Mass should be like the Transfiguration: a beautiful glimpse of heaven here on earth. Yet so often when I look out over the congregation, the expressions on people's faces don't say that they just got a good look at heaven, but that they're on a long forced trip to...well...let's just say "somewhere else."
One of the most beautiful things on all of planet earth is the human smile. When we're at Mass, our faces should say, as did St. Peter on the mountaintop, "It's so good to be here!" So, smile when you're in church and thus make the liturgy that much more beautiful. It's a simple enough contribution, and one we can all afford.
God certainly deserves it, and the world desperately needs it.
Second Sunday of Lent A
All
eyes are on the Ukraine these days,
and
we do well to pray for peace in that troubled region.
This
is, of course, far from the first time
that corner of the world has been affected by violent unrest.
that corner of the world has been affected by violent unrest.
I’d
like to take you back—way back!—more than a 1,000 years.
Prince
Vladimir Sviatoslavich was born around the year 956,
the
son of the grand duke of Kiev and his housekeeper-mistress.
His
native land was in a near-constant state of civil war.
Vladimir’s
rise to power there
involved
much treachery and bloodshed,
including
the assassination of his own half-brother…
…who
himself had previously slain another half-brother.
Vladimir
was a brutal ruler in an even more brutal society.
After
consolidating his control
over
a wide swath of eastern Europe in 980,
he noticed
how the local pagan religions
gave
rise to so much of the chaos and violence.
So
Vladimir sent out envoys to Muslims, Jews, and Christians
dwelling
in other kingdoms,
searching
for a way to break the cycle of slaughter,
searching
for the true way to worship God.
Having
encountered the majesty of Christian worship—
the
glories of the Divine Liturgy—
his
ambassadors came back testifying:
We
knew not whether we were in heaven or on earth.
For
on earth there is no such splendor or such beauty,
and
we are at a loss how to describe it.
We
know only that God dwells there among men.
And
so, in 988, Vladimir was baptized.
(It
didn’t hurt that he was required to do so
when
he asked to marry the Christian emperor’s daughter!)
Many
of his subjects soon followed suit,
accepting
the faith for themselves.
Vladimir
removed the old pagan idols from the land,
and
cleaned up his own act—morally speaking.
He
built churches and monasteries,
and
established a remarkable measure of peace with neighboring rulers.
The
splendors of the Church’s liturgy continued to work on him,
and
when he died in 1014,
this
man once feared for his vicious brutality
was
instead revered for his great holiness.
He
is now honored as Saint Vladimir of
Kiev. (cf. J.
Janaro)
Beauty
had proven its amazing power
to convert the most barbaric of hearts.
to convert the most barbaric of hearts.
Traditional
theology points to three distinct doorways
which
lead men and women to God.
The
first doorway is truth.
God
is Truth itself, and truth attracts us.
Because
of this, the Church is responsible
for
what is arguably the most widespread and effective
educational
system on the planet—
dedicated
to the pursuit of truth.
But
many people today have a rather fluid understanding of truth:
“That
may be true for you, but it’s not true for me.”
And
so they’re unable to pass through the first door.
The
second doorway is goodness.
God,
of course, is perfectly good,
and
what is good draws us in, too.
As
a result, the Church maintains
an
unbelievable network of charitable organizations—
hospitals
and homeless shelters and soup kitchens—
second
to none, and dedicated to doing much good.
But
since we often find it such a struggle to be good ourselves,
folks
stay standing outside of that door, too.
The
third doorway is beauty.
as
we do truth and goodness—
and
that’s a shame
because
genuine beauty irresistibly disarms us.
The
Church once had a real corner on the marketwhen it came to beauty, too:
most
of the masterpieces of sculpture and painting,
of
music and architecture, produced by western civilization
were
created with the patronage of the Church
and
for the service of the liturgy.
But
you don’t have to look very far
to
see that our approach has radically changed in recent years:
old churches have been stripped;
old churches have been stripped;
new
churches have been built very plain—even severe;
sacred
vestments aren’t too rich; sacred vessels don’t sparkle;
sacred
music sounds more and more
like
every other kind of music we hear.
There
are a few explanations for this remarkable shift.
we
prefer things we can take apart and understand.
The
arts don’t work that way.
Our
era is a utilitarian one;
we like
things to be practical, useful, and efficient.
When
it comes to the liturgy,
that
means we’re willing to settle for the least required,
rather
than strive for the very best possible.
And
our times also place immense value
on
the things we find most entertaining.
(Just
consider how much we’re willing to pay
athletes,
Hollywood personalities, and rock stars!)
While
sensual enjoyment easily gratifies,
true
beauty requires much of us—
both
in its creation and its appreciation.
The
question that lingers in my mind is:
If
Vladimir had sent out envoys today,
would
his kingdom have ever been converted?
Jesus took Peter, James, and
John…
…and led them up a high
mountain.
Jesus
takes his closest companions to a beautiful place.
And he was transfigured
before them;
his face shone like the sun
and his clothes became white as light.
Jesus
is now seen by these three friends
in
the radiance of his divine beauty.
In
pagan mythology,
it’s
common enough for the gods to change their form—
to
take on the likeness of a human being or an animal
in
order to move about on earth undetected.
In
Jesus, quite the opposite takes place:
the
true God becomes true man
(rather
than simply appearing to be one),
not
so as to disguise his glory,
but
in order to allow that eternal splendor to shine through.
Peter said to Jesus…, “Lord,
it is good that we are here.”
Peter
has been captured by beauty,
and
wants to capture it himself—
ironically
hoping to preserve this extraordinary moment
in
three rather ordinary and transitory tents.
It’s
the same instinct which once motivated Christians
to make
their considerable investment in the arts.
We’ve
all seen what happens to a society
that
substitutes popular opinion for honest truth,
and
which strives only to be nice, rather than to, in fact, be good:
before
long, it looks a lot like the chaotic, violent country
into
which St. Vladimir was born.
We
suffer, too, for lack of real beauty:
when
deprived of its lofty spiritual benefits,
we
turn instead to base carnal pleasures.
(Or,
as someone put it quite cleverly:
“The
more mediocre the show,
the
greater the consumption of refreshments.”) (cf. M. Huddleston)
There
can be nothing more beautiful than God—
the
God who has shown us his radiant face
in
Jesus Christ.
Let’s
be sure that our worship
is
always the best possible reflection we can muster
of
that all-surpassing beauty.
It
should have a glory like heaven come to earth…
…since
that’s precisely what’s taking place!
Beautiful
liturgy is God’s due.
And
it has the incredible power besides
to convert even the most savage heart.
2 comments:
I love reading your sermons. Thank you so much for sharing them.
You're welcome! And you're very kind.
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