A few nights ago we were discussing Hallgrimskirkja with a few pastors. Some of them are concerned that it is so expensive to maintain, especially considering small size of the active congregation. They suggested that the church should give Hellgrimskirkja back to the government. It does not serve a good purpose. It certainly does not look or act like any of the other churches we visited.
But they have it. Like it or not, the hulking, costly behemoth belongs to the church. A theme in this trip has been that God uses all of our past experiences, what we have already, in our ministry. What do we have in Hallgrimskirkja? What is the gift of Hallgrimskirkja? I imagine choral festivals. Summer concerts and food festivals out in front. Small services up in the chancel space. Profound welcome....lots of toilets, always good coffee, a drinking fountain... Special dinners in the parish hall.
A community gathering space for all faiths.
A place for Interfaith prayer. The airiness of the place might just provide enough room for all the names of God.
And of course, you would keep the inside simple, and clutter it with more art, but keep that small narthex as a dynamic art gallery.
The seats flip, for Gods sake. Can you imagine flipping only the front half of the sanctuary and hosting a concert where the choirs face each other, and sing to each other? Can you imagine Hallgrinskirkja as a place of deep dialogue?
It's this...God is working in and through and with all people. The Spirit is on the loose. Already at work in that place in ways we can't even imagine. It's our imagination and anxiety that limits us.
Who does the church belong to? What if it belongs to all the people? What if it belongs to God? Use it.
Even though the ceiling invites me up and out of this world to take a breath, this is not a pristine place, holier than the rest of this mess of a world. Not a place of exclusivity....but a place of profound inclusivity. You can see Hallgrimskirkja from almost everywhere. It's THE icon of Reykjavik . What if, instead of an irritation, we saw it as an extension of all the churches in town....in the whole country. A place of possibility where we can breathe and imagine beyond the limits our fear has imposed
The Parish model of church in Iceland, in which the congregation and the pastor serve all people in a specific geographic area, has expanded my understanding of the role of pastor as one who is Available to all people in the neighborhood. Serving all people.
What about imagining Hallgrimskirkja as a place that serves all people in the whole world? The place where the pastors and people remember we are called to serve not only our whole neighborhood, but the whole world? What if the country's pastors took turns serving there? For a month or two at a time? As an exercise in evangelization? As a reminder of God's activity all over the whole wide world? What if Hallgrimskirkja is a great laboratory, a place for trying new things and pushing against limits of hospitality we hold?
The least remote place, in this most remote place, is Hallgrimskirkja. The whole world comes to Hallgrimskirkja. What an opportunity.
What if visitors were asked to sign their names and invited to write a prayer request? And teams of people from all over the church take turns praying for the people who visit? Imagine Hallgrimskirkja as a Place of vigil and prayer. Constant prayer. Candle light dinners. Jazz concerts. Sacred music. Food festivals. Art. Art. Art. For a country that's so focused on art... What about an outdoor art festival where people make things on the front patio of Hellgrimaskirkja?
The church has Hellgrimskirkja. Our church is like Hellgrimskirkja...behemoth, expensive, seemingly out of step and out of touch. Instead of striving to preserve it, let's use it up. Wear it out. Every square meter in service and celebration of God.
All of this is not to open the eyes of my new friends in Iceland. Rather, I notice how easy it is for me to imagine what could be here, in a place so far from my home and church. Without anxiety, without the chorus of "Yeah, but...." that populates our conversations about taking risks in church back home.
God of imagination, open our eyes to what could be. Open our eyes to Your kingdom, and give us courage to let go of our scarcity, our anxiety that keeps us from seeing. Thank you for the beauty of creation, for the gifts of art and music. Thank you for these people here, and their profound hospitality. Help us to extend love to You when you come into our churches in disguise. Help us to use up this church, to use up our lives, to listen for how what we might live in service to You alone. Amen.
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