My Own Flesh and Blood

In our church, which is a Lutheran parish church, we distribute the bread and wine in two different ways: by the altar or in a line, dipping the wafer in the wine.

          The traditional way is to come up the the altar ring and kneel. We have our small shiny cups in hand, and the priest and a minister walk softly on the inside of the ring, quietly distributing the elements to each one, with the words: This is the body of Christ. This is the blood of Christ.

          We kneel shoulder to shoulder. I feel the warmth of my brother and my sister.

Altertavle, Kviteseid kyrkje

          Sometimes the time is at a standstill. The wooden carving of the Lamb with a pennant of victory on the altar piece shows me the risen Lord Jesus. He is mild and mighty. He is righteousness and kindness. It is not the image, the wooden image that comforts me; it is the reality it points to. It is the risen Christ.

Kviteseid kyrkje

          The light comes brightly from the left, broken in a prism of soft colours by the stained glass. It plays on the carpet, on the vestments of the moving priest. Anyone would know that the light is from the big star in the sky, but in my seconds of eternal time, I relish the moment of heavenly light: for truth is in its beams. There is no chance of hiding anything when kneeling before the King of Heaven. He sees the innermost part of my soul, my thoughts, my feelings. He knows, and I know that he knows; and in his light i confess my sin and shortcomings, and in his light I am cleansed. Forgiven. Renewed.

          So, I receive the small wafer - the bread - the flesh - and I feel it melt in my mouth. It is a tactile sensation. I see the red droplet of the wine fill my little metal cup. I drink it, - the blood - tasting the slightly sour liquid, sensing it fill my inner organs. I am one with Christ. I am covered in him. He is here. And I know I am forgiven, renewed.

           I eagerly wait for the the comforting word of assurance from the priest, as he dismisses me and the others, to make room for yet another set of brothers and sisters, kneeling to receive the same Lord, the same forgiveness, and rise renewed.

          There is singing, the organ blows its mighty pipes, and there is the sweet quiet when the organist receives his portion.

            There is communion - with God, with each other, and, in a diffuse way, with the ones who have gone before us - who are free to kneel at the other half of the altar ring, the one that is invisible to us. We have no direct contact with them, but we cherish their memory, and they may remind us of the hope we have. They are with God, and one day we will meet again... my dad and I.

Bread and Wine, Flesh and Blood

This deals with a meal and with family relations.

The Lord's Supper, Eucharist, Holy Communion, the Breaking of the Bread - this particular sacred act has several names, and has varied levels of depth and understanding in the different Christian groups.

Roman Catholic

          The Roman Catholic church celebrate the liturgy of the Eucharist every Sunday, in addition to the liturgy of the Word. It is a most essential part of the church service, because it is where the congregant meets the living Jesus Christ. It is how the believer is sustained in the faith. As every Sunday is a celebration of the resurrection of Jesus Christ, so is the Eucharist a gift of taking part in his death and resurrection. During the preparation of the element, by the miraculous power of God, the elements change into being the body and the blood of Jesus: a Transubstantiation occurs.

Eastern Orthodox

Likewise, in the Eastern Orthodox church, the elements become the actual body and blood of Christ. It is nourishment for the faith. Jesus says, during the occasion of his last supper with his disciples: This is my body. This is my blood.

          In both the Catholic and the Orthodox churches, they will freely admit that the actual elements are symbolic, but in a true and spiritual sense, because of the words of Jesus, what the congregants part-take of is His body and blood.

          

In the reformation churches, like the Lutheran Church and Anglican church, there is a slight variant understanding of the elements: There is a real presence of Christ in the Eucharist, but the element do not change as such.

In the non-liturgical churches, like the Baptists, there is no real presence of Christ in or by the elements. The focus s set on the commemoration, as Jesus said: Do this in remembrance of me.

So, we may have different understandings, but we all do it, and we all know it is important to do. A Christian need to receive communion.

          In the days of the early church, this was celebrated in the homes, since it is not based on a temple celebration. Jesus had a passover meal with his disciples, as we can read in the Gospel according to John. This annual celebration is the major Jewish holiday of Pesach to this day. Looking into the traditions around telling the story of liberation from slavery in the land of Egypt, we may gain some valuable insight into the setting for the rather unusual words of Jesus. We all know the familiar words of the initiation, the instructing commands Jesus gives the disciples. We repeat them every time we celebrate this time together: Eat my body. Drink my blood.

          During the retelling of the story of the exodus from Egypt, we are in a sense transported to being there: My father was a wandering Aramean... I was brought out of Egypt with a strong hand. The blood of the lamb was brushed on my door post, and the angel of death passed over...There is a sense of lived and real history; the aspect of time is not as sequential, but carries a presence, almost an existential reality in it. In this setting Jesus says: I am. I am the bread of affliction. I am the saving blood of that lamb. Through me, in me, you have eternal salvation, starting here and now. In me, through me, you are free.

