Until our visit to First Baptist Church was over, few of our pilgrims were aware that throughout out time there it had been pouring with rain.  As Baptists we are allowed to joke about the abundance of water, but inside we no idea.  There we were safe and dry and before long the sun was shining all over again. 

We were welcomed warmly by the people of First Baptist Church.  Their pastor, the Rev. Gary Denning, had been a tremendous help sending us information about the city and the churches well in advance of our trip and one of their members even took the day off work to be with us.  First Baptist was more than simply a place to keep dry and safe. 

However, with the rain pouring outside it was not insignificant that the pilgrims found themselves in the nave of a neo-Gothic church which by its very name is intended to remind worshipers of a ship or even the ark on which Noah, his family found salvation from the rain and the storm pounding the world outside.  The design of a neo-gothic nave is always in the shape of a cross to remind us that the cross of Christ is our salvation and refuge in time of storm.  We were in the right place for a time of storm.    

First Baptist was built one hundred years ago in 1912 by the great architect Bertram Goodhue shortly after he and his former partner, Ralph Adams Cram, (Cram designed Calvary Episcopal and East Liberty Presbyterian), had parted company.  While the proportions of the church are very Cram like, the high narrow tower is certainly unlike the Cram designed towers of East Liberty and Calvary.

Goodhue chose to collaborate with a young un-established artist named Charles Conninck whose design for the stained glass windows was his first major project in stained glass and came a  year before he would open his studio office in Boston.   His design represents one of the first steps away from the popular and dominant form of Tiffany style glass which tended towards portraiture of characters in Biblical Stories and church history.  Among the thousands of symbols found in First Baptist's stained glass one would be hard pressed to find a single human character.  However what one does find is an absolute wealth of symbols.   If I have one regret about my two visits to First Baptist it would be that on both occasions it was raining.  I believe when the sun is shining the windows must be truly brilliant and the sanctuary alive with light. 

With 2012 being the building's centennial and the congregation's bi-centennial the leadership of the church have catalogued each and every symbol in the Sanctuary with a corresponding explanation of the meaning of the symbol.  This includes many hundreds in the windows, a handful in the pulpit, and hundreds more in the magnificent organ casing which adds incredible depth and colour to the front of the church.  The catalogue reads like a map as there is a definite pattern and story being told in the design and pattern of the symbols.  For true pilgrims First Baptist is far more than a shelter in the time of storm.  It is a way station where one can replenish the heart and soul on the journey home to God. 

Though the organ casement with external pipes beautifully painted and displayed is perhaps the most beautiful we have yet seen on a pilgrimage, the instrument itself is sadly no longer functional and the congregation appears hard pressed for the funds to conduct the necessary repairs.  The congregation must miss the organ terribly as they continue to embrace and love a traditional liturgy and music, but after a lenghty pastorate with declining numbers the pastor gives voice to his critics from outside the church who think both the organ and the style of music should go. It is a discouraging time for many mainline churches seeking to uphold not simply the traditions, but a seasoned and thoughtful approach to worship. 

Perhaps the most telling tale of their sincerity and love for the world around came directly from their pastor, whom we learned is on call at the university hospital down the street.  He ventures out like the dove Noah sent in search of safe ground. Through his ministry to sick children and their families he brings hope and peace in the midst of storm to those who will probably never enter through his church doors.  Our prayer is that as Pastor Gary Denning and his congregation continue to selflessly reach out in the service of others in need they will find new health and vitality in the service of Christ. 

Peace

Peter 

It was early in the morning and traffic was light which meant we arrived ahead of schedule and so on the way I was naturally concerned that we would arrive to find the church not yet open, but there at the curb to meet us first thing in the morning was the Minister of Smithfield United Church of Christ, the Rev. Dr. Douglas Patterson, and Donn Neal, the church archivist.  Then again perhaps it is in keeping that a church founded in 1782 would be there well ahead of us.  

Sadly the exterior face of the church is currently draped in a dark netting to protect pedestrians from pieces falling off the stone front while the church raises funds to do the necessary repairs.  Nonetheless, there is no hiding the impressive exterior and aluminum steeple of the church designed by the noted innovative architect, Henry Hornbostel. Hornbostel.   

Hornbostel was raised in New York and educated at Columbia and in Paris before winning the 1904 competition to design the buildings of today's Carnegie Mellon University.  As a result of his concentration of time in Pittsburgh almost half of his major works are found in the same city.  The Smithfield Church was built in 1925-26. 

Hornbostel brought the front of the building right out to the edge of the sidewalk to signify the church's presence at the intersections of life engaging the challenges of the city with the gospel of Christ.  It may well have reflected the manner in which the church was already involved with the social issues and concerns of its day, but it has certainly signified well the church's proactive and progressive approach ever since.  Until only recently the church served as a women's shelter for many years and more recently it has used its space to house the homeless during cold weather.  These and many other activities and services mark distinguish its ministry in the downtown core. 

