St. Paul’s Chapel is the oldest continuously-used public building in New York City, yet it’s the place where some of the newest things at Trinity are happening. Each week during Lent I want to mention some small changes that create big discoveries.

Several years ago we removed the pews at St. Paul’s, answering a felt need: a million people a year were visiting the chapel post 9/11, and they would only walk around the perimeter, visiting the memorial exhibit; they wouldn’t sit in the block of pews. Our mission was to everyone who came within the doors, so when we moved the pews to make the space more accessible, we determined to really explore our newfound flexibility, to discover what helped people to find a sacred yet accessible center in St. Paul’s.

Last week, at the beginning of Lent, we moved the liturgical furniture, again. This happens seasonally, not willy-nilly but as a way to discover by experience what works best for the type of worship we intend. In the process of our reconfiguration we moved the font — no more than three feet toward the door.

Suddenly, what had been a quaint piece of furniture which had a kind of forcefield around it — you would watch people walk into the church and stop three feet in front of the font, looking past it toward the altar — became a kind of axis, around which people now swirl and into which they are dipping their hands.

A barrier has become a threshold, in a matter of inches.

I only had a hunch that might happen, but I didn’t know until we tried it. I continue to be struck at how little changes can have big effect, especially with architecture and furniture. Just a few inches of distance, or a step, can make all the difference between an invitation and a warning. This is more than interior decorating; we’re speaking deep archetypal and theological language.

Breaking down sacred barriers is what motivates much of what is going on at St. Paul’s liturgically these days. The critical boundary we are contending with is not the conventional boundaries between altar and people or between street and sanctuary but between the “swirl” (tourists who have come for the Ground Zero/St. Paul’s Chapel punch on their itinerary ticket) and the gathered assembly in worship. How does our space itself offer an invitation, respectful but compelling? How do we reinforce it by our action?

Next week: how not passing a collection plate resulted in a much better offering!