University of Southern California Dissertations and Theses

Creating sacred spaces in the suburbs: Roman Catholic church architecture in postwar Southern California

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Creating sacred spaces in the suburbs: Roman Catholic church architecture in postwar Southern California

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Content CREATING SACRED SPACES IN THE SUBURBS: ROMAN CATHOLIC CHURCH ARCHITECTURE IN POSTWAR SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA by Michael Joseph Gibson A Thesis Presented to the FACULTY OF THE SCHOOL OF ARCHITECTURE UNIVERSITY OF SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA In Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Degree MASTER OF HISTORIC PRESERVATION August 2009 Copyright 2009 Michael Joseph Gibson ii DEDICATION This thesis is dedicated to the memory of my Irish grandmother, Cecelia Ahern, who taught me, at a very young age, that one should never pass by an open church without stopping in to take a look around, light a candle, and say a prayer. iii ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS I gratefully acknowledge the generous assistance provided by the following individuals in connection with this project: Dr. Ken Breisch, director of the graduate program in historic preservation at the University of Southern California, who served as the chair of my thesis committee; Dr. Kevin Starr, professor of history at the University of Southern California, and Trudi Sandmeier, director of education for the Los Angeles Conservancy and lecturer in the historic preservation program at the University of Southern California, both of whom served as members of my thesis committee; Msgr. Francis J. Weber, archivist, and Kevin Feeney, adjunct archivist, who assisted me with my research at the Archival Center of the Archdiocese of Los Angeles; and David Gibson and Robin Coleman, who provided technical assistance in the preparation of the manuscript. iv TABLE OF CONTENTS Dedication ii Acknowledgements iii List of Figures xi Abstract xxxii Chapter 1: Introduction 1 The Scope of This Study 1 The Thesis Underlying This Study 3 What Makes a Space Sacred? 4 The Value of Sacred Spaces 5 Function and Meaning in the Analysis of Sacred Space 6 Explaining Physical Form in Terms of Function and Meaning 8 An Introduction to the Vocabulary Used in This Study 9 Organizational Terms 9 Liturgical Terms 11 Architectural Terms 12 A Note About This Study’s Organizational Framework 13 Chapter 1 Endnotes 16 Chapter 2: The Postwar Architectural Program: Meeting the Needs of a Rapidly Growing and Changing Membership 17 Accommodating Population Growth and Suburban Development 17 Adjusting to Dramatic Increases in Membership 18 Adapting to a New Catholic Preference for Suburban Living 20 Making the Most of the Postwar Religious Revival 22 Satisfying the Infrastructure Demands of Growing Suburban Parishes 23 Attracting and Serving a New Generation of Catholics 29 The Rise and Decline of Catholic Separatism and the “State-Within-A-State” 30 v Postwar Improvements in the Educational and Economic Standing of American Catholics 32 The Relocation of American Catholics From Homogeneous Ethnic Urban Neighborhoods to “Melting Pot” Suburbs 33 The Acceptance of American Catholics Into the Political and Cultural Mainstream 36 The Postwar Role of Catholics in American Politics 36 The Postwar Role of Catholics in American Culture 39 The Multiple Roles of the Postwar Suburban Parish 41 Preserving Catholic Identity 41 Safeguarding Catholic Spiritual Life and Social Consciousness 43 Supporting the Catholic Family 44 Nurturing Parishioner Involvement 45 A Troubling Time of Transition 47 The Second Vatican Council 47 A Convergence of Changes 48 Consequences and Challenges 49 Embracing the Liturgical Reform Movement 53 Theological Foundations: Liturgy and the Mystical Body of Christ 53 A New Appreciation of the Role of the Liturgy in Catholic Life 55 Implementing the Ideal of Full and Active Liturgical Participation 56 Chapter 2 Endnotes 65 Chapter 3: Analytic Framework 73 The Classic Sacramental Tradition 74 Spatial Dynamics 74 Centering Focus 76 Aesthetic Impact 77 Symbolic Resonance 79 The Modern Communal Tradition 81 Spatial Dynamics 82 Centering Focus 83 Aesthetic Impact 84 Symbolic Resonance 84 Chapter 3 Endnotes 86 vi Chapter 4: The Classic Sacramental Tradition: A Question of Style 88 Recognizing Stylistic Diversity Within the Classic Sacramental Tradition 88 Explaining Stylistic Diversity Within the Classic Sacramental Tradition 90 The Impact of Liturgical Reform on Classic Sacramental Churches 94 Stylistic Grouping I: The Multipurpose Classic Sacramental Church 96 Spatial Dynamics 101 Centering Focus 101 Aesthetic Impact 103 Symbolic Resonance 103 Conclusion 104 Chapter 4 Endnotes 106 Chapter 5: The Classic Sacramental Tradition: Looking to the Past for Inspiration 107 Revivalist Design and the Postwar Architectural Program 107 Revivalist Design in Southern California Prior to the Second World War 110 Stylistic Grouping II: The Historic Revival Classic Sacramental Church 115 Spatial Dynamics 116 Centering Focus 118 Aesthetic Impact 121 Symbolic Resonance 123 Stylistic Grouping III: The Eclectic Revival Classic Sacramental Church 126 Spatial Dynamics 127 Centering Focus 129 Aesthetic Impact 132 Symbolic Resonance 132 Conclusion 135 Chapter 5 Endnotes 138 Chapter 6: The Classic Sacramental Tradition: Embracing Modernism 140 Modernist Design and the Postwar Architectural Program 140 The Role of Modernist Design in Supporting the Liturgical Reform Movement 143 vii The Role of Modernist Design in Projecting a Vital, Contemporary Image for the Postwar Suburban Parish 145 The Role of Modernist Design in Facilitating Rapid and Inexpensive Construction of New Churches 148 Modernist Design in Southern California Prior to the Second World War 150 The Church of Our Lady of Lourdes, Los Angeles 151 The Church of All Souls, Alhambra 153 The Church of St. John the Evangelist, Los Angeles 156 Stylistic Grouping IV: The Minimalist Classic Sacramental Church 161 Spatial Dynamics 162 Centering Focus 165 Aesthetic Impact 167 Symbolic Resonance 169 Stylistic Grouping V: The Expressionist Classic Sacramental Church 173 Conclusion 182 Chapter 6 Endnotes 184 Chapter 7: The Modern Communal Tradition 188 A New Emphasis on the Role of the Assembly 189 An “Architecture of Immanence” 193 The Role of “Power” in Sacred Spaces 195 Stylistic Grouping VI: The Minimalist Modern Communal Church 197 Spatial Dynamics 199 Centering Focus 212 Aesthetic Impact 214 Symbolic Resonance 217 Stylistic Grouping VII: The Expressionist Modern Communal Church 219 Spatial Dynamics 222 Centering Focus 230 Aesthetic Impact 231 Symbolic Resonance 233 Conclusion 237 Chapter 7 Endnotes 239 Chapter 8: Concluding Thoughts 241 viii Chapter 9: Postscript: Preservation Challenges 246 Alterations Necessitated by Earthquake Damage 246 Renovation to Accommodate Liturgical Reform and Artistic Embellishment 248 Limitations on the Application of Local Preservation Ordinances to California Churches 252 Chapter 9 Endnotes 258 Bibliography 261 Appendix A: Characteristic Features of the Multipurpose Classic Sacramental Church 273 Appendix B: Representative Examples of the Multipurpose Classic Sacramental Church 274 Maria Regina, Gardena (M.L. Barker & G.L. Ott, 1958) 274 St. Pancratius, Lakewood (Armet & Davis, 1955) 277 St. Gerard Majella, West Los Angeles (George Adams, 1953, and William Brown, 1960) 279 St. John the Baptist, Costa Mesa (Verge & Clatsworthy, 1961) 280 Appendix B Endnotes 284 Appendix C: Characteristic Features of the Historic Revival Classic Sacramental Church 285 Appendix D: Representative Examples of the Historic Revival Classic Sacramental Church 286 St. Augustine, Culver City (Albert C. Martin & Associates, 1958) 286 St. Timothy, West Los Angeles (Harold Gimeno, 1949) 291 St. Joseph, Pomona (Comeau & Brooks, 1956) 294 St. Charles Borromeo, North Hollywood (J. Earl Trudeau, 1959) 297 St. Margaret Mary Alacoque, Lomita (Lawrence D. Viole, 1952) 303 Appendix D Endnotes 306 Appendix E: Characteristic Features of the Eclectic Revival Classic Sacramental Church 307 Appendix F: Representative Examples of the Eclectic Revival Classic Sacramental Church 308 ix SS. Felicitas & Perpetua, San Marino (M.L Barker & G.L. Ott, 1948) 308 St. Joseph, Hawthorne (M.L. Barker & G.L. Ott, 1959) 311 St. Philip the Apostle, Pasadena (Roland E. Coate, 1951) 314 St. Emydius, Lynwood (Verge & Clatsworthy, 1958) 318 St. Anthony, Long Beach (M.L. Barker & G.L. Ott, 1954) 322 Appendix F Endnotes 328 Appendix G: Characteristic Features of the Minimalist Classic Sacramental Church 329 Appendix H: Representative Examples of the Minimalist Classic Sacramental Church 330 St. Therese, Alhambra (J. Earl Trudeau, 1950) 330 Our Lady of the Assumption, Ventura (Harold Burkett, 1954) 332 Mary Star of the Sea, San Pedro (George Adams, 1958) 336 St. John Chrysostom, Inglewood (Anthony A. Kauzor, 1960) 342 St. Paul the Apostle, Westwood (Chaix & Johnson, 1958) 349 St. Joachim, Costa Mesa (Verge & Clatsworthy, 1965) 354 St. Genevieve, Panorama City (Brown & Avila, 1966) 359 St. Joseph the Worker, Canoga Park (Clar & Spitzer, 1969) 365 Appendix H Endnotes 370 Appendix I: Characteristic Features of the Expressionist Classic Sacramental Church 371 Appendix J: Representative Examples of the Expressionist Classic Sacramental Church 372 St. Mel, Woodland Hills (J. Earl Trudeau, 1958) 372 St. Basil, Wilshire Center (Albert C. Martin & Associates, 1969) 377 St. Catherine Laboure, Torrance (Chaix & Johnson, 1957) 384 Our Lady of the Holy Rosary, Sun Valley (Victor J. Spotts and Thomas V. Merchant, 1964) 388 x St. Cyril of Jerusalem, Encino (J. George Szeptycki, 1964) 390 St. Lawrence Martyr, Redondo Beach (J. George Szeptycki, 1965) 392 Appendix J Endnotes 396 Appendix K: Characteristic Features of the Minimalist Modern Communal Church 397 Appendix L: Representative Examples of the Minimalist Modern Communal Church 399 St. Christopher, West Covina (J. George Szeptycki, 1960) 399 St. Joseph, La Puente (Barker & Ott, 1964) 405 Our Lady of Grace, Encino (Barker & Ott, 1962) 410 St. Joseph, Carpinteria (Brown & Avila, 1966) 414 St. Jane Frances de Chantal, North Hollywood (J. George Szeptycki, 1967) 419 St. Bede the Venerable, La Canada (J. George Szeptycki, 1967) 423 St. Cyprian, Long Beach (J. Earl Trudeau, 1970) 427 St. John of God, Norwalk (Chaix & Johnson, 1970) 428 St. Louise de Marillac, Covina (O’Leary/Terasawa, 1975) 433 Appendix L Endnotes 436 Appendix M: Characteristic Features of the Expressionist Modern Communal Church 437 Appendix N: Representative Examples of the Expressionist Modern Communal Church 439 Corpus Christi, Pacific Palisades (Albert C. Martin & Associates, 1964) 439 St. Jerome, Westchester (Prescott, Whalley & Weit, 1966) 446 St. Anthony of Padua, Gardena (Verge & Clatsworthy, 1966) 453 St. Columban, Garden Grove (M.L. Barker & G.L. Ott, 1968) 456 St. Cornelius, Long Beach (Chaix & Johnson, 1968) Sacred Heart, Ventura (John Bartlett, 1968) 468 St. Rita, Sierra Madre (John Gougeon, 1970) 472 Appendix N Endnotes 482 xi LIST OF FIGURES Figure 1-1: Floor Plan of a Cruciform Church 14 Figure 4-1: St. Pancratius: Façade 100 Figure 4-2: St. Gerard Majella: Façade 100 Figure 4-3: Maria Regina: Nave 100 Figure 4-4: St. Gerard Majella: Reredos 102 Figure 4-5: St. Pancratius: Windows 102 Figure 4-6: Maria Regina: Sanctuary 102 Figure 4-7: Maria Regina: Shrine of the Blessed Virgin Mary 105 Figure 4-8: St. Gerard: Shrine of St. Gerard 105 Figure 4-9: St. John the Baptist: Sanctuary 105 Figure 5-1: Sacred Heart, Los Angeles (H.A. Cole, 1893) 111 Figure 5-2: St. Anthony, Los Angeles (1910) 111 Figure 5-3: St. Vincent de Paul, Los Angeles (Albert C. Martin, 1925) 111 Figure 5-4: Holy Family, South Pasadena (Emmett G. Martin, 1928) 113 Figure 5-5: Precious Blood, Los Angeles (Newton & Murray, 1926) 113 Figure 5-6: St. Andrew, Pasadena (Ross. G. Montgomery, 1929) 113 Figure 5-7: St. Paul, Los Angeles (Austin & Ashley, 1938) 114 Figure 5-8: St. Gregory Nazianzen, Los Angeles (M.L. Barker & G.L. Ott, 1938) 114 Figure 5-9: St. Dominic, Eagle Rock (1940) 114 xii Figure 5-10: St. Augustine: Nave 117 Figure 5-11: St. Joseph, Pomona: Nave Arches 117 Figure 5-12: St. Charles Borromeo: Nave 117 Figure 5-13: St. Margaret Mary Alacoque: Nave 119 Figure 5-14: St. Augustine: Sanctuary 119 Figure 5-15: St. Charles Borromeo: Sanctuary 119 Figure 5-16: St. Joseph, Pomona: Sanctuary 120 Figure 5-17: St. Joseph, Pomona: Baldachino 120 Figure 5-18: St. Timothy: Reredos 120 Figure 5-19: St. Margaret Mary Alacoque: Reredos 122 Figure 5-20: St. Joseph, Pomona: Nave 122 Figure 5-21: St. Augustine: Façade 122 Figure 5-22: St. Augustine: Tympanum 124 Figure 5-23: St. Margaret Mary: Façade 124 Figure 5-24: St. Charles Borromeo: Façade 124 Figure 5-25: St. Augustine: Great Window 125 Figure 5-26: St. Timothy: St. Vibiana Window 125 Figure 5-27: St. Joseph, Pomona: Facade Window 125 Figure 5-28: SS. Felicitas and Perpetua: Aisle Detail 128 Figure 5-29: St. Philip the Apostle: Nave Arch 128 Figure 5-30: St. Joseph, Hawthorne: Nave Colonnade 128 Figure 5-31: St. Emydius: Crossing 130 Figure 5-32: SS. Felicitas and Perpetua: Sanctuary 130 xiii Figure 5-33: St. Joseph, Hawthorne: Sanctuary 130 Figure 5-34: St. Emydius: Sanctuary 131 Figure 5-35: St. Philip the Apostle: Sanctuary 131 Figure 5-36: St. Joseph, Hawthorne: Façade 131 Figure 5-37: St. Anthony, Long Beach: Façade 134 Figure 5-38: St. Anthony, Long Beach: Façade Mural 134 Figure 5-39: St. Anthony, Long Beach: Façade Detail – Los Angeles Bishops 134 Figure 5-40: St. Philip the Apostle: Shrine of the Crucifixion 136 Figure 5-41: St. Joseph, Hawthorne: St. Joseph Window 136 Figure 5-42: St. Emydius: St. Dominic Savio Window 136 Figure 6-1: Our Lady of Lourdes: Façade and Tower 152 Figure 6-2: Our Lady of Lourdes: Tower Detail 152 Figure 6-3: Our Lady of Lourdes: Dome Detail 152 Figure 6-4: Our Lady of Lourdes: Sanctuary 154 Figure 6-5: Our Lady of Lourdes: Nave Arcade 154 Figure 6-6: Our Lady of Lourdes: Tile Mural Detail 154 Figure 6-7: Our Lady of Lourdes: Ceiling and Wall Detail 155 Figure 6-8: Our Lady of Lourdes: Dome Interior 155 Figure 6-9: Our Lady of Lourdes: View From Transept to Transept 155 Figure 6-10: All Souls: Façade and Tower 157 Figure 6-11: All Souls: Nave 157 Figure 6-12: All Souls: Ceiling and Skylight 157 xiv Figure 6-13: All Souls: Skylight Detail 158 Figure 6-14: All Souls: Exterior Skylight Gallery 158 Figure 6-15: All Souls: Aisle Flanking Gallery 158 Figure 6-16: St. John the Evangelist: Façade and Side Elevation 160 Figure 6-17: St. John the Evangelist: Façade and Tower 160 Figure 6-18: St. John the Evangelist: Façade Detail 160 Figure 6-19: St. Joachim: Nave 163 Figure 6-20: St. John Chrysostom: Nave 163 Figure 6-21: St. Therese: Nave 163 Figure 6-22: St. Genevieve: Nave 164 Figure 6-23: St. Joseph the Worker: Interior 164 Figure 6-24: St. Therese: Sanctuary 164 Figure 6-25: Our Lady of the Assumption: Reredos 166 Figure 6-26: St. Therese: Reredos 166 Figure 6-27: St. Paul the Apostle: Reredos Colonnade 166 Figure 6-28: St. Paul the Apostle: Sanctuary 168 Figure 6-29: Mary Star of the Sea: Nave 168 Figure 6-30: Our Lady of the Assumption: Nave 168 Figure 6-31: St. John Chrysostom: Façade and Tower 170 Figure 6-32: St. Joseph the Worker: Façade and Tower 170 Figure 6-33: St. Joachim: Façade and Tower 170 Figure 6-34: St. Therese: Façade and Tower 172 Figure 6-35: St. Paul the Apostle: Façade and Tower 172 xv Figure 6-36: Our Lady of the Assumption: Façade and Tower 172 Figure 6-37: Our Lady of the Assumption: Tile Mural 174 Figure 6-38: Mary Star of the Sea: Crucifix 174 Figure 6-39: Mary Star of the Sea: Pieta 174 Figure 6-40: St. Mel: Façade 177 Figure 6-41: St. Mel: Rear Elevation 177 Figure 6-42: St. Mel: Nave 177 Figure 6-43: St. Mel: Conjunction of Sanctuary and Transept 178 Figure 6-44: St. Basil: Front and Side Elevations 178 Figure 6-45: St. Basil: Side Elevation 178 Figure 6-46: St. Basil: Stained Glass Shaft Detail 180 Figure 6-47: St. Basil: Interior 180 Figure 6-48: St. Basil: Nave Walls 180 Figure 6-49: St. Basil: Ceiling 181 Figure 6-50: St. Basil: Baldachino and Skylight 181 Figure 6-51: St. Catherine Laboure: Stained Glass Façade Detail 181 Figure 6-52: Our Lady of the Holy Rosary: Façade 183 Figure 6-53: St. Cyril of Jerusalem: Ceiling Detail 183 Figure 6-54: St. Lawrence Martyr: Portico 183 Figure 7-1: St. Christopher: Seating Plan 200 Figure 7-2: St. Christopher: Nave 202 Figure 7-3: St. Christopher: Entry to North Transept 202 xvi Figure 7-4: St. Christopher: View from Transept 202 Figure 7-5: St. Joseph, La Puente: Seating Plan 203 Figure 7-6: St. Joseph, La Puente: Nave 204 Figure 7-7: St. Joseph, La Puente: Conjunction of Nave and Transept 204 Figure 7-8: St. Joseph, La Puente: Transept to Transept View 204 Figure 7-9: Our Lady of Grace: Seating Plan 205 Figure 7-10: Our Lady of Grace: Nave and Sanctuary 206 Figure 7-11: Our Lady of Grace: Nave and Left Transept 206 Figure 7-12: Our Lady of Grace: Left Transept 206 Figure 7-13: St. Joseph, Carpinteria: Seating Plan 210 Figure 7-14: St. Joseph, Carpinteria: Rising Ceiling 211 Figure 7-15: St. Cyprian: Raked Floor 211 Figure 7-16: St. Louise de Marillac: Contracting Side Walls 211 Figure 7-17: St. Joseph, La Puente: Reredos 213 Figure 7-18: St. Bede the Venerable: Sanctuary 213 Figure 7-19: St. Jane Frances de Chantal: Reconfigured Interior Space 213 Figure 7-20: St. Bede: South Wall Window Detail 215 Figure 7-21: St. Bede: Clerestory Windows 215 Figure 7-22: St. Bede: Sanctuary Windows 215 Figure 7-23: St. Cyprian: Sanctuary 216 Figure 7-24: St. John of God: Side Wall Detail 216 Figure 7-25: St. Christopher: Façade and Tower 216 xvii Figure 7-26: Our Lady of Grace: Façade and Tower 218 Figure 7-27: St. Joseph, Carpinteria: Façade 218 Figure 7-28: St. Cyprian: Façade 218 Figure 7-29: St. Jane Frances de Chantal: Tower 220 Figure 7-30: St. John of God: Tower 220 Figure 7-31: St. Louise de Marillac: Façade and Tower 220 Figure 7-32: St. John of God: Tabernacle Shrine 221 Figure 7-33: St. Bede the Venerable: Holy Water Font 221 Figure 7-34: St. Bede the Venerable: Holy Water Font 221 Figure 7-35: Corpus Christi: Seating Plan 223 Figure 7-36: Corpus Christi: Intersection of Brick and Glass Walls 224 Figure 7-37: Corpus Christi: Sanctuary 224 Figure 7-38: Corpus Christi: Free Standing Choir Loft 224 Figure 7-39: St. Jerome: Interior View of Bays 226 Figure 7-40: St. Jerome: Sanctuary 226 Figure 7-41: St. Jerome: Ceiling 226 Figure 7-42: St. Anthony of Padua: Sanctuary 227 Figure 7-43: St. Anthony of Padua: Interior 227 Figure 7-44: St. Columban: View Across Transepts and Nave 227 Figure 7-45: Sacred Heart: View of Sanctuary from Transept 229 Figure 7-46: Sacred Heart: Sanctuary and Skylight 229 Figure 7-47: St. Cornelius: Interior 229 xviii Figure 7-48: St. Rita: Interior 232 Figure 7-49: St. Rita: Clerestory Gallery 232 Figure 7-50: Corpus Christi: Interior 232 Figure 7-51: St. Rita: Façade and Tower 234 Figure 7-52: St. Rita: North Elevation 234 Figure 7-53: St. Rita: South Elevation 234 Figure 7-54: Sacred Heart: Side Elevation 235 Figure 7-55: Sacred Heart: Rear Elevation 235 Figure 7-56: St. Jerome: Roofline 235 Figure 7-57: St. Jerome: Exterior View of Bays 236 Figure 7-58: St. Anthony of Padua: Roof Detail 236 Figure 7-59: St. Cornelius: Façade 236 Figure 7-60: St. Cornelius: Tower Detail 238 Figure 7-61: St. Columban: Façade 238 Figure 7-62: St. Columban: Side Elevation and Tower 238 Figure B-1: Maria Regina: Façade 275 Figure B-2: Maris Regina: Mothers’ Room 275 Figure B-3: St. Pancratius: Sanctuary 275 Figure B-4: St. Gerard Majella: Nave 281 Figure B-5: St. John the Baptist: Façade 281 Figure B-6: St. John the Baptist: Nave 281 Figure D-1: St. Augustine: Current and Former Churches 287 Figure D-2: St. Augustine: Tower 287 xix Figure D-3: St. Augustine: Nave Arcade 287 Figure D-4: St. Augustine: Shrine of St. Augustine 290 Figure D-5: St. Augustine: Window Detail 290 Figure D-6: St. Timothy: Façade 290 Figure D-7: St. Timothy: Tower 292 Figure D-8: St. Timothy: Tower Detail 292 Figure D-9: St. Timothy: Irish Saints Windows 292 Figure D-10: St. Timothy: Shrine of the Blessed Virgin Mary 295 Figure D-11: St. Joseph, Pomona: Façade 295 Figure D-12: St. Joseph, Pomona: Woodwork Detail 295 Figure D-13: St. Joseph, Pomona: Shrine of the Blessed Virgin Mary 298 Figure D-14: St. Charles Borromeo: Façade Detail 298 Figure D-15: St. Charles Borromeo: Main Entrance 298 Figure D-16: St. Charles Borromeo: Side Elevation 300 Figure D-17: St. Charles Borromeo: Tower Detail 300 Figure D-18: St. Charles Borromeo: Interior of Dome 300 Figure D-19: St. Charles Borromeo: Dream of St. Joseph Window 302 Figure D-20: St. Charles Borromeo: Our Lady of Good Hope Chapel 302 Figure D-21: St. Charles Borromeo: Stations of the Cross 302 Figure D-22: St. Margaret Mary Alacoque: Façade and Tower 304 Figure D-23: St. Margaret Mary Alacoque: Nave Arches 304 xx Figure D-24: St. Margaret Mary Alacoque: Bracket Detail 304 Figure F-1: SS. Felicitas and Perpetua: Façade 309 Figure F-2: SS. Felicitas and Perpetua: Tower Detail 309 Figure F-3: SS. Felicitas and Perpetua: Nave 309 Figure F-4: St. Joseph, Hawthorne: Façade Detail 312 Figure F-5: St. Joseph, Hawthorne: Façade and Tower 312 Figure F-6: St. Joseph, Hawthorne: Mothers’ Room 312 Figure F-7: St. Philip the Apostle: Façade 315 Figure F-8: St. Philip the Apostle: Tower Detail 315 Figure F-9: St. Philip the Apostle: Rear Elevation 315 Figure F-10: St. Philip the Apostle: Nave 316 Figure F-11: St. Philip the Apostle: Façade Detail 316 Figure F-12: St. Philip the Apostle: Assumption Mural 316 Figure F-13: St. Emydius: Façade 319 Figure F-14: St. Emydius: Side Elevation 319 Figure F-15: St. Emydius: Nave 319 Figure F-16: St. Emydius: Baldachino 321 Figure F-17: St. Emydius: St. Thomas More Window 321 Figure F-18: St. Emydius: St. Emydius Mural 321 Figure F-19: St. Anthony, Long Beach: Side Elevation 324 Figure F-20: St. Anthony, Long Beach: Portico 324 Figure F-21: St. Anthony, Long Beach: Façade Detail 324 Figure F-22: St. Anthony, Long Beach: Façade Detail 325 xxi Figure F-23: St. Anthony, Long Beach: Tower Detail 325 Figure F-24: St. Anthony, Long Beach: Mural Detail – Pope Pius XII and Archbishop Cantwell 325 Figure H-1: St. Therese: Portico 333 Figure H-2: St. Therese: Interior of Dome 333 Figure H-3: St. Therese: Sanctuary Windows – Interior View 333 Figure H-4: St. Therese: Sanctuary Windows – Exterior View 334 Figure H-5: Our Lady of the Assumption: Sanctuary 334 Figure H-6: Our Lady of the Assumption: California Missions Window 334 Figure H-7: Our Lady of the Assumption: Bl. Junipero Serra Window 337 Figure H-8: Mary Star of the Sea: Façade 337 Figure H-9: Mary Star of the Sea: Porte-Cochere 337 Figure H-10: Mary Star of the Sea: Tower 339 Figure H-11: Mary Star of the Sea: Tower Detail 339 Figure H-12: Mary Star of the Sea: Exterior Apse Mural 339 Figure H-13: Mary Star of the Sea: Baldachino and Altar 341 Figure H-14: Mary Star of the Sea: Our Lady of San Pedro 341 Figure H-15: Mary Star of the Sea: Jesus Calms the Storm Window 341 Figure H-16: Mary Star of the Sea: St. Frances Xavier Cabrini Window 343 Figure H-17: Mary Star of the Sea: Shrine of St. Restituta 343 Figure H-18: St. John Chrysostom: Façade 343 xxii Figure H-19: St. John Chrysostom: Tower 345 Figure H-20: St. John Chrysostom: Tower 345 Figure H-21: St. John Chrysostom: Side Elevation 345 Figure H-22: St. John Chrysostom: Rear Elevation 346 Figure H-23: St. John Chrysostom: Nave Wall 346 Figure H-24: St. John Chrysostom: Sanctuary 346 Figure H-25: St. John Chrysostom: Celtic Window Detail 348 Figure H-26: St. John Chrysostom: St. John the Baptist Window 348 Figure H-27: St. John Chrysostom: Shamrock Window Detail 348 Figure H-28: St. Paul the Apostle: Façade Detail 350 Figure H-29: St. Paul the Apostle: Finial Detail 350 Figure H-30: St. Paul the Apostle: Colonnade at Side Elevation 350 Figure H-31: St. Paul the Apostle: Colonnade at Rear Elevation 351 Figure H-32: St. Paul the Apostle: Side Elevation Detail 351 Figure H-33: St. Paul the Apostle: Nave 351 Figure H-34: St. Paul the Apostle: Reredos Wall Detail 353 Figure H-35: St. Paul the Apostle: Light Fixture Detail 353 Figure H-36: St. Paul the Apostle: St. Paul the Apostle Shrine 353 Figure H-37: St. Paul the Apostle: Isaac Heckler Window 355 Figure H-38: St. Joachim: Tower 355 Figure H-39: St. Joachim: Side Elevation 355 xxiii Figure H-40: St. Joachim: Rear and Side Elevations 357 Figure H-41: St. Joachim: Ceiling Detail 357 Figure H-42: St. Joachim: Choir Loft 357 Figure H-43: St. Joachim: Sanctuary 358 Figure H-44: St. Joachim: Transept Seating 358 Figure H-45: St. Joachim: Filtered Light 358 Figure H-46: St. Genevieve: Façade 361 Figure H-47: St. Genevieve: Façade Detail 361 Figure H-48: St. Genevieve: Tower 361 Figure H-49: St. Genevieve: Nave Walls 362 Figure H-50: St. Genevieve: Ceiling Detail 362 Figure H-51: St. Genevieve: Ceiling Detail 362 Figure H-52: St. Genevieve: Sanctuary 364 Figure H-53: St. Genevieve: Shrine of the Sacred Heart 364 Figure H-54: St. Genevieve: Wall Detail 364 Figure H-55: St. Joseph the Worker: Side Elevation 367 Figure H-56: St. Joseph the Worker: Ceiling Detail 367 Figure H-57: St. Joseph the Worker: Reservation Chapel Screen 367 Figure H-58: St. Joseph the Worker: Reconfigured Sanctuary 368 Figure H-59: St. Joseph the Worker: Nave Walls 368 Figure H-60: St. Joseph the Worker: Reredos 368 Figure J-1: St. Mel: Ceiling Detail 373 xxiv Figure J-2: St. Mel: Side Chapels 373 Figure J-3: St. Mel: Shrine of St. Mel 373 Figure J-4: St. Mel: Façade Window 375 Figure J-5: St. Mel: Sanctuary 375 Figure J-6: St. Mel: Font and View into Mothers’ Room 375 Figure J-7: St. Mel: Choir Area 376 Figure J-8: St. Mel: Angel Mural on Original Reredos Wall 376 Figure J-9: St. Mel: Window Hidden Behind Original Reredos Wall 376 Figure J-10: St. Basil: Exterior Surface Detail 379 Figure J-11: St. Basil: Stained Glass Shaft 379 Figure J-12: St. Basil: Stained Glass Shaft from Interior 379 Figure J-13: St. Basil: Sanctuary 381 Figure J-14: St. Basil: Baptistery Gate 381 Figure J-15: St. Basil: Confessional 381 Figure J-16: St. Basil: Stations of the Cross 382 Figure J-17: St. Basil: Our Lady of Sorrow Sculpture 382 Figure J-18: St. Basil: Madonna and Child Panel 382 Figure J-19: St. Basil: St. Paul Sculpture 383 Figure J-20: St. Catherine Laboure: Façade and Tower 383 Figure J-21: St. Catherine Laboure: Façade 383 Figure J-22: St. Catherine Laboure: Façade Detail 386 Figure J-23: St. Catherine Laboure: Façade Detail 386 xxv Figure J-24: St. Catherine Laboure: Interior of Façade Window Detail 386 Figure J-25: St. Catherine Laboure: Façade Medallion 387 Figure J-26: St. Catherine Laboure: Interior of Façade Window 387 Figure J-27: St. Catherine Laboure: Transept Window 387 Figure J-28: Our Lady of the Holy Rosary: Façade Detail 389 Figure J-29: Our Lady of the Holy Rosary: Interior View of Façade Sculpture 389 Figure J-30: Our Lady of the Holy Rosary: Façade Corner Detail 389 Figure J-31: Our Lady of the Holy Rosary: Façade Corner Detail 391 Figure J-32: St. Cyril of Jerusalem: Nave 391 Figure J-33: St. Cyril of Jerusalem: Ceiling Detail 391 Figure J-34: St. Cyril of Jerusalem: Exterior Roof Detail 393 Figure J-35: St. Lawrence Martyr: Façade 393 Figure J-36: St. Lawrence Martyr: North Portico 393 Figure J-37: St. Lawrence Martyr: South Portico 395 Figure J-38: St. Lawrence Martyr: Rear Elevation 395 Figure L-1: St. Christopher: Transept Entrance 401 Figure L-2: St. Christopher: Tower 401 Figure L-3: St. Christopher: Nave Wall 401 Figure L-4: St. Christopher: Ceiling Detail 402 Figure L-5: St. Christopher: Entry into South Transept 402 Figure L-6: St. Christopher: Sanctuary and Transept 402 xxvi Figure L-7: St. Christopher: View of Sanctuary from Transept 404 Figure L-8: St. Christopher: Façade Window 404 Figure L-9: St. Christopher: St. Dominic Savio Window 404 Figure L-10: St. Joseph, La Puente: Façade 407 Figure L-11: St. Joseph, La Puente: Exterior of South Transept 407 Figure L-12: St. Joseph, La Puente: Baptistery 407 Figure L-13: St. Joseph, La Puente: Baptistery Detail 408 Figure L-14: St. Joseph, La Puente: View into South Transept 408 Figure L-15: St. Joseph, La Puente: Convergence of Nave and Transept 408 Figure L-16: Our Lady of Grace: East Elevation 411 Figure L-17: Our Lady of Grace: North Elevation 411 Figure L-18: Our Lady of Grace: Rear Elevation 411 Figure L-19: Our Lady of Grace: Nave and Right Transept 413 Figure L-20: Our Lady of Grace: Left Transept 413 Figure L-21: Our Lady of Grace: Shrine of the Sacred Heart 413 Figure L-22: Our Lady of Grace: Façade Window 415 Figure L-23: St. Joseph, Carpinteria: Interior View from Narthex 415 Figure L-24: St. Joseph, Carpinteria: Interior View from Sanctuary 415 Figure L-25: St. Joseph, Carpinteria: Interior View Toward Narthex and Choir Loft 417 xxvii Figure L-26: St. Joseph, Carpinteria: Shrine in Former Baptistery 417 Figure L-27: St. Joseph, Carpinteria: Stations of the Cross 417 Figure L-28: St. Jane Frances de Chantal: Façade 420 Figure L-29: St. Jane Frances de Chantal: Side Elevation 420 Figure L-30: St. Jane Frances de Chantal: New Sanctuary Configuration 420 Figure L-31: St. Jane Frances de Chantal: Circular Pew Configuration 422 Figure L-32: St. Jane Frances de Chantal: Circular Pew Configuration 422 Figure L-33: St. Bede the Venerable: Rear and Side Elevation 422 Figure L-34: St. Bede the Venerable: Façade 424 Figure L-35: St. Bede the Venerable: Pew Configuration 424 Figure L-36: St. Bede the Venerable: Reservation Chapel 424 Figure L-37: St. Bede the Venerable: St. Bede Tapestry 426 Figure L-38: St. Cyprian: Tower 426 Figure L-39: St. Cyprian: Nave Windows 426 Figure L-40: St. John of God: Side Elevation 430 Figure L-41: St. John of God: Tower Detail 430 Figure L-42: St. John of God: Pew Configuration 430 Figure L-43: St. John of God: Sanctuary and Ceiling 431 Figure L-44: St. John of God: Ceiling Detail 431 Figure L-45: St. John of God: Skylight 431 Figure L-46: St. John of God: Interior Side Wall 432 xxviii Figure L-47: St. Louise de Marillac: Façade and Tower 432 Figure L-48: St. Louise de Marillac: Side Elevation 432 Figure L-49: St. Louise de Marillac: Interior View from Sanctuary 435 Figure L-50: St. Louise de Marillac: Sanctuary 435 Figure L-51: St. Louise de Marillac: Sculpted Wood Relief 435 Figure N-1: Corpus Christi: Side Elevation 440 Figure N-2: Corpus Christi: Front and Side Elevation 440 Figure N-3: Corpus Christi: Side Elevation 440 Figure N-4: Corpus Christi: Glass Wall Façade 441 Figure N-5: Corpus Christi: Glass Wall Façade Detail 441 Figure N-6: Corpus Christi: Façade Screens Detail 441 Figure N-7: Corpus Christi: Interior 443 Figure N-8: Corpus Christi: Interior 443 Figure N-9: Corpus Christi: Ceiling and Window Detail 443 Figure N-10: Corpus Christi: Column, Window, and Ceiling Detail 444 Figure N-11: Corpus Christi: Skylight Exterior Detail 444 Figure N-12: Corpus Christi: Choir Loft Detail 444 Figure N-13: Corpus Christi: Narthex Space 445 Figure N-14: Corpus Christi: Baldachino 445 Figure N-15: Corpus Christi: Stations of the Cross 445 Figure N-16: St. Jerome: Projecting Narthex 448 Figure N-17: St. Jerome: Projecting Sacristy 448 xxix Figure N-18: St. Jerome: Steeple 448 Figure N-19: St. Jerome: Ceiling Detail 449 Figure N-20: St. Jerome: Pew Configuration 449 Figure N-21: St. Jerome: Choir Loft 449 Figure N-22: St. Jerome: Sanctuary and Adjoining Shrine 450 Figure N-23: St. Jerome: Confessional 450 Figure N-24: St. Jerome: Sanctuary 450 Figure N-25: St. Jerome: Interior of Narthex 452 Figure N-26: St. Jerome: Baptismal Font 452 Figure N-27: St. Anthony of Padua: Façade 452 Figure N-28: St. Anthony of Padua: Side View of Façade 454 Figure N-29: St. Anthony of Padua: Side Elevation 454 Figure N-30: St. Anthony of Padua: Side View of Apse 454 Figure N-31: St. Anthony of Padua: Colonnade 455 Figure N-32: St. Anthony of Padua: Roof Detail 455 Figure N-33: St. Anthony of Padua: Roof Detail 455 Figure N-34: St. Anthony of Padua: View Toward West Transept 457 Figure N-35: St. Anthony of Padua: Ceiling 457 Figure N-36: St. Anthony of Padua: Ceiling Detail 457 Figure N-37: St. Anthony of Padua: Pew Configuration 458 Figure N-38: St. Anthony of Padua: Shrine of St. Anthony 458 Figure N-39: St. Columban: Nave and Sanctuary 458 Figure N-40: St. Columban: Transept 461 xxx Figure N-41: St. Columban: Nave Ceiling and Clerestory Windows 461 Figure N-42: St. Columban: Nave Ceiling and Façade Window 461 Figure N-43: St. Columban: Shrine of Our Lady of Perpetual Help and St. Columban 463 Figure N-44: St. Columban: Stations of the Cross 463 Figure N-45: St. Columban: Coat of Arms of Cardinal McIntyre 463 Figure N-46: St. Cornelius: Nave and Sanctuary 465 Figure N-47: St. Cornelius: Transept 465 Figure N-48: St. Cornelius: View Toward Narthex From Transept 465 Figure N-49: St. Cornelius: Ceiling Detail 466 Figure N-50: St. Cornelius: Ceiling Detail 466 Figure N-51: St. Cornelius: Roofline Detail 466 Figure N-52: St. Cornelius: Rear Elevation 467 Figure N-53: St. Cornelius: Façade Mural 467 Figure N-54: St. Cornelius: Sanctuary 467 Figure N-55: Sacred Heart: View from Nave 470 Figure N-56: Sacred Heart: Baptistery 470 Figure N-57: Sacred Heart: Façade 470 Figure N-58: Sacred Heart: Perimeter Wall 471 Figure N-59: Sacred Heart: Side Elevation 471 Figure N-60: Sacred Heart: Exterior of Baptistery 471 Figure N-61: Sacred Heart: Shrine of the Sacred Heart 473 xxxi Figure N-62: Sacred Heart: Sacred Heart Window 473 Figure N-63: Sacred Heart: Window Depicting Teacher and Students 473 Figure N-64: St. Rita: West and North Elevations 476 Figure N-65: St. Rita: East Elevation with Social Hall Entrance 476 Figure N-66: St. Rita: East Elevation 476 Figure N-67: St. Rita: South Elevation 477 Figure N-68: St. Rita: North Elevation Windows 477 Figure N-69: St. Rita: Tower 477 Figure N-70: St. Rita: Ceiling Detail 478 Figure N-71: St. Rita: Choir Loft and Narthex 478 Figure N-72: St. Rita: Risen Christ Sculpture 478 Figure N-73: St. Rita: Nave Windows with Stations of the Cross 479 Figure N-74: St. Rita: Sanctuary Skylight 479 Figure N-75: St. Rita: Clerestory Gallery 479 Figure N-76: St. Rita: Clerestory Gallery Detail 481 Figure N-77: St. Rita: Clerestory Window Shade 481 Figure N-78: St. Rita: Clerestory Window Shade 481 xxxii ABSTRACT This thesis examines Roman Catholic churches built between 1948 and 1976 in the Archdiocese of Los Angeles. During this period, more than 250 new churches were constructed in an effort to accommodate a 253% increase in membership. Although the architecture of these churches spans an aesthetic spectrum ranging from historical revivalism to expressionism, analysis reveals that each can be placed into one of seven stylistic groupings. These groupings are identified and described, using over forty representative examples. This thesis argues that the key to understanding the physical form of these churches lies in an appreciation of three dynamic phenomena driving the architectural program underlying their design and construction: the swift growth of the local Catholic population in the region’s rapidly developing suburbs; the desire of church leadership to create parishes that would attract the next generation of Catholics; and a new theological and pastoral emphasis on congregational participation in worship. 1 CHAPTER 1 INTRODUCTION The Scope of This Study This thesis examines Roman Catholic churches built between 1948 and 1976 in the Archdiocese of Los Angeles, identified as “that most suburban of all dioceses” by Andrew M. Greeley in his 1959 sociological study The Church and the Suburbs. 1 During this twenty-eight year period, the Archdiocese established 98 new parishes and constructed more than 250 new churches across four Southern California counties in an effort to accommodate a 253% increase in membership, representing more than 1.58 million new communicants. These churches, with their associated parish campuses, are familiar landmarks in the metropolitan area’s postwar suburban landscape. In this study, I analyze the architecture of these churches in terms of spatial dynamics, centering focus, aesthetic impact, and symbolic resonance -- the “four ways of looking at a church” proposed by Richard Kieckhefer in his 2004 historical study Theology in Stone. 2 My analysis reveals that, although these churches span an aesthetic spectrum ranging from pure historical revivalism to expressionism, each can be placed into one of seven basic stylistic groupings. I identify these groupings, describe their characteristic design elements and distinctive architectural vocabularies, and discuss outstanding representative examples of each grouping. 2 The precision with which I have drawn the denominational, geographical, and chronological boundaries of this study invite a few words of explanation. Because literally thousands of churches were built by scores of Christian denominations in Southern California during the postwar era, I decided to focus on the churches of a single denomination in order to limit the scope of this survey and to facilitate the comparison of individual examples. I selected Roman Catholic churches because of the number and diversity of the examples available for study, the richness and complexity of the denomination’s architectural traditions, and the relatively large quantity of research material available. From 1936 through 1976, the geographical boundaries of the Roman Catholic Archdiocese of Los Angeles embraced four counties: Los Angeles, Orange, Ventura, and Santa Barbara. Together, these four counties constitute a representative “slice” of urban, suburban, and rural Southern California during the postwar era. In 1976, Orange County was detached from the Archdiocese when the new Diocese of Orange was established. Thus, I selected 1976 as the termination point for this study. The greatest share of the Archdiocese’s growth during the postwar era occurred under the leadership of Cardinal James Francis McIntyre (1886-1979), who became the Archbishop of Los Angeles in 1948. Thus, I selected 1948 as the beginning point for this study. Cardinal McIntyre served as archbishop until his retirement in 1970, when he was succeeded by Cardinal Timothy Manning (1909-1989), who then served until his own retirement in 1985. Limiting this study to a single Archdiocese during the course of two archiepiscopal administrations allowed me to focus my original research on the collections maintained in a single archive, that of the Archdiocese. It also permitted me to limit my field work to a relatively manageable geographical area. 3 A further word of explanation is in order with respect to the “dates” of the churches considered here. This study embraces churches whose construction was completed between 1948 and 1976. For purposes of this study, I am defining the date of completion as the date on which the church was first used by its parish congregation for worship. Unfortunately, there is no comprehensive list of these dates for churches in the Archdiocese. When I have been able to determine the date of first use for an individual church from reliable sources, I have used it as the church’s completion date. When I have been unable to determine the date of first use, I have generally adopted the date on which the church was formally dedicated as the date of completion, although typically a period of several months, or even a year, may elapse between the date of first use and the date of formal dedication. In some cases churches were never formally dedicated, or were dedicated many years after first use, typically following a subsequent renovation. In these cases, I have estimated the date of first use based upon building committee minutes, public records, or, in a few cases, the church’s cornerstone. The Thesis Underlying this Study In this study, I assert that the key to understanding the physical form of the Roman Catholic churches built in the Archdiocese of Los Angeles between 1948 and 1976 lies in an appreciation of their function and meaning in the context of three dynamic phenomena that drove the architectural program underlying their design and construction. These three phenomena — each comprised of a unique set of historical circumstances -- will be briefly introduced below, and discussed in considerable detail in Chapter 2. I 4 begin, however, with a brief consideration of the importance of function and meaning in the context of sacred space. What Makes a Space Sacred? Roman Catholics regard their churches as sacred spaces. Scholars in several disciplines have developed theories about why and how cultural groups set aside particular spaces as sacred. Architectural historian Jeanne Kilde has suggested that there are two basic perspectives from which to view sacred space. From the “substantive” perspective, particular spaces become sacred when people recognize their inherent sacredness due to the perceived presence of supernatural forces within them, an idea developed by Mircea Eliade in The Sacred and the Profane. From the alternative “situational” perspective, particular spaces become “sacralized,” or made sacred, by human behavior – that is, people select spaces, invest them with a particular meaning, and then use them in a manner consistent with that meaning, as described by Jonathan Z. Smith in To Take Place. 3 Architectural historian Louis Nelson has identified three approaches to the concept of sacred space, two of which are similar to the perspectives suggested by Kilde. The “ontological” approach, based on a study of comparative religions, views sacred spaces as places where the divine is seen as “irrupting” into earthly reality. This approach embraces the concepts that certain spaces constitute the center of the cosmos (the “axis mundi”) or represent the cosmos in miniature (the “imago mundi”). The “aesthetic” approach, based on aesthetic theory, views the sacredness of a space as a function of its beauty, since beauty originates in the divine. The “lived 5 religion” approach, which is interdisciplinary, views sacred spaces in terms of the “everyday beliefs and practices” of the worshippers who use the spaces. 4 The churches considered here may be best understood as sacred spaces by employing the “situational” perspective and the “lived religion” approach. 5 Thus, in explaining the physical form of these buildings in terms of their function and meaning, I give special emphasis to the ways in which these churches were used and understood by those who worshipped in them. The Value of Sacred Spaces Church buildings, like all elements of the built environment, have an inherent interest and value because of the insights they provide into the cultures that produced them. To the extent that understanding the religious beliefs of a particular cultural group is important to understanding its members, churches are invaluable because they are “visible witnesses to faith.” 6 These buildings “teach insiders and outsiders about Christianity, and they convey messages about the religious group housed in the building to the community at large.” 7 But churches do more than simply express or convey existing beliefs and concepts; they also act as “dynamic agents in the construction, development, and persistence of Christianity itself.” 8 Indeed, these buildings are “capable of influencing the belief systems of Christians and non-Christians alike.” 9 As I will demonstrate in this study, particularly in Chapters 6 and 7, the truth of these statements is well illustrated by the churches under consideration here. 6 Churches are particularly valuable as cultural artifacts when studying American Roman Catholics. Writing in 1967, Catholic sociologist Andrew Greeley notes that the Catholic Church in the United States “has been a building church and it has dotted the landscape with more buildings than any other national manifestation of Catholicism in the world.” Catholics, he declares, have been “infected by the American notion that new buildings and new organizations more or less automatically will produce qualitative improvements in human life.” He regretfully concludes, however, that “. . . at times at least during its history American Catholicism seemed to act on the assumption that construction of buildings and development of the faith were virtually one and the same thing.” 10 Function and Meaning in the Analysis of Sacred Spaces Churches are particularly complex and interesting buildings because understanding their physical form requires an understanding of both their functions and their meanings. 11 A building’s function can, under most circumstances, be succinctly explained and readily understood. The question of meaning, however, invites further consideration. According to architectural historian Mark Torgerson, “meaning associated with particular church designs can be ascertained intuitively and/or learned through explanation.” Thus, “impression and catechesis are both important for human engagement with a built environment.” 12 On the level of intuition, a design may incorporate particular architectural features in order to evoke emotional responses or create impressions that 7 may be grasped intuitively. For example, an interior space that is high and voluminous may cause a visitor to feel small or humble. An interior that is dimly lighted may evoke a sense of mystery. On the level of informed understanding, a design’s architectural features may be assigned particular meanings, which are then taught as representing theological understandings or interpretations. For example, a church whose longitudinal floor plan requires a visitor to walk a long distance from the church’s entrance to its most important focal point may be explained as conveying an intended message that the “journey of life” is essentially a “spiritual pilgrimage.” These “taught and learned” meanings are themselves rich and complex, however, because as Nelson observes, “the meaning intended by the designer of a sacred space differs from the meaning imposed by theologians, which differs yet again from the meanings embraced by its regular occupants.” 13 As Torgerson points out, architectural designs do not develop in a vacuum, but emerge “from a combination of historical precedents, cultural influences, and the individual choices of architects and their clients.” 14 If meaning is both grasped intuitively and learned, then the individual choices of those who commission churches and those who design them are to a large extent a function of both their past sensory encounters with the natural and built environments, and their formal and informal educational experiences. 15 8 Explaining Physical Form in Terms of Function and Meaning As previously noted, this study asserts that the key to understanding the physical form of the churches considered here lies in an appreciation of their function and meaning in the context of three sets of historical circumstances that inspired their design and construction. The first set of circumstances, discussed in the first part of Chapter 2, involved the swift growth of the local Catholic population in Southern California’s rapidly developing suburbs, which created a need for churches that could be built quickly and economically. This set of circumstances explains one aspect of the function of these buildings. The second set of circumstances, addressed in the second part of Chapter 2, concerned the desire of the Church’s leadership to create parishes that would attract the next generation of American Catholics – young, educated, middle class, and suburban – just as ethnic urban parishes had once attracted their working class immigrant grandparents and parents. This set of circumstances touches upon both the function and meaning of these churches’ architecture – the former, because the practical goal of the Church’s leadership was to consolidate and strengthen the Catholic community, and the latter, because this goal involved reinforcing Catholics’ individual and community identity in relationship to mainstream American culture. The third set of circumstances, considered in the third part of Chapter 2, involved a new theological and pastoral emphasis on congregational participation in worship, with its widespread implications for Catholic spirituality, social activism, and education. This set of circumstances also touches upon both function and meaning – function, because 9 these churches were required to accommodate new forms of worship, and meaning, because how and where Catholics worshiped impacted their self-identities both as individuals and as a community. An Introduction to the Vocabulary Used in This Study Although this study arises in an academic context, it is my hope that it will be of value both to architectural enthusiasts seeking to develop an appreciation of the churches considered here, and to professional and amateur preservationists attempting to evaluate the significance of these buildings. Thus, I have written this paper with both of these groups of readers in mind. I have assumed on the part of the reader a general familiarity with basic Christian and Catholic beliefs and customs, and with basic architectural terms and historical trends; like most writers, I trust that any gaps in an individual reader’s knowledge may be easily remedied by resort to readily available reference works, both in the library and on the World Wide Web. However, because some commonly used terms and expressions may be generally unfamiliar to most non-Catholics, or may have complex or multiple meanings, I would like to clarify at the outset how I will be using certain terms in this study. Organizational Terms In this study, I use the term “church,” with a lower case “c,” to refer to the church building, 16 and the term “Church,” with an upper case “c,” to refer to the organization or 10 institution commonly known as the “Catholic Church.” This organization is actually a worldwide “communion” of twenty-three individual religious bodies, each with its own organizational structure, theological emphases, and traditions. The largest of these bodies is the “Roman Catholic Church”; the other bodies are sometimes collectively referred to as the “Eastern Catholic Churches.” This study is concerned with the Roman Catholic Church. For simplicity’s sake, and in keeping with common usage in the United States, I use the term “Catholic” in this study as a shorthand term for “Roman Catholic.” The Roman Catholic Church in the United States is organized into geographically based units known as “dioceses.” Dioceses are grouped into “provinces”; the most important diocese in each province is known as an “archdiocese.” A diocese or archdiocese is named after the city in which its principal church – its “cathedral”-- is located. As previously noted, during the period under consideration here, the Archdiocese of Los Angeles covered four Southern California counties: Los Angeles, Orange, Ventura, and Santa Barbara. In 1976, Orange County was detached from the Archdiocese of Los Angeles when a new diocese – the Diocese of Orange – was formed. A diocese is led by a bishop, and an archdiocese by an archbishop, who may be assisted by one or more assistant or “auxiliary” bishops. Each diocese or archdiocese is divided into a number of smaller units, known as “parishes.” These are the local congregations to which individual Catholics belong. As explained in Chapter 2, a parish is either “territorial,” which means its members are residents of a defined geographic territory, or “personal,” which means its members may be geographically dispersed but share some common characteristic, such as language or ethnicity. Each parish has one principal church, known as the “parish church.” These “parish churches” are the subject of this 11 study. By tradition, parish churches are named to commemorate an event, such as the “Nativity” of Jesus or the “Assumption” of Mary; to affirm some article of religious belief, such as the “Holy Trinity” or the “Blessed Sacrament”; or, most commonly, to honor the Blessed Virgin Mary or some other saint, who is referred to as the church’s “patron saint.” The name of the parish church is also commonly used to identify the parish congregation itself, and the geographic territory the parish covers. A parish is led by a priest known as a “pastor,” who may be assisted by other priests and by deacons. Ordained individuals – bishops, priests, and deacons – are collectively referred to as “clergy,” while non-ordained individuals are referred to as “laity.” Lay women who belong to religious communities or “orders” are commonly referred to as “sisters” or “nuns,” while lay men who belong to such communities are called “brothers.” Liturgical Terms The “liturgy” is the collection of officially established prayers and rituals that Catholics use when they worship together. The most important form of Catholic liturgical worship is the “Mass,” a religious service comprised of spoken and sung prayers, readings from the Bible, and ritual actions. During the course of the Mass, gifts of bread and wine are offered to God and then, Catholics believe, consecrated and transformed into the body and blood of Jesus through the ritual actions of the priest. The consecrated bread and wine are then consumed by those in attendance, a practice which is commonly known as “Holy Communion.” The consecrated bread and wine are usually 12 referred to as the “Eucharist.” The term “Eucharist” is also sometimes used to refer to the Mass itself. Receiving the Eucharist is one of the seven Catholic liturgical practices or rituals known as the “sacraments.” The other sacraments are baptism, reconciliation (also known as “confession” or “penance”), confirmation, marriage, ordination (also known as “Holy Orders”), and anointing of the sick (also known as “last rites” or “Extreme Unction”). Another element of the Catholic liturgy is the “Liturgy of the Hours” or “Divine Office,” a series of prayers that are said or sung at prescribed times during the day. In addition to the Church’s official liturgy, there are also a wide variety of prayers and practices known as “devotions,” which will be discussed in Chapter 2. Architectural Terms Over the last two thousand years, a complex terminology has developed for describing the various parts of a church. Unfortunately, this terminology is not uniform; any given part of a church may be known by several different names, and many terms are ambiguous or admit to multiple meanings. In this paper, I use the term “sanctuary” as it is commonly used by Catholics, to refer to that part of the church where the altar is located and the chief ritual actions take place during the liturgy. In this sense, “sanctuary” describes a space in terms of its function, rather than its geographical location within the building’s floor plan. Thus, for example, in a church modeled on a Roman basilica the “sanctuary” is typically located in the part of the church known as the “apse,” while in a church modeled on a Gothic cathedral it is located in the “chancel.” I 13 use the term “nave” to refer to the main body of the church in which the assembled congregation is seated. In a church with a cross-shaped or “cruciform” floor plan (Figure 1-1), I refer to the section at the top of the “cross” as the “apse,” the two wings adjoining the nave to form the “cross-bar” of the “cross” as the “transepts,” and the portion of the church where the nave and transepts intersect as the “crossing.” I refer to the vestibule or lobby of a church as its “narthex.” Other terms I use are defined in the appropriate places in the text. A Note About This Study’s Organizational Framework As previously noted, this study begins, in Chapter 2, with an examination of the three sets of historical circumstances that inspired the design and construction of the churches under consideration here. This is followed, in Chapter 3, with an explanation of the basic concepts underlying the analytic framework for this study: Richard Kieckhefer’s “four ways of looking a church,” and his identification of two distinct church-building traditions which he calls the “classic sacramental” tradition and the “modern communal” tradition. In Chapter 4, I discuss issues related to stylistic diversity within the classic sacramental church-building tradition, and consider the group of temporary, multipurpose postwar churches which exemplify the basic characteristics of this tradition. Next, in Chapter 5, I consider two groupings of postwar classic sacramental churches that look to the past for inspiration: historic revival churches and eclectic revival churches. In Chapter 6, I examine the impact of modernist design on two other groupings of postwar classic sacramental churches, one influenced by modernism’s 14 Figure 1-1 17 Floor Plan of a Cruciform Church 15 minimalist, “international” strand, and the other by its “expressionist” strand. Then, in Chapter 7, I consider the modern communal church-building tradition, and the two groupings of churches within that tradition which reflect minimalist and expressionist influences, respectively. In Chapter 8, I offer some concluding remarks regarding the research process and my findings, and in Chapter 9, I take a look at the preservation challenges facing postwar churches. A set of fourteen appendices provide further information concerning the seven basic stylistic groupings identified in this study. There are two appendices for each grouping: the first contains a list of the characteristic features of the grouping in summary form, and the second contains historical information, a detailed description, additional photographs, and citations to sources of information regarding each of the churches discussed in the main text as representative examples of the grouping. 16 CHAPTER 1 ENDNOTES 1 Andrew M. Greeley, The Church and the Suburbs (New York: Sheed, 1959) 65 n. 3. 2 Richard Kieckhefer, Theology in Stone: Church Architecture from Byzantium to Berkeley (New York: Oxford UP, 2004) 10-15. 3 Jeanne Halgren Kilde, Sacred Power, Sacred Space: An Introduction to Christian Architecture and Worship (New York: Oxford UP, 2008) 8. 4 Louis P. Nelson, “Introduction,” American Sanctuary: Understanding Sacred Spaces, ed. Louis P. Nelson (Bloomington: Indiana UP, 2006) 3-5. 5 There are, of course, many Christian churches in Europe and the Middle East whose origins are linked to some event which has supernatural dimensions: a miracle, an apparition, the martyrdom of a saint, the discovery of some sacred image or relic, a vision or dream in which someone was directed to build the church, and so forth. Such churches may be understood as sacred spaces in the “substantive” or “ontological” sense. None of the churches considered here traces it origins to such an event. 6 Mark A. Torgerson, An Architecture of Immanence: Architecture for Worship and Ministry Today (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2007) 3. 7 Kilde 3; see also 10. 8 Kilde 3. 9 Torgerson 3. 10 Andrew M. Greeley, The Catholic Experience: An Interpretation of the History of American Catholicism (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1967) 32. 11 Kilde 10. 12 Torgerson 3. 13 Nelson 5. 14 Torgerson 43; see also Nelson 3-6 and Kilde 10. 15 Torgerson 43. 16 Of course, when referring to a particular church building, I use an upper case “c” as is appropriate for a proper noun, e.g., “the Church of St. Joseph” or “St. Joseph’s Church.” 17 This sketch and the seating plan sketches contained in Chapter 7 were prepared by the author. 17 CHAPTER 2 THE POSTWAR ARCHITECTURAL PROGRAM: MEETING THE NEEDS OF A RAPIDLY GROWING AND CHANGING MEMBERSHIP In this chapter, I discuss the three sets of historical circumstances that inspired the design and construction of the churches considered in this study. First, I consider the swift growth of the local Catholic population in Southern California’s rapidly developing suburbs, which created a need for churches that could be built quickly and economically. Next, I address the desire of the Church’s leadership to create parishes that would attract the next generation of American Catholics – young, educated, middle class, and suburban – just as ethnic urban parishes had once attracted their working class immigrant grandparents and parents. Finally, I examine the newly emerging theological and pastoral emphasis on congregational participation in worship, with its widespread implications for Catholic spirituality, social activism, and education. Accommodating Population Growth and Suburban Development On the most basic level, the program of church building that was undertaken by the Archdiocese of Los Angeles under the leadership of Cardinals McIntyre and Manning was a practical response to four conditions prevailing in the Archdiocese and, indeed, throughout the entire nation, in the decades that followed the Second World War. First, and perhaps most fundamentally, there was a dramatic increase in the number of Catholics who needed places to worship. Second, most of these Catholics were choosing 18 to settle in newly developed suburban neighborhoods where there were no churches yet, or where existing churches were clearly inadequate to accommodate the influx of new residents. Third, like their fellow Americans, these Catholics were caught up in a postwar religious revival that inspired new levels of interest and involvement in parish life. Finally, as new parish congregations were established, and existing parish congregations expanded, to accommodate this rapidly growing population of active suburban Catholics, there was, quite naturally, an intense demand for new churches, schools, and other facilities to serve them. Adjusting to Dramatic Increases in Membership By any statistical measure, the period between 1948 and 1976 was one of phenomenal growth for American Catholicism. In terms of sheer numbers, the American Catholic population almost doubled between 1948 and 1976. In 1948, there were 26.1 million American Catholics, comprising about 19.4% of the country’s population. 1 By 1976, the number of Catholics had grown to 48.9 million, making up about 23.2% of the national population. 2 As of 1960, the midpoint of the period under study here, the Catholic population was growing twice as fast as the rest of the population, and Catholics were, on average, younger and had larger families than other Americans. 3 Between 1940 and 1960, the Catholic share of that segment of the American population that claimed to be affiliated with a church increased from 33% to 37%. 4 19 Nationally, this overall numerical increase was mirrored by other measures of organizational growth. Between 1945 and 1965, the number of American Catholic bishops increased by 58%; priests by 52%; sisters by 30%; and seminarians by 127%. Enrollment in Catholic elementary and grade schools increased by over 120%, and in Catholic colleges by 300%. The Church established 3,005 new elementary and high schools, 94 new colleges, and 123 new hospitals. Over $1.35 billion was distributed through the Church’s two primary charitable organizations, Catholic Relief Services and the Society for the Propagation of the Faith. 5 The statistics are even more impressive for the Archdiocese of Los Angeles. In 1948, there were 625,000 Catholics in the Archdiocese, constituting about 17.3% of the 3,961,800 inhabitants of the four-county region comprising the Archdiocese. 6 By 1976, the number of Catholics had grown to 2,208,989, constituting about 23.4% of the 9,424,906 individuals then living in the four-county region. 7 Thus, while the overall population increased by 138%, the Catholic population increased by 253% during this twenty-eight year span. During the same period, the number of parishes increased from 221 to 319, high schools from 34 to 64, elementary schools from 125 to 267, and hospitals from 18 to 25. 