Part 3. Sacred Spaces: Clothe Yourself

(Original Post on Corner Booth Musing's Website)
See Previous Post for Part 2. Sacred Spaces: Sacred Space Usage (Blue Mosque & Hagia Sophia)

In my last post, I reflected a bit on sacred spaces and the way they function in our lives, bringing about several questions that came to my mind as I walked through the Blue Mosque and the Hagia Sophia. These questions of the functionality of Sacred Spaces still ring through my mind today and I’m not sure I am any closer to a conclusion. 

When I think about some of the sacred spaces in America and how they function, I have to admit that I find some of these same questions coming to mind. Are these spaces really that sacred? Is God really in this place? I realize that I am privileged in that I have received an education from, what I think, is one of the best universities and divinity schools in the world (Duke Divinity School). I am privileged in that I have the opportunity to ask these questions; nobody tells me I can’t and nobody really questions me when I do. I also realize that it’s a total “Dukie” move to theologically analyze every part of my life, including buildings and spaces. But, it’s what I do.

So back to analyzing sacred spaces. When I think about the way that worship spaces have been designed for centuries past and are currently being designed, it is amazing to think of the ways it has changed. The ancient Byzantine design included a baptismal pool outside of the church walls, now those baptismal pool or fonts stand hidden inside from the world they so long to save. 

When I was growing up, I remember being taught to “dress appropriately” for church. Not that it was ever formal attire, but I also didn’t wear my worst to church. I also attended a church that had a “Blue Jean” Contemporary Worship Service and really wanted those coming to worship to feel as though they could come as they were. But, let’s be honest. When we say that in most churches, we really only want people to come as we are. White. Middle-class. And preferably married with families. Okay, so I realize I am being a bit harsh here, but in the early 2000’s this was more true than it is today (and I think it’s still true in many churches today). Needless to say, I had to clothe myself a certain way if I was going to walk through the doors of any church. This can be said about any social event in our lives, but the church is a special kind of social gathering. We typically pull out our Sunday best. We clothe ourselves with our best. Our best makeup. Our best attitudes. Our best fake-it-til-ya-make-it’s. Our best smiles. Our best checkbooks. Our best critiques. You name it, and we clothe ourselves in the best of these.

One of the many sacred places we had the opportunity to visit while in Istanbul was the Fatih Mosque. Now, for me this place is sacred not because it is currently a mosque, but because at its foundations lies Christianity. Literally. The foundations that lie beneath the current constructs of the Fatih Mosque are of the former Church of the Holy Apostles. This Byzantine structure would have been the second largest, and second most important, church of Constantinople after the Hagia Sophia. Many bishops and patriarchs were buried in this church, and it stood on a hill in the center of the city. 

I once again found myself standing on the foundations of Christianity. The foundations are Christian, yet the walls and the ceilings that cover them are not. Now, this was not a touristy part of town. In fact, we had it added to our tour by our professors. I guess that’s the perks of traveling with Biblical scholars. Fortunately, the imam (community/mosque prayer leader) allowed us to enter the Mosque. I suppose he could have denied our request when we asked, but he graciously said yes.

That day, because we were going to a mosque I wore long semi-baggy pants and a short sleeved shirt. I left my cardigan on the tour bus because it was hot and it simply slipped my mind. My thin white scarf was loosely wrapped around my neck, ready to swaddle my head in observance of the traditions of women in Turkish culture. As I took my shoes off to walk on holy ground and pulled back the covering over the entrance to the mosque, a man stopped me. He stared and me in a way that I have never seen a man stare at me before. He stared at me as if I had done something wrong, as if I was bringing shame into the very place I was walking into. As he was staring at me he was extending his hand out to me. I looked down and in his hand laid a sheer scarf. It didn’t take me long to realize that he wanted me to cover up my arms. In most places, as long as your shoulders are covered, you’re good. But in some places, you need to have more covered; I guess this was one of those places. I had so many emotions come over me in that moment. I felt shame in a way I had never felt. I felt embarrassed. I felt wrongly accused. I felt scared. I felt victimized. I felt guilty. I felt sorrow. I felt horrified in that moment, not knowing how to respond or how I was responding. I can only imagine the look on my face when the man stopped me. I questioned what I could have done differently, wishing I had grabbed my cardigan off the bus. I didn’t realize that me, being an American and having most of my body covered, would be stopped and shamed because my elbows were exposed. I felt as if my body wasn’t my own and was someone else’s to control what was done to it; I was being told how I should clothe myself. 

In that moment, I had to pause and silently pray to myself, “Lord give me enough grace to understand your love and your peace when I cannot understand the injustices of men. Remind me that you are greater than I will ever come close to knowing you. And give me a portion of the strength given to those who walked these foundations long before I walked them today.” That was part of my prayer that day as I stood in between the walls of the beautifully painted mosaics of the Faith Mosque. I asked God that day to clothe me in strength, in humility, and in grace. I suppose that should be a daily prayer of mine and not just a prayer I pray when I am faced in such situations. I tell this story not to share a moment of discomfort that I faced when I walked into a mosque or when I met a fellow Muslim brother in that mosque. I tell this story, to pose the questions of what we clothe ourselves with on a daily basis. And to ask what we clothes we are asking others to put on. 

Are we inviting others into a community where they can be their true authentic selves as they are? Or are we requiring people to veil themselves—shaming, hiding, faking-it-til-they-make-it, inauthentic, etc, etc, etc.? Do we, the church provide a foundation that is true to both scripture and Christian tradition while also remaining faithful to the movement of the Holy Spirit in our lives creating an environment that allows people to be who they are fully in Christ? Or do we create an environment of hatred and turn people away before we even get the chance to know who they are? Do we clothe ourselves in love and humility? Do we clothe ourselves in compassion, kindness, humility, and patience? (Colossians 3:12) Do we put on the face of Jesus Christ or do we put on the face of evil? Do we cover ourselves up so that we veil ourselves from the world, hiding who we really are and thus dimming the light of Christ that dwells within us?