Born in a barn

After a long hiatus including - among other things - four months in Paris, I am back in Washington, back at the grindstone of my last year of academic study, and back - incidentally - at the drawing board. Why not inaugurate the year of Our Lord two thousand and fifteen with a bit of paper architecture? This particular design is for a small parish church (seating perhaps 200-300 persons). The seeds of this scheme have been germinating for quite some time now (including while in Paris). The genesis was a small corner of the fascinating architectural museum at the Cité de l'architecture et du patrimoine where there were several models of the wooden structure of European barns exhibited. The one below caught my eye:

Of course, perhaps it says something about a mental imbalance of mine that the first thing I thought of when I saw that model was "man, this would make an interesting church!" Perhaps instead the thought came to mind because it reminded me both of the St. Henry Ecumenical Chapel in Finland and - albeit more tangentially - to Kramer Chapel on the campus of Concordia Lutheran Seminary in Fort Wayne.

Whatever the method, my brain began associating these varying images. One of my personal challenges when I undertake a theoretical design such as the one below - free from all constraints of budget and disobliging clients - is to strike the appropriate note when it comes to traditional architecture. Many have noted well that we may be in the midst of a nascent renaissance [a rebirth about to be born? Etymology...] of Catholic church architecture. Indeed, the "heavy hitters" of the movement such as Duncan Stroik, James McCrery, and others, have already blazed an encouraging path. However, I must confess that it sometimes leaves me a bit unsettled. Perhaps I have been too much indoctrinated by architectural modernists, but I can't help but feeling like much neo-traditional church building is a bit artificial. Much of the work seems archaeological; going to the high Renaissance or the Counter-Reformation for example, and choosing your favorite model to build cheaply.

Of course, I generalize, but I also don't think it need work this way. I am convinced we can develop an architecture that points to God and to Catholic truth without slapping Corinthian columns and pink marble on every sanctuary we come across. Yet, the iconoclasm and disorientation of churches in the dominant contemporary idiom of the moment go in a far worse direction. I certainly don't have all of this figured out - and I probably never will - but I will just reiterate by saying that this intellectual feeling outlined above is constantly in my mind when I put pen to paper for these sorts of little exercises.

Back to the church at hand. Thus inspired by the above precedents and thoughts, I did a few studies of different elements in my sketchbook. I liked how in the original barn model the wood structure was so expressive and layered. I also enjoyed how readable the structural principles were: wooden arch descending to rest on heavy stone walls. Now, nobody goes to church with the intention of a structures lesson, but it speaks to a deeper point nonetheless. Intelligibility and reason are two aspects of God that figure prominently in our thinking about the incarnate logos Jesus Christ. God created an intelligible and ordered universe which we are to have careful stewardship over. Building in a manner consistent with the logic and proportions (and materials) found in nature reveals our thoughts on the universe and our place in it.

After considering what I had drawn, I was unsure what the overall feeling would be, so I quickly built a prototype in SketchUp to see how the trusses would work together. As this was a quick, half-baked study, I just borrowed some elements from a previous design to mock up the sanctuary and the pews, etc. I was pleased with the overall form and impression given by the design. However, in the original model, the roof would've covered the entire structure, allowing daylight only through small windows in the stone walls. In a church I think that lack of light would be inexcusable (though it is the case in some of the more horrific suburban churches thrown up in the 70s). I decided on a sort of skylight method that would allow light in above the main arch of the nave. Playing with the shadow settings in SketchUp, I was pleasantly surprised with the way the light would play off the surface of the ceiling and filter through the trusses.

So, I stopped there for awhile until coming back to the project just yesterday. I've been pretty busy this week working for my professor on a very, very, VERY, tedious project (the joys of being a research assistant!), and I needed some time to do something creative. As the process of this design has been largely an interior matter, I went for an exterior view:

This design is a variant of a couple of aesthetic themes that litter my sketchbooks. The first is the "big triangle". Now, gabled roofs are nothing new in church design, but they are seldom very expressive. The major exception are the small English Gothic parish churches that are often almost all gable but typically feature a little bell-tower at the peak. Perhaps I am being too Postmodern, but I love the symbolism and power of the pure gabled roof (it calls to mind images of home, points the eyes heavenward, and even has a monumental purity because of its descent from the pyramid). Thus, the "big triangle" fits in well with the other theme I enjoy developing which is austerity - particularly in its Art Deco-ish manifestations: pure, largely unornamented geometrical volumes combining in varying compositions.

Thus, in this scheme, there is little exterior ornament. It is applied sparingly where it would be to greatest effect. The most detailed portion of the entire exterior are the portals - arguably where most people would come into direct contact with the building. Thus, I've hinted at perhaps carved tympanums (tympana?) above the doors and perhaps a carved saint or two in the niches flanking the central door. Beyond that, the exterior is quite severe.

