2010 a Living Presence - Proceedings Draft

Cover Design: George J. Martin Cover Art: Andrea Pacciani

Livng Presence A

Extending and Transforming the Tradition of Catholic Sacred Architecture

©2010 The Catholic University of America Washington, DC All Rights Reserved

A Living Presence: Proceedings of the Symposium

Table of Contents: A Living Presence: The Symposium Apostolic Blessing for the Symposium 3 An Introduction by Michael Patrick 4 Information and Sponsorship 12 Symposium Prayer 26 Program of Events 27

A Living Presence: Presented Papers Symposium Keynote Address: An Exalted Mission: A Unique and Irreplaceable Role Cardinal Justin Rigali 37

Originality and Tradition: The Presence of the Past in Contemporary Church Architecture Duncan G. Stroik

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The Right Abstraction: A Balanced Expression of Divinity and Humanity in Catholic Architecture Michael F. Tamara 68 Depicting the Question as Well as the Answer: What Can Medieval Art Teach us about the Architecture and Decoration of Churches? Sarah Carrig Bond 88

Symmetria, Order & Complexity, Definiteness Erik Bootsma

Looking for a New Tradition: Transformations of the Spanish Religious Architecture on the 20th Century Eduardo Delgado-Orusco & Esteban Fernández-Cobián

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What Makes a Church Catholic? Henry Hardinge Menzies 129 Abstraction and the Architectural Imagination Joel Pidel 136 Quotidian Pilgrimage Stephen P. Szutenbach 144 On the Edge of Turin (1965-1977): The Church is No Longer a Monument but House among the Houses, “Poor” among the Poor Carla Zito 160 Pedagogical Patronage: The Role of the Parish Saint in Sacred Architecture Fr. Jamie Hottovy 171 Notes on Contemporary Architecture for Catholic Churches: Theological Considerations for New Architectural Approaches Luigi Bartolomei 181

The Doctrine of Imitation In Art and Faith Andrea Pacciani 206 A Case for Diversity in the Design of Catholic Churches David C. Kuhlman 210 Catholic Architecture Calls for a Common Language: Leon Battisti Alberti and Ornament to Sacred Buildings Thomas Stroka 224 Catholicism at the Eastern Border of Europe: Construction Works by the Catholic Church in the Post-Communist Countries at the Turn of the Millennium Zoran Vukoszavlyev 239 The Dual Dialectic of Incompleteness: Architectural Hermenuetic of Gaudi’s Sagrada Familia George Joseph Martin 251

A Living Presence: Design Competition Saint John the Evangelist Catholic Church ADW Architects 273 A Hypothetical New Seminary in the American Midwest Matthew Alderman 280

Divine Exuberance in the Napa Valley Michael Arellenas 284 Saint Peter’s Church, Lemoore CA Jonathan Bodway 290 Reconciliation through Sign and Image: The Suburban Parish Church Daniel DeGreve 296

City of Saint John the Evangelist Thomas Deitz 301

Saint John the Evangelist Church Thomas Deitz 304 The Oratory of Saint Joseph Guardian of the Redeemer, Diocese of LaCrosse Thomas Dietz 307 Chiesa dello Spirito Santo Carlo Fantacci 312 The Wheatfield (John 12:24) Tobias Klodwig 319 Saint Thomas More Church Renovation George Knight 323

Mar Thoma Shleeha Cathedral David Kuhlman 327 Stella Maris, Our Lady Star of the Sea, New Orleans Jude LeBlanc 334 New Saint Joseph Church of the Bayou Teche, Cecilia Jude LeBlanc 342 A New Monastery, Monks of the Most Blessed Virgin Mary of Mount Carmel Duncan McRoberts 346 Saint Paul the Apostle Catholic Parish David Meleca 348 Saint Michael the Archangel Catholic Parish David Meleca 352 Chapel of the Annunciation Mercado 356 Conicinnitas Andrea Pacciani 360 Sisters of Mary Mother of the Eucharist Motherhouse Chapel Constantine George Pappas 365

Saints Ann and Joachim Church Steven Schloeder 372

A Living Presence: Slide Presentations

Our Lady of Grace Catholic Church Steven Schloeder 378

The Law of the Church and the Design and Building of Churches: Canon Law and Sacred Architecture Rev. Donald J. Planty Jr. 413

Shrine of Our Mother of Fair Love Thomas Stroka 381

The Need for Beauty, Catholic Art and the Church Ami Badami 414

Hidden in Plain Sight - A Chapel Ann Boyak 389

Chapel of the Holy Spirit, Citta’ del Vatican Louis Astorino 420

A Model Church for the Third Millenium Leslie Edwards 393

Sacred Design Now: Designing the Art of a Relationship Marco Sammicheli 426

Instrument of Paraise John Pergallo 397

Sacred Architecture: Thomas Gordon Smith Architects Thomas Gordon Smith 429

Our Lady of Light Catholic Church Dominic Spadafore 401

Illustrating Intrinsic: The Sacred Experience Brian Spangler 405

Catholic Parish Church Complexes in the Maryland Suburbs 1945-70 Isabelle Gournay and Mary Corbin Sies

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A Living Presence: The Symposium

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Apostolic Blessing

Introduction: Michael Patrick


A Living Presence: The Symposium by Michael Patrick

“While the work of architects and artists is both a science and an art, it is first an exalted mission.” “Beauty changes us.... It disposes us to the transformation of God. Everything related to the Eucharist should be truly beautiful”. — Cardinal Justin Rigali, Keynote Address

For the first time, two major Catholic universities, The Catholic University of America and The University of Notre Dame, collaborated in presenting a symposium on Catholic church architecture. “A Living Presence: Extending and Transforming the Tradition of Catholic Sacred Architecture” was held at The Catholic University of America (CUA) School of Architecture and Planning on April 30 and May 1.

Apostolic blessing for the Symposium

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The event was organized by the Partnership for Catholic Sacred Architecture, whose four directors are Professor George Martin of Catholic University, Professor Duncan Stroik of Notre Dame, and Michael Patrick and Eric Anderson of Patrick and Anderson Partners in Architecture. The symposium was the vision of Professor Martin, whose desire was that these great universities would work together for the good of the Church in the important mission of creating beautiful sacred architecture. 4



More than 125 people from around the world attended the symposium. The schedule was tightly packed with presentations of academic papers and professional work, including a keynote address by Philadelphia Cardinal Justin Rigali, workshops, and a tour of the Basilica of the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception hosted by Curator Dr. Geraldine Rohling. More than fifty presenters from across the United States — and from Italy, Spain and Hungary contributed, with a final panel discussion featuring presentations by Denis McNamara, Assistant Director at The Liturgical Institute, Duncan Stroik of Notre Dame, and Craig Hartman, Design Partner at Skidmore Owings and Merrill and designer in charge of the recently completed Oakland Cathedral of Christ the Light. Nearly forty church designs were submitted for the design competition, and included entries from as far afield as Mexico and China. The jury — comprised of Bishop Barry Knestout of the Archdiocese of Washington, Ed Keegan, editor of Architect Magazine, and James McCrery, architect — deliberated on Thursday morning before the symposium to choose the winners, who were announced at the Saturday evening closing reception.

Inspiration for the Symposium The symposium was envisioned by the organizers as a response to Pope Benedict XVI’s call for what he termed “organic growth” in the Church. His views of the importance of the role of art and architecture in the nourishing of the faithful — as in his homily in St. Patrick’s Cathedral in New York City, and his recent meeting with artists in the Sistine Chapel in Rome — was an inspiration for the event. In addition, Pope John Paul II’s Letter to Artists provided ample assurance that the artistic tradition of the Church remains of great importance to its leaders — to the successors of Peter, the rock on which Christ founded the Church. The Partnership was very pleased that Pope Benedict addressed a letter to Archbishop Donald Wuerl of Washington, in which he extended “to 5



all taking part in the symposium” an “Apostolic Blessing as a pledge of joy and peace in the Risen Lord”. In particular, it seemed to the Partnership that the development of Catholic church design since the Second Vatican Council had become unmoored from the Church’s history and tradition — a result almost certainly not envisioned or intended by the popes or the Second Vatican Council, as seems to be clear in its Constitution on the Liturgy, Sacrosanctum Concilium, for example, in which liturgical development is assumed to be gradual and keeping in mind always a continuity with what came before. The call for an organic growth in church building design and construction therefore became the cornerstone for development of the symposium, and would be its theme. The event represented a growing wave of church design conferences around the country and an increasingly articulate call by Catholics for improvement in Catholic church design. The potential for the symposium to become a regular meeting and a known reference point for Catholic church design and construction was recognized by many. We are beginning plans for the next Sacred Architecture Symposium for 2012.

The Nature of the Symposium It was essential to the organizers that the symposium be interdisciplinary in nature, including among its contributors and participants artists, musicians, academics, practicing architects, philosophers, theologians, liturgical consultants, and members of the clergy and religious life, to bring together those with different gifts as well as with divergent views on tradition and modernity. Faithfulness to the Magisterium of the Church and to Church doctrine, and an understanding of the existing guidelines for church building design, was held to be central to the design of Catholic church buildings by the Partnership, but the symposium proposed that a fruitful dialogue 6



could be held with those of differing views in the hope of creating a unified sense of mission and service to the Church. The symposium sought to identify church design as a continuous response to the living presence of Christ throughout history and today.

Speakers and Presenters “Great churches, beautiful churches, both large and small, can offer a glimpse of a world to come....(Churches) are the windows which remind us that there is something — something beautiful — outside the town, the village, the city, the world in which we live”, said Dean Randall Ott of the CUA School of Architecture, in his opening remarks in the Koubek Auditorium in the Crough Center for Architectural Studies. The first symposium session, “Case Studies”, moderated by Adnan Morshed of CUA, initiated a dynamic conversation about the nature of church design, including the development of church design in Eastern Europe since Pope John Paul II and the fall of the Soviet Union; understanding the varied development of church architecture in Spain; and gaining a perspective on how to create new church architecture by looking at the unlikely precedent of Calvinist church architecture in Venetian culture. This dynamic interplay of proposals characterized the entire symposium. Throughout the rest of Friday and Saturday sessions such as “Beauty and Abstraction”, “Tradition and Sacred Architecture Post-Vatican II”, “Theology, Philosophy and the Law”, “The Image, Representation and Sacred Art”, and “The Parish Church” proposed fascinating analyses of and directions for Catholic sacred architecture. A full list of presenters may be found on the symposium web site and video of all sessions will soon be available. Two workshops — “The Matter of Money — Fundraising and Capital at the Service of the City of God”, and “The Making of Sacred Buildings, Design and Construction of the Eternal City” — established the precedent for the symposium to have working groups to address real issues involved in the renovation and construction of churches. We encourage everyone to consider these as a 7



resource for the practical development of great church architecture in the United States. Principal presentations at lunch on Friday and Saturday, by renowned sacred artist Anthony Visco and Dr. Leo Nestor, Director of the Sacred Music program at CUA and advisor to the US Conference of Catholic Bishops on sacred music, firmly established that church buildings are a collaborative effort of all the arts, and that great church architecture integrates itself with great art and music. The speakers inspired symposium participants with their beautiful work, their practical knowledge and their passion for the liturgy and the Church. In his keynote address on Friday evening, Cardinal Justin Rigali established three principles for the architecture of Catholic churches: one, that “Sacred Scripture testifies that the role and mission of architects and artists arise from the very nature of the plan of God”, two, “The Second Vatican Council and the teaching of Pope Benedict XVI affirm that the work of architecture and art takes place in and through dialogue with the Church”, and three, that “The mission of the architect and artist which is based in Sacred Scripture, and conducted in dialogue with the Church authentically develops only along the path of true beauty”. Cardinal Rigali’s presence underscored our intent to be faithful and of service to the Church in our exploration of an architecture — or many kinds of architecture — that can serve the modern world in continuity with all of our history. The symposium culminated in the panel discussion between Denis McNamara, Duncan Stroik, and Craig Hartman. This event purposely brought together Professor Stroik, with his unabashed extension of the classical tradition in churches such as Our Lady of the Most Holy Trinity, All Saints Church, and the Shrine of Our Lady of Guadalupe; Mr. Hartman, whose commitment to modern design is beautifully evident in his recently completed Cathedral of Christ the Light in Oakland, California; and Dr. McNamara, whose depth of theological insight was a tremendous foundation for the discussion. 8



Each of these principal speakers gave a short presentation, which was followed by a highly engaged discussion among the panelists and with symposium participants. Dr. McNamara shared with us that “ … a church building allows us to see heaven with our eyes.… Art and architecture can allow us to perceive otherwise invisible spiritual realities”, and Duncan Stroik proposed that “Architecture is not about producing copies, but of producing children. [Architects should] learn from the examples of the past.” Mr. Hartman explained the process of designing and building a modern cathedral, and shared his design process and the exploration of light as a symbol of Christ.



The symposium was attended by many practitioners and theorists who have been among the strongest voices in proposing a classical architectural language as an appropriate option for Catholic church design, notable among them Thomas Gordon Smith and Duncan Stroik and many whom they educated in the architecture school at Notre Dame. Those with a desire or willingness to use classical forms and principles of architecture are often marginalized in contemporary discussions of architecture — dismissed as promoting an architecture disconnected from contemporary life and outmoded. However, the compelling presentations of classical forms that respond in an original way to current problems of church architecture, along with the fundamental beauty of the work, were a welcome and significant presence throughout the two days of the symposium. As these forms respond to many faithful American Catholics’ ideas of an architecture that well expresses the glory and majesty of God, the reverence appropriate to the setting for the Holy Mass, and a hierarchy appropriate to the life of the Church — as well as a sense of connection with the continuous history of the Church — they deserve a serious hearing.

Many who attended the symposium, however, objected to this view. They found this approach to extending the architectural tradition too literal. In their view, modern life — including technology and building techniques — is so profoundly different from the Renaissance and Baroque periods that an equally profound transformation of the architectural idiom is necessary to reflect and express the developments that have occurred over the centuries. Luigi Bartolomei from Italy and a number of his European colleagues expressed vocal disagreement with the proposals of classical architecture as an architecture for today. In fact, this view predominates in most discussions of architecture; where the assumed baseline for appropriate architecture is using forms, materials, design principles and methods of construction drawn primarily from our contemporary world. In its more radical form, this perspective may result in architectural forms that are unrelated to Catholic history, or so abstracted and simplified as to be unsatisfying to many Catholics. In some cases these new forms are also indicative of a challenge to the way the Church itself has developed — that is to say, they sometimes embody a proposal that the Church has become too hierarchical, the clergy too distant from the people, church buildings imbued with too much significance and embellished too lavishly. In both the presentations and the design competition entries, there were a significant number of symposium participants who were clearly engaging in the challenge of defining a path that both engages the tradition and makes something new, which not only extends what came before but transforms it with full cognizance of the challenges and opportunities of contemporary culture. One example is Steven Schloeder, whose writing and work exhibit a robust effort to create modern buildings consonant with the tradition and theology of the Church. We wish to encourage those who attended this symposium with this task in mind, and to invite all those engaged in this endeavor to attend the next symposium. We encourage those who are critical of the more literal extensions of classical architecture to look seriously at the beauty and connection to the Communion of Saints across time that these buildings provide. To those critical of new architecture we ask that they

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A Forum for Discussion



Information and Sponsorship


take the time to understand the nature of the attempts being made, any one of which may be a breakthrough for an architecture that expresses the beauty, truth and goodness of Christ in a way uniquely consonant with contemporary life.

A Living Presence, Extending and Transforming the Tradition of Catholic Sacred Architecture 2010 Symposium

Building for the Future

April 30th through May 1st, 2010 The Catholic University of America, School of Architecture and Planning Washington, DC

The goal of this symposium and future ones is to be a dynamic meeting place in which a work of discussion and collaboration can be undertaken, in which those who do beautiful classically inspired churches can share their work and reconnect us to the tradition of the Catholic Church; while those who are exploring ways for this tradition to be transformed by the facts of our own historical moment are encouraged to explore how this transformation can best take place, and for each to learn from the other. Many are working toward an architecture that is faithful to the Church, connected to tradition, and located in the current culture in an expressive way. This is a work with tremendous potential for fruitfulness and service to the Church. The Partnership for Catholic Sacred Architecture planned this first symposium on sacred architecture in the hope of finding a path acknowledging — and building upon — what is good in diverse approaches; unified by a love for God and a desire for service to the Church. Based on comments by participants, it succeeded as a first small step in this large and profound task. It is our hope that out of this symposium will emerge a stronger sense of where we have been, and why, and a great enthusiasm for the possibilities that lie before us in making Catholic churches that are worthy to take their place in the great architectural tradition of the Church.

Invitation We invite all architects, theologians, philosophers, teachers, artists, liturgical consultants, clergy, and those from all walks of life with an interest in the beauty, educative capacity and inspiration of Catholic churches to assemble for this event. The title of our Symposium is intended to convey many things, chief among them the continuing presence of the sacred, of God, in the midst of us as a people, and in the buildings we erect to worship Him. It is also meant to express an interest in Pope Benedict XVI’s continuing call for an organic growth in every aspect of the life of the church, including its architecture. Growth and change come, as is only proper and in the nature of earthly things, but that growth flows most profoundly out of the living experience of Catholics as the people of God, and it should not involve the wholesale destruction of what came before. The human experience is also

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just that, a physical experience that demands a human scale, materiality that is beautiful, imagery that reminds us that we are part of a much larger family and a great unfolding story. In any age, the church building must be built to reflect that it is a place for the unveiling of a love affair between persons, God and Man. It is our hope that out of this Symposium will emerge a stronger sense of where we have been, and why, and a great enthusiasm for the possibilities that lie before us in making Catholic churches that are worthy to take their place in the great architectural tradition of the Church. We need your participation for this to occur: your vision, passion, wisdom, learning, experience, and desire for what is good and beautiful and true are essential for this to be a success. Please join us in April and play your part in making the world anew. Michael Patrick, AIA Chairman Associate Professor George Martin Steering Committee Member



Founding Sponsors The early support of the following Founding Sponsors has made it possible to begin this undertaking. The Catholic University of America School of Architecture The Clarence Walton Fund for Catholic Architecture The University of Notre Dame School of Architecture The Institute for Policy Research and Catholic Studies

Keynote Speaker: Cardinal Justin Francis Rigali The Catholic University of America and the Partnership for Catholic Sacred Architecture are honored that Cardinal Justin Rigali of Philadelphia will present the Keynote Address for the Living Presence symposium. Cardinal Rigali feels deeply for the potential of sacred architecture to be a living and integral part of the great prayer of the Church, and will speak to us about its importance and role in our lives.

Associate Professor Duncan Stroik, AIA Steering Committee Member

The following brief biographical sketch is excerpted from the Archdiocese of Philadelphia web site.

Eric Anderson, RA Steering Committee Member

Cardinal Rigali is the spiritual leader of almost 1.5 million Catholics in the City of Philadelphia and surrounding counties. Two weeks after his installation as Archbishop of Philadelphia, he was formally created a Cardinal by Pope John Paul II in the Public Consistory in Saint Peter’s Square on October 21, 2003. He was assigned the Titular Church of Saint Prisca in Rome . His Holiness

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Pope Benedict XVI appointed Cardinal Rigali a member of the Vatican Congregation for Bishops on September 26, 2007. He is also a member of the Congregation for Divine Worship and the Discipline of the Sacraments and a member of the Congregation’s Vox Clara Committee. In addition, he is a member of the Administration of the Patrimony of the Holy See. Currently, Cardinal Rigali is currently the Chairman of the United States Conference of Catholic Bishops Committee for Pro-Life Activities and is the Chairman of the Ad Hoc Committee on Aid to the Catholic Church in Central and Eastern Europe . He is a member of the Committee on the Liturgy, the Committee on the Relationship Between the Eastern and Latin Catholic Churches , the Ad Hoc Committee on the Review of Scripture Translations and is a member of the Board of Directors of the Black and Indian Mission Office. He was elected by the United States bishops in 2006 to serve as the national delegate to the Plenary Assembly of the 49 th International Eucharistic Congress, and in 2005 as a delegate to the Eleventh Ordinary General Assembly of the Synod of Bishops, which celebrated the theme “The Eucharist: Source and Summit of the Life and Mission of the Church.” The Cardinal is on the Board of Trustees of The Catholic University of America. At the same time he is Chair of the University Seminary Committee and member of the Administrative Committee. He is also on the Board of the Basilica of the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception in Washington , D.C. and the Chair of the Iconography Committee. He is a member of the Order of the Knights of Malta and the Order of the Knights of the Holy Sepulchre. Cardinal Rigali is also a member of the Papal Foundation. On June 5, 2004 he became a Knight of Peter Claver. The Cardinal is also a member of the Board of Directors of the National Catholic Bioethics Center and is Episcopal Advisor to Serra International.

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Principal Speakers Following our Keynote Address by Cardinal Rigali, the heart of our program is embodied in our Principal Speakers. We have assembled a panel of leaders in the design and understanding of Catholic sacred space, whose experience and inspiration will transform the building of Catholic churches as we move firmly into the 21st Century and the Third Millennium. Our Speakers represent different points of view and different disciplines, with the anticipation that by entering into a vigorous and collegial conversation with them we may all as participants in the symposium and in the design of sacred space across the country use this event to deepen our understanding of what is important and what is possible in creating truly beautiful and reverent places for Catholic worship.

Duncan G. Stroik, AIA

Professor, Notre Dame School of Architecture Professor Stroik is simultaneously a key figure in architectural education as a professor at the School of Architecture at the University of Notre Dame; a practicing architect and founder of Duncan G. Stroik, LLC, a firm responsible for a number of completed Catholic church buildings in the United States; and editor and founder of the biannual journal Sacred Architecture. In his work as an educator, begun in 1990 at the University of Notre Dame, Prof. Stroik has consistently been an unapologetic proponent of tradition itself as a great teacher. His interest lies in the classical tradition, and the principles of classical architecture and urbanism lie at the foundation of his pedagogy. Please visit his Faculty Profile to learn more about Prof. Stroik’s experience and goals as a professor. 16



In 1993, Prof. Stroik began his own architectural practice, which focuses on work for the Catholic Church. Prof. Stroik’s church designs are well known around the world or their beauty and reverential character. They are examples of the possibility in the modern age to worship God together in a place that is dedicated to that purpose, that is beautiful, and that seeks to connect the present with the past. Please visit http://www.stroik.com/ to see the work of Duncan G. Stroik, LLC. The Sacred Architecture Journal is “a magazine devoted exclusively to issues of church architecture from a Catholic perspective …”. This journal is an invaluable resource for all interested in Catholic sacred architecture. You may learn more here http://www.sacredarchitecture.org/

Craig Hartman, FAIA



click here to learn more about this, the newest Catholic Cathedral to be constructed in the United States. Mr. Hartman joined SOM in 1973 and served as design partner in the firm’s Houston and Washington, D.C. offices before coming to San Francisco, where he has established the West Coast architecture group as one of the region’s premier design practices. Mr. Hartman’s work has been recognized with over 100 awards for design, which, in addition to 8 national AIA Honor Awards, includes two Gold LEED® Certifications and AIA awards for environmental sustainability at Treasure Island and the University of California, Merced. He also received a Federal Design Achievement Award in the 2000 Presidential Design Awards Program.

Design Partner, Skidmore, Owings and Merrill Mr. Hartman is a Design Partner based in the San Francisco office of the internationally renowned firm of Skidmore, Owings and Merrill, and is was in charge of the design of the newly completed (2008) and much acclaimed Cathedral of Christ the Light in Oakland California, which has received over 35 awards for design excellence nationally and internationally. Mr. Hartman’s work, in the United States, Europe, and Asia, covers a very broad range of project types, in all of which he consistently adheres to a rigorous modern vocabulary that acknowledges issues of place involving climate, physical and cultural landscape, and historic precedent. The Cathedral of Christ the Light resonates as a place of worship and conveys an inclusive statement of welcome and openness as the community’s symbolic soul. The glass, wood, and concrete structure ennobles and inspires through the use of light, material, and form. During the dedication ceremony for The Cathedral of Christ the Light in September 2008, the Vatican’s Knighthood for Service to Society (St. Sylvester) was bestowed upon Hartman by Pope Benedictus XVI. Please 17

Denis McNamara, M.Arch.H., Ph.D. Assistant Director, The Liturgical Institute

Dr. Denis McNamara is assistant director and faculty member at the Liturgical Institute of the University of Saint Mary of the Lake, a graduate program in Liturgical Studies founded by Cardinal Francis George of Chicago in the year 2000. He holds a BA in the History of Art from Yale University and a PhD in Architectural History from the University of Virginia, where he concentrated his research on the study of ecclesiastical architecture of the 19th and 20th centuries. Dr. McNamara makes a specialty of bridging the gap between the Church’s great artistic tradition and the documents of the Second Vatican Council by understanding today’s liturgical architecture as sacramental buildings which shows the continuity of the Old Testament temple tradition as well as a foretaste of the heavenly Jerusalem. He has also done groundbreaking re18



search on the sacramental meaning of the classical architectural tradition. He has served on the Art and Architecture Commission of the Archdiocese of Chicago and works frequently with architects and pastors in church renovations and new design. He has appeared on Catholic and secular television and radio, and is a frequent presenter in academic as well as parish settings. Dr. McNamara is the author of numerous articles on art and architecture in Communio, Rite, Chicago Studies, Sacred Architecture, Environment and Art Letter, Assembly, The Priest, Homiletic and Pastoral Review, Letter and Spirit, The Classicist and Arris: Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians. His book Heavenly City: The Architectural Tradition of Catholic Chicago (Liturgy Training Publications, 2005) appeared on the Catholic Bestseller List and won a Benjamin Franklin Award from the Independent Booksellers Association as well as two first place awards from the Midwest Independent Publishers Association. His book Catholic Church Architecture and the Spirit of the Liturgy (Hillenbrand Books), appeared in late 2009, and he is currently working on a new title, How to Read Churches (Ivy Group, UK).



ber Choir and University Chorus, teaches undergraduate conducting and guides the formation of graduate students in choral music and musica sacra. Dr. Nestor is among the four founding members (1984) and serves as advisor (1996) to the Conference of Roman Catholic Cathedral Musicians. In 2001, Dr. Nestor was appointed musical advisor to the Secretariat for Liturgy of the United States Conference of Catholic Bishops (USCCB). Dr. Nestor has taught at Mt. St. Mary’s College, Los Angeles; the University of Wisconsin, Madison; he has served as professor of conducting at St. John’s University, Collegeville MN. He has served as artistic advisor, member of the international jury and Comitato d’Onore, conductor of the Coro Internazionale of L’Associazione Internazionale Amici della Musica Sacra in Rome from 1991-1998. Dr. Nestor was music director at Washington’s Basilica of the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception from January of 1984 through July of 2001.

Leo Nestor (B.A., Music-Composition, California State University, East Bay; M.M., D.M.A., Choral Music, University of Southern California), is the Justine Bayard Ward Professor of Music; Director of Choral Activities, Director, Institute of Sacred Music; member of the conducting faculty, and co-operating member of the composition faculty at The Catholic University of America Benjamin T. Rome School of Music, in Washington, DC. Dr. Nestor conducts the CUA Cham-

Performances of Professor Nestor’s works are frequent throughout the United States; he has been fortunate to have works performed in London as well as Rome; commissions increasingly form a significant part of his output. Larger works have been composed for The Catholic University of America (In the Fullness of Time for chorus, soli and orchestra) and for the papal visits to Los Angeles (People of God in the City of Our God) and St. Louis (Magnificat). Lord, You Give the Great Commission for chorus, double brass quintet, organ and percussion was commissioned by the Archdiocese of Washington for the April 2008 Apostolic Visit of Pope Benedict XVI to Washington DC; Regina caeli, laetare for chorus, organ and trumpet for the Most Reverend Michael J. Bransfield, Bishop of Wheeling- Charleston; I Sing of a Maiden (2008) for The Catholic University of America Chorus and Symphony Orchestra’s 2008 Christmas concert; and a work for chorus and organ to receive its première performance at the 2010 American Guild of Organists National Convention.

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Leo Nestor, D.M.A.

Director, Institute of Sacred Music Benjamin T. Rome School of Music, The Catholic University of America



Call for Papers This “Call for Papers” is an invitation to submit any material regarding the design of Catholic church design that you would like to present or see addressed in this symposium. Academic papers on a range of topics are warmly invited, as are presentations of built work or theoretical design. Please keep in mind two guidelines: 1) the symposium takes as its starting point that we should build in a organic extension and transformation of the tradition of Catholic church architecture and Catholic ideas; 2) the symposium is about the design of Catholic churches, such that submitted papers and presentations should always bear directly upon the challenges of designing and building great Catholic church architecture today. All submissions will be reviewed by a committee of The Partnership for Catholic Sacred Architecture. Selected submissions will be edited into a post-program published work. Selected authors of submissions will be invited to serve in a special role in the symposium, possibly delivering their presentations, acting as members of panel discussions, or in some other fashion playing a special role in the proceedings.



how the continuity of tradition ensures that truth resonates through the beauty that constitutes Catholicism’s unique architectural patrimony. There is no detailed program or specific site for this competition. However, projects submitted as competition entries must involve new Catholic sacred buildings or spaces (examples: a new church building or a complete chapel interior). Submittals for both commissioned (i.e. “real”) buildings and un-commissioned (i.e. theoretical/academic) projects are welcome. Partial exterior and/or interior renovations are not eligible, though a completely reconstructed interior space (such as a chapel interior) may be submitted. Provide one or more images of the prior, “before”, condition for any complete interior renovation project. Unbuilt projects that have been designed, and built works that have been completed, after January 1, 2000 are eligible for submittal. Projects will be judged on two primary criteria: 1) beauty; and 2) the production of a coherent, compelling vision for how to extend and transform the tradition of Catholic sacred architecture. Winning design competition entries and other selected entries at the discretion of the Partnership for Sacred Architecture will be displayed at The Pope John Paul II Cultural Center after the symposium is concluded.

Architectural students and professionals are invited to participate in an open design competition that is being held in conjunction with the upcoming symposium, A Living Presence: Extending and Transforming the Tradition of Catholic Sacred Architecture. This Competition explores

Submittal presentations must include a narrative of no more than 250 words explaining the project’s approach to the theme of the Competition. This narrative, along with all other images, drawings, and photographs of the project, must be composed on two 30”x40” sheets mounted on thick gator board (oriented vertically) without any text or logos that might identify the designer or architect. A copy of the completed registration form must be enclosed in an envelope affixed to the back of each board and labeled with the applicable category, “Student” or “Professional,” on the outside of the envelope. A 300 dpi, full-size PDF of the presentation in a CD-ROM must be labeled with the name of the primary registrant and included with the submittal package.

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Design Competition



First, Second and Third prizes will be awarded in the Student category. A single First prize will be awarded in the Professional category. Winners will be announced at the closing session of the Symposium and posted shortly thereafter on the A Living Presence website. Some or all of the entries may be included in report of the proceedings of the Symposium, on the associated website, and/or in other associated publications. Submitted materials will not be returned and become the property of the Competition organizers. Competition Jury:



Prizes:

Category A: $500 1st prize, $300 2nd prize, $200 3rd prize Category B: $1000 1st prize

In addition, the jury may award Honorable Mentions to one or more additional projects in each category at their discretion. Honorable Mentions do not carry monetary awards. The Competition reserves the right not to name any prize winners if no entry is deemed worthy by the jury. No partner, associate, family member or employee of any jury member may participate in this competition, nor may jury members advise or assist a competitor in any way with the design or submittal of any competition entry.

His Excellency Bishop Barry C. Knestout, Auxiliary Bishop of the Archdiocese of Washington, DC

Mr. James McCrery, AIA, Principal, McCrery Architects

The Partnership for Catholic Sacred Architecture

Mr. Ed Keegan, Editor at Large, Architect Magazine

Non-voting Competition Chairman: Mr. Eric Anderson, RA, Patrick and Anderson Partners in Architecture

The 2010 Symposium: “A Living Presence: Extending and Transforming the Tradition of Catholic Sacred Architecture” is presented by The Partnership for Catholic Sacred Architecture, a collaborative effort between the Schools of Architecture of The Catholic University of America and the University of Notre Dame, led by Michael Patrick of CUA and including architect Eric Anderson. The Partnership has formed because of the shared belief of its members that the crisis in contemporary Catholic sacred architecture must be addressed vigorously, and must be addressed through a deeper understanding and development of the tradition of the Church, especially as expressed by Pope Benedict XVI in his writings on the organic development of liturgy. The Partnership also believes that the time for a renewal of beauty and the sacred in Catholic churches has come, indeed is underway, and that the

The Competition reserves the right to substitute alternative Jurors should any of the above jurors not be able to participate.

Category A: Students with valid ID Category B: Licensed and Intern Architects 23

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momentum generated by the hard work of a small number of theorists and practitioners over the last few decades is beginning to resonate with the desire of Catholics across the United States of America to worship in churches that speak to them of God and their relationship with Him. This symposium is intended to be a great meeting of the minds, to explore the tradition of the Church in the design of her buildings, and how this tradition can be extended and transformed in profound and appropriate ways today. The members of the Partnership firmly trust that in concrete ways this symposium will improve the quality of Catholic sacred architecture across the country. The members of the Partnership are:

Michael Patrick, AIA, LEED AP Chairman of the Symposium Steering Committee Visiting Lecturer in The Catholic University School of Architecture

Prof. George J. Martin Symposium Steering Committee Member and Initiator of the Symposium Associate Professor in The Catholic University School of Architecture

Prof. Duncan Stroik, AIA Symposium Steering Committee Member Associate Professor in The University of Notre Dame School of Architecture Founder, Duncan G. Stroik Architect LLC

Eric Anderson, RA, LEED AP Symposium Steering Committee Member Visiting Critic in The Catholic University School of Architecture 25

Symposium Prayer


Prayer Heavenly Father, we ask you to bless and guide the 2010 Symposium “A Living Presence: Extending and Transforming the Tradition of Catholic Sacred Architecture.” It is for You that we do this work and in You that we “live, and breathe, and have our being.” It is to honor the presence of Your Son Jesus Christ here on earth and to make a place where in a special way we may come face to face with You that we dedicate our resources to create churches in our cities and countryside. We ask You to send Your Holy Spirit to set aflame the hearts of every person that participates in this symposium. We thank You for the opportunity to love and serve You and each other in this fashion, and we fervently hope that the work of this event will spread across our country a new ability to see Your face in the beauty we see and fashion. We pray that You will help us discern how best to extend and transform the tradition of Catholic sacred architecture in the United States. We ask all these things through the one Your Son gave to us as our own mother, the Blessed Virgin Mary.

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Program of Events

Program of Events:


Workshop 1: The Matter of Money - Fundraising and Capital at the Service of the City of God Moderator: Michael Patrick

Friday, April 30th Registration and Continental Breakfast - 8:00-9:30

David Gardiner – Partner, Gardiner Hall International, Fine Residential, Contract and Ecclesiastical Interiors Fr. Dennis Kleinmann – Pastor, St. Mary Catholic Church, Alexandria VA Luke Driscoll – Regional Vice President, Community Counseling Services

Lunch - 12:00-1:15

Opening Remarks Plenary Session - 9:30-10:15

Program of Events

Randy Ott – Dean, CUA School of Architecture and Planning Thomas Walton – The Clarence Walton Fund for Catholic Architecture Michael Patrick – Chair of the Symposium

Lecture: Et Homo Factus Est Moderator: Duncan Stroik

Anthony Visco – Director and Founder, Atelier for the Sacred Arts

Concurrent Sessions - 10:30-11:15

Concurrent Sessions - 1:30-3:15

Paper Session A: Case Studies Moderator: Adnan Morshed

Tour 1: The Basilica of the Shrine of the Immaculate Conception Facilitator: Eric Anderson Tour provided by: Dr. Geraldine Rohling - Archivist and Curator

Michel Dechert – Calvinist Religious Architecture and the Venetian Tradition Esteban Fernandez Cobian and Eduardo Delgado Orusco – Looking for a New, Tradition, Spanish Religious Architecture Transformations during the 20th Century Zoran Vukoszavlyey – Catholicism at the Eastern Border of Europe, Works in post- Communist Countries 27

Paper Session B: Beauty and Abstraction Moderator: Andreea Mihalache

Michael Tamara – The Right Abstraction: A Balanced Expression of Divinity and 28


Program of Events

Humanity in Catholic Architecture Joel Pidel – The Story at the Heart of Faith, Can Abstraction Call a Person into the Fullness of Faith? Louis Astorino – The Chapel of the Holy Spirit, Vatican City Erik Bootsma – Beauty and Harmony

Concurrent Sessions - 3:30-4:45 Paper Session C: Tradition and Sacred Architecture Post-Vatican II Moderator: Michael Gick

Steven Schloeder – The Architecture of the Mystical Body Thomas Gordon Smith - Reanimation of Classical and Romanesque Paradigms for New Catholic Architecture Thomas Stroka – Catholic Architecture Calls for a Common Language, Alberti and the Ornament of Sacred Buildings David Kuhlman – A Case for Diversity in the Design of Catholic Churches

Program of Events


Keynote Address: 5:30-6:15 Moderator: Michael Patrick Introductory Remarks:

Fr. David O’Connell, C.M., President, The Catholic University of America James F. Brennan, Ph.D., Provost, The Catholic University of America Randall Ott, AIA, Dean, School of Architecture and Planning, CUA

Keynote Address: Cardinal Justin Francis Rigali Title: An Exalted Mission: A Unique and Irreplaceable Role Reception - 6:30-8:30

Saturday, May 1st Registration and Continental Breakfast - 8:00-9:00

Workshop 2: The Making of Sacred Buildings, Design and Construction of the Eternal City Moderator: Michael Patrick

Michael Carrigan – President, Sacred Spaces James McCrery – Founder and President, McCrery Architects, LLC

Concurrent Sessions - 9:00-10:15 Paper Session D: Theology, Philosophy and the Law Moderator: George Martin

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Donald Planty – The Law of the Church and the Design and Building of Churches 30


Program of Events

Jamie Hottovy – Pedagogical Patronage, The Role of the Parish Saint in Sacred Architecture John McCarthy – The Incarnation - Acoustics, Light and Material Paper Session E: The Image, Representation and Sacred Art Moderator: Jem Sullivan

Sarah Carrig Bond – Depicting the Question as well as the Answer: What Can Medieval Art Teach us about the Architecture and Decoration of Churches? Andrea Pacciani – The Doctrine of Imitation in Art and in the Faith Ami Badami - The Need for Beauty and Christian Art

Concurrent Sessions - 10:30-11:45 Paper Session F: Tradition and Sacred Architecture Post-Vatican II Moderator: Michael Patrick Marco Sammicheli – Sacred Design Now Stephen Szutenbach – Quotidian Pilgrimage Andreea Mihalache and Paul Emmons – On the Role of Materials in Sacred Architecture Henry Menzies – What Makes a Church Catholic?

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Program of Events


Paper Session G: The Parish Church Moderator: Eric Anderson

Milton Grenfell – The Parish Church as the Heart of a Community Luigi Bartolomei – Contemporary Design for Catholic Churches, Between Tradition and New Architecture Carla Zito – Turin’s Periphery (1965-1977) The Church is no Longer a Monument but a House among Houses Isabelle Gournay and Mary Corbin Sies – New Catholic Parish Complexes in the Maryland Suburbs 1945-1970

Lunch - 12:00-1:15 Lecture: Sacred Music in the Liturgy Moderator: George Martin

Leo Nestor, D.M.A. - Director, Institute of Sacred Music, Benjamin T. Rome School of Music, CUA

Principal Speaker Presentations - 1:30-3:00 Presentation: Heavenly Origins: Biblical and Theological Typologies for Church Builders Denis McNamara, M.Arch.H., Ph.D. – Assistant Director, The Liturgical Institute 32


Program of Events

Presentation: Originality and Tradition: The Presence of the Past in Comtemporary Church Architecture.

Duncan Stroik, AIA – Professor, Notre Dame School of Architecture

Presentation: Light and Shadow: The Cathedral of Christ the Light

Craig Hartman, FAIA - Design Partner, Skidmore, Owings and Merrill

Break for Preparation of Questions by Attendees - 3:00-3:30 Directed Questions to the Panel - 3:30-4:30 Moderator: Michael Patrick – Chair of the Symposium Discussion among the Assembly and Closing Remarks - 4:30-6:00 Participants

Program of Events


On Sunday, The Partnership for Sacred Architecture would like to offer the following activities for symposium participants: Tours - 1:30-2:15

The Pope John Paul Cultural Center Facilitator: Eric Anderson

Tour Coordinated by: Dr. Hugh Dempsey - Director Tour - 3:00-3:45

The Dominican House of Studies Chapel Facilitator: Eric Anderson Tour provided by: Fr. Giles Dimock, O.P. - Prior

Panel and Symposium Attendees are invited to participate in an open discussion about the future of Catholic church architecture. Closing Reception and Announcement of Design Competition Winners - 6:30-8:30 Sunday, May 2nd: Optional Tours and Events 33

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A Living Presence: Presented Papers

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Cardinal Justin Rigali

An Exalted Mission: a Unique and Irreplaceable Role Cardinal Justin Rigali



Introduction The mystery which we gather to reflect upon today is at once timely and timeless. Timely, because as Aimé-Georges Martimort has noted, “In our day the faithful have greater difficulty in achieving prayerful recollection and a sense of God’s presence.” At the roots of this difficulty is a crisis, a contemporary crisis that surrounds the sacred. Our topic is also timeless, because God never ceases to call man to Himself. As God intervenes in human history, He both conceals and reveals Himself. He veils and unveils the signs of his presence, that we might respond and offer pure worship to his greater glory.

I am very grateful for the opportunity to participate in the 2010 symposium, “A Living Presence: Extending and Transforming the Tradition of Catholic Sacred Architecture,” sponsored by the Partnership for Catholic Sacred Architecture, which is an impressive collaborative effort between the Schools of Architecture of the Catholic University of America and the University of Notre Dame. I deeply appreciate the gracious invitation to explore with you the esteemed heritage and promising direction of Sacred Architecture.

In the revelation of the divine economy of salvation, God never neglects time and space. As the eternal, invisible and infinite God, whose dwelling place is in Heaven, reveals Himself, He allows and encourages mortal, visible and finite human beings to call upon His name. As He makes known the hidden purpose of His will , He summons us to a sacred space in an acceptable time. There are three practical and grounded guiding principles I would like to reflect upon concerning the vocation and mission of the architect and artist in the life of the Church.

How fitting that as we do so we gather here, at the distinguished School of Architecture and Planning on the campus of The Catholic University of America. I wish to thank the Very Reverend David O’Connell, C.M., President of The Catholic University of America, and Dean Randall Ott, the Dean of the School of Architecture, for their support and encouragement of these proceedings.

First, from the very beginning, Sacred Scripture testifies that architecture and art are linked to the very nature of the plan of God. We can therefore never reduce the service of architects and artists to a mere function. Their important work is not simply an added enhancement to our relationship with God, but it actually serves to express our response to God. From the opening pages of Sacred Scripture, the gift and skill of the architect and artist occupy a recurrent and climactic place in the plan of God.

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Second, we are reminded by the Second Vatican Council and the teaching of Pope Benedict XVI that the work of architecture and art takes place in and through dialogue with the Church. Third, the mission of the architect and artist, which is based in Sacred Scripture, and conducted in dialogue with the Church, authentically develops only along the path of true beauty.

First Principle: Sacred Scripture testifies that the role and mission of architects and artists arise from the very nature of the plan of God. Let us consider the first principle before us: Sacred Scripture testifies that the role and mission of architects and artists arise from the very nature of the plan of God. From the very beginning, the talents of artists and architects have been formed, and we could even say forged, by a unique relation to the plan of God. As we know from Sacred Scripture, God is the divine Architect. God’s first act after creating man was to establish a suitable place for man to dwell. The Book of Genesis tells us: “Then the Lord God planted a garden in Eden, in the east, and he placed there the man whom he had formed.” God creates the sacred place where the inner state of man, his original innocence, is signified by his external surroundings, the Garden of Eden. St. Thomas Aquinas explains that the east is the right hand of heaven. When man disobeyed and sinned against God, man lost Original Innocence and was driven from this beautiful place, this sacred location. God banishes man from the Garden, and settles him in a different place “east of the garden of Eden.” God places man in a penitential space outside of the garden. 39



The call of God always reflects his loving design. Under the effects of sin, in the penitential place outside of paradise, the impulse for shelter arises from the human being’s basic instinctive need for safety and refuge from the elements. More wonderfully still, however, the human person moves beyond the mere impulse of instinct to the light of intuition. And here we detect the tremendous value of the work of the artists and architects for the Church: Artists and architects open themselves to the light of sacred intuition, and they direct its beam upward to construct and refine the instincts of man so as to prepare a dwelling place that may become a fitting sanctuary. Classical theology has always emphasized that reason makes the continuous and ongoing effort to grasp what is held by faith so that we might be led to intellectual admiration of the mystery of God and thus be more prepared to offer adoration to God. The light of faith inspires the intuition of affection for a sacred place. Thus, while the work of architects and artists is both a science and an art, it is first and foremost an exalted mission. In the mystery of God’s presence, man’s intuition is always to claim a sacred space, a sanctuary from which he worships God for the glory which God has revealed. As the Catechism of the Catholic Church teaches, “Sacred art is true and beautiful when its form corresponds to its particular vocation: evoking and glorifying, in faith and adoration, the transcendent mystery of God?the surpassing invisible beauty of truth and love visible in Christ, who ‘reflects the glory of God and bears the very stamp of his nature,’ in whom ‘the whole fullness of deity dwells bodily.’” The learning, dedication, skill and work of the architect and the artist serve to direct us deeper still to the One in whom we find shelter, the One who is our refuge and who sanctifies us: the living and eternal God. Throughout the Old Testament, God makes use of natural locations and events to signify His presence: God appears on the mountain top, in the cloud, and in the storm. He also sanctifies 40



those places made by human hands, the hands of architects: the tent, the Ark of the Covenant, the tabernacle, the Temple, and the Holy of Holies. At these sacred locations, on the occasion of specific feasts, time and place enter a holy alliance to dispose the people of God to offer fitting worship and sacrifice. Noah plans and constructs the ark in faithful obedience to the design and measure given by God Himself. Immediately on stepping forth from the ark, Noah sets forth on another building project: He constructs an altar. In fact, throughout salvation history, the people of God mark the central places of their relationship with God by the building of an altar.



The Acts of the Apostles says of the early Christians in Jerusalem: “Every day they devoted themselves to meeting together in the temple area and to breaking bread in their homes.” The early Christians gathered frequently in house-churches to break bread, receive instruction and offer prayers. When St. Peter was in prison, “many people gathered in prayer” at the “house of Mary, the mother of John who is called Mark.” Upon their release from prison, we are told that St. Paul and Silas go to the house of Lydia to “encourage the brothers.” In Troas, St. Paul gathers in an “upstairs room” with the brethren “on the first day of the week … to break bread.” Again, we hear in the First Letter to the Corinthians that St. Paul writes of the Church that is in the house of Priscilla and Aquila.

Abraham builds an altar at Shechem and there he calls “the Lord by name.” After crossing the ford of the Jabbock, and remaining there alone, Jacob wrestles with a messenger of the Lord until daybreak. Having persevered in the struggle, Jacob purchases the ground and establishes a memorial stone on the sight. At Bethel, Jacob dreams of a stairway which reaches from earth to heaven, and encounters God who promises to give him the land on which he sleeps. Jacob awakens and exclaims, “Truly the Lord is in this spot although I did not know it!” In solemn wonder he cries out: ‘How awesome is this shrine! This is nothing else but an abode of God, and that is the gateway to heaven!” Jacob then consecrates the stone he was lying on as a memorial stone and he makes a vow of faithfulness to God.

When God created man he placed him in a sacred location. When God saves man, He again places man in a sacred location and provides the design by which salvation is accomplished and celebrated.

All that is foretold and foreshadowed in the Old Covenant is fulfilled in the Lord Jesus Christ, the Incarnate Word, whose first dwelling among us was the womb of the Virgin Mary. He who has no place to lay His head purified the Temple, declared that He would rebuild the Temple, and suffered, died and rose again for our salvation.

Second Principle: The Second Vatican Council and the teaching of Pope Benedict XVI affirm that the work of architecture and art takes place in and through dialogue with the Church

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As we consider this first principle, we come upon a clear truth: The people whom God called, the patriarchs and prophets, the apostles and disciples, were also architects and artists. Not in addition to their call, but on account of their call. They established the places and built the early altars from which God received worship.

