The creepy part is a bit harder to explain. At the churches where I grew up, the only bits of sacred artistic imagery were the simple cross crudely routered into the wooden pulpit that stood at the front of the rows of wooden pews, and the grassy green riverside oil painting that hung behind the baptismal. There were also some line drawings of doves and crosses on our literature, but nothing to betray the vastness of sacred art that existed outside of our religious tradition. Even further than not being accustomed to statues and sacred art, much of my formal religious indoctrination taught me that saints, rosaries, religious celebrations, and anything to do with Mary the Mother of Jesus were, depending on who was doing the talking, misguided, unfortunate or downright demonic. As more and more places of worship are looking like a meeting room at a hotel, it seems weird that I am drawn to the places that are old, anti-modern, almost cluttered with icons and imagery. And it’s not like I am creeped out like when you walk through a wax museum and you fear that a statue is going to spring to life and grab you. It’s more just a question in the back of your mind saying, “Are you sure that a statue or an icon or a person other than Jesus could have anything to add to my experience with God?”
Tuesday, November 09, 2004
Why is St. Benedict giving me the creeps?
The granite St. Benedict that I am staring at high up on the front exterior wall of this humble but no less magnificent cathedral is 90% impressive and 10% creepy. Impressive is his commanding presence. He is sharply chiseled. He looks to be a serious man, maybe even fierce, yet calm and at peace. Whether it’s from what I have read about St. Benedict or not, He seems to be welcoming me. Almost as if this whole idea of Benedictine hospitality is for me, for this moment.
The creepy part is a bit harder to explain. At the churches where I grew up, the only bits of sacred artistic imagery were the simple cross crudely routered into the wooden pulpit that stood at the front of the rows of wooden pews, and the grassy green riverside oil painting that hung behind the baptismal. There were also some line drawings of doves and crosses on our literature, but nothing to betray the vastness of sacred art that existed outside of our religious tradition. Even further than not being accustomed to statues and sacred art, much of my formal religious indoctrination taught me that saints, rosaries, religious celebrations, and anything to do with Mary the Mother of Jesus were, depending on who was doing the talking, misguided, unfortunate or downright demonic. As more and more places of worship are looking like a meeting room at a hotel, it seems weird that I am drawn to the places that are old, anti-modern, almost cluttered with icons and imagery. And it’s not like I am creeped out like when you walk through a wax museum and you fear that a statue is going to spring to life and grab you. It’s more just a question in the back of your mind saying, “Are you sure that a statue or an icon or a person other than Jesus could have anything to add to my experience with God?”
I think I know the answer to that question. The life of St. Francis has made a large impact on me. The way I view my life and serving Jesus has radically been alter by the life of the ‘little brother’. Each time I see a garden statue of Francis with a bird lighting on his arm, I don’t fall down and worship it. Instead I think about the life that He led, and think, “If I was more like that, I would be more like Jesus.” Which is, of course, what I am trying to do.
The creepy part is a bit harder to explain. At the churches where I grew up, the only bits of sacred artistic imagery were the simple cross crudely routered into the wooden pulpit that stood at the front of the rows of wooden pews, and the grassy green riverside oil painting that hung behind the baptismal. There were also some line drawings of doves and crosses on our literature, but nothing to betray the vastness of sacred art that existed outside of our religious tradition. Even further than not being accustomed to statues and sacred art, much of my formal religious indoctrination taught me that saints, rosaries, religious celebrations, and anything to do with Mary the Mother of Jesus were, depending on who was doing the talking, misguided, unfortunate or downright demonic. As more and more places of worship are looking like a meeting room at a hotel, it seems weird that I am drawn to the places that are old, anti-modern, almost cluttered with icons and imagery. And it’s not like I am creeped out like when you walk through a wax museum and you fear that a statue is going to spring to life and grab you. It’s more just a question in the back of your mind saying, “Are you sure that a statue or an icon or a person other than Jesus could have anything to add to my experience with God?”
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