Extreme Make-over

A wave of Italian immigrants to 1950s Toronto was followed by a curious culture clash, as police officers kept breaking up gangs of Italian men hanging around on street corners – vagrancy, loitering...or, according to my pal Vince from Winnipeg’s Italian Holy Rosary parish, a culture clash. The immigrants were used to piazzas, the ubiquitous public squares in their home country. Most piazzas have a house of worship on one side of the square and a house of government on the other, with bars, cafes and shops on the other sides. They are places of intersection, places of meeting and mingling, “thin places” as Celtic spirituality might say – places of encounter with the Holy. In this case, the Holy as met in neighbour and stranger.

St. Angela de Merici, a founder of the Ursaline religious order, urged her sister-nuns to “be like a piazza” – be open, gracious, hospitable, and engaged in the world. Tracey Lind, dean of Trinity Cathedral, Cleveland, took this vision to church, inspiring a historic cathedral designed for a lost world to demolition and reconstruction. Pews? Gone in favour of chairs which are both more “traditional” in the cathedrals of yore, and also free up the cathedral’s space for other uses. Storefronts attached to the diocesan office boast Cafe Ah Roma and a Ten Thousand Villages shop. An attractive outdoor garden with street access (above), gives neighbouring university folk a place to enjoy their coffee breaks and lunch. An art gallery has been incorporated into the reconstruction as well. And, the cathedral’s upgrade made it Cleveland’s largest geothermal heating and cooling system, cutting electricity costs from $78,000 to $35,000 in its first year of operation – and making a green witness to the wider community. The welcoming lobby of Trinity Commons boasts two soothing floor-to-ceiling fountains and inviting benches, a public space of serenity in the heart of the city. Trinity Cathedral has clearly reinvented itself (or perhaps “restored” is a better description), offering hospitality not only to church folks, but to the city.

i am just back from Toronto, busily preparing itself to host the G-20 (at a security cost estimated to be 6 times higher than the security for the FIFA World Cup). On my way to meet relatives at Smokeless Joe’s downtown, i chanced by the security fence – some ten feet high and much tighter than chain link. There was already an enormous police presence on the streets, bigger than any i can recall seeing in Canada – ever. Shops and businesses inside the security perimeter are closing for the duration, with a loss of wages for the workers, including a congregation member appearing in a show at the Royal Alex theatre.

Canada has no history of piazzas (could it be our winters?), but we increasingly have a story about the disappearance of public space. When Toronto hosted the Du Maurier Jazz Festival, that city’s public Nathan Phillips Square became corporate space, owned by the sponsors. While churches are hardly “neutral” space, we do have the gift of uncontested space to offer our communities.

If your church were inside the security perimeter, what would its ministry be during the G-20? Would you join the other businesses, and shut down or relocate for the duration?
Would you offer hospitality to journalists? To protesters? To diplomats? To police?
Would you hold a worship service lifting up the wounds of the world that your church thinks should be on the agenda of the meeting?

Via Lucis

We often speak of the spiritual life as a journey or pilgrimage (early Christians were called People of the Way), but not until i picked up Margaret Visser’s The Geometry of Love did i realize that Christian churches are designed with the metaphor of journey as well (think processional, think aisle). Our Roman Catholic friends have the Stations of the Cross in their churches, a moving meditation (literally and figuratively) as pilgrims go from station to station, usually within a church building, meditating on images of what the Empire believed was the final chapter of Jesus’ life.

At Sydenham Street United Church in Kingston, Ontario, another kind of pilgrimage took place a few years ago on the Sundays between Easter and Pentecost. Using Mary Ford-Grabowsky’s book, Stations of the Light, as a spring board, a visual artist, a poet , the minister and several other kindred spirits met in the fall to deeply engage eight Biblical stories of resurrection. Independently of one another, the poet and the visual artist went to their respective studios to create. On each of the Sundays between Easter and Pentecost, there was a time in the worship service when the visual artist’s response to the resurrection story was front and centre, and the poet’s words, which took the form of contemporary psalm, were read. The minister asked a resident musician if he could play some meditative music in worship to give an opportunity for those in the pews to reflect on this Sunday’s visual gift. He responded not only by playing but also by composing. Today, there is a Via Lucis, a Way of Light, in Sydenham Street United’s sanctuary, as the works of the artist are hung in a journey around the sanctuary, and the psalms of the poet are paired with each piece. After Pentecost, when the congregation had had their own pilgrimage from Light into Light as the installation was known, there was an invitation to the general public, and some 200 people responded.

