Sacred People, Sacred Space
Coming to you live from the National Cathedral in Washington, DC. Seriously, I'm in the nave (read: the part where people sit for church) at a conference on healthy churches and the Emergent movement. Really good conversations and fascinating people. This is what the church should be: generous and open conversation with people across denominations, good meals, excellent and moving worship.
Have you ever seen a Gothic cathedral? I mean in the flesh? I went to St. John the Divine in New York City several years ago. This is a Gothic cathedral larger than Chartres in France. When you go inside, you look up at the ceiling, and then you keep looking up, waiting until your eyes find the top. It's lost in darkness. The distance from back to front seems to be an eternity. And that, of course, is the point. It is a physical manifestation of the Kingdom, of the beauty of relationship, of the power of God. It is overwhelming.
The National Cathedral is a little smaller. Sitting here in the midst of the massive columns, conversing about politics and art and baptism and relationship, I feel completely at home. This is it. Last night we had a compline service lit only by candlelight, the nave smoky with incense, a small group of singers above us chanting the service. I remembered my junior year of high school when I would sit in my room, listening to Gregorian chant with tealights all around me. There is such beauty and power in such simple things.
My new friends, brothers and sisters I met yesterday with whom I've got an amazing bond, are arguing about racism and Kingdom and reconciliation. It's a little tense. And it's beautiful.
Have you ever seen a Gothic cathedral? I mean in the flesh? I went to St. John the Divine in New York City several years ago. This is a Gothic cathedral larger than Chartres in France. When you go inside, you look up at the ceiling, and then you keep looking up, waiting until your eyes find the top. It's lost in darkness. The distance from back to front seems to be an eternity. And that, of course, is the point. It is a physical manifestation of the Kingdom, of the beauty of relationship, of the power of God. It is overwhelming.
The National Cathedral is a little smaller. Sitting here in the midst of the massive columns, conversing about politics and art and baptism and relationship, I feel completely at home. This is it. Last night we had a compline service lit only by candlelight, the nave smoky with incense, a small group of singers above us chanting the service. I remembered my junior year of high school when I would sit in my room, listening to Gregorian chant with tealights all around me. There is such beauty and power in such simple things.
My new friends, brothers and sisters I met yesterday with whom I've got an amazing bond, are arguing about racism and Kingdom and reconciliation. It's a little tense. And it's beautiful.