What I am going to say here is really nothing new for regular readers, but my recent trip to Spain brought it to mind again.
The question of Church attendance and engagement is of great interest these days—it always has, of course, but in this post-shutdown, post-modern, secularized world, it takes on a new urgency as Catholics (we’ll focus on them/us) ponder the continual decline of everything – Mass attendance, baptisms, weddings, and simply belief.
Everyone has a solution, many of them obviously tied to various agendas and specific concerns, including, yes, financial ones.
But hardly anyone seems to be operating from what seems to me to be the obvious starting point, something very simple and foundational:
Jesus came to redeem the world, and people still are yearning for what we know he offers. There are signs everywhere. How can we let people know that what they yearn for is here?
Of course, if you don’t believe any of that—even as an Official Church Person—if you really believe that everyone is basically fine, and that your institution exists to offer not much more than one friendly meeting space and source of inspiration among many others—as well as to give you a paycheck—well, I guess you wouldn’t see it that way and might be frustrated by the current situation as you sit in one more meeting that’s says it’s about evangelization, but is really about marketing, and, no, they are not the same thing.
So, yes, I was in Barcelona. And, yes, everywhere I went people were touring churches, as they do, even though in Barcelona most historic churches charge for entry unless there’s a service going on. That didn’t seem to deter people.
And the two most visited sites in the area?
Sagrada Familia and the monastery at Montserrat, of course.
A Catholic church and an active Benedictine monastery!
Both were insanely busy and probably would have been even more so if there was no charge for entry. My point there is not to criticize the cost, of course, but to point out that ticketing functions as crowd control. If they were free to enter and explore, the crowds would be even greater.
At Montserrat, also, there’s a choir school whose brief daily performances in the Basilica—featuring, when I attended, the Pater Noster, Salve Regina and a hymn—were packed. The performance was at 1pm and the Basilica was full by 12:45.
On Sundays, the square in front of the Cathedral is bustling, not just because it’s Sunday and there are tourists and residents enjoying the day but because there are musicians and protests and people dancing—all in the shadow of this place that stands as a witness to the presence of Christ in it all.
On Saturday night, the streets around Sagrada Familia were jammed with people who’d come to watch the blessing and lighting of towers dedicated to the writers of the Gospels.
Of course not all of these visitors come out of conscious spiritual motivations—and that’s the point.
Sure, they want to tick a tourism box, they are attracted by the spectacle of these huge, striking church, and the striking position and history of Montserrat. They’re drawn by design and beauty and nature and curiosity.
What’s the root of it all? Is it explicitly identified as “spiritual” or “religious?”
Most of the time, no. But, again:
That’s the point.
Do you believe this stuff? Do you believe that human beings are created by God and called by Him to live with him forever? And do you believe that divine invitation is experienced in great and small ways in every moment of our lives, whether we recognize that call or not? That every person, no matter what their background or professed beliefs, is being invited by her Creator on this journey of love and life—whether they know it or not?
And that what the Body of Christ, through its rich, deep, crazy, complicated history has produced in word, sound, symbol, ideas, the works of mercy in this world and the sanctity of its members—can be and in fact is experienced by the seeker as an opening, an answer, a response? Whether they know it or not?
And do you understand that corruption, abuse, criminality, politicization and indifference stand as vivid counter-witnesses to what people are clearly interested in and open to?
People don’t go to Church.
People don’t go to Church.
People don’t go to the Church.
No, but they arrange their lives, expend energy and even endure great suffering and trials (talking about you Brazilian Swifties) to experience community as self-identified members of tribes, sharing values and celebrating with others in near-liturgical moments—by the hundreds of thousands.
Ask that question and learn, then, from Garth and the Larpers—not with an end of slavish, lame imitation, because that never works—but to listen to the human heart beating there, to discern what that heart is seeking—and finding—and understand that this seeking human heart is the same one that’s been beating from the beginning of time, and to start with trusting the ways that the Spirit has responded to that heart through time, yes, through this Church. Trust it.
To consider that perhaps the collapsing of religious experience and observance into a moment to gaze at each other in beige spaces in a flattened visual and auditory landscape misses something. That possibly the “vain repetitions,” adornments and elaborate, upward-pointing elements of religious observance of the past offered, not a wall, but a doorway: to a vision and experience that all were invited to enter and enjoy, hearts beating, reaching and yearning for community, challenge, beauty, excitement and most of all—the comforting presence of that understanding, challenging, comforting creator.
(Editor’s note: This post appeared originally on the “Charlotte was Both” blog and is reposted here in slightly different form with the kind permission of the author.)
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It is difficult to maintain optimism that a majority of Catholics are on a path to realizing the incredible reality of our divinization/divine adoption as sons and daughters, as co-heirs with Christ, since “the ultimate end of the whole divine economy is the entry of God’s creatures into the perfect unity of the Blessed Trinity” (CCC 260), who even now through divine grace “may participate in the divine nature” ( 2 Pt 1:4).
