One of my favorite exhibits at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston is the 12th Century fresco that once served as apse for a Catalonian Chapel. Christ is the central figure holding a scroll reading “I am the way, the truth, and the life. No man comes to the Father but through me.” He is surrounded by symbols representing the four evangelists after whom the Gospels are named. One tier below are the 12 apostles and below them fading depictions of Bible stories.

While I’m admittedly saddened that it no longer adorns the area behind the altar of Santa Maria Del Mur in the Spanish Pyrenees, I am captivated by its intimacy. It awes me to a posture of prayer and worship. There’s something deeply personal about it. Perhaps it’s the love of artist or patron or both, or maybe it’s the wide-eyed Jesus. It could just be the contrast it offers to stark white-walled museum.

I sometimes wish I could recreate a space like this in my home. That’s quirky, I know. It doesn’t seem very Congregationalist or particularly practical given that I live in a parsonage. Yet having an intentional space in a home for worship, devotion, and prayer is not uncommon. It’s practiced throughout the traditions to enhance the spiritual journey.

The purpose of such a space would be a literal way to enter one’s closet and pray to God in secret as Jesus suggests in Matthew 6:6. Of course, this needn’t be an elaborate chapel with a semicircular fresco. All it would take is love and a few objects that move me to a greater awareness of God’s presence. Icons, photographs, a painting, mosaics, or symbols like the cross or chalice would do. Rocks, water, and flowers would do, too. Perhaps a window looking out on a bird feeder would suffice.

Rather than a monument or idol, it would be a space in which, through which, I could rest in God’s love and grace. I guess I’ve just stumbled upon a New Year’s resolution. Hopefully in the not-too-distant future, I’ll be able to post a picture of what this space looks like.