Living and Breathing Faith: Day 10

{It’s day 10 of Lent 2021. And another visit (there’ll be 40, y’know) to a sanctuary. Since many of us are not actually present in such worship spaces, I’m revisiting some of the churches in which I’ve worshipped, toured, or otherwise occupied.}

A couple of entries ago, I mentioned the boisterous fun a group of theological grad students offered prospective seminary recruits in the school chapel. And I noted that many folks prefer their sanctuaries to be restricted to more pious, that is, worshipful purposes. A chuckle during the children’s sermon is as far as levity should go on Sunday mornings, or any other time one is pew-bound.

But look at this church pew! Good grief, there’s a mouse crawling up the woodwork! We’ve all heard references to church mice. There it is. And it’s not alone. As a docent led us on a tour of Southwell Minster Cathedral in Nottinghamshire, England, she pointed out that mouse and a couple of others. Someone had a sense of humor, I commented. Yes, and his name was Robert Thompson (1876-1955). Or, “Mouseman.” Or, “Mousey.” Yes, he became known as Robert Mousey Thompson. He was a woodcarver from the north Yorkshire village of Kilburn, and he told people that he was “poor as a church mouse.” So, mice appeared in the furniture he fashioned for family homes and houses of worship.

I photographed only a couple of his mice, but the guide claims there are 28 of those rodents scattered throughout the grand church. She also told us that the church sponsored a children’s event called “Minster Mouse Day,” and that one of the activities for about 100 children was trying to find as many of the mice as they could. Plus, there was a scavenger hunt for other interesting things in the cathedral. Fun, huh? The event (is it annual?) was designed to bring children and their families into the church, showing the church’s friendliness and hospitality, and making sure the community knew the cathedral was a vibrant and alive place, not just an imposing piece of local architectural beauty.

Mice are not the only signs of light-heartedness in such grand places. As we’ve gaped in awe at the wondrous old church buildings we’ve entered, we’ve laughed at strange faces carved in granite, and gargoyles with scary and silly countenances. Sometimes the craftspeople would include the images of family members and neighbors, or church dignitaries in less-than-dignified poses, carved into stone or wood. We can almost hear the workers laughing as they saw for the first time the images they would lift into place for ages to come.

We do tend to take church too seriously, don’t we? Sure, it is a place where we encounter the profound mystery of the Divine. Kneeling in prayer at a memorial service, being summoned to acts of justice by prophetic preaching, breaking bread on the night of Jesus’ betrayal, being moved to tears by stories of faith…not much funny there. But when we sing of “The Lord of the Dance,” or understand for the first time the humor of something Jesus said to his followers (books have been written about the Lord’s sense of humor), hearing the  laughter of 100 children running from pew to pew looking for church mice — there you go: light-heartedness. 

If God can have some fun with gigantic Leviathan (Eugene Peterson’s paraphrase of Psalm 104:26 calls the huge monster God’s “pet dragon!”), surely having a small church mouse or a very big laugh in church is cause for holy delight. After all, Easter will be here soon and joy will ring forth in sanctuaries around the world.

In the meantime, it may be Lent. But I hope you’ll find something to smile about on this day 9. 

Oh, and thanks, “Mousey.”

 

Lenten Windows: Good Friday

Throughout Lent 2020 I have been choosing photographs of windows I have seen, looked through or looked into over the years. And each day, prompted by an image, I write some words.

Today is Good Friday. Explanations of why this day is called “good” abound. Some say it is “good” because without this day there would be no Easter. No death; ergo no resurrection or new life. Another exegesis: “good” in the context of this day simply means “holy.” In another season altogether, there is “Good Tide” which is an old way of referring to Christmas: holy season of the Nativity. One more possibility is that Good Friday is a corruption of “God’s Friday.”

The word “good” itself has root meanings that indicate the sense of gathering or bringing together, or more curiously, something “fitting.” Those meanings may miss the mark in the context of observing the dark day of Jesus’ crucifixion. Or, is there in this observance a gathering of sorts. As people gathered at the cross that day on Golgotha, we gather globally around the cross today, remembering the profound drama of an itinerant rabbi found guilty of sedition and subjected to a grisly capital punishment.

Good Friday.

The crucifixion of Jesus has been imagined and reimagined in stained glass in churches and cathedrals throughout the ages. The images are there not so much for striking decoration as light pours through, casting colors into sanctuaries of worship. The colored glass teaches and illustrates, inspires and reminds. The artists tell the stories of faith, and the stories of the life and teachings of Jesus are certainly prominent from rural chapels to massive cathedrals.

For today’s image, I did not look deeply into my files. This one just drew my attention first. We saw it in the South Quire aisle of the Southwell Minster Church, Nottinghamshire, England.

This outstanding window was designed by Nicholas Mynheer in 2014. It is a memorial to the men from Nottinghamshire and Derbyshire who lost their lives in the First World War. The design seeks to reflect the need for forgiveness and reconciliation.

When I glanced through my photos looking for an image for Good Friday, I found this window depicting the removal of Jesus from the cross. That’s the central focus. But then I looked at the detail, and realized that those removing the body from the cross are not Roman soldiers, nor broken-hearted friends of Jesus. The helmets hint at World War 1. Behind the cross is a line of soldiers, headed by a wounded man being supported by a comrade. (One thinks of the song, “He Ain’t Heavy, He’s My Brother,” but more, the teaching of Jesus: “Greater love has no one than this, but to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.”)

Look at the other images here. Begin at the bottom and see the work horse pulling a plow through an English countryside, presumably in peace time. And in the background, there stands Southwell Minster Church itself, as it has stood for 900 years. At the left, a young woman reaches toward her clothesline with that clean white sheet catching the breeze. (At least, that is how I see it. We all must interpret the pictures and symbols ourselves.)

A single red Flanders poppy, symbol of dead soldiers, is just below the cross. And then there is Jesus, his uniform the same as that of the men who surround him. Is that to signify that Jesus identifies with victims of war, and by extension, any victim of violence: those suffering any human tragedy…storm, flood, pandemic, human trafficking or any exploitation, or violent conflict between nations or within households?

And now, look higher. A vision of heaven. A dove. Soldiers of different uniforms embracing. The holy communion of bread and cup, that heavenly banquet.  And music, the sound of the trumpet. Is it too early to sing of Easter? Yes. Our focus must go back to the cross for now. For it is Good Friday. We must endure the darkness before the ultimate sunrise. It is not pleasant. Warring powers vie for our very souls, and our only Savior is dying. Wood and nails have done him in, thanks to human-held hammers.

We hold out hope, though, that plowshares and white linen, green fields and sturdy poppies will once again prove that God’s peace prevails over all violence, and that all the earth will again hear a Voice that declares Creation “good.”