Sacred Places - part 1

I have been pondering various aspects of sacred places, sacred spaces and sacred things. I have many thoughts I want to record as I consider how "sacredness" fits into my experience and theology. This past week I was considering what kind of places have been sacred to me and why.

I was digging through a closet at church the other day. . . candles, matches, various candle holders, centerpieces for the altar, fabrics . . . lots of "stuff" that can look so ordinary, yet take on a kind of holy purpose on a Sunday morning. I don't know what it was, maybe the look of the lines of white candles or the concentrated smell of such items that suddenly transported me back about thirty years to my childhood.

I was about eight or nine years old, standing in a back room off the front of the sanctuary at the United Methodist church where I was baptized and first became a member. The room was mostly empty. A closet held some vestments and the counter before which I stood held a few red Bibles and covered a cabinet with lots of candles, doilies and green and red silk drapes for the altar and pulpit areas. I was putting on a white gown and reviewing in my mind how to operate the long, well-used, brass-colored lighter I was holding for the candles at the front of the sanctuary. I was an accolade, a role I don't think I ever fully understood and had forgotten about until just the other day.

Even though I did not understand the reasons we had such roles and decor in the church, I still held a certain sense of sacredness for that place: the sanctuary with its pews; the Cross at the front with red light streaming in around it from the stained glass on either side; the railing across the front of the "stage area" behind which steps continued upward to two pulpits, one on either side; and then pews behind the right pulpit for the various participants in the service and the organ and piano behind the pulpit on the left. I stood up there many times as a child for recitations, song leading, plays/programs, and even when I first responded to an altar call as a very young child during a week of evangelistic services.

I loved that place both when it was full of people but also when it was empty. Something about it felt sacred in the quietness after everyone left. Solitude is sacred to me. I'm not exactly sure why. Maybe because it provides space to sit and think and reflect. I can clear my mind of all the junk that accumulates in the course of human contact--regretful words, hurt, confusion, busy-ness. In the quiet I can just think and pray.

As both a student and teacher, I always cherished the solitude after school walking through darkened rooms and halls after students and teachers had mostly left. As a child, I spent hours sitting by myself outside where the trees and fields and stars and clouds became my sanctuary. I also loved the solitude of the church building after most people had left or when I accompanied my mother there during the week to work on children's ministry stuff. I explored every corner of it, always stopping to stand in awe of the large painting of Jesus praying over Jerusalem or looking into the sanctuary from the doors, or singing and praying from the piano at the front. It was a time of renewal and peace for me. There was something holy about those places and times.

I've been thinking about sacred space and places and things lately. I wonder what makes places and tangibles sacred? Is there really such a thing? Is it just a psychological thing or is it spiritual as well?

Maybe it's because I'm getting older, but something about humanity itself has taken on more of a sacredness to me in recent years. As I drove home from church on Sunday, I was aware of the people in every car I passed. I wondered about what they were doing and what they were thinking about. There was an awe that came over me of God's incredible love for all of them and how I so much wanted them to feel and live in that love.

I realized that, contrary to what I always thought, it may not just be the solitude of places that has made them sacred to me. I think the fact that people, God's creation inhabits there has something to do with it too. And when God's Creation leaves, a sacred presence remains. God's presence in all that was there is still there and makes that place holy. The words that had been spoken, the sounds, the human silliness, the chattering of birds in the trees, the reverence, the worship, the learning, the cooperation, the love . . . all that happens, be it in the fields, in a school or in a church sanctuary somehow remains there for God to wash over and cleanse and sanctify. I can't explain it adequately, but there seems to be something holy about that. And I have found that being in those places nourishes my soul. I can feel God's incredible love for His Creation, His delight in communion with His Creation and His desire for reconcilliation with all of Creation.

I'm not sure how this relates to all my other reflections on sacredness, but maybe after I organize my thoughts in writing, I'll get a better sense of how it all fits.