Reaching to Heaven, with His help: St. Vitus Cathedral in Prague
When I had the privilege to visit Prague with my family six years ago, we approached the St. Vitus Cathedral in amazement and entered its spiritual realm. At fifteen, I did not understand the sacred design and ornament, let alone have the architectural background to analyze it. In light of those who have bolstered my theological knowledge of worship and the arts throughout this course, and in light of Christ, I feel equipped to revisit old photos of the St. Vitus Cathedral and unveil that which patiently waits for me.
The St. Vitus Cathedral bears the mark of Christians as they work to reach closer to God and honor Him through their good and beautiful work. I had previously not realized the sacred meaning of St. Vitus’ architecture and interior. The chancel screen, for instance, had not struck me as a symbol for Christian worship. I now notice the repeated arch motifs carved onto the screen, directing upwards towards Heaven. I recognize how it serves God, framing the consecration and elevation of the Host. The screen is playful, engaging the worshipper to see, with attuned spiritual senses, the sacrifice of Christ made manifest.¹ If this were aligned with a pause in the Sanctus-Benedictus, then the senses would be all the more heightened in the moment most deserving of her contemplation and humility.
The pews, on the other hand, are a bit conflicting in nature. One invites me to kneel worshipfully before God, but a pew simultaneously appears to indicate passivity. Not that praying is a passive act — I’m not saying that all. But rather what could be problematic about a pew at face value is that it seems to suggest an alternative to the most reverent kind of worship, in which I engage not just my heart and mind, but my entire body. The materiality of worship makes my love for God more evident. The movement guided by the architecture of St. Vitus is “governed chiefly by the altar at the far end of the nave, [exercising a] magnetic attraction, drawing the worshiper forward. The columns […] mimic the processions of clergy and laity, […] the proper response […] is movement from one end to the other.”² But it is not the architecture alone that guides us — God is made present in the architecture, gazing upon us with His invisible gaze. That worshipper who surrenders herself before God then knows what to do, even unaware of this knowledge, because He speaks to her — through the columns, through the stained glass — through her prayer.³
More movement throughout the church, tending to all of God’s offerings, is how I embody my slow approach to God. I stutter as I pass through the ornate yet grand door, from the secular realm into the “church […] formed, fashioned, designed at every point with God in view.”⁴ I share many of Denis McNamara’s sentiments regarding sacred architecture. It must honor God with our most glorious creations, devoid of any desire to promote “star-chitecture” or economical work. In God’s house, economic prudence is not to motivate our design and construction. Secular life — our banks, our grocery stores — need wise resource allocation when designing. But churches? In a reasonable manner…materials, ornaments, and spatial volume are not to be spared in light of Christ. Only the best for Christ our Savior.
I stutter before the stained glass in the Chapel of the Virgin Mary, expressing my gratitude to the Holy Mother of God. Light streams in, Christ’s materiality made manifest so brightly in the iconography. The colors of the rainbow, in the pieces of glass, illuminate the space and symbolize the great breadth of form that God’s love for us takes on in everyday life.
I stutter glancing up to my left and right, taking in the full view of the beautiful Gothic arches. But this is not the full view — there is more to be seen. These arches reach to Heaven, the naked eye only registering a matter of feet. The attuned sight, with God front and center, knows there’s more to be unveiled in this symbol. Here God tells me that Heaven is within humanity’s reach — with a lot of His help, of course. The stuttering continues even before what seems to be a mere structural element, the column. But alas! It’s so much more.
The breathtaking architecture of the Cathedral speaks to the divinity present in our world. I love that it is so decorated, ornamented, tall, and grand. To create something so beautiful and complex is to show Him that we wish to honor Him with the best that our designing minds and constructing hands have to offer. His omnibenevolence is beyond our understanding, but we must continually demonstrate our appreciation and faith through the best houses of worship. The most sacred architecture approximates what a “restored, perfected, and redeemed world” could be like.⁵ Earthly life is imperfect — there is chaos, and a great deal can fall apart. By constructing beautifully ornamented, strong columns in St. Vitus, the architects and builders show God our own resilience through the materiality of these columns that explicitly hold up the church, our faith, and our love for Him.
Just as decoration in architecture “clarifies the structural forces at work […] in poetic fashion”, the liturgy clarifies the divine forces at work as we experience God in the church and in everyday life.⁶ The church’s material art and architecture — its playfulness — carries the serious message of our salvation. Just as Christ offers His sacrifice to us through the Eucharist, we show our gratitude. We adorn our churches with ornamentation created by skilled craftsmen and craftswomen. They, touched by the hand of God, have incredible gifts that we humbly offer back to Him. I look to the Corinthian capital on a column, its intricacy and beauty beyond my physical reach, just as God’s infinite love is beyond my comprehension. This overwhelming beauty speaks to the mystery of God, and the artist’s own experience of God through her delicate and brilliant craft.⁷
Cited Works:
[1] Tim O’Malley, PhD, January 19, 2021 lecture.
[2] Richard Kieckhefer, Church Architecture from Byzantium to Berkeley (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008), 23–25.
[3] Jean-Louis Chretien, The Ark of Speech (Routledge, 2003), 24–25.
[4] Romano Guardini, Sacred Signs (Pio Decimo Press, 1956), 25.
[5] Denis McNamara, Catholic Church Architecture and the Spirit of the Liturgy (Chicago: Hillenbrand Books, 2009), 101.
[6] McNamara, 97.
[7] Cecilia González-Andrieu, Bridge to Wonder: Art as a Gospel of Beauty (Baylor University Press, 2012), 26.