Most moving for me in the images were the decidedly Canadian touches: trilliums bloom in the garden where the women encounter the resurrected one, the northern lights appear above doubting Thomas (recast by the poet as “Honest Thomas”), and fish swirl and splash in a way i KNOW is Canadian but cannot say how. I had a wish that the Holy Spirit might be portrayed as a Canada Goose, but the artist likely has a lighter touch than i do.
The project took a decent amount of lead time for strong preparation. First, the minister read the book, then enticed some others to read it. The group met to wrestle with the Biblical stories. The poet and the visual artist were given a few months to create (and, in the case of the visual artist, to attend to framing, lighting, having the pieces professionally photographed for use on the worship bulletin cover, and hanging them in the sanctuary). Blessed be the patient ones who did not let their enthusiasm get ahead of the project! They not only created works of great beauty and fresh reframing of familiar stories, they also opened up a new path, a new pilgrimage – via lucis, the way of light.

If you could imagine such a project in your church, what Biblical stories linked by a common theme might you choose? Sydenham Street chose a journey into light – what journey might your church embrace? Be comforted by? Be challenged by?

Who are the artists in your church? Would there be some wisdom in using a mix of church and community artists, and how might you invite artists outside the church to participate?

Are there any art forms that make you so uncomfortable you can’t imagine inviting them in (Country music or hip-hop, modern dance, multi-media installations)? How do you respond to the critique that if a particular stream of music is not welcome in your worship space, neither are the folks who embrace that kind of music?

What is the journey, the via, that your church is called to make at this time in its life?

You Can Always Go...Downtown

The Presbyterian USA Old Stone Church in downtown Cleveland is a graceful old beauty, almost lost amongst the skyscrapers of finance. I say “almost” on several fronts. Location, location, location – Old Stone Church fronts onto Public Square, which is a combination park, impromptu concert venue, and bustling public transit hub. Beyond that, Old Stone is offers a subtle mix of traditional Christianity (some of their windows are Tiffanys) and arts offerings such as weekday yoga and their own art gallery, managed and animated by Beth Giuliano.

Currently, The Gallery at Old Stone boasts an installation of photographs and text by students from three schools: Euclid, Ohio, Manassas, Virginia and Sierra Leone. Deeply moving, as these young people reflect on their identity, what helps them succeed in school and what difficulties they face getting an education. The Gallery at Old Stone is committed to a strong vision to exhibit local, regional and national artists whose art speaks to the downtown core and its vitality. The gallery seeks artists who strive to be an active part in the dialogue towards the city’s faithful revitalization. (See the church’s website at www.oldstonechurch.org for more info.)
In our conversation, Beth and i noted some similarities between Cleveland and Winnipeg – particularly the challenges of our respective downtown cores (what some of us like to call “historic neighbourhoods”). Out for a walk near my hotel last night, i was struck by the quiet: storefronts boarded up, an absence of pedestrian and vehicular traffic...i walked for blocks and couldn’t find even a corner store to buy a copy of The Cleveland Plain Dealer, a newspaper whose title has always appealed to me. We spoke of people we know in our respective cities who are afraid to go downtown, particularly after dark. i’m in a hotel on Euclid Avenue in a section of street that has had a great restoration and make-over, including the installation of a wonderful transit corridor. Alas, construction took so long that many shops closed up, and the area, it seems to me, is struggling a bit.

Later in the day, i rode the double-long bus called the Healthline out to the Cleveland Museum of Art, and i was struck, as i often am riding public transit in Winnipeg, that i was the only white person on the bus. Which set me to thinking about the fears we have about downtown, and how aggressive panhandlers are named as a problem, and sometimes even gangs, but rarely do we (at least in Winnipeg) talk about race as a factor in the downtown’s struggle. Americans are pretty forthright in naming White Flight, the exodus of white folks to the supposed safety of the suburbs and shopping malls. We Canadians mostly like to pretend we have no race problems. But the face of our downtowns, and the faces we see on public transit, tell us something.

Are you afraid or even wary about your downtown?

Do you use public transit? If not, why? If so, what do you notice about who is riding with you?

What role might downtown churches play in a city’s faithful revitalization?

What would a “faithful revitalization” look like to you?

Open Up

Bev Orr of Saskatoon’s St James Anglican/The Refinery (www.refinersonline.org) told me about a minister from a very conservative background who, in his retirement, has taken on a job auditing some city employees. This new context, where nobody treats him like The Minister or The Pastor, has made him realize how isolated he was all those years in the church. In his new setting, there is no pretence, no fake politeness – and he’s lovin’ it. He says, “I can’t believe how big my God is getting. And I can’t imagine how big my God is going to be.” Bev said, “It just sent chills down me, because here’s this guy from this very narrow place, and he’s just doing this:

She went on, “And that’s what we’re doing here, too, at The Refinery. For everybody that comes, whether a congregation member or a community member, it just makes their God get bigger, or their world view open up. ” Formerly the parish hall of St James, the congregation decided to welcome community artists to use the space, and well-used it is, from yoga & tai chi & meditation classes to live theatre, visual arts and book launches. The line between sacred/secular is erased. Thank God.

