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Cathedrals

17

In 1800, Alexandria, Virginia is a busy little harbor town, with nearly 5,000 people living here.  Large quantities of agricultural products—wheat, flour and tobacco, are brought here from farms out in the Virginia countryside, and shipped from Alexandria to ports throughout the world—the West Indies, Portugal, Spain, as well as domestic ports in New England and New Orleans.  Likewise, cargo-laden ships arrive down at the riverfront bringing in rum from Antigua, coffee from Puerto Rico, wine from Lisbon and products from factories in Great Britain.  What’s more, by 1810, Alexandria ranks third nationally in the production of refined sugar,[1] an important commodity that feeds a hunger for sweet things both here among our own people as well as those in distant ports.  The capital city of our new nation is being constructed just up the Potomac River.  In fact, in 1801, Alexandria officially was ceded by the Commonwealth of Virginia to help form part of the area designated as the District of Columbia.  In ten short years—between 1800 and 1810, the population of Alexandria increases by nearly 50%.  So obviously, this is a thriving place to be--intimate in scale, but cosmopolitan in breadth, as well as industrious by nature.  The future is bright here in Alexandria, the prospects are limitless and optimism abounds.

But unfortunately at this point in time, the same cannot be said about the state of the Episcopal Church in Virginia; because by 1800, the Church here is in ashes—a drastic change from the not-so-distant past.

It was only 25 years ago, prior to the American Revolution, that the Anglican Church—the predecessor to the Episcopal Church, it was the established church here in the colony of Virginia.  For generations, it served as the authorized and recognized body of Christian worship in this colony, an instrument of the British Crown.  To hold political office in Virginia, you must be an active member of the Anglican Church.  All citizens—whether or not you subscribe to the practices of the Church of England—were taxed by the legislature to support the efforts of the Church.  This public money was used to buy land, build churches, pay the clergy, and make provision for the poor and disadvantaged in our local communities.  Needless to say, those who were Presbyterian, Baptist, Methodist and other faith traditions not officially recognized by the Crown—they were known as “dissenters” and bristled at the thought of being taxed to support a church they did not attend.

So in 1776, with the Declaration of Independence and the outbreak of Revolution, the Anglican Church in the former colonies, and particularly here in Virginia, was thrown into complete turmoil.  No longer were we connected to the Church in England, which, in and of itself, may not seem such a bad thing.  But, as a hierarchical church, it meant we didn’t have a system in place to govern ourselves.  Traditionally, we are a church who relies on the governance of bishops, and we had no bishop in place in this country.  Our source of income, which had been based upon tax revenue, was now cut off.  We had no established means of educating and ordaining our clergy.  Dissenters are calling on the new Virginia Assembly to confiscate all our property which had been bought and built with public money.  Our Disestablished Church is scrambling to save itself as its institutional foundations crumble.  Yet at the same time, we are struggling to re-define ourselves for a future and mission we cannot clearly see.  In 1799, there are at least 59 parishes with clergy in Virginia.  But by 1814, that number drops to 19.  Obviously, the beginning of the 19th century is a depressing time for the Episcopal Church in Virginia.  It is said, “The older generation found it difficult to shake off the sense of loss or to imagine a new and different church.  Some still hoped for a return to state support….”[2]  In this period of darkness and confusion, the question facing the Church is, “Who are you?  Are you are an heir to the defunct colonial church of the past or are you going to be a new Christian denomination shaped in the spirit of this bold and exciting, young republic?

This is the context, the setting, into which St. Paul’s Episcopal Church is born.  It’s here, that St. Paul’s comes into being, as a provocative, inspirational answer to this important and challenging question.

It begins on Sunday morning, Oct. 15th, 1809.  The Rev. William Lewis Gibson, the Rector of Christ Church, Alexandria, suddenly resigns his position from that parish.  He does so because of the extreme criticism he receives over his choice of clerical garb and the style in which he preaches.

At the time in Virginia, the established tradition is for clergy to wear a black cassock while leading worship—an austere expression of the “low church” Anglican piety prevalent in this part of the world.  Even though prior to his arrival at Christ Church, Mr. Gibson made it clear to the Vestry he intends to wear a white surplice over his cassock, to which they reluctantly agreed.  But many in the congregation are offended by this expression of “pomp and ceremony” that runs counter to their Protestant sensibilities; so much so that a prominent member of the congregation walks out of the church in protest.  Likewise, Mr. Gibson hears complaints that his sermons are too abrasive, that they are delivered with too much frankness, contrary to the more subdued and reverential sermons to which the congregation is more accustomed.  And as a result, Mr. Gibson decides that Christ Church is not the place for him and so it’s time to move on.  And with him, approximately half of the congregation follows to establish what becomes St. Paul’s Episcopal Church.