This leads us to the second principle before us: The Second Vatican Council and the teaching of Pope Benedict XVI affirm that the work of architecture and art takes place in and through dia42



logue with the Church. As the Dogmatic Constitution on Divine Revelation, Dei Verbum, teaches, “[A]fter speaking in many and varied ways through the prophets, ‘now at last in these days God has spoken to us in His Son’ (Heb. 1:1-2).” And His Son speaks to us through His Church. The Church has long engaged in dialogue and sought specialized and strategic collaboration with artists and architects. As the Second Vatican Council emphasized, “Very rightly the fine arts are considered to rank among the noblest activities of man’s genius, and this applies especially to religious art and to its highest achievement, which is sacred art.” The Council Fathers continue, “[The]Church has therefore always been the friend of the fine arts and has ever sought their noble help, with the special aim that all things set apart for use in divine worship should be truly worthy, becoming, and beautiful, signs and symbols of the supernatural world, and for this purpose she has trained artists.” The Holy Father points out that this dialogue has taken place throughout the ages, and is found in the luminous beauty of the great works of art. He emphasizes that the Christian faith gave a beginning to masterpieces of theological literature, thought and faith, but also to inspired artistic creations, the most elevated of a whole civilization: the cathedrals which were a renewal, a rebirth of religious architecture, an upward surge and an invitation to prayer. In Pope Benedict XVI’s words, the Christian faith “inspired one of the loftiest expressions of universal civilization: the cathedral, the true glory of the Christian Middle Ages.” The Holy Father explains that, “All the great works of art, cathedrals – the Gothic cathedrals and the splendid Baroque churches – they are all a luminous sign of God and therefore truly a manifestation, an epiphany of God.” The Venerable Servant of God Pope John Paul II also spoke of this when he said, “The cathedrals, the humble 43



country churches, the religious music, architecture, sculpture and painting all radiate the mystery of the verum Corpus, natum de Maria Virgine, towards which everything converges in a moment of wonder.” The architect develops, coordinates and contours the natural elements of the visible physical world so that man may be directed to a fundamental awareness of the grace-filled action of God. The ultimate meaning and purpose of sacred architecture is to convey an experience of the mystery of grace and salvation in Jesus Christ. The revelation of God’s mysterious and awe-inspiring presence always evokes a response from man. This response takes place in and through the Church. The Second Vatican Council teaches that “the sacred liturgy is above all things the worship of the divine Majesty.” The Council makes clear that in considering anything to do with the sacred liturgy, we must always return to this foundation: that within the sacred liturgy we offer worship to the divine Majesty. This is both the premise and the objective of the rich dialogue which continues to take place between the Church and artists. Pope Benedict XVI emphasizes the two central characteristics of the Gothic architecture of the 12th and 13th centuries: “a soaring upward movement and luminosity.” He refers to this as “a synthesis of faith and art harmoniously expressed in the fascinating universal language of beauty which still elicits wonder today.” He continues, “By the introduction of vaults with pointed arches supported by robust pillars, it was possible to increase their height considerably. The upward thrust was intended as an invitation to prayer and at the same time was itself a prayer. Thus the Gothic cathedral intended to express in its architectural lines the soul’s longing for God.” The Holy 44



Father is equally attentive to the furnishings of the sanctuary: “Certainly an important element of sacred art is church architecture, which should highlight the unity of the furnishings of the sanctuary, such as the altar, the crucifix, the tabernacle, the ambo and the celebrant’s chair. Here it is important to remember that the purpose of sacred architecture is to offer the Church a fitting space for the celebration of the mysteries of faith, especially the Eucharist.” The teaching of the Holy Father leads us to understand that the mission of the architect and the vocation of the artist bear a direct relationship to authentic liturgical theology founded upon the classical Trinitarian, Christological, Pneumatological, Ecclesial and Sacramental themes. Formation, education and study for service in the architectural or artistic disciplines arise from and coalesce around a robust encounter with the authentic teaching of the Church. The Council highlighted the important role of bishops in the dialogue with artists and architects: “Bishops should have a special concern for artists, so as to imbue them with the spirit of sacred art and of the sacred liturgy.” The Second Vatican Council called for every diocese, as far as possible, to have a commission for sacred art, and to have dialogue and appeal to others who share this expertise. The Catechism of the Catholic Church reiterates, “For this reason bishops, personally or through delegates, should see to the promotion of sacred art, old and new, in all its forms and, with the same religious care, remove from the liturgy and from places of worship everything which is not in conformity with the truth of faith and the authentic beauty of sacred art.” Priests, as principal collaborators with the bishop, likewise have a special responsibility to have a vibrant awareness of the gifts which artists and architects bring to the Church. Pope Benedict XVI affirms that “it is essential that the education of seminarians and priests include the study of art history, with special reference to sacred buildings and the corresponding liturgical norms.”

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Beauty, in its inextricable connection to the true and the good, is the center of gravity of all the liturgical sciences. And this is because the liturgy is foremost the work of the Most Holy Trinity, in which we participate. Beauty changes us. It disposes us to the transforming action of God and thus is one of the principal protagonists of advancing the universal call to holiness. Fascination with the sacred frees us from fixation on the secular. Expressions founded upon purely secularist influence do not refresh us. They exhaust us and fragment our perception. The static and abstract expression of merely functional facades simply does not capture or articulate the brilliant and resplendent mystery of God. Architectural form is never incidental or expendable. Utilitarian styles fail to inspire and so often leave a space barren and bland. We simply cannot tolerate indifference to the healthy traditions. The separation of artists and architects from dialogue with the Church leads to a fragmentation and subsequent breakdown of authentic liturgical renewal. Our starting point in advancing the liturgical renewal is always dialogue, not polemics. All effective dialogue in the Church continues in the spirit of what Pope Benedict referred to in his Christmas Address to the Roman Curia in 2005 as, “the ‘hermeneutic of reform’, of renewal in the continuity of the one subject-Church which the Lord has given to us.” The Holy Father continues, “[The Church] is a subject which increases in time and develops, yet always remaining the same, the one subject of the journeying People of God.” Two architectural experts recently gave an example of fruitful and effective dialogue with the Church. The Italian architect Paolo Portoghesi, in an article which appeared in L’Osservatore Romano, emphasized that “legitimate progress” must always flow from and not be indifferent to the “sound tradition” of the Church. Professor Portoghesi maintains correctly that we must assess the design and model of Church buildings so as to preserve and restore architecture which is based on the authentic tradition of the Church so that the sacred liturgy is celebrated in a fitting manner. 46



The authentic tradition is our guide when we are faced with diverse interpretations of legitimate progress associated with liturgical renewal. Professor Portoghesi emphasizes, “In recent years the fashion of so-called minimalism has revived a kind of iconoclasm, to exclude the cross and sacred images and to strip the image, outside of any residual analogy with the traditional churches.” A style that lacks consistency with the central mysteries of the faith necessarily puzzles us and drains us of our expectancy. Maria Antonietta Crippa, Professor of History of Architecture at the Politecnico of Milan, has noted that, because of the significant cultural changes in the years since the Second Vatican Council, society “has seen fluctuations between outcomes of radical secularism and the recovery of lively religious sense.” Authentic dialogue is guided by reflection on the third and final principle before us today: The mission of the architect and artist, which is based in Sacred Scripture and conducted in dialogue with the Church, authentically develops only along the path of true beauty.



the 500th Anniversary of the Vatican Museums, Pope Benedict pointed out that the artistic treasures of the Church “stand as a perennial witness to the Church’s unchanging faith in the triune God who, in the memorable phrase of St. Augustine, is himself ‘Beauty ever ancient, ever new.’” In his Apostolic Exhortation Sacramentum Caritatis, Pope Benedict XVI emphasized that, “The profound connection between beauty and the liturgy should make us attentive to every work of art placed at the service of the celebration.” Those whose senses are trained for the via pulchritudinis can discern a stirring within the continuous sacred stream of history, an unceasing movement of sublime splendor arising from ancient foundations and inherited in the detail of noble themes down through the ages. In his Address to Artists last fall, the Holy Father stated, “Indeed, an essential function of genuine beauty, as emphasized by Plato, is that it gives man a healthy ‘shock’, it draws him out of himself, wrenches him away from resignation and from being content with the humdrum – it even makes him suffer, piercing him like a dart, but in so doing it ‘reawakens’ him, opening afresh the eyes of his heart and mind, giving him wings, carrying him aloft.”

Beauty is not simply one path among others. Pope Benedict XVI teaches, “Everything related to the Eucharist should be marked by beauty.”

The Holy Father continued, “Authentic beauty … unlocks the yearning of the human heart, the profound desire to know, to love, to go towards the Other, to reach for the Beyond. If we acknowledge that beauty touches us intimately, that it wounds us, that it opens our eyes, then we rediscover the joy of seeing, of being able to grasp the profound meaning of our existence, the Mystery of which we are part; from this Mystery we can draw fullness, happiness, the passion to engage with it every day.”

The Holy Father spoke of a “via pulchritudinis, a path of beauty which is at the same time an artistic and aesthetic journey, a journey of faith, of theological enquiry.” During the celebration of

Contemporary society believes at times that beauty can come from a product one buys in a store, or can be won in a contest. Authentic beauty is immune to age, it is always young, and it can never

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Third Principle: The mission of the architect and artist which is based in Sacred Scripture, and conducted in dialogue with the Church authentically develops only along the path of true beauty.



be contained by a mere title. Beauty attracts us as it charismatically aligns itself in symmetry and proportion, congruent with its primary characteristics of authentic truth and goodness. The durability and permanence of the structures which mark our solemn celebrations draw the eye to hope and lead the heart to reflection. In 2004, then-Monsignor Bruno Forte, Professor of Systematic Theology at the Pontifical Theological Faculty of Naples, Italy, and consultant to the Pontifical Council for Culture was called upon by Pope John Paul II to offer the annual retreat and spiritual exercises to him and members of the Curia. In the midst of his reflections, Monsignor Forte noted, “The God of Jesus Christ … is anything but a God of total and tactless manifestation.” In his most recent published work, now-Archbishop Bruno Forte notes, “[T]hrough beauty’s brightness … the splendor of the Whole bursts forth in the fragment, and lays hold of the believer.” As great depictions express the mysteries of the faith, they inspire and sustain devotion within the depths of our hearts. In such a setting, the believer is led to gather impressions through a unity of perception and to grasp more fully an experience of the totality of the divine mysteries. As Pope Benedict noted less than one year ago in his homily for the Reopening of the Pauline Chapel, “The paintings and decorations adorning this chapel, particularly the two large frescoes [which depict the conversion of St. Paul and the crucifixion of St. Peter] by Michelanglo Buonarotti, which were the last works of his long life, are especially effective in encouraging meditation and prayer.”



has admitted styles from every period according to the natural talents and circumstances of peoples, and the needs of the various rites. Thus, in the course of the centuries, she has brought into being a treasury of art which must be very carefully preserved.” The creative intelligence of artists continually seeks to draw forth vibrant forms from the material structures which surround us. Prayerful reflection, study of classical motifs, knowledge of the various schools of design, meditative architectural planning, extensive and specific development of a systematic understanding of the importance and role of architecture nourishes faith. The thoughtful design and strategic placement of sculpture, painting, decoration along structural elements of the body of the interior façade and exterior face are meant to evoke prayerfulness, foster meditation and aid reflection. The use of natural light, historic styles and noble design are meant to point us deeper into the mystery of Jesus so that we contemplate the words of St. John with renewed awareness: “And the Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us.”

Conclusion

The revelation of the splendor of God is never ambiguous. It changes hearts and renews lives. The many styles and forms from specific periods and regions are all part of the rich heritage of sacred art and architecture. As Duncan Stroik has noted, “Art from the past is a window onto the faith and practice of a specific time, but it can also speak to all ages. To reject periods, other than our favorites, as either primitive or decadent is to miss out on the rich tapestry of art and architecture that the Church has fostered.” Beauty has an immediate and direct relation to culture. As the Council explained, “The Church has not adopted any particular style of art as her very own; she

In preparation for the Great Jubilee Year 2000, Pope John Paul II wrote a Letter to Artists. Ten years later, Pope Benedict XVI met with artists in the solemn setting of the Sistine Chapel on November 21, 2009. The Holy Father took that opportunity “to express and renew the Church’s friendship with the world of art,” noting that “Christianity from its earliest days has recognized the value of the arts and has made wise use of their varied language to express her unvarying message of salvation.” Today we fulfill in some measure the Holy Father’s invitation to “friendship, dialogue and cooperation” between the Church and artists. Our conversation today serves, in the words of Pope Paul VI, to render “accessible and comprehensible to the minds and hearts of our people the things of the spirit, the invisible, the ineffable, the things of God himself. And in this

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activity, you are masters. It is your task, your mission; and your art consists in grasping treasures from the heavenly realm of the spirit and clothing them in words, colors, forms – making them accessible.” Together we seek to cultivate a sense of wonder and anticipation and to pursue a strategy of recovery and renewal. Artists and architects are composers who play a unique and irreplaceable role as the narrative of salvation history unfolds. Their talents usher the senses into an experience of the mystery of God. Through maximizing extraordinary gifts of their God-given genius, artists and architects are called to construct and restore an avenue into the luminous depth of God’s revelation and convey the continuing presence of the sacred in buildings meant for worship. The Church values deeply your specialized education gained from the periods of apprenticeship and the long years of professional service in the expertise of your various disciplines. We come together today from our various vocations and specialties of skill for fruitful and effective dialogue: architects, theologians, faculty of the various schools, artists, liturgical consultants, engineers, students?clergy, religious and laity. As we gather to consider the role and mission of those who serve the formation of sacred architecture, we ask the same question that St. Peter and St. John asked the Lord Jesus in the Gospel of St. Luke, “Where do you want us to make the preparations?” And we gather to listen to the answer of Jesus: “When you go into the city, a man will meet you carrying a jar of water. Follow him into the house that he enters and say to the master of the house, ‘The Teacher says to you, “Where is the guest room where I may eat the Passover with my disciples?”’ He will show you a large upper room that is furnished. Make the preparations there.”

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Jesus sends us in the same life-giving direction, to the place that is furnished by the Holy Spirit and prepared by the Church to receive the Word made flesh who dwells among us. Not only do the beautiful creations of artists and architects lead us to contemplate the mysteries of the faith, but the very manner in which these men and women pursue their most practical and sublime science of architecture and art casts a more distinctive radiance on our path?the path of the Church, and leads us to the One who has emptied himself for our salvation and has gone ahead of us to prepare a place for us. St. Paul tells us in the First Letter to the Corinthians, “Do you not know that you are the temple of God, and that the Spirit of God dwells in you? If anyone destroys God’s temple, God will destroy that person; for the temple of God, which you are, is holy.” St. Paul also tells us, “So then you are no longer strangers and sojourners, but you are fellow citizens with the holy ones and members of the household of God, built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets, with Christ Jesus himself as the capstone. Through him the whole structure is held together and grows into a temple sacred in the Lord; in him you are being built together into a dwelling place of God in the Spirit.” As we await and prepare for that eternal moment in which the divine Architect will invite us to meet Him, may we, in the words of St. Peter, become “like living stones…[and] be built into a spiritual house to offer spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ.”

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Duncan G. Stroik

Originality and Tradition: The Presence of the Past in Contemporary Church Architecture Duncan G. Stroik

I would like to touch upon the topic of originality and tradition—one of the inherent themes of this conference. How does one extend and transform the tradition of Catholic church architecture today? Pope Benedict XVI spoke to this exact question soon after he was elected:

Well, it all depends on the correct interpretation of the Council [Vatican II]…. The prob lems in its implementation arose from the fact that two contrary hermeneutics came face to face and quarreled with each other. One caused confusion, the other, silently but more and more visibly, bore and is bearing fruit.

On the one hand, there is an interpretation that I would call “a hermeneutic of discontinuity and rupture”; it has frequently availed itself of the sympathies of the mass media and also one trend of modern theology. On the other, there is the “hermeneutic of reform”, of renewal in the continuity of the one Church which the Lord has given to us. [1]

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The Basilica of the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception (dedicated in 1959) and the National Gallery of Art (dedicated in 1941) are two buildings in Washington D.C. that serve to illustrate the war between these two hermeneutics. When these two buildings were first built they received great opprobrium. Not because they were ugly, nor were they dysfunctional, nor were they poorly built. They were criticized for a much more heinous crime… for being traditional. Why was being traditional considered so terrible in the 1940’s and 60’s? Because, it is argued, these two buildings show no creativity and they do not reflect their time period. They might as well be mere copies, because they show no adventurousness, no minimalism or functionalism in their aesthetic. Yet, half a century later, these buildings have outlived their critics and most other buildings built at the time. Today, the National Gallery of Art is considered one of the finest art galleries in the world and the National Shrine is the symbol of Catholicism in our nations capital, where a United Nations of the faithful gather on every Sunday. The Basilica of the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception Now architects and artists naturally want to Photo: Carol M. Smith, Library of Congress collection invent or innovate. That is a healthy impulse 54


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Duncan G. Stroik


and makes for a richer society. But what about the concern that tradition stifles originality? If this is true it would be most unfortunate. The great masterpieces of architecture down through the ages are put forward for their originality. We teach our students that the highest good in art and architecture is to be original. Of course, not all buildings can be highly original. But our culture has recognized brilliance and set up invention and innovation on a pedestal. Some of the greatest geniuses of all time in the field of sacred architecture have displayed enormous inventive capability. Leon Battista Alberti in his design for Santa Andrea in Mantua was the first to incorporate a triumphal arch and pediment into the front façade of a building.

Anyone who has seen bronze statues cast today should be amazed at this work and the highly precise quality of the sculpture and the ornament. It was considered radical for its time also because Bernini combined two totally different ideas: the fabric canopy used in processions such as for Corpus Christi, and the ciborio with marble columns used in churches to cover and give prominence to a permanent marble altar. Thus, the baldacchino is original on a number of different levels, including being the largest bronze cast since antiquity. It was inspired by the spiral columns donated by the Emperor, which reference the Temple of Solomon and were the original monument over the tomb of St. Peter. Bernini’s canopy of fabric appears capable of blowing in the wind, supported by elongated twisting columns and fine detailing all testify to the delicacy of the work—and yet it is all made out of bronze. Bernini perfectly intertwines these two ideas of the processional tent and the fixed ciborio. At the time it was criticized for being too much of a hybrid, but when it was finished its stunning beauty

Another project, Michelangelo’s design for Saint Peter’s forms an important example of innovation, namely the introduction of a portico entrance or temple front on a church. Of course Michelangelo was one of the greatest artists of all time in all three realms – painting, sculpture and architecture. It is hard to argue with either of these two geniuses who displayed great originality. Their buildings are also traditional to the extent that they reference ancient architecture but they also sought to outdo the ancients. Take, for example, the baldacchino by Bernini in St. Peter’s. There is nothing like it in size, in the sixteenth century it was considered a work of technical bravura. It is still a feet of technical bravura: 34 feet wide, 30 feet deep and nine stories tall (95’). It was constructed from 93 tons of bronze. 55

Baldacchino at St. Peter’s Basilica Photo: Wikimedia.org San Andrea Mantua Photo: Wikimedia.org

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defeated the naysayers. It is a work of radical innovation but it also connects back to old St. Peter’s and the famous columns of the Solomon’s Temple. The solomonic column became a classic and has been used by architects since then to articulate important churches, facades and interiors. It has inspired many great baldacchini, especially in France, but we have them in this country, each unique and many beautiful.

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we believe the tautology that change in architecture is by definition the same as scientific innovation—a questionable premise to say the least. What is the architectural equivalent of the iphone? Anything in architecture that is as successful as the iphone, successful enough to be adopted by a majority of architects, would at that point no longer be considered original: only the first version demonstrates originality and then one must constantly throw out the best solutions in favor of the innovative ones. As King Solomon wrote, Church of the Most Holy Trinity Vienna, 1975 there is nothing new under the sun. The rePhoto: Wikipedia.com ality is that Modernism, while often invoking originality, is greatly indebted to historical precedent both architectural and mechanical. The protagonists of the modern movement, such as LeCorbusier, Gropius, Wright, Aalto and Mies were quite cognizant of history and claimed to be the fulfillment of it. But they believed not so much in history as in historicism, which is the heresy that assumes that change equals progress.

Bernini’s innovation is a gift to architecture and the arts. However, originality can be overrated. When true originality of the order of Michelangelo or Bernini is hard to find, we instead turn to novelty, since it is always easier to look novel or stylish than to do something truly original. The Baldacchino at the Chapel of Our Lady of the Most Holy Trinity Thomas Aquinas College Santa Paula, California Photo: usagranda.com

The cult of novelty means that anything goes and makes architects think that our role is to provide change for change’s sake. One of the reasons we buy the idea of novelty is because 57

One of the primary ways modernism defines itself is by its break with the past, differentiating itself from things that have come before: asymmetry replaces symmetry, dissonance replaces harmony, steel and concrete replace masonry, the machine-made replaces the human scale, industrial production replaces hand craftsmanship, and the provocative replaces the beautiful. If you read the leaders or the promoters of the modern movement it becomes clear that they view modern 58


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man and the modern age as incommensurate with everything that came before. One should also note that, similar to the Protestant reformation, modernism defines itself as against images, ornament, history, tradition and architectural language—in other words, it defines itself as iconoclastic. It is the architecture of rupture, of discontinuity with the past. But is discontinuity an appropriate goal for the Eternal Church? As a means of representing a Church that teaches the relevance of goodness, truth and beauty, is not the idea of rupture problematic?

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the tradition and thus changes it. Most things that one sees as traditional were once new: an obvious point, but one that proponents of perpetual innovation seem to have neglected.

For instance we can see a great continuity in design of parts of the church, such as, the idea of a sanctuary. Both San Clemente in Rome and Sacred Heart Catholic Church in Tampa—certainly disparate examples—contain a clearly defined sanctuary or holy place that is raised, with railings, an apse and constructed out of high quality material. Yet within the tradition of sanctuary architecture there are wonderful and appropriate innovations, which, if successful, become employed by later architects. Such imitation leads the original to become traditional; the innovation adds to

An analysis of the architectural elements of a “traditional” church such as St. Jean Baptiste in New York illustrates the connection between innovation and tradition. When did bell towers originate?—the Romanesque period. How about pairing of towers?—even later. We have already seen the origins of the temple pediment and portico which MiSacred Heart Catholic Church, Tampa Florida 1905. chelangelo invented but which Palladio first Photo: Floridamemory.com actually employed in a built work about 1580. And then, what about a church built all out of stone?—that was not the way the early Christians built their buildings. So many of these traditional elements were first innovations. Another example of how innovation can be found in the most canonically traditional buildings is Andrea Palladio’s church of San Giorgio Maggiore in Venice. Palladio employs the cruciform plan—yet this was not the classic solution for the first 800 years of church building. Palladio placed the side chapel within a discrete area. The idea that a side altar, or shrine, et cetera would have its own side chapel constitutes a much later development than early Christian architecture. What about the font— when was the baptistery moved inside the church from its own separate building? Originally, the baptistery was always connected with the cathedral, and it stood out-

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Studying the history of sacred architecture through the lens of originality one can discover much richness. Yet, one can also study these same masterpieces through the lens of continuity and find principles that are timeless and relevant today.

Church of the Risen Savior Environment and Art in Catholic Worship


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side the cathedral. In fact, part of the ritual included the processions from baptistery to cathedral and vice versa. The change to the baptistery as a chapel area of the nave appears very late in the history of architecture.

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they are certainly not requirements and it should not be assumed that this formula was traditional before the twentieth century. What about the disposition of the tabernacle? Those of us that were schooled in liturgy know that the tabernacle was not originally in the sanctuary and we were told by “renovation eager” liturgists that since it was not in the sanctuary we should dispense with it. I think that the post-Vatican II Church has taken stock of its patrimony and we have moved past this silliness—after all, legitimate developments do occur.

Next, within this architectural discussion of innovation arises the issue of sacred art. I get as frustrated as any modernist when I come to a parish and I ask what art we need to include and the response is that Mary must be on the left, Joseph on the right, stations of the cross down the side aisles and a crucifix in the center. Why am I unhappy with this, since after all it is traditional? Certainly it is traditional, but it is not the only way that it has been done and it is certainly not even the way it was done in antiquity. The stations come from the time of the rise of the Franciscans; the Mary and Joseph shrines are very recent, probably introduced by German and Irish immigrants to the United States. Even the crucifix as the center of the sanctuary was not the ancient solution. I employ all these genuinely good elements in my own work but

All of these elements are seen as part of the repertoire of Catholic architecture, and as extremely traditional today. We are most thankful for the artists and architects of the past who sought to innovate or be original and passed on these wonderful solutions. These architects created new motifs, plans or solutions without rejecting the basic ideas of wall and columnar architecture inherited from antiquity. They may have pushed the edges of tradition or even transformed the tradition yet did not seek a break with the past. Tradition is not the enemy of newness or originality—rather, true originality gives the tradition new life.

Image: Jean Baptiste, New York Photo Wikimedia Commons

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Is not the rejection of tradition also a rejection of the originality of the past? Do we wish future generations to reject today’s innovations in the same way as the contemporary architect rejects his forefathers? I think not. It is necessary to harness the architect’s drive to be original for the service of the Church. Why not learn from the great architects of tradition who were each original? If one compares and contrasts one’s own work with these great architects one begins to see the true quality of contemporary architecture.

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The architecture of continuity and tradition is not interested in producing copies, but rather children. Children look like and sometimes act like their parents, for good or ill, yet they remain unique individuals. An architecture of continuity is delighted to learn from examples of the past, to understand the styles and appreciate their consistency. In order to accomplish something as good as or better than the past, one must know its architecture intimately. The traditional architect, if he is original, is not worried about being novel. But on the other hand, he is also not interested in doing an exact archeological reconstruction. Though I do not believe that an archeological reconstruction is immoral, the architect’s goal is to do something greater than a copy or a reconstruction—to give birth to a child. In truth, if archeological reconstruction poses a danger, one could argue that loose precedent study—the opposite of the copy—is more dangerous still. Ignoring the serious study of the Gothic tradition and its richness, an architect may throw some pointed arches together, some buttresses, and some colonnettes and create an architectural concoction that does not hold together. And if the architect decides he would like to be the Frank Gehry of Gothic architecture it becomes scary. How so? Because the architect does not know the language well enough to build something competent, much less original. One has to know the tradition in order to innovate, but to learn the tradition takes time, humility and hard work; habits that seem rather antithetical to novelty. The vast majority of churches that have been built or renovated recently in the United States are caught between the impetus for novelty and the desire of the clients that it look like a church, resulting in neither innovative modernist masterpieces nor competent traditional buildings. In some cases they are just mediocre, and in other cases they are actually schizophrenic. Is mediocrity acceptable? Perhaps for an office building, for a house, for a hospital or even in a school but not for a church. For instance, how do we get away from mediocrity? If one is designing a cruciform plan, one should not try to force the seating into a theatre layout. If one is employing arches, it is necessary to understand how they are 63

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constructed along with the ways they have been used in the past. Continuity with the great tradition can be learned, but it takes hard work. For some architects it is analogous to a conversion. Think about the agnostic or the non-Catholic who grows in knowledge about the Church and eventually falls in love with her, realizing that in her one finds the truth. For architects it is an analogous experience: to grow in love with the Church and her history is also to fall in love with the art and architecture that she has produced down through the ages. And just as in falling in love with a person, falling in love with the Church’s artistic tradition takes time and commitment. So how can architects participate in the great tradition with originality? Here I would like to develop the ideas of the great poet T.S. Eliot in his essay, “Tradition and the Individual Talent,” [2] written in the heat of Modernism during the 1920’s. First of all it is important to develop the historical sense. This historical sense is not only a perception of the “pastness” of the past, but of its presence. The historical sense is the sense of the timeless as well as the temporal. As Eliot notes, the past is present. This is perhaps easier to see in architecture than for the other arts since buildings last beyond one generation. The historical sense compels the architect to design not merely with his own

Image: The Professor’s Dream: C.R. Cockerell Royal Academy of Arts, London

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generation in his bones, but with a feeling that the whole of architecture of Christendom, and within it, the architecture of the United States has an existence. The historical sense is an ongoing conversation, such as is dramatized by Paul Delaroche in the hemicycle in the Salle des Prix at the Ecole des Beaux Arts in which 75 artists of all ages are in conversation. In the center, on the topmost thrones are the creators of the Parthenon, architect Phidias, sculptor Ictinus and painter Apelles, symbolizing the unity of the arts. On the left Palladio talks to the Gothic architect Robert de Luzarches, while another group from different countries listen to the medieval designer of the Duomo in Florence, Arnolfo di Cambio. The different periods, countries and styles are seen here as related by common endeavor. The goal of today’s church architect should be to be part of this conversation. To appreciate an architect is to appreciate his relation to the dead architects. One cannot judge him alone, one must place him for contrast and comparison among the dead. Just as the present is directed by the past, so the past is altered by the present. This means the architect has a great responsibility to the future and also to the past. We are judged, though not amputated, by the standards of the past. When I speak about comparison with the masterpieces of the past I am talking about a comparison in which both past and Image: Hemicycle in the Salle de Prix, Ecole des Beaux Arts by Paul Delaroche present measure each other. This is good to 65

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admit to ourselves because ultimately the future will judge our work by the standard of the works of the past anyhow. Each architect must be conscious of the main current of art and architecture that flows variably through the most distinguished reputations. There is development and refinement but not necessarily improvement or perpetual progress. It is a silly idea to believe that the Byzantine improved on the Early Christian, and the Romanesque progressed past the Byzantine, or that the Gothic took a great step forward over the Romanesque, and then the Renaissance capped the medieval, et cetera. We can appreciate all periods for their particular strengths, but also focus on their continuities and similarities along with other styles. Consciousness of the past takes study. It takes a surrender of the architect to something that is more valuable. The progress of a person is a continual self-sacrifice, a continual extinction of personality. The artist is being called to follow the example of the saints. To reach impersonality the architect must surrender himself to the work. He will only know what is to be done if he lives not only in the present, but in the living presence of the past.

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Image: Blessed Miguel Agustin Pro Juarez By Neilson Carlin Shrine of Our Lady of Guadalupe La Crosse, Wisconsin


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Architects and artists exercise their gifts of creativity and originality for the benefit of the Church and the glory of God. Originality does not have to be an enemy of tradition, but should be in service of tradition. If we are going to express the faith that is ever ancient, ever new we should seek the wedding of originality and tradition not there divide. Thus we can create temples of the Lord that are judged by and converse with great architecture that has gone before and will continue long after we are gone.

Michael F. Tamara


The Right Abstraction: A Balanced Expression of Divinity and Humanity in Catholic Architecture Michael F. Tamara

Endnotes: 1. “Address of His Holiness Benedict XVI to the Roman Curia Offering Them His Christmas Greetings,” Thursday, 22 December 2005. 2. T. S. Eliot, “Tradition and Individual Talent.” In The Sacred Wood (London: Methuen & Co, 1920), 30.

Introduction There seems to be a certain leeriness instinctively felt by many people at the mention of abstraction in the context of sacred art and architecture, which conjures thoughts of distortion or complete disregard for recognizable reality. The automatic equating of the word “abstraction” with such an idea, however, places a handicap on the understanding and perpetuation of Christian expression in the built environment, which has always relied on various degrees of abstraction in order to convey the story at the heart of the faith. When dealing with eternal reality, which is itself an abstract notion because it escapes full human comprehension, the real question is not whether abstraction can call the person into fullness of humanity, but what kind of abstraction best serves to bring the person ever deeper into the fullness of his or her true identity [Fig. 1].

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Michael F. Tamara


Humanity, Says the Church: Expression of Reality through Holistic Abstraction In order to answer the question of the nature of proper abstraction, we must first establish an accurate understanding of the relationship between the physical and spiritual dimensions of the Christian reality, by asking and answering an even more fundamental question: What is the fullness of humanity? When we say we believe in “the resurrection of the body” in the Apostle’s Creed, we acknowledge that, not only do body and soul begin as a unified whole, but they are also, though separated at death, destined to be reunited on the day of judgment, in imitation of Christ. In this manner, the human and the divine are inseparably linked. If this is true, then our understandings of the nature of humanity and divinity are codependent. If we do not know ourselves, then we cannot fully know God, and if we do not know God, then we cannot truly know ourselves and what it means to be fully human.

Fig. 1 Two abstract images, but each originating with a very different purpose. Byzantine Icon (left), and On White II, Wassily Kandinsky, 1923 (right).

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From the very beginning, the Church has taught that each and every human person is a sacred being, created in the image and likeness of the Creator. We may liken the Lord’s original intent for humankind and the world - indeed, for reality in its totality - to a state of perpetual holism. Holism, as defined herein, simply refers to all parts being aware of, and working together in free obedience and acknowledgement of, the whole; living in harmony with God, each other, and all of nature. Man’s eventual desire to be equal with God, and subsequent misuse of free will, caused a fragmentation of the whole, scattering the logic and simplicity of existence into scrambled incoherence. In simplest terms, the fullness of humanity was lost, and its void was filled by a broken and incomplete version of humanity.

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Thus was put into motion salvation history, culminating in the coming of the Messiah. Whereas creation entailed the wrapping of humanity in a mantle of godliness, we can say that salvation was accomplished by the exact inverse: the gracious choice of God to be wrapped in a mantle of humanness in order to wash away sin and open the gates of heaven. Through the mystery of the hypostatic union - that is, the perfect union of both God and man in the person of Jesus Christ the fullness of humanity was restored. As the Son of Man, He is the complete human: the Resurrection and the Life. His Resurrection in a glorified body foreshadows the destiny of all of His followers: body and soul reunited; the prevailing of holism once again. The various effective ways in which this story at the heart of the faith has been, and continues to be, conveyed in sacred art and architecture, all have a critical common starting point: they employ architecture and the visual arts at the complete service of faith, as opposed to trying to force the faith to submit to a predetermined and alien concept. The avenue by which this expression of holism is accomplished, we may call, holistic abstraction. Holistic abstraction takes familiar physical and architectural forms - those which are recognizably “human” - and transforms them only enough to allow them to become higher than themselves; to become glorified; to reach toward the divine. Holistic abstraction is the way the built environment mimics human destiny, in that it begins with the natural and stretches it into the supernatural. As early as the fourth century, we see holistic abstraction already being employed. In the depiction of the bearded Christ in the Catacombs of Commodilla outside of Rome, incredibly limited and primitive imagery is used to capture the entire essence of Jesus [Fig. 2]. The Alpha and the Omega serve as bookends between the figure of Christ with a halo, causing His very human appearance to cross with the divine, and making for a concise representation of the hypostatic union in fresco form. It may seem like a stretch to call this very elementary example “abstract”, but it 71

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goes beyond depicting Jesus simply as He appeared when He walked the earth, hence alluding to the holistic understanding of who Jesus really is. Later in the first millennium, we see the evolution of a style of holistic abstraction called iconography. Icons illustrate particularly well the timelessness of the faith, as many of them bear a striking resemblance to certain “modern” styles of sacred art [Fig. 3]. Icons take basic human forms - those of Christ or the saints - and show them not exactly as they appeared in life, but in the glorified heavenly state in which we believe they now dwell. In a typical icon, only visible body parts such as faces and hands are given depth, with all other areas remaining flat, and drapery often executed in a highly stylized fashion. One is meant to focus on the heads and faces, which is why light seems to emit from within the holy person in an icon painting, rather than being cast upon from without. Fig. 2 Holistic abstraction at its simplest: the essence of the hypostatic union.

When we talk about a building, the bridge between the human and divine should be

Bearded Christ, Catacombs of Commodilla, Rome, late 4th century.

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Michael F. Tamara

Michael F. Tamara


the Gothic style is an excellent place to look, because it emerged chiefly for the essentially holistic purpose of conveying man’s destiny for God. When we look at the jamb figures at Chartres Cathedral [Fig. 4], we see sculpture having become an organic part of the architecture in the form of various saints and angels welcoming all who enter. These figures are not naturalistic, earthly people, but transformed heavenly beings, “humanoid” in appearance as in the icon tradition. In this case, the primary method of holistic abstraction is to take the body and actually stretch it, making the figure far too tall to be believable as naturalistic reality. This, coupled with the lightness of the drapery and the elevated placement of the sculptures makes for a light, floating quality despite their material composition of stone.

Fig. 3

Holistic abstraction providing a “humanoid” appearance with certain areas of the composition that are more literal, and others that are

more generalized. Our Lady of Perpetual Help in two and three dimensions: Eastern-style icon and twentieth-century statue.

just as much of a concern as if we were talking about an actual depiction of a holy person. Sacred architecture should have human qualities that its beholders can subconsciously appreciate, and in turn offer back to God in the form of praise and thanksgiving. To find a clear illustration of this, 73

This idea of vertical elongation extends into the structural architecture of the cathedrals themselves [Fig. 5]. The components of a column in the classical world - base, shaft, and capital - were very respectful of human proportions and sacred geometry based off of the human body. The Gothic builders took the human-like qualities of the classical column, and transformed them like the jamb figures, growing them ever higher and thinner in order to reach heaven. Here, what matters most are lightness, tallness, and bright74

Fig. 4 Hybrids between human and heavenly welcome the faithful. Jamb figures, Chartres Cathedral, Chartres, France, completed 1260.


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ness; taking the human and making it reach for the divine: holistic abstraction par excellence that challenges previously held notions of a building’s limits by organically growing out of what was already familiar. Seventeenth century Baroque churches of the Counter-reformation pushed limits in a different way. Architecture, painting, and sculpture morphed together into a single seamless gesamtkunstwerk, or total work of art in service of a reinvigorated telling of the story at the heart of the faith. Ceilings were ideal places for the expression of the big picture of human destiny, as can be seen in the Church of Il Gesu in Rome [Fig. 6]. Here we see illustrated the epitome of the characteristically Baroque blurring of art and architecture, to the point where we can’t tell where the architecture ends and the painting and sculpture begin. Thanks to a masterful use of holistic abstraction, we are less concerned with the actual shape of the ceiling as we are with what is going on in the center where it “broke open” to reveal heaven. Like the Gothic cathedral, we are called to a higher reality, but Fig. 5 Nineteenth century interpretation of medieval holistic in a very different way, thus illustrating the great abstraction. St. Patrick’s Cathedral, Manhattan, James Renwick, diversity of expression afforded by the proper completed 1879. “attitude” of abstraction. 75

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Fig. 6 Holistic abstraction blending sculpture, painting, and architecture. The Triumph of the Name of Jesus, Giovanni Battista Gaulli, Church of Il Gesu, Rome, 17th century.

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A large-scale model of modern holistic abstraction can be found in the Notre-Dame du Sacre-Coeur Chapel in the Basilica of Notre-Dame in Montreal, rebuilt after a devastating 1978 fire [Fig. 7 & 8]. The bottom two levels, in keeping with the traditional style of the rest of the building, give way to a very modern vaulting system that appears to be levitating over the rest of the architecture, completely unsupported by the columns below. Natural light cascades from around the vault, and bathes a massive bronze relief altarpiece depicting the march of humanity toward God: the theme of which is the very definition of a holistic understanding of the fullness and purpose of humanity. The chapel at once lifts the person to God, and draws God down to the human level.

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Humanity, Says the World: Expression of Reality through Fragmentary Abstraction If eternal life is the destiny of humanity, then those of us in this earthly life are on a journey toward the complete realization of the holism restored by the Paschal sacrifice, but not there yet. When faith and reason are divorced, fragmentation easily eclipses holism once again. What all of the major secular forces at work over the past few centuries have in common, be they philosophical, socioeconomic, or political, is a general tendency toward - if not outright profession of - atheism. Divinity has been deleted; humanity is all there is. The irony in this is that, without God, there really is no such thing as innate human value: fullness of humanity cannot come from humanity, and therefore cannot exist in a godless vacuum. The utter helplessness, anxiety, and fragmentation bred by this disconnection with our true identity have translated into the saluting of depression, hopelessness and pointlessness by putting them into artistic and built form [Fig. 9].

Fig. 7 & 8 Modern holistic abstraction: earth being drawn up to heaven, and heaven raining down on earth. Notre-Dame du Sacre-Coeur Chapel, Notre-Dame Basilica, Montreal, 1982. Sculpture by Charles Daudelin.

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If we call that abstraction which humanizes and tells the story at the heart of the faith holistic, then that abstraction which dehumanizes and resists faith can be called fragmentary, because it is fundamentally disengaged from the larger understanding that human beings are made in the image and likeness of God, and are therefore destined to return to God.

Fig. 9 Encapsulating the subconscious uneasiness and insecurity brought about by forgetting the fullness of humanity. The Scream (1893) and Anxiety (1894), Edvard Munch.

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Michael F. Tamara

Michael F. Tamara


When man begins to sincerely believe he is his own highest authority, reality becomes arbitrary, and those with power can rewrite the rules endlessly to suit their whim. An architectural answer to a glaring twentieth century example of fragmentation and dehumanization is the Jewish Museum in Berlin [Fig. 10]. In this context, the fragmentary abstraction employed is suitable given the terrible historical events it commemorates. The coldness, jaggedness and sharp “lacerations” in the outer shell are evocative of the physical wounds and torture of the Jewish people under Nazi rule, and all the metal faces on the floor represent humanity symbolically being trampled underfoot. Here, fragmentary abstraction is not promoting dehumanization; but rather, is simply serving to tell of a particular instance of acutely brutal dehumanization that occurred as the result of a massive forsaking of the fullness of humanity. Elsewhere, though, fragmentary abstraction often occurs simply because its designers and proponents believe that it actually represents the extent of the human condition. Such a case is the Guggenheim Museum in Bilbao, Spain [Fig. 11]. In as charitable a way as possible, we simply ask: where is God in this? If the answer is “nowhere - we have no need for God”, then we ask: where is humanity? Although there are many pieces of good modern secular architecture worthy of celebration, much of it has become, first and foremost, about existing primarily for the purpose of itself and its authors; with the function of the building and the people who daily use and inhabit it being of secondary importance. Fig. 10

Fragmentary abstraction being used to convey the horror of humanity’s attempted extermination of a sizeable portion of itself. Jewish

Museum, Daniel Libeskind, Berlin, 2001.

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Michael F. Tamara


The puzzlement of many faithful at the appearance of much church architecture of the past half-century cannot be dismissed as resistance to change or mere nostalgia alone, but perhaps is due in part to the very pronounced difference between holistic and fragmentary abstraction being played out in front of them. Fragmentary abstraction, let us recall, is skeptical of the revealed relationship between God and humanity in Scripture and Sacred Tradition, and instead finds the extent of reality in the minds of each individual.

Fig. 11

Fragmentary abstraction for its own sake. Guggenheim Museum, Frank Gehry, Bilbao, Spain, 1997.

Attempts to Apply Fragmentary Abstraction to Holistic Reality Since the Church - though not of the world - lives in the world, it is only logical that fragmentary thinking, if allowed, can enter through a crack in God’s temple, despite the holism of the faith itself. For want of a more nuanced way of putting it, fragmentary abstraction simply seized upon twentieth century opportunities to wedge its way into the Church: first in thought, and then - proceeding logically - in sacred art and architecture. It is not within the scope of this paper to analyze why or exactly how such a thing happened, but simply to point out that it did, and to examine some of the physical consequences. 81

By nature, then, it is often highly subjective and ambiguous, as exemplified in the work of the abstract expressionist painter Mark Rothko [Fig. 12]. Brilliant colors and compositions aside, if one were to ask twelve people what they’re looking at when they view a typical painting, one would get twelve different answers. To see the result of such abstraction applied to sacred architecture, we may look to the Rothko Chapel in Houston, Texas [Fig. 13]. Originally intended to be a Catholic sacred space, we have a prime example of the questions left unanswered by the use of fragmentary abstraction where holistic abstraction is required. The particular manipulation of natural lighting conveys a certain sense of the spiritual, but spirituality alone, when divorced from theology, is an incredibly general and subjective thing. What is the universal story - literally, the catholic story - this space tells? How are we taught about the fullness of humanity we possess as children of God? What we see is complete spiritual otherworldliness at the ceiling level - that is, the disembodied light - without that spirituality personifying itself in any universally understandable way. At the lower level, where we might expect that personification to happen, we instead see large, imposing canvases of solid black. Does this work for the telling of the story of the hypostatic union, in which the great I AM is personified? Do we see a balanced expression of divinity and humanity? 82


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Contrast this with Notre-Dame du Sacre-Coeur: both are modern churches with natural overhead lighting, but with very different results.

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there is little recognizably human dimension through the use of iconography, proportionality, or significant material texture differentiation throughout.

Fig. 14 & 15 Broad daylight and sculptural forms as the main tools to convey the sacred. Jubilee Church of Dio Padre Misericordioso, Richard Meier, Rome, 2003.

Fig. 12 Highly subjective nature of fragmentary abstraction. Number 8, Mark Rothko, 1949.

Fig. 13 1970.

Spirituality detached from theology. Rothko Chapel, Houston, Texas,

An idea of conveying the sacred simply by light and shapes is a theme that repeats through many other examples, one of which is the Jubilee Church in Rome [Fig. 14 & 15]. I happen to like this building as a general piece of architecture, but our topic centers on its effectiveness as a church. Although surfaces washed in light and the consequent shadows produced hint at the spiritual, 83

Aside from the dark traditional crucifix that sharply contrasts with the vast sea of mostly smooth whiteness, where do we see any other elements that call us into the appropriate frame of mind for the celebration of the sacred mysteries? Without that crucifix, we could easily be looking at the interior of a large greenhouse, an airport terminal or train station, or the atrium of an upscale shopping mall. 84


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This certainly was not the effect intended by the architect, but the people in the pews shouldn’t need to worry about verbal explanations if the building itself is didactically strong: if symbolism is not universal - and is therefore ambiguous - it can, and likely will, be lost on the masses. For example, it may not be immediately apparent that the three large curved walls are intended to represent the Trinity. This is because their allusion to the Trinity is not necessarily obvious simply because of their number. After all, we could look at the Sydney Opera House [Fig. 16] and see similar “repetitions of three”, but they obviously have nothing to do with the Trinity or any other theological idea.

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Sant’Ignazio is certainly not one you would see in nature, but it uses natural and recognizable elements in a new and different way in order to express the supernatural. Upon entering the Jubilee Church, we simply see the same thing we saw outside through glass and mullions. Some would call this an unfair comparison, given the radical difference in styles and materials, but it is not about style or material per se. The Baroque ceiling could be replaced with any number of other styles, including modern, that convey the completeness of the Christian story. The comparison of these particular two churches is used simply because it epitomizes holistic abstraction versus fragmentary abstraction as defined herein: in one, we see the supernatural whole; in the other - though the natural sky has an incredible beauty all its own - we nevertheless see only the literally visible piece of that whole.

Conclusion

Inside the nave of the Jubilee Church, what we see when we look up is worth comparing to what we see when we look up in another Roman church: Sant’Ignazio [Fig. 17 & 18]. Which one of these most clearly tells of humanity’s new “lease on life” as a result of the Incarnation and God’s sacrifice for us? As in Il Gesu, the scene of the heavens opening in

Fig. 16 & 17 Which one of these more clearly puts us into the frame of mind to contemplate the fullness of our humanity and our destiny as children of God? Left: Trompe l’oeil ceiling, Andrea Pozzo, Church of Sant’Ignazio, Rome, 17th century. Right: Jubilee Church ceiling.

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The world is full of examples of both holistic and fragmentary abstraction in architecture, and our purpose here has not been to do an exhaustive account, but simply to show that certain abstraction is good and necessary in Catholic architecture in order to perceive the relationship between the seen and unseen. For all that we don’t know about God, there is plenty that we do know, not by virtue of our own senses or assumptions, but through the singular choice of that very God to reveal Himself to us throughout the ages. Our vocation as designers of sacred places, then, is finding the appropriate balance in visual and physical expression between the human and the divine.

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Photo Credits: Fig. 1: Personal collection; http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wassily_Kandinsky Fig. 2: http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Christ_with_beard.jpg Fig. 3: http://www.sanctuaryofhope.org/soh/images/olphelp.jpg ; Personal collection. Fig. 4: http://alfalfapress.com/history/costume/images/1150_chartres.jpg Fig. 5: Personal collection. Fig. 6: http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/6/60/Church_gesu_ceiling_hdr.jpg Fig. 7: http://www.basiliquenddm.org/en/basilica/pictures.aspx Fig. 8: http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1251/866976930_8fd888e226.jpg Fig. 9: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Scream; http://z.about.com/d/arthistory/1/0/Y/p/bem_aic_09_12.jpg Fig. 10: http://www.sacred-destinations.com/germany/images/berlin/jewish-museum/resized/IMG_4018p.jpg; http://upload.spottedbylocals. com/Berlin/normal/jewish-museum-berlin-berlin-(by-herrmann-koenigs).jpg Fig. 11: http://architectcom.files.wordpress.com/2008/12/frank-owen-gehry-guggenheim-museum-bilbao.jpg; http://farm3.static.flickr. com/2029/1802895241_22a9165b10.jpg Fig. 12: http://www.artsender.com/gallery/images/5ro.jpg Fig. 13: http://www.houstonmuseumdistrict.org/default/images/Rothko%2002.tif%20for%20emailing.jpg Fig. 14: http://eternallycool.net/wp-content/uploads/2007/09/church-2000-exterior.jpg Fig. 15: http://image16.webshots.com/17/1/59/25/183315925AFRCnE_ph.jpg Fig. 16: http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/3/38/Sydney_opera_house_side_view.jpg Fig. 17: http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/3/30/Sant_ignazio_ceiling.jpg Fig. 18: http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2517/3886647292_9b1fc388cf.jpg

Sarah Carrig Bond


Depicting the Question as Well as the Answer: What Can Medieval Art Teach us about the Architecture and Decoration of Churches?

