From our Pastor’s heart 9/21/25
Why Beauty? Classical beauty is defined by three markers: harmony, fittingness, and proportion. It is not its own end, but the perfection of any object. The harmonious component of beauty is that it fits within the whole of the object. It does not stand out of place but complements the other parts properly, proportionally. Something beautiful is also meant to be there in the first place. Look at a tree, spreading its branches out equally to balance itself on its trunk, leaning towards the sun but compensating in the other direction as well to remain upright. See how a painting uses the golden ratio to balance its parts, or, like Caravaggio, creates a balance and focus of attention through the use of interlocking triangles. Bach’s Little Fugue in G Minor revolves around a singular theme, expanding and contracting around the same chords, yet creating a cohesive whole through the repetition of a single rhythmic line over each manual.
St. Peter’s Basilica is like that for me. I remember not being amazed at all when I first saw the dome and entered the arms of the piazza, only to realize that it was so well proportioned that it felt almost intimate. It was only when I climbed to the roof and realized the scale of the statues on the parapet that the true beauty of the building shone forth. It wasn’t showy in any one piece; each piece complemented the other in such a harmonious way that nothing seemed out of place, and it all was able to be taken in as a whole and even enjoyed piece by piece. The great Gothic cathedrals of France, such as Notre Dame or St. Sulpice, with their mathematical geometry, evoke the sensation of being enveloped by the trees of a new city, with walls that sparkle like jasper, all calling forth the story of salvation (Rev.). Something beautiful is healthy in the broad sense. It did not have excess for excess's sake or defect, starving the object of what it needs to thrive. Excess and defects might even be considered lusts, present to delight the eye but ultimately ordered towards a quick snack and not a true meal.
Conversely, humans almost have a guttural reaction to things that are not beautiful. They do not want to be around them. They do not want to live near them, even if some ideologue created them as the perfect home. The environments do not interact with their surroundings. They are cold and sterile. One only has to go to the downtown core at night to see this phenomenon. No one wants to live there. No one wants to walk on that road unless they absolutely have to. Those that do are holed up at an inhumane height above the earth, not in community, not sharing a life, locked on the 45th floor, with a stunning view but only isolated from any real and organic human interaction. The Marxists and Communists were great destroyers of beautiful living, creating rows and boxes to live in, which were abandoned as soon as they could. Modern ‘marvels’ of architecture that span great distances with so much glass that no human feels an intimacy or comfort in the surroundings; it all just seems an exposition of human pride: tearing massive holes in the skyline and towering over the human condition in domination to a greater god.
Churches, too, have sometimes fallen into this modern temptation, destroying sightlines of cathedrals and basilicas to facilitate participation, all while reducing the vision of poor laypersons sitting in the wrong spots, who are unable to see God's actions at the altar or ambo. Altars are built that resemble less a place of the greatest sacrifice God made for us to commune with Him, opting instead for flimsy tables that are so disharmonious and unfitting that one wonders if the altar and Christ are the bedrock and firmness of our salvation. There are, however, rays of hope. Churches such as the National Shrine of Our Lady of Guadalupe in Wisconsin, the Carmel of the Most Blessed Virgin Mary in Wyoming, and parish churches such as Our Lady of the Rosary in Greenville, South Carolina, show that a “new modern” is possible.
All of this beauty is different than vanity. It is the recognition of a mathematical, material, and aesthetic reality. It is working with the material at hand to create something that will cohere for generations. That will inspire through it’s solidity and local history and will show forth the glory of the God down to the very atoms of our being, that God cares to shower beauty on even “how the wild lilies grow; they do not toil or spin; and yet I tell you that even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. If God, then, so clothes the grasses of the field, which to-day live and will feed the oven to-morrow, will He not be much more ready to clothe you, you of little faith?” And of course, this beauty is not for its own sake, but to show us God’s care and love for even the most minute details, down to the very atoms of our being, for if God cares for those, how are we not to see how much he cares for our souls?