For many, a move like this may seem somewhat ordinary; new congregations have split off from established congregations for years and years.  But for the Episcopal Church in early 19th-century Virginia, this move is unprecedented.

That’s because for the previous two centuries, as the Church of England established itself in the colony of Virginia, it followed the traditional pattern of dividing the landscape into a series of parishes.  For any given geographical area of land, it was viewed as one parish/one church/one congregation.  If the population increased in a part of the parish that was a significant distance from the original “mother church,” then a “chapel of ease” was constructed.  But that congregation remained part of the “mother church.”  The unity of the parish remained intact.

A case in point is the “chapel of ease” constructed in Alexandria in 1753.  At the time, it was part of Truro Parish, with the “mother church” being Pohick, 15 miles away.  As the population grew in this part of the colony, Truro Parish was divided and the northern portion became Fairfax Parish, with the Falls Church as the “mother church” and the chapel still in Alexandria, which would become Christ Church.  Consequently, Christ Church is recognized as the established place where Anglicans in Alexandria worship.  Options are not available.  It’s an approach that represents a very “top-down” strategy of governing the institutional church.

However, when St. Paul’s Church comes into being, it’s not a product of the institutional church.  It’s a “grassroots” movement.  In fact, it’s the first instance in Virginia when a separate, alternative Anglican congregation is created within a given community that already has an established congregation.  In other words, by the very act of its birth, St. Paul's establishes a new way of being church that breaks with traditional Anglican practice and now offers people a choice.  A bold move that undoubtedly raised a few eyebrows among long-time Episcopalians in the Old Dominion.

During its formative years, St. Paul’s is fortunate to have inspiring clergy to help chart its path forward.

Of course, the Rev. William Gibson is instrumental in the very beginning, but in two years, he leaves in 1811 to return to Maryland.

In 1812, the Rev. Dr. William Holland Wilmer is called to be rector of this fledgling congregation.  Under his leadership, St. Paul’s “experiences a period of great growth and prosperity.”[3]  In reading this man’s biography, it’s a wonder he even finds time to sleep!

Dr. Wilmer is an impressive young man with boundless energy and creative ideas.  Ordained a priest just two years earlier, he is one of a small band of evangelicals who come to the Diocese of Virginia at this time, determined to raise the Church up from its broken state.

Once installed as rector here at St. Paul’s, Dr. Wilmer immediately is elected to the Diocesan Standing Committee.  Along with his fellow evangelicals, he refuses to support the newly-elected Bishop John Bracken because they believe it’s time for younger and more inspired leadership.  They work behind the scenes to find an alternative leader and pressure Bracken into resigning his election.[4]  In his place, Dr. Wilmer and his colleagues push for the election of the Rev. Richard Channing Moore as the next bishop, whom they proclaim as “the kind of forward-thinking person Virginia [needs].”[5]

Not only is Dr. Wilmer influential in the Diocese, but his ministry extends to the larger Church as well.  In 1815, he is instrumental in establishing St. John’s Episcopal Church at Lafayette Square in Washington; and even serves there as rector for two years while he simultaneously continues to serve here at St. Paul’s.  In 1817, Dr. Wilmer is elected president of the House of Deputies for the entire Episcopal Church, only seven years after ordination, the youngest person ever to serve in that role.

Back here at St. Paul’s, Dr. Wilmer works diligently to grow and strengthen the congregation.  So much so, that in 1817, the church outgrows the small meetinghouse on Fairfax St. where it worships and needs a new, larger place of worship.

Keep in mind, the traditional approach to building a church at that time was to hire a local builder and ask him to put up a simple brick box.  Some builders were sophisticated enough to refer to architectural pattern books, that were popular at the time, and plug some decorative doorways, windows and other elements into the box to make it more attractive.  But in the end, the final result still was a basic brick box built for preaching.

Rather than turning to a local builder for a predicable box church, Dr. Wilmer encourages the St. Paul’s leadership to think outside the proverbial box and act differently.  And do they ever!  In what certainly can be characterized as unconventional and some might say audacious, St. Paul’s hires the first and most prominent architect in the United States at the time—Benjamin Henry Latrobe.  A favorite of Thomas Jefferson, Mr. Latrobe is actively involved in the design of a number of prominent buildings in the new Capital city—the U.S. Capitol building, the White House, Decatur House, St. John’s, Lafayette Square, Christ Church, Capitol Hill; along with important buildings in other major cities—the Roman Catholic Basilica in Baltimore, the Bank of Pennsylvania building in Philadelphia, and the Customs House in New Orleans.  Latrobe is a conspicuous, progressive choice to make, signaling that St. Paul’s is eager to embrace the future and assuring the new building where it worships will be a landmark on the streetscape of Alexandria, even, perhaps, the entire country.