The sanctuary which sits two floors above the street level is a warm and welcoming place which again reflects the church's mission and passion.  There are numerous outstanding features of design which Corey Keeble elaborated on with enthusiasm, but when the lights went out the beautiful stained glass windows came to life.   Nine of the ten windows contained scenes from the life or teachings of Jesus in the upper level with a scene of Ruth and Naomi in the tenth.   In the lower portion of each of the ten windows was an historic character or scene with eight of them relating to the history of Pittsburgh.  Symbolically again the gospel sheds light on the history and offers meaning to the city. 

Seeing the German inscription on the casing high above the chancel which states, 'Glory to God in the Highest,' brought to mind a scene from the life of the late George McLeod of Iona whose passion for the poor was brought to life when a boy threw a stone through one of the windows in his Glasgow Church.  The window contained the same inscription but the stone knocked out the letter 'e' in the word Highest.   As a result the window read, 'Glory to God in the High st.'  McLeod saw the damage as more divine calling the calamity.

Hornbostel got it right when he brought the church structure face to face with the street and clearly the people of Smithfield have had it right when they meet the city person to person as they met us early that morning on the Smithfield St.  Glory to God.  

If Graham French's motive is, as he says, to get viewers to walk inside his images, it certainly worked on me - big time.  The pictures did indeed seem to lose their edges and absorb me into the remarkable photographs he refers to as 'disappearing landscapes.'  

French's exquisite photos, on display this month in the Yorkminster Park Gallery, are of spaces sacred in their own right - precious corners of the creation threatened by global warming and human progress.  French considers his art something of a calling as a steward of the earth.  No human hand was involved in coordinating the dates but curiously the show appeared at the same time as the environmental town hall meeting sponsored by 'For Our Grandchildren' at the church last Sunday afternoon and for our creation liturgy which followed.  Maybe God is giving us a hint.

I met the artist while the show was being hung and at the reception which followed a few days later.  However, each time I walk through the gallery it becomes a fresh encounter.  When I stood in front of the largest piece of all on the first day I turned to Graham French and said, "I can't think of where this is, but I know I have been to this place and now it is as if I am there all over again."  For me there was a sense of reappearing in the disappearing landscapes on exhibit in the gallery.

The large piece with which I identified is of Canon Beach, Oregon, where we once vacationed in my childhood and to which my wife and I returned a few years ago.   Another of the photos shows a great iceberg nestled into the harbour at Twillingate, Newfoundland, while two more are of beaches on Vancouver Island where I was raised.  His photos convey the beauty so much more wonderfully than any words and so it is I have found myself on several occasions standing before them in silence.  It was lovely to be taken back to those precious places and to other places to which I have not yet been.  

Yet as comforting and peaceful as the show is the artist intends something prophetic, sad, and even disturbing as the viewer is reminded that these same places which have brought such joy and happiness to hundreds of thousands are in danger of being no more.  I hate the thought of it, but so does Graham which is why he displays the pictures in the first place.   

Whether he knows it or not, Graham's show is a call which should resonate with us all - a call to be wise stewards of creation and faithful disciples of Christ. 

Peace,

French's exquisite photos, on display this month in the Yorkminster Park Gallery, are of spaces sacred in their own right - precious corners of the creation threatened by global warming and human progress.  French considers his art something of a calling as a steward of the earth.  No human hand was involved in coordinating the dates but curiously the show appeared at the same time as the environmental town hall meeting sponsored by 'For Our Grandchildren' at the church last Sunday afternoon and for our creation liturgy which followed.  Maybe God is giving us a hint. 

I met the artist while the show was being hung and at the reception which followed a few days later.  However, each time I walk through the gallery it becomes a fresh encounter.  When I stood in front of the largest piece of all on the first day I turned to Graham French and said, "I can't think of where this is, but I know I have been to this place and now it is as if I am there all over again."  For me there was a sense of reappearing in the disappearing landscapes on exhibit in the gallery.

The large piece with which I identified is of Canon Beach, Oregon, where we once vacationed in my childhood and to which my wife and I returned a few years ago.   Another of the photos shows a great iceberg nestled into the harbour at Twillingate, Newfoundland, while two more are of beaches on Vancouver Island where I was raised.  His photos convey the beauty so much more wonderfully than any words and so it is I have found myself on several occasions standing before them in silence.  It was lovely to be taken back to those precious places and to other places to which I have not yet been.  

Yet as comforting and peaceful as the show is the artist intends something prophetic, sad, and even disturbing as the viewer is reminded that these same places which have brought such joy and happiness to hundreds of thousands are in danger of being no more.  I hate the thought of it, but so does Graham which is why he displays the pictures in the first place.   

