I have to admit that while I am curious about them, the vast windmill farms of Iowa or Missouri or Minnesota offer no beauty -- only strange form in exaggerated size. While modern skyscrapers are marvels of technology, most of them are flat and ordinary -- slabs of concrete decorated by mirrored glass. Even modern architecture seems to render homes in utilitarian terms with ovens and fridges intruding upon the formal living spaces as if snacks and screens were the sum total of the arts. Churches have too often followed this path of form follows function in which heavenly liturgy lives in contrast to the stark skeleton of a metal building also used as a warehouse.
The day after we wondered after the moon that shone into the night sky, I read this essay by Anthony Esolen. He well describes what I lament. We no longer enjoy the poetry of the world around us nor do we marvel at the elegance of God's rich creation. Read his words and tell me you do not agree. Perhaps it is our slavery to technology and the imagined reality of the screens that has kept us from looking around us or expecting more than brutal shapes and rough surfaces in the buildings we construct and in which we live and work. Anyway, it made me sad to read his words and it made me fear for a world and a people who miss the beauty God has placed around us and forget to stand in awe before His majesty. Only to think, as good as this is, it is nothing compared to the heavenly glory our Lord has prepared for us.
Esolen’s essays and books always seem to have the pressure on the artery we have cut. Just as you were driving your car that evening, the technology did not obscure the beauty of that wolf moon (which I also saw). We drive cars, we live in standardized housing, far from the countryside our parents, grandparents and great grandparents knew. That, however is not enough to block the beauty that can still break through to touch us, if we will allow it. Turning off the blue light of the screens is crucial. The glory or the rising full moon, the overhead squawking of a flock of Sandhill cranes in graceful flight, the antics of a family of squirrels romping around a tree trunk in a city park, all these and infinitely more natural beauties surround us. Our eyes are burned. There is a thick caul preventing sight. We look inward too often, and then looking outward, we replicate what we see inside. May Jesus Christ clear our sight.
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