The Design of Churches

by Rev. D. M. Hercus

A building is the embodiment of a purpose. It is built for use. There is no hope of good design in any sphere of building unless the prospective user of a building has a fairly clear cut idea of the uses for which it is intended, and unless the architect has both grasped his client's idea and met its practical demands in a workmanlike way. We have had relatively little really good Church building in this country so far, and probably the blame must be shared about equally between Church authorities and architects. In some Churches there are the vestigial remnants of a puritanism which suspects many of the arts at any rate so far as they may be applied to religious expression. This results from thinking that art, applied, say to Church architecture, consists in an expensive prettying up of the building in a style considered to be de rigeur if it is to “look like a Church.” Architects must bear some blame for having pandered to this sort of nonsense in the past. Actually, it is a pity the puritans did not stick more intelligently to their principles, instead of misunderstanding them. The partial definition of good design which stands at the head of this paragraph is one which would follow on very naturally from the tenets of a puritanism which was based on living conviction instead of on pig-headed habit.

Churches less affected by the puritan tradition have done somewhat better. Anglicans especially have some good buildings to their credit, though the tradition depends heavily on the England of last century. Probably their greatest success has been with timber Churches. Much of their merit is owing to the genius of Selwyn, the first Bishop of New Zealand. Here a style of genuine beauty, dignity, and simplicity was evolved, in which the material used was honestly applied. One main point in which this style may be criticized is that the pointed window is not well suited to wood, though this convention was perhaps an understandable concession to the desire to retain associations with the Gothic tradition of a mother country only recently left behind. The use of pointed windows, frequently of bad proportions, and of unsound structure, was to become the one essential which would enable any jerry built barn to masquerade on the New Zealand landscape as a Church.

However, this is not primarily a historical article. Suffice it to say that the conventions as to what ought to be provided in a Church for the uses of worship continued for a long time in each of the Communions which established themselves in this country to be pretty much those which had prevailed in the early Victorian period.

The proper design of churches must begin from analysis of the normal activities of Christian worship. These are principally, prayer, praise, page 31 the reading of Holy Scripture, the preaching of the Gospel, and the observance of the Sacraments, Holy Baptism, and Holy Communion. To these may be added Marriage, Confirmation, funerals, and Ordination, which require a certain planning of space, but little special provision of furniture. The building which does not make due provision for these activities is inadequate as a Church. Corresponding to these uses there are such furnishings as prayer desks, choir stalls, and organs, lecterns, pulpits, fonts, and Holy Tables, which need to be arranged in some coherent pattern.

It is when we come to decide what this coherent pattern should be that we begin to get to grips with Church design. It is not a purely architectural issue, indeed it is not primarily architectural, it is theological. That is, the main principles of good Church arrangement will spring from and express sound and clearly comprehended ideas of Christian truth. Many bad arrangements are the architectural expression of heresy. At the same time, the architect, who has to build all these bits into a coherent whole which shall itself express and evoke the spirit of worship, has to be heeded. The general principles he will respect are those of good design in any building, and he may be expected to display a certain majesty in their application. Whatever the aesthetic treatment, it should be basic and beyond question that the actual techniques of construction should be the best. No less should be the aim for any building.

Frankly confessing myself an amateur, I intend to lay down now what I understand to be the essentials of good design which the architect must meet, before returning to territory in which I have more right to feel at home. The basic excellence must surely be good proportion. This must extend to the lines of the building itself, both inside and out, the individual pieces of furniture, and their arrangement into a whole pat- page 32 tern. Various factors contribute to the effect of good proportion. A building gains unity from its focal centre, in relation to which other objects need to be arranged. The focal effect may be enhanced by observance of the principle of balance, which is not necessarily obtainable only by means of complete symmetry, though both longitudinal and cross-ways symmetry have been used effectively. There must be harmony between the different parts, both in style and in scale. Generally the best results are obtained when there is but one mind at work. Many Churches have been spoilt because of unwillingness to “look a gift horse in the mouth.” The use of contrast, whether in surface textures or in colour, also contributes to good composition.

All these things the architect should aim at, and that by an honest use of his materials. Sham effects are neither good architecture, nor good morals. I have never felt the same about so supreme an architect as Sir Christopher Wren since I learnt of the falsified exterior height in the side walls of St. Paul's. But I feel a much deeper revulsion against concrete parodies of Gothic tracery. New materials do not entirely dictate new styles, but new styles must be evolved in expression of the nature of new materials. If that is functionalism in arcitecture, it seems to me the only defensible doctrine aesthetically, though the designs of some of the more self-conscious functionalists (what a word!) seem at times to lack grace. Whether this is because they are not very good functionalists, or because functionalism is not all, I leave to others to decide. Certainly the beauty of anything which is to be used, whether it be a scythe handle or a chalice must come mainly from the way in which it has been filly formed for that use.