Today, I took another look at the interior - paying close attention to the sanctuary, which I had not given thought to in the first SketchUp iteration. Again, ornament and detail is applied where it can be to maximum effect - here it is at the altar and the reredos. The form of the altar and its setting is based on the design of the exterior portals at the front of the church. A symbol often co-opted from the Romans in the basilican churches of the Mediterranean was that of the triumphal arch: Christ's death has opened the gates to heaven, toward which we gaze during the Holy Mass. It is architecturally and theologically fitting, then, that the priest - the alter Christus - would stand at such a gate to offer the holy sacrifice.

The rest of the sanctuary is traditionally arranged. Several steps separate the altar from the floor of the sanctuary, which is itself a few steps up from the nave. Certain folks with certain agendas may say that this engenders a much too clerical view of the mass. However, apart from the purely practical benefit of making the actions of the altar more visible, the elevation of the altar has beautiful scriptural symbolism. I think of the Psalmist singing "Who shall ascend the mountain of the Lord, and who shall stand in this holy place" and Isaiah saying "Get you up to a high mountain, O Zion, herald of good tidings; lift up your voice with strength [...] say to the cities of Judah 'Behold your God!'" and of course one also thinks of the Lord's ascent to Calvary which gives meaning and weight to both images.

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. 

Small Parish Church

Last week I was privileged to hear a lecture by Mr. Jim Leggitt, an architect and architectural illustrator who is the author of a book, Drawing Shortcuts, that was one of my constant companions in studio my freshman year. Mr. Leggitt discoursed at length on how modern technologies and hand drawing techniques can be fused harmoniously to create a pleasing result in less time - an important consideration in these times of shrinking building budgets and shrunken firms. This weekend, I used one of the techniques Mr. Leggitt discussed to develop the drawing below. I began with a simple, monochrome SketchUp model. I exported and printed the view from that model. I then added several layers of colored pencil, rescanned the image and then altered it slightly in Photoshop.

The subject matter is a small parish church in a style that attempts to hearken back to the days of the Church's infancy in the Near East. There is something I delight in when I see materials that are visibly strong in some way. I have explored this concept many times over in my various projects in the studio, but I push it into a more traditional idiom here. The arches are massive and they rest on immense piers. The gilded and painted wood beams give a heaviness to the ceiling. The small clerestory windows pierce the thick, rammed earth wall.

We often think of a church's architecture lifting the mind to the things of heaven, but in this example, I have attempted to marry the things of heaven with the things of earth. The sanctuary is traditionally arranged, but the altar is located in a particularly cave-like apse. This was often the case in the early Christian basilicas. But, more than mere architectural precedent, this decision reflects the mystical meaning of the cave in Christian belief. The central act of our redemption - the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ - centers on burial within a rock-hewn tomb. Additionally, we can recall the early Christians worshiping in the catacombs at the martyrs' tombs.

Yet, though the apse is exaggeratedly small, it is the most resplendently decorated portion of the church. A richly ornamented altar (itself often mystically related to the tomb of Christ - His altar of sacrifice) sits in front of a gilded icon of the Holy Trinity, flanked by two angels bearing incense. This arrangement recalls the Ark of the Covenant and the "mercy seat", whose nature has been revealed to us by Jesus.

Though it is perhaps not as visible at this scale, the decorative elements in the nave and the sanctuary are embellished with vines and other plants. This not only evokes Christ as the True Vine encompassing his Body gathered, but it also recalls the garden - the garden of Eden where we lost God's friendship, the garden where Christ's tomb was located where we are given a chance to regain God's friendship, and the garden of the new creation when all things will be restored in Christ.

A note about the chandeliers: I am of the opinion that many churches nowadays are simply dreadfully over lit (and over sound-systemed). If you light everything equally, nothing is emphasized and you lose the dramatic interplay of light and shadow that so often enlivens a space. The hanging lights are of a design common among the Eastern churches, which would provide ample light to the nave and sanctuary for evening services. I think the apse would have some discreet lighting tucked under the arch someplace, but I also like the thought of the soft light of the six altar candles glinting off the gold mosaic.

Liturgical Eavesdropping

The other day, I was at The Cup having breakfast and keeping an eye on my artwork which has been on display all month, and I allowed myself to partake in the minor vice of eavesdropping. Well, perhaps it wasn't so much eavesdropping as being in a small room and hearing another person talk rather loudly. I perked up at this line:

"The thing about a Catholic mass or an Orthodox divine liturgy is that Sunday morning worship doesn't look like a Saturday evening concert."

This is a succinct way of describing the uniqueness of liturgical worship. It is timeless, transcendent, and it has the power to sanctify the week in a way nothing else that occurs during the week resembles. This is why our liturgical worship must be safeguarded and celebrated worthily. It has the power to transform the soul through its majesty and beauty.

This cannot be anything else but the worship of God. It can't be confused with a self-help workshop, a concert, or a speech - it is far above and beyond all that.

(Image borrowed from Te Deum Laudamus - the Most Reverend Alexander Sample, Bishop of Marquette (MI) offering the sacrifice of the mass in accordance with the 1962 missal [the Traditional Latin Mass] in the church of Assumption Grotto parish in Detroit)

Why You Should Go to Mass (Illustrated Edition!)

