Beauty is essential to life.  Just as air, water, food and shelter are fundamental to our survival; it is beauty that lifts us up out of mere primordial existence to a higher quality of life.  It infuses our souls with purpose, passion and inspiration.  It is not a luxury.  Every human being is entitled to the benefits it brings—not just the well-to-do and the overly-intellectual.  Jesus said, “I came that you might have life and have it more abundantly.”[1]  He is not talking about you and me having more air, all the food and water we can eat and drink, or larger houses.  He is talking about quality of life and beauty is the means by which this transfiguration often is brought about.

Anglicans firmly subscribe to this notion.  We pursue beauty in all aspects of life.  It defines our character.  One only has to look at the rich heritage of Anglican Church buildings or thumb through a book, such as A Treasury of Anglican Art,[2] to sample some of the most beautiful, spiritually-uplifting examples of Christian architecture and art in the world.

But why is this?  Why do Anglicans and, by extension, Episcopalians hold beauty in such high regard?

John Westerhoff, in his book, A People Called Episcopalians, writes, “Anglicans have made beauty the doorway into truth and goodness.  We have a strong respect for and belief in the beauty of holiness and righteousness.  Money spent on beauty…is justified insofar as it is our way of revealing and advocating truth and goodness.  Our churches are intended to be works of art and we make every effort to ensure that the arts used in our churches are of high quality.”[3]  In other words, for Anglicans—when one is in the presence of beauty, one also is in the presence of the Divine.

Certainly, there are Christians who approach worship by emphasizing truth and goodness, but pay little heed to beauty.  They focus on the word of God—both written and spoken—as the primary means by which to know God.  They appeal to the rational mind, thinking a right understanding of God’s word will bring right behavior, which is a perfectly reasonable, acceptable and time-tested approach to Christian worship.

However, another approach to Christian worship is to reach for the imagination and the heart, in addition to the rational mind.  And the means by which the imagination and heart are stirred most effectively is by the five senses.  The goal of this type of worship is to encourage an attitude of mystery and awe before the presence of God, evoking devotion, admiration and thanksgiving; and, in doing so, inspiring right behavior as a result.

To stimulate the senses, we historically make use of the arts—the visual arts and the performing arts.  The arts convey profound and timeless truths in imaginative and relevant ways—deeper theology than mere words.  As one stated, “The Word was not made flesh in order to be turned back into word again.  Art makes incarnate the Word of God.”  The beauty of art encourages our imagination to take precedence over the rational side of the brain, which, more often than not, tends to control the vast majority of life.  It induces stirrings of the ineffable and numinous that reside deep within us.

Finally, Episcopalians are a sacramental people.  We believe the Transcendent is made know to us through material things.  From God, there flows a continuous stream of Divine Love, making itself available to all through the material, most specifically through the person of Christ Jesus, as well as through the waters of Baptism and the bread and wine of Holy Communion.  In a broader sense, all creation is a manifestation of its Creator—God’s handiwork is visible in every directions.  Therefore, the spiritual cannot be separated from the physical.  As a result, architecture and the arts are sacramental to us.  We look to architecture and the arts to support our worship, education, evangelization and mission.  For us, God’s presence and actions are mediated most powerfully through our places of worship.  For Episcopalians, orthodoxy is right worship, rather than right belief.  To put it another way, it is through the beauty of sacred space that makes it easy to fall in love with God.

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I am not a cradle Episcopalian.  I was born and raised, baptized and confirmed in the United Methodist Church.  Then as a teenager, I fell away from the church because I could not see its relevance in my life.  It seemed flat, weak, moralistic and platitudinous.  It felt as though my very life was being sucked out of me whenever I walked through its doors.

In its place, architecture came to be my religion; and my creed was “better living through design and the arts!”  I came to realize that, for as long as I can remember, “beauty” stirs something deep within me.  No matter whether it is natural beauty or beauty shaped by human hands, I find myself feeling inspired, encouraged, even comforted in its presence.  In some instances, the beauty is so incredible, so ecstatic, so awesome to behold, that I am moved to tears.  Something the church had not been able to do.

Then during my 30’s, I spent a considerable amount of time in an Islamic country, working on an archaeological project.  It was there, in the midst of a culture so radically different from my own, among a people who are so devoted to their religion—no matter their station in life, who faithfully respond to the call, five times a day, to pray to God, when I realized a tremendous spiritual void existed in my life and was inspired to set about finding a way in which to fill it.  It was then I decided to return to the church.

I returned to the States, but knew I was not drawn back to the United Methodist Church.  Its way of being “church” did not speak to me.  What did speak to me was the beauty I found in the Episcopal Church.

