Zeal For God's House: An architect's reflections on Sacred Space | Henry Hardinge Menzies | Homiletic & Pastoral Review
Something vital has been lost in Catholic church architecture, obscuring any indication that God is truly present there.
“Zeal for your house consumes me.” (Jn 2:15)
The sun was setting over the vast Valley of Mexico as I climbed up to the flat roof of a building at the Montefalco Conference Center to do a painting. The shades of brilliant scarlet from the sunset to the west threw the distant mountain range into waves of blue. I was anxious to get set-up fast in order to capture this strange beauty before it vanished. I wanted, especially, to capture at sunset the snow-capped Mt. Popocatepetl, (elevation: 17,887 ft.). Unfortunately, it was enshrouded in clouds. I fumbled to get everything ready. The eerie silence was broken only by the faint distant sounds of a mariachi band. A breeze came up. The sky darkened. I thought I had missed my chance.
Then, all of a sudden, I looked up and saw, high above the hills to the north, the majestic snow-covered peak of Mt. Popocatepetl, emerging slowly from behind the lavender clouds, completely dwarfing the western mountains. Brilliantly illuminated in pale pink, the peak appeared like some ancient god towering above the lesser mountains in its distant majesty. No wonder the pagans worshipped this mountain! Its very silence seemed to say that it had been there, hidden all the time, towering above our little, mundane world—watching, waiting, and suddenly deigning to show itself in its own good time to those whom it chose. It was awesome. I threw my brushes down in dismay. My poor abilities could never, even for a second, capture that silent, terrible splendor.
Is it any wonder that the natives worshipped this mountain? They may have been ignorant of Christianity, but they respected what they could see of the Creator in his works. At least, they had a “sense of the sacred,” something which seems to be lost today in many Catholic churches. Normally, we go to church to worship him, to participate in the liturgy. We go there not only for Holy Mass, but to confess our sins in the Sacrament of Reconciliation, to be baptized, to get married, and for our funeral Masses. These are the most private, personal acts a person can perform throughout his life. But even when there’s no liturgy going on, we go there to pray before his living Presence in the tabernacle.
And, yet, today when you walk into many Catholic churches, they look like huge, cold auditoriums, warehouses, shopping malls or circus fun houses. Some are just confusing in their “modern” contortions. Where is the sacrifice? There is no apparent indication of sacrifice but only comfort and provision for every human convenience. And worship? There is no sign of reverence in that bland, antiseptic atmosphere. And God’s Presence? Just try to find the tabernacle. It is usually hidden out of sight behind a column, and given little more importance than a plaster statue. It is difficult to find anything of awe and reverence that would give any indication that God himself is truly present.
Certainly, something vital has been lost in Catholic church architecture today, so much so that many of the faithful wonder, “What happened to the glory?” Hand-in-hand with the loss of the sacred is the loss of the sense of beauty. So many new and renovated churches are just plain ugly and barren. Some border on the grotesque. It is not a question of style. What has been lost is not a classical or gothic architectural style, but a total vision of the church edifice as a sacred space infused with beauty.
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