01 — The hour
We began with the hour.
Every church knows it. Ten to eleven on Sunday. It is the thing a building is usually designed around — one room that fills, empties, and then waits six days for the next one.
So the mark begins with the oldest symbol of an hour ever drawn: the glass.
02 — The passage
Everything must pass through the middle.
An hourglass narrows to a single opening. Nothing crosses from one half of a life to the other except through it.
That opening is the moment everything changes. A child walks in and comes out an adult. A daughter lets go of her father’s arm and takes her husband’s. A newborn is given a name. A family says goodbye.
In the building it is a place you can stand — the narrow point of the garden, open to the sky, where the sanctuary meets the commons.
A life does not change slowly.
It changes at a threshold.
03 — The two chambers
A season on either side.
Above the opening, one chamber. Below it, another. The morning of a life and its long afternoon — the children’s court, and the still garden where those same lives are remembered.
And notice what the chambers are. Not rooms. Two gardens, open to the sky, cut clean through the roof. The centre of this campus is the part we did not build. That is where the light comes in.
04 — The turning
And then it begins again.
A glass empties, and you turn it, and the hour starts over. Nothing is lost in the turning. The sand only changes chambers.
So it is with a congregation. The child carried to the front is the woman who one day carries her own. The family that was welcomed becomes the family that welcomes.
Faith is not an hour.
It is a life — and then another.
05 — The circle
And around it all, one unbroken line.
The roof. The colonnade. The people.
A circle is the oldest sign we have for the things that do not end. It closes without a seam, which is why it became the ring given at a wedding, and why it has always stood for unity — for many parts held as one.
The glass holds the sand.
The circle holds the family.
06 — The unity
The first body made out of two.
Nothing in this mark is decoration. Every line is a working part: the circle is the roof and the walkway, the chambers stand open to the air, the opening at the centre is where everything meets.
Fold the mark at its waist and one chamber lands exactly on the other — matched in every dimension, and facing the opposite way. Different work. Equal worth. Cover one and there is no hourglass left, only a shape.
And the line drawn around them is not a boundary. It is a pair of arms.
Every part has its work.
Love does the holding.