We eat it - together, in communion - and the holy communion is with God - it is a sanctifying element. Jesus states that we are to do this together for the forgiveness of sins; it is a cleansing element.

We eat unleavened 'bread' - as the old Jewish blessing says:

"Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the universe, who brings forth bread from the earth."

ברוך אתה ה' א לוהינו, מלך העולם, המוציא לחם מן הארץ

We drink the wine - as the old Jewish blessing says:

Blessed are You, Lord our God, who creates the fruit of the vine.

ברוך אתה ה' א לוהינו, מלך העולם, בורא פרי הגפן.

And as we do this we become part of the flesh and blood of our Saviour, Jesus Christ. We are children of God, and Jesus is our brother. As I mentioned initially, this deals with family relations, and they are sacred relations.

What Defines a Person?

As I reflect upon some of these aspects, I realize that all personal developments happen in relations. We live in primary or secondary relations to each other. It seems unreal to think of developing a sense of identity in isolation.

          The great commandments: "Love the Lord, your God with all your heart, your mind and your strength" and "Love your neighbour as yourself" reveal the core of constructive relations: love + the object of love.

          In the personal encounter, one meets the other in a mutual recognition, but this also implies a mutual responsibility. In essence this responsibility is moral: because the other (person) confirms me, I am in debt, and responsible for the good of the other. In meeting the Other (God), I also enter into a mutual relationship, which is a truly defining encounter, for I face my origin and the origin of love.

          In all our roles in life, we live in relations. In a sense, then, the core of my identity is not as much in myself, as it is in this relation between myself and the other.

*********************************************************************************

In a series of thoughts I may reflect on this from time to time, as we ponder the sacred space and time. For who are we, that we should experience an audience with the King of the Universe?  

House concert

 Welcome - if you happen to be in the neighbourhood:)

Today I celebrate 500 hits on the blog:) Not bad in 3 weeks! I never thought anyone would care to read my stuff. And what is more interesting, I read from the stats where people log in from - and of course Norway and the US are at the top, trailed by South Africa, Ireland, Ukraine, Venezuela, Malaysia, Netherlands and France. It is fun!

David, piano and cello

The house concert was a joyful success!

The neighbourhood house concert was David's idea. He contributed with own compositions on piano and on cello, in addition to some ferocious rag time - and he accompanied Ingri, the flutist. They played a wonderful Bach piece together. Niklas shared a couple progressive jazz composition and it sounded like Wyndham Woods. I sported a cabaret song, and later a deeper song with the guitar. The young girls sang and played a silly song and enjoyed it immensely. It was a tiny bit naughty, and it made them giggle ("Hvis dine ører henger ned"). And, yes I shared a poem, a silly one, too. Jerry taught us a Hebrew song: Hodu l'Adonai ki tov, ke le olam chasdo.
       Most of us knew the Norwegian song,"No livnar det i lundar', a song welcoming the spring - we sang together.

We have a great shire...

It was time to chat:)
Time for tea and goodies.





It was time for play.
There is always time to play.

Evensong -

In large cathedrals, like St. Paul's and Westminster Cathedral in London, there is an Evensong at 5 p.m. on most days. God willing, I will go next time I am in London, and I hope to have a group of students with me, to experience the trained choirs define the moment of sacred time. 

          But tonight I had another free concert, at dusk. The volume of the voices rang out into the still air, as nightfall was settling in the forest. A choir of birds were giving their songs, each in its own key, with its own tonality, but the symphony was deep and stirring. Other sounds had quieted down, and the voices carried with clarity.

I was walking home from a function at our school, an evening gathering to listen to a former missionary giving a homily, and singing and praying together. The sacred space was like a Prayer House. I was delighted at the simple message. It spoke to my heart. The Lord will not forsake me, not condemn me; I am loved, despite my shortcomings.

Evensong - praises to God at dusk, as the day settles - I stood still on the dirt road, attentive. Enchanted. Evensong...  

A bird sanctuary

What is a Church, Anyway?

A church is a word used about a gathering place for Christians, and etymologically has its roots in the Greek word for Lord (kurios), and has documented usage as in kuriakon doma, meaning 'house of the Lord'¹. The word synagogue,on the other hand, means congregating, meeting together.

          The earliest meeting place for the first Christians was in the Temple in Jerusalem. In addition, they met in private houses. From the New Testament texts we know that there was a tradition of regional houses of worship, synagogues, in many places.² There was even a synagogue on the Temple grounds. This institution had the purpose of instruction, reading of holy texts, study, prayer, and in some cases as scribal work space. It was also a place for a traveler to find shelter. Naturally, there was no conflict, no competition between the form of worship of God in the Temple and in the synagogue. Rather, it was complimentary.