Sarah Carrig Bond

This paper will look at the architectural sculpture of a French Romanesque church called SaintPierre de Mozac, or St. Peter of Mozac, in the region of Auvergne in south central France. The interior of the church is decorated with a large number of sculpted capitals which are some of the finest and most beautiful in French Romanesque art. I will discuss what themes were chosen for the sculptures, where they were placed, and how the decoration relates to the overall meaning and symbolism of the church building. I will conclude with some reflections on what medieval art can teach us about church architecture and decoration. The province of Auvergne is located in the southern half of France in an area of volcanic mountain chains. The capital and most well-known city of the region is Clermont-Ferrand, home of Michelin tires. The province is also known for the healing waters of Vichy and other spas. In the

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Middle Ages, the Diocese of Clermont corresponded roughly to the modern province of Auvergne. Though somewhat remote, this diocese was quite significant historically. It was at Clermont-Ferrand in the year 1095 that Pope Urban II launched the First Crusade to the Holy Land. Two sites still famous today were important stops on the pilgrimage routes to Santiago da Compostella in northern Spain, the most important medieval pilgrimage site apart from Jerusalem and Rome. These two sites are Le Puy in the southeast and Conques, just over the border of southwest Auvergne. Auvergne, like many of the provinces of France, is also known for its Romanesque churches. These churches are remarkable for their consistency of style, distinctive stonework, and fascinating sculpture. Henry Hobson Richardson was inspired by the stonework of Auvergne in designing the Romanesque-revival Trinity Church in Boston. The Romanesque sculpture of the region is notable not only for its high quality and consistent themes, but especially for its depiction of subjects from pagan antiquity. The church of Saint-Pierre of Mozac is the best and most representative example of the Romanesque sculpture of Auvergne. It is located north of Clermont-Ferrand, just outside the town of Riom. In 1095, the same year that Pope Urban II began preaching about a crusade to the Holy Land, the abbey of Mozac was made a dependency of the great Benedictine monastery of Cluny in Burgundy. It was in the next decades, during the first quarter of the 12th century, that the Romanesque church was built. It was built on the site of two preceding churches, a Carolingian church in the 9th century and a Merovingian church in the 7th century. One can still see today the Carolingian entrance tower, incorporated into the Romanesque building. Approaching from the north, one notices immediately that the church has been damaged. A massive earthquake in the 15th century destroyed the entire east end of the church as well as the upper parts of the nave. The choir 89

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was rebuilt in the 15th century. With most of the original nave intact and with the remains of the original crypt still accessible, one can envision the original Romanesque church. It probably looked very much like the Romanesque churches in nearby Clermont and Orcival. The main entrance to Mozac is through the north porch. While there is very little exterior decoration, there is a significant Latin inscription, dating from the 12th century, on the outer arch of the doorway. It reads,

INGREDIENS TEMPLVM REFERAT AD SVBLIMIA VVLTVm INTRATVRI AVLAM VENERANSQ[ue] LIMINA XP[ist]I Entering the temple, turn your gaze to the heights; Going to enter his forecourt, and venerating the threshold of Christ.

This inscription, addressed to all who enter, is a profound reminder of the meaning of the building. The church is referred to as a “temple,” evoking the Temple of Solomon, viewed in the Middle Ages as the prototype of the Christian church. The words “aulam” and “limina” suggest that the entire church is Christ’s forecourt or threshold; the words “limina Cristi” refer to the portal itself, which not only marks the entrance to Christ’s forecourt, but itself represents Christ, who said, “I am the door.” The words of the inscription give a sense of movement and remind the worshiper that his passage through the church is like a journey, whose ultimate goal is Christ. Entering the nave of the church, one is struck by the harmony and simplicity of the architecture, with its repeating round arches and simple piers with attached half-columns. The sculptures, 90


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which consist of carved capitals atop the columns, are integral to the architecture, forming the transition from column to arch above. Clearly visible today, they would originally have been painted, and so would have been easy to see. The plants and figures depicted on the capitals conform to the underlying Corinthian structure of the capital and express an architectonic role. The capitals of the nave are sculpted on three sides because they rest on top of half-columns that are attached to the large supporting piers of the church. The capitals from the former choir are four-sided because they stood atop the free-standing columns which encircled the altar. One of the most beautiful and well-known capitals from Mozac is that which depicts the Resurrection. This capital, sculpted on four sides, was originally placed atop one of the eight columns of the hemicycle which surrounded the altar. It is currently placed on a pedestal at the west end of the nave, allowing one to observe its beauty and detail at close proximity. The Resurrection of Christ is portrayed through the story of the three women going to the tomb, as was common in western medieval art. The scenes primarily follow the Gospel of Matthew, with some elements from Mark. On one side we see the three holy women approaching the tomb, each one bearing a perfume jar. The central woman, who looks straight at us and holds her hand up in a gesture connoting amazement, is certainly Mary Magdalene, who was always singled out in the Easter plays. In those plays, as on the capital, she directly addresses the congregation, saying, “We came mourning to the tomb of the Lord; we have seen an angel of God sitting and saying that he has risen from death.”

Sarah Carrig Bond


of the capital we see the sepulcher, depicted as a cross between the Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem and a contemporary Romanesque church, suggesting both a tomb and a sanctuary. Adjacent to the tomb and on the fourth side of the capital are the stricken guards, much taller than the holy women, but rendered powerless by the cataclysmic event. The meaning of the Resurrection capital coincides with its original location in the sanctuary. This is true not merely because the central message of the Christian faith was placed at the “center” of the church, but more than that, the altar is the place where the Resurrection symbolically takes place during the mass. In the Middle Ages, the sacrifice of the mass was understood as a reenactment of the Passion and death of Christ and Holy Communion as a reenactment of the Resurrection. The approach of believers to the altar was understood as signifying the approach to the tomb. This Eucharistic meaning is implicit in the sculpture because of its location. Moreover, the sculpture addresses the beholder through the gazes and gestures of the figures, much as the players in the contemporary Easter plays addressed the assembly, drawing them into the narrative, suggesting that the Resurrection is an ongoing and present event. Its dramatic character corresponds to the dramatic character of the liturgy, in which each time the believer experiences the event anew.

The second face of the capital shows the angel seated on the edge of a sarcophagus, his feet resting on its lid. He gestures with one hand in greeting toward the women, while with the other he points to the tomb behind him. The angel also looks out towards the beholder as if to tell us the good news, again mirroring the role of the angel in contemporary Easter plays. On the third face

Like the Resurrection capital, the other capitals from the sanctuary focus on Christ, but in a less direct manner. One shows the Four Evangelists, depicted unusually as four angels holding scrolls inscribed with texts from each of the four gospels. The angel-evangelists are placed at the four corners of the capital, displaying their scrolls to the viewer like banners. Like the angel on the Resurrection capital, they are presenting us with the good news. The theme of the four evangelists was very common in medieval art. Whether depicted on a manuscript page or in the pendentives of the vault of a church, they always accompanied and supported the figure of Christ.

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Thus their placement in the sanctuary at Mozac suggests the presence of Christ, both in the eucharist and probably in a painted image in the choir vault above, as was true at Cluny and many other churches. Another capital shows an unusual scene from the book of Revelation: the four angels holding back the earth’s four winds in preparation for the Sealing of the Elect and the Adoration of the Lamb (Rev 7:1-14). This capital was found in 1983 in the wall of the rebuilt choir of the church when the choir stalls were removed for restoration. The four “wind-angels” stand at the four corners of the capital, three of them holding the horns that represent the blowing wind. Each angel grasps the mouth of a crouching man, an unusual way of showing them stopping the winds from blowing. Like the angel-evangelists capital, this scene normally accompanies a scene of Christ in Majesty, either as the Lamb in Glory or the Resurrected Christ. Like the evangelists, the four winds are one of the quaternities, or groups of four, that accompany the divine; thus both of these sculptures imply the presence of Christ without showing him. The last two capitals which remain from the original sanctuary are at first glance completely different in subject. They each show four figures usually referred to as “atlantes”—male load-bearing figures, here grasping vines or fruit which dangle from the vines. The men are nude and the vines grow from between their legs, covering their bodies like loincloths. These sculptures in a startling way bring themes from pagan antiquity into the sanctuary with the Christological subjects. But while it has no basis in Scripture, this type of figure is commonly shown supporting the heavens in medieval depictions of Christ. In particular, atlantes are supporting figures in architectural settings, mediating between elements of the architecture and also between the human and the divine. Thus, they too suggest the presence of Christ in the sanctuary. 93

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While the atlantes at first seem out of place near the altar, with its focus on Christ, they are closely linked to the sculptures in the nave of the church, which are almost exclusively derived from pagan antiquity. There are 43 engaged capitals in the nave. Of these, 16 are purely foliate and 27 have figures or heads, often within a foliate setting. The subjects depicted include men astride vines, genuflecting men grasping vines, masks in foliage, dragons, centaurs, birds with foliate tails, winged victories bearing shields, griffins flanking a chalice, and men riding goats. These subjects are beautifully carved, with great attention to detail. They are of the same level of quality as the sculptures of the sanctuary and clearly made by the same workshop. Notable features of the these capitals include deep carving, figures conforming to the underlying structure of the Corinthian capital, an expressive use of symmetry and asymmetry, and a play between realism and fantasy. But perhaps the most striking characteristic is what one scholar has called “the astonishing symbiosis between the animal and vegetal worlds.” Not only are human and animal figures placed in foliate settings, but they are intertwined with vines, grasping fruit, or seated on leaves; tails become plants; beards merge with acanthus. An interesting combination of man, animal, and plant is the goat-riding motif. The goats themselves have plant tails and beards; one man riding the goat carries a flowering branch and the other grasps the goat’s flowering tail. Man, goat, and plant are connected and even merged. On one of the capitals of genuflecting men grasping vines, a hand emerges from the ground and grabs the ankle of one of the men. What the sculptors seem to be expressing is a continuum within nature, between plant, animal, and human being, all of which are interconnected in multiple ways. But these interconnections do not appear static; rather it is as if the architecture of the capital is animated by living forms, exemplified by the hand which emerges from the ground to grasp the man’s ankle. In some cases, the conception seems almost animistic, as when tiny heads emerge at the tips of plants. Whatever 94


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the underlying conception, the appearance is of living nature animating the architectural form of the capital. The human figure stands out clearly, but is part of this continuum. But why were these particular subjects chosen for the nave of Mozac? The themes come from the repertoire of ancient Greek and Roman sculpture, but close study of the capitals shows a more specific link to imagery related to Dionysos, or Bacchus, the ancient god of the vine. This derivation is certainly true for subjects such as centaurs and men riding goats, which clearly have a Dionysian character; but many details included with the other subjects indicate that they too have a Dionysian cast. These details include the panther head between two birds, the masks in foliage, the mask-idol between the two victories, the griffins flanking a chalice, and the child-king with acanthus branch riding a goat. The abundant and precise references to Dionysian mythology show clear purpose on the part of the designers of the church. The nave sculptures as an ensemble seem to show the pagan past—the time before Christ. Together with one scene from the Old Testament also in the nave, the sculptures represent humanity and nature awaiting the redemption that came through Jesus Christ, the “true vine,” who gave new meaning to the old imagery. That these subjects are so emphasized and even lovingly portrayed shows that Christianity was not seen as negating or simply replacing what came before, but as fulfilling or redeeming it. The pagan imagery at Mozac takes on a deeper meaning because of its location with respect to the Christological imagery of the choir. With this understanding of the church, passage through space represents the passage through history. Christ’s presence at the altar redeems all of history, as it redeems all of nature.

Sarah Carrig Bond


meant to “tell a story” or instruct. Its first role is liturgical. Integral to the architecture, it expresses and participates in a living reality that is embodied in the sacred space of the church building. Like the liturgy, the decoration expresses something happening in the present and addresses the believer, calling forth a response. Through its beauty, its content, and its placement within the building, the art of the church expresses and gives greater meaning to the sacred space. The second observation is that medieval art did not leave anything out in its depiction of salvation. It depicted the question as fully as the answer. Images of the pagan, of sin, and of the violence of man and nature were not only included, but made the presence of Christ in the church more meaningful and thus more alive. The Dionysian imagery at Mozac, for example, gives greater significance to Christ as the “true vine.” The human and the pagan past were not censored but were viewed as part of the path towards Christ, who is the goal. This is interesting to consider in light of modern church decoration, which tends to focus almost exclusively on the answer— Christ, Mary, and the saints—without explicitly showing the question—human sin, nature, and the need for Christ. Put another way, medieval art included that which Christ came to save. By including this, medieval art expresses a certainty that Christ makes new all of the world and all of history. This certainty, and the resulting breadth of imagery in medieval churches, is one of the great lessons of medieval art.

I would like to conclude with some observations about what we can learn from medieval art concerning the architecture and decoration of churches. First, medieval art is not primarily didactic. While often referred to as “the Bible in stone,” medieval sculpture is only secondarily 95

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Erik Bootsma

Symmetria, Order & Complexity, Definiteness Erik Bootsma

Erik Bootsma


of what beauty is in the same way, and if we consent to the manner in which beauty acts upon things, the understanding of how beauty operates within the realm of music will give us a fuller understanding of how it also operates in the realm of architecture. Now music, being an incredibly mathematical and logical art, had from the ancient Greek philosophers up until Alberti’s own time, a tremendous amount of theory written about it, from what had traditionally been attributed to Pythagoras, to Boethius and the renaissance theorists. So drawing upon what both the ancients said about music, on to even our own contemporaries today will shed light on what beauty is in architecture and how we might be able to create such beauty for the Church today.

In his work the Ten Books on Architecture, the renaissance architectural theorist Leon Batista Alberti wrote that when one wants to compose a beautiful building that one can look to the composition of music as a guide. He wrote:

“[I am] convinced of the truth of Pythagoras’ saying, that Nature is sure to act consistently . . . I conclude that the same numbers by means of which the agreement of sounds affect our ears with delight are the very same which please our eyes and our minds.”

Alberti is making a statement about the nature of beauty, that as a natural thing (meaning the nature of the universe), beauty acts in the same manner on similar things, and those things would be music and architecture. Alberti is convinced that music and architecture partake in the essence 97

The intent of this presentation today is to make clear the underlying common aesthetic principles that apply to both music and architecture that are the cause of deeming such arts “beautiful.” Now I do not propose to provide a complete and comprehensive definition of beauty, but leaving that discussion to more qualified philosophers, I intend rather to only look at the principles to be found in this one particular manifestation of beauty. First, we must start with a good definition, incomplete as it may be of that infinitely debatable and elusively grasped word, beauty. We may learn from applying this definition and other things said about beauty to our subjects of music and architecture. Aristotle, writing in the second century BC wrote in his Metaphysics that “The most important kinds of the beautiful are order, symmetry, and definiteness.” This definition of beauty, or rather these three kinds of beauty, I will use for a basic discussion of how music and architecture are related and how they are beautiful. 98


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Erik Bootsma


[It is worth mentioning that many of these terms are often times used interchangeably and in different senses often by the same authors. I will endeavor as much as possible to maintain a consistency of definition, nevertheless, due to the metaphysical nature of these concepts at times, some overlap and mingling of ideas will occur]

Boethius says that:

Symmetria

To be commensurate, to have common measure then is a quality that makes a ratio, (a comparison of low and high), a consonant ratio. The consonant ratios that Boethius speaks of are indeed the same ones that Alberti referred to when he spoke of the numbers “by means of which the agreement of sounds affect our ears.” These ratios were discovered by Pythagoras to be the basic building blocks of the musical scale, namely 2 to 1 (the octave), 3 to 2 (the perfect fifth), and 4 to 3 (the perfect fourth).

I would like to begin with the second of Aristotle’s terms, symmetry, as it is more foundational as a concept to the others. Vitruvius in his Ten Books of Architecture defines symmetry as the following:

Symmetry … is the appropriate harmony arising out of the details of the work itself; the correspondence of each given detail among the separate details to the form of the design as a whole.

Symmetria, which literally translates as “the same measure” is identified as having a harmony of the details of the complete work. Symmetria is not meant here to be simply the notion of bi-lateral correspondence of one side of a building to another (though it does not exclude it in any way), but is rather a more general term for the “fitting together” of things. Another word used by Vitruvius to speak of “the same measure,” is the Latin word “commensus.” Commensus, is a word that Boethius, the Roman philosopher writing two centuries after Vitruvius, uses to define consonance, thus tying together this notion of symmetry to a concept often used in music.

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Consonances are necessarily to be found in those comparisons of low and high, which are commensurable with each other, that is which have a known common measure, as for example in multiples…

These intervals which are identified by all of the ancients as the most consonant of ratios were praised by the ancients as being the most pleasing. Boethius says consonant ratios fall on the ear and are able to make in the mind a unity. That unity is possible because of their commensurability is comprehensible to our mind. Boethius states that we praise the octave because of the simplicity of its understanding:

.. one has to pass judgment – as in the ear, so also in the reason – which among all conso nances mentioned by us earlier ought to be deemed the best. For the ears are affected by sounds and the eye by a sight in the same way in which the judgment of the mind is affected by numbers or continuous quantity. For, given a number or a line, nothing is easier than to contemplate its double with the eye or the mind. 100


Erik Bootsma

Erik Bootsma


It must be stated that ratios assigned to the musical intervals, (the same ones that are recommended by Alberti for architectural composition) are not simply an arbitrary notion, but are in fact very real and present within the wave forms of musical notes, they are tangible and concrete.

On the other hand, consonant sounds, the constituent parts are not lost in the chaos, but rather create an new pattern, different from both parts, but remaining internally consistent and creating a unity.

Looking at the wave patterns of the musical ratios we can see what Boethius meant when he said that consonance is a “concord of different tones whose combination is a sort of unity.” Consonant sounds are able to combine with each other to create a new, different consistent wave form. The new wave form is consonant because it has a common measure between the two parts.

This is the concept of symmetry,that each part “fits together” and is commensurate in such a way that the human mind is able to count or grasp the concept as one single unity. In the musical ratios, the octave, fifth and such, one finds such a unity, the symmetry, to be both pleasing to both the eye and the ear.

The key here is that the mind is able to perceive this commensurability, although it is not by a conscious counting that we perceive. As Leibniz says “music is counting performed by the mind without knowing it is counting.” As one goes up through the different intervals towards a notion of dissonance, the less one finds commensurability in the number of the common measure between the notes. In other words, the common measure between the notes becomes literally more and more difficult for the ear to “count” the number of the interval. Dissonant sounds, do not combine in any way, creating a pattern that is not at all discernable, and one that takes a relatively immense period of time to repeat. The minor seventh, (the most dissonant interval) repeats the resultant pattern only after sixteen periods of the smallest constituent and only repeats its pattern after 464 times the smallest common measure 1. Moreover, because of the constituent parts of dissonant sounds in a very real way become lost in the chaos of the resulting wave pattern, so rather than creating unity, the sounds “confusedly mix with each other.”

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Order and Complexity Aristotle’s first criteria of beauty, is that of Order. Order is simply the arrangement of multiple parts in a coherent arrangement. St. Thomas Aquinas and Vitruvius define this part of beauty to be proportion. Proportion is the relationship of at least three things, whereas symmetry or consonance can be thought of simply the relation of two magnitudes, or a simple ratio. Order or proportion is best thought of as a ratio of ratios. Vitruvius says that:

Beauty will be had, when the works will have a pleasing and elegant appearance, and the commeasure of the parts have just proportions of symmetry.

The commeasure, the consonance of the parts, which themselves are symmetrical, will as well be ordered towards the “just proportions of symmetry.” In other words the beauty exists where the parts of the whole composition are ordered according to the principles of symmetry, consonance 102


Erik Bootsma

Erik Bootsma


and commensurability. It is not enough that something has symmetry, such as we might find in a single element, a door, or window, but it rises to the level of beauty when the whole, when the symmetrical parts are then arranged amongst each other in that same symmetry.

This is one of the most pleasing things about the music, that even when the complexity increases, the intelligibility of the order does not diminish, but remains and is pleasing to the mind to recognize this order. Dr. Molly Gustin writes that

In a musical composition each note has a consonance not only with its immediate neighbors, but also those consonances also have a relation to each other in an analogous way, giving each note a relationship to the whole. In music, the keys, composed of the seven notes of a scale, are related to another key in the same ratio that notes are to each other. In music this is the key change, and in architecture we see this in the relation between minor and major orders.

The greater the quantity of different pitches of the composition which possess a single common measure [consonance or commensus], the more tonal is the music.

In music it is clear that because each part is not only consonant with its parts surrounding it, but also to a set of proportions in a particular set, but furthermore related to the composition as a whole, this gives the entirety of the composition an intelligibility in the same way that each individual consonance is intelligible. So each note, no matter how far from the beginning of the piece, has a clearly defined and knowable relationship to the very first note of the composition. Vitruvius recognizes this when he says that “symmetry is the appropriate harmony arising out of the details of the work itself, the correspondence of each given detail among the separate details to the form of the design as a whole.” Here we see that order builds upon the foundation principle of symmetry.. A sign that this order is coherent and apparent is that when we listen to a piece of music, even if we have never heard it before in our life, and a musician plays a wrong note, we immediately know that it is wrong. It is a wrong note because it does not fit within the order of the whole, the order established by consonance, carried throughout the whole piece and one that is recognizable to the mind. 103

And the more tonal the music, the more beautiful it is.

Definiteness Definiteness is the quality of something that allows the thing to be grasped in its entirety in the mind. Aristotle in the Poetics explains definiteness saying:

“That which is beautiful, whether an animal or any other thing which is composed of a number of parts, should have not only these parts [properly] ordered but also a magni tude, and not any chance magnitude. Indeed, beauty exists in magnitude as well as in order;”

What he means is that the mind has a limit to its comprehension, which is the ability of the mind to “get itself around” a subject. If something is too large them mind cannot possibly know it,

“For the visual grasp of it and of its parts does not take place simultaneously, so its unity and wholeness are lost for the viewer.”

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Erik Bootsma

This definiteness, this comprehension, is important when he talks about the necessity of a poem or any work of art to have a beginning, a middle, and an end. Obviously this relates to order, but moreover it relates to how the work has a beginning and end, such that the thing has limits. If a thing has limits it is fundamentally understandable, the human mind can grasp it. In philosophy we speak of a “definition” of a thing when we want to understand it, and to define is to conceptually place a limit to the meaning of a thing. To define something is to comprehend and understand that thing, and as I said before the comprehension of the underlying rationality of symmetry and of the order are the reason why we call these things beautiful, so definiteness too is a necessary condition for beauty.

What all of these properties of beauty have in common then is that in each of Aristotle’s components, the mind is able to acquire a certain sort of knowledge of the beautiful thing. Now knowledge is clearly the source of where we delight in the beautiful, as both St. Thomas Aquinas and Aristotle confirm. Aristotle who states: “Man by his nature desires to know,” and

Similarly, St. Thomas who says that


delight [pleasure being key to learning here] in things duly proportioned, as in what is like them – because the sense too is a sort of reason, as is every cognitive power.

In each of these qualities of beautiful things, symmetry, order and definiteness, a certain sort of knowledge is gained of the beautiful thing,. However, beauty is not simply a knowledge that can be learned from principles, but it is related to the manner in which we come to know the underlying principles of the beautiful. Certainly the composer or the architect knows the principles of composing a beautiful sonata or building, but the common man, who has no skill in those principles can still derive enjoyment from the hearing or gazing upon such arts. Aristotle confirms our suspicion that knowledge is the key to this pleasure saying:

Conclusion

Erik Bootsma

… beauty relates to a cognitive power, for those things are said to be beautiful which please when seen [or heard]. Hence beauty consists in due proportion, for the senses 105

“the reason for this enjoyment is that learning is pleasant—indeed most pleasant—not only for the philosophers, but similarly for other men also…”

So the manner of knowing the beautiful must be distinct from the way we come to know through argument, bur instead it comes through the simple comprehension of the thing. Speaking of simple consonance, the mind knows that the numbers of the pitches belong together, “counting without knowing it is counting” and in the same manner it knows the order of the piece. The mind, therefore, comes to know things simply through the senses. When St. Thomas stated that beauty lies in the eye of the beholder, it is not that beauty is somehow subjective, but rather that in the eye, the rational order of the beautiful is able to be comprehended and understood.

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Erik Bootsma

The critical factor of beauty is that it is a way of knowing that all of mankind as rational beings are able to comprehend. Man is able to comprehend the order, the knowledge of the hierarchy of music and architecture in an infintitely simple way. St. Thomas in his Division and Method of the Sciences says that this belongs to the faculty of the intellect. Intellect first contemplates a truth one and undivided and in that truth comprehends a whole multitude.

Erik Bootsma


A final thought about beauty is that beauty, and the way of knowing that it is, is a truly divine way of knowing. I believe it is not a coincidence that Vitruvius uses the word venustatis for beauty. Given that there are a number of other Latin words he could have used, (Formosa, species, pulchra) he uses the word that brings forth the image of the goddess Venus. He chooses this word to evoke that image of a divine sort of desire for knowledge and beauty. So too, our word beauty is also not coincidentally used for our Christian vision of that divine happiness that we have in the “beatific vision” where we know God as he knows himself.

The mind through listening to the piece of music, or seeing the beautiful building sees and comprehends the ordering, the symmetry and is able to comprehend the fullness of the thing, all at once. This does not mean that the music or the architecture are somehow heard or seen all at once, but that the rational order of the thing is comprehended at once. Again, the example of the sour note tells us that even before the music is finished we know where things should be. Perhaps this is why in so many modern buildings we have a hard time finding the front door, whereas as classical building the door is where we expect it to be!

St. Thomas again says:

St Thomas further states that “intellect comprehends a multiplicity in unity,” meaning that it at once can see the causes of all the myriad effects through a simple cause. In the music and architecture as we have stated over and over, it is the rational ordering of the whole to the principles of consonance. Here we may be able to define beauty as then related to intellect as such: Beauty is the comprehension or understanding of complex things by a simple means.

Intellect first contemplates a truth one and undivided and in that truth comprehends a whole multitude, as God, by knowing his essence knows all things.

Angelic minds have the power of intellect in that they understand truths in a unified way.

This is because the angels, as being closest to God, are closer in being to Him than we are, but we as humans are not inferior in this way of knowing, because we too have this intellect and through beauty see in this way because:

Beauty is in a sense a taste on this earth of heaven.

This is what makes the beautiful so delightful, it is that we come to know things in such a simple way, and things which are indeed extremely complex. It is a great gift, to be able to see and comprehend and enjoy knowing with so little effort. 107

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Delgado-Orusco & Fernández-Cobian



Looking for a New Tradition: Transformations of the Spanish Religious Architecture on the 20th Century Eduardo Delgado-Orusco & Esteban Fernández-Cobián

Entre el Dogma y el Espíritu de los Tiempos

No cabe duda de que toda arquitectura es una reflexión del hombre sobre sí mismo y sobre su manera de estar en el mundo, y por lo tanto, un hecho cultural con unas consecuencias rastreables en la conciencia de los individuos y las sociedades. Por eso, cada sociedad se puede reconocer por su arquitectura. Pero las sociedades cambian y la arquitectura también.

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La idea de que los tiempos cambian arrastrándolo todo a su paso, es una idea típicamente romántica vinculada a sentimientos de fatalidad y de destino, que tiene difícil acomodo en la concepción cristiana del mundo. Y sin embargo, la invocación al ‘Zeitgeist’, al espíritu de los tiempos, ha sido una constante en la justificación de la arquitectura religiosa del siglo XX.



La Tendencia Española Hacia el Surrealismo Juan Daniel Fullaondo ha sido uno de los críticos que más ha utilizado el surrealismo —entendido aquí genéricamente como lo absurdo, lo extraño, lo insólito, lo ridículo o lo extravagante— como clave hermenéutica para la comprensión de la arquitectura española de la Modernidad. La fascinación del español por lo onírico —que podría ilustrarse con el inacabado templo expiatorio de la Sagrada Familia de Antoni Gaudí (Barcelona, 1886/ss)— es heredera de la inmensidad de la meseta castellana y del sol inmisericorde que cae sobre ella, provocando alucinaciones y espejismos; del sentimiento trágico de la vida que se refleja en las corridas de toros, la fiesta nacional; pero también de un catolicismo formalmente muy arraigado en la sociedad y a menudo mal entendido, o simplemente no comprendido en absoluto. De hecho, el proverbial anticlericalismo español, el gusto por el requiebro que intenta equilibrar con el humor las amarguras de la vida, o la suplantación provisional de la personalidad, tendrían su máxima expresión en el carnaval.

La constitución apostólica ‘Sacrosanctum Concilium’ se propuso establecer el marco adecuado para «adaptar mejor a las necesidades de nuestro tiempo las instituciones que están sujetas a cambio —la arquitectura, por ejemplo— (...) y así unir nuestras voces al admirable concierto que los grandes hombres entonaron a la fe católica en los siglos pasados» (§ 1 y 123). El problema para la arquitectura religiosa surge cuando las corrientes de pensamiento cambian demasiado rápido o son poco menos que gratuitas. Porque la arquitectura religiosa, más que cualquier otra, tiene una dimensión simbólica, alude a unas creencias, y en el límite, a unos dogmas. Así pues, nos podríamos preguntar: ¿Cómo armonizar las distintas tendencias culturales con los elementos permanentes del dogma católico sin desvirtuar los edificios de culto? Parece que esto es lo que se quiere analizar en el presente congreso. Sin duda el problema es complejo, pues abarca muchas disciplinas y sus ramificaciones nos llevarían demasiado lejos. Con esta comunicación sólo intentaremos explicar lo que ha sucedido en España durante el siglo XX. Explicar cómo la aspiración a crear una nueva tradición que se adecuara al espíritu de los tiempos en el campo de la arquitectura religiosa, a menudo colisionó con la terca realidad física de un territorio fuertemente determinado por la geografía y el clima, y con la obstinada realidad psicológica y cultural de sus habitantes. Para ello nos apoyaremos en algunos ejemplos que nos permitirán aludir a otros tantos temas que trufaron el debate: el intenso debate sobre la construcción del espacio sagrado en la España del siglo XX. (1) 111

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Obsérvese, por ejemplo, el caso del Seminario Conciliar de San Miguel (1931/36), construido por Víctor Eusa en Pamplona en el momento de excepcional virulencia antirreligiosa que caracterizó la II República española. Ante la prohibición de levantar cruces en los edificios, Eusa diseñó toda la fachada en forma de cruz, haciéndose eco de un proyecto anterior de Casto Fernández-Shaw, titulado Templo-rascacielos ‘La Cruz Soñada’ (1930).

Este surrealismo entendido como ‘modus vivendi’ se explicita en la literatura, en la pintura o en el cine, desde Francisco de Goya a Salvador Dalí, (2) y también en la arquitectura religiosa. 113

El surrealismo nos va a permitir conectar los intentos de encontrar una nueva tradición, un camino válido por donde acometer, sin demasiado esfuerzo, una arquitectura religiosa correcta y generalizable, adecuada al espíritu de los tiempos y que pudiera evolucionar con aquél. En la España del siglo XX se pueden rastrear al menos tres intentos: el recurso ideal a la arquitectura eterna; el recurso al arcaísmo como 114



nuevo punto de partida; y el recurso al contexto entendido como entorno natural y cultural. De las tres tendencias, la primera es clásica, la segunda moderna y la tercera orgánica. Todas albergan cierto grado de ruptura, y se podrían organizar mediante el esquema dialéctico hegeliano: tesis, antítesis y síntesis. Comencemos por el principio.

Primera vía: Idealismo



dotado, Moya reclamó durante toda su vida unas pautas claras para construir la casa de Dios, pero no las encontró. Una arquitectura de ese tipo no podía estar al albur de las modas, de los movimientos artísticos —pensaba—, al menos de manera absoluta. Obviamente debería poder incorporar los avances tecnológicos, dar respuestas ajustadas a los mil problemas que la construcción de los grandes espacios religiosos plantea en cada momento histórico, pero sin dejarse determinar por ellos. Por ejemplo, Moya combatió la inmediatez constructiva —uno de los presupuestos básicos de la Modernidad— contraponiéndola a la buena educación, a la cortesía, que lleva a la arquitectura a ofrecer una cierta variedad de registros según sean las circunstancias.

Uno de los primeros proyectos de Luis Moya —el llamado ‘Sueño arquitectónico para una exaltación nacional’ (1939)— nació en las trincheras de la guerra civil española. En él se observa una iglesia dedicada a la memoria del héroe desconocido, formalizada mediante una arquitectura de difícil catalogación, tal vez surgida de un sueño febril, que mezcla elementos egipcios y romanos con otros absolutamente modernos, y que anticipa el movimiento metafísico italiano. Esta línea de trabajo no tendrá continuidad en su trayectoria, aunque sí se encontrarán retazos en su producción religiosa posterior. Arquitecto erudito y extraordinariamente 115

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El determinismo formal de la técnica moderna no le convencía, y menos aún para la arquitectura religiosa. Por eso, en la que tal vez sea su obra maestra, la iglesia de San Agustín (Madrid, 1945/59), Moya buscará en la forma elíptica una síntesis planimétrica entre el espacio central perfecto y el espacio basilical direccional; y simultáneamente, vestirá esa forma con una fachada complejísima, que presenta en sociedad el espacio que se ha conseguido crear. Llega así a constituir un corpus doctrinal ilustrado con siete u ocho iglesias cada vez más depuradas, con el que suplir aquél código que insistentemente reclamó a la Santa Sede y a los obispos españoles. Pero Moya, a pesar de toda su influencia, no consiguió equilibrar la fuerza del ‘espíritu de los tiempos’ en España. Demasiado intelectual para unos y demasiado aferrado a la tradición para otros, su legado sólo sería recogido muchos años después por un discípulo indirecto, Rafael Moneo. La lectura que Moneo hace de la historia del templo católico en la catedral de Nuestra 117



Señora de los Ángeles (1996/2002), la docilidad con la que asume las indicaciones eclesiásticas, la manera de ajustarse al programa y de hacerlo evolucionar sin apenas violentarlo, todo eso ha sido aprendido de Moya. Pero simultáneamente, las huellas de la tradición surrealista se pueden rastrear allí: una planta que superpone fachada y ábside; un aparcamiento y un cementerio bajo la nave que escapan al control del arquitecto —lo mismo que los tres elementos litúrgicos principales, altar, ambón y sede—; y especialmente, la imagen que proyecta en la autopista, que remite indudablemente a Fernández-Shaw.

Segunda vía: Arcaísmo Claro que Moneo prefiere vincular su obra a la basílica de Nuestra Señora de Arantzazu (Oñate, 1950/55), un edificio que marcó, sin duda, el inicio de una nueva arquitectura española. La Modernidad se entendía entonces como arcaísmo, como el grado cero de la cultura desde donde podría fundamentar una nueva tradición. Dejando aparte la dimensión política de corte independentista que en su momento se le quiso dar, el encanto del sitio, la potencia de las formas y los reparos de la Santa Sede para aceptar un programa iconográfico ciertamente novedoso para la época, convirtieron el proceso de reconstrucción de este antiguo santuario mariano en una suerte de itinerario iniciático para la arquitectura española, un largo e intenso ejercicio lleno de dramatismo romántico donde las fuerzas 118





de la naturaleza se fundían con las energías de la violencia artística propias del informalismo abstracto. (3)

A través del dinamismo doble o de luz en fuga de color -cuyo único ejemplo fue la iglesia del teologado de Alcobendas (Madrid, 1955/60), Fisac duplicó este efecto añadiendo una gradación cromática en la luz. Pero el programa de este templo era demasiado específico, y se necesitaba una solución más generalizable. Surgió así el concepto de ‘muro dinámico’, es decir, la disposición ininterrumpida y envolvente de un muro curvo y liso que produce un deslizamiento instintivo de la mirada hacia el altar. Este efecto se equilibraba con el muro opuesto, de textura rugosa. El mejor ejemplo de este sistema fue la iglesia parroquial de La Coronación de Nuestra Señora (Vitoria, 1957/60), sin duda, otra de las obras maestras de la arquitectura española contemporánea.

Aparentemente, la obra de Arantzazu no tuvo seguidores en España. Decimos ‘aparentemente’ porque hay una costumbre ridícula —pero muy arraigada— entre los arquitectos españoles de no reconocer paternidad alguna. Miguel Fisac, por ejemplo, nunca aludió a Arantzazu para referirse a su arquitectura religiosa. Durante los años cincuenta, este arquitecto provocó una auténtica revolución. Una revolución que consistió en prescindir de cualquier imposición formal preestablecida en la arquitectura sagrada para empezar a reflexionar desde cero, de tal manera que la forma de las iglesias sería una consecuencia directa del uso del espacio. Inventó así un nuevo concepto, ‘el dinamismo’, que desarrolló con sus tres variantes: la convergencia de muros, el dinamismo doble por geometría y color, y el muro dinámico. En la iglesia de Arcas Reales (Valladolid, 1952/54), el dinamismo se conseguía mediante la inclinación en planta de los paramentos laterales desnudos, la elevación del techo y del suelo hacia el altar, y un aumento gradual de la intensidad lumínica hasta llegar a un presbiterio inundado por la luz. 119

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Tercera vía: Contextualismo

La variante arcaica de Fisac también terminó en un relativo fracaso. Durante muchos años su obra se leyó como la obra de un creador muy personal que había conseguido interesantes hallazgos plásticos, pero no como una vía de profundización en la tradición arquitectónica cristiana. Sin embargo, últimamente han comenzado a aparecer arquitecturas cuya filiación parece clara y que prefiguran, si no una nueva tradición, al menos una vía proyectual utilizada de hecho, lo cual no es poco. Debido a la popularidad que el arquitecto volvió a disfrutar durante los últimos años de su vida, la elementalidad de su obra se ha convertido en un referente, y la sencillez —casi ingenuidad— de su planteamiento teórico vuelve a resultar muy atractiva para los arquitectos jóvenes, como Martín Lejárraga y otros (Capilla de Los Camachos, Cartagena, 1995/2002). (4)

Resulta incuestionable que tras el Concilio Vaticano II, los espacios de culto se hicieron en España más modernos y polivalentes. Las relaciones entre los asistentes y el celebrante cambiaron, o al menos así se quiso ver. El propio Fisac, después de estudiar el tema con diversos liturgistas, sentenciaría: «Se acabó el dinamismo: ahora lo que hay que hacer es un corro». (5) Pero también conviene señalar que, al desaparecer el modelo tradicional de iglesia por considerarse anticuado, comenzaron a surgir arquitecturas gratuitas y grotescas, de dudosa adecuación litúrgica. Además, brotó rápidamente un sentimiento de euforia y un afán renovador global, que se tradujo en el convencimiento de que cualquier cosa era susceptible de ser cambiada. Por eso, en poco tiempo la renovación de la arquitectura religiosa perdió gran parte de su interés, y los esfuerzos de modernización se aplicaron a campos relacionados con la sociología o la pastoral social, cuando no al propio dogma. 121

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Pero Torreciudad es ante todo, una iglesia tradicional, en el mejor sentido de la palabra. Su interior es una gruta, un espacio románico, pero también un alarde estructural casi gótico. Y su retablo, puro barroco. El programa chocó frontal e intencionadamente con muchos aspectos de una renovación litúrgica convertida en moda: el sagrario situado en el centro del retablo, el presbiterio muy elevado con respecto a la nave, la disposición lineal de los fieles, el comulgatorio corrido... Ante la incomprensión manifiesta de la Iglesia española, los promotores tuvieron que explicar la disposición interior como una evolución de la arquitectura tradicional aragonesa. Pero durante muchos años Torreciudad fue una rareza, una excentricidad, un ejemplo extemporáneo e impublicable, incluso en el ámbito eclesiástico. Hasta tal punto, que en algunas guías turísticas se llegó a decir que la presa de la central hidroeléctrica que se había construido a sus pies, se había alicatado en azul para realzar el paisaje, por otra parte, verdaderamente magnífico. La imagen de Torreciudad volvió a aparecer veinticinco años más tarde en la iglesia de Nuestra Señora de Caná (Pozuelo de Alarcón, 1997/2000). Construida por Fernando Higueras Díaz, un polémico arquitecto de la misma generación que Dols, tal vez sea el ejemplo más consistente de lo que debería ser hoy un nuevo templo, si se ha de juzgar por la afluencia dominical de fieles que registra. Aquí la voluntad inicial del arquitecto se sometió

El santuario de Nuestra Señora de Los Ángeles de Torreciudad (Heliodoro Dols Morell, El Grado, 1963/75), tal vez el último templo moderno de cierta importancia realizado en España, se construyó en ese momento. En una primera aproximación, su característica más relevante parece ser el notable eclecticismo del lenguaje empleado. En efecto, el patronato promotor se negaba a asumir los excesos de la confusión formal imperante tras la crisis del Movimiento Moderno, pero tampoco se deseaba una postal turístico-folklórica, sino una arquitectura nacida de la tierra, de la cultura y de las costumbres locales. Por expreso deseo de Josemaría Escrivá, fundador del Opus Dei e impulsor de la iniciativa, (6) Dols se dejó empapar por la arquitectura popular de esta zona montañosa, para posteriormente filtrarla en el característico tamiz wrightiano-expresionista de su generación. Se trataba de materializar, a través de una arquitectura moderna no excesivamente datada, ese deseo de armonía, de orden y de tradición que poco después, Kenneth Frampton popularizaría bajo el título de ‘regionalismo crítico’, pero que algunos años antes ya se había intuido en diversas iglesias construidas para los Poblados de Colonización. 123

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a la del párroco, su sobrino, que le pidió una arquitectura que fuera claramente reconocible como religiosa, poniendo expresamente a Torreciudad como referencia. Y así lo hizo. Sin embargo, se podría objetar que en este caso el lenguaje no responde en absoluto al contexto —Pozuelo es una ciudad-dormitorio de la periferia de Madrid—, sino que se persigue construir un monumento, una imagen. ¿Dónde está la lógica de todo ello? ¿Estamos ante un nuevo caso del proverbial surrealismo español o asistiendo al nacimiento de una nueva tradición constructiva?



Y por otro, la denominada ‘catedral’ de la Virgen del Pilar en Mejorada del Campo (Madrid), autoconstruída con material de deshecho desde hace más de cuarenta años por el agricultor y ex-monje Justo Gallego, y famosa, entre otras razones, por haber protagonizado un spot de la bebida refrescante Aquarius. (7) Todo ello se nos antoja poco menos que absurdo. Pero lo más sorprendente del caso es que estas dos obras han sido las únicas piezas de arquitectura religiosa española que se han expuesto últimamente en el MoMA neoyorkino. (8) Por eso, pensamos que es necesario que en España, la Iglesia católica vuelva a plantearse con rigor y seriedad el fomento de una nueva tradición arquitectónica. ¿Debería ser la arquitectura religiosa, entonces, una arquitectura más de promotores que de arquitectos, como reivindicaba hace algunos años el cardenal de Milán, Carlo María Martini? (9) Tal vez.

Epílogo Quisiéramos terminar nuestra intervención citando dos arquitecturas insólitas que pondremos como ejemplo de la desorientación general de nuestro país en la actualidad. Por un lado, la capilla construida en su casa de campo por Manolo Sanchís, jugador de fútbol del Real Madrid (Juan Carlos Sancho y Sol Madridejos, Valdeacerón, 1997/2000), el espacio religioso español más publicado durante los últimos años. 125

Porque no podemos olvidar que la arquitectura es un medio fundamental de evangelización en todos sus niveles —de uso, cultural y mediático—, y que su modernidad o su arqueologismo, su calidad o su desidia constructiva, su proyección hacia el futuro o su nostalgia del pasado, constituirán las señas de identidad de cada comunidad de creyentes.

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Endnotes:

Pies de foto: Fig. 01. Antoni Gaudí, Templo expiatorio de la Sagrada Familia, Barcelona, 1883 ss. Fig. 02. Gustave Doré, Don Quijote de La Mancha, 1863. Fig. 03. Salvador Dalí, La Última Cena, National Gallery (Washington DC, USA), 1955. Fig. 04. Víctor Eúsa, Seminario Conciliar de San Miguel, Pamplona, 1931/36. Fig. 05. Casto Fernández-Shaw, Templo-rascacielos La Cruz Soñada, 1930. Proyecto. Fig. 06. Luis Moya, Sueño arquitectónico para una exaltación nacional, 1939. Proyecto. Fig. 07 y 08. Luis Moya, San Agustín, Madrid, 1945/59. Fig. 09. Rafael Moneo, Catedral de Nuestra Señora de Los Angeles, Los Angeles (EEUU), 1995/2002. Fig. 10 y 11. Luis Laorga y Francisco Javier Sáenz de Oíza, Santuario de Nuestra Señora de Arantzazu, Oñate, 1950/51. Fig. 12. Miguel Fisac, Los tres estadios del dinamismo espacial, 1952/60. Fig. 13. Miguel Fisac, Capilla del Colegio Apostólico de los PP. Dominicos, Valladolid, 1952/54. Fig. 14. Miguel Fisac, Iglesia del Teologado de los PP. Dominicos, Alcobendas, 1955/60. Fig. 15. Miguel Fisac, La Coronación de Nuestra Señora, Vitoria, 1957/60. Fig. 16. Martín Lejárraga, Capilla de Los Camachos, Cartagena, 1995/2002. Fig. 17 y 18. Heliodoro Dols, Santuario de Nuestra Señora de Los Ángeles, Torreciudad, 1963/75. Fig. 19. Fernando Higueras, Nuestra Señora de Caná, Pozuelo de Alarcón, 1997/2000. Fig. 20. Juan Carlos Sancho y Soledad Madridejos, Capilla privada, Valdeacerón, 1997/2000. Fig. 21. Justo Gallego, Nuestra Señora del Pilar, Mejorada del Campo, 1961/ss.

Todas las imágenes están libres de derechos de autor.

1. La arquitectura religiosa española del siglo XX ha sido insuficientemente difundida más allá de nuestras fronteras, a pesar de su riqueza y su variedad. Arquitectos tan cruciales como Luis Moya o Miguel Fisac apenas son conocidos fuera de nuestro país. Ni tampoco personajes como fray José Manuel Aguilar o como Mons. Luis Almarcha. Los textos básicos apenas citan nuestro país, y las revistas L’Art Sacrè, Chiesa e Quartiere o Das Münster hacen lo propio. 2. Precisamente, el cuadro de Salvador Dalí «La última cena» (1955) se encuentra en la National Gallery de Washington DC. 3. «Llovía la primera y hasta hoy última vez que fui a Arantzazu (…) El paisaje se mostraba de un tono verde clásico y la lluvia producía veladuras grises (…) Después aparece en mi memoria la iglesia, brillante en un mundo húmedo, mineralizada (…) Recordando hoy aquella experiencia y viendo las fotografías del edificio, se comprende que la arquitectura alcanza en ciertas ocasiones la categoría de la intemporalidad y se desprende de los patrones del estilo o las posibles taxinomias». Salvador Pérez Arroyo, «Los arquetipos de Sáenz de Oíza», El Croquis, 32/33 (1988), pág. 203. 4. También se podría citar a Antonio y Javier Ruiz Barbarín (capilla para de los padres jesuitas en Navas del Marqués, 1998/2000) y a Andrés Perea (iglesia parroquial de Santa Teresa de Jesús, Tres Cantos, 1981/90), si bien en este último caso el primitivismo ya ha mutado hacia una cierta sofisticación. 5. Miguel Fisac Serna, «Mi arquitectura religiosa», Conferencia inédita pronunciada en la Escuela Técnica Superior de Arquitectura de la Universidad de La Coruña el 13 de enero de 1996, y transcrita por Esteban Fernández Cobián. 6. Para agradecer a la Virgen su sorprendente y repentina curación, una vez desahuciado por los médicos cuando tan sólo contaba con dos años de edad, desde 1956, promovería la restauración de esa ermita perdida en las montañas. Sin embargo, la idea inicial fue adquiriendo con el tiempo la forma de un amplio santuario, cuyo programa quedó integrado por una iglesia, un centro cultural, un centro de formación para la mujer, varias casas de formación espiritual y otros servicios complementarios. 7. Cf. www.youtube.com/watch?v=lklfXqZYLkc&feature=related. Video subtitulado en inglés. 8. Cf. «On–Site: New Architecture in Spain» (2006). Exposición comisariada por Terence Riley (www.moma.org/

visit/calendar/exhibitions/86).

9. Cf. Giuseppe Arosio, «Chiese nuove verso il terzo millenio. Diocesi di Milano 1985-2000», Electa, Milano, 2000; pág. 152.

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Henry Hardinge Menzies

What Makes a Church Catholic?



The Protestant was not a believer but intellectually he understood : If that is Christ Himself there, He deserves all our profound love, worship and adoration. His name is Immanuel....God-withus....and He is with us literally in His Church....not the Church in general.... but in every Catholic Church where Mass is said and there’s a tabernacle. And that is what makes a church Catholic and different from other Christian churches. Other churches may have great music, great sermons, great prayers, great art and architecture [and many certainly do] .....but they do not have Jesus Christ really and truly present. They do not have the Eucharist. He is present in the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass...which is the re-enactment of Calvary....in Holy Communion and in the tabernacle.


For over two thousand years the Catholic Church has been a sacred place of worship for millions of people. It has been a place of Sacrifice, of Presence and Glory where we Catholics go to worship Him, to attend Holy Mass, confess our sins and partake of the other sacraments....the most personal acts a person can perform throughout life. And central to it all is the Eucharist. The late Pope John Paul II reminded us that the Church has always felt the need to “celebrate the Eucharist in a setting worthy of so great a mystery.” Some years ago a Protestant was visiting for the first time a Catholic church with a Catholic friend. After entering the front door, the Protestant expressed admiration for the beauty and warmth of the decor and architecture. He noticed that at the far end there was a “table” that appeared to be placed in a prominent position. Over the table was a crucifix and on the table was a gold box with candles on each side. The box appeared to be the focal point of the decoration. He turned to his Catholic friend and asked, “What’s in that box down there on the table ?” The Catholic answered, “That box is called a tabernacle and we believe that Jesus Christ Himself is really, truly present in that box.” Stunned silence followed. Then the Protestant said, “If I believed that, I would go down that aisle on my knees !”

