A Church

After what seems like months away from my own personal drawing board, I've recently made a creative inroad or two. I've returned to my usual muse, Mater Ecclesia, for a few graphic thoughts on the relationship between tradition and modernity. The program chosen is that of a small parish church (perhaps seating 250-300 people).

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I was inspired by a number of historical precedents in the development of this scheme. There are allusions to the Ottonian Hallenkirche of the former Holy Roman Empire. The material patterning hearkens to the playfulness of Siena Cathedral, while the alternating stone surrounding the altarpiece is a small (and very toned-down) homage to Mario Botta - one of the preeminent postmodern masters - and his chapel at Mogno, Switzerland. American Art Deco sensibilities play out in the relative streamlining and minimizing of detail throughout. The image of Christ used for the altar mosaic comes from the Medieval Codex Bruchsal. 

The sanctuary follows a very traditional layout, making it ideal for both the celebration of the Traditional Latin Mass, or a Novus Ordo Mass said ad orientem. Permit me a small digression on the orientation of liturgy. Notwithstanding all of the sound theological reasons for facing toward God as a whole community during worship, having the altar arranged in the more traditional manner often works so much better from an architectural standpoint. A freestanding altar necessarily requires a larger sanctuary, which, depending on the size of the church, can distort the cohesiveness of the sanctuary as a whole. In short - a freestanding altar has a higher probability of getting visually lost in a sea of objects. In this case, I have contrasted an ornately vested altar against a slab of gray stone, so that the eye is naturally drawn toward it, then to the tabernacle, the crucifix, and finally to the Son of God, occupying what in Old Testament theology would be termed the Mercy Seat.  

On a more mundane note, this project was entirely developed in SketchUp, with only the shadows and lighting added later in Photoshop. It's a technique I've been working on for about a year now, and I think I've finally been able to strike an appropriate balance.

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. 

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)

An Art Deco Altar (plus some artistic ranting)

I am an avid admirer of the Art Deco period of American architecture and design, and this little liturgical flight-of-fancy attempts to reconcile the aesthetics of that era with the ancient traditions of the Church.

The altar is arranged in a manner reminiscent of the English Gothic, with the reredos sandwiched, as it were, between two turret-like piers. Crisp 45 and 90 degree angles dominate the composition and anchor the aesthetic program in artistic milieu of the earlier half of the 20th Century. Wrightian influence lurks in the background.

Three rather traditional icons are framed by slender concrete mullions. Iconographically, I borrowed from our Eastern brethren and depicted Christ Pantokrator (the Last Judge), flanked by the Blessed Virgin and St. John the Baptist. This arrangement is the default for the Orthodox and Eastern Catholic iconostasis - the typically ornate screen that separates the sanctuary from the rest of the church. Floral patterns in gold and green dominate the remainder of the reredos, alluding to our eventual restoration, through Christ, to the purity of Eden. Two angels crown the concrete piers and bear the instruments of the Passion.

The altar itself is a monolithic piece of reddish stone that is slightly tapered, evoking the image of a sarcophagus or coffin. It is through Christ's death that we are justified before God. Thus, the tomb symbolism is apt for the celebration of the Holy Mass, itself the re-presentation of Christ's very death. A gilded Chi-Rho adorns the front of the altar, reinforcing the Christ-as-altar-of-sacrifice theme. The tabernacle is front and center, surmounted by a gold crucifix and flanked by the six candlesticks peculiar to our Roman Rite traditions.

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This is clearly a traditional altar, well-grounded in the liturgical traditions of the Catholic Church, but it is also clearly modern in its aesthetics. In reading about various new churches being built in classical styles (though a laudable trend), I am slightly discouraged that we are merely 'swinging the pendulum back' towards things that are artificially antiquarian. Contemporary trends in our liturgical discussions are busy equating traditional Catholicism with (usually) Gothic or Baroque art and architecture. While I don't think that Catholic liturgy can survive on what is currently described as modern architecture, I think that aspects of modern design and construction can be successfully merged with other older building traditions. This very synthesis was occurring in small doses in the late 1950s and early 1960s before the floodgates of the 'Spirit of Vatican II' brought forth a deluge of utilitarian, soulless, ugly churches. I think of the Cathedral of Mary Our Queen in Baltimore as a decent example of where we left off.

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.

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.

Otto Wagner + Sundry Liturgical Rants

Here's a little parish church design based on some built and unbuilt precedents from Otto Wagner. Wagner was a key figure in the artistic movement known as the Viennese Secession, a group of Art Nouveau artists who rebelled against the classicist artistic establishment. However, though they rebelled against the Beaux-Arts classicism of Vienna, they maintained much in terms of ornament, decoration, and composition that would be discarded around the middle of the 20th Century.

This particular design is based a bit on Wagner's design for a Franciscan church in Vienna. It is a small church, with room for perhaps 300 persons. It is my humble opinion that many parish churches built in the past thirty-ish years are over-sized (as well as over-lit and over-microphoned, but that is for another post). People get lost in large parishes.

Anyways, the composition is essentially a circle within a square in plan, and a cube topped with a dome in three-dimensions. The circle and square are primal geometric shapes that have a lot of symbolic richness to them: the circle represents the eternity of God, while the square represents the earth and its four corners (decided by whomever decided the earth has corners). Consequently, the unity of the circle and square can be interpreted as God and earth uniting - which of course occurs in the mass as the sacrifice of Jesus is re-presented.

Though the nave is round, the altar is located in the liturgical east. In this scheme, I have actually pushed the altar against the wall, which would allow for ad orientem worship only. Translation: the priest and the people face the same direction during the Liturgy of the Eucharist. Already I hear the howling of a certain generation saying that Vatican II did away with that unpastoral practice. But, ladies and gentlemen, having read Sacrosanctum Concilium (Vatican II's constitution on the liturgy), I can find no mandate that orders the priest face the people. But, I digress: ad orientem worship has its own benefits which I will no doubt enumerate someplace else sometime in the future.

On both sides of the nave reside confessionals. Yes, those archaic boxes have returned as well! They're in continuation with tradition, and seem to me to convey the sacramental nature of confessing a bit better than some whitewashed "Reconciliation Room" that turns the sacrament into some sort of postmodern self-help session. Wow, I am ranting a lot tonight!

The choir is placed in a choir loft, along with an organ. Ah, the organ, another vintage element, which, according to Vatican II, was to "maintain pride of place" in liturgical music. Well, we certainly have ignored that haven't we? We've tossed out the organ and Gregorian chant in favor of folk-guitar renditions of "Gather Us In"...because they're more prayerful?

Back to the architecture, please! The detailing is the flowing, organic lines typical of the Art Nouveau movement. Because of this movement's short lifespan, very few churches were built in this style. This, I think, is unfortunate. Let us overlook the architectural mediocrity of 1950-present and attempt to grow from the tradition where we left off.

Here endeth the rant. In short: Wagner, Vatican II, organ, church.