8 Accordingly to some estimates, between 1948 and 1959, new Catholic residents were arriving in the Archdiocese at the rate of 55,000 a year, or more than 1,000 every week. This annual increase in membership due to immigration exceeded the entire membership of at least twenty other American dioceses. 9 Membership also increased rapidly by natural means. For the statistical year 1948, the Archdiocese reported 26,114 baptisms and only 6,143 deaths; for 1976, it reported 65,622 baptisms and 13,373 deaths. 20 Increases in Catholic school enrollments confirm this trend. In 1948, there were 42,926 students enrolled in Archdiocesan grade schools; by 1976, this number had more than doubled to 92,207. Similarly, in 1948 there were 9,084 students enrolled in Archdiocesan high schools; by 1976, this number had quadrupled to 36,323. 10 Adapting to a New Catholic Preference for Suburban Living The booming Catholic population contributed to one of the major phenomena of postwar America: the rapid expansion of suburbia. The general conditions that facilitated suburbia’s growth are briefly addressed here; the demographic and cultural changes that made it possible for Catholics to participate in that growth will be addressed in the next section of this chapter. In the decades following the Second World War, high marriage and birth rates translated into a high number of new families in need of housing. This increased demand coincided with the development of new mass production techniques that made rapid and inexpensive construction of new residential neighborhoods feasible. The Federal Housing Administration (FHA) and Veterans Administration (VA) mortgage insurance programs made it possible for developers to finance such subdivisions prior to construction, and for individuals to purchase homes in them once construction was completed. These programs, together with increasing per capita income, low interest rates, and federal and state tax incentives, made ownership of a new home possible for tens of millions of Americans. Almost all of this new residential development occurred on the edges of the country’s major cities. Land there was plentiful and relatively 21 inexpensive. Affordable automobiles, cheap gasoline, and a massive postwar federally financed highway construction program brought these new suburbs within easy commuting distance of central city business and industrial districts. The perceived benefits of a suburban lifestyle – material comfort, safety, privacy, mobility, good schools, recreational opportunities -- captured the national imagination. It is unsurprising, then, that as the country’s population increased by 50 million between 1950 and 1970, two thirds of that growth was accommodated by the suburbs. 11 As the figures previously cited indicate, the population of Southern California grew rapidly during the three decades following the war. Some of this growth was a function of natural increase, as native Southern Californians married, had children, and formed new families at the same high rates as the rest of the nation. But a sizeable portion was attributable to the arrival of hundreds of thousands of immigrants from other parts of the country. Many had visited the area during or immediately after the war, and liked what they saw. Between a quarter and a third of non-Californians who were processed through military separation centers in the Los Angeles area indicated that they were planning to relocate to the area. 12 Others came looking for work in the region’s booming post-war economy, as its wartime aircraft and shipbuilding infrastructure was converted to such peacetime uses as aerospace, electronics, consumer products manufacturing, and commercial shipping. 13 Still others succumbed to the popular image of Southern California burnished by decades of promotion by real estate developers and the film industry. Most found homes in the new suburban developments sprawling across the Los Angeles Basin and its neighboring valleys. 14 And, as the statistics previously cited indicate, at least a fourth of them were Catholic. 22 As the Second World War ended, Catholics were heavily concentrated in the nation’s urban neighborhoods. They were strongly impacted by the post-war housing shortage, as little new housing had been built in these neighborhoods during the Great Depression and the war. Like other Americans, they felt the siren call of the suburbs and, as we shall see in the next section of this chapter, demographic and cultural change was making it possible for them to join the exodus from their urban neighborhoods. Thus, according to one conservative estimate, at least 2.5 million Catholics relocated from urban to suburban neighborhoods between the early 1940s and 1956. 15 According to another estimate, there were 8 million Catholics living in some 2,000 suburban parishes by 1958. 16 Making the Most of the Postwar Religious Revival Catholics participated in another major American postwar phenomenon: a revival of interest in religion. 17 Although no one at the time doubted that the growth of membership in American religious denominations was keeping pace with the growth of the general population, 18 many believed that membership was in fact growing faster than the population. 19 Indeed, there was a general perception that rising membership, both absolutely and in proportion to the population, was being driven by an upsurge of interest in religion. 20 Thus, one postwar observer was inspired to proclaim, “A new interest in religion has surged through the land.” 21 Another asserted that, by the mid-1950s, American denominations were stronger than they had been at any time in the twentieth century. 22 23 At the time, many attributed Americans’ renewed interest in religion to the disastrous wars and economic depressions they had experienced during the first half of the century, the uncertainties attendant upon scientific and technological advances, and the specter of universal annihilation raised by the use of nuclear weapons at the close of the Second World War. 23 In the words of one author: The history of the last fifty years indicates the chaos that results when the world turns its back on Christian ideals. Scientific discovery and development have outpaced spiritual growth, and man is no longer able to control his own inventions. 24 As the Cold War intensified and anxiety grew over the threats posed by communism, overpopulation, poverty, and a host of other ills, religion seemed to offer the inspiration many Americans needed to address these challenges. 25 Some social critics of the time viewed the religious revival as largely a matter of social utility and conformity. But Catholic sociologist Andrew Greeley was willing to venture that “it is at least possible that the froth of religiosity may arise from an authentic spiritual ferment.” Analyzing the “relatively high level of religious practice” among post-war American Catholics, Greeley observed indicia of genuinely spiritual motivation beyond mere “social utility.” He also predicted that “the contemporary upswing in interest in religion may well provide a golden opportunity” for American Catholics -- a prediction that came true, as we shall see in the next section of this chapter. 26 Satisfying the Infrastructure Demands of Growing Suburban Parishes During the postwar period, American Christians of all denominations, not just Catholics, were faced with the challenges and opportunities presented by membership 24 growth, suburban expansion, and increased interest in religion. The postwar convergence of these three phenomena, then, had a predictable impact on the demand for “infrastructure” by American congregations of every denomination. In the three decades following the Second World War, the United States experienced an unprecedented ecclesiastical building boom. In 1945, annual construction costs for churches and church-related buildings totaled just $10 million; by 1957, the annual figure had risen to $900 million, with regular increases anticipated over the next ten years. 27 One “low” estimate predicted that between 1955 and 1965, 70,000 new or substantially altered churches and synagogues would be constructed at cost of nearly $6 billion, together with 12,500 related buildings at a cost of $1.25 billion. 28 The estimated cost figures for the period of 1962 through 1972 totaled $13 billion. 29 In 1951, one observer confidently proclaimed, “We are beginning a great and meaningful period of church building.” The coming years, this observer predicted, would witness “the gradual development of a great modern art suitable to the church and suitable to our age.” 30 Another observer later characterized the activity of the 1950s as “the most frantic, extensive church building boom since the London fire of the 17 th century.” 31 In view of the factors just discussed, it should come as no surprise that Catholics were major participants in the postwar boom in church and church-related construction. Indeed, according to historian Charles Morris, during the 1950s most American Catholic bishops “had time to think of little else but keeping pace with their congregations’ break- neck growth.” 32 By the end of the Second World War there was already some degree of pent-up demand, as construction of many long-planned projects had been delayed during 25 the previous fifteen years by the Great Depression and the war itself. 33 The greatest demand for building, however, was in newly developed suburban neighborhoods. 34 As Morris notes: In many of the old-line dioceses, Catholics built virtually brand-new infrastructures two separate times in a single decade – one immediately after the war, when urban Catholics made the jump from center cities to the first ring of suburbs, and the a second time later in the 1950s, when newly affluent Catholics moved out to the second and third suburban rings. 35 According to one estimate, by the late 1950s four new Catholic churches were being opened in the country every week. 36 No diocese in the country undertook a more ambitious postwar building program than the Archdiocese of Los Angeles. The program included not only churches, but also rectories, convents, social halls, elementary schools, high schools, hospitals, and charitable institutions of every kind. This program was, of course, only one dimension of the Archdiocese’s response to the phenomenal growth it was experiencing as Southern California’s postwar suburbs boomed. That experience was a matter of great national interest, as Greeley observed in 1959: Exactly what the suburban expansion can mean to the Church is shown in that most suburban of all dioceses, Los Angeles . . . . Despite the tremendous efforts of the clergy and laity of the diocese, many, many years will be necessary before the effects of the suburban boom on the Church are brought under control. In this way, as in so many others, Los Angeles may well point the way to complications of the future. What happens there today will happen in ten other dioceses within a very few years. 37 The Archdiocese of Los Angeles, then, offers an ideal laboratory for examining Catholic church design as it emerged in postwar American suburbia. Between 1948 and 1976, more than 250 new churches were built in the Archdiocese. Some were built by older parishes in urban or suburban neighborhoods that had been developed before the 26 war, where postwar affluence now enabled the long delayed replacement of aging or outgrown churches. Most, however, were built by existing parishes whose small town or rural territories were being rapidly transformed into burgeoning postwar suburbs, or by newly established parishes created specifically to serve newly developed neighborhoods. How, as a practical matter, did the leadership of the Archdiocese handle this demand for new infrastructure? First, it established clear priorities, and then it strengthened existing procedures to insure careful management of the design and construction process. Shortly after arriving in Los Angeles in 1948, Cardinal McIntyre made it clear that building grand churches – including the new Gothic Revival cathedral on Wilshire Boulevard that had been planned by his predecessor – was not a high priority. He announced that, in a region experiencing growth without parallel “in any country at any time,” the “greatest need” was for new Catholic schools. The Archdiocese, McIntyre believed, had no choice but to help Catholic parents honor their “primary obligation” to provide a Catholic education for their children. Such an education, he believed, taught “love and respect” for God and “loyalty and devotion” to the country. It prepared children to “crusade against Communistic tendencies of our times and against all forms of ideology that beggar the individual of his freedom under God.” 38 McIntyre’s policy decision had two major consequences. First, virtually every new Catholic parish opened a school within a year or two of being established. Second, no new Catholic parish built a “permanent” church until all other parish facilities – a “temporary” church suitable for eventual conversion into a multipurpose hall or gymnasium, a full school, a convent to 27 house the sisters teaching in the school, and a rectory to house the priests serving in the parish, had been completed and, to an appreciable extent, paid off. A second key aspect of McIntyre’s building program was his insistence on careful management, a penchant shared by his successor, Cardinal Manning (who had himself played a key role in McIntyre’s building program while still an assistant bishop). According to Msgr. Francis J. Weber, the Archdiocese’s historian, “. . . by the late 1950s, the ecclesial building program in the Los Angeles archdiocese had become a model for other areas of the Church in the United States.” 39 The process for constructing a new church or other building was an efficient one, in part because the authority to make decisions was concentrated in relatively few individuals. If the pastor of a parish believed that his congregation needed – and could afford to pay for – a new building, he contacted the Archbishop’s central administrative office -- commonly known as “the Chancery.” If an initial administrative review determined that the request had merit, it was placed on the agenda of the Archbishop’s Board of Consultors – an advisory board consisting of assistant bishops and priests selected by the Archbishop. If the Archbishop and his Consultors decided to approve the request, they also considered and confirmed the pastor’s choice of an architect, and established a preliminary budget for the project. Immediately after the war, the practice was to cap project budgets so that the cost to an established parish would not exceed twice the amount that had already been raised for the project, and the cost to a new parish would not exceed an amount that could be paid off within ten years given the parish’s current income. Parishes were permitted to borrow from the Archdiocese if it had the funds available, or from private lenders subject to the Chancery’s approval of all loan terms. Following the Archbishop’s and Consultors’ 28 approval, the pastor was authorized to contact the architect, whose fee and contract were subject to approval by the Chancery and the Archdiocese’s general counsel. At no point was the pastor authorized to enter into contracts on his own. Once preliminary plans were drawn, they were submitted to an Archdiocesan Building Committee whose membership consisted of pastors appointed by the Archbishop, and usually one of his assistant bishops – Manning served in this capacity for an extended period. The Building Committee reviewed the preliminary plans, offered directions and suggestions, reviewed and commented upon any subsequent revisions to the plans, and then eventually approved some final version of the plans. The Building Committee’s action was referred for review to the Archbishop and Consultors, who resolved any disputed issues, gave final approval to the plans, and confirmed a construction budget. At that point, the project went out to bid; the bidding process was handled by the Chancery, and typically the lowest bidder received the job. The Archbishop could choose to intervene at any point in the process, and all decisions ultimately belonged to him. Indeed, the minutes of the Building Committee reflect that McIntyre often sat in on meetings involving projects that were of particular interest to him. Specific issues – for example, the design of a church tower – were sometimes referred to him for a final decision, either alone or in consultation with the pastor and the architect. 40 The basic process described above was in place by the late 1930s. It appears that, prior to McIntyre’s arrival, the process was conducted primarily by the Archbishop and the Building Committee, with little formal involvement by the Consultors. McIntyre formalized the Consultors’ role, appointed a professional director of construction 29 operations, and oversaw the implementation of a series of directives covering every aspect of the building process. 41 As previously noted, the architect for a new church was selected by the pastor of the parish, subject to the Archbishop’s and Consultors’ approval. The Archdiocese maintained a list of approved architects whose work had proven to be satisfactory, and pastors generally chose from this list, apparently based upon advice from other pastors and a general familiarity with each architect’s work. Although this was a relatively small group, most of the architects involved were, as we shall see, extremely versatile, designing churches in a variety of styles during the twenty-eight years under consideration here. Occasionally, however, a pastor selected a member of his parish or another local architect, and it appears that these selections were generally approved after an investigation of the proposed architect’s credentials. Attracting and Serving a New Generation of Catholics American Catholicism underwent a tremendous transformation during the three decades following the Second World War. The “separatist culture” that had long sheltered and unified American Catholics dissipated as they chose to assimilate into mainstream American culture. As native born American Catholics came to outnumber those who had been born abroad, Catholics became more numerous, better educated, and more affluent. They left their religiously and ethnically homogenous urban neighborhoods and resettled in the “melting pot” suburbs. As they gained wider 30 acceptance in American society, they achieved prominence in the spheres of politics and popular culture. 42 These social, economic, and cultural changes, coupled with the extensive reforms that swept through the Church itself following the Second Vatican Council, posed unprecedented challenges for American Catholics and their leaders. Addressing those challenges became a key part of the Church’s postwar architectural program. The Rise and Decline of Catholic Separatism and the “State-Within-A-State” Catholicism, like almost every other religion practiced in the United States, was brought to the country by immigrants. Initially, Catholics were viewed in a favorable light by their fellow Americans. The Catholic community was relatively small, and its leaders had a great deal in common, both culturally and economically, with the leaders of other Christian denominations. By the mid-1800s, however, with the first large waves of Irish and German Catholic immigration, this began to change. In a predominantly Anglo Saxon Protestant society, the Catholic community’s increasingly “foreign” character became a matter of concern. This concern deepened and spread during the ensuing decades as new waves of Catholics arrived from southern and eastern Europe. Historic Protestant antipathy toward Catholicism, combined with ethnic prejudice and contempt for the newcomers’ poverty and lack of education, pushed Catholics to the social and economic margins of American society. 43 Greeley has succinctly summarized the consequences of this marginalization: American discrimination against religious ethnic groups was strong enough to forge a bond of unity within these groups and yet not strong enough to impose 31 serious disadvantages on members of the group which would lead them to apostatize in order to achieve social mobility. 44 American Catholic immigrants, then, while not deprived of all opportunity in their new homeland, nevertheless developed a sense of being separated from the American social, economic, and cultural mainstream. This separatism imposed from without was coupled with a complementary force from within the Catholic immigrant community. Coming from the homogenous Catholic cultures of their homelands, immigrants were accustomed to religion playing a pervasive role in their daily lives, both public and private. Their religious leaders were likewise accustomed to holding privileged and influential positions in the community. In American society, however, the government insisted on a rigid separation of church and state, refused to recognize any one religion as the “true” religion, and facilitated the steady secularization of American society. The solution advocated by American Catholic leaders, and fully supported by their followers, was the creation of a Catholic “state- within-a-state”: The goal was to make it possible for an American Catholic to carry out almost every activity of life – education, health care, marriage and social life, union membership, retirement and old age care – within a distinctly Catholic environment. 45 In other words, “The old conundrum of how to adapt to American-style separation of Church and State was finessed by building a Catholic ministate.” 46 From the 1920s through the 1960s, the achievement of this goal was enthusiastically pursued. Catholics established their own elementary and high schools, colleges and universities, hospitals, unions, professional organizations, social clubs, literary societies, charities, athletic leagues, youth organizations, senior citizens’ clubs, 32 and retirement homes. During this period, “Catholics could live almost their entire lives within a thick cocoon of Catholic institutions.” 47 Indeed, the ready availability of these “cradle to grave services” limited the interaction of most Catholics with non-Catholics outside the workplace. 48 By the mid-1960s, however, this “separatist ethos that had been the source of so much Catholic organizational strength” was gradually unraveling as Catholics became assimilated into the American mainstream. 49 As we shall see, this was the result of a convergence of factors: higher levels of educational, occupational, and economic achievement; the shift of Catholics from the cities to the suburbs; and the increasing prominence of Catholics in American life. By the 1970s, the new question was whether American Catholicism “could sustain itself as a freestanding religion without the support of the separatist subculture that had been its great bulwark against American secularism.” 50 Postwar Improvements in the Educational and Economic Standing of American Catholics During the period under study here, American Catholics experienced dramatic demographic change. As we have already seen, the number of Catholics increased dramatically, especially in the Archdiocese of Los Angeles. But the change went well beyond mere numerical increase. Prior to the Second World War, few Catholics, whether immigrants or the offspring of immigrants, could afford the cost of a college education. The Servicemen’s 33 Readjustment Act of 1944 (popularly known as the “G.I. Bill”), with its generous educational benefits for returning war veterans, made higher education far more accessible, producing the first generation of college-educated-Catholics. 51 As the youthful American population expanded rapidly over the next three decades, and the percentage of this population attending college increased from 7% in 1940 to 32% in 1970, Catholics kept pace with the overall trend. 52 By 1970, American Catholics were, on average, as well educated as their fellow Americans. 53 Unsurprisingly, improved economic and professional standing followed educational gains. At the end of World War II, “the standard measures of economic ranking still showed a distinct Catholic skew toward the lower classes.” By 1970, however, Catholics were indistinguishable from other Americans in terms of the occupations they pursued, and they had a considerable advantage in income. 54 While in 1960 Catholics were only 80% as likely as non-Catholics to be employed in professional or managerial positions, by 1976 this distinction too had disappeared. 55 By 1971, Greeley could declare that Catholics under the age of forty were “economically, educationally, and occupationally indistinguishable from their fellow Americans.” 56 The Relocation of American Catholics From Homogenous Ethnic Urban Neighborhoods to “Melting Pot” Suburbs As successive waves of Catholic immigrants arrived in the United States, they settled in the cities, where unskilled jobs and inexpensive housing were relatively 34 plentiful. Ethnic groups clustered in neighborhoods that became increasing homogenous as additional immigrants arrived. Two kinds of Catholic parishes developed in these urban neighborhoods. A “territorial parish” served all English-speaking Catholics living within the defined geographical boundaries of the parish. As a practical matter, the members of a territorial parish were almost exclusively Irish. A “national” or “personal” parish served all Catholics speaking a particular language for who whom it was the closest national parish. For example, a German national parish served all German-speaking Catholics for whom it was the closest German national parish. In the large Eastern and Midwestern cities where most immigrants initially settled, there were scores of parishes serving German, French, Spanish, Italian, Croatian, Hungarian, Polish, Lithuanian, Bohemian, Ukrainian, Ruthenian, and other immigrant groups. 57 In these parishes, sermons were preached, religious instruction was given, and popular devotional services were conducted in the designated language; ethnic festivals and customs were observed; and social and charitable activities were geared toward members of the designated ethnic group. Despite this diversity at the individual parish level, leadership at the diocesan level was almost always Irish. Accordingly, all Catholics were held to high “Irish” levels of religious observance, even if the level of religious observance in an immigrant’s own homeland was somewhat more lax. Thus, members of all ethnic groups were assimilated into what historian Charles Morris has called “the hybrid, predominantly Irish-American, brand of American Catholicism.” Under the leadership of predominately Irish bishops, the American Catholic Church “managed the signal feat of assimilating successive 35 immigrant groups who had arrived with quite different religious histories to a Catholic practice standard that was arguably the highest in the world.” 58 As we saw in the previous section of this chapter, in the years following the Second World War the Catholic population began to shift from the cities to the suburbs. As members of the newer generation decided to settle in the suburbs, either locally or in other parts of the country, instead of the “old neighborhood,” and as neighborhood residents themselves chose to relocate, the ethnic and religious make-up of these neighborhoods changed. Urban parishes which had long enjoyed stability and reputation lost membership and income. Their extensive facilities became under-utilized and under- maintained. Those who decided to stay, possessed of a deep loyalty to the parishes and neighborhoods that had served their families for decades, felt as if they were under siege. Their resistance to, and prejudice against, newcomers to their neighborhoods echoed the treatment that had once been directed against American Catholic immigrants. 59 For Greeley, this transition from “slum to suburbia” is both “symbol and summary” of the shift of American Catholics from their immigrant and working class roots to native born, middle class, educated, professional status. 60 At the same time, it was a key major factor in the breakdown of the culture of separatism that had for so long characterized American Catholicism. The postwar suburbs were a “great experiment in social mixing,” scrambling “traditional ethnic and social categories.” 61 Newly suburbanized Catholics, who had been accustomed to socializing almost exclusively with Catholics of the same ethnic ancestry, found themselves in entirely new communities, with an entirely new range of “neighborly alliances.” 62 Postwar suburbanites tended to be grouped by economic class, 36 not religion or ethnicity. 63 As we shall see, this situation presented a dilemma for American Catholic leaders who wanted to attract and serve a new generation of Catholics who were now living in an environment very different from that of the “old neighborhood.” The Acceptance of American Catholics into the Political and Cultural Mainstream As Catholics became acquainted with their suburban neighbors, their neighbors became acquainted with them. Unquestionably, Catholics’ move to the suburbs hastened their acceptance by other Americans. 64 In his 1955 study Protestant-Catholic-Jew, sociologist Will Herberg argued that the United States could no longer be described as a Protestant country, since Catholics and Jews had blended into the mainstream. According to Herberg, the religious underpinnings of the “American Way of Life” now rested on not one, but three “great conglomerates.” 65 The Postwar Role of Catholics in American Politics From the very beginning, the development of the separatist Catholic “ministate” was balanced by American Catholics’ fervent patriotism. Newly arrived immigrants embraced their new homeland with enthusiasm, grateful for the personal freedom and economic opportunities it provided despite the less than warm welcome they had sometimes received. They, in turn, carefully nurtured the patriotism of their native-born 37 offspring. Loyalty to country was cultivated in the home, reinforced on a daily basis in the Catholic school, and praised from the pulpit every Sunday at Mass. This ardent patriotism was passed down to the second and third native-born generations. According to Morris, “By the end of World War I, the loyalty of American Catholics was as unquestioned as it was unquestioning.” 66 Notwithstanding the separatist subculture they had created, American Catholics and their leaders felt a sense of obligation to transform American society as a whole. During the first two decades after the Second World War, the American Catholic bishops adopted and pursued a public agenda whose aim was nothing less than “the restoration and reconstruction of a ‘Christian culture’ in the United States and the Western world.” 67 To achieve this goal, the bishops declared war on the twin evils of atheistic communism and godless secularism, both at home and abroad. 68 Socially progressive, union-minded Catholics added a third foe: unfettered capitalism. 69 According to historian James Fisher, anti-communism was the “dominant political issue” in American Catholic life, and American life generally, from the end of the Second World War through the early 1960s. For Catholics, it “offered a vehicle for blending patriotic and religious concerns in a manner that would finally put to rest nativist suspicions concerning their legitimacy as full-fledged Americans.” 70 Like the vast majority of other Americans, most American Catholics derided communist economic policies, and harbored contempt for the totalitarian forms of communism practiced in the Soviet Union, Eastern Europe, and the People’s Republic of China. Catholic leaders reserved their most vociferous condemnations, however, for communism’s atheistic 38 character and the widespread persecution of Christians, particularly Catholics, in communist countries. 71 In no small part due to Catholics’ high profile leadership in the crusade against communism, by the eve of the 1960 presidential election, for most Americans, “the answer to whether or not a person could be a good Catholic and a good American was a resounding yes.” 72 The ensuing election of John F. Kennedy was rife with symbolism for American Catholics. According to historian Patrick Carey, it signaled both the elimination of one final barrier to Catholics’ full participation in American political life, and “the culmination of an era of Catholic confidence and transition.” 73 At the same, in Morris’ view, Kennedy’s election, although “hailed as the Church’s greatest triumph,” was an indicator that “the old separatist, ethnic wellsprings of Catholic power were finally running dry.” 74 Catholics’ high profile role in national politics did not end with Kennedy’s tragic assassination, but continued throughout the 1960s and into the 1970s. Catholic groups and individuals, most notably the Catholic Worker movement and the brother priests Philip and Joseph Berrigan, were prominent leaders in both the civil rights movement and the protests of the Vietnam War. 75 Two Catholics ran for president in 1968 – Robert Kennedy and Eugene McCarthy. 76 Cesar Chavez, with the support of the Catholic bishops, led the fight to unionize agricultural workers. 77 Catholics exercised leadership in conservative as well as liberal causes – William F. Buckley is only the most prominent example. 78 39 The Postwar Role of Catholics in American Culture As we have seen, the two decades that followed the Second World War were characterized by a renewed interest in religious matters, presenting, in Greeley’s estimation, a “golden opportunity” for American Catholics. Catholics were quick to take advantage of the mass communications media to get their spiritual and moral message across in the postwar cultural marketplace. New television and radio programs were specifically geared to the newly educated and affluent middle class, both Catholic and non-Catholic. The slogans promoted by these programs became national catch phrases: “The family that prays together, stays together,” originated by Father Patrick Peyton for his Family Rosary Crusade and later extended to his “Family Theater” radio and television programs; “It is better to light one candle than to curse the darkness,” created by Father James Keller for his television program “Christopher Closeup”; and “Life is Worth Living,” the slogan and title of Bishop Fulton Sheen’s tremendously popular television program that ran from 1952 to 1957. 79 Catholic spiritual and moral influence extended beyond popular programming. One of the best selling books in 1948 was The Seven Storey Mountain, the spiritual autobiography of Thomas Merton, a Trappist monk. The continuing popularity of Merton’s writings, which covered a wide range of topics touching upon the contemplative life, were, according to Carey, “indicative of the wider search for spiritual depth in an American culture beset with Cold War anxieties and organizational and technical manipulations that absorbed the individual in the externals of human and social 40 life.” 80 Merton’s reflective bent was counterbalanced by the popular writings of outspoken activist Dorothy Day, co-founder of the Catholic Worker movement. 81 In the years following the war, Catholics assumed a new prominence in American popular culture that extended beyond the spiritual and moral spheres. Catholic priests were positively portrayed in several films, most notably by Bing Crosby in Going My Way (1944) and The Bells of St. Mary’s (1945), and by Karl Malden in On the Waterfront (1954). Other popular postwar films portraying aspects of Catholic culture included Heaven Knows, Mr. Allison (1957), The Nun’s Story (1959), The Cardinal (1963), The Sound of Music (1965), The Singing Nun (1966), The Trouble With Angels (1966), and The Shoes of the Fisherman (1968). Newly minted television and recording stars, while they did not wear their religion on their sleeves, presented a public face for Catholicism, especially in their support of Catholic charities. These stars included Ed Sullivan, Jackie Gleason, Loretta Young, Danny Thomas, and Perry Como. Novelist Flannery O’Connor wrote popular novels with Catholic themes, and Jack Kerouac wrote about his Catholic upbringing. Among the Catholic celebrities who captured the popular imagination were actress-turned-princess Grace Kelly and the members of the extended Kennedy family, especially the first lady of America’s own Camelot, Jackie Kennedy. 82 Indeed, by the late 1950s, in Morris’ estimation, no outside observer examining American popular culture and mores would have concluded “that Catholicism was an alien religion, or that Catholics were an embattled minority, or that the Church was anything less than a dominant, possibly the dominant, religious and cultural influence in the country.” 83 41 The Multiple Roles of the Postwar Suburban Parish A desire to preserve Catholic identity, to battle the spiritual hazards posed by suburban affluence and indifference, to support the Catholic family, and to nurture parishioner involvement led to the emergence of a new model for American Catholic congregations: the postwar suburban parish. Writing in 1959, Greeley attempted to put this phenomenon into a historical and sociological perspective: The hypothesis might be hazarded that the American parish has always been a social service organization and that in different circumstances the type of service offered has been different. The ‘national’ parishes attempted to meet the problems of the new immigrants; in the new suburban neighborhood the parish is trying to meet the needs of the third generation. The transition from Old Neighborhood to suburb then is not a transition from religious practice to non- practice, but rather from one type of social service to another. On the whole, the transition is not being made too badly. 84 Preserving Catholic Identity The postwar exodus of native-born American Catholics from ethnic urban neighborhoods to the suburbs posed a dilemma for the Church’s leadership. In Morris’ assessment, “The old-line bishops instinctively understood that strength lay in a prickly apartness from America’s great leveling engine, a proud declaration of difference.” 85 Newly suburbanized Catholics, no longer “insulated from the infection of pagan influences” in the “old neighborhood,” would find themselves “in the main line of the enemy’s fire.” 86 In the ethnic and religious “melting pot” of the suburbs, there was a danger that Catholics might embrace the common -- but in the eyes of America’s Catholic leaders, erroneous and insidious -- American notion that one religion is 42 practically as good as another. 87 Thus, with the relocation of Catholics to the suburbs, the Catholic leadership’s “successful strategy of creating a virtually self-contained urban Catholic social structure was placed at risk.” 88 The key to solving this dilemma, as it turned out, was to capitalize on the desire, common among Americans, to forge some distinctive personal and social identity that would survive the great American “melting pot.” Even if American Catholics were to cast aside their ethnic and working class identities, their religious identity could still be preserved. Historian Martin Marty describes the phenomenon this way: . . . what the son wants to forget the grandson wants to remember. The Polish or Italian Catholic immigrant child could and would have to leave behind the Old Country language and customs. The grandchild would try to do some retrieving. It was possible to recapture names and menus and the décor of life. For substance, the most recoverable element was the religion of the grandparents. 89 In Protestant-Catholic-Jew, Herberg made a similar argument. If the assimilation of Catholics into the American mainstream was one side of the coin, the other side was a strengthened allegiance to the Church, because it provided a sense of communal identity as a substitute for ethnic identity. 90 Greeley, writing in 1959, observed that “not too many years ago” European social scientists had warned that: . . . as the national parishes broke up and the third generation of immigrants become thoroughly Americanized, there would be an inevitable tendency to drift away from the Church, since the Church in its national-parish manifestation would be part of the Old World culture which the new American would reject. 91 But, according to Greeley, these social scientists had “made the mistake of assuming that the drift away from Old World religion, which indeed was characteristic of the second generation, would continue in the third.” In fact, Greeley asserts, with a nod to Herberg, “the tendency of the third generation is rather to drift back into religious practice as it 43 seeks some sort of social identity.” 92 One of the key roles of the postwar suburban parish, then, was to support that religious practice and reinforce that social identity. Safeguarding Catholic Spiritual Life and Social Consciousness An equally urgent concern for America’s Catholic leadership was that suburban Catholics would lose, not only their distinctive identities, but their souls as well. There was no question that Catholics, “in their pursuit of suburbia, wealth, respectability, and a place in the American sun,” would be susceptible to “the spiritual bankruptcy of bourgeois-mindedness.” 93 Greeley, speaking as a Catholic priest rather than a sociologist, was willing to concede that the Catholic suburbanite was “not a crass materialist,” and that “he and his fellows . . . have reached a level of observable religious practice seldom, if ever, surpassed by a large group of people in the history of the Church.” 94 At the same time, the suburbanite, insulated from the larger economic and social realities of his time, would be tempted to “retreat from the human race into his own comfortable little bailiwick and ignore the sufferings and struggle of the rest of humanity.” 95 Thus, in Greeley’s estimation: Suburbia’s sins of commission may be few, but its sins of omission are many . . . . The real tragedy of many a suburban Catholic is not that he is bad, but that he is capable of so much more good. 96 The postwar suburban parish, it was hoped, would counterbalance the tendency toward spiritual and social indifference which “living the good life” in suburbia might well engender in America’s Catholics. 44 Supporting the Catholic Family In the years following the Second World War, according to historian Thomas McAvoy, “there were two bastions of Catholic life: the Catholic family and the Sunday Mass.” 97 There was serious concern that suburbia would expose Catholics to “concepts of marriage and family life alien and hostile to Christian belief.” 98 Accordingly, the primary gauge of success for the postwar suburban parish would be its ability to attract the young Catholics families who were putting down roots in the new suburbs in phenomenal numbers. The indisputable hallmark of the postwar suburban parish became its emphasis on family, home, marriage, and, most especially, children. Indeed, this almost singular focus led Greeley to comment in 1959: “It is very much to be feared that the Catholic suburbanite thinks of his parish primarily as a place for his children.” 99 In keeping with this family orientation, the parish school was the center of postwar suburban parish life. But because affluence and suburbia afforded both time and space for organized social activities of all kinds, the suburban parish also became a social center, offering a “never-ending bustle of activities” for all of its members, from the youngest to the oldest. These activities cultivated a sense of loyalty to the parish and, perhaps more importantly, a sense of personal and group identification as a Catholic. 100 One of the most popular groups in many suburban parishes was its local chapter of the Christian Family Movement, or “CFM,” a national Catholic organization founded in the Midwest in the late 1940s. CFM couples met on a regular basis in each other’s homes to reflect on their own lives and to study and discuss the larger issues of the day, 45 using an “observe, judge, and act” methodology. They would then plan and implement service projects and social events for their own families and for the parish as a whole. 101 Thus, this single organization embraced three of the goals of the postwar suburban parish: preserving Catholic identity, safeguarding spiritual and social consciousness, and supporting family life. It also pioneered a fourth goal: nurturing parishioner involvement. Nurturing Parishioner Involvement The emergence of the postwar suburban parish marked a shift in the interpersonal dynamics of parish life. Unlike the urban ethnic parish of an earlier generation, the pastor was no longer the “unquestioned ruler” of the community, faced as he now was with a congregation of educated parishioners who were “skeptical of naked authority.” 102 Suburban parishioners demanded a high degree of competence from their priests. At the same time, they began to undertake – whether by demand or necessity – some of the tasks that had previously been reserved to the clergy. 103 Although some observers expressed concern that suburban parish priests were assuming a role akin to recreation directors, in fact they were becoming more like team leaders or coordinators. 104 This shift in parish dynamics was partly a consequence of overworked priests who were ready to begin delegating duties and educated parishioners who were “yearning for participation in . . . parish affairs.” 105 But it was also a function of a new appreciation of the possibilities for the average parishioner. As Greeley expressed it, “The educated, independent, suburbanite parishioner could become a zealous, dedicated lay apostle bearing witness to the Word of God in areas the priest could never reach.” 106 46 One area in which parishioner involvement was welcomed was the organization of fundraising drives for new parish facilities. For new suburban pastors, the prospect of building out an entire parish campus within five to ten years was a daunting one, especially given the risks that new facilities might be rapidly outgrown and that the pressing need to repay debt would become an all consuming concern. 107 According to Morris, “as the suburban diaspora outraced Catholic infrastructure,” educated middle- class parishioners “inevitably assumed more responsibility for organizing parishes, negotiating for land, and reviewing building plans.” 108 As we have seen, however, the procedure for building churches in the Archdiocese of Los Angeles did not include any formal mechanism for receiving input from parishioners, or seeking their review or approval once plans had been drawn. Although individual pastors might choose to consult parishioners, especially prospective major donors and those with experience in architecture or construction, there was no obligation that they do so. The option that was available to average parishioners, however, was to vote with their pocketbooks. If parishioners lacked enthusiasm for a proposed project, they would not give generously, nor would they volunteer time for the massive fundraising and pledge commitment drives that were a regular feature of life in new suburban parishes. While this periodic fund raising did indeed serve the important function of building up a sense community, 109 it also helped to insure that projects were consistent with the desires and tastes of parishioners. 47 A Troubling Time of Transition Throughout the 1950s and into the mid-1960s, America’s postwar suburban parishes flourished. Thanks largely to this new organizational model for local congregations, it appeared that American Catholics had successfully negotiated the hazardous move from homogenous urban neighborhoods to “melting pot” suburbs with their Catholic identities fully intact. But the late 1960s and early 1970s were to bring more change for American Catholics. While the postwar suburban parish continued to endure, it now did so under very different circumstances. The Second Vatican Council The breakdown of Catholic separatism received validation and new impetus from the Second Vatican Council, a convention of the world’s Catholic bishops that opened in 1962 and lasted until 1965. As a relatively recent event, the Council’s implications and consequences remain a source of lively debate. The majority view, however, is that the Council “breathed new life into the church and opened new possibilities for the way in which the church related to and ministered in the contemporary world.” 110 One of the fundamental ideas that emerged from the Council was a new self- conception of the Catholic Church as the “People of God.” 111 This concept emphasized the “historical, human, and communal” dimensions of the Church and, in turn, “this historical view of human and Christian existence helped to produce a new consciousness 48 of the church’s presence in the world and a new willingness to dialogue with the modern mentality.” 112 The theological and institutional reforms introduced in the wake of the Council were wide ranging, and a comprehensive discussion of them is beyond the scope of this study. They embraced matters of internal organization and decision making, relations with other religious groups and civil governments, ministerial roles, teaching methods, individual moral behavior, and intellectual dissent, among many others. They also included reforms in the Church’s manner of worship, as we shall see in the next section of this chapter. A Convergence of Changes These extensive changes within the larger Catholic Church followed upon, or coincided with, the changes in the American Catholic experience that we have just reviewed, including those involving changing demographics, the relocation of Catholics to the suburbs, the assimilation of Catholics into the American mainstream, and the emergence of the postwar suburban parish as the successor to the prewar urban ethnic parish. Thus, in the late 1960s and early 1970s, Catholics found themselves “caught in the intersection of two transitions,” a situation both “fascinating” and “frightening” that “produced a situation of great and at times critical instability.” 113 In the opinion of Greeley, writing in 1971: There are few phenomena in contemporary Catholic life in the United States that cannot be explained by the fact that the transition from slums to suburbia has occurred at almost the exact same time that by good chance or bad chance the 49 universal Church is moving from the post-Tridentine age[ 114 ] to the post-Vatican age. 115 This perspective challenges the common misconception that the dramatic changes in American Catholic life that followed the close of the Second Vatican Council in 1965 were solely, or even primarily, a consequence of the reforms adopted by the Council. In fact, historians are in general agreement that most of these reforms were well underway before the Council opened, although the pace of change accelerated as trends and proposals received official recognition, sanction, and implementation. 116 In any event, it is indisputable that most American Catholics were experiencing a sense of disorientation and impending crisis as the Council’s reforms were being implemented in the late 1960s and early 1970’s. Compounding this overall sense of dislocation was the fact that the changes following the Council coincided with, in Carey’s words, “a time of revolutionary change in American political and cultural life.” According to Carey, broader social phenomena, including unrest over the Vietnam War, racial tensions, student rebellions, changing sexual mores, and women’s liberation, magnified the impact of the Council’s reforms on American Catholics, producing “a period of unprecedented turmoil and change.” 117 Consequences and Challenges It was against this background of converging changes that “the Catholic Church, like many other American institutions during the 1960s and early 1970s, suffered for the first time in its history a massive loss of membership, a decline in the statistics of institutional identification, and a weakening of authority or influence over significant 50 areas of moral life.” 118 Although a full analysis of this phenomenon is beyond the scope of this study, some key indicators will convey an idea of its scope. As previously noted, at least one historian has opined that Sunday Mass and the family were the “two bastions of Catholic life” during the immediate postwar era. 119 In a remarkable turn of events, the percentage of Catholics attending Mass every Sunday declined from 75% to 70% between 1958 and 1964, then to just over 50% before leveling off by 1978. Although the decline prior to 1964 has been attributed to an demographic increase in the age groups least likely to attend Mass (teenagers and young adults), the later decline may reflect a rejection of specific church teachings, a de-emphasis on the spiritual consequences of missing Mass, or the results of increased affluence and assimilation. 120 Another trend of which most Catholics were painfully aware was the large number of individuals leaving their vocations as priests and sisters in the late 1960s and throughout the 1970s. These defections--whether motivated by a desire to marry, resistance to authority, or dissatisfaction with a highly regulated lifestyle—had, when coupled with a steep decline in the number of young people seeking to become priests and sisters, dramatic statistical results. In 1964, there were 47,500 Catholic priests in the United States; by 1984, there were only 12,000. During roughly the same period, the number of sisters declined from 180,000 in 1964 to 130,000 in 1980. 121 Greeley, writing in 1970, identified declining vocations, low morale among priests and religious, and anti- clericalism as among the key problems facing the American Catholic Church. 122 The effects of this trend at the parish level were readily apparent: fewer priests working in the parish, and fewer sisters working in the schools. Parishioners stepped into 51 the breach, assuming responsibility for teaching in the Catholic schools, teaching religion to students enrolled in public schools, instructing converts, coordinating parish organizations, managing finances and facilities, and, as we will see, conducting public worship. The sense of crisis was heightened by some former priests’ outspoken criticism of the Church’s leadership, and by high profile conflicts between conservative church leaders and groups of sisters attempting to update their communities. Perhaps the most publicized of these conflicts occurred within the Archdiocese of Los Angeles in 1967. The Immaculate Heart Sisters, desiring to conform their ministry and lifestyle to the modernizing spirit of Vatican II, adopted a number of internal changes, including a more democratic form of governance and allowing members to choose careers other than teaching. Cardinal McIntyre opposed a number of these changes; his attempts to exert his authority over the community and disagreements within the community itself eventually resulted in a division of the community into two parts, one of which retained the status of an officially sanctioned religious order, and the other of which became a lay community. 123 Yet another critical shift came into clear focus in 1968, with the publication of Pope Paul VI’s encyclical (papal letter) prohibiting Catholics from using artificial methods of birth control. The Pope’s teaching was widely questioned and even openly criticized by some theologians, priests, and bishops, and a majority of Catholics chose to ignore it. The debate over birth control “exposed a broader crisis of church authority, at a time when more and more women and men were choosing to make their own decisions on matters they now viewed as private and personal.” 124 52 Greeley had already noticed this decline in deference to the authority of the Church’s leadership in 1967. He tied it to the waning of anti-Catholic prejudice as Catholics became assimilated into the American mainstream: Internal loyalty as a response to external opposition and prejudice was one of the cements that held together the structure of the American Church . . . . But with the collapse of external opposition, and the dramatic elimination of bigotry, unquestioning loyalty to existing structures no longer seems so terribly important . . . . [Catholics today] do not feel the need to affirm profound loyalty to every aspect of [the ecclesiastical power structure] as a prerequisite for cultural and religious identity. 125 The result, according to Greeley, has been the emergence of the “communal Catholic,” loyal to the community and sympathetic to his or her spiritual heritage, but refusing “to take seriously the teaching authority of the leadership of the institutional church.” 126 As American Catholicism has become increasingly fragmented and pluralistic, 127 Greeley’s concept of the “communal Catholic” has been replaced by that of the “cafeteria Catholic,” who considers himself or herself free to pick and choose among the Church’s teachings and practices in accordance with his or her own conscience. 128 The developments of the late 1960s and early 1970s, then, marked the beginnings of a transition for American Catholics that continues to the present day. The significance of this transition was recently summed up by Fisher as follows: From the onset of the ‘immigrant church’ in the 1830s until the aftermath of Vatican II, the American Catholic church had grown more cohesive, better organized, and more effective in drawing boundaries of acceptable practice and behavior than any other Christian denomination. This feat had been accomplished at the same time that Catholics had largely succeeded in gaining full acceptance as Americans. By the 1990s it appeared that Catholics truly were ‘like everyone else’ in the United States, but it was not entirely clear just what made them Catholic. 129 53 Embracing the Liturgical Reform Movement The third element of the postwar architectural program was not a response to changing local conditions or shifting national demographics, but rather to an international movement within the Catholic Church itself. Although the “liturgical movement,” as it came to be known, originated in Europe in the mid-nineteenth century, it came into full flower during the period under consideration here. Between the mid-1940s and the mid- 1970s, the ways in which Catholics worshiped together changed profoundly. Historians now debate whether these changes were essentially revolutionary or evolutionary in character. There can be no doubt, however, that these changes are the main reason why the Catholic churches built in Southern California in the early 1970s are very different from those built in the late 1940s. Theological Foundations: Liturgy and the Mystical Body of Christ Over the past two thousand years, the Catholic liturgy – that is, the collection of officially established prayers and rituals that Catholics use when they worship together – has undergone periods of stability and change, rigidity and flexibility, uniformity and diversity. The longest period of stability, rigidity, and uniformity began in the middle of the sixteenth century, following the Protestant Reformation, and continued until the middle of the twentieth century. The form of the liturgy that prevailed during this four hundred year period was based upon a concept of the Church as an organization with a divinely-ordained and highly differentiated hierarchical structure in which prerogatives 54 and responsibilities are precisely allocated. This concept originated during the Middle Ages and had become deeply-rooted by the time of the Reformation. A consequence of this organizational view was the idea that active participation in the liturgy was the exclusive privilege and responsibility of the ordained clergy assisted, as necessity required, by non-clerical individuals specially trained to “serve” at the altar or sing in the choir. Simply stated, “liturgy became the work of the priest while those in the assembly were passive spectators.” 130 By the mid-twentieth century a different organizational concept of the Church had gained wide acceptance. This concept of the “Mystical Body of Christ” originated in the first century, 131 but was largely set aside until theologians began promoting it once again in the mid-nineteenth century. The validity of the concept was officially affirmed by Pope Pius XII in his 1943 encyclical Mystici Corporis Christi. 132 The fundamental ideal underlying the concept of the Mystical Body is that the organizational structure of the Church may be analogized to that of a human body: Christ is the head, and all of the Church’s members are the body. As members of Christ’s body, all members of the Church have basic rights and responsibilities, which they exercise individually and together as a group. The implications of this concept for the liturgy are quite straightforward. Since the liturgy is an act of the entire Mystical Body, everyone present at the liturgy should be fully and actively participating in it. The purpose of the twentieth century liturgical movement was to promote this full and active participation. 133 55 A New Appreciation of the Role of the Liturgy in Catholic Life This new emphasis on participation in the liturgy was accompanied by a new understanding and appreciation of the role that the liturgy should play in the life of the average Catholic. This new understanding had at least three dimensions. First, it was asserted that the liturgy should be the focus of each Catholic’s prayer life. As the “primary and indispensable source of the true Christian spirit” and the “mainspring” of Christian life, 134 the liturgy was promoted as the starting point for all individual prayer, and the preeminent form of group prayer. 135 This idea had a marked effect on the community prayer life of the average parish, as we shall see. Second, it was contended that the liturgy should create a sense of community, which then expresses itself in service and social activism. Because the concept of the Mystical Body “simultaneously upheld the dignity and worth of the individual and the communal context of all reality,” it was believed that active liturgical participation “would do much to make American Catholics conscious of their common responsibility for the welfare of American culture and social life.” 136 As historian Keith F. Pecklers has documented, this new emphasis on liturgical participation played a key role in such twentieth century American Catholic social justice movements as Catholic Action, The Catholic Worker, The Grail, and Christian Family Movement. 137 The result was a special kind of synergy: “The liturgical movement needed the multi-faceted social action movement for the credibility of its own message. The social movement, in turn, needed the liturgical movement for spiritual grounding.” 138 Indeed, the socially conscious leaders of the American liturgical movement crafted “a peculiarly American liturgical 56 agenda” that is recognized as a distinctive contribution to the larger international liturgical movement. 139 Finally, it was asserted the liturgy should educate a Catholic about his or her faith, identity, and place in the world. The liturgy’s educational role was seen as not merely a function of Scripture reading and preaching, but rather: Sunday after Sunday, encountering Christ and the members of Christ’s body in the liturgical assembly, the Church [grows] in recognition and understanding, at least ideally, of its own vocation as the body of Christ in the world. 140 Thus, well-prepared, well-celebrated 141 liturgy was promoted as a “school of prayer and Christian living” without equal. 