         In Norwegian Christian traditions, we have the official Lutheran church, with its clergy and central building. In addition there are smaller prayer houses in towns and villages, often with deliberate biblical names, like Zoar, Betel, Elim etc.

Zoar, Lisleherad in Telemark

          These small, simple, structures were serving the purpose of the community, as a gathering place, for evening meeting, bible lessons, mission fundraisers. It was serving a lay movement. The interior is normally a large, simple room, perhaps a podium with a central pulpit. There may be a reproduction of a biblical scene on the wall, one naked cross, perhaps slightly gilded. The prayer house was a place for gathering of the believers, for instruction, prayer, singing, for encouraging each other in words and deeds. The same people would also come to the main church on a Sunday morning, and take part in the service, and receive the eucharist and the blessings.

The Early House Church

Archeological excavations have unearthed the early house church in Dura-Europos in Syria.

Baptistry, murals in Christian House, Dura-Europos

          The ruins were discovered in the Syrian desert by a British soldier who was digging trenches during WW1, and he discovered beautifully preserved frescoes. The estimated dating of the murals in the house is from AD 232-256. The murals display New Testament scenes.

The house has a baptismal font, like a tub, in a separate room. There is a place for gathering for the Eucharist, a place for teaching, and an atrium, which is a green garden in the centre. Since the house was decorated, it was most likely owned by wealthy citizens who became Christians. It is quite possible that they had rebuilt their house to serve the need of the gathering of believers.

          In colloquial English, it is not uncommon to use the word 'church' meaning a community of believers. Some will even be slightly offended if you indicate that 'a church' refers to the building. They feel that a building is like an empty shell, and as such immaterial. Further, they speak like the true, authentic spirituality lies in the moment, as the people are gathered around the Word. There is no need for ceremony, no need for any set liturgy, no need for any mediating illustrations of any kind - but ...does it perhaps call for a strong leader, someone who may guide the herd? There is much good in a genuine relationship to God and to our fellow men, but it is not contra to liturgical worship, just like the Temple and the synagogue, the parish church and the prayer house, there is room for both.

          I wondered by myself, as I was walking home from work, why I am attracted to ceremony and liturgy? I grew up in a rather secular setting, where we only visited a church on special occasions. When I voluntarily visited a church in my teenage years, I was bored stiff and struggled not to fall asleep during the long prayer. I never remembered anything of the homilies. They were not exactly relevant to life. I thought the liturgy was empty recitals, void of true spirituality.

          Only years later, when the familiar words of the prayers, the confession of sin, the confession faith entered my thoughts - when I had no more words of my own to produce, only then did I start to long for the set liturgy: well thought out prayers and sayings, leading me to the core of our faith: Jesus, the Risen Lord. The words in the liturgy in our Lutheran church are powerful, meaningful, beautiful. In the service I can relive them, enter into them, celebrate with my heart, prepare for confessions - but I wish we were not so rushed. Give me more time, time to confess, time let things sink in. These days the sermon is challenging, either to heart or to mind, but I remember it. It may be a source of discussion; it may cause reflection. It may lead to deeper insight into the mysteries of Christ.

My church, Kviteseid kyrkje.

1(ORIGIN Old English cir(i)ce, cyr(i)ce, related to Dutch kerk and German Kirche, based on medieval Greek kurikon, from Greek kuriakon (dōma)‘Lord's (house),’ from kurios ‘master or lord.’ )NOAD

2Acts 2:46: "So continuing daily with one accord in the temple, and breaking bread from house to house"

Advent

(Adveniat regnum Tuum)

Once a Pharisee;

What did we see?

That the sun only shines on the righteous,

That the strong will inherit the earth,

That all weakness must crumble in terrors

And that thinking has limited worth?

Once a Pharisee,

But then we saw

A vast and furious field of what

Is humanly fair to know,

Of episteme, mind and thought.

Admiration, honour, and awe

Were in our mirrored path.

And what did we see?

The road to a sceptic wrath -

The road of the Sadducee.

Once a Sadducee

What did we see?

Or rather, what did we not?

Evading eternity,

We turned our gaze to prod

Into substance, devoid of God.

So, where does it lead,

this path of ours?

And where do our leaders go?

From ditch to ditch,

On a narrow trail,

We stumble, as darkness grows.

But rest assured,

The dawn is coming!

This light will outshine any doubt.

The King of Heaven

is approaching

Revealed in word, in deed, in might!

Beyond the scope of human reason,

mindful labour, and despair,

There is our King,

forgiving treason -

reaching out, and coming near.

Real and regal, He is here!

