One of my hobbies is interior decorating, though I don’t like to brag about it to my man-friends. There have been times I’ve forgotten where I am and let it slip that I have a passion for good interior design. When that happens, my friends fall silent and look down to make sure their shoes are tied. It’s funny, really, because for years I did upholstery work on a lot of these same guys’ collector cars—applying the same creativity—and they considered that a noble craft.
But I get it. It has to seem strange to hear an old guy with perpetually grease-tattooed hands sporting at least one fingernail blackened by a misplaced blow from a ball peen hammer blurt out, “Man, I love the way your wife used that taupe chevron sofa pattern against those killer Chinoiserie tray tables “
Yeah, I get it… that’s over the line of scrimmage, somewhere left of the masculine grid.
A couple times a year I like to redecorate the platform at our church; just kinda’ spruce it up a bit, reflect the change in the seasons, elevate our spirits through the esthetic. Some of my favorite places to haunt are architectural salvage companies—you know, those people who tear old buildings apart and salvage great old architectural features like columns, windows and doors?
One such warehouse resides in the country near Newark. A European immigrant family has faithfully worked the business of building salvage for generations. I enjoy visiting with Hubert, the third generation steward of his family’s gathered estate. Their five warehouses shelter thousands of antique pieces, doors and windows that have taken refuge in dimly lit aisles, like refugees seeking shelter from an ongoing war, hiding quietly, praying for an opportunity to return to the light of day. I love this kind of stuff! It calls out to me. Creative juices roll off my chin as I climb over leaded Victorian cut glass windows and mission style fireplace surrounds. I want it all! But I have to limit myself to the job at hand.
I have this idea that I would like to use several free-standing wooden columns on our platform. I envision them positioned like silent soldiers standing in reverent formation, directing our attention inward toward to the large oaken cross that graces the front of our sanctuary. Just recently, we replaced the large projection screen that has blocked the view of that sacred icon, positioning two lesser screens off to each side. We realize the cross may well be the most important symbol in that room.
There’s something redemptive about repurposing old things. It’s downright Christian! The Cross of Christ is the perfect example. It is the ultimate symbol of cruelty and mayhem and any attempt on our part to make it attractive is met with irony. We even sing about the Old Rugged Cross in an attempt to process the unfathomable sacrifice to which our Savior gave Himself. But that, too, falls short.
This is the incredible dynamic tension of the Christian faith, isn’t it? That something so horrible could become the icon of grace and beauty. It has, but not because of its original use—a devise of death—but because Jesus repurposed the cross, using it like a Canaveral launching tower into eternity. The cross stands empty, abandoned by the Savior into resurrected life.
Today, the crosses we use as symbols are actually re-purposed architectural salvage. The Architect is Jesus, and we are the ones who’ve been salvaged. Take a moment and consider your faith today. Look beyond the structures to the Architect. The father of our faith, Abraham did just that. The Bible tells us—
“For he was looking forward to the city with foundation, whose architect and builder is God.” Hebrews 11:10
Read Ron’s column, Simple Faith, each Saturday on the Faith Page (page 3) of the Lancaster Eagle Gazette, or visit www.lancastereaglegazette.com.