Such was the sign, black block letters on orange, that I saw propped up on the pavement this morning as I came around the bushes onto Orange Street, which is not a street but a pedestrian mall, much of which is now under the PowerParasol solar panel shade coverings that I love so much.
Behind it I could see the orange cones that the work crew had set up. Their white mechanical work crane reached upwards into the narrow pines outside the Danforth Chapel, just where the PowerParasol comes to an end.
I drew forward to inspect the work, nervous they might be doing something drastic to the trees. It appeared they were taking down a few dead branches as maintenance. After six weeks of coming onto campus I can hardly claim any ownership over this place, but the Danforth Chapel already feels like it partially belongs to me. I go inside almost every day, somedays in the mornings, somedays in the afternoon on the way to my car. Somedays over my midday break. It is small but bigger than tiny. The name was recognizable to me as being the same as structure on the campus of Colorado State University. It turns out there are Danforth Chapels scattered all over the country, mostly on college campuses, a gift of a benefactor in the early Twentieth Century. They are all different. A few have been demolished by now. The one on the ASU campus sits in a beautiful focal point at the edge of the solar panel ramada over Orange Street. The shade structure casts a beautiful shade over the plaza there and from where I sit, it almost looks like the chapel is under the shade structure, but it is not. It reminds me of Burning Man.
Only once when going into the chapel did I find other people there---what looked to be a class or youth group up on the front steps of what passes for a sanctuary. At all other times it is my solitary space, even as hundreds of students might pass outside in the plaza next to the library.
The chapel is non-denominational, with no overt signs of any particularly creed inside, even more spartan than a typical airport chapel (the exploration of which are a hobby of mine), or a hospital chapel, where people might come to beg for their lives or the lives of their loved ones. The sole condescension to faith are the stained glass windows in the front over the bare lectern (no altar) and over the door in back. At certain times of the morning, the morning light floods through the rear window making a pattern on the floor. The design of the windows has three blue birds, apparently gulls with their wings spread, against a sky of yellow and yellow. It is a very pleasant design. It is tricky to design such a place---inclusive, non-offensive, yet somehow meaningful in a personal sense. It's that third part that is hardest, perhaps. Individual faith can be off-putting to those who do not share it. We seek to be around others whom we know will understand our expressions of faith. In America, this has always been a tricky issue, even more so these days.
On this morning, I do not go inside the chapel. I watch the workers up in the pine branches then move on to get my bagel and coffee and sit across from the library as I do now. The sign I mentioned---I had to take a photo of it for my collection. There is something about plain block lettering that makes it so appealing. It is meant to convey meaning, direct and simply, without adornment of typography. Its simple three word message is inspiring in its brevity. By taking a picture of it, I capture it in my memory. The photo is hardly the point.
No comments:
Post a Comment