REFLECTIONS ON LIFE
By Melvin Arrington
Our modern culture tells us beauty is in the eye of the beholder, that it’s subjective, something each person can determine for himself. But in the Catholic tradition that which is genuinely beautiful can be verified objectively because it has been so imbued with harmony, order and splendor, that personal preference no longer has any bearing on the matter. Simply put, the eye and the ear have to be trained to recognize and appreciate the beautiful.
One of my first discoveries of the beauty of classical (actually baroque) music occurred during my sophomore year of college, long before I became Catholic. One afternoon while passing through the auditorium to get to a class, I happened upon the college choir and orchestra rehearsing for a concert. As I entered the auditorium and made my way down the side aisle, I was so moved by the majestic harmony of sounds and words that I quietly eased into a seat and sat there captivated by the heavenly music. Later, I learned that what had caused me to be late to class was a portion of Handel’s Messiah, specifically the part taken from the ninth chapter of Isaiah that deals with the birth of Christ: “For unto us a Child is born, unto us a Son is given, and the government shall be upon His shoulder; and His name shall be called Wonderful Counselor, the Mighty God, the Everlasting Father, the Prince of Peace.” Every time I hear that selection it brings up memories of that day when I stumbled upon something truly beautiful.
On the other hand, my enjoyment of Gregorian chant and the use of Latin during Mass developed over a period of time. Neither chant nor the Latin language appealed to me at all when I was a Protestant, but after being received into the Catholic Church I slowly gained an appreciation for that ancient musical form and idiom. Although I have no technical knowledge of music theory, I’m fascinated by the way the voices of the chanters resonate as they blend together in offering up prayers to God. During reconciliation services at my church, recordings of Gregorian chant play softly over the speaker system, providing a soothing backdrop that aids prayer and reflection and enhances the overall experience of those in attendance.
Because Latin is the official language of the Church, most of our traditional prayers are translations from the Latin original. Despite my low-level proficiency in the language, I’ve found abundant joy in learning to sing various parts of the Mass – the Gloria, the Sanctus, the Agnus Dei, and the Marian antiphons – in that age-old tongue. When we pray and sing these prayers in that so-called dead language, we unite our voices to those of the great saints across the centuries. But in the final analysis, the beauty of the liturgy comes across no matter what language is spoken. I discovered this to be true several years ago when I visited a foreign country and found out how relatively easy it was to follow along during the Mass, even though I didn’t know the language.
St. Augustine wrote, in his Confessions: “Late have I loved Thee, o Beauty, ever ancient, ever new; late have I loved Thee.” He was speaking about God in the context of his conversion experience when he was in his 30s, but a beauty “ever ancient, ever new” might also apply to our Catholic faith and to the Church itself.
Everything about the Catholic Church draws me in, beginning with its history that stretches all the way back to antiquity. I find satisfaction in knowing that I belong to the one and only Church Jesus founded back in the first half of the first century rather than to a religious congregation established in the sixteenth century or later by a Protestant reformer. As St. John Henry Newman said: “To be deep in history is to cease to be Protestant.”
When you enter a Catholic Church you leave behind all the noise and ugliness of the outer world – the hatred, violence, greed, political shenanigans – and enter into a sacred precinct, a place where heaven and earth meet. Look around inside and you’ll find yourself surrounded by beauty in its many forms, shapes, colors, and sounds.
It’s impossible to catalog everything about Catholicism that exerts a pull on me, but any listing must include Catholic art, architecture, music, literature, the tandem of Scripture and Tradition, the concept of the Church as Christ’s Bride (all brides are beautiful!), the communion of saints, the treasury of Catholic prayers and devotions, the Sacraments, statues, icons, stained glass windows, relics, incense, holy water, candles, vestments, and the in cense, holy water, candles, vestments, and the symbolism that can be found in practically everything in the Catholic Church (although, as we know, everything is not just a symbol). All these things are beautiful in themselves, but they are also reflections of the perfect and eternal Beauty of God.
Inside the Church the most beautiful element of all is, of course, the Blessed Sacrament, whether exposed in the monstrance on the altar or reposed in the tabernacle. During Adoration, one can experience the full range of a church’s beauty – including the splendor of silence.
We can also find heroic beauty in the social teachings of the Church, especially those that remind us of our obligations to feed the hungry, clothe the naked and welcome the stranger. Consider how St. Teresa of Calcutta dedicated her life to care for the poorest of the poor, those Our Lord called “the least of these my brethren.” Her constant desire was, as she put it, to “do something beautiful for God.”
What things did I do today that could be called beautiful? That’s a question we all need to ask ourselves every evening before going to bed. Christ paid the ultimate price. I should at least be willing to make some small daily sacrifice in order to advance the Kingdom, something that would be pleasing to the One Who is the source of all beauty.
(Melvin Arrington is a Professor Emeritus of Modern Languages for the University of Mississippi and a member of St. John Oxford.)