Wednesday, July 26, 2006

Memories

Personal blog.

The church just turned really old this month.
We had a big party of sorts. Over two hundred people maybe?

Saw lots of former members I haven't seen in over ten years.
They shared with me some of their memories and it sparked some of my own.

And I remembered the old building.

It was as if it had never existed and I was trying to capture a dream...

I miss it.
The old church building.

And with it, the old church members...

Wow...

It must have been helped by my trying to tell Zelda about the old building.

I don't like the new one...

The shell of the sanctuary with the people, the humanity ripped out...

It was heartening to see photos of mom in the "our history" display.

'73 to '01.

I regret not having played a bigger role in the life of the church...

Maybe I should visit more often... though I am Methodist now...
And how would that fit in with Zelda...?
I know she would not want to attend often...

Man I miss the old building...

It had a mystery to it. A human touch in the craftsmanship of how it was made and laid out.
It had History.

Stain glass in memory of such and such.
Proof of those who came before me.

I know it was good intentions that lead to the remodel and design.
And I know the Architect didn't mean to kill it.
But he did.

Ripped the soul right out of it.

All the little touches of People.

The above stained glass.

The great old stairs in the Narthex (that wonderfully would never meet code today).

The captivating window in the east wing class room that came down to the floor in such a way that caused me to wonder, "What is it about this window that causes me to pause and wonder about this question?"

The wainscot that ran down the hall.

All the quiet places that are now gone, because this new building has no quiet spaces to find, to explore and discover.

If a building can represent a quest for a faith, the old one did that for me.

It connected me, like the religion that it was built for, to that which came before, the generations of people who were the church.

And as one room lead to another and then on to still more, with doors opening at every turn, bringing me to where I had been, or to new undiscovered passage ways, it discribed in physical form, the journey I was and would take spiritually.

It was familar.

Where I grew up.

Where Mom and Dad
were still alive...

History...

I miss it...

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