And It Was Very Good

I have a picture with my new bride standing in the natural light of the sun as it pours through one of the stained glass windows of our church. It’s a stunning picture, even if I am a little bit biased.

Almost two years ago now, under the direction of the deacons and the building committee, our church approved the renovation of the stained glass windows of our church, forking over a significant amount of cash to do so. Perhaps it never was at issue, but I suppose a pragmatic approach to the window problem might have been to “update them”: to pop those ancient things out and put in some “normal” windows that would no doubt have been oh-so-much cheaper.

After all, stained glass in a protestant church! Are we the heirs of the Puritans or not? A significant amount of effort was expended in the Reformation to steer away from the ornate iconography of the Catholic Church, and what often came about as a result was a certain pride in plainness. So what’s the story with our ornate little church raised on the prairie, with its lovely yellowish stone and stained glass windows?

I’m not sure, actually, about the story of the building itself. I have no idea. But I for one am glad that someone saw to it that a beautiful little structure was raised at First Edgerton, and I’m also glad that we didn’t bat an eye when it came to the stained glass windows.

The Church, the body of Christ, is not a building; we all know that. Anywhere two or three are gathered we have the Church, structure or not, freedom to worship or not. And, anyway, our church is not a perfect structure by any stretch of the imagination. Still, it seems to me we did right in preserving something of the beauty of the church.

In his book Surprised by Hope­, N.T. Wright has a chapter entitled “Building for the Kingdom” in which he outlines several areas of work that Christians can think of in terms of “building for the kingdom.” Of the three areas Wright outlines—“justice, beauty, and evangelism”—only one is surprising. “Justice” is something that we as a church know we are to be part of. Recently, we’ve considered our part as a church in the struggle for justice for the unborn as well as considering what justice means in regards to the Belhar confession. And as for evangelism, we are reaching out far and near to try to spread the good news of the kingdom of God.

But beauty? Christians are to work for beauty? Of the three, clearly beauty is the most questionable. Why does beauty matter? And beauty according to what standards? Isn’t beauty in the eye of the beholder? Isn’t it skin deep?

These are all legitimate questions and ones that make this idea that Christians should work for “beauty” certainly debatable. Wright’s point, however, has to do with craftsmanship, has to do with preserving what is good in a world that was originally very good. Wright’s point has to do with the cultural mandate of Genesis 1:28, the command for us to go and make something of the world, and it has to do with the vision of a New Jerusalem that will not be a disembodied world of harps and angels but the city of God come down to earth.

And this is where our stained glass windows are good Protestantism—nay, are good Reformational Protestantism. For surely the ability to craft something of beauty, something that lasts and is a testimony to future generations, is a gift of God, and Reformed Protestantism is all about reclaiming everything—especially work and craftsmanship—for God. And in a world that often crafts things selfishly for today since “tomorrow I won’t be around anyway,” or crafts them pridefully as monuments to ourselves, or crafts them only functionally because we can’t imagine a greater world, perhaps we Christians could impact the world significantly if we thought more in terms of the Godly beauty that we might bring to the world through our work, through making things that are beautiful in God’s eyes.

After all, He is the author of beauty. The creation story makes sure that we’re clear on that. “God saw all that he had made, and it was very good” (Gen. 1:31), we’re told at the close of the story.

As the image of our Maker, may we make the same way He did. And, every Sunday, may we find rest from and enjoyment in that beautiful work.