Movie Making: Who gets to decide what is sacred?

Something rather unusual is happening at Parkdale United Church this week.

For three days, our church has been transformed into a movie set.

There are cameras, lighting equipment, cables, crew members, and all sorts of things I don't begin to understand. The building is buzzing with activity, inside and out. Familiar spaces have become almost unrecognizable.

It's fascinating to watch.

The film itself is a dark satirical comedy exploring political divisiveness and rage. Given the current state of the world, there is certainly no shortage of material to work with.

And yes, I appreciate the irony of filming a movie about political anger inside a church.

Apparently, I'm not the only one.

A few people have asked whether this is an appropriate sort of movie to be filmed in a church.

It's a fair question. And it got me thinking about something much bigger.

Who gets to decide what is sacred?

My husband has a record collection that he treasures. To him, those records are more than objects. They hold memories, music, stories, and meaning. To me, well, sometimes they just look like a rather impressive collection of stuff taking up space.

On the other hand, I can sit quietly with a cup of coffee, doing absolutely nothing, and experience something I would describe as sacred. A moment of stillness. A chance to breathe. A sense of being fully present.

Someone else might look at me and wonder why I'm wasting perfectly good time sitting around drinking coffee.

Neither of us is necessarily wrong.

We simply recognize meaning in different places.

For some people, a church sanctuary is sacred because of the prayers whispered there, the weddings celebrated, the funerals held, and the generations of people who have gathered within its walls.

For others, the sacred might be found in a forest, beside the ocean, around a kitchen table, or listening to a favourite piece of music.

And perhaps for someone working on a film, there is something meaningful about the art of storytelling itself. About creating something that makes people laugh, think, question, or see the world differently.

I wonder if we sometimes confuse what is sacred to us with what ought to be sacred to everyone.

And when that happens, we can become rather protective of the things and places we love.

I understand that instinct. When something holds deep meaning for us, we don't want to see it diminished or treated carelessly.

But I also wonder whether our desire to protect the sacred sometimes prevents us from recognizing it in unexpected places.

Jesus had an interesting habit of challenging people's assumptions about where holiness belonged. He shared meals with people considered unworthy, touched those others avoided, and regularly crossed boundaries that religious authorities believed should remain firmly in place.

He seemed far less concerned with protecting the boundaries of religion than with what happened to the people standing on either side of them.

Perhaps there is something for us to learn from that.

At Parkdale, we've been talking a great deal about opening our doors to the wider community. About being more than a building people visit on Sunday mornings. About creating a place where people gather, connect, and experience belonging.

Sometimes that looks like worship.

Sometimes it looks like children playing, neighbours sharing coffee, or people gathering for music and conversation.

And apparently, sometimes it looks like a film crew making a dark comedy about the state of the world.

Does that make the movie sacred? I don't know.

Does it make the church any less sacred? I don't think so.

Perhaps what matters isn't whether everyone agrees about what belongs in a sacred space, but whether we can respect the meaning that others find in places and experiences different from our own.

After all, the church doesn't stop being the church when the cameras start rolling.

And God, I suspect, is not particularly troubled by the presence of a film crew.

As for the movie itself, I have no idea what the finished product will look like. It might make me laugh, cringe, or shake my head.

Possibly all three.

But for three days, our church has been filled with people who might never otherwise have walked through its doors.

And I rather like that.

Because maybe the sacred isn't quite as fragile as we sometimes imagine.

Maybe it has room for a little noise, a little creativity, a few uncomfortable questions, and even the occasional dark comedy.