Cathedrals and Wasted Perfume

I've continued to consider the subject of Tuesday's post: are cathedrals beautiful monuments to the God who created art, or are they wasted riches that should've served a more practical function? To me, this ties in with the issue of art in general. When it comes down to it, I write because I want to say worthwhile things, to ask important questions -- but also, and perhaps more-so, because I just want to tell stories. I believe that crafting stories honors God. I believe in the power of beauty, and I believe that God is honored through art.

Is this wasted? Is a fun, fictional story - or an ostentatious cathedral - a futile pursuit in misdirected resources?

While I was reading the Bible yesterday, I came across Mathew 26:6-14. It's a poignant passage. In a way, it's the heartbeat of silence before the battle lines smash together. In the coming days, there will be accusations, legal proceedings, betrayal from Jesus' followers, denial from his staunchest supports, silence from God. Finally, He will endure the horror and the power of the Cross. But at this simple supper, a woman named Mary takes expensive perfume and dumps it on Jesus' head. Judas, always the financial-minded disciple, declares angrily that this perfume should've been sold, and the money given to the poor. Surely that would've been more God-honoring stewardship than this transient waste of purposeless emotion.

But Jesus rebukes him. He does the unheard-of: defends a woman over an educated Jewish man. He says that what Mary just did was beautiful, that it was symbolic, and that, while helping the poor is good, beauty that honors God is never wasted. More than this, He tells the disciples that Mary's action will last through the ages. Her moment of art has become immortal.

That is why so many writers write. They want to achieve immortality. Personally, I don't think this motivation will ever bring true completeness. I agree with Woody Allen:

“I don't want to achieve immortality through my work; I want to achieve immortality through not dying. I don't want to live on in the hearts of my countrymen; I want to live on in my apartment.”

Clearly, I'm taking Allen's quote out of context. But, while immortality is not why I create art, it still ties in with it.

I think there are two reasons why Jesus defends Mary's actions. Firstly, He appreciates the spirit behind it. It is a spirit of love for Him, greater love than Judas demonstrates in his desire to serve the poor. Judas' ideas are good, but his heart is in the wrong place, much like the sacrifice of Cain versus that of Abel.

Secondly, there is so much symbolism. What Mary has done is a symbolic act. In the ancient world, corpses were anointed before burial. Jesus is about to die and be buried. The analogy is as poignant as the perfume.

Jesus appreciates symbolism, and a capacity for symbolism is one of the ways in which art, specifically writing, I believe, is powerful.

Any piece of art, from perfume to architecture to literature, can be done in the right or wrong spirit, and any piece of art can provide potent symbolism and deeper meanings. Look at the statues and crosses that cover cathedrals.

Just like perfume, I believe that art doesn't have to be transient. Art has the potential to endure. I believe that God can be honored through our art as much as through our charity.

A view of the York Minster Cathedral. Visiting it is what sparked these thoughts that I had to write down, if only for myself.

Cathedrals and the Forgotten

Hullo again, friends. It's been awhile. Some of you know that I'm now living in the city of York, in the U.K. I'll be here for three months; it's a gorgeous city, cram-packed with history and traditions, culture and kitchens. The alliteration works, and it's also true.

Today, I finally visited the inside sanctuary of York Minster Cathedral. It's an immense, cavernous space, filled with kings and saints keeping vigil, gargoyles clambering the channeled walls, arches meeting like the limbs of a great forest in the top reaches. A hallowed place, I thought, and surely God is pleased with it. Didn't He delight in the Israelites pouring their craft into Solomon's temple? God desires beauty. He takes honor in our art.

Sorry for the quality of my ipod photos. Fun fact about the Minster: various apprentices have been brought in on the restoration projects, and each one adds a tiny face from Star Wars or Star Trek in some out-of-the-way crevice.

But at the risk of sounding overly-millennial, what else could those resources have been used for? Who starved while the elite built their church? And, after all, were the cathedrals really built as true monuments to the Lord of lepers, or as idols to the pride of human wealth and ostentation?

I don't mean to come across as all "Churches-should-send-money-to-Africa-rather-than-buy-new-pews." I'm also well aware that the building of cathedrals probably spawned entire miniature economies and generated settlements, not to mention the education, culture, and preservation of knowledge that they provided. These are just my thoughts of reflection, and I'm glad that the cathedrals exist. If they didn't, I wouldn't have had the opportunity to visit the Minster at sunset. The light smoldered behind the stained glass; in a way, the beauty provided by God was completed by the beauty that man had created to honor Him. As I left with my friend, the organs were beginning to boom, and people were just gathering for Vespers.

Alexa​ and I wandered our way through the nearby sidestreets after leaving the Minster. She pointed out a little bookshop in the shadow of the cathedral. Several mythology books penned by Tolkien snagged my eye, which I intend to return for. There was also a copy of Neil Gaiman​'s Neverwhere! With the possible exception of Patrick Rothfuss, Gaiman is my favorite author, and the book was well-priced, so I bought it. The cashier wrapped it up in brown paper for me; I've always wanted to buy a book like that. :D

Over the summer, I listened to a story that's something of a sequel to Gaiman's Neverwhere (although Gaiman technically doesn't do sequels). It was called How the Marquis Got His Coat Back, and can be found in the Rogues anthology edited by George R.R. Martin. I listened to it as an audiobook, as I did with my first perusal of Neverwhere itself, so I'm looking forward to returning to the actual book in a written-word format. If you've never entered the world Gaiman created under London's streets, let me implore you to do so. It is the world of people who've slipped through the cracks. The Marginalized. The Lost. The Forgotten.

In a way, that is what a cathedral represents to me. It is a grand monument, a city unto itself. But in the sacrifice made for Faith and beauty, what -- and who -- were forgotten?

And who are we still forgetting?