Catholic Church Design: Form and Function

by Michael Raia

Many folks with an average knowledge of architecture are familiar with a handful of names and concepts related to twentieth-century Modernism and it's influence: Le Corbusier, Frank Lloyd Wright, Frank Gehry, and possibly the often repeated axiom "form follows function." Rather than debate the merits of this concept and the implications it has for all buildings, I propose reconsidering the role of a church building as fulfilling two types of function: that of utility and that of the sacred.

As Catholics, we believe that the material world is sacramental and deeply symbolic; that is to say that everything created can mediate God's presence to us; communicate his divine nature, his plan, and his love. Our built environment can either clarify or confuse this reality. Simply put, this is the job of a church building, and in an even more specific way than other buildings. The purpose of a courthouse is to symbolize law and order in such a way that it encourages and inspires upstanding conduct and virtue. A poorly designed courthouse does little to inspire confidence in the order of the legal system. The purpose of a home is to encourage Christian living in a way that makes families holy and encourages them to be good disciples and missionaries. But a home that discourages community will make this difficult – something we have seen happen to our new neighborhoods as our communities become even more isolated and individualistic. Even our athletic, entertainment, and leisure facilities speak to us about our need for activity and community, and they can encourage these activities in a godly and virtuous, or disordered way.  

Detail, Church of the Transfiguration, Philadelphia (Credit: Matthew Christopher, Abandoned America) 

When it comes to churches, it is so easy for us to lose sight of the sacred action of liturgy and become solely concerned with the function of utility. There are reasonable and important human concerns: are there enough seats and adequate restrooms? Are the lighting and sound systems setup so that we can we see and hear the liturgy? All of these presuppose the deepest function of a church building that go beyond utility: to aid in our worship and to communicate the divine. It does so in a way that far surpasses the other buildings on a parish campus; all of them provide lit, conditioned space for gathering. The church actually brings heaven to earth, or you could say, transports those present into heaven. It is a foretaste of the glory and perfection that is to come, and it is actively working to bring those things about as we strive toward ongoing conversion and build up the Kingdom of God. The separation between the natural and supernatural is porous in this mystical place where God comes to reside with and within his people. This is why it's not ever adequate to think of the aesthetic and symbolic aspects of a church as optional, dispensable, or even  secondary to the strictly utilitarian requirements of a commercial building. 

The question of function is ultimately tied to purpose, and to say that a church building's purpose is limited to meeting utilitarian human needs is to overlook the spiritual needs that are met in the liturgy. Why does a church need to have good sound and lighting, enough seats, restrooms, and so on? We have said that it is so that people are able to worship – to join their minds and hearts to that of the priest and Christ to be taken to the right hand of the Father as a foretaste of heavenly eternity, and in so doing to give God glory and be made holy. But we also know that how Catholics worship takes place is through the ritual liturgy that defines the sacraments. God communicates his grace in visible, tangible form. It's not just represented through these efficacious signs, it's actually made present by them!  

Churches have the awesome responsibility of transporting us visibly and tangibly to heaven, because that's what happens when we gather to worship in liturgy. As such, a church is a sacramental, an object that points us to the reality contained within and made present by the sacraments. This is a sacred function, and it's why there is a beautiful liturgy specifically for sacred buildings: The Rite of Dedication of a Church and an Altar. Accordingly, it is impossible accurately to think of a church building as strictly 'functional' in the utilitarian sense with which Modernism has defined it. The church is not merely a place of human action, but also and preeminently divine. God acts, and we respond; this is the mystery of salvation: "We love because he first loved us" (1 Jn 4:19). 

Header image taken from Louis Bouyer's book Liturgy and Architecture. 

For more on the symbolism of the church building, please consider reading the following posts: 

A Case for the Christian Temple
Catholic Church Architecture and the Mind of the Church - Part 1 
Catholic Church Architecture and the Mind of the Church - Part 2 
 

Remnants of a Bygone Era

by Michael Raia

Entry portal at St. Joseph Cathedral, Colombus, OH. source

This post was originally published on July 29, 2015 at JacksonGalloway.com

Is it possible to construct a beautiful traditional church in these times?

