A Cathedral that Bridges Divides between Peoples

Worship structures can be designed to invite people from many traditions to enter and find rest on the journey. Following the 1994 Northridge earthquake in Los Angeles, Cardinal Roger Mahony proposed to demolish the damaged 1876 cathedral to build a new cathedral downtown designed by the Pritzker Award-winning architect, José Rafael Moneo, to mirror the experience of pilgrimage and the connections between diverse peoples.

On the Cathedral Plaza. . . a fountain donated by the local Jewish community stands tribute to the newfound relationship between Christians and Jews prompted by the Vatican II Ecumenical Council (1962–1965). Fabricated out of Jerusalem stone, the pool’s inscription is taken from Shimon the Righteous, “Upon three things the world stands: the Torah; the Worship of God; the Bestowal of Loving Kindness.” Nearby is the Native American memorial crafted by Johnny Bear Contreras. His sculpture depicts humanity emerging from the rhythms of nature. A pilgrimage reaches beyond what is ordinary, enabling those on the journey to see things in new ways 

 Pilgrims enter the 195,000 sq.-ft. cathedral building through enormous bronze doors designed by a renowned sculptor, the late Robert Graham. The entrance to this sacred space symbolically connects with Jesus’ invitation, “Seek and you shall find, knock and it shall be opened to you” (Matt. 7:7) A pilgrim crossing this threshold is thrust—body, mind, and soul—into a liminal state where opportunity for transformation and conversion is found. Mythologist Joseph Campbell suggested in his writings that anything is possible on the other side of a doorway leading to a sacred space. St. Paul also spoke of transformation as a metamorphosis, a procession by which we are offered the possibility of new life. It is the way of the pilgrim to wander, to seek, and to discover what perhaps has always been present but not yet recognized. 

 . . . The two bronze doors, together weighing 50,000 pounds, were designed with ample symbols so that those entering the cathedral through them should immediately experience a sense of belonging to––and interdependence with––others. In response to the diversity in the archdiocese, Graham incorporated vines and branches and low-relief carvings of indigenous symbols such as a Samoan Kava Bowl, Celtic Serpents, a Chinese Turtle, and a Chumash Condor that would be easily recognizable by people from different cultures. He also included castings of various “manifestations” of the Virgin Mary at various sites such as Montserrat, Guadalupe, Loreto, and Pomata. 

 . . . For Christians, baptism is a sacramental expression of cleansing and initiation. One leaves behind the old life and embraces a new one. The gates of the font contain sculpted images of fish, which for the early Christians was an acronym that proclaimed Jesus Christ, son of God, savior (in Greek, ichthus). Those who come to the Cathedral are invited to touch the living water in this baptismal font to remind them of the beginnings of their own spiritual journeys and the refreshment that sustains them on the way. The pilgrim’s journey can summon a person to a life of transformation. 

  . . . Once refreshed by the waters of the font, the pilgrim’s procession takes a turn down the gently sloped aisle leading to the centrally located marble altar table.  [IMAGE BELOW: Saints carved into the wall leading to the red stone communion table]  

 

 Once again, the Cathedral floor plan guides pilgrims through a series of junctions where one is invited to reflect on the past, find sustenance in the present, and hope for the future. This is the way of the pilgrim.

More from this essay was posted on August 11, 2017. The complete text of this essay and references are available at www.tandfonline.com.

Richard S. Vosko, PhD, Hon. AIA, and a Catholic priest of the Diocese of Albany, has worked as a sacred space planner since 1970. His portfolio includes fifteen cathedral projects and other award-winning houses of worship in the Judeo-Christian tradition. 

Richard S. Vosko, “The Way of Pilgrims in a Twenty-First-Century Cathedral,” Liturgy 32, no. 3 (2017): 47-57.

A 21st-century Cathedral as an Image of Pilgrimage

Following the 1994 Northridge earthquake in Los Angeles, Cardinal Roger Mahony proposed to demolish the damaged 1876 cathedral to build a new cathedral downtown.

The new cathedral is built on a former parking lot, a sloping precipice that straddles the extremely busy north-south U.S. Highway 101. . . historically known as El Camino Real (The Royal Road). . . through. . . Washington, Oregon, and California. It approximates the old Mission Trail that linked Spanish and Mexican missions, pueblos, and military settlements. Twenty-one mission establishments were constructed every thirty miles or so along this 600-mile route. Before the development of the modern freeway system and accompanying signage, the Mission Trail was marked by bells hung on armatures that looked like a shepherd’s crook. Hundreds of replicated bells and staffs can be found along the trail today.

The Pritzker Award-winning architect, José Rafael Moneo, was chosen to be the principal designer for the new cathedral. After participating in the selection of the site, Moneo remarked, in so many words, that this new house of worship (which today overlooks and looms large over the 101 Freeway) would serve as a beacon of hope for thousands of drivers commuting along this modern-day mission trail. Interestingly, only one of the original twenty-one missions is actually visible from the freeway, making the cathedral even more emblematic of its missionary roots.

Professor Moneo’s plan celebrates Cardinal Mahony’s idea that the cathedral should be a place of pilgrimage and light (John 8:12). These two characteristics provided a spiritual foundation for the building.  

