I believe that every child of God, every person in this world, needs and deserves to find sacred space.
I believe that churches should be sacred spaces. I believe that God intends for church to be safe space, sacred space in the way I have described. And, I believe that few churches meet this intention, or even think about it.
This, I believe, is tragic. It is sinful. Fundamentally, it is wrong.
Throughout history, churches have tried to set themselves apart from society as places to meet God. They have done this through gathering together, massive and beautiful buildings, careful planning and preparation, Biblical reading and preaching. Too often, though, the sense of being "set apart" leads away from the sacred instead of into it. Rather than finding safety, one experiences judgement. Rather than invitation, threat. Instead of a grace-filled journey toward wholeness, a piece-meal collaboration of cliques and rules and unspoken demands that engender confusion, fear, and isolation. Churches so often invite people toward wholeness in name only, and invite them into illusory lives through the living, being, and teaching of the church.
Sometimes, even now, one finds God in church. Certainly, God makes her presence known in sacrament (bapitsm and communion, in the Lutheran tradition), in worship, through community. God makes her presence known through good ministry to "the least of these" and care for her children. But far too often, God becomes known in spite of pastors, congregations, and churches instead of because of them. Far too often, God's presence in these places becomes something seldom noticed or sought; a nice idea that becomes taken for granted because church is supposed to be a holy place, and therefore it must be, right?
I do not mean to indict any particular person or tradition, but simply to name a reality in which I live and of which I am often guilty myself. What would it mean for church to be truly sacred space? Can we envision a church where there is not judgement but a grace that holds us accountable and calls us out when our actions or attitudes bring hurt and harm? Does the possibility exist that we could create an embodied presence of God through safety, respect, and relationship? Might there be a whole congregation in which people feel embraced for who they are, foibles and all -- and also called to live courageously into the people God is calling them to be?
I believe this must be possible. Perhaps, I believe this because it is my vocation -- my calling from God -- to be a pastor in the church. God has tied me to Church in a way that I cannot (and, if I'm honest, dare not) escape. I believe all people deserve sacred space. I believe all people need sacred space. I believe God calls us as Church to be sacred space. And so I believe that God calls me also to take part in creating sacred space, in my congregation and in the larger church.
And this is where I falter. Why me, O God? What does this mean, O God? How are you moving, O God? What are you calling me to do (or worse?), who are you calling me to be, O God?
For now, today, I have received no answers. Only questions. God often works this way, I think... calling us to ask important questions long before providing insight. Inviting us into reflection first, and action later. I prefer the action step. But for today, I will live in the tension... and I will pray that my colleagues and friends, my congregation and God's church, will live in the tension too. May we be seeking God's presence, God's sacred space, in our lives and in the church. And may we follow the path God is creating for us, even now, to create that space among us, too.
Today, I live in the tension... with courage and with trepidation, too.
Thursday, February 16, 2012
Sacred Spaces -- Part 2
I have a love-hate relationship with flying. For one thing, I truly believe flying to be safe in the logical part of my brain (I've certainly flown often enough without incident). On the other hand, my brain and my heart feel disconnected as I sit in a jet, expecting that nearly a million pounds of metal, luggage and human beings will somehow not only get into the air but stay there until the pilot wants to come down again. My pulse always quickens on take-off and landing and in turbulence ("Keep us safe, O God!"), but it quickens in the same way when I ride a roller-coaster ("This is fun! ...I think"). Plus, I'm a solid X on the introvert-extrovert Myers-Briggs scale. So I never know whether to talk to the people I'm sitting next to or leave them alone, and I'm never quite sure if I'd rather have them talk to me or be left alone, either.
There was a time that I flew through Detroit often enough that I knew the location of every Starbucks in the airport, and knew immediately, based on the gate we were flying into, which one I'd be stopping at on my way to my next gate. Think what you will about Detroit, but that airport is one of the nicer airports I've flown through. (Though I'll admit that probably had something to do with the Starbucks-to-gate ratio at the time.) So, it was not an airport I particularly minded sitting in, alone, sipping my latte and reading a book while I waited for my next flight. However, on this particular day, I could not focus on what I was supposed to be reading -- and "supposed to be" was true, because I was missing classes for this flight. I was flying "home" to a congregation I had served as an intern, to participate in the funeral of one of the most beloved women in the church, and one of my most beloved mentors. I had only returned to school 6 weeks before, and before I left, Donna had looked just fine. She had just been diagnosed with breast cancer, but our conversation still held great hope for her future -- there are incredible treatments for breast cancer these days, and she was still young enough and healthy enough to fight it. But somehow, her body had failed her. She had not taken well to chemotherapy, and took ill with a case of pneumonia that she could not fight. Her vibrant life faded over the course of just a couple of weeks, and she passed blessedly quickly but almost without warning. The congregation, already grieving the loss of a pastor and then my return to school, was thrown into a roiling grief again... a third loss, another hit for which they felt totally unprepared. In fact, the congregation had paid for my expensive short-notice plane ticket so that I could be with them for the funeral. They needed me there with them as much as I needed to be with them. Yet, in my own private grief, I wondered how I would ever be able to minister to my grieving friends and mentors.