Whether he knows it or not, Graham's show is a call which should resonate with us all - a call to be wise stewards and faithful disciples of Jesus. 

Peace,

After ringing the bell at the backdoor of St. John the Baptist Ukrainian Catholic Church on Pittsburgh's south side, we realized the front door was wide open and waiting just inside was Father Ivan Chirovsky whose broad smile telegraphed the warmest of welcomes.  Within minutes we discovered that Father Ivan had been mentored by Father Roman whose St. Elias Church we visited in Brampton two years ago.  Father Ivan has learned well, as all of his teacher's warmth shines in the face of the student.  Upon learning of our mutual friend and our visit to his Brampton church Father Ivan simply commented, "St. Elias is what a Ukrainian Catholic Church should look like."  He then turned to show us his own church. 

As the visit progressed the meaning of those words became clearer.  To begin with, while St. Elias is a marvelous duplication of the actual wooden structures that are to be found throughout the Ukraine, St. John the Baptist is a brick structure of 1896 built on the converted and expanded quarters of what was once a small evangelical church. As a result the building was never quite the same as home to those who came from the Ukraine. 

The iconostasis though beautifully decorated looks more like a fence than a screen compared to those of St. Elias and many other Eastern Churches.  It is actually St. John the Baptist's second iconostasis. The first, which rose from floor to ceiling, was removed years ago.  What's more the church is lined with pews not usually seen in an Eastern rite church in which worshipers go from standing to kneeling in a repeated rhythm during a service which can last for two or three hours.  "The pews don't really belong," said Father Ivan, "But taking them out would not go over too well."  

There are other variations as well and from certain vantage points the interior may appear to be as western as it is eastern.  Much of this is due to a tension felt in the 20th century within Eastern churches that belonged to Rome.  Pope John Paul ll broke the tension by apologizing to the East for always trying to make them more like Rome.  For the first time a Pope identified the differences in the Eastern church as a treasure, rather than something to be corrected.  Since that time there has been the freedom to build churches like St. Elias, but St. John the Baptist still bears the mark of having lived through the time of tension.      

Nonetheless, there is much beauty within the walls of St. John the Baptist and what is more there is evidence of a rich faith. The lower iconostasis has the advantage of opening the chancel and altar to the eyes of the people and the altar at St. John the Baptist is magnificent.  Corey Keeble was able, as always, to help the pilgrims see the numerous icons through the eyes and hearts of the faithful bearing witness to the great cloud of witnesses and what is more to the Living Christ.  

St. John the Baptist may not look like the churches back home in the Ukraine, but the large golden dome and the five smaller domes make the church a landmark from both across the river and various vistas many miles away.  It was the sight of the domes that alerted all immigrants from Eastern Europe to the presence in the community of a church where they could feel at home and most were not from the Ukraine.  Jesus told us not to hide our light but to let it shine.  The central golden dome of St. John the Baptist has been a symbol in that community of letting the light shine.  

It became home to many and spawned the birth and construction of other Orthodox churches in the surrounding neighbourhood as ethnic communities found themselves at St. John the Baptist and together in faith found strength to stand on their own and build churches for their own ethnic, linguistic and liturgical communion.

In the end it isn't whether the place we worship in looks the spitting image of the church we knew when we were children, but whether it takes upon itself the image of Christ.  

As we were leaving I couldn't help but notice light pouring in through the stained glass doors at the front of the church.  The colour reflected onto the floor transformed a simple door mat into a colourful vision of glory.  I could only imagine the many thousands of immigrants who through the years have come through those same doors tired and weary from their long days in the nearby factories and plants, probably feeling like doormats, only to be transformed by the light of Christ's love they experienced in the church.

Peace,

Emmanuel Episcopal Church is a treasure in the heart of Pittsburgh's north shore.  Only steps from Calvary Methodist yet worlds apart from the moment you catch your first glimpse of it and even further away once you step inside.  The church's nickname, 'The Bake Oven Church,' comes from the outside appearance of Henry Hobson Richardson's 1883 design.  As the story goes, the brilliant architect's first plans for the church came in with a stone exterior and a central tower at an estimated cost of production at over $60,000 while the church did not want to spend more than $15,000.  Richardson scaled it down and the result was a masterpiece of ecclesiastical intimacy. 

The effect of the rounded apse, which earned the church its nickname, was all but lost on the inside by the gift of an altar that came several years later at a cost that exceeded the original cost of the entire building.  The altar does brighten the space considerably by absorbing the light flooding in through the transparent clearstory windows.  The door frames are without molding only adding to the sense of simplicity evoked by Richardson. 

One of the most fascinating features of Richardson's unusual minimalist design was probably not one that would have pleased the architect.  His very early use of laminated beams pushed on the exterior walls of the church as they dried with the result that from the exterior the walls are leaning out significantly. However engineers determined the leaning walls did not put the building at risk structurally and in the end the effect added all the more charm to this very special sacred space. 

