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How intentional will we be about utilizing gospel spaces that already inescapably communicate?
In his book, Christ and Architecture, [1] author and social pundit Donald Bruggink states, “A church interested in preaching the Gospel must be interested in architecture as well. For the architecture of a church either augments the preached word or conflicts with it." Bruggink's observation reinforces what Harvard School of Design graduate, Jonathan Ceci, has said: “Spaces do mean.”
The edifices of your parish, especially the sanctuary, possess meaning. Church spaces carry meaning and should not be an afterthought of parish leadership, much less the pastor. The building itself is active in what Christians proclaim, what the faithful say about God, and what we hold to be of highest value. The gospel can be “housed.” Simply put, everything that takes place during Mass bespeaks a theology: It all says something about God, even the space in which the Divine Service takes place. In fact, one’s engagement with a church’s architectural space is usually one’s initial orientation to the beliefs of the parish. If the sanctuary is stately, orderly, and beautiful, then it says that the God whom we worship is regal, ordered, and alluring himself. If it bears masculine and sturdy traits, then the sanctuary may be seen to structurally announce the truth of Holy Scripture that the Lord our God is King and his kingdom endures forever. Architecture preaches. Any visitor to a cathedral or country-parish knows it. We have an innate ability to read spaces, at least in a cursory or visceral sense because “His invisible attributes, namely, his eternal power and divine nature, have been clearly perceived, ever since the creation of the world, in the things that have been made” (Rom. 1:20). Churchly architecture replicates what the Lord has built into the cosmos. A thoughtful sanctuary is but the cosmos built small. Both spaces proclaim.
When it comes to the Divine Service of Christian worship, it’s not just the words that matter during Mass. The fixtures, movements, and spaces also deeply matter because they, too, facilitate the presence and activities of the Lord. At play here is the “power of association.” Connections are made in the mind between the meaning of what is heard and that which is experienced through spaces, movements, fixtures, and ceremonies enveloping the Divine Service. To be sure, the former takes precedence (i.e., the power and efficacy of the Word), but the latter positively augments (or detracts) the perceived meaning of the Word and Sacraments. Spaces matter to perceivers (parishioners) because environs are meaning-laden for good or ill. The question is: How intentional will we be about utilizing gospel spaces that already inescapably communicate?
What we declare to be certain and true must not be so only for the mind, but also the body; not only for what’s in store in heaven but also here on earth. Shrugging off the associating powers inherent within the sanctuary simply won’t do. Any first year marketing student can tell you that everything from lighting to textures, from colors to qualities impacts the perceiver’s reception of your message (or, in consumer categories: product). Beauty, semblance, power, permanence, presence and order do not sit independent of the God who created the universe to bear and exemplify these things.
Instead, these verities are externalized and manifest in the physical reality in which we find ourselves on Sunday mornings, bespeaking of the Lord who creates and redeems both the body and the spirit through Christ Jesus — himself not a phantasm but “born of a woman,” “the Word … made manifest.” We can help tell the story, the great drama of redemption of all things—even the material world and the resurrection of our bodies—through art, architecture, and iconography that ornaments the Word proclaimed and sacramented. Parish leaders and pastors can either be conscious of harnessing these potentialities with purpose or, alternatively, by way of neglect or thoughtlessness let them diminish one’s engagement with the Lord through the Divine Service. To this end, Robert Jenson offers a timeless admonition:
In effect, the church could say to her hearers: “You know that story you think you must be living out in the real world? We are here to tell you about its turning point and outcome.” …. If we are in our time rightly to apprehend the eschatological reality of the gospel promise, we have to hear it with Christ the risen Lord visibly looming over our hearts and with His living and dead saints visibly gathered around us. Above all, the church must celebrate the Eucharist as the dramatic depiction, and as the succession of tableaux, that it intrinsically is. How can we point our lives to the Kingdom’s great Banquet, if its foretaste is spread before us with all the beauty of a McDonald’s counter? [1]
Jon Buell furthers our understanding in his article, “From Parking Lots to Bulletin Boards: Why Aesthetics Matter in a Classical Classroom.” Buell repeats Francis Schaeffer’s assertion that an artwork can be a doxology in itself. “For an artist, a work of art is an expression of itself,” concludes Buell. For our churches, then, sanctuary architecture is an expression of itself — a doxological structure that augments the beauty, permanence, and grandeur of the gospel it hosts. Simply put, what art and architecture is for is what art and architecture does when put in service of the gospel. The result is a kind of proclamation by way of association…or not.
To appreciate these realities requires a certain kind of literacy. And this literacy of art, architecture, and iconography is taught and transmitted by way of instruction, referencing, and reading. Ask the pastor or an architect or engineer within your parish what certain spaces and features intend to convey and these experts will bring light to the subject — that is, they will help you read them. Much of the drama of redemption rehearsed during the Divine Service is memorialized in the purposeful design of a theologically-purposeful sanctuary. From the steps leading to the solitary altar within the sanctuary, its easterly orientation, to the iconic crucifix on axis with the altar and octagonal font — all of these fixtures and features are purposed to form and inform our beliefs about the only living God. In short, they bespeak a theology.
Buell additionally writes: “It is a God-given responsibility for man to create; therefore, our buildings are a doxology in and of themselves.” If North American Christians, who have the means to do so, truly want to reinforce the message and presence of God among his people, then it can and should be done through the physical surroundings in which these things are “believed, taught, and confessed,” as the Formula of Concord might put it. The architecture of a church should (not must, but should) reflect the reality and regality of the living God, so that not only are truth and grace proclaimed and monumented but also divine beauty, goodness, order, and creativity are manifest in that atmosphere. In this way, the ornamentation of Mass lends truth and dignity to the fact of Christ present with us. In short, the thoughtful sanctuary, along with its accompanying spaces, gives shape to who we are and to what we believe, teach, and confess.
So when a parish looks run down, dingy, and dank, then we must own the fact that it is communicating through the power of association the opposite message we’d like to share with our neighbors and any and all visitors. And if any first-year marketing student knows as much, then so does every cognizant parishioner. We can all “read” spaces when it comes to matters of safety, comfort, attractiveness, and welcome. Go into a rundown, dingy, and dank environment and you’ll have a certain vocabulary with which to describe your feelings and impressions of those spaces and locations. Likewise, enter a beautiful, well-kept space — be it never so old or, indeed, ancient — and you will have a favorable vocabulary with which to convey your meaning. Spaces engender a kind of experience and elicit a corresponding vocabulary derived from the space itself. Many of us worship in sanctuaries that are themselves the legacy of generations of families who recognize that aesthetics matter, even in the details.
Some parishes are more humble than others in terms of size and accoutrements, perhaps even finances. Notwithstanding, the aforementioned principles attain. And so, even a fresh paint job helps. Decluttering helps. Landscaping helps. Thoughtful placement of fixtures help. Craftsman woodworking and handcrafted paraments help. Cleaning helps. All of these things, be they never so humble, can be individual items of doxological expression and, in a larger framework, augmentations of a theology of aesthetics that matters for telling the drama of redemption, for proclaiming the gospel of our Lord Jesus.
[1] Donald Bruggink, Christ and Architecture (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1965).
[2] Robert W. Jenson, “How the World Lost Its Story,” First Things (October 1993) www.firstthings.com/article.php3?id_article=5168.
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