142 By the late 1940s, then, there was general agreement that the liturgy should play a key role in the average Catholic’s prayer life, participation in the parish community, social activism, and ongoing education. The challenge was to implement this ideal at the individual and parish level. Implementing the New Ideal of Full and Active Liturgical Participation The ideal of “full and active participation” is the point of departure for discussing any aspect of the liturgical movement, whether be it the liturgy itself, architecture, art, music, spirituality, social activism, or education. 143 The movement originated in several European monasteries in the late nineteenth century and began spreading across the continent in the early 1900s. It reached the United States in the mid-1920s, becoming centered at St. John’s Abbey in Minnesota, and then picked up momentum throughout the 1930s and 1940s. 144 57 Although monastic in origin, the goals of the movement appealed both to pastors and educators concerned about enriching the church-going experience of the average Catholic in the pew. 145 For the vast majority of these Catholics, the official liturgy was a mysterious if impressive collection of prayers and rituals which they observed passively while reciting to themselves private prayers of their own choosing. With the exception of the sermon, which was sometimes prefaced by a rereading of the day’s appointed Scriptural passages, the entire service was in Latin. Aside from those trained to sing in the choir or to assist the priest as altar servers (most typically elementary school-age boys), few of those present understood the overall arrangement of the service, the meaning of the prayers chanted or recited, or the significance of the rituals performed. Indeed, the key rituals were performed by the priest at the altar with his back to the congregation. Because the official liturgy was largely unintelligible and offered little opportunity for participation, many Catholics preferred popular devotional services during which they were allowed to pray and sing as a group in their own language. These included the Rosary, Stations of the Cross, novenas, and street processions. 146 From the 1930s through the 1950s, the leaders of the liturgical movement focused on educating Catholics about the liturgy so they could increase their participation in it. On the educational front, there were books, pamphlets, magazines, radio broadcasts, classes, study groups, and conferences. 147 In terms of actual practice, Catholics were encouraged to attend Mass frequently, receive Holy Communion every time they attended Mass, and “follow along” with the priest by reading the prayers of the Mass to themselves using a hand-held Missal containing a translation of the Latin into their own language. In time, other forms of participation were introduced: the congregation was 58 invited to sing hymns in their own language during designated parts of the Mass; they were encouraged to sing along with the choir in Latin; and, in some places, they were permitted to recite the responses to the priest’s prayers, in Latin, along with the altar servers, in a practice that became known as the “dialogue Mass.” By the late 1940s there was even some discussion of celebrating the liturgy in the vernacular, although this did not actually come about for another twenty years. 148 Despite these efforts, there was a sense that the liturgical movement would not achieve its full potential as long as there remained “a vast cultural gap between the Roman liturgy as a means of expression and communication and the industrial culture of urban America.” 149 As Greeley observed, the “sober and chaste rites” of the Catholic liturgy had little in common with mass popular culture. 150 The liturgical movement received validation and new impetus from the Second Vatican Council. As previously noted, in keeping with the Council’s conception of the Church as the “People of God,” “Catholics were encouraged to focus not on the aspects of their faith that divided them from others but to embrace charitably the modern world and its diverse cultures.” 151 This emphasis on modern culture and diversity extended to the way in which the Church worshiped. One of the key documents produced by the Council was the Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy, which was officially promulgated in December of 1963. This document recognized the work of the liturgical movement over the past fifty years, confirmed and promoted the call for “full and active participation” in the liturgy, and gave permission for a comprehensive reform of the liturgy that would facilitate such participation. 152 As befits a highly centralized organization, proposals for specific reforms were presented, 59 reviewed, and approved or rejected by specially appointed committees and established bureaucrats at the Vatican level. These decisions were then communicated to the bishops for adaptation and implementation at the national and local levels. A comprehensive discussion of the liturgical changes that were adopted in the wake of Vatican II is beyond the scope of this study. Indeed, in the words of one historian writing in 2004, “Today even a summary listing of the developments in prayer and practice over the twelve years from 1964 to 1976 appears overwhelming.” 153 The first major change introduced in the United States was the introduction of a modified form of the “dialogue Mass” on November 29, 1964, in which the congregation spoke some of the prayers of the Mass, in English, along with the priest and altar servers. 154 Further changes involving additional participation by the congregation and more extensive use of English were introduced on March 7, 1965, and March 27, 1966. 155 A fully revised version of the Mass was promulgated by the Vatican on March 3, 1970, and was introduced in United States parishes, entirely in English, on December 1, 1974. 156 By 1976, reformed versions of all of the major liturgical services had been implemented. Thus, “the language, symbols, forms, and rituals of praying had undergone a tremendous transformation in twelve short years.” 157 The extent of this transformation is illustrated by the changes in the Mass as they were experienced by an average Catholic fulfilling his or her obligation to attend Mass each Sunday (or now, alternatively, on Saturday evening instead). Mass was no longer celebrated in Latin, but entirely in the language most readily understood by the congregation, whether English, Spanish, or otherwise. The congregation recited prayers in dialogue with the priest, participated in the singing, and turned to other members of the 60 congregation to share a “sign of peace” in the form of a handshake or hug. While music was previously limited to Gregorian chant, classical and contemporary choral polyphony, and approved Catholic hymns, a full range of music was now incorporated into the liturgy, including traditional Protestant hymns, religious songs in pop, folk, and rock styles, and music in a full range of ethnic styles, including African American spirituals and Mexican mariachi. Key ritual actions at the altar were now fully visible to the congregation, as the priest celebrated the entire Mass facing the people. He was assisted, not just by the choir and altar servers (who now included both boys and girls), but also by men and women who read the scriptures, led the singing, and distributed Holy Communion. Communion was distributed in the form of both bread and wine, and the bread could be received in the hand as an alternative to receiving it on the tongue. To encourage participation in Communion, the traditional fasting period was shortened from midnight of the night before receiving Communion, to one hour before receiving. 158 Each bishop was given some degree of latitude in implementing the new liturgical changes in his diocese. Indeed, some judged the relative liberalism or conservatism of individual bishops by the speed at which the changes were implemented in their dioceses. 159 Cardinal McIntyre had a general reputation as a conservative, and was criticized by some as “recalcitrant in liturgical reform.” 160 Indeed, Archbishop Paul J. Hallinan of Atlanta, who was present for portions of the Second Vatican Council along with McIntyre, labeled the Cardinal as “absolutely stupid” because of his “impassioned defense of Latin” at the Council. 161 But according to Weber’s biography of McIntyre, while the Cardinal retained an “affection for the old” and “never apologized for his penchant towards retaining Latin in the Mass,” he was nonetheless “a good sport and a 61 loyal churchman and, when his preferences were not followed, he supported the majority view.” 162 Indeed, the record reflects that the liturgical reforms following the Council were implemented in the Archdiocese of Los Angeles at a steady pace, leading Weber to conclude that “the archdiocese probably fared better liturgically in those years than did the majority of its sister jurisdictions in the United States.” 163 When communicating with pastors about implementing specific liturgical reforms in the parishes, both before and after the Council, McIntyre emphasized certain themes repeatedly: that before any change was made, official directives should be carefully studied, and detailed instruction should be given to parishioners and school children; that the changes should not be viewed as innovations, but rather as based on ancient precedents; that non-mandatory changes should be considered as suggestive only; and that any questions regarding the propriety of particular practices should be directed to the proper authorities. 164 The Cardinal’s Liturgical Commission made it clear that, while it was committed to implementing all mandatory changes, it would “accept only those innovations that have a proper authority” and would “not accept the literature and commentaries of liturgists and magazine writers as the determinants of laws and regulations,” especially since “in some instances, unauthorized and unapproved changes have been put into practice with the seeming assumption that their application was justified.” 165 After the Cardinal McIntyre’s retirement in 1970, Cardinal Manning continued his predecessor’s policy of introducing changes gradually. According to Weber, he prescribed “a punctual and unanimous observance” of reforms while denouncing “any arbitrary abuses of these norms, any unauthorized experimentation.” 166 62 As we have seen, the liturgical changes implemented between 1964 and 1976 were simply the fruit of a liturgical movement that had originated almost a century earlier. Indeed, for many Catholics “the liturgical movement represented one clear thread of continuity weaving together the conciliar and post-conciliar eras at a grassroots level.” 167 For other Catholics, however, the liturgical changes were profoundly unsettling. Although, as we have seen, the theological and institutional reforms that followed the Second Vatican Council extended well beyond changes in the liturgy, for some Catholics it was precisely these changes that seemed to have the greatest impact. For them: The liturgy itself had come to symbolize the universal and unchanging nature of the Catholic Church. Liturgical forms had remained fairly constant for four hundred years – at least they had remained relatively unchanged in the memories of most Catholics. Now the Church was demonstrating that things once considered permanent were changeable . . . . For almost all Catholics, the changes created a new Catholic consciousness about the historically conditioned nature of many things Catholic. 168 For Catholics unsettled by changes in the liturgy, the changes were evidence that, in the words of historian James O’Toole, “a religious culture that had grown up since the Council of Trent in the sixteenth century, a culture that seemed to many to operate outside of history, [had been] changed in dramatic fashion.” 169 Two additional developments related to the liturgical movement merit discussion here because of the impact they have had on the architecture of Catholic churches. The first is a decline in participation in the devotions that had been so popular prior to the Second Vatican Council, including the Rosary, the Stations of the Cross, and novenas in honor of various saints. In great part this may be explained by the fact that, as the official liturgy became increasingly intelligible and familiar to average Catholics, the need and 63 desire for other forms of group and personal prayer diminished. Historian Joseph Chinnici has also demonstrated that prior to the Council the popularity of specific devotions waxed and waned in response to concerns evoked by the Great Depression, World War II, and the Cold War. 170 Historian Margaret McGuinness has suggested that the demise of the most distinctive Catholic devotional practices might be attributed to a perception that they were no long relevant to the lives of suburban, professional, assimilated Catholics, who no longer wanted to be identified as different from non- Catholic members of the middle and upper classes. 171 In any event, the decline in popular devotions translated into a decline in the number of shrines and images of individual saints incorporated into new churches, as they were no longer needed to serve as the focal points for individual and group devotions. The second development is the fact that the liturgical movement was not limited to the Catholic Church, but extended across denominational lines. The twentieth century was a period of unprecedented cooperation among Christians, who joined together on several fronts to “disseminate the Christian faith throughout the world” and “minister globally in the wake of urban oppression and world war.” 172 Because virtually all Christian groups value community worship, it is unsurprising that efforts to revitalize such worship became the subject of extensive ecumenical discussion and cooperation. Inspired in part by Catholic initiatives, several mainline Protestant denominations undertook reforms of their own worship services. A key goal of these programs was enhancing congregational participation in the original spirit of the Reformation. One consequence of this interdenominational sharing and increasing homogeny in styles of 64 worship was that Catholic and Protestant churches began increasingly to resemble one another, as we shall see in Chapter 7. 173 65 CHAPTER 2 ENDNOTES 1 The Official Catholic Directory 1948 (New York: Kennedy, 1948) statistical insert following 1360. 2 The Official Catholic Directory 1976 (New York: Kennedy, 1976) statistical insert following 5C. 3 Charles R. Morris, American Catholic: The Saints and Sinners Who Built America’s Most Powerful Church (New York: Times, 1997) 256. 4 Morris 223. 5 Patrick W. Carey, Catholics in America: A History (Westport, CT: Praeger, 2004) 92; for additional statistical discussions, see Chester Gillis, Roman Catholicism in America (New York: Columbia UP, 1999) 76; Martin E. Marty, A Short History of American Catholicism (Allen, TX: More, 1995) 170; Morris 223. 6 Catholic Directory 1948 7 Catholic Directory 1976 8 Catholic Directory 1948; Catholic Directory 1976 9 Greeley, Suburbs 65 n.3, citing the May 23, 1959 issue of Ave Maria magazine; see also Morris 259. 10 Catholic Directory 1948; Catholic Directory 1976 11 Kenneth T. Jackson, Crabgrass Frontier: The Suburbanization of the United States (New York: Oxford UP, 1985) 231-245; Morris 255-256. 12 Merry Ovnick, Los Angeles: The End of the Rainbow (Los Angeles: Balcony, 1994) 274-276; see also Kevin Starr, Embattled Dreams: California in War and Peace 1940-1950 (New York: Oxford UP, 2002) 193-195. 13 Ovnick 274. 14 See generally Jackson 250-251, 265; Ovnick 283-284, 287-288. 15 Joseph P. Chinnici, O.F.M., “The Catholic Community at Prayer, 1926-1976,” Habits of Devotion: Catholic Religious Practice in Twentieth Century America, ed. James M. O’Toole (Ithaca, NY: Cornell UP, 2004) 71; see also James T. Fisher, Communion of Immigrants: A History of Catholics in America, (Oxford: Oxford UP, 2008) 114. 16 “Modern Suburban Parish Faces Unique Problems,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 9 May 1958: 5. 17 See generally Carey 92; Greeley Suburbs 42; Marty 168. 18 William S. Clark, Building the New Church (Jenkintown, PA: Religious, 1957) 11. 19 Editors of Architectural Record [John Knox Shear, ed.], Religious Buildings for Today (New York: Dodge, 1957) 1. 20 Shear 33. 21 Clark 11. 66 22 John R. Scotford, When You Build Your Church (Great Neck, NY: Doniger, 1955) 2. 23 See, e.g., William Ward Watkin, Planning and Building the Modern Church (New York: Dodge, 1951) 7, 17. 24 Edward David Mills, The Modern Church (New York: Praeger, 1956) 15. 25 Carey 92. 26 Greeley, Suburbs 44-49. 27 Clark 11. 28 Shear 33. 29 Albert Christ-Janer and Mary Mixt Foley, Modern Church Architecture: A Guide to the Form and Spirit of 20 th Century Religious Buildings (New York: McGraw, 1962) 1. 30 Watkin 1. 31 Morse xvii. 32 Morris 257. 33 Carey 92. 34 Gillis 76-77; Marty 170. 35 Morris 223. 36 Greeley, Suburbs 42-43. 37 Watkin 7. 38 Francis J. Weber, His Eminence of Los Angeles: James Francis Cardinal McIntyre (Mission Hills, CA: St. Francis Hist. Soc., 1997) 250. 39 Weber, Eminence 243. 40 See Building Regulations circa 1937 in file marked “Materials Pertaining to the Building Committee 1928-1944,” Archdiocesan Archives; Letter from Bishop Joseph T. McGucken to Rev. John W. Love dated September 2, 1947, in file marked “Materials Pertaining to the Building Committee 1945-1961,” Archdiocesan Archives; Building Regulations promulgated December 3, 1958, in file marked “Materials Pertaining to the Building Committee 1945-1961,” Archdiocesan Archives; Building Regulations promulgated September 14, 1959, in file marked “Materials Pertaining to the Building Committee 1945- 1961,” Archdiocesan Archives. 41 See Building Regulations circa 1937 in file marked “Materials Pertaining to the Building Committee 1928-1944,” Archdiocesan Archives; Letter from Bishop Joseph T. McGucken to Rev. John W. Love dated September 2, 1947, in file marked “Materials Pertaining to the Building Committee 1945-1961,” Archdiocesan Archives; Building Regulations promulgated December 3, 1958, in file marked “Materials Pertaining to the Building Committee 1945-1961,” Archdiocesan Archives; Building Regulations promulgated September 14, 1959, in file marked “Materials Pertaining to the Building Committee 1945- 1961,” Archdiocesan Archives; Weber Eminence p. 242-243 67 42 See generally Morris 256; Gillis 77; Chinnici 25; Andrew M. Greeley, Come Blow Your Mind With Me (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1971) 168. 43 Fisher x; Greeley, Experience 19. 44 Greeley, Experience 28. 45 Morris 164. 46 Morris IX. 47 Morris VII. 48 Fisher x; Gillis 77. 49 Morris 273, 276-277, 279-281; Greeley, Experience 287. 50 Morris 319. 51 Marty 168; Gillis 77; Thomas T. McAvoy, C.S.C., A History of the Catholic Church in the United States (Notre Dame, IN: U of Notre Dame P, 1969) 453. 52 Morris 256. 53 Morris 256; Greeley, Come 168; Margaret M. McGuinness, “Let Us Go To The Altar: American Catholics and the Eucharist, 1926-1927,” Habits of Devotion: Catholic Religious Practice in Twentieth Century America, ed. James M. O’Toole (Ithaca, NY: Cornell UP, 2004) 220. 54 Morris 256; see also McGuinness 220. 55 McGuinness 220. 56 Greeley, Come 168. 57 A multi-ethnic neighborhood might be served by several Catholic churches. In the ethnically diverse Bridgeport neighborhood of Chicago, for example, there were no less than twelve Catholic churches: four for English speakers (mostly Irish), two for Poles, two for Germans, and one each for Croatians, Italians, Bohemians, and Lithuanians. George A. Lane, S.J., Chicago Churches and Synagogues: An Architectural Pilgrimage (Chicago: Loyola University Press, 1981) 17. 58 Morris 257. 59 Gillis 81-84; Fisher 116-118. 60 Greeley, Suburbs 52; Greeley, Come 166; see also McGuinness 207. 61 Morris 275. 62 Chinnici 71; see also “Modern Suburban Parish Faces Unique Problems,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 9 May 1958: 5. 63 Gills 38. 64 McGuinness 207. 68 65 Fisher 124; Marty 169. 66 Morris IX. 67 Carey 94. 68 Carey 94. 69 Carey 103. 70 Fisher 119-120. 71 Morris 230; Marty 167; Fisher 119-123. 72 Gillis 77. 73 Carey 111. 74 Morris 281. 75 Fisher 143-146, 149-150. 76 Fisher 146-147. 77 Fisher 147-149. 78 Fisher 150. 79 Carey 101-102; Fisher 125-127; Marty 170-172. 80 Carey 102; Fisher 124-125; Marty 171. 81 Marty 171-172. 82 Fisher 125-131. 83 Morris 227, 84 Greeley, Suburbs 63. 85 Morris 281. 86 Greeley, Suburbs 57. 87 Greeley, Suburbs 56-57. 88 Morris 257. 89 Marty 169. 90 Fisher 124. 91 Greeley, Suburbs 61. 92 Greeley, Suburbs 61-62. 69 93 Carey 103. 94 Greeley, Suburbs 54. 95 Greeley, Suburbs 203; see also 69. 96 Greeley, Suburbs 204. 97 McAvoy 453. 98 “Modern Suburban Parish Faces Unique Problems,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 9 May 1958: 5. 99 Greeley, Suburbs 66; see also Carey 95 and Chinnici 63. 100 Greeley, Suburbs 66-67; Morris 276. 101 Greeley, Suburbs 58-59; Greeley, Experience 255; Marty 174. 102 Greeley, Suburbs 55. 103 Greeley, Suburbs 65, 68. 104 Morris 276. 105 “Modern Suburban Parish Faces Unique Problems,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 9 May 1958: 5. 106 Greeley, Suburbs 57. 107 Greeley, Suburbs 63-64. 108 Morris 276. 109 Greeley, Suburbs 66. 110 Gillis 88; see also 89-90. 111 Carey 112; Fisher 139; Marty 184. 112 Carey 112-113. 113 Greeley, Come 166, 179; Greeley, Experience 295. 114 The Council of Trent, like the Second Vatican Council, was a convention of the world’s bishops that effected major reforms within the Catholic Church. It took place between 1545 and 1563, largely as a response to the Protestant Reformation. Some of the policies and practices it adopted endured for almost four hundred years, until the time of the Second Vatican Council; others endure until the present day. 115 Greeley, Come 166. 116 See, e.g., Morris IX; Gillis 38; Kilde 188. 117 Carey 115; see also Marty 184. 118 Carey 119. 70 119 McAvoy 453. 120 Morris 307-308. 121 Fisher 142-143. 122 Greeley, Come 173-177. 123 Fisher 140; Morris 260-261; Weber, Eminence 416-437; Francis J. Weber, Magnificat: The Life and Times of Timothy Cardinal Manning (Mission Hills, CA: St. Francis Hist. Soc., 1999) 361-383. 124 Fisher 141. 125 Greeley, Experience 287. 126 Andrew M. Greeley, The American Catholic: A Social Portrait (New York: Basic, 1977) 272. 127 Fisher 157; Marty 177. 128 Fisher 161. 129 Fisher 162. 130 Keith F. Pecklers, S.J., The Unread Vision: The Liturgical Movement in the United States of America: 1926-1955 (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical, 1998) 29. 131 See 1 Cor. 10. 132 For a comprehensive summary of these theological developments, see Pecklers 29-34. 133 Pecklers 31-33. 134 Virgil Michel and Basil Stegmann, O.S.B., respectively, quoted in Pecklers at 33 and 32, respectively; see also Kilde 173. 135 Pecklers 31-33; Kilde 173; R. Kevin Seasoltz, A Sense of the Sacred: Theological Foundations of Christian Architecture and Art (New York: Continuum, 2005) 229. 136 Carey 85; see also Kilde 174. 137 Pecklers 97-124; see also Carey 86, 102 and Seasoltz 256 138 Pecklers 148. 139 Pecklers 149; for an assessment of the contributions of these leaders, see Pecklers 124-147; see also Torgerson 35, Carey 86, Kilde173-174, and Seasoltz 235. 140 Pecklers 211. 141 Catholics typically use the verb “celebrate” to describe the performance of the ritual actions and prayers that constitute the Mass or one of the sacraments. It is a preferred synonym for “perform” or “conduct.” 142 Pecklers 211. 71 143 Pecklers 25. 144 For a discussion of the European origins of the liturgical movement and its introduction to the United States, see Pecklers 1-23; see also Carey 85-86. 145 Pecklers 26-29, 43-44; Torgerson 33. 146 Pecklers 34-43; Gillis 90-91. 147 For a comprehensive overview of these educational efforts, see Pecklers 151-212; see also Chinnici 39- 51. 148 Pecklers 40-70; Chinnici 23-39; McAvoy 454. 149 Greeley, Suburbs 171. 150 Greeley, Suburbs 174. 151 Fisher 139. 152 Torgerson 35; see also Seasoltz 239 and Kieckhefer 262. 153 Chinnici 11. 154 McGuinness 220, Chinnici 11; “How People Reacted to English in the Mass,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 4 Dec. 1964: 1. 155 “Changes in Mass Sunday,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 5 Mar. 1965: 1; “More English in Mass to Begin March 27,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 10 Dec. 1965: 1. 156 Chinnici 18. 157 Chinnici 17. 158 Gillis 90-91; Chinnici 17; Marty 188-189. 159 McAvoy 465. 160 Weber, Eminence 200; see also Morris 260. 161 Weber, Eminence 589. 162 Weber, Eminence 200. 163 Weber, Eminence 197. 164 Weber, Eminence 197-198. 165 Weber, Eminence 199. 166 Weber, Magnificat 441. 167 Chinnici 30. 168 Carey 116. 72 169 James M. O’ Toole, “Introduction,” Habits of Devotion: Catholic Religious Practice in Twentieth Century America, ed. James M. O’Toole (Ithaca, NY: Cornell UP, 2004) 3. 170 Chinnici 52-69. 171 McGuinness 231. 172 Torgerson 25. 173 Torgerson 25-26, 40, 184-186. 73 CHAPTER 3 ANALYTIC FRAMEWORK Like any building, a Catholic church is a product of its place and time. It offers insights into the culture that produced it. And because a Catholic church is a relatively complex building in its function and meaning, its study requires a disciplined approach. Without a comprehensive analytic framework consistently applied, a study such as this one is sure to miss many of the cultural insights it seeks to discover. For this study, I adopt an analytic framework proposed by Richard Kieckhefer in his wide-ranging study of Christian architecture, Theology in Stone: Church Architecture From Byzantium to Berkeley. 1 Kieckhefer suggests that a church be analyzed in terms of four basic elements: spatial dynamics, centering focus, aesthetic impact, and symbolic resonance. Using this analytic approach, he identifies three basic models or “traditions” in church-building, each of which combines these four elements in a distinctive way. These three models are the “classic sacramental” church, the “classic evangelical” church, and the “modern communal” church. 2 All of the churches under consideration here may be classified as either classic sacramental churches or modern communal churches. 3 The following chapters use over forty examples of postwar Southern California Catholic architecture to illustrate the distinctive characteristics of these two church-building traditions, and the ways in which each incorporates and combines the four elements identified by Kieckhefer. By way of prologue, I will now introduce the fundamental concepts that underlie the analytic framework I borrow from Kieckhefer. 74 The Classic Sacramental Tradition Of the three church-building traditions identified by Kieckhefer, the classic sacramental model is the most complex, requiring “sustained attention and interpretation” to be understood. 4 Prior to the early 1960s, this was the only tradition represented in Southern California’s Catholic architecture, as will be explained in Chapters 4, 5, and 6. Classic sacramental churches are typically characterized by complex spatial dynamics, a singular centering focus, rich and dramatic aesthetic impact, and high symbolic resonance. Spatial Dynamics “Spatial dynamics” is the first of Kieckhefer’s four analytic elements. It refers to the overall configuration of space within a church. This configuration is chiefly determined by the liturgical action that takes place within the space. Briefly stated, the spatial dynamics of a classic sacramental church are longitudinal, to accommodate clerical procession and return; the dynamics of a classic evangelical church are those of an auditorium, facilitating clerical proclamation of the scriptures and the sermon, and congregational response in song and spoken prayer; and the dynamics of a modern communal church encourage a congregation’s sense of gathering together for worship and then proceeding out into the “workaday world” to transform it. 5 The first classic sacramental churches were inspired by the imperial basilicas of ancient Rome. As the liturgy became more elaborate over the centuries, the spatial 75 arrangement of these churches followed suit. By the late Middle Ages, the largest of these churches -- the great cathedrals and pilgrimage shrines of the Gothic era -- exhibited a remarkable spatial complexity, intended both to accommodate the intricate ritual action and to reinforce the strict hierarchical arrangement of those participating. In these fully developed classic sacramental interiors, the clergy, choir, assisting ministers, and members of the congregation took up their appointed stations in various places throughout the church as the liturgy progressed, processing in groups from one space to the next. 6 By the mid-twentieth century, the Catholic liturgy had largely lost the kinetic quality that characterized it in earlier times. Instead of occurring several times during a single liturgy, processions were now limited to a few special feast days each year. But the longitudinal spatial arrangement of the classic sacramental church remained unchanged, despite its roots in vanished liturgical custom. The segmentation of church interiors into discrete spaces also persisted, although, as I will explain later, this practice steadily diminished. The liturgical reforms introduced in 1974 restored the place of processional activity in the liturgy, prescribing processions at the beginning of Mass, before the reading of the Gospel, at the preparation of the gifts, at communion, and at the end of Mass. But, ironically, by that point in time the classic sacramental tradition had fallen into disfavor, and virtually all new churches were being designed on the modern communal model. 76 Centering Focus “Centering focus” is the second of Kieckhefer’s four analytic elements. This element requires a three-part analysis: first, identify what object, if any, is the central focus of the church; second, consider the function of that object; and third, determine how the church’s architecture “signals” the centrality of that object. 7 A church may have a single object as its focal point, which may be an altar, a table, a pulpit, or a baptismal font or pool; it may have multiple objects as focal points; or it may have no object as its focal point, in which case the assembled congregation itself may be considered the focal point. 8 The centering focus of a classic sacramental church is its main altar. The most important Catholic liturgical service is the Mass. The chief ritual actions of this service take place at the altar, making it an object that is rich in theological meaning and symbolic associations. An altar recalls, among other things, an Old Testament altar of sacrifice, the banquet table of the Last Supper, and the Mount of Calvary on which Jesus was crucified. 9 In a traditionally arranged classic sacramental church, the centrality of the main altar is “signaled” by several architectural and artistic features that focus attention on it. The altar is placed at one end of the church’s longitudinal axis, opposite the main entrance. It is the central feature of a portion of the church – variously known as the sanctuary, presbyterium, or chancel -- that is clearly demarcated from the rest of the church by a low railing, commonly known as the communion rail. It is typically elevated on a platform, and may be sheltered under a baldachino. It may also be set in front of an 77 eye-catching backdrop – variously known as an altarpiece, reredos, retable, or retablo – that functions as a stage setting of sorts. Integrated into this backdrop, or placed upon the altar itself, is the tabernacle, a repository of varying shape in which the Eucharist -- bread which, Catholics believe, has been ritually transformed into the body of Christ during the Mass – is reserved. Prior to the mid-1960s, virtually all classic sacramental churches conformed to this traditional arrangement. Over the past forty-five years, however, practically all of these churches have been rearranged to a greater or lesser extent to accommodate the reformed liturgy. As I will show in later chapters, altars have been relocated, communion rails removed, sanctuaries rearranged to incorporate additional furnishings as focal points, and tabernacles moved to other locations. Without an understanding of the original arrangement of these churches, however, many of their architectural features cannot be fully understood or appreciated. Aesthetic Impact “Aesthetic impact,” the third of Kieckhefer’s four elements, is closely related to his fourth element, “symbolic resonance.” Kieckhefer draws a distinction between the “holy” – a sense of God’s presence – and the “sacred” – the quality of being associated with the holy. Simply stated, the element of aesthetic impact addresses how a church’s design expresses the “holy,” while the element of symbolic resonance addresses how a church’s design expresses the “sacred.” 10 78 According to Kieckhefer, human beings are drawn toward the divine presence – that is, the “holy” – in awe and wonder, and respond to the holy in reverence. One of the goals of church architecture, then, is to cultivate reverence as a habit of disposition and behavior. 11 Broadly speaking, this goal is achieved in a classic sacramental church by creating “a dramatic space for a subtle interplay of transcendence and immanence”; in a classic evangelical church by creating a “dignified environment for edification”; and in a modern communal church by creating “a hospitable setting for celebration.” 12 Kieckhefer views a classic sacramental church as a place where “the ascending curve of human transcendence and the descending curve of divine immanence intersect.” The aesthetic character of such a church determines “its capacity to evoke a sense of this interplay,” and its ability to facilitate “the transcending of ordinary experience and ordinary consciousness.” 13 In other words: Fundamental to the aesthetic of the classic sacramental church is a sense of participation in a reality greater than any individual and greater than any particular community – a dramatic evocation of a sense of being caught up in something greater than oneself, and greater than the experience of any one place or time, requiring a keenness of presence and conviction. 14 To achieve this aesthetic goal, architects use a number of established conventions to create the distinctive qualities of the classic sacramental church. Height and volume convey a sense of aspiration. Light streaming from indirect sources, or filtered through colored glass, creates a feeling of mystery. Reverberant acoustics, which allow sounds to echo through a space after the source of the sound has stopped, evoke timelessness. Choice of materials and colors, simplicity or profusion in design and decoration, the handling of transitions between contrasting elements – all contribute to the aesthetic, and emotional, impact of the classic sacramental church. 15 79 Some have criticized architects’ use of these established conventions as manipulative. They assert that employment of these “tricks of the trade” to produce a desired psychological effect renders the classic sacramental church an artificial and illusionary place. Defenders of the classic sacramental tradition point out that humans often experience awe and wonder -- and a sense of God’s presence – in natural settings like the Grand Canyon or Yosemite Valley. Certain combinations of natural phenomena – height, space, light, sound, color – have inherent qualities that inspire such a reaction. An architect designing a classic sacramental church simply makes use of these natural phenomena and their inherent qualities to evoke the same appreciation of the divine presence that immersion in a natural landscape can inspire. 16 Symbolic Resonance As previously noted, “symbolic resonance,” the fourth of Kieckhefer’s four elements, addresses how a church’s design expresses the “sacred.” According to Kieckhefer, human beings respond to God’s presence – that is, the “holy” -- in reverence. But because the transcendent God is not visible, human reverence must be “directed in the first place towards objects and occurrences that can be seen, even if there remains something provisional about that reverence and its choice of object.” Objects or occurrences that are associated with, or point to, the divine presence are “sacred.” In other words, human reverence is “directed toward the sacred in anticipation of the holy.” 17 80 In terms of church architecture, the “holy” and the “sacred,” although closely related, are fundamentally different in at least one respect. As previously discussed, a church evokes a sense of the “holy” through its aesthetic qualities, which are relatively simple, immediate, and intuitively grasped. In contrast, it evokes a sense of the “sacred” through the symbolic associations of its structure, its furnishings, and its decoration. Such associations are deep, rich, and only gradually come to be recognized over time. 18 While some associations arise from personal experience, others are learned through explicit instruction. When that instruction is lacking, symbols go unappreciated. Without an understanding of their historic and communal origins, grounded in experience, traditional symbols seem merely arbitrary. At the same time, newly adopted symbols can seem capricious, detached from a universal meaning that transcends a particular place and time. 19 Kieckhefer identifies at least three reasons for incorporating symbolism in a church, especially in the form of representational imagery rendered in sculpture, painting, glass, mosaic, and other media. The first is pedagogical. Both structural symbolism and representational images instruct observers in the history and teachings of the community. Second, images also serve a devotional function: they focus attention, and they inspire thoughtful and emotional responses in the viewer. Most importantly, however, images are “reminders of the religious culture from which they derive.” They reinforce the connection between each liturgy celebrated within the church and “the network of symbols and narratives in which that liturgy is grounded.” This purpose is served even if each individual symbol or image is not separately identified or fully understood: One need not consult the guide book to determine which angel is represented on a window or in a statue suspended high above the chancel to know that the angels 81 and saints hovering all about the building relate the liturgical action to a broader narrative, to a sacred culture, to a process extending well beyond the present time and place. . . . Tradition is constituted by consciousness of standing within tradition. It does not require detailed and intimate knowledge of all that has been passed down. It does not require uniform appropriation, experience, or integration of what is passed down. It does require perceiving oneself as a member of a family and thus as heir. 20 Symbolic resonance, then, is closely tied to cultural identity. As I will show, it is the rich symbolic resonance of Catholic churches, more so than any other factor, that marks these churches as distinctively “Catholic,” at least in the popular imagination. This fact is most apparent in classic sacramental churches, especially those with integrated artistic programs. The Modern Communal Tradition Kieckhefer views the classical evangelical and modern communal church- building traditions as fundamentally different from the classic sacramental tradition. While a classic sacramental church “works on multiple levels,” “the classic evangelical and modern communal models, each ultimately grounded in a single and readily appreciated principle, are easily understandable and widely understood.” 21 As “reformers’ brainchildren,” these models “often manifest something of the coherence born of single mindedness.” 22 Catholic churches based on the modern communal model first appeared in Southern California in the early 1960s, and will be discussed in Chapter 7. Modern communal churches are typically characterized by a spatial dynamic of “gathering in and sending forth,” more than one centering focus, an aesthetic impact focused on hospitality and celebration, and moderate symbolic resonance. 82 Spatial Dynamics According to Kieckhefer, the spatial dynamics of the modern communal church address the very practical problem of gathering a diverse group of individuals from a mobile and highly differentiated society, helping them to worship together as a united community, and then sending them out into the world to practice what has been preached. 23 Accordingly, the interior design treats space as an integrated whole and minimizes segmentation. To encourage participation, members of the congregation are placed close to the ritual action, which is fully visible to them. To facilitate bonding, the places for the clergy and the congregation are near each other, and members of the congregation can see one another. Furnishings are distributed throughout the space in a flexible manner. Special emphasis is given to the relationship between the entry space and the assembly space to highlight the twin processes of “gathering in” and “proceeding forth.” 24 Given these spatial parameters, the feature that most readily distinguishes a classic sacramental church from a modern communal church is the congregational seating plan. In the former, pews are typically arranged in uniformly parallel rows from front to back, and span the full width of the space regardless of its segmentation. In the latter, pews or individual chairs may be arranged in this manner, but are more typically arranged in the shape of fan or semi-circle around the altar; in three distinct sections on three sides of the altar; or, much more rarely, in a circle around the altar. 83 Centering Focus Although the altar is the primary focus of a modern communal church, its prominence is usually offset by the placement of other liturgical furnishings. It is often set in juxtaposition to two other items in the sanctuary that have acquired an enhanced role in the reformed liturgy. One of these is the ambo, a lectern from which the Scriptures are read; the other is the chair of the priest who presides at the liturgy. Prior to the reform, the Scriptures and the presider’s prayers were both read at the altar; now, they have places of their own. The result is a dynamic in which attention shifts from one focal point of the sanctuary to the next as the liturgy progresses. 25 Another focus of the modern communal church is the baptismal pool or font. In classic sacramental churches, the font is traditionally placed in a separate room, usually located near an entrance to the church or set apart from the church at a short distance. This location emphasizes the purifying aspects of the baptismal rite. In modern communal churches – and in classic sacramental churches that have been rearranged -- the font, or a baptismal pool suitable for full immersion, is usually placed either at the main entrance to the church or in the sanctuary. Placement at the entrance emphasizes baptism’s character as a rite of initiation or incorporation, while placement in the sanctuary draws attention to the baptized individual’s participation in the death and resurrection of Christ – events memorialized and ritually reenacted at the altar during the Mass. 26 84 Aesthetic Impact A primary goal of the modern communal church is to facilitate the full participation of the entire assembly in the liturgy. It is intended to be, in Kieckhefer’s phrase, “a hospitable setting for celebration.” Thus, it calls attention to the divine presence, and cultivates a reverent response in the worshiper, by emphasizing hospitality, graciousness, and comfort. 27 In a modern communal church, height and volume, lighting, and acoustics are not utilized to evoke a sense of aspiration, mystery, and timelessness, as they are in a classic sacramental church. Rather, they are placed in the service of congregational worship. Ceilings are unadorned and relatively low. Lighting, although adequate, does not call attention to itself. Acoustics are designed to facilitate understanding and appreciation of the spoken word, singing, and instrumental music. 28 Symbolic Resonance Kieckhefer characterizes the symbolic resonance of the classic sacramental church as high, that of the classic evangelical church as low, and that of the modern communal church as “moderate.” The modern communal church thus represents a compromise between the classic sacramental church’s employment of rich, complex imagery and the classic evangelical church’s spare use of simple symbolism so as to avoid any suggestion of idolatry. It typically incorporates a minimalist approach, 85 “making use of religious art in discrete units rather than in integrated programs, and ascribing occasional rather than systematic symbolism to the church buildings.” 29 86 CHAPTER 3 ENDNOTES 1 Kieckhefer holds appointments in the departments of religion and history at Northwestern University in Evanston, Illinois. 2 Kieckhefer 10-15. 3 Because the classic evangelical model is designed to accommodate distinctively Protestant forms of worship, I will not consider it at any length in this study. 4 Kieckhefer 16. 5 Kieckhefer 22. 6 Kieckhefer identifies five characteristics of these interiors: (1) the clergy and the congregation relate to one another in shifting patterns as the liturgy progresses; (2) clearly defined spaces mark each transition from one stage of the liturgy to the next; (3) these transitions from space to space create an ever- heightening sense of sacredness; (4) the arrangement of spaces both invites movement and limits it; and (5) architectural features intended to distinguish particular spaces sometimes become barriers, obstructing both visibility and passage. Kieckhefer 25. 7 Kieckhefer 63. 8 Kieckhefer 75, 78, 92, 94, 95. 9 Kieckhefer’s extensive discussion of these meanings and associations is found at pages 64-70. 10 Kieckhefer 18. Kieckhefer asserts that “sacredness” may be best understood in the positive context of its association with a sense of the divine presence (that is, the “holy”), rather than in the negative context of its detachment or separation from the secular. 11 Kieckhefer 101. 12 Kieckhefer 102. 13 Kieckhefer 102. 14 Kieckhefer 103. 15 Kieckhefer 103-112. 16 Kieckhefer 112-113. 17 Kieckhefer 101. 18 Kieckhefer 135. 19 Kieckhefer 138. 20 Kieckhefer 143. 21 Kieckhefer 17. 22 Kieckhefer 16. 87 23 Kieckhefer 56. 24 Kieckhefer 53. 25 Kieckhefer 94. 26 Kieckhefer 91. 27 Kieckhefer 124. 28 Kieckhefer 126. 29 Kieckhefer 143. 88 CHAPTER 4 THE CLASSIC SACRAMENTAL TRADITION: A QUESTION OF STYLE In this chapter, I discuss stylistic diversity within the classic sacramental church- building tradition, and introduce the stylistic groupings I have developed to help make sense of this diversity. I also consider possible explanations for this diversity. I examine the impact which the liturgical reforms of the Second Vatican Council have had on the physical arrangement of classic sacramental churches constructed prior to the Council. I conclude with a discussion of a group of churches which, because of their temporary nature and simple design, provide straightforward insight into some of the key characteristics of the classic sacramental tradition. Recognizing Stylistic Diversity Within the Classic Sacramental Tradition The majority of churches built in the Archdiocese of Los Angeles between 1948 and 1976 conform to Kieckheffer’s “classic sacramental” model. They are characterized by longitudinal spatial dynamics; a singular centering focus on the altar; an aesthetic impact based upon the interplay of transcendence and immanence; and rich symbolic resonance. Indeed, prior to the appearance of modern communal churches in the early 1960s, all of the churches in the Archdiocese shared these four characteristics. Within this group of classic sacramental churches, however, there is nonetheless a great deal of variety. The first distinction that may be drawn is between “temporary” and “permanent” churches. The former were originally intended to serve as places of 89 worship for ten or fifteen years, and then to be converted into social halls or gymnasiums. These churches share a number of characteristic features and thus form a readily identifiable stylistic grouping. They will be considered in the second half of this chapter. The “permanent” churches span a stylistic spectrum, ranging from pure historic revivalism at one end of the spectrum to expressionist modernism at the other end. Because these churches are arranged along a continuum, identifying distinctive stylistic groupings is challenging. Placing individual churches within specific stylistic groupings is even more challenging, especially when a church is situated at a place on the continuum where groupings appear to meet or even overlap. Nonetheless, when attempting to understand the physical form of individual churches, and the relationship of individual churches to one another, stylistic grouping can be a useful, if necessarily imprecise, analytic tool. At the risk of oversimplification – an unavoidable risk when one is attempting to identify stylistic groupings -- the “permanent” classic sacramental churches considered here may be divided into two basic groups: those whose physical form chiefly reflects architectural trends of past centuries, and those whose physical form chiefly reflects developing architectural trends of the twentieth century. The first basic group, which I identify as “revival” churches, may be divided – again, at the risk of oversimplification -- into two subgroups: “historic revival” churches, whose physical form reflects a consistent use of the design principles and architectural vocabulary of a single recognized historical style, and “eclectic revival” churches, whose physical form reflects an eclectic use of the design principles and architectural vocabulary of several historical styles. “Revival” churches will be considered in Chapter 5. The second basic group, which I identify as 90 “modernist” churches, may be divided – once again, at the risk of oversimplification -- into two subgroups: “minimalist” churches, whose physical form reflects the rationalist design principles and minimalist architectural vocabulary characteristic of the “international” strand of modernism, and “expressionist” churches, whose physical form reflects the design principles and architectural vocabulary characteristic of the “expressionist” strand of modernism. “Modernist” churches will be considered in Chapter 6. Explaining Stylistic Diversity Within the Classic Sacramental Tradition The wide stylistic diversity found among classic sacramental churches is a reflection of the fact that, although many aspects of Catholic church design are regulated by church law or subject to official guidelines, the Catholic Church has never prescribed a particular “style” or “styles” for church architecture. As architectural historian Kevin Seasoltz has observed, official documents “have usually set out broad principles that can be flexibly implemented and that enable patrons to take into account significant differences in situations.” 1 Although a comprehensive discussion of these documents is beyond the scope of this study, among the most important of these documents in recent times have been an instruction on sacred art issued in 1952 confirming that churches may be built in “new styles” as long as they don’t look like “profane” buildings; an instruction issued in 1964, during the Second Vatican Council, providing guidelines for church design intended to facilitate congregational participation; a “General Instruction” issued 91 at the time the new form of the Mass was introduced in 1970; and the revised Code of Canon Law promulgated in 1983. 2 As we saw in Chapter 2, the Archdiocese of Los Angeles was an institutional “patron” whose decisions were made by a relatively small group of individuals, one church at a time. The active involvement of the Archbishop, Board of Consultors, Archdiocesan Building Committee, and Chancery officials in every building project insured that there was some degree of uniformity in church design and construction throughout the Archdiocese. But the choice of architect was left up to the pastor, and his choice was no doubt a reflection of his level of sophistication, personal preferences and tastes, and sensitivity to the expressed desires of the major donors, volunteer fundraisers, and average parishioners who would be paying for the new church. As previously noted, the vast majority of the churches built in the Archdiocese during the period under study here were designed by a relatively small group of approved architects. Attempting to uncover the reasons why particular pastors chose particular architects to design particular churches would make a fascinating, if extremely time consuming and perhaps often frustrating, research project. What appears certain, however, is that particular architects were not chosen because they were associated with the mastery of any particular “style.” Indeed, one of the biggest surprises emerging from research conducted for this thesis is the remarkable versatility of these architects. Of the classic sacramental churches considered here, the most conservative – the Gothic Revival St. Augustine – and the most innovative – the expressionist St. Basil – were both designed by the same firm, A.C. Martin & Associates. Prolific church architect J. Earl Trudeau designed both classic sacramental churches – including the 92 Spanish Baroque Revival St. Charles Borromeo, the minimalist St. Therese, and the expressionist St. Mel -- and modern communal churches, such as the minimalist St. Cyprian. The firm of Barker & Ott is responsible for classic sacramental churches, like the multipurpose Maria Regina and the eclectic revival churches of SS. Felicitas & Perpetua, St. Joseph in Hawthorne, and St. Anthony in Long Beach, and for such modern communal churches as the minimalist St. Joseph in La Puente and the expressionist St. Columban. Similarly, the firm of Verge & Clatsworthy designed both classic sacramental churches -- the multipurpose St. John the Baptist, the eclectic revival St. Emydius, and the minimalist St. Joachim -- and modern communal churches -- the expressionist St. Anthony of Padua in Gardena. Although the scope of this study does not permit a detailed discussion of each of the architects whose work is considered here, two brief profiles will give some idea of the background and professional accomplishments of these architects. J. Earl Trudeau designed five of the churches cited as representative examples in this study. Trudeau began his architectural career in the late 1920s at the Los Angeles firm of Weston & Weston, which specialized in bank buildings. He relocated to New York at the beginning of the Great Depression, where he worked with several firms on a number of commercial and institutional projects. During this period he studied at the Beaux-Arts Institute of Design and earned numerous awards, including a fellowship at Princeton Graduate School of Architecture. Following a four month European study tour in 1935, which he combined with his honeymoon, Trudeau entered into an association with Los Angeles architect Henry Carlton Newton (1899-1971), who had previously designed several Catholic churches in the region. The firm designed a number of 93 industrial, commercial, educational, ecclesiastical, and residential projects prior to the outbreak of the Second World War. When wartime restrictions curtailed new construction, Trudeau found work as an architect and engineer for the Department of War. In 1944 he opened his own architectural office in suburban Alhambra. Trudeau designed a large number of buildings for the Archdiocese from the late 1940s through the 1970s, including churches, schools, rectories, and convents, in addition to a wide range of commercial and residential projects for other clients. 3 Jerzy George Szeptycki (pronounced “Shep-tis-key) designed five of the churches cited as representative examples in this study. Szeptycki was born in Poland in 1915. After having spent a year in Italy under the sponsorship of the Polish government studying the conservation of historic buildings, in 1938 he assumed responsibility for the preservation and restoration of some two hundred historic churches and landmarks in the Polish region of Pomerania. During the Second World War he was active in the Polish underground. After his arrest in the Polish uprising of 1942, he was held as a prisoner of war in a Nazi concentration camp, where he met his future wife, a fellow prisoner. In 1948 he and his wife immigrated to the United States, settling in Los Angeles. Impoverished and struggling to master English, Szeptycki held down part-time jobs while attending USC’s School of Architecture, where he earned a master’s degree in 1952. His thesis, A Study of Problems and Factors of Contemporary Ecclesiastical Architecture, is a thoughtful examination of church building at mid-century. Within a decade, he had built a highly successful architectural practice, specializing in church and school design for the Archdiocese and other Southern California clients. 4 94 The Impact of Liturgical Reform on Classic Sacramental Churches Although a number of the classic sacramental churches considered here were built prior to the opening of the Second Vatican Council in 1962, their designs nevertheless reflect a concern for the “full and active participation” of the congregation advocated by the pre-conciliar liturgical reform movement. As discussed in greater detail in Chapter 6, this concern is most fully evident in the architects’ attention to sightlines and to floor plans, with the intention of bringing the ritual action in the sanctuary as close as possible – both visually and physically -- to as many members of the congregation as possible. In the years following the Second Vatican Council, virtually all classic sacramental churches in the Archdiocese were rearranged to a greater or lesser extent to accommodate the reformed liturgy. Thus, the appearance of these churches today differs from their appearance at the time they first opened. These changes have chiefly impacted two of Kieckheffer’s analytic elements: spatial dynamics and centering focus. As we have seen, classic sacramental churches are traditionally characterized by a processional dynamic manifested by a longitudinal orientation and a segmentation and hierarchical arrangement of space. Rearrangement has affected these characteristics in various ways. In a few churches, such as St. Emydius and St. Joseph the Worker, the sanctuary has been moved from the apse into the crossing, and the seating for the congregation has been rearranged around the sanctuary. At these churches, the floor plan of a modern communal church has essentially been fitted into the shell of a classic sacramental church. Relatively few churches, however, have been so dramatically reconfigured. While the original longitudinal orientation remains intact in most churches, 95 other features have been altered to eliminate barriers and reduce distinctions among those gathered to participate in the liturgy. In most churches, the communion rail – a low rail demarcating the sanctuary from the rest of the church -- has been removed. Formerly, members of the congregation would kneel along this rail to receive Holy Communion; now, members typically approach the sanctuary in a procession, and receive the bread (and often the wine from a common cup) while standing. In most churches, a new area for singers and instrumentalists has been created in the front of the church, often immediately adjacent to the sanctuary. Formerly, these individuals occupied a “choir loft” in the rear of the church, above the narthex. While these lofts survive in virtually all churches, today they are rarely used. In many churches, the baptismal font has been relocated to the sanctuary or to a place within the nave near the entrance of the church, as is typically the case in modern communal churches. Previously, these fonts were housed in separate rooms known as “baptisteries,” which were typically located adjacent to the narthex or the nave. In those churches where the font has been relocated, the former baptisteries have been converted to a variety of uses, including shrines, Eucharistic reservation chapels (described below), gift shops, bride’s rooms, and storage space. Traditionally, classic sacramental churches have a single centering focus -- the altar. Rearrangement of sanctuaries, while preserving the preeminent role of the altar, has also enhanced the prominence of secondary focal points. The ambo, the presider’s chair, and often the baptismal font, now share attention with the altar, as they do in modern communal churches. Altars themselves have been rearranged to accommodate the new style of celebration in which the priest now stands behind the altar facing the people. In older churches, the altar was typically placed against the rear wall of the 96 sanctuary or against a free-standing reredos. 5 In some of these churches, the original altar has been detached from the wall or reredos and brought forward, creating a free-standing altar that is located closer to the congregation. In other churches, the original altar has been left in place, and a new free-standing altar has been positioned in the sanctuary closer to the congregation. The new style of celebration has also required the relocation of tabernacles, which in most churches were formerly placed upon the altar itself. In some churches, the tabernacle has been integrated into the reredos; in others, it has been placed on a separate pedestal within the sanctuary; in others, it has been placed on a secondary or “side” altar located adjacent to or outside the sanctuary; and in still others it has been relocated to a separate chapel, often referred to as a “Eucharistic reservation chapel.” Finally, while in some churches “side” altars -- originally designed to accommodate the celebration of Mass at separate shrines located within the church – have achieved new prominence as the location of the tabernacle, in others these altars have been removed to reinforce the significance of the single “main” altar in the sanctuary. Stylistic Grouping I: The Multipurpose Classic Sacramental Church Of the classic sacramental churches built in the Archdiocese of Los Angeles between 1948 and 1976, the majority were designed for eventual conversion to another use. These churches comprise the stylistic grouping that I call the “multipurpose classic sacramental church.” 97 During the period under consideration here, ninety-eight new parishes were established in the Archdiocese of Los Angeles. Once a site was secured for each new parish, a plan for its campus was adopted and building began. Typically, the first building completed was a relatively inexpensive “temporary church.” 