This is a useful graphic reminder about why we Catholics do and should attend mass weekly. The Holy Mass is the sacrifice of Jesus Christ on the Cross, offered to God the Father, sanctified by the power of the Holy Spirit. It is a sacrifice offered for four ends: to thank God for all that we have, to atone for our sins, to adore God's magnificent being, and to petition God for our various needs.

In recent times (and perhaps in distant times as well), we have sought to make the mass about us and our therapeutic needs. We have perhaps sought to use mass as a means for making us 'feel good' or as a means to 'rejuvenate our spirit.' These are noble side-effects of a mass prayed well, but they should not be the ends toward which we orient all of our thinking about our worship due to God.

Byzantine dabblings

Recently the combination of heat, humidity, and on-again-off-again thunderstorms have kept our usual stream of customers away from Twisters Ice Cream, my current place of employment. But, as I am now a manager - and thus do not have the luxury of being sent home on slow days - I've been doodling at work to pass the time. Naturally, my drawing schizophrenia turned toward things ecclesiastical.

The results of these doodles are shown below. The image is a section through an octagonal-planned church in a rather Byzantine style. It was inspired by the Basilica of San Vitale in Ravenna and Charlemagne's Palatine Chapel in Aachen. Both of these historic structures predate the East-West split of Christianity known as the Great Schism, which occurred in 1054. As such, they show a synthesis of both Eastern and Western liturgical and architectural sensibilities. The sanctuary, dominated by a simple baldachin and gilded wood reredos, is the most dominated by Western, Romanesque ideals. The domed nave and intricate polychrome stone and mosaic work is more clearly Byzantine in expression.

The nave, as aforementioned, is an octagonal volume crowned by a dome (which would ideally be given some sort of iconographic scheme). A one-story gallery rings the nave and provides access to the sacristy, vestry, entry, baptistry, chapel, and other spaces not shown in this image. The choir is lofted above the main entry, directly opposite the sanctuary. The ambo, depicted to the left of the sanctuary, is based on early Christian designs found in the ancient basilicas of Italy. 

I had no particular dedication in mind for this church, so the iconographic program is left deliberately vague. Ideally, the panels of the 'second story' would be filled with images of various saints, evoking the image of the "great cloud of witnesses" (Heb. 12:1) in mystical union with the congregation gathered below. The penditives (the triangular spaces between the arches and the base of the dome) could be used to depict the four traditional doctors of the Western Church (St. Jerome, St. Augustine, St. Gregory, and St. Ambrose) and the four doctors of the Eastern Church (St. John Chrysostom, St. Basil, St. Athanasius, and St. Gregory Nazianzus). 

As with a previous exercise undertaken last year, this sketch and theoretical design was an attempt at squaring the modern desire for what might be termed a 'grand nave' where the entire congregation can be gathered together in a single space (rather than in a more traditional, disjointed nave-aisle-transept organization), with traditional liturgical orientation and majesty. We don't need all circular or octagonal 'churches in the round' to be bland, whitewashed, conference rooms. There are historical precedents a-plenty for something far more dignified and befitting of Christian worship.

UPDATE: Below are two further drawings of this concept. The first is the main elevation, showing the overall massing of and exterior aspect of the building. The style of the exterior continues the Byzanto-Romanesque aesthetic of the interior, while adding a bit of stylistic flair, particularly in the detailing of the dome. It has a certain affinity with some of Otto Wagner's designs for parish churches in turn-of-the-century Vienna. 

Though the inner dome is hemispherical, the outer dome (as can be seen above) is octagonal, following the walls. The octagonal protrusions to the left and right of the main entrance volume are the chapel and baptistry. Their relationship to the rest of the church can be seen more clearly in the plan, which is shown below.

The plan clearly shows the main volume of the nave, encircled by the one-story gallery. The gallery provides a unifying transitional space for the entire church. The small chapel, suitable for private prayer, Adoration, or daily mass, is to the left of the entrance, and would ideally be separated from the gallery space by a carved screen of some kind. The baptistry balances out the right hand side and continues the octagonal theme. In Christian art and symbolism, the number eight signifies the Resurrection and new creation. Traditionally, this symbolism was applied to baptism - resulting in a number of octagonal baptistries. This proposal maintains this laudable tradition and places the baptismal font three steps lower than the rest of the church. 

All in all, this idea is a fairly ornate one for a small parish, but combines many important aspects of our entire Christian building tradition in both the East and the West.

What can happen if we put our minds to it

Projects like this have a way of warming my cold Michigander heart. Check out the before and after pictures of the renovation undertaken at St. Louis Catholic Church in Memphis, Tennessee (borrowed from the New Liturgical Movement). The results, as I think you will agree, are quite magnificent - and inspiring to those of us with interests in sacred architecture. I think the chief success of this project is that the architects didn't overdo the space into something stylistically foreign to the existing structure. The end result looks as though it could have been built in the 1950s, when the church was originally built. Due respect was given to existing geometries and materials, which I think is commendable. Context, as they say, is everything.

If only certain parishes within the Diocese of Grand Rapids (who shall remain nameless) could work up the effort to complete something like this. Beauty is the radiance of truth after all. 

