Can leaders improve church meetings by rearranging the chairs? A pastor describes how physical space affects the work we do there.

If you had told me 20 years ago that a significant task of leadership is fixating over the arrangement of furniture, I doubt I would have believed you. Even less would I have thought I’d fall prey to such a fixation.

But there I was, a few Fridays ago on my day off, scooting tables around in the church’s multipurpose room.

I’d sneaked into the church and headed to the meeting room where our session, the church’s governing body, would gather the next day for a retreat. We had important discernment to do as we began to plan ministry based on our new purpose statement. The next steps weren’t obvious, and we would need to loosen our grip on our agendas, free our hearts to dream and listen well to each other — and to God.

The caretakers had already set up the room according to my instructions. But when you’re fixated, you can’t leave the work to others. I had to make sure the tables were arranged so we could all see each other. I had to ensure that the blinds were open so sunlight could illumine our work and we could see the beauty of nature. I had to situate the TV monitor so that no glare from a window would obscure anyone’s view of the presentation.

I was there for an hour — shifting, scooting, adjusting this way and that.

If any of our church leaders had known I was spending my Friday afternoon this way, they might have said, “That’s not what we’re paying you for. You should be crafting a vision to inspire us or working on a strategic plan or writing a sermon. Let others move furniture.”

How could I have explained to them that I’ve come to see shaping physical space as a core leadership responsibility — a spiritual responsibility?

Would they have accepted a fundamental premise that guides me — that the spaces we inhabit shape the work we do there?

Experience has taught me this; psychological studies affirm it. I’ve seen how brainstorming in a room with high ceilings and natural light opens imaginations. I’ve noticed how a circular arrangement creates a sense of community and mutuality, while a rectangular one suggests tense boardroom negotiations.

When my wife and I co-pastored a church with a rich legacy, many of our meetings were held in what we called the history room. It was an elegant space with dark wood and no exterior windows, decorated with framed pictures of members and leaders from decades past. Cases displayed church memorabilia — including a trophy from the 1965 county softball league tournament.

I often considered how this setting was subconsciously shaping our decisions. What would change, I wondered, if we met in a room called the future room, with white paint, color photos of our current neighbors on the walls and a picture window looking onto the city?

The spaces we inhabit do shape the work we do there.

As I began to discover this truth on my own, I also started to read it in the work of others. Margaret Guenther, in her classic book on spiritual direction, “Holy Listening,” devotes a few pages to the arrangement of the spiritual director’s office, because, as she says, “Physical space is, in its way, as important as spiritual space.”

Priya Parker spends nearly a whole chapter in “The Art of Gathering” on choosing a venue for a meeting, how to arrange tables and chairs, and how many people should be in a room at a given time. And Peter Block, in “Community,” says, “Physical space is more decisive in creating community than we realize.”

It’s more decisive in discernment too. Because, to riff on Guenther, physical space is spiritual space. The incarnation itself is the refutation of any supposed dichotomy between the physical and the spiritual, and its truth should shape our thinking about matters as mundane as the beauty and utility of meeting spaces. 

Church architects have known for centuries that there is no separation between the design of a sacred space and our experience of the holy, our ability to discern and respond to God. So shouldn’t spiritual leaders attend to these things?

You don’t have to do extensive research to adopt this leadership practice. Yes, you can read Guenther, Parker and Block, among others, and I recommend doing so; the psychology of the built environment is a growing field.

But you can also use common sense and ask a few good questions: Can everyone see and be seen? Can everyone be heard? Is there a way we can sit in circles? Is there plenty of natural light? Is the space uncluttered? Are the chairs comfortable? Can we meet in a room with high ceilings? Can we see nature?

At that Saturday session retreat, I was struck by the honesty and vulnerability of our leaders as we sat in a large circle and shared how we were dreaming about God’s next steps for our church. I was moved by the authenticity of their prayers, their passion to connect with one another, and their commitment to move forward together as a leadership body.

It would take a controlled study to attribute any of this good work to the room setup, but I have my suspicions. Even if the only nature we could see as we worked turned out to be drenching rain.

The sine qua non of mutual discernment is hearts that are open and available, willing to listen, attentive to all who are present — including God’s Spirit — and curious about what’s possible. Spaces that are cramped, cluttered and dim encourage just the opposite.

So maybe it would be OK for me to come out of hiding. To stop shifting chairs in the shadows and on my own. Sure, maybe that inch I moved two tables closer together before staff meeting last week made no difference. But who knows?