Allergic to tradition

Yesterday, in a class I am taking, our midterm project was due. It was a fairly straightforward project: we were to design a small daily mass chapel for an ugly, sprawling suburban Catholic parish in Mt Vernon. Mine was quite small and plain (more out of lack of time devoted to the project than to any philosophical reason). I presented it well and the professor nodded approvingly throughout. It was going well until, while a section view of the chapel looking toward the altar was on the screen, he furrowed his brow.

"What is that thing in front of the altar?" he asked, referring to a horizontal line about 16in above the floor, with numerous vertical lines joining it to the floor every 2 feet or so.

"Oh, that's just where the section cut went through the first row of chairs in the digital model," I replied, truthfully.

"Oh!" he replied, looking very relieved. "I thought it was a communion rail! I would've had to fail you on the spot!" he laughed. "But, they're coming back, you know. Some of these priests these days are trying to carve out some sort of precinct for themselves. It's recidivism."

I attempted to muster the blandest expression I could before concluding my presentation and returning to my seat.

There you have, in one little portable story, summed up my frustrations with this class. It's not that the traditions of the Church are debated from a theological point of view, weighing the arguments for and against a certain practice - that would be an acceptable academic pursuit, in my opinion. It's that tradition is simply scoffed at and derided, as if having a communion rail was at once the silliest and most ghastly thing one could do to a church. 

Churches of Quebec

La Belle Province is home to the finest collection of French Colonial architecture anywhere in the New World. Because of Quebec's relatively sparse population and largely undisturbed culture (away from the St. Lawrence, that is), the province is littered with hundreds of beautiful churches dating from the 17th century to the early 20th century. Here are a few to give you a taste. These are taken from the fascinating Flickr group Églises du Québec. Of course, I will remind the readers that I have 300 years of Québecois ancestry on my mother's side of the family, so I have a special interest in the history of that part of the continent.

 

As you can see, there is some stylistic variation, but the uniformity of building materials (granite walls, limestone details, tin roofs) leads to a fairly cohesive architectural genre. Much like the stereotypical white, neoclassical Congregational church of New England, the paroisse stood at the center of the cultural life of New France - first out of a necessity for social cohesion in the face of the wilderness, and later as a bastion against British imperialism. With these two exterior pressures largely gone, Quebec has become one of the most religiously arid places in the Catholic world. Though, in a typical display of Québecois contrarianism, the crucifix remains steadfastly affixed to the wall of the provincial parliament chambers in Quebec City. Only time will tell what the fate of these beautiful buildings will ultimately be.

Of parabolic vaults

Here's a little design that I came up with. It is a cross-sectional view through a church, looking toward the altar. Stylistically, it is a bit of a curiosity. It started from a square plan based on some Byzantine precedents. Then, it got a rather Baroque looking altar. Add in some Art Nouveau lines and a parabolic arch reminiscent of the Engelbrekts church in Stockholm, and you have something quite intriguing indeed.

If a may engage in a bit of self-congratulation: this is the type of design that is appropriate for a modern church. Yes, the form, plan, and decor is arranged in a traditional manner. But, the stylistic cues come from very diverse sources. The arch over the apse has a certain Louis Sullivan feel to it. The altar, with its domed canopy, evokes Otto Wagner's work on the Church Am Steinhof in Vienna. Even the slim proportion of the Roman brick hearkens to Frank Lloyd Wright.

Short story long: it is traditional, but not historicist. It cannot be pegged to one time period, but it attempts to synthesize some of the highlights of the past 150 years into a cohesive whole.  

Engelbrektskyrkan

I'm currently perusing Modern Church Architecture, a hefty-but-interesting tome of early-20th Century ecclesiastical design. This church, the Engelbrektskyrkan in Stockholm, struck me as a distinct gem.

It is classic, but with modern touches. The mural of the Crucifixion over the altar is especially fine. The church was designed by Lars Israel Wahlman and completed in 1914. The style is a brand of Arts and Crafts/Art Nouveau common to Northern Europe and perhaps best exemplified in the work of Peter Behrens in the Low Countries.

Proposed Chapel Redesign

Regular readers of this blog (if you are, I'm terribly sorry) will no doubt be familiar with my penchant for coming up with conceptual or theoretical designs, sometimes for renovations of places that already exist. Such is the case with this post. My high school has a chapel for perpetual adoration, where the Sacred Host is exposed on the altar throughout the school year, so that students are able to avail themselves of prayerful time spent before Our Lord. Members of the community are also welcome to come pray throughout the school day.

Currently (I was there today filling in for my mom during her usual prayer hour), the chapel is in a rather sorry state. I do not have a photograph, but picture if you will a standard-height room with concrete block walls, three narrow blueish-green stained glass windows, an altar that looks like it belongs on a spaceship, and pious clutter of every possible description. In short, it's a bit of a holy mess, making it an uninspiring place to spend time in prayer before the Blessed Sacrament.