Unfortunately over the past 30 years a number of churches, newly built or renovated, have not been “worthy settings” for the Eucharist. Some have been down-graded and trashed to the point where they are hardly recognized as Catholic at all. Today many Catholics who come to church looking for God are disappointed and dismayed because He doesn’t seem to be there anymore, and they ask: “What happened to the glory ?” The mystery has been lost. They find it difficult to find the tabernacle, disappointed in the bare, white walls and dearth of any paintings or statues. They seem to be entering an auditorium, a commercial mall, or a warehouse devoid of all devotion or sacred ambiance....anything but a Catholic church. And many are just plain ugly, the word Mike Rose used in his book, “Ugly as Sin”.

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Along with other architects, I have been specializing in church design for many years in an attempt to try to rescue the Eucharistic inspiration from this unfortunate trend in the design of new and renovated churches. On a positive note, I have proposed four major “causes” for all this down-grading along with a few simple but do-able architectural solutions: 1. The Lonely Table 2. The Wandering Tabernacle 3. The Blank Wall 4. The Lost Art

The Lonely Table. After Vatican II when the altar was removed from the ‘back wall”, it stood alone and naked in a large space without the support of any inspirational artwork on the back wall. It emerged as simply a three foot three inches high table with a few candles to keep it company. It could be made of any material and of practically any size...but it was still just a table....a lonely table of not much importance except when it comes “alive” at Holy Mass. Many old churches simply left the old highly decorated altars against the back wall and put a wooden table out in front. The problem is how do you give the lonely table the nobility it deserves since it is, comparatively, a small object, dwarfed by its relationship to the large space surrounding it ? Of course you can always design more beautiful altars. One historic solution is to place a “covering” or “roof ” over the altar to proclaim its importance. This can be done in two ways, either by using a “tester” [a canopy suspended from the ceiling above the altar] or a “baldachin” [a canopy supported by four columns]. Certainly there are other solutions but this one can add significantly to the grandeur of the Altar. 131



The Wandering Tabernacle In pre-Vatican II days, the tabernacle sat in splendor on top of the altar which was against the back wall [or Reredos with all the artwork.] When the altar was pulled away from the wall, the question became: where do you put the tabernacle ? This question has probably caused more problems and confusions than anything else. The fact is that after being “liberated” from the altar we’ve had the problem of the Wandering tabernacle looking for a place to settle. In some churches it has simply been left on the old altar and this is probably fine. However, in some it’s located in a recess in a side wall or in a column. In others, you can’t even see it, it’s out of sight. In others it’s parked in a small closet, apparently “out of the way”. In others its still in the Sanctuary but in a secondary location to the left or right. This apparent “down-grading” of the tabernacle goes completely against the General Instruction of the Roman Missal (2003, no.314): “The Most Blessed Sacrament should be reserved in a tabernacle in a part of the church that is truly noble, prominent, readily visible, beautifully decorated and suitable for prayer.” However, in many churches the tabernacle is not placed in a prominent location, much less beautifully decorated. Some are frankly quite ugly. This random placement gives the impression that it is of no more importance than the ambo, the baptismal font or the organ. Is it any wonder, then, that many people are unaware of Christ’s presence in the tabernacle? Many pass in front of it without any sign of recognition (a simple bow or genuflection). This general loss of devotion to the Eucharist has been noticed by many. One bishop is quoted as saying: “ We have all experi132





enced a lessening of devotion to the Eucharist, a loss of the sense of the Real Presence; the sense of the sacred has suffered. I can’t help believing that placing the Eucharist in a separate chapel, often hidden and often small, is part of the reason we have a crisis in belief in the Real Presence..... out of sight, out of mind is what has happened.”

in the most conspicuous place in the church. Everything was together, all eyes were fixed right there. But when the altar moved forward, the tabernacle relocated and the wedding cake ripped up...nothing was left except a white, blank wall and just maybe, a lone single cross, or if lucky, a crucifix.

It is true that one solution is a separate chapel. This is a good solution for cathedrals or large churches. However, in most churches there is not enough room and consequently the tabernacle must be located in the Sanctuary. If it is to be conspicuous, I think the best solution is to locate it on the axis of, and directly behind, the free-standing altar [as is done when it is left on the old back altar] since it stands to reason that anything located on the axis is important, and conversely, anything off the axis is of lesser importance. If the tabernacle is off the axis (on the right or left), what object do you place on the opposite side (assuming the laws of symmetry) for balance?....the lectern, the font, a flag, a potted palm? Certainly nothing in the church (besides the altar) is more important and to place it off-center is to downgrade it.

The barrenness of this dominant blank wall...which used to contain inspirational artwork no matter the style....mitigates against any sense of the sacred. Most people, I think, sense that something should be there. This is affirmed by the fact that flags, banners, organ pipes, potted palms or posters are installed to relieve the bleakness. Obviously none of these is capable of producing a sense of the sacred. The story is told that in the early days of the “liturgical renewal” in Germany, a new church as built in which all the walls were painted dead white. When asked about this treatment, the architect replied that the white “showed the immensity of God”. Unfortunately today many people are forced to gaze at blank walls which are much more likely to serve as TV screens on which to project images from wandering minds bored with the ceremony rather than raising those minds to God.

The Blank Wall

The Lost Art

When you’re at Mass, you’re facing a “back wall” behind the altar. In pre-Vatican II, this back wall, sometimes referred to as the Reredos or ornamental screen, being a highly visible area, was ordinarily filled with all kinds of art work [oil paintings, Crucifix, marble statues of Our Lady and the saints, light fixtures, candles]....depending on the style of the church. In many Gothic churches they had enormous marble, wedding-cake structures which dominated the entire wall. All this served the useful purpose of unifying altar, tabernacle and reredos and placing everything

When all those statues, paintings and artwork were removed, practically all other artistic works followed and were also removed. Many churches were left with little or no art except maybe a crucifix. Some had only a bare cross. Most artistic representations of the passion of Our Lord disappeared. Statues of saints, with devotional candles in front, were removed. At the same time “modern” art came in and what did come in was so abstract that it fails to inspire any kind of devotion. Bereft of any inspirational art in the church or saints to pray to, it follows that the private devotion

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of believers is bound to suffer. This is not to say that all “old art” was good art or inspirational. Much was sentimental, candy-cane, schlock art to some but it did demonstrate the deep devotion of the faithful....a devotion which they are now denied. On the other hand, not all new art is bad just because it’s new or modern...but so much of it is so abstract or banal or so secularized to the point of being ugly and morally offensive. [As an aside, I certainly consider myself a “modern” architect who’s approach to new materials and innovations is certainly modern but I also have a great appreciation and affection for the rich architectural heritage of the past which we ignore at our peril.] As far back as 1977, Pope Paul VI :

Abstraction and the Architectural Imagination

“The Story at the Heart of Faith – Can abstraction call the person into the fullness of humanity?”

“As for those who, in the name of misunderstood creative freedom, have caused so much damage to the church with their improvisations, banalities and frivolities.....we strongly call upon them to keep to the established norms...”

The solution is that we need good art in our churches as Pope John Paul II told us in his Letter to Artists: “....the Church needs Art. Art must make perceptible...and as far as possible...attractive, the world of the spirit, of the invisible, of God. It must therefore translate into meaningful terms that which is in itself ineffable.” Beautiful art requires talented artists and certainly there are many talented artists in this country capable of doing excellent work. They should be paid a normal, professional fee, and their personal devotion should not be exploited. Some of our best artists seem to be employed to produce for the Internet, Mac Mansions and Disney Worlds and our churches are left with barren walls and mediocrity. These are only four areas of concern...of course there are many others.....but if we architects push ahead on these, we should be able to produce Catholic churches which are, in the words of John Paul II, settings worthy for such a great mystery.....the Eucharist. 135

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Working Definitions: Contemplation/Contemplative Imagination: The total imagination involving all of our faculties— thinking, feeling, remembering, hoping, believing, perceiving, abstracting, conceiving and interpreting. It is the conditional ground for our reception of reality, and hence truth, thereby leading us into the fullness of our humanity. Analogical: Proceeding according to a proper proportion or measure. It is the principle of unity in difference between the part and the whole, the particular and the universal, essentia and esse, becoming and being, the finite and the infinite, where the contraries are so integrated and mutually dependent and informing that to preference one to the expense of the other is to distort the way we contemplate, create, and live in the world. 136


Joel Pidel

Response: The titular question as it relates to architecture, specifically sacred architecture, possesses a rather enigmatic character because architecture is an essentially “abstract” art, at least in any strict use or “icon”ic sense of the term. In fact, “abstraction” in a certain sense is precisely the power of the imagination that renders the entire creative artistic enterprise possible. Thus, defining its usage and meaning as it is more narrowly evidenced in architecture will constitute the first part of this presentation, highlighting examples of the types of architectural abstraction realized in built works. Following this, I will suggest that abstraction thus defined, in light of the Christological form given to the world and the specific purpose of sacred architecture in realizing this form, is too limited and narrow to “call” the person into the fullness of humanity, at least if the invitation is understood to be a definite, concrete one (imitation of Christ) in which the voice doing the calling adequately represents the fullness of life which it is drawing the person into. Instead, I will submit that contemplation as exemplified in the Spiritual Exercises of Ignatius Loyola, is in fact the proper “noia” of the architectural imagination, and that this “noia” is typified by the analogical imagination manifest in the dramatic event-structure of traditional architectural forms.

Joel Pidel


At the risk of oversimplifying and generalizing traditional abstraction for the sake of being succinct, I would suggest that traditional forms of “abstraction” remain predominantly inspired by, and expressive of, natural forms and causes; that is, they are representative of the analogical imagination. Thus they share many broad similarities reflecting their common dependency on the human form, natural scales, harmonies and proportions, and a belief in a divinely ordered cosmos made intelligible in and through creation. In short, all these traditional forms demonstrate architecture as the art whereby man-- as a relational-rational being-- manifests, orients, and transforms his relationships with God, his neighbor, and creation through the built world. Here the source of their similarities or unities also becomes the summit of notable differences, namely by the result of divergent understandings of human nature, the nature and representability of God, or the human person in relation to the Divine and natural forms of the world. Its degree of abstraction is proportioned to the entire contemplative imagination. Hence its abstraction is subsumed within and reliant upon a total contemplative receptivity to analogical forms of creation and inspiration from the divine muse(s). It is a world, as CS Lewis states, where contemplation of nature gives meaning and context to our understanding of God, and thus one where “art imitates nature” teleologically and analogically, not simply mimetically.

Abstraction is not the exclusive province of modern art in general or architecture in particular. It enjoys its proper place in both the eastern and western traditions. However, there are essential differences within these traditional forms of abstraction, and furthermore between modern abstraction and traditional abstraction. These distinctions depend on differing worldviews, either implicitly or explicitly, more than mere stylistic preference, and hence the aesthetic concern is actually one of theological provenance. In Balthasarian terms, it is a question of theological aesthetics.

Modern abstraction manifests a paradigmatic shift from the traditional emphasis on analogical forms and images to abstracted mental concepts as the locus and terminus of the architectural imagination. Here I believe the modern transition in abstraction demonstrates a rational reductionism on the part of the architectural imagination analogous to that which was pointedly assessed and analyzed by Fr. William Lynch, SJ, in his book “Christ and Apollo”. This reductionism comes in three forms: the “indefinite imagination” (my term), the “univocal imagination” and the “equivocal imagination”, none of which correspond with or reinforce our experience of the real world.

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The indefinite imagination is usually characterized by simplified forms which preference an “atmosphere” that hints at but never fully develops a formal grammar of ornament, detail, scale, or refined proportional relationships that properly contextualize the whole. In many cases the indefinite imagination implies a purposeful “blurring” or simplification of traditional architectural forms in an attempt to give an aesthetic “impression”. It is concretized metaphor, as opposed to true analogy. By this, I mean that the indefinite imagination represents “like-ness”, a derivative image that can never stand as representative of any seminal form itself. Since the general or universal is only found instantiated in particulars from which they are then abstracted, not the converse, it is only the actual precedent from which these forms are being abstracted that give rise to the “impression” which the abstracted forms are attempting to replicate or allude to; hence, for example, an attempt to realize general “gothicness” will only end in failure unless it is an attempt to be truly gothic in all of its particularity. Example: Ave Maria Oratory (images) vs. traditional gothic churches. The univocal imagination is not plagued by the same generalization or vagueness of imagination endemic to the indefinite. In fact, it is absolutized unity, as old as the philosophy of Parmenides. The univocal imagination arises from the rational impulse for abstracting, organizing, and unifying, which can be a powerful logical tool for the architectural imagination in creating points of mental coherence that become intelligible in the architectural experience. The power of the univocal imagination reduces the whole to a singularly essential but ultimately narrow point of reference as the seminal idea from which the whole is originated, resolved, and measured. The parts are externalized and instrumentalized in relation to the whole, admitting of no apparent integration except as unrelated features. The whole work is thereby able to be viewed from a single point whose reference and meaning actually lie just outside of the architectural image, as if imposed from above, as opposed to embedded within it and revealed by a process of unfolding 139

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through time and space. Hence the architectural experience is reduced to a rational grasping of a concept, symbol or a “meeting of the minds” of the viewer and the architect from a vantage point of an “idea” that is above/behind/around the architecture itself. In so doing it precisely delimits the nature of the vision and admits of no further vision. It can only and ever be a sign rather than a symbol, a signature key but never the whole symphony. As Lynch states, “while its forms are “certainly the clearest or the most defined representations of human cognition, as images or points of identification with the real, they are the most distant, the most shadowy of all human modes of intelligence.” Example: St. Josemaria Escriva Shrine, Mexico. The “equivocal imagination”, as the converse of the univocal imagination, evinces the opposite tendencies to emphasize differentiation or separation to the exclusion of unification. It is absolutized difference, or the equivalent of serial music. To its credit, its emphasis on the absolute particularity and individuation of elements grants the forms a powerful autonomy whereby any attempt to reduce the architectural experience to a particular instance or moment or some essential point outside of the present is thwarted. Every experience thus becomes unique and unrepeatable. However, in its attempt to avoid any visible unifying factor, the result is a created world in which discrete parts never amount to an intelligible whole, a creative equation written only with variables, and no constants. It posits a universe without unified meaning, or rather whose meaning is precisely that there is no final meaning, only localized subjective meanings, because it lacks a center through which its gyrated forms hold together, no unifying feature to resolve the points of dissimilarity into an ordered or teleological pattern of experience. It is an imagination haunted by the ghosts of Descartes, Darwin and Schoenberg. Example: Any Gehry building, or potentially Los Angeles Cathedral. At the heart of these modern abstractions is the worldview that opposes contraries as contradicto140


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ries, that sees the world of ideas, signs, and concepts rather than concrete forms and images as the source for transcending the finite, where the rationalizing aspect of the imagination is preferenced over the total contemplative imagination, of which abstraction is only a part. As such, abstraction can only reveal or appeal to a partial reality. In every attempt to resolve these tensions of existence into either of the two poles of being—essentia or esse, unity or difference-- the proper relationship between the finite and infinite in the architectural image is distorted-- hence, the actual theological nature of what is often seen as merely an aesthetic concern. The resulting forms which are given for our imaginative consumption are signs, rather than symbols, which are closed to the reality they are meant to signify, either delimited by the concept of the mind that conceived them, or unable to find the whole that would bind their disparate, unrelated meanings into a meaningful unity. The analogical imagination accepts that the paradoxical tension at the heart of our existential condition is not a problem to be resolved but is the very source of our creativity whose tension must be maintained so as to avoid a reductionism into the extremes of abstraction just delineated. It reinforces our natural experience of the world as constitutive of images and patterns that cannot be reduced into an either/or: either an absolute unity or multiplicity. In traditional architecture, what are known as the “orders” are in fact the realization of this analogical imagination, a conceiving of architecture, like existence and life itself, as proceeding according to a pattern whose unity emerges from a series of individual parts with their own measure, scale, and proportion even as they provide the same to the whole. The whole and the part interpenetrate so completely that one cannot be conceived or understood without reference to the other except to the distortion of both, and it is contemplation, rather than abstraction, which by its very nature avoids this dichotomy. Here space and time become the locus for the unfolding of the relationship between the finite and the infinite. Musically, it is symphonic. 141

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It is the unique contribution of Christianity that this precise response to any attempt at a reductionist abstraction is “analogized” at the very heart of faith. For the scandal of the Incarnation demonstrates the choice between the universal and the particular, the abstract and the concrete, the finite and the infinite, action and contemplation, essentia and esse, to be a false or illusory one. Theologically speaking, this is evidenced in that any reductionism of what von Balthasar terms the “concrete universal” Christological form results in heresy, for it cannot be abstracted except to its distortion. The Christological form is not primarily an appeal to our “rational faculty” (ratio) as in abstraction, but rather to our entire imagination (intellectus). Recognizing this, the reception of the Christological form by our imagination, and subsequent imitation, constitutes the heart of St. Ignatius Loyola’s spiritual exercises, as we are called to put on the “noia” of Christ. This is achieved through grace by calling the imagination to proceed according to a proportion (analogically) through the entire procession of Christ’s life –words, silences, deeds, images-- as it is presented in the gospels. This contemplative procession ultimately reminds us that every point of the finite is open to the infinite. And if the two can and do fully interpenetrate, then the old maxim that art imitates nature (in the analogical sense) can be more profoundly understood and restated as art imitates grace perfecting nature. The role of art thus becomes a visual safeguard of gratuity over-against every functionalism or reductionism or essentialism, a continual reminder that everything is gift, and that our every response should be one of gratitude (for art is essentially a response of gratitude for creation arising from a love of beauty). It is here that sacred art and architecture are to called to bear specific witness by calling the individual and the community to a universal act of gratitude in the imitation of the Christological form through the highly personal, specific, ritualized form of the liturgy. For sacred architecture, the analogical imagination reveals that the premise of our gratitude and the ground of our liturgical action is our creaturely-ness, and the recognition that it is only 142


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through this finitude that we come to the infinite. All theology, all imagination, all prayer, for which the liturgy is the source and summit, must begin with that simple realization: “I am not God, I am not my own creator, I did not create the world”. Proceeding according to the analogical mind, the scholastic dictum called the “analogia entis”, formally defined by the 4th Lateran Council, posits that no matter the similarity between creator and creature, the dissimilarity remains greater. Thus, there must be a balance between unity and difference expressed in sacred architecture, and yet a difference which is overcome not by a unity that destroys our nature, but one that elevates and perfects it while allowing each to remain “other”. Because this unity does not destroy our nature or work outside of it, only an architecture whose forms reinforce and “imitate” the way we experience reality according to our nature as a unified pattern of diverse relationships, or a proper event structure, can draw us into that which their forms are attempting to express. It is only here that we can fully participate in the continuation of creation that makes us at home in the world because it is a world created according to the nature of man as God’s image and likeness. This balance is finally, intelligibly achieved when the architecture leads us not into conceptual truths and abstracted ideas, but rather into a state of simultaneous intimacy and distance proportionate to the relationship between creator and creature which is experienced as reverential awe-when we are not grasping God, but being grasped by Him.

Stephen P. Szutenbach


Quotidian Pilgrimage Stephen P. Szutenbach

For architecture, and by extension for the fine arts, this means that abstraction by itself cannot fully manifest the Christological form given to the world. In the end, such abstraction represents either an escape into, or a limited correspondence with, the top of the head, and thus it can only give the world half a Christ – the half without His Heart. In the tradition of St. Ignatius Loyola, it is the analogical imagination typified in “contemplation” rather than “abstraction” which should guide the architectural imagination if such an imagination seeks to extend and transform the Church in the image of Christ and the world rather than their abstraction.

The thought of rising before the sun never much appealed to me. The rector at the seminary, however, never saw fit to ask my thoughts on the house schedule; so it was that I spent four years of my life willing myself out of bed for pre-dawn Morning Prayer. The more ambitious (read older) brothers of the community set the example, getting up an hour or more early so they could rightly (technically) and prayerfully reflect on the office of readings prior to the morning’s communal rites. Other, less disciplined (read younger) brothers, such as myself, emerged from our rooms just minutes before the invitatory intonation. The dormitory at the seminary took the form of a long, thin wing that connected perpendicularly to the chapel at the tower, which, in turn, acted as a joint. As each of us groggily surfaced from our rooms, hair still shining from frantic wet downs under sink faucets and cassocks half unbuttoned, we dazedly began our quotidian pilgrimage: the hallway, our own Camino de Compostela, serving as our spiritual journey, and the Chapel our Shrine, where, in one voice, our common entreaty rang out: O God come to my assistance. Lord, make haste to help me.

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The quotidian pilgrimage is the consequence of life’s relentless search for meaning and purpose – life’s search for the sacred. In the seminary or a similar monastic environment this search takes the form of obedience – an act of surrender to a will larger than yours in the hope of synchronizing the patterns and rhythms of your life with those of the transcendent. This milieu quite naturally lends itself to the realization of life as a daily pilgrimage, as almost every action, every space, and even the mere act of moving through the day is ritualized. The comparison in the secular world is not quite as fluid or direct, but this does nothing to diminish the pursuit. While the lived experience is quite different, the motivation of both the lay person and the monastic is much the same: a yearning for a place that holds within itself “inexhaustible funds of otherness.” Essentially, we are seekers, seeking to belong, seeking to love and be loved, seeking our place in this beleaguered existence. In this seeking, our hunger and thirst for that which transcends the quotidian bursts forth, dependably finding fault with our daily tedium. It is this seeking that has led and still leads people to leave their homes and journey to far off places with the hope that they will find that which eludes them. It is a seeking for a place within the ubiquitous placelessness of the world. Historical pilgrimages sought to pay homage, worship, or seek forgiveness, healing or favor from God; the modern pilgrimage, however, exhibits not only a yearning for the transcendent, but also a dissatisfaction with the complete spaces in which we often find ourselves, propelling us toward “perpetual departure.” (2) Michel de Certeau speaks of modern life as a “perpetual pilgrimage”(3) in which we all, “with the certainty of what is lacking, knows of every place and object that is not that; one cannot stay there or be content with that.” This signals a crisis of place in which even in the environments we create for ourselves fail to become particular, individual, or meaningful. If it is our houses, offices, gyms, grocery stores and churches that define our spaces, then it is these same spaces that fail to define our place. The dearth of place in modern life is the source of our 145



restlessness, for it is the source of the relentless urge to displace ourselves and the inescapable personal impression of displacement. Even in the daily journey so common to the modern man, the commute, are found traces of the pilgrimage. In looking at the definition of the word commute, we find a transformational element; as a transitive verb it connotes a change, an altering, or a conversion as can be seen from its latin root mutare, (meaning “to change”), and from which we also derive words such as mutate, immutable and mutual.(4) Yet the very idea of commuting is one that carries with it an inherent dissatisfaction with place, and perhaps also an inverted notion of pilgrimage. As a modern phenomenon, commuting implies a desire to be somewhere other than where we toil to make our life’s work. The suburb is a daily escape from one place to another. In a very real sense, the home becomes an attempt at an approximation of the shrine of this daily pilgrimage. It is poor substitute, for in attempting to escape from the homogeneity and tedium of the everyday and the non-places of our menial lives, we run to tract homes strewn along arbitrary lines drawn on a map. We find ourselves to be pilgrims sojourning daily from non-places¬ toward non-places, and back toward that which continuously leaves us wanting and yearning for ‘not this.’ This absence of an axis mundi, of grounding empties the quotidian pilgrimage of its ontic efficacy. What lacks is a place of transcendent permanence – places of repose. In primitive times, these were found through the sublime views from mountain tops, the womb-like enclosure offered by the cave and the grotto, the natural expanse and shelter of the forest, or the sheer monumentality of monolithic geologic objects such as Devil’s Rock. In the absence of such natural phenomena, we recreated them: the artificial mountains at Giza and the man made caverns held within them; the womb-like crypts of early Christian constructions; the towering tree-inspired columns of Gothic cathedrals; and countless steeples and minarets that serve to orient the quotidian pilgrim. 146



In the past, prior to the industrial revolution, the archetypal agrarian town was grounded by the stereotypical town square, which, in turn, was anchored by the local parish church – the axis mundi; all other activity revolved both physically and symbolically around the sacred space. So, in going about the daily activities of life beneath the steeple, each person within the community was at least visually and/or aurally reminded of the transcendent through the church’s towering presence and the bells’ regular gongs. The church acted as the axis mundi that tethered each individual to the sacramental, interior life of the Church - essentially acting as a spatial sacramental. It was the shrine for the daily pilgrimage of the faithful . Yet today, examples of such axes of transcendence within our daily lives are sadly rare. Even in those spaces purpose built for worship, mediocrity and the mundane tend to be the rule rather than the exception, and even if these spaces do succeed in breaking the typical homogeneity of space to allow for the eruption of the sacred, they are generally removed from the daily experience of the average person. The modern pilgrim’s yearning for place – for the sacred – remains unsatisfied. So the question remains: how does one superimpose or insert the sacred in the midst of an abject poverty of place? What is called for is the creation of a generous sacred architecture – an architecture that is “at once the expression[s] and the source[s] of the “ transcendent, an architecture that “arise[s] as human creations, but…persist[s] as transforming, life-altering environments.” An architecture that “first manifests and then transforms human aspirations and intentions.” An architecture that makes visible the sacred within the paths of the everyday pilgrim. Pragmatically, this means that I believe it to be critical to break the current dogmatic, traditionalist trend in American Catholic church architecture. In an attempt to recreate the sacred places of 147



past epochs, we instead create caricatures - structures that stand not as monuments and authentic expressions of faith, but rather, monuments that point to our own spiritual poverty and creative impotence. Further, it is critical, especially in this time of needed self-reflection, that we as Church reconsider how we relate with the world around us – institutionally, but also formally – shifting away from “traditional” forms that emphasize hierarchy and separation toward those that engender transparency, humility, generosity, receptivity and communion. It is only an architecture borne of our own time and culture, of our own struggles and sins that can truly be an authentic expression of our faith. I do not advocate severing ties to our western architectural patrimony, but if we are to create transcendent places, we must learn from our history rather than copy it.(5) Let me return, just for a moment, to the archetypal agrarian town of the past; in this idealized place, what we now call “traditional” architecture served well, for it was an architecture borne of that time, culture and scale. But in seeking to reinsert the sacred into the paths of the contemporary quotidian pilgrim, we must begin to examine the patterns, the needs and structures of our own time and culture. Our streets, traversed by automobile, not foot, are lined by commerce, food and fortunes – ever the proximate and transient, rarely the transcendent. Even if there were a church, such as that from our agrarian town, its steeple and bells, which once might have served as a tether to the sacred, cease to be relevant, for now they are merely seen and heard, not encountered or heeded. Or obscured altogether. What I propose is not so much a practical solution, but rather conjecture as to what it might mean to reinsert the sacred back into the paths of the daily pilgrim. Inspired by the ubiquity of the roadside shrines in Bavaria and the street shrines of Hong Kong, this intervention takes the form of seven shrines placed in the most unexpected or profane places, those places that are the daily haunts of modern life. Each shrine draws inspiration from one of the seven sacraments to 148



explore the spatial, phenomenal and ritual qualities of sacred space. In so doing, I am not advocating the replacement of the parish, but rather the creation of spatial sacramentals, tethering the modern pilgrim to the sacramental life of the larger Church community. The shrines presented here are personal expressions of my own quotidian pilgrimage, as well as persistent, elemental spaces that transcend the individual to encapsulate the aspirations and dissatisfaction of the larger human condition. By embracing and existing within the profane boundaries of our daily existence, they give a means by which we can transform even the most menial of daily tasks into acts of transcendence and holiness. In setting out to discover my own quotidian pilgrimage, I gave myself an assignment to discover the well-trod paths of my life. The assignment was three-fold: first, to become more aware of all aspects of my life; second, to journal throughout each day – noting, sketching and writing about experiences as they happened; and third, at the end of each day, I was to compile all the day’s disparate wanderings into a basic diagram. After a week, I synthesized all of the daily diagrams into a larger map, in which the paths, rhythms and spaces of my life became visually discernible. And from this map, I chose the 7 sites for my 7 shrines. 1. A place for baptism at the Finley Park Spring



In beginning and ending the pilgrimage in the same place, the pilgrimage takes on a certain circularity, revealing the continuous, repetitious nature of our daily lives. The plan of the shrine itself emphasizes the tripartite nature of both the ritual and the trinity, while remaining a single whole. Each individual branch, and the unique condition into which it opens signifies one of the members of the Trinity. Entry is through the Father. The Son allows access to that which is above, and the Holy Spirit inspires us with strength. The central basin of water signifies the unity of the three disparate branches, but, more importantly, it acts as a spatial joint between the horizontal plane and the vertical - the ground and the sky. The inside of the shrine, the place of encounter with water, presses in from above, pushing the pilgrim towards the water. Designed as an analog to the traditional baptismal celebration, the shrine simulates the experience of the triple submerging and subsequent emergence through the intense compression of the interior, contrasted with the utter openness of the platforms.

The spring presented a fortuitous find; I had already envisioned Finley Woods as an ideal place for the anointing intervention, and once in the spring, the corollaries between baptism and the space were striking. Most importantly and most obviously is the presence of water, which makes the whole space possible. Because of the constant flow, it is always brimming with vibrancy, even amidst the death of winter.

The roof channels rain and light, pouring both into a central basin, which also doubles as the main structural support. The oculus serves as the medium of transcendence, conveying both the beauty of light and the purifying value of the water.

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2. A place to confess on the interstate In my weekly pilgrimage within a pilgrimage, every weekend I made the two hour trek from Gainesville to Orlando. During the drive, I observed my own mesmerization, partly from my enrapt attention to the radio show I was listening to, but also from the general sameness of the road. With the exception of Paynes Prairie, the view outside the window is fundamentally the same from Gainesville until Ocoee, just north of Orlando. Like in the sacrament of reconciliation, when the penitent undertakes an examination of conscience in order to become more aware of their interior life, it seemed that the highway offered an opportunity for an examination of consciousness - an opportunity to reawaken travelers both to that which surrounds them, but also to that which resides inside. This is a shrine of disruption. Intended to shake the pilgrim out of his highway induced stupor, it makes use of intervention at the scale of the landscape as well as the landscape itself. The shrine



consists of three main components: the hill, the prairie and the tower, each serving a distinct purpose in the ritual procession: the hill acts as the disruptive element, raising the pilgrim from the ground and realigning the view; the prairie serves as the normalizing component, that which brings all back into balance - a return to an altered ordinariness; and, the tower marks place and time in as fashion similar to that of the Cathedral of the Plains on I-70 in Victoria, Kansas or the Church of the Autostrada in Florence, Italy. Taken together, the moving vista of the hill, the normalization of the prairie, and the retrospection of the tower all work to bring about a catharsis or a reawakening among those sojourning along the road. 3. A place for eucharist in Wal-Mart Wal-mart is simply the conflation of an entire downtown under a single roof. It peddles clothes, groceries, hardware, auto repair services, sporting goods, jewelry, has a barber, a bank, a pharmacy, a nursery, a bakery, a deli, and restaurants. The only component lacking is the spiritual; it removes the community from the heart of the city and places it in a new soulless location without any meaningful means of spiritual sustenance. This shrine inserts a space of community - a place of communion - within this perpetual bazaar. On the main retail floor of the store, the shrine manifests itself through its light-well cum steeple – the axis mundi. Once there, the shrine’s subterranean presence becomes more apparent: the narthex skylights push out of the floor in a forest of slender cylinders; the light scoop rises in a long slender table like mass, foreshadowing the ritual of the shrine, and directly above the main supper table, the aisle’s usual opaqueness gives way to a glass floor, permitting communion between those above and below.

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Once in the light well, one descends from the light into a darkened, compressed space lit by blue and yellow light cannons. This is the narthex - the place of gathering - the place to meet your neighbor, to have a conversation about your children, or complain about the price of gas. It is the place of encounter. Entering the ritual precinct is marked by the passing around a large font of water illuminated by a red light well, representing the salvation of the Israelites from Pharaoh across the Red Sea. This opens into ritual purification - or simply - a place for washing your hands. Moving from the light of the purification space into a dark, tight corridor, the pilgrim is led into the main communal space - the dining room. The table is situated axially beneath a main path of travel above. Light filters down from the transparent floor, constantly changing with the movements of the shoppers. The pilgrims share a meal, converse, and commune before returning back into the main volume of the upper level, retrieving their carts, and finishing their shopping.

pilgrimage as the journey to the shrine. In the context of the quotidian pilgrimage, the home is the shrine that gives context to everything else. It is the place that grounds, the place that stabilizes, the place that reminds the pilgrim who he is. It is the place that changes with the pilgrim. It is the one shrine that depends wholly on the pilgrim, changing with him. It is the place that holds, cocoons, and comforts - in its furnishing, scale, and trappings. Through my act of creating home (my axis mundi), I affirm my existence.

4. A place for confirmation at home

The chair is unique among the shrines on the quotidian way; it is only one that is not publicly accessible, and it is also the only one that is not a permanent fixture. Yet, in a sense, it is the only permanent fixture in my quotidian pilgrimage. As I write this, I am preparing to move away from Gainesville, after which, the pilgrimage outlined in this paper will cease to exist. Nobody will

This is the heart of it all. It is the center of the pilgrimage. It is the place where it starts. It is the place where it ends. Even in the most traditional pilgrimage, the journey back home is as much a 153

As the heart of the quotidian pilgrimage, the humility of this shrine perhaps comes as a surprise, but it is precisely in its humility and simplicity that it gathers its importance. It is a chair that holds me and my books. Nothing more. Nothing less. The chair is that which holds me as I read, reflect, ruminate and write; it is that which holds me as I talk to my partner before I go to bed. It is that which is an integral part of my day’s ritual.

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ever repeat it. This chair is the only thing that I will carry with me. It will become a fixture in a different home, and it will become the genesis of a new daily pilgrimage, defined by other places and other people. In my new home, however, the chair will remain the center of my pilgrimage, providing a familiar, comforting place amidst the new and the foreign. Each night, I will again sit in my chair, I will write, I will read, and I create my pilgrimage anew. So, in a sense, the chair, so humble, is the genesis of my life. 5. A place for marriage at studio It is not good for man to design alone. Studio is a singular social experience. It is a place devised solely on the notion of critique - stone sharpening stone. Such it is in the union of marriage: two people choosing to bind themselves, ostensibly for the sake of companionship, but resulting is much more than mere companionship. In the joining, each begins to take on the other - their habits, their likes, their dislikes, their way of folding clothes, and their personalities subtly begin to



grow. The vices, though not eradicated, are dulled even as the virtues are sharpened. The ritual narrative for the marriage shrine takes up the idea of the stages of relationship, allowing them to play out in the language of light, compression, and view. Upon entering the first pavilion, the darkness envelops the pilgrim as he spirals around the core until a single, pure beam of light pierces the darkness. This is the first stage: romance. One can only see the good and the beautiful. Exiting the first pavilion, the pilgrim enters the second, this one lit with a soft indirect light. Sitting on the hard, one person seat, the pilgrim can see, but only the hard concrete wall in front of him. This is the reality stage; this is the stage when the disappointments and loneliness surface, when the cracks in the wall become apparent in the soft light. The whole of the third pavilion is awash in light. Looking up, the top of the structure frames a view of the intricate tree above. This is the transformation stage, in which both light and view are exposed, success resulting from utter transparency. 6. A place for ordination at the gym The gym is an insecure place - a place filled with people seeking to become thinner, healthier, leaner, stronger, faster - people seeking to become better versions of themselves. Outwardly, it is an exterior vision, but scraping slightly deeper, one finds that these longings are mere manifestations of inward insecurities - of comparisons - of not living up to societal paradigms of beauty While documenting the gym, I saw a woman lying face down on a mat, reminiscent of the powerful moment of prostration in the ritual of ordination. During the prostration, the newly ordained priests lay face down on the ground as the choir chants the litany of saints. This too is a moment of comparisons - one where the near impossible feats of holiness as exemplified by the saints are

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7. A place for anointing at the park

laid out as the paradigm toward which to strive. I suppose that in both situations (the gym and in life), it is not the achieving that ultimately matters - it is the attempt. The gym also embodies the freneticism of contemporary culture: the movement of the cardio machines, the clanking weights, the canned music’s beat pounding from over head, personal music tracks streaming through ear buds, the bank of televisions, each on a different channel, and the corporeal, concupiscent component all vying for our over stimulated senses’ attentions. This all seems somewhat antithetical to the ultimate goal of the gym, which is health. Thirty minutes of prostration and silence would do more to further the cause of health for the modern person than thirty minutes on an elliptical machine. To that end, the shrine at the gym effects a procession that addresses the needs of the both the body and soul in an attempt achieve more than mere physical well-being, but rather a holistic union of the physical and the spiritual.

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Anointing - the sacrament that portends the end of life - rightly finds its place in a wood - a place that so visibly celebrates the cycles of life and death. The ground, covered by the remains of last year’s life, supports the trunks, which, in turn, hold the branches denuded by winter’s toil, which reach to the sky, ever seeking to escape the gravity of life on earth. Spring will come, and so too will new life, and autumn will soon follow, bringing death once again. But, as the woods teach us, with death does not come an end, but merely a new beginning. This shrine exists as a permanent fixture among a continuously changing world. Leaves bloom, die and fall. Trees rise to the sky, then collapse to the ground. The shrine ages, gaining a patina, but it stands as a testament, as a witness to the permanence of the cycle of life and death.

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The shrine presents itself to the pilgrim as the culmination of all the others: a place for initiation a place for confession a place for communion a place for affirmation a place for relation a place for decision A place to sit, to reconnect to the firmness of the ground. A place of surrender - to let go of that which hurts, haunts, and harasses in the depths of our souls A place to rise like the trees - off the ground, into the sky. A place to ascend. The quotidian pilgrimage, above all else, is a call for the expansion of what and where we consider sacred. It is a call for authenticity in sacred place making – and a rejection of a false aesthetic orthodoxy within Catholic architecture. It is a call for the liberation of sacred space, releasing it from the confining, traditional bounds of churches, so that it might exist in a radical receptivity toward the quotidian pilgrim. Endnotes:

1. Lindsay Jones, The Hermeneutics of Sacred Architecture (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2000), 22. 2. Michel de Certeau, The Mystic Fable, (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992), 299. 3. de Certeau, 299. 4. Merriam-Webster Online Dictionary. 2008. Merriam-Webster Online. 5. Jones, 22 6. Montgomery Schuyler. “Modern Architecture.” Architectural Record, July-Sept 1894. Originally delivered as a Butterfield lecture at Union College, Schenectady, N.Y., March 9, 1894.

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Carla Zito


On the Edge of Turin (1965-1977): The Church is No Longer a Monument but House among the Houses, “Poor” among the Poor Carla Zito

The history of the construction of new parish churches in the city of Turin after the Second Vatican Council represents a little studied chapter of sacred architecture in Italy, even if it is crucial in the history of Italian architecture of the second half of the twentieth century due to the presence of Cardinal Michele Pellegrino(1965-1977), active initiator of change within the diocese. Professor of Ancient Christian Literature in the Public universities since 1948, he was appointed archbishop of Turin on October 14, 1965. He participated as an expert and advisor on religious/ building strategies in the Second Vatican Council on two issues. In 1966 he became a member of the “Consilium ad Exsequendam costitutionem de sacra liturgia”. In June 1967 he was create a cardinal and remained in office until 1977, when he resigned prematurely.

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Cardinal Michele Pellegrino Archbishop of Turin (1965-77)

Carla Zito

During the years of Father Michele Pellegrino’s episcopate a great number of parish churches were built in the city of Turin and on it outskirts. The city was already partially involved in a process of urban development which also included examples of sacred architecture. In fact, during the episcopate of Cardinal Maurilio Fossati, from 1930 to 1965, there were a great number of innovative models, both structurally and liturgically. For example, we can see the church of St. Teresa of architects Gian Franco Fasana, Carla Lenti, Giuseppe Varaldo and Gian Pio Zuccotti which is proposed as a preconciliar model, where the first project (1958-1961) has a centripetal arrangement of the plan, totally inspired by the Modern Movement.

Another example is the parish church of St. Pio X in the district of Falchera, which was designed by Nello Renacco who also designed the parish facilities in 1955. Equally interesting is the church Gesù Redentore in the Fiat Mirafiori district, it was designed by architects Nicola and Leonardo Mosso from 1953 and opened in 1957. With the episcopate of Father Michele Pellegrino a new chapter opens. He tried to negotiate between the Council’s reforming impulse and the social and cultural changes that characterized the ’60s and ’70s in Italy. For this reason the places of worship had a key role in the liturgy, infact the bishop established the Diocesan Liturgical Office in Turin, on September 15, 1966: the first in Italy to be the executive body of the new liturgy. 161

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According to article number 44 of “Sacrosantum Concilium”, this autority directs the Diocesan Liturgical Commission, which has an advisory status with the task of studyng and promoting diocesan liturgy, and is divided into three sections: one for pastoral liturgy, one for sacred music and one for sacred art. In the city of Turin, from 1965 to 1977 twenty-two parish churches were built, all located in the industrial suburbs, where they were most urgently needed. They were very different from the usual religious architecture, because they rose among rows of high buildings and they had no worship elements. We can see some examples: The church of Maria Madre della Chiesa, dated 1971-74. Designed by architects Luciano Re and Aldo Vacca Arleri. To understand the complex relationship between church and houses there are two emblematic cases: The Church of St. Luca Evangelista built as part of the city plan for the Mirafiori sud district. The project is by architect Mario Federico Roggero and it is dated 1967-70.

Church of San Pio X Falchera, 1955 Architect: Nello Renacco

The Church of Maria Regina delle Missioni, dated 1970-1973 and designed by archi-

Church of San Luca Evangelista, 1967-70 Architect: Mario Federico Roggero

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tect Domenico Mattia and Ugo Mesturino which is in an area bounded by two high blocks of eight-and ten- storey flats.

Church of Maria della Missioni, 1970-73 Architects: Mattia and Mesturino

The planning of new churches was carried out by a technical department called “Turin-Churches”.This department proposed the detailed plans for financial and technical operations, land acquisition and relations with the Pontifical Commission for Sacred Art in Italy and other public Institutions. Research carried out at Turin’s Diocese and the Vatican Secret Archives shows that this planning was developed in accordance with the Italian Law.

These parish churches, hold some interest in social history but have little architectural quality. However, they are emblematic for at least two reasons: The liturgical renewal, which was ratified by the Second Vatican Council, found its own space here. These churches were built between of a thousand difficulties for communities that suffered from a lack of places of worship and a distance from the catholic hierarchy. On the other hand, the growth of Turin in the sixties

Church of S. Ermenegildo Re e Martire, 1967-78 Architect: Mario Bianco

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and its development forced the City Council and the Church to reconsider the terms of its the presence of the latter in the city for the construction of a new idea of community space at neighborhood-level. Turin’s urban situation determined not only the peripheral location of the new-built churches, but also their large number, as well as the urgent planning that characterized that architectural model of buildings of worship: “religious facilities” were some of the social services deemed to be indispensable in the new residential areas. The need for a large number of parish churches highlights two key issues for the city: lack of a social aggregation, crucial in the residential districts; the drastic reduction of religious practice caused by a mass detachment from Catholic tradition.

Church of Santi Apostoli, 1975-76 Architect: Silvio Ferrero

The so-called plan “167”, adopted and approved by the city of Turin in 1963, provided for the construction of low-cost housing and additional municipal and social services. For that reason the city bought or expropriated land, including areas originally allocated to religious centers. The plan included 24 areas, whose total surface area amounted to about 6,000,000 square meters. But the population grew more than expected and the implementation of the plan partially failed, 164


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as original intentions were not met. In the suburbs, the absence of a church meant that there was nothing there to promote social aggregation, which was especially needed by the population immigrated from the south of Italy, and it also meant a drastic reduction in religious practice. The parish churches had to meet the urgent needs of the community, lending themselves to many uses during the week except for Sundays, when they only acted as churches. Roberto Gabetti, a famous Italian architect, after thirty years from this building process, in his book “Churches for our time. How to build them, how to renew them” wrote: “in the sixties and seventies the building of new churches was not included in the city planning. Place of worship continue to exist in shops, derelict buildings, in basements - generally called Sottochiesa - awaiting the costruction of new churches [...]. These Church of Pentecoste, 1970-77 emergency solutions represent a strong mark Architect: Mario Bianco of religious and social experience. Suburban churches, poor churches for the unemployed and the immigrants – are all marks of a deep social and economic crisis.” For this reason, the design of the buildings of worship became secondary; technological innovation and prefabrication helped to build the churches quickly. This unknown history of a building 165

Carla Zito


process that was repeated for more than twenty times in the suburbs of Turin fitted well with both the reform of church liturgy and the evolution of the secular world. Why were these churches similar to warehouses or garages? Because these religious buildings were born as parish facilities for new areas where there were no churches and which were far away from the parish church. Two national laws, n. 2522 of 1952 and n.168 of 1962, made it possible to build a church or parish facilites with public funding. If a new church was not scheduled to be built, but was necessary, a prefabricated building could be built. As a consequence, there were a lot of multifunction halls for the celebration of Mass which were typical of Turin in this period.

Church of Ascensione del Signore, 1980 Architect: Mario Canavesio

Church of Natale del Signore, 1971-74 Architect: Armando Campagnoli

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They were characterized by an ideology:

“Rather than consider the church as a monumental building, today more than ever it is important that it comply to the needs of today’s faithful. Once the construction area has been identified, a maximum versatility in the use of space must be combined with the building in a way that allows a simple and cheap construction.”

Here anti-monumentality, multifunctionality, the choice of areas where to build and the architectural project are all a part of the same problem. There are two reasons why we have a simplistic adherence to spiritual poverty in these buildings: the immorality of a rich and monumental church in a poor area the economic problems which favour provisional buildings. The design of the building of worship became insignificant, therefore technological innovations contribute, through prefabrication, to building quickly. These parish facilities use a modular scheme which is

Carla Zito


the houses for the Christian community; “poor” among the poor. This poverty which is often confused with degradation; it can be in many cases an expression of simplicity and a good relationship with the local community. The new Christian communities, composed of a heterogeneous population from different parts of Italy, were looking for a place to gather. They often found place of worship in warehouses or garages where the sense of the sacred, was only made of folklorish symbols of worship: flowers, pictures and statues of saints and Madonnas just like in the parishes of their hometown. These symbols were placed in the building to make beautiful spaces which were necessarily poor and flaunted degradation and misery. In 1971, Cardinal Michele Pellegrino in paragraph 11 of his “Walking Together” explained the meaning of “poverty in church facilities” and said that it means giving exact weight to pastoral activity and to the community, and not seeking”assets that are disproportionate to their aim.”

Church of Gesu Salvatore, 1975-78 Engineer: Giancarlo Zanoni Architect: Gualtiero Sibona

The analysis of individual cases has stressed the importance of giving due weight to the situation of useful services and social organizations present or absent in each area.

Church of Immacolata Concezione and San Giovanni Baptista Architect: Silvio Ferrero

often repeated in Turin. They are characterized by prefabricated reinforced concrete beams resting on two outer extremes which are in turn supported by reinforced concrete pillars. These structures became churches and were no longer a monument but rather the House among 167

These realities, of marginal interest, grew with the communities, often becoming the pride of 168


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those who helped build them and still contribute to their development. Their foundation was often characterized by an insecurity which is still tangible, because these projects are on land not owned by the parish churches not by Turin Diocese. Thirty years later, most of the parish complexes rise in areas in which they were construction rights with a expiry date of 99 years. Nevertheless, both from a perspective of urban planning and from liturgical point of view, these parish churches have played a key role in the process of community building in the industrial suburbs, independently of their religious character. The development of these facilities did not stop the day of consecration but continued over the years showing that, although they were born as multipurpose halls, they have evolved over time without considering the possibility of moving to more conventional premises.

Church of S. Ambrogio, 1976-93 Engineer: Giancarlo Zanoni

Church of Maria di Misericordia, 1971-74 Architects: Luciano Re and Aldo Vacca Arleri

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Fr. Jamie Hottovy

Pedagogical Patronage: The Role of the Parish Saint in Sacred Architecture Fr. Jamie Hottovy

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the particular saint. It seems that there has been a distinct break with this potent spiritual tradition or sometimes an oversimplification of the connection and importance of the patron saint. Yet there are many possible ways in which this effective and efficacious practice could be reintroduced in church renovations and new design. The Church directs that all Catholic churches must have a titular. The introduction to the official Rite of Dedication of a Church and an Altar states that the title of a church may be: “the Blessed Trinity, our Lord Jesus Christ invoked according to a mystery of his life or a title already accepted in the liturgy; the Holy Spirit; the Blessed Virgin Mary, likewise invoked according to some appellation already accepted in the liturgy; one of the angels; or finally, a saint inscribed in the Roman Martyrology or in a duly approved Appendix (1977).”