People in areas that are relatively absent of historic church architecture often ask me if it's possible to design churches in the architectural traditions that endured until the mid 1900s – romanesque, gothic, classical, and the many variations and combinations thereof.  Many parts of the country are dotted with magnificent old churches that continue to be sources of inspiration and devotion for countless Christians, but in other areas where the Church is relatively young and is rapidly growing, this heritage seems little more than a distant memory. Trends in many of these areas are seeing a resurgence of popularity for traditional cathedral, monastery, shrine, and parish churches, but as any of the pastors associated with these projects would tell you, it is no easy task. Furthermore, from a critic's perspective,the design quality of these projects varies. There lies ahead a long road to reclaiming a culture that was essential to the flourishing of the rich architectural tradition of the Catholic Church; the decline of which in our lifetime has left the Church changed in so many ways.

"Building a traditional church today requires education and formation for all involved to move beyond under-informed, simplistic, and emotional preferences that often drive so many of our personal opinions on church architecture."

Below we will discuss a few reasons why building beautiful traditionally-designed buildings today remains a monumental challenge for those of us seeking to do so.

Church steeples tower over the 1915 Boston skyline. source

SOCIETY HAS RADICALLY CHANGED.

Consider the shifts that we have witnessed in the last few decades. Public practice and even tolerance of religion continues to wane. Accordingly, cathedral spires no longer dominate city skylines. The veiling of downtown cathedrals behind a curtain of steel and glass skyscrapers reflects and parallels faith taking a backseat in our culture. Where religious practice was once the centerpiece – even if only an outward observance – it is no longer a priority for the majority of citizens. Many of the impressive churches built in the late 1800s and early 1900s required the comparable funds required to build several hundred homes. This reflected the sacrificial giving of every member of a parish community, whether in the big city or even in the smallest towns. Today, depending on parish size, that number is more like 10 - 20 homes for an average-sized church. Many massive neighborhood churches recorded membership of only several hundred, or maybe over a thousand families. Churches a fraction of the quality and scale are being built for suburban parishes boasting membership of thousands of families. Furthermore, our homes boast finer materials, ornamentation, and art than many of the churches being built in our time. Where our priorities lie, there our wallets follow. 

St. Columbanus, South Side Chicago, c. 1923. source

PARISH COMMUNITIES HAVE DRAMATICALLY CHANGED.

The landscape of the typical urban or suburban parish has changed dramatically. A hundred years ago, cities were made up of neighborhoods dotted with parishes boasting magnificent churches little more than throwing distance apart. Despite boasting gorgeous and often massive churches, these parishes were smaller than those thriving today, but were much better supported by the loyal parishioners. In cities like Chicago, Milwaukee, Philadelphia, Baltimore, Boston, and St. Louis, the heavily Catholic immigrant populations of Irish, Italians, Germans, Czechs, and Poles that contributed to the rapid growth – the majority being ardent in the practice of their faith – no longer represent the typical demographic of parish life. Neighborhoods are more diverse culturally and in terms of faith practice. Additionally, fewer people feel a loyalty to their local parish. Many of us will choose to attend a parish based on the pastor or the music program, sometimes preferring to "church hop" between multiple parishes. As a result, the identity of a parish and the associated feeling of responsibility for financial support is weaker than it used to be.  

ARCHITECTURE HAS SIGNIFICANTLY CHANGED.

And not just stylistically. The modern era saw great improvements in the potential to build bigger, higher, and faster. Materials are quickly mass-produced. Craftsmanship is not what it used to be. Labor is expensive, and in some parts of the country today, hard to come by at all, regardless of quality. The decline in trades has seen, in large part, the disappearance of artisan trades such as hand-carving. The resurgence of stained glass has been a standout. Master stone masons and carpenters would often come from within the parishes they served, and seeing carved stone and wood was a common occurrence in all sorts of public buildings and even homes. These skill sets are rare today because the nature of construction has changed and much of the old knowledge lost. Where these trades can be found, they are often expensive and time-consuming. Many Cathedrals took decades to build. Most construction timelines account for a church to be completed, on average, in about a year or year and a half from groundbreaking. This pace rarely allows for the same attention in detail to be given as it once was, not only in homes but in other public and private buildings as well. 

St. Mary of the Angels, Chicago during construction in 1911 (left) and in the 1940s (right). Photos from John Chuckman.

OTHER MODERN PRACTICAL CONSIDERATIONS HAVE CHANGED.

