Greener than Oz, Part II

In our last post, we talked about how, in Holy Orthodoxy, we humans are the High Priests of Creation. We lead the entire cosmos—all of it—in worship of the Most Holy Trinity.

That’s an idea which appeals to a lot of folks, but just as many people regard it as nothing more than bad poetry. In fact, nothing gets the ol’ Inner Materialist stirred up like the suggestion that the natural world can participate in an activity like worship. Folks start using terms they haven’t been able to use since their sophomore lit class—anthropomorphism and personification and the pathetic fallacy. They start referring to Darwin and Dawkins and The Golden Bough.

And I’m under no illusions that what I write is going to make a dent in that worldview. My goal is more modest and more practical. Because what I’m going to be doing in the next several posts is demonstrating exactly how our new temple will make it possible for the various creatures of this world to join us in the adoration of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

We’ll start with an aspect of the natural world most people don’t even regard as a creature: light.

Of course, in Holy Scripture, light is the very first creature brought into existence (Genesis 1.3), and, at the beginning of each and every Orthodox Liturgical Day, in the Service of Vespers, we sing about light:

“O Gladsome Light of the Holy Glory of the Immortal Father, Heavenly, Holy, Blessed Jesus Christ! Now that we have come to the setting of the sun and behold the light of evening, we praise God Father, Son and Holy Spirit. For meet it is at all times to worship Thee with voices of praise. O Son of God and Giver of Life, therefore all the world doth glorify Thee”

That is one of the Church’s oldest hymns; St Basil the Great, writing in the mid-fourth century already refers to the hymn as ancient. So, right from the beginning, in our worship services, we have been singing, not just about light, but, also, with the light and in the light.

And in a well-designed Orthodox temple, you can actually see that dynamic at work. Because, at evening, the light from the western windows is going to make the images on the iconostasis shine. In the morning, the early sun is going to glint off the tabernacle on the altar. At various times of the day and at different times of year, the light is going to play across the floor in shapes and shadows; it is going to cascade through the windows in pillars of splendor; it’s going to flicker from oil lamps and candles; it’s going to burst upon us when we throw open the doors for an outdoor procession.

Unfortunately, there are badly-designed Orthodox temples that either have no windows or have poorly placed windows, but that’s not just an aesthetic or architectural issue—it’s an ontological issue: Because if there is no natural light in the building, then that radiant being, that particular and glorious creature that has been brought into existence by the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, is being prevented from participating in the worship of the Most Holy Trinity.

And there’s just something really wrong about that.

Of course, if we believed that light is nothing more than photons, particles and electromagnetic waves, then worshipping in a closed room illumined only by artificial sources would be no big deal—as a matter of fact, it might make a lot of sense. But, to paraphrase Ramandu from The Dawn Treader, light may be composed of photons, but that’s not, finally, what light is. Light is one of the “very good” creatures (Genesis 1.31) brought into existence by the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, and aws the High Priests of those “very good” creatures, we are called to ensure that they all are able to worship their Creator.

So, what if you worship in a strip mall, in a store front mission that doesn’t have any windows? What if you worship in a converted Protestant building from the early 1970s—you know, one of those windowless A-frame designs? What if you worship in an Orthodox temple, but your forefathers and foremothers saw fit to put a really heavy glaze over all the windows?

If you’ve been reading CSSB for very long at all, you know that, since the internet is such a deeply weird place, this is the point where I need to go ahead and insert our standard Controversy Context Clarification. So, as usual,

I am in no way suggesting that not having windows is part of some ecumenist, globalist, masonic, zionist conspiracy to corrupt Holy Orthodoxy.

I'm not saying that going windowless is demonic.

I'm not saying that the Most Holy Trinity cannot speak to us in the dark.

What I am saying is that since we are called to include all the creatures of this world in our worship of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, we shouldn’t exclude the creature we call light.

So, if you’re in a strip mall right now, make sure you let the building committee know that you want your permanent temple to have lots of windows. If you’re in a temple with glazed windows, start talking about removing the glaze to celebrate the parish centennial. If you’re in that old A-frame, just let the parish council know that if there were members who couldn’t get up the stairs, the community would install a ramp so those folks wouldn’t be excluded—and it works the same way with windows and with light.

And, last but not least, if I have managed to discombobulate your Inner Materialist, I need to give you fair warning: You, like, really need to conserve your irritation, because you ain’t seen nuthin’ yet.

Yep, before we’re done with this series, we’re going to get positively pre-modern.

But if the idea of treating light as a fellow creature and building a temple that accommodates all of the Most Holy Trinity’s “very good” creatures is something that excites you, then, by all means act on that excitement and help us out by subscribing to this Substack or by sharing this Substack with your friends or by actually making a pledge to our temple project.

You can find all the information you need to make that kind of pledge at this link: Give Now.