Yesterday when my eighteen-year old granddaughter visited our church—she was intrigued by the stained glass windows. She hadn’t visited from out of town a lot—but yesterday she kept taking picture after picture of these windows. She was particularly struck by the Resurrection window which is huge, in the back of the Sanctuary. When the light shines through that window at a certain time of the day—its colors spread across the sanctuary and fills the whole space with light.
Charles Arrington was Pastor when the sanctuary was built. I have a hunch that he loved this window particularly. I love this window too. It is a symbol of how the healing light of the cross and God’s love touches all—not just some. When I was Pastor I used to sit in different pews where I knew most people sat. I would try to imagine who they were and what they brought when they came to church. I felt that the light from those windows touched them all. The angry where life had not worked out as they wished. The shamed—struggling with sexuality and their guilt. The pompous that thought they had all the answers. The scared and frightened that came just hoping they might receive some word from the Lord. Some came, I mused carrying a heavy burden for children or grandchildren or even a troubled world. Some remembered a wife or husband’s funeral. Someone might have thought of their wedding at that altar and remembering how good it felt and how painful the divorce was years later. Someone remembered the day they took that long scary walk down to the front to say: “I want to begin.” And some came, perhaps pushed by parents or friends, wondering if all this was true at all. And whoever they were—or are—that light—that colored-healing light falls on all. And so I am glad that my Granddaughter took this picture. It reminds me of what I think faith looks like.