It is Right and Just

The world should have ended this weekend. Or so some one would have thought from all of the thousands of words written on the changes that occurred in the translation of the mass. Catholics everywhere were supposed to have experienced "ritual whiplash" and "gross discomfort" with the changes and revisions that went into full effect this weekend. However, in my personal experience, none of this predicted chaos occurred. For as opposed as Catholics are to change, no babies cried, no women wept in the streets, no one was mangled, dismembered, or otherwise hurt. Things were a bit bumpy in spots (a few reflexive "And also with you's" instead of the new "And with your spirit"), but when isn't there going to be a bit of an adjustment when you change something that holds millions of English-speaking Catholics together. On the whole, things went rather smoothly.

A bit of background for those readers who are utterly baffled at what the above paragraph means. In 1970, in the wake of the reforms of the Second Vatican Council (1962-1965), Pope Paul VI issued texts for a revised mass for the Roman Rite (approximately 99% of the world's Catholics). These texts were promulgated in Latin, the official language of the Church, and were subsequently translated into vernacular languages. To cut straight to the chase, the translation of the Mass of Paul VI into English was rushed and a bit shoddy. Phrases and responses that had been a part of the Church's liturgical worship for centuries were mistranslated or mangled beyond recognition, scriptural allusions which provide a direct link to God's word were clouded, and so forth. The original English texts were supposed to be a temporary holdover until better translations could be implemented. As we now realize, this temporary holdover ended up being about forty years. This weekend marked the first time that the revised Roman Missal was put into use around the English-speaking world.

I am of the firm belief that the revised and properly translated mass will ultimately be a good thing for the Church in the English-speaking world. The way in which we worship communally is tremendously important - it is in the context of this worship that God Himself becomes present in the Most Holy Sacrament. Subsequently, the words that we use in the context of our liturgy must be proper to this miracle. The revised translation is much more proper, even elegant and poetic, than the now outdated texts. I was previously a fan of the Roman Canon (the oldest of the four Eucharistic prayers) because it was the most reverent in my opinion. This past weekend, our priest said Eucharistic Prayer IV and I was blown away at the change! It has become quite an elegant prayer, to say the least.

All in all, yes it will take time to adjust to some of the new phrases, yes there may be a few missteps along the way, but this is change we can truly believe in (to borrow and adapt that soiled phrase). And, to borrow from the mass itself, it is truly right and just.

The Crystal Cathedral is Converting

There is perhaps no greater symbol of American Evangelical mega-churchmanship than the bombastic Crystal Cathedral in Garden Grove, California. It is interesting to note, then, the recent news that the Crystal Cathedral has been sold to the Roman Catholic Diocese of Orange, for eventual use as the diocese's new cathedral. It seems that the operator of the building, Crystal Cathedral Ministries, had gone bankrupt and needed to sell their property and building. At the same time, the Diocese of Orange was in great need for a larger cathedral. So, the acquisition of the property is fortuitous for both parties involved.

As a student of architecture and a critic of modernism, I tend to dislike the building itself. It is impressive structurally, and the spire is quite nice, but it will take a lot of work (and apparently several million dollars) to renovate the cavernous, auditorium-like space into something appropriate for Catholic worship. But, if the Church can turn the pagan Pantheon into a suitable place for the mass, I have no doubt that a temple to modernism and Evangelicalism can likewise be converted.

Our Pope on Our Liturgy

Our dear pontiff Benedict XVI is a man whose intellectual capacity is a true marvel to me. I believe he truly has a fantastically analytical mind, which is in constant conversation with a gentle, humble heart - it is this synthesis that makes many of his statements so profound. Below is a small portion of a talk our current pope gave in 2000, before he was elected to the Chair of Peter. The overarching theme of the entire speech concerned the New Evangelization, and how the Church might go about fulfilling its missionary mandate in the postmodern landscape. The snippet below is his thoughts on how the liturgy must reflect our message (emphases mine).

While on this subject, may I be allowed to make a general observation on the liturgical question. Our way of celebrating the liturgy is very often too rationalistic. The liturgy becomes teaching, whose criteria is: making ourselves understood—often the consequence of this is making the mystery a banality, the prevalence of our words, the repetition of phrases that might seem more accessible and more pleasant for the people.

But this is not only a theological error but also a psychological and pastoral one. The wave of esoterism, the spreading of Asian techniques of relaxation and self-emptying demonstrate that something is lacking in our liturgies. It is in our world of today that we are in need of silence, of the super-individual mystery, of beauty.

The liturgy is not an invention of the celebrating priest or of a group of specialists; the liturgy (the "rite") came about via an organic process throughout the centuries, it bears with it the fruit of the experience of faith of all the generations.

Even if the participants do not perhaps understand each single word, they perceive the profound meaning, the presence of the mystery, which transcends all words. The celebrant is not the center of liturgical action; the celebrant is not in front of the people in his own name—he does not speak by himself or for himself, but in persona Christi. The personal abilities of the celebrant do not count, only his faith counts, by which Christ becomes transparent. "He must increase, but I must decrease" (John 3:30).

