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Dear Congregation,

Part of the delight of art is its ambiguity: it doesn’t tell us what it means, or how to interpret it. Rather it invites us into a time of wondering and exploring. We wonder what the artist had in mind, and what she or he is trying to get across; we get in touch with our own emotional response to this experience; we explore what this is saying to us, if anything. It could be said that artists are the theologians in our time, forcing us to look at the world with different eyes, seeing moments of grace or of destruction, turning our preconceived notions on their head.

I feel privileged to be in a congregation where there are artists who make me think. One of those artists is Paul Roorda, who has had two different art shows open in the last week. Installed at the Durham Art Gallery, and at a second site in nearby Lamlash, Ontario, they are entitled “Flood and Fiction” and “Days of Rain” (www.paulroorda.com/events). (Full disclosure: I have not been there, but viewed these images online.)  

Picture this: Paul has used an abandoned church as the setting for his show “Days of Rain.” To the door of the church, he has affixed the “end papers” of discarded Bibles. These blank pages at the end of a book, both the literal and symbolical the end of what has been said, now also speak to me of the end of the life of worship for this church building. Where once the word of God was spoken, people prayed and sang hymns, hearts were stirred and lives changed, now all that is left is to close the book. If a book has been a good read, we come to this point with a feeling of satisfaction and completion. Perhaps though, it has left us wanting more. Where do we turn? Has the church said all it can? Is there anything more, or is it only a piece of history that will now gradually decay, even as the building settles back into the earth? These are profound questions Roorda is asking (without saying a word). Blank, curled and weathered, these “end pages” remain only as a witness to what has been.

In many traditional Protestant churches, there are three chairs behind the pulpit, the middle one higher than the ones on either side. Perhaps it is the Trinity this is meant to invoke, or perhaps it is the three crosses that stood on Calvary. In Roorda’s art installation, three vintage life jackets hang behind the pulpit – the middle one larger, with a fourth life jacket hanging below it. Is it the preacher who must sink or swim, or is this a reminder to all worshippers of eternal perils and the saving grace of God? Classical theology says that by the cross we are saved. Interestingly enough, this central life jacket has been placed directly in front of the cross. Is the artist trying to drive the message home that salvation is not just a worn out concept from our religious history, but something that means something for our lives? Alternatively, do the vintage life jackets reinforce the point that this is simply an outdated notion? The viewer is faced with this ambiguity and must struggle to discern what this means.

Hanging from the life jackets are a collection of holiday photos (of people in the water), while the floor of the church is littered with paper life boats. Intended to be viewed from the outside, through dusty windows, the art installation is seen as if the church was long ago abandoned under tragic circumstances. It seems to me that many churches are in survival mode, struggling to simply keep their head above water. Others have lost the fight and gone under with congregation closures and sale of buildings. The artist is making a connection between these deaths and other tragic stories from our history, such as the sinking of the Titanic. The church that was regarded as a great tower of strength, an unsinkable ship, is not immune to the forces of nature. There are always risks. Perhaps Roorda is saying that we are always only a step away from needing a life boat. Our demise could be just around the corner.

As I ponder this further, could it be that the church is a life boat to the world? Could it be that we who have been touched by the cross and “giving our lives for others,” become those who toss the life jacket to others? Could it be that even as the church changes, and weathers the storms of life, it becomes a life boat, carrying people from death into life?

The delight of art is its ambiguity and its ability to provoke questions. As I continue to ponder these images over the next days and months, I am sure that my ideas of what they are saying will continue to change and develop. I invite you to think of these things too. If you have a chance, view the show online or visit it in person. You may even want to talk with Paul about what he hopes to convey in his art. And then I invite you to hold these images in your thoughts and to see how they speak to your life. Perhaps you may want to join with others to talk about what these things mean. Could this be a prophetic voice speaking to our time?

In solidarity and toward shalom,

Rev. Keith Hagerman

Parkminster United Church, Waterloo, Ont.