In the past, a spiritual connection was fostered between the patron saint of a parish and its parishioners to promote an understanding and appreciation of their patron saint’s life and way of sanctity. This connection was often communicated and conveyed in church architecture and iconography. Many saints were often depicted with particular well-known symbols. For example, St. Peter is commonly holding the keys of Christ’s kingdom that represent papal authority; St. Lawrence is usually portrayed with the instrument of his martyrdom, a gridiron on which he was roasted; St. Joseph often totes the wares of his livelihood: tools of a carpenter. It would not be uncommon for there to be quotes from the Bible related to the saint and their life of holiness in various places within the church building. Very often there would be a specific chapel or shrine designated to 171

So what is the spiritual function of the titular of a church? It serves the practical purpose of distinguishing parishes from one another but the namesake of the parish also provides a very real spiritual identity, specific protection and solace through that particular identification. This parish identity can be creatively and effectively depicted in architecture and art and be a catalyst of deepening the faith of its parishioners. Looking at St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome (as well as many other churches throughout the Eternal City) one sees the underlying principle of St. Peter and his role as the first pope informing the architecture and iconographic program throughout the basilica. The connection with St. Peter, through his life and martyrdom, that took place within what are now the confines of the basilica, is palpable. The fact that this church houses the precious relics of St. Peter is signaled by Bernini’s famous baldachino, Christ’s words giving authority to St. Peter inscribed within the dome: “Tu es Petrus,” the beloved statue of St. Peter with its foot worn away by the hands and lips of the faithful 172


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throughout the centuries, the mosaic copy of Raphael’s Transfiguration and St. Peter’s witness to this pivotal Christological event, Bernini’s great sculptural masterpiece of the Chair of St. Peter pointing to his authority and many other architectural and artistic elements point to the significance of St. Peter and his role in salvation history. These creative elements powerfully convey the story of St. Peter to all who visit this majestic site of pilgrimage.

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Our churches need sacred imagery to teach us and engage our imagination with authentic Catholic imagery, history and culture. Parish churches can incorporate images, scripture, symbols and details that edify and inform about the titular of the parish. When a renovation or new design for a church is considered, an in-depth study and investigation of the life of the patron saint is helpful to see if there are elements from their life that can be incorporated into the overall design. The patron saint is meant to be a bridge to a deeper spiritual life and this can be done effectively by tapping into the theology, devotion and focus of the particular patron saint effectively presented through architecture, imagery and symbol. When traditional images of particular saints commonly depict a saint holding a rosary (such as St. John Vianney or St. Elizabeth Ann Seton), this is not some sentimental or nostalgic add-on. This intentional inclusion is meant to be a reminder to the faithful that the saint had a strong Marian devotion and that they may learn from this holy example.

Even though we are a literate society, we are still very much a visual society: look at the internet, advertising, entertainment. Indeed we are bombarded by the most visual stimuli in the history of humanity. It is necessary to compete visually in order to engage people’s modern sensibilities and experiences. Pope Benedict XVI explains, “The complete absence of images [in churches] is incompatible with faith in the Incarnation of God. God has acted in history and entered into our ‘sensible’ world, so that it may become transparent to him. Images of beauty, in which the mystery of the invisible God becomes visible, are an ‘essential’ part of Christian worship.” 173

With modern church design and construction, sometimes churches were built and a token statue of the patron saint was put into a niche somewhere in the church and it was called “good”. This is what happened in St. John the Apostle’s Church when it was constructed in the early 1980s in Lincoln, Nebraska. Unfortunately this wasn’t a scenario unique to Lincoln. To make matters worse, the statue of St. John that was used in the sanctuary was not even proportionate to the space and was totally lost in the overall design. A visitor to the church would have a difficult time deciphering who the church was dedicated to unless they noticed the sign designating the name of the parish outside. In a recent interior renovation of St. John the Apostle Church one of the major considerations of the design process was: “How should we more effectively make a connection with our parish 174


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patron saint?” The perspective of the design committee and architect for the project was that St. John was an incredible saint, who spent three years of his life with Jesus and wrote one of the most significant books of the Bible. We asked: “How can St. John bring us to Christ and how can we effectively communicate that in our renovation?” For the sanctuary we wanted a focal point to be a new and dramatic crucifixion scene with Jesus on the cross flanked by Mary and St. John. We purchased the hand-carved, original set of statues from Italy. The scene as the backdrop to the Mass and above the new central tabernacle is Eucharistic: Christ giving his body and blood as He does at every Mass. It is Ecclesial: from the pierced side of Christ flow the foundational sacramental symbols of water and blood (for Baptism and the Eucharist). It is Marian: Christ says from the cross, “behold your mother,” entrusting the Church to the maternal care of Mary. It is Scriptural: it is witnessed and written by St. John, the patron of the parish, and it’s passed on from him to all the world. A scripture band of quotes, taken from the Gospel of St. John wrapping around the nave, was added to the church. Seven quotes were chosen that pointed to each of the Sacraments and they were placed proximate to where each sacrament was administered (the quote referring to Confession was above the confessionals, the quote referring to Baptism was above the baptismal font, etc.) These were alternated with the seven “I am” statements of Christ (“I am the resurrection and the life,” “I am the way, the truth and the life,” “I am the vine,” etc.) that are found exclusively in St. John’s Gospel and are some of the most significant Christological titles found in the Bible. When these elements and several others were incorporated into the renovation of St. John’s Church, it brought a whole new level of sophistication and complexity to the overall design that today is now more sacramental, scriptural, Christological and is inherently more connected with St. John the Apostle, the patron of the parish.

In a recent restoration of Holy Trinity Church in rural Nebraska of a gothic, 100-year-old church, this principle of tying in the namesake of the parish throughout the design was incorporated as well. In a renovation done in the 1970s, the high gothic altars were torn out and the distinct Holy

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Trinity statue that was above a central tabernacle for decades was now relegated to a side alcove. That same alcove had become a collecting area for what had become “extra statues”. In the restoration of Holy Trinity the high altars were reinstalled, the unique statue of the Holy Trinity was placed once again above a central tabernacle and design elements and subtle symbols throughout the church that referred to the Holy Trinity were incorporated. A side alcove was made into a baptismal area and on the wall was inscribed the words from the Gospel of St. Matthew: “Go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.” All of these details intentionally remind the faithful of the grace, guidance and trust they are to place in the Holy Trinity, the titular of that particular church.

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flowed from the side of Christ and from the nailmarks and scourging. The red is also connected with the blood of martyrs, many of whom are represented on the side walls of the nave. All of these visible reminders of blood are now glorified and that is communicated by the red ceiling embellished with gold detail. Colors have long had theological and liturgical significance in the Catholic Church and can be effectively utilized in church design. For example to paint a ceiling blue and adorn it with gold stars evokes the celestial and heavenly (where the Mass brings heaven to earth), Creation and Mary. One of Mary’s traditional titles is Stella Maris, Star of the Sea. Our Lady of Guadalupe is depicted enshrouded in a blue mantle adorned with the constellations. For St. Elizabeth Ann Seton Church, a new church that is being built in Nebraska, a blue ceiling with stars is being proposed for all of the above reasons and because she had a deep devotion to Mary throughout her life. In the vestibule next to the statue of St. Elizabeth Ann Seton holding the rosary we are going to incorporate a quote she frequently said: “Take all of your cares to Mary.” Throughout the church, stained-glass windows depicting the Mysteries of the Rosary including the new Luminous Mysteries will be incorporated.

In a recent renovation completed at Sacred Heart Church in inner-city Peoria, Illinois the identification with Christ in his Sacred Heart is conveyed in many inventive ways. In the new marble flooring down the central and side aisle are four symbols, which spread across the floor of the church, form a large cross and represent the four wounds of Christ from the nails: his two hands and feet. In the middle of this intersection is a larger marble image of Christ’s pierced heart. The ceiling is painted a dramatic, rich red meant to remind the faithful of the Blood of Christ, the Precious Blood of the Eucharist, the blood that

The Catholic Church has a vast and established treasury of signs, symbols and iconographic language that she has used in her churches throughout the ages. The organic extension and transformation of sacred architecture also applies to imagery and symbols. The Luminous Mysteries are a perfect example. When Pope John Paul II gave to the world this organic development of this long-revered Marian devotion it was met both with joy and shock but now we can see these new mysteries being incorporated into Catholic churches around the world.

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In two of the most significant international Marian shrines, Fatima, Portugal and Lourdes, France; the prayer of the rosary is central to the experience of these great places of pilgrimage. Both have recently incorporated prominent representations of the Luminous Mysteries. In Fatima the Church of the Most Holy Trinity designed by architect Alexandros Tombazis, built between 2004 and 2007, is the fourth largest church in the world with a seating capacity of 8,500 people. The Portuguese artist Pedro Calaper created bronze panels on the exterior of the church that have symbols of all twenty mysteries of the rosary. Fr. Marko Rupnik, a Slovenian priest, created mosaics of the Luminous Mysteries that are on the exterior of the Rosary Basilica in Lourdes. They serve as an introduction to the rest of the mosaics found inside this church that depict all of the other mysteries of the rosary. In these scenes, Fr. Rupnik ingeniously combines traditional imagery with new twists and interrelationships with other parts of the scriptures. These are powerful examples of developing and organically expanding the Church’s iconographic language, and at the same time making them relevant to our modern age.

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the saints and further contemplation and incorporation of their observations would be fruitful. In a proposal for a new side chapel dedicated to St. Joseph for the Cathedral of the Risen Christ in Lincoln, I was looking at the possibility of incorporating the title of Pope John Paul II’s apostolic exhortation on St. Joseph entitled Redemptoris Custos, Guardian of the Redeemer, into the design as well as other powerful images that the pope paints of St. Joseph in this reflection. When a renovation or new design for a church is considered, an in-depth study on the life of the titular is helpful to see if there are elements from their life that can be effectively incorporated into the overall design. The patron saint is meant to be a bridge to a deeper spiritual life for the faithful. This spirituality can be stimulated by tapping into the theology, devotion and focus of the particular saint and incorporating these ideas into the architecture, imagery and symbols with a renovation or new church building.

So what are the sources and resources for the further authentic development of the Church’s symbols and imagery? The Bible, the writings and lives of the saints and the writings of the popes are all fertile places to start for architects, artists, designers and parish design committees. Pope John Paul II and Pope Benedict XVI have written extensively on God the Father, Christ, Mary and 179

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Notes on Contemporary Architecture for Catholic Churches: Theological Considerations for New Architectural Approaches Luigi Bartolomei

Translated with the substantial contribution of Zoë Corino

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The goal of this project has been to involve students of Engineering and Architecture, as they approach the end of their studies, in the design of contemporary churches. A prior series of lectures would ensure that the students have the minimum knowledge necessary to understand with a greater awareness the characteristics of this difficult subject. This article highlights the main analyses and results of our research within the Department of Architecture of Bologna University, and also shows some of the more noteworthy designs for new churches which were developed in various graduate theses.

Social and Ecclesial Examination of the Various Types of Architectural Shapes Utilized by Contemporary Churches Five years ago, at the Department of Architecture and Urban Planning of the University of Bologna, Professor Giorgio Praderio and I embarked upon an interdisciplinary research and teaching project dedicated to the study and design of sacred spaces. Specifically, Catholic churches, chapels and graveyards were studied as sacred spaces , relative to the misleading overlap which is still dominant in Italian everyday language, despite the spread of religious indifference, agnosticism and secularization. The Theological Department of Emilia Romagna (FTER) soon became involved in this initiative, thus creating a formal cooperation which I should like to note is one of the few instances of formal cooperation between an authoritative public educational center and the Catholic Church – as no Department of Theology exists in the Italian system of public universities.

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The Italian scenario of religion is necessarily unique due to the presence of the Papacy in its midst. This fact is never negligible in any significant historical event of the Italian peninsula. One can hardly consider Italy’s historical evolution without considering the effects of the presence of the Church on its essential features. One may consider for example, that after the Roman Age the Church promoted the drainage of swampland in most of the Italian plains, turning many tracts of land into dry land. The end result of this activity thus contributed to the construction of simple chapels on the newly reclaimed land. One could attempt to demonstrate the relevance of the Church in all aspects of Italian culture and society but this exercise is beyond the scope of this paper – if not beyond a lifetime of study. Out of a population of 60,350,000 inhabitants [ISTAT,2010], the Catholic Church in Italy counts 51,000,000 as self-professed believers [dossier caritas / migrantes 2008]. This figure also includes a large number of the so-called “non praticanti” (non churchgoers) for whom Catholicism is sim182


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ply a cultural reference without any implication in the ecclesial and sacramental life. Nevertheless, the germination in a soil shaped by a Christian ethos, leads to the logical recognition that the existence of common Christian rootsis self-evident, even to those who do not consider themselves members of the Catholic Church or of any other religion. The most important phenomenon today on the Italian religious landscape is its growing secularization. This also has a deep influence on the migrant population, made up for the most part by Muslims and Christian Orthodox (31% and 28% respectively of regular immigrants) [Dossier Caritas/Migrantes, 2008] while the numbers for other religions are minor and less visible. Swift changes have occurred in the Italian social structure. The sudden breach of its maritime boundaries by illegal aliens and the recent phenomenon of immigration - which was totally non-existent before the second half of the 1980’s - are both very important factors which have had multiple consequences on Church architecture. These social changes are, however, often exploited for various political purposes and thus the relevant debate required to address them is constantly obscured and removed from the centers of scientific and sociological reflection. In a country that has experienced a sudden and traumatic opening to the world, this sensationalistic approach exacerbates an already sensitive issue.

Sacred Spaces and Urban Appearances: Facades and Visibility Issues Architecture absorbs the tensions of its social context and thus exacerbates any aesthetic uncertainty derived from any current uncertain boundaries of the art world. Faced with the task of erecting a Church for our time, architecture can not avoid summing up the debates on multiculturalism and religious pluralism as well as the dynamism of the social scene, consequently complicating the architectural form where it relates to the urban environment. It is on the outer skin, 183

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the facade, the border with the “profane”, where the architectural form announces what happens within the Church, yet simultaneously it permits through specifically targeted and sorted points, the approach, the penetration, the entrance into the Church. The debate on the importance of the signs and architectural impressiveness of the new churches in an urban context is derived not so much from a sensitivity towards foreigners, but rather from the more or less conscious perception of a paradox in which the contemporary European city continues to develop itself. The new European city (cultural, dynamic, multi-ethnic and multi-religious) continues to develop its cultural identity upon the urban meshes of the historical one and, therefore, on a forma urbis precise image of what the contemporary city has lost, namely: a system of shared values demonstrated in the Cathedral by a complete overlap of all civil and religious centralities. It is this incongruity that the contemporary city experiences. The Cathedral remains at the heart of the town as part of the iconic city system and as a civic seal of membership of every inhabitant but it stands without any relation to its original liturgical and Christian function. The Cathedral codifies the urban membership only as a historical monument, no longer relative to its original and liturgical meaning. It binds its subjects to its image, but not to its Christian intimate origin. The place of faith, morphed into a museum and converted into a simple storage of cultural values, promotes the city but it can no longer establish a community of its ‘citizens’. The ongoing phenomenon in the cities of old Europe is thus the dissolution of the classical and historical idea of the urban center. An increasing schism has been developing between the physical and historical center of the urban aggregate and the spiritual center of the community of citizens which invariably results in a final divorce between the two. The attendant disintegration 184


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between the physical / spiritual centers now stands in stark contrast to the uniqueness of the historical and identifiable center of a town. Additionally, the plurality of spiritual and religious centers which identifies the contemporary forma urbis as a substantially polycentric model and which consists of an overlap of distinct layers may be seen as places in which different citizens’ communities insist on the same territory with specific landmarks with almost a total absence of the transversal contacts.

The perspective that seems to emerge - that the Church is becoming both politically and socially weaker - may provide an extraordinary opportunity for architecture to be linked again to the simple signs of the youth of Christianity. During such period the graffiti or frescos of a fish or of a moscophoros were unambiguous codes for the recognition of special places. These codes were invisible to the Gentiles, but for the faithful they were discernable signs of common houses available for prayer and Christian life.

This significant discrepancy between center and centers is further emphasized by the intersection between global and local which is now possible everywhere through the internet. The internet enables each user to keep his/her feet in any remote corner of the world and yet simultaneously to enjoy global connections, thus generating multiple affiliations within scattered communities which find constant contacts in the virtual world and only intermittent and temporarily meetings in the real one.

The syntax of such signs would, therefore, be a much more proper Christological icon than the ones we have seen in the relatively more recent past, such as the pinnacles of cathedrals, baroque scrolls, or even the columns of the Constantinian basilica. The characteristics of these spaces and objects speak a language of majesty and grandeur, they speak of an image of the royalty of Christ. At times, however, they are too closely allied to the typical forms of the kingships of this world, due to their physical similarities of such.

It is thus possible to reside “absent-mindedly” in a physical context and to inhabit actually another one, the center of which may ultimately be no more than an @-address, including for example: a virtual place, an evolved chat room, a prayer group through “Skype”, or a virtual sanctuary where one can even ‘light’ votive candles. The Spiritualization of the Web, a phenomenon that could make one smile, increases the polycentric character of contemporary dwelling.

The Church and Its Self-consciousness: The Design of Its Interior Space

In the multiplicity and diversity of the spaces for religion - real and virtual - more and more Catholic Churches will be recognized as urban centers only by the communities of their faithful, thus strengthening the link between its disciples and the church itself. This, situation is similar in some respects to that of the Pre-Constantinian Church which quickly changed in the period between the Edict of Milan and one of Thessalonica. 185

If the relationship between the Church and the laic world intervenes to complicate the architecture of the churches at the borders of their physical spaces where they face the contemporary city, then the historical development of the Church and its progressive increase of self-consciousness, identity and mission (along with its troubles, debates and contradictions) further complicates the design of its interior spaces, its inner architectural character and the distribution and location of the liturgical polarities. The slow metamorphosis of the forms used by the Church, which are in perfect alignment with the acquired new mobility and the “mediality” of its users, seems to favor no longer the territorial 186


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distribution of the old Church system (parishes and the most ancient plebes) but a more detailed specification of groups, associations and catholic movements which are one of the new emerging features of the Church of the twenty-first century. [cfr. Christifideles laici, 29] These new ecclesiastic realities specialize their celebrations in order to root more liturgically their membership to the universal Church and to emphasize the traits of its charisma with the specific gestures of the worship. In some cases the rite modifies the architectural space for liturgical celebrations through a certain number of characteristic behaviors. In other cases the opposite occurs and new architectural solutions are invoked to modify the worship, configuring it around precise geometries - at times even provisionally - in liturgical spaces normally ordered otherwise. The first case is reminiscent of the Catholic Association of Charismatic Renewal. The second case is reminiscent of the Neocatechumenal Way (The Way) whose members transform the liturgical space prior to each celebration, centering it around an enlarged Eucharistic table. This transformation imitates the churches of The Way, such as those in Porto San Giorgio (Ascoli Piceno), San Bartolomeo in Scandicci (Florence), and the one inside the “Domus Galilaeae”, [www.domusgalilaeae.org] in Jerusalem. The “Domus Galilaeae”, the International House of the Neocatechumenal Way, on which work began in 1999, is the only work in which we see real architectural attention. In the Italian Churches of The Way, the only architecture considered is the architecture of the “trademarks” of the group. This encompasses: a large central table (no longer representative or evocative of the memorial of the Old Testament sacrificial altar), vibrantly colored and geometrically represented icons, a baptismal immersion font and an assembly area enveloping the place for the Table and that for the Word. Architecture per se is the irrelevant character of the container, be it cement and steel or be it wood and stone, either ‘container’ is irrelevant.

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The recent debates about the nature and character of the liturgy also influence and add uncertainty to the design approach for contemporary churches. In addition to the multifaceted changes required by the Catholic Church’s development, the design is also influenced by the different ways in which the celebration of the Eucharist is allowed. This is particularly evident after the Motu Proprio “Summorum Pontificum” which has greatly liberalized the celebration of the Divine Liturgy according to the “typical edition of the Roman Missal promulgated by Blessed John XXIIIrd in 1962 and never abrogated.” [Litterae Apostolicae Motu Proprio Datae Summorum Pontificum, art. 1] One may leave aside the debate on the desirability or advisability of this pastoral choice to those who have the authority and responsibility. Regardless, it must be emphasized from the viewpoint of the designer that the shape of the space is both suggested by and determined by the action that takes place inside it, specifically by both the orientation and the character of the action. Different “lex orandi” inevitably correspond to different “modi aedificandi”. The design of contemporary churches is thus subject to a double complexity. The first is on the external urban front where the dialogue with the environment is inevitably influenced by the rapid changes in the social scene and by the new mobility of urban life. It is also influenced by a new kind of “dwelling” which increasingly involves the virtual sphere, along with a multi-membership and lastly by the confused and widespread debates on the relationship between civil society and Church. The second complexity is on the interior design front. The ambiguities that arise also depend on the many facets of the Church, which is currently experiencing both the excitement of diversity and the multiplication of charisms. This may be evidenced in the words of St. Paul: “I accommodated myself to people in all kinds of Different situations, so by all possible means clustering I Might Bring Some to Salvation”. [I Cor. 9: 22] 188


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Issues of Space Found in the Preaching of Christ The possibility of a debate on the forms and on the places for Catholic Liturgy is made possible by Christ’s demonstrable and prevailing lack of interest on this specific theme. When the question on the existence of a privileged place for prayer is directly addressed to Him (in John 4: 20), Jesus firmly takes the opportunity to repudiate any preoccupation about the space for worship and to reaffirm strongly God as the only place for prayer: “God is spirit and those who worship must worship in spirit and truth.” This answer, which fully grafts Christ to the bosom of the Jewish tradition, must be related to the Gospel Pericope of the Temple which is set in the Synoptics immediately before the Passion. Only John, at the beginning of his Gospel, directly after the episode of the wedding at Cana, recounts this. It is as though he desires to inaugurate the new economy of salvation with the presentation of his only and new place for worship - Jesus, the Christ - Who really being the Son of God and thus connaturated in the Trinitarian life, becomes Himself the new Temple. “Destroy this Temple and in three days I will raise it up [...] He was speaking of the Temple of His body. “(John 2: 1821), evidences this thought.

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The destitution of the sacredness of the ancient Temple passes through the paradoxical announcement of the ephemeral nature of its architecture of stones. The geometries of rocks that hold the front of the Temple and capture the ecstatic admiration of the disciple, are merely temporary aggregations, dust and questions of men, of which “not a single stone will be left on another, everything will be pulled down”. The news of the destruction of the Temple was so contrary to common sense, that even the disciples bound it specifically to the upheavals of the last days; and indeed immediately thereafter the Conversation quickly changed to the eschatological issues (Chap.13) which lead to the Passion of Christ. The announcement of the destruction of the Temple is, therefore, the introduction to the days that would renew the Alliance between God and Man. The destruction of the temple is a striking and signal representation of the termination of the time of the ancient alliance of “the priesthood in the order of Aaron”, and simultaneously the announcement of a new era. The new era of the new Alliance is one in which Christ Himself is the new Mediator, Christ Himself is the first and only Pontifex, Christ Himself is the new Living Temple.

The Gospel of Mark seems to pursue the same meaning in the long “section of the Temple” which opens immediately after Jesus’ messianic entrance into Jerusalem. In Mark’s Gospel the narrative proximity and parallelism between the announcement of the destruction of the temple and the sacrifice of the cross seems to reinforce the sense of a definitive replacement of the ancient Temple with a new one, “not made by human hands”.

The symbolic importance of this image, already revealed by Augustine, prevails over its literal sense and thus should be taken into consideration for its obvious disagreement with the use of the Temple. The episodes that run between chapters 11 to 13 can also be read in a theological manner, namely in opposition to idolatry. The implied warning is that one should not to confuse the container with the content, one should not trust the eternity of stones. The only allowable reference of stone is the one “the builders rejected, Which has become the Cornerstone”, that is: Jesus Himself.

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Thus, placing ourselves in the shoes of the disciple, we are responding to the invitation of the Lord that we should look away from the Temple and its architecture - falsely eternal - to contemplate Christ alone. While the preaching of Cristus Docens was thus to substitute the Temple and to dismiss each sacred place in order to create a global purification against idolatry, the historical Jesus, Cristus Agens, deliberately chose to be connected with the physical space starting with His Incarnation. It is extremely noteworthy to study the movements of Jesus, the places he traveled through and those where he lived. A result of this research has been to discover that Jesus never had a fixed place, “Foxes have holes and the birds of the air have nests, but the Son of man has nowhere to lay His head”. Nevertheless, if one were to define the typical space of Christ’s public life, it would certainly be the house not the Temple. The house is the place where Christ lives as a guest. The house is where He establishes friendships and where He heals the wounded. The house is ultimately where He reveals Himself not as a guest, but as the Host. The house at Bethany is where Jesus chose to spend the last days of His earthly life. The Book of Acts in the New Testament clearly shows that the central place of the Risen religion is neither a Temple nor cult designated area, but rather it is the domestic place of the House. It is in the House where Jesus appears after His Resurrection, and where the turning point of Pentecost occurs, which actually opens the actual mission of the Church, and establishes the missionary to the Gentiles.

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word bait and in both instances the word does not indicate a Temple, but rather a Home. In full agreement with the archaeological findings, the house already appears in the New Testament texts as the typical place of the New Covenant: “[Paul] Spent the whole of the two years in his own rented lodging. He welcomed all who came to visit HIM, proclaiming the kingdom of God and teaching the truth about the Lord Jesus Christ ... “ The house, therefore, is the place to preach the Gospel; the new religion’s sphere is everyday life and the house becomes its quasi symbol. This reference to a dimension of common life opens and delivers the Christian message as a universal calling. These considerations have a broader significance to the fundamental features of the new religion than to the spatial and architectural aspects of the new religion. In particular, the transition from the Temple to the Home radically marks the termination of the dichotomy between sacred and profane verified in every traditional religion and ab origine structured in the common human religious nature. Christ frees humanity not only from the slavery of totems and taboos presumed to be intrinsic qualities of human condition but also from the precepts and prohibitions related to immanent sacredness.

Even when Jesus rails against the temple vendors to remove them from the temple (the only act of violence and anger ever made by Christ that is related in the Gospels), he says: “My House Will Be Called a House of Prayer for All People”. Jesus uses the Greek word oikos to translate the Hebrew

Such a radical assertion of monotheism is conducive to a full human freedom; only one Lord exists and in Him alone the whole human existence is saved and sanctified. The release of weekday realities from any idolatrous perspectives reinforces the believer to the adherence to Christ. This is symbolically represented by “the veil of the Sanctuary was torn in two from top to bottom”; thus the difference between the sacred and profane has been eliminated. Everything is profane apart from Christ and everything is sanctified only because of the Lord Jesus Christ. The disciple is a new man who is brought to a greater freedom only because of his loyalty to Christ and Christ alone.

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These considerations which identify aspects of the originality and subversive strength of Christianity in relation to the archetypal forms of religious life are at the same time significant in relation to the limited theme of architecture for the Christian liturgy. They lead to the preference for anti-monumental spaces where the Community may pray together and also live in the fraternity of the common faith. The Church of ‘living stones’ (i.e. people) must always prevail over the one built with rocks thus indicating a certain irrelevance for the final architectural shape. If the house is the preferred place for preaching and for the public ministry of Christ, the heart of the house - its more intimate room - is the privileged place for the personal prayer. It is here in “your private room”, in which one may go and pray the to Father where “ …the Father who sees in the secret place will reward you”. The place to meet God is hence the most intimate room of one’s home, or by metonymy, of one’s own soul; this is expressed by the words of Augustin, “interior intimo meo et superior summo meo”. The place for personal prayer is the room enveloped by silence. It must be noted, however, that this is relative to a spiritual condition rather than a physical phenomenon determined by its architectural space. Such condition of profound silence may be realized in the Garden of Olives, in the desert, or even in an area where pigs graze... It may thus be inferred from the quoted passages that a general and significant preference exists for common-life environments, for anti-monumental spaces, for weekdays, and for places of everyday life which may be seen as images of an alliance that is both embodied in the common life and forever lasting. Apart from these general remarks it is impossible to note any canon for specific places of worship or for specific places for personal prayer from the Gospels.

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The site, the holy place, already mentioned in the Old Testament is only God Himself. Every other place is a common place. If we must stay somewhere it is in His love and not in a physical place: “Remain in Me, as I in you. As a branch cannot bear fruit all by itself, unless it remains part of the vine, neither can you unless you remain in Me. Whoever remains in Me, with Me in him, bears fruit in plenty”.

Inadequacy of Any Space to Catholic Liturgy The symbolic value of the spaces in which Christ chose to preach and their intrinsic meanings cannot be considered irrelevant in the understanding of the Gospel. If the analysis of routes taken and places lived in by Christ is essential to increase the comprehension of His Life, then the multiple spaces which Jesus walked through and lived in supports the disassociation of His presence to any one place. Christian life is a pilgrimage. It is in imitation of the Master, as related in the Gospels, Who does not stop moving and Who never occupies a place for much time. He does not live in a permanent way. Even the tomb, which is the definitive dwelling place in the human experience, soon becomes empty. It would appear that the sacred places are removed from the Christians’ devotions because Christ proves Himself to be disaffiliated to any specific place or space. If the study of the spaces in which the Life of Jesus took place is essential to understand His preaching, then no place will ever be adequate to His worship by mere reason of its architectural or spatial features. “The Word that became flesh” is irreducible to any material construction that is not His own Body (not made by human hands), and every material construction proves to be 194


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inadequate to the Word that “lived among us”in Christ. The Word of God cannot be made concrete. The inadequacy of any man-made constructions for Christ’s ‘church’ is well understood by the Church. November 9 recalls the Dedication of San Giovanni in Laterano Basilica which paradoxically celebrates the “Basilica urbis et orbis ecclesiarum mater et caput” with the full awareness of its inadequacy for our Salvation. As St. Caesarius of Arles proclaimed: “If we reflect a bit more carefully about the salvation of our soul, we will not have difficulties to understand that we are the true and living temple of God”, additionally it is written, “God does not dwell in temples built by human hands” (Acts 17, 24) or in houses built with wood and stone; rather God dwells above all in the soul created in His image by the hands of the same author of all things.The great apostle Paul said, “God’s temple is holy; and you are that temple” (1 Cor 3, 17). Hence the dedication of the Lateran Basilica becomes a time to celebrate the living Church and the church-building itself results only in an imperfect image because the Word and its Message cannot be reduced to any comparability with the creature and, a fortiori, to its works. The quotation that Caesarius of Arles takes from Saint Paul’s speech at the Areopagus expresses what Stephen had already pronounced in an anti idolatrous sense before his stoning: that is, to urge the conversion of the pagans with arguments of which Judaism was also aware from at least the time of the controversial issue on the construction of the Temple. He said, “it was Salomon who actually built a house for God. Even so the Most High does not live in a house that human hands have built...” The work of the creature is totally inadequate to that of the Creator. Likewise, since there can never be a container commensurate with such a Content, neither can we ever have a definitive shape as a final canon for this disproportion which is and always will be the 195

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inextinguishable source of the inexhaustible attempts to interpret the infinite with the finite, the Creator inside the creation, the God “Whom no one has ever seen” in delimited and contemplable forms. The radical inadequacy of the sanctuary to the Saint is not only substantial but also hermeneutical. Not only is it not possible that any architecture could be adequate in and of itself either for the Church or for Christ, but neither can it ever be possible to build even a temple which by means of its significant structure could interpret the whole Gospel. In this sense, any true interpretation of liturgical spaces – while recognizing the attempts of more evident and provocatively ostentatious originality or the occasional slavish remaking of past styles - should consider such architectural space merely as a concrete image representative of the historical process of the progressive self-consciousness of the Church, which includes a sensitivity to both the troubles of the world and its own inner dynamics. The disproportion between the inevitability of dwelling - to which the Church’s living body is necessarily subject - and the spatial irreducibility of the Christian message, both as theological and hermeneutical, inevitably leads to an attempt to compensate for the constitutive inadequacy of each artifact by means of symbolic significance. Considering the inability to exhaust by means of a man-made product the infinite variations of one’s encounter with God, the Church via the example of Christ Himself, began to speak in parables. Using a language of symbols and art the Church began to take advantage of the imperfect adhesion between “meant” and “meaning” to grope for a glimpse through this opening and see the particular polysemic richness of the Christian message. 196


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The Church, therefore, is constitutively favorable to art, and indeed has in art a privileged path to know the God “absconditus” in many ways. John Paul II recalled: “An approach to an Artwork is an experience which shows any similarities with the approach to the Christian mystery, and in the same way, animated by the theological virtues Faith, Love and Hope, the christian faithful finds in Art a new dimension and an extraordinary means of expression for his spiritual experience.[...] Every genuine work of art interprets reality beyond what the senses perceive: it comes from the silence of awe, or from the statements of a sincere heart. It strives to bring the mystery of reality. The essence of art lies in the depths of man, where the desire to give meaning to his life is accompanied by the intuition of the fleeting beauty and of the mysterious unity of things.[...]And the deeper reality of things is beyond. But our artistic works act on this “beyond” as signs. If our knowledge and our language are fragmentary, sometimes we have the possibility to understand the greatness and unity of beings.[...]Each authentic work of art is, in its own way, a gateway to the most profound reality that faith putts in full light. A world without art hardly would open up to faith. It it would risk to be alien to God, as in front of an “unknown God”. This relationship between art and religion, because of the universal and original synthetic and cognitive value of the artistic work, is not typical only of Christianity. Indeed paleoanthropology notes that ancient artifacts – which led to works of art - evidence the presence of burials or sacred sites. In primitive contexts art was the image of the mysterious network of connections and mutual dependencies between things and events that early man knew instinctively to be the structure of reality. The fact that such dependencies and relationships were encapsulated in an artifact, is 197

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evidence on the one hand of an attempt for a first dissection and articulation of the individualities and mysterious relations between things, and on the other hand of the willingness to interact with them, to become part of the “game of life”, and to monitor their crude power through ritual systems and forms of religious participation. At the intersection between a rational form of knowledge and a mystical and spiritual participation to reality we find artistic production: a provisional synthesis of the full awareness concerning the relations between the powers that govern the world. These are complex issues that can be touched upon only briefly here. It is sufficient to note that every sign and every symbol - even when substantially re-signified in light of Christian tradition - carries within itself the deep and ineradicable inheritance of its whole evolution. Likewise they also carry the prehistoric stages of their developments from that time during which they were images of a network of meanings of sacred unknown practices, perhaps shamanic, through which man dreamed to control the magical and tremendous forces which he believed to be the foundation of his reality. Some symbolic forms, such as the shape of the cross are so deeply rooted in the human psyche that they assume deep and quite common meanings. They are the background of the most entrenched structures of our psyche; and the more deep and abyssal they are, the more they lose their individual features. Accordingly, it is totally impossible to eradicate the signs which express the archetypal structures of the primitive and proto-historical sacredness from the forms of Christian sacredness. These signs are, moreover, the palpable traces of the fundamental religious structure of man: that is, the essence of human kind and its cognitive investigation which is simultaneously rational and sacred. Moving beyond the anthropological analysis to the theological research, it may be demonstrated by the previous considerations that the evolution of mankind predisposed mankind to the Coming of Christ as the fulfillment of mankind. 198


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The legitimacy of the use of archetypal symbols in Christian art and architecture is supported by Christ himself; He decides to receive the baptism given by John. He accepts the purification by water prior to this very act becoming - by virtue of His Passion, Death and Resurrection - the main door to faith and the real alliance with Christ, and thus the generation of the whole Church. Christ then legitimizes the symbolic structures of the historical human tradition and assumes their shapes and designs in order to translate them into facts which substantially structure the life of the disciple, thus inserting him into that of God himself. To support the idea that the Christian form of relationship with God is determined essentially by the memory of Christ in opposition to the archetypes of the deepest part of our psyche, is equivalent to support the idea of the partiality of the redemption accomplished by Christ. It would be as if the redemption would require the severance and separation of man from his fundamental expressive and cognitive structures. On the contrary, the Coming of Christ sheds light not only on the history of salvation, but also on human history. It should now be evident at the conclusion of these brief remarks that “all things were created through Him and for Him”. It is as though the entire human history and the very basic structures of mankind’s psyche had been prearranged for the encounter with Jesus Christ. IV_DECUS as the Measure of Christian Aesthetic: Applications to Contemporary Architecture. Despite the inadequacy of any space to represent the Divine, it is Christ Himself who gives instructions for a place to celebrate Easter (Mark 14: 12-16, Mt 26: 17-19, Luke 22: 7-13). The same episode is also shown with great detail by Mark and Luke and treated more succinctly by Matthew. The Gospel identifies, as noted, a “large upper room furnished with couches, all prepared”. 199

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In an old Jewish and urban context life and hospitality were typically held on the upper floors of buildings, thus leaving the ground floor to businesses and shops. Yet the specification of the Gospel may be taken in a metaphorical sense: as if the room situated between heaven and earth would be the image of the intersection between divine catabasis and human anabasis. This symbolic interpretation, however, is allowed only in retrospect as a result of the founding liturgical action that such place has hosted, namely the establishment of the Eucharist. A priori, before the Lord’s Supper, the description of Christ does not identify a sacred place but simply a functional and decent space. The space for God which is always inadequate should, however, always be decorous and always faithful to the Latin definition of the word “decus”, which means: ‘simply what suits’. This is the measure of beauty proper of the spaces for catholic celebration. The beauty of the architecture for Christian worship will be the beauty of a substantial equilibrium between the eternal time in which the Sacrament of the Eucharist came true, and the singular present time in which the local community celebrates It. If every space and every architecture that is built will be always inadequate to God and His Gospel, this “decus” is then the measure of adequacy that we should request of the Christian space for worship of any time. It should be the balance between the celebrated Sacrament and the man who receives It. It should be the balance between the eternity of the eternal present of God and the fleeting moment in which a single Christian community can celebrate His Resurrection. The place for the architecture of the Church is thus the intersection between divine catabasis and human anabasis. The Church must put this balance into concrete forms, trying to define the mid200


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dle place in which it is possible to hold this meeting between men and God. The “decus” of the Church is the measure of the balance between the Eternal Sacrament and the specific geographical and cultural context in which every Christian community celebrates. We are searching for a church-building ‘style’ which corresponds to its time. Such style should not be singularly and immediately relative to the architectural language or materials used. The style sought should not be determined by an external façade nor an image. Rather, we are searching for an architecture corresponding to the humanity of our time. We seek an architecture which addresses the specific problems which are different from one part of the world to another: an architecture which relates to and expresses the different levels of welfare, historical backgrounds, social behaviors, cultures and modes of settlement. We can not presume to find the one, unique ideal church, the only church suitable for every place and every culture. It is both inevitable and mandatory to bring the discussions on the architectural shapes for the catholic liturgy into the local contexts. It is there, within them where one may find the appropriate solutions which accordingly adhere to the specific natural and social landscapes. By virtue of the observations we have noted, it would thus be appropriate that the living Church always prevail upon the building-church. The “decus”, the property of the liturgical space is precisely the balance of the eternal present of the Eucharist and the space and time of the human community that celebrates It. If this balance assumes inevitable local variations, there are regardless some aspects of our time that have assumed a global cultural commonality. This is evident from some contemporary artis201

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tic and architectural structures which demonstrate a convergence of select aesthetic tendencies on a global scale. Notable examples of such have received the most recent Foundation “Brother Sun” International Award for sacred architecture and display several new sacred buildings in different geographical contexts yet they simultaneously reference a common tendency to architectural minimalis: chromatic in the case of the Chapel at the Fazenda Veneza (Valinhos, Sao Paulo of Brazil) by the Architect Decio Tozzi, geometric in the case of the Chapel of St. Benedict in Kolbermoor (Germany) by the architects Peter and Stefanie Kunze Seeholzer and truly mystical in the case of John Pawson’s Cistercian monastery of Our Lady of Novy Dvur (Czech Republic), which well-deservedly won first prize. It becomes evident that the new design of places of worship must now incorporate these common taste trends and also involve the contemporary architectural production. Otherwise, church-building runs the risk of being reduced to ‘speaking a dead language’. It runs the risk of taking refuge in the mere revival of archaic models which are made of cement and steel and which are false antiquities incapable of speech or prophecy. These carnival architectures often wrongly give the impression of proclaiming Christianity as dead and no longer appropriate to our times.

Conclusion A new Architecture for the Catholic Church that would propose again the use of ancient symbols would now be a mere affectation, an exercise in pure knowledge. This is due to the fact that what was once a language acquired and transmitted by an unbroken oral tradition is today almost unknown and its renewal would be only a structured cultural reconstruction that no one could read in an intuitive way. 202


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This does not mean that one should stop at the current minimalism. Indeed, church-building should not fixate on any concrete results but rather it should embrace the concept of the ‘Decus’ as the measure of Christ’s aesthetic, which is not a discipleship of common tastes but an attunement between the eternal Eucharistic and the living human condition. This approach would thus encourage the designer to focus specifically not on the final product – church architecture - but rather on the Architecture of the Living Church. There can be no innovation in construction for catholic worship if the concept behind the construction does not begin from a deep understanding of contemporary man and from a global investigation into the existing issues surrounding his dignity of life. If the architecture of sacred spaces should offer a representation of the contemporary human condition at the altar of Consecration, then the fundamental trait that cannot be avoided in such a representation (at least from a European perspective) is the interpretation of the wound of contemporary man. The wound is the drama of our broken times, the drama of a human present that has had an irreparable rupture with its past, and the drama of the perceived inability to reconnect with that past.. This rupture has been so deeply rooted in the common cognitive and productive attitudes of mankind that the foundation of all of man’s relations to his world have subsequently been based upon it. In many ways, our time which is already laboring towards the birth of a new model has not yet internalized the potent outcomes of the industrial revolution of the XIXth Century. Urbanization, industrialization and relations between man and matter (or mankind and world) were transformations that were entirely new and marked by the logic of capital and the economies of scale. 203

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Resolved spaces, white, symmetrical, ordered and formally made are places for abstract deities but not for the God Who becomes flesh in the ‘here and now’ and Who lives among us in dialogue with the present and painful condition of humanity. It is necessary to recognize and show one’s hurt, to see it healed; the significance of such is clear throughout the Gospel and deeply inherent in the Cross from which hangs the Savior. A composed architecture, devoid of asymmetries, is largely the heritage of the bourgeois hypocrisy of the last century and is certainly not representative of a mankind still divided on every side. The multiple fences erected between the sciences themselves, between the sciences and the humanities, between science and art have led to specific knowledge silos that impede the synthesis of competencies, and thus the novelty of an authentic, original cognitive act has become virtually impossible. As a result, art itself - having lost its traditional realm of object and applications - has become totally isolated and now searches for its new identity by testing and pushing its boundaries. If art allowed a partial convergence of the total mismatch between Creator and creature by means of the evolution of a knowledge accomplished through symbols, diagrams and analogies, then the crisis of art works (art-output) is not only a symptom of a deep and reflective crisis of its craftsman, but also the obscuring of a privileged glimpse to the conquest of a new universal knowledge which is potentially able to nourish the intuition of a higher unity of the reality beyond the evidence of the multiplicity. The radical changes in the field of artistic production are a sign of the deeper turmoil in the essential relationships between man and matter, subject and object and mankind and things. The crafts204


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man who creates an entire piece of art, or with the same personal care creates a common-use object with the whole of himself, has become extinct. The final closing of the potter’s house,has stolen from man the place and the act where he could best appreciate the innermost essence of his freedom and the foundation of his dignity, which is the image and likeness of God.

Andrea Pacciani


The Doctrine of Imitation In Art and Faith Andrea Pacciani

The erosion of each synthetic relief of the complex layering of symbols in which man previously tied together the pieces of his progressive knowledge of the relations between beings, results in a schizophrenic artistic culture constituted by pure icons, naked pictures, and abstract figures. Typically, mankind today is unable to read the culture of symbols in art, rather he simply experiences emotional and aesthetic responses which reflect the most remote and persuasive forms of the archetypal patterns rooted in the deepest layers of the psyche. Bare spaces either designed by lights and shadows and made geometrical and abstract by the neatness of white, or left in their original roughness, build an architecture that is said to be minimal despite it being the product of striking signs which are universally present at the bases of everyone’s spatial awareness. In conclusion, the architectural space of the Church, which must be a material representation of it’s coeval man, can not present today a priori a pacified condition, but rather it should offer and individuate a place where one may be pacified. It should have the courage to show the wound, the present disorder of humanity, in such a way as to show itself in its true conditions, in which it waits to be redeemed by the Only Sacrament of Salvation. Alike the risen Christ, even the signs of the Passion will become those of His Glory.

Concepts and principles containing both artistic and religious components should mirror each other, in order to preserve truth and consistency. The last century has introduced new systems, which promote interior and ascetic spiritual experience to the detriment of those rooted in precedent. In art this expressionist and self-referential character increasingly excludes religious discipline. In Catholicism, more than other practice, holiness though imitation of Christ, with the help of the testimonies of the sacred texts and the lives of the Saints, connects individual faith to imitative practices. The continuous search for the presence of God on earth can only be achieved through

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the spirit of imitation in the events of everyday life, imitation is the path to worldly perfection. The Eucharistic Liturgy, which miraculously renders God materially present on earth, is conveyed through material representation of divine perfection, through the beauty of the ritual held in a worthy architectural space, such as Jesus Christ once chose the Cenacle as the location of the last supper. The church, therefore, is only able to rise to the role of clear demonstration of holiness with a recognizable and functional architectural expression, whose character is appropriate to the individual city where it is located. This ensures that future generations reinforce this holy character through devotion and affection that develop and mature through continual evidence of the certainty of faith. Only art based on fully recognized precepts of imitation, rooted in universally recognized standards, can thus assist the true faith. Only Art and architecture that is “traditional” is suitable for the structure and ornament of religious buildings, a shared language that transmits the message of the Church. The history of the Church has established that the contents of the Gospels must not be interpreted; the abstractions, invocations, references, and citations that are the cornerstones of all modern art have no place in the worldly Church, and even less in the physical building of individual churches, made to hold the certainty, truth, and security of God’s presence in the tabernacle. Contemporary culture values art in terms of originality, creativity, expressiveness, freedom from shared and pre-established models, expressed in increasingly diverse and unique ways. Art is conceived as a rational ordering of the future, wrenched apart from the past and of a provisional 207

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present. Art which does not follow these schema, and arises in the spirit of imitation is viewed with with distrust, hostility, and as conformism. It is undeniable that every work of art is generated from the historical setting in which it arose, and reflects its own time, and expresses the intimacy of the artist with the historical conditions in which he works with individual uniqueness. This both can and must occur within a creative process that adopts the theory of classical imitation, and including traditional and regional models. Art should be an imitation of classic models. The permanence of that model should be of special value, to be safeguarded during historical upheavals. The imitation of a model is the attempt to achieve something divine, that in reality has never shown its perfection; indeed, the gap between what is achieved and the ideal ensures the very diversity and unique individuality of artistic creation. Thus: Every work of art is the individual attempt to materially capture the elusive perfection of the divine model. The artist is one who can achieves in his own personal manner the indefinite immateriality of this model. The adherence of these ‘imitative’ processes to the practice of the Catholic faith, from individual conversion, to the pursuit of sanctity, is clear and evident throughout human civilization. Both the work of art and individual faith are the re-creation from precedent: nature, rule, model, history, style, ideal on one hand, and on the other, the Bible, evangelistic Acts of Apostles, and the lives of saints. 208


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The work of the artist builds on something already established, preceding artistic creation in the manner that faith is not invented, but adheres to an already defined religion and religious practice. The real or ideal model is the central point of reference either for the artist or the viewer of the work of art, a common level of judgment; sanctity must be lived on earth among the common people who will recognize it as such.The doctrine of imitation does not limit artistic freedom in any way, but rather directs it, as any saint adapts his or her own unique and new saintliness to the present reality, yet keeping with church doctrine.

David C. Kuhlman


A Case for Diversity in the Design of Catholic Churches David C. Kuhlman

What are the foundational principles of art that are coherent with the Catholic faith? To adopt and return to creative systems that have been proven, to the ancient doctrine of imitation, to orient the eye through historically and culturally persistent compositional paradigms; to and strive for the highest achievement, through a discipline that respects clearly established models.