I feel keeping these four short paragraphs in mind will help Catholics understand the reasons behind the revisions coming to the mass in two short weeks. We need to restore and revive the mystery and beauty of our worship.

The Festival of Your Holy City

All Saints Day, a holy day of obligation, was observed throughout the Catholic Church today. Through our celebration of the great cloud of witnesses (c.f. Hebrews 12:1) who have gone before us in faith, we can be inspired to lives of greater personal sanctity. As our priest remarked during the homily this evening, "Each saint took a unique path of holiness toward God's presence." If we take the time to learn about the lives of the saints, we can begin to understand that no path is more holy than another: we can lead holy lives in even the most ordinary circumstances.

However interesting that subject may be, it is not the focus of this post. The chief idea that struck me about the mass of All Saints was how our liturgical prayers are shaped directly by scripture. The first reading was taken from the book of Revelation and read thus:

I, John, saw another angel come up from the East, holding the seal of the living God. He cried out in a loud voice to the four angels who were given power to damage the land and the sea, "Do not damage the land or the sea or the trees until we put the seal on the foreheads of the servants of our God." I heard the number of those who had been marked with the seal, one hundred and forty-four thousand marked from every tribe of the children of Israel. After this I had a vision of a great multitude, which no one could count, from every nation, race, people, and tongue. They stood before the throne and before the Lamb, wearing white robes and holding palm branches in their hands. They cried out in a loud voice: "Salvation comes from our God, who is seated on the throne, and from the Lamb." All the angels stood around the throne and around the elders and the four living creatures. They prostrated themselves before the throne, worshiped God, and exclaimed: "Amen. Blessing and glory, wisdom and thanksgiving, honor, power, and might be to our God forever and ever. Amen." Then one of the elders spoke up and said to me, "Who are these wearing white robes, and where did they come from?" I said to him, "My lord, you are the one who knows." He said to me, "These are the ones who have survived the time of great distress; they have washed their robes and made them white in the Blood of the Lamb." - Revelation 7:2-4, 9-14

In this passage we receive a glimpse of heavenly worship. The object of worship is the Lamb of God, who is seated in majesty on the throne. Around the throne are people gathered from "every tribe of Israel". Again, as we remarked in yesterday's post, we can discern the connection between God's people of Israel and the Church instituted by Christ. There are people from all over the world who had been gathered into Israel, and are worshipping in the heavenly Jerusalem.

We Catholics believe that the worship described in Revelation is the eternal liturgy of heaven. The mass, the liturgy on earth, is mystically united with the liturgy in heaven by the eternal sacrifice of Jesus Christ on the Cross, which gained salvation for humanity. Imagine my delight, then, when during mass we reached the preface of the Eucharistic prayer (the prayer that comes immediately before the "Holy, Holy, Holy" and changes with the day):

Today we keep the festival of Your holy city, the heavenly Jerusalem, our mother. Around Your throne the saints, our brothers and sisters, sing Your praise for ever. Their glory fills us with joy, and their communion with us in Your Church gives us inspiration and strength as we hasten on our pilgrimage of faith, eager to meet them.

The Church is truly universal. The saints in heaven whom we honor today are truly our brothers and sisters. Christ has but one body and it spans earth, purgatory, and heaven. This is what is meant by the phrase "communion of saints" and the concept helps us understand prayer to the saints, and prayer for those holy souls in purgatory - we are all one, and we all must pray for each other, as St. Paul recommends (c.f. 1 Timothy 2:1).

These doctrines, though taught by the Church, may not have been as apparent to me had I not connected it with how we were worshipping during mass. What we say and hear during mass aside from the Scriptures adds layers of insight to what we hear proclaimed in the Scriptures. This is why what we say and how we pray communally is important - it reinforces the revelation of God. I have heard a few complaints about the revised translation of the mass that will go into effect in a few weeks. However, it is my firm belief that this revision will make the biblical basis of our worship so much clearer, and will thus strengthen the connection between prayer and Scripture in rich and meaningful ways.

Church in the Round

One of the unfortunate developments in Catholic architecture since the Second Vatican Council has been the proliferation of churches designed with seating in the round. This switch-up has very little precedent in liturgical architecture - with even the members of the early church all facing the same way in their celebrations of the mass - and it causes not a few theological problems. Speaking from experience in worshipping in some of these churches, one can tend to become more distracted when you are facing other members of the congregation across the way, with the altar merely as a point between the two sides.

This is not to say, however, that there were never round churches prior to 1963. Quite the contrary: there is a rich tradition in the Western Church of round buildings for worship. One need only peruse one or two Italian cities to discover a few circular churches. The thing to recall about these churches, however, is that they placed the altar at one end of the circle, rather than in the center. This preserved the processional nature of the mass and the theology of pilgrimage toward God's dwelling place.

So, in light of that tradition of church architecture, I engaged in a bit of circular church design myself (you knew that was coming). Aesthetically, this church is based vaguely on the Baroque churches of Paris and the splendid Marmorkirken in Copenhagen. The plan is a cylindrical center fused with a Greek cross producing four equal wings. Each wing has a certain purpose: the sanctuary is in one wing, the narthex in another, a chapel in one, and a sacristy and vestry opposite. The pews are all arranged rectilinearly, facing the altar, with the tabernacle behind it.

