My daughter recently returned from a trip to Europe that was led by one of her high school teachers. She got to experience Paris, areas in Switzerland, and Austria too. She rode a bullet train and walked near Neuschwanstein, and did all kinds of cool things. Along the way she took hundreds of pictures. Some of my favorite are of the cathedrals she visited. There is something profoundly different about the architecture of these Medieval structures when compared to modern spaces of worship. That difference lies in the theology that is embedded in them.

In the early 12th century Abbot Suger of Saint-Denis in Paris began a reconstruction process. The current building was old and unstable and “moldering”. It had been the spiritual seat of the French monarchy for centuries already and the time had come for a remodel. But Abbot Suger had much more in mind than the dark, cramped cloister typical of the age. He imagined something brighter, more transcendent, a space where the glory of God could be experienced by His devotees.

It took over a decade of planning but finally, in 1137, construction began on a new cathedral. One that inspired imitation for centuries to come. Seven years after construction had begun, a royal and elite group was invited to the grand opening. “On June 11, a pompous procession of holy men, led by Louis VII and Queen Eleanor of Aquitine, entered the church at Saint-Denis. As they gazed upward, their mouths fell open and they became children again.”*

What captured their attention was the way that the architecture of the space emphasized the light of heaven. In the Bible, the glory of God is a luminous thing. From the bright cloud that led the Israelites from the Exodus and later descended on the tabernacle and temple, to the brilliant presence of God that Ezekiel sees beside the Chebar river, to the light that surrounded the angels who told the shepherds about the birth of Christ, to the light that overwhelmed Peter, James and John on the mount of Transfiguration, to the promises of a light-infused New Heaven and Earth, light is inextricably connected to God’s presence.

The brilliance (pun intended) of the Gothic architecture that began at Saint-Denis is that it brought the light of the sun into the place of worship. One could feel surrounded by the presence of God while in church. The glory of God was on display through the architecture. The light that illuminated the space shone on everything evenly. The glory was not found in the space, nor in any single aspect of the space, but the space was built to accommodate the glory that came from beyond so that all who entered could experience and even participate in it.

Consider how this differs from the typical modern worship space. A dark room, devoid of windows and anything connecting it to the natural world, is artificially lit by a complex system of spotlights and area lights.

During the worship time, it is primarily the worship band and the speaker who are illuminated. All else sit in darkness. The light is observed, watched, but not participated in. The “glory” is manufactured within the space and resides primarily onstage.

Furthermore, since the light is confined to that space, there is subtle message that the light can’t be found anywhere outside that highly cultivated worship space. One must come into that space to experience God’s “presence” through the speaker and the worship team. There is no wider presence. The world is the darkness and the modern worship space is the light, not hidden under a bushel, but behind the walls of a church. In this way the “presence” of God is completely within our control. We can turn in on and off at will and direct it towards those things that we value most.

In many ways, this difference in worship spaces seems to exemplify what it looks like to worship created things rather than the Creator (Romans 1:25). There is a certain idolatry at play.

Now to be clear, not all modern spaces take the form described above, and until Abbot Suger came along most worship took place in dark, dank spaces. My point is not to simply criticize our modern habits, but to draw attention to the messages they send, both theological and missiological, because worship spaces matter. Some of my favorite worship services to attend, and to lead have been outside. That was one of the blessings of COVID was that once we started gathering together again, we met outside. There is something beautiful about worshiping God surrounded by and participating in the natural world He created as a good gift to us. I highly recommend you try it sometime.

• From Light by Bruce Watson, pg. 51