Thus, since I had nothing better to do this afternoon, I spent a bit of time imagining what such a chapel could look like if it were shown a bit of tender loving care and a few spare bucks. The results of my imaginative scribblings are shown below:

 

The first, most profound, change is the height of the space. Since this chapel is located near the front of the one-story school, raising its exterior profile speaks to the priorities of Catholic education to the wider public, while the added interior volume results in a room more able to inspire thoughts of heavenly things. Structurally, this addition could be accomplished rather easily by simply continuing the concrete block walls an additional story.

The rest of the changes amount to some liturgical reorganization, clarification, and beautification. The altar remains the focus of the chapel, though it has been replaced by a more noble and beautiful model of (preferably) red stone. A small tabernacle and space for candlesticks are provided on the small ledge immediately above and behind the altar. The reredos, or altarpiece, is imagined as a mosaic illustration of the Divine Mercy encased within a gilded, red-stained, wood frame. The words Jezu Ufam Tobie crown the composition. These words were revealed to St. Faustina along with the image of the Divine Mercy and are translated as Jesus, I Trust in You.  

The iconographic program of the Divine Mercy was chosen, in part, because of its connections with Poland. The west side of Grand Rapids is known for its Polish heritage, and many students of my high school are of Polish descent. Of course, the image and message of the Divine Mercy are things which are very pressing for our times and would be of great spiritual reassurance to those who frequent the chapel. Another, more subtle, nod to Grand Rapids' Polish Catholic heritage is the colored bands of stone composing the pilasters on both sides of the altar. A similar coloration pattern can be found on the columns of the Basilica of St Adalbert - one of Grand Rapids' finest churches, a monument to Polish immigrant faith, and the location of my high school's baccalaureate mass each May.

In doing this little exercise, it was tempting to treat the space as larger and grander than it is or needs to be. Small spaces and projects are always a little trickier because they force the designer to be succinct about the visual points he or she is making. I stuck with one iconographic program, a warm color scheme, a limited palette of materials, and a rather straightforward composition in order to make this little chapel someplace dignified and beautiful without being cluttered.

I'd be pleased to hear what you think.

Otto, a mortal, sinful man

You may not have heard, but on the Fourth of July, as we were celebrating our independence from monarchy, the last heir of one of the great monarchies of Europe passed away. Otto von Habsburg, the last Crown Prince of Austria-Hungary died July 4th at the ripe old age of 98. His life was marked with all of the turbulence of the Twentieth Century's major events, from the deposition of his family from the Austrian throne to the Second World War to the birth of the European Union. A tireless campaigner for recognition of the God-given dignity of each human being, Otto von Habsburg continued his family's legacy of using the monarchy as a way to work on behalf of his people. You can read a full obituary of this great man here. 

One of the most moving parts of the entire gamut of funeral events was the traditional knocking at the door of the Kapuzinerkirche in Vienna where the Imperial Crypt is located. The text of the dialog is reprinted below.

The herold taps three time on the gate with his rod. 

Capuchin friar: "Who begs entrance?"

Herold: "Otto of Austria, once Crown Prince of Autria-Hungary, Prince Royal of Hungary and Bohemia, of Dalmatia, Croatia, Slavonia, Galicia, Lodomeria and Illyria; Grand Duke of Tuscany and Cracow, Duke of Lorraine, Salzburg, Styria, Carinthia, Carniola and Bucovina; Grand Prince of Transylvania, Margrave of Moravia; Duke of Upper and Lower Silesia, Modena, Piacenza and Guastalla, of Auschwitz, Zator, Teschen, Friuli, Ragusa and Zara; Princely Count of Habsburg and Tyrol, Kyburg, Görz and Gradisca; Prince of Trent and Brixen; Margrave of Upper and Lower Lusatia and in Istria; Count of Hohenems, Feldkirch, Bregenz and Sonnenberg, etc.; Lord of Triest, Cattaro and in the Windic march; Grand Voivode of the Voivodeship of Serbia; etc. etc."

Capuchin friar: "We know him not."

The herold knocks again.

Capuchin friar: "Who begs entrance?"

Herold: "Dr. Otto von Habsburg, President and Honorary President of the Paneuropean Union, Member and Father of the House of the European Parliament, honorary doctor of numerous universities and honorary citizen of many municiplaities in central Europe, member of venerable Academies and Institutes, bearer of high and highest state and Church decorations, orders and honours, which were granted to him in recognition of his decade-long struggle for the freedom of peoples, for what is right and just."

Capuchin friar: "We know him not."

The herold knocks for the third time.

Capuchin friar: "Who begs entrance?"

Herold: "Otto, a mortal, sinful man."

This small ceremony epitomizes the virtues of Christian monarchy. The monarch's soul, in the end, must be commended to God in the same way as that of the poorest peasants of the empire - my great-great grandfather's for instance. Otto von Habsburg, despite his positions of authority and honor, is at his core a mortal and sinful man, as are we all. Video of the ceremony, the last ever (since Otto was the last born into the monarchy) is shown below.