As ever, click the image to view larger.

English Tudor Chapel

This is a hypothetical design for either a small parish church or a large chapel designed in a hybrid Tudor/Gothic style. A peculiarity of English Gothic architecture is the use of hammerbeam roofs with their interconnected arches and shaping of vertical space. The particular ceiling used for inspiration here comes from the great hall of the grand English manor house Wollaton Hall.

As for the liturgical elements of the chapel, I decided on a relatively restrained interpretation of the Gothic, which was common in the British Isles during the Medieval period. The sanctuary is traditionally arranged with a large freestanding altar at the center; the tabernacle, crucifix, and accompanying candlesticks immediately behind the altar; the ambo on the Gospel side of the sanctuary; a smaller lectern on the Epistle side of the sanctuary; and the sedilia (seating for the priest and altar servers) on the Epistle side, facing perpendicular to the nave.

I have discussed here numerous times as to why it is symbolically important to keep the altar, the crucifix, and the tabernacle grouped together (though it is not mandated specifically, and there are other noble options if the arrangement is not practical), however, the placement of other furnishings in the sanctuary is also symbolically derived. Many of the earliest Christian churches had their altars located in the east end of the structure, since east is the direction of the rising sun, and worship toward the east speaks to Christian belief about the resurrection and rising with Christ. Given the altar in the east, the presider would often sit along the south wall in the sanctuary, so that he was facing north. In the early Christian world, south represented the Christianized Roman Empire, while north was filled with heathen barbarians. Thus, the priest would preach from "the Church" to the non-Christians. Additionally, the Gospel was often read from an ambo (pulpit) on the north side of the sanctuary. The Gospel must be spread by those who already believe to those who do not believe.

Having the priest and the altar servers face perpendicular to the nave also serves another purpose - it keeps them from being the center of attention. Often in modern churches, the priest's chair is situated so that he is always facing toward the people when seated. This can detract from the true meaning of the celebration of the mass. If the priest is not directly facing the people he becomes less of an attraction unto himself.

I have thus explained myself. I must say that I am very happy with how this drawing turned out, and count it among my favorite hypothetical designs. As always, click the photo to view larger.

St. Mary's Church, Grand Rapids

The other day, since I'm unemployed and have nothing better to do (having already filled out my fair-share of job applications), I went down to the Lower West Side, a Grand Rapids neighborhood that was once home to many different groups of European immigrants. The legacy of these ethnic groups lives on in the ecclesiastical architecture they left behind (there are four impressive Catholic churches within the neighborhood: Sacred Heart of Jesus, St. James, St. Adalbert, and St. Mary). Most delightful, in my opinion, is the church of St. Mary. It was constructed by German immigrants and completed in 1873, making it the second-oldest extant Catholic church in Grand Rapids after the Cathedral of St. Andrew. The structure is neo-Gothic in style, reaching back to the Gothic architectural heritage of Germany. The bell tower, completed in 1884, is a Grand Rapids landmark that can be seen from the main highways, soaring to a height of 200 feet.

Inside the church, the neo-Gothic-ness really gets going. Spires, pointed arches, and a riot of color fill the nave and sanctuary with visual interest. The 24 large stained glass windows tell the saga of salvation through scenes from the lives of Mary and Jesus. Two side altars, one dedicated to the Virgin Mary and one to St. Joseph, are decorated with statues of other saints important to the heritage of the immigrant church-builders. Nowadays, a shrine to Our Lady of Guadalupe stands next to the Mary altar; a sign of the changing demographics of the diocese and American Catholicism as a whole.

Above is a panoramic view of the nave of the church, looking toward the sanctuary. Visible on the left is the side altar dedicated to St. Mary, and the right is the altar dedicated to St. Joseph. The main altar is also quite magnificent, placed beneath several marvelous stained-glass windows in the apse.

The Hosts of Heaven, Exult!

A Happy Easter to All! Below is the text of the Exultet, a solemn hymn sung during the Easter Vigil by a deacon before the lighting of the Paschal candle before the Liturgy of the Word (which on this, the most sacred of nights, consists of nine readings and eight Psalms). Pictured above is the ceremony known as Holy Fire which occurs during the Easter Vigil held at the Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem (where Christ's tomb is located). One lit candle is brought to the sanctuary, and the congregation gathers and lights their own candles until the room is full. 


Exult, let them exult, the hosts of heaven, exult, let Angel ministers of God exult, let the trumpet of salvation sound aloud our mighty King’s triumph! Be glad, let earth be glad, as glory floods her, ablaze with light from her eternal King, let all corners of the earth be glad, knowing an end to gloom and darkness. Rejoice, let Mother Church also rejoice, arrayed with the lighting of his glory, let this holy building shake with joy, filled with the mighty voices of the peoples.

