| Question
authority.
So says a bumper sticker I have seen on numerous
occasions. In general I like that idea. It fits with my somewhat iconoclastic
view of life: challenge assumptions, don't take old ideas without examining
where they came from, don't be afraid to explore new ideas and options, and
certainly don't let other people run your life. And in a bigger perspective,
we realize that the human race would never make any progress if someone did
not question and challenge the status quo, the old ideas.
So, it should not come as a surprise, that as
I was sitting in church this morning, I began to wonder, why do we build
church buildings? And especially expensive, ornate church buildings? Is not
God everywhere and in everything? Can we not worship and create sacred time
and space in the woods, fields, gardens, living rooms and kitchens, and even
in our cars and shopping malls? Would our reso urces be bett er spent elsewhere
than in building these special buildings that seem to have such limited
usefulness, and are generally so impractical?
Yet, almost as soon as I asked the question, I
began to answer it. (What, you may ask, was he thinking the whole time in
church? Certainly not paying attentio n!) I t is important, for people in
all cultures, religious t raditions, and o ver all recorded history, to have
spaces defined as other and sacred. As we strive to connect with the spiritual,
holy, and eternal aspects of our humanity, people everywhere have
discovered |
the importance of
having places to go in which the everyday ordinariness of life may not intrude.
These places are marked by architectural difference, so that one knows just
by the visible appearance t o expect t o connect to something other than
everyday work and relationships. These places are also marked by ritual and
tradition, patterns of behavior and speech that remind us that there is a
reality beyond what we deal with in the little things of daily
cares.
This need to connect with universal trut h, holiness,
eternal spiritual concepts, seems to be so powerful a part of human nature
that monuments to this idea, in many different forms, exist in every culture
as far back as history records. I recall visiting the wats, Buddhist temples,
in Thailand, in the summer of 1978. Even in the small villages, they were
ornate, quiet, special places. I saw people kneeling, lighting candles, and
I knew that I must not speak loudly or use my camera's flash, though I did
not understand or relate to the traditions they were honoring at the time.
I recall at another time the wonder of singing with a choir inside the gigantic
sanctuary of the National Cathedral in Washington, D.C. It was not hard to
imagine looking up and seeing angels hovering overhead in the lofty stone
arches. In places like those, you whisper, walk quietly, and almost hold
your breath until you get outside again. They are not like anything else
we do, not grocery stores, gas stations, televisions, kitchens, bathrooms,
schools or stores. And aren't we glad they exist for us as a shelter against
the constant onslaught of the ordinary.
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