Pondering, on Holy Ground

Words: The Rev. James L. Pahl Jr., D. Min., Vicar Photos: Susan Rountree &Jamie Pahl

I recall a time when a friend and I planned to meet at St. Michael’s to go over some music on a Saturday afternoon. As I wait on the front steps of the nave, standing and leaning between the brick pillars, I check my watch. He’s late, but I wait, still, by myself for two hours.

Oh, but the sounds of well-tuned instruments and voices gathered to give life to the words and notes of the anthem that holy day — the voices of hundreds lift us all heavenward week after week — and I join in, too! And then there is a voice of comfort and inspiration that captures our hearts and minds, for but a few moments of the morning.

As the sun begins to set, I watch the streams of light and shadows dance across the porch like beams on a sundial. I notice the difference in colors and shapes - large squares morphing into long rectangles, bursting in bright, gleaming light; illuminating the entrance, as shadow and light collide with brick on the covered breezeway and the wooden doors.

All throughout my youth I loved to day-dream — to dream of ways things could be, though not as they are. I was a ponderer, maybe even speaking with God in subtle ways. The pondering has never left me, and on that day I wonder: How many folks in the history of this place have passed through these doors, and where are they now?” And yet, the quiet of the moment struck me — there were no voices, no footsteps; just me, light, shadow, brick, stone and wood. I could see and hear the gentle breeze moving the tree branches about ever so softly, and the sounds of children playing and lawnmowers humming.

And then, the memories come: that time when I was captured by a family member on old 8mm film running out of the Narthex, down the steps and into the circular driveway — the Rector, Jim Beckwith had just finished baptizing my brother Kevin. I was only 2 or 3 years-old, but I feel myself fall and scrape my knee, as I can hear the crying echo across the porch. And then there is the voice of song, as the organ roars and bells chime, and the folks gather to lead worship with guitars and stringed instruments – a folk mass – now that is something different from the past!

As the light fades and the shadows grow longer, it is as if I can hear the Lord saying, “This is Holy Ground.” Of all that is seen and done in this place, there is great importance found in the celebration of life in all its forms. The somber, yet alleluia-filled hymns as casket and urn are processed in and out of the holy space. And the appeal to God for a special peace and love that knows no bounds.

I ponder it now as memories of a few still reside within me: Robert Hill, Ben Woodruff, Larry Brown, Bill Duff and so many more to name. Of course, all now with the whole host of heaven, waiting for us on that Holy Ground. Yet, wherever the Lord is present and moving (which is just about everywhere) it is holy — it belongs to Almighty God.

The Lord said to Moses in Exodus 3:5, “Come no closer! Remove the sandals from your feet, for the place on which you are standing is holy ground.” Moses encountered God that day, standing upon sacred space — set apart and consecrated to God alone; and he stood there with the people on his heart … it was all about leading the people to the presence of God. Jesus did this. He was all about reconciling people like you and me to God, to himself, because, that is what God wants – it is where we belong.

People consecrate many holy spaces just for that purpose. And yet, of all the holy spaces set apart – places where we are to remove our sandals and “stuff”… it is right here in our hearts. This is holy ground. Our hearts belong to God, and they are consecrated and set apart every bit as much

Pondering, on Holy Ground

as the light, shadow, brick, stone and wood of this church, where so many have passed through and stayed. Our hearts are like sacraments of holy calling, sealed and ready for God’s spirit to set ablaze, ready to be moved. And it happens in a place like St. Michael’s.

Today, the light and shadows still do their dance upon the holy space — it is happening even now; it will happen tomorrow, too! The organ and voices fill the air with ringing sounds of grace and love. Lives are celebrated with the highest Godly respect and awe. Holy words of inspiration continue to rest upon consecrated hearts.

And the brick, stone, and wood continue to witness these hearts of God pass in and out of the nave. No matter who we are, where we have been — young or old, new or old-timers — this place is our spiritual home, set apart for us to be consecrated.

My friends, this is holy ground, and you and I continue to build upon its sacred tradition. And we do this every time we pass through its doors and “lift up our hearts” — moving forward with the presence of God, making living history.

Images captured from an old 8mm film show Jamie Pahl as a toddler. Above, the Rev. James Beckwith pours water into the baptismal font; center, Jamie’s parents, Alice and Larkin Pahl watch as the Rev. Beckwith baptizes their son, Kevin, circa 1974. Bottom, the Pahls rescue young Jamie after he takes a fall in what is now the rose garden. Photos: Jamie Pahl