Renewing the Beauty of Our Church: The Way of Beauty and the Future of Our Parish – Keynote Presentation – Chatswood Parish in Council, 15 August 2026
I will never forget the first time I saw our beautiful church. I had been in our Diocese for some time but had never actually been to Chatswood, and I recall driving down Archer St from Boundary Road and seeing the bell tower and being quite surprised at the magnificence of the building.
Then when I came inside the canopy of the building was quite awe-inspiring. I was amazed that our Diocese had such a building. Our church is certainly the most significant religious building in the north of Sydney. Perhaps St Mary’s North Sydney comes close, but no other building has the size and grandeur of ours. Nor is any other building likely to have in the future given that the days of such grand architecture of churches seems to be over. This is something for us to celebrate! However, it also brings with it a real responsibility. If they are to endure, buildings must breathe.
And so today we return to one of the most significant conversations in the life of our parish: the renewal of our church building.
Many of you will remember that this was the focus of our sixth Parish in Council in April last year. Since then, there may be a sense that little has happened. Nothing could be further from the truth. Behind the scenes an extraordinary amount of work has taken place. Architects, engineers, heritage consultants, liturgical specialists and financial advisers have all been helping us understand what is possible. We have deliberately taken our time because this is not simply another parish project. It is, I believe, a once-in-a-century opportunity.
But before speaking about plans or possibilities, I think we need first to ask a much deeper question.
Why does beauty matter? Why should the Church concern itself with beauty at all? Surely our task is simply to preach the Gospel, celebrate the Sacraments and serve the poor. Indeed, it is. But Christianity has always understood that beauty is never separate from those things. Beauty belongs to the Gospel itself.
The Christian Tradition has always spoken of three great windows into God: truth, goodness and beauty. Truth enables us to know God. Goodness enables us to live God. Beauty enables us to desire God. The great tragedy of our modern culture is that beauty is often reduced to decoration or personal taste. Yet for the saints and theologians, beauty was never superficial. Beauty was a revelation. Saint Augustine, after years of searching for fulfilment everywhere except in God, looked back over his life and cried out: “Late have I loved you, Beauty ever ancient, ever new; late have I loved you.” Notice what Augustine calls God. He calls God Beauty. For Augustine, every beautiful thing in creation had always been whispering the name of its Creator. Beauty awakens longing because beauty comes from God. Whenever we stand before a magnificent mountain, hear sublime music, encounter selfless love or enter a sacred space filled with silence and light, something within us expands. We sense that this cannot be all there is. Beauty leaves us homesick for heaven.
One of the most significant developments in Catholic theology over the past century has been the rediscovery of beauty. The Swiss theologian Hans Urs von Balthasar began his monumental work, The Glory of the Lord with a striking observation. He wrote: “Beauty is the word that shall be our first.” He believed that Christianity had sometimes become known primarily for its doctrines or its moral teachings while neglecting beauty. Yet, without beauty, goodness can become burdensome. Without beauty, truth can seem cold. Beauty is the radiance that allows truth and goodness to shine. As von Balthasar observed, when beauty is forgotten the world no longer finds truth attractive or goodness compelling. It is not surprising then, that St Pope John Paul II, who drew heavily from Van Balthasar would say once to artists, “Beauty is a key to the mystery and a call to transcendence. It is an invitation to savour life and to dream of the future. That is why the beauty of created things can never fully satisfy. It stirs that hidden nostalgia for God which a lover of beauty like Saint Augustine could express in incomparable terms: ‘Late have I loved you, beauty so old and so new: late have I loved you!’”[1]
Pope Benedict XVI continued to develop this insight throughout his pontificate. He spoke often of the via pulchritudinis—the “Way of Beauty.” He believed that in an increasingly secular world many people no longer begin their search for God through arguments. They begin through wonder. Addressing artists once in the Sistine Chapel he said: “Authentic beauty opens the human heart to the longing to know, to love, to go towards the Other, to reach for the Beyond.” Beauty, he said, wounds us. Not in a destructive way. It pierces our complacency. It awakens desire. It reminds us that we were made for something infinitely greater than ourselves. Pope Francis continued this same vision. In Evangelii Gaudium he wrote: “Every expression of true beauty can thus be acknowledged as a path leading to an encounter with the Lord Jesus.”
