Open or Closed Architecture?

Architecture addresses and expresses. It touches and repels. It narrates and remains silent. It encloses and excludes. It is definitely permissible to speak of a language of architecture. The horizon of architecture covers a wide span across the history of mankind, from the basic housing afforded by the mud hut to the complex systems of cathedrals and skyscrapers. It would be naïve to suggest that this is a metaphorical way of speaking that could be avoided or even replaced.

This quote is from an editor of Closer to God, a collection of photos and comments on contemporary religious buildings. You can find an introductory essay and a sample of the photos here.

The introductory essay continues this theme of ‘a language of architecture’:

…with buildings of religious designation … connotation and context are read as intelligible, tangible symbols of the content they embody. Reaching far beyond functional considerations, architecture’s usual criteria of purpose – access, capacity, construction technique and financial viability – are simply not enough. More than any other type of construction, religious buildings seem to be essentially about the ideas they contain, and the abstract principles they materialize throughout the interplay of form and content.

As I flipped through the photos on that site, I was struck that virtually all of the buildings convey a sense of openness, of the lightest possible separation between ‘profane’ and ‘sacred’ spaces. It is not just a matter of altar rails: in almost every case there is little demarcation between the place for worshippers and the sanctuary.

It would be easy to attribute this openness to ‘modernism’. There are plenty of traditionalist sources that emphasize the importance of keeping the people out of the presbyterium.This essay, for example, quotes the GIRM:

§ 295 The sanctuary is the place where the altar stands, where the word of God is proclaimed, and where the priest, the deacon, and the other ministers exercise their offices. It should suitably be marked off from the body of the church either by its being somewhat elevated or by a particular structure and ornamentation.

Other sources connect the separation between people and sanctuary with the levitical rites and the holy of holies (e.g. Lev 16.2ff), or even the Garden of Eden after the fall.

So is the opening of forbidden spaces purely a modern phenomenon? I don’t think so. When the Jesuits built the Church of the Gesù in 1584, they made the nave wide, unbroken by aisles or much of a transept. The sanctuary is wide and shallow, the high altar easily visible. There is no narthex. The pulpit was thrust forward, so that the people could easily hear the word of God.

This continues in Jesuit architecture up to the present day, at well-known churches such as St Ignatius Loyola in New York, Immaculate Conception (Farm Street) in London and Sacred Heart in Wimbledon. Today Sacred Heart describes itself as ‘an inclusive, welcoming and open Catholic parish serving the wider community’. As early as the 1900s, its architecture sent a similar message.

So openness or closed-ness in architecture may not be aligned with tradition or modernity, but rather a matter of choice.

How open or closed, architecturally, is your church? How open or closed do you want it to be? And what do you think of the openness of the religious buildings in Closer to God?

Jonathan Day is a consultant and writer; he is also a member of the parish council of the Jesuit Church of the Immaculate Conception (Farm Street) in central London.

Jonathan Day

I am a writer and consultant. My church home is the Jesuit Church of the Immaculate Conception (Farm Street Church) in central London, where I serve at the altar and help with adult education at the Mount Street Jesuit Centre. I recently became the chair of Council at Newman University, a small Catholic university in Birmingham. I write here in a purely personal capacity.

Please leave a reply.

Comments

22 responses to “Open or Closed Architecture?”

  1. Jack Rakosky

    While the little wood shed is in an open space, it is too claustrophobic for me, I would never get into it. All the churches where I worship are modern but I hate almost all the ones pictured here.

    Although I love open spaces (my home has a great room with cathedral ceilings) the only religious structure that attracted me was the Jewish Center with its wonderful bema (wood platform in the center).

    I love all the wooden pews all around. They looked substantial, like everyone has a choir stall. I like choir stalls, a place of one’s own, a place to put books. I read somewhere that it’s a Jewish custom (endorsed by some famous rabbis) to always pray in the same place. Looks like each one has his own choir stall. Wonder why I like to fit comfortably into a choir stall in a wide open space but hate that enclosed meditation shed even though its in the outdoors?

