Stained Glass Stories: Memorial Glory Windows

One of the gifts of being in the sanctuary during the week is the light coming through the stained glass windows that sit above us and run the length of the wall from the balcony to the altar. On a given afternoon one might walk into the sanctuary and see Daryl preparing for this coming Sunday's musical offerings, or a faithful volunteer refilling the oil in the candles, organizing the pews, tidying the children's activities cart or decorating the altar. Or you might walk in and find yourself enveloped in the sacred silence of the space, a few quiet moments with the Holy. The light rests on the pews and on the ground, inviting you to put out your hand and see it coated in greens, oranges or blues. (Sidebar: if you've never done this, and are free between 10 & 2, Monday through Thursday, an office volunteer would be happy to open the sanctuary for you). 

Over fifty years ago (In 1967) the people who then sat in the pews in which we now sit had a dream of depicting the "five stages of man's life" in stained glass. The congregation then dreamed into reality these windows, a mixture of colors, with vertical and horizontal rectangles and squares, conveying the passage of time and the stages of life from birth to afterlife. Designed by the pastor at the time and with over 2000 hours of congregational labor these windows were made and installed. In reading about it in our church archives, the writings say "the cost of these windows has been met by dozens of memorial gifts... all in the precious memory of those who have "pioneered before us" this glory road of life."

 You can read their words in their entirety here.

I am thankful for those who came before us and dreamed these windows into life. I am thankful for those who gave to the church and trusted their gifts would be used for goodness. I am thankful for the generations of church Trustees, custodial staff and volunteers who have kept those windows clean and maintained so that we can enjoy their light now. Simultaneously, with the eyes of hindsight, I wish that the architecture of our sanctuary was not such that windows depicting the "tender growing period" of childhood were the furthest from the altar, with its inherent implication that closeness to God is a linear journey wherein we grow closer as we age. But I also have never set foot in a church building where the theology of the congregation and the architecture weren't at least a little bit at odds with each other. 

My quibbles aside, learning more about the history of these windows led me to reflect on the inherent sacred worth of everything and all things. Everything in our church carries stories. These objects tell us something about who we were as a congregation when we made them, when we loved them, when we set them aside or rediscovered them. These windows carry the stories of our recent ancestors in faith and their love and hope for their church. Physical labor aside I'm sure dreaming these windows into being wasn't easy. I'm sure there were disagreements and bruised feelings in the process because these windows were made by human beings. But these windows also reflect that they came together in concerted and focused effort to create something beautiful and likely grew closer to each other along the way. These windows remind me that the beauty we create today will reverberate down to those who come after us. And just like me now, they will have their quibbles with the execution. And just like me now, they will feel a sense of connection to those who came before and a sense of hope for all that is still ahead of us as a congregation. 

— Angelina Goldwell