Holy Saturday: We Prepare...

Holy Saturday. The people will arrive tonight at sundown, experience the lighting of the new fire, the proclamation of the Exsultet, the Vigil readings in the dark, the lighting of the altar and revelation of the beauty of the flower-decked altar and sanctuary... and this morning, small, dedicated groups of art and environment ministers and volunteers will put all those pieces in place so that the great liturgy can happen.

26 years ago, I came into Full Communion with the Catholic Church - and for 25 years, have participated, and even sometimes directed, the preparing of the liturgical space for the Easter Vigil. The tasks are many - ironing and placing a new altar cloth, placing the flowers in the sanctuary, font and vestibule - preparing the congregational taper candles for distribution at the door,  preparing and decorating the candlestick for the Easter Candle - and for some, the preparation of the materials for the Easter fire.

This year we have no adult baptisms, for the first time in memory, but normally, preparation of the font, placement of towels and preparing the dressing rooms also is a part of the task list. We will miss having a baptism, but even that cannot dampen my spirits.

Always, on this particular morning, I find myself gripped by a sense of excited anticipation....In a short while I will leave for my parish church to be part of these important preparations. We prepare the space for the people - and for the Resurrection of Jesus Christ, who will reveal himself in the light of the new fire as the sun sets tonight.

"It was Fascination, I Know..."

A couple days ago, I commented on Archbishop Chaput's talk at Mundelein - specifically regarding his remarks about the integrity of the liturgy being hindered by the quest for "novelty." Nick Wagner, commenting on my post, was kind enough to point me to one of his own previous blog posts where there is a more nuanced term for what I was talking about: "fascination". (No, I am not talking about the song made popular by Jane Morgan!) Nick used the term  mysterium fascinans "fascinating mystery" from theologian Rudolph Otto.

I think our culture, in which we are primed by advertisers, the concept of planned obsolescence, the media's constant quest to latch onto the new and unique, has us wired to seek fascination. (It's that soap-opera culture thing I mentioned in my comment back to Nick in the earlier post.) Just this last week a young man who appeared on "America's Got Talent" was lionized on all the news shows and the internet as "another Susan Boyle."  Not. While the young man was unexpectedly talented for his shy demeanor, it was nothing like the ugly-duckling unexpectedness of what happened with Boyle. You simply cannot artificialy create the thrill of a moment like that hers. Close, but no cigar. 
(Actually, as I write this, I have the Oprah show on in the background - and it is incidentally the "That's Incredible!" episode on the greatest, fastest, tallest, biggest, best, etc. - another manifestation of our fascination with what makes our jaws drop.)

In terms of the liturgy, what I see happening in at least some average parishes is, since presiders and liturgy committees often do not readily sense the mysterium fascinans of God, or understand the simple power inherent in the Mass to evoke it, they try to create artificial fascination by inserting gimmicks, adding symbols and practices that seem "nicer" or "more exciting" than what is in the rubrics. They feel the the repetitiousness of the ritual - which is part of the core of liturgy - is simply not fascinating enough to engage people. And it is not, if it is done with mediocrity.

Nick, in his comment, defended professional liturgists. I agree. These things don't normally happen in those parishes. However, the majority of parishes in my area do not have professionally trained liturgists. They may have excellent professional musicians who have, from years of experience and self-study, come to a good understanding of the liturgy, but it is a rare parish, even in my affluent neck of the woods in the Chicago suburbs, that has someone with an actual degree in liturgy on staff.

