The Basilica of St. John the Baptist

Last Sunday is the first time in this exploration which I did not have a moment of "Ah-ha, that's what I'll pull out and expand in my post this week." We attended the morning mass at the Basilica of St. John the Baptist downtown Canton. I'd been inside the church before, performing a choir concert with the Malone University Chorale. The architecture and aesthetics of the nave are modernity's longing for the glory of ancient European cathedrals, and initially I saw these features simply as the elegant attempts to worship God through the art of building.

As the service continued, however, I quickly became lost in a much larger concept. The act of building that transpired under the direction of architect James Renwick Jr. in 1871 was, perhaps, a worshipful act in itself. Historically, men and women, entire civilizations and cultures, have repeatedly endeavored to design and construct elaborate spaces in which to gather together in worship of the Lord.  What I noticed sitting in that room, listening to the prayers of the priest, and the responses of the worshipers, is that everything around me was echoing the same thing: Reverence.

Striated Corinthian columns uphold several Gothic archways running the length of the sanctuary, from the main entrance to the altar, serving as parallel spines of the room. From the back looking forward, one finds it nearly impossible not to have a wandering gaze drawn upward, as the very shapes of the room point to the heavens.


The candles on the alter, arranged with the lowest on the outside and each subsequent raising two inches or so, again coax one's eyes heavenward. Even from the outside, the building's multiple spires and steeples strain upward, marking Canton's skyline with a clear indication that God is still revered as Holy within these city limits.



And under soaring ceilings, kneeling on padded boards in dozens of rows of old wooden pews, the people of God pray, worshiping him silently, with not a sound echoing off the seemingly ancient walls but the occasional creak of a 150-year-old wooden bench.

Reverence.

The mass itself was obviously in alignment with the theme of Palm Sunday, and we each received palm branches to take with us as a reminder of the triumphal entry Christ made into the city of Jerusalem. The Gospel reading—and what a reading it was!—covered everything from the betrayal of Jesus by Judas, in Luke 22, to his burial at the end of chapter 23. One of the hymns echoed "Holy, Holy, Holy, Lord God of host. Heaven and earth are full of your glory. Hosanna, Hosanna, Hosanna in the highest. Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord," speaking humility into our hearts in utter veneration of Him who is Holy above all else.

Throughout this entire exploration, I have tried to express the various aspects of these churches which effectively live out the work of the Body of Christ. As a Church universally, we ought be cautious to not forget the reverent roots from which each of our various genres of worship evolved. Catholicism, steeped in tradition, holds true to a reverent heart of worship before the Almighty God of the universe. And let us not be quick to point fingers at scandals and inconsistencies, as each of us are similarly sin-depraved humans in need of the constant grace of a Holy God.