Blog 2: Encountering Beauty in Divine Revelation
It was 6 months ago, undergoing orientation at my first job after undergrad, teaching theology at a Catholic High School, when I first heard my principal denounce “the Church of Happy Feelings.” Fed up with a secularized, modernized, self-centered form of worship, seen far too often in suburban American Catholicism, my principal instructed the theology department to teach on real theological issues. He invited the use of sacred art and imagery and Scripture, while instructing us to be unafraid of discussing the supernatural and glorious Revelation of God. After growing up in ‘modernized,’ theology-on-your-own-terms, suburban churches on the North Side of Chicago, I could understand vividly the frustration my principal shared with his employees. Rarely did I smell incense, for it was ‘too old school’; I never heard bells, since they ‘disrupted the flow of our worship’; I could never kiss the feet of a crucifix or imagine the wounds Christ took for my sins when the crucifix was a white-marble Jesus on, basically, a telephone pole in the middle of the Church. God’s glorious revelation to us is not decided by human beings or the ‘signs of the times,’ nor is it to be taught as “complete” when the interpretation hardly gets past a vast description of words and platitudes. Rather, it is truly an objective gift meant to be received by the subject: spiritually, yes, but grappled with intimately and physically. Divine Revelation is beautiful in that it is a gift of outpouring of love to Man, from our God who is all good, true, and beautiful. This beauty is shown in several ways, including the gift of Christ’s sacrifice and in Man’s invitation to become lovers.
Divine Revelation is often described as the gift of Jesus to take away our sins. But how is the crucified figure of Christ a revelation of beauty? Of love? As Balthasar explains on page 87 of Love Alone is Credible, Christ’s obedience is essentially love. Most Catholics understand that “God so loved the world that he gave his only Son…” but simply hearing this ubiquitous verse from John’s Gospel fails to reach the point that Balthasar seems to be emphasizing. Namely, this is that Jesus’ passion and death was an act of obedience to the will of the Father, obedience that forms us in our love. The Agony in the Garden was not the first time that Christ taught us that obedience is the way to receive that love, either (“Thy will be done”?). But what seems to happen, in what Roberto Goizueta terms “Suburban Catholicism,” is that visual and material reminders of the horror of the Crucifixion are removed in favor of seeing the “Resurrected Christ” (or what some friends dub ‘the Floating Jesus’) in place of a broken, beat, and scarred Christ, who endured the pain of death to offer us salvation (75). Balthasar explains that closing our eyes to reality locks us in an “individualistic” view of salvation (97). Therefore, opening our eyes to the horror Christ endured can show us that Divine Revelation is not just a pretty concept to think about, but is rather beauty, taught to us by Christ, from the source of all beauty, truth, and goodness.
Just as we ought not to close our eyes to the reality of Christ’s death, we must not ignore the reality of human destruction. Humans are imperfect and, having free will, often cause the “least of [Jesus’] brothers’ to fall. We should, then, be receivers of Divine Love, to then become lovers ourselves (in the imperfect way that we can). A phrase that comes to mind here is one commonly (mis?) attributed to St. Francis, to “Preach the Gospel at all times. When necessary, use words.” This idea is at the core of Franciscan spirituality, and guided my classmates and I on our high school service experiences to the poor and homeless of Milwaukee, WI. My high school education and formation would have been incomplete without serving in the soup kitchens and homeless shelters run by Capuchin Franciscans. This was also way for my spiritual formation to be dashed of selfishness and filled with selflessness. In doing so, one could feel God’s love filling the heart, strengthening the love one could give to others (Balthasar 104). It was also a way of showing love, of experiencing love, that “refuses to remain at arm’s length in the face of human powerlessness and death” (Goizueta 10). Did any of my classmates and I solve the homeless problem in the Midwest? No. But we turned to Christ and to the fiat of the Blessed Virgin Mary, and loved the poor in our service to them. What is more beautiful than trying to imitate the love of Christ for others? How can Divine Revelation not be beautiful, when it inspires and teaches love and care for one another?
Experiencing Divine Love, and seeing the beauty of Revelation is not an abstract symbol that must be explained by wordy essays and jargon-laden books (though these can be helpful). Rather, it is a gift from God (the source of beauty), given to the beloved (humanity), and ought to be received by sharing that love with the whole world… not being blind to the needs, ‘leprosy,’ around us (to paraphrase the Gospel reading from today). Yes, hearing a priest spend a 15-minute homily discussing his good deeds of the week, could inspire others to partake in spreading the beauty of Christ’s love to others. But, sometimes, kneeling at the Tabernacle, looking up at a crucifix surrounded by a mural of the Communion of Saints, may more aptly communicate to us the outpouring of love in God’s Divine Plan than any words from a preacher’s mouth.