We also suffer in our area (outer southern/western suburbs of Chicago) from the memory of a liturgy planning process made popular in the 1980's that seemed to indicate that a seasonal "theme" is always required. Now a "theme" is not of itself a bad thing if it arises from the readings, prayers and the activity and identity of a parish - or is integral to the rite. It is how that theme is illustrated that can become "gimmicky" - a novelty.  It's the difference between putting a literal picture with a verbal caption on a banner and creating an abstract fabric accent that points toward some essential reality without naming it.  It is the difference between adding an artificial action or gesture to the liturgy and  incorporating one that grows from the heart of the spirituality of a season, or the words of the Mass or directly from our baptismal call to service. Occasional good enhancements to the liturgy are not wrong. It is the mediocre ones and the downright inappropriate ones that call undue attention to themselves and qualify as "gimmicks" - which their creators no doubt hoped would attract and fascinate us. In fact, we remember these things for themselves, not for how they enhanced our experience of a celebration.

I have been watching, as you may note from my posts, the national obsession this week with LeBron James, the self-styled "King James" - who, by playing hard-to-get created a fever of speculation and an epidemic of people holding their breath to see where he would play basketball next. The excitement was planned and was all artificially created .. and the media and most people ate it right up. The effect of all this will be gone in a few days - after they stop talking about why he decided to go to Florida.

Temporal fascination is short-lived. The true fascinating mystery of God is eternal. That is the crux of the difference. We only try to create excitement in the Mass when we don't see what is already there... or are unable to appreciate it for what it is. (More about that in an upcoming post.)

When Church Architecture Sends a Message

Just read Nick Wagner's provocative post about church architecture on the Today's Parish blog - and upon reflection, I realized something profound about my parish - that the architecture, especially the baptismal font in the main entrance is literally shouting about who we are as a community.

I have actually been aware of the font's message for a long time - ever since I first walked into the worship space for the first time.  When I first brought my sons to this parish 8 years ago as young adults and asked them about what the coffin-shaped lower pool of the font meant to them, my oldest responded slowly: "....Dying to old life, rising to new life?" Indeed. And as I reflect today, that is pretty much who we are today as a parish.

St. John the Baptist community was founded over 150 years ago in inner-city Joliet, and has had a history probably typical of many urban parishes - beginning with German immigrants. As the neighborhood economic demographics changed, the immigrants built up a stable well-to-do middle-class neighborhood and a vibrant parish. In more recent years, however, the neighborhood has declined in economic status and housing values dropped as the neighborhood's original families moved away to be replaced by those with lower incomes. As a result the parish school was closed, and over the past 15-plus years, the parish has transitioned to its current state as an 80% Hispanic community.  Most of the white parishioners no longer live nearby, but are committed enough to the parish to stay despite the challenges. 

We continue to struggle to bring the "two cultures" together - and issues of leadership, stewardship, parish economic reality and more make daily life at St. John's an interesting challenge. We have tried several things, including the Parish Assessment and Renewal (PAR) process, which was minimally successful, and have recently looked at reources about structuring multi-cultural parishes. There is no "magic bullet" - no instant cure for our issues. As is sometimes said the way through it is the only path.

We are indeed being called to "die" to the old familiar vision of St. John's - a once-thriving white parish with many ministries, parish retreats and activities, a strong community in a very white, middle class mold - to become who we now in reality are: a community privileged to have the riches of two cultures, one "European American" (as one of our older parishioners who dislikes the term "Anglo" likes to call it), the other Hispanic. Our faltering steps toward this new version of St. Johns are actually a form of Paschal Mystery - dying to familiar ways is never easy - and it is mirrored in the shape of that baptismal font, which literally shouts its message about who we are - "dying to old life, rising to new life."

Anticipation: The Faithful Prepare the Worship Space for the Easter Vigil

It's a cloudy morning here, with rain moving in, but I find my excitement is building in spite of that, as I get ready to go to my parish church to help prepare for the great liturgy of the Easter Vigil tonight. This is the way every Catholic community gets ready for the moment when the words of the Exsultet will ring out: "This is the night when Jesus Christ broke the chains of death..." The annual 3-hour frenzy of decorating and laying out all the items needed for the liturgy is an important ritual for me and for a dedicated group of people who do this every year. This has been true in every parish I have been in. 

