As I sat in church the other day, I was in awe of its simple beauty. Candlelight flickered; the morning sun radiated through the stain glass windows above the altar.
The Catholic view holds that beauty is an evangelical path to truth, one that can lift people beyond their circumstances and reveal glimpses of God’s eternal glory. It’s why previous generations sacrificed and labored for ornate cathedrals and filled those spaces with sacred art, incense, and authentic instruments that are real and true, just like the One we worship.
Though I’d like to stay in that prayerful space, to linger in the liturgy, we’re charged with the familiar words, “Go forth, the Mass is ended.” We’re to leave, changed and equipped, to proclaim the Good News with our lives.
I drove the winding roads home, my Honda smelling less like incense and more like boys’ gym shoes and allusive French fries. A few lights on the dash started to flicker like the votive candles, and though their effect is less calming, they did point me to prayer. I turned into the drive and pondered the call to “Go forth,” the reinstatement of Christ’s command to His apostles. Beyond the harvested fields and the season’s scarecrow, I plainly saw every mother’s mission field: Home.
As faithful parents, we are called to cultivate beauty, especially in our homes, where our children grow, explore, and learn. The pursuit of beauty in the home is not about perfection, or the trending modern or farmhouse or minimalist aesthetics, but about creating spaces that lift our gaze from the created to the Creator. It’s about crafting a space that reflects God’s love, mercy, and order.
Aren’t we warned against beauty? Isn’t it a gateway to pride like Lucifer? Deceiving like the forbidden fruit? Or fleeting like youth?
What about a beautiful baseball swing, a beautiful sunrise, or the beautiful song of a child? We recognize real beauty when we see it in the light—rather, when it reflects the Light of the World, His gifts, God’s goodness, and His truth.
St. Mother Teresa of Calcutta taught us that small acts done with great love transform the ordinary into the extraordinary. In our homes, beauty can be as simple as a corner filled with family photos, soup simmering on the stovetop all afternoon, or pulling out Granny’s handstitched quilt as the nights grow longer.
When we surround our children with beauty, we give them a foundation rooted in joy and peace. They learn, without words, that they are valued and cherished. In his “Letter to Families,” Pope St. John Paul II reminded us that beauty has the power to shape souls, especially young ones, opening their eyes to wonder and their hearts to God.
Beauty is not limited to the visual: it’s in the walks to the mailbox, where leaves crunch underfoot, and the chatter of children competes with busy squirrels. The background music of youth is not merely the playlist of pop music, but in the words and ways we speak to one another, tales of dragons slain by unexpected heroes read aloud, the mealtime blessing and bedtime prayers, and the window that ushers in the fall breeze and Dad’s staticky radio in the garage.
The reality is life is messy, and the world is noisy. Because of this, it can take practice to recognize beauty. I believe that education comes best with eyes closed and ears attuned to the silent school of prayer. As parents, we can foster the joy and life of faith through intentional encounters—those walks in nature, stories of saints, family dinners, and even classical music.
Something we’re enjoying right now is The Story of Classical Music: A Curriculum and Home Enrichment Book for the Young and Young at Heart by Sadie M. Hoyt. It’s a celebration of beauty through the works of composers like St. Hildegard of Bingen, a nun who lived in the 12th century, the gothic architecture of Notre Dame, and the paintings of masters like Caravaggio and Rembrandt.
We’ve started to implement it in the car—I call it “Bach’s Concertos featuring the Check Engine Bells.” It’s the prelude to their currently preferred AC/DC, Beetles, and Elvis.
I pray my boys smile when they hear Mozart, perhaps in a faraway airport terminal many years from now. I hope they think about home—not how perfect, but how beautiful—and how much their mom loved time with them.
The Story of Classical Music has been a gift to stir the imagination and instill wonder in my children, but also to infuse our ordinary days with timeless beauty. Perfect for any music lover, or for anyone you hope to give an educational and meaningful gift. Interested? https://www.classicalencounters.co/?ref=NEENAGAYNOR
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Featured image by Lukasz Szmigiel on Unsplash