    Of course I like the raised roof of the Jewish Center, that gives me a sense of openness.

    The bema does not give me the sense of separateness that an altar rail provides. Perhaps because I know that in a Jewish service making an “ascent” to the bema to do a part of the service is an honor and an important part of personal piety at other important times in one’s life.

    Reply
  2. Jack Rakosky

    Peter Nixon in another post said I am, however, sympathetic to Aidan Kavanaugh’s position that “churches should not be carpeted” which is, for Kavanaugh, a metaphor for his larger point that churches should resemble public space not suburban living rooms

    This really resonated with my positive experiences of church. I like places that seem open and public. I dislike those that look like a quasi-public space, a classroom or auditorium where you need to be registered or have a ticket, let alone a carpeted house.

    I find a lot of the greetings at services are offensive for this reason. “Welcome to St. Xs, so glad you could come and be with us” Tells me that it is not public space, that some one else owns it, and that the pastor or the staff or a clique think they own it.

    Reply
    1. Terri Miyamoto

      I think your response to the greeting is interesting, and, actually, one I share. I tried to change the pre-Mass greeting at our church a few years ago, exactly because of this reason. But I encountered great resistance from staff, liturgy committtee, and parish council. They all felt that omitting the “welcome to St. X” was not being hospitable. I think they were all working from the model of being a host in their home…which is exactly the point.

      On the other hand, I guess the the “Hi honey” and kiss I get from my husband when I come home is a less formal equivalent of “welcome home” and it doesn’t make me feel like the house is his, not mine.

      Off the topic of the thread, though. Sorry!

      Reply
  3. M. Jackson Osborn

    It is refresshing to read the comments in support of no carpeting. Carpeting (and pew cushions!) is the bane of every choirmaster and organist because its presence means the building absorbs musical sound and robs the music of its natual liveliness. It aslo means that the people, since since they cannot hear themselves in a tonally-friendly atmostphere, do not sing, or do not sing well. It seems, though, that we are all up against the acoustician who likes a dead room in which one can only be heard by artificial means (expensive PA systems), and against a certain kind of parishioner who, indeed, wants the church to feel and sound like a nice quiet living room. Those building new churches, or renovating older ones, should insist on an acoustically live room with at least 6 or 8 seconds of reverberation when empty. This reverberation will diminish considerably when the room is filled with sound absorbing people. And, it will return the sound of music making to people and musicians, who will sing better because they can hear how beautifull is their song.

    In addition, a paved floor is far more architecturally and aesthetically satisfying than dead carpeting, and a far more fitting material for the Lord’s house.

    As for the pre-mass greetings: they are a patronising insult, and they shatter any prayerful continuity one was expecting between personal prayer, attention to a prelude and the sound of the introit or hymn. Any gimmick, such as greetings and announcements are a thoughtlessly cruel disruption of sacred time and space. If people don’t know what church they are in, what liturgical day it is, and that their presence is appreciated by God (who is their host), then there is a problem that tacky announcements will not alleviate. Whenever I am so unfortunate as to hear them I wonder why the announcer is not embarrassed to insert this mindless chatter into our consciousness – as if Holy Mass could not begin without this intrusion.

    Reply
    1. Paul Robertson

      It seems that MJO and I are destined to disagree on all things. I rejoice in the richness of a tapestry that can hold us both in its midst.

      When I lived in Glasgow, my flagging faith was set alight by the nurturing ministry of Fr Neil McGarrity, who will always have a special place in my heart. It was his pre-Mass greeting of “You are welcome: this is home” that burned right through my angst, my difficulties and my insecurities and reaffirmed that Mass was exactly the place I needed to be. That simple sentence opened my heart to the worship experience that was about to take place, and made me receptive to the Lord’s redeeming love more than any private, silent meditation would ever have achieved. I was, and remain, profoundly grateful for his words.