Not only does the choice of Latrobe as architect for the new church grab attention, but the design of the building is eye-catching as well.  For 300 years, since the start of the Reformation, Protestants have steered away from anything in the life of the church that brings to mind the medieval church and the abuses which took place then—particularly church buildings in the Gothic style.  Protestants in Europe preferred to build their new churches in the Classical-Revival style that recalls the glories of ancient Greece and Rome— a time of presumed purity before the onslaught of corruption that tainted the Roman Catholic Church.  St. Paul’s Cathedral in London is an example of this school of thought.  Also in England, the Georgian style—a derivative of Classical-Revival—is widely popular and its influence extends to these shores, as we can see in the building fabric of Christ Church, here in Alexandria.

In fact, Latrobe is well-known for his mastery of the Classical-Revival style.  His designs are celebrated for their simple elegance, their noble, uplifting spirit.  Any sense of darkness and mystery is removed, the spaces are enlightening and inspiring, encouraging its inhabitants to see the theoretical in the world round about them.  Latrobe’s design of St. John’s/Lafayette Square encapsulates his skills with the Classical-Revival.

But with the design of St. Paul’s, Latrobe departs from his preferred and predicable style of Classical-Revival.  Here, he designs one of the first churches in the United States in the Gothic-Revival style.  Collaborating with Dr. Wilmer, the two actually succeed at “turning the tables” on conventional thought and capitalize on the associations the Gothic style brings to mind.  Rather than shy away from its allusions to medieval corruption, they proclaim the Gothic-Revival style serves to remind people of the passion and fervor of the early English Church—a “high-water mark” when Christianity permeated all aspects of peoples’ daily lives.  The design of the main façade, with the three lancet arches rising to the full height of the building, provides a monumental scale similar to the great cathedral at Peterborough, and signals that a new era of Christian influence is underway in this new republic.

The interior of St. Paul’s is shaped around the prominence of the spoken word—the proportions of the worship space are as wide as it is deep to allow the congregation to gather as close as possible to the preacher in the pulpit.  Remember this is a time when Morning Prayer is the principal form of worship, not Holy Eucharist.  Of course, an altar is present, but the pulpit is centrally-located and dominant in size.  The space is open, originally envisioned to be without piers and columns, or the gallery overhead to interfere with peoples’ experience of the sermon and the transformative power of the word of God.

From the unapologetic use of pointed arches, to shunning the tradition of exposed brickwork in favor of the more sophisticated practice of scored stucco to simulate blocks of stone, Latrobe’s design of St. Paul’s makes a dramatic break with the Georgian architecture of the past and points the way toward a new, confident age in church architecture—the Gothic-Revival age, arguably the most influential and widely-accepted style of church architecture in western Christendom for the next hundred years.  It’s a bold statement by a breakaway congregation who refuses to think of itself as second-class in any form or fashion.

But the precociousness of St. Paul’s doesn’t stop here.  In 1819, Dr. Wilmer continues to develop creative ideas to rebuild the larger church beyond the walls of St. Paul’s itself.  In August of this year, he establishes the Washington Theological Repertory—a monthly journal that reaches out to scattered Episcopalians throughout Virginia and the church beyond.  It publishes serious theological discussions, poetry, memorials, and notices of church activities from all over the country.  In 1835, it is replaced by the Southern Churchman, a weekly journal that relocates to Richmond and serves the Episcopal Church for well over a century—until 1952.[6]

In addition to his publishing endeavors, Dr. Wilmer is determined to establish a suitable institution for the education of future Episcopal clergy.  The College of William and Mary, founded in 1693, had provided a divinity school for aspiring Anglican clergy.  But since the American Revolution, it discontinued this course of study.  In 1820, the College tried to revive the school, only to fail.  The only other functioning Episcopal seminary in the US is General Seminary in New York, founded in 1817.  But evangelicals are suspicious of its “high church” leanings and want a place of learning closer to Virginia.