It seems to me that drawing lines doesn’t work so well with a God notorious for coloring outside the lines, that the desire for purity, for separation, doesn’t serve religion well. It’s the impulse that gives us the nasty fundamentalism that leads to Inquisitions and the oxymoron of “holy war.” i’ve been thinking about church as space, which is leading me to think about church architecture. On a recent trip to Spain, i was awestruck by the Cathedral of Cordoba, not so much the Cathedral as its earlier incarnation as a mosque. Mercifully, the mosque (or mezquita, as it is known there) did not get the full Christian make-over, and much of it is still intact, including some 580 amazing pillars topped with red and white candy-cane arches. In its days as a mosque, the doors would stand open to the world. Visually, the eye would follow the forest of pillars out into the massive courtyard, where the vertical theme continues with orange trees. Other doors opened out onto the market place, a reminder that all aspects of our lives are holy – possibly even something as mundane as buying a piece of fruit or a pair of shoes. All of this was by purposeful design to blur the sacred and the secular, or perhaps even to unify them. While medieval churches were similar, the mezquita’s Christian make-over came later. It shut up the doors, some permanently, and the sense of airiness, the sense of expansiveness, was sealed off and lost. How, when and why did Christians start building places of worship as fortresses, or sanctuaries removed from the real world?

If someone unfamiliar with Christianity/religion were to look at the outside of your church building, what would they see? What lessons might they take from the architecture?

What does your building communicate about God? About your congregation?

What changes could you make to your building to blur the line between sacred/secular, inside/outside, us/them?

Soft Chairs, Warm Lights

Marriage is a great institution, if you don’t mind being institutionalized. So said the always quotable Mae West. Me, i would say the church is a great institution, if you don’t mind being institutionalized.

Think of your typical church basement. What screams INSTITUTION more than stacking tables and chairs (especially the panty-hose snagging wooden chairs...and don’t get me started on the haemorrhoid-inducing metal chairs)? Add in the overhead florescent lights and walls the color of whatever was on sale at Home Hardware 15 years ago and the hand-me-down early student sofa ...let’s just say it’s not a pretty sight.

What would it be like if we spent money to be hospitable?

St James Anglican church in Saskatoon has done just that. When the long-term lease of their parish hall to a Ukrainian dance school wasn’t renewed, they were faced with an opportunity. Situated between the university and Broadway Avenue’s thriving arts community, St James decided to transform the parish hall to serve the community, and The Refinery was born. It took renovation and commitment, and most of all, an embrace of the spiritual practice of hospitality.

Today, The Refinery is a place for tai chi and yoga, book launches, art shows, belly dancing and meditation, quilting, concerts, local theatre troups, the Fringe and its own box office (yes, they take VISA), to mention just a sampling. Refinery events often spill over into St James’ church basement.

Visiting last week, i met with several folk, including The Refinery’s staffer, Cynthia Dyck, an energetic and forthright theatre person turned arts administrator. We met in the reception area of The Refinery, a large yet intimate room with soft chairs and warm lights. In the center of the room is a seating area with matching sofas and comfy chairs, strategically placed on a tasteful carpet. Around the edges of the room are some retro chrome kitchen tables and chairs, each table boasting an individually decorated table lamp. A couple of tall cafe tables with stools give lots of options for intermission conversation. The kitchen offers up wine, beer, coffee, soft drinks and water to thirsty thespians. As Cynthia and i met, a group arrived to set up for that evening’s concert reception – “Wow, this doesn’t look anything like a church basement,” said one.

i asked Cynthia what churches might do to be more hospitable to artists. Among other things, she said to ditch the florescent lights and go for something warmer. Get rid of stacking tables. Get rid of anything that says INSTITUTION in favour of something that says COME IN. This includes our heavy exterior wooden doors, which church folk think look lovely but project the image of fortress and secrecy.

Perhaps it’s time we in the church stopped settling for good-enough-for-the-church-but-I-wouldn’t-want-it-in-my-own-living-room cast offs. i’m not suggesting a return to the days of the Ladies’ Parlour (a lavish room that very few were actually allowed to use). But imagine if we furnished our sacred spaces not only to welcome the community in, but to say, you are important to us, you are an honoured guest here. Could we spend money on hospitality, not in the hope that we would get something back (maybe they’ll join our congregation, especially to be hoped for if they have kids), but as the spiritual practice of our faith? Could we spend money on hospitality because we love our neighbours, because we care about the community?

What does hospitality look like to you personally? To your faith community? Are those two streams of hospitality different – if so, how? What would a generous hospitality look like in your own life? In the life of your faith community?

Sacred Space

April Fool’s Day seems a fitting day to begin a Sabbatical. i hit the road to the Benedictine community of St. John’s Abbey in Minnesota, not too far from a sign for Lake Wobegon of Garrison Keillor fame. i’ve been working through Joan Chittister’s The Rule of Benedict, which offers a cycle of daily readings of the old saint’s rules for Benedictine monasteries and Chittister’s insightful commentary on the rule.