Building codes require larger corridors and doorways, elevators, and ramps for accessibility and egress. Extensive fire sprinkler systems are required in many new church buildings. The height of steeples is often restricted by local ordinances. Emphasis on clarity of speech in the spoken word has added acoustical requirements that pose challenges for designers and musicians. Many restrictions and requirements exist now that did not impede the growth of the magnificent structures from the last two centuries that stand as monuments to the Catholic faith in America. 

WHAT DOES IT TAKE TODAY?

There are quite a few articles that cite the resurgence of traditional architecture in recent years, such as Denis McNamara's A Decade of New Classicism: The Flowering of Traditional Church Architecture published in Sacred Architecture Journal, Michael DeSanctis's Upon This Foundation in America Magazine, New Traditional Churches in America Magazine and Michael Tamara's A New Direction in Church Design published in Crisis Magazine. The success of some of the examples discussed in these articles varies quite a bit. It seems that some of the primary questions underlie the degree to which each is successful: What is our modern Catholic identity? How do we afford to build churches that are beautiful and lasting? How do we adapt traditional design styles to new construction methods and building standards? To successfully build a traditional church today requires a tremendous effort and commitment to answering these questions well. There is certainly much standing in the way of such a task, ranging from theoretical to practical. Debates about liturgical practice continue as the Church strives to continue to implement the teachings of the Council. Negative sentiments about traditional liturgy, music, art, and architecture from older generations linger. Many church architects continue to push the boundaries of design with new materials and varied amounts of liturgical formation. Construction prices continue to climb.

To overcome these obstacles requires a great deal of patience and communication from those leading the building project. More than anything, building a traditional church today requires education and formation for all involved to move beyond under-informed, simplistic, and emotional preferences that often drive so many of our personal opinions on church architecture. A parish that is well-versed in the theology of a church building will understand the vital impact it will have on the liturgy, and as a result, on the Christian life. The absolute starting place for that process is understanding the nature of sacraments and sacraments as making visible the invisible. As such, a church building can make tangible and present the invisible realities that compose our faith. A parish that has been taught to understand and pray this way will enthusiastically contribute in every way to making a beautiful church a reality in spite of the obstacles. It is this type of integration of the priorities of worship and daily living that inspired our ancestors to line the cityscape horizons of America's great metropolises with the magnificent churches we revere. It is through the work of the New Evangelization that we can bring about an era of renewed worship and renewed dedication to allowing the beauty and richness of our faith to be seen and celebrated by all.        

Catholic Architecture & the Mind of the Church – Part 2

by Michael Raia

Queen of All Saints Basilica in Northwest Chicago. Photo by Matt Frankel.

This post was originally published on September 12, 2014 at JacksonGalloway.com

As discussed in Architecture & The Mind of the Church – Part 1 regarding the Catholic view of architecture and theology, we properly understand church buildings as vehicles for communicating to us what happens in the Mass through the liturgy, what God has done and is doing for all of humanity, and what he is doing in the Church for those who have taken heed of the Gospel. At times it can seem incredibly intimidating to be Catholic. There is so much to know. The Bible alone is daunting to most, filled with chapter after chapter, listing rules for living and telling stories and lineages of hundreds of unfamiliar characters. Add to Scriptures the history of the Church and all of the theology that comes from it – sacramental theology, moral theology, canon law, the list goes on. We have an incredibly rich treasury from which to draw in all aspects that relate to the liturgy. How do we accurately convey the important lessons of the faith with a building? Which stories do we tell? What images do we use? Fortunately, we don't have to start from scratch, which is where, in my opinion, many church architects can go wrong by attempting to start with a blank slate. Tradition is not only a big help, it's a necessary part of the design of a church.   

“Church design approach can primarily be categorized into two schools of thought: imitating and elaborating on what has been done in the past, or reinventing.”

TRADITION AND TRADITION 

A word on tradition: the term without a doubt raises blood pressures almost immediately. In response to the broadly over-simplified terms modern and traditional, typical responses range from, ‘Well, which tradition do you mean?’ to ‘Since when is modernism still modern?’ The terms do more justice to an underlying design philosophy than they do to describing a particular style. Church design approach can primarily be categorized into two schools of thought: imitating and elaborating on what has been done in the past, or reinventing. To get a little beyond the political aspects of the debate, we need to clarify what we mean by tradition and how we understand it playing a part in the development and growth of the Church. Tradition with a capital T is not the same as an architectural tradition. The Roman Catholic Church professes the guidance of the Holy Spirit assured by Christ. The Church's authority, since the earliest centuries of the faith, has primarily come from two co-equal sources: Sacred Scripture and Sacred Tradition. The Tradition that authored the Scriptures was born of the liturgy and preserves it still today. Tradition with a capital T holds authority in matters of faith and morals and includes Magisterial teachings, certain papal writings, and the broader collection of dogmas and doctrines made available in documents such as the Catechism of the Catholic Church. Accordingly, Sacred Tradition has something to say about the architecture of a church. St. John Paul II put this beautifully in his encyclical Ecclesia De Eucharistia:

