The Church in the Hood

I'm church shopping. I know, I know, I've lived here for over a year and by the time I find a nice church, I'll probably have to move. I hate the Air Force.

But all that aside, I've been going from place to place, emailing pastors, looking at ministries, and so forth, and within denominations the differences are minor enough. It'll probably be some time before I've visited all the places I want to visit and decide where to make my church home. But I have one question.

What's wrong with a pretty church?

Why don't they build pretty churches any more? Why do they build these things that are all roof and no windows, like upside down boats? What's the deal with the aluminum siding warehouses? Why do some churches look like barns? How come some churches are forgoing the steeple? Why does the interior of so many new churches seem barren and... well, soulless?

And why do so many contemporary services in established churches take place in the gym, or the coffee room? Why not in the sanctuary when there is a pretty one? I just don't understand.

Is there something now morally wrong with prettiness? Or are we afraid that if the building looks too much like a church, people will be afraid to go inside? Where did this belief that ugly and utilitarian are preferable to beauty and deliberate design come from?

I don't get it. It seems to me that if the church is where we come together to worship God, we should want the place to look like something... special. Respectful, maybe that's the word.

There's nothing wrong with a bell tower. A steeple, topping out above the treeline so the place is actually visible, marked as a house of worship that anyone can see. What's the problem with that? There's nothing wrong with a narthex; you don't have to walk right into the sanctuary when you open the door. Stained glass is pretty, but it's so much more. It can a story. Religions have a lot of stories; you'd think we'd want to tell them instead of just cutting random shapes in the glass.

A sanctuary, with something more than folding chairs in a line; is that too much to ask? A place that doesn't make me think of the briefing rooms at work, but lets my mind and spirit soar to someplace infinitely better. An altar area that looks like something meaningful happens there; not something reminiscent of the stage at the elementary school cafetorium. This is all I really want: somplace nice. Someplace pretty. Someplace different from everything else, and better. I should think a church body would want the same thing.

Look, part of the beauty of religion is that you can have a church anywhere; you can hold services in the gym at the Y, in a strip mall, in the high school cafeteria, or a converted warehouse, or at the Piccadilly. It doesn't matter; what matters is the worship. I'm not complaining about the new community churches that find their home wherever they can. In those cases beauty can transcend my traditional notion. I'm talking about the churches that have made that jump to a permanent facility, that dug into their members' and the church governing body's pockets and made a commitment to build a true house of worship, a building built for the church and thus for God. When that commitment is made, why does it so often these days seem to result in something so plain, utilitarian, even in some cases ugly? I just don't understand it.

Perhaps I'm just missing something. Maybe in the divinity schools these days they're teaching that worship is better in a plain and unadorned place because beauty detracts from the focus on God. I can see that. I can see them teaching that, that is, but I can't understand the point of view.

So I want to go to a pretty church. Call me a sinner if you want. But there's nothing at all wrong with pretty things.