The Challenge of Religion

Just outside of Paris is the basilica of St. Denis. Historians agree this abbey church was the first true Gothic building, the beginning of the Gothic age. What is truly fascinating though is how this first gothic church not only inspired a movement lasting centuries, what is truly fascinating is how it began was as a debate.

In the 1140s, the abbot of St. Denis, Abbe Suger, had an idea. He took two geometric principles and a theological idea about light and combined them. He took the circle, and circles in proportional harmony and then the notion of angelic light, he took these and smushed them together; then he found a builder who said, "yeah, I could build that."  The circle, the pointed arch, the ribbed vault were not so much invented at St. Denis, but with Suger and his builder these elements were combined, expanded to a degree yet seen.

Abbe Suger wanted lots of light, soaring windows, capped by arches; he wanted an even higher ceiling, built on the proportional harmony of circles.  What he really wanted, though, was soaring windows filled with color.  The colors could be shapes, symbols, stories.  Lots of options.  The message, symbolism in the windows was important, but most important was beauty.  The space would be filled with beautiful light from stained glass windows.

              As Abbe Suger began renovating his basilica, as his ideas became rumor, and rumors began to be verified, a debate began.  Two theologians, both living in Paris, Bernard of Clairvaux and Hugh of St. Victor, towering figures of the time, held opposing perspectives of the project at St. Denis.  One hated it; the other loved it.  They engaged in a heated and public brawl.

              You would think such a plan would be debated in terms of cost.  Is it right to spend so much time and energy on a sanctuary?  Suger's project wasn't even the whole basilica, it was only the chevet, or chancel.  He was only renovating less than half.  Yet, even though it was modest in scope, it was not modest in cost.  One stained glass window would have been costly; Suger wanted the entire chevet to be wrapped in light, surrounded by soaring stained glass windows.  Insane money.

              Bernard of Clairvaux and Hugh of St. Victor were not interested in money; cost was not their debate.  I am sure they had opinions about this.  People always do.  No.  The extravagant cost was not the basis of their disagreement. They argued over beauty.  Beauty.  What beauty does; where it should be; how it is part of our faith.  Bernard of Clairvaux argued these soaring windows, the enormous rose windows, filled with images and colors, deep blues and reds, all the fluted columns and ceilings painted to represent the night sky, the colonnades, the statuary, all of this is simply distraction.  The simple priest saying a daily mass in a side chapel of St. Denis would have no focus, no ability to pray unimpeded.  They would have no attention to devotion because they would be lost in colors. Beauty would lead the faithful to faithlessness.

              Hugh of St. Victor said, o contrare, because he was French, but also because he believed beauty casts a light, the light of truth, this light reaches our heart and illumines us.  This light of beauty, when it illumines us, illumines our memory.  In the light of beauty we remember what is eternal, eternal truth.  We remember God is love; we are loved by God; we are made in the image of God; we are made good.  We have a soul free of fear and greed and delusion because we are born anew; we are baptized; we are God's child.  Hugh of St. Victor believed those soaring windows, vaulted ceilings, the columns with adorned capitals, all of this was not a loss of attention, but how we attend to the truth.

              The debate went on for quite a while.  Ultimately the King got involved and Bernard of Clairvaux, with some skullduggery, ceded the field.  Abbe Suger built his new chevet.  What happened next is intriguing. What happened next was church leaders came to the dedication of St. Denis and they all said, "wow."  Next, they ran home as fast as they could and started planning, scheming, dreaming, how could they build such a beautiful place?  In the next century more than 150 Gothic churches, cathedrals, abbeys would be constructed.  Each one a mind-blowing cost, each one a bit bigger, more embellished, higher.

              This summer as I visited more than a dozen of these great churches, walked St. Denis numerous times, I was amazed at how the cathedrals start to talk.  It is as if the cathedral at Amiens knows you've been to Riems and says, that one is lovely, but look at this.  Walk this labyrinth with me.  Entering Chartres the cathedral draws you in with eyes closed and says, Now, look, look at this.  Beauty beyond compare.  What a joy it was to saunter the restored Notre Dame of Paris.  Each time I returned it was like seeing a bride entering the aisle on her wedding day. The beauty made you gasp.

              I know it is not a conventional definition, but for me, the brilliance of Suger, the extravagance of glass, harmony, audacity of the rose windows, this is what religion is supposed to be.  I believe religion is beauty casting light illuminating our memory of eternal truth setting us free.  Religion is how we find the sublime in us.  As Socrates would say, in such light we remember who we are, what is eternal in us, what we have forgotten because we are afraid, living in chains made of wrong desire.  Religion is the freedom to live in truth.

