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| A section of the tapestry of the Communion of the Saints in the Cathedral of Los Angeles |
I mentioned in a recent posting that
while I am committed to the Liturgical Reforms instituted by the Church during
and after the Second Vatican Council, I still think we have a long way to go in
developing the liturgical forms these rites take to bring out and maximize
their spiritual depths. There are
several obvious flaws: while the language of the earlier translation was banal
and without poetic tones, the current translation is not only equally prosaic,
but aurally incomprehensible. The
translation principles of Liturgiam
authenticam are fundamentally flawed and, as anyone who as a student had to
unravel the complexities of Cicero knows, one cannot bring Latin syntax into
intelligible English. We need a
translation which is not only substantially (as opposed to literally) faithful
to the original, but which has some literary polish to it. And then there is the music. Directors of music and liturgy (though I
suspect that most often the real problem are the priests) need to get over their fear of
“bringing out old treasures as well as new” from their storeroom (cf. Matt
13:52). It has taken us centuries to
build up a repertoire of great music for the liturgy and it will take us
centuries more to add pieces of equal value and worth. In the meantime we should not be afraid to
selectively use the treasures of the past even if they are in a language many
(ok, most, almost all) people do not understand. On the other hand, the Mass is not colonial
Williamsburg and the new must be used alongside the old even if most of the new
is not of the same excellence. And much
of the new, by the way, is of the same excellence. Composers such as John Rutter, John Tavener, Bob
Chilcott, Herbert Howells, or Malcolm Archer are contemporary musicians writing
excellent Church music. And of course
there is a difference between worship and concerts. While there is no problem in having the
occasional soloist or choral piece, especially during a time appropriate to
reflection, better to have music that invites the congregation to participate
more fully in the liturgy and not just render them passive attendees.
But where I would really like to begin
is with architecture. I realize that we are entering an extremely subjective
topic: much of it comes down to a matter of personal taste. I am a huge fan of contemporary
architecture. As with contemporary
classical and ecclesiastical music, not all contemporary architecture is
good. Some of it is ridiculous and some
is even horrid—I think, for example, of the post-modern Canadian Embassy in Washington
DC. Some of it is magnificent, though
located in an inappropriate context: for example, the East Wing of the National
Gallery of Art (ironically located directly across Constitution Avenue from the
aforementioned Canadian Embassy) or les
pyramides du Louvre in Paris. (Both
these buildings are the work of I.M. Pei, and while superb in themselves are
somewhat alien to their immediate surroundings.) The Sydney Opera House is an example of a
fascinating structure in a perfectly located environment. The Bibliotheca
Alexandrina in Alexandria Egypt is another outstanding example of
contemporary architecture. I could go
on, but let me move to church architecture.
As much as I like contemporary
architecture, I have yet to see where it has been made to work well for
liturgical space, at least in large spaces.
The monastery chapel of the Carmelite Nuns in Baltimore is an example of
a contemporary small worship space that is conducive to prayer. I found the chapel of the Benedictine nuns at
Jamberoo Abbey in Australia to be similarly prayerful. I also found the same in the Abbey Church of
Our Lady of the Genesee upstate New York.
But when this translates to large space such as a parish church or a
cathedral, I have yet to find good examples of contemporary church
architecture. The Abbey Church of
Westminster in Mission, British Columbia is absolutely horrible. I have very mixed feelings about the
Cathedral in Los Angeles. I was deeply
moved when I visited there, but I think I was (and continue to be) overwhelmed
by the tapestry of the Procession of the Saints from the baptistery to the
altar. Take away the tapestry and I am
not so sure about the interior of the building while the exterior looks like a
TD Bank on steroids. It is actually, I
think, an eyesore. (Again, I realize
this is very subjective.) As long as we
are using the steroids analogy, Saint Mary’s Cathedral in San Francisco is
nothing more than an overgrown agitator from a washing machine. The two British examples of contemporary
church architecture: the Catholic Cathedral at Liverpool and the Anglican
Cathedral at Coventry would have both been better unbuilt.
I think the flaw in contemporary church
architecture is the same flaw that has made many contemporary secular buildings
so hideous. There is innovation for
innovation’s sake—shock for shock’s sake.
It doesn’t lead us to prayer.
There is no sense of the sacred, of the mysterious.
Some think that the solution is a return
to previous styles of architecture.
There is a school of Catholic architecture, more or less led by Duncan
Stroik of Notre Dame University, that builds churches in retro style. I will give Stroik and his better disciples
credit where credit is due: for the purity of line and the excellence of
craftsmanship. But I have to pan them
for their retreating into the past rather than moving forward and making right
out of the mess of modern churches.
I remember once being on a tour of the
National Cathedral (Episcopal) in Washington DC. The National Cathedral looks like it was just
lifted out of a fourteenth century village in England and plopped down on Mount
Saint Albans in North West D.C. About
half-way through the tour, one member of the group raised her hand and said to
the docent: “When you build an American Protestant Cathedral in a pre-Reformation
European style, are you saying that neither America nor Protestantism have
anything worthwhile to contribute?” Good
question. Our American heritage has a
wonderful architectural heritage of Protestant Church construction. Look at Bruton Parish Church in
Williamsburg. Look at the First
Congregational Church in Litchfield, Connnecticut. Look at Old North Church in Boston. Why did the Episcopalians build a “Catholic” and
English Cathedral? It’s lovely, but it
is a testimony against our American culture.
In the same way, for architects today
like Stroik, James McCrery, or David Meleca to go retro says something about
how they—and their clients—see our contemporary culture and that, in turns, has
vast implications for our mission of “Church in the Modern World.” Now, don’t misunderstand me, from their work
I have seen—either in person or in examining photographs—I cannot say enough
good about the quality of design and execution.
My problem is with the philosophical and theological underpinnings of
their work. It fits the “Reform of the
Reform” mentality that the Church needs in someway to take shelter from our
modern world in its past glories but this isolationism encourages a false and
even gnostic ecclesiology in which the Church retreats into itself and abandons
its mission to confront the world with the Gospel. It encourages the Christian to step out of
his or her world to pray and creates a false dichotomy between the (arcane)
sacred and the secular rather than empowering us, as a Church, to sacralize the
secular.