The Catholic Church possesses a rich tradition of artistic beauty. From east to west flow many artistic traditions, styles, and points of emphasis based on diverse cultural values, traditions and backgrounds within the global Catholic Church. But the goal of achieving Beauty, of radiating “the transcendent beauty of the Triune God” , is a constant. From a Catholic perspective rooted in the aesthetic philosophy of St. Thomas Aquinas, liturgical art and architecture for the Church should strive to reflect this Beauty, to manifest the magnificence and glory of God’s creation, and of God Himself, who is “the transcendent Artist,…Supersubstantial Beauty, beauty beyond beauty ”. And according to the Catechism of the Catholic Church, sacred art achieves this Beauty “when its form corresponds to its particular vocation: evoking and glorifying…the transcendent mystery of God,” while drawing “man to adoration, to prayer, and to the love of God”. From this stand209

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point, all architects, artists, and musicians serving the Church are called to manifest this transcendent Beauty in their creative work. In his 1999 Letter to Artists, Pope John Paul II invites “all who are passionately dedicated to the search for new ‘epiphanies’ of beauty”…”to rediscover the depth of the spiritual and religious dimension which has been typical of art in its noblest forms in every age”; to create “works of art to shed light upon (humanity’s) path and its destiny.” According to St. Thomas, Beauty requires ‘radiance’ (claritas), ‘harmony’ (consonantia or ‘due proportion’), and ‘wholeness’ (integritas), but the chief requirement is ‘radiance,’ and “the radiance of beauty is the splendor of form,” “when the essence of a thing shines clearly through its outward appearance”. Since each Catholic church building is “a sign of the pilgrim Church on earth [reflecting] the Church dwelling in heaven,” suitable for “sacred celebrations, dignified, and evincing a noble beauty,… [and] a symbol of heavenly realities,” to achieve this Beauty, designs for Catholic churches “must manifest a sense of the Heavenly Banquet, for the Sacred Liturgy is a foretaste of the Heavenly Liturgy which is celebrated in the Heavenly Jerusalem,” a “window to eternity and a glimpse of what God calls us to be.” But just as the Beauty of God is inexhaustible, there is an “infinite Ocean of Beauty,” and each culture within the Church has found its own waters to explore within this Ocean, some more, some less. This cultural diversity is also found within the Catholic population in the United States, which is evident in the wide range of designs for Catholic churches in this country. Our architecture firm specializes in exclusively serving churches, and our recent work is a reflection of this search for Beauty within the Catholic population, including a classical design of an oratory for an Opus Dei center in Darien, Illinois; a contemporary design for a chapel in a Catholic college preparatory school in Niles, Illinois; an eclectic design of a new cathedral for a new Syro Malabar Diocese based in Chicago; a Byzantine style church for an Eastern rite parish in 211

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Lincolnshire, Illinois; and a large scale contemporary design for what will be the world’s tallest Catholic shrine and pilgrimage site in Buffalo, New York. Each of these design strives to achieve transcendent Beauty, but with a form of such Beauty that is unique and appropriate to each of the communities being served, which radiates the essence of their specific Catholic identity through the outward appearance of its design. According to St. Thomas Aquinas, God “wants the beauty and perfection of the Church to merge from the array of…the diversity of grace (that He) pours out on men.” Based on these five projects, which are representative of the broad range of church designs in the United States, I propose that no single architectural style can be identified as the ‘ideal’; rather, that the beauty and perfection of the Church should merge from a diverse array of designs for Catholic churches. The designs for the Darien Center Oratory and the St. Josemaria Chapel have much in common: both are in suburban Chicago and are operated by members of Opus Dei; both seat less than 100 people, serve (or will serve) as a place of prayer within a larger facility, and, most importantly, both answer the Church’s call to place a strong emphasis on the visibility, centrality and primacy of the Holy Eucharist as the “source and summit of the Christian life.” But while the similarities are many, these chapels had different sight and budgetary constraints and were designed for different end users, so their designs naturally represent differing stylistic approaches to achieving Beauty. 212


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The Darien Center is a new two-story residence for male members of the Opus Dei that will serve as a center of spiritual formation for both members and non-members. Reverence for the Holy Eucharistic is central to the identity of Opus Dei and was the guiding principle in the design of the oratory, an 800 s.f., 50-seat place of prayer within the residence, where Mass will be celebrated daily, Eucharistic Exposition will take place weekly, and evenings of reflection will occur monthly. After exploring multiple design options for the oratory, a traditional design with a vaulted ceiling oriented toward the Sanctuary was selected. With its two-story volume, the classical approach provided a rational means of creating a strong sense of formality, intimacy, human scale, and cohesive beauty in an otherwise awkwardly proportioned space. The Doric order was implemented because of its simple elegance and masculinity, which reflect the culture of the end users. The pilasters divide the Nave into four bays and support a continuous entablature that provides a spring line for the vaulted ceiling and a means of concealing mechanical diffusers and recessed cove lighting that will light the vaulted blue ceiling. The vault over the Nave terminates above the Sanctuary, where a central arch and vaulted apse, framed by pilasters paired with projecting Solomonic columns, accentuate the hierarchy of the Sanctuary and visually direct one’s eye toward the altar with its gold tabernacle, marble reredos and painted replica of Bartolome’ Esteban Murillo’s Holy Family. The design of the proposed tabernacle, by Granda Liturgical Arts, was inspired by Bramante’s Tempietto in Rome, and also features Solomonic columns supporting an ornamental dome, further unifying the design of the oratory. Engaged Solomonic columns support a triumphal arch over the altar and tabernacle, and arched niches located on each side of the altar provide a fitting location for sacred images. Additional niches are located within each bay of the Nave, containing additional sacred images and the Stations of the Cross, and along the back wall, framing interior stained glass windows.

The St. Josemaria Chapel was commissioned for Northridge Preparatory School, a Catholic school for boys, grades 6 through 12, and was designed with a very limited construction budget within the space of two former 1000 s.f. classrooms with only 9’-6” of vertical clearance below the structure above. With the physical and budgetary limitations of the project, and with consideration of the younger culture of the primary users of this chapel, a simpler design aesthetic was appropriate for this chapel; however, the primary goal was the same, to create a beautiful chapel that emphasizes the Holy Eucharist as the “source and summit of the Christian life.” This was achieved by designing horizontal ceiling planes with cove lights over the aisles and vaulted ceiling planes over the pews with a large central reveal which extends the full length of the Nave and opens into the Apse of the Sanctuary, where the Eucharist is reserved in the Tabernacle (the same Tempietto-inspired tabernacle that is proposed for the Darien oratory). Where Doric pilasters were used to create bays at the Darien Oratory, vertical reveals were used in this design to create a more subtle effect of ‘bays,’ which frame new stained glass windows on one side of the Nave and the Stations of the Cross on the other. Continuous horizontal reveals in the perimeter walls and doors of the chapel provide a simple means of embellishing the minimalist design while also directing the eye to the Eucharist in the Tabernacle. A suspended wood slat canopy provides visual cadence over the altar of sacrifice while also directing the eye toward the Tabernacle with its parallel wood members. The design of the altar again features Solomonic columns, but a contemporary derivation in this instance with the use of spiraling reveals in the wood columns. A decorative iron gate visually frames the Apse and provides required security for the Tabernacle, which is further accentuated by a painted replica of Rafael’s Sistine Madonna and Child, that, similar to the Murillo Holy Family, provides a devotional backdrop. An additional element of beauty in the Apse is a decorative wood corona which is suspended above the Tabernacle. Designed as two concentric circles joined together by cross-beams in the shape of a Greek cross, this detail is both rich in Christian symbolism and in continuity with the tradition of accenting the Blessed Sacrament with

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a canopy or baldachino. Its placement adds much to defining this space as sacred. The outside of the corona is decorated with the simple Latin phrase “Amo Te”, repeated three times, encouraging all who pray there to tell the Lord “I love you.” Both the Darien Center Oratory and the St. Josemaria Chapel strive to achieve transcendent Beauty by manifesting the centrality and sacredness of the Holy Eucharist, but each does so with a different aesthetic approach that reflects the culture of each of the communities being served. “The Syro-Malabar Church is an Apostolic Church which traces its origin to the Apostolate of St. Thomas, who, according to the tradition, landed at Cranganore in 52 AD and founded seven Christian communities (in India)...It is one of the 22 Oriental Churches in Catholic Communion with its own particular characteristics expressed in worship, spirituality, theology and disciplinary laws.” The community was originally known in India as the St. Thomas Christians, and their identity and liturgy evolved over the centuries, including a process of Latinization after the arrival of the Portuguese in India in the 16th Century, until the 19th Century when it was designated by the Roman Curia as the Syro-Malabar Church. In 2001, Pope John Paul II established the St. Thomas Syro Malabar Catholic Diocese in Chicago for the 100,000 members of this Catholic community living in North America, and the construction of the Mar Thoma Shleeha Cathedral in suburban Chicago was completed for the new diocese in 2008. The 43,000 s.f. building includes a 1200 seat church, daily chapel and Eucharistic chapel on the first floor, balcony seating and diocesan offices on the second floor, and a multi-purpose gathering space on the lower level. During the design phase, aside from incorporating traditional liturgical elements and arrangements that achieved their programmatic goals and reflected their particular liturgy, the building committee expressed a desire for the cathedral to have certain elements that represented their origins in India and their identity as Syro Malabar Catholics, but within a comprehensive design that also reflected the Western identity of the new diocese and their communion with the Roman Catholic Church. The 215

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resulting design is therefore a somewhat eclectic building, contemporary in some respects, traditional in others. It strives to capture the essence of this particular Syro Malabar church through its outward appearance, to achieve a beauty that is unique to this Catholic community. The exterior of the cathedral features a rusticated masonry base, which provides a sense of solidity and permanence, a red brick façade with tall arched windows and limestone surrounds, and a continuous brick cornice. The body of the church features a large octagonal pitched roof that culminates in a bell shaped dome centered over the Sanctuary, reminiscent of the church’s architecture in India. The dome is capped with a stylized cross that is symbolic of the Syro Malabar Church. Octagonal corner bays on the front façade express the presence of the daily chapel and Eucharistic chapel on the interior and are accentuated by pitched metal roofs and cupolas with small versions of the bell shaped dome. A large stairway leads to a baroque inspired main entrance portico which incorporates circular stone medallions with symbols of the Catholic faith and brick corner piers supporting a brick entablature and stone cornice. The second level of the portico integrates radial brick walls to direct one’s attention to the focal point under the central vaulted niche, a custom designed statue of “Jesus the Good Shepherd,” which provides a welcoming reminder of Jesus’ love for all people and of the local Bishop’s role as the ‘shepherd’ of this diocese. Paired stone columns support a triumphal arch which leads to three sets of ornamental wood doors that were hand carved in India with floral patterns representative of the Syro Malabar culture. The interior of the cathedral features a large Narthex leading to a column-free Nave in the church, designed in an octagonal arrangement around a multi-tiered octagonal Sanctuary platform. The lowest tier contains a central Bema where the Gospel is proclaimed, secondary lecterns, and the Baptismal font. The second tier includes the Cathedra, or Bishop’s chair, on one side and the altar 216


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servers’ and presider’s chair on the opposite side. The third tier features the large hand carved altar of sacrifice, and the fourth and final tier contains the tabernacle, which is enclosed by a wooden baldachino adorned with gold Corinthian corner columns supporting angels and a gold version of the same bell shaped dome, thus giving the Blessed Sacrament the highest honor called for in the Church’s regulations pertaining to the Holy Eucharist. This progression from the Nave to the tabernacle provides a heightened sense of the Sacred, which is even further enhanced by a Sanctuary curtain veil, suspended from the dome, which closes during the Offertory Rite when the presiding priest and altar servers prepare the altar and elements of bread and wine, and opens at the beginning of the Liturgy of the Eucharist. This Sanctuary veil, and its theatrical use during the sacred liturgy, is unique within the Catholic Church, but is a great example of how the Syro Malabar Church has extended and transformed the sanctuary veil of the Jewish tradition. Additional elements that were incorporated into the design include custom stained glass windows from India with images of Catholic saints associated with the Syro Malabar Church and a large dove in the central rose window representing the Holy Spirit, custom wood pews with hand carved end panels, granite flooring from India, dynamic color LED lighting (with rotating colors) which projects on the inside of the dome and in the tall recessed archways on each side of the rose window, and exterior color strip lighting that highlights the main exterior features of the Cathedral at night. While some of the elements and features of the cathedral may appear foreign to most of us, they are part of the Syro Malabar Church’s culture and represent their approach to achieving transcendent Beauty in the design of their cathedral.

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The Ascension of Our Lord Church is representative of a Byzantine rite church. While this project is for a Greek Orthodox community, their liturgical and stylistic approaches to achieving beauty

are very similar to those of a Byzantine Catholic community. “The Ascension of Our Lord Greek Orthodox Church was founded to create a Holy Sanctuary, a ‘Heaven on Earth’, for the faithful of the greater Lincolnshire area (suburban Chicago) and for all who are seeking answers, comfort and understanding in their life’s journey as Orthodox Christians. The goal of Ascension church, as in all Orthodox Churches, is to become an integral component to the lives of its parishioners to ensure that as one body we remain Christ centered.” While there are numerous examples of contemporary Byzantine churches which attempt to achieve similar goals in a non-traditional approach, the Ascension community was very clear at the beginning of the design process that they wanted a traditional Byzantine style church, and they provided numerous resources and photographs of churches in Greece and in the Unites States that they thought best captured the essence of the Byzantine architecture they were seeking. The proposed parish complex is 39,000 s.f., and includes a 9400 s.f., 450 seat church, administrative wing, multi-purpose gymnasium/Parish Life Center, and Greek school education wing. However, the design of the church itself was the starting point, beginning with the dome, the most important element in a Byzantine church, and geometric relationships from traditional Byzantine architecture were used in developing the design of the octagonal dome and its relationship to the rest of church building. Smaller versions of the dome were designed for the roof of the Baptistry and bell tower, which provide visual interest and balance on the front façade while conveying the significance of what takes place on the interior (especially the Baptistry). The exterior design provides a sense of permanence and durability with a brick façade and clay tile roofing and features an inviting entrance portico with Byzantine style stone columns, arches and carved circular medallions. A variety of Byzantine style arched windows with circular glass rondels and stone surrounds provide the desired amount of natural light for the church and are accentuated by inset brick arches. The entire interior of the church will feature vaulted ceilings which will serve as a canvas for traditional Byzantine icons that will depict the vision of ‘Heaven on Earth’, where images of Christ, the angels and the saints will remind the

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community “…of the invisible presence of the whole company of heaven at the liturgy.” Another distinguishing element in every Byzantine church is the Iconostasis, which separates the Nave from the Sanctuary, and symbolizes the “…veil in the Temple separating the Holy of Holies from the rest of the Temple. The icons hanging on the icon screen, rather than blocking our view into heaven, have been described as windows into heaven.” Access into the Sanctuary is limited to ordained clergy and altar servers, and inside is the Altar Table, where the Tabernacle and Gospel Book are located, and where the Eucharistic Liturgy is celebrated. While traditional in form and appearance, the design for the church will employ conventional building systems, construction materials and methods (i.e. cavity wall construction), and additional elements such as rain water harvesting that will help the church be ‘good stewards’ of their resources and achieve Gold LEED Certification. Other non-traditional elements include the integration of the Baptistry with the structure of the church building, which will allow for overflow seating in the Baptistry during larger church liturgies. The community also wanted minimal obstructions of sight lines from the seating areas in the Nave, so all of the traditional interior columns were removed except for those necessary to structurally support the dome and to maintain the continuous barrel vaults that intersect at the dome. When constructed, the church will achieve Beauty as it strives to manifest ‘Heaven on Earth’ through its form, materials, proportions, and liturgical art.

Life’s inevitable triumph over the false, materialistic philosophies of this age…By serving thus as a global signal call to conversion and repentance, the Arch of Triumph and the Holy Innocents Shrine will invaluably contribute to the “New Springtime” of the Church, ardently hailed by Pope John Paul II, while also marking and symbolizing the entry of the Church and the world into a new period of history.” “The monumental, triumphal arch is an ancient architectural device, frequently used in Roman times (e.g., the arches of Augustus, Titus, Septimius Severus, Constantine), and used by the French to commemorate Napoleon’s victories (L’Arc de Triomphe). The Gateway Arch, the national public monument in St. Louis, Missouri, is a triumphal arch, commemorating America’s fulfillment of its “manifest destiny” to expand westward to the Pacific. Thus an arch need not commemorate only military triumphs, although there was a military aspect to America’s westward expansion. Nor is a “military” aspect lacking in the Church’s passage from Church Militant in the present age, to Church Triumphant in the age to come…Indeed, there exists no other architectural construct besides the monumental arch, which is associated specifically with triumphal historic occurrences. It would therefore seem more than acceptable and appropriate, but even necessary and inevitable that the grandest triumphal arch ever constructed be built to commemorate the Triumph of the Immaculate Heart of Mary, which is the glorious triumph also of the Sacred Heart of Jesus, and of His Holy Cross.”

The Arch of Triumph of the Immaculate Heart of Mary and the International Shrine of the Holy Innocents represents an unprecedented attempt to achieve what Pope John Paul called a “new epiphany of beauty.” This project, “undertaken in a spirit of profound devotion to the Sacred Heart of Jesus and the Immaculate Heart of Mary, and with the deepest sorrow, and a fervent desire to make reparation, for the grave sin of worldwide abortion….[strives to]…advance the Culture of

“The architectural goal, if impossible to realize fully, is to create a truly fitting tribute to the Queen of Queens, commemorating the Triumph of Her Immaculate Heart predicted by Herself at Fatima in 1917, which is believed to be already in our midst by faith, and will be fully realized with the coming inception of the Reign of the Sacred Hearts of Jesus and Mary, and the Era of Peace Mary predicted also at Fatima…Measuring 700 feet to the top of the golden cross that will surmount it (seven being the mystical number of perfection), the Arch of Triumph will be truly a world-class

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shrine, attracting annually millions of both Christian pilgrims and ordinary tourists from around the world. It will replace the (630 foot tall) Gateway Arch in St. Louis, Missouri, as the world’s tallest monument.” The design for this project is in its infancy, and the challenges are obviously many, especially when there is no closer precedent than the St. Louis Gateway Arch. Arguably, the only wellspring of inspiration for such a unique design is a philosophy of beauty rooted in faith, the Church’s teachings and in the aesthetics of St. Thomas Aquinas. The current design strives to achieve beauty by embracing contemporary design and technology, giving them a sacred meaning, and marrying them with sacred form and imagery, similar to how the early Christian Church adopted and transformed the pagan basilicas of the Roman culture into the early Christian churches. Attempts to achieve St. Thomas’ ‘splendor of form’ include the use of the Golden Section to proportion the height and width of the arch; an arch form that is feminine in appearance while resembling, in an understated but recognizable way, the letter ‘M’; and a crown at the top of the arch that recalls the golden crown with the twelve stars of the Woman Clothed with the Sun from Revelations, and will contain an observation deck and the Chapel of Triumph under the dome. The exterior surfaces will be embellished with recognizable Catholic symbols, including the Sacred Heart of Jesus at the intersection of the cross within the arch, and traditional design elements will be incorporated such as the large semi-enclosed forecourt that recalls St. Peter’s Square, with its religious statues, stone balustrades, and Doric column groupings with entablatures featuring engraved titles of Mary. Traditional designs of the interiors for the Shrine and chapels, including large replicas of various traditional paintings (which will be visible on the exterior through the sloped glass roof of the shrine) will further reflect a respect for the artisitic heritage of the Church. The design continues to develop and evolve as it strives to convey the essence of this vision through the outward appearance of the architecture. 221

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“The ambitions of this Project are surely great; but the utter worldliness and sordidness of modern public life demand great ambition, born of great inspiration, and fueled by that confidence and determination which prayerful contemplation of God’s works and of His Holy Word encourages, for their effective countering with weapons of the Spirit. For like all great Christian art and architecture throughout the world and in all times, the Arch of Mary’s glorious Triumph, and the Holy Innocents Shrine, are dedicated utterly to God as physical weapons in the spiritual battle for the souls of mankind.” As further inspiration for this project, and for the design of all Catholic churches, Mr. Behr states: “I’ve lately been thinking, how awesome the Arch will look against a starry night sky, its crystal cross shining atop gleaming, floodlit golden arcs like streams of grace & mercy pouring from the cross into the world’s darkness -a paean in architecture to Our Lady under her title, Star of the Sea. The Arch as a beacon of hope for a benighted world.”

Closing Depending on the cultural identity, site and budgetary constraints, and specific vision of each Catholic community seeking to build or renovate a Catholic church, the quest for achieving transcendent Beauty should be paramount and should reflect a “theological aesthetic” - a true understanding and respect for the Church’s teachings on Beauty and for the historic patrimony of its church architecture - while manifesting a sense of the ‘heavenly banquet’ and God’s ‘supersubstantial Beauty.’ But no architectural style has a monopoly on achieving such Beauty. As demonstrated, each Catholic community and each Catholic church project is unique. There are a variety of stylistic approaches used to create churches that are truly beautiful, and in some cases a contemporary design approach, rooted in a Catholic understanding of Beauty, is the most appropriate option. But these are issues which each community, and each church architect, needs to 222


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prayerfully discern so that the most appropriate approach is taken to achieve ‘radiance,’ ‘harmony,’ ‘wholeness,’ and, in the end, transcendent Beauty; for “Beauty is a key to the mystery and a call to transcendence. It is an invitation to savour life and to dream of the future… It stirs that hidden nostalgia for God, which a lover of beauty like Saint Augustine could express in incomparable terms: ‘Late have I loved you, beauty so old and so new: late have I loved you!’.”

Thomas Stroka


Catholic Architecture Calls for a Common Language: Leon Battisti Alberti and Ornament to Sacred Buildings Thomas Stroka

When evaluating architectural language for a church building, we commonly look to the association of the architecture with a particular age rather than develop a coherent order and graceful details for the building. A church built for a patron today with pointed arches is meant to evoke the sentiments of Gothic cathedrals and the piety associated with the middle ages, but is not necessarily a careful study of proportions and consistent architectural details. There is often a layer missing in architectural language for churches, especially in the relationship of structural elements, the appropriate hierarchy within churches and the ornament employed. Despite the twentieth century overhaul of traditional church forms and artistic symbols, people today continue to prefer traditional architecture and take pleasure in the beauty of hand-crafted detail and

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the meaning embedded in ornament. In order for church architects to build with an ordered architectural language, the design must be rooted in the tradition of ornament inherited from our predecessors rather than an interest in innovation for innovation’s sake. We will study three threads in the fifteenth century treatise Decem libri de re aedificatoria by Leon Battista Alberti, a Renaissance humanist who calls for a common architectural language in public, private, sacred and profane buildings. First, we will look at the principles of the treatise and the specific points in his seventh book regarding sacred buildings. Then we will study the definitions of beauty and the effect of ornament for architecture. Finally, we will discuss the causes of beauty in architectural design according to Alberti. Architects and patrons today can apply these timeless principles to church projects to improve the architecture and inspire the faithful in their devotion. Before we explore the treatise by Alberti, it is important to have some background on the writer and architect to better understand his perspective on the art of building. Leon Battista Alberti was born in 1404 and raised in Genoa by a merchant banker father. He studied under a Ciceronian schoolmaster in Padua and excelled in Latin, then entered the University of Padua to study civil and canon law. He was ordained a priest and wrote a treatise on painting, “De Pictura,” on sculpture, “De Statua,” and a book on the family, “I Libri della Famiglia.” Alberti also re-wrote some of the lives of the saints in Latin. His work on the theory of architecture, De Re Aedificatoria, was probably finished in Rome in 1450 (though some scholars suggest he continued working on it until his death in 1472) and it was widely circulated in Italy only when the Renaissance was in full bloom one century later. Alberti presented a version of the treatise to Pope Nicholas V, to whom he served as architectural consultant in the years following the 1450 Jubilee. The first Italian translation was not available until 1546, and illustrations accompanied the text in 1550.

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Alberti addresses both architects and their patrons in the treatise, and considers the elements of architecture and beauty in ten books, in imitation of De Architectura by the Roman architect Vitruvius. Alberti builds upon Vitruvius’ imitation of the laws of Nature in architecture with a Christian worldview and suggests that the architect’s use of his intellect to design beautiful buildings reflects God’s creative process. As he accomplished for the other arts in his previous works, Alberti provides a foundation, this time for the architect, to stimulate delight and transform the civic realm through the addition of beautiful architecture. “We therefore distinguished the various types of buildings and noted the importance of the connection of their lines and their relationship to each other, as the principal sources of beauty.” In the seventh book entitled Ornament to Sacred Buildings, Alberti addresses the practical demands of church architecture and the poetic significance of ornament. Ultimately, Alberti argues for the importance of beauty for the life of the city, and suggests that architecture is guided by nature, grounded in the concinnitas (or “congruity”) between the human person and the Creator. It is this concinnitas which informs a common classical language of architecture for every age, fifteenth century or twenty-first. The ten books have an overarching order outlined by the author in the prologue: first, the definition of architecture and its parts, which are lineamenta (architectural lines), materia (materials) and opus (construction); second, the division between different building types; third, the discussion of the causes and effects of beauty. In the first book on lineamenta, Alberti states that the graceful order of the building relies upon the composition of architectural lines into a unified whole. He also defines the six elements of architecture: locality, area, compartition, wall, roof and opening. Locality, for example, refers to the placement of the city on the land; an elevated position is preferable to a low-lying area. In the second book on materia, he describes design methods such as the importance of planning and the choice of building materials. The third book, opus, involves construction methods and other practical aspects of building. The fourth and fifth books portray the divisions of society, the variety of building types and the appropriate corre226


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sponding architecture. Book six discusses beauty and ornament, to which we will return after discussing the specific points regarding sacred architecture.

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What are some of the specific recommendations by Alberti on sacred buildings from which we can learn today? First, the church should be in a bustling location in the city, and visible from surrounding streets. Ideally, the church façade faces a forecourt or large square and is prominent

among the other buildings but in close proximity to the population. It is the most important building in the city and its location should nurture the frequent piety of the citizenry rather than serve as a “destination church” once a week. An attractive church in the heart of a neighborhood can serve as the nucleus of community life for people of all ages. Of course, architects need to collaborate with urban planners and zoning officials to make this type of parish church a reality. Second, the church will better inspire souls if it is elevated above the ground rather than submerged or low-lying in the city. “The whole temple should be raised above the level of the city: this will give it a greater air of dignity.” In fact Alberti studies ancient precedent and concludes that the best architects derived the height of the temple’s base as one sixth the width of the façade. The base of the church sets it apart from the commerce and traffic at grade, and prepares the individual for the mystery of the liturgy with a procession up a noble staircase. Third, the church should be of a more modest size, only so large as the city requires, so that its surfaces can be ornamented appropriately. Alberti recommends generous decoration of the church and states that “ornament is never completed.” Unfortunately we tend to build mammoth churches that accommodate masses of people and are expensive enough just to roof, let alone adorn. Alberti gives an example of a church project that was so large it was never roofed. The architect can encourage the patron to cut the scope of the project in order to improve the craftsmanship and detail in the architecture. The construction of a smaller church building may not be prudent in many places, but a compromise can be found in order to afford more ornament for the church interior. Fourth, Alberti provides recommendations for finishing the surfaces of the church. He suggests decorating the brick walls with marble or glass, either paneled or as mosaic while the exterior can be finished in stucco. It is important to catechize with the interior decoration, and so to encourage the Faithful to live virtuous lives. Alberti mentions the posting of maxims for the moral instruction of the Faithful. More commonly in our churches, the side walls and windows may depict the life of the patron saint or events from the life of Christ while the sanctuary portrays the Heavenly

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Book seven of De Re Aedificatoria is entitled Ornament to Sacred Buildings. In this part, Alberti addresses the specific demands of sacred buildings which he divides into the temple and basilica types and calls for a common language in a time of particular confusion. Though Alberti writes about church architecture using the pagan Latin terms for temple and the plural “gods,” he intends to fuse the architectural authority of the pagan temple with the supernatural order of the liturgy. The temple could be re-interpreted as a Christian shrine or centralized church, while the basilica is the traditional and more common longitudinal or cruciform church form. The basilican form is noted for its focal point at the altar on one end, the space for the choir, and the generous nave and porticoes in which the congregation may gather. Alberti writes that the basilica should imitate much of the ornament in temples, but will serve a different purpose. Specifically, the basilica hosts a “rampaging crowd of litigants” and should therefore include clear aisles and plenty of light. The longitudinal basilica church has served the Faithful for two millennia and continues to serve the Holy Liturgy today. It has deep significance for the city because it is its spiritual heart and the architecture is meant to reflect its high position. The church is both God’s dwelling place in the form of the Blessed Sacrament, and is also the place for the worship of God in the Holy Liturgy. Alberti writes “No aspect of building requires more ingenuity, care, industry, and diligence than the establishment and ornament of the temple.”


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banquet. Fifth, Alberti writes that the floor should have a paving pattern in order to stimulate the mind with geometric lines. Sixth, in regard to the design of side chapels, they can be open to the nave or separated by a pair of columns, or completely closed off from the nave. Seventh, Alberti makes specific reference to windows in a temple, that they should be modest in size and be located above the congregation so that the only view is toward the sky. The distractions of the street or garden seen at the eye level will divert the minds of the worshippers. Many churches today, such as the Dio Padre Misericordioso or Jubilee Church by Richard Meier in Rome, bring an abundance of light into the space, which can reduce the austerity of the church, especially for the purpose of private devotion. Alberti suggests that some darkness creates a sense of mystery and encourages veneration by the people. Eighth, Alberti gives exhaustive recommendations for the entrance to the temple, modeled on Ancient precedent. He delineates the differences between the Dorians, Ionians and Corinthians after explaining their acceptance of a common architectural language. From his observation of architectural practice in Antiquity, he discovers consistency in ornament. “All the best architects would make the jambs one fourteenth narrower at the top than at the bottom. The lintel and the top of the jambs would be the same thickness, and their ornament would share the same profile.” Alberti suggests building the temple doors of bronze for greater durability. For a basilica church, the doors should be of cedar or cypress but with bronze knobs. Though these specifics may not relate to a church project today, they are reminders of the importance of durability for the church building. When a patron is tempted to think in terms of decades, the architect motivate him to think in terms of centuries. Ninth, according to Alberti, the altar for sacrifice should be higher than everything else since it is the epicenter of worship. “…the sacrificial altar is to be set up so as to give it the greatest dignity: the ideal position, surely, is before the tribunal.” The Holy Sacrifice calls for a noble position with all the other elements in the church building ordered to it. The fifteenth century, leading up to the Council of Trent in the sixteenth century, saw a wide variety of church arrangements which were considered disori-

enting by Alberti. The high altar in the apse of the church was overwhelmed by side aisle full of altars and devotional shrines. Alberti believes it necessary to focus attention on the main altar to preserve the dignity of the Holy Sacrifice, which had become confused by the crowding of other elements in the church. However, in other parts of the treatise Alberti stresses the importance of allocating places for personal devotion within the church. Tenth, the architect should incorporate the design of the liturgical elements into the church building. Alberti writes that the candelabrum, for example, should be wider at the base than the top and divides the whole into seven parts which are subsequently proportioned. The ornament inside the churches and the liturgical elements are part of the overall order of the architectural language. These principles are relevant to church architects in the twenty-first century because they invoke the living tradition of sacred architecture. Some ideas are more helpful than others, but none of them limit the creativity of the architect. Rather, they are tools which have informed Catholic church design since Antiquity. The second important thrust of Alberti’s De Re Aedificatoria is his definition of beauty in architecture and the means to accomplish it through the use of ornament. At the beginning of book six, Alberti references the three principles of architecture from Vitruvius: firmitas, utilitas & venustas. But it is to venustas that Alberti pays attention in the second half of the treatise. He defines beauty and its place in the art of building, specifically with the use of proportion, ornament and the appropriate positioning of the building elements. Alberti invests more of the text on these topics because of the loss of excellence in architecture in his own time. He writes “Examples of ancient temples and theaters have survived that may teach us as much as any professor, but I see—not without sorrow—these very buildings being despoiled more each day. And anyone who happens to build nowadays draws his inspiration from inept modern nonsense rather than proven and much commended methods.” Architectural language and its ornament can contain a narrative of human habits and gestures that also relate a specific building to the tradition. Alberti appeals to this narrative in his description of classical forms by infusing a Christian conception

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of the created world. The inherited tradition of ornament brings forth a foundation upon which architects can elaborate and build appropriately. Toward the beginning of the sixth book, Alberti offers a brief description of the nature of beauty: “Beauty is that reasoned harmony of all the parts within a body, so that nothing may be added, taken away, or altered, but for the worse. It is a great and holy matter.” Rarely is beauty to be found, even in nature itself. Ornament amplifies the beautiful nature of a building, or makes an unpleasant building more bearable. Beauty and ornament are not synonymous but reinforce one another. Ornament is “a form of auxiliary light and complement to beauty.” Beauty and ornament can be found together through the art of building, and the implementation of traditional building principles. These principles are found in the examples of our ancestors and may be applied to beautiful buildings today. First, architects can learn from the existing repertoire of church buildings. Many have already resolved design problems that we encounter. Alberti suggests that architects learn from successful buildings and should sketch details to keep a record. He writes “…wherever there is a work that has received general approval, he should inspect it with great care, record it in drawing, note its numbers, and construct models and examples of it.” However, architects are not called to slavishly copy the most beautiful works of architecture. In the first book, Alberti writes “Although other famous architects seem to recommend by their work either the Doric, or the Ionic, or the Corinthian, or the Tuscan division as being the most convenient, there is no reason why we should follow their design in our work, as though legally obliged; but rather, inspired by their example, we should strive to produce our own inventions, to rival, or, if possible, to surpass the glory of theirs.” Until the twentieth century rejection of tradition in many spheres of learning, architects developed new buildings from an existing vocabulary that allows infinite possibilities for the architect. 231

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Second, conventions have defined the appropriate use of ornament, and even the specific application of the classical orders. The ornament employed in a building articulates its place in the city, or decorum, and the church building has the highest position among all the public buildings. “With sacred works, especially public ones, every art and industry must be employed to render them as ornate as possible.” Third, ornament is integral to the structure of the building and cannot be removed. “In the whole art of building the column is the principal ornament without any doubt; it may be set in combination, to adorn a portico, wall, or other form of opening, nor is it unbecoming when standing alone.” The column is considered by Alberti both structural and decorative, and is inherited from use in Greek and Roman precedent. While he does not provide the elaborate stories of the invention of the Orders found in Vitruvius, he includes a synopsis of columns used by the Dorians, Ionians and Corinthians, and calls the Composite order the Italian. The three principle orders are related to three human measures: “fuller, more practical and enduring” is the Doric. “Slender and full of charm” is the Corinthian. “The one that lay in between” is the Ionic. Alberti writes that the Ancients invented these ornaments for the body as a whole, indicating the hierarchy of the Orders and their incorporation into the corpus of a building. “Make the ornament to the window openings Corinthian, to the main entrance Ionic, and to the doors of the dining rooms, chambers and so on, Doric.” Fourth, the meaning of classical ornament found in Antiquity is incorporated into Christian sacred architecture. The anthropomorphic analogy is found in Vitruvius’ text and is re-introduced by Alberti with specific terms derived from the human body, which has been elevated by the Incarnation. “When [the ancients] considered man’s body, they decided to make columns after its image.” Alberti was familiar with the medieval encyclopedic texts which brought the elements of architecture to life through the use of terms of the human body. Alberti calls the top 232


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of the column the caput, or head, and the bottom of the column the planta, or foot. While medieval Christian authors compiled architecture with many other subjects, Alberti builds a theory of architecture reconciling medieval and Ancient worldviews. He includes a reference to the ark of Noah in Scripture, which was built based on the human figure. Alberti praises God’s creation for its coherence and completeness, and indicates that architects should design buildings that imitate that creation. “Nature was so thorough in forming the bodies of animals, that she left no bone separate or disjointed from the rest. Likewise, we should link the bones and bind them fast with muscles and ligaments, so that their frame and structure is complete and rigid enough to ensure that its fabric will still stand on its own, even if all else is removed.” So for Alberti the columns are the skeletal frame for the building, and are integral to its overall form. Fifth, Alberti argues for the power that beauty can bring to the defense of the city, suggesting that the skills of the architect are strategic for maintaining peaceful coexistence. “There can be no greater security to any work against violence and injury, than beauty and dignity.” One concludes that the citizens raise their minds to noble aspirations and identify themselves more closely with the physical form of the city. Sixth, beauty found in nature can also inspire built forms. Shapes appropriate for architecture are derived from the elements of God’s creation. And just as creation is appreciated ultimately for its beauty, architecture is judged by its beauty more than its utility. Though ornament will differ for each building type, Alberti insists upon its relationship to the beauty of the building. Finally, the third thread we will examine in the treatise is the cause of beauty in architecture. After defining beauty, Alberti defines its cause into three interrelated principles. He writes “… 233

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we may conclude beauty to be such a consent and agreement of the parts of a whole in which it is found, as to number, finishing and collocation, as congruity, that is to say, the principal law of Nature requires.” Therefore the beauty of architecture is dictated by the laws of nature, especially in the form of numerus, finitio, collocatio and concinnitas. In judging numerus or “number” in building, the architect observes what happens in nature and consults the philosophers. In the treatise, Alberti reflects on the even number of feet of all the animals in God’s creation, and the relationship that has had on determining the even number of columns in ancient buildings. Though there is a large variety of species, some more celebrated than others, they all abide by the law of an even number of legs. In the same way, beautiful architecture has an even number of supports and an odd number of openings or doorways. Alberti’s treatise uses geometry to confirm that which is already present in the created world. He considers the significance of different numbers in nature and their integration into architecture. “As for the number five, when I consider the many varied and wonderful things that either themselves relate to that number or are produced by something that contains it – such as the human hand – I do not think it wrong that it should be called divine, and rightly dedicated to the gods of the arts.” Numbers can be celebrated in architecture, and they can have deep meaning for churches. Of the three causes of beauty, numerus is the most perceptible in the building. In referring to finishing, finitio, Alberti means the relationship between the length, breadth and height of the lines of the materials. It determines proportions in the building formed by the architect. Though it may be an unpopular notion today, certain proportions in a building are inherently more attractive to the beholder. Alberti writes “it is remarkable how some natural instinct allows each of us, learned and ignorant alike, to sense immediately what is right or wrong in the execution and design of a work.” This requires the work of the craftsman to apply his skills to the 234


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physical material, “…the amassing, adding, diminishing, chipping, polishing and the like, which make the work delicate.”: The lineamenta, for example, bring definition to a work and therefore “finish” it. The “design,” gives beauty to the building when the proportions and order are put in their proper place using lines and angles, “so that the whole form of the structure be proportionable.” Finitio is also a call for proportionality in the plan of the building, which is then carried up in three dimensions by the architect. Beautiful proportions defined by lineamenta are found in the harmony of music, “that consonance of sounds which is pleasant to the ears.” He quotes Pythagoras in saying that “Nature is sure to act consistently, and with a constant analogy in all her operations…the same numbers, by means of which the agreement of sounds affects our ears with delight, are the very same which please our eyes and our mind.” The areae that are formed using these ratios are the wall surfaces and floor dimensions of the built work. Starting with a square, the designer can lengthen or shorten dimensions to achieve harmonic consonance, such as an octave, or 1:2, fifth, or 2:3, or a fourth 1:4. Through the use of these types of measure, the architect can relate the intended narrative to the visitor, much like a painter develops a formula to engage the memory. Architects employ these numbers to lay out dimensions in plan, and to develop harmonious heights of rooms. Rules for proportions can also be grounded in arithmetic or geometric means. If the length of the room is eight, width four, then the height could be determined to be six. In Book VII Alberti suggests that nature relishes in round shapes, such as tree trunks, the nests of birds and the stars. Upon seeing these qualities in Nature, the architect imbues his work with beauty. In addition, the materials themselves emerge from nature with their own particular character. Beauty in architecture proceeds from the intellectual energy of the designer engaging Nature. Therefore, the practical facet of beauty can be found in the proportions, but Alberti reveals deeper dimensions of beauty throughout the text, leading to a concinnitas of parts , even outside what Vitruvius would call Nature. All the finishing/proportion planned by the architect reflects the harmony of God’s creation. The order found in nature is attributed to God, and the 235

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order found in buildings is attributed to the intellect of the architect and the generosity of the patron. Collocatio, or “composition,” is the right arrangement of the different members of the building both small and large.; “Take great care to ensure that even the minutest elements are so arranged in their level, alignment, number, shape and appearance, that right matches left, top matches bottom, adjacent matches adjacent, and equal matches equal, and that they are an ornament to that body of which they are a part.” As a model, Alberti looks to the balance and symmetry found in antiquity, when the pediments were perfectly level, the statues on either side matched one another and even marble panels of the same quality and color were placed against one another. Therefore, collocatio relies more on the natural abilities of man to put things together, something that cannot be taught. The final term used to express the beauty of a building by Alberti is the most significant: concinnitas, which is composed of the previous three, numerus, finitio, collocatio. Ultimately, he uses the term to discuss the proportions of the whole building and the individual parts as one unified system that imitates the perfection embodied by Nature. When Alberti uses the term Nature, he refers to the underlying order founded by God the Creator. Concinnitas or “congruity” in architecture is therefore the design of buildings which resemble the beauty composed by the great Artist Himself. Man has been given an intellect to examine Nature and transfer these observations into the language of architecture. “[Concinnitas] runs through man’s entire life and government, it molds the whole of nature. Everything that nature produces is regulated by the law of concinnitas, and her chief concern is that whatever she produces should be absolutely perfect…[Concinnitas] is the main object of the art of building, and the source of her dignity, charm, authority and worth.” The architect fulfills his social responsibility through concinnitas, the integration 236


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of the beautiful proportion and natural material found in Nature into the building. Architecture serves a dignified role in society in as much as it reflects concinnitas, the principal law of nature. The work of the architect stimulates delight in the citizenry and introduces order to their lives. Men can be moved by beauty, both in churches and in other noble buildings, to live virtuous lives. The business and office of congruity is to put together members differing from each other in their natures…that they may conspire to form a beautiful whole…its true seat is in the mind and in reason…and runs through every part and action of man’s life, and every production of Nature herself, which are all directed by the law of congruity.” To build successful church buildings, we can emulate the principles set forth by Alberti, which are rooted in the architecture inherited by the Christian church from Antiquity.

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Grafton, Anthony. Leon Battista Alberti: Master Builder of the Italian Renaissance. New York: Hill and Wang, 2000. Lang, S. “De Lineamentis: L. B. Alberti’s Use of a Technical Term.” Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, Vol. 28 (1965), pp. 331-5. Payne, Alina A. The Architectural Treatise in the Italian Renaissance: Architectural Invention, Ornament, and Literary Culture. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999. Tavernor, Robert. On Alberti and the Art of Building. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1998. Van Eck, Caroline. “The Structure of De Re Aedificatoria Reconsidered.” Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians, Vol. 57, No. 3 (Sept., 1998), pp. 280-97)

Works Cited Aiken, Jane Andrews. “Leon Battista Alberti’s System of Human Proportions.” Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, Vol. 43 (1980), pp. 68-96. Alberti, Leon Battista. Rykwert, Joseph, Neil Leach and Robert Tavernor, trans. On the Art of Building in Ten Books. Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press, 1988. Eden, W. A. “Studies in Urban Theory: The De Re Aedificatoria of Leon Battista Alberti.” The Town Planning Review, Vol. 19, No. 1 (Autumn, 1943), pp. 10-28.

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Westfall, Carroll William. “Society, Beauty and the Humanist Architect in Alberti’s De Re Aedificatoria.” Studies in the Renaissance, Vol. 16 (1969) pp. 61-79. Westfall, Carroll William. “Awe for the Noble Things.” Sacred Architecture Journal, Issue 16, 2009, pp. 20-25. Wittkower, Rudolf. “Alberti’s Approach to Antiquity in Architecture.” Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, Vol. 4, No. 1/2 (Oct. 1940-Jan. 1941) pp. 1-18.

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Zoran Vukoszavlyev

Catholicism at the Eastern Border of Europe: Construction Works by the Catholic Church in the Post-Communist Countries at the Turn of the Millennium Zoran Vukoszavlyev

Middle-Eastern Europe is on the historical ridge of Catholicism. In the history of the lands now consisting of Poland, Czech Republic, Slovakia and Hungary the presence of Catholicism is dominant. For centuries, these most eastern countries of the Roman Catholic Church have been the combatants of faith located in the close vicinity of orthodoxy and Muslim states. The constructing activity of the Church was unbroken even in the changing state-formations. In the 20th century the international modern architecture of Europe has been enriched with outstanding compositions in the church-architecture of these countries. The progressive architectural style animated the new functional approach of the catholic reform movement as well: the composition

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of churches followed the functional arrangement of early Christian sacral space even between the two world wars. The dynamically developing Church employed the most well-known architect, in this way the national styles could also appear beside modernism: the romantic buildings emerging from secession and using traditional vernacular forms. The progressive architectural creations of the era have adapted the early-Christian liturgical space forms into the cubic mass formation of modern architecture - thus the functional arrangement of the churches has become clearly apparent in their mass-hierarchy. Behind the arched gate-formation of the church of Városmajor, the walls rise up like pylons, the mass forms, which are closed from outside, create a nearly ethereal space inside with the thin pillars vertically aiming up. The tower standing alone is a transcription of the Mediterranean campaniles. The monastery church of Pasarét is created by similarly simple forms; the architect, Gyula Rimanóczy designed it in the modernist style near to romanticism that was typical of the period’s Italian architecture. Also the porch with columns and the arched inner spans of the gate are historical references; just as the beamed ceiling quoting the

F 01 : Hungary, Budapest-Városmajor catholic church, 1932. Architects: Aladár Árkay and Bertalan Árkay (Image by the Athor)

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However, this enrichment in architecture was followed by an extreme decline after the end of the 2nd World War. In the countries of the “eastern block”, getting under the influence of the Soviet Union, church construction activity approached zero. It was more shocking than the wartime damages and socialization that in the socialist era a church could only be built at the site of a demolished former church – the construction of a new building was only possible as the representative manifestation of the communist state. In the once prosperous East-European catholic countries ideological oppression and even physical pogrom reigned for 40 years. In this atheist dictatorship Christianity was considered as something to be concealed.

F 02 (left) : Hungary, Budapest-Pasarét, franciscan monastry, 1931-1934. Architect: Gyula Rimanóczy F 03 (right) : Slovakia, Rárósmulyad, roman catholic church, 1908-1910. Architect: István Medgyaszay

traditional sunk paneled ceilings. Medgyasszay’s church in Rárósmulyad uses central space form and its organic space-formation creates a special communal space. The vernacular form-treasury is appearing not only in relation of decoration but also in the arched line of the layout and in the form of the tower. The church is special for the cover of the central space form, where the period’s technical achievement is used in the thin reinforced concrete cupola forming vegetal petals. 241

During the socialist-communist dictatorship, sacral buildings could be built only under very strict control. With achieving a political stabilization, the construction of these certain buildings became possible as a favor toward people – the satisfaction of social needs was intended to consolidate the counter-balance of democratic movements. Uprisings started in Hungary in 1956 and in Czechoslovakia in 1968; but in both cases they were suppressed by the troops of the “Varsaw Pact” marching in. The Hungarian State, in order to represent its social indulgence, commissioned László Csaba with the design of a new church to the place of a small church that had been demolished for the sake of an industrial investment. Expressive formation and complex program of related arts show the era’s architectural approach which does not stand opportunism. The expressive triangular formation, the unique use of lights has made this building be an outstanding creation. The crematorium near Bratislava, deigned by Milučky is of the same high standard and can be recognized as the gem of modern architecture. On the edge of woods the long running parallel walls are adapted to the hillside. Between them the space coverings create 242


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the architectural spaces: a mortuary is formed which is wide opened to the sight of woods by the huge glass walls. In this way the mystery of farewell becomes part of the landscape. Beside the use of natural materials (natural stone walls, solid wood furniture, details, light timber-lamella fences) the concept of modern detail formation appears as well: the flowing spaces are bordered by the membranes of glass walls installed on thin steel profiles. Political changes have started with the election of John Paul II as pope (16th October 1978) – Karol Józef Wojtyła coming from the communist Poland preached for peace, and his consistent forgiving attitude made more permissive not only the leaders of his own nation but the political leaders of Czechoslovakia and Hungary as well. The church of the worker’s town Nova Huta next to Krakkó had been being built for decades before it was consecrated in1977. The building has an organic layout, and its ceiling of an enormous span is held by the steel load bearing structures produced by the steel factory and it is covered with timber cladding. The arched line of the walls tries to set itself free from the bleak purity of buildings constructed

F 04 : Slovakia, Bratislava-Lamač, crematory, 1962-1968. Architect: Ferdinand Milučky

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from prefabricated panels. An obvious relationship can be found between this building and the magnificent work of Corbusier in Ronchamp. In the eighties the building activity of the Church slowly became tolerated, but the real break-through was the fall of the socialist block and the start of democratic changes. Beyond financial rehabilitation, the new freedom of soul was much more important – the gates of churches could be wide opened again, the houses of God were crowded for masses. The religious communities of the extensive building estates pulled up during socialism intended to build churches for their own and the worker-colonies of the industrial areas aspired to a home as well. After 1989, several churches were built trying to compensate for the decades-long backlog. In an architectural sense, we can talk about the continuation of architectural activity of the 20th century being interrupted in the 40’s. The definition of a national character is even more forceful in these countries, since at time of the constructions in this re-gained freedom, the results of the Second Vatican

F 05 : Poland, Cracow, The Ark of the Lord catholic church, 1967-1977. Architects: Wojciech Pietrzyk and Jan Grabacki

Council have had a very old perspective. The turn of the millennium can be described with the search for architectural status and with the re-definition of lost identity. In Poland, the homeland of John Paul II, the pope’s great spiritual work has always been a great power - so the self-identification of the Church could become unbroken on the basis of the believers’ strong faith. In the 244


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former Czechoslovakia the challenges are more complex: the different cultural characters of the two nations require unique solutions to the continuation of the construction works. In the middle of the 20th century the suppression of the Church was the most shocking in Hungary, the country where the order of St. Paul was founded, but maybe this gave strength for the resumption. The constructions related to political changes were established in areas where the ease from strong political oppression had resulted in a very fast counter-reaction. In several industrial towns that had been settled under socialism, the churches appeared nearly simultaneously to the changes. The catholic church of the internationally known architect Imre Makovecz has been built on the skirts of the concrete plattenbau of Paks, the town in Middle-Hungary famous of its nuclear power plant. Hungarian organic architecture is inspired by ancient vernacular architecture – the composition seems like something before Christianity, carrying the vernacular religion of the thousand year old Christian state and determining a place within the world of the turn of the millennium at the same time. A building-organism was born from the anthropomorphic signs; the composition forms F 06 : Hungary, Paks, roman catholic church, 1988-1992. a heart shape. The cross rises on top of the entrance tower, Architect: Imre Makovecz but underneath, the symbols of sun and moon appear as well. The main gate is guarded by two angels: the angel of Darkness on the north side and angel of Light on the south. The timber structures are raised high from the layout to the heart-shaped skylight of the ridge, just like the two angles who accompany Christ turn to the light with their 245

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outstretched wings. Makovecz has balanced the uncertain period of political changes and social transition with the conscious use of this specific language of forms – the treasury of Hungarian vernacular forms becomes the embodiment of religious traditions. The vernacular tradition or the previously presented church’s organic layout arrangement is seeking for the architectural space of the turn of millennium in term of new formal approaches. This search for style is typical of that churches too where the historic forms and details are adapted more directly. A church in Budapest in the near vicinity of university and office buildings, lays on the banks of the river Danube. The main sacral space is determined by the cupola with flat arch and circle-shaped layout, emerging in the ring of tiny glass skylights – quoting the central churches of the medieval Hungary. The unusual asymmetry of the space with triforium is balanced by the axis of the space-row starting from the baptistery at the entrance to the synF 07 : Hungary, Budapest-Lágymányos, roman catholic church, 1994-1996. Architect: Ferenc Török and Mihály Balázs therion of the altar apsis. Outside the homog(Image by the Architect © Ferenc Török and Mihály Balázs) enous mass of the monumental copper cupola, which is supported by stone plinth, is embraced by the Stations of the Cross climbing the ramp. At the gate of the entrance-bridge a gothic gable greets the visitor with the aim of leading him to the entrance between the buildings – in this way creating an urban space within the separate buildings of the campus. Historic spirit and direct architectural quotations try to find their way. 246


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The accelerated construction works in the first decade following1989 were typical for their search for style: to find the desired national character has led to several errors, while the traditions of modernism seemed to be a misunderstood language for a long time. Beyond all question, the ideological oppression has broken a tradition, which previously had meant the most adequate architectural attitude due to the continuous development of the Church and the culture of the given nation. Nevertheless, the constructions of the new decade show a more clarified picture.

