Where Do Angels Live?

One of the absolute religious beliefs I had at the age of five was that angels lived on clouds. To my five-year-old mind, it was an undeniable fact equal to the fact that Santa Claus delivered my “big” Christmas present every year.

I’m a little older than five now and I know that angels don’t live on clouds. Science classes and a more mature spiritual outlook took care of that notion. Yet, when the summer skies of our state produce awesome cloud formations there is enough of my five-year-old self remaining to whisper “Angels live there.” 

So when I see a great formation of clouds like these behind the Hickory Grove Church near Kellogg, the idea of angels are never far from my mind. It’s a good example of how powerful symbols and the ideas that we associate with them can be. When I see clouds, I associate them with angels and heaven. When I see a building with Gothic windows and a steeple, I know immediately what it is and what purpose it fills.

It’s likely that symbols in church design are taken for granted. For example, Gothic windows and steeples have been in use for almost a thousand years. Do we really think about what they mean any more or even know why they were used?  Yet, while lumber and brick make a physical church, the symbols used in its construction make it more than just a building. They make it a scared place.

At first glance, clouds appear to be an easy photographic subject. But rarely does taking a picture of clouds, no matter how majestic, result in a good photograph. The problem is including something in the photograph that gives a sense of scale to help the viewer relate to the clouds. In this photograph, the church, graveyard, and trees provide the scale and the high point of the clouds completes a nice triangular composition that helps keep the viewer’s eye in the photograph. 

And, yes, I looked for angels.

Hopkins Grove Church

I'm a big fan of my wife Nancy's apple pie. I usually get one for my birthday which helps me ignore the fact I'm another year older. But trying to understand exactly why I like them so much leaves me scratching my head. It could be how she carefully blends different types of apple. It might be her made-from-scratch crust. It might be because she adds extra cinnamon and, of course, you can never have too much cinnamon. But I can't put my finger on just one of those reasons.

I found it equally difficult to pinpoint why rural churches appeal to me. I've logged quite a bit of time behind the wheel since starting The Church Project in 2009 and, since I never listen to the radio in the car, a lot of drive time was devoted to finding an answer to the "why". In previous posts, I've mentioned that I like these buildings for many reasons. But if I had to pick just one, which would it be?

It took a couple of years, but I think I finally discovered the why. I call it eloquent simplicity. This shot of the Hopkins Grove Methodist Church near Madrid is a good example. The repeated arch shapes and diagonals create an eloquent facade and also a simple one. Imagine adding one additional shape or building feature. It would create a contrived, confusing and chaotic facade to this lovely, small church.

Capturing eloquent simplicity in a photograph is a little tricky. It's too easy to include one more element than necessary in a composition. The result is a photograph that look contrived, confusing, and chaotic. It's necessary to develop a visual discipline and to learn when to say enough. 

And more than that. It's necessary to understand that these buildings can tell their own stories. I just need to give them a voice.