These are the people who know that the community's celebration demands their time and talent - members of the Art and Environment Committee, decorators, and people of all ages who just want to help. We will adorn the altar with a special white altarcloth, surround it with flowers and candles, place the Easter Candle and the people's candles in the back of church, lay out towels and the holy oils for tonight's full immersion baptisms, replace the vigil lamp for the tabernacle in anticipation of the return of the Eucharist to the worship space, and more.

Like the women in Scripture who prepare and go to Christ's tomb to anoint his body, these faithful helpers rise early and set aside their personal and family needs, knowing the needs of the community's ritual are greater than their own. The "regulars" would never consider not being there every year to help. It is a call they hear in their hearts - and their response is not an option, it is a necessity.

There is a special atmosphere in the church, too, as this preparation takes place - business-like, but mildly celebratory - lots of mutual good will, with everyone's good ideas welcome. There will be leadership from some, and cooperation from all. It is somewhat like what people do when they are preparing for a party - everything is made ready for the guests - and for the guest of honor.

Tonight, that guest of honor will be the Risen Christ, present among his people. Honored, too, will be those who will be baptized in his name - and the community of those gathered to witness the rising of Jesus from the tomb and the making of new Christians. When we light the Easter fire and the new Easter Candle, all the work of preparation will have been worthwhile.

Domestic Religious Art – Gateway to Mystery or Kitsch?

In the previous post, I noted Pope John Paul II’s letter to artists, in which he requests that Christian artists go beyond functionality: “…you are invited to use your creative intuition to enter into the heart of the mystery of the Incarnate God and at the same time into the mystery of man.” My question in this post is whether the visual art we are exposed to on a regular basis accomplishes that.

Catholic homes have long been filled with objects intended to remind the home’s occupants of the truth and beauty of the faith. While sometimes these can be quite beautiful when well-chosen, but quite often they fall into the realm of cliché or Catholic kitsch – inexpensive plastic statues, overly sentimental images of Jesus, the Blessed Mother or the saints, piously rolling their eyes toward heaven. I have a collection of vintage religious objects that includes seashell religious diorama TV lamps, a molded plastic light-up altar (with monstrance) that plays Ave Maria, and more. As I mentioned previously, I have the proverbial plastic Jesus for my dashboard (pictured.) These objects make me smile, they give me a warm feeling about the period of time they are associated with, but they never illuminate anything about mystery.

It is not just vintage items that participate in this kind of mass-merchandising version of the faith. Open any current religious goods catalog and browse through pages of plastic and resin statues, crucifixes, plaques, candleholders, magnets, visor clips, framed art and note cubes with images and “inspirational” quotes – you will find little of mystery and only very occasionally beauty. Mostly what you see is merely marketable cuteness or an unimaginative literalness, of which John Buscemi, in his article in the current issue of Today’s Liturgy says “being too literal in our images constrains the imagination rather than freeing it.” When was the last time you saw a wall crucifix that actually pulled you into the heart of Paschal Mystery?

However, some quality domestic art not only delights the eye but teaches in a memorable way. I’d like to share in this space a few glimpses of an artist not very well known here in America. A friend gifted me a while back with a set of vintage children’s religious prints of the Beatitudes by a Belgian illustration artist named Jean Gouppy, popular in Europe in the mid-20th Century. I was entranced by the bright clear colors and obvious charm of the art. While these might possibly be seen by some as the 1950’s equivalent of Precious Moments, there something sincere, simple and luminous about these prints and other art by Gouppy that I have since collected.

These images speak of a simpler time. Gouppy, whose images decorated countless posters and holy cards depicting sacraments, the Corporal and Spiritual Works of Mercy, Christmas scenes and the everyday life of a Catholic child, depicted a time when priests carried the monstrance in the street and children dropped to their knees reverently as it passed.

