String Cathedral

"In a way, of course," the Bishop said, as they sipped tea in the vestry, "we have the medieval builders of the Christian cathedrals to thank for all this."
The Dean made politely non-committal noises.
"Oh yes," the Bishop pressed. "Of course, their intention was to convert the designs into stone, so they were simply using it as an analysis tool, but nonetheless."
The Dean, swinging gently in his hammock chair, frowned. "An analysis tool?"
"Indeed. They discovered that a cord hanging under its own weight forms a perfect catenary curve, which-"
"Obviously."
"-which they then sketched, turned upside down, and used to make perfect load-bearing arches - from stone!"
"Upside down!? Good God!"
The Bishop grinned delightedly. "Exactly so! It seems perverse doesn't it?"
The Dean pondered this for a while. "I always assumed... Well, the altitude, the materials... it seemed so perfectly appropriate. Who would have imagined it would be invented by-"
"Christians! Quite!" the Bishop interrupted him - and getting a childish delight from interrupting the Dean, who was well known as an Arch-Interrupter. "And then to turn it upside down!"
"As you say, bizarre. Inverting a holy design..." mused the Dean. "Perverse. Unnatural, even."
"Well, to them it seemed appropriate. As I recall, it was used by one particular man, down in what was then Spain... I sometimes wonder on the first Pastafarian who stumbled upon this piece of trivia, and recognised God's work in it. Some poor 20th century martyr, his cause persecuted, fleeing across the World Wide Interweb, no doubt. To see how the Divine Will had been expressed in those upside down, tiny model cathedrals of string... and understand how simple it would be to scale up those models in order to create the perfect building in which to worship the Flying Spaghetti Monster! Now, of course, it seems obvious - instead of stone, the Divine Will dictated columns of strong hemp rope; instead of a roof (vexatious construction!) we are protected from the elements by the floor! And if we have to build a strong scaffold to suspend our holy building from, well, that is a small price to pay. You know, I sometimes think-"
The Bishop did not get to finish, for there came a knock at the door, and a red-faced verger entered. "I'm terribly sorry to interrupt, your Graces, but-"
"Yes, thank you. It is time." the Dean observed. "Your Grace, shall we?"
"Indeed." The Bishop, with an athleticism that belied his age, swung his feet up gracefully an slotted them into his FutureSuperGecko shoes in one easy motion. The Dean, less athletic and now troubled with the beginnings of arthritis, was somewhat slower, but eventualy struggled to a vertical position.
"All set?" The Bishop asked cheerfully.
The Dean swept a hand out gracefully. "Lead on, your Grace."
Together, suspended by their feet, their hair hanging freely from the upside-down heads (and thus in its most noodly and holy state), they swung ponderously out into the nave of the Holy String Cathedral of the Flying Spaghetti Monster.