6 This building was intended for liturgical use until the parish could afford to build a “permanent church,” at which point the “temporary church” would be converted into a social hall or, less commonly, a school gymnasium. In almost all cases this planned conversion did, in fact, occur, usually within ten to fifteen years of the building’s construction. There are a few parishes, however, where a postwar “temporary church” continues to be used for the liturgy. These buildings are of great interest, not only in and of themselves, but also for the insights they offer into the original function and appearance of similar buildings which may be found, in altered form, on virtually every postwar suburban parish campus. Four such churches are considered here: Maria Regina in Gardena (M.L. Barker & G.L. Ott, 1958); St. Pancratius in Lakewood (Armet & Davis, 1955); St. Gerard Majella in West Los Angeles (George Adams, 1953, and William Brown, 1960); and St. John the Baptist in Costa Mesa (Verge & Clatsworthy, 1961). Detailed descriptions, additional photographs, and citations to sources of information regarding each of these churches are contained in Appendix B. The multipurpose classic sacramental church played a key role in the Archdiocese’s postwar building program. As we have seen, under the set of priorities adopted by the Archdiocese, a new parish was not supposed to build a “permanent church” until its school, rectory, convent, and social hall had been constructed and largely paid off. What was needed, then, was a relatively inexpensive building that could be 98 made suitable for liturgical use while the rest of the parish campus was being built and paid for, and then converted – again, relatively inexpensively – into the requisite social hall. The multipurpose classic sacramental church fit this bill: St. Gerard Majella’s church cost $71,000.00 in 1953; Maria Regina’s church, $120,000.00 in 1958; and St. John the Baptist’s church, $131,000.00 in 1961. Postwar multipurpose classic sacramental churches are remarkably similar in appearance and plan, despite having been designed by a cross-section of the architects working for the Archdiocese at that time. Prior to the end of the war, there was in fact some discussion of adopting standardized plans for new parish buildings. In October of 1944, Auxiliary Bishop Joseph T. McGucken advised the chairman of the Archdiocesan Building Committee: I think it would be well to make a survey of the amount of probable church building after the war in order to see the volume that would probably be demanded as well as the advisability of going ahead with it immediately or deferring it. From the information I have I think that there will be a great volume of building, easily comparable to the building projects of outfits like the mail order houses, department stores and others who lay out standardization manuals for their branch offices and stores. . . . While it is difficult to do much standardization in churches, because of a varying size and style of architecture, still there are some features that could be standardized to good effect. 7 Two years later, Auxilary Bishop Timothy Manning informed the Committee’s chairman, “George Adams and I have been talking about the possibility of stabilizing some plans for small churches and houses that could be used when priests are beginning new developments.” 8 Despite these good intentions, it does not appear that a set of standardized plans was ever adopted. There is some evidence, however, that, naturally enough, individual architects relied upon their earlier work in designing buildings for other parishes. 99 Despite their perceived lack of individuality or obvious aesthetic merit, these “temporary” churches were a source of great pride to the parishioners who originally built them. In this respect, they fostered that sense of Catholic identity, both personal and communal, that was a key goal of the postwar architectural program. Before St. Gerard Majella’s church opened, its members worshipped, first, at the Culver City Rollerdome and then, after newly initiated Sunday morning skating sessions forced an untimely eviction, in a large circus tent pitched on the parish property. Sunday Mass for the first parishioners of St. Pancratius was held at the Lakewood Theater. For a pioneer parish, having a place to call its own was a true accomplishment. Moreover, the building of these churches offered opportunities for parishioner involvement, another goal of the postwar architectural program. In addition to fundraising, parishioners were frequently involved in the actual construction and decoration of these churches. At St. Pancratius, for example, members of the parish landscaped the parish campus and carved the church’s Stations of the Cross. 9 The exterior elevations of multipurpose classic sacramental churches are relatively simple, as there was as desire to avoid competing with the “permanent church” that would one day stand as the centerpiece of the parish campus (Figures 4-1 and 4-2). Accordingly, these churches rarely have towers or steeples, and they almost never occupy the most prominent building site on the parish campus. At each campus considered here, the key site – the corner of a street intersection at Maria Regina, St. Pancratius, and St. Gerard Majella, and the center of the street frontage at St. John the Baptist – is still occupied by a parking lot, pending the long delayed but still anticipated construction of a “permanent church.” 100 Figure 4-1 10 St. Pancratius: Façade Figure 4-2 St. Gerard Majella: Façade Figure 4-3 Maria Regina: Nave 101 Spatial Dynamics A multipurpose church embodies the longitudinal, processional dynamic characteristic of the “classic sacramental” model. It is basically a rectangular auditorium with a central aisle flanked by a bank of pews on either side (Figure 4-3). Side aisles run along each interior side wall, providing secondary access to the pews. A choir loft is typically located at the rear of the nave above the narthex. This basic rectangular floor plan is occasionally modified by the addition of a side wing, as at Maria Regina and St. Gerard Majella. Centering Focus The centering focus of a multipurpose church is its main altar, located at the center of a relatively small sanctuary. Attention is naturally drawn to the sanctuary area, which is always placed at the end of the longitudinal axis opposite the main entrance. This centering focus is reinforced by the treatment of the sanctuary wall behind the altar as a reredos, typically featuring a large crucifix (Figure 4-4). Such treatment may involve use of a backdrop, as at St. Gerard Majella, a simple wooden frame, as at Maria Regina, or the bare wall itself, as at St. Pancratius. The tabernacle is typically set in the center of the sanctuary, behind the altar and below the crucifix. The sanctuary furnishings are usually modest, consisting of simple altars, ambos, and presider’s chairs. In some churches, a baptismal font has been relocated to, or has been newly built inside, the sanctuary. 102 Figure 4-4 St. Gerard Majella: Reredos Figure 4-5 St. Pancratius: Windows Figure 4-6 Maria Regina: Sanctuary 103 Aesthetic Impact Because multipurpose churches were originally slated for eventual conversion into social halls or gymnasiums, they were not designed to incorporate the features which Kieckheffer indentifies as characteristic of the “interplay of transcendence and immanence.” They have relatively low ceilings, so there is little sense of height or spatial volume, and virtually no accoustical resonance. Natural lighting is also understated. Original windows are usually of plain design with panes of clear or single- toned colored glass, like those that still exist at Maria Regina. At both St. Gerard and St. Pancratius, the original windows have been replaced with multi-colored leaded glass windows with relatively simple abstract and figurative designs (Figure 4-5), a concession to the fact that these buildings have remained in use as churches longer than was originally planned. Symbolic Resonance The interiors of multipurpose churches were originally very simply decorated, a function both of budget limitations and an expectation that these churches would be adapted for other uses in a relatively short time. The symbolic resonance of these churches is chiefly found in their devotional images, of which there are usually relatively few. Maria Regina is typical: it contains a large crucifix over the altar, smaller images of the Sacred Heart of Jesus 11 and St. Joseph, and a separate shrine of the Blessed Virgin Mary in the side wing, apparently in recognition of the church’s dedication in honor of 104 “Mary Queen” (Figures 4-6 and 4-7). These same standard images may be found at St. Gerard and St. Pancratius, together with images of each parish’s patron saint (Figure 4-8). The interior of St. John the Baptist originally appeared much like these other three churches, but was richly redecorated in 2006 (Figure 4-9). Conclusion The stylistic diversity of classic sacramental churches sometimes makes it difficult to discern the fundamental elements that all of these churches share. In the “temporary” churches discussed in this chapter, those fundamental elements are displayed in their most basic form. Thus, these churches provide a “touchstone” when considering the more complex revivalist and modernist churches discussed in the next two chapters. 105 Figure 4-7 Maria Regina: Shrine of the Blessed Virgin Mary Figure 4-8 St. Gerard: Shrine of St. Gerard Figure 4-9 St. John the Baptist: Sanctuary 106 CHAPTER 4 ENDNOTES 1 Seasoltz 256. 2 Seasoltz 252-256; Torgerson 80-84; Theodor Filthaut, Church Architecture and Liturgical Form (Baltimore: Helicon, 1968) 20. 3 St. Therese Church: Alhambra: Dedicated January 14, 1951. [Booklet]. January 1951. 21; “Honeymoon Trip Leads to Europe” Los Angles Times 8 July 1935: A6. 4 Jerzy George Szeptycki, “A Study of Problems and Factors of Contemporary Ecclesiastical Architecture,” thesis, U of So. Calif., 1952; “Former War Prisoners Adopt Polish Orphan” Los Angeles Times 17 Sept. 1959: 22; “New Renaissance Seen in Design of Churches: Southland Architect Who Has Created 20 Urges ‘Education’ of Building Commission” [Interview with J. George Szeptycki] Los Angeles Times 26 July 1964: K5; “Churches Vital Segment of Southland Building Scene” Los Angeles Times 20 December 1964: N1; “Architect Turns Back on Europe’s Cathedrals: Gothic Styles Today Would Be as Absurd as Horse and Buggy on Freeways, He Says” [Interview with J. George Szeptycki] Los Angeles Times 12 Dec. 1965: L4; “Architect-Client Rapport Explored” [Interview with J. George Szeptycki] Los Angeles Times 29 May 1966: E1. 5 The term “reredos” refers to an architectural feature, such as a screen or wall treatment, that serves as a backdrop or “stage set” for an altar. The terms “altarpiece,” “retablo,” and “retable” have the same meaning. 6 The use of simple, inexpensive “temporary churches” by newly established parish communities was, of course, common long before the Second World War. These were usually relatively nondescript wood framed buildings clad in wood siding or stucco. It appears that virtually all of these early “temporary churches” have either disappeared or are no longer recognizable, having been either destroyed, moved to other locations, or heavily remodeled and converted to other uses. 7 Letter dated Oct. 31, 1944, from Bishop Joseph T. McGucken to Rev. Victor Follen, in file marked “Materials Pertaining to the Building Committee 1928-1944,” Archdiocesan Archives 8 Letter dated Jan. 21, 1947, from Bishop Timothy Manning to Rev. Victor Follen, in file marked “Materials Pertaining to the Building Committee 1945-1961,” Archdiocesan Archives 9 The terms “Stations of the Cross” and “Way of the Cross” refer to a devotional exercise in which Jesus’ final journey through the streets of Jerusalem and his subsequent crucifixion and burial are commemorated. They also refer to the collection of paintings or plaques commonly found in parish churches which depict fourteen episodes (“stations”) in that series of events. One “makes the Stations” by moving from one depiction to the next while meditating on each episode and reciting corresponding prayers. After the Second Vatican Council, a fifteenth “station” was added to the series to commemorate Jesus’ resurrection. 10 All photographs used in this study were taken by the author. 11 This stylized image depicts Jesus with his heart exposed to view, symbolically representing his great love for humankind. 107 CHAPTER 5 THE CLASSIC SACRAMENTAL TRADITION: LOOKING TO THE PAST FOR INSPIRATION In this chapter, I consider two groups of classical sacramental churches that look to the past for architectural inspiration. I begin with a discussion of the connections between historically-inspired design and the Archdiocese’s post war architectural program. I next provide a brief survey of revivalist church architecture in Southern California prior to the Second World War. I then discuss the characteristic features of the two groups of postwar churches which employ historically-inspired elements in their design, one of them in a somewhat more historically accurate manner, and the other in an eclectic manner. Revivalist Design and the Postwar Architectural Program From the mid-1880s until well into the 1930s, the broad trend known as “Academic Eclecticism” dominated considerations of architectural style in the United States. When designing a new building, architects considered a wide range of historical styles in an attempt to select the one most suitable for the project at hand, taking into account such factors as function, topography, climate, regional traditions, and client preferences. This reliance on historical precedent was particularly evident in the building of new churches. 1 108 Quite naturally, Catholic immigrants living in their ethnic urban neighborhoods wanted churches that reminded them of home. For these Catholics, the parish church was: . . . a symbol of continuity with the past, a link with the Old World, as well as being a center of social life and worship. Here the ethnic languages were spoken and the national traditions were preserved. Here the patron saints of the people were honored and the great events of their religious history were called to mind in marble, glass, or mural painting. 2 These urban parish churches, usually massive in size and richly decorated, also manifested the economic power of their parishioners. They demonstrated that, despite their working class status, Catholic immigrants were able to “collectively muster the resources to produce churches on at least as monumental a scale as their more established neighbors.” 3 Today these remarkable churches, left behind as Catholics resettled in the suburbs, have become an endangered species in cities across the country. Where they survive, however, they continue to “document the places of origin and the movements of ethnic groups within the city” and serve as “repositories of history and heritage . . . storehouses of tradition . . . [and] monuments of faith.” 4 Thus, Catholics settling in Southern California’s postwar suburbs were accustomed to worshiping in churches whose architecture was historically inspired. This was particularly true, of course, for those Catholics who were relocating from urban neighborhoods in the East and Midwest. But it was also true, as we shall see, for native Southern Californians who had grown up in local urban and suburban neighborhoods developed prior to the war. Thus, it is unsurprising that a number of the churches built in the Archdiocese of Los Angeles between 1948 and 1976 incorporate elements inspired by historic architectural styles. 109 Given a sufficient amount of time and an adequately large construction budget, a postwar parish could, with little difficulty, commission and build a church that incorporated, in a consistent and thorough manner, all of the design, structural, and decorative elements characteristic of a particular historic revival style. Frequently, however, the pressing need for a new church, combined with budgetary constraints, necessitated compromises. In such cases, architects could select only a limited number of historic elements for incorporation into a new church’s design. Fortunately, the principles of Architectural Eclecticism were amenable to such an approach. While the movement emphasized the importance of the universal design principles that it perceived as underlying all praiseworthy historical styles, as well as attention to historical accuracy when adapting a particular style for contemporary use, it also tolerated a certain degree of creativity, always attempting to “maintain a decorous and sensible balance between continuity and change, avoiding mere copyism at one extreme and personal expressionism at the other.” 5 Thus, the practical considerations that mandated selectivity also conferred freedom. If historic authenticity wasn’t necessarily required, why not “mix and match” elements of two or more historic styles to create a harmonious synthesis? Thus, among the postwar suburban parish churches inspired by historical precedents, we find a full spectrum of designs ranging from the authentic and consistent to the eclectic and syncretistic. Whether they accurately replicated a single historic style, or blended several styles to create a “feeling” of historicity, these revivalist churches reinforced the sense of Catholic identity that was such an important part of the mission of the postwar suburban parish, and therefore of the postwar architectural program. Whether authentic or eclectic 110 in style, they became inescapable reminders of cultural heritage for Catholics living in a postwar Southern California suburban cityscape that had few other such reminders. Revivalist Design in Southern California Prior to the Second World War Unlike their counterparts in Eastern and Midwestern cities – and in San Francisco, for that matter -- the bishops of Los Angeles did not favor the establishment of national parishes for European immigrant groups, preferring instead that all Catholics of European ancestry living within the boundaries of a territorial parish worship at the local parish church. 6 Indeed, prior to the Second World War, there were only six Catholic parishes established in Los Angeles to serve particular European ethnic groups, and all were eventually assigned territorial boundaries. 7 Following the war, Cardinal McIntyre “did not like, encourage or allow” the establishment of national parishes in his archdiocese because: . . . as youngsters grew up speaking English, the need and usefulness of such parishes and churches disappeared and neighborhoods were left with empty houses-of-worship. While he encouraged retention of the best of old world traditions and lingual diversities, the cardinal felt that the more readily immigrants became Americanized, the sooner they would start moving up the economic ladder.” 8 Thus, in the Archdiocese of Los Angeles there are no examples of urban parish churches incorporating the regional European variants of the Renaissance and Baroque styles that were so popular with ethnic immigrant congregations in the East, the Midwest, and San Francisco. For multi-ethnic Catholic parishes in Los Angeles prior to 1920, the obvious, and almost universal, architectural choice was Gothic Revival (Figures 5-1 and 111 Figure 5-1 Sacred Heart, Los Angeles (H.A. Cole, 1893) Figure 5-2 St. Anthony, Los Angeles (1910) Figure 5-3 St. Vincent de Paul, Los Angeles (Albert C. Martin, 1925) 112 5-2). This style was undeniably “Catholic” without being closely associated with any particular ethnic group. 9 By 1920, however, two Mediterranean revival styles were becoming increasingly prevalent throughout the Los Angeles region, one inspired by Spain, the other by Italy. These revival styles “emerged as particularly apt expressions of the region’s Mediterranean climate and freedom from the same past that seemed to hold older, less fortunate parts of the nation in its grip.” 10 It was inevitable that these styles would, at some point in time, be widely adopted for ecclesiastical use. 11 The first of these styles, commonly known as “Spanish Colonial Revival,” developed in two phases. The first phase, often called the “Mission Revival,” began in the 1880s and remained popular until about 1910. The second phase, sometimes distinguished from the first by use of the term “Mediterranean Revival,” began around 1910 and continued into the 1930s. 12 This style exploited both a “usable Spanish past that was historically verifiable,” 13 and “nostalgia for a largely imagined Californio heritage of colonial days.” 14 The second style, the Italian Romanesque Revival, “evoked not historical but geographical associations.” 15 Its widespread adoption in Southern California illustrated the propensity of architects working within Academic Eclecticism to look not only to “local vernacular traditions” for regional styles, but also to “traditional styles from similar regions in Europe.” 16 During the 1920s and early 1930s, almost every new Catholic parish church constructed in the Los Angles region incorporated either the Spanish Colonial Revival or and Italian Romanesque Revival style (Figures 5-3 through 5-7). Appropriation of 113 Figure 5-4 Holy Family, South Pasadena (Emmett G. Martin, 1928) Figure 5-5 Precious Blood, Los Angeles (Newton & Murray, 1926) Figure 5-6 St. Andrew, Pasadena (Ross G. Montgomery, 1929) 114 Figure 5-7 St. Paul, Los Angeles (Austin & Ashley, 1938) Figure 5-8 St. Gregory Nazianzen, Los Angeles (M.L. Barker & G.L. Ott, 1938) Figure 5-9 St. Dominic, Eagle Rock (1940) 115 these styles allowed Catholics an opportunity to express their unique identity among the region’s Christian denominations. Unlike other Christian denominations, the Catholics of Los Angeles could lay claim to a long, distinguished history in the region, dating back to the arrival of the Spaniards in California. Also, unlike other Christian denominations in the area, Catholics could claim a unique association with Rome and the papacy, perhaps the most ancient and prestigious of all Christian institutions. Thus, while other Christian denominations were free to employ architectural styles associated with Spain, the Spanish empire, and Italy, none had a greater legitimate claim to their use than the Catholics, and none embraced them with the same degree of enthusiasm. As we shall see, this enthusiasm endured well into the postwar era. By the late 1930s and early 1940s, churches displaying an eclectic blend of diverse historic architectural elements began to appear (Figures 5-8 and 5-9), although relatively “pure” versions of the Spanish Colonial Revival and Italian Romanesque Revival remained popular. Stylistic Grouping II: The Historic Revival Classic Sacramental Church Of the revival style classic sacramental churches built in the Archdiocese during the period under consideration here, those that incorporate architectural elements characteristic of a single historic style in a generally consistent manner comprise the stylistic grouping that I call the “historic revival classic sacramental church.” Five such churches are discussed here. One of them, St. Augustine in Culver City (Albert C. Martin & Associates, 1958), is the sole Gothic Revival church built in the Archdiocese since the 116 Second World War. The other four represent variations of the Spanish Colonial Revival style: St. Timothy in West Los Angeles (Harold Gimeno, 1949), St. Joseph in Pomona (Comeau & Brooks, 1956), St. Charles Borromeo in North Hollywood (J. Earl Trudeau, 1959), and St. Margaret Mary in Lomita (Lawrence D. Viole, 1952). Detailed descriptions, additional photographs, and citations to sources of information regarding each of these churches are contained in Appendix D. Spatial Dynamics Historic revival churches display the longitudinal, processional dynamic characteristic of the classic sacramental tradition. St. Augustine, because of its Gothic inspiration, best illustrates the processional dimension of this dynamic (Figure 5-10). While its plan is relatively simple compared to larger Gothic-style churches constructed during the medieval period and the nineteenth and twentieth century revivals, its clearly delineated nave and side aisles, together with the carefully articulated secondary spaces that adjoin the side aisles, give a clear sense of the spatial hierarchy and functional differentiation that is characteristic of the classic sacramental model. Although both St. Joseph and St. Charles Borromeo embody cruciform plans, each exhibits a strong longitudinal axis. At St. Joseph, the side aisles and transepts are separated from nave by an unusual single arch design (Figure 5-11). This design preserves visibility of the sanctuary from the transepts while accentuating the longitudinal axis of the nave. At St. Charles, a central dome and the four massive arches on which is rests divide the interior into five distinct spaces: the crossing beneath the dome, the nave, the two transepts, and 117 Figure 5-10 St. Augustine: Nave Figure 5-11 St. Joseph, Pomona: Nave Arches Figure 5-12 St. Charles Borromeo: Nave 118 the sanctuary (Figure 5-12). Despite this segmentation, the longitudinal axis remains intact by virtue of the sheer volume of the overall interior space of the church. Both St. Timothy and St. Margaret Mary are, in essence, high ceilinged rectangular auditoriums with a central aisle flanked by banks of pews (Figure 5-13). Centering Focus Like other classic sacramental churches, the focus of a historic revival church is the main altar at the center of its sanctuary. Again, this is best illustrated by St. Augustine, where a “dramatic repetition of arches” lining the nave draws attention to the altar. This focus is reinforced by a stained oak, Gothic-style baldachino 17 from which a large crucifix is suspended (Figure 5-14). St. Charles features a similar arrangement, in which a carved oak reredos with a large crucifix is framed by a baldachino whose curve echoes the curve of the massive decorated arch which delineates the sanctuary from the crossing (Figure 5-15). At St. Joseph, the spacious sanctuary projects into the nave. The centerpiece of the sanctuary is a 28 foot tall, 34 ton freestanding marble baldachino featuring a Venetian mosaic depicting the death of St. Joseph (Figures 5-16 and 5-17). The richly furnished sanctuary is still demarcated by the original 112 foot long communion rail, with room for “74 communicants at one time.” St. Timothy features a 300 year old gold-leafed Spanish reredos. A silver and gold tabernacle -- created by the special effects department at nearby 20 th Century Fox under the direction of a parishioner-- has been incorporated into its design (Figure 5-18). In contrast, St. Margaret Mary’s reredos is much “simpler and more modern than those of the missions,” 119 Figure 5-13 St. Margaret Mary Alacoque: Nave Figure 5-14 St. Augustine: Sanctuary Figure 5-15 St. Charles Borromeo: Sanctuary 120 Figure 5-16 St. Joseph, Pomona: Sanctuary Figure 5-17 St. Joseph, Pomona: Baldachino Figure 5-18 St. Timothy: Reredos 121 in the words of a contemporary account. Its combination of elements -- a large crucifix, projecting carved oak baldachino, simple wooden framing, and abstract mosaic background – is more typical of postwar multipurpose or modernist church (Figure 5-19). Aesthetic Impact Historic revival churches typically incorporate all of the features which Kieckhefer indentifies as characteristic of the “interplay of transcendence and immanence.” St. Joseph, with is high nave, light filtered through stained glass clerestories, and reverberant acoustics, perfectly captures this sense of “interplay” (Figure 5-20). So does St. Augustine, where a relentless vertical orientation, reinforced by the high pitched ceiling, exposed trusses, sanctuary arch, great window, and flanking arcades, creates a strong sense of aspiration. The church’s abundance of stained glass, together with the amplified sounds which echo off the hard surfaces of the concrete walls and terrazzo floors, complete the effect. At St. Charles, the combination of segmented spaces, oversized architectural ornamentation, and diffused interior light has a dramatic aesthetic impact. Although the spatial volume of St. Timothy is much simpler, it too has a strong impact with its high ceiling, open trusses, and extensive use of stained glass. The effect is similar at St. Margaret Mary, although stained glass is used much more sparingly. 122 Figure 5-19 St. Margaret Mary Alacoque: Reredos Figure 5-20 St. Joseph, Pomona: Nave Figure 5-21 St. Augustine: Façade 123 Symbolic Resonance The exterior elevations of historic revival churches, with their stylistically consistent and often complex combinations of historic architectural design elements, have characteristically strong symbolic resonance. St. Augustine is clearly the most “exotic” of the Archdiocese’s postwar historic revival churches. Its 13 th century Gothic style is about as foreign to the region’s postwar popular culture as it can be, from its soaring tower (Figure 5-21) to the cast stone relief above the main entrance which depicts its patron saint with his mother St. Monica and his mentor St. Ambrose (Figure 5-22). The decorative elements employed at the other historic revival churches considered here have at least some cultural connection to Southern California’s Spanish and Mexican heritage. This is truer of St. Margaret Mary, inspired by the California missions, than it is of St. Charles Borromeo, patterned after the great Baroque cathedrals of Mexico (Figures 5-23 and 5-24). This is not to say that the exterior decoration of any of these churches is strictly historically accurate. The oversized ornamentation at St. Charles, for example, incorporates a range of Old and New Testaments symbols as well as the motto of its patron saint, “Humilitas.” At St. Timothy, a Celtic cross, apparently selected by the parish’s Irish pastor, is prominently featured among the otherwise traditional elements of its Spanish Baroque-inspired decoration. Inside each of these churches, numerous works of art, described in greater detail in Appendix D, manifest the rich symbolic resonance so characteristic of the classic sacramental tradition. St. Timothy displays Spanish Baroque sculptures of the Blessed 124 Figure 5-22 St. Augustine: Tympanum Figure 5-23 St. Margaret Mary: Facade Figure 5-24 St. Charles Borromeo: Façade 125 Figure 5-25 St. Augustine: Great Window Figure 5-26 St. Timothy: St. Vibiana Window Figure 5-27 St. Joseph, Pomona: Facade Window 126 Virgin Mary and St. Joseph, while at St. Joseph these same images are rendered in richly colored variegated Italian marble. St. Augustine, as befits a Gothic style church, has several shrines featuring marble and wood carved statues. All of these churches also display extensive collections of figurative stained glass. The main feature of St. Augustine’s façade is its great window, created in Ireland, with 21 panels depicting angels, prophets, apostles, and doctors of the church (Figure 5-26). Other windows depict a wide range of saints, and parishioners in 1950s style dress receiving the seven sacraments. At St. Timothy, the windows include representations of locally significant saints, including St. Vibiana, a patroness of the Archdiocese of Los Angeles, depicted with her namesake Cathedral (Figure 5-27), Bl. Juniperro Serra, depicted with Mission Santa Barbara, and the patron saints of County Cork, the birthplace of the parish’s pastor. The three key windows at St. Charles are unusually complex, depicting multiple images and scenes grouped under the themes of the life of St. Charles Borromeo, the Tree of Jesse, and the Dream of St. Joseph. At St. Joseph, the rose window in the façade features an image of its patron saint with the scriptural quotation, in Latin, “Behold the faithful and wise servant whom the Lord places over his household” (Figure 5-28). This allusion to Joseph’s responsibilities as a father is squarely in keeping with the postwar emphasis on family life. Stylistic Grouping III: The Eclectic Revival Classic Sacramental Church Of the revival style classic sacramental churches built in the Archdiocese during the period under consideration here, those that incorporate diverse historic architectural 127 elements in a generally eclectic manner comprise the stylistic grouping that I call the “eclectic revival classic sacramental church.” This study focuses on four such churches -- SS. Felicitas & Perpetua in San Marino (M.L Barker & G.L. Ott, 1948), St. Joseph in Hawthorne (M.L. Barker & G.L. Ott, 1959), St. Philip the Apostle in Pasadena (Roland E. Coate, 1951), and St. Emydius in Lynwood (Verge & Clatsworthy, 1958)-- and the postwar façade added to a fifth church -- St. Anthony in Long Beach (M.L. Barker & G.L. Ott, 1954). Detailed descriptions, additional photographs, and citations to sources of information regarding each of these churches are contained in Appendix F. Spatial Dynamics An eclectic revival church, like all classic sacramental churches, displays a longitudinal, processional spatial dynamic. The nave is typically a high ceilinged rectangular space, with a central aisle flanked by banks of pews and side aisles running along each interior side wall. At SS. Felicitas and Perpetua, these side aisles are separated from the nave by a row of columns that reinforce the longitudinal axis (Figure 5-28). Although both St. Philip and St. Joseph incorporate cruciform plans, the longitudinal orientation remains strong. At St. Philip, the secondary spaces which adjoin the nave – the transepts and shrines -- are separated from the nave by broad arches, accentuating the axis (Figure 5-29). At St. Joseph, the axis is reinforced by square columns separating the nave from the transepts (Figure 5-30). St. Emydius also embodies a cruciform plan, but the church’s original arrangement has been reconfigured 128 Figure 5-28 SS. Felicitas and Perpetua: Aisle Detail Figure 5-29 St. Philip the Apostle: Nave Arch Figure 5-30 St. Joseph, Hawthorne: Nave Colonnade 129 to deemphasize the longitudinal axis. The sanctuary has been extended into the crossing, and the main altar relocated there. The seating within the transepts has been reoriented to face the altar, and several pews have been replaced with individual chairs allowing for flexible seating arrangements (Figure 5-31). Centering Focus The centering focus of an eclectic revival classic sacramental church is, quite characteristically, the main altar at the center of the sanctuary. The composition of SS. Felicitas & Perpetua’s reredos is typical of many postwar classic sacramental churches. It combines a large crucifix, tabernacle on a pedestal, projecting crown-shaped baldachino, simple marble and wood frame, and backdrop of cut natural stone (Figure 5- 32). St. Joseph features a reredos consisting of a wooden baldachino of somewhat Gothic design, enclosing a tabernacle and a “heroic life size” mural of the Risen Christ in place of the usual crucifix (Figure 5-33). The reorientation of St. Emydius’ sanctuary has preserved, and perhaps enhanced, the attention drawn to the altar, notwithstanding the fact that it is now somewhat removed from the black and white marble baldachino which continues to shelter the tabernacle and a large crucifix (Figure 5-34). At St. Philip’s there is no reredos or baldachino. The altar stands alone in the middle of the semicircular portion of the church’s apse. Behind the altar, the lower third of the apse is occupied by a screened ambulatory whose double arched openings reveal stained glass windows set in 130 Figure 5-31 St. Emydius: Crossing Figure 5-32 SS. Felicitas and Perpetua: Sanctuary Figure 5-33 St. Joseph, Hawthorne: Sanctuary 131 Figure 5-34 St. Emydius: Sanctuary Figure 5-35 St. Philip the Apostle: Sanctuary Figure 5-36 St. Joseph, Hawthorne: Façade 132 the wall of the apse (Figure 5-35). The upper two thirds of the apse is occupied by a huge reproduction of Raphael’s “Disputation Over the Blessed Sacrament.” Aesthetic Impact Like historic revival churches, eclectic revival churches typically incorporate all of the features which Kieckhefer indentifies as characteristic of the “interplay of transcendence and immanence.” For example, even though the interior volume of SS. Felicitas and Perpetua is simple, it has a strong impact with its high open beamed ceiling and extensive use of stained glass. A contemporary description of the church states that its architects have “retained the historic atmosphere of the area in a church devotional in atmosphere and compatible with modern living.” A similar description of St. Joseph’s notes that its forty-three windows “filter and mellow daylight to intensify the devotional atmosphere of the church.” Symbolic Resonance The most distinctive aspect of an eclectic revival church, as compared with other types of classic sacramental churches, is the particular quality of its symbolic resonance. By combining architectural and artistic elements from several historic periods, sometimes in an almost encyclopedic fashion, these churches convey a sense of historicity that is independent of any actual resemblance to real historical antecedents. 133 A typical example of this may be found at St. Joseph, where the façade exhibits a remarkably eclectic blend of decorative elements (Figure 5-36). A massive Gothic arch encompasses a tripartite stained glass widow set above the triple entry doors. These doors are flanked by receding series of cast stone columns reminiscent of medieval Italian cosmatesque design. A horizontal band displays the phrase “Venite Adoramus” together with sheaves of wheat and a vaguely Celtic circular design. A Romanesque style blind arcade supports the cornice. The most astonishing example of postwar eclectic revivalism in the Archdiocese, however, is the façade of St. Anthony, completed in 1954 (Figure 5-37). A contemporary newspaper account called it “a new and different civic attraction for Long Beach,” while architectural historian Robert Winter has summed up his assessment in two words: “Something else!” The façade, which defies stylistic analysis, has three basic elements: a projecting portico housing the tripartite entry to the church; a recessed wall surface, constituting the gable-end of the building, decorated which a heroic mural; and a pair of towers crowned with spires which frame the entire composition. Each of these features is described and illustrated in Appendix F. The architecture blends Gothic, Byzantine, Art Deco, and Streamline Moderne elements, and the art merges an Italian Renaissance sensibility with WPA realism. The wide-ranging iconographic scheme depicts, among other subjects, the Blessed Virgin Mary, the twelve apostles, the patron saints of twelve Long Beach parishes, Pope Pius XII, Cardinal McIntyre, the late Archbishop Cantwell, and Bishops McGucken and Manning (Figures 5-38 and 5-39)! 134 Figure 5-37 St. Anthony, Long Beach: Façade Figure 5-38 St. Anthony, Long Beach: Façade Mural Figure 5-39 St. Anthony, Long Beach: Façade Detail – Los Angeles Bishops 135 The interiors of eclectic revival churches are as rich in symbolic resonance as their exteriors. At St. Philip’s, for example, a rich collection of painted and mosaic murals includes the Raphael reproduction in the apse, huge murals in each transept by local artists Edith and Isabel Piczek, and shrines rendered in Byzantine-style mosaic with gleaming gold backgrounds (Figure 5-40). As in other types of postwar classic sacramental churches, the theme of Catholic family life is often highlighted. For example, the most prominent window at St. Joseph (Figure 5-41) was described in a contemporary newspaper account as follows: The reality and vitality of simple, homely virtue in a fast-moving age is brought in mind by the large stained glass window on the church’s façade. It shows St. Joseph and is circumscribed by scenes from the life of the Holy Family. 18 At St. Emydius, this theme is carried at step further. Each of the clerestory windows depicts a saint and, below him or her, a “scene relating the saint pictured to modern life.” For example, the window of St. Dominic Savio, who was strongly promoted during the postwar era as a model of virtue for Catholic boys, includes scenes depicting a young man studying, playing baseball, and serving as an altar boy (Figure 5-42). The window of St. Thomas More shows a father leading the members of his family in prayer before a meal. The window of St. Monica shows a mother washing dishes surrounded by her children. Conclusion Postwar revivalist churches provide a tangible link, not only to the sacred architecture of centuries past, but also to the revivalist tradition that flourished in 136 Figure 5-40 St. Philip the Apostle: Shrine of the Crucifixion Figure 5-41 St. Joseph, Hawthorne: St. Joseph Window Figure 5-42 St. Emydius: St. Dominic Savio Window 137 Southern California prior to the Second World War. As the remarkable façade of St. Anthony’s attests, revivalist styles allowed architects to blend the past with the present and the medieval with the modern, thereby forging a sense of identity for mid-century Southern California Catholics. 138 CHAPTER 5 ENDNOTES 1 Mark Gelernter, A History of American Architecture: Buildings in Their Cultural and Technological Context, (Hanover: UP of New England. 1999) 196-207, 233-237. 2 Lane 17; see also Dell Upton, Architecture in the United States, (Oxford: Oxford UP, 1998) 84; Peter W. Williams, Houses of God: Region, Religion, and Architecture in the United States, (Urbana: U of Illinois P, 1997) 179; Paula M. Kane, “Getting Beyond Gothic: Challenges for Contemporary Catholic Church Architecture,” American Sanctuary: Understanding Sacred Spaces, ed. Louis P. Nelson (Bloomington: Indiana UP, 2006) 129. 3 Williams 177-178. 4 Lane 17; see also Kane 133. 5 Gelernter 197. 6 Francis J. Weber, Unity in Diversity: The Story of Ethnic Ministries and Eastern Rites in the Archdiocese of Los Angeles (Mission Hills, CA: St. Francis Hist. Soc., 2004) 2-3. 7 These parishes were St. Joseph’s for Germans in 1888; St. Peter’s for Italians in 1904; St. Anthony’s for Croatians in 1910; Our Lady of the Bright Mount for Poles in 1926; St. Stephen’s for Hungarians in 1930; and St. Casimir’s for Lithuanians in 1941. See Weber, Unity in Diversity 32-34, 45-49, 23-25, 70-73, 39- 42, and 51-55, respectively. Separate parishes and parochial chapels were also established – either officially or de facto – to serve Mexican Americans and African Americans. See Weber, Unity in Diversity 34-39 and 8-12, respectively. 8 Weber, Unity in Diversity 2-3. 9 This explanation is consistent with Jeanne Kilde’s suggestion that the universal popularity of the Gothic Revival style may be partially explained by a “desire to project a single, unified image of Christianity in a context of increasing secularism and denominational fragmentation.” Kilde 165. 10 Williams 270. 11 Williams 270. In Williams’ opinion, the ecclesiastical use of these particular styles “made more sense in terms of the region’s heritage, environment, and self-image” than did the use of other styles. Williams also notes the popularity of a third style for Southern California churches, the Moderne, which was adopted by “denominations that lacked a strong formal liturgical tradition, and often in combination with other, more traditional styles.” 12 David Gebhard, “The Spanish Colonial Revival in Southern California (1895-1930),” Jour. of Soc. of Architectural Historians 26.2 (1967): 131–132. 13 Kevin Starr, Inventing the Dream: California Through the Progressive Era (New York: Oxford UP, 1985) 81. 14 Williams 271; see also Gelernter 199-200. 15 Williams 271. 16 Gelernter 199. 139 17 A baldachino is a canopy-like structure which fully or partially “shelters” the altar placed beneath or adjacent to it. 18 “Cardinal to Dedicate New St. Joseph’s,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 13 Feb. 1959: 8. 140 CHAPTER 6 THE CLASSIC SACRAMENTAL TRADITION: EMBRACING MODERNISM In this chapter, I consider two groups of classical sacramental churches that incorporate the design principles and architectural vocabulary of modernism. I begin with a discussion of the connections between modernist design and each of the three elements constituting the Archdiocese’s post war architectural program. Next, I examine three pioneering prewar churches that reflect various aspects of modernist design. I then discuss the characteristic features of two groups of postwar churches which incorporate modernist design, one of them influenced by modernism’s minimalist, “international” strand, and the other by its “expressionist” strand. Modernist Design and the Postwar Architectural Program In the decades following the Second World War, American Catholics, along with other American Christians, finally embraced modernism as an acceptable alternative to the historic revival and eclectic revival styles that had dominated church design for the previous century. Architectural historian Michael DeSanctis has suggested that Catholics initially resisted modernist architecture for three reasons: because of its avowedly revolutionary goals, they viewed it as a threat to tradition; because of its deliberately non-populist stance, they viewed it as a threat to community; and because of its emphasis on reductionism and abstraction, they viewed it as a threat to a Catholic sensibility that 141 valued the sensual object. 1 This resistance eventually faded, according to DeSanctis, as modernist design became popular in all dimensions of American culture; as Catholic architects and artists became steeped in modernist principles; and as Catholic leaders began to encourage forms of architectural and artistic expression that were authentic reflections of their time and place. 2 Architectural historians have made numerous attempts to define the distinctive characteristics of modernist design. Mark Torgerson has identified four characteristics common to twentieth century modernist movements in Europe and the United States: an emphasis on structural expression, a fascination with technology, a reductionist aesthetic, and a functionalist ideology. 3 Jeanne Kilde has suggested that all modernist “styles” shared “a release from the past, an emphasis on the integrity of materials, a strong concern for function, and, by the mid-twentieth century, a disinclination toward ornament.” 4 Kevin Seasoltz has proposed that the principles underlying the “new style” of architecture included an emphasis on volume and regularity, and an avoidance of applied decoration or ornament in favor of allowing the incidental features of the design to contribute interest and variety to the building. 5 Torgerson has identified four main “points of connection” between modernist architectural design and contemporaneous theological, liturgical, and ecumenical developments. These points of connection are: (1) a “focus on function”; (2) a “concern for a contemporary expression (a connection to the people using the buildings)”; (3) the “pursuit of integrity”; and (4) the “elevation of simplicity.” 6 As I will demonstrate in this chapter, each of these “points of connection” dovetails with an aspect of the 142 Archdiocese’s three-part postwar architectural program. Thus, the widespread adoption of modernist design for new churches in the Archdiocese was virtually inevitable. The first point of connection – a “focus on function” – dovetails with the program’s embrace of the liturgical reform movement. As I discuss below, this movement invited architects to undertake a functional analysis when designing each parish church as “a building that works as a place for liturgy,” to borrow a phrase from Peter Hammond. 7 And as we have seen (and will see in this chapter), this functional approach is evident, in varying degrees, in the design of postwar classic sacramental churches. But the ultimate result of taking a functional approach to design was an entirely new tradition in church building: the modern communal church, which will be considered in detail in Chapter 7. The second point of connection – a “concern for a contemporary expression” – dovetails with the program’s goal of attracting and serving a new generation of Catholics. As I explain below, modernist design projected a vital, up-to-date, contemporary image for the postwar suburban parish that appealed to educated, affluent parishioners. The third and fourth points of connection -- the “pursuit of integrity” and the “elevation of simplicity”– dovetail with the program’s goal of accommodating population growth and suburban development. As I demonstrate below, modernism’s focus on integrity and honesty in both materials and building technology, as well its stress on simplicity of design, facilitated rapid and inexpensive construction of the new churches needed to satisfy the requirements of growing suburban parishes. 143 The Role of Modernist Design in Supporting the Liturgical Reform Movement One of the major proponents of applying modern architectural principles to church design was architectural theorist Peter Hammond. Hammond wrote in 1960: The task of the modern architect is not to design a building that looks like a church. It is to create a building that works as a place for liturgy. The first and essential requirement is a radical functional analysis. 8 This sentiment received official approval four years later, in the Vatican’s Instruction for the Proper Implementation of the Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy: In the new construction, repair, or adaptation of churches great care shall be taken that they are suitable for the celebration of divine services according to the true nature of the services and for the active participation of the faithful. 9 Thus, as German liturgist Theodor Filthaut observed, “the primary law of church construction is divine worship – more particularly, the sum total of cultual action performed in the church.” 10 If the function of a Catholic church, then, is to accommodate the liturgy, the architect’s job, as Hammond said, is “to create a building that works as a place for liturgy.” Seasoltz has suggested that the leaders of modernism’s “functionalist movement” were rarely commissioned to design churches because “it was felt that their intense rationalism inhibited their ability to provide worship spaces that would differ in any significant way from meeting halls.” 11 Nonetheless, a number of modernist churches were built in Europe in the 1920s and early 1930s, especially in France, Germany, and Switzerland. These churches were marked “by boldness of conception, by vigorous use of sharply defined forms, and by a strong commitment to an aesthetic that is striking different from that of traditional churches.” 12 144 According to Torgerson, these pre-war European churches ushered in “a modern architectural approach to church design in concert with a desire to achieve liturgical reform meant to enhance congregational participation in worship.” 13 These churches were characterized by a rejection of historical styles, use of new materials and technologies, an emphasis on function, incorporation of ample natural light, and a reduction in exterior and interior ornamentation. 14 In an attempt “to bring the community into a more active participation in the Eucharist,” architects “accentuated the essentials of the liturgy and either eliminated or played down the accretions.” 15 Among other things, this architectural minimalism served to enhance the prominence of a church’s altar, ambo, and other liturgical furnishings. 16 Perhaps the most significant feature of these churches, from the point of view of enhanced liturgical participation, was the emphasis placed upon “a unity between spaces designated for clergy and laity.” 17 The members of a congregation cannot fully participate in a liturgical service they cannot see and hear. Thus, the ritual actions taking place in the sanctuary should be easily visible to as many people as possible, and as many people as possible should be seated as closely to the sanctuary as possible. This approach to space planning, which emphasizes both visibility and proximity, was already evident in the early modernist churches built in Europe before the Second World War. It came to be employed almost universally in the classic sacramental churches built in the Archdiocese of Los Angeles after the war. This was true both for historic revival and eclectic revival churches, as we saw in Chapter 5, and for minimalist and expressionist churches, as we will see in this chapter. 145 The Role of Modernist Design in Projecting a Vital, Contemporary Image for the Postwar Suburban Parish By mid-century, there was a virtually universal appreciation among American Christians of the fact that the great church architecture of the past was “contemporary” or “modern” in its day, and that its greatness was directly related to its ability to express the spirit and meet the needs of the people of its time. 18 In the words of one writer: The finest expression of every age, in every country, has been through the buildings erected for the worship of God, and architects of today must reflect this century in the churches they design, using the materials and techniques with which we are familiar. If we do not build churches in keeping with the spirit of the age we shall be admitting that religion no longer possesses the same vitality as our secular buildings. 19 This sentiment was echoed by a set of “Diocesan Church Building Directives” adopted by the Catholic Diocese of Superior, Minnesota, in 1957: The church edifice is constructed to serve men of our age. Its architectural language should not be archaic or foreign but contemporary and genuine in expression. True Christian tradition accepts the true, the good, and beautiful in each age and culture. 20 Indeed, without exception, mid-century writers were insistent that church architecture “breathe a contemporary vitality,” 21 and that it “speak to the twentieth century in the language of the living.” 22 As Southern California Catholic architect Ross Montgomery observed in 1947: Forms change, but substance remains the same. The Church spoke to the Roman slave; to the knight and serf of the Middle Age; and she spoke to them in their own tongue. If today we know more that our fathers did of machinery, metallurgy and medicine, the Church has a language for us too; for She is the Church of the modern man as She was of men now gone, and as She will be of every man to come. 23 Indeed, many shared the belief that that modernist church architecture: 146 “would provide the Catholic church with claim to a forward-looking modernism, a demonstration that the church continued to be relevant in the lives of modern people even as their lives changed with the new demands of urban life, commercialization, and technology.” 24 American Christians’ embrace of modernism as the solution to the problem of a “vital” church architecture was no doubt rooted in the pervasive presence of modernist design in the commercial, industrial, and residential buildings that were being constructed throughout the country after the Second World War. 25 As one writer opined: It seems to me that the first requirement of a church or temple today is that it be of today, contemporary, a structure embracing the total life of the parishioner. That parishioner drives a streamlined car to work in an office or factory where everything has been designed for maximum efficiency and comfort. He travels in streamlined trains and jet-propelled planes. Yet every Sunday he is asked to hurl himself back centuries to say his prayers in the pious gloom of a Gothic or Romanesque past. The clear implication is that God does not exist today; He is made out to be a senile old gentleman dwelling among the antiques of his residence, one whom we visit each week out of sentiment and then forget since he obviously has no relation to the normal part of our lives. 26 Thomas Merton shared this view: One of the big problems for an architect in our time is that for a hundred and fifty years men have been building churches as if a church could not belong to our time. A church has to look as if it were left over from some other age. I think that such an assumption is based on an implicit confession of atheism – as if God did not belong to all ages and as if religion were really only a pleasant, necessary social formality, preserved from past times in order to give our society an air of respectability. 27 Indeed, contemporary writers were virtually unanimous in their assertion that that the previously widespread employment of historic revival architecture had conveyed a sense that Christian denominations have “no message for the contemporary world,” thereby confirming the agnostic’s conviction that such groups are “no more than a curious anachronism” and that Christianity itself “is merely the by-product of a vanished culture.” 28 Revivalism was characterized as “an architectural denial of . . . the belief that 147 God continues to speak his word in the language of each new age.” 29 In short, modernism’s goal to “free aesthetics from the grip of history” had a broad appeal “to many Christian congregations eager, after a century of embracing historical architectural vocabularies signaling the ancient character of Christianity, to establish the ongoing relevance of Christianity.” 30 Proponents of modern church design were sometimes met with the objection from parishioners that “we want our church to look like a church!” 31 Writers suggested a variety of responses to this objection, including arguments that churches “should be the greatest work of our time, not imitative works of the past,” 32 and that contemporary church architecture can “express the spirit of our day as Gothic did in the Middle Ages.” 33 As Southern California Catholic architect J. George Szeptecki observed in 1964: It [is] not in the best tradition to repeat architectural forms that had a meaning in the past but none in the present . . . . Every new style of architecture must be revolutionary. When Gothic came in it was bitterly criticized as being “too theatrical” and because it offended those accustomed to an earlier style. Yet it became a symbol of church architecture that has persisted to the present day. 34 One thoughtful writer noted that: . . .when people ask that a church look like a church, what they really mean is that it look like some church with which they are already familiar, either by sight or by means of a picture. This is a natural attitude. We always think of the new in terms of the old. That is the only way we can get started. Yet if we stopped at that point there would be no progress. The world moves along as man manages to get from the seen to the unseen. This is the function of the imagination. Nowhere is this faculty more needed than in the planning of a place for the worship of God. 35 Notwithstanding the fact that it is often impossible to satisfy everyone, the great majority of Southern California’s new generation of Catholics – educated, affluent, and fully sensitized to the virtues of modernist design in every other aspect of their lives – 148 enthusiastically welcomed the modernist designs proposed for their new parish churches, and contributed generously to the financing of their construction. The Role of Modernist Design in Facilitating Rapid and Inexpensive Construction of New Churches The Archdiocese’s desire to build new parish churches as rapidly and inexpensively as possible was readily accommodated by two of the key tenets of modernism: integrity and honesty in materials and technology, and simplicity of design. Proponents of modernism asserted that church building, like all other types of building, should make extensive use of the newest materials and technologies. 36 Many pointed to the examples of Germany, Switzerland, and France, where the incorporation of new materials and techniques had been steadily transforming church architecture since the completion in 1925 of Auguste Perret’s Notre Dame de Raincy, generally viewed as the first truly “modern” church. 37 By happy coincidence, new materials were often readily available and relatively inexpensive, and new technologies were time and cost effective. These practical considerations were not lost on Southern California’s Catholic architects. One of the most versatile of these architects, J. Earl Trudeau, wrote in 1938: The first requisite in respect to tradition is sound, honest construction. Obviously, then, we in Southern California turn to reinforced concrete. Cement is inexpensive and aggregate plentiful. Concrete lends itself to design that will resist the elements of time. 38 Szeptycki was in enthusiastic agreement twenty-six years later: I believe we face a truly great era in architecture. For the first time in more than 500 years, revolutionary and imaginative structural methods and materials are simultaneously available . . . . Everyone . . . should be fascinated by the vast array 149 of new materials and new methods of construction which ought to be allowed to speak for themselves. Every great architectural style starts this way. 39 Many writers shared Szeptycki’s view that the imaginative use of new materials and technologies was not only practical, but also the key to developing an inspiring new church architecture. 40 Historic revivalism, it was argued, was the result of a paucity of innovation during the past century; it reflected, not a respect for the past, but rather a lack of inventiveness and vision. 41 To use new materials and construction techniques to promote “archeologism” or “historicism” would be “ridiculous” and a “miserable deception” 42 ; indeed, modern Gothic—“a coating of antiquity over a modern steel frame intended to look old when it isn’t”--was denounced as “plain fakery.” 43 In short, new materials and technologies mandated a new architecture. In Hammond’s view, “Structural steel and shell concrete have opened up possibilities undreamed of in earlier ages—possibilities that would be ridiculous to ignore.” 44 These and other innovations would permit the spanning of spaces, the construction of heights, and the creation of shapes that had no precedent. 45 Indeed, because of the diversity of the materials available, and the fact that their experimental use and further development were headed in so many different directions, some speculated that no single integrated “style” would emerge in modernist church design. 46 One aspect of modernist design that was eagerly embraced by mid-century church architects was its emphasis on simplicity and its rejection of superfluous ornamentation. Trudeau wrote in 1938: Should Catholic churches of today be constructed to reflect the sober permanence of tradition built up around Christianity? Tradition, yes, but not borrowed form and ornament promiscuously applied to any building material, fake or showy. The omission of false or useless, stylized ornament provides a most suitable background for Christian worship. 47 150 Twenty-six years later, Szeptycki criticized the “fakery” of architects who were continuing “to build a box and then hang embellishments on it” so that it would appear to be “Gothic” or “Spanish American.” 48 For cost-conscious postwar suburban parishes, this adoption of modernist simplicity in place of historic revivalist grandeur offered a welcome opportunity to offset the ever increasing costs of labor and materials. 49 As one writer pointed out, the revivalist styles: . . . were developed in a day when labor was cheap. The men who built our old churches received less per day than their successors get per hour. Many of the old crafts are well-nigh extinct. Few congregations can afford the elaboration of detail which gives many old churches their charm. 50 In a modernist church, fortunately, there was no place for expensive “useless ornament” or “ugly and untidy decoration.” 