Gouppy’s wonderful image of St. Nicholas, journeying with a donkey full of toys, accompanied by one of the small cherubs in pajamas that always appear in Gouppy’s pictures, bespeaks a saint filled with reverence toward the Christ Child he celebrates as he carries out his act of charity. Here, at least, is a gateway into an unsentimental view of the saint. The toys, donkey and angel are sweetly rounded and charming. The saintly Bishop Nicholas is not. His obvious holiness as he leans into his journey speaks of strength and resolve.

This is not great art, but it is good art. It speaks of the holy - not loudly, but in a quiet whisper. Art in our homes would do well to speak this softly of mystery, hope, piety, holiness and joy.

The Work of the Artist - Incarnating Beauty and Truth

On this feast of the Epiphany, I am taking an opportunity to begin an exploration the role of art and the artist in expressing the beauty and truth of faith and its relationship to how that expression enhances or impedes catechesis. Translating abstract truths into a reality that can be perceived through sight or sound, when done well, creates not only a sense of delight, but expresses something about the grace of God. It is a form of incarnating reality which can reveal, in beauty, an epiphany of perceptible truth. 

 All of us can no doubt think of examples of art which is bathed in a sense of divine mystery. One of my favorites is the sensuous and enthralling Bernini St. Theresa, at left.

Pope John Paul II, in his 1999 Letter to Artists, relates the artistry of God in the incarnation of Christ to what the human  painter, sculptor, architect, musician, poet, dancer, dramatist and film-maker does:

This prime epiphany of “God who is Mystery” is both an encouragement and a challenge to Christians, also at the level of artistic creativity. From it has come a flowering of beauty which has drawn its sap precisely from the mystery of the Incarnation. In becoming man, the Son of God has introduced into human history all the evangelical wealth of the true and the good, and with this he has also unveiled a new dimension of beauty, of which the Gospel message is filled to the brim.

This short but well-crafted letter is well worth the read.  He goes on briefly to explore the relation between art and the expression of mystery and the history of art in the church. He also says:

In order to communicate the message entrusted to her by Christ, the Church needs art. Art must make perceptible, and as far as possible attractive, the world of the spirit, of the invisible, of God. It must therefore translate into meaningful terms that which is in itself ineffable. Art has a unique capacity to take one or other facet of the message and translate it into colours, shapes and sounds which nourish the intuition of those who look or listen. It does so without emptying the message itself of its transcendent value and its aura of mystery.

The Pope concludes with an appeal to artists and craftspersons to rediscover the nobility of art and to go beyond the mundane to the genuine expression of spiritual truth:

I appeal especially to you, Christian artists: I wish to remind each of you that, beyond functional considerations, the close alliance that has always existed between the Gospel and art means that you are invited to use your creative intuition to enter into the heart of the mystery of the Incarnate God and at the same time into the mystery of man.

Bringing the two mysteries together - God and man. This is what the Incarnation of Jesus did - and it was revealed to the world in the Epiphany. Good Christian art expresses mystery. At its worst, functional becomes pure kitsch - the plastic Jesus which I have on my dashboard is the classic example (although my friends often find it not only amusing, but an intriguing object that reveals something about the nature of the driver.) While I admit I have a personal weakness for religious kitsch (see photo - a treasure from my extensive collection) I also recognize that domestic art that is done well does express the beauty of spiritual truth.  More about that in upcoming posts.

The "disappearing Jesus" - an ecumenical chapel environment reality

My son, who is stationed at Goodfellow AFB in Texas, shared with me a chuckle yesterday about their chapel worship environment. Because the chapel serves as a space for both Catholics and Protestants, they have a crucifix with a corpus that slides off to the side under a covering, so as not to offend Baptists and others who prefer a plain cross. Creative solution - but somehow amusing!

Where we worship - how does it affect how we worship?

