Categorical Cathedrals

I sat on a hard wooden pew in a dimly-lit cathedral. The immense doors were propped open to welcome the people of Seattle accompanied by a chill evening breeze. I watched as people found a place to sit in the pews, on the stage, or lining the sides on the hard concrete floor. They had come to this Catholic cathedral for the same reason that I had: to listen to the beauty of acapella bounce off the vaulted ceiling. The singing monks of St. Mark's Cathedral attracted all kinds of people. Some entered with an air of confidence while some tip-toed to a back pew and quietly sunk to their seat. Couples spread blankets on the ground and lay next to each other with a view of the lofty ceiling. One young man with a full beard and multiple facial piercings sat amongst others on the stage and assumed the cross-legged position of contemplation.

While waiting for the monks to enter, I pulled "The Red Book" from the back of the pew in front of me. Filled with hymns, psalms, and liturgies, this hard-bound book kept my interest for several minutes. One particular thing I noticed was the categories that the songs were placed in. Some of them were: Praise to God, Jesus Christ our Lord, The Holy Spirit, The Church, and The Christian Life. I was struck by a thought that perhaps whoever assembled this book thought that these types of songs needed differentiation; that "Praise to God" was categorically separate from "The Christian Life". While I understand that Catholicism has a different view of the trinity than I do as a charismatic Christian, it still intrigued me. How many times have I been guilty of pulling out my "normal life" box while placing my relationship with God in a box that I label "Faith"? It's so easy to switch from one mindset to the other without realizing that they should coexist.

As the monks robed in white sang reverent songs of praise, the simplistic notes - sometimes united in melody, other times divided into dramatic harmonies - sent chills up my spine. Regardless of how these Catholic monks perceived their Creator, the music they sang evoked emotions of awe and gratitude deep within me. I glanced at those around me and wondered if they too, knew how much God had given for them, and how deep was his longing to be actively involved in their lives. How many of them had come, like me, simply to hear great music? How many of them perceived a Sunday night worship service merely as something to check off the list of weekly tasks? Sitting on that uncomfortable pew among several hundred fellow listeners, with a large glass window in front and pipe organ in back, I knew without doubt that God should not be placed in a box, written on a list, or even confined to a church building. My God was too grandiose.