God, LLC has recently relocated. The new digs: a humble but lovely church in NE Portland. I think it goes without saying that I am smug to inhabit such a once-holy venue—what with its pews and pulpit and stained glass windows. But as the veneer of sacredness quickly wears off, I'm struck by the brisk pace at which a space can be transformed from "holy" to ordinary.
Not that a live-in church is exactly ordinary.
In its olde role, as a proper church (that is to say, before I moved in) the building struggled to fulfill its intended function; the outside, unremarkable, nondescript, too small and outdated to impart credibility or attract prospective newcomers; the inside, similarly unimpressive, too tiny to accommodate anything more than a micro-congregation, at least by today's standards.
(In this respect [were I a little more like Oregon's own, Edmond Creffield], I'd image it a good place to start up a new faith—or a new 'radical' arm of some existing faith. Or a cult. Funny that we make these distinctions.)
But in its new role, as a new "church" (that is to say, since I've moved in), such a venue becomes a cavern of possibility. Its design is meant to invite, to accommodate, to direct attention forward and upward—but upward toward what? What shall we exalt here in this newly scrubbed cabin? this church without a name? this place now one-fewer for the spreading of simple, dogmatic memes?
These are the questions I am wrestling with of late. Pawing at more like. I have some ideas. Stay tuned.
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