(Therefore, dearest friends, standing in the awesome glory of this holy light, invoke with me, I ask you, the mercy of God almighty, that he who has been pleased to number me, though unworthy, among the Levites, may pour into me his light unshadowed, that I may sing this candle’s perfect praises.)

(V/: The Lord be with you.
R/: And with your spirit.)
V/: Lift up your hearts.
R/: We lift them up to the Lord.
V/: Let us give thanks to the Lord our God.
R/: It is right and just.

It is truly right and just, with ardent love of mind and heart, and with devoted service of our voice, to acclaim our God invisible, the almighty Father, and Jesus Christ, our Lord, his Son, his Only Begotten. Who for our sake paid Adam’s debt to the eternal Father, and pouring out his own dear Blood wiped clean the record of our ancient sinfulness. These then are the feasts of Passover, in which is slain the Lamb, the one true Lamb, whose Blood anoints the doorposts of believers.

This is the night, when once you led our forebears, Israel’s children, from slavery in Egypt and made them pass dry-shod through the Red Sea. This is the night that with a pillar of fire banished the darkness of sin. This is the night that even now, throughout the world, sets Christian believers apart from worldly vices and from the gloom of sin, lending them to grace, and joining them to his holy ones. This is the night when Christ broke the prison-bars of death, and rose victorious from the underworld. Our birth would have been no gain, had we not been redeemed.

O wonder of your humble care for us! O love, O charity beyond all telling, to ransom a slave you gave away your Son! O truly necessary sin of Adam, destroyed completely by the Death of Christ! O happy fault that earned so great, so glorious a Redeemer! O truly blessed night, worthy alone to know the time and hour when Christ rose from the underworld!

This is the night of which it is written: The night shall be as bright as day, dazzling is the night for me, and full of gladness. The sanctifying power of this night dispels all wickedness, washes faults away, restores innocence to the fallen, and joy to mourners, drives out hatred, fosters concord, and brings down the mighty. On this, your night of grace, O holy Father, accept this candle, a solemn offering, the work of bees and of your servants’ hands, an evening sacrifice of praise, this gift from your most holy Church.

But now we know the praises of this pillar, which glowing fire ignites for God’s honour, a fire into many flames divided, yet never dimmed by sharing of its light, for it is fed by melting wax, drawn out by mother bees to build a torch so precious.

O truly blessed night, when things of heaven are wed to those of earth, and divine to the human. Therefore, O Lord, we pray you that this candle, hallowed to the honour of your name, may persevere undimmed, to overcome the darkness of this night. Receive it as a pleasing fragrance, and let it mingle with the lights of heaven.

May this flame be found still burning by the Morning Star: the one Morning Star who never sets, Christ your Son, who coming back from death’s domain has shed his peaceful light on humanity and lives and reigns for ever and ever. Amen

Thoughts on the Latin Mass

Today, I decided to alter my Sunday routine and attended the traditional Latin mass at Sacred Heart of Jesus Church in Grand Rapids. I hear a lot about the Latin mass, both in terms of the history of the Church, and in terms of the controversy that accompanies much talk of the sacred liturgy. And, more importantly, the Latin mass is in the midst of a comeback: there are now 360 Latin Sunday masses in over 150 United States dioceses, this is up 120 from 2007. This is not to mention incidences of the Latin mass outside of the U.S., which is no doubt also considerable. There is much speculation as to the rise in its popularity, but a trend I have personally observed at least in the Catholic Church 'round here is that the younger generations are far more conservative, and generally more devout, than their Baby Boomer elders. I have a few friends going into the priesthood, and they are far more committed to the Church than the parish priest down the road in terms of devotion to the sacraments, the Bible, and the teachings of the Church.

A bit of history and terminology needs to be clarified before delving into the subject further. First, Pope Benedict XVI clarified in his motu proprio letter Summorum Pontificum in 2007 that there are two forms, or expressions, of the Roman Rite of the Mass. Let us remember that the Roman Rite is the most common of the several liturgical rites of the Catholic Church. No rite is more right than another - a Catholic may satisfy his Sunday obligation at any Catholic parish whether it be Roman, Mozarabic, Byzantine, Melkite, Chaldean or what have you. In terms of numbers, however, the Roman Rite far outnumbers all of the other rites and is the liturgy most people, Catholic or not, identify as 'the Catholic Mass.' Anyway, the Roman Rite is expressed currently in two ways: the Ordinary Form, codified by Pope Paul VI in 1970 in the wake of the reforms of the Second Vatican Council; and the Extraordinary Form, contained in the missal codified and reissued by Blessed Pope John XXIII in 1962. The Extraordinary Form of the Roman Rite is what is commonly known as the 'traditional Latin mass.'

Both forms of the Roman Rite are equally valid and acceptable in the eyes of the Church. They are two expressions of the same truth which flows from Christ's redeeming sacrifice, made present in the Eucharist. The liturgy, it must be remembered, means 'work of the people' and has never been set in stone. However, it is a sacred and profound mystery that must be treated as such, and it should not be changed lightly. We must recall that the mass is a manifestation of the eternal liturgy of heaven, so eloquently hinted at in the Book of Revelation.

That being said, the way each form of the mass manifests these mysteries is distinct. The Ordinary Form is of course more approachable, given its vernacular language. The Extraordinary Form is much more mystical and foreign, evoking the hidden majesty of God. As I said, whatever liturgical abuses that may accompany the Ordinary Form (i.e. liturgical dancing, morally lax homilies, decreased reverence for the Sacrament, etc.) we must recall that it is equal in dignity to the Extraordinary Form, and can perhaps learn a thing or two from it.

Anyways, to get on with today's Latin mass experience. Going into the thing, the characterization of what is often called 'the old mass' went something like this: "The priest faced away from the people, women wore veils, communion was received on the tongue while kneeling, and it was all recited in a dead language. Thank goodness for Vatican II which brought us out of the dark ages." It was a pretty depressing picture from that angle. But, I experienced things quite a bit differently today. Let me go through a few key points.

'Dead' Language
The most obvious difference, of course, was that the mass was said entirely in Latin, with exception of the Epistle, the Gospel, and the Homily. Many are put off by this 'dead, foreign language', because they cannot 'understand' what is going on. This is being a bit simplistic if you ask me. Yes, Latin is no longer a living language, which means it is not a changing language. Latin is basically eternal, it cannot change. This make it the perfect language for liturgy. Things said in 1344 mean the same as things said in 1994, whereas English and all other living languages have changed dramatically in the span of those six centuries.

Additionally, Latin is the language of the Church. It is an aspect of her sacred unity. With the Latin mass, a priest from Cambodia can be understood by a person from Cameroon within the context of the liturgy. They are taken away from their common, pedestrian language and put into communion with one another by a sacred language, reserved for the worship of God.

Which leads naturally to the next point about language in the mass: how do we speak to God in mass? It is my hope that such a sacred event would inspire language that is not often used in the course of the other six days of the week. This is a big deal. We dress up for church because it's important, perhaps we should start speaking like it's important.

The final point to be made about Latin is that it is not readily understandable. What? Did I read that correctly? Yes, candid reader, indeed you did. God and his ways are mysterious. If nothing else, Latin in the liturgy heightens that sense of the mysteriousness of God's workings in our hearts and lives.

Priest Faces the Wall
Yes, for most of the mass, the priest faces ad orientem or toward the (liturgical) east. Directions have special meanings in the liturgical realm. They may not always correspond with the actual direction one is facing, but they carry meanings within themselves. For instance, east is considered the direction of the coming of Christ. I immediately think of the hymn "People Look East". The ancient Jews believed the messiah would come from the East, and we know of course that Jesus comes to us 'from the east' during each mass. West, conversely, is often referred to as the direction of spiritual death. The sun 'dies' in the west. That is why one enters a traditional church through liturgical west and then marks himself with the sign of the cross from the baptismal font. He has left behind his spiritual death, gone through the saving waters of baptism and is ready to receive Christ, rising in the east.

There is a certain pattern, then, that can be discerned in the directionality of the mass. With the priest facing 'east' with the congregation, the entire gathering, symbolic of the people of God assembled, look east together toward Christ. Christ, then, becomes the focus of the entire action of the mass. The priest becomes the head of the people of God assembled, offering the sacrifice of Christ in persona Christi with us as witnesses.

And, on a less esoteric note; the mass is not about the priest, whether in the Ordinary or Extraordinary Form. The priest is a medium of God's grace during the sacred mass, he is not an attraction unto himself - ideally. Facing ad orientem reinforces this holy humility that the clergy are especially called to.

Communion kneeling, received on the tongue
This really seems to me not that large of an objection. Movement in the liturgy symbolizes the actions occurring. For instance, during the Creed, we bow during the sentence, "By the power of the Holy Spirit, he was born of the Virgin Mary, and became man." This is to emphasize, with our body language, the sacredness of God becoming man. Kneeling, in the same way, imparts a certain message by its very action. Kneeling to receive Jesus in the Eucharist is simply another way in which we acknowledge our humility in accepting the King of Kings into our bodies sacramentally. Likewise, receiving on the tongue allows us not to touch the host with our hands, a further emphasis of our unworthiness.

Final Thoughts
All in all, I found the Latin mass rather enriching. This was the exact way mass was said from the mid-1500s until 1963, with the pre-1500 masses differing little. It then emphasizes communion with the whole Church, including those legions of faithful who have gone before us and make up the Church Triumphant in heaven. The sense of sacredness was heightened not only by the aforementioned qualities, but also by the long periods of silence, when the priest was saying things very quietly at the altar. Silence is itself a gift of God in an increasingly noisy world. It allows time for meditative prayer, and simple wonder and awe, a gift of the Holy Spirit which is often hard to grasp.

That's my two cents. I encourage all to attend a traditional Latin mass. Side note: the church was quite full, with a very diverse crowd; young families, teenagers, middle-aged adults, old people, Latinos, Asians. This was an encouraging sign as to the continued relevance of this time-honored sacred event.

Latin Mass at Sacred Heart of Jesus Church in Grand Rapids is at 12:30 p.m. each Sunday.