              Beauty illuminating memory creating freedom is not a common definition of religion. You might say, that is crazy, too abstruse.  But you just saw it.  Sophia, a child of God, cannot speak, cannot define her life, but in the moment of baptism, the moment of beauty, what is eternal is so clear.  She is loved, a beloved, before she can say the word, make her own declaration she is declared, remembered as a child of God.  This is what religion is meant to be, do.  I see no difference between the water and promises made and the soaring windows of glass.  Each one illumines us with beauty.

              In our reading from Luke, this painful reading about control, abuse, suffering, power, indifference, this is what religion can become when beauty is lost.  This is what we make of religion when freedom is forsaken.  A woman suffers for 18 years and is healed.  Her suffering ends, she is set free.  How beautiful, how miraculous.  What a light illuminating the hearts of all.  Except the Pharisees do not see it; they are blind to beauty.  What they have made of religion cannot rejoice in freedom.  Instead of shouts of praise they say, "couldn't this have waited until Tuesday?"

              Only Luke records this story.  When the gospel writers include something unique it is a choice, or an invitation to consider something of great importance.  The story itself is not unique. Jesus argues with Pharisees a lot.  Quiet often he angers them with how cavalier he is with sabbath rules.  We have many stories like this.

              The Pharisees believed ritual purity and the perfect sabbath will give them power.  All the teachings of Jesus, like this one, contradict their belief.  Jesus says humility and courage is how we find power.  Perfection, purity they ruin us. 

              Our lesson today may be yet another example of Jesus rejecting the possibility of perfection, the power of purity.  We could read it this way.  But how Luke frames the parts of the story challenges an easy reading.  The first part: a suffering woman is freed, healed and she rejoices.  The second part: the people see the miracle, hear the good news and they rejoice.

              Smushed in between these two moments of joy is the anger and shame of the pharisees.  Pharisees are easy targets.  Worst part of us.  When we try to control people, abuse people, when we live in fear: we destroy the good in us.  We cannot remember the eternal.  We forget what it means to be a child of God in humility, in compassion.  Mostly, we forsake beauty.  When we cannot rejoice with one who suffered for 18 years and is now free, when you can only see your rules, your definitions, then you are far from the soaring window, the child newly baptized.  Beauty does not reach your heart.

              It is not enough to see the falsity of perfection and purity.  Luke is begging, cajoling us to something more, beyond the obvious conclusion.  It is easy to read this story and say, how pitiful, how weak and small are the pharisees.  So it is today.  It is not hard to find people who hate religion.  I have met many people who say, I am not religious, but I am a believer.  The fastest growing religious identity in America: none.  What used to be atheism and agnosticism is now simply described as no religion, none.

              What is called the category of no religion, none, is new in terms of surveys and demographic studies, but I do not believe it is new of people.  The people at the synagogue that day most likely held the pharisees in disdain, took delight in their shame, thought it was about time they were challenged.  How could you say of the suffering woman, "she couldn't wait one more day?"  It is easy to imagine the crowd was appalled by their religious leaders.

              This was true then and it is just as true now.  When religious leaders are hollow or petty or vain, it is a logical step to say, so is religion.  That is what religion does to people. That's why I am not religious.  In our reading though is a challenge to this logical conclusion.  What Jesus does is wonderful and good and right.  But it is more.  What Jesus does with the crippled woman is redeem religion.  He does a beautiful thing; he heals; and in the healing, the woman is set free.  This beautiful act is a light illuminating us, recovering our memory.  We too can be free; we too can create freedom for those who suffer.  Luke is arguing with us, make this your religion: acts of beauty creating freedom where we rejoice together. 

              I was sitting in our small apartment in Paris this summer when I read the debate of Bernard of Clairvaux and Hugh of St. Victor.  I remember thinking, there it is.  The challenge of religion.  We must be practical and humble and modest in our daily life.  But our religion should be art, beauty, song, poetry. Religion should be a riot of color, grandeur reaching for the sublime so beauty will illumine us.  That artful joy should bind us together.  They rejoiced at what Jesus did. 

              Take a deep breath if you are worried I am about to call for soaring ceilings and arched windows and stained glass everywhere.  I wouldn't mind a good statue, but even that is a bridge too far.  It doesn't matter the medium.  We don't need marble columns, well, maybe just two.  No.  We need to reclaim religion, to restore religion to what it is meant to be: moments of beauty illuminating our memory setting us free from fear, from shame, from anger.  That is what religion is supposed to be.

              Each year at this time we go over budgets and project the total of pledges and look to plan on income streams.  We must do this.  It is necessary.  What is even more necessary is how we look to make a beautiful life together, how our voices will join in song, how we will share hope and joy and peace with one another.   Generosity can be achieving a bottom line.  Yet better the beauty of generosity creating freedom.  Amen.