You might say, "I have a little Anabaptism in me," as I grapple with the nuanced relationship between faith, iconography, and the presence of the sacred in everyday life. While Roman Catholics, Orthodox Christians, and some Evangelicals embrace a sacramental worldview that is rich in icons and rituals, my own spiritual journey prompts me to reflect on a more minimalist approach. I would not go as far as the Anabaptists in claiming that no objects or persons can draw us closer to God; rather I find that sacramental experiences can arise unexpectedly, even in the most mundane of moments. For instance, a painting or a piece of music can transport me into another realm, a space where the divine feels markedly near. It reminds me that art, even in its low brow forms, can serve as a bridge to transcendence. Similarly, the presence of church buildings in the middle of a busy city can be simple reminders to look beyond the concrete and steel of the material world at the very least.
Yet, I often find myself wrestling with the tension that arises from this disparity between having and not having these gifts of iconography and ritual. For many Christians around the world, these tangible expressions of faith provide comfort, community, and a sense of divine presence. However, what does it mean for those who worship in house churches or experience barren spiritual landscapes? How do isolated monks in deserts engage with the divine without the aid of these physical symbols? The reality is that both forms of worship coexist and not everyone is called to embrace sacramental traditions. The diverse experiences of faith highlight that one's spiritual journey is profoundly personal. Just because some Christians thrive within rich iconographic traditions does not diminish the validity of those who find meaning outside of them.
Which leads me, lastly, to the idea of the "priesthood of all believers," which adds yet another layer of complexity. It seems that iconography and professional ministry often exist at opposite ends of a spectrum. Particularly within Protestant circles there’s this emphasis on direct access to God—no intermediaries with no elaborate symbolism needed. This belief can actually free us to worship in smaller, more intimate ways, like in house churches or simple gatherings. In those settings, the need for icons might fade, and the focus shifts to connection through shared faith. Ultimately, the beauty of the faith experience is that it encompasses a wide array of expressions and practices. Whether someone finds meaning through rich sacramental practices or a more pared-down approach, there will always be both. As we each walk our unique paths, we can celebrate the richness of both sacramental and non-sacramental experiences.
Let me leave you with a quote that led to me writing my reflections above:
"Anabaptists all stressed the immediacy of the human relationship with God. The experience of the immediacy of God led Anabaptists to reject any notion that special places, persons or objects brought one closer to God. The relationship of the human being with God was not dependent on clerical or sacramental mediation. In the Anabaptist view, religious institutions were human inventions, at best, and downright detrimental to spiritual well being at worst. Although different Protestant theologians held to some notion of the "priesthood of all believers," Anabaptism abolished the clerical office altogether. The spiritual experience of the immediate relationship between God and human beings had the consequence of elevating the common person to a position equal to that of the clergy and nobility."—-Daniel Liechty, ed., Early Anabaptist Spirituality: Selected Writings
Very nice article, sensitively discussing the with/without iconography and art. Personally I love the breathtaking art and the feeling of awe in traditional Churches, and the holy atmosphere, which work as a kind of spiritual foreplay (for want of a better term) to get me in the mood for a spiritual encounter. As the really old Church fathers referred to iconography, it is "a vision of the invisible."
Perhaps the two contrary approaches can work together - spiritual beauty first, which can then be surpassed in a more direct personal encounter beyond the initial art.