In 1818, Dr. Wilmer takes the lead in organizing ”The Society for the Education of Pious Young Men for the Ministry of the Protestant Episcopal Church in Maryland and Virginia,” an organization with a monstrous long name and whose purpose is to raise funds to support theological education for students at a seminary or privately.[7]  After several years of “starts and stops” by the Church to provide a school locally, Dr. Wilmer becomes frustrated and takes the initiative to hold classes here at St. Paul’s.  On Oct. 15, 1823, two professors and fourteen students begin meeting here and their efforts are the genesis of what becomes Virginia Theological Seminary—the largest Episcopal seminary in the United States.

From its birth and through its formative years, St. Paul’s Church redefines what it means to be the Episcopal Church in Virginia.  It’s a hot-bed of new ideas and new ministries!  This church epitomizes the qualities necessary to embrace the future: believe faithfully, act confidently, think creatively, care unselfishly, and live hopefully.  These characteristics are inherent in the nature of St. Paul’s; they are part of its DNA.

 



[1] City of Alexandria website, “Discovering the Decades: 1800s,” http://alexandriava.gov/historic/info/default.aspx?id=28302

[2] Joan R. Gundersen, “Like a Phoenix from the Ashes: The Reinvention of the Church in Virginia, 1760-1840” in Virginia Magazine of History and Biography, Vol. 115, No. 2 (Richmond, VA: Virginia Historical Society, 2007) 219.

[3] Ruth Lincoln Kaye, The History of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Alexandria, Virginia: November 12, 1809 – November 12, 1984 (Springfield, VA: The Goetz Printing Co., 1984) 17.

[4] Gundersen, 220.

[5] Gundersen, 221.

[6] Gundersen, 226.

[7] Gundersen, 230.

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31

During one visit to Canterbury Cathedral, I had the good fortune to tour the Cathedral Archives and see a number of fascinating and wonderful things.  At one point, the Cathedral Archivist hands me a document, made of parchment and obviously quite old.  The text is Latin and so, admitting my ignorance, I ask for a translation.  She proceeds to explain, in unassuming British fashion, that the document I now hold in my hands clarifies the roles and responsibilities of the Archbishop of Canterbury and the Archbishop of York, and clearly establishes the superiority of the former over the latter.  The agreement is known as the “Accord of Winchester,” it dates from 1072 and the prominent signature at the bottom of the parchment is that of William the Conqueror!

“Oh, really?” I say, trying not to sound too-overly impressed.  Even though at the same time, my mind is racing to catch up with the reality of the object clutched in my bare hands, trying to fully comprehend the significance of this seemingly simple, one-page document.  Vague memories from church history class help me to remember that this is the agreement that ultimately led to the complete reform and reorganization of the English Church following William’s conquest, when Anglo-Saxon bishops were replaced with Norman bishops.  What’s more, it became the tipping point that put into motion the effort to rebuild every existing Anglo-Saxon cathedral in England in the subsequent Norman fashion.  Much of the architecture we enjoy today in the great medieval cathedrals of England was brought into existence because of this document.  Truly, this unpretentious piece of parchment caused a seismic shift not only in English history, but its aftershocks went on to impact the Anglican tradition as it spread its way around the globe.  It’s not every day I have the opportunity to touch such an ancient and extraordinary artifact of human history, and it was thrilling!

Ancient artifacts, such as the Accord of Winchester, have a transcendent quality about them.  Not only did they influence civilization at the time they were created, but continually do so.  Generations have highly regarded and carefully protected them, setting them apart as unique and special.  Their significance and ability to transcend the ages infuses them with a sense of immutability, they exude a force of character beyond that of the simple mundane.  They serve as reminders that we are part of a continuum much larger than ourselves.  They help us to see beyond the limitations of our individuality and finitude to inspire comfort, confidence and optimism.  They are a necessary elixir to those of us diminished by the fleeting, trivial nature of living in a “throw-away society,” expecting immediate gratification of our needs, and roiling in a constant state of change.  Rarely, do we find ourselves in the presence of such objects of eternal value.  But when we do, they shift the focus of attention away from our own selfish needs, raise our level of consciousness above the primal instincts of mere survival, and remind us of the priceless quality of life.  Thanks be to God!

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24

The story of Holy Trinity Cathedral begins in 1861, when the Rev. James Theodore Holly comes to Haiti from the United States, bringing the presence and ministry of the Episcopal Church to this island country.

Bishop Alfred Lee of Delaware, a staunch advocate of Fr. Holly and the ministry of the Church in Haiti, said at the time, “It will not be worthwhile to prosecute the Mission [in Haiti] without suitable buildings. A convenient and appropriate church is a sine qua non, and accommodation for schools and a residence, for one missionary, at least, is of the first importance.”

