sharing the space. We know as well as King Solomon did, that these spaces cannot contain God. But we know from experience God will visit us in these spaces. God’s Spirit joins in the conversations with us, and the space indeed becomes transparent to transcendence, which is so important to the health of the soul.

Churchill got it right when he said: “We shape our buildings, thereafter they s= hape us.”? Perhaps. But St. P= aul knew better how we are to be shaped : “Do you not know that you are God’s temple and that God’s Spirit dwells in you?” May the = spaces we inhabit; the churches in which we carry on our exploration into G= od and the feeding of our souls, shape us into God’s temple where spirit= and matter come together into the wholeness of God’s creation! Amen.