The greeting of Vicar Don Youse was completely in keeping with the nature of the space.  He is a gentle man of warmth and grace.  In his 18 years he has seen many comings and goings in the life of Emmanuel Episcopal and though the congregation is neither large nor rich and faces many economic challenges, the Vicar has not lost touch with his sense of mission in the parish. 

Vicar Youse told us that many come to the church as broken people only to move on when their strength returns.  Perhaps they come as those who have been pushed around by the world, but like the beams and the walls they settle and find their feet again for the long haul.   The Vicar said someone had described Emmanuel Episcopalian as a cocoon.  The Vicar longs to see the church blessed by those who rise out of the cocoon with new wings before they fly away. 

I felt badly as we too were soon moving on, but one thing came crystal clear to me, Emmanuel is a place the Great Physician visits often.  It is a place of dying to self and rising again.  The image of the church as a cocoon is wonderfully hopeful and one from which we can all learn.  It may also be one phrase that could fit the architecture every bit as well as the 'bake oven church.'

Peace,

Peter

The great jazz legend Gene DiNovi dropped in yesterday afternoon to play the piano he recently described in an interview with the Globe & Mail as the best he has ever played.

I had come in from a funeral and had several long meetings to look forward to when his music started drifting into my office.  I didn't need to ask who it was as there is only one Gene.  What a blessing and gift to have a friend like Gene whose music can transform a day. 

When I entered the Sanctuary, he greeted me with a song he wrote back in the 60's about waking up and talking to the morning and embracing the gift and joy of a lovely new day. 

We talked about the concert he will be giving at Yorkminster Park on October 10th at 7:30 p.m.  I can't wait.  Nonetheless it was hard to tell who was more excited, he or me.  If only we could all be half as excited about exercising the gifts God has blessed us with.   

The magical night Gene offered at YP a year or two back is still available on our website and worth watching again and again.  http://www.yorkminsterpark.com/gather/webcast/index.php?id=65

Peace,

Peter

p.s. Tickets for Gene's October concert can be purchased for $30 from Bob Crawford.  

Upon entering a church on any of our pilgrimages it is not unusual to hear Corey Keeble quote from Jesus' words in John 14, "In my Father's house are many mansions."  There was no need to at Calvary United Methodist.  It went without saying.  The wealthy north-shore parishioners who built the church in 1895 may well have reassured themselves with those words every time they entered the church.  What was referred to in the city papers at its opening as Pittsburgh's Parlour Cathedral gave its faithful the comfort of believing that in their church they had a little bit of heaven on earth.  One can step back into that age during the Christmas season each year when a local tour is held of the surrounding Victorian mansions decorated for a late 19th century Victorian Christmas. The tour appropriately ends in the Sanctuary of Calvary Methodist.  

On the exterior Calvary is a neo-gothic masterpiece complete with majestic spires and numerous gargoyles, but the inside has a surprisingly different feel.  The 'parlour cathedral' has pews with original padding wrapping their way around the platform in the centre of the Chancel as Baptist and Methodist churches of the period often did.  There are no posts to hide behind and no matter where one sits they will not be far from family and friends.   The space invokes a sense of belonging and fellowship, of family and home.  Gone is the transcendent mystery of the previous neo-gothic buildings.  At Calvary one celebrates the God who has come among us and made his home with us.  

Nothing affirms this approach to the sacred more beautifully than the opalescent stained glass windows of Louis Comfort Tiffany.  At the time of installation the two transept windows and the gallery window were the largest Tiffany windows in the world, but there were more than 160 Tiffany windows in total.  The churches windows and parts of the building's exterior have been restored in recent years thanks to the support of the Allegheny Historic Preservation Society.  It is hard to imagine but 40 years ago someone removed many of the clerestory Tiffany windows and replaced them with a modern incandescent design.  The preservation of the windows is carefully detailed on a film that can be viewed at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w2QXo83Eg1E

The Rev. Larry Homitsky offered us a warm and enthusiastic welcome.   The work the local preservation group has done to restore the building has been matched with his vision for renewing the life of the congregation.  He was excited to tell us of the numbers of new families and children now coming to the church.   Many of his ideas were far less comforting than the feel of a Victorian parlour church.  He is even engaged in supervising prisoners working on the grounds of the church.  Such work proclaims the wonder of the love of God in Jesus Christ who again and again sought to help those on the fringes and margins of society.  Larry's Christ was not born into a Victorian mansion.  He left the glories of all that and more to make his place among those for whom there was no room in the inn.  One doesn't need to step back into the Victorian age to imagine the church as a piece of heaven on earth.   It would seem the Kingdom of God is alive and well at Calvary United Methodist. 

