Call it Providence if you like but it is not uncommon for me when I travel to be given a hotel room that overlooks a Catholic church. Perhaps it’s God’s way of reminding me of my Sunday obligation even when I’m on the road. Such was the case again in Atlanta a couple of weeks ago where my room at the Marriott Marquis looked directly down on Sacred Heart Church.
Actually, I look forward to attending Mass when I travel. It’s sort of a retreat in a way. And I especially look forward to attending Mass in some of those beautiful, old churches one finds in the eastern United States. The stained glass, the carved pews, the sweep of high arches and long naves, the magnificent pipe organs, and the overall attention to detail, especially in the Sanctuary, all speak to me of heaven.
I grew up in the suburban cultural wasteland east of Los Angeles where churches were slapped together as quickly as the infamous “track” home communities which they served. Beams, girders, and Hammonds (electric organs) were in and pillars, arches, and Skinners (pipe organs) were out in the post-war pragmatic building boom of the 50’s and 60’s. So it’s not as if older churches such as this one bring back childhood memories.
At the same time, though, there is still something one could call a memory about these Gothic/Romanesque inner-city caves of silence, a kind of memory that seems to go back beyond childhood, a sort of pre-conscious whispering of “home”. I somehow know I belong here as I anonymously walk down a side nave beneath the gaze of towering saints hidden in the soft shadows, their faces animated by the gentle flicker of candle light. Maybe some of you know what I mean.
What I find fascinating about these “old” churches is that everything seems to be both functional and instructive. The stained glass not only lets in light but provides a “bible study”, the soaring arches not only support the roof but point with “praying hands” to heaven, and the whole sweep of the interior architecture draws the eye upon entering immediately towards the Crucifix, Tabernacle, and Altar. I could go on with examples.
Every detail seems to be thought out, even the physical orientation so that at sunset the sun filters through the magnificent Sacred Heart Rose Window high above the choir loft and creates a blood red glow throughout the interior. Just wonderful.
But what I really want to tell you about is the Sanctuary, for it dawned on me in the middle of Mass that here was the answer to the what I’ll call “the Tabernacle problem”, the seeming confusion and mystery about where to put the Tabernacle since Vatican II instructed that it not be on the same altar at which Mass is celebrated (for reasons I pointed out last week).
First there is the baldachin (or canopy-like cover) at the top of which was the Latin form of the Hand of God issuing from the clouds. The extended fingers three fingers symbolizing the Blessed Trinity pointed directly down to the Crucifix which hung directly over the Tabernacle on a reverently appointed Altar, and beneath the Tabernacle sat the priest. In front of the priest and several paces forward was the Table on which the Mass was celebrated.
The whole Catechism seemed to unfold before me. Visually I was led from where I sat, amongst other members of the Mystical Body of Christ, to the Table from which I would be fed the Body of Christ, to the priest, who in his role as alter-Christus acts in the Body of Christ, to the Tabernacle where the Body of Christ would be reserved, up to the Cross where hangs (symbolically of course) the Body of Christ, and ultimately to the clouds and to the Hand of God where I hope to someday unite with the One who feeds me and with Whom I am fed.
I’m not doing a very good job of describing this, but the effect of this alignment was quite powerful, even devastating in a positive way, and it worked whether the eye started at the Table or at the Hand. There were no visual detours. Here was the road to heaven laid out in front of me in a clear, straight, vertical path.
Though the Tabernacle was definitely in the background, it was still in the center. And there, for me, was the answer. The documents have only stated that the Tabernacle not be on the same Altar at which Mass is celebrated. They do not state (to my knowledge) that it cannot remain in the center. Actually, I didn’t have to go all the way to Atlanta to see this. There are a few churches on Guam that have the same setup (e.g. San Vicente in Barrigada and St. Jude in Sinajana are two).
I don’t know enough to say that this arrangement makes sense theologically. Others can debate that. But it sure seems to make a lot of sense from a visual and aesthetic point of view. And at least such a central alignment would eliminate the circus of confusion that exists even within the sanctuary over where and when to genuflect. I would humbly encourage the powers that be to consider such a peace-filled, soul-instructive symmetry.
June 4, 2000