Even holding to Christian hope and final victory, it is far more realistic to fight under the cloud of Tolkien’s “long defeat”, acknowledging the surrender to a Scientific Revolution which bred scientism and the data-driven dismantling of philosophy, an Enlightenment Period which severed faith from reason, an Industrial Revolution which separated families, two world wars which exacerbated “The Problem of Evil” and jolted Church leaders to rethink “modern man” in a hyper-optimistic, often naïve manner, a sexual revolution discussed ad nauseam, and now a technological revolution which has made personal interaction, and something as edifying as classical reading obsolete.
This reductive, cultural assimilation despite Flannery O’Connor’s warnings about “the gas you breathe” (cultural nihilism). I shall continually be praying for my “intentionally Catholic” adult children (Ms. Welborn’s term, I think) as earnestly as St. Monica did for her own, grateful for their need, in their self-understanding, of “going to Church”, and grateful for the help of communicators like Ms. Welborn.
An exceptional and succinct contrast of the sacramental life with a very fine summary of recent history. Very well done! Saved to my file.
Of O’Connor’s “gas we breathe,” now here’s a question about synodality….Especially of recent history, Danielou writes “…the Church has to drag the enormous weight of civilization along with it; and civilization has to carry the gaping wound of Christianity in its side; and this state of affairs must continue to the end of the world” (“Prayer as a Political Problem,” 1965).
As a “field hospital” offering itself to deal with the recent track record, the question is how might a synodal “style” help bridge the cultural wreckage toward a more human future within and above the horizon of earthly history–and without killing the patient?
That is, is synodality too self-referential and pre-occupied with breathing the vaporous style of the world into the very content and structure of the Church itself? And, is asking this question already to answer it?
So, both inside and outside (!) the 2023 “process,” how to salvage Synod 2024 as an “event”? Councils and synods are very much what the Church DOES, but not what the Church IS.
And if you happen to visit Montserrat sometime in the future, just know that you could stay a night or two at the Benedictine monastery there as my wife and I did a few years back. It allows the visitor/retreatant an atmosphere to soak in the spirit of the place and not have to be subjected to the carnival atmosphere outside.
A beautiful and thoughtful essay, but which shies away from a hard fact:
“Do you believe this stuff? Do you believe that human beings are created by God and called by Him to live with him forever? And do you believe that divine invitation is experienced in great and small ways in every moment of our lives, whether we recognize that call or not? That every person, no matter what their background or professed beliefs, is being invited by her Creator on this journey of love and life—whether they know it or not?“
Each person is “invited by her Creator on this journey of love and life” is accurate, but what we always avoid is the flip side: to reject the invitation runs the risk of sin and death. We studiously avoid the “fire and brimstone” talk of previous [unenlightened?] ages, and try to say in various ways, “Jesus will answer the longings of your heart.” Have we decided, as an institution, to evangelise (or “sell”) God as a fuzzy blanket, rather than as a Redeemer who will save our souls from eternal death?
I think I know what Amy is saying when she asks, “Do you believe this stuff?” but even she avoids the hard truth here. People are miserable because of sin, and while beauty attracts, to spend Sunday mornings at a coffee shop to be followed by a cultural experience of art and music underscores the utter indifference to sin and its consequences. Will we never say those words?
Are we really certain that when an author doesn’t write what we would write, they are somehow avoiding hard truths? Hmmm.
Forgive me for being a little weary here. Synod on Synodality ignored sin, my parishes for 30+ years never mentioned it, and the Eucharistic Revival seems to sidestep it. I thought an article focusing on Why People Don’t Go to Church might allude to it. Your point is valid, though.
Carl – Your comment may be true for a particular article, no one can include everything in a particular article. But Genevieve has a valid point about the avoidance of the consequences of serious sin.
Take abortion as an example. During Right to Life Month, we might hear a homily on abortion, but there is no mention that this is murder, and all involved risk eternal punishment. The abortion industry’s own statistics say that the vast majority of women getting an abortion are single. So, there are other serious moral issues involved (adultery, fornication). These are not mentioned. I attend weekend Masses and some weekday Masses, and I have not heard a homily on serious (mortal) moral issues in years, probably decades.
The Church has what we might call official positions on serious moral issues, but there is a Hugh difference between having an official position and teaching.
A beautiful Helen of Troy, beautiful, even seductive in death sprawled for all to gaze, to satisfy refusal to listen. She awaits, knowing her redeemer liveth.
Some very bright Catholics, Hans Urs von Balthasar and Bishop Robert Barron to name two, make much of beauty as a way to God. I am a little skeptical given this sort of “Church tourism” which Amy discusses, as it does not seem to actually bring many people to their knees, except maybe for a better view 0f architecture. Soren Kierkegaard criticized both the ethical and aesthetic approaches to religion as lacking, not placing the human soul in the true depths of encounter with their its Maker and with its own profound lack. Maybe these criticisms have some value.
I think we often take the beauty of great Catholic art, architecture, music, literature, etc., for granted. And, yes, it does have a huge impact; but it’s a hard one to gauge well.