In this sense, this postmodern cathedral provides the same sense of journey and illumination that the soaring medieval Gothic cathedrals and churches once did. The analogous connection with pilgrim-like missionaries who built mission churches and paved the original—albeit dusty—Mission Trail, is obvious.

. . . There are no right angles anywhere in this asymmetrical building. The pilgrim’s way is seldom straight. Twenty-seven thousand square feet of thinly veined Spanish alabaster windows bathe the interior with natural light. The cathedral, built of finely honed architectural concrete reinforced with 6,000 tons of steel, actually floats on forty-seven slider base isolators. It would be, probably, one of the safest places in Los Angeles during an earthquake.

. . . The pilgrimage journey to the cathedral begins by entering through sliding perforated gates on Temple Street designed by the architect. In John’s Gospel, Jesus referred to himself as “the sheep gate” (John 10). Above this welcoming entrance, facing Temple Street, is a carillon of thirty-six bells programmed to ring out during the day, calling people to worship or reminding them to pause and pray. . . .  

Once inside the cathedral precinct, a major principle of Christian tradition is apparent—hospitality. All peoples are welcome to the cathedral regardless of their faith tradition, race, or ethnicity. Lita Albuquerque designed the gateway pool located on the ground level of the entryway. The theme for the gushing waterfall and the bouncing fountain of water, which flows over the edge of a large disc, is taken from the story of Jesus encountering a Samaritan woman at the well. Although Samaritans were at odds with Jews, Jesus. . . cut across barriers of race and gender that separated them socially and religiously.

More from this essay will be posted on August 25, 2017. The complete text of this essay and references are available at www.tandfonline.com.

Richard S. Vosko, PhD, Hon. AIA, and a Catholic priest of the Diocese of Albany, has worked as a sacred space planner since 1970. His portfolio includes fifteen cathedral projects and other award-winning houses of worship in the Judeo-Christian tradition.

Richard S. Vosko, “The Way of Pilgrims in a Twenty-First-Century Cathedral,” Liturgy 32, no. 3 (2017): 47-57.

Scriptural Design of Worship Space, Part II

Using scripture to help center the planning of a worship space is vital, for Richard Vosko, priest and church designer. In this excerpt from his essay in Liturgy 31, no. 1 (2016), you will get a sense of what serves as the foundation for his design principles. This pertains whether a congregation is building a new church or renovating an existing space.

“Where you are standing is holy ground” (Exod. 3:1–15). Among church leaders who recognize that the cosmos is still unfolding—that God is in our midst, that church members are partners with God—some are designing places of worship in circular patterns with concentric seating plans. . . These interiors look more like the forms found in whirling galaxies, storm systems, and spinning seas. These are the same shapes found in conches and human ears. These pastoral leaders are placing the ritual focal points (table or altar, pulpit or ambo) in the midst of the assembly rather than creating distance. These houses of the church affirm the imminent presence of God, who is not only at work in the cosmos but also still self-communicating within the membership, loving them, walking with them, dancing with them, laughing, and crying with them.  

It makes sense to create places of worship that draw the worshipers physically close to the ritual actions, not as spectators in an audience but as actors in the paschal mystery, being remembered and celebrated by that very congregation. Such church designs will, over time, help the faithful appreciate that acts of worship are something they do. The presence of God, the grace of God, are not things delivered to them; worship is not carried out for them by the clergy. The members of the assembly are not objects of the grace of God; they are active subjects engaged with God in the celebration of their own mystery. 

In most Christian traditions, someone is designated to preside over the liturgical event. It would be easy to say that the leaders of prayer need to be on a stage-like platform (chancel or sanctuary) so that everyone can see and hear what they are doing and saying. Unwittingly this approach fosters a passive attitude during worship: that liturgy is something enacted by clergy for the assembly. Churches that are arranged with long rows that distance the worshipers from the areas where the rituals are performed can hinder participation in the action on the cognitive, affective, synesthetic, and kinetic levels. 

A church building that expects all worshipers to be as close as possible to the pulpit and table, as well as other ritual centers, makes it easier for the members of the assembly to participate and come to realize that what is being experienced is an engagement with the very God they are worshiping. . .  

“I am the way” (John 14:6). Life’s roadways are pocked with stress. Where there is available space, especially in the suburbs, congregations are providing. . . walks and labyrinths designed into the landscape . . . for personal reflection and the discovery of the deeper dimensions of a person’s faith. 

“Pray in the Spirit at all times” (Eph. 6:18). Finding a spiritual oasis in life can be difficult. On many church properties, even in urban settings, intimate prayer gardens or courtyards are areas cultivated for personal and small-group prayer and also as outdoor memorials and columbaria.

Vosko includes in his essay photos of a worship space he designed for St. Vincent de Paul Church, in Albany, New York. A picture, of course, is worth a thousand... So avail yourself of the essay!

Richard S. Vosko, PhD, Hon. AIA, has worked as a sacred space planner since 1970. His portfolio includes many speaking engagements, publications, and innumerable award-winning projects in the Judeo-Christian tradition. He is a Catholic priest of the Diocese of Albany and worships with the St. Vincent de Paul Parish, Albany, NY — a place of “radical hospitality.” http://www.rvosko.com

Richard S. Vosko, “Standing on Holy Ground: Encountering Revelation in Sacred Space,” Liturgy 31, no. 1 (2016), 42-50.