Dec. 2, 2014

The Usefulness of Sacred Space

"I don't really care about the building", said my friend, as we talked about the sacred architecture and the place of worship. Her congregation, an international church, meets in a rented location normally used by the scouts. It has no religious art, no specific layout; it is a room with furnishings. However, on Sundays, when this congregation meets, the chairs are line up in rows, and the focal point is the small pulpit. The room is small and easy to relate to - not much room for hesitation. What constitutes the sacred is the defining sacred time. They come together to be with God, to sing, worship in their hearts, and to receive instruction and encouragement in the faith. They share communion. This constitutes sacred space.

          In our conversation, it came clear that her notion of 'sacred architecture' was the old, grand, ecclesiastical buildings of history, large stone cathedrals - and as such somewhat removed from the experience of fellowship between people in the congregation. In short, the notion of the art historical samples created in the history of the western world - with its art-historical styles: byzantine, renaissance, gothic, norman, romanesque, baroque, rococo, neo-classical... modern, funkis, experimental..etc., this was her immediate association with the term 'sacred architecture'. Indeed, there is much truth to that. The vast majority of books on the subject deal with the art historical aspects of the building. We see detailed illustrations of the exterior, layout, and interior decor. We read vivid descriptions of artefacts, building material, and artistry. We are introduced to trends in change, and we might enter into a suggestion about the reason why such change in style and taste occurs. There are some theological deliberations in some of these publications. However, it does not speak of the church in function, of the interaction between people and what is going on in the building. It does not define its space based on the sacred time.

           God can not be contained in any building, nor in nature. What constitutes the sacred time is based in His own promises of presence, of interaction, of means to be forgiven and be reconciled. Any space becomes sacred with this function.

          Christian sacred spaces are not in themselves 'holy grounds', even though they may have been consecrated for certain usage by a procedure by church officials. In my definition of what makes something sacred, there is alway the sanctifying agent, which is God, who is at work. Unlike the Hindu temple, where the building itself is sacred because of the indwelling of the god, the visitation during hours, the Christian sacred space is always defined by the presence of God, based on His promise to be where two or three are gathered in his name.

          Interestingly enough, as my friend and I talked, she needed to tell me about a beautiful experience in one of London's cathedrals - one of these impersonal, large and majestic structures she had no need for - and it was when visiting the cathedral at Evensong. The singing, the atmosphere, the moment of beauty, the worship of the local congregation and visitors - still played in her memory as a taste of the Kingdom Come. Exactly, I concurred; for here you experience the building in action, for its purpose, in its liturgical occasion.

          As we parted, my friend and I, I had the sense of having shared something meaningful together, and I hoped she agreed with my sentiments of the usefulness of sacred space.

Domus Dei and Domus ecclesia

In Catholic circles we find discussions and much written material on Christian sacred architecture, and in many cases it has a practical outworking: What should the church look like, how does it meet the needs of the congregation, how does it meet the need in the liturgical theatre, or what does it express?

          In an online journal, Sacred Architecture, issue 21, Steven Schloeder, discusses the implications of a Domus Dei versus Domus ecclesia - a building with the primary function as a house of God or as a meeting place for the congregation. Naturally, there is no necessary opposition between the two, but there is clearly an emphasis on what is important. Schloeder explains the sentiment in the modern approach, which stresses the need for the architecture to mirror contemporary taste and meet human needs, but he also laments the breach away from traditions in building that has defined the church for 1700 years.

          What does a modern church building signify? Its exterior in steel, glass and concrete resembles any other office building, but there may be a symbol, a cross, which signals its ecclesiastical use. The exterior has a message to the outsiders, and to the local community: does it signal the ordinary, the commonality with 'this world', or does it signal an entry into the realm of heaven? Contemporary church architecture has variations in style, and may be more an expression of the individual architect than a strong cultural trend, which, then may be called an individual trend.

Christ Resurrection Church, Milan, Italy.

Style may be individually flavoured, but a church has its functions. As such, it is meant to be experienced from the inside. The question remains: does it function as a Domus ecclesia, with room and opportunity for the congregation to interact, to learn, to be a fellowship? If so, the question arises: a fellowship, of what? Are we talking about a club of people who share common interests? Are we talking about a human need centred gathering, where - in some cases the seating is cushioned, laid out like a theatre, with room for coffee mugs - and the congregation become an audience to a performance...? What is the architecture  

suggesting to people? What is their response?

Interior: St. Bonifatius,
Herbrechtingen, Germany.

Thomas Road Baptist Church,
Lynchburg, Virginia, USA

A
fellowship of believers is just that: a fellowship of people who have common faith, and who come to fellowship with God, together. They may have little in common in many other aspects of life, but they have this central and defining faith in common. Therefore they come to church: to worship, to receive forgiveness for sins, to be edified and built up in the faith. This time functions as a life support for many. Their deepest need is communion with God, encouragement - or even correction. How will the architecture help to direct the focus on God?

