{Number 18 in my Lenten series about “sanctuaries.” The ones in churches. Places of worship, plain and majestic. Day by day, I choose from among my photo files a photo or two that prompts some un-edited thoughts about ministry, churches, and my life. No big plan here; after all, I’m retired.}

Yesterday I wrote of a sanctuary that has never had pews. When it was built in 1962, it was designed as a multi-purpose room where chairs could be removed for purposes other than worship. Today, another church without pews. But only as a temporary move.

First Presbyterian Church in Trumansburg, NY in the Finger Lakes region of Upstate New York celebrated its Bicentennial in 2003 shortly after I had arrived as pastor. One part of its celebration was to renovate its sanctuary. Choosing the word “renovate” may be problematic. It could be argued that we “restored” the sanctuary, since the interior design was renewed, not significantly altered. But “restored” to what? An historic restoration could have taken the church back to its original design, something no one in the congregation would have wanted.

What the vast majority wanted was to keep the interior design they were used to, and that they appreciated. Maybe the best word to use in this regard is “renewal.” The church “renewed” its worship space, keeping the basic trompe l’oeil look, but repainting walls and pews, replacing the building’s original flooring, relighting the rotunda, and adding a new Communion table and new pulpit. With one relatively minor color change, the result was a refreshing transformation. And there was little drama involved.

[In my previous church, I had easily survived the repainting of the sanctuary, something not every pastor can boast. Sometimes churches face deep divisions when beloved spaces are (choose your word) renewed, restored, renovated, or just plain repainted. In the previous church, the paint color was tweaked to be just a bit brighter, and the only comment, barely contrary, was, “I’d imagine the original architect knew what he wanted here.” The major renovation to the historic church entrance to make it more accessible was greeted with universal praise.]

The photo above shows the first pew back in the building after church volunteers had painted all the pews in a member’s warehouse. The floor is impressive not only in appearance, but in terms of environmental stewardship. Under that shining wood is the original floor from 1848, so worn that one could see through some cracks to the dirt basement. Imagine the number of times that lumber had been resurfaced over 150 years. That new floor you see here is actually recycled, “rescued” flooring from an old factory further upstate. Nice.

I mentioned the trompe l’oeil. The term is French for “deceive the eye.” You see the window trim and the columns in the side walls of the sanctuary pictured above? It’s all just paint on flat walls. The front wall of the chancel area has three dimensional look, as if the chancel were a deep recess some yards back from the pulpit. Nope. Just paint. More than once, a visitor would assume the depth was real, and then exclaim over the design as he or she would get closer and see the deception. I’ve posted a photo below, but the trick isn’t as evident when seen at an angle. In my short tenure there, I often pondered what it said when the focus of the worship space was designed to fool you. How much more do we deceive you in this church? Hey, it’s just paint.

The repainting of the large space was accomplished by one woman and her assistant. She had done the original design and paint job decades earlier! After climbing on the scaffolding for weeks, she announced that when the job had to be done a few more decades in the future, she wouldn’t bid for the contract.

The rotunda’s lighting hadn’t been used for years. In fact, in assessing the work that was to be done in the renovation, someone tried turning the circle of lights on, and the fire department arrived. Apparently the old lights had stirred up some dust up there and set off an alarm. Good to know that sensor worked though. [There was no fire, no smoke; just excited dust.]

The new pulpit and table were built especially for the Bicentennial. The pulpit features the seal of the Presbyterian Church USA, and was designed and crafted by a long-time church member. A community member built the simple Shaker-style table for us. Both are lasting gifts that add to the church’s ministry of Word and Sacrament.

One last note, though there are many other stories to tell about this sanctuary. When the Bicentennial Committee was considering how to refresh the worship space, we hired a consultant, a friend I knew, a liturgical artist who specialized in worship space design. We flew her into town, and she had done her homework, offering several design alternatives. One was to consider the overall Colonial design of the exterior of the 1848 structure. Another was pretty radical, shifting the pews to face a side wall, and adding fabric hangings and celebrative colors to the contemporary design. Our people listened with interest, but went with the design they were used to. Some churches jump quickly to new things, new directions. But most love traditions, not willing to leave comfort zones. In a way, the sanctuary offers safe space, a calming, heartening place to encounter the Holy. I looked into my indispensable Synonym Finder for the word “comfort,” and found a word I’d never encountered. “Disburden.”

Disburden. A sanctuary is a place where, among other things, we can lay our burdens down. But it is more. And tomorrow our tour continues where we find another side to the space where faith lives and breathes and pushes us out of the room.