How does the Bible describe what a church is?

A Church in the Spirit World

The “church” had a familiar look about it, but its surroundings were so unusual that it almost made the “church” itself look different.

The “church” you see here is a complete exemplification of what could be done on earth if an effort were only to be made in making the churches there things of real beauty in their externals. 

As we drew near we could see a low brick wall running irregularly round the church grounds in imitation of an earthly situation where other land rights encroached. The wall was trim and neat without being too plain and uninteresting. We passed through a lych gate, walking on a wide path that had been made of composite substance to give the appearance of asphalt, for in a matter of pure utility, a grass path would have soon worn ‘threadbare’ under the tread of many feet, and our reproduction had to be exact.

Flowers being in constant bloom in these lands, we had perforce to strike a compromise between what would be a general appearance in summer and that in winter. To do this many evergreen trees and bushes were introduced and the flowers were so planted that horticultural anachronisms were avoided as far as each bed was concerned. Some flower beds were left empty to suggest the extreme of winter when few if any flowering things are possible out of doors.

Running along one side of the grounds was a small brook carefully confined to a straight course, and which had its source in a small cascade, while the sides of the brook itself were lined with flowers. Here and there were lily ponds, while the whole was encircled with many fine trees. 

In imagination, therefore, one could see the great possibilities of such an arrangement on earth, making full allowance for the infinitely greater beauty of a spirit world counterpart. 

Such a scheme and its fulfillment are here and could be emulated upon earth with the removal of the unsightly and unnecessary burial grounds so often to be seen about church buildings, and so often nothing but a wilderness of weeds and neglect.

Roger noticed at once the absence of a burial ground, to which so much importance is attached on earth, nor could he see anything in the way of a notice board.

Ruth told you there was a difference, you remember, Roger. There are differences within, as well as without. In truth, this is only a church in name and appearance—a sample of what could be done if earth folk had a mind to bring about a few alterations. It is only the outside, the surroundings, that we are offering as an example, for this is not a “place of worship” in the earthly sense. In other words, there are no services held here, though what takes place inside is really of more value than what goes on perennially in so many of the earthly churches. 

We found the building empty of people when we entered. It was a fair-sized structure built on the lines of a ‘parish church,’ and as it was no church in the strict meaning of the word, there was much absent that would otherwise have been conspicuous—the font, for example, and the pulpit. But what struck Roger most forcibly was the absence of a high altar.

The sanctuary itself remained the same, with the usual flights of steps leading up in a series of ‘orders,’ to the highest, where there was a broad space upon which were a number of handsome chairs, the chief of which placed in the centre, being slightly more ornate than its fellows. Above them was a fine lancet window, containing some exquisite coloured glass. Instead of the familiar religious pictures, the glass represented pleasant rustic scenes such as one sees depicted in tapestries and the like.

On the wall immediately above the chairs were two inscriptions worked in mosaic and placed side by side. 

Roger’s attention was immediately attracted to these, and turning to me asked—

Why are those two beams of light coming down on the texts? 

They’re not coming down, Roger—they’re going up and out. The lad read the Latin inscription aloud—‘Gloria in excelsis Deo, et in terra pax hominibus bonae voluntatis.’ “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to men of goodwill.”  The light you see might be going either way, might it not, but as it happens it is ascending. It came about in this way. This whole building with its gardens was originally put up by the folk living hereabouts to serve as a pleasant place to receive the numerous teachers, and so on, who come from time to time from the higher realms to help us in a multitude of ways. Hence the chairs there where the altar stone would normally be. The principal visitor will occupy the central chair, as you would guess, while the others would be taken by those who come with him.

Look round you and what do you see—or rather, what don’t you see?  

Roger turned about him—no memorials on the walls, he enumerated, no religious pictures, no hymn board, no candles or other ornaments. In fact, it’s just the empty shell of a church, but with comfortable chairs instead of hard pews. The side windows were also of coloured glass, and the rays of light passing in upon both sides produced the most delicate rainbow tints that met and mingled. 

Those two texts that you see were put there at the express wish of the folk who were responsible for the whole building. 

As with the rest of us here, they have a wholesome horror of war, the most detestable scourge that ever could assail the people of earth. So they tried to think of some way in which to show their general concern, and at length they hit upon the scheme of taking that familiar quotation and emblazoning it upon the walls, right behind and above those high visitors when they are seated there and in full view of  every person as soon as he enters. They had it worked in mosaic exquisitely, as you can see, in those bright colours and made it a permanent prayer by their thoughts. That is what you see ascending in that light and it is never allowed to grow weak or feeble. You will always find it bright and strong. An infinitely small drop, my dear fellow, in an immense ocean of good thoughts—powerful enough in its way, though not powerful enough to stop or prevent war.

You will have seen by now, Roger, that in these lands nothing is left undone merely for want of trying. Whatever the outcome of any enterprise, however hopeless it may seem from the start, yet an attempt will be made. We have our failures and we have our successes, too. 

At the ‘west’ end of the building there was a deep narthex upon which was reposing a large organ. It was not an instrument of advanced design or construction and the pipes were arranged in their conventional order. We mounted the stairs, and found ourselves in a wide gallery. Ruth seated herself at the manuals and played a short piece that had been specially composed for her by one of our master-musician friends—a light, frolicsome little work, rather in the nature of a scherzo. We left the building, and observing Ruth and myself gazing upwards above the roof, Roger did the same and was astonished to see, high up over the building, a huge sphere like a bubble, gently rotating up on its axis. Its colours, a delicate blue and pink, interweaved themselves without losing their identity.

We took up a position about a quarter of a mile distant where the full effect was superb. To Roger it was somewhat awe-inspiring to see this apparently fragile form suspended in the air with ‘no visible means of support.’

What I’ve done is nothing, Roger. Anyone who can play can produce the same result. A mechanical instrument could do it, but no mechanical instrument could compose the music—that’s where the credit must go, to the composer. Did I understand you to say that a master-musician wrote the piece specially for you? That is perfectly correct, Roger. Another surprise? It shouldn’t be, you know, because if you come to think of it all those famous composers who have died must be somewhere, mustn’t they? Yes, of course—that’s rummy—I never thought of that. How long will that ball remain there? Roger asked.

Normally, Ruth told him, it would fade in a moment or so, but Monsignor and I put our thoughts together to charge it with a little more permanence so that you could see it in all its glory. When there are orchestral or other works following one another quickly, if the form stayed too long they would all be mounted in a jumble on one another, and their shapes would be lost.