Growing up in Virginia, I was surrounded by a great many examples of beautiful Episcopal Churches—an architecture carefully crafted to reflect devotion to God and commitment to the faith; roots in the past, but relevance in the present.  Unbeknownst to me, their beauty influenced my perceptions, shaped my sensibilities on what constitute sacred space.  I came to realize is that beauty is a manifestation of God—a means by which God’s grace permeates, illuminates and enriches our world.  It became clear that, for me, the architectural setting for worship is extremely important.  If the space is to be sacred, it also must beautiful to the eye, especially during those times when the sermon is so deadening to the ear.  In other words, beauty is what brought me to the Episcopal Church.

But, I am not the only one!  A great many others are drawn to the Episcopal Church for the same reason—some to the point of becoming members, while others simply admire it from a distance.  I can’t tell you of the number of Roman Catholics who say when they need a good dose of tasteful, dignified worship they visit the Episcopal Church.

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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 6^th, 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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 “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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Back in the mid-1990’s, I left my practice of architecture and set off for seminary in Sewanee, TN.  My first day there, I was met by this bespectacled, gray-haired man who mumbled something that sounded vaguely like an introduction and then he directed me to follow him to his office.  This gentleman was Marion Hatchett, of blessed memory, longtime Professor of Liturgics and one of the people instrumental in giving shape to the 1979 Book of Common Prayer.  When we arrived at his office, Professor Hatchett said to me, “Since you’re an architect, you need to know this.  Read, mark, learn and inwardly digest it!”  He then shoved this paper in my hand.  It is entitled, “Architectural Implications of The Book of Common Prayer,”[1] a paper Professor Hatchett published back in 1985.  From that time forward, until he died in 2009, whenever I saw Professor Hatchett, he would mention something about worship space design – either something he saw he liked or didn’t like (and it usually was the latter!).  Then he wanted to know my opinion about it, with which he often disagreed and proceeded to explain why!  Always the Professor!

Yet, this paper (and I commend it to you) has proved to be very helpful.  In it, Professor Hatchett identifies liturgical issues that are prominent in the ’79 Prayer Book and their correlation with particular architectural elements—concerns many priests rarely take time to think about.  Yet if they did, they might find it would benefit immensely the churches they serve.  This paper was useful for the Church at a time when it was trying to implement this new Prayer Book.  And it still is useful today, as we consider the Church’s progress of incorporating these ideas over the course of the last thirty-plus years.

In his paper, Professor Hatchett states, “worship patterns [should] determine architectural settings.”[2]  Let me say that again, “worship patterns [should] determine architectural settings.”  This is an ecclesiastical way of saying “form follows function!”[3]  Yet in the church, it often seems to be the other way around, “architectural settings determine worship patterns.”  Back in 1962, John A.T. Robinson, Bishop of Woolrich, once said,

"But we are now being reminded that the church people go to has an immensely powerful psychological effect on their vision of the Church they are meant to be. The church building is a prime aid, or a prime hindrance, to the building up of the Body of Christ. And what the building says so often shouts something entirely contrary to all that we are seeking to express through the liturgy. And the building will always win—unless and until we can make it say something else." [4]

Part of the effort coming out of the 1979 Book of Common Prayer was to make our Church buildings say something else.

In his paper, Professor Hatchett highlights the following notions found in the “new” Prayer Book:

• The Holy Eucharist will be the principal service on Sundays and Holy Days.
• The Daily Office will continue as regular services, but will not be the principal Sunday service.
• Within the Holy Eucharist, the Liturgy of the Word will have its own integrity.
• The congregational nature of Baptism and Confirmation will be emphasized.
• Congregational participation will be stressed in all rites.  This may include processions and physically moving about the space.
• The rites for the Reconciliation of the Penitent, the reservation of consecrated Eucharistic elements, and the use of oil for baptism and oil for the sick are available and their use is encouraged.

He then proceeds to make architectural suggestions that might accommodate these liturgical notions:

First of all, a church should have not just one liturgical center, but three:

• The place of Baptism (represented by the font),
• The place of the Word (ambo or pulpit),
• And the place of the Eucharist (altar-table).

Each liturgical center should stand out visually in the worship space, with equal dignity and visual prominence.

The font should be present at all services as a constant reminder of our baptism.  It could be located near the entrance of the worship space or in front of it, but always publically positioned and not privately.  The font should be large.  Baptism by immersion is encouraged.  Space should be provided for the Pascal Candle, a table for books, towels, baptismal candles and the chrism.  Even an aumbry for the chrism could be created.