And so, sitting alone in the Detroit airport, I grieved.
And then, suddenly the woman sitting next to me pulled out her carry on bag. Throwing me a shy, guilty smile, she pulled out a little white mop of a dog and sat him on her lap. "I'm really not supposed to do this," she explained, "but he's been all cooped up in there for so long; I thought he should stretch his legs." He hardly had any legs to stretch, but he was perfectly happy to lick at my hand and allow me to pet his head. Making small talk, I asked the woman where she was going and why. After she shared her story with me, she asked the same of me. I explained that I was headed to a funeral in Charlotte, Michigan, a small town outside of Lansing. Just then the woman sitting behind me turned around. "I couldn't help but overhear that you're headed to a funeral in Charlotte. You wouldn't be going to Donna X's funeral, would you?" As it turned out, this woman had been Donna's best friend since kindergarten, and she was flying in from Florida. For the next 15 minutes, while we waited for the plane to board, we talked with each other about Donna, her love of life, her stubborn character, her love of God. We dawdled when our boarding numbers were called, so glad were we to have each other to share our grief with. Finally, we boarded our plane. And, we discovered, our seats were located across the aisle from each other.
And so, for the next hour, a woman whose name I cannot remember and I shared our private grief with each other, across the aisle of an airplane. We shared our stories and our memories and the reasons why Donna had been so important to us. As the plane landed and we said our goodbyes, I discovered a strength within myself that I hadn't known before. Still, I grieved. But my heart hurt just a little less, the laughter and shared tears having lightened my burden. Getting into a church member's car for the ride home from the airport, I felt ready for the conversation about grief and shock and death that awaited me. I felt strengthened to be present with the congregation, vulnerable and grieving and yet strong.
In the shared experience of grief and laughter, I found sacred space. In the middle of a busy airport, aboard a crowded airplane, I experienced the sacred. In the happenstance relationship, the mutual sharing, the invitation to be who I was and fully present in that moment without judgement, God opened safe space for me to grieve, and grow, and discover courage... the courage to be more fully who God was calling me to be. I can only imagine that the woman I was talking with found the same thing. In a moment that we needed it the most, we found sacred space.
I truly believe that every child of God, every person in this world, needs to find sacred space like this.
There was a time that I flew through Detroit often enough that I knew the location of every Starbucks in the airport, and knew immediately, based on the gate we were flying into, which one I'd be stopping at on my way to my next gate. Think what you will about Detroit, but that airport is one of the nicer airports I've flown through. (Though I'll admit that probably had something to do with the Starbucks-to-gate ratio at the time.) So, it was not an airport I particularly minded sitting in, alone, sipping my latte and reading a book while I waited for my next flight. However, on this particular day, I could not focus on what I was supposed to be reading -- and "supposed to be" was true, because I was missing classes for this flight. I was flying "home" to a congregation I had served as an intern, to participate in the funeral of one of the most beloved women in the church, and one of my most beloved mentors. I had only returned to school 6 weeks before, and before I left, Donna had looked just fine. She had just been diagnosed with breast cancer, but our conversation still held great hope for her future -- there are incredible treatments for breast cancer these days, and she was still young enough and healthy enough to fight it. But somehow, her body had failed her. She had not taken well to chemotherapy, and took ill with a case of pneumonia that she could not fight. Her vibrant life faded over the course of just a couple of weeks, and she passed blessedly quickly but almost without warning. The congregation, already grieving the loss of a pastor and then my return to school, was thrown into a roiling grief again... a third loss, another hit for which they felt totally unprepared. In fact, the congregation had paid for my expensive short-notice plane ticket so that I could be with them for the funeral. They needed me there with them as much as I needed to be with them. Yet, in my own private grief, I wondered how I would ever be able to minister to my grieving friends and mentors.
And so, sitting alone in the Detroit airport, I grieved.
And then, suddenly the woman sitting next to me pulled out her carry on bag. Throwing me a shy, guilty smile, she pulled out a little white mop of a dog and sat him on her lap. "I'm really not supposed to do this," she explained, "but he's been all cooped up in there for so long; I thought he should stretch his legs." He hardly had any legs to stretch, but he was perfectly happy to lick at my hand and allow me to pet his head. Making small talk, I asked the woman where she was going and why. After she shared her story with me, she asked the same of me. I explained that I was headed to a funeral in Charlotte, Michigan, a small town outside of Lansing. Just then the woman sitting behind me turned around. "I couldn't help but overhear that you're headed to a funeral in Charlotte. You wouldn't be going to Donna X's funeral, would you?" As it turned out, this woman had been Donna's best friend since kindergarten, and she was flying in from Florida. For the next 15 minutes, while we waited for the plane to board, we talked with each other about Donna, her love of life, her stubborn character, her love of God. We dawdled when our boarding numbers were called, so glad were we to have each other to share our grief with. Finally, we boarded our plane. And, we discovered, our seats were located across the aisle from each other.
