The Ordinary Altar

So, why bother?  That was his sentiment.

Stories with Christian themes but no Christ? We’ve got gospels and parables and psalms and sermons. What good is it?

My heart heard, besides:
Why stained glass?  Why illustrated prayer cards?  Why the candles or the velvet? Why the bells? Why the incense? Why the pretty beads for counting? Why the medals? And while I’m at it, why major in literature? Why poetry? Why keep hardcover books on shelves neatly stacked in a row – for show?

I mustered up an answer for the sake of conversation. Neither of us were satisfied.

The questions lingered. And in perhaps the only way I am like Our Blessed Mother, I pondered all these things in my heart. 

I could ask AI to answer these questions. And I have. I've listened to art lectures at universities and online. I've googled. I've discussed with other writers and artists over drinks. I've read articles and essays I've now spent over a decade thinking seriously about the meaning and purpose of the liberal arts in the world, pushing everything up against my own sensibilities as a millennial Catholic, as a mother, as an educated citizen in a democracy, as a daughter and a sister and a friend.  

What good is it?  

In short, nothing has fit neatly into a round peg. There is no ultimately satisfactory answer to the question, not even in the Catechism of the Catholic Church – in my opinion.  

The question is not a rational one, so a rational response will not suffice. The question is sensory – experiential. It is only in surrender that one can determine the value of the experience.  

So the Ordinary Altar is the space where I will seek to more perfectly surrender to the experience and document what value I discover. 

To put it plainly – I will read exquisite works of fiction and poetry; I will meditate on paintings and carvings and sketches; I will sit in hues splashed by stained glass inside of well designed churches – and I will report back on the power they possess. 

I consider art to be an ordinary altar where a person surrenders their time and their gifts to be transformed – like a sacrament – into something extraordinary that can communicate the grace of God. 

Certainly, a poem is not an absolution, but might it be a penance?  An engraving is no Eucharist, but might it be a worthy sacrifice?  If the Lord is the Creator, should we imitate Him even in this as a means of offering?

We’ll explore these questions and more with examples from within the centuries of Catholic literary and visual arts, considering the spiritual and societal implications of such creative acts.  Perhaps, over time, we may discover an answer to our original inquiries not in the lines of analysis or theology, but in our hearts where the water changes to wine one drop at a time. 

I hope you’ll join me as we gather around the Ordinary Altar.