The ambo or pulpit symbolizes Christ’s presence in his Word.  Ideally, one place for the Word should be provided and used for the lessons, the gradual psalm, the Gospel, and the sermon; as well as the Exsultet at the Easter Vigil.  It should be a prominent piece of furniture that can hold a large Bible.  Also, space should be provided around the ambo to allow torchbearers to stand near the reader.  And it should be easily accessible by all.

The altar-table symbolizes Christ’s presence in the Eucharistic sacrament, and traditionally it was rather small, typically about as wide and as deep as it was high.  Somewhat like a cube.  It represents the altar of sacrifice as well as the table of fellowship.  The argument against larger altars is that they tend to dwarf the other centers and create a physical barrier between the clergy and the people, rather than the table around which all gather.  It is not necessary for the altar-table to be the center of attention, since the focus moves with the movement of the rite.  But there should be only one and it should have ample space around it for people to circulate easily.

Other furnishings should be visually subordinate to the font, ambo and altar-table:

Credence table, Oblations table, Chairs for the liturgical ministers, the Paschal Candlestand, other candlesticks, the Cross, liturgical books, banners, flags, flowers, and audiovisuals.

With regard to the worship space in general:

• The primary liturgical space should be shaped to encourage the relationship between clergy and laity – that all come together to form the worshiping community.
• The liturgical centers could be located on a low platform to increase visibility, but not so high as to seem like a stage – setting ministers apart from the congregation.
• The liturgical centers, along with other furnishings, could be made moveable to allow flexibility, but not spindly to suggest lack of substance.
• Congregational seating in particular should be flexible to allow for various configurations.
• Space for the choir and organ should be positioned to support the notion of the gathered congregation, while at the same time, provide sufficient musical leadership.  The acoustics of the worship space also should encourage full participation of all.
• Prayer Book services demand adequate lighting levels and increasingly the ability for adjustable control.
• An entrance hall of ample size should be provided to allow for the gathering of people before and after worship, the formation of the Palm Sunday procession, the lighting of the new fire at the Easter Vigil, the formation of wedding processions, and the reception of the body at a burial.  And above all, it should provide an entrance that is accessible to the disabled.
• Churches should have an adequate, working sacristy for the altar guild and a vesting sacristy for the liturgical ministers.
• A place should be provided for the reservation of the consecrated Eucharistic elements.  It should be located in a sacristy or side chapel, out of the normal line of vision of the congregation, so as not to diminish the prominence of the altar-table.
• Finally, provisions should be made for the rite of the Reconciliation of the Penitent.  It could be as simple as two chairs positioned so the confessor and penitent face other or a room could be created and furnished simply and austerely.

In the end, the suggestions are somewhat open, purposefully vague, encouraging to all who contemplate remodeling existing worship space or building new.  The point is that each congregation must do the hard work of discernment, prayerfully considering the points of meaningful worship and how best to support it in their particular context.

So, How Has The Church Responded To This Charge Over The Past 30 Years?

Well, in my time as an ordained person with a nose for these kinds of things, I have experienced a range of responses from churches who completely reordered their worship space to those who haven’t touched a thing, and all points in between.

However in preparing for today, I thought it would be interesting to talk with a few bishops who certainly have seen a great many churches and witnessed how the larger church responded architecturally to the ’79 Prayer Book.

As a preface to all our discussions, we agreed that any change in worship space design was invariably linked to money.  In other words, some congregations could afford to make changes, while other could not.  Therefore, the degree of change in architecture cannot always be a direct reflection of desire. 

So with this being said, all three bishops felt the centrality of the Eucharist has been widely embraced and this is reflected in the predominance of free-standing altar-tables.  All believe public Baptism, by far, is the norm, rather than private, and provisions are in place to support this.  However, Baptism by immersion is yet to catch on.  After all, Episcopalians can only embrace so much change!  The same can be said for accommodating the rite of Reconciliation of the Penitent.   In most instances, two chairs are the norm rather than a dedicated space.  Flexible spaces with movable furnishings are becoming more prevalent.  However, accessibility for the disabled still remains a real concern.

An interesting observation beyond the influence of the Prayer Book was noted: the vast prevalence of columbaria being created in Episcopal Churches.  The desire by people to be interred within the physical dimensions of their faith community is a noticeable development, and the architectural fabric to accommodate this desire has impacted most parishes.

Overall, the trend seems to be that architectural change happens as congregations can afford to make it happen.  By in large, the evolution of worship space is somewhat slow.  Yet for some congregations, change is an ongoing conversation.  There are those who made changes early and now are considering another round.  One bishop summarized the discussions nicely when he said, “We are no longer building Churches for Morning Prayer.  We are building Churches for the Holy Eucharist.”

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