Common Midterm Place

Places of organized worship are very odd to me. What makes any place more important than any other to a society. Especially when it has no tangible survival value. Although a person or a group of people may regard a certain plot of land as holy, what authority is there that declares it to be such for all society. 

Perhaps it is some innate sense of being that drives us to immortalize a certain spot. An instinct of sorts. Could such a thing be just as vital to the survival of our species as the instincts of the hunt? Or could it be that this is a byproduct of our consciousness, our humanness.

Whatever the reason, it is a fact that as a society, certain places, namely places of worship, are immortalized, decorated and otherwise set apart from other architectural structures. They often prescribe to a different set of creative tools. 

I visited the Memorial Reformed Church on Banner and Hollyrood. 

The architecture of red brick and white trim is classically American in nature. It expresses the south, its home. Unlike the First Baptist Church downtown, this church is not overly ornate. It blends outright decadence, mediocre artwork and simplistic design. A little of something for everyone. 

Somehow, stained glass has become a staple of western religious sites. Even my little temple back home, when it was only a couple of portables put together, had several stained glass windows. How did this come to be? In fact, churches from even the 4th and 5th centuries have windows made of colored glass and stone. Thus, stained glass has an inherent religious connotation

The most interesting part of the church was a simple corner off to the side. However strange that may sound, it's true. The corner was delicately framed between two terrible similar, modestly sized stained glass windows. Unlike many of the other stained glass windows, these two were not of some biblical scene, nor did they, due to their position, provide an enormous amount of light. Also unlike many of the other stained glass windows, these were in an area that saw just slightly less foot traffic than the rest of the church. They stood there awkwardly, somewhat forgotten.

Their design expressed no ornate desire to please, just a simple augmentation of the surrounding place. A simple blue trim that meandered up into a crown of sorts. Picturing a window within a window. They lived so that the church as a whole could be beautifully balanced. 

 

These are the windows.

The vertical lines that hold the glass present a sense of bars. What could they be keeping out? Or holding in? Perhaps they serve to protect the holy congregates from the unholy evil outside the walls of the church. Or perhaps they remind parishioners that there are many prison-like vices of the world, and that they must be controlled. 

But then there is a symbol above the "bars." Each of which hold something of significance. The left holds a crown. Perhaps to signify that god ("the king") exists above these vices or gates. He is everything and everywhere. The right holds the tablets of the ten commandments. Perhaps signifying that these holy words are higher than the vices or gates. These symbols may be ways to escape earthly pettiness and find a true peace within a higher being. After all, we need our places of worship.