After decades - some members of the congregation cannot even remember it - our church sanctuary is getting painted. Of course, we are dealing with "inconveniences." We expected the painting to have been completed before this weekend, but such was not the case. We spent a second Sunday worshipping in our fellowship hall, and I think everyone is really looking forward to getting back to normal.
But overall, the mood is very positive about the painting. I might even say the painting has been part of the way God is transforming our church. We all like to think that the church is the people of God - it is not the building, but buildings do matter, and how they look make a huge difference.
When I was pastoring in a traditional white New England meetinghouse, I often heard people complaining about how people talk and chat before worship, that they weren't getting into the proper frame of mind. I would often say, "of course they are. Take a look at this church - it is a meetinghouse. The very architecture and color of the sanctuary has so much to do with how you act in it. If the colors are white and bright, with sunshine pouring through clear windows, of course you are going to meet one another and chat before the service." On the opposite end, when I entered Chartre Cathedral in France, the magnificence and the darkness overtook me. The stained glass light, the massive ceilings and columns, the huge ornate altar all told me that I was in the presence of the Almighty. How dare I speak, no less chat!
Getting back to Houghs Neck - the whole prospect of having the church painted was an exciting one for us. When we had the wall surrounding the window in the chancel area redone, we took down this heavy, old, velvet, maroon colored curtain. People started asking what it's liturgical purpose was, and if we needed to have it there. I replied the only purpose it served was to cover up the wall that was crumbling apart from water damage - there was no theological purpose at all.
They saw this wall in front of them, bright white from the primer paint. They saw how it lightened things up, and they started to think in terms of new possibilities. Things could look different. Just because we had it that way for decades didn't mean we had to keep it that way. Now, they thought, we could paint the church a different color. Instead of a ivory-ish yellowish color that had the look of decay, they could find something that brightened the sanctuary.
Of course, then came the time to choose the new color. The prospect of a whole church choosing a new color reminded me of a cartoon I saw. It showed a pile of mangled bodies, strewn around a table. The caption read, "so now it's decided, we'll paint the kindergarten room green." Actually, the opposite happened. There came consensus around the color, without much heavy debate or argument. As long as everybody's opinion was heard, I found it fairly easy for the church to come around to choose a color. But there was a surprise even there. They wanted the archway around that window in the chancel to be a light blue and the rest of the sanctuary wall to be a white, with a hint of blue in it. In other words, the new possibilities inspired them to get more creative than I expected.
The new paint looks great - just look at the photos above to see what it does to the church. The paint seems to be part of a feeling of new things happening. It's a breath of fresh air. Perhaps a breath of the Holy Spirit coming upon us. It reminds me of the quote from Revelation: "behold, I am making all things new." The new color has become a symbol of hope and optimism that is upon our church. Believe me, it's not all about the paint - there is much more happening. Yet the paint is definitely part of it. Can new paint be a reflection of God's grace? From what I see, I have no doubt about it.
