The presence of God in a light-filled space seems to occupy our emptiness, lets down our guards and prepares our hearts to receive the Word of God.
In the beginning, God created light– first, before all other things. The sun has continued to excite life in the rest of the universe. Our very existence on earth depends on its life-giving rays. There is an important message here. And history has shown that man has come to value light greatly. Earth has blossomed under its warm and gentle radiance. Light gives us direction, knowledge and wisdom. Even the cleverest invention of man, the electric light is powered by fossil fuels, nurtured by the sun. It entertains us with great art. Lou Kahn, an architect once
said, “A building didn’t know how great it was until it was struck on the side by the sun.”
All major religions have created specific rituals and rites to mark their essential rootedness in light. In our own paradigm, the use of light is central to the rite of all Christian sacraments. The variance of the ritual ‘light’ in metaphor, and personal enlightenment come together in the sacramental experience. The poet finds his most fertile image in the light that gives us direction and pleasure. On the other hand, the cruelest form of torture is in its total denial.
We move through darkness, toward the light, to be healed as a more whole and enlightened person.
-O’Murchu, 1999
The irony is that light does not draw attention, without darkness. Light projected into an already well-illuminated environment disappears in sameness. There must be a need…a contrast to bring about prominence. A bright moon at night demonstrates the principle. By the same token, we do not seek freedom unless we have been imprisoned, do not wish for clarity unless we are confused, do not enjoy food unless we are hungry, do not seek community unless we are lonely, water does not flow unless it is elevated. High pressure atmospheres blow winds to low
pressure areas. Imbalance seeks to right itself. These are laws of nature. Further, we are out of balance when we stray from the light of God.
As human beings, we are phototropic, we seek light as a guide, when in darkness. When a lighted place appears ahead we proceed toward it. When an object in space is illuminated with intense light in a field of dark light, our attention is drawn there. We cannot find our way unless there is light to guide us. Metaphorically, we do not seek the light of God unless have lost our way.
In my practice as a church architect, beyond resisting the law of gravity, the rages of weather and the prejudices of men, I have made some simple discoveries…wonderful in their simplicity and ordinariness; namely, the unbelievable importance of our six capacities… Sound, light, touch, smell, stillness and movement. They are what make us human and through them, if we are careful, they can bring important moments into lives of many who are sensitive to them.
My premise here is that great church buildings cannot avoid a skillful and artful attention to these capabilities. Sound with natural acoustic intimacy for music and speech. Light with attention to emphasis and mystery, touch with meaningful, rough and smooth texture, scent from materials with liturgical significance, movement of liturgy and public circulation and stillness of space remembering all that went before.
We have all experienced, sometime in our lives, architectural spaces that possess a special, almost fleeting, often indescribable quality, that somehow we sense the warm blush of the mysterious presence of Other…and we are challenged by it, to search beyond the moment within ourselves. What is that sensible quality some worship spaces possess that suggests the Presence of the Divine … of an unexpected glow from a hidden light source…a distance brought near… the memorable aroma of incense…a Eucharistic moment performed…the sonorous voices of a young choir …a streak of light down a dark wall…a chilling vision, sensing the presence of God… an expectant stillness, waiting…a meditative
moment away from our thoughts….. that these sight and sounds, seen and heard with Word spoken, all of them real, inescapable, undeniably, that reveal what we have always believed to be there, recalling “I will be with you always.”
The walls and roofs seem to leak light from outside through openings and cracks and between building parts that don’t meet. Often a soft light pervades the space. The glow of color from an ornamental glass window, a hidden clerestory cascades daylight onto a textured wall from above, a milk-glazed skylight brightens the heads and faces of worshippers and the celebrant from above. And in mutual wonder, the presence of God in a light-filled space seems to occupy our emptiness, lets down our guards and prepares our hearts to receive the Word of God.
As a designer I envision buildings seen as light fixtures, aglow with interior lighting at night; and in the light of day, as light fixtures ‘in reverse’, with glazed openings in the ceiling and walls, radiant with indirect daylight from a solar ambience. Four worship spaces in my portfolio utilize these techniques, some with dramatic results. When combined with a minimum of artificial lighting, the cost saving is impressive and the payback with day-lighting is almost immediate. There is no continuing cost except maybe, the window washer.
Let me add strength to my inference that our church buildings have not used these capabilities well. Some have superbly; some have not. We can do much better. I believe that often we resort to pre-digested ‘boxes’, relying on stained glass and statuary to make it a space of the spirit. It is unfortunate that the most expensive investment a community will ever make, is made without rethinking the assumptions that may no longer apply, resorting to less expensive, predesigned, ‘off-the-shelf’ structures that fall short of community intentions, and realizing that
an excellent building design of “our church” need not be expensive. It remains a priority of choices.
Lighting is not something you can touch, but in a Christian church, it is high priority and until we learn to sculpt with light in the same way a sculptor carves stone; until we spotlight central liturgical events; until lighting is designed artfully, rather than calculated uniformly; until liturgical spaces invite mystery into the presence of the worshiping assembly, the Christian celebrations will, all lose sight of the holiness and joy of the story being told and the fullness of its participation, diluted.
The right questions need to be asked about all elements of the building design and the answers applied with imagination, and the solutions assembled with attention to the Vatican II guidelines, made real by the thought and energy with which each community captures the light of God. With these ingredients, we will build great buildings that contribute, with noble human purpose, to God’s creation, and don’t forget to go Green.
Dennis J. McLaughlin, NCARB
Architect