So on May 24, 1863, Fr. Holly establishes Holy Trinity Parish in Port-au-Prince, the country’s capital city.  In 1874, Fr. Holly is consecrated the first missionary bishop to Haiti and the first African-American bishop in the entire Episcopal Church; and as a result, Holy Trinity becomes Bishop Holly’s cathedral.  Keep in mind that during this period of time, the vast majority of buildings in Port-au-Prince and all of Haiti are built of wood and thatch.  Consequently, on a number of occasions throughout Bishop Holly’s ministry, Port-au-Prince suffers a series of devastating fires—1866, 1873, 1888 and 1908.  And in each of these instances, Holy Trinity is destroyed.

But if one thing can be said, it’s that surely resilience is a defining character trait of the Haitian people.  That’s because each time the Cathedral is destroyed, the people rebuild it once again.

Bishop Holly will go on to serve the Haitian people until his death in 1911.

In 1923, the Rev. Harry R. Carson becomes the second Episcopal Bishop of Haiti.  In the years between Bishop Holly’s death and the consecration of Bishop Carson, Haiti goes through a series of political upheavals that trample the lives of the people and impede the mission of the Church.  As the political situation stabilizes and Bishop Carson is brought in to assume responsibility, he rightfully re-establishes Port-au-Prince as the center from which all of the Episcopal Church’s mission work will flow.  Bishop Carson recalls the words of Bishop Lee, from a half-century earlier that a suitable building is essential for carrying out the mission of the Church, and he calls for a new substantial Cathedral to be built.  In 1924, the Haitian architects Daniel and Philippe Brun design the new Holy Trinity Cathedral and on January 6, 1929, the Cathedral is dedicated.

In 1949, Haiti celebrates the bicentennial of Port-au-Prince and uses the event to promote the vitality of Haitian art.  The Episcopal Church invites Haitian artists to paint murals on the interior walls of Holy Trinity Cathedral under the guidance of the renowned Centre d’Art.  On March 9, 1950, the murals behind the altar are competed and dedicated.  The remaining murals are completed by April 1951.  Recognized throughout the world for their artistic and cultural merit, these murals depict various stories from the Bible using people of African heritage as the characters.  The murals are painted by some of the best-known Haitian artists of the Twentieth Century.  The ensuing years sees additional artwork brought into the Cathedral including the beautiful murals decorating the doors of the organ case with animals, birds, flowers and plants representing a hymn of creation honoring God the Creator. 

In 1961, the Episcopal Church celebrates one hundred years of service in Haiti.  For this occasion, major renovations take place at the Cathedral.  Through generous gifts from many friends throughout the United States and in Haiti, a new organ is installed.  The sanctuary of the Cathedral is redesigned to allow the priest to face the congregation while celebrating at the altar.   At the same time, administrative buildings are constructed behind the Cathedral, which provide choir rehearsal space, meeting rooms and offices for the Diocese of Haiti.

Then on January 12, 2010, a massive earthquake strikes Haiti, killing more than 300,000 people, seriously injuring more than 250,000, and leaving 1.3 million people homeless.  Untold numbers of private and public buildings are destroyed throughout the country including Holy Trinity Cathedral, as well as other buildings on the Cathedral close, including the primary, secondary, professional, and music schools, and Ste. Marguerite Convent.

Of the fourteen renowned murals that adorned the interior of the Cathedral, only three survive the destruction.  A collaborative effort, under the auspices of the Smithsonian, the Getty Conservation Institute, and others, salvaged and conserved the three murals—removing them from the walls, placing them in protective crates and taking them offsite to controlled storage as they await reinstallation in the new Cathedral.

Facing the enormity of, not only caring for its people, but also rebuilding most all of its churches, schools, hospitals and other structures throughout the country, the Episcopal Diocese of Haiti decides to concentrate its initial rebuilding efforts on Holy Trinity Cathedral—recalling once again the words of Bishop Lee, from a century and a half ago, that “a suitable building is essential for carrying out the mission of the Church.”

The Diocese of Haiti looks to a new Cathedral to be that prominent landmark proclaiming God’s abiding presence among the Haitian people.  It will represent the Church’s ongoing commitment to serve the peoples’ needs—a beacon of hope to all who suffer and a place of refuge in times of trouble.

The Episcopal Church, of which the Diocese of Haiti is its largest diocese, is committed to the rebuilding effort.  Over the last two years, a team has been working diligently with the Diocese of Haiti helping the Church get back up on its feet.  This past August, I began working with the Team to help develop and implement a strategy to rebuild the Cathedral. 