One of our pilgrims, Dennis Bruce, was so inspired he wrote the following poem.

Calvary United Methodist
To a church run down, neglected, sooty
Roof leaking and congregation diminished
Comes a vital, energetic Reverend Larry
A gleam in his eye
On a mission from God
Reaches out to neighbours
Homeless
Disillusioned
Young idealists
Rich and poor
Scripture, prayer and communal meals
People drift into the sanctuary
Sun shines through Tiffany's wondrous art
On a church reborn
Lighting faces and hearts
Reclaiming lives
Lifting spirits high                             Dennis Bruce

Peace,

Peter 

We were met at the steps of St. Paul Cathedral by Vicar Stephen Palsa who took us into the Narthex where he stood in front of an entrance to the nave of the church and told us the story of the consecration of the church at its opening in 1906.  As the story goes the Rector, Bishop and perhaps even a Cardinal and others held services of consecration and dedication moving from one place to another along the outside of the vast church.  The church is so vast it wasn't hard to believe it would take more than a day to make their way around as they offered liturgy after liturgy calling upon God to bless their church.    

As the bus pulled up in front I had heard a few people exclaim that the Cathedral of St. Paul looked like St. Patrick's Cathedral in New York City.  In fact with the twin spires and the neo-gothic design there is a strong resemblance, but the dimensions of Pittsburgh's cathedral, though imposing as an edifice, would not be as generous as those of St. Patrick's in New York City.   

I was moved as the Vicar continued telling the story of the Cathedral being birthed and blessed.  He also mentioned that a Deacon was stationed within the Nave overnight to pray till the morn of the great consecration of the cathedral's many internal features.   It was with this the Vicar threw open the doors and invited us in.   

As we walked down the aisle I had three separate people say to me, "I was sure the vicar was going to tell us that when they opened the doors for the people in 1906 they found the church on fire."  There were enough votive candles aflame on the various altars to give anyone who might be nervous about fire cause to think twice.  Someone asked the Vicar, "Do you blow them all out at night?"  The answer of course is that they symbolize the ongoing prayers of the people who lit them in faith and so they don't go out. 

If anyone was on fire in the Cathedral of St. Paul it had to be William Maddox high in the rear gallery on the bench of the magnificent Von Beckerath organ renovated in 2009.  As he stood to speak to us gathered below we could barely see or hear him until he set foot on the organ.  No one ever had a problem hearing William on an organ, but this organ was special.  There were no padded pews in the Cathedral to absorb the sound and the music bounced again and again off the marble and granite surfaces.   It was glorious for William and for all of us. 

Corey Keeble of the Royal Ontario Museum was enthusiastic and passionate about our surroundings as he sat on the altar rail and interpreted the space and history of the great cathedral.  Over his shoulder the votive candles were ablaze.   Many helpful conversations were started that day in the nave of St. Paul Cathedral and they were all good.  The Holy Spirit was in this place and as on the Day of Pentecost when the Spirit blessed the church as tongues of fire descended on the apostles we need to allow the spirit to set our hearts freshly ablaze.   

I am not so sure that church didn't catch fire on that day of consecration long ago.  It would have been the Spirit's fire they prayed for we saw enough on our visit to believe their prayers had been answered.      

Peace,

Peter 

East Liberty Presbyterian Church is a magnificent sacred space that invites awe and reverence by its grandeur and beauty.  It's height and depth invite a transcendent approach to mystery in worship in a world that has been saturated with an overly familiar approach to God.  The Sanctuary is free of any distractions and the focus is drawn to the centre of the Chancel.  Even the magnificent bas relief of the Last Supper carved into the wall above the Communion Table speaks only quietly until once approaches the altar and comes face to face with the life sized figures.  The only exception may be the cross and only because its construction and design is so much simpler than everything else.  And so it is the cross speaks loudly and almost abruptly into the space as it does into our lives and into our world, but the wonder and brightness of the Chancel and the alter speak right back to remind us the cross and death do not have the last word.  The deep Chancel of East Liberty invites the worshipper into the beauty of holiness and as it does it would seem to offer a touch of heaven on earth with nothing in the way. 

It might well have been different.  When Ralph Adams Cram, one of the greatest architects of the early twentieth century was invited to design a new church for East Liberty Presbyterian he was told by the Mellon family that money was no object.  However, there were other things that threatened to get in the way.  We were informed on our visit that Cram and the organ company had a major battle over the placement of the organ.  Cram won and rather than the organ pipes being front and centre in the Chancel he had room for light to dance through the bejewelled stained glass designed by Charles Connick.  There were also battles over the figures that appear in the stained glass throughout the Sanctuary.  The normally iconoclastic Presbyterians were somehow persuaded otherwise. 

After Corey's enthusiastic introduction to the highlights of the space William was able to put his hands and feet to East Liberty's great Aeolian Skinner organ with its unmatched string division.  Most of us wouldn't know the difference between one organ and another, but we know when William is happy and happy he was. 

A number of our people felt most at home in East Liberty and there are moments, especially towards the rear of the Nave, when there are glimpses of Yorkminster Park.  There are marked differences that probably go back to battles our architect was unable to win as well as pockets that weren't quite so deep. Like Yorkminster Park, the East Liberty building goes on and on, but in its original design and decor each room seems to emulate the luxury of the Sanctuary. An inner courtyard offers a grand view of East Liberty's tower which rises high and points the city to heaven above for miles and miles around, yet the neighbours who come in and see so many well-appointed rooms will be forgiven if they think for a moment the space is heaven.

Considering the apparent value of so much within the church, it is amazing to see so many doors to the building open and access so free.  A walk around the block and one will encounter other open doors to ministries concerning which Dr. Randy Bush spoke revealing a holistic approach to ministry and an incarnational presence in the heart of an area that has transitioned through the years from the business elite to the urban poor.  The church offers food and clothing, as well as inspirational education in music for children otherwise unable to explore such aptitudes and gifts.  And so it is in recent years the people of the church have been the ones truly pointing others to heaven.    

Dr. Bush, who met us on the curb as our bus pulled in, spoke with passion and warmth about his church and the challenges East Liberty has faced and continues to face.  There was honesty, depth and grace in this servant of Christ.   He is not only a wise steward of one of his nation's great sacred spaces, but of the gospel of Jesus Christ.  As his presentation ended Dr. Bush pointed to the pulpit and informed us that years before the familiar words from John 12:21, had been placed in the pulpit saying, "SIr, we would see Jesus,"  In such a large church it is so easy to lose track of Jesus, but to us it seems he is preached at East Liberty Presbyterian in both word and deed.   I hope this is no small part of why so many of my own people felt so at home in this sacred space. 

Peace,  Peter    

One of the guides from the Woman's Guild of The Sacred Heart Church identified the soft coloring of the stone work as the source of her church's warmth.  The Chancel is deep and the Nave is very long and the Transepts are barely there, but the woman was right, Sacred Heart is a warm space.  The glass is stained offering the riches of colour and yet the light seems unrestrained as it shines into the Nave.    

The church was alive with symbols to the point where the host pastor, Father Grekko said, "Everything the church teaches has been rendered by an artist's hand either in paint, stone, or glass."  The pilgrims had already been noticing the symbols on the floor and asking what they meant. Yet the symbols were so subtle it would take years to notice them all.  While there may have been a thousand sermons written into the symbols none of them were hitting you over the head as there was an absence of anything gaudy or distracting at Sacred Heart.  There was indeed warmth.  

One of the symbols that warmed my own spirit on this visit was the fresco of Christ on the cross immediately behind the Chapel altar.  There was what appeared to be a crack in the wall that ran through the centre of the cross. It was as if a sermon was being preached in paint by an invisible hand declaring that Christ has taken the divisions and brokenness of the world upon himself that we might find the relationship between God and humankind restored.  It was a call to praise and prayer.  

Another of the symbols that spoke to me at Sacred Heart was the map of the world carved into the Chancel floor in front of the altar.   On one hand the map represents the offering of scholarship and learning in the service of Christ.  On another it suggests that the end of all our exploring is to arrive in Communion with Christ.  In this regard it is of interest to note, the lamps in the church were designed after ship's lamps.  

We are pilgrims on a voyage and the Nave of a church lit by ship's lamps is a sign that like Noah's ark, the church is God's vessel for safe passage through the storms of life.   The map also brings to mind a great old hymn, 

Jesus, Savior, pilot me over life's tempestuous sea;

Unknown waves before me roll, Hiding rock and treacherous shoal.

Chart and compass come from Thee;Jesus, Savior, pilot me.

The map is cause for praise and thanksgiving in song, but as the pilgrims come forward in faith to take the bread of Christ, it also calls them and us to pray for the world around and to faithfully proclaim the Good News that God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son.  It is a call at the altar of God to set aside all that gets in the way of true service and to go out into the world as Christ came into the world proclaiming God's love in word and deed.      

Ultimately there are layers of warmth at Sacred Heart and hopefully at most churches.  To suggest it comes from the stone may be too simple and yet it is a profound statement, for the stone that was rejected became the corner stone of a new world.  The rock may also be a suggestion of an altar reminding us Christ offered himself in love for the world.   Yet Christ is also the rock to which the ship can cling and wait out all of life's storms on the way home.  He is the One who speaks into life's storms with the gift of peace and love.  

In John 21 when the disciples arrived in their boats at the Galilean shore after a miraculous catch of fish, they discovered the Risen Christ had a fire awaiting them and a meal to eat.  Our prayer is always that the Risen Christ would light a fire in our hearts that we might be a source of warmth and light and love to the glory of God.  