      Of course, MJO and I are very different people, so we have very different needs, which are met by very different styles of Mass. I remain profoundly grateful that there exists sufficient variety that we can both find our homes within the Church.

      Reply
  4. Jordan Zarembo

    the absence of rails, screens, or even an elevation of the altar above the nave in the Catholic churches depicted in the HuffPo article suggests semiotic anarchy and not egalitarianism.

    The semiotic value of altar rails and rood screens demarcate different parts of the Mass. The closing of the rail doors at a sung Sanctus in the Roman Rite, akin to the closing of the doors at the anaphora of a Byzantine divine liturgy, nonverbally indicates the commencement of the Sacrifice. In the English tradition, a rood screen between the nave and chancel often supports a large rood (crucifix) with the Virgin Mary and St. John. The rood acts as a powerful visual reminder of the sacrifice of the altar. The screen is not meant to exclude the laity, but rather amplify the liturgical action. Usually, communicants enter through the rood and choir to an altar rail to communicate. A rood screen changes permeability throughout the course of liturgy. Similarly, altar rail doors open and close for processions and the administration of Communion.

    Postconciliar iconoclasm, which included the frequent destruction of altar rails, removed a crucial semiotic layer in many churches. I respect that a number of Catholics do not like rails because their presence implies kneeling for Communion. Even so, the lack of bells, doors, rails, and roods “flattens” the non-verbal cues which accentuate the spoken ritual.

    Reply
    1. Paul Robertson

      I may just be being picky, but I find that the closing of the rail doors does exactly what you suggest that it doesn’t. It excludes me from the heart of the liturgy. It says “this is holy space, and you, sinful worm, are to stay well clear of it.”

      I note that Christ did almost all of his ministry in dirty, sinful spaces. In addition, the synoptic gospels all tell us that, at the moment of his death, the veil of the Temple, which divided holy space from public space, was torn in two from top to bottom. What God has joined, who are we to separate?

      Reply
  5. Peter Haydon

    I suggest that the place to start is Chartres. The architecture is described by Malcolm Miller as like a library building. We are interested in the books, in this case the iconographical programme. The stained glass windows and sculpture are not primarily as decoration but as a visual representation of the theology. Probably it served as a visual aide to teaching from the days before powerpoint. So the protestant reformers wished to destroy it. How sad that Catholic churches now are so plain.
    Of course the building too is a teaching aide as the new, C13th, cathedral, is on the foundations of the old one destroyed in 1194. Like the New Testament is built on the Old. Taller though, it lets in more light as we are enlightened by revelation.

    Reply
  6. Jonathan Day

    Jordan, my understanding is that, pre-Reformation

    1) The rood screens were indeed intended to keep the laity out of the chancel (choir), which was the place for clerks (clerics). This was particularly important if the church belonged to an enclosed monastic order, since monks were not generally allowed contact with the laity.

    2) Most laypeople in church were unaware of what was going on at Mass, except when bells were rung to signal the consecration

    3) Most people received Communion only at Easter, and then not in the context of Mass but between Masses

    4) It was the Counterreformation that got rid of a lot of the rood screens, at the same time that the church began to encourage more frequent communion. Hence most of the remaining rood screens, and some of the biggest, heaviest ones are in Anglican churches: Canterbury Cathedral is a good example, where the ‘rood screen’ is a massive thick wall. It was the Counterreformation (the Jesuits, in particular) who wanted to open up the sanctuary to the view of the congregation.

    I have nothing against altar rails, though I think they have become a fetish in traditionalist circles. But, just as the idea of a ‘Mass of all time’ flies in the face of historical fact, so does the conceit that nothing changed until after Vatican II. The ‘postconciliar iconoclasm’ you describe may date more from the Council of Trent.

    I would value correction from you or anyone more in touch with liturgical history than I.