Architecture, sculpture, painting and music, moved by the Christian mystery, have found in the Eucharist, both directly and indirectly, a source of great inspiration. Such was the case, for example, with architecture, which witnessed the transition, once the historical situation made it possible, from the first places of Eucharistic celebration in the domus or “homes” of Christian families to the solemn basilicas of the early centuries, to the imposing cathedrals of the Middle Ages, and to the churches, large and small, which gradually sprang up throughout the lands touched by Christianity. The designs of altars and tabernacles within Church interiors were often not simply motivated by artistic inspiration but also by a clear understanding of the mystery.

Architectural design traditions are born from Sacred Tradition and should embody it inherently. The extent to which they do determines their success. The difficulty for both the end users of the church building and its design professionals is that designers are told what to do but not exactly how to do it. 'Build a space suitable for the liturgy' seems to mean very different things to different people. The documents leave a lot of room for interpretation, and this is where the architect's understanding of the sacramental life of the Church is crucial.

The church building is a physical representation of the Church – the Body of believers who assemble for worship within. The architect must know and comprehend the sacramental life to capture and bring it to life for the thousands of people who will be baptized, confirmed, married, even ordained within a church building's lifespan. The reason for the Church's apparent lack of concrete design guidelines, arguably, is because when we speak of tradition in an architectural sense, we must be careful to not substitute an architectural tradition for Sacred Tradition. The latter is authoritative and the former is not. Certainly elements of our architectural tradition across various Christian cultures wonderfully capture the essential aspects of the faith. However, as with sacred music and art, the Church never mandates a particular style and is always careful to leave room for creativity and vernacular expression, delegating authority regarding architectural norms to the bishop or local body of bishops. This freedom gave rise to the regional innovations that led to all of the great architectural styles we see preserved in the great cathedrals and churches around the world today. This freedom also leaves creating a unique structure, capable of conveying the richness, history, and mystery of our ancient faith, speaking with the language of the Church, up to pastors, architects, and building committees. What a monumental challenge! It's such a challenge in fact, that in the last few years the Vatican has urged an improvement in respecting the tradition of music, art, and architecture in the Church, and many bishops have re-written their diocesan guidelines to compensate for the often misused leeway afforded in the normative document Built of Living Stones authored by the USSCB in 2000.

Mosaic of peacocks drinking from the streams of eternal life, St. Matthew Cathedral, Washington, D.C.

“...the church building is a symbolic representation of the perfection and eternity of heaven.”

What exactly is the Vatican urging? Education and formation. Fortunately, this is already happening. Priests and lay people alike are receiving better education and formation, and in many places, improvements in the built environment are being demanded as a result. True, there is no perfect church on earth; in its essence, the church building is a symbolic representation of the perfection and eternity of heaven. We do the best we can to reflect the glory of heaven in stone and glass, to borrow the idea from Fr. Robert Barron. That said, we have an obligation to be well formed and faithful, to the best of our abilities, to the responsibilities the Church gives us. One of those responsibilities is to respect the deposit of faith from ages past. That is where the question of how we treat tradition with new architectural styles comes in.

Front façade of Queen of All Saints Basilica in Chicago. Photo by mambol.

CONTEMPORARY INFLUENCE 

Volumes of books have been written about contemporary churches of the last few decades, particularly those which were intended to re-imagine and replace the architectural traditions that came before. While the landscape for new church design is changing, the trend remains a hotly debated topic. I am personally not interested in a wholesale dismissal of modernism, or an unequivocal endorsement of every traditional church. Neither stance offers a good explanation of what about churches makes them more or less successful for liturgy. That knowledge is what shapes the churches we will build for years to come. Without an openness to progress (provided this progress is guided by a proper sacramental understanding), we stifle the potential for growth and change what allowed the great architectural traditions to flourish. Each style and tradition drew from and expanded upon ones before. There are many examples of thoughtful modern interpretations of traditional design to varying degrees. One of my favorite is in Chicago. Pictured at the top of this article and above, Queen of All Saints Basilica is a beautiful art deco-inspired neo-gothic church. The art deco style, synonymous for many with the spirit of the Roaring Twenties, can be seen in well known national landmarks like the Chrysler Building in New York as well as in many courthouses, theaters, and other public buildings across the U.S. This attempt to blend secular architectural vocabulary with the vocabulary of Gothic Revival is a careful and very thoughtful one that parallels similar efforts in other traditional buildings lauded for their designs. In my opinion, the results are stunning. 

