I grew up in the evangelical tradition of dark warehouses renovated to be church buildings. I also grew up attending Catholic school, and thus, attended weekly mass in picturesque buildings with masterfully crafted stained glass windows and architecture designed for a capella voices to ring out in beautiful worship to God. 

Unfortunately, if I spotted differences, I internalized a position of whatever my Church tradition did. Once the assumed superiority was in place, I then tried to rationalize it– coming up with some reason why it was theologically more consistent to have an ugly, dark, “modern” building instead of real artistry. Most of this, of course, was subconscious and not encouraged and taught by my parents or Church leaders. Often rationalizations came down to assuming either poor stewardship of money (which eventually I turned on my own tradition with all its giant, modern buildings) or assuming ego-driven motivations for why people are spending so much time making something beautiful. I developed a very utilitarian view of how Christians should live. Spend as little as possible; direct it exclusively toward useful mission; and if you’re enjoying God’s abundant provision, it’s a sign of greed and syncretistic American Christianity.

It wasn’t until I was in college and attending an evangelical Church that meets in an old Presbyterian building with stained glass and intentional architecture for vocal acoustics that I began to develop an openness to beauty as a worthwhile pursuit for Christians. My changing views were helped along by friends who value beauty and, being gifted in different aspects of music, care about how to worship God with the best they can offer– not some slapdash worship set.

As I reworked my understanding, I considered beautiful church buildings that had prompted reverence, great works of art that moved me to wonder, poetry that spoke my experiences in an unexpected turn of phrase, compelling music that resonates deeply with human wiring, and the simple, stunning beauty of nature. 

I slowly began to understand that beauty has many aspects that validate its presence in our lives. In its own right, it is necessary for Christians to pursue beauty in order to glimpse more of God, think of ourselves less, and practice our role of ruling like God on earth. 

God is beautiful. 

Awareness

In this Season of Creation, recapturing wonder and awe in the face of beauty you see everyday is a worthwhile pursuit. Most of us have lost our sense of surprise– not because there aren’t things that would amaze us, but because our eyes skim over them. Going on a walk with little kids is a great way to realize what you’re missing. The combination of being low to the ground and not having lost their enchantment with the world results in a very slow walk that is full of curiosity and fascination. 

“Mom! Look at this caterpillar!” 

My instinct in that moment is to acknowledge they saw it and then keep them moving. What a sad way I live. They don’t want to just notice and move on. They want to spend a while seeing how it moves, what details are on its body, how it responds to a piece of grass near its face. In the stopping, we can experience our own re-enchantment with the world. And you don’t have to have kids to do this. Sit at a public picnic table and watch ants work together to carry food home. Sit outside and let the sparrows become your mentors on life with God. 

Another way to re-enchant your vision of the world around you is to live in the world of the poets. You can definitely do this by slowly meditating on psalms, which are, in fact, poems, but I’m also going to advocate for turning to the non-biblical poets. You may not think much of poetry. That’s fine. But poets have a knack for seeing the things you look at everyday just a little differently. Through that, what has been taken for granted for so long suddenly captivates your imagination and gratitude. It spurs worship in a new way. Consider taking this poem for a walk. Or sit on a park bench with this poem.

The Beautiful Life

Here’s another reflection I’ve had more recently about the importance of beauty as a spiritual discipline. Yes, it shows us more of God. And yes, it deepens our humility and wonder. And yes, it helps us practice making like our Maker, as we rule with the same tender intentionality as He does. But none of this happens when we move quickly.

The spiritual discipline of pursuing beauty is inherently slow. 

To write beautifully, you have to sit and inhabit the topic and then get out of it to turn it around and see it from every angle. Otherwise you just write the same tired words that have been written, read, and stale for ages.

To stop and smell the roses, you have to stop. Otherwise, you just glance at them, contributing to your desensitization to beauty. Quite literally, I bet you have no idea how many rose bushes are on your path to work. I never knew much about flowers, but since I started gardening (and I use that term very loosely), I am trying to figure out what types of flowers I see. It’s amazing how many rose bushes there are. They are a lot smaller than the roses I see around Valentine’s Day, so presumably, they are a different breed-- but I don’t know things like that yet.

To cultivate a beautiful garden, you have to work it and tend it and weed it and pay close enough attention to know when and how to prune it– or so I’m told. 

Beauty is in the details. And details require slowness. 

So whether it’s poetry, singing, architecting, or some other pursuit of beauty, it takes time. But that time will be rewarded with greater awe, inspired humility, and eager co-ruling. A life at God’s pace is a beautiful thing.

Your Turn

I would love to know what has helped you re-enchant your vision of the world. Whether it’s a full-blown paradigm shift, reading Theo of Golden, or a song that made you rethink birds, let the people know! Comment below so we can all experience a little more wonder and curiosity.