Sail me

The most recent issue of Image magazine had an image (hey, hey) on the cover that made me quit multi-tasking – which for me would be 1)  walking and, 2) carrying - a handful of mail to the kitchen counter where I sort it. I thought what is that?! It looked like a sail rising from a glassy sea. 

It was a surprise to learn it was a parish church specially commissioned and built by the Vatican in the year 2000 - a year of jubilee. They put out a contest, and an American architect, Richard Meier, won it. I’m attracted to this church and can hardly say why and wish like anything that I could see it in real life as it stands or sails past the edge of Rome. The author of the article in Image, takes us there attempting to give us the scale and setting of the building itself and its relationship to the surrounding community.

I was fascinated that the architect, about whom I know nothing, said he envisioned a fishing boat, something familiar to Christ’s early disciples. Not icebergs, as some have thought, but “the triune God, in the form of three nested sails of white concrete, which billow above the congregation, guiding, protecting Peter and the people of the church on their voyage of faith as they sail on into the twenty-first century.”

The author writes: “Much of the church form has this quality of inviting understanding while resisting thorough explanation, of presenting rigorous order but only taking it so far.”  That makes sense to me. Or not sense exactly? But the way it is? I find that on Sundays as I participate in our church services and as I take communion, prayerfully inviting Christ to be one with all that I am – to belong fully, to be thankful in adoration of his body and blood, I also want to anchor somewhere visually, really. It eludes me. Partially because for all our efforts to anchor our thoughts and to know God in our places of worship – there will always remain mystery in God’s presence with us.

Representing Trinity with these three sails opens a vast sea of joyful longing and possibility - for me. Although we believe God can be worshipped anywhere, anytime I think here, I would be viscerally reminded of how much I want, no, make that need him to sail me through each day to the end of life.

If you Google images of Jubilee church Rome, many more will come up that give a better context of its place and size. They also give a better idea of its organic human dimensions and placement within the neighborhood.

Image of God

I’ve seen this (perhaps you have, too): Two young children, perhaps siblings sitting side by side, engrossed, in their own space and tiny world, coloring, braiding a doll’s hair, rolling a train engine on a track, imitating an adult activity. One of them reaches for something in the other’s space. The sibling who’s space has been invaded moves the thing away – “that is mine.”  The invader is angered because she’s didn’t get what she wanted and clocks or bites her sibling hard, who cries and does a little (not even a big) pay-back, perhaps a neck squeeze or a push. The initial transgressor is completely undone by this and has a complete melt-down – I’ve been wronged. If you go herehttp://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1vupEpNjCuY you can watch these two babies at the beginning of this movie trailer. Isn’t this, in a way, a powerful and charming affirmation of our common humanity across cultures – the universal challenge of getting along in community? These two babies are less than a year old. And look at what they’re playing at! Pounding maize on a metate?! Modeling their mothers! Why am I so delighted? This has made my day and I can’t wait for the film to be released in April.

Note Sufjan Stevens on the sound track. "The Perpetual Self"

Thanks to Shaun LaRose for alerting me to this.