          In my opinion, the answer is not necessarily in tradition, in tall majestic stone buildings. The architecture needs to be deliberate, in direction of movement and in primary focus. It needs to be deliberate in use of light, and it in auditory functions. The interior vessels and furnishings, whether they are elaborate or minimalistic in style, need to serve their primary purpose. If it aides the believer individually and as a community to focus on God, and as a consequence, builds up the believers, then the architecture has served its function.

          In the Orthodox church traditions, there is not as much change in styles. The expression in architecture has remained much the same, as have the age old rituals in the liturgies. It is awe inspiring in its beauty and splendour; for the space is sacred space, and the time is not temporal in earthly sense. Stepping in to the sanctuary means to step into a holy place, beyond the limits of this world, both in time and space. There is the solemn encounter with the King of Heaven, of the risen and victorious Christ. This is a Domus Dei.

Church of the Saviour on Spilled Blood
(Cathedral of the Resurrection of Christ)
in St. Petersburg, Russia.

Church of the Saviour of the Spilled Blood

The Truth about Christian Orthodoxy - John Behr

Take some time and listen to the lecture by John Behr. He brings out some rather important points about interpretation, about premises for our thinking about historicity - about who God is and who we are. If any of you think that the Orthodox church is 'lost in icons and worshipping saints', etc., listen, Learn.




"Fr. John Behr takes on those who dismiss Jesus Christ on "historical grounds," by explaining how historicism itself is problematic and, indeed, heretical. The alternative to historicism as our mode of interpretation, he explains, is Christ on the cross as the foundation of all our knowledge and interpretation.

The Very Rev. Dr. John Behr is the Dean of St. Vladimir's Seminary in Crestwood, N.Y., where he is also Professor of Patristics, teaching courses in patristics, dogmatics, and Scriptural exegesis. He also teaches at Fordham University, where he is the Distinguished Lecturer in Patristics.

This lecture was delivered as part of the annual Augustine College Weston Lecture series on March 23rd, 2012."

Perception

Early morning fog and low cloud cover is covering the highest mountains from view. I see the contours of the closer hills clearly. One thin stripe of white ice is still lingering in the shady parts of the lake. No wind this morning; the lake is still and reflecting shapes of trees, but it is not quite clear. From my view in the living room, some trees are closer. They show their evergreen foliage, they are sharper and more distinct.

Perception. Perspective is always part of our perception, and so is focus.

I know this landscape. I have witnessed it on a clear and sunny day. I know the shape of the mountains that are hidden in the cloud cover. I know the colours of the trees, the hills, the buildings. So, I have knowledge from sense perception. I build on experience.

          I could obnoxiously claim that I know all that is worth knowing about the place; but I would not be able to sustain it on further inquiry. I could still claim that I know all that is worth knowing, and that it leads us to where we want to go and to be.

           I have a friend that sometimes brings a Catholic theologian, Karl Rahner, in to the discussion about knowing God. I read some pages of his writings, only to emerge with the impression that his concept of God's grace was like a nebulous fog. Due to rational mode of thought, I led out a battle cry -(I typically oppose things I do not quite understand) - until I stared at this early morning covered in the 'nebulous fog'. God and his realm are sometimes in a fog for us; we do not see all things so clearly. The reality is still there, though. God is there when I do not see Him.  

Estetisk smaksdom. En byggekloss.

"The variations of the colour blue, and any colour that has a defining tint of blue, are most beautiful." "My favourite colour is blue."

Ja, hva slags dybde ligger det i et utsagn som dette?

Det er en smaksdom, en personlig estetisk smaksdom. Den kan gjøres allmenn med visse modifikasjoner: "farger er vakre". For alle som kan si seg enige i at fargen blå er vakker, blir det et felles utsagn, som er en felles estetisk smaksdom. Poenget er til dels at det finnes noe felles og allment. Om dette er kulturavhenging, er et tolknings-spørsmål, og det er ikke urimelig om det er slik. Det kan definere en tradisjon og en videre kultur. Den subjektive smaksdom blir ikke stående alene, men har sin naturlige sammenheng. Idet den deles, blir den allment kjent, og den kan bli gjenstand for fellesskap eller kontrast. Uansett står den i en sammenheng.

          Gadamer refererer en del til Kant og hans forståelse av dømmekraften i den estestiske smaksdom. Det som interesserer meg i denne sammenhengen er nettopp det allmenne. Jeg tenker naturlig nok på tolkninger av sakral arkitektur, og søker å finne det felles-menneskelige, det allmenne innefor den kristne kulturkrets.