51 Modernist Design Prior to the Second World War Prior to the period under consideration here, examples of modernist church design were in extremely short supply in the Archdiocese of Los Angeles. In fact, it appears that only three churches satisfy this stylistic description, one of which opened in December of 1947, just missing the cut-off date for this study by five days. Because of the importance of these churches as early examples of innovative design, they will be briefly discussed here. 151 The Church of Our Lady of Lourdes, Los Angeles Our Lady of Lourdes parish was established in East Los Angeles in 1910. Efforts to build a new church were underway by late 1927, and by December of 1930 plans had been prepared by three different local architects. At about this point in time, it seems, a fourth set of plans was prepared by Father Gilbert Winkleman, OSB, a Benedictine monk of St. John’s Abbey in Collegeville, Minnesota. Why these plans were prepared is a mystery, as a set of plans by a local architect had already been approved. The pastor of the parish at the time, Father Gratian, was a Benedictine monk from St. John’s. Whatever the explanation, by August of 1930 Fr. Gilbert’s plans had been approved by the Diocesan Building Committee. Due to the fact that Fr. Gilbert was not a licensed architect in California, however, local architect Lester G. Scherer was retained as architect of record. It is unclear to what extent Scherer altered Fr. Gilbert’s plans. In any event, Scherer is widely credited for the church’s innovative design, and Fr. Gilbert’s apparently substantial contributions have gone unrecognized. 52 Because this church’s unapologetically Moderne design is unique among Southern California Catholic churches built in the 1920s and 1930s, its origins merit further archival research at St. John’s and elsewhere (Figures 6-1, 6-2, and 6-3). As we have seen, the liturgical movement was introduced into the United States at St. John’s in the mid-1920s, and this fact must surely have some connection to the church’s innovative character. When the church was dedicated on June 21, 1931, it was described as “the first church of strictly modern design in the West.” 53 Seven years later, in 1938, it was selected by the American Institute of Architects, along with about one hundred other 152 Figure 6-1 Our Lady of Lourdes: Façade and Tower Figure 6-2 Our Lady of Lourdes: Tower Detail Figure 6-3 Our Lady of Lourdes: Dome Detail 153 buildings, as one of the finest examples of American architecture created during the past twenty years. The AIA award included the following description: The structure blends a modification of the old mission design with the architecture in California of the Spanish Grandees and combines the two with the simplicity and directness of line which characterizes the current modern method. 54 Two aspects of the church’s design merit brief consideration here. First, the ornamental architectural elements, although minimal, are clearly inspired by the Art Deco aesthetic of the 1920s rather than some historic ecclesiastical style (Figures 6-4, 6-5, 6-6, and 6-7). Second, the church’s T-shaped floor plan places the congregation around the sanctuary on three sides, thereby enhancing visibility and facilitating congregational participation in the liturgy. The church’s basic longitudinal orientation is unmistakable, as the column-lined nave is considerably longer than the two transepts, and the latter are treated as distinct, clearly segmented spaces that open directly into the sanctuary rather than into the nave itself. But the altar’s role as the church’s centering focus is given remarkable immediacy by the fact that it is placed under a dome where the nave and transepts converge (Figure 6-8), thus making it open to view on three sides (Figure 6-9). The Church of All Souls, Alhambra All Souls parish was established in Alhambra in 1913. A new church, designed by architects Henry C. Newton and J. Earl Trudeau, was dedicated on June 21, 1939. 55 The exterior elevations are extremely simple, and display the inherent qualities of concrete construction to full effect: the wood grain patterns of the pouring forms are 154 Figure 6-4 Our Lady of Lourdes: Sanctuary Figure 6-5 Our Lady of Lourdes: Nave Arcade Figure 6-6 Our Lady of Lourdes: Tile Mural Detail 155 Figure 6-7 Our Lady of Lourdes: Ceiling and Wall Detail Figure 6-8 Our Lady of Lourdes: Dome Interior Figure 6-9 Our Lady of Lourdes: View From Transept to Transept 156 ubiquitous (Figures 6-10). The most notable aspects of this church, however, are three unique interior features. The first is a remarkable skylight that extends the entire length of the nave and floods the church with natural light (Figure 6-11 and 6-12). This skylight is positioned above an elaborate lattice composed of thin metal girders that spans the entire ceiling, to dramatic aesthetic effect (Figure 6-13 and 6-14). The second is the highly unusual placement of a screened choir loft above and behind the sanctuary (Figure 6-11); a second choir loft occupies the usual position at the rear of the nave above the narthex. Some members of the Archdiocesan Building Committee expressed doubt about the proposed placement of the screened loft above the sanctuary, triggering an extensive consultation with liturgical experts across the country to confirm its permissibility. The third is the absence of any architectural feature (such as a proscenium arch) articulating a distinction between the nave and the sanctuary; the sanctuary is, in fact, flanked by two aisles allowing access to the confessionals 56 (Figure 6-18). According to a contemporary account, the altar was placed within the nave “in order that the people may more fully participate in the sacrifice of the Mass.” These three features of All Souls’ design, although apparently unique within the Archdiocese at the time, demonstrate that by the end of the 1930s both modernism and the liturgical movement were beginning to influence local church design. The Church of St. John the Evangelist, Los Angeles St. John the Evangelist parish was established in 1909 in the Hyde Park district of Los Angeles. Planning for a new “modernistic” church began as the Second World War 157 Figure 6-10 All Souls: Façade and Tower Figure 6-11 All Souls: Nave Figure 6-12 All Souls: Ceiling and Skylight 158 Figure 6-13 All Souls: Skylight Detail Figure 6-14 All Souls: Exterior Skylight Gallery Figure 6-15 All Souls: Aisle Flanking Gallery 159 came to a close. The church, designed by Montgomery & Mullay, was completed in late 1947, and was formally dedicated on December 27 of that year. 57 It represents a radical departure for architect Ross G. Montgomery, whose previous commissions for the Archdiocese included the Byzantine-Romanesque Revival Church of St. Cecelia in Los Angeles (1927), the Spanish Colonial Revival Cathedral Chapel of St. Vibiana in Los Angeles (1928), the Romanesque Revival Church of St. Andrew in Pasadena (1929), the Pueblo Revival Church of Our Lady of Mount Carmel in Montecito (1938), and the eclectic, Art Deco-inspired Calvary Mausoleum in Los Angeles (1927). Contemporary newspaper accounts described the church, constructed of structural steel and reinforced concrete, as “unusually designed,” “modern in concept,” and “simple and direct in design” (Figures 6-16, 6-17, and 6-18). It was said to have “attracted nation-wide comment,” and St. John’s pastor was praised as having “opened a new era in church architecture on the West Coast.” The Archdiocesan newspaper offered the following explanation of the church’s unusual appearance: [The church’s design] results from a frank appraisal of both the excellence and limitations of present-day construction materials, methods and workers . . . . Broad, simple surfaces of the building are indicative of modern construction methods which favor such lines rather than hand made intricacy. The long, straight lines are those into which steel and concrete fall most naturally. 58 The church’s “striking interior” features a high ceilinged nave flanked by a pair of low ceilinged transepts. In the past, as contemporary newspaper accounts pointed out, this design would have required the inclusion of rows of columns separating the nave from the transepts in order to support the nave’s clerestory walls, thereby impairing the view of the altar. At St. John’s, the architect could eliminate these columns because 160 Figure 6-16 St. John the Evangelist: Façade and Side Elevation Figure 6-17 St. John the Evangelist: Façade and Tower Figure 6-18 St. John the Evangelist: Façade Detail 161 “structural steel has made it possible to transform the clerestory walls into enormous beams reaching from [the] front to back of the auditorium in a single span.” This unaccustomed interior spaciousness was complemented by simple lines and by decoration designed “not to please yesterday’s eye, but today’s.” When it opened, St. John’s was offered as proof that “the eternal quality of the Church is expressed as clearly by the new as by the old.” Its modernist design illustrates all four of Torgerson’s “points of connection” between modernism and contemporary church architecture: the highly visible sanctuary functions as an invitation to participation in the liturgy; the church is an authentic expression of its time and place; contemporary materials and technology are honestly employed; and simplicity is paramount. Stylistic Grouping IV: The Minimalist Classic Sacramental Church Of the classic sacramental churches built in the Archdiocese during the period under consideration here, those that incorporate the rationalist design principles and minimalist architectural vocabulary characteristic of “international” modernism comprise the stylistic grouping that I call the “minimalist classic sacramental church.” Seven such churches are discussed here: St. Therese in Alhambra (J. Earl Trudeau, 1950); Our Lady of the Assumption in Ventura (Harold Burkett, 1954); Mary Star of the Sea in San Pedro (George Adams, 1958); St. John Chrysostom in Inglewood (Anthony A. Kauzor, 1960); St. Paul the Apostle in Westwood (Chaix & Johnson, 1958); St. Joachim in Costa Mesa (Verge & Clatsworthy, 1965); St. Genevieve in Panorama City (Brown & Avila, 1966); and St. Joseph the Worker in Canoga Park (Clar & Spitzer, 1969). Detailed descriptions, 162 additional photographs, and citations to sources of information regarding each of these churches are contained in Appendix H. Spatial Dynamics Like other classic sacramental churches, the spatial dynamics of a minimalist church are based on a longitudinal processional axis. The strength of this axis may vary, however, especially when a cruciform plan is employed. In churches with high ceilinged naves flanked by low ceilinged or shallow transepts, such as Assumption, Mary Star of the Sea, St. Paul the Apostle, and St. Joachim, the longitudinal orientation is clear (Figure 6-19). But when the height of the nave and the transepts are the same, as they are at St. John Chrysostom, the interior space assumes a more unified character, and the longitudinal axis becomes less dominant (Figure 6-20). The same is true at St. Therese, where a massive, although relatively shallow, dome covers the crossing where the nave, sanctuary, and transepts intersect, thereby creating a single uninterrupted space (Figure 6- 21). The processional axis is even less evident at minimalist churches built after the close of the Second Vatican Council, like St. Genevieve and St. Joseph, which are neither rectangular nor cruciform in plan. At St. Genevieve, the nave is almost as wide as it is long (Figure 6-22). Although the essential “squareness” of this unbroken interior space weakens the church’s longitudinal orientation, that orientation is nevertheless apparent in the church’s five aisles, four banks of pews arranged in parallel rows facing the sanctuary, side walls incorporating repetitive elements, compartmentalized ceiling, and 163 Figure 6-19 St. Joachim: Nave Figure 6-20 St. John Chrysostom: Nave Figure 6-21 St. Therese: Nave 164 Figure 6-22 St. Genevieve: Nave Figure 6-23 St. Joseph the Worker: Interior Figure 6-24 St. Therese: Sanctuary 165 exposed ceiling trusses. St. Joseph’s plan is trapezoidal in shape – wide at the back, and narrower in the front. Once again, although the church’s longitudinal orientation is weak, it remains evident from the employment of such features as a compartmentalized ceiling and a floor-to-ceiling reredos. The adaptability of this floor plan is evidenced by the fact that the basic components of the church have been rearranged to resemble those of a modern communal church (Figure 6-23). The original sanctuary has been screened from the nave and now forms a chapel for reservation of the Eucharist. The main altar has been brought into the nave, and the pews have been reconfigured around it on three sides. Centering Focus As with all classic sacramental churches, the centering focus of a minimalist church is the main altar in the sanctuary. In many minimalist churches, this focus is enhanced by extending the outward edge of sanctuary into the nave of the church, as is the case at St. Therese, St. Joachim, and St. Genevieve (Figure 6-24). This feature also enhances liturgical participation, increasing both the visibility and proximity of the ritual action. Minimalist churches typically employ some version of a reredos to draw attention to the sanctuary. These are usually quite simple in design, and typically incorporate a crucifix, as at St. Joachim and St. Genevieve, or a mural, as at Our Lady of the Assumption and St. Joseph (Figure 6-25). More elaborate designs can be found at St. Therese and St. Paul the Apostle. At St. Therese, the sanctuary features a floor-to-ceiling reredos composed of matched marble slabs highlighted with gold fleur-de-lis and ribbon 166 Figure 6-25 Our Lady of the Assumption: Reredos Figure 6-26 St. Therese: Reredos Figure 6-27 St. Paul the Apostle: Reredos Colonnade 167 designs (Figure 6-26). Above the tabernacle and crucifix is a massive niche containing a sculpture of St. Therese. The entire sanctuary is bathed in natural light streaming through concealed tinted windows lining the sanctuary walls. At St. Paul the Apostle, two striking and unusual elements call attention to the altar in the sanctuary. The first is a free-standing colonnade of five floor-to-ceiling arches that spans the rear of the sanctuary (Figure 6-27). This colonnade is back-lit by a skylight in the ceiling. The arches frame the rear sanctuary wall, encrusted with natural pebbles to form a rough aggregate mosaic. The second is a freestanding wooden reredos wall which stands a short distance behind the altar (Figure 6-28). It features an upturned crescent design that echoes a similar detail in the overhead light fixtures, and “blooming” finials that recall similar details on the church’s façade. Aesthetic Impact Voluminous interior space, diffused light, and reverberant sound are characteristic of the “interplay of transcendence and immanence” present in minimalist churches. However, because these churches are generally devoid of architectural ornamentation, these characteristics possess a somewhat different quality than they do in historic and eclectic revival churches. Because interior surfaces are undecorated, the inherent properties of the materials used – concrete, brick, wood, marble – are all the more apparent. This is especially true with respect to color. At Mary Star of the Sea and St. Joseph, for example, the extensive use of orange brick creates an undeniably “warm atmosphere” (Figure 6-29). By contrast, at St. John Chrysostom, the smooth concrete 168 Figure 6-28 St. Paul the Apostle: Sanctuary Figure 6-29 Mary Star of the Sea: Nave Figure 6-30 Our Lady of the Assumption: Nave 169 surfaces painted in shades of green and the polished marble wainscoting create a cool, calm ambiance (Figure 6-20). At Our Lady of the Assumption, the white concrete walls enhance the overall impression of a spacious interior awash in light (Figure 6-30). Symbolic Resonance Once again, although minimalist churches are frequently rich in symbolic resonance, that resonance possesses a somewhat different quality than that found in historic and eclectic revival churches. The forms, images, and materials employed are usually “modern” or “contemporary” in character, and thus devoid of the historical associations inherent in more traditional forms, images, and materials. Although from the outside minimalist churches are clearly recognizable as being churches, the familiar architectural elements – façade, portico, and tower – are usually rendered simply and with minimal ornamentation. Within these general parameters, however, a fair amount of variety may be found. For example, St. John Chrysostom, although devoid of exterior ornamentation, was described as “modified Gothic” upon its completion because of its strong verticality (Figure 6-31). The church’s slim, soaring 182 foot tall tower becomes progressively narrower as it rises, and ends in a tall spire. The church itself acquires something of the tower’s vertical thrust through the incorporation of pilasters, somewhat reminiscent of medieval buttresses, at key structural points. St. Joseph, completed nine years later, conveys an entirely different image (Figure 6-32). The church’s narthex projects so far forward from the vertical plane of its façade 170 Figure 6-31 St. John Chrysostom: Façade and Tower Figure 6-32 St. Joseph the Worker: Façade and Tower Figure 6-33 St. Joachim: Façade and Tower 171 that the narthex appears to be a separate pavilion. A trio of tall pointed arches enclose the main entry doors and three massive windows. These three arches extend backward to the vertical plane of the church’s façade, tying the narthex and the church together. The 100 foot tall tower stands apart from both the narthex and the façade, creating an unusually dynamic visual composition. St. Joachim illustrates how an effective minimalist design can rest upon a single architectural motif (Figure 6-33). The façade introduces the church’s architectural theme, with three elegantly pointed arches framing the central window and tripartite entryway. The same graceful arches are repeated at the apex of the adjoining 95 foot tower. They are echoed yet again in the clerestory windows of the transept and sanctuary, and in the smaller windows of the narthex and transepts. Exterior ornamentation, even when minimal, can be obvious or subtle. For example, at St. Therese the exterior decoration is restrained by comparison to a historic or eclectic revival church (Figure 6-34). The façade bears the Carmelite coat of arms, a frieze portraying the life of St. Therese, and a pattern of panels bearing an abstract arch- like design. The streamlined 120 foot tall tower enshrines a sculpture of St. Therese at its apex, and incorporates decorative screens displaying the fleur-de-lis, a symbol associated with the saint. Yet the church appears lavishly decorated compared to St. Paul the Apostle (Figure 6-35), with its fine architectural detailing (described in Appendix H), or the even simpler Our Lady of the Assumption (Figure 6-36). The relative simplicity of minimalist exteriors and interiors tends to enhance the visibility of works of art. At Assumption, for example, the sole exterior adornment is an expansive tile mural designed by Millard Sheets depicting the Portola expedition’s visit 172 Figure 6-34 St. Therese: Façade and Tower Figure 6-35 St. Paul the Apostle: Façade and Tower Figure 6-36 Our Lady of the Assumption: Façade and Tower 173 to the area in 1769 (Figure 6-37). The mural’s bold forms and colors stand out clearly, inviting full appreciation. The same is true at Mary Star of the Sea, which features a remarkable collection of sculpture, stained glass, and mosaic murals (Figures 6-38 and 6- 39). These works of art, described in Appendix H, reflect aspects of the parish’s rich multicultural history and its status as a “fisherman’s shrine” and “seafarer’s church.” Although most of these works are far more traditional than those typically found in minimalist churches, they can be displayed to good effect without having to “compete” with the architecture. Stylistic Grouping V: The Expressionist Classic Sacramental Church Of the classic sacramental churches built in the Archdiocese during the period under consideration here, those that incorporate the design principles and architectural vocabulary characteristic of the “expressionist” strand of modernism comprise the stylistic grouping that I call the “expressionist classic sacramental church.” Six such churches are discussed here: St. Mel in Woodland Hills (J. Earl Trudeau, 1958); St. Basil in Wilshire Center district of Los Angeles (Albert C. Martin & Associates, 1969); St. Catherine Laboure in Torrance (Chaix & Johnson, 1957); Our Lady of the Holy Rosary in Sun Valley (Thomas V. Merchant, 1964); St. Cyril of Jerusalem in Encino (J. George Szeptycki, 1964); and St. Lawrence Martyr in Redondo Beach (J. George Szeptycki, 1965). Detailed descriptions, additional photographs, and citations to sources of information regarding each of these churches are contained in Appendix J. 174 Figure 6-37 Our Lady of the Assumption: Tile Mural Figure 6-38 Mary Star of the Sea: Crucifix Figure 6-39 Mary Star of the Sea: Pieta 175 Employing a minimalist approach to modernism, as described in the preceding section of this chapter, did not exhaust the creative possibilities for the design of postwar suburban parish churches. Indeed, at a relatively early point in the postwar era, the minimalist, rationalist approach characteristic of the dominant “international” version of modernism was challenged by the reemergence of a second strand of modernism known as “expressionism.” As architectural historian Mark Gelernter explains: . . . in the 1950s, a number of leading Modernist architects throughout the world began to experiment with Expressionist versions of the Modernist language. Without explicitly repudiating the rationalist ideals that had originally driven Modernism, architects like Le Corbusier, Frank Lloyd Wright and Eero Saarinen explored anti-rational and expressively plastic forms like those [first seen in] German Expressionism after the First World War. By the early 1960s, many architects began to see themselves as shapemakers or form-givers, concerned primarily with developing expressive forms outside the bounds of the traditional styles. 59 The reemergence of expressionism has been attributed to a number of factors, including boredom with the predictability of minimalist modernism, an undercurrent of rebellion in postwar popular culture, and the individual sensibilities of architects who, rejecting the concept that particular forms have inherent meaning, reveled in “making unprecedented shapes which answered no demand other than their own judgment of aesthetic delight.” 60 One of the earliest manifestations of the new expressionism was in fact a church: LeCorbusier’s pilgrimage chapel at Ronchamps, France (1950-1955). The chapel’s “richly sculpted shapes reflected the designer’s personal artistic imagination more than they rationally answered universal problems.” 61 Other internationally celebrated examples of expressionist churches include Oscar Niemeyer’s cathedral at Brasilia (1958- 1960) and Frederick Gibberd’s metropolitan cathedral at Liverpool (1962-1967). 62 176 Expressionist church design was only gradually embraced in the Archdiocese of Los Angeles. Although there are only two classic sacramental churches that fully articulate the style – St. Mel in Woodland Hills and St. Basil on Wilshire Boulevard -- several other churches incorporate expressionist elements that represent a departure from the minimalist norm. As we shall see in Chapter 7, expressionist elements are more common in the Archdiocese’s modern communal churches. St. Mel is the earlier of the two classic sacramental churches in the Archdiocese that fully embody expressionist modernism. The nave, sanctuary, and transepts incorporate what is basically an “A” frame design, creating distinctive front, side, and rear elevations (Figures 6-40 and 6-41). A contemporary newspaper account describes the “high pitched roof reaching down to ground level,” and explains that “except for lower walls mostly of stained glass, the tent-like 60-feet-high roof also serves as side walls.” Inside, the steeply pitched ceiling creates an extremely strong longitudinal axis that places an unrelenting focus on the sanctuary (Figure 6-42). The high pitched transepts open directly from the sanctuary on either side, creating an unusually complex and visually interesting conjunction of spaces (Figures 6-43). Stained glass windows flood the sanctuary with varicolored light. The combination of vertical height, segmented space, and filtered light, especially when experienced in a darkened church in the late afternoon, exemplifies the “interplay of transcendence and immanence” characteristic of a classic sacramental church. St. Basil was completed eleven years after St. Mel. Strictly speaking, its architecture was not intended to meet the needs of postwar suburbia, but rather to accommodate the postwar changes experienced by one of Los Angeles’ most prominent 177 Figure 6-40 St. Mel: Facade Figure 6-41 St. Mel: Rear Elevation Figure 6-42 St. Mel: Nave 178 Figure 6-43 St. Mel: Conjunction of Sanctuary and Transept Figure 6-44 St. Basil: Front and Side Elevations Figure 6-45 St. Basil: Side Elevation 179 older suburban neighborhoods. Due to its high profile Wilshire Boulevard location, the Archdiocese desired to build “a church for the twenty-first century” that would “blend with the fabric of the new urban complex” while preserving its identity amidst the emerging “canyon” created by new high-rise construction. The architect’s goal was to combine modern construction materials and techniques with the “bastion-like strength of ancient times” to create a thoroughly modern church which would nevertheless “retain the simplicity and strength of a theme dominated by such monastic features as heavy masonry walls, fortress-like tower construction and lack of external embellishment.” 63 The church has been described as a series of twelve adjoining “towers” separated from one another by thirteen vertical shafts of glass (Figures 6-44 and 6-45). The shafts separating the poured concrete “towers” are in fact sculptural constructs of Cor-ten steel framing containing panes of colored glass arranged in seemingly random overlapping and multi-angled patterns to create a “kaleidoscopic effect” (Figure 6-46). The interior of the church is treated a single, largely undifferentiated volume of space (Figure 6-47). The repetitive, although irregular, pattern provided by the alternating concrete and glass panels of the side walls reinforces the church’s strong longitudinal axis (Figure 6-48). The high, open beam ceiling is partially concealed by a network of trusses, to which 2,400 aluminum tubes have been fastened in dynamic, twisting patterns to create what is essentially a hanging sculpture (Figure 6-49). These patterns are echoed in an assemblage of aluminum tubes projecting from the sanctuary wall which functions as both a reredos and a baldachino, framing a fourteenth-century Italian crucifix (Figure 6- 50). The church features a large number of fine details that echo or complement the other aspects of its design; these are described in detail in Appendix J. 180 Figure 6-46 St. Basil: Stained Glass Shaft Detail Figure 6-47 St. Basil: Interior Figure 6-48 St. Basil: Nave Walls 181 Figure 6-49 St. Basil: Ceiling Figure 6-50 St. Basil: Baldachino and Skylight Figure 6-51 St. Catherine Laboure: Stained Glass Façade Detail 182 A handful of other classic sacramental churches in the Archdiocese incorporate expressionist elements that set them apart from the minimalist norm. The façade of St. Catherine Laboure is composed entirely of stained glass from the top of the entrance portal to the roofline (Figure 6-51). At Our Lady of the Holy Rosary, an expressionist integration of sculptural and architectural elements creates a distinctive look for what might otherwise appear to be a standard industrial tilt-up concrete box (Figure 6-52). St. Cyril of Jerusalem’s folded plate roof creates unusual architectural detailing both inside and out (Figure 6-53). At St. Lawrence Martyr, an expressionist approach to simple lines, forms, and surfaces results in a modern design that evokes traditional architectural imagery (Figure 6-54). Conclusion The many points of connection between modernist design and the Archdiocese’s postwar architectural program provided compelling reasons for embracing modernism, whether minimalist or expressionist, as the standard for postwar church design. The hegemony of the modernist classic sacramental church would prove to be relatively brief, however, as ongoing developments in the liturgical reform movement invited experimentation with a new tradition in church-building, as explained in the next chapter. 183 Figure 6-52 Our Lady of the Holy Rosary: Façade Figure 6-53 St. Cyril of Jerusalem: Ceiling Detail Figure 6-54 St. Lawrence Martyr: Portico 184 CHAPTER 6 ENDNOTES 1 Michael E. DeSanctis, Building From Belief: Advance, Retreat, and Compromise in the Remaking of Catholic Church Architecture (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical, 2002) 67-73; see also Kane 140. 2 DeSanctis 72. 3 Torgerson 49. 4 Kilde 172. 5 Seasoltz 225. 6 Torgerson 64-66. For purposes of clarity, I discuss these four “points of connection” in a different order than Torgerson does. 7 Peter Hammond, Liturgy and Architecture (London: Barrie, 1960) 8-9. 8 Hammond 8-9. 9 Instruction for the Proper Implementation of the Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy (1964), Article 90, quoted in Filthaut at 29. 10 Filthaut 29; see also 32. 11 Seasoltz 240. 12 Kieckhefer 249. 13 Torgerson 114. For a general discussion of these churches, see Chapter 6 of Torgerson, and Kieckhefer at 248-253. 14 Torgerson 114-115. 15 Seasoltz 241, 243. 16 Seasoltz 243; Kieckhefer 249; Torgerson 115. 17 Torgerson 115. 18 See, e.g.: Mills 13; Watkin 18; Clark 3; John E. Morse, To Build A Church (New York: Holt, 1969) 24, 26; Scotford 187; Hammond 3; Shear 40. 19 Mills 16. 20 Quoted in Torgerson at 83. 21 Mills 13. 22 Hammond 3. 23 “Bishop Will Dedicate New St. John’s Church,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 26 Dec. 1947: 2+. 24 Kilde 176. 185 25 Mills 34; Watkin 7; Szeptycki 23-25. 26 Shear 38. 27 Quoted in Kilde at 162. 28 Hammond 3. 29 Shear 2. 30 Kilde 171. 31 Church architect Paul Hunter complained that he had heard this objection “a thousand times,” causing his interviewer to characterize it as “the cross an imaginative architect must bear.” “Southland Scoring in Church Design: New Edifices Winning Applause of Architectural Field Leaders,” Los Angeles Times 17 Mar. 1952: B1. 32 Watkin 32. 33 Scotford 197. 34 “New Renaissance Seen in Design of Churches: Southland Architect Who Has Created 20 Urges ‘Education’ of Building Commission” [Interview with J. George Szeptycki], Los Angeles Times 26 July 1964: K5. 35 Scotford 186. 36 See, e.g., Mills 13, 81 and Watkin 122-123. 37 Hammond 2; Morse 36; Christ-Janer, 6-13. One Southern California writer observed that, while these European experiments were taking place, American congregations were spending a fortune on revivalist churches “in a strange effort to prove that church architecture can disregard all the progress the world has made since the Magna Carta.” “Southland Scoring in Church Design: New Edifices Winning Applause of Architectural Field Leaders,” Los Angeles Times 17 Mar. 1952: B1. 38 “Newton & Trudeau” [Display Advertisement], Tidings [Los Angeles] 16 Dec. 1938: 25. 39 “New Renaissance Seen in Design of Churches: Southland Architect Who Has Created 20 Urges ‘Education’ of Building Commission” [Interview with J. George Szeptycki], Los Angeles Times 26 July 1964: K5. 40 Szeptycki 106. 41 Szeptycki 61-62. 42 Christ-Janer 1-2. 43 Scotford 188. 44 Hammond 27. 45 Szeptycki 119; Morse 35. 46 Christ-Janer 102. 186 47 “Newton & Trudeau” [Display Advertisement], Tidings [Los Angeles] 16 Dec. 1938: 25. 48 “New Renaissance Seen in Design of Churches: Southland Architect Who Has Created 20 Urges ‘Education’ of Building Commission” [Interview with J. George Szeptycki], Los Angeles Times 26 July 1964: K5. 49 Mills 26-27, 31. 50 Scotford 187-188. 51 Mills 52. Indeed, even those who continued to build in the historic revival styles increasingly made use of plain or simplified forms, and new materials and techniques, due to economic considerations. Szeptycki 69; Watkin 4-5, 122. In the later years of his practice, the eminent revivalist Charles D. Maginnis (1867- 1955) acknowledged that the use of modern materials in church construction might well become common for reasons of economic necessity, resulting in “churches of unfamiliar expressions” since “the forms of tradition would be logically inadmissible” (quoted in Szeptycki at 66-67). 52 Building Committee Minutes dated Jan. 26, 1928 (I:135), Oct. 16, 1928 (I:140), Oct. 23, 1958 (I:141), Dec. 11, 1928 (I:145), Apr. 23, 1929 (I:148), Nov. 19, 1929 (I:155), Dec. 17, 1929 (I:157), Feb. 25, 1930 (I:160), Aug. 19, 1930 (I:168), Oct. 7, 1930 (I:170); and Oct. 21, 1930 (I:171); Letter dated Mar. 13, 1930, from Abbot Alcuin Deutsch, OSB, to Lester G. Scherer, in file marked “Materials Pertaining to the Building Committee 1928-1944,” Archdiocesan Archives; Letter dated Sept. 4, 1930, from Harold J. Cashin to Rt. Rev. John J. Cantwell, in file marked “Materials Pertaining to the Building Committee 1928- 1944,” Archdiocesan Archives; Letter dated Mar. 18, 1930, from L.G. Scherer to Fr. Francis Conaty, in file marked “Materials Pertaining to the Building Committee 1928-1944,” Archdiocesan Archives; see also David Gebhard and Robert Winter, An Architectural Guidebook to Los Angeles (Salt Lake City: Gibbs, 2003) 273 and Robert Berger, Sacred Spaces: Historic Houses of Worship in the City of Angels (Glendale, CA: Balcony, 2003) 104. 53 “Beautiful New Church Blessed by Bishop,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 26 June 1931: 3:1. 54 “One Church in a Hundred” Tidings [Los Angeles] 11 Mar. 1938: 2. 55 Building Committee Minutes dated Oct. 13, 1937 (I:214), Mar. 15, 1938 (I:218), and Mar. 31, 1938 (I:218); “New Church for All Souls Parish, Alhambra,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 16 Dec. 1938: 11; “Archbishop Cantwell Dedicates New All Souls’ Church, Alhambra,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 30 Apr. 1939: 2; Letter dated Nov. 13, 1937, from Henry Carlton Newton, AIA, to Rev. Victor Follen, in file marked “Materials Pertaining to the Building Committee 1928-1944,” Archdiocesan Archives. 56 A “confessional” is a space within a church where the sacrament of reconciliation (also known as “confession” or “penance”) takes place. The sacrament involves the private, confidential confessing of one’s sins to a priest in order to obtain assurance of God’s forgiveness. Traditionally, the anonymity of the person confessing (the “penitent”) was preserved by placing a screen between the penitent and the priest. In its most traditional configuration, a confessional consists of three adjoining enclosed booths, connected to one another by screened, window-like openings. Each opening is fitted with a sliding or louvered door or shutter. The priest sits in the center booth, while penitents kneel in the booths on either side. The penitents take turns confessing to the priest, who alternately opens and closes the shutters which cover each screened opening in order to prevent the penitents from overhearing each other’s confessions. Since the Second Vatican Council, “face to face” confession has become increasingly popular, and many traditional three-booth confessionals have been remodeled into a single small room sometimes referred to as a “reconciliation room.” 187 57 Building Committee Minutes dated Aug. 20, 1945 (I:250); “Ground-Breaking Held for St. John Church,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 22 Mar. 1946: 4; “Bishop Will Dedicate New St. John’s Church,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 26 Dec. 1947: 2+; “Bishop Dedicates St. John Church,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 2 Jan. 1948: 5. 58 “Bishop Will Dedicate New St. John’s Church,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 26 Dec. 1947: 2+. 59 Gelernter 261; see also 226, 237. 60 Gelernter 277; see generally 273-279. 61 Gelernter 273. 62 See generally Christ-Janer 103-118. 63 Francis J. Weber, Christ on Wilshire Boulevard: A Guide to St. Basil’s Catholic Church (Los Angeles: Westernlore, 1969) 20-23. 188 CHAPTER 7 THE MODERN COMMUNAL TRADITION Beginning in the early 1960s, churches conforming to Kieckheffer’s “modern communal” model began to appear in the Archdiocese of Los Angeles. As we have seen, these churches are characterized by a spatial dynamic of “gathering in and sending forth,” more than one centering focus, an aesthetic impact focused on hospitality and celebration, and moderate symbolic resonance. Unlike the classic sacramental churches built between 1948 and 1976, the modern communal churches built between 1960 and 1976 do not span a wide stylistic spectrum. Indeed, they may be divided – subject, of course, to the ever present risk of over- simplification -- into just two stylistic groupings. These two groupings correspond to the two groupings I employ for modernist classic sacramental churches: minimalist churches and expressionist churches. However, because the emergence of this new church- building tradition invited innovation and experimentation, there is a great deal of variety within each grouping. The appearance of a new church-building tradition in the middle of the twentieth century bears further examination, in order to develop a richer context for consideration of the examples of this new tradition discussed later in this chapter. The tradition’s emergence was inspired by the liturgical movement, examined in Chapter 2, and it began to flourish once the Second Vatican Council gave its official approval, in 1963, to the movement’s call for “full and active participation” in the liturgy by all members of the congregation. The tradition then proceeded to develop in tandem with the 189 implementation of the comprehensive liturgical reforms that the Council had initiated in order to facilitate such participation. Three aspects of the modern communal tradition will now be considered in more detail: the emphasis it places on the role played by the assembled congregation in both the liturgy and church design; the ways in which its particular qualities exemplify an “architecture of immanence”; and the insight it can provide into the role of “power” in sacred spaces. A New Emphasis on the Role of the Assembly The modern communal church-building tradition emerged at a time when an increasing number of liturgists and architects were concluding that churches built in the classic sacramental tradition were incapable of adequately accommodating the reformed liturgy. This conclusion applied not only to classic sacramental churches built in revivalist styles, but to those built in modernist styles as well. German liturgist Theodor Filthaut commented in 1968: The renewed liturgy necessarily calls for a new shape in houses of worship. In its pure form it can – abstracting from rare cases of good fortune – succeed only in new churches. Even the churches built within the past few decades only partially fulfill the requirements which the reform demands of church architecture. The transformation of existing houses of worship will set a most difficult task for ecclesiastical art in the years to come. 1 Belgian architect and monk Frederic Debuyst, writing in the same year, reached the same conclusion: . . . the overwhelming majority of the so-called “modern” churches are essentially backward-looking, unauthentic, purely formal adaptations, not creations, a compromise between the old, medieval, symbolic and monumental concept of church building and the new vision of things, religious as well as architectural. 2 190 There was a widespread belief that the liturgical reform could not be sustained unless the environment for worship changed. 3 As theologian John A.T. Robinson wrote in 1962: . . . we are now being reminded that the church people go to has an immensely powerful psychological effect on their vision of the Church they are meant to be. The church building is a prime aid, or a prime hindrance, to the building up of the body of Christ. And what the building says so often shouts something entirely contrary to all that we are seeking to express through the liturgy. And the building will always win – unless and until we can make it say something else. 4 Thus, from the early 1960s and into the 1970s, many parishes “resonating with the liturgical renewal’s concern for locating God’s presence in the assembly and engaging the social and material needs of local communities” were receptive to a new model for church building. 5 Indeed, architectural historian Michael DeSanctis has identified a “riotous, experimental mood that seized parishes in the 1960s and 1970s, which, while no doubt fostering some mistreatment of the Church’s patrimony of art and architecture, nevertheless gave evidence of a religious body pulsing with life.” 6 If the function of a church building is liturgy, then the chief concern in designing a church for the reformed liturgy must be that of the reformed liturgy itself: namely, to facilitate the full and active participation of the congregation. Thus, following the Second Vatican Council, “the primacy of the assembly in the design of church buildings would surface as the principal symbol in the edifice,” and the churches themselves would “give witness to an aspect of sacramental action that heretofore enjoyed little architectural magnification, namely, the role of the assembly as living sacrament of Christ to itself and to the world.” 7 If the focus is on God’s presence in the assembly gathered for the liturgy, then the role of the church building as a physical “house of God” becomes secondary. 8 In the words of one author writing in 1965: 191 The theology of the Christian assembly poses as a principle the primacy of the person over the object. This means that our principal task is not simply to ‘furnish’ the place of celebration, nor even to give to a certain number of cultual objects (altar, ambo, chair, etc.) their true place and full liturgical signification. It is rather, to give form to a living community. 9 This emphasis on the congregation invited a reconsideration of the church building as “a meeting house” where God’s people could gather for “the celebration of worship,” or as “a kind of great living-room, a place where the faithful come together to meet the Lord, and one another in the Lord.” 10 Of equal importance to the fact of the gathering itself was the nature of the gathering: that of a celebration or feast. Debuyst compared the liturgy to other common celebrations, like weddings, graduations, or birthday parties. He defined a “feast” as “an external, expressive, symbolic manifestation whereby we make ourselves more deeply conscious of the importance of an event or of an idea already important to us.” It has a “two-fold characteristic of being related to a value considered as important, and of expressing it in a concrete symbolism apt for participation.” 11 As we saw in previous chapters, postwar classic sacramental churches, influenced by the ideas of the liturgical reform, gave consideration both to visibility and proximity when considering the place of the congregation in relation to the sanctuary. But there was nonetheless a segmentation, and a hierarchy, of spaces. The liturgical action took place in the sanctuary, which was clearly delineated from the congregation’s space by its prominent location, the architectural features that focused attention on it, and by a physical barrier – the communion rail. If the exclusive center of attention was the sanctuary, the actions that took place there, and the objects located there – the altar, the ambo, the tabernacle, the reredos – then the congregation was rendered all but invisible. 192 If the assembly was to be a key component of the liturgy, this arrangement was clearly inadequate. The challenge, then, was one of translating the new focus on the assembly into architectural form by, among other considerations, “selecting a scale that would elevate the significance of the gathered faithful, creating unified, centralized spaces for worship (e.g., locating the altar, clergy, and the people in close proximity to one another), and creating worship spaces with increased opportunity for movement and flexibility.” 12 Most concretely, this meant arranging the members of the assembly in a configuration that would best facilitate their participation, choosing from among four basic floor plans: (1) the traditional longitudinal plan of the classic sacramental church, in which the sanctuary adjoins one of the “short” sides of a rectangle, and the congregation faces it; (2) a transverse plan, in which the sanctuary is placed in the middle of one of the “long” sides of a rectangle, and the congregation faces it; (3) a centralized plan, in which the sanctuary is surrounded by the congregation, either fully (as in a circular plan), on three sides (as in a T-shaped plan), or partially (as in a fan-shaped plan); or (4) an antiphonal plan, in which the congregation, divided into two sections, flanks an axial space which functions as the sanctuary, with the altar at one end and the ambo at the other. 13 It also meant a new approach to aesthetic impact and symbolic resonance, including the creation of a new “house style” which architectural historian Paula Kane has dubbed “Catholic minimalism”: “an egalitarian sense of sacred space furnished with quality materials and craftsmanship.” 14 193 An “Architecture of Immanence” A second approach to understanding the modern communal church is to view it in the context of what architectural historian Mark Torgerson has called an “architecture of immanence.” According to Torgerson, beginning in the 1920s and continuing through the 1980s: A fusion of ideas emerging from the ecumenical movement, the liturgical movement, and the modern architecture movement produced a distinctive approach to church design that was particularly focused on emphasizing the presence of God in people communally engaged in worship and ministry. 15 Torgerson’s label for this “distinctive approach to church design” -- an “architecture of immanence” – invites a few words of explanation. Torgerson’s label is based a basic theological concept. The Bible speaks of God as both “transcendent” – existing beyond human experience and dwelling outside the realm of earth -- and “immanent” – present in the midst of human life, especially through the Holy Spirit, and manifested in material form, especially in the person of Jesus Christ. The belief that God is both transcendent and immanent is a paradox, in that these two qualities are polar opposites. Like other paradoxical beliefs – for example, that Jesus is both fully human and fully divine – it requires affirmation, but defies explanation. 16 In Torgerson’s view, using architecture to express or make reference to God’s transcendence and immanence is inherently problematic because “the static nature of material objects does not necessarily lend itself to communicating paradox very effectively.” 17 Various architectural factors can be employed to evoke these two divine qualities, including scale (relative size in relation to the human person), volume of space, control of light, elaboration or simplification of décor, and organization of space. But no 194 one factor can adequately express either transcendence or immanence, much less both at the same time. However, a carefully selected combination of factors can produce a cumulative effect that emphasizes either transcendence or immanence in a particular worship space. It is important to bear in mind, though, that: The theological meanings attached to these factors will vary in a given context, according to their articulation and combination, the theological emphases of the Christian tradition using the worship space, the ritual activities embodied in corporate and private worship, and even the past worship experiences of those who occupy the space. 18 In other words, it is not enough simply to observe how particular architectural factors are combined and used in a particular space in order to reach an accurate conclusion about their theological significance. For example, a medieval Gothic cathedral and a twenty- first century “megachurch” may both exhibit many of the same architectural factors – such as an enlarged scale and volume of space, diminished light, and a singular focus. But without an understanding of how the space is used, and the beliefs of its users, one cannot determine whether this particular architectural design is intended to emphasize God’s transcendence. 19 Torgerson points out that, throughout the middle decades of the twentieth century, Christian leaders and thinkers emphasized God’s presence and activity in the ordinary world. They downplayed the role of the supernatural, focused on the secularization of culture, and expressed a desire to serve the greater community. A tradition of “liberal theology” gained popularity in Protestant circles, focusing on God’s immediate presence among human kind, reimagining Christian theology as a system of ethics, and promoting a belief in the universal salvation of the human race. 20 In the Catholic Church, as we have seen, the Second Vatican Council marked “a new consciousness of the church’s 195 presence in the world and a new willingness to dialogue with the modern mentality.” 21 The result was a new appreciation of God’s immanence shared by all Christian denominations, which could be considered at least in part as a “correction” to a previous nineteenth-century theological overemphasis on “establishing a visible, isolated presence of God in the world.” 22 When this new emphasis on God’s immanence sought architecture expression, the result was an “architecture of immanence” whose chief concern was manifesting God’s presence in the community assembled for worship. Because this emphasis on immanence was shared across denominational lines, it presented a natural subject for ecumenical dialogue and sharing in the fields of liturgical reform and church architecture. Thus, in the middle decades of the twentieth century, Christian congregations of all kinds were building similar-appearing churches based on the modern communal model, thereby diminishing any earlier reliance on distinctive architectural traditions. 23 The Role of “Power” in Sacred Spaces Another approach to understanding the modern communal church is to consider it in the context of architectural historian Jeanne Kilde’s interpretation of religious spaces as expressions of “power.” In Kilde’s view, churches and other sacred spaces manifest three kinds of power: (1) divine or supernatural power; (2) social power, especially in terms of the access that certain select individuals have to divine power; and (3) personal power, in the form of “various feelings of spiritual empowerment that individuals derive from an experience of the divine.” 24 To understand the dynamics of a particular religious 196 space, according to Kilde, one must understand the various functions of divine, social, and personal power, especially as they overlap and influence one another in that space. 25 In a medieval Gothic cathedral, for example, the segmentation and hierarchical arrangement of space reinforced the power of the clergy, who performed liturgical rituals in portions of the building to which “ordinary” worshipers had neither visual nor physical access. The liturgical reform movement preceding the Second Vatican Council altered this dynamic, but not radically; by elevating the altar in the sanctuary, for example, “clerical authority is maintained while the faithful are allowed far greater visual access to the performance of the liturgy.” 26 After the Second Vatican Council, according to Kilde, changes in church architecture “stemmed more from the Council’s acknowledgement of the centrality of the laity and its mandate to encourage their participation than from the specific liturgical changes it introduced.” 27 Churches based on the modern communal model “distribute social power between laity and clergy, requiring the faithful to take greater responsibility.” 28 At the same time, they also communicate a different understanding of supernatural power than do classic sacramental churches. For example, while classic sacramental churches frequently contain artistic depictions of scenes from the life of Jesus, modern communal churches minimize such pictorial representations in order to avoid any distraction from the liturgy being celebrated by the assembled community. Thus, “the humanism of the Jesus story is eclipsed by the metaphorical ritual of the Eucharist.” In modern communal churches, according to Kilde, the divine presence is more abstract than it is in classic sacramental churches; it is no longer embodied in a 197 powerful and distant clergy, or by the presence of the saints, or by visual references to the Jesus narrative. 29 Kilde notes that both medieval and modern church builders have used the same architectural techniques to convey a sense of divine power. For example, both attempt to make the individual “profoundly conscious of his or her position within the room and relationship to the space itself,” evoking “a sense of personal positionality, both physically in the space and in relation to God and the infinite.” 30 Both use light “to signal the divine,” emphasizing “an intensified, focused natural experience” over “everyday experience of the natural world.” 31 The tendency of modern church architects to think in terms of space is complemented by their incorporation of truthful and unadorned materials and their evocative use of light, since both of the latter “prompt a heightened awareness of the space itself.” 32 Moreover, “the mystical use of space and light and the spare aesthetic of plain walls and simple furnishings” are well suited to churches that encourage lay participation in the liturgy. 33 Stylistic Grouping VI: The Minimalist Modern Communal Church As we saw in the last chapter, minimalist modernist design suited the Archdiocese’s postwar architectural program in a number of respects: its emphasis on functional analysis coincided with a desire to design for “full and active participation” in the liturgy; its contemporary character was attractive to educated, affluent, assimilated Catholics; and its reliance on honest treatment of materials and technology and simplicity of design accommodated rapid and inexpensive construction. All of these qualities 198 explain why the rationalist design principles and minimalist architectural vocabulary characteristic of “international” modernism were widely employed in the design of the Archdiocese’s first generation of modern communal churches. These churches comprise the stylistic grouping that I call the “minimalist modern communal church.” Nine such churches are considered here: St. Christopher in West Covina (J. George Szeptycki, 1960); St. Joseph in La Puente (Barker & Ott, 1964); Our Lady of Grace in Encino (Barker & Ott, 1962); St. Joseph in Carpinteria (Brown & Avila, 1966); St. Jane Frances de Chantal in North Hollywood (J. George Szeptycki, 1967); St. Bede the Venerable in La Canada (J. George Szeptycki, 1967); St. Cyprian in Long Beach (J. Earl Trudeau, 1970); St. John of God in Norwalk (Chaix & Johnson, 1970); and St. Louise de Marillac in Covina (O’Leary/Terasawa, 1975). Detailed descriptions, additional photographs, and citations to sources of information regarding each of these churches are contained in Appendix L. As previously noted, from the late 1940s through the late 1960s classic sacramental churches were being designed with particular attention to sightlines and floor plans in an effort to enhance liturgical participation by establishing a closer connection between the sanctuary and the congregation, both visually and physically. By 1960, architects in the Archdiocese were beginning to experiment with floor plans that, for the first time, departed from the strongly longitudinal orientation of the classic sacramental church. A variety of floor plans – T-shaped, diamond-shaped, arrow-shaped, fan-shaped, bell-shaped, parabolic – found their way into the Archdiocese’s new churches. When choosing among floor plans, the biggest challenge facing architects in the Archdiocese was providing the required seating capacity. Because parishes had large 199 memberships and there were a limited number of priests, churches were necessarily big, and Masses were tightly scheduled. In a 1965 interview, Thomas A. Kelly, the Archdiocese’s construction coordinator, noted that, in the fifty churches constructed over the past five years, the average seating capacity was 1,000. Kelly observed: It isn’t practical to group 1,000 or 1,400 persons around a central point. Architects are trying to evolve some solution to the problem . . . . Most new churches are wider and shorter than the typical church of the past so the people may be closer to the altar, and they are designed to focus attention on the altar. 34 Kelly expressed dissatisfaction with proposed floor plans that would necessarily divide the congregation into groups instead of a “single community of worship.” Indeed, it was probably this widely shared desire to create a sense of unity within the assembly that allowed one particular floor plan -- characterized by a rectangular footprint, “wider than it is deep,” with a roughly fan-shaped seating configuration -- to eventually emerge as the most common choice for Archdiocesan modern communal churches. Spatial Dynamics Three churches completed between 1960 and 1964 – St. Christopher, St. Joseph in La Puente, and Our Lady of Grace – reveal the transition that was occurring in the early 1960s as the modern communal tradition began to replace the classic sacramental tradition in the Archdiocese. Although each church incorporates an innovative arrangement of nave and transepts intended to facilitate congregational participation, all three also exhibit familiar elements of the classic sacramental tradition. St. Christopher incorporates a T-shaped floor plan that, according to a contemporary newspaper account, “brings the majority of the congregation close to the 200 Figure 7-1 St. Christopher: Seating Plan 201 altar” (Figure 7-1). The 36 foot high rectangular nave is treated as a single space with a strong longitudinal orientation (Figure 7-2). The transepts flank the sanctuary at a perpendicular angle; the opening between the nave and each transept is marked by a relatively low cornice (Figure 7-3). Although this opening is low, the transepts themselves have 16 foot high ceilings; thus, the view of the sanctuary from the pews in each transept, while unobstructed by columns, is framed by the clerestory walls of the nave (Figure 7-4). The floor plan at St. Joseph has been compared to an arrow, with the sanctuary at the “point,” the nave corresponding to the arrow’s shaft, and two flanking “transepts or side chapels” radiating from the sanctuary at forty-five degree angles to the nave (Figure 7-5). Viewed from the narthex, the rectangular nave’s high, open interior – defined by its steep-pitch gabled ceiling, and oriented to the sanctuary with its marble-clad reredos and massive gold crucifix -- appears typical of a minimalist classic sacramental church (Figure 7-6). The transepts, with their relatively low, flat ceilings, merge into the nave just as it meets the sanctuary. As one walks down the nave toward the sanctuary, the transepts gradually come into fuller view, and eventually the visual connection among the three spaces becomes complete (Figures 7-7 and 7-8). According to contemporary newspaper accounts, the church’s arrow-shaped plan offers two advantages: it “bring[s] the entire congregation close to the altar,” and it “makes the altar, at the point of the arrow, the focal point.” The diamond-shaped floor plan at Our Lady of Grace is essentially a rectangle set diagonally within a square (Figure 7-9). The rectangle corresponds to a nave with 36 foot high ceilings (Figure 7-10); the triangular halves of the square that flank the rectangle 202 Figure 7-2 St. Christopher: Nave Figure 7-3 St. Christopher: Entry to North Transept Figure 7-4 St. Christopher: View from Transept 203 Figure 7-5 St. Joseph, La Puente: Seating Plan 204 Figure 7-6 St. Joseph, La Puente: Nave Figure 7-7 St. Joseph, La Puente: Conjunction of Nave and Transept Figure 7-8 St. Joseph, La Puente: Transept to Transept View 205 Figure 7-9 Our Lady of Grace: Seating Plan 206 Figure 7-10 Our Lady of Grace: Nave and Sanctuary Figure 7-11 Our Lady of Grace: Nave and Left Transept Figure 7-12 Our Lady of Grace: Left Transept 207 correspond to transepts with lower ceilings that open into the nave along its entire length (Figure 7-11). The pews in the nave are arranged in parallel rows facing the sanctuary, while those in the transepts are arranged at a forty-five degree angle relative to the nave so that they, too, are facing the sanctuary (Figure 7-12). According to a contemporary newspaper account, this design “brings the people physically close to the altar” while avoiding columns and other visual obstacles that might mar the “panoramic sweep.” All three of these “transitional” churches are successful prototypes of the modern communal model in at least two respects. In all three churches, innovative floor plans and seating configurations bring many more members of the congregation much closer to the sanctuary than would be possible with a more traditional cruciform plan, in which all of the pews in both nave and transepts share the same forward-facing orientation. Moreover, the integration of the sanctuary with the nave and transepts in each church helps to eliminate differentiation of those spaces reserved for the clergy and those reserved for the congregation. Not all of the churches are equally successful, however, when it comes to achieving a third goal of the modern communal church: developing an awareness of congregational unity. At St. Christopher, the nave and the transepts are treated as three separate, self-contained spaces. While all three spaces share visual access to the sanctuary, they lack visual access to one another. Thus, instead of creating a sense of a single congregation “gathered in and around” the altar, the plan creates the impression that the congregation is divided into three separate groups. St. Joseph is better in this regard: there is a higher degree of visual communication among the nave and transepts, and the angled configuration of the transepts does help to create the sense of being “gathered in and around” the altar. Our Lady of Grace, however, is most 208 successful at fostering a sense of unity. Because the varied angles of the pews allow members of the congregation to see one another, and because the nave and transepts are unified along their entire length, there is a stronger sense of the assembly’s status as a single community than is permitted by a cruciform, T-shaped, or arrow-shaped plan. The interior space at Our Lady of Grace is not entirely integrated, however. The differences in ceiling height between the nave and the transepts define the latter as distinct spaces, making the integration incomplete. By the mid-1960s, parishes were commissioning fully developed modern communal churches. These churches incorporated a number of common architectural features which eventually become “standard” throughout the Archdiocese over the course of the ensuing decade. These features are readily recognizable in churches built in the mid-1960s, such as St. Joseph in Carpinteria, St. Jane Frances de Chantal, and St. Bede the Venerable; in churches built around 1970, such as St. Cyprian and St. John of God; and in churches built in the mid-1970s, like St. Louise de Marillac. Of course, these now familiar features were considered radical when first introduced. For example, the Archdiocesan Building Committee’s initial reaction to the plans for St. Jane Frances is recorded in its October 1964 minutes as follows: “This is a new concept in church building with the altar facing the people. This is so new a project that we hesitate to approve it as presented . . . . We defer this to His Eminence.” 