Shape-shifters and light-bringers important to small parish
(Pictures at the end of the article)
By Steve Polston
About three years ago, parishioners at St. Timothy’s (Indianapolis) lamented that one of the lights in the bank high above the altar had burned out.
In a small parish with a small operating budget, you take a breath, heave a quiet sigh and move on.
But then, awhile later, another light in the nine-light bank dimmed on the same circuit. Then it went out.
Another sigh. The vestry took note. The parishioners wouldn’t have it any other way, we being a group that holds each other accountable for care and continuity in our nearly 40-year-old sanctuary.
Still, as our eyes drifted upward and our minds drifted toward home-owner projects of our own that went un-checked, we couldn’t help but have some compassion on each other. The benefit of being in a small parish like ours, with a steady 50 people in attendance each week, is that nothing goes unnoticed for long and no need for care of our buildings is ignored. We repent and relent, and we do what’s right, to provide a public worship space that glorifies God, welcomes all people and carries on our traditions within the Anglican heritage.
Yet, we marveled awhile longer, looking heavenward each week during Holy Eucharist, the liturgies, the sermon, the baptisms, Easter, Christmas. Another light went away.
Then another year of Easter, Pentecost, Advent and Christmas came and went. We worshipped the Lord in the beauty of holiness, only in a little less light each week. Our confederacy of silence deepened with each new shadow we noticed.
This was unlike us. Surely the darkness had not overcome the light.
But, we had bigger concerns, such as scheduling supply priests to meet our Eucharistic needs each week. Sometimes we worshipped in the form of Morning Prayer, but we managed to find more than 20 different supply ministers to lead us through the period.
We managed to take on replacement of soffits and gutters all around the sanctuary building, which is a distinct and separate building connected to the fellowship and education wing by a long hallway.
We managed to organize work crews to demolish and construct fellowship space that was re-purposed as a Gleaner’s Food Bank satellite distribution site, which opened three days before this past Thanksgiving, thanks in large part to a $10,000 UTO grant.
Sigh. Our beautiful sanctuary is an architectural marvel, with a huge Christus suspended from guy-wires in a magnificent space that inspires us with its carved and laminate woods, made by German artisans. The altar, choir and pews are arranged in a square. We face each other as we worship. The soaring barn-like loft has a bank of windows at the top that lets in soft North light. Sometimes, you don’t really need lights to see well.
But we cherish the nine lights that shine down to the altar, bringing out the beautiful gold threads in the altar vestments, deepening the colors of Advent, Lent and Christmas.
Enough sighing and groaning. More shining lights!
A succession of vestry members (even me, the clerk) were dispatched to identify resources for getting the lights changed. All of them. All at once. The lights were purchased and sat quietly in boxes in the sexton’s closet (or, if lights have a purpose-driven life, perhaps they prayed to be used).
Our parish lore includes the fantastic story of the last time the lights were changed sometime before 1997, maybe even long before that. These are some long lasting lights!
Legend has it that a family of rock climbers who were members long ago fitted the exterior of the sanctuary with ropes and rappelled to the top. They entered the door constructed for light changing and climbed aboard the catwalk, reached over and changed the lights, which are shaded by large cans.
It’s an amazing gift that the architect gave us — lights that require the slinky steps of rock climbers on belay, scaling a holy mountain. (If I ever design a church, it’ll be more cave than cathedral!)
Sigh, again. I couldn’t find my rock climbers and we were worried that the new generation of climbers would have to repent and be baptized, sign pledge cards and be members before the church insurance policy would cover their amazing feats.
Then, alack! and alas! I called the fire department down the street. Nothing doing, the assistant chief said. There’s already too much demand on the equipment and fire fighters, even for a donation from the church to the fire department.
Vestry member Walter Sparrow took over sometime this summer and received quotes from electricians. Too expensive.
This fall, a group of property commissioners (we give them big titles in Indianapolis to make up for their lack of pay) coalesced around Walter and encouraged him to secure an hydraulic lift with a long boom that could lift a willing worker greater than 35 feet into the air.
John Kurek, a graceful and sweet new father, agreed to do the job. That was after we all found out that this new addition to our parish climbs in lifts fairly often for his job.
Parishioners Marty Williams, Hal Olsen, Dennis Dworski and Joe Large prepped the work scene by removing doors and the altar rails and bringing in the hydraulic boom, which had electric and gas engines. I volunteered to go aloft at some safe height to take pictures of the Christus, arriving late and leaving early.
A joke told over and over during our long yearning for light goes like this — just how many Episcopalians does it take to change a light bulb? Answer — all of us, once we really want to change.
Steve Polston is a freelance
photographer in Indianapolis. He is clerk of the Vestry of St. Timothy’s.
He can be reached at
email:
stevepolston@mach1pc.com
web site:
www.stevepolston.com
Click on an image to make it larger.
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