The Devout Beauty and Horror of Midnight Mass‘ Christianity
Photo Courtesy of Netflix
The best place to find engrossing religious stories on television right now is in horror. It might be easy or even fashionable to suggest that’s because organized religion is a horror show itself, preying upon vulnerable people and enacting atrocities for centuries. But that’s not what’s going on here—at least, not entirely. Series like Midnight Mass (Netflix) and Evil (Paramount+) are more interested in investigating the quandary of what it really looks like, practically, when the mundane meets the divine; those thin places in which the supernatural might really exist. And if so, what that means for each of us personally in an increasingly secular world.
Like the first season of Netflix’s Chilling Adventures of Sabrina, these series depict the regular rhythms of religious observance—even when they are a technical subversion. As I’ve written about Sabrina in the past, the series was initially unique in the way it presented faith practices as a common part of daily life. Prayer is key, but it’s also how that general system of belief serves as a bedrock for all decisions about how to live and interact with the world. Granted, the family in Sabrina was praying to Satan, but bizarrely it was still one of the most honest and familiar understandings of religious life on television at the time.
Midnight Mass, meanwhile, is explicitly dealing with Christianity—and Catholicism—from the start. But it’s also completely earnest in showing the way the believers in this small community of Crockett Island worship (or don’t), and ultimately what that means for their lives.
It’s impossible to talk about the finer points of what Midnight Mass is doing without diving into spoilers, so you have been warned! (If you’re worried the series might be too scary, here is my horror guide for chickens.)
Like Sabrina, or to a lesser extent Evil, Midnight Mass wraps its story up in an old horror trope; in this case, vampires. Even those who don’t have much of a background in Christian traditions will understand the connections drawn here between “the body and blood of Christ” being sacrificially consumed and the practices of blood-sucking, eternal vampires (it frankly could have gone either way between vampires or zombies). If Midnight Mass had been content to stop there, to smirkingly joke about Christian beliefs and cynically lampoon them, then it would have been a run-of-the-mill horror outing. Instead, creator Mike Flanagan weaves in a real understanding of faith and how easily it can be corrupted, using the vampirism as both a metaphor and a literal horror.
There are three things Midnight Mass gets very right about Christianity. One is the aforementioned incorporation of faith into all aspects of one’s life, but the second is the combination of hope and urgency that propels a fervent evangelical desire to spread the Good News. It’s clear from the start that Father Paul wants to bring this exciting healing power to his congregation and save them all. Well, most of them—yes they must consume some of the others, but as he very boldly preaches, there will be casualties in God’s war. Father Paul’s speeches are stirring; so many scripts misunderstand Christianity as being primarily passive and peaceful. “Love your neighbor as yourself” is not meant to be easy or about good vibes. It’s a radical call to action; John 15:13 says “There is no greater love than to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.” You can read that as a nice sentiment, but the implications are actually extreme; they’re meant to be. Father Paul calls upon this embedded understanding and even desire for action among the congregants, and they stand ready because Christians are used to the imagery of war and battles to define what’s coming next.
And what’s coming next, the edgings of Revelation, is what Father Paul is hoping to incite with his sermons and the miracles that follow. Miracles are a foundation of Biblical scripture, and their impact is always enormous in bringing more to the faith. The same is true here on Crockett Island—one of the most devout parishioners, Leeza Scarborough, is able to walk again. Surely, this is a blessing. Because at the same time, all of those who have been coming to church regularly and partaking in the sacrament are becoming younger, more vibrant, their aches and pains are disappearing. It’s not like a Pentecostal revival exactly, but a slow movement towards what Christians are promised in the new kingdom on Earth: that believers will be made perfect. Again, with all of these changes being scripturally-based, at least seemingly, it makes sense why the parishioners would go along with it despite the other horror happening around them.
And that’s the third thing Midnight Mass captures so well: The frightening beauty of the Paschal Mystery. The brutal history chronicled in the Old Testament leading up to the tortured sacrifice of Christ for all sinners, leading to the resurrection and ultimately the end of days; it should send shivers down your spine. Bev and the Scarboroughs know this, and it’s how they convince themselves that what is happening with Father Paul, and his plan to bring this to the rest of the congregation, is all probably sound. It’s also why Father Paul does not clock the vampire lord as a demon, but rather, an angel. Biblically speaking, angels are rarely described as beautiful humans, and never as chubby babies. The prophet Ezekiel gives a very long and detailed description of the guardian cherubim, which are an ox-lion-eagle combination with massive wings, or interconnected wheels with eyes, and “the appearance of the living creatures was like burning coals of fire.” Even the way they move is terrifying.
Isaiah also adds that seraphim are “each with six wings: With two wings they covered their faces, with two they covered their feet, and with two they were flying.” They are in constant worship of the Lord, and “at the sound of their voices the doorposts and thresholds shook and the temple was filled with smoke.” So again, one can somewhat forgive Father Paul for thinking that this dark creature who emerges from the depths of the Holy Land and can pull off a fedora pretty well is actually not a super evil being, but in fact a miracle-wielding agent of God.
But as we acknowledge the frightening part, let’s not forget the beauty. It’s summed up in a number of small ways throughout the series, but its best example comes in Erin’s depiction of the afterlife in Episode 4, “Lamentations,” after Riley asks her what she thinks happens when we die. “Speaking for myself?” she asks. He confirms, but then she instead speaks on behalf of her lost child: