Sunshine and crooked letters

by Joanne Flath

The stage was as big as a theatre's. In the centre stood a marble altar. The fieldstone brick wall behind the altar framed two stained glass windows that provided light to an otherwise cold interior. One window, in purple and blue shades, showed Christ praying in the Garden of Gethsemane. The other, in purple, red and green tones, depicted Christ ascending the mountaintop.

The choir loft was at a right angle to the congregation. Opposite the choir, in startling contrast to everything else, hung a two-by-three-metre (six-by-ten-foot) banner. It was on a wall in front, in full view of the congregation.

"Who made that?" I whispered to Kristine.

She winced. "I admit I traced the letters, but some old ladies cut them out." At the top of the banner, large black felt letters spelled "Happiness is". The "H" leaned towards the "A", the "A" stood stiff, far from the "P", and the second "P" was touching the "I". A fall mountain scene filled the centre of the banner. Purple felt mountains bordered by evergreens straggled across the burlap. Clusters of trees fashioned from birch bark, with autumn leaves tacked onto branches, were interspersed among the mountains. A gingham sun blazed yellow from behind one mountain. Near the bottom of the scene, blue strands of wool stitched a rippling brook. More crooked letters staggered across the bottom: "seeing God's sunrise!" "Happiness is seeing God's sunrise!"--surprising theology for such an austere sanctuary.

The choir proceeded up the aisle singing, "Beautiful Saviour, King of Creation", but my eyes slipped back to the banner. A man stepped up to the lectern and read, "From where does my help come? My help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth." But my mind still lingered over the banner. Even during the sermon, my attention continually strayed to the banner, where fractured colours from the stained glass windows fell across the burlap, blending with the letters.

After the service, I said, "I have to see that banner up close."

My sister said, "I'm going to check on coffee hour. Kristine, will you go with her?"

"Mom, I'm so embarrassed by that banner," Kristine answered.

As people filed out the centre aisle, Kristine and I walked to the front from a side aisle. As we stood examining the banner, three elderly ladies approached us.

"Hello, Kristine." They all seemed to speak at once.

A slender lady in a red dress held her hand out to me. "I'm Helga Johnson."

"And I'm Suzanna Pembrook," said an elegant lady wearing a black suit.

A third lady, balancing herself with her cane, placed a cold hand on mine. She smiled. "I'm Henrietta Brown."

Kristine said, "Ladies, this is my Aunt Joanne."

"We all knew that. The resemblance is remarkable," said Suzanna. "We came to greet you. We saw you looking at the banner."

"It's unforgettable," I stammered.

"Thank you. We made it," she said. They all beamed.

"I've never seen anything like it," I said.

"You likely never will again either," said Henrietta, chuckling.

Helga broke in. "It didn't turn out the way we planned."

"That's what's so remarkable about it," I said.

Henrietta leaned against a front pew and held out both her hands, showing knuckles swollen and fingers bent. "Our hands just wouldn't do what they should."

"Gluing the letters on that burlap was terrible," Helga sighed.

Suzanna laughed. "When the banner was done, we felt like tossing the whole thing in the garbage! Pastor John saved it. He came into our workroom, took the banner and hung it more than a year ago."

"He said it reminded him of the way God's love shines on our human imperfections," said Helga. "That's why I was so drawn to it," I said.

Henrietta sighed, "Four families left our church because of that banner." Her lips trembled. "They said only perfect things are worthy of God."

Kristine said, "Pastor John told me those crooked letters were like the fingers that made them." Kristine smiled. "I'm beginning to like this banner more all the time."

"It grows on you," I said. "It's true, you know. Happiness is seeing God's sunrise!"

"Even when it falls on our imperfect patchwork!" Henrietta marvelled.

Kristine tells me people come and go in that big church. Many are drawn to the banner, some take offence, and some catch a deeper meaning. And the light continues to shine on those crooked letters.

Joanne Flath lives in St. Albert, Alberta.

Return to the M.B. Herald Vol. 35, No. 17 Home Page