I have been following an interesting discussion on my friend Todd Flowerday's blog on worship spaces - decor, images, distraction, Catholicity, etc - second tier discussion is ongoing at http://catholicsensibility.wordpress.com/2009/12/04/should-liturgy-be-easy-or-hard/ - and I have to ask myself when have I found a worship space conducive to my own participation - and not.  As a convert, used to the traditional vaulted ceilings and colored stained glass of Lutheran and other Protestant churches, I have to admit that modern Catholic church architecture occasionally challenges me. I guess I am just more comfortable entering a Gothic-inspired church space that is familiar.  Then I can go about the business of worship without too much thought.

However, I am convinced it is not just the space, but the elements of lighting, art and evironment that contribute to a good (or poor) worship experience.

Last Holy Thursday, I had an interesting opportunity to compare worship spaces. I went on our diocesan young adult 7-churches-before-midnight tour with my son, and I have to admit - the spaces that spoke to me were indeed the more "modern" ones.  And, that sometimes it was the actual space that struck me, and other times it was the way environment was used to enhance (or to detract). The most memorable church, a recently renovated space, was architecturally simple,  but strikingly appropriate because it was totally dark, only lit by a path created by paper-bag lumnaria, which led you to the chapel where the Blessed Sacrament was in repose. Inside the chapel, a scrolling marquee of phrases in English or Spanish (it was a Spanish parish) from the Gospel of Holy Thursday was being projected, crawling over the wall and ceiling around the eucharistic display. What a profound sense of mystery this space created. In the harsh light of day it may seem cold and empty, but appropriate lighting and creative elements enhanced the experience.

In contrast, there was a brightly lit very traditional Gothic space, which was cluttered with a tasteless homemade grotto in which it was difficult to discern the presence of the Blessed Sacrament.  I spent most of my time there trying to find it. Not an appropriate space to enhance the Holy Thursday experience.

Another church, a predominantly African American parish in a lower-economic area, had purple Lenten decor elements out in place of the normal white-enhanced ones - but  in that church the chief adornment of the space was the hospitable spirit of the people, who greeted us with a "mini-revival" instead of the expected Adoration experience. OK, so it didn't feel like Holy Thursday - but you know, I still remember how it felt. They were being themselves - simple, devout and enthusiastic.

In yet another church, the sanctuary was stunningly beautiful - but someone had attempted to cover up the traditional wall-statue images of Mary on one side, and Joseph and Child on the other, by painting them medium grey - to go with the two-tone medium and dark grey used on walls and ceiling (with traditional gold accents). The apparent intent was to harmonize the appearance of traditional Gothic elements with the fabulous Art Deco black marble and gold altar, ambo and tabernacle which are truly stunningly beautiful. Certainly the sanctuary was a delight to the eye, but the distressing attempt to marry the two styles through the paint job on the rest of the church was truly distracting.

So, what? This little tour helped me understand that some spaces lend themselves harmoniously to the worship experience, for whatever reason, while others call so much attention to the space that worship becomes all but impossible. Maybe if I worshiped regularly in one of the distracting spaces, I would become innured to the distraction?

Fall Ordinary Time

In these waning days of summer, as we approach autumn, we continue to hear Gospels focusing on the teachings of Jesus. They are leading up to those final weeks of the liturgical year in November, when we will hear about last things and judgment.

When I teach people about the liturgical year, I often explain to them that Ordinary Time is when we are in storytelling mode: less about the narrative of Jesus's life and more about the ways he showed us what his mission was, and through what he did and said, about the kind of people he wants us to become. In that case, it's only fitting that the liturgical color of the season is green... symbolizing the season of growth in understanding of our discipleship in Christ.

During these next two months, the shade of green displayed in liturgical environments should perhaps deepen, "ripening" with the natural season, along with our growing understanding of what Jesus is calling us to do. When the end of the liturgical year, with its heavy imagery of harvest time comes - when we speak of the time when our souls will be "harvested" and gathered into God's presence, we will, in effect, step out of the green, growing time of our life, into the deep purple stillness of Advent, when we contemplate the Christ who was, who is, and who, at the end of time, shall be.