The images that head this posting in many ways exemplify the nature of Church. The New York City artist Robert Ryman’s white painted wooden blocks, worn at the edges, scattered in a more or less haphazard pattern that somehow seems to hold together in spite of the precarious arrangements, is in stark contrast to the tight construction from hard stone of an Inca wall. Both are functional yet in vitally different ways.

 The Inca wall does the job it was designed for, a wall of formidable strength, where each block fits together with a precision that is remarkable. It has lasted the years without cement to bind the blocks, relying only on their accurate fit and sheer mass to hold them in place.

 The blocks of Ryman’s construction are fundamentally different. An arrangement of different wooden forms, stacked in such a manner that they have stability yet allow for spaces between their edges where the white paint has faded, offering a way through, passages and caves.

 For some, a small minority, their perception of Church, is the tight design of the Inca wall. Everything fits, no gaps, no spaces, each carefully shaped element in place exactly fulfilling its design role. Here the very strength of the wall prevents infiltration from beyond the outer edge and at the same time inhibits mission spreading from within. Indeed a closed system.

 But then, the stack of wooden blocks that Ryman has arranged, give us a different indication. Here the elements, worn with the years and varied in shape, have spaces between that allow the air to circulate, that offer dark, secluded spaces and narrow passageways between the contact points. Yet somehow the structure survives, defining a space yet not preventing entry or movement out beyond the boundary. It breathes life.

 Surely that second model matches our church much more than the first?  The elements that make up our church-us- are worn at the edges and the paint has faded with age. We don’t neatly fit together but rather form a rough gathering that is not perfect, but does its best to muddle along.

 Sometimes we make a contact with others that is smooth and comfortable, at other times, spiky and edgy. But that is the nature of human relationships. Our understanding of each other, our tolerance and appreciation shows enormous variance. In spite of everything we are part of a pilgrim church and we must do our best together.

 That this is so, is evident in the tensions and opinions we find in our parishes and dioceses and in the Church universal. As we move into this Year of Mercy, let us be caring of each other even where the gap seems too large to accommodate variety and the edges don’t match conveniently to form a good fit.

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