When They Were Beautiful by Robert Socha

Church buildings are supposed to be beautiful. Their designs should draw your eyes to the heavens, beckoning the observer to seek God. Consider Notre Dame or The Hague Sophia, magnificent structures whose architects believed they had competed with and surpassed Solomon. Their towering spires and gigantic unsupported domes forced one to consider higher things. Natural light filtering through stained glass lights the sanctuary with a heavenly aura, stimulating spiritual growth.

These achievements have even caused men sent to investigate spirituality and religion to report to their superiors after visiting the Hagia Sophia that if God exists, He must live in that building. I understand that moment marked the first fruits of the Russian Orthodox Church.

I know God does not live in structures made with human sweat and ingenuity. I know that He dwells in men’s hearts by faith, and those who Believe are temples of the Holy Spirit, received from God. I also know that when you see beautiful things, especially those related to the arts and architecture, you deepen your respect for yourself and others and contemplate what is true, beautiful, and good. All this happens while simultaneously drawing you to the Father of light and God of all comfort. We ignore these urges at our peril.

When the Church endeavors to build beautiful things, it helps transform society in a great awakening that implants the yearning to be free in men’s souls. The old steepled churches from America’s birthing are classic examples of such endeavors. The steeples still draw your eyes heavenward in a centuries-long invitation to come to the table of the Lord.

Today, most churches, nay most architecture in general, budget their building projects with utility in mind. The sanctuary, insulated from natural light, relies on manufactured lighting to illuminate the structure and the mind. The lighting is manipulated to set the mood and works to draw your eyes to the stage as if you are only there for entertainment. I do not believe a supermajority of men who create and build the modern structures we call church today are intentionally trying to manipulate the human spirit in a clash of cymbals and flash of light; I believe their intentions are sincere. But I’ve been contemplating society’s downward spiral to the base of human nature. Why are buildings built for utility only, incorporating minimalist design contours to keep the budget on track? The lure of filthy lucre certainly has its effect, but the crafts also take considerable time, talent, and treasure to create their beauty and lasting impact.

When we stopped building innately beautiful buildings, society began its free fall to hedonistic lifestyles, inconsiderate of their legacy and only concerned about this moment. Very few buildings are built today whose builders’ great-grandchildren will marvel at the accomplishment. Sure, we’ve built gleaming cities towering over the earth that draw your eyes upwards to the mixture of steel and glass, but where is the intimate stonework on the 102 floor of the Empire State Building? Search for a picture of the upper floors of that majestic structure. The attention to detail in the capstones on the upper levels is captivating. It can only be appreciated by us today because of the advent of technology and photographic art, allowing us to view its majesty.

I’m not saying we have not built beautiful things in modernity. But I believe the church closing off its sanctuary has led to society closing off itself. The church neglecting natural light and pointing a spotlight to the stage instead of the heavens for that manmade illumination has had a deleterious effect on society. One no longer yearning for the freedom natural light inspires.

Maybe a renaissance of the traditional trades, not plumbing and electricity, but those steeped in human history, masonry, metallurgy, stained glass, mosaic tiles, and plaster, will usher in a rekindling of that adventurous spirit in human nature to build beautiful things worthy of preserving for millennia. Maybe a resurgence of the church teaching us by looking to the heavenly places and counting the cost of restructuring architecture from the doldrums of the late 1900s to something more akin to a lasting beauty whose structure stands the millennia and would cause global mourning if ever lost, like the gut-wrenching knot in our stomachs when Notre Dame was ablaze just a few short years ago. Maybe if intrinsically beautiful things were in our constant exposure, we would begin again to have that great awakening of our souls, leading us to a deep and sincere faith in Christ and respect for ourselves and our fellow man.