35 The basic plan of these churches is typically characterized by a rectangular footprint, “wider than it is deep.” For example, the footprint dimensions at St. Jane Frances are 105 feet wide by 62 feet deep, at St. Cyprian 127 feet wide by 84 feet deep, and at St. John 151 feet wide by 92 feet deep. The sanctuary is located along one of the 209 “wide” sides of the rectangle, with a narthex located opposite it. Banks of pews “radiate” from the sanctuary toward the narthex in a roughly fan-shaped configuration. There are, of course, a number of variations on the basic rectangle. At St. Bede, for example, the nave, which is essentially square, blends seamlessly into a semicircular apse which is occupied by the sanctuary. At St. Cyprian, the sanctuary occupies a trapezoidal space which merges into the rectangular nave. At St. Joseph, a relatively small church, the rectangle has been set aside in favor of a fan-shaped pentagon (Figure 7-13). What all of these churches have in common, however, is interior space that is treated as an integrated whole, and a seating arrangement that, in a commonly used descriptive phrase, “allows the entire congregation to be seated near the altar.” Despite their relatively straightforward floor plans, most of these churches incorporate subtle architectural touches intended to create an impression of expanding space overhead, and a sense of contracting space at floor level, in order to evoke a feeling that the congregation is being “gathered into and around” the sanctuary. In many churches, the ceiling rises in height as it extends from the narthex to sanctuary, creating a sense of expanding space as one moves from the former to the latter. For example, the ceiling rises from 15 feet to 28 feet at St. Joseph, and from 15 feet to 30 feet at St. Jane Frances (Figure 7-14). In several churches, like St. Bede and St. Cyprian, the floor is slightly raked from back to front, improving sightlines and creating a similar sense of expanding space as one approaches the sanctuary (Figure 7-15). In some churches, like St. Joseph, the banks of pews become progressively narrower as they approach the sanctuary, creating a sense of contraction at floor level (Figure 7-13). A similar effect is experienced at St. Louise, where the side walls of the nave are designed as a series of 210 Figure 7-13 St. Joseph, Carpinteria: Seating Plan 211 Figure 7-14 St. Joseph, Carpinteria: Rising Ceiling Figure 7-15 St. Cyprian: Raked Floor Figure 7-16 St. Louise de Marillac: Contracting Side Walls 212 panels, with the panels moving progressively inward as they reach the sanctuary (Figure 7-16). Centering Focus As the foregoing discussion of spatial dynamics has suggested, the centering focus of the minimalist modern communal church is the sanctuary and its furnishings. In the earlier “transitional” churches, the focus is clearly placed on the main altar, as it is in classic sacramental churches; this is perhaps most apparent at St. Joseph in La Puente, partly as a result of its arrow-shaped plan, but also due to the height and grandeur of its striking reredos (Figure 7-17). In the later churches, the emphasis is less pronounced; the altar stands at the center of the sanctuary in juxtapostition to the ambo, the presidential chair, and sometimes the baptismal font, each of which serves as a secondary focus (Figure 7-18). The typically undifferentiated interior spaces and angled seating arrangements of these churches also insure that the assembled congregation is itself a secondary focus of attention. This is most apparent at St. Jane Frances, where the original floor plan has been reconfigured to create a roughly circular arrangement (Figures 7-19). The altar has been relocated almost to the center of the nave, with banks of pews arranged around it. The ambo and presider’s chair have been placed at the edge of the original sanctuary, and rows of individual chairs – oriented toward the altar -- have been placed within the original sanctuary to accommodate the choir and part of the congregation. This arrangement insures that the assembled congregation a key focal point of the church while according due prominence to the altar, ambo, and presider’s chair. 213 Figure 7-17 St. Joseph, La Puente: Reredos Figure 7-18 St. Bede the Venerable: Sanctuary Figure 7-19 St. Jane Frances de Chantal: Reconfigured Interior Space 214 Members of the congregation cannot help but be aware of one another, contributing to a sense that they form a single worshipping community. Aesthetic Impact The earlier “transitional” churches considered here, with their high ceilinged naves, extensive use of stained glass, and reverberant acoustics, exhibit aesthetic qualities more typical of classic sacramental churches than modern communal ones. In the later minimalist churches, however, ceiling height and interior spatial volumes have been used to create a impression of “gathering in” and “sending forth” rather than a sense of the “interplay of transcendence and immanence.” Abundant light is used to create a “hospitable setting for celebration,” to use Kieckhefer’s phrase; even when light is filtered through stained glass, the overall effect is bright rather than mysterious. At St. Bede’s, for example, light is effectively used to create a warm and inviting interior atmosphere. Strong sunlight is filtered into the church through full-length faceted stained glass panels set into the south facing wall (Figure 7-20). At the same time, the upper side walls are composed of clear glass shaded by vertical louver blinds, providing glimpses of sky and trees outside (Figure 7-21). Narrow floor-to-ceiling faceted stained glass windows in the sanctuary complete a virtual “circle of light” around the congregation (Figure 7-22). Many churches, including St. Joseph in Carpinteria, St. Cyprian, St. John, and St. Louise, feature large skylights that draw attention to the sanctuary by flooding it with unfiltered natural light (Figure 7-23). 215 Figure 7-20 St. Bede: South Wall Window Detail Figure 7-21 St. Bede: Clerestory Windows Figure 7-22 St. Bede: Sanctuary Windows 216 Figure 7-23 St. Cyprian: Sanctuary Figure 7-24 St. John of God: Side Wall Detail Figure 7-25 St. Christopher: Façade and Tower 217 In keeping with their minimalist modernist character, all of the churches rely heavily on the inherent properties of the construction materials used, especially brick and molded concrete block, to create overall aesthetic impressions. These can be very subtle. At St. John, for example, large sections of the interior side walls, framed by narrow lancet and clerestory windows fitted with amber glass, appear at first glance to be unrelieved expanses of the gold-colored brick that covers the church’s exterior and interior walls. Upon closer inspection, however, they are seen as smaller overlapping wall sections set an angle to one another, each such wall being one wythe thick (Figure 7- 24). Symbolic Resonance Viewed from the outside, minimalist modern communal churches reflect a spectrum of ideas about what a church should look like. The earlier “transitional” churches considered here resemble the minimalist classic sacramental churches discussed in the last chapter, except to the extent that their exterior elevations mirror their innovative interior plans (Figures 7-25 and 7-26). Many of the later churches, including St. Joseph and St. Cyprian, have remarkably similar facades, with doors and windows symmetrically arranged around a floor-to-ceiling baptistery, semicircular in shape and clad in stained glass, at the center of the composition (Figures 7-27 and 7-28). Other churches, like St. Jane Frances and St. John, incorporate no traditional indicators of ecclesiastical purpose into exterior of the building itself, relying instead on free-standing towers to signal their status. St. Jane’s needle-like spire soars 82 feet into the sky (Figure 218 Figure 7-26 Our Lady of Grace: Façade and Tower Figure 7-27 St. Joseph, Carpinteria: Facade Figure 7-28 St. Cyprian: Façade 219 7-29); St. John’s dramatic 70 foot tall bell tower is reminiscent of the famous “bell banner” at St. John’s Abbey in Minnesota (Figure 7-30). At St. Louise, the façade, tower, and exterior elevations evidence a conception of the church as a collection of geometrical volumes (Figure 7-31) As might be expected, the level of symbolic resonance inside the earlier transitional churches is much higher than it is inside the later churches. In the former, multiple sculptural images are arranged throughout the church, and figurative stained glass windows are common. In the latter, images are typically used more sparingly, and stained glass is rendered in abstract patterns. While works of art may be few, they are often specifically commissioned items of high quality, like the tabernacle shrine at St. John (Figure 7-32) and the holy water fonts at St. Bede (Figures 7-33 and 7-34). And although these churches are not devoid of traditional symbols and images, the key symbol is intended to be the assembled congregation. Stylistic Grouping VII: The Expressionist Modern Communal Church As we saw in the last chapter, for adventurous designers of classic sacramental churches, expressionism offered an alternative to the architectural vocabulary of minimalist modernism while still incorporating the latter’s functional emphasis, contemporary appeal, and suitability for rapid and relatively inexpensive construction. This proved to be equally true for architects designing modern communal churches. Indeed, expressionism, with its stress on creative “shape-making” and “form-giving,” was particularly well suited to a new tradition of church-building that was exploring the 220 Figure 7-29 St. Jane Frances de Chantal: Tower Figure 7-30 St. John of God: Tower Figure 7-31 St. Louise de Marillac: Façade and Tower 221 Figure 7-32 St. John of God: Tabernacle Shrine Figure 7-33 St. Bede the Venerable: Holy Water Font Figure 7-34 St. Bede the Venerable: Holy Water Font 222 merits and limitations of various approaches to planning interior spaces and creating social cohesiveness. Modern communal churches whose physical form reflects the “expressionist” strand of modernism comprise the stylistic grouping that I call the “expressionist modern communal church.” Seven such churches are considered here: Corpus Christi in Pacific Palisades (Albert C. Martin & Associates, 1964); St. Jerome in Westchester (Prescott, Whalley & Weit, 1966); St. Anthony of Padua in Gardena (Verge & Clatsworthy, 1966); St. Columban in Garden Grove (M.L. Barker & G.L. Ott, 1968); St. Cornelius in Long Beach (Chaix & Johnson, 1968); Sacred Heart in Ventura (John Bartlett, 1968); and St. Rita in Sierra Madre (John Gougeon, 1970). Detailed descriptions, additional photographs, and citations to sources of information regarding each of these churches are contained in Appendix N. Spatial Dynamics As one would expect, expressionist modern communal churches exhibit a greater variety in terms of spatial dynamics than do minimalist modern communal churches. However, both kinds of churches treat interior space as an integrated whole, and accommodate seating arrangements that place members of the congregation as close to the altar as possible. Curved shapes seem to have produced the most dramatic interior spaces. Corpus Christi is constructed in the form of a paraboloid framed by a free-standing brick wall; the open ends of the paraboloid intersect with a curving, aluminum-framed glass wall that “closes” the geometric figure. (Figures 7-35 and 7-36). The sanctuary is situated in the 223 Figure 7-35 Corpus Christi: Seating Plan 224 Figure 7-36 Corpus Christi: Intersection of Brick and Glass Walls Figure 7-37 Corpus Christi: Sanctuary Figure 7-38 Corpus Christi: Free Standing Choir Loft 225 curve of the paraboloid, opposite the glass wall; banks of pews radiate from the sanctuary, spanning the width of the paraboloid as it “expands” (Figure 7-37). A freestanding structure located adjacent to the glass wall serves as a choir loft (Figure 7- 38). Somewhat similarly, St. Rita’s floor plan is bell-shaped, accommodating a fan- shaped seating configuration. St. Jerome, designed by its architect to “express the latest idea of liturgical worship and the unity of the congregation with the celebrant at Mass,” takes its form from a substructure consisting of sixteen steel columns arranged in a circle, each supporting a steel roof beam which projects to the center of the circle, where the beams meet to form an oculus topped with a lantern and spire. The building has sixteen sides, which are grouped into pairs to form eight gabled bays (Figure 7-39). One of these bays forms the backdrop for the sanctuary, which projects into the essentially circular nave (Figure 7-40). Several banks of pews, set at varying angles, converge on the sanctuary. The ceiling, with its central skylight and tent-like folds, envelops the entire interior space (Figure 7-41). St. Anthony’s plan is based on “Greek” cross: its nave, two transepts, and apse are roughly equal in size. But in place of the full cross-gabled roof which this arrangement would seem to mandate, all four sections, together with the crossing where they intersect, are tied together by an undulating roof of hyperbolic paraboloid design that appears to be simply “draped” over the building. This roof design has a dramatic effect on the church’s interior, creating a sense of space that is surprisingly unified (Figures 7-42 and 7-43). This unity is reinforced by the arrangement of pews in banks that radiate outward from the sanctuary at five different angles. 226 Figure 7-39 St. Jerome: Interior View of Bays Figure 7-40 St. Jerome: Sanctuary Figure 7-41 St. Jerome: Ceiling 227 Figure 7-42 St. Anthony of Padua: Sanctuary Figure 7-43 St. Anthony of Padua: Interior Figure 7-44 St. Columban: View Across Transepts and Nave 228 Other churches incorporate floor plans that rely on earlier precedents within the Archdiocese. St. Columban’s plan is simply a much larger, and more impressive, version of the diamond shaped-plan that its architects successfully employed at Our Lady of Grace, completed six years earlier. The seating configuration is unusually complex: the banks of pews radiating from the sanctuary encompass nine aisles (Figure 7-44). The plan of Sacred Heart recalls St. Joseph’s in La Puente: it has been described as being “roughly in the form of an arrow or of a tunic with spread sleeves.” The sanctuary, with a curved back wall, is located at the tip of the arrow or the neck of the tunic, depending upon which metaphor is adopted. The square nave corresponds to the body of the tunic, and a pair of transepts, “pivoted from the main altar,” correspond to the tunic’s sleeves (Figure 7-45). The ceiling of the nave is highest at the church’s façade, and slants downward towards the sanctuary; in contrast, the ceilings of each of the transepts slant upward toward the sanctuary. The space above the sanctuary itself is open to admit light from an unusually tall, triangular skylight paneled with stained glass (Figure 7-46). Like several of the churches discussed in the last section of this chapter, St. Cornelius is “wider than it is deep,” at 111 feet in width and 75 feet in depth. But this essentially rectangular space has been divided into three sections: a central, high ceilinged nave – with the sanctuary at one end and the narthex at the other – and two flanking transepts that open into the nave along its entire length (Figure 7-47). Following a familiar pattern, the ceiling of the nave rises as it spans the space between the narthex and the sanctuary, culminating in a skylight directly over the altar. The four banks of pews are arranged in the shape of a fan, with those in the transepts set at an angle to reinforce the overall orientation to the sanctuary. 229 Figure 7-45 Sacred Heart: View of Sanctuary from Transept Figure 7-46 Sacred Heart: Sanctuary and Skylight Figure 7-47 St. Cornelius: Interior 230 Several of these churches vividly illustrate the dynamic of “gathering in” and “sending forth” characteristic of the modern communal tradition. With eleven entrances spaced around its circular perimeter, St. Jerome can accommodate parishioners coming from, and heading toward, virtually any direction. At St. Anthony, prominent entry doors are located in each of the transepts as well as the main façade; at Sacred Heart, entrances are located at the end of the nave and of each transept; and at St. Columban, members of the congregation have seven entrances from which to choose. Centering Focus Perhaps even more so than minimalist modern communal churches, expressionist modern communal churches stress the role of the assembled congregation as a “centering focus” of the building. Corpus Christi’s parabolic shape, for example, was deliberately designed to “subconsciously” draw the congregation’s attention to the altar situated at the paraboloid’s geometric focus point, and to “bring a greater proportion of worshipers closer to the altar than in conventional churches.” While it is certainly true that the church’s design provides excellent visibility and a strong sense of proximity, perhaps its greatest success is its ability to convey a sense that the members of the congregation, gathered together in a single, simply defined, unbroken space, and fully visible to one another, comprise one united community. The same can be said for each of the other expressionist churches considered here, ranging from the circular St. Jerome to the cruciform St. Anthony. 231 Aesthetic Impact Expressionist modern communal churches, like their minimalist counterparts, typically make full use of natural light and the inherent aesthetic qualities of construction materials as key elements in establishing the requisite “hospitable setting for celebration.” At St. Rita, for example, the interior’s relatively intimate scale, extensive use of wood, harmonious combination of earth tones, and skillful incorporation of natural light create a space that “just feels right.” The architect utilizes both filtered light in the nave and indirect light above the sanctuary to fine effect (Figure 7-48). The most remarkable impression, however, is created by the glass walled clerestory galleries which, in the words of a contemporary newspaper account, make the “roof seem to float above the sloping walls of the nave.” Hidden from direct view, but reflected in the galleries’ transparent glass, are bands of horizontal windows – shaded from direct sunlight -- that admit light, promote cross-ventilation, and permit the release of heated air (Figure 7-49). Similarly, Corpus Christi relies heavily on the textures and colors of brick, glass, metal, and wood, and the qualities of natural light. Its flat, steel framed roof is supported by seven 30 foot tall, star-shaped, textured concrete columns, leaving a two-foot tall gap between the top of the 28 foot high parabolic brick wall and the wooden ceiling. This gap is glazed with clear glass, again creating the impression that the ceiling is “floating” above the interior space (Figure 7-37). Thus, natural light enters the church through the glass wall that forms its facade, the narrow, horizontal band of clerestory windows just described, and a crown-shaped skylight above the sanctuary (Figure 7-50). 232 Figure 7-48 St. Rita: Interior Figure 7-49 St. Rita: Clerestory Gallery Figure 7-50 Corpus Christi: Interior 233 Symbolic Resonance The exterior elevations of expressionist modern communal churches suggest that their architects held at least one belief in common: a church should look like anything its architect wants it to look like. St. Rita is “a piece of spiritual sculpture” where “almost nothing is vertical,” to use architect John Gougeon’s own words. 36 It qualifies as a textbook illustration of the versatility of concrete; its asymmetrical exterior elevations, which defy any systematic verbal description, display a series of remarkable juxtapositions of straight and curved lines (Figures 7-51, 7-52, and 7-53). Sacred Heart offers a similar variety of elevations, ranging from its symmetrical façade with its projecting cantilevered eave, to its gently sloping roof, to its tall triangular skylight, which serves the visual function of a steeple while blending into its curving rear elevation (Figure 7-54 and 7-55). Corpus Christi’s project architect, Joseph L. Amestoy, ascribed high symbolic value to that church’s unusual form, explaining that “[its] transparent wall allows [its] brick parabolic wall to reach out to infinity, without closing in on itself, thus symbolizing the reaching out of Christ to all men.” 37 Perhaps some symbolic value might also be ascribed to the unusual roofs that shelter and enfold the congregations at St. Jerome and St. Anthony. The folded plate roof at St. Jerome corresponds to the lines created by its gabled wall bays; the roof of its lantern, as wells as its spire, mirror these “folds” exactly (Figure 7-56 and 7-57). St. Anthony’s is simply “draped” with an undulating hyperbolic parabola (Figure 7-58). 234 Figure 7-51 St. Rita: Façade and Tower Figure 7-52 St. Rita: North Elevation Figure 7-53 St. Rita: South Elevation 235 Figure 7-54 Sacred Heart: Side Elevation Figure 7-55 Sacred Heart: Rear Elevation Figure 7-56 St. Jerome: Roofline 236 Figure 7-57 St. Jerome: Exterior View of Bays Figure 7-58 St. Anthony of Padua: Roof Detail Figure 7-59 St. Cornelius: Façade 237 Like these other churches, St. Cornelius’ exterior elevations plainly display its interior plan, mirroring the height and configuration of the interior ceilings (Figure 7-59). The center of the façade is marked by four 70 foot tall flat columns that serve as both an entry portal and a bell tower (Figure 7-60). St. Columban combines elements of a minimalist classic sacramental church – symmetry, brick framing elements, cast stone reliefs – with those of a modern communal church – a stained glass window extending from ground to roofline (corresponding to the baptistery located within), a 110 foot tall tower in an unconventional location, and a folded plate roof (Figures 7-61 and 7-62). Notwithstanding these distinctive outward appearances, the symbolic resonance of the interiors of these churches is characteristically understated, with St. Columban and Sacred Heart being the richest in terms of sculpted and stained glass imagery. Conclusion With the emergence of the modern communal church-building tradition in the early 1960s, Southern California’s Catholic landscape assumed a new complexity. During the ensuing decade, the Archdiocese built both classic sacramental churches – in a full range of styles – and modern communal churches, both minimalist and expressionist. By the early 1970s, however, the classic sacramental church-building tradition had all but disappeared, and modern communal churches had become the norm. 238 Figure 7-60 St. Cornelius: Tower Detail Figure 7-61 St. Columban: Facade Figure 7-62 St. Columban: Side Elevation and Tower 239 CHAPTER 7 ENDNOTES 1 Filthaut 19. 2 Frederic Debuyst, Modern Architecture and Christian Celebration (Richmond, VA: Knox, 1968) 9. 3 Torgerson 95. 4 Quoted in Torgerson at 43. 5 Torgerson 118. 6 DeSanctis 4. 7 Seasoltz 243 and DeSanctis 39, respectively; see also Torgerson 65. 8 Filthaut 25. 9 Quoted in Filthaut at 6; see also Debuyst 59 10 Filthaut at 25, and Debuyst (quoting Bishop Bekkers) at 9, respectively. 11 Debuyst 12–13; see also 10. 12 Torgerson 65. 13 See Seasoltz 266. 14 Kane 149. 15 Torgerson x. 16 Torgerson 2-4. 17 Torgerson 4. 18 Torgerson 6. 19 Torgerson 4-6. 20 Torgerson 11-12. 21 Carey 112-113. 22 Torgerson 20. 23 Torgerson 26. 24 Kilde 4. 25 Kilde 199. 26 Kilde 177. 240 27 Kilde 190. 28 Kilde 191. Kilde does not refer to “modern communal” and “classic sacramental” churches as such; those terms are used here because the churches she is describing qualify as “modern communal” or “classic sacramental” within the analytic framework employed by this study. 29 Kilde 191. 30 Kilde 185. 31 Kilde 185. 32 Kilde 179. 33 Kilde 185. 34 “Churches Designed for New Liturgy” Tidings [Los Angeles] 1 Oct. 1965: 1. 35 Building Committee Minutes dated Oct. 19, 1964 (II:494). 36 “When Architecture Becomes Sculpture and Landmark: Architect Gougeon Speaks on St. Rita Church Design,” Mountain Views – Observer [Sierra Madre, CA] 29 Aug. 2008: 13. 37 “Groundbreaking Planned for Palisades Church,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 15 Feb. 1963: 5. 241 CHAPTER 8 CONCLUDING THOUGHTS By way of conclusion, I would like to offer a few final thoughts on the research process, methodology, and findings that underlie this study. I have always had an interest in Christian churches as a building typology, and have had the opportunity to visit hundreds of churches in North America, Europe, and the Middle East. While there is a vast amount of scholarly and popular literature available on the subject of churches, I have discovered that there is surprisingly little information available on the churches that Southern Californians encounter on a daily basis. As this study demonstrates, these churches embody a remarkable variety of physical forms, ranging from the extraordinary to the prosaic. Consequently, I undertook this study with the goal of developing some insight into the forces at work in the design and construction of the more than 250 Roman Catholic churches built in the Los Angeles metropolitan area during the three decades following the Second World War. A critical challenge in attempting to develop insights about a collection of buildings this large is identifying some method for understanding their relationships to one another. Each church is unique, yet many of them share obvious similarities. At the same time, they span a full spectrum of recognized architectural “styles,” from relatively “pure” historical revivalism to expressionism. The most useful way to think about these churches, I concluded, was in terms of stylistic groupings. These relatively loose groupings acknowledge the physical similarities among churches without presupposing that every church within the grouping was consciously designed in accordance with a set 242 of prescribed rules applicable to a particular “style.” In the course of my research and field work, I gradually concluded that the collection of churches I was studying represented two of the church-building “traditions” identified by Richard Kieckhefer, and could be grouped into seven basis stylistic groupings. In the course of developing these seven groupings and assigning individual churches to each grouping, I discovered anew the main advantage and the key drawback of any such exercise. With my seven groupings in mind, whenever I encountered an unfamiliar church for the first time, I was able to immediately place it within the context of a group of churches with similar characteristics, and therefore had a starting point for undertaking my analysis of it. And as I added that individual church, with its unique combination of features, to a particular grouping, my understanding of that grouping, and of the churches within it, expanded as well. At the same time, I discovered that a number of churches seem to straddle the “border” between two groupings. I was thus reluctantly forced to make a judgment call, and add such a church to one grouping or the other, knowing full well that my choice might be subject to legitimate criticism by another person attempting to apply my own criteria – reflected in the “checklists” contained in the appendices -- to the same church. One of the more interesting discoveries for me while undertaking the research for this paper was the long duration and wide scope of the liturgical renewal movement that took place within the Catholic Church over the course of some eighty years prior to the Second Vatican Council, and the extent of its impact on the physical form of churches built prior to the Council. While all Catholics, and very many non-Catholics, are well 243 acquainted with the many changes that occurred in the way Catholics worship following the Council, few appreciate the long evolutionary process that preceded those changes. Another eye-opening discovery for me involved the architects of the churches covered by this study. Prior to undertaking my research, I knew next to nothing about either their identities or their professional achievements. I was not particularly surprised to discover that a relatively small group of architects had designed almost all of the churches considered here, as well as the schools, rectories, convents, social halls, and other buildings that share their suburban parish campuses. What I was not prepared for was the remarkable versatility of these architects. I will provide two examples. As I began this study, I was already acquainted with the work of M.L. Barker and G.L. Ott, who designed the graceful, if highly eclectic, chapel that serves as the architectural icon of my undergraduate alma mater, Loyola Marymount University. I was also familiar with a handful of the firm’s eclectic parish churches, and discovered more of them as I pursued my research. I had reached a conclusion, based upon my limited exposure to their work, that eclectic revivalism was the firm’s signature, and only, style of design – one that, admittedly, they had apparently mastered. I subsequently visited the Church of St. Columban in Garden Grove for the first time, marveling at its innovative “rectangle within a square,” diamond-shaped floor plan, and fascinated by its blending of modern communal and classic sacramental features. Upon conducting further research, I was astonished to discover that the church had been designed by Barker and Ott! My amazement grew when I later discovered that the firm had employed the same basic floor plan at Our Lady of Grace in Encino, completed six years earlier in 1962. Thus, the very same firm that had made its mark on the cityscape with its widely 244 dispersed eclectic revival classic sacramental churches, had also designed, several years before the conclusion of the Second Vatican Council, the first truly successful modern communal church in the Archdiocese! I had a similar experience with regard to one of the pioneering modernist churches in the Archdiocese, St. John the Evangelist, discussed in Chapter 6. When I first saw this building in person, I didn’t know what to make of it. When I determined that its architect was Ross Montgomery, who had designed several of the Archdiocese’s finest historic revival churches in the 1920s and 1930s, I immediately concluded that it must have been intended for eventual conversion into a gymnasium. It made no sense to me that Montgomery, of all people, could have designed a “permanent” church that looked like this one. Upon further research, I was amazed to learn that Montgomery had, indeed, embraced modernist church design late in his career, and had become one of its most articulate apologists. A final discovery brought home for me the pleasures and perils of researching the architecture of the recent past. Having grown up as a member of a suburban Southern California Catholic parish that built a “temporary” church in 1956 and a “permanent” one in 1965, and having attended Catholic grade school and high school throughout the 1960s and into the 1970s, I was very familiar with the new Catholic churches that seemed to be going up left and right during my youth. I also experienced firsthand Southern California’s postwar, suburban, middle class, family-oriented Catholic subculture, and the changes that subculture underwent in the late 1960s and early 1970s, as described in Chapter 2. But it was not until I started researching this thesis, pouring through old issues of the Archdiocese’s newspaper (to which I sold subscriptions as a student), that I 245 fully realized how much things had really changed over the past 35 years. The days when churches were packed to the rafters for every Sunday Mass, schools were bursting at the seams, sisters were teaching in nearly every classroom, one or two boys from every graduating eighth grade class went off to the junior seminary, and every Catholic knew exactly what was expected of him or her, and what he or she should expect of fellow Catholics, are long gone. Southern California’s Catholic subculture today is very different from that of the postwar boom years and the immediate aftermath of Vatican II, certainly for the better in some ways, and perhaps for the worse in others. But the subculture I once knew, and which shaped me in my formative years, is gone, vanished. I now appreciate, in a way that I did not before, that the parish churches of postwar Southern California continue to provide a tangible link to that vanished subculture, and may very well prove to be its most enduring monuments. 246 CHAPTER 9 POSTSCRIPT: PRESERVATION CHALLENGES In the final chapter of this study I examine several issues related to the ongoing preservation of the churches considered here. Because of the steady influx of Catholic immigrants into the Archdiocese of Los Angeles since 1980, none of its parish churches have faced closure due to declining use. This is truly a remarkable situation, given the widespread closure and subsequent demolition or adaptive reuse of “redundant” churches in the older urban neighborhoods of the East and Midwest, and even in such Western cities as San Francisco. Based on past experience, the chief threats to the original form, integrity, and materials of the parish churches in the Archdiocese have been, and at least for the foreseeable future will continue to be, earthquakes, changes inspired by liturgical developments, and periodic changes in aesthetic taste. Each of these threats will be considered in this chapter. In addition, because local preservation ordinances are often seen as the “first line of defense” when historic buildings are threatened with demolition or inappropriate alteration, the unique right of California churches to exempt themselves from these ordinances will be discussed. Alterations Necessitated by Earthquake Damage Because of Southern California’s relatively benign climate, and the employment of “modern” materials and techniques in their construction, the churches considered here have aged relatively well. Although most of the churches have required replacement and 247 updating of mechanical, electrical, plumbing, and similar systems, as well as periodic cosmetic repairs, the sole cause of major structural alterations to date has been earthquake damage. There have been three major earthquakes in the Los Angeles metropolitan area since the Second World War: the San Fernando or Sylmar earthquake of February 9, 1971, 1 the Whittier Narrows earthquake of October 1, 1987, 2 and the Northridge earthquake of January 17, 1994. Of these, only the Northridge quake inflicted serious damage on churches built after the Second World War; the eight most severely affected of these churches were all located in the San Fernando Valley. These parishes attempted to turn disaster into opportunity, adopting rebuilding programs that included liturgical renovations and general building upgrades in addition to earthquake repairs. For example, at Our Lady of the Valley in Canoga Park, a church completed in 1968, the tower was severely damaged and the roof virtually destroyed by the Northridge quake, with the damage compounded by heavy rains shortly afterward. Repairs and renovations, which included relocation of the sanctuary and reconfiguration of the seating, cost $1.4 million. At Mary Immaculate in Pacoima, the church, completed in 1957, was repaired and substantially enlarged; this project was completed just prior to the fourth anniversary of the earthquake. Renovation of the church and replacement of the school cost $3.2 million. Although the earthquake damage at St. Mel’s in Woodland Hills, completed in 1958, was cosmetic rather than structural, the parish took advantage of the circumstances to undertake $4 million in repairs and improvements, including seismic reinforcements, new air conditioning, improved handicapped accessibility, extension of the organ gallery, and rearrangement of the sanctuary. 3 248 The chief architectural casualties of the Northridge quake were bell towers and steeples. At St. Francis de Sales in Sherman Oaks, completed in 1959, a 6,545 bell broke loose, falling through the tower and causing significant damage. The tower was subsequently repaired and retrofitted, but the bell was relocated to a garden rather than returned to the tower. At St. Catherine of Siena in Reseda, completed in 1965, a 20-ton section of the steeple toppled onto the roof, and the bell tower was damaged as well. Other churches that suffered severe damage and subsequently underwent varying degrees of repair and remodeling included St. John Baptist de la Salle in Granada Hills, completed in 1969, St. Ferdinand in San Fernando, completed in 1949, and St. John Eudes in Chatsworth. 4 Renovation to Accommodate Liturgical Reform and Aesthetic Embellishment Although the oldest among them are only 61 years old, and the newest only 33 years old, all of the churches built during the period considered here have undergone purely elective alterations to a greater or lesser extent. These changes generally fall into two categories: renovation to accommodate liturgical reform, and aesthetic embellishment. As we saw in Chapter 4, in the years following the Second Vatican Council virtually all of the classic sacramental churches in the Archdiocese were rearranged to some degree to accommodate the reformed liturgy. The extent of rearrangement has varied greatly, as illustrated by the examples considered in Chapters 4 through 7. In some churches, the changes have been relatively minor, often limited to rearrangement of 249 the altar and other sanctuary furnishings and perhaps removal of the altar rail. This has been the case particularly in historic revival and eclectic revival churches. In many other churches, additional changes have been incorporated, the most common being relocation of the baptismal font and relocation of the area set aside for singers and instrumentalists. In a few churches, including St. Emydius and St. Joseph the Worker, the sanctuary has been completely relocated, and the congregational seating has been extensively reconfigured. As a general rule, modern communal churches – the vast majority completed after the conclusion of the Council in 1965 -- have undergone little in the way of rearrangement to accommodate liturgical reform. For the most part, rearrangement has involved altering original features that were already becoming obsolete at the time these churches were completed, such as tabernacles placed on altars and the installation of altar rails. There are a few notable exceptions, however, such as St. Jane Frances de Chantal, where relocation of the sanctuary and reconfiguration of the congregational seating have enhanced the communal dimensions of a building that originally embodied an earlier form of the modern communal tradition. A more subtle type of alternation has been the tendency to embellish churches for aesthetic reasons as the years pass. In the case of the classic sacramental churches considered here, this is explained by the fact that these churches were originally built within limited budgets with the specific intention of continuing their decoration once additional funds became available. Because these churches are, by definition, rich in symbolic resonance, their continuing embellishment has always been an accepted practice. Thus, many of the “permanent” classic sacramental churches considered here 250 now feature sculptures, murals, stained glass, and other artistic and decorative elements that were not present when these churches opened. This is also very much the case with those “temporary” multipurpose churches that are still being used for liturgical purposes, some of which – like St. John the Baptist and St. Pancratius – have been extensively redecorated. The situation is different, however, in the case of modern communal churches. By definition, these churches have a low to moderate symbolic resonance. At the time they were built, there was not an automatic expectation that they would be further decorated once funds became available. How, then, can one explain such changes as the installation of new stained glass at St. Jerome or new murals at St. Cornelius? In both of these cases, these later enhancements might be criticized as compromising the original aesthetic concept for these buildings. The tendency to embellish the first generation of modern communal churches seems to reflect a change in taste, a swinging of the pendulum from an appreciation of minimalist simplicity to a desire for richer, more complex forms of visual and emotional engagement. This shift is apparent in the emergence – after the period under consideration here – of a third stylistic grouping of modern communal churches which I label, somewhat oxymoronically, the “post-modern modern communal church.” To borrow the words of architectural historian Kevin Seasoltz, the work of post-modern architects “retrieves conventional elements from the past that bring a new psychological dimension to architecture in their appeal to memory and association,” thereby expressing “both the richness and the ambiguity of modern experience.” 5 Thus, my proposed label aptly describes a number of modern communal churches built in Southern California 251 since 1976 which incorporate self-conscious references to historic architectural styles, particularly the Spanish Colonial Revival and the Italian Romanesque Revival, and that make extensive use of sculpture, murals, stained glass, and other works of art. 6 To some degree, a preservationist might well mourn the liturgical renovation and artistic embellishment of the churches covered by this study. The original vision of those who commissioned and designed these churches has, to some extent, been obscured, and it is no longer possible to experience these buildings exactly as they were experienced by the parishioners who first used them. Unquestionably, something has been lost. One is reminded, perhaps, of the pioneering modernist churches built in Europe in the 1920s and 1930s. Although originally designed in conformance with the earliest tenets of the liturgical reform movement, most underwent renovation after the Second Vatican Council because they lacked “the status of architectural classics whose original integrity needed to be preserved.” 7 On the other hand, few, if any, preservationists would assert that these churches should be preserved as museums, “petrified for posterity” and no longer “alive to evolution,” to borrow a pair of phrases from architectural historian Stewart Brand. 8 Churches are typically what Brand calls “High Road” buildings, whose uniqueness lies in the “sustained complexity” they acquire over time as a result of being “successively refined” by a series of users and uses. 9 Each “High Road” building tells a story. And, according to Brand, preservationists are quick to embrace past alterations as part of a building’s story. 10 Thus, the story of each of the churches considered here encompasses not only the original architectural concept and its execution, but each of the subsequent changes to the church as the Catholic liturgy evolved, as money for embellishment 252 became available, and as aesthetic tastes changed. Indeed, as Brand points out, preservationists are generally not adverse to making additional alterations to historic buildings, as long they are sensitive and, if possible, reversible. 11 The role of a preservationist is to envision a building’s future while celebrating its past. Perhaps only one of the churches considered here – St. Basil’s – is sufficiently “iconic” in character to merit transformation into a museum, set aside as though “preserved in amber” for future generations (Figures 6-44 through 6-50 and J-10 through J-19). Because each of the “permanent” churches considered here is a highly specialized building, if it were to cease serving as a place of worship, demolition seems a more likely fate than adaptive reuse. It appears, then, that the best strategy for preservation of these buildings would be to allow them to continue to evolve as places of worship, well loved and well used by their parish congregations. Limitations on the Application of Local Preservation Ordinances to California Churches Under the generally accepted standard that, with rare exceptions, buildings are not eligible for landmark designation until they are at least fifty years old, only those buildings built during the first eleven years of the period under consideration here are currently eligible for designation. Of the 47 representative churches specifically discussed here, 22 of which were built prior to 1960, only one has been landmarked. St. Augustine’s, built in 1958, is a designated Culver City historical landmark. At the present time in California, however, landmarking under local preservation ordinances is a problematic strategy for preserving historic churches. 253 Under the regulatory scheme currently in effect in California, local preservation laws do not provide unqualified protection for historic religious buildings. Briefly stated, California Government Code Sections 25373 and 37361 authorize counties and cities, respectively, to adopt local preservation ordinances. A new provision was added to each code section in 1993, providing that a local preservation ordinance does not apply to “noncommercial” property owned by associations and corporations that are “religiously” affiliated and not organized for private profit, provided that the association or corporation (1) objects to the application of the ordinance and (2) “determines in a public forum that it will suffer substantial hardship, which is likely to deprive the association or corporation of economic return on its property, the reasonable use of its property, or the appropriate use of its property in the furtherance of its religious mission, if the application is approved.” 12 In other words, religious organizations currently enjoy the right to exempt themselves from the application of local preservation ordinances. Each of the provisions adopted in 1993 was subsequently challenged as violating, on its face, provisions in both the federal and state constitutions prohibiting the establishment of religion. The California Supreme Court, by a vote of 4 to 3, upheld the constitutionality of the new provisions. 13 Justice Baxter, writing for the majority, held that allowing religious organizations to exempt themselves from application of the ordinances did not confer special privileges on them, but “simply free[d] the owners to use the property as they would have done had the property not been designated as a historic landmark.” 14 In other words, “the exemption does not provide governmental assistance to religious organizations in carrying out their religious mission. By providing the exemption the state simply stepped out of the way of the religious property owner.” 15 254 Justice Mosk, in a dissenting opinion, held that the exemptions violated state constitutional provisions requiring strict neutrality as to religious matters and prohibiting preferences of any kind. 16 In another dissenting opinion, Justice Werdeger, detecting federal constitutional violations, was critical of the provisions’ breath, pointing out that “rather than merely permitting individual religious organizations to obtain exemptions from the landmark laws by application and with a showing that the group’s religious practices will otherwise be impaired, the statutes permit a religious group to exempt itself, without any actual showing of need, any assurance that the exempted property is or will remain in religious use, or any governmental review of the self-declared hardship exemption.” 17 The breath of these exemptions is indeed problematic. As Justice Werdeger points out, under these provisions “a religiously affiliated organization could, for example, declare exempt a historic building still suitable for and in use as a house of worship, tear it down, and build a modern office building for sale on the commercial market.” 18 Thus, it appears that “the amendments’ design and effect were to award religious organizations the unique ability to manipulate their property holdings without regard for landmark regulations, by altering, demolishing, and selling properties, if they choose, for maximum economic benefit and without the incidental cost and delay attendant on obtaining special permits.” 19 Thus, it seems that Government Code Sections 25373(d) and 37361(d) may be ripe for legislative revision if the political climate changes, or subject to another court challenge if and when a specific application of these sections leads to an egregiously offensive result. For the time being, however, they remain the law. 255 It should be kept in mind that, despite the present ineffectiveness of local preservation ordinances, historic religious buildings do continue to qualify as “historic resources” subject to the requirements of the California Environmental Quality Act (“CEQA”). But while CEQA generally achieves its goals of informing local decision makers and the public about, and generating debate regarding, the consequences of and alternatives to specific development proposals, it provides no actual protection for historic religious properties. As a “process-oriented” law, it does not impose any particular set of environmental values on local decision-makers. 20 It should also be borne in mind that even if the Government Code preservation exemptions were to be reversed or limited, state and local regulation would remain subject to the federal Religious Land Use and Institutionalized Persons Act (“RLUIPA”). Unfortunately, even nine years after its enactment, the specific application of RLUIPA to particular state and local preservation laws remains somewhat unpredictable. 21 Briefly, the statute prohibits any government action involving land use that “substantially burdens” the “exercise of religion” unless that government can show that the action is the least restrictive means of furthering a “compelling government interest.” Although “exercise of religion” is defined broadly, RLUIPA (unlike the California statute) does not apply to buildings used by religious groups for non-religious purposes or for generating revenue. The federal statute specifically prohibits a government from imposing or implementing a “landmarking law” which “substantially burdens” religious exercise, treats a religious organization on less than “equal terms” with a nonreligious one, or discriminates against a religious organization on the basis of religion or religious denomination. However, because the “substantial burden” test is difficult to meet, legal 256 scholars believe that it is “unlikely that that challenges to the designation of historic religious properties or actions taken pursuant to a preservation ordinance would prevail.” 22 It also appears that “equal terms” violations are unlikely in the context of historic preservation laws, “because preservation laws typically address changes in design rather than use, and decisions relating to design review are generally considered unique to the property.” 23 Furthermore, “assuming that normal procedures are applied and preservation commissions are consistent in their decisionmaking, it is unlikely that RLUIPA’s anti-discrimination provision could be invoked successfully.” 24 A successful challenge to a local landmarking law on the basis of RLUIPA is made even more unlikely by the fact that a government may avoid a RLUIPA violation by working out a resolution that satisfies both religious and preservation objectives, or grants an economic hardship exemption. Moreover, bringing an action under RLUIPA requires that a case be ripe for review, that one of three jurisdictional tests be met, and that the claimant meet the burden of establishing a “substantial burden on religious exercise.” However, assuming these hurdles are overcome – seen as being a very rare case 25 – the claimant is likely to win, as historic preservation is unlikely to be considered a “compelling government interest.” The constitutionality of RLUIPA in the context of historic preservation laws has yet to be addressed by the courts, and remains an open issue. Its application of what is commonly known as “strict scrutiny” or the “compelling state interest test” in the land use context is inconsistent with past Supreme Court rulings, and thus seems vulnerable to attack. 26 Unfortunately, it now appears that a widely publicized controversy that might have served as a RLUIPA test case – involving the refusal of a demolition permit for a 257 landmarked 1971 “Brutalist” church in Washington D.C. – has been resolved through the granting of what amounts to an economic hardship exemption, and so, barring further appeals, it may not serve as a test case after all. 27 At the present time, then, the application of local preservation ordinances to California churches remains problematic. Even so, the best way to guarantee the future preservation of these buildings has always been, and continues to be, fostering in church leaders, parishioners, and members of the public such a deep appreciation of their historic, cultural, and spiritual value that the destruction or inappropriate alteration of these buildings becomes unthinkable. It is my hope that this study makes a significant contribution to that effort. 258 CHAPTER 9 ENDNOTES 1 “Mission, Hospital Damaged by Quake” Tidings [Los Angeles] 12 Feb. 1971: 7; “Church Damage Set at $1 Million” Tidings [Los Angeles] 19 Feb. 1971: 1+; “Quake Damage Tallied” Tidings [Los Angeles] 26 Feb. 1971: 1; Photo Captioned “Towering Damage” Tidings [Los Angeles] 5 Mar. 1971: 3 2 “One School Facing Demolition” Tidings [Los Angeles] 9 Oct. 1987: 1; “St. Mary’s, Whittier, Hard Hit by Quake” Tidings [Los Angeles] 9 Oct. 1987: 3 3 “Quake Kills Seminarian, Churches Report Substantial Damage” Tidings [Los Angeles] 23 Jan. 1994: 3; “Faithful Return to Parishes First Sunday After Quake” Tidings [Los Angeles] 30 Jan. 1994: 3; “We Shall Rise Again” Tidings [Los Angeles] 30 Jan. 1994: 14+; “Archdiocese Directs Quake Recovery from ‘Situation Room’” Tidings [Los Angeles] 6 Feb. 1994: 3; “Quake Damage Estimate Still Shaky” Tidings [Los Angeles] 6 Mar. 1994: 8; “Churches Usher in Easter; Parishes Recovering From Quake Damage” Los Angeles Daily News 16 Apr. 1995: N3; “Church Roof Fixed; Rededication Set; Repairs Cost $1.4 Million” Los Angeles Daily News 11 Nov. 1995: N18; “Dedication Mass to Be Performed” Los Angeles Daily News 9 Mar. 1996: N16; “Rising From the Quake; Rededication of Pacoima Church Marks Tribute of Faith” Los Angeles Daily News 12 Jan. 1998: N3. 4 “Quake Kills Seminarian, Churches Report Substantial Damage” Tidings [Los Angeles] 23 Jan. 1994: 3; “Faithful Return to Parishes First Sunday After Quake” Tidings [Los Angeles] 30 Jan. 1994: 3; “We Shall Rise Again” Tidings [Los Angeles] 30 Jan. 1994: 14+; “Archdiocese Directs Quake Recovery from ‘Situation Room’” Tidings [Los Angeles] 6 Feb. 1994: 3; “Quake Damage Estimate Still Shaky” Tidings [Los Angeles] 6 Mar. 1994: 8; “Churches Usher in Easter; Parishes Recovering From Quake Damage” Los Angeles Daily News 16 Apr. 1995: N3; St. Francis de Sales Parish: Our History, 19 June 2009 <http://www.saintfrancisdesaleschurch.com/history.html>. 5 Seasoltz 251. Architectural historian Michael DeSanctis has suggested that three “periods” of church design have followed the Second Vatican Council: an “experimental phase” lasting from 1965 until 1975, a “formulaic phase” lasting from 1975 to 1985, and a “reflective or reactionary phase” lasting from 1985 to the present. DeSanctis 17. An analysis of DeSanctis’ model – which itself is not extensively developed -- lies outside the scope of this study. Briefly, however, DeSanctis’ “experimental phase” corresponds to the emergence of the modern communal church during the latter portion of the period covered by this study. During the “formulaic phase,” according to DeSanctis: . . . the trick was to seize upon certain liturgical arrangements that worked well and to replicate them to the point of establishing a new canon for Catholic architecture appropriate to our time. (One thinks instantly in this regard of buildings conforming to the immensely popular “fan- shaped” plan, complete with sloped floors, natural wood ceilings, and an obligatory skylight above the sanctuary.) DeSanctis 17. During the current “reflective or reactionary phase,” according to DeSanctis, the tenets of both the Second Vatican Council and modernism are undergoing “serious reappraisal” in a “postmodern, post-Christian age” in which “the concept of modernity itself, with its elevation of the new over the old, has become problematic” and “the verities of even the recent past grow more ephemeral by the minute.” DeSanctis 17-18. 6 Two new churches in the Archdiocese, intended for use by college campus communities, are so rich in historic references and symbolic resonance, and incorporate so many other elements characteristic of the classic sacramental model, that they might conceivably be classified as historic revival classic sacramental churches. They are the Chapel of Our Lady of the Most Holy Trinity, opened in 2009 on the campus of Thomas Aquinas College near Santa Paula, and the Church of Our Savior, currently in the final stages of design, at the University of Southern California. 7 Kieckhefer 262. 259 8 Stewart Brand. How Buildings Learn: What Happens After They’re Built (New York: Viking, 1994) 11. 9 Brand 38. 10 Brand 108. 11 Brand 105. Brand’s view that existing buildings are “more freeing” that new ones would seem to apply to future alteration of these churches: They free you by constraining you. Since you don’t have to address the appalling vacuum of a blank site, you can put all of your effort and ingenuity into the manageable task of rearranging the relatively small part of the building’s mass that people deal with every day . . . . Instead of having to imagine with plans, you can visualize directly in the existing space. . . . Less money is needed, as well as less time, and fewer people are involved, so fewer compromises are necessary. And you can do it by stages while using the space. The building already has a story; all you have to do is add the interesting next chapter. Brand 105. 12 California Government Code Sections 25373(d) and 37361(c). 13 East Bay Asian Local Dev. Corp. v. California, 24 Cal.4 th 693, 102 Cal.Rptr.2d 280, 13 P.3d 1122 (2000). 14 24 Cal.4 th at 721 15 24 Cal.4 th at 698 16 24 Cal.4 th at 722-727 17 Italics in original. 24 Cal.4 th at 728 18 24 Cal.4 th at 740 19 24 Cal.4 th at 742-743 20 See William Fulton and Paul Shigley, Guide to California Planning (Point Arena, CA: Solano, 2005) 177-179. 21 See generally Julia H. Miller, Regulating Historic Religious Properties Under the Religious Land Use and Institutionalized Persons Act (National Trust for Historic Preservation, 2007); Wendie L. Kellington, Federal Regulation Affecting Land Use RLUIPA Update (ALI-ABA Land Use Institute, 2005); “Congress Enacts Religious Land Use Law,” Preservation Law Reporter 19 (2000): 1111-1122. 22 Miller 6. 23 Miller 8. 24 Miller 8. 25 Miller 9. 26 Miller 12-13. 27 “City Okays Razing of Brutalist Church,” Washington Times [17 May 2009] 19 June 2009 <http://www.washingtontimes.com/news/2009/may/17/city-oks-razing-of-brutalist-church/>. For a discussion of the legal aspects of the controversy, see Bryan Stockton, “Preserving Sacred Places: Free 260 Exercise and Historic Preservation in the Context of Third Church of Christ, Scientist, Washington, DC,” 19 June 2009 <http://lsr.nellco.org/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1028&context=georgetown/hpps> and Pew Forum on Religion & Public Life, “Brutalism v. Church: A Congregation Sues D.C. 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Oxford: Oxford UP, 2008. 265 “Former War Prisoners Adopt Polish Orphan.” Los Angeles Times 17 Sept. 1959: 22. Fulton, William and Paul Shigley. Guide to California Planning. Point Arena, CA: Solano, 2005. “Gardena Church Ready for Mass.” Tidings [Los Angeles] 9 May 1958: 9. “Gardena Church, School to Be Blessed Sunday.” Tidings [Los Angeles] 5 Dec. 1958: 9. Gebhard, David. “The Spanish Colonial Revival in Southern California (1895-1930).” Jour. of Soc. of Architectural Historians 26.2 (1967): 131–147. Gebhard, David, and Robert Winter. An Architectural Guidebook to Los Angeles. Salt Lake City: Gibbs, 2003. Gelernter, Mark. A History of American Architecture: Buildings in Their Cultural and Technological Context. Hanover: UP of New England, 1999. Gieselmann, Reinhard. New Churches. New York: Architectural, 1972. Gillis, Chester. Roman Catholicism in America. New York: Columbia UP, 1999. Greeley, Andrew M. Come Blow Your Mind With Me. Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1971. Greeley, Andrew M. 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Urbana: U of Illinois P, 1997. “Woodland Hills Parish to Build Church, School.” Tidings [Los Angeles] 18 May 1956: 13. 273 APPENDIX A CHARACTERISTIC FEATURES OF THE MULTIPURPOSE CLASSIC SACRAMENTAL CHURCH The multipurpose classic sacramental church has the following characteristic features: (1) A rectangular auditorium, with the center aisle forming a longitudinal axis connecting the main entrance and narthex with the sanctuary at the building’s opposite end; (2) A strong focus on the main altar in the sanctuary, reinforced by a large crucifix set against the sanctuary wall within a simple reredos; (3) Relatively low ceilings, understated natural lighting, and little, if any acoustical resonance; (4) A location of secondary prominence on the parish campus, consistent with the intended future conversion of the building into a multipurpose social hall or gymnasium; (5) Simple exterior elevations clad in brick or stucco, with no tower or steeple; and (6) Simply decorated interior surfaces, and relatively few shrines and images. 