Art and Whimsy in God’s House

I had asked one of our church members, a talented artist, to create nativity figures, and suddenly here they were – Jose and Maria. Finding them in our hallway forced me to admit that I was more like the innkeepers of the Christmas story than Magi or shepherds. I had not made room in my schedule for these two weary travelers that day.

I watched others in the hallway do a double take, followed by a penetrating stare, then a smile of recognition. Jose and Maria moved, each week of the Advent season, closer and closer to the sanctuary. Maria appeared to be pregnant by Week Two. It was obvious by Week Three.

On the last Sunday of Advent, Jose and Maria sat among the congregation. During a children’s sermon, we heard of the journey of this young couple, struggling to find shelter where the baby could be delivered. The children sat close enough to detect that the figures were not real. Some of the adults, sitting further away, were still confused. I received several emails that week. “Shouldn’t we have a baby shower for that young couple?” one asked. Another wondered where she could send a financial contribution to help them. There was an inquiry about immigration status.

The Christmas story had become alive for us through these figures of Jose and Maria, casting all of us into different roles, wittingly or not. I was the busy innkeeper. Others were bemused spectators. Some responded generously to these strangers in our building. Others were suspicious. No one, however, could question that the Advent work of a gifted artist in our congregation had involved each of us in a new and profound way.

Becoming Our Own Artists

Nearly a decade ago, when our congregation moved from a traditional sanctuary (with pews for about 150 people, pulpit, and front altar) to a large former televangelism center, we faced many obstacles. As the 200 or so of us gathered on Sunday mornings to worship, we literally could not see each other in the 6,500-square-foot auditorium, with its 1,000 seats arranged theater-style for TV broadcast. The raised pulpit was nearly half a city block away from the first row. Surrounded by carpet, paint, and electronics, we lost access to natural elements – tile, stone, wood, sunlight. We knew we had to change the worship space in order to make it work for our purposes.

But to change it, we realized we had to change,too. We would not be able to make this imposing building a true spiritual home without putting our mark on it. And to do that, we had to understand ourselves and our mission with new clarity.

In congregational dialogue that extended over a year, we talked with fresh intensity about the power of the gospel in our lives. Three priorities emerged: to live simply and reject consumerism, welcome the stranger, and work for peace and justice.

Could we find creative ways to express this discernment in our new worship and mission space? Our budget limited our ability to commission sanctuary art. Quite simply, we had to become the artists we needed.

Be Not Afraid

We learned to take risks in our huge, intimidating space and not be afraid of mistakes. We agreed that no one should offer a creative idea if they feared criticism or censorship. We listened to each other’s ideas and practiced compassion when well-intentioned designs didn’t turn out right. Fabric didn’t always hang the way we envisioned it. Something that seemed dynamic on paper didn’t translate into a three-dimensional space very well. Humility and tolerance became part of our artistic adventure.

We learned to pay attention to our environment, trusting that God would give us the resources we needed for our new church space. When a church member saw a downtown hotel discarding old linens in a dumpster, she called. These sheets were sewn together, painted, and used many times over in our sanctuary art.

One of our large stage backdrops came from recycled plastic bags. Fused together, these bags made a colorful design. We learned never to throw away paper that could be recycled and fashioned into bright confetti, papier mâché designs, or textured paper for orders of worship and church stationery. Large bare tree branches could be gathered to embody the wilderness experiences of Advent or Lent. Wire and colorful duct tape created whimsical human-shaped figures that became part of our congregation during the Pentecost season – some of them sitting among us, others dancing, playing instruments, or posing as children on swings floating above our heads. Mosquito netting, foam core, colorful beans, wallpaper … these become ways that God speaks to us out of everyday materials at hand.

Our focus was the sanctuary, but we found quickly that many people accessed our building through the main hallways and offices. Could that space, too, be used to share the gospel? Soon the front porch of the church, the yard, the hallways themselves became vehicles for sharing our theology.

Peace Tent and Ticker Tape

In the days leading up to the U.S. invasion of Iraq, our congregation’s Advent witness included images of peace projected onto the exterior of our building each night. We created a “Peace Tent” inside, and tiles were painted by church members with messages of peace. A ticker tape – made from rolls of adding-machine tape, with quotes about peace – guided people through the entire building, top to bottom, as part of a peace journey.

Inspired by our efforts, neighbors started bringing objects that testified to their desire for peace. They would leave signs and written prayers on our church steps, grateful for the church’s witness to the desires of their heart. Our Advent witness became a Lenten witness, as a large wooden cross covered with photographs of Iraqi children was placed in our church yard.