The approach taken at Queen of All Saints, however, is unfortunately not the paradigm for the design approach employed by many church architects seeking to incorporate contemporary influence since the Second Vatican Council. In extreme cases, it seems that the architect either barely grasped or entirely missed the proper understanding of the Mass and cared little for communicating with the visual sacramental language of the Church. Valid ideas for emphasizing community and order are often taken to an extreme outside of the appropriate and fuller context of the theology of the liturgy – that the only way to express community in liturgy is through a round plan with a central altar, or that the only way to express order is to reduce the environment to the barest form of its essential elements. The issue here is that a social thinking is prevailing over the thinking of the Church. The extremes are often incorrectly interpreted as opposed to other vital aspects with which they should exist in balance and harmony. In the liturgy, by virtue of the celebration of the Eucharist itself, we are in communion and are united in the Body of Christ, which includes both a clear order and hierarchy with Christ as the head. The addition of other sacramental elements, if done with care, expresses, enriches, and enlivens this reality, and takes nothing away. The ideas that so frequently dominate the extremes in church architecture are usually correct but incomplete. This 'either/or' thinking misses the beauty of the Catholic 'both/and' that more accurately and more fully expresses the thinking of the Church. 

Chapel of St. Ignatius by Steven Holl.

Another trend has been to build churches that were designed primarily for contemplation, which is an idea that is sometimes mistakenly used interchangeably with the celebration of liturgy. Take for example a building that has been very popular in the architectural community since it was built: Steven Holl's St. Ignatius Chapel. I was in architecture school shortly after its completion, and while I appreciated certain aspects of the design and readily admit it is well composed, authentic, and has some very appealing spiritual characteristics, I have always felt it falls very short as a Catholic liturgical building. My primary criticism is that it is both lacking in specifics and lacking in fullness of expression. It could easily be a prayer or meditation room for a number of other denominations, even other faiths. There are also aspects that feel more appropriately suited to another important public building such as a museum or gallery than a Catholic church. I do not believe that this fact alone makes it wholly unsuitable for Catholic worship; rather, I believe it should not be held up as a paradigm for excellent liturgical design. While I have not spoken with Mr. Holl about his design process or concepts, the result seems devoid of intentional Christian imagery with which to bring the Gospel to life. The story being told is at least minimal, if not indicative of the attitude of spiritual pluralism so familiar in secular American society. Even if well-executed compositionally and stylistically, the building's appearance favors an architect's personal architectural vision over that of the Church. Again we see a case of extremes; the middle road offers a path for the architect to humbly offer his own talents in obedient service to the Church. As St. John Paul II put it, motivation comes not only from artistic inspiration, but from a firm grasp of the mystery. There is room there for both the traditional sacramental language of the Church and the creativity of the architect seeking to express it. The critical acclaim on Steven's website is telling. Only architects are quoted, and if there is a mention of anything spiritual, it is in several places stated that the merit of the design is its minimalism. Christianity is not a faith of minimalism. It is not a spirituality that ultimately seeks emptiness; it is one of richness and fullness of life in Christ. Numerous Church documents, including Ecclesia De Eucharistia, discuss giving the Eucharist and all of the things to which it is related (music, art, and architecture) the absolute best, fullest, and most beautiful expression that we can offer. This begs the question: are buildings such as St. Ignatius Chapel really the best we can do? Some architectural professionals and enthusiasts would answer with a resounding yes – the qualities of light and texture are certainly not overlooked – but we must look deeper still. Is this admiration for the design an emotional response due to a preference for a particular style or are we truly considering the responsibility the church building's designers have to embody and communicate the fullness of the Gospel in the best way they are able? Personally, I think the Church is ready for something more.