274 APPENDIX B REPRESENTATIVE EXAMPLES OF THE MULTIPURPOSE CLASSIC SACRAMENTAL CHURCH Maria Regina, Gardena (M.L. Barker & G.L. Ott, 1958) Of the four representative churches considered here, the Church of Marina Regina 1 in Gardena is the one that has changed the least since it first opened. Thus, it gives a visitor the best sense of what multipurpose classic sacramental churches originally looked like. This parish was established in 1956. Its church, designed by Barker & Ott, opened on May 11, 1958, and was dedicated on the following December 7. At that time, the parish had 900 families, and an average of six to ten babies were being baptized each Sunday. Described as “attractive and contemporary” when it opened, the gable roofed church consists of a rectangular auditorium with a small adjoining side wing. The building, constructed of wood-framing, stucco, and reinforced brick, is approximately 10,500 square feet in size, and seats 850. The façade is relatively simple (Figure B-1). A multi-paned window is set above the central doors, which are sheltered by a portico and surrounded by blue mosaic tile. The exterior walls are stucco with red brick wainscoting and trim. The interior walls are plaster with red brick wainscoting, and feature casement windows at eye level and recessed clerestory windows above. At the rear of the side wing is a glass-walled “mothers’ room” or “crying room” (Figure B-2). These rooms are a ubiquitous feature of postwar classic sacramental churches; they 275 Figure B-1 Maria Regina: Façade Figure B-2 Maria Regina: Mothers’ Room Figure B-3 St. Pancratius: Sanctuary 276 allowed mothers to attend Mass with their babies and small children, while insulating other parishioners from the inevitable visual and aural distractions. Like the other representative churches considered here, Maria Regina embodies the longitudinal, processional dynamic characteristic of the classic sacramental model. The church is basically a rectangular auditorium with a central aisle flanked by a bank of pews on either side (Figure 4-3). A side aisle runs along each interior side wall, providing secondary access to the pews. Maria Regina’s small side wing does not appreciably alter this dynamic. As is the case with the other representative churches discussed here, a choir loft in located in the rear of the nave above the narthex. The focus of the church is the main altar at the center of the relatively small sanctuary (Figure 4-6). With such a simple floor plan, attention is naturally drawn to the sanctuary area, placed as it is at one end of the longitudinal axis opposite the main entrance. This centering focus is reinforced by the treatment of the sanctuary wall behind the altar as a reredos. A large crucifix is placed within a wooden frame, beneath a simple baldachino that projects from the rear wall. The sanctuary here has been rearranged to accommodate the reformed liturgy. The altar, which originally would have been placed against the sanctuary wall, has been moved forward and is now freestanding. The tabernacle, which originally would have been placed on the altar, now rests on a shelf projecting from the rear wall below the crucifix. The ambo and presider’s chair are of modest design. The original communion rail separating the sanctuary from the nave has been removed. Because this church, like the other representative examples considered here, was originally slated for eventual conversion into a social hall, it was not designed to 277 incorporate the features which Kieckhefer indentifies as characteristic of the classic sacramental church’s “interplay of transcendence and immanence.” The ceiling is relatively low, so there is little sense of height or volume, and virtually no acoustical resonance. Natural lighting is also understated. Originally, all multipurpose classic sacramental churches had simple windows with panes of clear or single-toned colored glass, like those that still survive here at Maria Regina. The most popular colors for such windows were gold and magenta, which were believed to create a restful and “devotional” atmosphere. Both colors are present at Maria Regina. Maria Regina also bears witness to the fact that the interiors of multipurpose classic sacramental churches were originally very simply decorated, again with the expectation that they would eventually be converted to other uses. Of course, limited construction budgets also played a role. The symbolic resonance of these churches is found chiefly in the images displayed, of which there are usually relatively few. Maria Regina is quite typical in this regard: there is a large crucifix over the altar, and there are statues of the Sacred Heart of Jesus, the Blessed Virgin Mary, and St. Joseph. Here, the image of the Blessed Virgin Mary has been placed in a full fledged shrine in the side wing, apparently in recognition of the church’s dedication in honor of “Mary Queen” (Figure 4-7). St. Pancratius, Lakewood (Armet & Davis, 1955) Most of the multipurpose classic sacramental churches still in use as churches have undergone some interior redecoration, in recognition of the fact that their liturgical 278 use has continued longer that was originally anticipated. A good example of this is the Church of St. Pancratius. 2 This parish was established to serve the prototypical Southern California suburb of Lakewood in 1953. Two years later, it was described as a parish of “former GI’s and their growing families,” with a pastor who was a veteran of the Normandy invasion and the Battle of the Bulge. Its church, designed by Armet & Davis, was dedicated on March 6, 1955. Although best known for their “Googie-style” suburban coffee shops, Armet & Davis were prolific designers of suburban churches as well. 3 St. Pancratius, constructed of wood framing, stucco, and reinforced brick, was apparently patterned after an Armet & Davis church built a short time earlier in Whittier. It is a gable roofed rectangular auditorium of approximately 8,050 square feet, with seating for 700. The façade is typically simple, with four central doors set in a field of mosaic tile (Figure 4-1). The exterior is stucco with red brick wainscoting. The interior walls are plaster with red brick wainscoting, although the rear wall of the sanctuary is entirely of painted brick. A glass walled “mothers’ room” adjoins the sanctuary. St. Pancratius exhibits the same general characteristics with regard to spatial dynamics, centering focus, aesthetic impact, and symbolic resonance as Maria Regina. Here, the absence of a side wing makes the church’s longitudinal orientation particularly evident. The large crucifix in the sanctuary is simply placed against the rear wall, without the addition of any of the elements characteristic of a reredos (Figure B-3). In addition to a simple ambo and presider’s chair, the sanctuary contains a baptismal font, relocated from the original baptistery. As a result of updating, the quality of light here is more complex, and has greater aesthetic impact, than at Maria Regina. The original windows have been replaced with multi-colored stained glass featuring abstract landscape 279 designs, and extensive use is made of spotlights and indirect artificial lighting (Figure 4- 5). In addition to the standard images displayed at Maria Regina, there is also a statue of the parish’s patron saint. St. Gerard Majella, West Los Angeles (George Adams, 1953, and William Brown, 1960) In some cases, a parish outgrew its original “temporary church” before it was ready to build a “permanent church.” Such was at the case at St. Gerard Majella parish in West Los Angeles, established in 1952. The church 4 was formally dedicated on October 25, 1953. The original portion of the building, designed by George Adams, is a simple gable roofed rectangular auditorium of approximately 6,800 square feet, with seating for 600. In 1960, a 2382 square foot wing with additional seating for 240 was constructed adjacent to the sanctuary at a right angle to the original building, resulting in an “L” shaped floor plan. This addition, designed by William Brown, blends more or less seamlessly with the original structure. Both the original building and the addition are constructed of reinforced brick. The facade (Figure 4-2) is extremely simple, with covered entrance foyers projecting from the building on either side, and green terra cotta tile flanking the main doors. The exterior is faced in “Norman brick” in red and variegated pink tones. The interior walls are faced with painted brick; the only prominent architectural features are the exposed ceiling trusses and cross beams (Figure B-4). In 1969, the sanctuary was remodeled and extended further into the nave. The choice of an “L” shaped floor plan at St. Gerard Majella was born of necessity, intended to accommodate its burgeoning membership. It was clearly not 280 prescient of the later trend, characteristic of modern communal churches, of arranging congregational seating so that worshippers would be able to see one another and thus experience a sense of community. Indeed, when approving the new addition, the Building Committee tersely directed the architect to “put in [a] screen to keep people in [the] main aisle from looking into the added portion.” At that time, the opportunity to observe fellow parishioners during Mass was viewed as a source of distraction, not edification. St. Gerard Majella shares the same basic features with regard to spatial dynamics, centering focus, aesthetic impact, and symbolic resonance as the other multipurpose classic sacramental churches discussed here. Its “L” shaped floor plan does not markedly detract from the longitudinal axis of the original nave. Here, the reredos is a simple wooden backdrop featuring, as in the other churches, a large crucifix (Figure 5-3-5). The arrangement of the sanctuary is typical, although it is larger than usual as a result of its modification in 1969. As at St. Pancratius, the original windows have been replaced with multi-colored stained glass windows of a relatively simple design (Figure 5-3-6), and an image of the parish’s patron saint is included along with the other usual images. 4. St. John the Baptist, Costa Mesa (Verge & Clatsworthy, 1961) The Church of St. John the Baptist 5 in Costa Mesa is an example of a multipurpose classic sacramental church that has been extensively refurbished in anticipation of continuing liturgical use. This parish was established in 1960, although 281 Figure B-4 St. Gerard Majella: Nave Figure B-5 St. John the Baptist: Façade Figure B-6 St. John the Baptist: Nave 282 the planning for its campus began two years earlier when the site was secured as an “annex” for St. Joachim’s parish. Many of its first parishioners were, according to a contemporary account, “engineers or technicians in local electronics and rocket part industries and research laboratories.” The number of families in the parish increased by 50% during its first year, since new homes “were springing up like weeds” in the area, which had been dubbed a “new Lakewood.” The parish church, designed by Verge & Clatsworthy, was dedicated on April 9, 1961. Constructed of reinforced brick and concrete, it is a gable roofed rectangular auditorium of approximately 9,500 square feet, with seating for 750. The front elevation is essentially double-gabled. The lower, projecting gable encompasses the main entry and a central window, while the higher, recessed gable is crowned by a simple pediment (Figure B-5). The exterior is primarily clad in red brick. A stucco-clad Eucharistic reservation chapel was added at the back of the church in 2006. The church’s interior has not been structurally altered, and so it shares the basic traits relative to spatial dynamics and centering focus characteristic of the other churches considered here. The interior was, however, extensively refurbished in 2006, creating a much richer aesthetic impact and sense of symbolic resonance. Decorative wooden ceiling trusses, pilasters, and wainscoting were installed, and the sanctuary walls were faced with marble, limestone, and wood paneling (Figures B-6 and 4-9). The original crucifix, similar to those at the other churches, was moved to one side of the sanctuary, and a framed sculpted reredos depicting Jesus and St. John the Baptist was placed above the altar. It is flanked by similarly framed sculptural images of the Blessed Virgin Mary and St. Joseph. These new works of art were crafted by Juan Antonio Medina of Granda 283 Liturgical Arts in Madrid. A gold-plated tabernacle was set into the wall beneath the reredos, reinforcing the sense of centering focus. The new sanctuary furnishings include choir stalls for the Norbertine canons who serve the parish. A new baptismal font, designed for total immersion, has also been added to the sanctuary. 284 APPENDIX B ENDNOTES 1 Building Committee Minutes dated Mar. 11, 1957 (II:203), Mar. 25, 1957 (II:205), and May 13, 1957 (II:206); “Gardena Church Ready for Mass,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 9 May 1958: 9; “Gardena Church, School to Be Blessed Sunday,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 5 Dec. 1958: 9. 2 Building Committee Minutes dated July 27, 1953 (II:94) and Oct. 5, 1953 (II:96); “Cardinal to Bless Lakewood Church” Tidings [Los Angeles] 4 Mar. 1955: 11. 3 Alan Hess, Googie Redux: Ultramodern Roadside Architecture (San Francisco: Chronicle, 2004) 89-97. 4 Building Committee Minutes dated July 21, 1952 (II:66), Oct. 24, 1960 (II:337), Dec. 5, 1960 (II:344) and Oct. 27, 1969 (II:81); “New St. Gerard’s to Be Dedicated” Tidings [Los Angeles] 23 Oct. 1953: 11. 5 Building Committee Minutes dated July 17, 1958 (II:240) and July 14, 1958 (II:241); “Costa Mesa Parish, New Lakewood” Tidings [Los Angeles] 7 Apr. 1961: 7; St. John the Baptist Parish: Church Art, 19 June 2009 <http://www.sjboc.org/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=10&Itemid=39> 285 APPENDIX C CHARACTERISTIC FEATURES OF THE HISTORIC REVIVAL CLASSIC SACRAMENTAL CHURCH The historic revival classic sacramental church has the following characteristic features: (1) Regardless of the specific configuration of the interior plan, which may rely to a greater or lesser degree on historic precedents, a strong longitudinal axis connecting the main entrance and narthex with the sanctuary at the building’s opposite end; (2) A strong focus on the main altar in the sanctuary, reinforced by a reredos or a baldachino which displays decorative elements characteristic of a particular historical style; (3) High ceilings, diffused natural light filtered through stained glass windows, and high acoustical resonance; (4) Exterior elevations, including a tower, which incorporate, in a generally consistent manner, the massing, scale, and decorative elements characteristic of a single historic architectural style; (5) Interior features and décor which incorporate, in a generally consistent manner, elements characteristic of a single historic architectural style; and (6) A rich and diverse collection of visual images, rendered in sculpture, stained glass, and painting, some of which have identifiable connections to the Archdiocese, the parish, or contemporary community values and concerns. 286 APPENDIX D REPRESENTATIVE EXAMPLES OF THE HISTORIC REVIVAL CLASSIC SACRAMENTAL CHURCH St. Augustine, Culver City (Albert C. Martin & Associates, 1958) The Church of St. Augustine 1 is the only Gothic Revival church built in the Archdiocese since the Second World War. This parish was established in 1919 in what was then the small town of Culver City. Originally a mission of St. Monica’s Church in Santa Monica, the new parish was named in honor of Monica’s son, Augustine. In 1924, MGM built a new studio complex across the street from the parish site. By the mid- 1950s the parish had 1,800 families, and, according to a contemporary newspaper account, “while TV thinned out movie houses, St. Augustine’s old church bulged to over- capacity attendance at seven Sunday Masses.” A new church, 19,000 square feet in size and seating 1,050, was dedicated on June 22, 1958. As befits a parish located in a media center, Bishop Fulton Sheen preached at the dedication Mass. Designed by Albert C. Martin & Associates, the church has been described as an “adaptation of thirteenth century Gothic.” Located on the corner of Washington Boulevard and Jasmine Avenue, it nicely complements the parish’s earlier church, of very simple Gothic design, located next door (Figure D-1). The new church is constructed of reinforced concrete, with the wood grain of the pouring forms clearly visible both inside and out, and has a high pitched timber roof. The design of its façade exhibits the characteristic verticality of the Gothic style, with a single massive Gothic arch enclosing an expansive multi-segmented window above a triple arched portal (Figure 5-21). A 120 foot tower anchors the 287 Figure D-1 St. Augustine: Current and Former Churches Figure D-2 St. Augustine: Tower Figure D-3 St. Augustine: Nave Arcade 288 church’s corner. The detailing of the tower is a typical combination of Gothic decorative elements including tall finials, miniature gables and buttresses, and pointed arch openings (Figure D-2). The Archdiocesan Building Committee rejected the tower’s original design as “not of one character all the way,” apparently resulting in the present, relatively restrained design. The church’s relatively complex floor plan is typical of a Gothic Revival church. The narrow central nave with its high pitched ceiling and exposed concrete trusses (Figure 5-10) is flanked on each side by a narrow aisle, separated from the nave by a continuous arcade of pointed arches (Figure D-3). Adjoining each aisle is a series of smaller spaces which consist of, beginning from the narthex and moving toward the sanctuary: (1) a series of three shrines interspersed with confessionals; (2) a relatively low transept with seating (one of which is partially enclosed by glass to serve as a “mothers’ room”); (3) a high transept which accommodates a side entrance; and (4) a side chapel complete with altar and tabernacle. The relatively compact sanctuary is framed by a great Gothic arch. 2 St. Augustine’s longitudinal orientation is typical of classic sacramental churches. Due to its Gothic character, St. Augustine’s illustrates the processional dynamics underlying this spatial arrangement exceptionally well. While its plan is relatively simple compared to larger Gothic-style churches constructed during the medieval period and the nineteenth and twentieth century revivals, St. Augustine’s clearly delineated nave and side aisles, together with the carefully articulated secondary spaces that adjoin the side aisles, give a clear sense of the spatial hierarchy and functional differentiation that characterize the most elaborate classic sacramental churches. 289 The centering focus of the church is the main altar at the center of the sanctuary. As with all basically longitudinal plans, attention is naturally drawn to the sanctuary area, placed at one end of the axis opposite the main entrance. That attention is reinforced here by the “dramatic repetition of arches” lining St. Augustine’s nave. The altar’s status as the focal point is further emphasized by a stained oak, Gothic-style baldachino from which a large crucifix is suspended (Figure 5-14). The sanctuary’s furnishings have been rearranged to accommodate the reformed liturgy, and a new baptismal font has been included. The sanctuary is itself separated from the rest of the church by a fully intact, richly detailed marble and brass communion rail. Like the other four historic revival churches considered here, St. Augustine’s incorporates the features which Kieckhefer identifies as characteristic of the “interplay of transcendence and immanence.” St. Augustine’s relentless verticality, reinforced by its high pitched ceiling, exposed trusses, sanctuary arch, great window, and flanking arcade, creates a strong sense of aspiration. Light filtering through a multiplicity of stained glass windows, as well as sound echoing off the hard surfaces of the concrete walls and terrazzo floors, create the qualities of mystery and timelessness also characteristic of this interplay. St. Augustine’s is also rich in symbolic resonance. A cast stone relief of the church’s patron saint, together with his mother St. Monica and his mentor St. Ambrose, is situated in the tympanum above the main entrance (Figure 5-22). The interior features several shrines with marble statues and carved wood reliefs (Figure D-4). The carved wood, polychromed Stations of the Cross are suspended from the arches that line the nave. The great window incorporated into St. Augustine’s façade is visible from almost 290 Figure D-4 St. Augustine: Shrine of St. Augustine Figure D-5 St. Augustine: Window Detail Figure D-6 St. Timothy: Facade 291 every point within the church. Created in Ireland, its twenty-one panels portray angels, prophets, apostles, and doctors of the church (Figure 5-25). Other windows depict a wide range of saints, as well as parishioners in 1950s style dress receiving each of the seven sacraments (Figure D-5). St. Timothy, West Los Angeles (Harold Gimeno, 1949) The Church of St. Timothy 3 in West Los Angeles is a good example of an early postwar church incorporating the Spanish Colonial Revival style. This parish, named in honor of the patron saint of the then newly consecrated Bishop Manning, was established in 1943. Its second, “permanent” church opened in December of 1949 and was formally dedicated on March 5, 1950. Designed by Harold Gimeno, it has been described as an example of “classical Spanish architecture.” Built of reinforced concrete with a tile roof, it has seating for 900. The floor plan is basically rectangular, with a small side chapel adjacent to the sanctuary and a baptistery within the base of the tower. Located on the northwest corner of Pico and Beverly Glen Boulevards, the façade faces Beverly Glen, while the south side of the nave flanks the north side of Pico. The façade is richly ornamented with cast stone, and features an elaborate portal and rose window (Figure D- 6). Rather than being incorporated into the façade, the tower is located adjacent to Pico near the rear elevation of the church (Figure D-7). It is richly decorated with cast stone, and features a tiled dome with geometric designs (Figure D-8). 292 Figure D-7 St. Timothy: Tower Figure D-8 St. Timothy: Tower Detail Figure D-9 St. Timothy: Irish Saints Windows 293 Inside, a central aisle flanked by a bank of pews on either side reinforces the church’s longitudinal orientation. Side aisles run along each of the interior side walls, providing secondary access to the pews. Key architectural elements of the elaborately decorated interior include pairs of tall lancet windows, exposed roof trusses, and a high, colorfully stenciled ceiling (Figure 5-13). The central focal point of the interior, an altar covered in gold-leaf, stands before a 300 year old, similarly gold-leafed Spanish reredos (Figure 5-18). A silver and gold tabernacle -- created by the special effects department at nearby 20 th Century Fox under the direction of a parishioner-- has been incorporated into its design. The carved wood sanctuary furnishings are unusually elegant. The original baptismal font, still located in its own chapel in the base of the tower, remains in use. Although the interior volume of St. Timothy’s space is simple, it has a strong aesthetic impact with its high ceiling, open trusses, and extensive use of stained glass windows. The latter are especially rich in symbolism. The upper sections of the large lancet windows, crafted in Ireland, depict the fifteen “Mysteries of the Rosary,” episodes in the life of Jesus and the Blessed Virgin Mary. The lower sections chiefly feature figures from the Old and New Testaments. There are also several clerestory windows with images of saints, many with particular significance to parishioners. Among these are St. Vibiana, a patroness of the Archdiocese of Los Angeles, depicted with an image of her namesake Cathedral (Figure 5-26), and Bl. Junipero Serra, depicted with Mission Santa Barbara. There is a trio of Irish saints – the familiar Patrick, who is also a patron of the Archdiocese, as well as the more obscure Fachtna and Finbarr, patrons of County Cork, the birthplace of the parish’s pastor (Figure D-9). 294 The entire church is, in fact, rich in symbolic resonance. The façade features cast stone images of the Blessed Virgin Mary, St. Joseph, and St. Timothy created by George Snowden and Henry Greutert. A Celtic cross, apparently selected by the parish’s Irish pastor, is prominently featured in what is otherwise a typical Spanish Baroque decorative scheme. Inside, Spanish Baroque-style sculptures of the Blessed Virgin Mary and St. Joseph are set above the side altars, and a wooden sculpture of St. Timothy stands in the narthex (Figure D-10). There are also wall paintings and framed paintings, most of them reproductions of European masterworks that would have been familiar to the original parishioners. The Stations of the Cross were produced by the Vatican’s mosaic school. St. Joseph, Pomona (Comeau & Brooks, 1956) The Church of St. Joseph 4 in Pomona offers a more elaborate example of the Spanish Colonial Revival style. This parish was established in 1886, in what was then the small farming community of Pomona. By the time the parish’s third church was dedicated on May 27, 1956, Pomona had become a booming Los Angeles suburb where, according to a contemporary newspaper account, “guided missiles and steel” had replaced “oranges and lemons.” The firm of Comeau & Brooks designed the church in a style described as “fundamentally Spanish Renaissance modified to interpret California mission design.” The 19,450 square foot floor plan, which seats 1,200, is essentially cruciform, but is also reminiscent of a Roman basilica, with a rounded apse, a pair of spacious transepts, articulated side aisles, and two small side chapels. There are two “mothers’ rooms” at the rear of the nave. The construction is of reinforced gunnite, with 295 Figure D-10 St. Timothy: Shrine of the Blessed Virgin Mary Figure D-11 St. Joseph, Pomona: Facade Figure D-12 St. Joseph, Pomona: Woodwork Detail 296 a tile roof. The imposing facade features Spanish baroque cast stone ornamentation around the main entrance, a rose window, and large pilasters with carved panels (Figure D-11). The façade is anchored at its east end by a massive, three-tiered, 120 foot tall bell tower capped by a dome clad in colorful ceramic tile and surmounted by a 12 foot gold leafed cross. Inside, the high pitched wood ceiling of the nave rises 56 feet above the terrazzo floors (Figure 5-20). The nave is separated from each side aisle by a single large arch, and from each transept by another large arch (Figure 5-10). This unusual design emphasizes the longitudinal axis of the nave while maximizing the visibility of the sanctuary from the transepts. The walls have a rough plaster finish, and are accented by intricately carved wood work, especially in the area of the confessionals, which were originally outfitted with at state-of-the-art hearing aid system (Figure D-12). The spacious sanctuary projects into the nave, making it the focal point of both the nave and the adjoining transepts (Figure 5-16). This is likely a response to a concern expressed by the Archdiocesan Building Committee that the original design placed the sanctuary “too far away from the people.” The original 112 foot long communion rail, with room for “74 communicants at one time,” still delineates the sanctuary from the adjoining spaces. The sanctuary’s centerpiece is a 28 foot tall, 34-ton freestanding marble baldachino featuring a Venetian mosaic depicting the death of St. Joseph (Figure 5-17). The sanctuary furnishings are unusually rich, fabricated from a variety of Italian marbles that were personally selected by the pastor at the Ferdinandano Palla studio in Pietrasanta, Italy. 297 The interior spaciousness of St. Joseph’s cannot be adequately captured in a photograph. With its high nave, light filtered through stained glass clerestories, and reverberant acoustics, it perfectly captures the “interplay” cited by Kieckhefer. This overall aesthetic impact is heightened by the decorative carved woodwork found throughout the church, and the lavish use of marble, especially the richly colored variegated Italian marbles used for the images of the Blessed Virgin Mary and St. Joseph (Figure D-13). The church’s high level of symbolic resonance is particularly evident in its windows, which depict saints in the clerestories -- including St. Felix, the patron saint of the sisters teaching in the parish school – and Old Testament figures in the lower windows. The rose window in the façade features St. Joseph with the Latin scriptural quotation, “Behold the faithful and wise servant whom the Lord places over his household” (Figure 5-27). This allusion to Joseph’s responsibilities as a father is squarely in keeping with the postwar suburban parish’s emphasis on family life. Stylized images of the fleur de lis, traditionally associated with St. Joseph, can be found throughout the church, particularly in the terrazzo floors where it is paired with the monogram “SJ.” St. Charles Borromeo, North Hollywood (J. Earl Trudeau, 1959) North Hollywood’s Church of St. Charles Borromeo 5 illustrates a particularly creative approach to the Spanish Colonial Revival tradition. This parish was established in 1920 in the then rural San Fernando Valley. By the mid-1950s, the parish had outgrown its distinctive 1938 California Mission style church designed by Barker & Ott and Laurence D. Viole. A new church, designed by J. Earl Trudeau in the Spanish Baroque style of Colonial Mexico, was completed in November of 1959 and dedicated on 298 Figure D-13 St. Joseph: Shrine of the Blessed Virgin Mary Figure D-14 St. Charles Borromeo: Façade Detail Figure D-15 St. Charles Borromeo: Main Entrance 299 November 26, 1961. The church is typical of Trudeau’s distinctive work in this style; it bears many resemblances to Blessed Sacrament in Hollywood (remodeled in 1954), St. Anselm in South Los Angeles (1958), and St. Francis Xavier in Phoenix (1959). Built of steel and concrete, the church seats 1,000. The floor plan is basically cruciform, with a massive dome over the crossing of the nave and transepts. A large chapel adjoins the sanctuary, and several small chapels line the nave. The dimensions of the building are impressive. The church is 224 feet long and 103 feet wide at the transepts. The dome is 48 feet in diameter, and its highest interior point is 75 feet above the floor. The stucco surfaces of the church’s exterior are offset by a lavish use of detailed, oversize cast stone ornamentation in the Churrigueresque style (Figure 5-24). This ornamentation is most prominently featured on the façade and the adjoining 100 foot tall tower, but also appears at secondary entrances, windows, and the roofline, and is echoed in the wood carved doors (Figures D-14 and D-15). The cost of this decoration was apparently of some concern to the Archdiocesan Building Committee, and the decision to install it at the time of construction rather than at some later time was specially approved by Cardinal McIntyre. The variety of exterior planes and rooflines mirror the complex interior plan (Figure D-16). Massive cast stone urns are positioned at key points along the roofline (Figure D-17). The interior of the church is dominated by the octagonal base of the central dome, which rests on four massive arches (Figures 5-12 and D-18). The dome and arches divide the interior into five distinct spaces: the crossing beneath the dome, the nave with its side aisles, the two transepts, and the sanctuary. Despite this segmentation, the longitudinal axis remains intact, and there is a distinct sense of progression from nave to crossing to 300 Figure D-16 St. Charles Borromeo: Side Elevation Figure D-17 St. Charles Borromeo: Tower Detail Figure D-18 St. Charles Borromeo: Interior of Dome 301 sanctuary. The decorated ceiling of the nave is criss-crossed by exposed concrete trusses and beams. Oversized cast stone ornamentation frames the interior doors, windows, and shrines. Notwithstanding the segmentation of its interior space, the focus at St. Charles remains on the altar and the sanctuary. This focus is heightened by the carved oak reredos featuring a large crucifix, and the baldachino whose curve echoes the curve of the massive decorated arch delineating the sanctuary from the crossing (Figure 5-15). The vastness of St. Charles’ interior space, combined with its diffused interior light and the boldness of its ornamentation, capture Kieckhefer’s “interplay of transcendence and immanence” well. The church is also rich in symbolic resonance, both inside and out. The oversized exterior ornamentation incorporates a number of Old and New Testament symbols, as well as St. Charles Borromeo’s motto, “Humilitas.” The three largest stained glass windows are unusually complex in their imagery, depicting multiple images and scenes grouped under the themes of the life of St. Charles Borromeo, the Dream of St. Joseph (Figure D-19), and the Tree of Jesse. Windows in the baptistery depict scenes from the life of Jesus. A large, elegantly decorated chapel adjacent to the sanctuary, dedicated in honor of Our Lady of Good Hope, was a gift of parishioners Bob and Dolores Hope (Figure D-20). Its windows feature various apparitions of the Blessed Virgin Mary. The numerous sculpted images located throughout the church are executed in a contemporary rather than a historic style. The dramatic Stations of the Cross were rendered in the style of line drawings by a parishioner (Figure D-21). 302 Figure D-19 St. Charles Borromeo: Dream of St. Joseph Window Figure D-20 St. Charles Borromeo: Our Lady of Good Hope Chapel Figure D-21 St. Charles Borromeo: Stations of the Cross 303 St. Margaret Mary Alacoque, Lomita (Lawrence D. Viole, 1952) The Church of St. Margaret Mary Alacoque 6 in Lomita represents a simpler approach to Spanish Colonial Revival design. This parish was established in 1937, and its “permanent church” was completed in December of 1952. Described as a “modern adaptation of mission architecture,” the church was designed by Lawrence D. Viole, who designed a number of churches in a similar style, including St. Luke’s in Temple City (1950) and St. Marianne de Paredes in Pico Rivera (1952). According to a contemporary newspaper account, Fr. Junipero Serra would be “delighted” by the church, so “reminiscent of the missions he founded;” at the same time he would be certain to “give approval to the modern features,” including electrically operated windows. The approximately 10,400 square foot floor plan is basically rectangular, with a relatively narrow wing adjoining the nave on its north side, extending for about half of the nave’s length and separated from it by an arcade. The building was constructed using the gunnite process, described as “spraying concrete under high pressure on webs of steel,” and has a tile roof. The façade is double-gabled, and is anchored at its north end by a single tower of relatively simple design (Figure D-22). The upper, recessed gable features a Spanish style quatrefoil window, while the lower, projecting gable shelters a heavy pillared portico. Carved brackets support the projecting eaves of each gable (Figure 5-23). As at St. Timothy’s, the church’s central aisle tracks its longitudinal axis, flanked on each side by a bank of pews and a side aisle running along the side wall (Figure 5-14). Overall, the church’s interior is relatively simple, the chief architectural feature being an 304 Figure D-22 St. Margaret Mary Alacoque: Façade and Tower Figure D-23 St. Margaret Mary Alacoque: Nave Arches Figure D-24 St. Margaret Mary Alacoque: Bracket Detail 305 open beamed wooden ceiling whose trusses are tied to projecting pilasters and supported by large carved brackets (Figures D-23 and D-24). The walls are plaster, with plaster wainscoting painted in a contrasting color, and the floor is mission tile. The centering focus of the church is, characteristically, the main altar in the sanctuary. The reredos is much “simpler and more modern than those of the missions,” in the words of a contemporary account. Its combination of elements -- a large crucifix, projecting carved oak baldachino, simple wooden framing, and abstract mosaic background – is typical of postwar multipurpose or modernist churches, and represents a break from the stylistic consistency typical of historic revival churches (Figure 5-19). Although the interior space is simply configured, it has a strong impact with its high ceiling and open trusses. Like other classic sacramental churches, its level of symbolic resonance is high, but it is not as rich or complex as the other historic revival churches considered here. The clerestory windows are relatively small. Most were installed sometime after the church’s completion, and depict scenes from the life of Jesus. An original quatrefoil window, placed in the church’s façade, depicts the parish’s patron, St. Margaret Mary Alacoque. There are relatively few sculpted images displayed, and they are distinctly modern in style. 306 APPENDIX D ENDNOTES 1 Building Committee Minutes dated May 3, 1954(II:117), Aug. 2, 1954(II:122), Sept. 13, 1954 (II: 123), Oct. 4, 1954 (II:124), and June 6, 1955 (II:145); “Cardinal to Dedicate New Culver City Church,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 20 June 1958: 10; “Bishop Sheen Preaches at Church Blessing Here,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 27 June 1958: 3; Gebhard & Winter 122. 2 In most Roman Catholic Gothic Revival churches, “the medieval chancel, with its long choir and isolated high altar, was not replicated, but replaced with the more unified space of the Baroque church that featured a visible pulpit and the smooth merging of the sanctuary into the nave.” Kilde 170. 3 “St. Timothy’s Dedication This Sunday,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 3 Mar. 1950: 11; Francis J. Weber, Encyclopedia of California’s Catholic Heritage, 1769 – 1999 (Mission Hills, CA: St. Francis Hist. Soc., 2001) 790-791; Carolyn Ludwig, Jewels in Our Crown: Churches of Los Angeles (Los Angeles: Ludwig, 2003) 180-187. 4 Building Committee Minutes dated July 27, 1953 (II:95), Oct. 19, 1953 (II:97), Nov. 2, 1953 (II:98), and Apr. 12, 1954 (II:115); “Pomona Church Closes Doors After 50 Years,” Tidings [Los Angeles]14 Oct. 1955: 10; “Cardinal to Bless Church in Pomona,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 18 May 1956: 9; “New Pomona Church to Be Blessed Sunday,” Tidings 25 May 1956: 8. 5 Building Committee Minutes dated Oct. 1, 1956 (II:187), Feb. 4, 1957 (II:197), Jan. 20, 1958 (II:224), and July 28, 1958 (II:243); “Fine New Church for Saint Charles’ Parish at North Hollywood,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 16 Dec. 1938: 11; “New St. Charles Church Started in North Hollywood,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 3 Jan. 1958: 7; “Cardinal to Dedicate New St. Charles Church,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 24 Nov. 1961: 7; Ludwig, 40-43; Gebhard & Winter 341. 6 Building Committee Minutes dated Mar. 24, 1952 (II:49), Apr. 21, 1952 (II:53), May 12, 1952 (II:56), and June 23, 1952 (II:65); “Serra Would Feel at Home in Lomita,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 5 Dec. 1952: 22. 307 APPENDIX E CHARACTERISTIC FEATURES OF THE ECLECTIC REVIVAL CLASSIC SACRAMENTAL CHURCH The eclectic revival classic sacramental church has the following characteristic features: (1) Regardless of the specific configuration of the interior plan, which may rely to a greater or lesser degree on historic precedents, a strong longitudinal axis connecting the main entrance and narthex with the sanctuary at the building’s opposite end; (2) A strong focus on the main altar in the sanctuary, reinforced by a reredos or a baldachino which displays decorative elements characteristic of one or several historical styles; (3) High ceilings, diffused natural light filtered through stained glass windows, and high acoustical resonance; (4) Exterior elevations, including a tower, which blend, in an eclectic but harmonious manner, the massing, scale, and decorative elements characteristic of two or more diverse historic architectural styles; (5) Interior features and décor which incorporate elements selected from a variety of historic architectural styles in an eclectic manner; and (6) A rich and diverse collection of visual images, rendered in sculpture, stained glass, and painting, some of which have identifiable connections to the Archdiocese, the parish, or contemporary community values and concerns. 308 APPENDIX F REPRESENTATIVE EXAMPLES OF THE ECLECTIC REVIVAL CLASSIC SACRAMENTAL CHURCH SS. Felicitas and Perpetua, San Marino (M.L Barker & G.L. Ott, 1948) The Church of SS. Felicitas and Perpetua 1 in San Marino is a good example of an early postwar eclectic revival church. This parish was established in 1938. Its first church was dedicated ten years later on July 11, 1948, replacing a Mexican-era adobe ranch house that had been used as a temporary parish center and place of worship. It was designed by architects M.L. Barker and G. Lawrence Ott in “an early Italian type of architecture expressed in the modern medium of reinforced concrete with a permanent tile roof.” The floor plan is rectangular, with a small baptistery, still in use, opening off the nave at its midpoint. The church seats 600. The simple façade features a projecting portico pierced by three Gothic arches and a rose window (Figure F-1). A tower with minimal ornamentation stands adjacent to the church, set back somewhat from the façade (Figure F-2). The interior features a high open beam wood ceiling, stained glass windows arranged as double casements at eye level and as paired lancets at the clerestory level, and rows of columns lining both sides of the nave which support lowered ceilings over the side aisles. (Figures F-3 and 5-28). A choir loft is located at the rear of the nave above the narthex. The interior of SS. Felicitas and Perpetua exemplifies the longitudinal, processional dynamic characteristic of “classic sacramental” churches. The nave is a 309 Figure F-1 Ss. Felicitas and Perpetua: Facade Figure F-2 Ss. Felicitas and Perpetua: Tower Detail Figure F-3 Ss. Felicitas and Perpetua: Nave 310 high ceilinged, open rectangular space with a central aisle flanked by a bank of pews on either side. A side aisle runs along each interior side wall. These low ceilinged side aisles are separated from the nave by a row of columns that reinforce the longitudinal axis. This arrangement is a truncated version of the typical design of a Roman basilica. The focus of the church is the main altar at the center of the sanctuary. As with all basically longitudinal plans, attention is naturally drawn to the sanctuary area, placed at one end of the axis opposite the main entrance. Here, the continuity of the nave and sanctuary are deliberate, “bringing the altar into closer relationship with the congregation.” The overall composition of the reredos is typical of many postwar eclectic revival churches. It combines a large crucifix, tabernacle on a pedestal, projecting crown-shaped baldachino, simple marble and wood frame, and backdrop of cut natural stone (Figure 5-32). Although the interior spatial volume of SS. Felicitas and Perpetua is simple, it has a strong aesthetic impact with its high open beamed ceiling and extensive use of stained glass. A contemporary description of the church states that the architects have “retained the historic atmosphere of the area in a church devotional in atmosphere and compatible with modern living.” The exterior of the church, with its eclectic mixture of Italian Romanesque, Gothic, and Renaissance elements, has strong symbolic resonance. The relatively unadorned façade is complemented by a bronze sculpture of the parish’s patron saints installed in 2003. Inside, the windows depict a series of saints, many of whom are the patrons of the windows’ donors. 311 St. Joseph, Hawthorne (M.L. Barker & G.L. Ott, 1959) Hawthorne’s Church of St. Joseph 2 is a later, more sophisticated example of an eclectic revival church designed by the leading practitioners of that style, the firm of Barker & Ott. This parish was established in 1920. By the end of the Second World War, the once sleepy town of Hawthorne was the site of three major aircraft plants, establishing its reputation as the “Detroit of Aviation.” The local population boomed, and in 1956 the parish commissioned a new church of “modified Spanish design.” Constructed of reinforced concrete with a tile roof, the church was formally dedicated on February 15, 1959. Its cruciform floor plan seats 1,300. According to a contemporary newspaper account, the church “in the glide path of the jet age incorporates timeless liturgical arts in its massive design.” Indeed, the façade exhibits a remarkably eclectic blend of decorative elements (Figure 5-36). A massive Gothic arch encompasses a tripartite stained glass widow set above the triple entry doors. These doors are flanked by receding series of cast stone columns reminiscent of medieval Italian cosmatesque design (Figure F-4). A horizontal band displays the phrase “Venite Adoramus” together with sheaves of wheat and a vaguely Celtic circular design. A Romanesque style blind arcade supports the cornice. A 98 foot tall tower, standing somewhat apart from the church and set back from the façade, “thrusts skyward over the area to remind air-conscious residents that beyond time and space there is heaven and eternity” (Figure F-5). The interior is remarkably simple in its lines. The nave, its high ceiling displaying exposed concrete trusses and beams, is separated from the low ceilinged transepts by simple square columns clad in travertine which reinforce the church’s 312 Figure F-4 St. Joseph, Hawthorne: Façade Detail Figure F-5 St. Joseph, Hawthorne: Façade and Tower Figure F-6 St. Joseph, Hawthorne: Mothers’ Room 313 longitudinal axis (Figure 5-30). The east transept is also separated from the nave by walls of glass, creating a “mothers’ room” with seating for 100 that was also designed to accommodate winter weekday Masses and Rosary services prior to funerals (Figure F-6). Stained glass windows are placed at the clerestory level in the nave, and at eye level in the transepts. Terrazzo floors and travertine wainscoting are found throughout the interior. The centering focus of St. Joseph’s is its main altar, set within a spacious sanctuary that has been rearranged to accommodate the reformed liturgy. Behind the altar stands a reredos, comprised of a wooden baldachino of somewhat Gothic design framing a tabernacle and a “heroic life size” mural of the Risen Christ in place of the usual crucifix (Figure 5-33). A newly built baptismal font has been incorporated into the sanctuary. The church’s marble communion rail and side altars, completed with separate tabernacles, remain intact. This church incorporates the elements of height, volume, light, and acoustic resonance characteristic of Kieckhefer’s “interplay of transcendence and immanence.” Forty-three windows “filter and mellow daylight to intensify the devotional atmosphere of the church.” These depict apparitions of the Blessed Virgin Mary and a selection of saints, including St. Patrick, a patron of the Archdiocese, placed above a mosaic rendition of Cardinal McIntyre’s coat of arms, and St. Bibiana, a relatively well known Roman virgin martyr whose presence here apparently reflects some confusion with St. Vibiana, a far more obscure virgin martyr who is a patroness of the Archdiocese. The church’s most prominent window, set in the façade and visible above the choir loft (Figure 5-41), merited the following description in a contemporary newspaper account: 314 The reality and vitality of simple, homely virtue in a fast-moving age is brought in mind by the large stained glass window on the church’s façade. It shows St. Joseph and is circumscribed by scenes from the life of the Holy Family. Here, as at St. Joseph’s in Pomona, the parish’s patron saint is promoted as a role model for the postwar suburban Catholic father. St. Philip the Apostle, Pasadena (Roland E. Coate, 1951) Pasadena’s Church of St. Philip the Apostle 3 is an eclectic revival church designed by a local architect – Roland E. Coate – better known for his earlier, purer historic revival designs, including the Gothic Revival All Saints Episcopal Church in Pasadena and the Spanish Colonial Revival All Saints Episcopal Church in Beverly Hills, both completed in 1925. St. Philip’s was established in 1921. By the late 1940s, the rapidly growing parish was in need of a new church, which was completed in 1951. It has a basically cruciform floor plan, with a semicircular apse and two shrines opening from the nave. It seats 800. Constructed of reinforced concrete with steel trusses, the church was designed in “a modernized Italian Romanesque style.” The simple, symmetrical façade features a rose window set above a large arch encompassing a mosaic mural and three arched entry portals (Figure F-7). Adjacent to the church, but set back from the façade, is a minimally decorated, 96 foot tall tower with a pyramidal spire (Figure F-8). The somewhat complex interior plan is reflected in the varied massing and rooflines at the side and rear of the building (Figure F-9). The interior features a high ceiling with elaborate exposed wooden trusses and stained glass clerestory windows (Figure F-10). The spaces that open from the nave -- the two shrines, the two transepts, 315 Figure F-7 St. Philip the Apostle: Facade Figure F-8 St. Philip the Apostle: Tower Detail Figure F-9 St. Philip the Apostle: Rear Elevation 316 Figure F-10 St. Philip the Apostle: Nave Figure F-11 St. Philip the Apostle: Façade Detail Figure F-12 St. Philip the Apostle: Assumption Mural 317 the outer rectangular portion of the sanctuary, and the semicircular apse – are framed with broad arches (Figure 5-29). A new baptismal font has been built within the nave close to the church’s entrance, replacing the original font that was located in a chapel in the base of the tower. Like Ss. Felicitas and Perpetua, the nave of St. Philip’s is a high ceilinged, open rectangular space with a central aisle flanked on each side by a bank of pews and a side aisle running along the side wall. Here, however, the aisles are incorporated into the nave, and the secondary spaces – the shrines and transepts -- are separated from the nave by broad arches. These arches accentuate the church’s longitudinal axis, and delineate the transepts as distinct spaces. At the same time, the visibility of the sanctuary from the nave is not impaired. Although the altar is clearly St. Philip’s centering focus, there is no reredos as such. The altar stands alone in the middle of the semicircular portion of the apse. Behind the altar, the lower third of the apse is occupied by a screened ambulatory whose double arched openings reveal stained glass windows set in the apse’s wall (Figure 5-35). The upper two thirds of the apse is occupied by a huge reproduction of Raphael’s “Disputation Over the Blessed Sacrament.” The church exhibits all of the elements of “interplay” characteristic of classic sacramental churches, and is also rich in symbolic resonance. Its relatively modest exterior decoration consists of three Italian mosaics depicting scenes from the life of the parish’s patron saint (Figure F-11). Above, St. Philip’s dialogue with Jesus sets the stage for the miracle of the multiplication of the loaves and the fishes; below, Philip’s preaching and his martyrdom by crucifixion are shown. Inside, the thematic cycles 318 depicted in the stained glass windows include the fifteen “Mysteries of the Rosary” and the seven sacraments. The windows are complemented by several murals, both painted and rendered in mosaic. In addition to the Raphael reproduction in the apse, each transept features a huge mural by local artists Edith and Isabel Piczek – one depicts the Resurrection of Jesus, and the other the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary (Figure F-12). The shrines in the nave, a shrine for the tabernacle in one of the transepts, and the Stations of the Cross are all rendered in mosaic with gleaming gold backgrounds (Figure 5-40). St. Emydius, Lynwood (Verge & Clatsworthy, 1958) The Church of St. Emydius 4 is a good example of a postwar eclectic revival church that has been extensively remodeled to accommodate the reformed liturgy. The parish was established in the small town of Lynwood in 1925. As postwar suburbanization replaced the region’s farms, the parish grew to 3,000 families and required a larger church, which was dedicated on December 21, 1958. Verge & Clatsworthy designed a “modified California mission style” building of reinforced concrete with a concrete and tile roof. The cruciform floor plan, encompassing 15,272 square feet, seats 1,200. The façade consists of a symmetrical arrangement of undecorated pilasters framing a large stained window above and a tripartite entry below, the latter sheltered by a cantilevered portico (Figure F-13). The 85 foot tall tower, set somewhat back from the façade, has an overall profile, including a bell-shaped tile-clad dome, that is reminiscent of the Spanish Colonial Baroque, but is extremely simple in its 319 Figure F-13 St. Emydius: Facade Figure F-14 St. Emydius: Side Elevation Figure F-15 St. Emydius: Nave 320 detailing. The transepts and a round baptistery (now used as a shrine) create variety in the exterior side elevations (Figure F-14). The interior is clean-lined and simple. The low ceilinged transepts merge into the high ceilinged nave without the interruption of columns or arches (Figure F-15). A projecting cornice running the length of the nave separates wood paneled walls below from the Stations of the Cross and clerestory windows above. In the church’s original design, the longitudinal axis was softened somewhat by the absence of columns or arches separating the transepts from the nave. The church has since been remodeled to intentionally deemphasize that axis. The sanctuary has been extended into the crossing, and the main altar relocated there (Figure 5-34). Each transept has been remodeled into a single, unified space: formerly, each was divided into the transept proper, a mothers’ room, and an additional room used as a bridal dressing room or library. The seating within the transepts has been reoriented to face the altar, and several pews have been replaced with individual chairs allowing for flexible seating arrangements (Figure 5-31). This reorientation has enhanced the attention drawn to the altar as the church’s centering focus, notwithstanding the fact that the altar is now somewhat removed from the black and white marble baldachino which continues to shelter the tabernacle and a large crucifix (Figure F-16). A new baptismal font, suitable for full immersion, has been built in the sanctuary. Like the other eclectic revival churches considered here, the design of St. Emydius has the aesthetic impact and high symbolic resonance characteristic of a classic sacramental church. Although, as we have seen, references to the importance of family 321 Figure F-16 St. Emydius: Baldachino Figure F-17 St. Emydius: St. Thomas More Window Figure F-18 St. Emydius: St. Emydius Mural 322 life in the postwar suburban Catholic parish are evident in many churches, rarely is that theme accorded the full treatment it is here at St. Emydius. The large window in the façade depicts the Holy Family. Each of the clerestory windows depicts a saint and, below him or her, a “scene relating the saint pictured to modern life.” For example, the window of St. Dominic Savio, who was strongly promoted during the postwar era as a model of virtue for Catholic boys, includes scenes depicting a young man studying, playing baseball, and serving as an altar boy (Figure 5-42). The window of St. Thomas More shows a father leading the members of his family in prayer before a meal (Figure F- 17). The window of St. Monica shows a mother washing dishes surrounded by her children. A mosaic image of particular local interest depicts St. Emydius, one of the patrons of the Archdiocese and a protector against earthquakes, upholding a crumbling California mission (Figure F-18). St. Anthony, Long Beach (M.L. Barker & G.L. Ott, 1954) St. Anthony’s, Long Beach’s first parish, was established in 1902. 5 Following the destruction of its landmark 1914 Gothic Revival church in the 1933 Long Beach earthquake, the parish commissioned a new church from architect Emmet G. Martin. That church, described as “modified Gothic,” was completed in 1934. By September of 1952, the parish had built the largest Catholic educational complex west of Chicago to house its elementary and boys’ and girls’ high schools. In that same year, the parish commissioned Barker & Ott to enlarge and redecorate its existing church and to create a new façade. That façade, completed in 1954 in time for the church’s twentieth 323 anniversary, is surely the Archdiocese’s most astonishing monument to eclectic revivalism. A contemporary newspaper account called it “a new and different civic attraction for Long Beach,” while architectural historian Robert Winter has summed up his assessment in two words: “Something else!” The façade has three basic elements: a projecting portico housing the tripartite entry to the church; a recessed wall surface, constituting the gable-end of the building, decorated which a heroic mural; and a pair of towers crowned with spires which frame the entire composition (Figure 5-37). It appears to have been grafted onto the original gable roofed church which, clad in rough stucco and tile, remains evocative of the California missions despite its description in 1934 as “modified Gothic” (Figure F-19). The façade defies stylistic analysis. Winter has described the portico as a “Gothic screen” (Figure F-20). Its lower half is entirely unadorned. Its upper half features a pointed-arch tympanum above the main entry, flanked on each side by half a dozen pointed-arch niches. Above these are a row of small circular niches, which rest below a cast stone cornice bearing three decorative bands. This upper portion of the portico is anchored on either side by a projecting pilaster decorated with two pointed-arch niches and capped by a small Gothic crocketted finial. The tympanum bears an image of Jesus with his hand raised in blessing, and the twelve flanking niches bear images of the Blessed Virgin Mary and various saints. The images appear to have been selected at random until one realizes that the saints depicted are the patrons of the twelve parishes that have been carved out of St. Anthony’s original territory (Figures F-21 and F-22). These images are rendered, not in the sculpted relief typical of the Gothic style, but rather in the gold-grounded mosaic that is characteristic of Byzantine architecture. 324 Figure F-19 St. Anthony, Long Beach: Side Elevation Figure F-20 St. Anthony, Long Beach: Portico Figure F-21 St. Anthony, Long Beach: Façade Detail 325 Figure F-22 St. Anthony: Façade Detail Figure F-23 St. Anthony: Tower Detail Figure F-24 St. Anthony, Long Beach: Mural Detail – Pope Pius XII and Archbishop Cantwell 326 The thick, square towers, with their tall vertical bands of colorful mosaic decoration, appear, at first glance, to be reminiscent of Art Deco or Streamline Moderne styling (Figure F-23). They are crowned, however, with tall, crocketted spires that would be readily identifiable as Gothic if not for their multi-colored mosaic decoration. Each corner of each tower also bears a cast stone crocketted finial. The centerpiece of the composition, however, is the mural which fills the entire gable-end wall of the building (Figure 5-38). It was designed by European artists and craftsmen under the supervision of the Vatican’s mosaic studios, and required nine months to complete and three months to install. The subject is the bodily assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary into heaven. In 1950, this traditional Church teaching was declared by Pope Pius XII to be a required article of faith for Catholics. A contemporary newspaper account reports that the central image here is “fashioned after” an Italian Renaissance painting by Ambrogio Borgognone preserved in the Brera Gallery in Milan. The angels are also said to be reminiscent of Fra Angelico, the fifteenth century Italian muralist. But the realistic style is also evocative of the WPA murals of the 1930s, a quality that is confirmed by the depiction of several contemporary figures among the haloed saints and angels. In the mid-1950s, the images of the twelve apostles, St. Paul with his sword, St. Dominic with his Rosary, and St. Anthony in his Franciscan habit would have been immediately recognizable to Catholics worldwide. So would the image of Pope Pius XII with his arms extended (Figure F-24). But only Southern California Catholics would have recognized the late Archbishop Cantwell to the left of the Pope, or Cardinal McIntyre and his assistants, Bishops McGucken and Manning, in the right half of the mural (Figure F-39). An unidentified priest, a pair of nuns, and three lay persons, 327 all depicted in 1950s garb, would have been familiar to them as well. Thus, the façade of St. Anthony’s is indisputable evidence of the ability of stylistic eclecticism to blend the past with the present and the medieval with the modern, and thereby forge a sense of identity for mid-century Southern California Catholics. 328 APPENDIX F ENDNOTES 1 Building Committee Minutes dated Jan. 21, 1946 (I:255) and July 14, 1947 (I:261); “Ground Breaking in San Marino,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 24 Oct. 1947: 26; “Archbishop to Dedicate New Church,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 9 July 1948: 8; “Historic Adobe Was 1 st Parish,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 9 July 1948: 9; “Archbishop Dedicates San Marino Church,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 23 July 1948: 9. 2 Building Committee Minutes dated Mar. 12, 1956 (II:169) and Apr. 16, 1956 (II:173); “Cardinal to Dedicate New St. Joseph’s,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 13 Feb. 1959: 8. 3 Building Committee Minutes dated Apr. 19, 1949 (I:306), May 2, 1949 (I:307), and Nov. 3, 1949 (I:333); “New Church Going Up for St. Philip Parish,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 24 Feb. 1950: 35. 4 Building Committee Minutes dated Dec. 12, 1955 (II:163) and Mar. 19, 1956 (II:171); “New Lynwood Church to Be Dedicated Sunday,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 19 Dec. 1958: 6+. 5 Building Committee Minutes dated June 20, 1933 (I:191), July 6, 1933 (I:192), and Nov. 24, 1952 (II:74); “Bishop Cantwell Will Officiate at Dedication, February 4,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 2 Feb. 1934: 16; “Dedication of St. Anthony’s Church, Long Beach,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 9 Feb. 1934: 2+; “St. Anthony’s School Largest in the West,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 26 Sept. 1952: 11; “Crowds Visit Long Beach to View Marian Mosaic,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 17 Sept. 1954: 3; Gebhard and Winter 105. 329 APPENDIX G CHARACTERISTIC FEATURES OF THE MINIMALIST CLASSIC SACRAMENTAL CHURCH The minimalist classic sacramental church has the following characteristic features: (1) A strong longitudinal axis connecting the main entrance and narthex with the sanctuary at the building’s opposite end; (2) A strong focus on the main altar in the sanctuary, reinforced by a reredos that is typically of simple design; (3) High ceilings, diffused natural light filtered through stained glass windows, and high acoustical resonance; (4) Exterior elevations, including a tower, of minimalist design, typically emphasizing the building’s basic structural elements and the inherent qualities of the materials used, and incorporating little, if any, extraneous ornamentation; (5) Interior features and décor of minimalist design, typically emphasizing the building’s basic structural elements and the inherent qualities of the materials used, and incorporating little, if any, extraneous ornamentation; and (6) A collection of visual images typically of modernist design, rendered in sculpture, stained glass, and painting, some of which have identifiable connections to the local community or its members. 