    Reply
    1. Brigid Rauch

      I think you have pointed out the elephant in the room; I think we can all agree on what a particular architectural design says; where we disagree is on what the architecture should be saying.
      If the Church is to stay united, I think we all need to step back from declaring “My way or the highway.” I happen to think that those who favor a vertical approach and understanding are very wrong. However, I also think a “one size fits all” attitude toward liturgy is very harmful. We don’t need a Church modeled on a fast food franchise, same buildings and identical Masses across every continent. Rather, we need a Church that offers the best of the local cuisine everywhere. And we need to respect the results when people vote with their feet. Parishes shouldn’t be forced to reflect the tastes of each new pastor on a five year term! I’ve seen priests make changes I liked, but because the changes were imposed, they caused much damage!

      On a more practical note, I think we do need to pay better attention to building acoustics. On the other hand, carpeting can be a safety issue in some areas as a wet floor can be hazardous. No one wants to see an elderly parishioner slip, fall and break a hip for the sake of good acoustics.

      Reply
    2. Jordan Zarembo

      re: Jonathan Day on December 18, 2011 – 4:19 pm

      Jonathan, you are quite right that many rood screens were removed at the counter-reformation. Rood screens were not only found in Britain, or England in particular. There are also churches from medieval eras and before which never had altar rails, or did not have altar rails until a later point in history.

      Your points about infrequent communion are also well taken. Yet, “awareness” is not limited to understanding the spoken meaning of the Mass. An earnest focus on the instructional quality of the Mass is not the only means to increase devotion or piety. Merely observing the gestures of the ministers, or even simply a pious internal reverence towards the Sacrifice is as much participation as reading a hand-missal or making responses.

      You have made a good case that what I have called “iconoclasm” is actually a gradual development in liturgical ideology. Even so, liturgical gesture and space can be minimized to the point where the spoken word almost completely obscures the gesture and spatial symbolism. A Mass celebrated versus populum, with the altar on the same level as the congregants, and with few gestures from the celebrant other than the orans, reduces the Mass to a classroom lecture. Bows, turns, lateral movements, altar circumambulations, and the opening and closing of boundaries communicate as much, or even more, than the spoken word alone.

      The delineation of liturgical space does not necessarily require altar screens or rails. A distinction between sanctuary and nave, or action at the altar and the action of congregants, augments and uplifts liturgical didacticism.

      Reply
  7. Joe O'Leary

    Thanks to Jonathan Day for his illuminating comments.

    Reply
  8. Jonathan Day

    Jordan, many thanks for your helpful comments. I simply cannot understand how a liturgical action that the large majority of the assembly can neither see nor hear, except for the occasional ringing of a bell, will convey much for people who are literate and oriented toward texts.

    Jumping from pre-reformation times to today, think of the ‘traditionalist Catholic’ who attends a Tridentine Mass, clutching his hand missal, following the words and actions closely, quietly clucking to himself because Fr O’Shaughnessy forgot to remove his biretta at the mention of the Holy Name. And then he goes home and checks online to verify that he was right, and blogs about Fr O’Shaughnessy’s error. As the Renegade Trad has noted we now have a laity heavily populated with quasi-clerics.

    You said: “A distinction between sanctuary and nave, or action at the altar and the action of congregants, augments and uplifts liturgical didacticism.”

    There are not two actions in the liturgy but one, not a levitical priesthood and a distant assembly but one assembly, even though different people have different roles in it. I certainly don’t see how it adds anything to have one space that is ‘forbidden’ to most of the assembly and another that is not. We are not replicating the Temple sacrifices here; this is logike latreia, service of the logos.

    Reply
    1. Jordan Zarembo

      re: Jonathan Day on December 19, 2011 – 4:27 am

      The Roman Rite desperately needs to rediscover pietism. Centuries of battle against Jansenism and pseudo-Jansenism, along with the rise of the various Liturgical Movements, have almost completely suppressed the cultivation of a joyful and heartfelt contemplative piety. Jansenist doctrines of election and the subsequent destruction of frequent lay communion reception have for the most part been overcome. Now, then, is the time to emphasize that the heart often knows more than cognition and sense. The medieval worshiper, with his or her eyes fixed lovingly on our Victim, perhaps knew more than many people today who participate at Mass with rote responses. The wall-to-wall speech of the post-conciliar liturgy is often not conducive to the inner reflection which is the fertile soil for a strengthened faith.

      As for architectural divisions creating a ‘Temple’ — perhaps it is better to avoid supersessionist analogies. Rather, rails and elevated sanctuaries only underscore the majesty and profundity of the Sacrifice and Banquet. If a clergyman abuses the prominence of the sanctuary for aggrandizement, then he is not a servant. I would also daresay that an erasure of the sanctuary blurs the servant roles of the ordained and baptized priesthood. If a priest’s role as alter Christus is a cross of service, then the ministration of communion, indelibly linked to the Sacrifice which has taken place within the environs of the sanctuary, is also deeply connected to his altar service. Why should I enter the sanctuary to minister the communion if I have not been ontologically formed as an alter Christus through Holy Orders? Ministering Holy Communion offers me no spiritual gain. In fact, doing so might bring about a pride which would distract me from my cross and service as a layperson.

      Reply
      1. Jonathan Day

        Jordan, we could have a long and fruitful discussion on that theme of ‘alter Christus’ – and I hope we will. For now, I will simply quote St Josemaría Escrivá:

        …in the religious sphere man is still man and God is still God. In this sphere the peak of progress has already been reached. And that peak is Christ, alpha and omega, the beginning of all things and their end.

        In the spiritual life, there is no new era to come. Everything is already there, in Christ who died and rose again, who lives and stays with us always. But we have to join him through faith, letting his life show forth in ours to such an extent that each Christian is not simply alter Christus: another Christ, but ipse Christus: Christ himself!

        This isn’t to say that the ordained priesthood is identical to the priesthood of the laity. But bald assertions like ‘the priest is alter Christus’ are far too limiting.

      2. Paul Robertson

        I infer from the above that Jordan is a contemplative and nurtures his faith in the quiet of his heart. I feel that his model of Mass, while being nurturing and uplifting for him, may be something of a turn-off for the more charismatic of our number. It is good that we have so many different buildings to choose from.

  9. Jack Rakosky

    What Latin Churches call the Nave is called the Sanctuary in some Eastern Churches

    http://www.saintelias.com/ca/church/sanctuary.php

    Actually Latin Churches anoint the walls of the Nave, and I think historically one only had to enter the Nave if one sought “sanctuary” that is immunity from force and violence.

    In Thompson’s book Cities of God: the Religion of the Italian Communes 1125-1325, the Nave was considered the property of the people, while the Sanctuary was considered the property of the clergy. Often the Nave was used for secular things, like markets, and storage of various secular items (to make them more theft proof?). The laity were responsible for the Nave’s upkeep. The clergy were responsible for the Sanctuary.

    Thompson notes that things were more complicated than we usually think. The screen which separated the clergy and the laity had a door and a fair amount of coming and going. The laity did try to coordinate what they did with the action on the other side of the screen. Toward the end of the period the Nave become more religious under the influence of lay piety.

    While the laity had their own piety, which began to affect the piety of the clergy (kneeling became popular among the laity first), the clergy sometimes excluded laity, e.g. encouraging them not to come to the night office, perhaps because the clergy wanted to sleep!

    The most frightening part of Thompson book is about the Inquisition. It becomes apparent that a lot of this was directed against lay saints and lay piety, i.e. the clergy, even the newer mendicant orders, did not want competition from the laity.

    Sorry I think the Rood Screen that separated the clergy and the laity is part of a very sad chapter in the history of the Church, and it is best that we leave it behind, and not try to find reasons to justify it.

