The Beauty of the Liturgy

The Christian Liturgy is often considered to be a mundane event: even well-meaning Christians can hold the mass to be little more than singing lovely hymns and hearing an inspiring message from the priest. However, the reality is far stranger: the liturgy is the meeting place of heaven and earth — not only in a symbolic sense but in a very real way. At the heart of this union between man in God lies the beauty of the liturgy, where God becomes imminent through our physical senses.

Twentieth-century German philosopher Hans-Georg Gadamer delineated three manners with which to discuss beauty: beauty as play, symbol, and festival. The beauty of the liturgy, likewise, can be understood in the context of these categories.

For Gadamer, the core of play is “the fact that something is intended as something” — that the movement is ordered, intentionally or not, toward a specific end (24). Before laying out his description and explanation of the Sacraments for catechumens, fourth-century Greek theologian and bishop Cyril of Alexandria declares, “For it is in me to speak, in you to purpose, and in God to bring to conclusion […] Let us prepare our hearts. Let us run for our soul” (Protocatechesis 17). The catechumens are reminded to understand that the rituals and aesthetic actions to occur, including the renunciation of Satan, baptism, chrismation, and the Eucharistic liturgy itself are all ordered to the salvation of soul and union with God through Jesus Christ. No part of the liturgy, for Cyril, is without meaning, or art for art’s sake. Rather, he delineates comprehensively the meaning of every action, so that it is understood that these rituals indeed accomplish specific ends, and, ultimately, salvation. Twentieth-century German theologian Romano Guardini similarly emphasizes the purpose of liturgical action. Guardini carefully explains the significance of the movements and objects of the liturgy, from the Eucharist and the altar to walking, standing, passing through a door, or even the time of day during which the liturgy occurs. All of these aspects, however seemingly insignificant, are part of a coherent whole to Guardini, “sacred signs” that when participated in “includes the whole human person and all his creative powers” to experience the mysteries of the Catholic faith (Sacred Signs 10–11). The entirety of the liturgy is the highest form of play, as it orders the person, through aesthetic action, toward the highest end, namely God.

The liturgy is similarly steeped in symbol. To Gadamer, the symbolic is when “the particular represents itself as a fragment of being that promises to complete and make whole whatever corresponds to it” (32). Guardini, likewise, defines symbol as “when that which is interior and spiritual finds meaning in that which is exterior and material” (Spirit of the Liturgy, 57) The symbol contains within itself an otherwise inexpressible fragment of being that is received by the viewer to complete the viewer’s understanding of such being. It is perhaps for this reason why, in the mystical experience of thirteenth-century German nun Gertrude of Helfta, Jesus asks her to come before him “empty, to receive me; for through my gift you will receive in its entirety all that I find pleasing in you” (142–143). Gertrude's empty and humble state prepares her to be completed and refashioned by Christ through symbol.

Symbol is found everywhere in Gertrude’s writings, from Jesus as a pelican to her soul as a tree, with roots extending into the wounds of Christ, to the very vowels of the hymns she sings. These symbols deepen Gertrude’s understanding and union with God: “She received from each and every psalm, response, and reading most sweet and fitting insights of spiritual delights” (148). In the language of twentieth-century German theologian Hans Urs von Balthasar, her “spiritual senses” were highly attuned to recognize God in the materiality of her world and through symbol, “straining all her strength and her senses, both inner and outer, in this devout attention” (Gertrude 147).

Cyril of Jerusalem similarly emphasizes the concept of symbol. That which is symbolic, for Cyril, confers the real. Baptism symbolizes our participation the death and resurrection of Christ, but despite being symbolic the sacrament not merely a representation; Cyril writes, “Our imitation was in an image (εἰκόνι) but our salvation was real […] by the imitation of his passion we might gain participation in salvation in reality” (Mystagogical Catechesis 2.5). Through symbol, reality is conferred through sensation, and beauty makes whole that which was lacking: Heaven and earth meet when that which is heavenly is conveyed through that which is earthly.

Finally, the liturgy is festive. Gadamer considers festival to be when people are gathered, but not only (or even necessarily) physically in the same space; rather, it is “the intention that unites us and prevents us as individuals from falling into […] private, subjective experiences” (40). Josef Pieper, twentieth-century Thomist German philosopher more specifically defines festival as rooted in sacrifice, a celebration of Being, and, ultimately, contemplation of God: “the concept of festivity is inconceivable without an element of contemplation.” The Liturgy of initiation of the catechumens in Cyril of Jerusalem’s writings are explicitly festive. The catechumens are not baptized in their own time, throughout the year, but together at Easter, a time set aside for contemplation of the resurrection of Christ. The bishop even warns his catechumens that without approaching their initiation with the proper contemplation they could end up like Simon Magus, an archetypal false Christian who was “baptized but not enlightened” (Protocatechesis 2). Guardini, in explaining the significance of the church doors in Sacred Signs, denotes the festivity of even an ordinary Sunday mass: “Behind the church doors is an inner place, separated from the market place, a silent, consecrated and holy spot” (24). By entering the church for mass, we exit the ordinary world in which we live and work and together participate in contemplation of God. In this manner, the liturgy is a form of the ultimate festival, the beatific vision: the church sets apart a day of the week for rest, for contemplation of God, in which we, across time and space, participate in the ultimate sacrifice of Christ on the cross as a united body. It is the rejection of all that is mundane in order to be transported, as a body of believers, before God himself in collective contemplation.

Beyond the beauty an aesthete might see in a high mass in a beautiful cathedral, their eye pleased by the pomp and color and harmonious singing, by the ornate stained glass and painstakingly carved statues, there is a beauty that is far deeper and infinitely greater present in even the humblest of liturgies in the simplest of churches. All of our actions are ordered to the highest and simplest end, the symbols present to us the most profound goodness of reality, and the festival unites us in ultimate contemplation; The beauty of God is revealed and the ultimate sacrifice of Jesus Christ is presented to us that we ourselves may participate in it — and it is ours to experience every Sunday.