330 APPENDIX H REPRESENTATIVE EXAMPES OF THE MINIMALIST CLASSIC SACRAMENTAL CHURCH St. Therese, Alhambra (J. Earl Trudeau, 1951) The Church of St. Therese 1 in Alhambra is a fine example of early postwar minimalist church architecture. This parish was established in 1924, one year following the canonization of St. Therese of Lisieux, a French Carmelite nun popularly known as “The Little Flower.” Since this was the first parish in the United States placed under her patronage, when the time came to build a new church the parishioners decided to give it “the character of a shrine dedicated to the Little Flower.” Completed in October of 1950 and formally dedicated on January 14 of the following year, the church was designed by J. Earl Trudeau, a prolific and versatile architect responsible for several of the churches discussed in this study. Trudeau’s office was in Alhambra, and he was a member of the parish. Constructed of reinforced concrete with a tile roof, the church is cruciform in plan and seats 750. Although described at the time of its completion as “modern Mediterranean,” the red tile roof is the only feature that would seem to merit this description. In marked contrast to Trudeau’s St. Charles Borromeo in North Hollywood, the façade here is quite plain (Figure 6-34). Its only ornamentation consists of the Carmelite coat of arms above the single window, a frieze portraying the life of St. Therese designed by George H. Snowden above the tripartite entry, and a pattern of panels bearing an abstract arch-like design (Figure H-1). Incorporated into the façade is a 331 streamlined 120 foot tall tower with a sculpture of the church’s patron saint enshrined at its apex; decorative screens display the fleur-de-lis, a symbol associated with St. Therese. A semi-detached circular baptistery of fluted design is found at the opposite end of the façade. The interior of the church (Figure 6-21) is dominated by a massive, if relatively shallow, dome that covers the crossing where the nave, sanctuary, and transepts intersect. The dome displays massive concrete trusses that echo the forms of the exposed concrete beams that compose the rest of the ceiling (Figure H-2). Although heavy columns separate the nave from the side aisles, the nave itself, the transepts, and the sanctuary form one uninterrupted space. Each bay of the nave contains a large tripartite stained glass widow portraying the Blessed Virgin Mary or a Carmelite saint, situated above a shrine or a confessional. Even larger multipart stained glass windows depicting the Nativity and the Resurrection are found in each of the transepts. Despite the openness of the space at the center of the church, its longitudinal orientation remains intact. Indeed, the sanctuary, its original communion rail in place, extends into the crossing to meet the nave, thereby reinforcing the processional axis (Figure 6-24). This feature also draws attention to the altar as the building’s focal point, and brings the congregation closer to the ritual action in keeping with the pre-Vatican II liturgical ideal. A glass enclosed “choir” for the resident Carmelite friars and a glass enclosed mothers’ room adjoin the sanctuary, enhancing proximity and visibility for both of these groups. The centrality of the altar is further accented by a floor-to-ceiling reredos composed of matched marble slabs highlighted with gold fleur-de-lis and ribbon designs (Figure 6-26). Above the tabernacle and crucifix is a massive niche containing a 332 sculpture of St. Therese bathed in natural light. The entire sanctuary is itself bathed in natural light streaming through concealed tinted windows lining the sanctuary walls (Figures H-3 (interior view) and H-4 (exterior view)). Clerestory windows high in the dome admit even more natural light, which illuminates the interior of the dome and the space below. Indeed, it is this skillful treatment of natural light in the sanctuary and crossing, complemented by additional light filtering through the stained glass windows in the transepts and nave, that give this church a remarkable “atmosphere” identifiable with Kieckhefer’s “interplay of transcendence and immanence.” Despite the relative simplicity of is décor, the church is rich in symbolic resonance, especially in regard to its repeated figurative and symbolic references to St. Therese and to the heritage of the Carmelite order. Our Lady of the Assumption, Ventura (Harold Burkett, 1954) Ventura’s Church of Our Lady of the Assumption 2 illustrates a different approach to using space and light in a minimalist church. In an unusual twist, construction of the church began well before the parish’s formal establishment in 1954 to serve the beach town’s rapidly suburbanizing East End. The parish’s title is derived from the region’s original name, Asuncion, conferred by the visiting Portola expedition on August 15, 1769, the feast of the Assumption. The church, designed by local architect Harold Burkett, was formally dedicated on August 22, 1954. A contemporary newspaper report commented that the “modern church” offered “a striking contrast” to the town’s first 333 Figure H-1 St. Therese: Portico Figure H-2 St. Therese: Interior of Dome Figure H-3 St. Therese: Sanctuary Windows – Interior View 334 Figure H-4 St. Therese: Sanctuary Windows – Exterior View Figure H-5 Our Lady of the Assumption: Sanctuary Figure H-6 Our Lady of the Assumption: California Missions Window 335 Catholic church, Mission San Buenaventura. Constructed of reinforced concrete, the church has a basically rectangular floor plan, modified by a pair of shallow transepts and an extended narthex. It seats 700. Its façade (Figure 6-36) is free of architectural adornment with the exception of a multi-paned rectangular window above the single entry and a cantilevered eave sheltering the doorway and an adjoining tile mural. A simple tower is set back somewhat from the façade. Inside, the church is basically a single rectangular volume of space, flooded by light filtered through massive multi-paned stained glass clerestory windows (Figure 6-30). The low pitched gable ceiling is broken into segments by simple linear trusses. There are no columns, pilasters, or other repetitive architectural elements apart from the windows and trusses. The church’s firmly established longitudinal axis is reinforced by the shallowness of the flanking transepts. The center of focus is, quite naturally, the sanctuary with its altar, ambo, presidential chair, and baptismal font (Figure H-5). This focus is accentuated by a 28 foot high, floor-to-ceiling mural of Our Lady of the Assumption by famed Southern California artist Millard Sheets (Figure 6-25). The overall aesthetic impact is one of space and light, reinforced by the simplicity of décor and pale color palette. The church is, however, rich in symbolic resonance. The reredos mural is complemented by the massive windows illustrating scenes from the Old and New Testaments executed by Southern California artists Isabel and Edith Piczek, whose distinctive murals, mosaics, and windows are found in several of the churches discussed in this study. Even more striking are the many references to California’s Catholic heritage. These were clearly intended to reinforce a sense of Catholic identity and local community, especially among the many newcomers attracted by the region’s coastal 336 setting and vanishing citrus groves. These references begin literally at the front door, where an expansive tile mural designed by Sheets depicts the Portola expedition’s visit to the area in 1769 (Figure 6-37). It took Sheets, assisted by Richard Petterson and other colleagues from the Claremont Colleges, over a year to complete the mural. The tile was fabricated by the Mosaic Tile Company of Pasadena using a newly invented “miracle glaze” created by Petterson. The mission theme continues in the narthex, where the nine California missions founded by Fr. Junipero Serra are depicted in stained glass panels created by the Piczek sisters (Figure H-6). A related window within the church depicts Fr. Serra with nearby Mission San Buenaventura (Figure H-7). Mary Star of the Sea, San Pedro (George Adams, 1958) The Church of Mary Star of the Sea 3 in San Pedro likewise demonstrates the compatibility of architectural minimalism with a richly localized symbolic resonance. The church, opened in December of 1958 and formally dedicated on August 28, 1960, is the third in the history of this cosmopolitan port town parish established in 1889. Designed by George Adams in a “restrained contemporary” style, it is known as a “fisherman’s shrine” and a “seafarer’s church” in recognition of the many parishioners who, at the time it opened, were working in the local fishing, seafood packing, and ship building industries. It is built of reinforced brick – “Norman” on the exterior, and “Roman” on the interior. Its cruciform plan, with a semi-circular apse, provides seating for 1,200. The exterior of the building is virtually free of architectural ornamentation. The north-facing façade is a single plane of orange brick, trimmed with red brick 337 Figure H-7 Our Lady of the Assumption: Bl. Junipero Serra Window Figure H-8 Mary Star of the Sea: Façade Figure H-9 Mary Star of the Sea: Porte-Cochere 338 wainscoting, on which a simple frame has been superimposed (Figure H-8). The upper portion of the frame encloses a mosaic mural of Mary, Star of the Sea, while the lower portion encompasses the main entry. A cube-shaped baptistery adjoins the façade to the west, and a porte-cochere – a highly unusual feature -- extends to the east (Figure H-9). The 100 foot tall tower, articulated in four progressively receding sections, stands at the southwest corner of the church, adjacent to the apse (Figure H-10). It displays a clock face on all four sides, and contains a ship’s bell. The tower is crowned with a bronze statue of Mary, Star of the Sea, her hands extended over the Port of Los Angeles and the Pacific Ocean (Figure H-11). It is illuminated at night, and is said to be visible to ships at sea. The design of this tower was the subject of a prolonged debate by the Building Committee; at long last the final plan was personally approved by Cardinal McIntyre during a private meeting. The exterior of the apse features a mosaic mural of Christ and St. Peter (Figure H-12). Inside the church, the nave and semi-circular apse form one continuous space (Figure 6-29). The trusses supporting the low pitch gabled ceiling of the nave and the rounded ceiling of the apse are exposed. Pilasters corresponding to the ceiling trusses break the nave into bays; they frame the shrines lining the nave, and also serve as pillars dividing the nave from the low ceilinged transepts. These transepts, clearly separated from the main space, function as side chapels with their own altars, tabernacles, and shrines; one transept is partially enclosed in glass to serve as a mothers’ room. High clerestory windows flood the nave and apse with filtered light that is reflected off of the orange brick that uniformly covers the interior walls. The church’s strong longitudinal axis is unchallenged by the presence of the discretely designed transepts. The sanctuary 339 Figure H-10 Mary Star of the Sea: Tower Figure H-11 Mary Star of the Sea: Tower Detail Figure H-12 Mary Star of the Sea: Exterior Apse Mural 340 is unquestionably the center of attention. The main altar, raised several steps above the floor of the nave and the sanctuary, is sheltered by a massive bronze and marble baldachino of Baroque design (Figure H-13). Above and behind the tabernacle stands a larger than life-size image of Our Lady of San Pedro sculpted of white Carrara marble. One of her arms is raised, perhaps to calm a storm, while the other protectively enfolds a model of a tuna clipper (Figure H-14). The remainder of the sanctuary is richly furnished with a marble ambo and baptismal font. The latter adjoins a massive crucifix with a finely detailed bronze corpus (Figure 6-38). This church exhibits many of the factors that Kieckhefer identifies as contributors to the “interplay of transcendence and immanence.” The unrestricted volume of interior space, diffused light, reverberant sound bouncing off of brick walls and terrazzo floors, and warm color scheme make a strong impression on the visitor. The simplicity of the architecture enhances the visual impact of the church’s extensive collection of beautifully crafted marble statues from the studios of Ferdinando Palla in Pietrasanta, Italy (Figure 6- 39), and fine stained glass windows imported from Ireland. The church is extremely rich in localized symbolic resonance. The maritime theme, evident in the portrayals of the Blessed Virgin Mary as the Star of the Sea and Our Lady of San Pedro, is enhanced by large stained glass windows depicting the Gospel stories of the miraculous draught of fishes and the calming of the storm (Figure H-15), both incidents that would be dear to the hearts of local fishermen. The mural on the exterior of the apse depicts Christ’s delivery of the keys of the kingdom to St. Peter, patron saint of the town of San Pedro and himself a fisherman (Figure H-12). The inclusion of an image of St. Peter’s Basilica in the mural draws a clear connection 341 Figure H-13 Mary Star of the Sea: Baldachino and Altar Figure H-14 Mary Star of the Sea: Our Lady of San Pedro Figure H-15 Mary Star of the Sea: Jesus Calms the Storm Window 342 between the Gospel incident and the loyalty owed by mid-century American Catholics to the Church and the pope. Beneath the mural is a marble sculptural group depicting Our Lady of the Rosary with the words “Pray for Peace.” The connection of this shrine to mid-century Marian devotion, the Family Rosary Crusade, and Cold War anxiety is readily apparent. The church is also symbolically resonant in the context of a parish community with a long multicultural history. Stained glass windows depict the saints of Italy (including the Italian American St. Frances Xavier Cabrini – Figure H-16), Croatia, and Ireland. There are shrines honoring the perennial Italian favorites, Saint Joseph and Saint Anthony, as well as St. John Joseph of the Cross and St. Restituta (Figure H-17), patrons of the Italian island of Ischia from which many parishioners claim ancestry. An image of Our Lady of Guadalupe has a place of honor adjacent to the sanctuary in recognition of the parish’s Mexican-American members. Stained glass windows also honor Saints Vibiana, Patrick, and Emydius, patrons of the Archdiocese. St. John Chrysostom, Inglewood (Anthony Kauzor, 1961) Inglewood’s Church of St. John Chrysostom 4 illustrates yet another approach to using interior space and light, this time with a quite different color pallet. This parish, established in 1923, experienced tremendous growth after the Second World War and began planning a spacious new campus in 1952. After completion of the school, auditorium, and rectory, the church opened in December of 1960 and was dedicated on October 8, 1961. Designed by Anthony A. Kauzor, the church was described as 343 Figure H-16 Mary Star of the Sea: St. Frances Xavier Cabrini Window Figure H-17 Mary Star of the Sea: Shrine of St. Restituta Figure H-18 St. John Chrysostom: Façade 344 “modified Gothic” at the time of its completion, apparently because of the overall impression of verticality created by its exterior elevations. It is constructed of reinforced concrete with a tile roof. The cruciform plan, with a semi-circular apse, encompasses approximately 15,000 square feet and provides seating for 1,100. The exterior is devoid of traditional ornamentation of any kind. The façade consists of three vertical planes: the wall of the church itself, a “frame” that projects from the wall to encompass a massive multi-part window; and a protruding tripartite portico (Figure H-18). Adjoining the façade is a slim, soaring 182 foot tall tower that gives the church a truly distinctive appearance (Figures H-19, H-20 and 6-31). The tower becomes progressively narrower as it rises, and ends in a tall spire. The church itself acquires something of the tower’s vertical thrust through the incorporation of pilasters, somewhat reminiscent of medieval buttresses, at key structural points (Figures H-21 and H-22). These wider pilasters appear to “reinforce” the narrower exposed elements of the structural frame, while stopping short of the roofline. Inside, the nave, transepts, and sanctuary form one unified space (Figure 6-20). Although the 42 foot high, low pitch gabled, coffered ceilings of the nave and each of the transepts are in fact cross-gabled as to one another, and the undecorated ceiling of the apse lies beyond a proscenium arch, the sheer volume of interior space deemphasizes the separateness of these spaces. Pilasters divide the nave into bays, each of which features a large stained glass window (Figure H-23). A large three-part stained glass window is located in each of the transepts, while three groupings of tall, narrow windows line the apse. The lower walls of the nave and transepts are clad in highly polished marble 345 Figure H-19 St. John Chrysostom: Tower Figure H-20 St. John Chrysostom: Tower Figure H-21 St. John Chrysostom: Side Elevation 346 Figure H-22 St. John Chrysostom: Rear Elevation Figure H-23 St. John Chrysostom: Nave Wall Figure H-24 St. John Chrysostom: Sanctuary 347 wainscoting. A pair of glass-enclosed mothers’ rooms adjoin the narthex at the rear of the church. Despite the overall openness of the interior space, the church’s longitudinal axis remains strong, subtly reinforced by the repetitive pilasters and windows of the nave. The altar is the focal point of the spacious sanctuary, and of the church itself (Figure H- 24). This centrality is reinforced by the presence of a sculptural group depicting the Crucifixion at the rear of the apse, above the tabernacle. As is the case at the other minimalist churches discussed here, the high volume of uninterrupted interior space, filtered light, and reverberant acoustics capture the quality of “interplay of transcendence and immanence.” The overall feeling, however, is distinctly different from that at Mary Star of the Sea for one simple reason: color. At St. John’s, the color pallet consists of shades of green, creating a cool, calm ambiance that is in marked contrast to the lively warmth created by Mary Star’s orange brick. The level of symbolic resonance is also different at St. John’s. Sculpted images are limited to the Crucifixion group in the apse and images of the Sacred Heart, Blessed Virgin Mary, and St. John Chrysostom in the transepts. Each of the windows contains but a single figure: the Twelve Apostles in the nave windows, and Jesus and St. Joseph in the transepts. But despite this relative paucity of images, the ancestry of the parish’s members and pastor in the late 1950’s can be readily detected. The widows contain a wealth of intricate Celtic designs worthy of the Book of Kells (Figures H-25 and H-26). Once the visitor notices that the image most commonly appearing in the great window of the façade is the shamrock (Figure H-27), and then pauses to reconsider the overall color scheme of the church’s interior, the answer could not be more obvious. 348 Figure H-25 St. John Chrysostom: Celtic Window Detail Figure H-26 St. John Chrysostom: St. John the Baptist Window Figure H-27 St. John Chrysostom: Shamrock Window Detail 349 St. Paul the Apostle, Westwood (Chaix & Johnson, 1958) The Church of St. Paul the Apostle 5 in Westwood reveals how fine architectural detail can play a critical role in creating a distinctive minimalist church. Founded in 1928, this parish was heavily impacted by the rapid postwar growth of Los Angeles’s Westside and the nearby UCLA campus. Chaix & Johnson designed this “contemporary” church to blend with the existing “Mediterranean style” buildings on the parish campus, including an earlier 1932 church designed by Newton & Murray. The new church was dedicated on June 19, 1958. Constructed of reinforced concrete with a tile roof, the 18,792 square foot church has a cruciform plan that seats 1,000. The basic elements of the façade (Figure 6-35) are simple: an oversized arched doorway, a sculptural relief of St. Paul executed by local artist Stephen Zakian, and, at each edge of the façade, a pair of tall blind arches and an engaged square column topped by a finial. The adjoining 110 foot tower appears equally simple, incorporating the same blind arch pattern with small, slit-like openings. Closer inspection, however, reveals a number of unusual details: the surface of the façade has a dimpled texture; the decorative cornice at the roof line is composed of red roof tiles set in mortar; and the end of each finial “blooms” in a small leaf-like sculpture (Figures H-28 and H-29). Other elements of the building’s exterior exhibit similar surprising details: gracefully arched colonnades connect the side doors of the narthex with the doors of the transepts (Figure H-30); a similar colonnade design appears at the rear entrance (Figure H-31); the walls of the nave display a “board and batten” type of detailing; the walls of the transepts are clad in brick, while the rear elevation of the sanctuary is clad in grooved concrete; and the undersides of the eaves 350 Figure H-28 St. Paul the Apostle: Façade Detail Figure H-29 St. Paul the Apostle: Finial Detail Figure H-30 St. Paul the Apostle: Colonnade at Side Elevation 351 Figure H-31 St. Paul the Apostle: Colonnade at Rear Elevation Figure H-32 St. Paul the Apostle: Side Elevation Detail Figure H-33 St. Paul the Apostle: Nave 352 appear to be wooden boards supported by carved wooden brackets. The overall effect is quite visually interesting (Figure H-32). The interior of the church invites a similar experience of discovery. The basic elements are simple: a high ceilinged nave with exposed trusses, beams, and rafters, flanked by two low ceilinged transepts (Figure H-33). Although no columns separate the nave and transepts, the spaces are clearly differentiated by ceiling height, and so the strong processional access remains intact. The walls of both nave and transepts are clad in wood paneling. Tall stained glass clerestory windows line the nave, while each transept receives light through a bank of stained glass windows with small circular panes. But two striking and unusual elements call attention to the altar in the sanctuary. The first is a free-standing colonnade of five floor-to-ceiling arches that spans the rear of the sanctuary (Figure 6-27). This colonnade is back-lit by a skylight in the ceiling. The arches frame the rear sanctuary wall, encrusted with natural pebbles to form a rough aggregate mosaic. The second is a freestanding wooden reredos wall which stands a short distance behind the altar (Figure 6-28). It features an upturned crescent design (Figure H-34) that echoes a similar detail in the overhead light fixtures (Figure H-35), and “blooming” finials that recall those on the façade (Figure H-29). As with other minimalist churches, St. Paul’s interior spaciousness, filtered natural light, extensive wood paneling, and “warm” color scheme of gold and yellow create an atmosphere of the “interplay of transcendence and immanence.” The church also embodies a distinctive symbolic resonance. The parish has always been in the care of the Paulist Fathers, an American order that specializes in evangelization in the tradition of St. Paul the Apostle. An unusual, and frequently photographed, sculpture of 353 Figure H-34 St. Paul the Apostle: Reredos Wall Detail Figure H-35 St. Paul the Apostle: Light Fixture Detail Figure H-36 St. Paul the Apostle: St. Paul the Apostle Shrine 354 St. Paul by K. George Kratina is prominently featured in one of the transepts (Figure H- 36). The stained glass windows feature several “heroes of the Church particularly dear to American Catholics,” including Garcia Diego, the first bishop of California; Leo XIII, the “working man’s pope”; and Isaac Heckler, the founder of the Paulists (Figure H-37). Other notable artistic elements include a mosaic frieze of the Apostles in the narthex, and a custom designed tabernacle. St. Joachim, Costa Mesa (Verge & Clatsworthy, 1966) The Church of St. Joachim 6 in Costa Mesa illustrates how an effective minimalist design can rest upon a single architectural motif. This parish, established in 1947, had over 2,400 families on its membership roles -- “most of them deriving their livelihood from space age industries” – by the time it was ready to build a “permanent church” to replace the remodeled World War II Army surplus chapel that had been serving as its place of worship. The new church opened in September of 1965, and was dedicated on May 8, 1966. The 11,800 square foot cruciform plan seats 800. The walls are constructed of tilt-up concrete panels and brick, with a folded plate roof. According to one contemporary newspaper account, “simplicity is the keynote” of architect Verge & Clatsworthy’s “contemporary design.” The façade introduces the church’s architectural theme, with three elegantly pointed arches framing the central window and tripartite entryway (Figure 6-33). The same graceful arches are repeated at the apex of the adjoining 95 foot tower (Figure H-38). They are echoed yet again in the clerestory 355 Figure H-37 St. Paul the Apostle: Isaac Heckler Window Figure H-38 St. Joachim: Tower Figure H-39 St. Joachim: Side Elevation 356 windows of the transept and sanctuary, and in the smaller windows of the narthex and transepts (Figures H-39 and H-40). The interior of the church adopts the familiar pattern of a broad, high ceilinged nave flanked by a pair of low ceilinged transepts and a pair of small shrines (Figure 6- 19). Pilasters, which become pillars where the transepts meet the nave, align with the ceiling trusses to form a series of bays that frame the arched clerestory windows. The nave’s low pitch gabled ceiling, with its exposed trusses, beams, and rafters, folds upward as it meets the nave’s wall at the center of each bay, thereby accommodating the pointed arch of the clerestory window (Figure H-41). The pointed arches are repeated above the choir loft, where they mirror the pattern that appears on the exterior face of the façade wall (Figure H-42). The interior’s repetitive pattern of bays, pilasters, and windows reinforce the church’s processional axis, which is uncompromised by the low ceilinged transepts. The altar is the central focus of the broad sanctuary platform, which extends into the nave beyond the proscenium arch (Figure H-43). The pews in each transept have in fact been rearranged to face the projecting sanctuary platform rather than the front wall of the transept (Figure H-44). The back wall of the sanctuary forms a reredos which features a large crucifix as the centerpiece of a framed mosaic field flanked by expanses of polished marble (Figure H-45). The tabernacle has been relocated to one side of the sanctuary. Although the clerestory windows are composed of a simple combination of green, opalescent purple, gold, yellow, and white panes, they have a dramatic impact on the quality of the church’s interior light, especially in the late afternoon, and particularly as 357 Figure H-40 St. Joachim: Rear and Side Elevations Figure H-41 St. Joachim: Ceiling Detail Figure H-42 St. Joachim: Choir Loft 358 Figure H-43 St. Joachim: Sanctuary Figure H-44 St. Joachim: Transept Seating Figure H-45 St. Joachim: Filtered Light 359 reflected on the polished stone of the reredos. This light, combined with the nave’s spaciousness and warm color palate, establish a strong sense of the “interplay of transcendence and immanence.” The large, simple crucifix incorporated into the reredos, several small-to-medium sized images in the transepts and shrines, and an antique image of St. Joachim in the church’s narthex create a relatively low level of symbolic resonance. The key to this minimalist church’s attraction lies in the elegant architectural motif of the pointed arch that seems always to be within the visitor’s field of vision. St. Genevieve, Panorama City (Brown & Avila, 1966) The Church of St. Genevieve 7 demonstrates how creative use of simple forms and materials can create visual interest in a minimalist church. This parish was established in 1950 to serve Panorama City, the San Fernando Valley’s quintessential postwar suburb. Its second, “permanent” church opened in March of 1966, and was formally dedicated on September 23 of that year. By that time, the parish was serving 2,000 families, and there were 1,840 students enrolled in its elementary and high schools. An average of 800 people attended Mass each weekday, and there were eight young men from the parish in the seminary and at least fourteen young women in the novitiates of various religious orders. Given these statistics, it is unsurprising that the new church was designed to seat 1,250 people within its 16,000 square-foot, essentially square floor plan. Designed by Brown and Avila, the church is constructed of reinforced brick and concrete; its roof is supported by steel trusses and wood rafters and is clad in ceramic shingle tile. The façade of the church is essentially a series of three frames which project toward the street 360 in telescope-like fashion (Figure H-46). The central frame, edged in white brick, encloses a mosaic of St. Genevieve set in a field of bronze-colored ceramic tile (Figure H-47) above the four central entry doors. The second frame, which is bisected by and set behind the central frame, is edged in pink variegated brick; each half of the frame encloses a red brick field above an additional door which flanks the four central doors. The third frame, which is bisected by and set behind the second frame, is also edged in pink variegated brick which encloses a red brick field. Adjacent to the façade, but set back somewhat from the third frame, is a slender, 120 foot tall tower which dominates the streetscape and the parish’s three square block campus (Figures H-48). With the exception of the façade, the exterior walls of the church, which are 50 feet high, are clad entirely in pink variegated brick. The interior of the church is different from that of the other minimalist churches considered here, in that it is almost as wide as it is long, thereby “bringing most of the congregation close to the altar” (Figure 6-22). Although the essential “squareness” of the unbroken interior space weakens the church’s longitudinal orientation, other counter- balancing features strengthen that orientation. The church has five aisles separating four banks of pews; these pews are arranged in parallel rows facing the sanctuary. The side walls incorporate repetitive elements, including confessionals and shrines below and Stations of the Cross and clerestory widows above, which invite the eye to move forward toward the sanctuary (Figure H-49). Most notably, the ceiling is divided into three sections. In the high, wide, mid-pitch gabled middle section, the massive exposed trusses accent the longitudinal axis of the main aisle below. The two lower, narrower, low-pitch gabled sections flanking the middle section appear to “shelter” the outermost banks of 361 Figure H-46 St. Genevieve: Facade Figure H-47 St. Genevieve: Façade Detail Figure H-48 St. Genevieve: Tower 362 Figure H-49 St. Genevieve: Nave Walls Figure H-50 St. Genevieve: Ceiling Detail Figure H-51 St. Genevieve: Ceiling Detail 363 pews and the side aisles below them (Figures H-50 and H-51). Yet despite this segmentation that appears at floor level and at ceiling level, the interior space itself forms a unified whole. These three sections of the ceiling correspond to the three sections of the sanctuary, which is clearly the church’s centering focus. The central section of the sanctuary has been described as assuming the form of a broad “V” pointing into the nave (Figure H-52). This spacious portion of the sanctuary is dominated by a large altar fabricated of Italian marble; an ambo and a presider’s chair have been placed on either side of it. A reredos of cut stone with a large crucifix at its center stands behind the altar. Flanking the central section of the sanctuary are two smaller sections which correspond to the lower portions of the ceiling. The east section contains a shrine to Our Lady of Perpetual Help adjacent to a baptismal font; the west section contains a shrine to the Sacred Heart into which a tabernacle has been incorporated (Figure H-53). The overall impression created by the church’s interior is one of massive, unbroken space. This space, bathed in light filtered through stained glass, is quite evocative of Kieckhefer’s “interplay of transcendence and immanence.” Despite this overall feeling of spaciousness, however, the interior surfaces offer a great deal of visual variety. The lower one-third of each of the sanctuary walls is clad in wooden wainscoting composed of two different “board and batten” patterns. Each of the church’s side walls is divided into three sections: the lowest section is clad in green Italian marble or wooden paneling; the middle section displays wooden wainscoting similar to that in the sanctuary interspersed with the Stations of the Cross; and the highest 364 Figure H-52 St. Genevieve: Sanctuary Figure H-53 St. Genevieve: Shrine of the Sacred Heart Figure H-54 St. Genevieve: Wall Detail 365 section is clad in brick that has been arranged so that gaps between the bricks form subtle patterns (Figure H-54). Despite the relative simplicity of its decoration, which relies heavily on the inherent qualities of brick, wood, and marble, the church is rich in symbolic resonance. The mosaic mural of St. Genevieve on the façade and the mosaics in the sanctuary were designed and executed by Isabel and Edith Piczek. The Stations of the Cross are also rendered in mosaic. Shrines within the church contained carved images of St. Joseph, St. Anne, and St. Genevieve. The stained glass windows primarily depict scenes from the life of Christ. St. Joseph the Worker, Canoga Park (Clar & Spitzer, 1969) The Church of St. Joseph the Worker 8 in Canoga Park is an example of a late minimalist classic sacramental church that has been rearranged to incorporate the floor plan of a modern communal church. This parish was established in 1956 to serve the rapidly growing suburbs of the mid- San Fernando Valley. Its “permanent” church, designed by Clar & Spitzer, was dedicated on June 1, 1969. Constructed of concrete framing with reinforced brick infill, the church was described by its pastor as “old enough to keep in touch with the past and modern enough to look to the future.” Its 15,600 square foot floor plan, with seating for 1,150, is trapezoidal in shape – wide at the back, and narrower in the front. The church’s narthex projects so far forward from the vertical plane of its façade that the narthex appears to be a separate pavilion (Figure 6- 32). A trio of tall pointed arches enclose the main entry doors and three massive 366 windows. These three arches extend backward to the vertical plane of the church’s façade, tying the narthex and the church together. The 100 foot tall tower stands apart from both the narthex and the façade, creating an unusually dynamic visual composition. The side elevations frankly display the building’s concrete frame and brick infill construction (Figure H-55). The interior of the church is treated a single space (Figure 6-23). As at St. Genevieve’s, the central section of the ceiling is higher than the two flanking sections (Figure H-56). This feature, coupled with the floor-to-ceiling marble reredos, would have emphasized the church’s original longitudinal axis and drawn attention to its original sanctuary. The floor plan of the church, however, has been extensive reconfigured. The original sanctuary has been screened from the nave and now forms a chapel for reservation of the Eucharist (Figure H-57). The main altar has been brought into the nave, and the pews have been reconfigured around it on three sides. Some pews face the altar directly, and others are set at an angle (Figure H-58). The ambo and presider’s chair have been placed at the entrance to the former sanctuary, and the side altars that formerly flanked the sanctuary have been replaced with a baptismal font and an area for the choir. Consequently, the spatial dynamics and centering focus of this classic sacramental church have been largely transformed into those of a modern communal church. The church retains the ambiance of a classic sacramental church, however, with its high ceiling and tall clerestory widows. Natural light filters through the windows’ violet-colored glass and reflects off of the walls clad in pale orange brick (Figure H-59), 367 Figure H-55 St. Joseph the Worker: Side Elevation Figure H-56 St. Joseph the Worker: Ceiling Detail Figure H-57 St. Joseph the Worker: Reservation Chapel Screen 368 Figure H-58 St. Joseph the Worker: Reconfigured Sanctuary Figure H-59 St. Joseph the Worker: Nave Walls Figure H-60 St. Joseph the Worker: Reredos 369 suggesting Kieckhefer’s “interplay of transcendence and immanence.” The church is also relatively high in symbolic resonance. The marble reredos with its image of the Risen Christ designed by Isabel and Edith Piczek (Figure H-60) visually dominates the church’s interior. There are several images scattered throughout the church that bear witness to the parish’s multicultural membership, including one of Our Lady of La Vang, patroness of Vietnam. 370 APPENDIX H ENDNOTES 1 Building Committee Minutes dated Aug. 1, 1949 (I:317) and Nov. 11, 1949 (I:335); “New Alhambra Church to be Shrine to Little Flower,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 16 Sept. 1949: 7; “St. Therese Parish Getting New Church in Alhambra,” Los Angeles Times 9 Oct. 1949: E6; “Dedication Sunday in Alhambra,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 12 Jan. 1959: 15; “Archbishop Dedicates Alhambra Church,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 19 Jan. 1951: 35; St. Therese Church: Alhambra: Dedicated January 14, 1951 [Booklet], January 1951. 2 Building Committee Minutes dated Feb. 21, 1951 (II:3), Apr. 2, 1951 (II:7), May 21, 1951 (II:13), Oct. 29, 1951 (II:36), and Jan. 26, 1953 (II:79); “California Assumption Land,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 2 Apr. 1954: 15; “Return to Assumption Title in Ventura’s New Church,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 20 Aug. 1954: 6. 3 Building Committee Minutes dated July 29, 1957 (II:211-212), Aug. 26, 1957 (II:214), Oct. 14, 1957 (II:216), Nov. 25, 1957 (II:221), Mar. 10, 1958 (II:230), and Mar. 24, 1958 (II:232); “New San Pedro Church to Be Fisherman’s Shrine,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 3 Jan. 1958: 7; “Harbor Church to Be Dedicated Sunday,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 26 Aug. 1960: 29. 4 Building Committee Minutes dated June 23, 1952 (II:64), July 21, 1952 (II:64); Feb. 24, 1958 (II:229), and June 2, 1958 (II:237); “New Inglewood Church to Be Constructed,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 19 Dec. 1958: 7; “New Inglewood Church on Pioneer Site,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 6 Oct. 1961: 3. 5 Building Committee Minutes dated Oct. 4, 1954 (II:124), Dec. 13, 1954 (II:133), Jan. 31, 1955 (II:134), Nov. 14, 1955 (II:160), and June 11, 1956 (II:175); “Bishop to Consecrate Altar of New St. Paul’s,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 5 Dec. 1958: 9; “Cardinal to Dedicate New Westwood Church,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 27 June 1958: 11+. 6 Building Committee Minutes dated Sept. 23, 1963 (II:458), Dec. 16, 1963 (II:467), Nov. 9, 1964 (II:495), and Dec. 7, 1964 (II:497); “Cardinal to Dedicate Costa Mesa Church,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 6 May 1966: 13; “Church Buildings 1960-1965” File, Archdiocesan Archives. 7 Building Committee Minutes dated Nov. 4, 1963 (II:463), Feb. 10, 1964 (II:473), and Feb. 1, 1965 (III:4); “New St. Genevieve’s to Open Tomorrow,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 11 Mar. 1966: 5; “Cardinal to Dedicate New Van Nuys Church,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 23 Sept. 1966: 13; “Church Buildings 1960-1965” File, Archdiocesan Archives. 8 Building Committee Minutes dated Sept. 20, 1965 (II:24); “Cardinal Will Dedicate New Church in Valley,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 18 Apr. 1969: 9; “Dedication of Valley Church Rescheduled,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 23 May 1969: 11. 371 APPENDIX I CHARACTERISTIC FEATURES OF THE EXPRESSIONIST CLASSIC SACRAMENTAL CHURCH The expressionist classic sacramental church has the following characteristic features: (1) A strong longitudinal axis connecting the main entrance and narthex with the sanctuary at the building’s opposite end; (2) A strong focus on the main altar in the sanctuary, reinforced by a reredos that is typically of simple design; (3) High ceilings, diffused natural light filtered through stained glass windows, and high acoustical resonance; (4) Exterior elevations, including a tower, which incorporate unusual shapes or forms while preserving simplicity of design, an emphasis on the building’s basic structural elements and the inherent qualities of the materials used, and freedom from extraneous ornamentation; (5) Interior features and décor which mirror and capitalize upon the unusual shapes or forms present in the exterior elevations, while preserving simplicity of design, an emphasis on the building’s basic structural elements and the inherent qualities of the materials used, and freedom from extraneous ornamentation; and (6) A collection of visual images, typically of modernist design, rendered in sculpture, stained glass, and painting, some of which have identifiable connections to the local community or its members. 372 APPENDIX J REPRESENTATIVE EXAMPLES OF THE EXPRESSIONIST CLASSIC SACRAMENTAL CHURCH St. Mel, Woodland Hills (J. Earl Trudeau, 1958) The Church of St. Mel 1 demonstrates how an innovative use of structural form can create a truly dramatic and evocative interior space. This parish was established in 1955 to serve the upscale San Fernando Valley suburb of Woodland Hills. The parish campus was completed unusually quickly; the church opened in October of 1957, and was dedicated on May 18, 1958. Designed by J. Earl Trudeau, the steel-framed building incorporates a combination of gunnite, poured concrete, and concrete masonry construction techniques. It is cruciform in plan, and seats 1,000 in pews that are set at an angle to focus attention on the altar. The nave, sanctuary, and transepts incorporate what is basically an “A” frame design, creating distinctive front, side, and rear elevations (Figures 6-40 and 6-41). A contemporary newspaper account describes the “high pitched roof reaching down to ground level,” and explains that “except for lower walls mostly of stained glass, the tent- like 60-feet-high roof also serves as side walls.” Inside, the steeply pitched ceiling creates an extremely strong longitudinal axis that places an unrelenting focus on the sanctuary (Figure 6-42). The surface of the ceiling itself is treated very simply, creating minimal distraction from the sheer volume of enclosed space (Figure J-1). A series of eight shrines, most arranged as miniature side chapels, line the nave (Figure J-2). The outside walls of these chapels, comprised of floor-to-ceiling stained glass panels 373 Figure J-1 St. Mel: Ceiling Detail Figure J-2 St. Mel: Side Chapels Figure J-3 St. Mel: Shrine of St. Mel 374 depicting of the Stations of the Cross, are the chief source of natural light entering the interior space (Figure J-3). A 740 square-foot window of faceted stained glass, set in the church’s façade, sheds additional light on the choir loft and the rear of the nave (Figure J- 4). The high pitched transepts open directly from the sanctuary on either side, creating an unusually complex and visually interesting conjunction of spaces (Figure 6- 43). It appears from photographs and contemporary accounts that, from the very beginning, the altar has been placed at the center of the sanctuary to take advantage of “the dynamic play of natural light” where the transepts join the sanctuary. The forward portion of the sanctuary has been reconfigured to accommodate the reformed liturgy so that the altar, the ambo, and the presider’s chair now form three distinct but related foci (Figure J-5). The rear portion has been sectioned off by low walls to create a reservation chapel for the Eucharist, although the tabernacle remains clearly visible from the nave. The east transept retains its original function as a “mothers’ chapel” with seating for 100 (Figure J-6). The west transept, originally a portion of the sacristy containing “overflow” seating for 60, has been opened up to serve as a space for the choir (Figure J-7). Stained glass windows within each of the transepts, and additional widows located behind the original reredos walls adjacent to the reservation chapel, flood the sanctuary with varicolored light (Figures J-8 and J-9). The combination of vertical height, segmented space, and filtered light, especially when experienced in a darkened church in the late afternoon, proves beyond doubt that a expressionist design is fully capable of creating the “interplay of transcendence and immanence” characteristic of a classic sacramental church. 375 Figure J-4 St. Mel: Façade Window Figure J-5 St. Mel: Sanctuary Figure J-6 St. Mel: Font and View into Mothers’ Room 376 Figure J-7 St. Mel: Choir Area Figure J-8 St. Mel: Angel Mural on Original Reredos Wall Figure J-9 St. Mel: Window Hidden Behind Original Reredos Wall 377 St. Basil, Wilshire Center (Albert C. Martin & Associates, 1969) The Church of St. Basil 2 manifests the expressionist style more fully than does any other classic sacramental church in the Archdiocese. Strictly speaking, its architecture was not intended to meet the needs of postwar suburbia, but rather to accommodate the postwar changes experienced by one of Los Angeles’ most prominent older suburban neighborhoods. St. Basil’s parish was established in 1920 to serve the new residential neighborhoods being developed along the Wilshire corridor west of Lafayette Park. A site was acquired on Wilshire Boulevard between Harvard Boulevard and Kingsley Drive, and a relatively modest Craftsman-style church was constructed. Throughout the 1920s and 1930s, this stretch of the boulevard -- now known as Wilshire Center -- was transformed into one of the city’s highest profile commercial districts, notable for its outstanding Art Deco and period revival office and apartment buildings, hotels, restaurants, theatres, and churches. Following the Second World War, a new wave of building ensued, comprised mostly of mid-rise and high-rise modernist office and apartment buildings. As the population density increased, so did the number of St. Basil’s parishioners. Although construction of a new parish church was under discussion as early as 1952, it was not until 1965 that serious planning was finally underway. The new church opened in April of 1969, and was dedicated on June 26 of that year. Due to its high profile Wilshire Boulevard location, the Archdiocese desired to build “a church for the twenty-first century” that would “blend with the fabric of the new urban complex” while preserving its identity amidst the emerging “canyon” created by new high-rise construction. The goal of architect Albert C. Martin & Associates was to 378 combine modern construction materials and techniques with the “bastion-like strength of ancient times” to create a thoroughly modern church which would nevertheless “retain the simplicity and strength of a theme dominated by such monastic features as heavy masonry walls, fortress-like tower construction and lack of external embellishment.” The church has been described as a series of twelve adjoining “towers” separated from one another by thirteen vertical shafts of glass (Figures 6-44 and 6-45). The 80 foot high “towers” (one of which is in fact a bell tower) are constructed of 10,000 cubic yards of poured concrete that has been bush hammered on the exterior surfaces and sand blasted on the interior surfaces (Figures J-10). The shafts separating the “towers” are in fact sculptural constructs of Cor-ten steel framing containing panes of colored glass arranged in seemingly random overlapping and multi-angled patterns to create a “kaleidoscopic effect” (Figures 6-46 and J-11). These sculptural constructs are visible from within the church through floor to ceiling windows of clear glass (Figure J-12). The “intricate ornamental detail” of these constructs, created by artist Claire Falkenstein, is intended to complement the “silent strength of soaring walls.” The interior of the church is treated a single, largely undifferentiated volume of space (Figure 6-47). The essentially rectangular floor plan provides seating for 1,000. The central aisle is flanked on either side by a bank of pews and a side aisle running along the interior wall. The repetitive, although irregular, pattern provided by the alternating concrete and glass panels of the side walls reinforces the church’s strong longitudinal axis (Figure 6-48). The high, open beam ceiling is partially concealed by a network of trusses, to which 2,400 aluminum tubes have been fastened in dynamic, twisting patterns to create what is essentially a hanging sculpture (Figure 6-49). These 379 Figure J-10 St. Basil: Exterior Surface Detail Figure J-11 St. Basil: Stained Glass Shaft Figure J-12 St. Basil: Stained Glass Shaft from Interior 380 patterns are echoed in an assemblage of aluminum tubes projecting from the sanctuary wall which functions as both a reredos and a baldachino, framing a fourteenth-century Italian crucifix (Figure 6-50). This assemblage, together with a skylight and a pair of recessed vertical windows that flood the sanctuary with natural light (Figure J-13), draw attention to the main altar as the undisputed centering focus of the church. Notwithstanding its expressionist architectural vocabulary, the church exhibits not only the spatial dynamics and centering focus, but also the aesthetic impact and symbolic resonance characteristic of a classic sacramental church. Height, space, light, and acoustical reverberance are skillfully employed to create a strong sense of the “interplay of transcendence and immanence.” This overall impression is magnified by numerous fine details that echo or complement other aspects of the design. These include the gate to the baptistery, which echoes the pattern of the window constructs (Figure J-14), the free-standing confessionals, which call to mind the composition of the church’s exterior elevations (Figure J-15), and the sanctuary furnishings themselves, whose simplicity complements the overall aesthetic. There are also a large number of images specially commissioned for the church, all executed in a spare, modernist style. These include the Stations of the Cross, designed by Franco Arretto and molded directly into the walls (Figure J-16); sculptures of Our Lady of Sorrows and St. Joseph by Herb Goldman (Figure J-17); massive teakwood panels carved with images of the Madonna and Child and St. Basil by Bozidar von Serda (Figure J-18); and larger-than-life images of St. Peter and St. Paul by Rafe Affleck (Figure J-19). 381 Figure J-13 St. Basil: Sanctuary Figure J-14 St. Basil: Baptistery Gate Figure J-15 St. Basil: Confessional 382 Figure J-16 St. Basil: Stations of the Cross Figure J-17 St. Basil: Our Lady of Sorrow Sculpture Figure J-18 St. Basil: Madonna and Child Panel 383 Figure J-19 St. Basil: St. Paul Sculpture Figure J-20 St. Catherine Laboure: Façade and Tower Figure J-21 St. Catherine Laboure: Façade 384 After retiring as Archbishop of Los Angeles in January of 1970, Cardinal McIntyre took up residence at St. Basil’s, where he served in the capacity of a parish priest until his death in July of 1979 at the age of ninety-three. In some sense, St. Basil’s represents a partial fulfillment of the dream of McIntyre’s predecessor to build a grand new cathedral on Wilshire Boulevard, a plan that McIntyre himself had set aside in 1948 in order to concentrate the Archdiocese’s resources on the building of new schools. St. Catherine Laboure, Torrance (Chaix & Johnson, 1957) The Church of St. Catherine Laboure 3 in Torrance illustrates how an expressionist use of a single material – here, stained glass -- can enhance the aesthetic impact and symbolic resonance of an otherwise minimalist church. This parish was founded in 1947 to serve the rapidly suburbanizing north side of Torrance. Ten years later, a “permanent church” designed by Chaix & Johnson was dedicated on October 27, 1957. Constructed of reinforced concrete, the church’s 12,000 square foot cruciform floor plan accommodates seating for 1,000. The church has been described as “California contemporary in design” (Figure J-20). The highly streamlined shape of its 100 foot tall tower was a subject of much discussion by the Archdiocesan Building Committee. The tower’s wide central shaft is flanked by a pair of thinner shafts; the entire composition is tied together by a series of crossbeams, the highest of which appears to enclose the central shaft within an arch (Figure J-21). 385 The church’s most striking feature is its façade, which is composed entirely of stained glass from the top of the entrance portal to the roofline (Figure 6-51). Painted on the exterior surface of the glass are a series of symbols related to various poetic titles of the Blessed Virgin Mary, all of which would have been familiar to mid-century Catholics from a popular prayer known as the Litany of the Blessed Virgin. These images include the Mystical Rose, the Star of the Sea, the Tower of Ivory, and the Mirror of Justice. From the outside, these symbols have the appearance of multi-color paintings on ceramic tile (Figures J-22 and J-23); from the inside, they appear as line drawings etched on multi-colored glass (Figure J-24). At the center of the façade is a medallion depicting an apparition of the Blessed Virgin Mary to St. Catherine Laboure, a French nun and mystic who was proclaimed a saint three years prior to the establishment of the parish (Figure J- 25). The images incorporated into the façade’s windows enhance the church’s symbolic resonance, both inside and out. The windows themselves also contribute to the sense of “interplay of transcendence and immanence” in the church’s interior, dispersing filtered light over the choir loft and into the north end of the church (Figure J-26). This effect is echoed in the two low-ceilinged transepts, whose outer walls are also composed entirely of glass. In recent years, the single-colored panes have been replaced with windows of contemporary design (Figure J-27). 386 Figure J-22 St. Catherine Laboure: Façade Detail Figure J-23 St. Catherine Laboure: Façade Detail Figure J-24 St. Catherine Laboure: Interior of Façade Window Detail 387 Figure J-25 St. Catherine Laboure: Façade Medallion Figure J-26 St. Catherine Laboure: Interior of Façade Window Figure J-27 St. Catherine Laboure: Transept Window 388 Our Lady of the Holy Rosary, Sun Valley (Victor J. Spotts and Thomas V. Merchant, 1964) At the Church of Our Lady of the Holy Rosary, 4 an expressionist integration of sculptural and architectural elements creates a distinctive appearance for an otherwise unremarkable building. This parish was founded in 1937 to serve Sun Valley, a section of the northeast San Fernando Valley. As postwar subdivisions replaced farms, the parish commissioned a new church that was completed in September of 1965. Designed by architect Victor J. Spotts, project architect Thomas V. Merchant, and consulting engineers Porter, O’Brien & Armstrong, the building features tilt-up reinforced concrete walls, laminated wood beam roof supports, and plank ceilings. The church itself is rectangular, with seating for 1,000. A chapel with seating for 190 adjoins the sanctuary, creating an overall 11,600 square foot “L” shaped floor plan. An “accordion wall” separating the chapel from the sanctuary may be opened to convert the chapel into “overflow” seating for the main church. Because of budgetary constraints, the architect faced the challenge of creating a distinctive look for what might otherwise appear to be a standard industrial tilt-up concrete box. This challenge was met by dividing the rectangular façade into five sections (Figure 6-52). Placed above the doors in the central section is a concrete and faceted glass sculpture that has been seamlessly integrated into the plane of the wall (Figure J-28). This sculpture of the Crucifixion by Los Angeles artist Roger Darricarrere is also visible from within the church, appearing as a stained glass window above the choir loft (Figure J-29). The sections of the façade flanking the center section are subtly etched with tall, narrow Gothic arches, most clearly visible when the afternoon sun casts 389 Figure J-28 Our Lady of the Holy Rosary: Façade Detail Figure J-29 Our Lady of the Holy Rosary: Interior View of Façade Sculpture Figure J-30 Our Lady of the Holy Rosary: Façade Corner Detail 390 shadows across the surface of the wall. At the outermost sections of the façade, the two corners of the building have been cut-away and replaced with concrete screens composed of rows of tall, narrow elliptical shapes (Figures J-30 and J-31). These “distinctive concrete grills extending full height at [the] corners” of the building enclose planted areas visible from the narthex and choir loft through clear glass windows. At night, both the sculpture and the grills are “silhouetted by the inside lights.” Thus, using a minimum of applied decoration, and taking full advantage of the inherent qualities of the materials used, the façade of the church projects a distinctive look both day and night. St. Cyril of Jerusalem, Encino (J. George Szeptycki, 1964) At the Church of St. Cyril of Jerusalem, 5 a folded plate roof creates distinctive architectural detailing both inside and out. This parish was established in 1949 in the rapidly suburbanizing Encino section of the San Fernando Valley. A “permanent” church constructed of concrete with brick facing was completed in September of 1964, and formally dedicated on March 22, 1968. Designed by J. George Szeptycki, the church has been described as a combination of “contemporary design and traditional Gothic forms.” Its cruciform floor plan provides seating for 1,000. The sanctuary has been extended into the nave and reconfigured to accommodate the church’s celebrated Rosales pipe organ and accomplished parish choir in the space behind the altar. The longitudinal axis of the church’s nave is defined by a series of “post tectonic” concrete arches that support a concrete folded plate roof (Figure J-32). The complex configuration of the ceiling, 50 feet above the floor at its highest point, is suggestive of 391 Figure J-31 Our Lady of the Holy Rosary: Façade Corner Detail Figure J-32 St. Cyril of Jerusalem: Nave Figure J-33 St. Cyril of Jerusalem: Ceiling Detail 392 Gothic vaulting and ribbing, but without any obvious historical references (Figures J-33 and 6-53). The variety of the intersecting surfaces and the play of light and shadow create an unusually high degree of visual interest. The roof’s exterior surfaces, visible from the sides and rear of the building (Figure J-34), present a reverse image of the interior ceiling. Thus, the architect has achieved an impressive aesthetic result relying solely on the structural qualities and inherent “moldability” of his chosen material. St. Lawrence Martyr, Redondo Beach (J. George Szeptycki, 1965) At the Church of St. Lawrence Martyr 6 in Redondo Beach, an expressionist approach to simple lines, forms, and surfaces results in a modern design that evokes traditional architectural imagery. The parish was formed in 1955 to serve new suburban neighborhoods in south Redondo Beach, southwest Torrance, and the Palos Verdes Peninsula. Its “permanent” church, designed by J. George Szeptycki in a “contemporary Mediterranean” style, was completed in August of 1965. The building incorporates a structural steel frame, tilt-up concrete slab walls, and a concrete slab roof clad in mission tile. Its 14,500 square foot cruciform floor plan seats 1,100. The church’s façade is buffered from the street by a wide plaza (Figure J-35). The central section of the façade, above a triple entry portal, features a Byzantine smalti mosaic mural inspired by Tintoretto’s Christ at the Sea of Galilee. This mural is flanked by twin bell towers, eighty feet in height, crowned by belfries of open grillwork. Columned porticos shelter the entrances to the north and south transepts (Figures 6-54, J- 36, and J-37). The exterior of the apse features a mosaic mural of the Blessed Virgin 393 Figure J-34 St. Cyril of Jerusalem: Exterior Roof Detail Figure J-35 St. Lawrence Martyr: Facade Figure J-36 St. Lawrence Martyr: North Portico 394 Mary reminiscent of classic Byzantine iconography (Figure J-38). Exterior walls are smooth painted concrete -- with the exception of the towers, which are clad in stucco -- and a wainscoting of red brick, a feature common to all of the buildings on the parish campus. The exterior of the church is composed of clean lines and simple geometric volumes; the applied decoration is limited to the two mosaic murals. Yet, the cruciform floor plan, symmetrical composition, massing, towers, and columned porticos recall the great churches of medieval, Renaissance, and Baroque Europe. The cream colored walls, red clay tile, and wrought iron are reminiscent of Italy, Spain, and early California, while the use of mosaic decoration evokes the churches of Greece. Thus, through his choice of forms, materials, and colors rich with historical associations, the architect has created a church that “looks like a church” without resorting to historic or eclectic revival conventions. 395 Figure J-37 St. Lawrence Martyr: South Portico Figure J-38 St. Lawrence Martyr: Rear Elevation 396 APPENDIX J ENDNOTES 1 Building Committee Minutes dated Mar. 12, 1956 (II:170); “Woodland Hills Parish to Build Church, School,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 18 May 1956: 13; “St. Mel’s School to Open Feb. 4,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 11 Jan. 1957: 5; “New St. Mel’s Church Ready for Masses,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 25 Oct. 1957: 8; “St. Mel’s New Parish to Be Blessed Sunday,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 16 May 1958: 11. 2 Building Committee Minutes dated Oct. 1, 1965 (III:26); “A New Church for a New City,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 25 Aug. 1967: 1; “Changing Wilshire,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 26 July 1968: 5; “Rabbi Magnin Comes to Aid of St. Basil,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 17 Jan. 1969: 1; “St. Basil Consecration,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 11 Apr. 1969: 1; “There is Only One Church,” Tidings 4 July 1969: 1; Francis J. Weber, Christ on Wilshire Boulevard: A Guide to St. Basil’s Catholic Church (Los Angeles: Westernlore, 1969); St. Basil’s Catholic Church: 75 th Year Diamond Anniversary [Brochure], November 1994; Gebhard & Winter 223. 3 Building Committee Minutes dated Apr. 25, 1955 (II:141) and May 16, 1995 (II:142); “Dedication in Torrance Marks 10 th Anniversary,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 25 October 1957: 11. 4 Building Committee Minutes dated Apr. 29, 1963 (II:440), Oct. 21, 1963 (II:462), Apr. 6, 1964 (II:477), June 8, 1964 (II:484), and Feb. 1, 1965 (III:4); “Sun Valley Parish to Build New Church,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 18 Sept. 1964: 11; “Church Buildings 1960-1965” File, Archdiocesan Archives. 5 Building Committee Minutes dated Nov. 6, 1961 (II:381), July 29, 1963 (II:450), Aug. 17, 1964 (II:489), and May 4, 1970 (III:86); “Encino Church to Be Dedicated,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 22 Mar. 1968: 6; “Church Buildings 1960-1965” File, Archdiocesan Archives. 6 Building Committee Minutes dated Feb. 19, 1962 (II:393), