By Nathaniel E. Hocker on March 22, 2020
My church is an architectural marvel. A forestry of wood paneling adorns its walls, backed by concrete block and steel structure. Love reigns in this temple of justice. It is old and worn, fresh and alive with high spirits.
In my sanctuary, sprinkles of rock dot the floor, fused into concrete; greens and browns, hues of blue and white. Members of steel lean inward as I gaze upon the many glass panes that tilt downward onto a natural landscape. A decagon of strength it is. I am protected here.
The pulpit splashed in crimson red tells of a history so rich; my soul welcomes its many tales. Flowers and lit candles grace a table just below a ledge of stone, and on it, a lit chalice who’s flame is a symbol of compassion for humanity.
My people gather filling the spaces with laughter, hugs, a delight that is shared between kindred spirits. I await the message, love at the heart of its roots. No creed, only truth, is heard in my ears, as it seeps into my soul. I digest justice!
My church is a lighthouse, who’s light shines even unto the innermost ventricles of my heart. It calls my senses to open up and receive the blessing of hope. It shines on my sorrows, casting the shadows out. It welcomes my joys, embracing me with love. This is where I belong.
I desire to give as the work of justice guides my being. The power of belonging is felt within every block of concrete, every plank of cedar, and written on every face round about me. I am home.
The commitment here is like a blazing fire who’s flame grows higher and higher, getting hotter with time. It scorches my brow and urges me to participate. I have work to do; my hands get busy. With a mighty fervor, I write history alongside my people.
What was once the edge of town, perched on a hill, a foundation was constructed – a plinth of blessing, a platform of wholeness, an altar of sacrifice. This building represents oneness, and I am one part of a body with many tendrils.
The power of place. The power of community. My church.