Our first major task was to compile and verify the necessary information in order to hire an architect and design the building.  Locating the deeds for the land, searching for surveys of the property boundaries, developing a program for how the new Cathedral should function, establishing a budget for design and construction—all these things and more were pulled together and agreed upon by all the folks involved, not only in Haiti, but in this country as well.  And for those of you who know how efficiently the Church operates, you can appreciate the time required to assemble this information.

In December, our Team issued a “Request for Proposal” to procure an architect.  On January 6th, we received those proposals and now, we are in the process of reviewing them and expect to make a decision in the near future.  This decision then will allow the design process to move forward and create a vision for the new Cathedral which can be shared with the entire Church.  Our hope is that the new design will be so exciting and so inspiring that it will raise great enthusiasm and encourage additional financial support for the rebuilding effort.

The amount of destruction in Haiti is so overwhelming, the need is so great and the recovery will take such a long period of time.  The Episcopal Church in Haiti needs our ongoing help.  You and I can continue to make a difference, a very real difference in the lives of these people, our sisters and brothers in Christ.  Our help is critical as the people of Haiti work to get back on their feet again.

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11

 “Christianity and sacred space” – this is a concept that is difficult to clearly define so as to embrace the broad diversity of the Christian faith.  Ask an Eastern Orthodox or Roman Catholic and the answer will be very different from that of a Quaker or a Pentecostal.  The primary reason for this is the Christian biblical texts say next to nothing about space and the role it plays in the life of the faith tradition.  Consequently, many Christians would profess there is nothing intrinsically sacred about a particular place or building.  On the other hand, there are a large number of Christians who hold certain spaces to be quite holy and treat them with a great deal of reverence.  So the challenge is – can we find the “common denominator” that bridges this ambivalence and allows the conversation to continue.

I suggest that rather than beginning the discussion by talking about “sacred space” per se, it is more appropriate to begin by talking about “sacred person.”  This is because at its core, “sacred person” is the most significant aspect of Christianity.  And the particular sacred person who draws the majority of attention is Jesus of Nazareth, whom Christians regard as the “Christ,” the Messiah, the Anointed One of God.  For Christians, the person of Jesus is primary and all things “sacred” are defined through him.  The reason for this is that Christians believe that through Jesus the Christ, one is reconciled and reunited with the God of the Judeo-Christian Bible.

To summarize Christianity in 100 words or less, the Biblical tradition teaches that because of disobedience in Paradise – the Garden of Eden, humankind distorted its relationship with God and as a result lives in a dysfunctional state of separation from God.  For Christians, Jesus is the one – because of who he is and what he did – who redeems humankind and restores the fractured relationship it had with God.  As a result, it is important for Christians to know Jesus the Christ and through him come to know God.

Well, the logical question following such a statement is – “how does one come to know God through Jesus the Christ?”  The Christian tradition teaches five ways:

  • By reading and engaging Holy Scripture, which is believed to be the Word of God.
  • For some Christians, receiving the Sacraments, which include Baptism and Communion and are believed to be the material means of God’s favor for humankind.
  • By participating in prayer and worship, which is one’s conscious response to God.
  • By joining in a gathered community of believers, because Jesus is attributed to have said in the Gospel of Matthew that “where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them” [Matt. 18:20].
  • And also by giving alms and serving those who are less fortunate, because the Christian biblical texts teach that in serving these folks, one also serves the Christ.

So, in order to accommodate and facilitate these spiritual practices, and by extension encourage the Divine experience, Christians found it necessary to design and build places of worship.  As a result, Christians have come to equate sacred space to places where they have experienced communion with God.

For example, an elderly gentleman once told me of a profound spiritual experience he had back in the 1940s in the days following the Second World War.  While in France, he had the opportunity to visit and worship in Chartres Cathedral.  When he entered the nave, he said he was brought to tears by the quality of light as it poured through the stained glass windows and filled the space.  He said he felt as though the light was entering his body and passing completely through, purifying him of his past failures, illuminating his mind and warming his soul.  Never in his life had he had such a profound experience of God, nor since. And since that time, whenever he is confronted by pain and suffering, he remembers the light of Chartres and an incredible sense of peace returns, allowing him to regain hope and continue with life.

Throughout the centuries, as Christians built places of worship, the shape they gave to their worship space was influenced by their notions of God.  Historically, the expression of two Divine characteristics exerted considerable influence on Christian architecture in all its diversity.  These two characteristics are – that Christians believe God to be both transcendent and immanent.

