A few days ago, we got on the topic of building cathedrals. Jonathan & I had convened in my sister’s kitchen, conveniently during naptime, and the four of us were comparing the similarities between Silicon Valley and Evangelical church planting when the topic came up. Rather than cover a church in the trappings of popular (or hipster) culture to draw a crowd--the current Evangelical approach--we proffered the idea of building a cathedral. I suppose the desire comes from an inordinate love for beautiful things that is present in all four of us, and my own stubborn resistance to cultural trends. What if we were to build not a modern cathedral, such as the LA Cathedral of Our Lady of the Angels, but a gothic cathedral? The old fashioned way, too--in the middle of a town, slow and painstaking, so that the lucky man might see it both started and finished in his lifetime. And perhaps by the slow rise of sublimity we might draw those who hunger and thirst not for another concert and light show or another TED talk, but for the silent gravity and reverence of the God who calls himself a Rock and a Fortress, a Sanctuary. The Beautiful One. Of course, none of us have millions of dollars to build a gothic cathedral. But the idea hasn’t left me.
As Jonathan and I have planned our wedding, beauty has been a central idea. As we worked to find a date that fit with two teacher’s schedules, plus an international student’s schedule, we decided that being in a beautiful place was more important to us than “just being married.” And so we’ve spent our summer off crafting, cutting, sanding, dreaming, and running all over the city of Phoenix to build a wedding that is beautiful. As we draw to the end of our intensive planning period, I find myself daydreaming about what I would do next if we had unbudgeted margin. Our parents have been extremely generous, and we are so excited about the things we have planned. The wedding, as is, will be beautiful. But, with the final details falling into place, I find myself idly dreaming--what if I had had the funds to commission a dear friend & composer to arrange our favorite hymns for string quartet? What if we could haul a little spinnet up to the woods and have it tuned so that one of my best friends could play on the day of our wedding? I dream about a wooden altar table in the front of our woodland sanctuary, laid with communion elements, scattered with greens, and lit with white candles rising from brass and gold candlesticks. I imagine hanging old church windows from the trees to catch the sunset light.
And what I find myself saying, buried in the wrapping of all these little impractical musings, is that I long to build our wedding like a cathedral. I want to create something unmistakably beautiful that points not to itself, but cries out the glory of God. I want our wedding to be quiet and peaceful yet saturated with the joy of God’s love. I hope that those who join us find respite from the frantic, overstimulating distractions of the world, and enter a cathedral that echoes the transcendence of our Lord. In our celebrations, I hope we will be both solemnly joyful, and riotously worshipful. I hope that it feels like the feast of heaven, even if the feeling just shines around the rough edges. I hope that it feels holy.
This too, is why the celebration of Eucharist will be so central to our wedding. In it we give thanks, receiving what God has given and offering it back to him in love. Schmemann calls it “the sacrament of cosmic remembrance: a restoration of love as the very life of the world.” For just as Christ loved us, and gave himself up for us, so husbands ought to love their wives. Just as Mary, who is the first Christian, the Mother of the Church, and the symbol of Christian life, gives herself with loving, full obedience to the will of God, so brides ought to love their husbands. On the day of our wedding, Jonathan and I will not only have created what I hope will be a beautiful day, but the foundation of a cathedral that will take a lifetime to build, and will point, ultimately, to the love of God for his people, to his great glory and beauty and splendor.
“This is a great mystery--but I speak concerning Christ and the Church.”
As Jonathan and I have planned our wedding, beauty has been a central idea. As we worked to find a date that fit with two teacher’s schedules, plus an international student’s schedule, we decided that being in a beautiful place was more important to us than “just being married.” And so we’ve spent our summer off crafting, cutting, sanding, dreaming, and running all over the city of Phoenix to build a wedding that is beautiful. As we draw to the end of our intensive planning period, I find myself daydreaming about what I would do next if we had unbudgeted margin. Our parents have been extremely generous, and we are so excited about the things we have planned. The wedding, as is, will be beautiful. But, with the final details falling into place, I find myself idly dreaming--what if I had had the funds to commission a dear friend & composer to arrange our favorite hymns for string quartet? What if we could haul a little spinnet up to the woods and have it tuned so that one of my best friends could play on the day of our wedding? I dream about a wooden altar table in the front of our woodland sanctuary, laid with communion elements, scattered with greens, and lit with white candles rising from brass and gold candlesticks. I imagine hanging old church windows from the trees to catch the sunset light.
And what I find myself saying, buried in the wrapping of all these little impractical musings, is that I long to build our wedding like a cathedral. I want to create something unmistakably beautiful that points not to itself, but cries out the glory of God. I want our wedding to be quiet and peaceful yet saturated with the joy of God’s love. I hope that those who join us find respite from the frantic, overstimulating distractions of the world, and enter a cathedral that echoes the transcendence of our Lord. In our celebrations, I hope we will be both solemnly joyful, and riotously worshipful. I hope that it feels like the feast of heaven, even if the feeling just shines around the rough edges. I hope that it feels holy.
This too, is why the celebration of Eucharist will be so central to our wedding. In it we give thanks, receiving what God has given and offering it back to him in love. Schmemann calls it “the sacrament of cosmic remembrance: a restoration of love as the very life of the world.” For just as Christ loved us, and gave himself up for us, so husbands ought to love their wives. Just as Mary, who is the first Christian, the Mother of the Church, and the symbol of Christian life, gives herself with loving, full obedience to the will of God, so brides ought to love their husbands. On the day of our wedding, Jonathan and I will not only have created what I hope will be a beautiful day, but the foundation of a cathedral that will take a lifetime to build, and will point, ultimately, to the love of God for his people, to his great glory and beauty and splendor.
“This is a great mystery--but I speak concerning Christ and the Church.”