F 08 : Bohemia, Novy Dvur, trappist monastery, 1999-2004. Architect: John Pawson

The rooms of silence have been created in the formation of a Czech Trappist (Cistercian) monastery. In the mountains near to Prague, the ruins of a baroque farm building were reconstructed by 247

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the Czech monks returning from French exile. Following the plans of John Pawson, the U-shaped layout was altered to a closed yard with building wings on all four sides, in this way modeling the Cistercian monasteries being typical since the Middle Ages. With the rooms of the refectory and dormitory, harmonically adapted building parts have been attached to the beautifully renovated baroque wing; the Sacristy, Chapter room and Scriptorium are placed in the new wing. The chorus of the monks has become the centre of the long, narrow church space; the sounds of hymns are dissolved in the play of lights within the abstract space created by white walls. A song in colours gives the most direct image of the building complex designed in a dense urban environment. The hierarchic-order of the three main functions (church, vicarage, community house) results in a liberal composition. The central yard is bordered by building blocks from three sides. The fourth side is open to the surrounding: the heterogeneous forms of family houses and panel blocks are appeased by the calm composition being open in the bay-like formation. Arriving from the F 09 : Hungary, Gödöllő, roman catholic church, 2001-2007. Architect: Tamás Nagy (Image by the Architect © Tamás Nagy) small park, the side-wings’ facade rhythmically articulated with pillars escorts us- or rather leads us to the church that frontally welcomes us with its monumental elevation. A harmony in born from the delicate sonority of rhythm and scales of openings; while formal leanness and consistency hardly gives a chance for emotional attachments. The spaces of nearly evangelical purity are drawn into a genial and intimate one with the use of wonderful wooden furniture and white structural elements. In the semi-arch apsis of 248


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the altar, the glass windows glow with the lights of saturated colours, presenting a colour-sound transcription of the Gregorian melody of Kyrie eleison. At the turn of the millennium, the most important need of the human race is silence itself. The dynamism of the visual world around us has to be changed by the calm environment of the church, where the aesthetics of structure and moderate decoration can provide peaceful surroundings for the meeting with God. The design method concentrating on conceptual elements, which is typical of the young architect generation, gives well readable answers. The small chapel located in the nature reservation area near Tarnów, Poland is built of homogenous materials. All its structure, claddings and furniture are made of wood. The simplicity of the tiny chapel referring to the farm buildings of vernacular architecture creates a pathetic space. The pattern of a shed is a profane room but with the presence of the congregation it becomes a sacral space. The Word is completed in Eucharist – Christ comes to join directly the people.

F 10 : Poland, Tarnów, chapel, 2009. Architects: Marta Rowińska & Lech Rowiński (Image by the Architect © beton)

Presently we live in the era of tradition being fulfilled. The recognized tradition addresses the believers in a contemporary language of forms, and they feel at home again in the churches. The goal of our study has been to present these different languages. We consider the self-identification found in historical 249

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forms as well as the contemporary way of clear/minimalist architectural formation, manifested in abstraction. Are the quotations from vernacular architecture, the forms of classicism or the engineering aesthetics of modernism the most effective from the aspect of historical continuity of the Catholic Church? The catholic churches of the European post-communist countries built on the turn of the millennium represent the revival of tradition. References: KRÄHLING, János: „Gyülekezeti központok a XX. század szakrális építészetében”. in: Építés – Építészettudomány, 2008/1-2, pp.119-127. MAKOVECZ, Imre: „A [paksi templom] tervezés történetéről”, in: GERLE, János (ed): Makovecz Imre műhelye. Tervek, épületek, írások, interjúk. Magyar építőművészet-1. Mundus Egyetemi Kiadó, Budapest, 1996. pp.306-307. MASZNYIK, Csaba: „Fény és forrás : szentháromság katolikus templom, Gödöllő”, in: Régi-új magyar építőművészet. 2007/5. pp.36-37. MORAVČÍKOVÁ, Henrieta - DULLA, Matus: 20th Century Architecture in Slovakia. Art Stock, Bratislava, 2003. PAMER, Nóra: Magyar építészet a két világháború között. Budapest, 1986. RÉV Ilona: Templomépítészetünk ma. Corvina, Budapest, 1987. STOCK, Wolfgang Jean: Architectural Guide : Christian Sacred Building in Europe since 1950. Prestel, München, Berlin, London, New York, 2004. TÖRÖK, Ferenc: Török Ferenc. (Architectura – Vallomások), Kijárat Kiadó, Budapest, 1996. This research has been funded by the Hungarian Scientific Research Fund No. OTKA 68610 and by the Bolyai Grant of the Hungarian Academy of Sciences.

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George Joseph Martin

On Incompleteness: The Architectural ‘Sehnsucht’ of Gaudi’s Sagrada Familia George Joseph Martin

Contemporary sacred architecture suffers in many ways from the circumstances surrounding its making, particularly in post-industrial societies where highly refined construction product delivery methods and computer assisted critical path monitoring have “evolved” the practice of building to one that values speed and efficiency over craft. In service to a state of “completeness” driven by the need to transition to a permanent financing structure and mandated by property insurance boilerplate, the act of building seeks an immediate “final state.” This emphasis understands the object of construction to be a thing, in the case of sacred architecture, a physical church or temple, to which the parameters available for success are specifically structural, compositional, material. What tends to be lost in all this is an understanding of, and appreciation for, the temporal sacred space of the build-ing. The architect who undertakes to design a sacred space should adequately inform his/her architectural imagination of both the temporal and physical attributes of the space they participate in defining. 251



To say that something is “incomplete” is to say that there is a state of completeness which this something does not attain or participate in. A chess set for example, with only three rooks, is an incomplete set, its incompleteness defined by the missing rook. We would recognize this incompleteness simply from asymetry even without a knowlege of how the game is played. For my exploration of incompleteness in architecture here I will examine it in both a literal and figurative way. Literal in that buildings, like chess sets, can be incomplete due to construction or decay, and figuratively in that the quality of incompleteness is a human condition that plays out meaningfully in Catholic sacred architecture, particularily in my opinion, with Gaudi’s Sagrada Familia. As St. Augustine wrote, “You have made us for yourself, O Lord, and our heart is restless until it rests in you” our restlessness is a ‘sehnsucht’ (longing, yearing) for human completetion in the presence of God. That sacred art and architecture can illicit this sehnsucht, the sharp stab of intense joy and longing for that union (that C.S. Lewis describes so well), is its highest calling and one that I will argue here, can readily be drawn in the experience of Sagrad Familia.

Architectural Incompleteness Incompleteness in design is a safe harbor for the architect from the storm of criticism which awaits a completed work. A design, when incomplete on the drawing board, is ripe with potential. The architect lays out the general formula for the design, the rules of the game if you will, and in short order finds himself at that crossroads where a commitment must be made and a path taken, a limitation defined. Immediately the expanse of potential in the design is reduced to an ever decreasing field of options dictated by the rules of the game being played. As much as it is the architect’s job to play this game, the desire to find some way to hold the design perpetually in a state of pregnant potentiality is tempting, but alas, the design must condense into building. By contrast, the artist when laying out a sketch has the luxury of defining completeness in her own 252



work. She makes a determination as to at what point in the execution of the sketch has provided enough information to induce in the mind of a viewer, a sense or idea or picture of the subject being contemplated. Often this determination consists of an ongoing negotiation between artist and work as to when just enough, and no more, information has been provided than is necessary. The sketch must tease out from the viewer, an image in the minds eye which is more complete, more meaningful really, then any sketch in and of itself has the power to convey. The sketch conspires with the viewer to produce the subject. Architecture, as a useful art, makes the possibility of engaging in this sort of incompleteness, a difficult proposition indeed. The public, by and large, wants its buildings complete. In order to explore the idea of incompleteness in architecture, and more specifically in sacred architecture, it will be helpful here at the outset to distinguish between two general types and within those types, two further sub-categories. This four part matrix will serve as a frame through which to evaluate a particular piece of sacred architecture. To establish the two general categories I will borrow from Colin Rowe in his investigation of Transparency (1), distinguishing between a literal and phenomenal variety. For their two respective sub-categories I will clumsily play off Lindsay Jones (2) two part pattern for ritual-architectural eventfulness substituting a front and back half, with a coming and going and a be-coming and an absence.

Literal Incompleteness (LI) Literal incompleteness is what we normally regard as incompleteness or unfinished-ness. In the design stage, this type of incompleteness is far from virtuous. A design which is incomplete can not reasonably be constructed. For a design to be complete, it must consist of all the information necessary to fully communicate an end state to another who is charged to build it. An evaluation 253



of architecture’s completeness then, can be made of a design itself, i.e., does the design comprise the necessary set of elements required for its adequate function? Or, of the artifact itself, as an extension of the incomplete design, or inasmuch as the artifact does not correspond to that which is specified in the design. What is important is that completeness may be determined by a specific defined set of attributes. In the case of sacred architecture, a Christian church must satisfy the various sets of attributes, among these are local codes for building and canonical codes for liturgy, to be considered complete. It is here that we must distinguish between the two aforementioned subcategories; LI which is coming (LIc) and LI which is going (LIg).

Literal Incompleteness - Coming (LIc) LIc is a state in building which most architects live for. It is that phase in the process where a design is just taking its first breath. It is construction, from ground breaking to framing; it is this phase when an idea takes form. Few architects would admit to not being enchanted by their own designs when they are moving through this phase. Architecture in its embryonic stage is abundant with unforeseen relationships and unanticipated opportunities. All too often the desire to freeze the process at this stage is overwhelming. Like parents standing over the bassinet of a newborn, unable to break their gaze from the sleeping child, the architect becomes lost in the potential of that they have anticipated throughout the design, but which they were unable to fully grasp. Architecture participating in LIc is curious, hopeful and energetic. The general public is particularly fascinated by architecture at this stage. Wandering by a construction site one is invited to participate in what may be.

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With regard to sacred architecture, LIc has been variously valued through time. In the medieval European experience, the enormity of construction operations for a cathedral for example would assure that the project would be underway for generations. The need to finalize or complete the design prior to groundbreaking therefore, was unnecessary. In most cases a crypt would be designed and well underway while the upper church was still being considered. A wonderful case in point for this is the extraordinary Duomo in Florence, for which a competition was held to solve the problem of completing the dome (3) when the construction arrived at that point. The act of building these Christian monuments served as a metaphor for the building up of the Body of Christ itself such that the very act of actually finishing them presented somewhat of a problem. For the Temple, its essential eventfulness has been caught up in its LIc from the earliest of times, even when Gaudi was still directing construction. This is particularly obvious due to the fact that it has not been ever substantively used for the celebration of the liturgy (main church). The reception of the Temple has not been meaningfully perceived in the context of that for which it was principally built, but rather has been perceived from its inception, well over one hundred years ago, as a construction site. Interestingly enough this has not seemed to diminish its transcendental qualities in the least, and this can be said both on the personal level, for the individual pilgrim traveling to the site as well as to the civic level, for the entire city of Barcelona. Has the Temple though, had a more extended, or different, period of becoming than other such projects? Perhaps not in periods pre-dating the medieval, but for twentieth century building projects it is somewhat unique. The reasons for this are several, but the most interesting for me has to do with the involvement of the architect. Gaudi is famous for replying that, “his client was not in a hurry” when questioned about the slow progress of construction, but there is meaning behind this answer in addition to the humor he intended. In addition to at times serving as a fundraiser for the project, Gaudi’s involvement as construction supervisor was pivotal to his 255



design process. Of the models and drawings for the Temple which survived the Anarchists, it is clear that they were tools of a master builder and not instructions from a remote designer. Gaudi was using the construction of the Temple to understand how to continue. The design process undertaken by Gaudi at the Temple was markedly different from that at previous projects and owes its uniqueness to his religious convictions. This is born out in his statement that; “Creation works ceaselessly through man. But man does not create, he discovers. Those who seek out the laws of Nature as support for their own work collaborate with the Creator.”(4) The reception or understanding of LIc in the artifact of the Temple is further reinforced by the atypical manner in which the order of construction is being undertaken. A project is revealed in the construction process most usually in a bottom up manner. For heavy masonry projects which are built progressively from the ground up, one experiences the building at the base in an almost wholly complete stage from early on. The invitation to participate in imagining its completion involves finishing the top based on what ones perceives at the bottom. With the Temple there is an almost arbitrary order taken with the construction process, pieces, one at a time are manifest at the site as if the building is discovering itself as it grows. For this reason I would argue that there is a unique experience of LIc with the Temple which induces a sense of mystery. If not for the ubiquitous tourist pamphlets showing the vision for the completed project, one would be left to construe, from the built information provided, what would come next. It is participatory in the extreme.

Literal Incompleteness - Going (LIg) Incompleteness in a state of “going,” and of the literal variety (LIg) is much more difficult, espe256



cially for Americans. For those cultures however, who live among the architectural remnants of their distant past are well acquainted with this type of incompleteness. LIg is a byproduct of age. Its manifestations are many, being brought about by such immediate events as conflict or natural disaster, or passively through simple disregard. Most often however, this form of incompleteness is undertaken as a result of a negotiation between its inhabitants loving repair and restoration of the subject, and their reverence for the original artifact and a desire not to replace it incrementally. Completeness in this case is only held as an idea or memory of a complete state. It is a story handed down from generation to generation of what was. Its completeness stands for the idea of a better time, when the logic of the design was apparent, not the fabrication of a mental reconstruction. Incompleteness of this variety will imbue a construction with a mystery which may be a meaning in and of itself. As perhaps an archetypal example of this is the monolithic arrangements at Stonehenge which is inarguably incomplete, but it is in fact this very characteristic of incompleteness which acts as catalyst for involvement on the part of the occupant to recreate the construction as it was at that founding moment and to occupy it alongside the ancients. Architecture which participates in LIg has the ability to instigate in an occupant a sense of place which is temporally deep and spatially anchored. One of the difficult attributes of this variety of incompleteness, at least for the originator, is that LIg may often alter, while not necessarily diminishing the sacral content of the structures original intent, imbuing a significance apart from intent but no less palpable. The Athenian Parthenon is a case in point, Athena’s likeness having long since departed the structure, it maintains a sacral significance which is as much Athenian, and now more broadly, Greek, then its original ritual eventfulness would have intended.

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On the other hand, LIg may also be responsible for both altering and diminishing the sacral content of a space. The San Lorenzo complex in Florenence is a case in point in this regard. Like so many of its sister churches throughout Europe, it has become as much museum and tourist destination as sacred space. For San Lorenzo, the Basilica, the Cloister, the Library and the Medici Chapel, it is their intersection with the life of Michelangelo which gives them an enduring significance. The basilica, arguably the most central of sacred spaces of the complex is perhaps the most worn by age, its unfinished façade, an aborted case of LIc, lacks the hopefulness of an impending completeness and seems satisfied with its daily role as backdrop for the Florentine street market. It is perhaps one of the most unique attributes of the Temple is that it is able to participate in LIc and LIg simultaneously. It is perceived as both construction site and ruin at the same time. The reason for this dual reception is principally due to the aforementioned unorthodox order of construction being undertaken. With portions of some façades being nearly complete, and others (the Glory façade) being left undone, it more resembles a bombing victim than a building site. The city of Barcelona even seems to acknowledge the “ruin” aspects of the enterprise in that it has allowed for the construction of apartment blocks immediately adjacent to the Glory Façade (5) and in a location which would be occupied by the entry to the Temple itself, almost as if to question if the project will ever be brought to completion. The city fabric, like climbing vines, has overtaken the urban space of the Temple, challenging its growth and threatening incursion. Additionally, the age and accumulation of grim due to local industry and auto exhaust has left the portions of the building completed in the early twentieth century, dark an foreboding, the newer sections by contrast are bright and pristine, this, while the two share a consistency of architectural form. One is left to question if the structure is actually coming or going.

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The perception of LIg is one of the most powerful inducements for participation that a building site can offer, due in large part to the fact that its organization is usually organic, being caused by the effects of aging in the materials and the brutality of weather. More than anything it gives the artifact gravitas, its staying power being a testament to its value, and the importance granted to it by its users, its physical condition bearing witness to its battle with time itself. It is into this context that we can place the Temple, even though its history is relatively brief. It serves an iconographic function for the city of Barcelona, serving as a measuring rod for its growth.

Phenomenal Incompleteness (PI) (6) As was the case with Rowe and Slutzky in dealing with Transparency, the Phenomenal variety of Incompleteness (PI) is without doubt the more complex of the two. PI owes its complexity to the fact that it resides in the very idea of the design as opposed to its constructed artifact. Where LI may be perceived from the fact that a given piece of architecture wants for some element which contributes substantively to its use, ie, a roof, wall or door to keep out the weather, PI is perceived as something wanting from the general compositional arrangement of the design itself. In the case of PI, the building may be considered functionally complete but phenomenally (or ontologically) incomplete.



of architecture, its narrative content, which gives rise to an appreciation for, and understanding of, PI. It is important here to comment on the very notion that buildings should “mean something” at all, that they should in fact communicate as well as shelter, or serve some given function. Upon entering into such a discussion one risks never emerging as it has been a preoccupation of architectural theorists an academics throughout the twentieth century and remains a fascinating subject both with respect to the subjectivity of the reader, and the control, or lack thereof, of the author. With respect to an understanding of PI though, we should agree before proceeding, that architecture has a broad horizon of meaning (8) which may be entered into from a variety of directions and perceived in diverse manners. So what then is PI and how does it differ from LI? One could perceive, in a Greek temple for example, whose columnar porch had a particular meter established in the distance between columns that one column may be missing and thus the temple seems to be unfinished. If it were indeed the case that the missing column was absent due to an order of construction, or the need to repair, then this would indeed be incompleteness of the literal variety. That same temple however, and it “missing” column could, under my definition, be participating in PI if its absence was due to a design driven purpose, its very absence serving some tangible effect to the overall design.

PI derives its potency by engaging in the dual dialectic of concealing-revealing. An architectural arrangement consists of an ordering in the environment which may be perceived, to varying degrees, as consistent. It is this consistency (or lack thereof) which begs an understanding of incompleteness. In order to participate in PI then, an architecture must arguably have, a “readable” order from which an inconsistency or incompleteness arises. (7) It is the hermeneutical potential

In order to further explore this notion, it will be helpful here to categorize PI in the same manner as was done with LI while making note of the substantive differences between the two type’s respective categories. LI as was discussed earlier, is an attribute of the artifact of architecture, the building, and as such exists in the linear temporal space of the building’s construction, life and ruin. The categories of coming and going are appropriate in this case where a line spanning birth, life and death is charted. PI on the other hand, being an attribute of the idea of architecture; the design, ideally exists in a timeless space. In a Platonic sense, the idea of the architecture, partici-

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pates in a perfect architecture, its harmony attempting resonance with a divine order. It may be best to describe PI as occupying a sempiternal (9) space. Due to this fundamental difference, the use of a coming and going with respect to PI is untenable as there is a necessary interdependence establish between the two due to one’s preceding the other. A more appropriate categorization then for PI will be of becoming (PIb) and absence (PIa).

identified as a repetitive proportional system existent in nature and in the repetitive generative cycles of animal reproduction, became an organizing formula for the architect to use in order to allow a design to resonate with the (divinely) designed world around it. As in the case of the Golden Section, the beauty of a conch shell could be graphed and replicated, allowing the artist and architect to tease out a reading of infinite order within a finite composition.

Phenomenal Incompleteness – Coming - Becoming (PIb)

The idea of becoming then has to do with growth or extension of an order beyond that which is perceived. It is important that it is understood not so much as a biological growth, as rather an extension of an organic system beyond its limit. If one were to examine a conch shell it would not be difficult to imagine the shell being twice or three times as large, in fact, the shell itself, in its very organization, suggests it pattern of growth were it not to have stopped developing where it did. It is this pregnancy of potential which defines PIb and is affected by a controlled concealing and revealing.

Seeing as PI relates to an idea, it is inevitably subject to interpretation of meaning. Interpretations are inevitably subjective and therefore, as is the case with any form of communication, we are faced with a diversity of interpretation and even the possibility of contradiction among the various readings. It is important then to stress that a correct meaning, even if the intention of the author, is not the only meaning possible. This gets to the notion that architecture is multivalent and as Lindsey Jones contends, must be understood in the context of architecture’s eventfulness. Jones uses architect Bernard Tschumi’s description of architecture as a masked figure whose masks conceal yet other masks (10) to make this point. It is in an intimate negotiation between architecture and its experience in which an understanding or awareness of PI is possible; it is an enticement to participate in the idea of the design. PIb, or at least what I have generally categorized under that title up to this point, was the subject of great interest in the late middle ages and renaissance Europe among Humanists scholars. Breaking with scholastic tradition, the Humanists regarded the world as God’s design and very much open to inquiry, and as with any design, it could be analyzed and to some degree replicated. In this intellectual vein an interest in generative or organic geometries was explored and influence architectural theory tremendously. The recursive Fibonacci sequence and Golden Section being 261

As was mentioned earlier in the case of my accident-prone roommate, there is great skill necessary in revealing just enough, and no more, to tee up or entice a desire for that which is concealed, too little and the enticement isn’t served up, too much and the curiosity is satisfied. This sort of enticement is similar to a burlesque in which the dancer manipulates feathers to alternately conceal and reveal her presumably naked body to the audience. It is in the very nuanced art of revealing enough to entice the imaginative participation of the audience which assures that the concealed is only perceived in the mind of the individual viewer, thus assuring its perfection. Architecture participating in PIb plays much the same game. There can be no discussion of the Temple with respect to PIb then without a close look at its designer, Gaudi, and the cultural environment in which he lived. During the time of the con262



struction of the temple (begun 1882 and taken over by Gaudi in 1981) the industrialization of Europe, and in particular Barcelona, was well underway. It is due to this industrialization and the patronage of one of its chief beneficiaries that most of Gaudi’s early work had been made possible. (11)The production technologies which fueled the revolution were brought about by the same enlightenment empiricism which was causing scholars to increasingly look to science as opposed to religion for answers. Gaudi, curiously enough, was beginning to swim the opposite direction of the zeitgeist throughout his involvement with the Temple, and increasingly began to see science, as the following quotation bears out, as a limitation on seeing the world as it truly is.

“Science is a hamper which is being filled with things and more things that no one can manage until Art puts handles on the hamper and takes from it exactly what is necessary to perform the deed.” (12)

Gaudi’s work, while being subject to a description of “reactionary” and bearing some aesthetic similarity to his fellow artists of Barcelona, Picasso, Miro and Dali (13) who were influenced by the same political upheavals of the Spanish civil war, bears significant difference in that Gaudi’s philosophy is more in line with the organic leanings of American architect Louis Sullivan (14) than with his three local contemporaries (15), this similarity having to do with the organic relationship between form and function in architecture. Gaudi was a student of nature and saw his work as an extension of a divine design. As an artist, he saw himself as inseparable from the work saying;



such can be regarded as incomplete until it realizes this stage, Gaudi was able to distill in his architecture a sense of growth and impending becoming which makes the artifact at any given time but a shadow of its true self. Nowhere is this made more evident, both architecturally and artistically than in the Nativity Façade. Here, the composition of the architecture sprouts symmetrically from the organization of the Temple as a whole but then breaks randomly into sculptural arrangements who seem to react to their own inner direction, but as Masini contends, while seemingly ambiguous they are reacting as “an unforeseen force plays freely with them – a fundamental biological force, drawn from an uncontrolled and uncontrollable ethnic inheritance…” (17) The Temple than, can be perceived phenomenally as an organism in a process of growth for which the occupant is able to anticipate its maturity.

Phenomenal Incompleteness – Going - Absence (PIa)

To understand PIb with respect to the Temple then is similar to perceiving certain incompleteness and becoming in nature. Just as a rose bud holds the promise of a beautiful full blossom and as

Incompleteness can also be affected by a sense of absence. As opposed to its sister PIb which is hopeful, PIa is most often despairing. It is perceived in that aching sense that something is missing, the sting of loss when someone beloved passes away and their emptiness is felt in those places they theretofore would commonly occupy. While absence in this regard has a decidedly negative connotation, absence as related to emptiness or nothingness, does not necessarily share in that connotation. Architecture in fact is quite comfortable with the idea of emptiness. In his highly regarded 1957 book Architecture as Space, How to Look at Architecture, theorist Bruno Zevi argues that architecture for too long has suffered from a formal as opposed to spatial critique. Architectural design being overly concerned with the form of the solid, as opposed to the sculpting of the void is prone evaluation from a purely stylistic interpretation according to Zevi. The minimalism of the modern period championed by such masters as Mies van der Rohe, Walter Gropius

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“The Creation continues incessantly through the media of man.” (16)



and Le Corbusier, represented a determined effort to minimize the distractions of ornament and gratuitous form in favor of a more sophisticated conception of space itself. Mie’s Barcelona Pavilion illustrates a high point in this preoccupation with the simple elegance of overlapping spatial volumes, made even more perceptible by the refined control and simplicity of the space’s envelope. The public however, who would occupied the works of these modern masters, were often less convinced, as Pater Blake illustrates in his 1964 book, Mies van der Rohe, Architecture and Structure, recounting Mies reaction to a negative appraisal of the Farnsworth House in the April 1953 issue of House Beautiful; “To Mies the architecture of ‘nothingness’ suggests a maximum opportunity for free expression on the part of those who use the building…A few years later Mies had de signed an ideal museum for a small city and here again he tried to make the architecture ‘almost nothing’ and the paintings and sculpture (for which the museum would be built) everything.” (18)



reference, but rather a memory or nostalgia for an experience, a universal as opposed to cultural reference. PIa can also be affected in architecture in much more concrete ways, similar to those discussed for PIb. As with the discussion of organic geometries and their application in PIb, purposefully incomplete architectural arrangements or degenerative organizations, can be implemented for similar effect in the case of PIa. In both cases the intent of the design is to communicate an understanding in the viewer of a condition of either coming or going, but not due to the natural effects of time, but woven into the very substance of the design itself.

In the context of PIa, absence is a quality of wanting or longing brought about by a desire for that which is suggested or enticed. But unlike PIb which is hopeful and curious, PIa is the longing for something had, and then lost. Architecture which participates in PIa will often make use of memory or nostalgia to activate this sense, but this is not to be confused with historical or stylistic

An understanding of PIa instigated by the Temple is similar to the manner in which LIg operates with ruins. Oddly enough, this type of incompleteness can be argued to be a necessary element of a building’s completeness in that one cannot feel being unless they also feel nothingness. This characteristic plays out in late gothic cathedrals in the gargoyles and other monstrous manifestations which reify a state of otherness from the New Jerusalem implied within which is made possible by the redemptive act of the Mass itself. For Gaudi, this aspect of the Temple’s design is affected chiefly through the Passion Façade and through the sculptural use of “skeletal” structures throughout. Gaudi’s interest in these forms derives from the same sense of organic growth that inspires PIb. The evidence of a skeleton beneath the surface of even a health young creature provides a foreshadowing of death and decay which provides poignant contrast to a healthy exterior. The Passion Façade has a distinctly angular geometry (as opposed to the rounded more expressive geometry of the Nativity Façade) striking shadows not unlike those of an emaciated face whose skin is pulled tightly over the bone. The formations of the structure are less organic and more inert like the rocky outcrops found along the Mediterranean coast nearby. A further distinction of the two façades is due to orientation. The nativity façade facing east, welcomes the warmth and

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While the subject of emptiness and nothingness in architecture is ripe with possibility, especially in the context of sacred architecture, it is best left for a separate discussion, especially due to the fact that it is somewhat off the mark for my purposes here in drawing out a definition of PIa appropriate to the work of Gaudi. We will be able to revisit the topic however in a later comparison of Gaudi’s architecture with that of his contemporaries.



promise of the rising sun, the Passion Façade facing west receives the long hot rays of a setting sun before darkness envelopes the day. The interior columnar arrangement also embodies a sense of PIa in its decidedly skeletal form, although the structure itself cannot be said to have something that could be regarded so much as a skin, the interior structural arrangement seems well prepared to be revealed and laid bare as a future ruin of the Temple that was. One can therefore perceive in the design itself a sense of death and decay which serves to make more glorious, the gift of life that it celebrates.



Endnotes: 1 Rowe and Slutzsky, Transparency, Literal and Phenomenal 1955-56 First published in Prospecta, 1963. 2 Jones, Linday The Hermeneutics of Sacred Architecture, Experience, Interpretation, Comparison Volume One: Monumental Occasions, Reflections on the Eventfulness of Religious Architecture Cambridge 2000 3 A wonderful telling of this story may be found in Ross King’s, Brunelleschi’s Dome, How a Renaissance Genius Reinvented Architecture. 4 Van Hensbergen, Gijs Gaudi, a Biography Harper Collins 2001 5 It should be noted however, that the city of Barcelona granted this permission with the understanding that at some point in time the blocks would need to be cleared to make way for the completion of the Temple, that time left indeterminate.

Partial Bibliography Van Hensbergen, Gijs Gaudi, A Biography New York 2001 Masini, Lara-Vinca Gaudi New York 1970 Martinell, Cesar Gaudi, His Life His Theories His Work Cambridge 1967 Descharnes, Robert and Prevost, Clovis Gaudi, The Visionary New York 1970 Crippa, Maria Antonietta Gaudi, From Nature to Architecture Bonn 2003 Jones, Lindsey The Hermeneutics of Sacred Architecture, Experience, Interpretation, Comparison Volume One: Monumental Occasions, Reflections on the Eventfulness of Religious Architecture Cambridge 2000 Rowe, Colin The Mathematics of the Ideal Villa and Other Essays Cambridge 1976

6 My own introduction to PI came before I even knew what it was as a first year architecture student. My roommate and I both being architects, were feverishly working on our elementary design project which involved the manipulation of a girded cube, the type of Bauhaus project prolific in architecture schools after WWII. We had both rushed to complete our delicately constructed basswood and paper models and were rushing them across campus to turn them in to the instructor before their nine p.m. due date. Like any such event which holds a firm place in one’s long term memory, I first heard the noise; a thump and cracking, and then turned to see my roommate laid out flat on the ground, with his model, now in two pieces, several feet in front of him. With no hope for a reasonably decent repair, my roommate snapped off the dangling broken elements and turned in the larger of the two pieces. At our review the next day, I discovered that my roommate, who I had pitied as a victim of unintended LI had unwittingly stumbled upon the mystical genius of PI. The next day he stood before the jury of instructors fully prepared to communicate a verbal reconstruction of the missing section of his model when he was cut short with praise for the ingenuity of the design. The jury, having seen several (statically) symmetrical projects before his, was animated by the dynamic quality of the design. They lauded both the establishment of an order and the willingness to interrupt, or break that order. They were right, the extremely balanced and symmetrical model sitting on my lap, lacked the participatory quality of

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my roommate’s. His was enticing; mine was at best, well ordered. Although a lesson well learned, further attempts to purposefully implement the same type of PI on future projects proved unsuccessful as there exists a fine line between the nuance and beauty of PI and the pastiche of LI trying to pass for PI. 7 The discussion of consistency and completeness here must not neglect the mathematical theory of Kurt Gödel. Gödel’s Incompleteness theorem (See Set Theory) “proves” that arithmetic, the most basic language of mathematics, while consistent, it is not complete. 8 Henri Lefebvre uses the term horizon when speaking to the signifying capacity of architecture in The Production of



15 Gaudi certainly the most senior of the set being born 30 years or better prior to the others, which for an architect puts him in the prime of his career coincidental with the others. 16 Citation needed. 17 Lara Vinca Masini, Gaudi Crown Publishing 1970 18 Peter Blake, Mies van der Rohe, Architecture and Structure Penguin Books 1964

Space.

9 Federica Goffi at Carlton University discusses the idea of sempiternity in the evolving design of St. Peter’s Cathedral in Rome. 10 “Architecture resembles a masked figure. It cannot be easily unveiled. It is always hiding….Once you uncover that which lies behind the mask, it is only to discover another mask…..masks hide other masks, and each successive level of meaning confirms the impossibility of grasping reality.” Bernard Tuschumi, Architecture and Disjunction. 11 Eusebio Güell was a Barcelona textile merchant who was Gaudi’s major patron. While early economic success paved the way for Gaudi’s early career, Guell’s fortunes diminished in Gaudi’s later career as the same industrial revolution which brought him initial riches eventually superseded him. 12 Bergos Masso 1969 no. 52 trans. Collin, Drawings; from Van Hensbergen, Gijs Gaudi, a Biography Harper Collins 2001 13 A study of the similarity and differences of these twentieth century Spanish giants is forthcoming Robinson, Jordi Falgas and Carmen Belen entitled, Barcelona and Modernity, Picasso,i, Miro, Dali. 14 Louis Sullivan on visiting the Sagrada Familia temple is said to have remarked that it was the greatest piece of architecture of the twentieth century calling it “spirit symbolized in stone.”

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A Living Presence: Design Competition

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Site/Context

Saint John the Evangelist Catholic Church ADW Architects

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The existing church facilities consisted of a turn of the 20th century gothic revival worship building and arts and crafts multi-story residence used for support. The site was two acres located behind the existing church for additional buildings and parking. It offered a tremendous opportunity to present a new face to those entering the city from the southeast. Our solution capitalized on this by accentuating the verticality of the church with an accompanying campanile, capturing the concept of “the city on the hill”. The building gracefully steps with the topography, embracing the natural terrain and minimizing disruption of the existing conditions. A circular “piazza”, of permeable pavers, double functions as a drop-off on Sunday mornings for worship.

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Program/ Aesthetics The addition called for a new 500 seat worship building and an accompanying parish hall/fellowship space. The church community strongly desired a fan shape seating arrangement for worship, with a center aisle for important traditional processions. Our Greek-Cross plan - a common Catholic Church typology - became the form that best addressed this. A large cupola with clerestory windows caps the centralized plan with natural light dramatically lighting the interior from the heavens above. The focus of the interior space is on the sanctuary and the Blessed Sacrament celebrating the important ritual of communion. The Parish Hall is directly beneath the worship space at grade with the drop-off and easy access for the many elderly members of the church. The materials are primarily stone and timber inspired by the aesthetic of the region.

A Hypothetical New Seminary in the American Midwest Matthew Alderman

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View of the seminary from the valley. the seminary’s principal chapel can be seen at left, with the classroom and administrative sections of the complex to the right. the stylistic choice of baroque comes from discussions with the congregation’s art director, and also is partly inspired by the beaux arts architecture of Minneapolis and St. Paul, which are near the proposed site. The front elevation of the seminary’s chapel the religious order’s devotion to the kingship of christ is expressed in the iconographic and sculptural program, which also reflects the theme of the last

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judgment and thus serves as a fitting prelude to the church interior, representing the timelessness of the new jerusalem. Care has ben taken to ensure that both the privacy of guests, students, professors, and oblates and easy access to public space are taken into account. the plan is partially inspired by benedictine monastic plans, as Benedictine spirituality and its tradition of work, prayer and hospitality is of interest to the organization using the seminary. The seminary also serves some of the functions of a north american headquarters for its congregation, with space for meetings, yearly chapters, and other formal events.the order often evangelizes through the arts, organizing concerts of sacred music as a way of introducing the public to catholicculture. the congregation is devoted to the extraordinary form (hence the large number of side al tars for private masses, but the design nonetheless offers wider lessons for the extraordinary form and could be adapted and simplified in scope and scale fora smaller diocesan seminary with fewer administrative and hospitality requirements. Seminarians will be able to exercise by using an indoor basketball court (in the lower level, not shown) and by tending the gardens. Typical upper floor plan for the seminary. the seminary could train 50-100 seminarians at one time (lodged on two upper and two lower levels), with additional 10-20 priest-students (housed above the professors’ rooms) and a small number of oblates or brothers lodged in one of the

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lower levels. Seminarians’ and professors’ lodgings are largely separate, though each can easily access common areas such as the library, refectory and classrooms. the upper levels are intended for the use of clergy and seminarians only, with the main floor accessible to lay visitors and faculty. private chapels are located throughout the building. A longitudinal section through the chapel, crypt, refectory, and the sacristy and seminary courtyards. the project, while hypothetical, was designed after consultation with the provincial authorities of a recently-founded religious order with an emphasis on the sacred liturgy and the arts. the interior of the chapel is designed to carefully respond to the liturgical practices of its users, and is ornamented with a complex symbolic program making reference to parallels between the heavenly and earthly liturgies, and the passion of christ. a crypt church for private mass es and a chapel for relics are also included. A section through one of the side aisles of the seminary chapel. The baroque language of the interior here takes on the lightness of late gothic, a fusion one finds in some German examples of the style. The figures of angels in liturgical dress along the roof are seen as assistin Christ the priest in the heavenly liturgy, while within the instruments of the passion appear on escutcheons over the arches. The windows along the main level alternately repeat two varieties of pediment, ornamented with devices derived from the congregation’s emblem. A rendering of the interior of the principal chapel of the seminary, showing its prominent high altar and choir. The orders beautiful celebrations of the sacred liturgy have attracted many lay supporters, thus suggesting a chapel much larger than might be the norm in other circumstances. Side chapels open up on either side. The iconographic program uses liturgical and royal symbolism in making reference to the kingship and priesthood of Christ. This also suggested the color scheme of gold and various shades of red and royal purple. an image of christ in mass vestments and a crown appears over the high altar, with a smaller crucifix at eye level.

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Divine Exuberance in the Napa Valley Michael Arellenas

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HAGGAI: Chapter 1 : Verses 7, 8 Thus says the Lord of hosts: Consider your ways Go up into the hill country; bring timber, and build the house That I may take pleasure in it and receive my glory, say the Lord.

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Jonathan Bodway


Cathedral design is a process which leads to the malleability of intensive formal articulation of tectonics and space within the context of Eucharistic adoration. The desire for that which is exuberant in nature, majestic in scale, and multiplicity in expression to experience Sacred Space is the intent of the project proposed. The Cathedral is a typology which throughout history has maintained a level of vigor and robustness that inhabits a ray of diverse complex relationships to construct an architectural body which performs as a vessel for the unification of spirit, mind, and matter. The architectural form is meant to enhance levels of perception and meditation through a series of sensations, moods, atmospheres, which then focuses to a single point of cognition, experiencing intensities from the corporeal and incorporeal. The idea of placing a Cathedral in the Napa Valley is intended for a pilgrimage, experiencing nature, following a journey to a destination that invites quiet contemplation. The methodologies and procedures involved are a series of component based operations, morphing and evolving to construct assemblies of varied vitality. The architectural body emphasis is on multiple surfaces and structural layers to demonstrate a range of conditions and environmental effects which centers to the altar. Transubstantiation is a powerful force harnessed into a body, likewise the body of the Cathedral blushes along the altar; invisible forces and vectors radiate and manifest into a composite of tectonics and “material flavors” (m.spina) as a house of worship for the Lord. A classical floor plan for the Cathedral is intended to keep universal qualities and practices throughout Christian history in association with openness, penetration of light, and exotic aesthetic elements.

Saint Peter’s Church, Lemoore CA Jonathan Bodway

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Jonathan Bodway

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Jonathan Bodway


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Jonathan Bodway

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Jonathan Bodway


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Jonathan Bodway

Daniel DeGreve


How does a religion so distinct in it’s doctrines, so embedded in the past, so characterized by it’s history begin to respond to the lives of it’s modern-day congregates? This question will always pull at the robes of the Catholic community. One diocese adamantly responds to that question in their approach to commissioning a new church in Lemoore, California. This architect’s reply brings the ideals of Catholicism together with the concepts of open-mindedness and environmental responsibility-all under the umbrella of modernity and ingenuity. The fundamental ideas of church as community icon, devoutness through architectural awe, and using natural light and material to tell the stories of faith translate to a modern approach and aesthetic. Sited prominently, just north of the bustling historic downtown, the church gains a distinct presence as a beacon for the community. This icon for the community embodies acceptance and inclusion by making the community halls, sculpture garden, and public plazas available to the neighborhood. Adding another layer to this fundamental idea of community icon, this solution chooses to respond to the community in an environmentally responsible way. Beyond creating dynamic natural lighting in the sanctuary, a central “oculus” acts as a key component in the passive cooling system, allowing rising hot air to vent, thus reducing the load on the mechanical system. Locating a parking garage below grade increases the area of pervious landscape maintaining a stable run-off system. Grounded in community involvement and designed with the environment in mind, this church builds upon the idea of church as community icon while responding to its context in time and place. As historic precedence, we look to the gothic cathedrals of Chartres or Notre Dame and find an architectural theme of grandiose space used to reinforce the religious theme of miraculous faith. To preface these monumental spaces, a ceremonial entry progression through a large plaza, up a grand stair, and through massive doors sets a tone of formality. In addition, the drama created by the contrast of light and shadow through openings in an otherwise massive solid structure inspires this miraculous faith. As a modern reflection of these fundamental ideas, the process of formal progression through the space starts in the imposing concrete entry plaza and continues through monumental doors into the sanctuary. This architect chooses to derive the building’s form by abstracting natural elements into an architectonic design. The structure of an insect wing inspires an aesthetic of delicate webbing and responsive membranes. Light filtering into the sanctuary through a glass skin of cellular apertures created from openings in the webbed concrete membrane which, brings an awareness of nature and God to the congregates. Similarly, a striking shaft of light pours through the central oculus into the sanctuary emphasizing the dramatic contrast of light and shadow. The poetic biomimicry allows the church to symbolically represent the Catholic’s fundamental belief in God’s creation of all natural things and reinforces the idea of devoutness through architectural awe. Reflecting the fundamental ideals of Catholicism and Catholic architecture through an approach involving environmental responsiveness, community outreach, and striking architectural forms and dramatic natural lighting, this church begins to tighten the gap between a religion drenched in tradition and a congregation of forward-thinking men and women.

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Reconciliation through Sign and Image: The Suburban Parish Church Daniel DeGreve

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Daniel DeGreve

Daniel DeGreve


The General Instruction of the Roman Missal states that a church is “a sign of the pilgrim Church on earth and reflection of the Church dwelling in heaven.” The language of forms, the choice of materials, and the employment of iconography contribute to the signal clarity of the message that is articulated through beauty. Saint Thomas Aquinas defines an object’s beauty as comprised by its integrity, radiance, and proportion- whereby integrity refers to the perfection inherent in the totality of the object’s parts; radiance, to the order by which its parts can be appreciated; and proportion,

to the incarnate relationship of the object to its maker. Belonging to the timelessly eloquent linguistic family of Catholic architectural patrimony, Classical architecture is an allegorical expression of tectonic composition reliant upon the harmonious totality, cosmic order, and anthropomorphic relationship of constituent parts to the whole. It is inherently traditional, rational, and conversant, comprising a language and grammar of custom that has been passed down from generation to generation. Analogous to a lexicon from which words of varying complexity may be drawn, its vocabulary can be used to articulate hierarchy.

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Daniel DeGreve

Daniel DeGreve


The Catholic parish is a community of spiritual and physical dimensions and, as such, it is a catalyst for engendering authentic community. The intent of this project is to propose an adoptable model with which a Catholic parish can sow the seed of a culturally-edifying, pedestrian-friendly, mixed-use neighborhood of place organically rooted in the Church’s formal and constructional Tradition.

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Thomas Deitz

Thomas Deitz


Ecclesiastical architecture has never been limited to merely the creation of sacred space; hence, it is not unreasonable for Catholicism’s architectural patrimony to extend into the arena of urban design and planning. This proposed New Urban community is to be built around a sponsoring order and a small liberal arts college with accompanying parochial schools on a plot of undeveloped rural farmland. Although fully incorporated into the city of Shohola, the community is intended to be as self-sustaining as possible, with housing and a row of shops along the community’s Main Street to be constructed as demand dictates. The plan merges a street grid based on the Roman castrum into the topography of the existing landscape, with Catholic symbolism and allegorical artwork embedded throughout the urban fabric. The college and municipal center are paired at the community’s innermost intersection as a symbolic gesture of the parallel lines of faith and reason noted in the encyclical Fides et Ratio; likewise, the church and community meetinghouse stand opposite one another as a symbolic gesture of the proper cooperation between temporal and spiritual rule. The community’s church, dedicated to Saint John the Evangelist, stands at the terminus of the decumanoshere named Center Street-transforming the ad orientum liturgy of the sponsoring order into an urban feature. At this point the cardo-here named Main Street-shifts in response to the existing topography, creating a small plaza that draws precedent from Pienza. At the western terminus of the decumanos is a garden with allegorical statuary depicting the creation account. A rosary walk, similar to that of Lourdes, works through the existing wooded landscape to the property’s highest elevation.

City of Saint John the Evangelist Thomas Deitz

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Thomas Deitz

Thomas Deitz


Saint John the Evangelist Church Thomas Deitz

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Thomas Deitz

Thomas Deitz


A sacred edifice must connect its parishioners to a Church that transcends time and geography even as it incorporates various cultural traditions. Among these traditions-and in light of the Apostolic Letter Summorum Pontificum - is a renewed interest in the Tridentine Rite, an architectural and liturgical manifestation of an ancient and generally Western patrimony. This church, designed for use by a traditionalist order, follows the basilica typology of the first centuries of Christendom. Both the interior and exterior have been left as exposed brick with a cast-stone colonnade unifying the spaces throughout. The precedent for the colonnade derives from the Corinthian order of the Arch of Constantine, itself constructed of ancient spolia in a symbolic nod to the triumph of the Church over paganism. The proportioning system of the plan is heavily reliant on the so-called Golden Section, a mathematic pattern of theological and scientific significancedue to its frequent recurrence in nature. All ecclesiastical furnishings-including the pews, the ambo, the baldachin, and the tabernacle-are to be provided by a salvaging company. Theflooring is intended to evoke the Cosmatesque paving style that is nearly exclusive to Rome. The gold gilding in the apse and frieze is the only other applied ornamentation, reminiscent of the ancient Byzantine imagery of heaven. Flanking stairs to either side of the high altar lead to a crypt where the sponsoring order hopes to receive episcopal permission for burial. An original statue of Saint John the Evangelist stands at the exterior entran of the church, while a detached baptistery at the midpoint of the courtyard serves as a symbolic reminder of the baptismal journey one renews upon entering the church.

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Thomas Deitz

Thomas Deitz


New expressions of Catholic orthodoxy are required in our contemporary world, and should evolve from within the diversity of existing Catholic rites and traditions. By respecting and reincorporating varying cultural contributions into a singular Catholicity, powerful new modes of spirituality can emerge. This complex is not principally a worship center; rather, it is a conjoined monastery for both the male and female components of a new order with an affiliated laity. The complex is entered through a formation house with flanking guesthouses for men and women. A symmetrical plan ensures the equal distribution of all functions for male and female components of the order, with a large cloistered forecourt sequestering the professed religious from the laity. Design queues for the stone-faced oratory are drawn from baroque models, emphasizing the order’s similarity to preaching orders of the Counterreformation. The remainder of the complex is executed in unadorned brick, which subordinates ancillary buildings to the oratory. The oratory itself is cruciform in plan, with a directional nave entered on an elevated altar to the fore of a rood screen concealing the tabernacle in the Lady Chapel. Side choruses delineated by screens conceal the brothers and sisters of the order from one another, while also

The Oratory of Saint Joseph Guardian of the Redeemer, Diocese of LaCrosse Thomas Dietz

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Thomas Deitz

Thomas Deitz


reinforcing the canonical norm prohibiting the interaction of the genders. The oratory is thus only partially public, and forms a meeting space for the four components of the order: The brothers, the sisters, the priests, and the laity. The sponsoring order has a special devotion to iconographic representations in the Byzantine tradition; accordingly, icons are inserted into the rood screen in a manner not unlike the iconostasis of Eastern Rite communities.

