The Washington National Cathedral and Me: Christ on the Altar and Politics at the Nave

There is something amusing about the fact that America’s largest churches are all Episcopalian. Plato, in The Republic, presupposes that the height of society should be its philosopher kings because they can embody the moral core and moral vision of society. Historically, the church has always taken this role and has reflected this in making its buildings the central nexus of public life, using the heights and beauty of its Cathedrals as a valuable indicator of its values and priorities. In the West, the church has acted as the de facto philosopher kings until the past 60 or so years of militant secularization and insular retreat by many Christians.

In modern times, the largest buildings of any given city are its skyscrapers and commercial real-estate. Except in a few cities, bland masses of monstrous metal dominate the skyline rather than sacred altars and sculptures of beauty. Modern secular life has—intentionally or otherwise—indicated that “democratic capitalism” is our highest value, as evidenced by the heights it is able to extend itself into the sky. 

This is not to say modern America has no towering cathedrals. The two largest cathedrals in North America are the Cathedral of St. John The Divine in New York City and the National Cathedral in Washington D.C. Both are Episcopalian—a denomination that makes for a unique signifier of the American identity as a beautiful and historic tradition rooted in ancient ideas and aesthetics that had become infamously compromised and exhausted by the moral exhaustion of the culture surrounding it. 

I recently had the opportunity to visit Washington D.C. for a journalism dinner and while I was in town, I decided to visit the National Cathedral, also known as the Cathedral Church of Saint Peter and Saint Paul. I had already visited the Cathedral of St. John the Divine in New York City a decade ago. Sadly, that cathedral is one of the country’s most disappointingly compromised. The massive building—the fifth largest house of worship on Earth—is used by the Episcopal Church to host ecumenical services for Buddhists and Muslims. This might sound friendly and kind until one considers that the “holiness” of religious spaces is rooted in them being definitionally set apart; the constant use of the cathedral as an “ecumenical” space violates the sanctity and moral specificity of the cathedral. 

Modern Episcopalianism has a complicated reputation in the United States. It is largely seen as a highly politicized church that was once one of the most powerful in the country (Episcopalianism is the American variant of mainstream Anglicanism). Episcopalianism has long had the identity of being one of the most progressive churches in the U.S.—an attractive feature for some and a damnable flaw for others. Even Episcopalians have something of a sense of humor about the state of the church. In a recent interview with Stephen Colbert, actor Ethan Hawke half-joked, “We’re wannabe Catholics, we just don’t want to do the hard work and we want to be able to get divorced.” Nevertheless, in many historical Episcopal houses of worship, one might confuse it for a Catholic church if not for the identifying Episcopal markers or flags on their grounds. Many of their churches are undeniably beautiful, even if excessively so at times.

Despite this reputation, the Episcopal Church has largely cooled off from some of its historic excesses. The majority of parishes are fairly moderate, and the church as a whole has managed to eschew some of its unitarian and universalist tendencies—although major cathedrals tend to skew more political with clergy and parishioners still holding, at least rhetorically, such tendencies despite being at odds with Anglican dogma.

The Washington National Cathedral is a curious reflection of all these ongoing tensions and tendencies. Its website proudly hosts bulletins about recent Pride Month and Juneteenth celebrations more prominently than it does for its annual St. Albin Feast Mass, to whom the church is consecrated to. The property even displays a large intersectional pride flag on the premises. There’s no confusion as to what is important in the cathedral’s symbolism since symbolism, as Plato noted, always reflects the values that are cherished by people.

The very structure of the building bears a strange incestuous relationship between religious and political symbology. In the rear of the building stand statues of George Washington and Abraham Lincoln along with a stain glass window depicting Woodrow Wilson. Another window, the “Space Window,” is a monument to America’s scientific accomplishments in space and contains a rock returned from the moon by Apollo 11. Many of the stained glass windows of the Washington National Cathedral depict the otherwise secular historical and scientific accomplishments of the United States rather than the Christian saints.

The building itself is grand beyond description, with 301-foot buttresses, stained-glass windows, and 150,000 tons of limestone. One’s eyes are called up to the ceiling as to gaze upon the grandeur and beauty of God. The podium is built from imported wood from Canterbury in England. The depths and halls of the building seemingly give way to more space. The more you explore, the more you realize just how impossibly large the building is and how much impressive history is baked into it—with multiple U.S. presidents having been regular attendees.  

That said, there’s also a curious unseriousness to some of the artistic decisions. There is a famous gargoyle of Darth Vader positioned on the outside of the building looking down on the courtyard. A side wing of the building is closed off for a lighting display and Lego exhibit. The gift shop is still closed due to COVID restrictions even though we are now far beyond the COVID pandemic.

This intermingling of religion and politics is a famous feature of Washington D.C. itself. The Capitol Building is famous for its massive paintings and murals of George Washington and Abraham Lincoln ascending to the heavens and looking down upon the masses. The Lincoln Memorial is built with the same aesthetics of a Grecian Temple to the ancient gods, cementing his image as the moral vision for the country’s unity. The Washington Monument is a literal obelisk. The neoclassical aesthetics of Washington communicate a very specific idea—that the founding fathers and other important notables (like Lincoln) are the moral center and vision of the country and their ideas are akin to holy scripture and that they are in control. It is what some scholars call civil religion or civil theology.

The Cathedral itself is a victim of politicization. Its very existence and purpose seem to presupposed that its identity as “The National Cathedral” must be reflected in its usage and decorations. The ceiling is lined with American state flags. The building is mostly recognized now as the place where most presidential funerals are held even if the president wasn’t Episcopalian or Anglican.

Thankfully, it helps that there is a method to the madness of this intermingling within the Cathedral itself. The church is designed with a proper sense of hierarchy, as the political elements are kept to the rear of the worship sanctuary. As one moves forward in the towering hall, the image of Christ over the massive altarpiece decoration comes into focus as the centerpiece. The eye is carried and drawn to the center—guiding the heart towards the front where only Christ himself is honored on the alter. 

So why is it curious at our largest cathedrals are Episcopalian? Because the Episcopal tradition in all of its beauty and compromise is an excellent representative for modern America itself. If there is a state church in the United States, the Episcopal Church has as much claim to it as any denomination, being founded from displaced Anglicans in 1789. The only other church with such cultural and historical provenance would be the congregational churches which dominated New England and served as centers for the American Revolution and emerging democratic politics.

The National Cathedral in all of its splendor is an alter to the Most High God, but it also a building that exists for explicitly political reasons and is used for explicitly political purposes. It is at once a house of worship and a tourist trap, with kitschy decorations, and a stage to host to speeches from local politicians and civil rights activists.

Its intermingling is incoherent, and it is clear that the politics wins favor more frequently than the sincerity of religious worship and practice. Yet it still has a beautiful alter to Christ—one of the most beautiful in the world, an enduring, even if ironically appropriate, reminder that the cathedral is a holy house of worship and not a national temple of politics despite its current reputation as one. A society without a clear moral hierarchy and vision is going to be a confused and unjust society, and the center of that vision must always be Christ. A Cathedral is one of the best tools in the world to symbolize that hierarchy, but politics in the church must always be banished to the nave, or better yet the coffee hour, lest it become the heart of worship and compromise our moral vision. 

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