When St. Patrick's Cathedral was conceived in New York City in the 1850s, it was built "for the glory of Almighty God, for the honor of the Blessed and Immaculate Virgin, for the exaltation of the Holy Mother Church, for the dignity of our ancient and glorious Catholic name, to erect a Cathedral in the City of New York that might be worthy of our increasing numbers, intelligence, and wealth as a religious community, and at all events, worthy as a public architectural monument, of the present and perspective crowns of this metropolis of the American continent"
(cathedral website). Fortunate to spend five days there over Spring Break, it was the first thing that I visited upon arriving in the city. I knew that it had been built in little over twenty years, through the Civil War era, and that 103 citizens had grouped together with donations of $1,000 to conceive of a church that would best represent them and their faith. To see the outcome was to see how the past informs the present.
I arrived at a perfect time. Dusk to late evening. The noise of the city, the yellow taxi cabs, the smells of falafel on the street buzzed around. As a I walked around the corner, the tall spires of the cathedral greeted me. I was thrown by the urban environment of skyscrapers next to what appeared to be a perfectly-shaped Gothic cathedral. While the outside offered rose windows, flying buttresses, and doors that signaled "you are about to enter something really important," the inside offered beauty that was breath-taking, magnified by the free concert inside offering Irish music. The sudden rush of adrenaline that hits me hard made me think of Abbot Suger, a twelfth-century monk and theologian who crafted a treatise on what this kind of architecture means . . . to soar into the heavens. The long nave, the sacred space of the Baldacchino where the Holy Eucharist is celebrated, the golden cross that appears to stand and stare at the audience, the perpetual prayer candles, and the live music, all served to sharpen the contrast between the worldly city and this sacred center of faith.
As a scholar of the pre-modern world, I look forward to finding ways that the past has been adapted to the present. With nearly 6 million visitors a year, St. Patrick's cathedral is renowned for its beauty, and the aspect of citizens uniting to build a cathedral (think of all the architectural styles available) in a medieval style (something that Renaissance Italian architects had themselves largely rejected) is appealing. But I am also teaching a class on the Reformation, so these images are a great reminder of what a Catholic church represents, then and today. It was no accident that upon entering I saw an image of Pope Francis, who represents the hierarchical framework of the church. Archbishop Timothy Dolan since 2009 has presided over the church and was appointed as cardinal in 2012 (and a St. Louis, Missouri, shout-out to Dolan and midwestern roots).
Statues, beauty, images: these aspects of religion are central to understanding Faith, Catholics argued, in the midst of some Protestant's attack on the image as false ways to know and experience God. Although some took a very harsh view (termed Iconoclastic, 1520s) and went so far to tear down images, shatter stained glass windows, and smash statues of saints, a large portion of the population found themselves torn between two views. Given some people's propensity to see saints on a daily basis, on street corners, necklaces, and even stories told, it would have been a far tougher break then has been told in some Sunday school classes. That's why myths of St. Luther developed, or even Luther was depicted with a halo, the classic Catholic approbation for a holy person. And that's why some denominations vary considerably in what they consider allowable in religion (dance, song, music, holy mass, stained glass windows, saints, nuns).
But the other thing that I'm thinking about is how to balance the Protestant critique of money spent on decoration and buildings with this beautiful church. We know that the Reformation began within the context of a major rebuilding of St. Peter's basilica. Just the recent restoration of St. Patrick's cathedral has cost more that $175 million dollars, and the website has a "give now" donation clicker, as well as a gift shop featuring key chains, prayer candles, and bookmarks. Is religion now a commodity, some would argue? Teaching in Rome, I frequently encounter the complaint that the Vatican museum should be free. What is the relationship between money spent and religion revealed in artifacts? That will likely rest in the viewer's belief system. I leave room for multiple opinions. But there are major costs to preserving history and religion that can not be easily calculated. Just sweeping a church with a broom, from all the tourists and pilgrims' foot traffic is a major endeavor for most churches, for instance, that frequently is assumed stands cost-free. And I was one of these, more tourist for certain, but heading towards pilgrim after getting a few chills from the magnificence of this church. I was fortunate to feel the decision-making process of the 100 or so citizens that sought to recreate medieval architecture in the modern world.