St John's Abbey church

Chapter 52 of Benedict’s rule is The Oratory of the Monastery, and emphasizes that the place of worship is a place set aside. Chittister offers the advice of a creative writing teacher: “Write every single day at the same time and in the very same place. Whether you have anything to say or not, go there and sit and do nothing if necessary, until the very act of sitting there at your writer’s time in your writer’s place releases the writing energy in you.” It is only by making space for a thing, whether the thing is writing or an encounter with the Holy, that the thing can be experienced.



The church where i live and work, like many in the United Church of Canada, has undergone a renovation to make the sanctuary more user-friendly for the performing arts. Multi-purpose space is all the rage, and makes utilitarian sense. After all, we worship once a week, not four times daily like the Benedictines.



What is sacred space, and how does it become sacred? Who decides?

mosque/cathedral of Cordoba

The Roman Catholic cathedral in Cordoba was one of the world’s most beautiful mosques before the reconquista, the program to wrest Spain back from the Moors and secure the country for Christianity. For three centuries of Moorish rule, the mosque had been a site of worship and community in a city where Jews, Christians and Muslims lived side by side. The mosque was once a pilgrimage site for devout Muslims, second only to Mecca itself. When Cordoba was conquered, the mosque was slated to become a cathedral. And so, plunked in the middle of one of the world’s most stunningly beautiful spaces with its more than 800 marble pillars and astonishing mosaic, tile and inscription, is a cathedral. A cathedral that would have been alright on another site, its own site, but here looks like a carbuncle. This embarrassing bit of Christian imperialism is only somewhat softened by the fact that the mosque stole its pillars from a Visigoth church, who in turn had stolen the pillars from a Roman temple. The concept of co-existence didn’t have much traction during the Spanish Inquisition.

But what of today’s temples? i recall the excitement in the Toronto of my youth when the CN Tower was built – then the world’s tallest free-standing structure. But it wasn’t long until the TD Bank built a monolith of its own – you guessed it, taller than the CN Tower. These are temples of another empire whose enterprises also aspire to world domination.



What is sacred space, and how does it become sacred? Who decides? Is interfaith sacred space possible, and, if so, how will we get there?



      

Easter Joy

Here at St John's Abbey, Minnesota, where i have been so privileged to experience the rich worship life of the monks: gregorian chant, incense, the pascal fire. For these Benedictines, care of creation is a strong thread in their common life.
And now, this Easter Day, the green blade rises, and the song of the turtle (or at least the spring peepers) is heard in the land. At today's Morning Prayer, we heard the Canticle of the 3 Young Men, a song of praise and thanksgiving for all creation. With the rhythm of the chant in my bones, i have begun work on a Canadian version. Here's my first run at it - hope it speaks to you of the goodness of creation on this day of celebration.

Canadian Canticle for Easter Sunday

Take joy in your being, all creatures of the earth!

Take joy in your being, all creatures of the air!

Take joy in your being, all creatures of the waters!



I take joy in my being,

sing joy and thanks to my Maker. (Refrain)



Small flitting birds, you chickadees, you nuthatches,

you croaking frogs, you croaking raven,

you eagles and hawks, soaring and seeing. (R)



You earth-bound creatures, you mice, you hares,

you lumbering bear, you most timid deer,

you porcupine, you who have no enemies. (R)



You white and arctic creatures,

polar bear and arctic fox,

you wild wolf and sly coyote,

throw back your heads and sing. (R)



You mother moose with her twins,

circling bison who shelter your young,

you caribou cov’ring the tundra. (R)



You painted turtle shyly showing your beauty,

you monarch on milkweed drying your wings,

you dragonfly defying gravity,

you mosquito who finds us, always. (R)



You garter snake, skink and skunk,

you bees busy about honey,

you beavers building with branches,

Loon, with your haunting cry. (R)



You mirrored lake and thund’ring falls,

you rapids and still waters,

you northern pike and rainbow trout,

you spiders that walk on the water. (R)



You crocus and apple blossom,

your sweetness incensing the air,

you maple trees with sweet sap rising,

sweet and wild as the Word. (R)



You northern lights and hoar frost,

you icicle that hangs by the wall,

you bursting buds of promise,

you leaves of scarlet and gold. (R)



You of our founding nations,

First Peoples of this land,

you who have come from across the sea,

sisters and brothers to me.



Take joy in your being, all creatures of the earth!

Take joy in your being, all creatures of the air!

Take joy in your being, all creatures of the waters!



I take joy in my being,

sing joy and thanks to my Maker.



(C) barb m. janes,

Inspired by the Benedictine monks’ worship at St John’s Abbey, Easter, 2010,

and inspired by all creation.