Peace,

Peter

After a long day travelling from Toronto to Pittsburgh we were welcomed on the doorstep of St. John Chrysostom Byzantine Catholic Church with the ringing of church bells.  It was remarkable to see the joy it brought to the faces of weary pilgrims as they climbed out of the bus.  It was a sound of home that rang true and called us into the safety of the fold. 

St. John Chrysostom is perhaps most famous as the church in which Pittsburgh artist Andy Warhol was baptized and in which his family continues to worship. 

The bells faded from our ears once we entered the Nave and our eyes began to feast on the beauty of the stories of Scripture in stained glass and iconography.  From above, the image of Christ, the head of the church, painted on the centre looks down as a sign of the illumining presence of the risen Christ.   

\The vine and branches of John 15 were carved into the Royal Doors of the Iconostasis through which the priest enters into the Sanctuary.  With the doors opened we could see beyond to the branches of the tree of Jesse to which in faith we trace our roots and also see an icon of Mary and the infant Christ, wish speaks of the fulfillment of God's promises through the gift of his Son to the world he loves.   

It is all at once so foreign to the senses of one raised in Protestant traditions that we are filled with questions, yet intuition might say be quiet and let the questions lead to a deeper sense of mystery and devotion.  We are not meant to have all the answers on this pilgrimage, but still there is the wonder of the welcome home. 

Father Thomas Schaefer who not only pastors this and another Byzantine Catholic congregation on Pittsburgh's south side, but also serves as an associate Vice President at La Roche College must surely be exhausted by all he is called to do, but there in the church his gracious welcome was a source of refreshment.

Comparing notes he told me that on Sunday he had been preaching a sermon on a Biblical story found in one of the icons and so he pointed to it and it came to life in a new way.  I told him how I have been doing something similar by preaching a series of sermons on the stories found in our stained glass windows.  It was then he said it as I have never quite been able to hear it, "We say the church is the people and not the building, but those who think of this as a building are missing the point.  This sacred space is our mother."  With that the bells went off for me again.

As I reflected on those words I couldn't help but think of the bells like a mother calling her children home, and the manner in which the pilgrims gathered around a stained glass window or icon as children gather round an instructive story from their mother.  So too the icons and paintings along the walls from front to back enveloped us like the safe arms of a mother - mother church.   If in our tradition the church is first and foremost the people and not the building then we can take our cue on how to behave from Mother church. 

Peace,

Peter 

One of the first things Mary Korn of New Guild Studio offered us was an apology.  It hardly seemed fitting as we had kept her and two of the other artists at the New Guild Iconoclastic Studio waiting well after closing time. 

Nonetheless she said she was sorry the wall on which they would normally have a massive canvas hung with a mural in progress was bare.   The most recent mural had been completed only days before and shipped to Seattle for installment in a Catholic Church. 

We did see a picture of the mural on a 12" by 8" glossy, but it hardly did it justice as the Christ on the throne was no more than four inches high in the picture while in the studio his image had stretched from floor to ceiling. 

The other walls in the studio however were alive with colour and on some of the tables in the middle of the room stood carved wooden statues of Mary and other saints awaiting the stroke of genius and flash of glory the New Guild is famous for.  My nose led me to another table on which sat a pallet fresh with oils awaiting the master's touch while at the same time reminding us as pilgrims we are all works in progress. 

Other pilgrims were drawn to a display of small reproductions of the larger icons.  We were told churches often sell the smaller versions to help finance the larger works.  There were also models on display of some of the churches for which their iconography was commissioned. 

All of this sits in the little town of Braddock just east of Pittsburgh where steel mills were once the livelihood of its 50,000 citizens, but that was then and this is now.  Today industry is all but dead in Braddock and the world seems to have lured her peoples away to greener pastures leaving only about 2,000 behind. 

I am glad the wall was bare, but like the streets outside it wasn't really bare at all.  It was scarred by these artists who at one point or another had crossed a line or wandered off the canvas.  We were looking at everything else on all the other walls and surrounding tables when I overheard someone say it was the bare wall of the studio that spoke to them.   Soon enough others were capturing the wall on film snapping up pictures. There was something strangely beautiful about the wall just as it was. Over supper someone said, "It was far more beautiful than some things I have seen passed off as art."  

It wasn't until later when I was looking through a few of the pictures I had taken that the image of Christ came into view.  Just around the far corner of the bare wall hung a crucifix and it almost seemed Christ on the cross had all the scars of the wall and the world in plain view.   We weren't the only ones drawn to the wall scarred by the oil of a thousand murals.  So too was Jesus, even still, here and now blessing little Braddock with his presence and love as he once blessed the lives of all those saints who left enough of themselves behind for us to see something beautiful for God.    