By transcendent, I mean the God who is responsible for all creation, who existed prior to and is distinct and apart from creation and therefore not constrained by its physicality.  This God transcends the grasp of human intelligence and is ineffable.  Its essence is purity and perfection.  Yet despite such magnificence, the transcendent God calls creation to itself and Christians believe calls them to become different people, transformed people.  That life is to be a journey, represented by stages of spiritual growth, where death is not the conclusion, but a point of transfiguration, when one transcends this material world and is reunited with the Godhead in heavenly bliss for eternity.  This is the God of Salvation and one to be pursued.

By immanent, I mean the God who is present in creation and active in human history.  Christians understand the immanent God as one who makes the Divine Self known in the common, imperfect activities of everyday life.  A God who is humble, approachable and unavoidable.  This is the God of the Incarnation, who is available and accessible in the present moment by all who seek to know it better.

Architecturally, these two attributes of God are represented by two geometric forms: the line and the circle.

The line gives shape to and reinforces the experience of a transcendent God.  One end, which is the starting point, represents the beginning of the spiritual journey, when one recognizes that he or she is living in a state of separation from God and then wants to move closer.  This point is symbolized by the exterior entrance or portal one must pass through to enter the worship space.  The other end of the line represents the conclusion, the culmination of the spiritual journey when one is reunited with God and is symbolized by the altar, the place where communion is celebrated.  Along the line, certain elements are strategically placed to represent progressive stages of spiritual growth:

  • The baptismal font typically is positioned near the entrance, representing one’s acceptance of the faith and initiation into the community.
  • Further along is the ambo or the lectern and pulpit – the place where Holy Scripture is read, prayers are offered, and sermons are given, that represent the deepening of one’s spiritual knowledge and experience as one matures in the faith.

In moving along the line through the worship space, one participates both physically and spiritually in this journey of salvation.  As a result, it is easy to assume the altar is the most sacred place in the entire worship space because it is where communion with God takes place.  Hence, the closer one is to the altar, the greater the degree of sacredness.  And over the centuries, this assumption played itself out in a variety of ways:

  • Architectural embellishment
  • Hierarchical seating
  • Burial placement

The other geometric form, the circle, represents and reinforces the notion of an imminent God.  Rather than manifesting God as an experience one aspires to in the future tense, this form encourages the experience of God that occurs in midst of the gathered community at any given moment.  In other words, the emphasis is less on “doing” and more on “being.”  The focal point of a circle is its center and as a result, the center is the place where all the liturgical action happens.  The altar is positioned here, along with the ambo – the place where Holy Scripture is proclaimed and often the baptismal font.  As a result, the center point becomes the most sacred spot and the community gathers around it in circular fashion, equidistant from the center – representing equality among individuals and unity for the entire congregation.

These two aspects of God, as well as these two building forms, contrast sharply with each other.  Yet in looking at most Christian places of worship built throughout the centuries, one finds attempts to incorporate characteristics of each, but in varying degrees of emphasis.

While many Christians proclaim there is no biblical precedence for defining sacred space, this absence has not prevented some from naming and claiming space as sacred.

Jonathan Z. Smith, a historian of religion, argues “the presence of an indwelling divinity is not something we can ascertain, but the very erection of churches, the development of pilgrimages to the sites, and the reverence with which believers treat the sites have in effect sacralized the churches, imbuing them with sacred meaning.”

In other words, Smith argues that it is humans who declare something sacred, who set an object apart as holy, rather than God.  And this designation is based upon a shared intention, an action and/or perception.

For example: in the medieval Christian church, theologians viewed creation, in its fundamental state, to be “profane,” which is not to be equated with “dirty, impure, or corrupted,” but meaning “an absence of the divine presence, or common and mundane.”  This perception derived from the traditional view of all creation as “fallen,” existing in a state of separation from God.  As a result, part of the work of the church was to sanctify the landscape, “to claim it for Christ,” to make the profane world sacred by invoking the Spirit of God to inhabit and consecrate particular areas of it.  And by this joint venture with the Divine, the earth gradually would be transformed into a heavenly place.  Christians saw themselves as partners with God, assisting God in the completion and sanctification of the world of creation.

This notion helps explain the purpose behind such objects as high crosses on the landscape and walls around the perimeter of cathedral closes, church yards and cemeteries which define the boundaries of sacred precincts and holy ground.  These are clear demarcations of what is sacred from what is profane.

This notion also helps explain the tradition of cathedrals and churches as being places of sanctuary and safety, where freedom exists from aggression, violence and evil, apart from the world of the wicked.  Think of the image of the accused criminal, fleeing persecution, running to the door of the church, grabbing the handle and claiming sanctuary and protection.  Such a place is where the community believed God had jurisdiction above and beyond that of mere mortals.

