Let Beauty Break Your Heart.

anthonycecil
Aug 17, 2015
7 min read

Beauty is an important thing. According to the Merriam-Webster Dictionary, beauty is, by definition, the quality or aggregate of qualities in a person or thing that gives pleasure to the senses or pleasurably exalts the mind or spirit. I appreciate this definition, especially the segment that speaks of beauty as being something that exalts the spirit.

Often times, when one is asked where or how they best experience the presence of God at work in their life, they will say that they see God through beautiful things. Some experience God through the beauty of a path covered in fallen leaves on a cool autumn day. Others, in the mystery of a beautifully peaceful, yet sometimes dangerously powerful, body of water. I’ve heard of some having an experience of God through a piece of art, or a selection of literature.

But, why is this? Some may say that this sounds too “hippy”, but its something that many people experience. Why do these things exalt our spirits? Why are beautiful things important for our relationship with God? The answer, in some ways, is simple. Beautiful things lift our spirit, and give us the sense that there simply must be something greater than ourselves. Beautiful things give us a glimpse to the truth that in our humanity, we ourselves could never create something so magnificent—something that makes so much sense—something that impacts us so greatly.

I first started seriously thinking about this importance of beauty on a retreat I was on at a Benedictine monastery with some of my friends. We had all previously worked as interns for a youth program at this monastery, and part of our reunion was a retreat. The monk speaking to us asked us why we kept coming back to this place—what was special about it—and the impact that Benedictine spirituality has had on our lives. Then, he gave us “little rules for life” to help us on our journey toward sainthood. Among these six rules he gave us was the importance of beauty being a part of our lives. The monk spoke of the fact that beauty is important because it not only points to God, but it is mankind’s attempt to praise God—to express the inexpressible. Then, he said something I will never forget: “Let beauty break your heart and put you back together again.”

It is true that we as humans try to point to God through beauty—why else would people throughout the centuries spend so much time, money, and effort on creating beautiful art that reminds us of God’s presence? As my own relationship with God has grown deeper over these past few years, something I’ve learned is our God is one of surprises. Sometimes He comes to us in ways we wouldn’t expect, or reveals Himself in a way that we never thought He would.

Recently, I was surprised. But first, the back-story.

Last semester, I took what was hands down the best class I had in college. (By the way, where did the phrase ‘hands down’ come from?) The class was called “Christian Celebration of the Mass”. (I know, some people think it’s a funky name…I don’t really care.) It was taught by Dr. Katharine E. Harmon, a graduate of the University of Notre Dame with a degree in liturgy. She did research and has visited Saint John’s Abbey in Collegeville, Minnesota multiple times. There were a few times in and out of class where Dr. Harmon spoke highly of Saint John’s Abbey, and said that although it is a very long drive, it is worth the trip. There was a particular focus on the abbey during the historical segment of our class, because Saint John’s was a central place of importance during the Liturgical Movement (a 20th century movement of scholarship to reform the Roman Catholic liturgy), and was the home of very prominent figures within the movement, including Fr. Virgil Michel, who we studied in class.

This summer, my friend Michael was an intern for the same program that I was a part of, and spent the summer not only working, but learning about the Benedictine tradition and spirituality as well.

Ever since Dr. Harmon talked about Saint John’s in class, I was interested in going to visit to check it out and see the place we had learned so much about. Late in the summer, my friend Michael sent me a message asking if I wanted to take a road trip to Minnesota. We checked our schedules and found a weekend that worked for the both of us, and decided to do it.

So, the weekend finally came—in fact, it was this past weekend. I had just come off of my Archdiocese’s end of summer gathering for the seminarians, and our annual luncheon with the Serra Club—meaning that summer’s end is officially here, and school is right around the corner. I drove the four hours to my friend Chris’ house and then we met up with Michael at dinner. By the way…dear state of Illinois, please invest money in your roads. My little car could barely handle it.

The next morning, we were up before the sun was to start our journey. After a little over ten hours of driving, and experiencing the miracle of making it through the state of Wisconsin, we arrived at our destination, and carried our bags up to the third floor of the building we were staying in, which used to serve as a seminary facility. After getting into our rooms and receiving a campus map, we decided to do some exploring.