Like Mary Korn, I am sure all those saints whose likenesses once cast light upon that wall would have started their earthly pilgrimages with an apology for how far they had fallen short, but always to the God who not only forgives but then raises us up to new life.   God bless the New Guild Studio for waiting on a bus of tired pilgrims and opening our eyes and hearts to the presence of Christ in new ways. 

Peace,

Peter

To learn more about the New Guild Studio visit,  http://www.newguildstudio.com/

It sounded like a river running by.  In fact, had someone blindfolded me and driven me around town before dropping me at the corner of Yonge and Heath yesterday morning at 9:15, I might well have concluded I was outside the city standing on a riverbank, because even with my eyes wide open it sounded like a river.  Someone else who had witnessed it said, "Did you notice that none of the runners were talking or chatting as they ran by?"  It is true and you couldn't hear cars either as the main street of Canada's largest city was totally closed to motor vehicle traffic.  All you could hear of those who raced by as part of the Toronto Yonge St. 10 K was sneakers slapping on the pavement and there is no denying it sounded like water rushing downstream.

I think we now have four Sunday morning races down Yonge St. each year and two of them shut the road completely while the others may as well.  All week there are radio announcements telling people to avoid Yonge St. on Sunday, so I wasn't surprised when the number of visitors we welcomed yesterday was down significantly.  It is easy to get upset about the interference these Sunday races cause to the churches in close proximity to Yonge St. whose Sunday morning routines are trampled underfoot.  Over the years many of the clergy have gotten together and made reasonable suggestions for the relocation of the races or even for earlier start times, but all to no avail.  Sometimes I find myself wondering what the likes of our founding minister, W.A. Cameron might have done or even Dr. Gladstone.  Sundays are so different now - and not just Sundays. 

Nonetheless, as I stood there observing the intense silence of the runners passing by I could only admire their efforts and even appreciate the break from the droning sound of traffic.  Inconvenience aside, I have long since realized there is something very special about seeing the race pass by the church early on a Sunday morning.  Some years we have even programed the electronic sign to offer them words of encouragement. In the moment as I listened to what seemed like a river of runners flowing past I couldn't help but appreciate the joy of living and the wonder of good health.  I even found myself quietly singing an old hymn that was one of Dr. Gladstone's favourites. 

May the love of Jesus fill me as the rivers fill the sea; Him exalting, self-abasing,this is victory. 

May I run the race before me, strong and brave to face the foe, Looking only unto Jesus as I onward go.

Yes, I changed a word in the hymn, but it really did sound like a river.  Amazing!  Maybe next time we should ring the bells. 

Peace,

Peter 

There is no secret about my interest in beautiful sacred spaces.  In fact an Easter article in the Globe and Mail based on some of our experiences with the Pilgrimage of Sacred Spaces had folks calling in to register for our next Toronto pilgrimage.  And so it was during my post-Easter vacation days off I was scouting out other places to include since the next Toronto pilgrimage is still unplanned. 

During the interview with the G&M I was asked about the criteria for deciding on what makes a place truly sacred.  The simple answer is the ground was consecrated, but it is not so simple.  I found myself thinking about the question further again on Sunday as I exited a magnificent church in our city which is blessed with fine details in granite, marble, stained glass, and carved wood.

I hadn't gotten far when I heard the singing of a hymn coming from somewhere else.  A little further along the song grew stronger and what seemed to be a small simple church building around the next corner came into view.  There was nothing to set this tiny church apart as a space worth featuring on a future Pilgrimage of Sacred Spaces.  Nonetheless even with the windows and doors shut, the hymn the congregation was singing within its walls was resonating in the street.   

To some it might have been a sign of nothing more than poorly insulated thin walls, but to me it was a reminder that the church is first and foremost the people of God and when their hearts are attuned to Christ and their lives are in harmony with one another the song they offer in worship and service is what makes a church truly sacred. 

I couldn't help but think of this again on Monday morning as I was offering the opening devotion and prayer at a Habitat for Humanity Build sponsored by Intriciti where even through the sharp noise of power tools one could sense the music and meaning of love as people gave freely of their time and talent for people they would probably never meet.  Is a Habitat Home built in love any less sacred? 

This morning I was at The House of Compassion sitting and talking with the residents who struggle with severe mental illness and as we read the Biblical story of the Road to Emmaus they began to tell me of times when they knew they were not alone.  As we broke bread and offered prayers together it was as if they were singing for me and reminding me of the presence and love of Jesus.

It is often inspiring to visit beautiful spaces dedicated to God's glory, but the true witness to Christ is the music of love that lives in our hearts.  I thank God for the little church that sang of love to a stranger passing by last Sunday. And I pray that, like Habitat and House of Compassion, all our lives may bring the joy of heaven down to earth. 

Peace, 

Peter