Goin' to the Chapel

KPUMC is currently undergoing an internal conversation about what to do about the chapel.

Wait … did you even know that we have a chapel?

On the second floor of the education building, down the hall from the choir room and sanctuary entrance, is a large room with twelve pews and a stage with an altar and lectern. An upright piano sits in the corner next to the stage.

In times past, this chapel has served as a place for (very) small weddings and funerals, as well as occasional special worship services, like Blue Christmas or Ash Wednesday. But these days, the only ones using the space consistently are The Kessler School students, who use the chapel to gather in the morning before class.

To be honest, the chapel is not currently in very good shape. The pews are uncomfortable, and beginning to get a little wobbly. The chandelier lights are the same as we used to have in the old fellowship hall, and just as unattractive. It’s not a very sacred space at the moment.

It’s time to address this space, and ask the important theological question, “What does God want us to do in this place?”

In my opinion, there are three other questions to answer first before we can discern the way forward. Let’s spend a little time reflecting on these.

We should begin by asking the question, “How can we love our neighbors better with this space?” Last Sunday, I preached about our neighbors, and I pointed out that, though we understand that everyone could be defined as our “neighbor,” we certainly have to begin by loving the neighbors who live closest to us. So it doesn’t hurt to ask how our chapel space could best benefit the people in our neighborhood. Is there a service or program that we could be offering in that space which we currently aren’t offering? Is there a need that exists in the community which we could meet by using the chapel differently?

A second helpful question to ask is, “What could happen here, in this space, that couldn’t happen elsewhere?” This question helps us identify what is unique about a particular space, in order to take advantage of its particular qualities. For example, one helpful feature of our chapel space is that it is on the same floor as the sanctuary. Members of staff have been musing about the possibility of turning the chapel into a Sunday morning welcome and fellowship space, where people could more easily mingle, converse, and have coffee. Some staff have also pointed out that it might be helpful to have a nursery on the same level as the sanctuary; thus, the idea of converting the space into a new nursery has also been broached.

Perhaps most importantly, however, I recommend we also ask the third question: “How can this space be used to be a catalyst for creative change in north Oak Cliff?” This question emerged from our Holy Conversations process three years ago, and I find it extremely helpful as we pray and plan for the church’s future. I would encourage us to be creative when we think about this space and its potential. This requires outside-the-box thinking. Could we turn it into a TV studio, where services are regularly broadcast or streamed live? Or a goat yoga studio? Or a coffee shop?

Yes, these are crazy ideas … or are they? The point is to spend some time dreaming about what God might be up to in our midst. Why not dream a little, throw some oddball ideas out there? You never know what might stick and catch hold of our imagination.

The world is in need of some shalom right now, and we’ve got a big empty space where we might be able to make it happen. The only thing we’ve got to figure out is what and how.

Come, dream with us, and let your imagination loose.

To Live a Ghost Story

Last weekend, our neighborhood was the site of the sixth annual Oak Cliff Film Festival. Thanks to a sponsoring church member, I had access to a VIP pass, which enabled me to attend quite a few films over the weekend.

I geek out over film festivals; my favorites are the shorts and documentaries. But this year, I also got to see the big closing feature film, “A Ghost Story,” written and directed by local David Lowery.

Imagine my surprise, then, when I saw our very own church members, Margot and Sylvie Tomerlin, in a scene! (Spoiler alert: they played pioneer kids in a covered wagon.) I have no doubt that one or the other will end up being a famous performer; remember that Margot is our star liturgical dancer!

The film itself was an eye-opener. Don’t let the title or the marketing materials fool you; this is not a horror film, nor even a suspenseful thriller. And the one best-known actor in the film, Casey Affleck, spends most of the film under a white sheet. To be honest, “A Ghost Story” fits more comfortably in the “arthouse” genre. But don’t let that designation fool you either — the film is accessible to anyone who has just a little more patience than the average “Fast and Furious” filmgoer.

It’s certainly a different kind of movie from most Hollywood fare. For example, a few of the scenes are single takes that last four or five minutes. In one instance, Rooney Mara, playing a bereaved young widow, walks into her apartment and eats an entire pie. The whole thing is captured in only two shots, each of which seem to last forever. But the scene portrays grief in the most authentic manner I have ever seen on-screen.

The film is also very quiet. There is little dialogue, not much background music. Only natural sounds of night and quiet meadows. And so it gives the viewer the chance to really engage, not only intellectually, but emotionally with the striking images.

Yes, the story is about a ghost. The ghost walks around with a white sheet over his head. It sounds gimmicky, but it works in a very interesting way. He doesn’t come across as spooky or ethereal. Rather, the ghost is a clear symbol of loss, of a void.

The ghost functions as a screen upon which the viewer projects his or her own fears about belonging and identity. As I watched the ghost, I found myself wondering about the weighty matters of faith, love, and spirit. It wasn’t so much about the question of the afterlife, but upon what remains when one dies.

This particular ghost found himself rooted to one specific space; his identity was tied up in one location in a very particular period of time. As the people and things which inhabit his space disappear over time, the ghost becomes more and more disoriented; he becomes rootless and restless.

The point is clear: we humans inhabit time and space. Everything we do is bound by our place on the earth, limited by the seventy or eighty years we are given. We can’t transcend those dimensions as human beings, no matter how much we may strive to make ourselves “immortal.”

Only God transcends the dimensions of space and time. And God’s revelation in Jesus Christ makes plain to us what ultimately lasts, what goes on into the distant future, beyond our limited lifespan. Three things remain in the end — faith, hope, and agape/love — says the apostle Paul (I Cor. 13:13).

What matters is faith — the unconditional trust that we place in God’s love.

What matters is hope — the undying flicker of possibility in the future, however distant.

What matters is agape — the love that gives unconditionally and completely to the other.

These are the things that go on, that remain.

I know that I will die someday. But I sure hope that I don’t find myself in a white sheet, loitering around the house long after my death. Instead, I hope to find myself in God’s presence, enjoying the shalom I have sought all my life.

And I pray that my acts of faith, hope, and agape will last for a little while, at least, if only to encourage those who come after me to do the same.