Last winter I had the pleasure of attending the AWP Writer’s Conference in Washington DC. Having just been to D.C. last spring on a family vacation, I had already seen many of the museums and monuments, but my hotel was within blocks of one that hadn’t made our list last spring, The National Portrait Gallery and American Art Museum. With no kids or husband in tow to make snarky comments about weird modern art, how could I resist spending my spare afternoon there?

What a delightful view of the American experience! Breathtaking larger-than-life landscapes, intimate portraits of subway riders, colorful summer beach scenes, quiet farm vistas, stark marble carvings, busy multi-media displays–there was so much to see. But by far my favorite section was the folk art. And in particular I spent an inordinately long time in front of a work titled “The Throne of the Third Heaven of the Nations’ Millennium General Assembly.”

If it seems like a long title, it’s deservedly so. This work of sculpture encompasses an entire room. At first glance it is impressive for its scale and shine. The work consists of thrones, altars, shields, pedestals, and crowns all lavished with ornate silver embellishments — more than 180 gleaming pieces in all. My initial reaction from across the room was awe.

But when I walked closer to it, I realized the magnificent assemblage was mostly cardboard wrapped in aluminum foil.

Thus began my secondary reaction:  I’d been hoodwinked! Even in the folklore section, I felt caught off guard, jilted. The initial awe gave way to critical disdain. Standing close to the museum glass I could make out the wrinkles of the Reynolds wrap and pick out some of the discarded everyday items used in the construction.

The story of the artist posted nearby confirmed this disappointing realization. It was created by a local janitor in the 1950s, James Hampton. It is his only work of art and he spent 14 years working on it in a rented garage right there in the nation’s capital. And indeed, Hampton built the massive monument from discarded materials: old furniture, scavenged cardboard, defunct light bulbs, broken mirrors, discarded drinking glasses. Once constructed, everything was wrapped in metallic foils or shiny purple paper.

Still feeling cheating I turned for one last look and I was again struck by its magnitude. Its minute details.

Fourteen years. In a rented garage.

What passion drives a person to this level of commitment? What drives any of us to create? Was this throne and this altar less worthy of Christ than the one in my former church with its plastic flowers, red shag carpet and carved wood? Was it less worthy than a throne room adorned with real gold, less worthy than any of the altars we build, real or metaphorical? What is it that makes an offering worthy?

James Hampton didn’t build this throne room with trash and tinfoil, but with time and reverence and faith. Those very things God asks of us. Is gold not a stand-in – a convenient substitute – for these real sacrifices?

What can any one of us really set before God that is worthy — God the creator, God the spirit of love, God the Almighty?

Over the center throne is a handwritten sign with the crudely crafted words “Fear Not.”

* **

I confess to a lot of fear lately.

For the nation, for my family, at my workplace, for friends and relatives in crises.

Fear makes you feel helpless.
Powerless.
Hopeless.
Angry.
Low.

It changes you:  the decisions you make, the way you treat others, the way you feel about yourself.

But time and time again, the Bible and other holy texts, regale us with tales and examples of people who conquer their fears and anxieties by drawing power from bigger sources. Storms are calmed. A small quantity of food or oil keeps giving beyond reason. The wounded are bound up, captives are set free, the blind see.

Out of the discarded and broken, we create what we can, and we try our best to make it shine.

* **

What can any one of us really set before the spirit of God that is worthy?

We can “Fear Not.”

We can keep using our skills, our time, and our attention to those good things that call to us.

That’s what we can bring.

“I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.”
– “The Litany Against Fear”
Dune (Frank Herbert)

“…for God did not give us a spirit of cowardice, but rather a spirit of power and of love and of self-discipline.”
– 1 Timothy, Chapter 2, vs 7

Read more about the The Throne of the Third Heaven of the Nations’ Millennium General Assembly.

Read more about the Smithsonian American Art Museum.