Finally, the architect of a Church should usually aim at permanence and stability, both in fact and in appearance, because the building is intended to witness to enduring realities. It should never be necessary to shift any of the furnishings provided for the main functions enumerated above which fall into the normal pattern of use in worship. To be put to the necessity at any time of moving things in order to use them shows inadequate planning.

The direction the architect wants from his employers, who are to use the Church for their worship, will include: the proper object to use as a focal point, the sizes of the different furnishings which will be necessary to their use, and notes as to the disposition of the remainder. For the rest he ought to have a fairly free hand.

What shall be the focal object in a Christian Church? The main tradition of Christendom is plain—it should be the Lord's Table. There is a secondary tradition of no great antiquity, it comes from the eighteenth century, which places the pulpit in the dominant position. It is a point on which opinions differ among Churchmen, but the trend towards the older tradition has set in strongly, and that not solely among those of a “Catholic” emphasis. I must cast my vote for the main tradition. Here are reasons: The service of Holy Communion, whether frequent or infrequent, is the central act of Christian worship in all the variations of tradition. The Holy Table, used for this service, is a symbol of the Church's Lord and of fellowship in Him. A table is the natural centre for the meetings of God's Family. The pulpit is used for the proclamation of the Christian faith, it symbolizes the face that there is a message from God for the world. But preaching is not the whole, nor the centre, of Christian worship. Further, the pulpit is designed to make the preacher prominent. The symbolism becomes confused. Again, for intimate, effective preaching, the preacher should be brought physically as close to his hearers as possible, and this does not always accord with having the pulpit in the focal point. Finally, from the aesthetic point of view, the Table, with its long horizontal lines, is a more restful focal object than is a pulpit with its predominantly vertical lines.

One of the striking new emphases which is springing up in every Communion in Christendom by way of spontaneous response to the pressures page 33 of our age is a rediscovered emphasis on the corporate fellowship of the Church. The Church is God's Family, and all are members. This is securing architectural expression in a strong trend towards arranging Churches so that the Family is close to the Table, and may even surround it. This calls for broad shallow sanctuaries, and broad naves, often almost square in plan. The plan of the John Keble Church, Mill Hill, is highly suggestive here. Pulpit and lectern are prominently placed so as to balance on either side of the shallow sanctuary. The latest thing in Roman Catholic liturgical practice, and in a few Anglican Churches, has been to build churches of this type so that the celebrant at the altar faces the people. The reason is to emphasize this note of fellowship. Most of the Reformed Churches have always followed this arrangement, and for the same reason. It was also the arrangement in the Primitive Church, with which in some ways wide-awake Christians feel a closer kinship every day.

The disposition of the organ and the choir can be a difficult problem. There is a strong trend towards placing them at the back of the Church, often in a gallery over the entrance. This is economical and acoustically good. For the position dominating everything and sounding forth in the teeth of the people there is no possible defence except that of bad custom. A choir in such a position makes all hope of symbolism in the focal centre quite vain, unless one tries the desperate expedient of hiding it behind a screen, which muffles the sound. But the vulgarity of these central choirs is slowly being recognized.

The Anglican solution of a robed choir in the chancel is, except in cathedrals, an unfortunate innovation of last century—one of the less inspired by-products of the Oxford Movement. It separates the People of God from the Holy Table. Where the position at the back is not adopted, another very good solution will be found at Mill Hill. The choir is placed in the midst of the congregation in the centre of the nave. There is excellent Anglican precedent for both these alternatives to the chancel arrangement.

If we cared to build in this country in a modern style with such materials as God has given us (chiefly brick-concrete, and timber) and in line with the new trends in Christian thought, we could be in for some really good Church building in the next hundred years.It is clearly high time that the Gothic tradition was abandoned. It suits neither our climate, our earthquakes, nor our purse. As used in this country so far it has been an imitative and artificial style, not native to us and doomed to decay into insincere irrelevance. It is still a “live” style in England, though there have been many very notable buildings in much more modern idioms. Let us create our own traditions. If, in many places, we have not scope for more than all purpose parish halls, with small chancels which can be screened or curtained off, even these can be built in a simple clean-cut manner, as the excellent Union Church at Taita shows. The glory of the invisible God is not proclaimed only in great cathedrals. It is able to inform very humble buildings where there is real craftsmanship and the honest embodiment of a purpose.

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