Can Protestants Even Enchant?

A Homely Place for Worship

I visited the National Shrine of Our Lady of Czestochowa with a friend, where I encountered two distinct churches on the premises. The new church, where we attended the Polish mass, bore the influence of Vatican II and felt somewhat hollow and sterile. The old chapel, nestled within a quaint barn, was the original shrine established in 1955 to reconnect the local Polish community with their Catholic heritage.

The barn chapel exuded an unparalleled homely atmosphere; I could have easily dozed off, had I been tired. The still air was only occasionally disturbed by the gentle creaking of wood. Dimly lit, with a few candles and stained glass, the chapel felt intimate and inviting. In that humble space, I sensed a profound connection with God, more so than in grand Gothic cathedrals. I sought not overwhelming grandeur, but inner peace. Enchantment found me in that small, intimate place, rekindling a long-lost feeling. 

The re-enchantment of the world is a project that many are engaging with today. While some lay blame on Protestants for the decline of the medieval mindset, attributing it to nominalism, the truth is that the vision they advocate is akin to seeking godlike abilities. Contrary to the misguided assertion that Protestants are nominalists, a closer look at history reveals that it was the Catholics who championed nominalism at its inception. Their claim that Protestants lack a vision for living in an enchanted world holds some truth, it is essential to acknowledge that most Protestants have predominantly existed within the political sphere, and this remains true in today’s evangelical church.  

The concept of enchantment hinges on the belief in a world brimming with discernible meaning. In such a world, the form of every object would be immediately comprehensible to the human mind and able to be participated in. It embodies a distinctly Platonic perspective. Objects’ participation in the Forms would be unmistakably evident, and ‘participation’ has become a buzzword of this movement, reflecting a profound infatuation with Platonic philosophy.

So, what should a Protestant do in response to this alluring proposition? While it may sound intriguing, a twist in logic becomes apparent.   There must arise a crucial dichotomy.

God possesses infinite and immediate knowledge, understanding the essence of things fully without requiring metaphors or analogies. In contrast, humans grasp things poetically, finite and mediated in nature. We cannot comprehend an object’s essence without resorting to metaphors, analogies, or comparisons.

Given this distinction, can the re-enchanted world, sought through a practice centered on knowledge of essence, ever truly materialize? It cannot. We are not divine. How then should a Protestant engage with this passionate project?

Re-enchantment By Union with Christ

I propose a working theory: one based on the most wondrous doctrine of the Protestant faith – Union with Christ. This doctrine not only elucidates how we are saved but also offers a unique perspective on the world. All things were created in Christ, and they persist in Him.

My encounters with an enchanted world have sprung from the doctrine of Union with Christ. For instance, floating on a lake and having the cosmic reality of nature’s union with Christ read out loud to me.  However, this doctrine is not merely an abstract concept. Trees are not merely metaphorically linked to Christ; they are genuinely and truly connected. Enchantment is not achieved by merely pretending that the world is united with Christ; it arises when you experience this unity as a palpable reality.

To go back to my experience in the chapel.  In such a small space, bathed in soft, gentle light, and silence, there was no grandiosity, no sense of the transcendental in the conventional sense. It was an intimate connection, ideally suited for the doctrine of Union with Christ. That experience teemed with significance; it was an encounter with holiness, not on a grand scale, but in the ordinary. I did not experience a moment of clairvoyance, beholding the intrinsic value and telos of everything, independent of their creation in and through the Logos. Rather, it was because everything was becoming united with Christ that they acquired value and purpose: to worship.

We often flinch at the notion that the ultimate purpose of all things is worship, fearing it portrays God as a praise-seeking kleptomaniac. However, we overlook the fact that worship signifies the breaking of our bondage to meaninglessness.

Enchantment as Restored Sight

The idea of re-enchantment is not inherently flawed, but many focus on it as a means to an end rather than as the ultimate reward. To save the Christian culture, we must not merely “re-enchant” it, connecting ourselves with God and the intrinsic meaning of all created things. Instead, we must genuinely unite with Christ, and through this profound union, experience God’s presence in all things. Enchantment is the consequence of restored sight, not the method of restoration.

In the realm of art and architecture, this concept is particularly well-suited for celebrating small-scale beauty. Small beauty thrives in intimate places and things. Christ’s union is first and foremost with individual people, the building blocks of the church. Thus, beauty and enchantment manifest on a smaller, more attainable scale. One of the reasons the revival of magnificent church buildings appears daunting is the assumption that these new-era churches must be vast, majestic, and lavishly adorned, a notion hindered by financial constraints. A revival of intimacy can foster architectural beauty without extravagance. It can also help the church navigate the challenges of the modern age, offering an alternative to stages and online platforms.  This is achievable because the union with Christ is a concrete reality.

What of the realm of religious practice?  Is psalm singing the only enchantment we Protestants are allowed to have?  Can Protestants have sacred objects and locations or are we required to live in a world where hierarchy exists only in theory?  Will Protestants develop a culture that has aesthetic sensibilities as much as a political and cultural philosophy?

Dripped Blood vs Covered Blood

This is a problem I see as a dichotomy between two types of saints in history and religious practice.  A saint of Dripped Blood and a saint of Covered Blood.  This dichotomy is essentially the problem of infused righteousness or imputed.  What does the method of union with Christ produce?  The saint of infused righteousness is troubled by new wine in an old wine skin.  Once grace is placed in the old self the old self cannot contain it and so it causes divine madness.  Hysterics and ecstasy.  While the imputed righteousness does not do this. Since it comes from the outside it produces a saint who is pleasing to the eye.  Covered in a new white robe.  The saint becomes a put-together person who conforms to the general rules of holiness and non-rebellion.   

I do not think it is a wild accusation to see a link between desacralization and de-enchantment and the belief in a covering blood.  It was saints like Rose of Lima that imitated the theory of dripping blood, the slow suffering and agony of the crown of thorns, that produced visions of heavenly realities.  Rapture was the common state of these saints.  They saw heaven.  Or claimed so, if you wish to be skeptical.  Today we sing about being washed in the blood but there is no attempt to do anything with this imagery.  The prayers of the old saints are mystical and spiritual.  The prayers of the modern saint are worldly, focused on the blessing of a peaceful life.

My best answer for this dichotomy is to simply combine them.  Have you considered, truly considered, that you may host angels unaware?  Your prayers for a peaceful life should not end at the material level.  When you open your table to guests don’t just see the reality of the situation or pray over the wonders of another meal provided, pray like the words of this unknown tenth-century Irish author. 

I should like to have a great ale-feast for the King of Kings; I should like the Heavenly Host to be drinking it for all eternity.

I should like to have the fruits of Faith, of pure devotion; I should like to have the seats of Repentance in my house.

I should like to have the men of Heaven in my own dwelling; I should like the tubs of Long-Suffering to be at their service.   

I should like to have the vessels of Charity to dispense; I should like to have the pitchers of Mercy for their company.

I should like there to be Hospitality for their sake; I should like Jesus to be here always.

I should like to have the Three Marys of glorious renown; I should like to have the Heavenly Host from every side.

I should like to be rent-payer to the Lord; he to whom He gives the good blessing has done well in suffering distress.

Cannot the men sing this as the one who prays over the household?  Can mothers not sing St. Ide’s Wish without discomfort?  Perhaps in this way, a river can be blessed and with that water, we can also bless.