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?

Part 2. Sacred Spaces: Sacred Space Usage

(Original Post on Corner Booth Musing's Website)
See Previous Post for Part 1 (Turkey: Intro)

11 days. All of which were spent occupying various sacred spaces. We walked through mosques; through ancient churches that bear the markings of those who walked before us; we walked through ancient ruins of cities that mark historic decisions in the church’s history; we walked underground through an old Roman cistern that is hidden underneath new growth and a new city that thrives above it; we walked through the streets where church’s walls were carefully guarded and locked; we walked through ruins of churches that used to be and those that still want to be; together, we walked.

As we walked through the variety of sacred spaces, there were a lot of emotions and thoughts that passed through my mind.

While we were in Turkey, we explored the cities we were in to find that, to no surprise, there are not very many Christian churches around. The ones that are still commissioned and active churches, are guarded by a metal wall with gates, locks, and alarm systems. Istanbul may have been an exception, as there were a few churches we passed on our walks in the area around our hotel room. On one of these walks around Istanbul, a few of us stopped at a church but were refused entrance into the gates. We think it was because we did not speak any Turkish and the young man at the gate was scared to let any strangers in. Of course, there could have been other reasons, but as soon as he figured we did not speak the same language, he backed away from the gate and shook his head to say no. 

On another walk in Istanbul, we came across the Hagia Triada (Holy Trinity) Greek Orthodox Church. It was the middle of the afternoon, the gates were open, and to our surprise so were the doors to the church! As we walked into the narthex of the church, we were quickly greeted with paintings larger than our eyes could take in at one glance. We walked into the sanctuary, where we were greeted by more indescribably beautiful paintings and icons. Unfortunately, we were not allowed to take photos in this beautiful space. We were also watched very closely.

The first major site on our tour stop was the Blue Mosque. I have seen pictures of mosques before, I have driven by mosques before, but I have never before walked through a mosque before. As you may, or may not know, it is tradition in the Muslim faith for women to cover themselves as they enter into sacred spaces. This means that shoulders are not to be exposed, dresses/pants should be at least knee length, and hair is to be covered. I remember gasping as I took my first steps into this sacred space. It did not feel like sacred space to me, and I did not approach it as if it was such. For me, it just didn’t feel as if I was walking into sacred space, though I fully respect it as such. Instead, I approached it as if it was someone else’s sacred space, keenly aware of their rituals, their traditions, and their practices. 
Because this space is such a high tourist attraction, they seemed to be a little more relaxed with the dress code than other places, though they upheld the standards I mentioned above. The space was beautiful, and it has a rich history in Istanbul, in fact it sits on the site of the palace of the Byzantine emperors. I watched faithful members pray toward Mecca, I watched pilgrims and tourists stand in awe of the beauty that surrounded them. I heard someone say that God deserved the most beautiful place to be worshiped, that God deserved our absolute best. 

Perhaps the most familiar site we visited was the Hagia Sophia. This Byzantine giant sits directly across from the Blue Mosque as if they are in conversation with one another. In fact, while we were there we heard the adhan come from both of these places; they went back and forth with one another as if part of a harmonious song. The Hagia Sophia is a piece of architectural history that I was very familiar with. I remember the first time I studied it in AP Art History in the 10th grade; I fell in love with the iconic mosaics and with the grand stature of the place. But the photos I had seen, or the ones I remember being shown, were from a Christian eye. I do not remember seeing arabic hangings, I do not remember seeing flat paint covering shining gold mosaics, and I do not remember it being so dark. I was surprised at how I felt when I walked through the Hagia Sophia. I’m not quite sure what I was expecting, but what I felt was disappointment. 

The space I walked into was not covered in gold mosaics, but was hidden by a dim and flat yellow paint, hiding the Christian story from which the space has its roots. I will say that there was some scaffolding up, so that may have affected the view. But even the parts that did not have the scaffolding were dim. The space is larger than anyone can imagine and it is easy to feel quite small. This really puts it into perspective when you think about yourself in relation to creation and to the Divine Creator. As you look up, the dome that extends above your head seems to extend into the heavens; it doesn’t, it ends here on earth. Disclaimer: I may not be being totally fair, and this is definitely a reflection after my experience. When you first walk into the Hagia Sophia, in the outer and inner narthex are both waiting to greet you with a lot of Christian mosaics. So yes, as you walk into the space you are walking past, through, and alongside the Christian story.

But, I believe my disappointment came in that the space I walked into was no longer sacred space. It was nobody’s sacred space. Now deemed a museum, the Hagia Sophia is just that–an attraction, a used-to-be church and a used-to-be mosque. I was expecting to meet God in the Hagia Sophia, but instead I met a thousand strangers and walked with a few friends. In the Hagia Sophia we did see some pretty impressive mosaics that were larger than life. We saw red crosses bleeding through the Islamic paint that desired to cover it up. We saw angels and many saints. And I will not make the claim that God was not there, because I do not believe that there is any place that God cannot be, but I think it begs the question as to what it means for the sacred space when a church is decommissioned. Does it make it any less sacred? 

