Music, buildings and the chief end of man...
Music, Buildings, and the chief end of man. What do they have in common? While I know that J.C Ryle would hate me to say this, and I have all the respect in the world for J.C. Ryle, I really do love buildings, and especially church buildings. J.C. Ryle was an Anglican Bishop of Liverpool, England, and to the day he died, he fought against the building of large buildings, and rather urged the king to increase the pensions of local pastors. J.C. Ryle was a prolific writer, wrote tracts, and was responsible for the conversion of many man people. Ryle was a died in the wool Evangelical. He wanted to see peoples personal lives upended by Jesus Christ. And he wanted that because he had seen it in his own life. His father lost everything, due to his bad wager on a business, and therefore their family wealth, quite quickly, went out the window. Back then, there was no such thing as insurance. And so Ryle, desperate, cried out to the Lord, and he had a "real conversion" to Jesus Christ. Like me, who was converted in a moment, I like to talk about that lots, but unlike me, he had a pulpitNone the less, his Evangelical spirit still lives on in me and keeps me in check. I grew up baptist, and so I am not supposed to get hung up on buildings. I am a member of a PCA church, which is not so handy on buildings, and so there again, buildings do not really play an important part in our liturgy and practice. But if I am honest, I love a good home. I love massive Cathedrals, not because they are expensive or express an age of slavery, but because they are simply beautiful, and they point to the divine.
Ever since coming back to personal roots in Presbyterianism I see though, behind that veil of a building, is the heart of Jesus. He said that he would tear down the temple and re build it in 3 days. This is why we worship not in buildings, but we worship in "the spirit and in truth." Wherever two or three are gathered we can worship. As we say in the Presbyterian confession of faith, "The chief end of man is to enjoy God and Worship Him forever." On the surface this collection of words doesn't really seem to matter, because if we are honest, we are practical people. It does not seem that we should boil down the essence of the human. And if we boil down the essence of the meaning of being human, we certainly do not want to reference God within our humanity. This is how I can imagine somebody would argue. But for me, and for the tradition of Orthodox Christianity, our personal pragmatism has lost the battle and Christ has won. Our humanity has been swallowed up by the human Jesus, and is now being presented to the Father. In other words, what we do is not of primary importance, and even who we are is not ever really crystal clear. But who Christ is, and will be, is very clear, and does all the work for us.
What does this have to do with JC Ryle and buildings? One of the functions of the humans universal love of music comes from the inner battle against pragmatism. American pragmatism is being fought, right now, by a "Great Awakening" of musical proliferation. Everyone seems to be writing music, and nobody seems to know why. I remember going to church every Sunday and standing next to my dad as he sang. I loved it. I really basked in the glory of hearing my dad sing to God, and sing to himself, and sing to whoever else was listening. And today I love to go to church and sing, and play my drum. But I sense that there is something much more than music or worship that happens within me in a church. Before I worship, or before I can sing, I must be stirred. Through the device of a wooden stirrer from Starbucks, I need to blend the coffee with the cream. And God sends help. One thing helps me more than anything. One thing helps me worship more than anything. Something comes before the music that helps me get to the music. And I think it is architecture.
A large building actually helps me remember that God is transcendent. God's otherness, God's holiness, and God's awesomeness leaks out of cathedrals of New York and Rome. In a song written by a dear friend and relative, he says, "In the Cathedrals of New York and Rome, you get the feeling that you should just go home and spend a lifetime finding out just where that is." I will never forget my visit to St. Peter's. I will never forget, even more importantly, my visit to Chartres, just outside Paris. These spaces lifted me into another world, and they lifted me into adoration and lifted me to sing the praise of Jesus Christ, the Lord.
Ever since coming back to personal roots in Presbyterianism I see though, behind that veil of a building, is the heart of Jesus. He said that he would tear down the temple and re build it in 3 days. This is why we worship not in buildings, but we worship in "the spirit and in truth." Wherever two or three are gathered we can worship. As we say in the Presbyterian confession of faith, "The chief end of man is to enjoy God and Worship Him forever." On the surface this collection of words doesn't really seem to matter, because if we are honest, we are practical people. It does not seem that we should boil down the essence of the human. And if we boil down the essence of the meaning of being human, we certainly do not want to reference God within our humanity. This is how I can imagine somebody would argue. But for me, and for the tradition of Orthodox Christianity, our personal pragmatism has lost the battle and Christ has won. Our humanity has been swallowed up by the human Jesus, and is now being presented to the Father. In other words, what we do is not of primary importance, and even who we are is not ever really crystal clear. But who Christ is, and will be, is very clear, and does all the work for us.
What does this have to do with JC Ryle and buildings? One of the functions of the humans universal love of music comes from the inner battle against pragmatism. American pragmatism is being fought, right now, by a "Great Awakening" of musical proliferation. Everyone seems to be writing music, and nobody seems to know why. I remember going to church every Sunday and standing next to my dad as he sang. I loved it. I really basked in the glory of hearing my dad sing to God, and sing to himself, and sing to whoever else was listening. And today I love to go to church and sing, and play my drum. But I sense that there is something much more than music or worship that happens within me in a church. Before I worship, or before I can sing, I must be stirred. Through the device of a wooden stirrer from Starbucks, I need to blend the coffee with the cream. And God sends help. One thing helps me more than anything. One thing helps me worship more than anything. Something comes before the music that helps me get to the music. And I think it is architecture.
A large building actually helps me remember that God is transcendent. God's otherness, God's holiness, and God's awesomeness leaks out of cathedrals of New York and Rome. In a song written by a dear friend and relative, he says, "In the Cathedrals of New York and Rome, you get the feeling that you should just go home and spend a lifetime finding out just where that is." I will never forget my visit to St. Peter's. I will never forget, even more importantly, my visit to Chartres, just outside Paris. These spaces lifted me into another world, and they lifted me into adoration and lifted me to sing the praise of Jesus Christ, the Lord.
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