The Difference Difference Makes

Gary Norbraten http://www.blaryphotography.com/

"Emerald peaks polish heaven. I wander,
sweeping clouds away, forgetting years,

looking for the ancient Way. Resting
against a tree, I listen to stream water,

black ox dozing among warm blossoms,
white crane asleep in towering pines.

A voice calls through river-tinted dusk,
but I've descended into cool mist alone."

Li Po, Looking for Yung, the Recluse Master

I lied. Last week I said we would discuss practical ways to begin a practice of detachment. Well, we're not, at least not totally. What I want to focus on is the concept of different, of Other, particularly as it relates to our spiritual lives.

If we are going to pray and meditate, if we are to be able to let go we need a situation that invites letting go. We need a moment that invites ascension. We know when we are in a place that calls us into the Other. The Druids called it the Threshold; a place not exactly a place in a time not exactly a time. The Threshold is where heaven and earth meet, where the eternal touches the temporal, where the Other enters the Ordinary. Of course, this can happen at any time, whenever and however God chooses. But in the same way that prayer does not command a response from God, it does prepare us to better receive God; we can prepare a place that better enables us to enter into that Threshold. In essence this is what the church building is supposed to do. This is the intention of any sacred space. The intention is to elevate the heart and mind to the eternal, to the Other.

Many of us like to pretend that we aren't affected by things like the way a space is designed or the style of music we hear in reference in a given circumstance. I thought that. Then I realized (and maybe you're different) I am very much affected by sights and sounds, or as the popular saying goes with regard to the Church with "smells and bells". Perhaps I'm just not capable of separating the physical and spiritual. The world I inhabit physically does infect my spiritual life. However, I can't really see this as wrong or bad, after all, we are both physical and spiritual beings. Much of what we know and love begins with the senses. That being said, my contention is that a major hurdle for many of us (I know for me) in spiritual growth is a sense of the Other.

Now, I get to rant. One of my pet peeves is bad liturgical music and bad liturgy in general. I know there are plenty of arguments from both sides and I know that the mass is valid even if I don't like the music or think the mass lacks reverence, etc. So save the argument, this is purely personal taste. I just hope you will at least understand my point even if not agreeing. The mass is a Threshold. It is where the Other and the Ordinary meet. The problem is we are so infected with the Ordinary that we don't recognize the other. This is why a church shouldn't be a glorified high-school gym. This is why I shouldn't hear the same music at mass that hear on the radio. When I walk into the church I should be invited into the Other. I should know that I am in a sacred space. I should know that I am somewhere different. I would imagine anyone who has been to many of the old churches in Europe or Mexico understands the difference I'm talking about versus the average suburban American parish. I'm not saying it can't be done with modern style, it can, I've seen it, just not often. So I'm going to give you a thought experiment:

Imagine walking up to the door of a Gothic or Romanesque church that is 800 years old. Imagine the gargoyles and every other intricate detail carved into the stone. Try to see the spires that climb so high you nearly get vertigo looking up at them. Hear the creaking and feel the weight of a thirty-foot carved wooden door that is older than our country. You step inside and notice the cool silence only broken by the echo of steps on centuries old stone. You smell the lingering scent of incense and the warmth of the sun filtered through stained glass depictions of bloody saints holding their own severed heads or angels armed for medieval combat. Imagine dim light coming from gas chandeliers suspended by yards of heavy chain. Hear the reverberation of a single note struck on a low bell. The priest comes in a solemn procession behind the crucifix that is the Church's legion standard and ahead of the cloud pouring through the tinkling chains of the incensor, his robes and vestments sliding across the stone floor. He begins a low chant in a language that is not spoken but is eternal. The mass begins. You know something is about to happen. You know that Ordinary was left when the door was opened and the Other is here. Not just here in a vague spiritual sense, but here in a physical, tangible way; in sights, smells, and sounds. You know that you stand on the Threshold.

This is very different than walking into a modern parish. Imagine, if you would, but you probably don't have to imagine, simply remember last week, the nondescript double-steel doors, oddly similar to the ones at your kid's school, because they came from the same Home Depot. Note the feel of the aging low-pile carpet that you remember being a very hip color palate twenty years ago, now it just looks dated and gross. But don't worry, you won't have time to notice it before someone you have never met comes up to shake your hand and welcome you and had you a "worship-aid". As you move from the foyer (it used to called a narthex) into the church (again, the nave) you notice the comfortable stadium style pews arranged in the organic "round", so everyone can see better. You nearly genuflect out of habit, then realize you have no idea where the tabernacle is. As you prepare for the sacrifice of the mass you can't help but hear the many conversations going on around you so you try to concentrate on the crucifix that is the more palatable "Resurrection Jesus" who looks oddly like the lead singer from Alabama. The signal that mass is about to begin, a lady in a dated pantsuit will ascend to the Ikea podium and welcome everyone by asking that they turn off their phones and say "Hi" to those around them. Then, the first chord of the guitar is strummed, signaling the procession of clergy in tablecloths dancing down the isle in front of a clapping deacon who is singing "Jesus Loves Butterflies" two notes slow. After an obligatory bow to the alter and the banners with the latest Catholic PC slogan , the priest can get to what's really important, telling a few jokes to get everybody excited...

It's not that the modern mass is wrong or that it's invalid in any way. It just doesn't seem to invoke a real sense of the sacred, at least not for me. It doesn't make me think, "This is truly where heaven and earth meet." This is because from the moment I walk in the door there is more a feeling of a town hall meeting or a "praise and worship" session than an encounter with the Mystery of mysteries. I have to ask, why am I here? Am I here to be entertained? Am I here to move further into an ever-widening mystery that is our faith?

What a difference difference makes.