These medieval distinctions of sacred and profane provided clear and powerful clarifications to the landscape and lives of Europeans whose world was strongly shaped by the Christian church.

But as the Protestant Reformation burst upon the church and challenged many practices of medieval Christianity, notions of what constituted sacred space were broken down, scrutinized, clarified, revised or discarded.  The hierarchical structure of the church was transformed by many communities into a more egalitarian one, so no longer is sacred space the privileged domain of a select few, but accessible to all.

An example: in the sacramental Christian traditions, such as the Anglican Church (of which I am a member), the Roman Catholic, Lutheran, Orthodox, to name a few – the area between the communion rail and the altar traditionally is called the “sanctuary” – the holiest part of a sacred space.  In the more Protestant traditions, the “sanctuary” refers to the entire worship space, including the area where the congregation sits.  For these folks, all of the church is equally holy.

Shifting perceptions of sacred space continue in Christianity, so that today, with heightened awareness of environmental sensibilities and a deepening respect for the natural world, the Christian church gradually is embracing the notion that all of creation is sacred and should be treated as such.

Architecturally, churches are being built that instead of turning the congregations’ attention away from the outside world and focusing inwardly; they now open themselves up to the outside world and invite the beauty of creation to assist in shaping its worship.

Michael Mayne, the former Dean of Westminster Abbey, once wrote, “The sacred has been defined as that to which we have access but which is not at our disposal.”  Perhaps, this statement helps explain the rich architectural heritage of the Christian church and its continuing search for sacred space.

 

Image – “Church of the Minorities II” by Lyonel Feininger, 1926

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23

Upon joining Washington National Cathedral in 2005, I assumed responsibility for the Cathedral’s rare book collection.  The collection consisted of over nine thousand volumes on religious subject matter, as well as secular.  Many books predate 1750, including a number of incunabula, with several quite valuable editions and a few that are priceless.  The collection came into existence during the Cathedral’s first century as donors offered their personal collections of books, visiting dignitaries presented them as gifts, and specific acquisitions were made by the Cathedral Library while it existed.

However during the 1970s, the Cathedral Library formally was closed and its librarian released.  Soon thereafter, many items were sold or donated to other institutions.  Yet due to donor restrictions, a portion of the rare book collection remained in storage at the Cathedral.  Over the ensuing years, volunteers attempted to manage the collection with limited, consistent success.  By the time I assumed responsibility, an accurate inventory of the entire collection did not exist; background information on each item, including donor records, was not readily accessible; the location of certain specific items could not be confirmed; the quality of security was questionable; and the books were deteriorating due to poor environmental conditions.

Immediately, I petitioned Governance for the necessary funds to bring the rare book collection under control and establish a strategic plan for proper stewardship, and was granted preliminary support to begin.

First, we hired a research library consultant to inventory the collection on the shelves and, working with an assistant, confirm that list with an existing written inventory, resolving inconsistencies and entering the information into an electronic database.  The consultant then was to collect all background information on each item, including all donor agreements, and enter this information into the database as well.  This effort required research in numerous files located in various departments, reviewing committee meeting minutes and Cathedral periodicals, along with interviewing a number of staff and volunteers who participated in the life of collection at some time.

As the donor agreements were collected and reviewed, it became obvious the Cathedral had not used a consistent gift vehicle over the years in receiving donations, so the terms varied widely.  We then hired a lawyer specializing in non-profit donations to review the agreements and make recommendations on their proper interpretation.  This information also went into the database.

As the consultant inventoried the collection, she was directed to review the condition of each book and note the general degree of conservation required.  We enlisted the help of professional volunteers to lend their expertise and provide immediate attention to the most pressing deterioration problems.  They also provided estimates for the next level of conservation treatment.  Working with a small amount of funds, we made minor improvements to the existing mechanical equipment to provide more stable levels of temperature and humidity.  Also, tighter security controls were installed.

In the final report, I directed the consultant to analyze the content, distribution and associated value of the collection’s subject matter to help Governance better understand the breadth and specifics of the collection in order to make informed decisions.  Also, we made recommendations for next steps in the responsible care for the collection.  In the end, the entire collection was verified, an inventory and all associated information was consolidated in one location on an accessible electronic database and confirmed, and the environmental conditions improved.

For the first time in over 40 years, the Cathedral regained control of its rare book collection, so it now can be better stewards of the collection’s perpetual care and honor the trust bestowed upon the Cathedral by donors in the past.

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