We made our way to the university dining hall to grab a bite to eat before Vespers. Afterwards, we continued our adventuring around campus until we turned a corner, and there it was:

The Saint John’s Abbey Church.

To say that it is…different…would be an understatement.

I had seen photos of this church before, but seeing it in person was a different experience. The concrete building was a stark figure on campus, and there was no way that one could avoid it capturing their attention. The famous bell-banner and honeycomb windows make this building especially unique. The inside of the large church is also unique, with a red brick floor, dark-stained wooden choir stalls and pews, and lots of concrete walls.

I’ll be honest—this building is not typically one that I would call beautiful. The inside of the building didn’t feel very “Catholic”. I feel like some may know what I speak of here—there were no paintings, no statues, the stained glass was abstract. There was nothing religious in it to lift my mind and my spirit to God. At a first glace, to some, it would not fit the aforementioned definition of beauty.

Yet, there was something different about this building. And then, we prayed.

During prayer, the monastic community allows visitors to join them in a particular section of the choir stalls. It was first Vespers for the Solemnity of the Assumption. The music started, we stood, and the monastic community processed in, bowed to the altar and one another, and made their way to their choir stalls. The next morning, we joined them for Mass in the Abbey Church, as well.

In both experiences of prayer and worship of God, there was something about the space that became beautiful. Outside of prayer, in some ways, the church felt like a tourist attraction or a piece of art. Yet, when prayer was happening, the tourist attraction became a beautiful space. Michael and I talked about it, and came to the same conclusion.

To some, the church would have been automatically written off as “not being Catholic” due to its lack of…stuff—statues, paintings, and any other religious things for us to look at. Yet, it also meant that when prayer was happening, there was really nothing to distract one away from their worship of God. The lack of religious “stuff” combined with the dark tones of the choir stalls, pews, and the concrete walls brought a sense of peace that one would not expect—a peace that allows them to focus on God.

This was especially true during the two celebrations of the Mass that Michael and I attended. During Mass, even with the monks and choir seated behind the altar, and being in the pews with a rather large crowd, one’s attention could not help but be on the sanctuary, and especially the altar, which is appropriate, since this is the place where the most important thing the Church does—the transubstantiation of simple bread and wine into the very person of God Himself, takes place. The sense of peace that the space brings and the prominent location of the altar of sacrifice made these experiences of prayer powerful, particularly during the Liturgy of the Eucharist.

I was surprised—but, our God is a God of surprises.

Being a Christian—and by that, I mean doing our best to live an authentic Christian life—is often times difficult. Sometimes, we complain about this, because in our world, we don’t like to be left uncomfortable. But, as I’ve learned, if we are comfortable in our life of Christian faith, we probably aren’t doing it right, because our faith compels us, day by day, to become someone grater than who we are at the moment. More often than not, the Christian life is one that asks us to step outside of our comfort zone to grow in our relationship with Christ.

I’ll admit—I was tempted to write-off the Abbey Church at Saint John’s. But, in those experiences of prayer, I knew that Christ was asking me to step outside of my comfort zone—to realize that there is not only one artistic or architectural style in which one can come to an encounter with Him—to realize that for a space to be “timeless” does not automatically entail that it must be one filled with gold-leafing, hand-carved wood, and marble. It made me come to a deeper realization that, in my relationship with Christ, I cannot rely on beautiful things to distract me—that sometimes, I must come face to face with Him—with nothing to distract—in order to grow in my relationship with Him.

Would I want to pray in that church every day? Probably not. The effect, I’m sure, would fade after a while. Even the most beautiful and adorned churches will suffer this fate, to become mundane. Yet, it was good to experience this. It was good to have an experience to make me step out of my comfort zone—to hit the “reset” switch on my own standards of beauty, on my ways of coming to encounter God.

Behind the Abbey Church is the Great Hall, which formerly served as the Abbey Church. The outside of this building is beautiful, and the inside is the home of beautiful hard-wood floors, stained-glass windows depicting the saints, and a space formerly serving as the sanctuary, filled floor to ceiling with breath-taking paintings. As Michael and I were walking around the campus one evening, we saw an interesting view—the new Abbey Church in the foreground, the old in the background. Both buildings served an important purpose for the community. Both buildings have served as a place of worship to praise God. Both buildings, in different ways, are beautiful. Both buildings—in their own way—are timeless.