“Equipped with both the inspiration of the ancient traditions and the fire of the New Evangelization, we stand ready to walk down the via media, the middle road”

When considering the role of contemporary styles in church architecture, interpretation certainly plays a large part. The current endeavor should be to return to and further refine the traditions with which we have been entrusted – traditions from which we can learn a great deal. It is only through a proper understanding and mastery of the realities that have informed the traditions of Christian history that we can even hope to successfully integrate contemporary elements. This reverence for the rich architectural history of the Church is not a form of slavery to what has come before any more than the early gothic innovators felt enslaved to romanesque forms before them. Architectural creativity will flourish best in the appropriate context of the liturgy that gives it life. Architects need to understand and embrace the liturgy, and the people in the pews need to expect as much. I think that time is now. Equipped with both the inspiration of the ancient traditions and the fire of the New Evangelization, we stand ready to walk down the via media, the middle road – to love the liturgy for all it offers and no longer settle for a culture of spiritual minimalism. We are ready for more churches that show us heaven on earth and encourage us to go out and bring that vision to the whole world.

Catholic Architecture & the Mind of the Church – Part 1

by Michael Raia

St. Louis Cathedral Basilica in St. Louis, MO. Photo by William Haun.

This post was originally published on August 27, 2014 at JacksonGalloway.com

In this first of what will be several posts on liturgy and architecture, I wanted to discuss church design from the perspective of the Catholic Church, on the heels of completing my first Masters in Liturgy summer session in Chicago. While some of the principles below may appeal to Christians from different backgrounds, it should be stated that they are primarily presented from a Catholic view of sacramental theology and viewed in light of the implications they bear for our work as architects with Catholic clients. 

“...the language of the architecture of a church building should be in harmony with the language of the Church.”

ONTOLOGY & LANGUAGE

Physical objects communicate to us on several levels. A scientist might tell you that an apple and its parts are made up of specific molecular structures. A a basic level for most people it is just food, but it is also a symbol: health, original sin, an extremely successful tech brand… Fr. Douglas Martis, Director of the Liturgical Institute at the University of Saint Mary of the Lake, uses water as an example to explain the various layers of symbols in the sacraments: "When the Church says 'water,' she doesn't just mean the chemical formula H2O. She means the waters of baptism, the waters of creation, the waters of the flood, the waters of the Red Sea, the waters of the Jordan, the blood and water flowing from the side of Christ, and the living water flowing from the throne in the book of Revelation – and she means all of that, all at once, all at the same time." Architecture is no different. Buildings are composed of parts that can be seen as the materials from which they are made, but they also serve a purpose and represent ideas that are central to our faith. Architecture speaks. Architects and designers are responsible for determining the message every building they design communicates. The language of the architecture of a Catholic church building should be in harmony with the language of the Church herself. Gaining an understanding of this language – how to see and hear sacramental language with the eyes and ears of the Church – requires education, not only for those involved with the planning and design process, but also for the ministers and the lay faithful who will celebrate the liturgy within a church building. This way of understanding with the mind of the Church is an essential part of our Christian tradition and a source of life for our participation in liturgy. If we hope to point people to beauty inherent in every Mass, we must provide something tangible to do the pointing.

“…we believe that things set apart for a sacred purpose are themselves sacred; they are an extension of the sacramental life of the Church.”

BEAUTY & SACRAMENTALITY 

Understanding church architecture from an ontological perspective means that we want a church building to express what it already is: a physical representation of heaven on earth. The Mass already is heaven on earth, so everything that surrounds the liturgy should point our attention towards it and tell us, "look, this is really special." The Mass possesses inherent beauty as the highest form of prayer and the presence of Christ's redeeming sacrifice for all mankind. Liturgical architecture is one of the languages with which we describe that beauty. Liturgy is inseparable from its built environment, the church building, in the same way Baptism is inseparable from water. We need an altar and candles. We need to see the myriad of angels and the communion of saints depicted as uniting in prayer with us. The Church has always understood these ideas as central to the celebration of the Eucharistic mystery. Material objects are an essential part of all of the sacraments. God chose not only to create the material world and to breathe his very life into it, but also to indwell what he created, elevating the nature of being of all created things; most perfectly, humanity. Because of this, we believe that things set apart for a sacred purpose are themselves sacred; they are an extension of the sacramental life of the Church. Just as we are by definition both matter and spirit, the sacraments too contain a necessary material component that is sacred and exists alongside the spiritual reality. 

