Frederick Buechner has been one of my favorite writers for a long time. I have pretty much all of his non-fiction work on my shelf. He writes a blog that loyal followers keep up with. Here is his latest—I thought it was worth reprinting:
"The nave is the central part of the church from the main front to the chancel. It’s the part where the laity sit and in great Gothic churches it is sometimes separated from the choir and clergy by a screen. It takes its name from the Latin “navis,” meaning “ship”—one reason being that the vaulted roof looks like the keel of an inverted ship or Noah’s Ark. It’s a resemblance worth thinking about.
"In one as in the other, just about everything imaginable is aboard, the clean and unclean alike. They are all piled together helter skelter, the predators and the prey, the wild and the tame, the sleek and beautiful ones and the ones that are ugly as sin. There are sly young foxes and impossible old cows. There are the catty and the piggish and the peacock-proud. There are hawks and there are doves. Some are wise as owls, some silly as geese; some meek as lambs and others ravening wolves. There are times when they all cackle and grunt and roar and sing together, and there are times when you can hear a pin drop. Most of them have no clear idea just where they’re supposed to be heading or how they’re supposed to get there or what they’ll find if and when they finally do, but they figure the people in charge must know and in the meanwhile sit back on their haunches and try to enjoy the ride.
"It’s not all enjoyable. There’s backbiting just like everywhere else. There’s a pecking order. There’s jostling at the trough. There’s growling and grousing and whining and complaining. There are dogs in the manger and old goats and black widow spiders. It’s a regular menagerie in there, and sometimes it smells to high heaven like one.
"But even at its worst, there’s at least one thing that makes it bearable within, and that is the storm without—the wild winds and terrible waves and no help in sight.
And if there is never clear sailing, there is at least shelter from the blast, a sense of somehow heading in the right direction in spite of everything, a ship to keep afloat, and, like a beacon in the dark, the hope of finding safe harbor at last.
Kristin Clark-Banks is the pastor of Forest Hills UMC.