Christianity: Symbolism or substance?

Lately, a couple matters have gotten me thinking about the nature of Christianity and spirituality in our modern world. First, an Episcopal church in my community has been growing. At least, I am assuming this based upon a new building project that the church has undertaken. Were it not for my awareness of that particular church's social and religious perspectives, I might have given their building project hardly a thought. However, as a church celebrates homosexual relationships and ordination, believes in a right to abortion, and supports most other secular progressive agenda items, their growth is unexpected. Consistently, churches that have embraced these views have been dying. I'll suggest reasons why in another post, but here I just want to ask one question: why is that one growing?
Second, a friend announced she had converted to Roman Catholicism (coincidentally, she left the above named episcopal church because of its positions on social issues). She claims to have had an evangelical conversion experience at some point in her life, so why, having found Christ to be her all-sufficient substitute, would she embrace a dogma that denies salvation by grace alone (see: Council of Trent)?
In both cases there is a common thread: symbolism.
When completed, the episcopal church will take the shape of a cross. It's not that the church appreciates, or even grasps, the significance of the cross. It seems, rather, a desire for a symbiotic relationship to religious architecture over centuries. The base of the cross-shape will point to a recently installed labyrinth, a design taken from an ancient monastery, for contemplation as one walks it--another connection with ancient ways.
In the case of our newly Roman Catholic friend, it was a decision predicated on her recent "grasp" of the meaning of the mysteries in sacraments, papal succession, tradition, etc.
In both cases, Christianity is a more-or-less aesthetic matter. One might call it emotive or contemplative. Some wrongly coin it "spiritual." What its adherents are seeking is greater "meaning"--a gnostic love of mysteries--and a connection with the historical, cultural, and religious significance of the past. There is a great love for liturgy, irrespective of the message of the liturgy (which quite frequently clashes with the message of the homily). If the words to Amazing Grace (or Cat Scratch Fever, for that matter) were appended to an orchestral arrangement or a Gregorian chant, adherents of aesthetic religion would be moved to rejoicing, far beyond the response elicited by the song's original form or intended message.
I'm not opposed to the aesthetic, mind you. My wife is an accomplished (and selling) artist. I appreciate her talents and encourage her in every way I can conceive. I also believe worship should express the beauty of the Lord, as well as the "singing of new songs." At its core, however, an expression of worship should be driven by a love for and communication of the truth. The problem arises where the love for beauty ignores the truth.
I have embraced a faith of a different sort. While appreciating beauty in expression, my faith is fundamentally rational and forensic. It is about the sinless Christ, sacrificed to pay the eternal debt incurred by my violation of God's perfect moral will. It is about faith in a person and an event that occurred in time/space history. It's symbols are bread, wine, and water, but the symbols exist to communicate a message. Expressions of worship not prohibited in Scripture--and which do not lead to a misunderstanding of the truth--may find use within the church, but expression is incidental. Primary is the exaltation of a person and an event.
This is the reason that the reformers moved the pulpit from the side to front and center in church sanctuaries. They wanted to convey the primacy of the Word of God and the doctrine proclaimed, in contrast to symbols and traditions that had so obscured the truth. Real Christianity is about substance, not symbols, and an abundance of the latter cannot compensate for a lack of the former. In fact, it seems most often to undermine the former.
Our modern world, religious life not excluded, seems driven by aesthetic. It matters little what the truth may be. It only matters what feels good and what seems to possess artistic "depth" and "significance." People are interested in feelings rather than ideas, and because of the vacuousness of this existence, there is a longing to connect with something that seems both "substantial" and aesthetically pleasing. So the attraction of the offerings of my local Episcopalian church, or the Roman Catholic Church, grows. It's not a matter of truth. It's a matter of symbolism. Thus, the substance of the plain, sometimes hard, gospel is ignored.