COMMUNAL WORSHIP

Liturgy, or communal worship integrates both vertical and horizontal aspects to our faith. Both the temple (vertical axis) and the assembly (horizontal axis) are important scriptural images in symbolically representing the underlying realities of the Mass, yet tension over articulating this point through design has polarized architects and liturgical consultants for years. Both elements in the theology of Christian worship – the one, true, and perfect sacrifice in the holy of holies (the sanctuary proper), and the gathering and organization of Christ's mystical Body that participates in that sacrifice, are indispensable and are interwoven into our 2,000 year tradition. Not only is Christ's sacrifice participatory, but it is precisely in that participation that we are made more of what we are as baptized Christians: members equal in dignity but distinct in function, united in the Body of Christ. Each plays our part to act on behalf of Christ the head, according to St. Paul. The ordained priest acts in Christ's stead here on earth, guiding the Body in worship, which is a function that differs from the common priesthood bestowed upon and to be exercised by all lay faithful. To review, our faith reflects a vertical sacrificial dimension to God and a horizontal unifying dimension for humanity. As we assemble to celebrate the Mass, we physically mirror the Body of Christ, of which we are all members, and of which Christ himself is the head. It is through this process that we become more like God. A beautiful prayer typically prayed silently by the priest in preparing the gifts sums this up perfectly: By the mingling of his water and wine, may we come to share in the divinity of Christ, who humbled himself to share in our humanity. The goal of the liturgy is to become divinized, to become like God to share in the eternity of his divine life.  

“When physical beauty, representing grace, lends awe to our sense of the Mass, we are led to an awe of God as the giver of that grace.”

THE ROLE OF SACRAMENTALS

While the subtleties of the beautiful image of the mystical Body of Christ are often overlooked by the average Sunday Mass-goer, the effects of their presence (or absence) are no less powerful at a deeper level. Subconsciously, buildings are capable of underscoring or undermining the message of the actions performed within. Each of us has been formed by our environment and carry with us memories and impressions from actions tied to the place in which they happened. For millennia architecture has played a vital part in human culture, and our faith upholds this important role. Sacraments visibly show us an invisible reality: the work of God. Sacramentals aid the sacraments in doing this and show us something of how God does this work of salvation: statues, paintings, holy water, incense – these things all help our feeble human senses to grasp just a tiny bit more the immense mystery and superabundant gift that is God's grace and mercy. Just as with Fr. Martis' example of water, all of the things in a church that depict water reference these events and lend to the fullness of the symbol. When physical beauty, representing grace, lends awe to our sense of the Mass, we are led to an awe of God as the giver of that grace. How we experience the liturgy can determine how we experience God. In addition to this symbolic understanding, we also must understand the sacraments to be efficacious signs that actual bestow the grace they symbolize; we are being changed through our participation. A poorly designed church risks omitting one idea in favor of the other, lacking either the fullness and dimensions of the representative symbol or the spiritual reality it represents.  

Mosaic dome in the Baptistry of Neon, Ravenna, Italy. Photo by Jill and Ian.

“Buildings are capable of underscoring or undermining the message of the actions performed within.”

THE VIA MEDIA 

We properly understand the sacraments as both sign and reality; God's work that in turn bears fruit in us. This is one of the places where many Christians find themselves at odds, and for the Church, a wonderful example of the Catholic ‘Both/And’ that is key to thinking with the mind of the Church. Missing the crucial aspect of the Mass as a holy and perfect sacrifice by over-emphasizing its symbolic and communal nature is missing the sacramental nature of the Eucharist itself. A sacrament is always a sign that points us to something deeper. Too easily the supernatural reality of God's presence is reduced to a mere symbol of community if we do not treat it with appropriate reverence. Conversely, an over-emphasis of the sacrifice in which we take part, disconnected from the horizontal dimension of the active assembly, deprives those present of seeing the sacramental life fruitfully lived. It is the via media, the middle road, that the Church asks us to walk in prayerful consideration of the physical environments we create to house this sublime action of liturgy. A well designed church fully communicates the richness of the symbol and teaches about the reality that is symbolized – that Christ is truly present with angels and saints and the hosts of heaven, and through partaking of the eucharistic celebration, we become part of his Body, sharers of his divine life. By virtue of our baptism we are called to continue the missionary work of Christ and to take his presence out to the world. That is the vision the Church has for her architecture. 

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"Catholic Architecture & the Mind of the Church"