I forlengelsen av forsøket på en viss avgrensning av meningen i begrepet 'sakralt', kommer også funderinger om triaden 'det gode, det sanne og det skjønne'. Disse tre kan sees i forhold til hverandre og være med på å avgrense og definere hverandre.

          At denne triaden har vært gjenstand for visse angrep, er ikke så vesentlig. Den kan forsatt forsvares; men det avhenger av hvordan vi forstår f.eks 'det sanne'. Det er for snevert å avgrense sannhet til 'det som gjengir virkeligheten', som om det materielle er alt som kan bevitne sannhet; eller at det vi kan vite noe om empirisk er alt som rommer hva som er sant.

           Sett sammen med det gode og det skjønne, sprenger sannhetsbegrepet grensene for det rasjonelle,og trer inn i sansenes verden, i etikkens goder, og like inn i metafysikkens udefinerbare sfærer. Der er Gud: den sanne, den gode og den skjønne.

My favourite colour is blue.

My favourite colour is blue.

The variations of the colour blue, and any colour that has a defining tint of blue, are most beautiful.
Just the facts, man, just the facts.

Defining the Sacred

What is sacred? How do we understand the the word, the concept, the notion? Do we have a common understanding of what it signifies? We may consult dictionaries to find a lexical definition, but in many cases the definition reflects usage, and although helpful, it does not settle the definition.

          A definition in connection with interpretation of church architecture will be a 'working definition', and the key is that for something to be sacred, it must have been sanctified by someone or something which has the power and authority to do so. God is the sanctifying agent, and we act on his promises of being there to sanctify a moment. His presence is a sanctifying. His presence makes the moment sacred.

          In the book of Leviticus, we have clear instructions about the place of worship, a tent like construction called a tabernacle. In this system of worship every single detail is prescribed by God, in direct command, from what vessels to use, how to perform various acts of sacrifice and how to act any connection with God. The point in these clear and detailed descriptions is that all instruction is based in God's words, in his initiative, in his power. There is no room for human magic, for human power to be exerted over the congregation. The priest is as dependent on the given layout as anyone else. The priest performs according to the instructions, and when it is done accordingly, there is the promise that God is active in and through it. Because the acts of sacrifice are carried out based on God's will, the results are following: there is forgiveness for sins; there is ablution.

          Here we have sacred vessels, clothing, demarcation lines within the tabernacle walls for sacred space, sacred acts in sacred time. As stated, the sanctifying agent is God.

          How, then, do we see the church? How do we see the local church which was designed by a professional architect, constructed by a building company, paid for by the local commune or by money collected from the congregation? What makes this place sacred? What about the rituals, the liturgies, the performance of connectedness in the acts of the priests and congregation?

          To step aside form the immediate answer, some of us experience a sense of the sacred as we may enter into a majestic cathedral, like Westminster Abbey in London. I still relive my last entry into the large building - through massive wooden doors, being greeted by a local member of the congregation who wanted to let me know that this is a living church, a place for worship, with regular services, and - please do not disturb the service in progress - and I gave him my word in a silent nod. So, as I entered, the light shone through the tall stained glass windows in streaked lines, revealing the dust particles in the air. The noise and business from the street were dulled to a faint and far away sound. I stood on a hard stone floor, but the layout of the architecture made me move in one direction, and as I walked I was met with coffins in niches, which troubled me. Stone statues passed me, and the symbolism of the biblical world tumulted around me. All through the few moments upon my entry I was awed by the sense of the sacred: of a lung in the profane where I was invited to come close to God. And I sat down on a wooden chair to join the locals.

          Was it the beauty that captured me? Was it the sense of being small and humble in the great sanctuary that caused me to tune my heart to God? Was it the fact that I knew I entered a church and not a museum? What was it that caused my immediate sense of being in a sacred place? Are such sentiments justified?

          In my youth I studied Kant's " Kritik der Urteilskraft", and he speaks about the aesthetical judgement as almost like a faculty, a kind of common sense we possess to validate such experiences as real. Perhaps I was right there, in a sacred space, and I just 'knew' it, intuitively. I think I am not the only one with this sort of experience.

          However, my intuition needs some form of justification - or at least explanation. As a Christian, I have been given the Holy Spirit, and this I share with other believers all over the world. I can find a home with other believers. The promise of Jesus is that where two or three are gathered, there He is, in our midst. The presence of the Jesus sanctifies the moment. We share the bread and wine in communion It is upon his commands, his instructions that we eat and drink together. The only agent that is at work in and through the sacred act is the presence of Jesus. What is being performed in our hearts at this moment is no less that a miracle: upon His word, we have the forgiveness of sins. We may leave the place and be fully cleansed and renewed.

What makes a local church sacred space is the moments of sacred time: the presence of God; Jesus in our midst. We commune on His premises and on His promises. That constitutes the sacred. It is sanctified by God, who has power and authority to do so.

There are many more aspects of defining the 'sacred'. We may look at the difference between 'holy' and 'sacred. We may look at contrasts as in sacred/profane, or question misconceptions of 'sacred', dwell on expanded usage of the term (where there is no relation to any metaphysical reality, only within the human realm). But, for all practical purposes, in relations to church architecture and Christian sacred spaces, it is vital to see God as the sanctifying agent, and that no authority and power are given to men.

Aletheia - a way of truth

There is no need to justify the experience of the ordinary as moments of encounter with beauty, but in a class on "Postmodern Aesthetics" at University of Cincinnati, we read Heidegger's "On Being and Time"¹ and his exposition of the unearthing of an ordinary object, coming forth in its being, and simply revealing its existence as such - this sense of being connects with truth of it's being there. Before we can speak of what something is, we need to understand that it is.

           How do we then relate to other 'being'? To what extent do we understand anything of their existence, and how may we know what they are? In my rational mind I want to seek a system of thought that can satisfy my quest; and yet I stare into my own limitation. The question is not new. Descartes looked to confirm his own existence by a rational introspection, and he bases his a priori premise about his own being in "Je pence, donc je suis", or more formally "Cogito, ergo sum." Kant distinguishes between "das Ding an sich" and " das Ding für mich", which is clearly setting certain limits for our cognition. However, Kant also verifies the existence of the the thing in itself, since it is in such an encounter that we realize our own being, our own existence. For him, then there is something outside of myself which confirms me. ( When I, in the darkness of the night, on my way to the loo, hit my little toe on an object - like my sons' weight training tool - it hurts! So the heavy metal object confirmed my own being by the pain I can not deny.)

          We relate to objects. We relate to people - and that is a whole other ball park. That is one I am always working on. Presently I reflect on Egil Wyller and Emanuel Levinas' contributions in how we relate in interdependence, and how important love is Naturally, I see the whole matter in a Christian world view, and my primary source is the daily interaction with God and his Word.

          I am because God is. I exist in his kingdom because he redeemed me. His kingdom is from now and to eternity; and I may live forever. More than anything does this relationship constitute the basis for how I live in relations to my fellow beings. I have experienced love and forgiveness; I have been corrected, challenged in my egoism, I have seen truth; I have stumbled and been raised up; and I live in God's creative and powerful hands. This relationship is dynamic, mutual, but not on even terms. It is a father/child, a master/servant type relationship - where God is one who knows, and I may be an apprentice.

1Sein und Zeit

The Beauty of the Ordinary

What is it about art that we value it so much? Why does a stilleben capture our attention, even if it were a simple pair of shoes by Van Gogh? Perhaps it is the light, the way light falls on the object, or perhaps it is some mysterious being in the object that somehow reveals itself - just for some moments, and then again vanishes into oblivion, back into the ordinary. Still, for those moments its beauty shone, and as a bystander, you may come to admire it, even relate to it. I wonder if you have noticed this? Have you let yourself become enamoured with the sheer beauty of an ordinary object that somehow all of a sudden stands out and shines?

There is a connection between art and truth, a connection which is hard to define and limit in the realm of vocabulary. It is a world of its own; it communicates non-verbally. What is it about the artwork, I asked, that we value it? Perhaps it is the connection with beauty, belonging and truth that captures us. We like to be surrounded by it.

A myriad of images in my mind, images of ordinary things becoming the regal agents, be it a white book shelf, a metal swing door, a patch on a business office carpet, the inner room beyond the kitchen, or the sanctuary in our village church...all bring the beauty of this world into my soul, and it enriches me. I may capture many beautiful artefacts wherever they are, behold them, and never touch them: Beauty is such that I can fully enjoy it without having to 'own' it.

Art, architecture and interpretation: As I sat in church this morning, the sunlight shone brightly in from the left glass stained window, and it let the altar bathe in bright and golden light. The candle flame was still visible, but the segment of the altar shone in its purity. Light has cleansing properties: it reveals, it brings forth honesty, bareness, innocence. As the young priest later stood in the area of light, it reflected off his white garments. In my interpretative mind, I saw the light, the white covering of the religious garments, and I thought of being covered by Jesus.  

Theology and deliberate architecture

I have a work title for my personal research:

 "The Presence of Christ

A hermeneutical approach to understanding Christian sacred space

in its architectural environment, liturgical occasion and theological function"

And in this connection, I would like to share some thoughts around a 

Functional approach

One of the main functions of a church is to create a space for the communal and personal encounter with God. It seeks to aide the human side of this connection. I am fully aware that we cannot contain God in any built environment, but He has promised to be where two or three are gathered in His name. We can not create any space or cause in any way the appearance of God - we have no such 'magic' power, but God has freely promised to come near, so therefore we may expect it.