Never has this been more important than now. Ours is an age overflowing with images but starving for wonder. We are surrounded by information yet often hungry for wisdom. We communicate constantly yet frequently struggle to contemplate. Our world is efficient. It is productive. It is technologically astonishing. But many people quietly carry exhaustion, loneliness and anxiety. It was Pope Paul VI, at the close of the Second Vatican Council, who prophetically warned: “This world in which we live needs beauty in order not to sink into despair. It is beauty, like truth, which brings joy to the heart of man and is that precious fruit which resists the wear and tear of time, which unites generations and makes them share things in admiration.”[2]
How contemporary those words sound. Beauty restores hope. Beauty teaches us to become attentive again. Beauty slows us down. Beauty opens us to mystery. Perhaps that explains why beautiful churches continue to move people. even those who rarely attend Mass. Many visitors know almost nothing about Catholic theology. Yet they instinctively lower their voices. They light a candle. They sit quietly. Something has already begun. Beauty has prepared the heart before a single word has been spoken.
The Church has always understood this. Everything within a church therefore has one purpose. Not to impress. Not to entertain but to reveal the glory of God: architecture, light, music, silence, sacred art, the dignity of ritual, the reverence of prayer. All become part of the Church’s proclamation of the Gospel. The Trappist Bishop Erik Varden has written that beauty “awakens desire without manipulating it.” That is precisely what sacred architecture does. It quietly invites. It never forces. It simply opens a door towards transcendence.
This brings us home to our own beautiful church, Our Lady of Dolours. Visitors often speak of the peace they experience as they enter, the light, the sanctuary, the harmony of its architecture, its atmosphere of prayer. These things matter. Our church preaches before any priest begins a homily. It proclaims that God is worthy of our very best.
But every generation is called not merely to preserve beauty. Every generation is called to deepen it. Our community in the 1920s dreamed beyond themselves. Our community in the 1960s dreamed beyond themselves. Neither built only for themselves. They built for us. Now history quietly asks the same question of us. Will we dream for those who will worship here in 2100?
When our Parish met in Council last year, we discerned six principles that continue to guide us: enhancing beauty, acting sustainably, honouring our history, improving functionality, exercising wise stewardship, and being welcoming to all. Notice that beauty comes first. Because beauty gives meaning to everything else. Functionality exists to serve beauty. Stewardship protects beauty. Hospitality extends beauty. History enriches beauty. None of these principles stand in isolation. Together they form one vision. This is precisely why our process must remain synodal. This is not about imposing one person’s aesthetic preferences. It is about discerning together how this sacred place can best reveal Christ to future generations.
This year another exciting chapter begins. We have commenced preparing the documentation for an application for designation as a Minor Basilica, an aspiration first announced by Bishop Randazzo during the celebrations surrounding the canonisation of Blessed Carlo Acutis in September 2025. Whether or not that title is eventually granted is almost secondary. The process itself requires us to tell our story, to articulate our vocation, to describe how our parish has become a place of pilgrimage, prayer and evangelisation, to recognise what God has already accomplished here. It reminds us that beauty is never an end in itself. Beauty exists for mission.
Before we continue our discernment together, I invite us now to watch a short video. We simply asked parishioners one question: “What do you find most beautiful about our church?” As we listen, notice how often people speak not merely about architecture but about encounter. Beauty has become memory. Beauty has become prayer. Beauty has become faith.
Video Presentation
Friends, our Church has always believed that beauty ultimately has a face. It is the face of Jesus Christ. In him the beauty of God becomes visible. Even the Cross, an instrument of humiliation and suffering, becomes the supreme revelation of divine beauty because there love shines most radiantly. Every church therefore has but one purpose. To lead people to Christ. If, through the work we now begin together, one more child discovers faith, one more family finds hope, one more pilgrim encounters mercy, one more weary heart discovers peace, then every sacrifice we make will have been worthwhile.
The generations of 1920 entrusted us with this church. The generations of 1960 enriched that gift. May the generation of 2026 prove equally courageous. May those who worship here in the year 2100 quietly thank God for a community that chose not merely to preserve a building, but to renew a vision. A vision in which beauty reveals truth. Beauty awakens goodness. Beauty opens the human heart to God. And may Our Lady of Dolours continue to accompany us as we walk this synodal journey together, so that everything we do may give greater glory to her Son, Jesus Christ.
[1] Letter of Pope John Paul II to Artists 4 April 1999, Easter Sunday
[2] Pope Paul VI, Closing of the Second Vatican Ecumenical Council Address of Pope Paul VI to Artists | 8 December 1965.