    Reply
  10. Jack Rakosky

    The New Liturgical Movement reprinted a very interesting article that attempts to reconstruct the history of the Iconostasis:

    Eastern Churches Review: The Origins of the Iconostasis
    http://www.newliturgicalmovement.org/2011/08/eastern-churches-review-origins-of.html

    Beginning with

    In any large public building some kind of barrier is necessary in order to separate the crowd of ordinary people from official dignitaries. The most efficient barrier is about waist-high. It is used successfully today in Saint Peter’s for papal ceremonies… Such barriers were used in antiquity to protect the emperor from the crowd on public occasions.

    Eusebius’s description is confirmed by the findings of archaeology. The low panels separating the clergy from the laity are a regular feature of the early Christian church whatever the shape of the sanctuary. The panels might be placed between the last columns of the nave, so separating it from the body of the church. Alternatively the sanctuary might be an independent structure projecting into the body of the church.

    to:

    in the middle period of Byzantine architecture (864-1204). The sanctuary no longer jutted into the nave. It was contained in the central apse at the eastern end of the church and connected with the side apses to north and south

    to:

    We have, then, a fairly exact idea of the structure of a sanctuary screen in Byzantine churches in the 11th century: low panels running across the apse, surmounted by columns carrying an architrave. It was not normal for a permanent screen to obscure the sanctuary entirely from the view of the congregation.

    to the relatively late:

    L. Uspensky, says that the iconostasis acquired its classical form in the 16th century, when it became one of the most important parts of the Orthodox church. The iconostasis in its classical form is a high screen completely obscuring the sanctuary from the congregation in the nave.

    Reply
    1. Jack Rakosky

      What this article calls the “jutting sanctuary” is more like the bema which we see in the synagogue picture which I referred to above, and which are common in some of the ritual traditions which have Semitic languages.

      Indeed when there are no pews, as in the Byzantine Church above, much of the liturgy is conducted where the bema would have been. The bishop usually has his chair out among the people. Often the whole place, especially the place of the bishop is marked by a carpet, which is a nice gentle way of crowd control.

      We should not let the legitimate need for crowd control to promote clerical ideologies contrary to the servant nature of Christ’s and Christian leadership, and adoption of Temple ideologies which are contrary to the Gospel notions of worship in all places, and contrary to the notion that the individual Christian is a Temple of the Holy Spirit.

      I like the idea of a “bema” especially one marked either by a carpet on paving or by the design of the paving itself. The local church where I go with the excellent sung liturgy created a large square public space in front of the raised altar so that it is surrounded on three sides by pews. I think it creates a great sense of community, of a people assembled around and in a public space without putting any thing in that space (altar, ambo, baptismal font, even raised platform) to compete with that sense of community.

      Reply
    2. Brigid Rauch

      “In any large public building some kind of barrier is necessary in order to separate the crowd of ordinary people from official dignitaries. “

      I’m having trouble finding that verse in my Bible; does that come before or after Jesus washed the feet of the disciples?

      Reply
      1. Karl Liam Saur

        It’s merely an assertion by Julian Walters, AA, in his 1971 article. It has no weight on its own. Also, the context of the article is the development of Eastern Roman (Byzantine) ceremonial – in the context, it’s best categorized as an unargued assumption….

      2. Jack Rakosky

        Supposedly vergers (the guys with the big sticks in Anglican processions) served a crowd control function.

        Often in the NT the people who are labeled “disciples” seemed to have served the same function, i.e. to keep the kids and other undesirables away from Jesus, the teacher.

        We usually tend to read into “disciples” the meaning that it has in Acts, namely “believers.” However if you replace “disciple” with “apprentices, assistants, aides” and others words that describe the people who kept company with a teacher, you will find the words are really neutral matter of fact descriptions of aides and assistants. In the Synoptic Gospels “disciples” are rarely presented as models for Christians; often they are used as foils to enable Jesus to make a point.

        Remember in John Jesus tells his disciples that they are his friends, not simply aides or assistants or apprentices, and that they should love one another as he has loved them.

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