Regardless, of whether or not it is still considered to be “sacred ground,” it was at least once considered to be a place of worship for Christians. For one, to think about what it may have been like to participate in worship in a space like the Hagia Sophia is an unimaginable thing. To see, and almost be able to touch the mosaics that date back to the Byzantine era brings to mind many images of what community life may have been like, what it was like to take a million pieces of glass and put it together to make a beautiful work of art. There’s a sermon even in that; pieces of glass, in all their diversity coming together to create a unified picture. I won’t go down that road on this one! :) 

I feel blessed to be one of the few who have been able to make this pilgrimage, and who have walked on historic and ancient Christian foundations, remembering those who have walked before me and being thankful for those who walk with me. When I think about sacred space, I consider myself a pretty open person. Somehow visiting these historic sites brought up in me different emotions than I had felt before and these are some questions that I wrestled with while in Turkey, and continue to wrestle with as I have transitioned back into daily life. I hope these reflections are helpful and bring to your own mind questions, as well as helpful and thoughtful reflections on the matter!

Part 1. Turkey:Intro

(Original Post on Corner Booth Musing's Website) 

The past couple of months have been a whirlwind! I began the month of May turning in final papers for my M.Div at Duke Divinity School. Within the first week and a half of the month, I found myself a graduate of one of the greatest universities in the world; I hold a document in the palm of my hands that has deemed me master of all things divine (okay, so not quite, but it’s fun to say!!). I’m not sure there was anything, during my three years at Duke Div, that could have prepared me for what I was to experience.

36 hours after our baccalaureate service, I was heading to the airport for an adventure of a lifetime. I, along with 14 other students and faculty members were headed to Turkey for 11 days of intense travel where we visited over 15 biblical and significant Christian sites (I lost count), experienced modern Turkish culture, heard the adhan (call to prayer) in the wee hours of the morning into the dark of night, and reflected on the words of scripture and on the significance of the sites we visited in the context of the Christian tradition.

There is an endless amount of things to say about my experience in Turkey. It is an indescribable experience to be walking along ancient Roman streets knowing that Paul, and other early Christian key figures, walked them thousands of years before. It was an emotional journey to walk where many were persecuted for their faith in Christ. I found myself wanting to just sit and be in some places in order to take in everything that my senses were telling me. There is no way to describe the experience of being able to sit in the coliseum where Paul likely addressed the community at Ephesus or what it is like to walk through a baptismal pool that has been carved into the ground and carefully preserved by the earth around it. There are little words that describe the feeling one gets when walking through a church that dates back to the Byzantine period or what it is like to stand in front of mosaics that have survived being hidden for centuries or what it is like to see crosses bleeding through plaster and paint used to cover up the symbols of Christianity.
I did not simply leave America to find myself in a foreign land set in the 21st century; I felt as if I had travelled back in time, having removed myself from the world I knew, and stepped into the world that Paul lived in. No longer was I driving down a crowded highway in my vehicle that transports me from point A to point B in a relatively decent amount of time. I was walking the uneven, dirt roads of Ancient Pergamum, Sardis, Smyrna, Ephesus, Philadelphia (though there isn’t a lot left of the ancient city), and of Laodicea (6 of the 7 churches of Revelation). I was standing next to ancient ruins that stood at least 10x my stature, and I’m an average 5’6 American female. I stood where many early decisions were made about Christian doctrine in the church. The First Ecumenical Council, which resulted in the Nicene Creed and dealt with the nature of the Son of God, was but a mere peek over a waterfront; the site believed to be the meeting place of the first council is currently under water. (You can read more about that here–I stood on that shoreline!!!)

It is one thing to sit in a classroom and learn about the decisions that were made at various locations, or to read scripture and try to imagine what it might have been like to be part of the world in which scripture was written. But, it is a completely different, new, and exciting experience to be able to visit the places that you are reading about and learning about. No longer was my imagination simply something in my head, but it was now a reality. I no longer wonder what it might have been like to walk through the baptismal pool, because I have walked through it (now I only wonder what it would have been like to have been surrounded by water). It truly is an indescribable experience to be able to walk the path that I, along with my classmates and professors, were able to walk in Turkey. 

While there is a long history of Christian-Muslim relations in modern day Turkey, there are still many Christian foundations, even where Muslim mosques lay. Realities such as this bring to question what sacred space truly is and urges us to ask questions about the sacredness of decommissioned churches. Are these once sacred and holy places no longer sacred and holy because they do not worship the Triune God? That is not a question I am going to answer. I have my own opinions and struggles with it, and I will get into it a bit in a later post, but it is not a subject I am going to tackle today. 

I can only imagine that this experience is going to allow me to be a better pastor, particularly a better preacher and Biblical interpreter. No longer is my scriptural imaginative world limited to the pages of books, instead it has been broadened to my experience of walking through ancient cities–the very cities and settings in which portions of scripture were written and addressed to. 

There is so much to say about Turkey. There are things that I have processed through and things that I am still processing, even weeks after returning to the States. Because there is so much to talk about, this is just the first of several posts! Stay tuned for more (photos to be included in the following posts!)