When I was a 19-year-old student at an Evangelical Bible college, I was on the basketball team. The national championships for small schools was held in Montreal that year, and so, during our time in that city, we toured the Notre-Dame Basilica of Montréal. It made a lasting impression on me: the beauty of the art, the many obvious biblical “things” (the stained glass windows, for one), the sense sacred and of stepping into a world I’d never encountered before (especially compared to the very modern, barren “chapel” at the Bible college I attended). Then, the next year, I took a course in Christian literature, and we studied Hopkins, Flannery O’Connor, TS Eliot (already a favorite), and CS Lewis (ditto). Both of those certainly played a role in my eventual decision to seriously study and consider the claims of the Catholic Church.
The big problem, I think, to borrow from Schemann, is that we moderns are not only proud, we have little or no interest in worship and contemplation. So, even if beauty can momentarily catch our attention, it’s not easy to pursue it to its Ultimate Source.
Dare we mention James Joyce’s love of Palestrina? The Mass for Pope Marcellus apparently enraptured him. I wonder whether that love and mention of Palestrina within ‘Ulysses’ saved it from placement on the Index of Forbidden Books. Whether the beauty of Palestrina saved Joyce from eternal ugliness is for God to know and for us to eventually learn.
Meanwhile, Eliot intrigues us and Prufrock with: “In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.”
Multiple levels of meaning can be found in modern art which alludes to fine church art, architecture, music, and sculpture.
After my brave attempt at poetic expression, I picked up on the interesting repartee here on beautiful art, its spiritual influence. Brad Miner over at NCReg posted an article on Caravaggio in Rome, citing a study by art historian Elizabeth Lev titled, ‘How Catholic Art Saved the Faith: The Triumph of Beauty and Truth in Counter-Reformation Art’. Miner’s thoughts on religious inspired art reflect what’s discussed here. Lev’s title for her book I think makes a valid point.
The saint noted for his doctrine on beauty leading to God is Saint Bonaventure. See De reductione artium ad theologiam.
My column about Caravaggio is at The Catholic Thing not the National Catholic Register. -Brad Miner
My apology Brad. I frequently read the excellent articles that you edit there. I probably owe The Catholic Thing a donation in reparation.
I’m afraid I’m a little skeptical about grand churches as a way to faith. Two personal anecdotes. My university roommate (class of ’72 here) sent me a postcard from Belgium raving about the glorious churches. (I hadn’t a clue at that point having emigrated at age five). So what’s Mass attendance like there today? More recently, a sister returned from Barcelona raving about Sagrada Familia. Until another sister asked, “Does anyone go to the church?” No answer. That is the question you’re not supposed to ask.
Sorry, but if there’s no faith it’s just an empty shell. Nice to look at maybe but an empty shell all the same.
“In recalling the pertinence of the teaching of the Seventh Ecumenical Council, it seems that we are back to our primordial task of evangelization [!]. The growing secularization of society shows that it is becoming largely estranged from spiritual values, from the mystery of our salvation in Jesus Christ, from the reality of the world to come. Our most authentic tradition, which we share with our Orthodox brethren, teaches us that the language of beauty [!] placed at the service of faith is capable of reaching people’s hearts and making them know from within the One whom we dare to represent in images, Jesus Christ, Son of God made man, ‘the same yesterday, today and forever’ (Heb 13:8)” (St. John Paul II, Duodecimum Saeculum,” Twelfth Centenary of Nicaea II, Dec. 12, 1987).
But, what do we get today? The insipid artwork of the synodality handouts, plus the secularist/exploitable verbiage and omissions (Jesus Christ?), here and there, in the Instrumentum Laboris. Contrary to an ideological mindset of the day, to move “backward” to Nicaea II actually would be to move upward and forward…
And, too, from the synodal Synthesis Report, might we conclude from the reference to the First Ecumenical Council Nicaea (1700th anniversary in 2025), that this council will be cross-dressed less as an exclusionary (!) rejection of Arianism—an act of fidelity to what had been received from the beginning, than as an inclusionary/ paradigm-shift consensus called ongoing synodality?
We Catholics ever more need to know, appreciate, understand, and live out theosis or deification or divination as our ultimate purpose in life . In this connection, I usually paraphrase as my prayer St. Augustine’s famous opening prayer in Confessions: You have made us partakers of your divine nature, O God, and we are restless until we become like you.
Wonderful to encounter Brad Miner on CWR!
Yes, The Catholic Thing, home of Mr. Miner’s fine critiques on Caravaggio (and Rubens and da Vinci and . . .) I’ll have to retract my previous negative comments. Beauty is probably the only language left to today’s religiously unschooled.
Did not Dostoevsky say: ” Beauty will save the world”.
I believe the church is reviving in Spain. I have been a witness of a spiritual movement that started about 10 years ago, which has exploded throughout the country.Emmaus retreats have changed the landscape in Spain. Just this weekend there were 18 retreats throughout the country for both adult and young people. I have seen suburban parishes busting at the seams with one in particular in Madrid, where over 15,000 communions are distributed every weekend. There is hope and many reasons to be hopeful.
Are they traditional,not referring to Latin mass, orthodox and devout….I think so …..but that is my question..