A House With Many Rooms
This post is part adaptation, part furthering of a message that was shared by Josh VonGunten at Canvas on February 2nd, 2025.
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A couple years ago, on a family vacation to DC, we shared the experience of visiting The National Gallery of Art, a world renowned museum of art. This is the kind of thing I like to do. Depending on their moods in the moment, this is the kind of thing that can elicit from our kids smiles, groans, or shrugs of indifference. On this particular outing, the scale of the experience was so spacious and impressive, they were quickly moved to awe over the magnitude of the setting. Enormous amounts of marble and limestone have a way of getting your attention. This is a museum that instantly makes you feel like you’ve arrived somewhere important.
As we took in a diverse mix of art—some modern, classical, impressionistic, and everything in between, I could begin to see some patterns emerging in what my kids were drawn to. Each of them, with their own unique tastes, personalities and ages, were drawn to certain styles more than others. While one would stand rapt with wonder for a moment in front of a piece that contained colors or composition they resonated with, the others would walk right by to something very different. It was a fascinating experience to observe different kinds of art connecting with different kinds of people. And yet, without question, all of it fit and belonged together. The different rooms and exhibits of a museum, while clearly very different, offer, each in their own way, a connection to creative expression for the viewer. The desire to experience creativity, albeit in very different forms, is what holds the whole house together.
This got me thinking and wondering, when it comes to spiritual inquiry and desire, why is it so hard to name places that feel spacious, like a museum, where difference is expected and seen as completely normal? Why is it that so many houses of spiritual inquiry get reduced down to one primary approach or room? I’m sure there are many ways to answer these questions. Sadly, church history is littered with examples of families not being able to create an expectation for difference because the goal has been to “get it right” over creating an environment of exploration and discovery. Much could be said about this fixation upon rightness. Clearly when this concern is brought into the environment of the museum, it appears so very out of place and strange. Evaluating art as correct or incorrect would be a highly unhelpful approach. In spaces of creative expression and inquiry, we’re not so much concerned with what’s right, we’re guided by our senses into what connects with us in the place or stage we find ourselves. In the same way that the pursuit of one style of art would greatly limit the potential of a museum, the pursuit of one kind of spiritual inquiry reduces the sense of potential of a church community.
In terms of the various ways we approach spiritual discovery, one of the most helpful theories I have come across conceives the way we approach God as a direct result of the stage or place we find ourselves. James Fowler advanced a theory which identified distinct stages, which contain unique and different ways of approaching the divine. In his research, Fowler demonstrated how, as our faith develops over years, many changes take place in how we think, relate with others, and experience the world. Where this gets interesting and super applicable to the church has to do with our expectations for people. If people are maturing, we should expect their approach and point of view to change. To be human is to move through stages, each of which contains unique values and markers.
In his book Faith After Doubt, Brian McLaren offers up a simple theory on stages of faith that includes 4 stages: simplicity, complexity, perplexity, and harmony. Further, he surmises that most churches in America unknowingly operate in the first or second stage and don’t know how to make space or room for other stages. Sadly, this means far too many people have concluded church is not for them, not because they aren’t interested in God, but because their church experience doesn’t create space for the stage they find themselves in.
Naturally, this is also a problem for pastors and spiritual leaders too. Touching on this issue, Brian Zahnd wrote in his book, Water to Wine, “The problem of the American evangelical church being led primarily by those who are committed to a reactive form of Christianity is widespread. It’s why so few of our best known pastors look anything like contemplative mystics. Yet contemplative mystics are precisely the kind of women and men that need to be leading our churches. More so now than ever. We’re in a situation where it is often very difficult, if not impossible, for a pastor to make spiritual progress while being a pastor.” Faith communities that hold a collective expectation for participants to remain the same, create an environment that is stifling for pastors.
At Canvas, our hope is that we might create environments where growth and change is expected. Our dream would be to envision the context for spiritual inquiry as spacious and deserving of many connected rooms. Drawing from a summary of Fowler’s work, what if we could create space for innocents (children), literalists, loyalists, critics, seers, and saints? Each of these stages of faith represent different questions, needs, and sensibilities. But what if there was a way to create a community where there was support for each stage, rather than suspicion or fear? What if the desire to experience God, rather than the stage or form it takes, is what holds the rooms together, regardless of the difference? Further, what if those in advanced stages were committed to serving and meeting those in beginning stages (literalists) on their own terms? What if beginners looked to those with more experience as guides? A place where young, old, and middle aged people show up for each other and actually welcome each other’s viewpoint as part of what it means to simply be where we are, would be pretty special, and in our day, quite rare.
Over the last couple weeks as we’ve shared in the experience of the 40-day prayer journal, something beautiful and remarkable is taking place. This practice, which invites us to read scripture and practice silence, vulnerability, and awareness of our feelings and needs before God, among other things, combines a diverse combination of spiritual inquiries. It calls us to practice sitting with a combination of questions and methods that may feel new or different. Naturally, some will easily gravitate to one part of the process, while others will connect with something different. Moving through this together, as a community, is a wonderful sign of what’s possible when we hold all of the aspects together, regardless of how different they may feel. Being willing to stretch ourselves and do something new or different, for the sake of journeying together, is a sign of love for each other.
One day, I hope the Canvas Community feels as spacious and intriguing as a world class museum. I hope our community is a place that puts people at ease as they move leisurely from room to room without pressure or fear. I hope our community becomes a context for a life-time of growth, discovery, and formation into the image of Christ. To make this happen, we must realize the depth of our need for each other. This is a house with many rooms. Let’s keep them connected. In this house, each person’s story, learning, and growth becomes a gift to the community. This is not a place to blend in or merge your story or style with another’s. This is a place to bring the unique work of the Spirit in your life forward for others to benefit from. If we do this, even a little bit, we will have created something very important, rare, and vital for each other. We will experience, in the spaciousness, love, support, and connection over the course of a life-time. This house has many rooms. What a gift. It turns out we were created for this kind of thing.