And so, for the next hour, a woman whose name I cannot remember and I shared our private grief with each other, across the aisle of an airplane. We shared our stories and our memories and the reasons why Donna had been so important to us. As the plane landed and we said our goodbyes, I discovered a strength within myself that I hadn't known before. Still, I grieved. But my heart hurt just a little less, the laughter and shared tears having lightened my burden. Getting into a church member's car for the ride home from the airport, I felt ready for the conversation about grief and shock and death that awaited me. I felt strengthened to be present with the congregation, vulnerable and grieving and yet strong.
In the shared experience of grief and laughter, I found sacred space. In the middle of a busy airport, aboard a crowded airplane, I experienced the sacred. In the happenstance relationship, the mutual sharing, the invitation to be who I was and fully present in that moment without judgement, God opened safe space for me to grieve, and grow, and discover courage... the courage to be more fully who God was calling me to be. I can only imagine that the woman I was talking with found the same thing. In a moment that we needed it the most, we found sacred space.
I truly believe that every child of God, every person in this world, needs to find sacred space like this.
Sacred Spaces -- Part 1
My therapist and I (but let's be honest, mostly my therapist) expend a great deal of time and energy cultivating "safe space" for us to occupy together. Interestingly, the confidentiality of our relationship makes up only a tiny part of what characterizes this safe space. In fact, confidentiality matters almost not at all -- I would trust her to share whatever she saw fit with whomever she saw fit, even without telling me about it -- so strong is the sense of safety that she has cultivated for me.
In my therapist's office, safe space becomes an embodied reality. First, she pays careful attention to the room itself. The room is comfortable with a door that locks and an understanding that only people and attitudes we invite are welcome. The occasional changes in the room, most times fluid though sometimes abrupt, mark the reality of life outside and around that space, and the movement invited within the space. The smell of a candle permeates the space and sets it apart, without overpowering it. It is just warm enough, just light enough, just big enough.
This space holds no judgement. Not that we accept anything or everything; that would not be safe. Rather, the space gently expands to hold conflict and tension in a way that does not diminish the space available for movement and understanding. In this space, we recognize and call out harmful and hurtful ideas and behaviors not through judgement but with grace. I sense that she cannot bear to allow harm because of her deep care and concern for me in my journey toward wholeness. And yet, all things can be named, shared, reflected upon without fear of retaliation, anger, or contempt. Mutual sharing, trust, and relationship characterize our space together, expanding the possibility for safety within ourselves and therefore with each other also.
This space is unique in my life, offering a safety seldom available in the rest of the world. It is space to be really and truly me, foibles and all -- and a space to live courageously (and sometimes uncharacteristically) into the beauty of the person God created me to be.
And so, I call this space sacred space, holy space. Space truly set aside as different. Space that embodies the presence of God. A place inviolate, protected, secure.
I believe that every child of God, every person in this world, deserves to discover sacred space like this.
In my therapist's office, safe space becomes an embodied reality. First, she pays careful attention to the room itself. The room is comfortable with a door that locks and an understanding that only people and attitudes we invite are welcome. The occasional changes in the room, most times fluid though sometimes abrupt, mark the reality of life outside and around that space, and the movement invited within the space. The smell of a candle permeates the space and sets it apart, without overpowering it. It is just warm enough, just light enough, just big enough.
This space holds no judgement. Not that we accept anything or everything; that would not be safe. Rather, the space gently expands to hold conflict and tension in a way that does not diminish the space available for movement and understanding. In this space, we recognize and call out harmful and hurtful ideas and behaviors not through judgement but with grace. I sense that she cannot bear to allow harm because of her deep care and concern for me in my journey toward wholeness. And yet, all things can be named, shared, reflected upon without fear of retaliation, anger, or contempt. Mutual sharing, trust, and relationship characterize our space together, expanding the possibility for safety within ourselves and therefore with each other also.
This space is unique in my life, offering a safety seldom available in the rest of the world. It is space to be really and truly me, foibles and all -- and a space to live courageously (and sometimes uncharacteristically) into the beauty of the person God created me to be.
And so, I call this space sacred space, holy space. Space truly set aside as different. Space that embodies the presence of God. A place inviolate, protected, secure.
I believe that every child of God, every person in this world, deserves to discover sacred space like this.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)