Wonder-fillled Worship

Last Sunday I asked, “When was the last time you experienced wonder in a church sanctuary?” This week I ask you a similar but different question, “When was the last time you experienced wonder during worship in a church sanctuary?”

The answer to my own question makes me think of the Pilgrim’s Mass at the conclusion of the Camino de Santiago. Gathered with hundreds of pilgrims in the Cathedral in Santiago de Compostela, I celebrated the Mass, as much as an English-speaking Protestant could.

I actually remember very little about the mass but for one thing—when the priests swung the Botafumeiro, maybe the world’s most famous thurible, over the altar (this is all a fancy way to describe the soaring incense burner). This moment in worship was unexpected as the thurible had been out of commission for weeks. Its presence immediately stirred the pilgrims awake. Audible gasps rang out. People stood to their feet, craning their necks, trying to glimpse the swinging thurible, attempting to behold wonder. 

As I reflect on my personal history in Protestant worship, I find an answer to my above question not as forthcoming. Through Protestant worship, I can recall times when I felt assurance or comfort; peace or encouragement; hope and yes, even guilt. I can recall sermons that moved me intellectually or touched me emotionally. I can remember calls to action that had me ready to jump out of the pew to serve and work for justice. However, I cannot recall a time when the experience of Protestant worship has invoked wonder. 

The Reformers were innovators in regard to worship. They changed the language of worship to the vernacular of the people. They focused worship around the centrality of God’s Word, read and interpreted, heard and preached. One of the most significant innovations was the shift toward simplicity. The Reformers did not want the pomp and circumstance of the mass to interfere with the hearing and receiving of God’s Word, nor did they want the presence of graven images to distract wandering eyes and idol-producing hearts. Worship was to be simple. ‘Simple’ ought not suggest ‘simplistic’ or ‘elementary’. The Reformers emphasized what was essential. 

I see some connections between this desire for simplicity in worship and the school of minimalism in design and architecture. Dieter Rams, the minimalist visionary and longtime Chief Design Officer at Braun, once remarked that “good design is as little design as possible.” Simplicity ensures that the essence is not lost and that function and aesthetic both illuminate said essence.

The same critiques that are offered against minimalism in design and architecture (“bland,” “stark,” “lifeless”) are the very same critiques offered against Reformed worship. Sometimes, with everything stripped down to its essence, it can seem the very essence has lost its luster and life.

Maximalism is having a moment in design right now. In defiance of Marie Kondo and the minimalist trends, wallpaper and fabrics and curtains and artifacts decorate spaces to enhance the textures and variations of rooms and of life. Sometimes, we humans want more than the essence, even if the essence is beautiful in its simplicity. Sometimes, we want cake and icing; we want a Christmas tree and lights. We want grace in all its variety of flavors and flairs. We want grace upon grace. 

On the first Sunday of Advent, three children, independently of one another, found me during coffee hour to ask a question: “Why do you have those purple things on today?” (Those purple things being stoles). They all had noticed something different in worship that day. They asked about the color. They asked about the elaborate design. They asked about the crown sewn into it. 

The subsequent Sundays in Advent, I found myself, channeling my inner child, looking around the sanctuary during worship. The candles and the greenery grabbed my eyes. I lingered on the Advent hope “chain” the children constructed in Sunday school. I could feel my imagination stirring—stirred to wonder by the accoutrements of the season. 

There are times in worship when its simplicity leads us to wonder. And sometimes, we need more. We need a little pomp and circumstance, a pop of color, a wood carving, a piece of artwork, something, anything, interesting to look at, to pique our curiosity, to stimulate our soul, and to awaken our wonder.

For a short period each year, we Protestants let our hair down and decorate our sanctuaries for worship. We find ourselves in one of those seasons. So, while our sanctuaries are all gussied up, maximalized in splendor, look around and let your soul wander. See where your curiosity takes you. Follow where God leads you. Bask in the gift of beauty. Relax into the embrace of God. Wonder at the wonders God will show you.