I remember watching a television special about the discovery of a buried Egyptian priestly chamber. The shrine appeared to be untouched for thousands of years. From examining the art, furnishings and architecture of the room, archeologists began to reconstruct the theology and rituals of the original worshippers.

It was a fascinating endeavor. At the time, I happened to be teaching a worship class for seminarians, so I decided to ask my students—mostly pastors—the question, “If your church sanctuary was buried under sand tomorrow and uncovered in 3,000 years, what would archeologists conclude about your worship practice and theology?” The response was enlightening. One student, from a Puritan tradition said, “I’m not sure they could reconstruct much of anything.” Another—an assistant pastor of a large contemporary church—replied, “Gosh, they might think that we worship technology!”

Winston Churchill once said, “We shape our buildings, and afterwards, our buildings shape us.” If this is true, we would do well to ask, what role does the aesthetics of worship play in transmitting and shaping our values? For some Christians, aesthetic beauty is seen as little more than a distraction, a diversion from the real work of Christians—be it evangelism or social justice. For others, concern about the aesthetics of worship betrays a dangerous slide toward idolatry. In either case, it seems, a dualism is set up between the spiritual and the mundane, sacred and secular. Sincere Christians offer deeply spiritual reasons to downplay the role of aesthetics in worship. Surely, they reason (and Judas seemed to object at Bethany), better stewardship should call us to avoid extravagance in expressions of piety (John 12:1-8).

Yet, there are at least three theological themes from Scripture which seem highly relevant to the question of a Christian aesthetic: the doctrines of creation, incarnation, and new creation. The doctrine of creation stands as a solid impediment to the Christian penchant toward gnostic spirituality. God created the physical universe, we are told in Genesis, not merely in a utilitarian fashion, but with almost wasteful extravagance and beauty (“both pleasing to the eye and good for food,” Gen. 2:9). Secondly, the doctrine of the incarnation of Christ is a Divine re-affirmation of the physical creation (indeed, it was the sheer concreteness of this doctrine which emboldened the Second Council of Nicea to affirm the merit of icons). Finally, the promise of the renewal of all things in new creation is God’s final “yes!” to the beauty and order of the physical.

To read Scripture without the spectacles of Platonic dualism might provide a healthy correction to a minimalist worship aesthetic. For example, readers of the book of Revelation who are looking solely for spiritual signs of last days might miss something important: at the center of the book is a portrait of worship—a bold, sensory aesthetic of liturgy and liturgical space. Here is a vision of the heavenly temple; a place of unceasing worship of the Enthroned One and the exalted Lamb by the whole antiphonal chorus of creation. After witnessing this scene of bejeweled thrones, rainbows, crystal seas, spectacular creatures, harps and incense, it would be difficult to make a case that imagery and beauty are inconsequential to authentic Christian worship.

But what do we make of Christian concerns about both evangelism and social justice? These are, of course, central to the mission of the Church. But must we assume that these are threatened by a Christian aesthetic? In my impression, far too little has been said among Christians about the role of beauty in fulfilling the mission of the Church. In his work, Glory of the Lord: A Theological Aesthetics, Hans Urs Von Balthasar has argued that aesthetics might be a significant dimension of the Church’s apologetic. The beautiful symmetry of revealed truth in the liturgy can faithfully embody the good news to our culture of sight and sound. Likewise, in Until Justice and Peace Embrace, Nicholas Wolterstorff suggests that a contributing element to modern despair is the “aesthetic poverty” of our cities and suburbs. How do we effectively proclaim our commitment to God’s shalōm if our worship does not point people to the beauty of God’s kingdom?

In the end, when Christian worship is reduced to the merely pragmatic, and worship space is utilitarian, we stand in danger of undermining our own proclamation. Surrounded by so much ugliness, the recovery of a Christian aesthetic may be more than a luxury, it may be a vocation. We may discover that it is our special call to give embodied witness to the Gospel by an aesthetic that dignifies the mundane much as God does in creation, incarnation and new creation.

For the pre-Midwinter Worship Connection, Michael will bring the closing message-- set in the context of Choral Eucharist in the Anglican worship tradition.