Theology and deliberate architecture:

In our Christian religion, the natural relationship between God and human kind is a broken relationship, due to a spiritual death on the part of humanity. Salvation from this state is found in God's act in becoming man: in Jesus Christ, his life, death and resurrection. As such, the reality is clear, but the question still hovers: how does it become part of my life? We know from the writings of the early apostles that this relationship is instituted through faith in Jesus, a simple conviction of the heart that He is who he says He is, and that I as a person, need to be rescued from my state of enmity towards God, and to receive the gift of life. And yet, we wonder: How does this actually happen? Many will testify and say: there is an inner conviction, the work of the Holy Spirit, that uses the Written word, and you are challenged to respond... Other will say: there is a means of God's grace provided for us in the act of baptism. Naturally, the symbolic act of baptism - to die, as one is being submerged in water - and rise again out of the water with the new life inside, is only truly valid when it is confirmed in a statement of faith. It is no magic symbolic act, and it has only value when acted on the promises of Jesus Christ.

Ok, some of you may have a bone or two to pick with me and my formulations - but my point is to see how the layout of a church, or church complex, reflect the basic theology.

My first example is the Cathedral of Pisa in Italy (1063-1350). It is most famous for its leaning bell tower, but the baptistry and cathedral are built together in a clearly theologically informed way.

 The large, circular baptistry is the first entry, as a person is initiated into the Christian faith through baptism, and as such can enter the place of worship.

The shape of this Romanesque building strongly resembles the tombs of the early church, like the Tomb of Theodoric in Ravenna, which is dated to 520 AD. 

Pisa Cathedral, Baptistry and Campanile ( bell tower)

It is therefore my claim that the choice of shape and form of the baptistry in Pisa is deliberate, in order to connect ideologically with the place of death. In baptism, one dies to self and rises with Christ.

The octagonal shape is clear in this building.

                                                                                    Tomb of Theodoric

How deliberate is the placement in other churches?

In our village of Kviteseid, Norway, we have two churches, one medieval church and one built in 1916. The newer church is a traditional basilica, with a bell tower adjacent to left. Upon entry through the narthex, we enter the main sanctuary. There is a baptismal font in the entry to the choir, which is marked by a small platform, a step up from the nave.                                                                                                                     

Kviteseid Kyrkje, interior.

Baptismal font.

What is interesting, though, is to notice the shape of this small and symbolic baptismal font.

It is octagonal. Is this shape deliberately chosen?

It certainly can be interpreted to stand in the tradition of the tombs of old and of the great baptistries.

Placement and Interpretation

Placement, the church in its surroundings

One of the most ordinary things about a building is its placement. It often is placed strategically, so that the usage of the space will be optimal. There are certain trends in placement of churches in historical Christianity. In many cases we see a church built on high ground, causing good visibility. This has been interpreted as a sign of victory of the Christian religion, as a flag posted on the ground, declaring the area under the sovereignty of a certain ruler, in this case, Christ.

        But how deliberate is the placement? Who decides where a church is built? Are the individuals involved in the process conscious of history, meaning and interpretation? Could it perhaps be the fact that someone donated land; or someone had their own interests in mind for placement? Is it the architect or the church council who decides? By what means of instruction do they act?

       Naturally, in a modern city space is scarce and expensive. What liberties do we have to choose a desirable spot? Is it not better to create a meeting place for believers for the purpose of worshipping God together, than to seek and create a monument for the sake of art, or for the sake of making a statement? Of course it is. My question is still, how do I interpret this building, its choice of placement and its function, its statement to the surroundings? Why, may you ask, should I want to interpret this? Is not the pragmatic reason good enough? Does a building need interpretation beyond its purpose?

       Here, I think, we often miss the obvious. A building is. It is in a certain place at a certain time in history. The mere fact of its being there demands of me a response. I can not simply ignore it. It is there. On a practical level of experience, I may have to go around a block to avoid crashing into it; or I may go inside it, perhaps also through it. But I can not ignore it. Secondly, the built environment influences us. It causes us to act in certain ways (like walk the block). What kind of influence might it have on me?

       In many cases, we are not particularly aware of the silent influence buildings have on us; so much as we negate the fact that they have any at all. I wonder, then, why so many feel so different when they come out of the towns and cities and into nature...

        Back to the question of interpretation: by what do I seek to interpret a building's placement, when it possibly had no intended meaning at all? In literary criticism we have various trends relating to interpretation and meaning. One ignores the author, and says the author's intention is irrelevant to my own interpretation in meeting the written work. Would this attitude work for buildings? Are there any measures for right or wrong interpretation?