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Thomas Deitz

Carlo Fantacci


CHIESA dello SPIRITO SANTO Carlo Fantacci

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Carlo Fantacci

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Carlo Fantacci


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Carlo Fantacci

Carlo Fantacci


The church of Holy Spirit, thought as a measured organism, becomes, in its turn, unit of measure and governing unit of the same block. The entrance is placed in the corner of the building, and emphasizes the passage from the material world to the spiritual world. Such passage is moreover evidenced in the changing of the shape: the shape, externally square, is transformed in octagon, becoming then circle, as the form of the Divine perfection, in the centre of the building. The Church besides the centrality, proposes to its inside, the idea of the distance, therefore one of the generating topics of the plan is constituted by the guideline of the building from west to east, obtained through the real and symbolic passage of the square in an octagon, direction that cuts and guides the building in the same time, and that proposes the topic of the distance towards the light. The flooring made of travertine and the cement of the pillars, with their aspect nearly brutal, represent the bond that man has with the earth, and therefore with the matter. However the vertical developmentof such elements would symbolize the desire to turn to one more spiritual life.

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Tobias Klodwig

Tobias Klodwig


The Wheatfield (John 12:24) Tobias Klodwig

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Tobias Klodwig

Tobias Klodwig


“... Truly, truly, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the ground and dies, it remains alone: but if it dies, it produces much fruit.” (John 12:24) This design proposal fulfill the requirement of an architecture competition that called for the transformation of an unused church into a columbarium. The task of transforming a church leads us to ask ourselves the question: how do we understand our faith in the resurrection? Our faith in the resurrection is best expressed in the passage of the Gospel of John (12:24): .. Truly, truly, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the ground and dies, it remains alone, but if it dies, it produces much fruit.” This image of faith based on the resurrection is expressed in a ‘wheat field’ of bronze ‘wheat stalks’ elegantly aligned on the inner expanse of the neo-romantic church. Each ‘wheat stalk’, represented as bronze steles, contains the ashes of the deceased and is marked with the deceased’s name and birth/death dates. Each stele may contain the ashes of one or two deceased individuals. The “wheat blade” at the top of the bronze stele is a cross-like engraving of a fruit symbolizing the oneness of death and resurrection. At one end of the aisle is the statue of the Pieta signifying “the place of suffering and death”. On the other end of the a isle is “the place of hope and Iife” as expressed through a water spring and a place of rest for the ashes. The sanctuary remains for the commendation and farewell. At the end of the sanctuary behind the altar, we find the words of the gospel passage John 12:24. This design proposal, now patented, offers “a church of the resurrection”, a place where eternaI Iife is ‘visible’ as we face the end of Iife.

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George Knight

George Knight


Saint Thomas More Church Renovation George Knight

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George Knight

George Knight


When Saint Thomas More Chapel was first dedicated in the autumn of 1938, it must have generated something of a stir among those accustomed to more traditional Roman Catholic forms. Designed by William Douglas and the office of Douglas Orr, the chapel sought to temper the gravity of traditional brick masonry with a more modern sensitivity to space and light, its large, clear cut-glass windows flooding the nave with a brightness which worked its way across the walls through the changing moods of the day. While unusually spare in its overall conception, the interior was enriched with a few carefully calibrated highlights - canopied altar, high pulpit, chandeliers - each handled with imagination and considerable artistic freedom.

they had spent decades in disarray and disrepair. In an act of faith the remaining pieces were reassembled, reconstructed in brass and copper, burnished to their original glow and reinstated in their full glory, their curved surfaces refracting rays of light across the painted masonry of the walls. The project also presented the opportunity to design a new suite of liturgical furniture - altar, baptistry, and ambo with sounding-board - to replace elements dating to the 1970s which had proved foreign to the vocabulary of the chapel. The forms of these new pieces sought to restore focus, to re-introduce those moments of close attention originally intended to offset the simplicity of the whole. In sympathy with the language of the architecture their materials and profiles, while classical, embody the freshness and playfulness of the 1930s transitional moment, the juxtaposition of modern planes and baroque curves, of exposed materials and gilded highlights.

By the time the chapel entered its eighth decade, however, it had lost some of the elegance of its youth. Adjustments made in the 1970s to accommodate changes in Catholic liturgy and unfortunate modernizations in the 1980s had stripped the interior of much of its coherence and of many of the elements that had served as counterpoints to the austerity of the brickwork. While retaining its overall sense of tranquility, the chapel had lost its moments of brilliance. Failing acoustical tiles were replaced with a new ceiling of plaster and white oak, its articulation re-establishing the rhythm of the space and its details responding to an intent expressed in the original design but cut from the project as a late Depression-era austerity measure.

These pieces were complemented by a new prayer alcove at the rear of the chapel, set into the wood-paneled depth of the wall and intended to provide a focus for private devotion. Its hinged wood rail also re-introduced to the chapel the zinc-plated cast brass balusters whichoriginally composed the altar rail but were removed from the sanctuary in post-Vatican II alterations.

At an unhappy moment in the chapel’s more recent history its chandeliers, extraordinary figments of the 1930s scientific imagination, their glass originally blown by a fabricator of laboratory equipment, had been entirely removed to the chapel’s basement, where

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David Kuhlman

David Kuhlman


Mar Thoma Shleeha Cathedral David Kuhlman

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David Kuhlman

David Kuhlman


The Mar Thoma Shleeha Cathedral serves the St. Thomas Syro Malabar Catholic Diocese of Chicago. The 42,600 s.f. cathedral serves as a center of activities for 800 families in the Chicago area and for 100,000 members of the community in the United States and Canada. The program features a 1200 seat worship space, Daily Chapel, and Eucharistic Reservation Chapel. The basement provides a multi-purpose gathering space, and church offices are located on the second floor. The cathedral was designed with masonry cavity wall construction and a steel frame supporting a steel roof structure, compression ring, and bent tubular steel dome. The exterior features a rusticated masonry base, brick veneer and limestone trim, and incorporates a baroque inspired front facade complete with circular stone medallions with carved symbols of the Catholic faith, a vaulted niche housing a statue of “Jesus the Good Shepherd”, and images of Catholic saints depicted in stained glass windows - all reflecting the historic patrimony of Catholic church architecture. The main worship space features a large octagonal roof that culminates in a bell shaped dome over the Sanctuary that is reminiscent of Indian architecture. The same dome design is repeated in a smaller scale at the cupolas above the octagonal chapel bays, and again at the wood baldacchino enclosing the tabernacle in the Sanctuary. A suspended curtain veil, which closes and opens only at the beginning of the Liturgy of the Eucharist, was also designed to further heighten the sense of the Sacred at the Sanctuary.

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David Kuhlman

Jude LeBlanc


Stella Maris, Our Lady Star of the Sea, New Orleans Jude LeBlanc

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Jude LeBlanc

Jude LeBlanc


CITY CHURCH AND COUNTRY CHURCH--PLACES OF DEVOTION These two designs seek to renew the tradition of Catholic sacred architecture. These projects seek to embody the teachings of the Catholic Church in built form. They are part of a larger research project focused on the creation of places that matter in a world seemingly given over to the production of things that really don’t matter. In these designs, the practices of the church are maintained yet progressively transformed through shifts in emphasis. The aspiration is to reinforce the language and drama of faith through the transmission of light and use of materials; the typological transformations of crypt, narthex, confessional, and baptismal; and the design of furnishings. SITE AND MATERIALS The two churches are complementary with a number of aspects in common. Both are sited in Louisiana. The New St. Joseph Church located in the small rural town of Cecilia backs onto an existing mausoleum and an above-ground cemetery on the Bayou Teche. The Church of Stella Maris, Our Lady, Star of the Sea is located on St. Claude Street in the Ninth Ward of New Orleans. Both churches are positioned over an above ground crypt and surrounded by a walled precinct. The garden walls of the country church are themselves mausoleum walls that enclose publicly accessible gardens. This church reconfigures the existing adjacent elements of watery bayou, cemetery, and mausoleum beyond. The walled gardens of the city church are not publicly accessible. They are designed to create significant views from the church building. The primary material in both projects inside and out is poured in place concrete. Wood elements and furniture are cypress bleached silver grey. White marble is deployed primarily as fabric-like veneer. A gray and white world is created in contrast to the verdant green surrounds. Fabrics and carpets complete the interior. CHURCHES AND THEATER Church interiors are theatrical environments where the Last Supper of Christ and his apostles is reenacted, in which Holy Communion at the same time commemorates that collective meal and transubstantiates wine and bread into the body and blood of Christ. Gardens and nature are part of the narrative of the Catholic Church associated with landscape, the myth of paradise and natural harmony linked to salvation and divine intervention. Both projects position the church over an open air crypt, raising a traditionally dark space to the light of day. Above-ground cemeteries are common in this region of the South due to the high water table. What is novel in these proposed projects is the sliding of an above-ground cemetery underneath the church proper. This is proposed not only for practical reasons of sustainability regarding the preservation of land. Placing

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Jude LeBlanc

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Jude LeBlanc


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Jude LeBlanc

Jude LeBlanc


the house of the living literally atop the house of the dead also functions symbolically metaphorically, as the embodiment of historical continuity in the community of the faithful and as an expression of the task to prepare in life for a death in relation to Christ. The walled garden of the city church is made of cypress trees and plants indigenous to the region, recalling a prehistoric tropical condition. It is the primary view of the congregation as seen through a vast window over the altar. This constructed garden alludes to the cusp between paradise, paradise lost and wilderness. It is a reminder that: 1. We are historical beings who operate through language (“In the beginning was the Word ... “); 2. We, all of us, are stewards of the current ecological system that makes up our largest collective environment. LIGHT Constructed light in the country church begins with the reflecting pool on the south side of the building. It functions to mirror the church in reflection and to bounce light off the ceiling of the crypt. The main body of the church is lit by saw tooth light monitors that move across ceiling and down the south elevation. The monitors in the south wall would register light from the reflecting pool, especially before and during noon. The country church contains three significant thresholds and three related elevations. Above the altar is a steel cross 12’ by 24’ with a backlit wall behind. This cross is identical in material and proportion to the primary door frame at the west end of the church. One ascends steps over the crypt and through the first portal/cross connected to the floor of the church. An identical cross is viewed in aerial position over the altar. Light in city church is filtered through the primary garden. Each axis terminates in theveil of cypress trees. NARTHEX AS COMMUNITY ROOM In both churches the narthex functions traditionally in providing a room of transition to the sacred space of the church proper. However, extensive glazing connects the narthex visually with the space of the surrounding neighborhood. The narthex functions as a community room of sorts, at

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Jude LeBlanc

Jude LeBlanc


least in signification. The room is visible both day and night, a sign of accessibility and a gracious open invitation to passersby to join the congregation. LIGHT FILLED CONFESSIONALS Traditional confessionals are dark and solemn. They tend to exaggerate the oppressive guilt associated with past actions. The proposed confessionals have large windows or skylights. They are light filled . The intention is to subtly shift the emphasis to the immediate future promise of cleansing forgiveness that comes from confession, repentance, and resolve to reform in the sacrament. BAPTISMAL AND CISTERNS In both cases water from the roof is collected in visible cisterns, each related to the baptismal. The slope of the roofs and the collection of water is a reminder of the large rains in the tropical south. FURNITURE If the Mass re-enacts the Last Supper the altar area is a communal dining room and the altar a dining table. The table is rendered in marble with a gilded bronze base. The table appears mobile but is fixed to the floor of the altar area. The ambo/pulpit is designed as a lectern with two sides, one side function s to hold a book open for the reader and the other side functions to display the Bible to the congregation. POSTSCRIPT ELEVATION AND FORM “Wouldst thou pass this lowly door? Go and angels greet thee there; For by this their sacred stair To descend is still to soar. Bid a measured silence keep What thy thoughts be telling o’er; Sink to rise with wider sweep To the heaven of thy rest, For he climbs the heavens best Who would touch the deepest deep”

... what in an ancient Spanish church, may be seen written near the steep entrance to a little subterraneous crypt ...from , Interpretations of Poetry and Religion, by George Santayana One theme in the above poem is the implication of elevation, a concern in both of the proposed projects--elevation in relation to the body and in relation to programmatic and signifying elements. The diagram illustrates the formal rigor in the classic formal structure of the poem. Both design proposals deploy geometric relationships at the scale of furniture, spaces, the overall building and the site plan.

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New Saint Joseph Church of the Bayou Teche, Cecilia Jude LeBlanc

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Jude LeBlanc

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Jude LeBlanc

Duncan McRoberts


A New Monastery, Monks of the Most Blessed Virgin Mary of Mount Carmel Duncan McRoberts

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David Meleca


Saint Paul the Apostle Catholic Parish David Meleca

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David Meleca

David Meleca


This will be the largest church in the Columbus Diocese, at 38,000 square feet and seating for 1500. The construction cost is under $12 million. The exterior is Richardsonian Romanesque and features stone arches and watertable, custom columns, brick veneer throughout with blind arch tracery along the gable ends, and finials along the parapet caps. The most prominent element, from both the interior and exterior, is the octagonal crossing tower that will rise to 86 feet high. The design team and contractors worked very hard to meet the budget while maintaining the building’s integrity in material and design. The parish is to be lauded for its ability to raise the funds for this ambitious project in the midst of these trying economic times.

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David Meleca

David Meleca


Saint Michael the Archangel Catholic Parish David Meleca

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David Meleca

David Meleca


‘’Following on the parish’s request for an architectural connection with Rome, the architect began with the architecture of the Italian Renaissance for the design of the church. However, he made use of the local materials and today’s liturgical trends to make a building which is rooted in the history of the Church but is very much a building of its day. Though its traditional elements are evident, St. Michael’s is fully a church of the post-Vatican II era. The plan uses a Greek cross as its primary shape, allowing for seating on three sides of the sanctuary. In this way, each arm of the cross has a generous aisle for wedding and funeral processions while still giving the faithful a close view of the altar and ambo. This new church will clearly ‘’look like’’ a church both from within and without, yet takes advantage of the insights of the Second Vatican Council to advance the active participation of the faithful in the sacred liturgy. By doing so, the parish not only provides the local church with a beautiful and suitable space for its own public prayer, but proves to the world that today’s worship and its architecture can be solemn and beautiful while still advancing the goals of liturgical renewal.’’

From Dr. Denis R. McNamara, PhD, Liturgical Consultant. Used with Mr. McNamara’s permission.

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David Meleca

Mercado


Chapel of the Annunciation Mercado

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Mercado

Mercado


“Behold you will conceive in your womb and bring forth a Son and will call His name Jesus.” - Book of Luke, Chapter 1, Verse 1 A message, a new hope, a revolutionary change, a light; Archangel Gabriel brings this in God’s message tor Mary. The Chapel of the Annunciation celebrates the moment and its meaning. The triangular geometry of the site is already an allusion to the characters involved in the Annunciation: God’s message about his Son’s conception throughout the Holy Spirit. The corner between Payne St and Commerce St symbolizes the Archangel Gabriel and his message, while the lower corner with the tree and the garden of lilies symbolizes the Virgin Mary and her willingness to follow God’s words. The Sacristy has a view to this corner tor the priest to be in a state of serenity before the sermon. The entrance to the Chapel is through an alley, which serves as a transition between the outside and inside of the chapel, insulation of noise, but mainly allows a meditation before the ritual of Mass. The alley separates the sacred from the profane; administration office and restrooms from the actual Chapel. On the other hand, the alley gives the Chapel the sense of belonging to Alexandria; there the alleys plan an important role as a urban characteristic; the materials, brick and siding wood, also contribute to this sense of belonging. Inside the Angel’s Corner the brick wall unfolds to let the light come into the chapel, lighting its nine wooden columns that represent Virgin Mary pregnancy months. The heights of the corners are significant, going from high to low, from the Archangel’s corner to Mary’s as the message came from heaven to Mary, but it also as respond to the heights of the surrounding buildings.

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Mercado

Andrea Picciani


Conicinnitas

Andrea Pacciani

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Andrea Picciani

Andrea Picciani


‘’ The task of concinnitas is to order in precise rules parts that other wise would be distinct in it’s nature between them, so that their look presents a mutual agreement “ - Battista A1berti, Dereaedificatoria Leon Battista Alberti, writing in his treatise in the mid fifteenth century, wants to define one of the qualities needed in a building using a term unheard in the history of architecture, Concinnitas, used by Cicero in his Orator. For the Roman writer Concinnitas represents the balance of the arguments and the beauty of exposure that a speech must have to be really convincing. Today the concept of Concinnitas is to be extended to the harmony with the buildings of the past most representative in which identity of the place is constructed . For the sacred buildings of the Catholic Church Concinnitas is the choice to ensure continuity with the own history in its best spenL, to give value to its institution and to confirnr its strength in the representation of absolute values.

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Andrea Picciani

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Andrea Picciani


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Constantine George Pappas



In this tradition, the services were conducted in a true monastic style of worship in which seats of the Chapel face one another. Chanting occurs with the order singing back and forth across from one another. The structure echoes the practice of the religion in much the same way. In keeping with the Order’s traditional roots, the architects chose to integrate traditional elements of the early Christian Churches that include a dome, apse, rerodos, central aisle, and seating stalls. The Chapel is designed with indirect natural light to fill the space from upper side windows. The Dome features a central oculus, which allows one to see the cross at the top of the dome within the Chapel. Dating back to the mid 1800’s, the rerodos (central Altar) was installed as the main feature of the space. It includes the tabernacle that houses the “body of Christ” as well as other religious figures. Other antiquities include side statuary, stained glass windows, and religious imagery throughout. Side walls of the Chapel are constructed with a full height wood panel that is used to acoustically refract sound in the space.

Sisters of Mary Mother of the Eucharist Motherhouse Chapel Constantine George Pappas

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Steven Schloeder


Saints Ann and Joachim Church Steven Schloeder

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Steven Schloeder

Steven Schloeder


The new parish church of Sts. Anne and Joachim in Fargo calls upon the rich Gothic revival traditions and cultural memory of the Northern European settlers to the area. The Blessed Sacrament is enshrined in the tabernacle directly beneath the 70’ tall bell tower, announcing to the community the message of the Lord’s living presence. The parish has committed heavily to supporting the Catholic sacred arts through patronage of new stained glass, murals, bronze reliefs, iconography in the floor medallions and statuary. The new altar, handcrafted from Rosso Levanto and other fine stone, was consecrated on 11 February 2010 by Bishop Samuel Aquila. Throughout the design of the building and the furnishings, the consistent use of the Gothic arch according to the Golden Section, and the Tudor arch, gives a unity of proportion to the project. The church plan accommodates 1300 seats in the nave with a choir loft, in addition to an octagonal daily mass chapel, a chapel for Perpetual Adoration, and numerous shrines. The floor medallions represent the four cardinal virtues and the three theological virtues. The octagonal daily mass chapel incorporates antique stained glass depicting the life of the Virgin. Live stone is used throughout the sanctuary and nave walls and floor, as well as the liturgical furnishings. The ambulatory provides a place for quiet contemplation. The blue sodalite recalls the waters of baptism.

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Steven Schloeder

Steven Schloeder


Our Lady of Grace Catholic Church Steven Schloeder

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Steven Schloeder

Steven Schloeder


The parish’s desire for a church that recalls traditional Catholic architecture is a challenge for the budget. After a parish survey, the idea of a Gothic church resonated with the majority of the parishioners. The design strategy is to use conventional industrial and commercial materials: steel frame and roof, tilt slab concrete panels, and cast stone and precast concrete veneer to achieve the design in budget. The tilt slab panels are uniform for cost control, and carefully proportioned to allow for future installation of stained glass. The final flourish will be the application of the “skin”: cast stone veneer, precast window surrounds and finials, and the front porch, as funds are available. The careful proportioning of the interior space work with the regularity of the bay spacing and the repetition of strong design elements such as the hammer beam roof to create a sacred place for Catholic worship in spite of the severe budget limitations. Traditional elements such as the monumental triumphal arch with the Rood screen, and the profusion of stained glass windows will strongly identify this building as a place of Catholic worship. The application of traditional forms of sacred architecture within the commercially available materials and construction methods used today allow contemporary parishes to achieve dignified and worthy churches that can take their proper place within the great patrimony of Catholic church architecture and create a living presence for the faithful.

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Thomas Stroka

Thomas Stroka


The International Shrine of Holy Mary, Mother of Fair Love is situated in Boulder County, Colorado, at the base of Mount Meeker and Rocky Mountain National Park. The shrine is intended to be a large-scale public place of pilgrimage as well as a private retreat and conference center. A formal hierarchy is established so that the garden and forum are subservient to the church, while the body of the church is below the sanctuary, altar and devotional statue of the Blessed Virgin.

Shrine of Our Mother of Fair Love Thomas Stroka

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Thomas Stroka

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The triumphal arch gateway is a symbol of the triumph of life over death through the Christ. In imitation of early Christian basilicas, the garden is a place of purification and serves as a reminder of one’s Baptism. The main forum is designed in the tradition of the plaza towns of southern Colorado, with a large paved courtyard for major pilgrimage feasts and the outdoor celebration of the Holy Mass. The entrance facade of the church superimposes the Corinthian over the Ionic in honor of Holy Mary, Mother of Fair Love as both Mother and Virgin. Like many places of pilgrimage, the shrine is crowned with a dome to signify the infinite and perfect nature of the Heavens. The Shrine applies the tradition of Catholic church architecture to a unique program and elaborates the language.

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Ann Boyak

Ann Boyak


A forgotten, wooded area in the center of a campus became the inspiration and the site for a non-denominational chapel. Drawing initial ideas from the dappled light that gave the area it’~ own sense of privacy, the concept of something hidden in plain site began to emerge. The religious idea of God becoming man, or the Incarnation, became a deeper meaning of this treasure hidden in plain site, as God was hidden within the form of man.

Hidden in Plain Sight - A Chapel

The chapel’s architecture and materials reinforce the interpretation of the Incarnation. Program spaces are cradled within strong outer walls. The materials slowly disintegrate with each layer, from solid seeming translucent concrete to carved screens and then finally clear glass. This layer effect of materials and shapes slowly reveals the sacred interior space. The exterior spaces are designed as well, with a pathway following a stations of the cross reflecting pool to a tucked away adoration chapel. The benches spread across the field allow for a larger congregation during outdoor Masses, a cathedral hidden in plain site.

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Leslie Edwards

Leslie Edwards


In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. -John 1 :1 The Church of the first millennium was characterized by an intense desire and struggle to put divine mysteries, and beliefs of the new faith into words. Words had the power to express deepest reality. For Adam in the garden, naming the creatures of the earth, calling them by their essence. The writing of ‘the word’ was an act of the profoundest craft, directly connecting the human hand to the word of god. Believers penetrated the beauty of god through a veil of words, which held absolute truth, through liturgy, prayer and sacred texts. In the modern age, words have become disconnected from reality, mere tools, endlessly manipulated, produced and published, physically disconnected from the human touch. The Church can no longer rely on words to express the divine mysteries because her people do not trust her words any more than anyone else’s.

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Calling to the world ... a new pentecost. Visible to all. .. but veiled in mystery. Lift up your eyes. The Church of the third millennium is that which calls to those who are lost in the chaos, ‘follow me’. Her mysterious nature is what sets Her apart from that chaotic world, full of superficial certainties; She promises experience of divine mystery, the answers to our deepest desires ,relieved from the need to be explained or quantified through human means. We find a path laid out for us, and by following it, we are transformed. Through these mysteries, we find ourselves. we find humanity. We are brought back to a place and time where we can truly hear the word once again, in communion with the Church of the ages.

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John Pergallo

John Pergallo

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Instrument of Praise Through analysis of how sound behaves in space, how as a listener we receive information through our aural sense, and an understanding of the nature of a pipe organ to elicit physical and aural responses, we can begin to reveal the principles of “sound architecture” and let them shape the experiences of the sacred in the built environment. Allow the experiences to resonate the space once more …

Instrument of Paraise John Pergallo

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Architecture as the Instrument. When listening to a musical performance, it may not be immediately evident that just by simply being there you are a part of the performance. In fact you’re built form, (body) literally resonates with every chord struck and every note sung. You are in the midst of an energy that is continually becoming more mature and enveloped with every second that passes. With every surface, every other sound-wave it collides with and with every motion of your head and body, you are effecting your and everyone else’s perception of the space through this medium. This “energy” impacting your person is creating an environment, true architecture.

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John Pergallo

John Pergallo


Winding Diagram By leaving out the air lock at the entrance, a tangible experience of air flow entering the space pulls past you. This air then passes over the Baptismal font on its way to the confessional, then passes through the structure of the space to the pipe organ. Tonal Colors impacting the effect of movement towards the Altar. This design was a reflection of Abbot Sugers concept to allow stained glass to mediate and celebrate an unseen ever changing texture within a space. The frieze would be comprised of a series of different discernible organ stops that would progressively be localizable when moving past them. Each seat in the Church would have a different timbre. Instead of trying to create an equal experience of the Liturgy, the design celebrates the fact that we each experience it in our own unique way. Moreover, with the unique organ layout, the way music is heard and sung within the space will be vastly different each time. Vertical link between the Confessional and Altar. It seemed most appropriate to link the events of Christ’s sacrifice and the gift of that sacrifice. The vertical relationship of the two is also reinforced by the unseen air movement air supplying the pipe organ from underneath the isle of the nave. The air is then sent to the pipe organ from the actual confessional space which is under pressure. This air, which is now full of the sins we cast off in the confessional is transferred to the praise of God within the Mass above. Physically, pneumatically and spiritually the Altar is linking the spoken words passed under it to spoken words passed over it. While presiding over an organ dedication in Germany, Pope Benedict stated that “the organ takes up all the sounds of creation and gives resonance to the fullness of human sentiments, from joy to sadness, from praise to lamentation. By transcending the merely human sphere, as all music of quality does, it evokes the Divine. The organ’s great range in timbre from piano through to a thundering fortissimo, makes it an instrument superior to all others. It is capable of echoing and expressing all the experiences of human life. The manifold possibilities of the organ in some way remind us of the immensity and magnificence of God.” “The idea is to create a world for the audience to enter where architecture magnifies the expressive dimensions of the music.” Pamphlet Architecture_ 16 “The most important stop on the organ is the space.”

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Dominic Spadafore

Dominic Spadafore


But whoever lives by the Truth comes into the the Light, so that it may be seen plainly that what He has done has been done through God (JOHN 3:21)

Our Lady of Light Catholic Church Dominic Spadafore

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From urban farming, rainwater harvesting, a green roof and shared parking to design elements like semi-permeable paving, photovoltics, prefab wall construction, and an adaptable congregation space, Our Lady of Light proves that ‘stewardship’ can happen on many levels. The courtyard not only acts as threshold and defines an area between public and private space, but also serves as: a sculpture gallery for the Stations of the Cross; a place for people to enjoy the water features and pray during their lunch hour; or an intimate outdoor wedding location. Our Lady of Light embodies the truth for which so many of God’s children search during times of personal darkness.

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Brian Spangler

Brian Spangler


Illustrating Intrinsic: The Sacred Experience Sacred Space Is An Individualistic Interpretation. Sacrality Is Understood As The Composite Phenomenon Of Layered Intrinsic Qualities. Here, As Inspired By Petra Kempf, Each Quality Is Illustrated As A Way Of Understanding The Intricacies Of The Site, In Order To Design Interventions That Become The Extrinsic Manifestation Of The Intrinsic Intricacy: The Sacred. [Ws] Worship Site - Accessibility, Acoustics, Exchange, Topography, Climate [Cs] Confessional Sites - Exchange, Acoustics, Topography [Os] Oratory Site- Accessibility, Acoustics, Topography, Climate, Exchange [Ss] Sacristy Site - Resources, Acoustics [Pc] Parish Center Site - Accessibility, Grid, Resources, Exchange, Acoustics, Topography, Play [Chs] Chapel Sites - Accessibility, Acoustics, Climate, Topography [Soc] Stations Of The Cross- Play, Topography.

Illustrating Intrinsic: The Sacred Experience Brian Spangler

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The Church reaches beyond the liturgy to provide the infrastructure for secular agenda. As informal urban landscapes continue to grow as epicenters of cultural, social, and economic exchange, micro-communities within the larger context will increasingly seek ways through formal and informal institution to exploit economic means and spiritual identity. By challenging institutional interiority and container traditions of Catholic worship spaces, the design reconceptualizes and articulates the spatial relationship of the sacred to the secular in order to reveal and inform cultural pre-conceptions. The project seeks to embed within the urban landscape, the interventions being obvious and obstructive to intimate and instantaneous.

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Worship site The form of the construct is derived from the monthly solar position, which focuses direct sunlight on the altar space. Corrugated aluminum cladding diffuses the word of God, and is indigineous to the site. Baptismal Font The baptismal font is removed from the interior of the church as a renewal of the rite of baptism originally performed in a body of water emerging through the landscape. stations of the cross The stations are removed from the container of theChurch, inadvertentlyand quietly guiding the informed Catholic through the extended narthex. The non-religious pass by these unobtrusive elements, where they become read as instances. Confessionals Confessionals are distributed throughout the site in particular areas rich in exchange and intimate surroundings. Oratory The oratory serves as the polar opposite to the worship space. The oratory is simple and solid, ensuring the Word of God be intimate and direct. The elevated space removes the congregant from the material world to the celestial. thereby instigating a metaphysical meditation.

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Rev. Donald J. Planty, Jr.

Ami Badami


We are currently suffering by a lack of beauty and are in desperate need to awaken our hearts and eyes to see what true beauty is. As a consumer society in which the secular media dictates what is attractive, appealing, and exciting, the arts—instead of feeding our souls—are saturated with violence, pornography, and are attacked by the secular community. The marvels of nature are disfigured by some modernists’ renditions of it. True beauty, however, is not just ornamental; it is necessary for our psychological and spiritual well-being. The test of anyone’s mind is his mental landscape—a landscape, which, as in a sunrise when it is exposed to the light, becomes light-bathed. So, too our spirits need to be God-bathed, and our eyes refreshed with beauty so that we can return to a healthy mentality. We

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are living in a time where our disfiguration of reality needs desperately to encounter beauty in order to unshackle our lives and our hearts from darkness. We are wanting for a transfiguration and enlightenment so that we may search anew to find meaning and happiness in life. Beauty turns our hearts because it turns our heads, and we need to be turned in the right direction. True Beauty turns us to God who is beauty Himself. It is the splendor and beauty of holiness that simply attracts us to holiness itself. And, as Pope Benedict writes, “Beauty is the experimental proof that incarnation is possible.” It is the key to allowing us to enter deeply into the mysteries of the faith, but how does something beautiful come to be? How does an artist produce something that arrests us in a way that we cannot explain? There can be different impetuses, interior stirring

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of the individual, which can and may inspire pure, creative, and prolific output. One is the imperative need for the artist himself to be spiritually grounded. That is, to be immersed in the solid fundamental teachings of the Catholic Church, to long to grow closer to Christ, for the intellect and the spirit must serve the imagination. The traditions of the church are manifested in the artwork if the artisan himself is part of the tradition. Simply put, The Catholic Church today needs beauty. It needs art. Artists also, need the Church, its teachings, traditions, and inspirations. There is a synergistic bond between Christ the Master Creator, and the artist, who longs to create true beauty for Him who is truth and Beauty himself.

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As Pope VI has encouraged artists, “We need your collaboration in order to carry out our ministry, which consists, as you know, in preaching and rendering accessible and comprehensible to the minds and hearts of our people the things of the spirit, the invisible, the ineffable, the things of God himself …It is your task, your mission, and your art consists in grasping treasures from the heavenly realm of the spirit and clothing them in words, colors, forms -- making them accessible.” Just as Christ illuminates the world and Man is lifted up on the ascent towards Christ in the liturgy, so too must the architecture and artwork that is within its walls serve to sanctify the space in which worship takes place. Christian worship in the Liturgy is mankind’s movement towards Christ, and Christ then moves to meet men. All forms of

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sacred art, then need to serve and extend the traditions of the Catholic Church to aid in this movement. Starting with Church Architecture itself, along with sculpture, paintings, icons…all these things should and need to promote the sense of sacred space, elevate the spirit, enlighten the soul, and aid in that continual ascent towards meeting Christ. Especially during the Divine Liturgy where heaven kisses earth in Our Eucharistic celebration, we need to be in Holy spaces and surrounded by beauty so that the treasures of the spirit from the heavens are indeed “accessible” to us once again.

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Ami Badami

Louis Astorino


Christianity no longer produces the world’s most arresting art. It is part of the battlefield where we lost the world, and the place in which we are going to have to win it back.

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Louis Astorino

Marco Sammicheli


The need of updating sacred aesthetics is an issue that can hardly be challenged by any opponents. There are indeed opponents, but their blindness is something rooted in the history of progress retarders. The debate is as pressing as it is actual and all the involved parties are aware of this: the Church, artists, designers and scholars that go back to pondering their roles in this wholesome revolution of man interpreting the dialogue with the transcendental. This is not the place to explore the relationship between art, architecture and the Catholic religion, nor shall I expatiate upon the fertile exchange of opinions and accounts. Yet that close dialectic, which gave so much to mankind,

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Marco Sammicheli

Marco Sammicheli


is again inflaming debates and creating habits. Today the Church is shyly promoting that ancient and valuable discussion both theoretically, through motions and declarations of intents, and practically, through donations and activities. Initiatives in which art and the culture of design are intended as a message, a challenge to the noise of media, a complex, vital and congenial expression of contemporaneity. The connection to the Church has apparently changed: divulgations have become more experimental, clients more trustful. Given today’s role of an architect, liturgist, artist and sound designer within the design of a church, the utmost example of total architecture, artists and designers can act as a “glue”, showing a mystic bond with tradition, the environment and the perception of time - as in the following examples.

The traditional supply of companies and designers that have been working for the Church for decades is starting to open up to design-led innovations. The recitation of the rosary, the rite of confession, the experience of a pilgrimage or the making of liturgical vestments are just some examples where a rite or a believer’s daily practice have introduced formal novelties and technical experimentations.

Genuflex, a company that can boast collaborations with Renzo Piano, Mario Botta and Paolo Portoghesi, has been focusing on design for differently-abled people for years: the application of ergonomic studies has resulted in a space that is easily accessible and respectful of privacy. Finally, a mystic experience like that of a pilgrimage has been given by Opera Romana Pellegrinaggi a modern approach based on the design of religious touristic services. A fleet of aircrafts is available for pilgrims to reach the destinations usually covered in religious tours.

Thus a rosary has been turned into a pocket device that can be worn to recite prayers while doing other things, with the help of a voice guide. The formal and technological innovation of the digital rosary doesn’t change the meaning of the rite, but radically changes its use. Similarly, Elisabetta Bianchetti has hybridized her family’s manufacturing tradition with the language of contemporary fashion and co-operated with stylist Calvin Klein to create a vestment that is liturgically rigorous but definitively modern.

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Isabelle Gournay & Mary Corbin Sies



civic engagement vs. the pursuit of suburban middle class comforts. Despite these tensions, though, we think you will see that these expanding parish complexes enhanced the identity of a new postwar suburban cohort and served their multiple functions with practicality and grace. The buildings we studied were site and program specific: down to earth. They ranged from dirt cheap to lavishly decorated. There was no dominant diocesan style. The complexes ranged from traditional to progressive and showed many different characteristics of modernism. Our talk presents an overview of the post-war building campaign of Catholic complexes in Montgomery and Prince George’s Counties. In a period of great dynamism for the Catholic Church, these suburban parish complexes exhibit practicality, fervent piety, and the use of architecture to sustain a rich community life. Although a few complexes were built at once, like those you see on the screen, most experienced two distinct phases of construction: first, a utilitarian school group accommodating worship in a multi-purpose space; and second, a monumental church. As with Baby Boom modernism in general, suburban Catholic parish architecture and planning embodies tensions characteristic of the postwar era: tensions between modernity and tradition, vernacular vs. more cosmopolitan design expressions, suburban sociability vs. enhancement of individual and collective spirituality, and volunteerism and

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We begin with a brief analysis of the context and process underlying the building of parish complexes. We continue with a virtual thematic tour and conclude with an analysis of cultural and aesthetic issues significant to the preservation and heritage of Baby Boom modernism. Forty-five churches and religious complexes were built in Montgomery and Prince George’s Counties between 1949 and 1971. New parishes were carved out from existing parishes or replaced simple “missions.” The first suburban pioneers had to attend mass in places as odd as a Quonset hut or a movie theater. Their willingness to invest in subscriptions and communal effort and sweat equity underlay many Catholic building campaigns. St. Bernard’s auditorium, school, and convent in Riverdale were built by 153 volunteers, some non-Catholics, working in their spare time.

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St. Catherine Labouré held dances to repay parishioners “for all the hard work” they were putting into the church complex. Since Wheaton was still a raw, new suburb with little family entertainment, this parish was a social center as well as the focus of Catholic spiritual life. The Archdiocese of Washington--which had been detached from that of Baltimore in 1939 and included DC, Montgomery and Prince George’s counties, and the primarily rural counties of southern Maryland--must be considered one of the region’s principal entrepreneurs sponsoring modern architecture. The Archdiocese closely monitored parochial construction. From 1947 to 1973, it was headed by Patrick A. O’Boyle, a social liberal (as evidenced by his endorsement of school desegregation), but a staunch defender of spiritual traditions and papal dictates. Aided by a dynamic team of clerics, seeking advice from members of the local building industry, O’Boyle oversaw the construction of 317 buildings. The Archdiocese began its highly centralized construction campaign by taking advantage of suburban landscape amenities, selecting sizeable property, a dozen acres on average, in order to accommodate ample parking and school playfields. Land was generally purchased with diocesan funds, but was sometimes donated by religious orders or by developers who found it advantageous to provide or attract communal structures to their suburban neighborhoods. The land chosen was near or adjacent to well traveled routes and often backed onto privately or publicly-owned woodlands.

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The Archdiocesan Building Commission entrusted parish buildings to a small stable of pre-approved local architects, whose community buildings (as evidenced by these pictures) peppered suburban Maryland. Most of the architects were graduates of Catholic University. CU architecture professor and dean Paul Goettelmann designed three of our churches. Johnson and Boutin, whom Terry Lachin mentioned, had their hand in many commissions in Montgomery County, as did Walton and Madden in Prince George’s County. In retrospect, the select list was both a curse and a blessing as it discouraged design diversity while providing opportunities for improvements and refinements from one project to the next. The top priority of the Archdiocese after World War II was to open a primary school in each parish. According to its education director, this was the “only effective weapon against secularism, the denial of God in everyday life.” For all postwar suburbanites, schools for young children were key social condensers; with children attending Catholic schools, parish and family lives coalesced. Indeed, Maryland had a strong legacy of Catholic education. In the mid-fifties, a vast majority of the state’s 17% of non-public school students were in Catholic establishments. By 1955, Montgomery and Prince George’s counties each counted nearly 5,000 children in elementary parochial schools; most came from middle-class families. By the end of the decade, when the school campaign was practically complete, some establishments had more than a thousand pupils.

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In the mid-1950s, one third of the teachers were nuns. For them, the archdiocese built convents. Behind discrete, occasionally distinguished, facades lay spacious rooms: a parlor, community spaces, a private chapel, and even a music room. A parish hall was built along with, or shortly after, initial classrooms. With an average seating capacity of 600, it combined the functions of a school gymnasium and cafeteria, secular auditorium, and provisional worship space. This mixture of religious and secular functions was thought crucial to maintaining a cohesive worship community in the lower density suburbs. These multipurpose spaces possessed ingenious flexibility. The majority were utilitarian, sometimes ennobled by decoration. From the exterior, parish halls were legible volumes, generally the only components of the complex without a flat roof. Rectories were usually contiguous to other parish amenities. They combined domestic and religious purposes, hosting living quarters for two or three priests and their housekeeper as well as parlors and parish committee rooms. Earlier examples have a traditional palazzo-type massing, endowing them with a slightly patrician character. 1960s rectories expound the middle-class suburban vernacular, to the point of being housed in tract dwellings.

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The majority of postwar school and parish hall complexes were working with a modern vocabulary. The trend toward functional and mostly unornamented schools with multipurpose meeting rooms/cafeterias/church auditoriums began at Our Lady of Lourdes in Bethesda, constructed in 1940-01 (top left). Utilitarian in design, their composition and massing hugged the ground; in fact, the press used the term “ranch-style” to describe some of these buildings. Parochial school design accommodated Catholic pedagogy, advocating a “broad basic education”; it displayed less programmatic differentiation—fewer specialized classrooms—in contrast to public schools of the same period. The Archdiocese did not take a cookie cutter approach to design, however. The massing in each school was always different; additions were seamlessly done. Parish complexes routinely offered fine exterior detailing: stone accents, careful elaboration of entrance motifs, and nicely worked religious symbols, most prominently the cross. The design drama was reserved for the second campaign, the much awaited “real” church. As competition between denominations marked the suburban landscape, church silhouettes had to expound a clear Catholic identity. The churches we studied were not unprecedented, but neither were they mere copies. They exhibited a certain degree of originality while adhering to two principal structural types: an inexpensive A-frame system and, later, steel-framed sanctuaries enclosing much loftier spaces. We only have time to present key design features.

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We begin with the inexpensive A-frame that led to the creation of simple, good-natured brick gabled churches with interesting patterns and textures.

During the 1960s, the fashion was for lighter (and cheaper) steeples. At St. Andrew the Apostle, a “removable 40-ft steeple of skeletonized steel pipe” was indeed removed.

Some facades supported traditional Catholic iconography in the form of figurative, even realistic, sculpture or ornamentation articulating an extensive narrative program. Artistic elaboration was controlled by the Archdiocesan Sacred Arts Commission. The two gabled facades we are showing you present examples of magnified ornamentation meant to be seen from a moving vehicle as well as frontally. The first rendition of the Crucifixion is in stone and stained-glass, the other in mosaic.

As suburban roadways widened, the traditional frontality of churches gave way to three-dimensional silhouettes. At St. Catherine Labouré literal billboard imagery expressed itself in stained glass. St. Mary’s in Landover Hills stands by itself, estranged from the rest of the complex.

Canopies signified the suburban church’s orientation to automobile culture. The one at Our Lady of Lourdes along East-West Highway was intended as a simple drop-off device, but at St. Bernadette, the canopy was used as support for the Virgin’s apparition in Lourdes. Proud and solid towers were definitive and uplifting signals in the low lying suburban landscape. St.Ambrose (top left) has an illuminated bell tower 65 ft. high, surmounted by a 15-ft. aluminum cross. “It is the highest object in the neighborhood and casts the shadow of Christ’s cross all around, recalling His injunction to take up the cross and to follow Him; and recalling that He came to bring His salvation to all men.”

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No matter how basic an A-frame on the exterior, interiors provide exalted spaces for worship and meditation. They employ modern vocabularies to achieve their spiritual effects. Wood supports in sleek renditions add tremendous warmth and drama and often materialize lateral circulation. By 1960, A-frame structures gave way to more heroic, tectonic expressions for very large rectangular or T-shaped plans, with the altar occupying a more centralized position. Mount Calvary was the first suburban Maryland Catholic church to use steel framing. Several sanctuaries increased their drama by employing concealed lighting. An important manifestation of modernity was the greater attention to the parishioner’s well being, physical as much as spiritual. Capacious narthexes eased ingress and egress, served as an airlock to help keep temperatures more comfortable. Every church provided well-equipped and accessible restrooms and other public amenities, such as

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telephone booths. At Mount Calvary a staggered canopy sheltered students and parishioners for processionals. Architects placed the greatest visual and symbolic focus on the altar, whether the centuries-old version at the very back of the sanctuary or the new, more open altar that modern suburban worshippers often desired. During the later 1960s, the focus on the altar was enhanced through more modern architectural treatments to reflect the new practices for conducting the liturgy as recommended by the Vatican II Council which convened from 1962 to 65. In 1965, Archbishop O’Boyle authorized priests to hold a few masses facing worshippers.



essary, and local and regional church hierarchies were uncertain how to implement the changes brought by Vatican II. There was a widening ideological divide between Catholic leaders and liberal priests and parishioners. Schools were experiencing financial crises as teaching nuns had to be replaced by lay teachers needing competitive salaries. There was rampant inflation and rising construction costs. The new Holy Family Church in Hilcrest Heights neared the $1 million mark in 1970-71.

Stained glass enables worshipers to transcend their surroundings which were becoming increasingly mundane and commercial. They confer to the church interior a great spiritual power and provide solace against the world outside.

Then there were challenges associated with the architecture itself. Too rich a décor led to “over-pious worship of images”. Affluent suburban parishes were accused of having become “comfortable retreats from current problems.” The entire suburban building campaign came to be regarded as a self-indulgent middle class act. In April 1968, in the wake of the civil disturbances in Washington, D.C., Patrick O’Boyle called for a moratorium on all new church and school construction in his diocese. Funds were to be diverted to fighting urban poverty and funding social improvement programs, such as day care centers and affordable housing. Projects fully designed and already contracted, like the rather spartan, single-level Saint Nicholas church in Laurel, however, were allowed to go forward. There Pastor Kane practiced tremendous economies, fabricating on his own the simple furniture and altar screen devised by architect Jack Sullivan.

Church buildings were both agents and symbols of the triumph and crisis of suburban Catholicism. By the late 1960s, several forces contributing to a crisis for the church had gathered. Catholic social and service organizations attracted fewer volunteers, vandalism and theft on parish grounds made locking church doors between services nec-

In more recent years, one or two parishes have demolished modernist architecture and rebuilt in a more traditional Italian idiom. A case in point is Our Lady of Mercy in Potomac whose new church, seen at the top right, is less successful at combining monumentality and intimacy and has less compelling craftsmanship.

Our tour of interiors concludes with some views of walls of stained glass, generally part of the original design but occasionally added later. Frequently the glass is the most remarkable interior feature; it could range from quite modern to more traditional in aesthetics and feeling.

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New worthy priorities included the construction of non-profit elderly housing on parish property, financed through public-private partnerships. The legacy of the Baby Boom era presents a quandary. In parishes losing member households, monumental churches seem out-of-step with the times. At St. Ambrose in Cheverly, the current pastor would like to transform the transept of his oversized church into a multi-purpose activity space and music room. The traditional separation of handsome baptisteries from the main assembly space causes problems when large family groups attend baptisms. Other churches are bursting at the seams as demographic changes brought large numbers of Catholic immigrants from Central and South America, beginning in the late 1960s. A striking phenomenon is the advent of national ethnic parishes, new to the DC area. Parochial schools are providing a more welcoming home for Latino/a children, as they did historically for earlier waves of European immigrants. Yet some, serving predominately African American children, and non-Catholics, are threatened with closure. The clash between white middle-class spirituality and more traditional devotional practices of new Latino/a immigrants sometimes manifests in decorative preferences. Here the Baptistry of Our Lady of Sorrows, a jewel of modernist simplicity, gained new décor when transformed into a chapel.

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We would like to conclude by estimating the architectural and social legacy of Baby Boom compounds in the Maryland suburbs. Whether constructed in single or successive building campaigns, these complexes provide useful lessons in civic land use. They provide harmonious and scenic layouts, and picturesque but functional massing, clearly governed by a concept of economical master planning. By taking such good advantage of suburban natural features and the rolling topography of our region, they provide sound examples of situated modernism. Another characteristic feature is the visual unity of the complexes, whether architecturally bold or utilitarian. Careful and imaginative linking of parts of the complexes via canopies, breezeways, or clustering contributes to the visual unity. Most of the Catholic compounds are pieces of their time. As these examples demonstrate, whether in Camp Springs or Silver Spring, they are compatible with their surrounding neighborhoods. They are prime examples of modern suburban vernacular—part of a larger suburban cultural landscape, right down to their permastone walls. Inside, churches offer high quality and unique examples of craftsmanship. They maintain a high degree of integrity.

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Where there have been recent changes, they are usually architecturally compatible and well informed additions. At St. Columba, for example, the sanctuary was reoriented and enhanced with beautiful woodwork. At St. Matthias, beams were painted a lighter shade, cinderblocks were stuccoed and painted a light green, and the stations-of-thecross were remounted. We found these complexes perfectly maintained, user friendly, and to all appearances, integral to the lives of parish families. These compounds still serve their constituencies and the schools feed life into the church. Catholic compounds in suburban Maryland, like the synagogue complexes in Northern Baltimore City and County, constitute key components of suburban social practice. They express the social necessity of community building so strongly felt by baby boom suburbanites, as much as Catholic faith. These parish compounds need to be studied and appreciated as a group. Our examination strengthens our belief in a culturalist approach to the study of Modern Movement resources in Maryand as building types rather than isolated structures. If none is a singular masterpiece, they altogether present a compelling case for historical attention and documentation. Although their designers are not household names, these churches are associated with highly regarded firms and individuals, such as contractor John McShain; Rambusch, or glassmaker Gabriel Loire of Chartres. The stained glass windows provide a rich case study for better understanding the post-war golden age of stained glass production, aesthetics, and iconography. [Note: possible thesis topic for graduate students in the audience]. There are many, many decorative treasures hidden behind less exalting exteriors. In these church compounds, care and beauty have crossed all income and racial-ethnic lines. In short, Catholic parochial complexes in the Baby Boom suburbs carry a significant legacy deserving documentation, preservation, and public awareness. They provide an important chapter in the history of vernacular modernism in both the Washington suburban region and the State of Maryland.

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2010 a Living Presence - Proceedings Draft

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