Why Communion?

(Original Post on Corner Booth Musing's Website, 4/22/15)

"While they were eating, Jesus took a loaf of bread, and after blessing it he broke it, gave it to the disciples, and said, “Take, eat; this is my body.” Then he took a cup, and after giving thanks he gave it to them, saying, “Drink from it, all of you; for this is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins. I tell you, I will never again drink of this fruit of the vine until that day when I drink it new with you in my Father’s kingdom.” (Matthew 26:26-30, NRSV)

In the United Methodist Church, it is often a common practice for Communion (or The Lord’s Supper or Eucharist) to occur on the first Sunday of every month. Anything more than that and people begin to get nervous, question the “specialty” of partaking in Communion more than 12 times a year (plus special occasions, of course!), and complain about worship going a little bit longer than their one-hour-a-Sunday-morning allotment. Despite the fact that John Wesley, the father of Methodism, took Communion regularly and stated that one should take Communion as often as they can, most hold true to the hard tradition of once-a-month Communion.

As graduation with my Master of Divinity is on the horizon, Duke Divinity has taught me much about the meaning of Communion and all of its implications. We, as seminary students, get SUPER excited when The Lord’s Supper is made available to us, and I think most would uphold the belief that it is definitely a holy mystery. While I will not get into a theological debate about what may, or may not, happen during Communion, I do want to say a few things about how it has shaped, changed, and challenged my call to ministry. 

For me, central to my call to ministry are the sacraments. Mostly because they are visible reminders of God’s grace to this messed up and sinful world. 

The church I am currently serving is a small, rural church in Durham, North Carolina. While they are a wonderful congregation, they too have their wolves in sheep’s clothing and their conflicts. As a pastor, or associate pastor (of which is my title), you learn things about people that shock you, that send you into disarray, and that challenge the very faith you prepare sermons about on a weekly basis. Being called to pastor is a huge blessing and brings so much joy to my life, but I’ll be honest and say that it can also be draining, leaving one with very little hope. In fact, some days the only hope that I am able to hold onto is knowing that God has already won; that love has already won. 

Despite the fact that I am continually amazed by God’s grace and work in my life; despite the fact that I am affirmed on a daily basis of the call that God has placed in my life; despite the fact that there is so much good in the world; despite the fact that this is, in my opinion, the best vocation anyone could never ask for…I still question this life regularly. I question my call, my ability, my endurance, my intelligence, my body as a woman, my own grace, my own patience…I have, at some point or another, questioned everything part of my being in relation to my call to be a pastor. 

I am thankful that the church I currently serve has been partaking in Communion on a weekly basis since Advent. I am thankful for this for many reasons: God’s love isn’t something that is given to us once a month; the grace of God isn’t something we dictate or control; and, that the grace of God is a gift to us, continually calling us into relationship with the Triune God. Lately, when I have doubted my call it has been this sacrament that has reminded me, and affirmed in me, the very place that God is calling me to be. 

The table is a place that commonly brings people together, despite our differences. We share in meals with those we love the most on a regular basis. The very act of eating, this basic necessity to the human body, is itself sacramental. But God calls us to a different table; a table that truly breaks down all barriers, that unites us in our differences, and that brings us together as a people. A table that is open for ALL who come seeking forgiveness and peace (see The United Methodist Hymnal, page 12). 

When I serve Communion to the people of my congregation, it forces me to forgive their sins, and to seek forgiveness too. For the last month, I have been drawn to tears as I serve both sinners and saints, because I am called to love all. Communion forces me to see people as they truly are–as broken children of God, as people who need Christ to be mended, and all as equally loved by the One who created them. As I watch people come forward, together, receiving a piece of the fleshy Bread of Life and dipping it into the bloody Cup of Salvation, I am reminded that we are all sinners and that we are all sought out by, loved by, and redeemed by God. As I utter the words, “the blood of Christ shed for you,” I am constantly reminded of the pain and torture that Christ endured so that we might be forgiven and I wonder to myself, would I be willing to do the same? As I look into the eyes of people who are seeking the forgiveness of sins they both know and do not yet know. “Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do” (Luke 23:34, KJV). 

While I do not know what happens when someone takes a piece of the red stained fleshy bread past their lips, I do know that we are left changed somehow. Both those who partake and those who witness such a means of God’s grace. For me, I am not only reminded of God’s grace but of the grace that God calls me to have, for both myself and for others. I am reminded that Christ’s sacrifice on the cross was not in vain, but is a reality and a truth that we must live into every day. This act challenges me to extend forgiveness to those who I know have cheated on their spouse of 20+ years, to those who have sexually abused a child, to those who seek control of God’s church and try to claim it as their own, to those who turn to alcohol for comfort, to those who use anger to express their love, and to those who value money and namesake over their neighbor. This holy meal forces me to extend acts of love to people I don’t even like. 

Communion brings together a variety of bodies at a common table that has more than enough grace for the sinners who partake. Communion reminds me that God’s purpose and grace is far beyond anything I could muster up. Communion reminds me that God is God, and I simply am not. For all of that, I am thankful.