In Praise of Ugly Churches
By Emma Restuccia
I’ve been blessed enough to visit and participate in the sacrament of the Eucharist in some extraordinarily beautiful churches. Whether it be in the lofty sanctuaries of the Polish and German-built churches of downtown Detroit, or any number of quiet, hidden chapels of the Italian hills, a Catholic can be assured of the many and stunning houses of our Lord on earth.
Unfortunately, one can also be assured of the many ugly ones.
At this point in life, daily Mass finds me in an ugly church. Kneelers of a dated sage color press upon a worn brown carpet. The chapel is nippy, dampish, and dim, and when light does break through, it is by way of cluttered stained-glass windows.
The patient reader wonders, then -how are we to praise ugly churches?
The quandary arose early on - how does one build a house for God, a finite abode for the infinite? King David (2 Samuel 7) sought to build a dwelling place for the Lord; but instead, God promised to build a House for him - the Church, established through David’s descendant, Christ. And it was David’s son, Solomon, who would build the glorious Temple of God in Jerusalem. In Medieval times, the great Gothic Cathedrals took hundreds of years to construct. Church building is a serious business, and beauty often an elusive goal.
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder -it is said, so I rejoice for those who can behold beauty in ugly churches. Nevertheless it was the same God who said of his servant David “Do not look on his appearance or on the height of his stature, because I have rejected him; for the Lord sees not as man sees; man looks on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart.” (1 Samuel 16:7).
This attempt at perfection of beautiful churches imitates God’s perfection. I believe that some sanctuaries objectively are more beautiful than others because they are more perfect. The use of symmetry and order, the harmonious blend of practicality and ornament, the fine attunement to detail contribute to this beauty and perfection. For example, the architectural feats of the pointed, Gothic arches and domes which, while evoking a heavenward reach and drawing the eye and the spirit to God, also serve a practical structural purpose of weight distribution.
Just as beautiful churches attempt to be worthy of and make manifest attributes of God through their splendor, so do ugly churches.
Let me explain,
Beautiful churches direct the soul toward the reality of God as Divine - “Wonderful, Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace” (Isaiah 9:6). Such sublimity directs one to the power, majesty, and grandeur of the Godhead.
Ugly churches, I would posit, direct one to the humanity of God. By their uncomeliness, awkwardness, and uncomfortableness, one sees in the ugly chapel an image of the humbleness of God made man. The swaddled babe in the manger. The meek child. The suffering Messiah. The dead Man in the grave.
That God would make his home in an ugly dwelling teaches us immensely about Him. In fact, I think it teaches one of the central teachings of the faith - that of the hypostatic union of Jesus, his equal human and divine natures. Encountering the ugly in a divine space gives cause for contemplation on Christ’s humanity.
Sublime beauty dislocates one from one’s selfish self. So does ugliness. Through an ugly chapel, I am drawn out of myself to think of the great God who humbled himself to make this His home. Even here, equally as in the most beautiful of basilicas, the Lord is present in the tabernacle and in the celebration of the Eucharist. Even here, God has chosen to make his dwelling. Despite - or perhaps because of - the ugliness, God chooses to abide.
I still think beauty should be striven for. I think there is objective beauty. But I cherish Mass in the ugly chapel. I cherish this opportunity to meditate on our Godhead made Man, the One who emptied himself and embraced the unseemliness of our humanity.
That God lives among and loves the ugly is a great hope, a great hope for us all.
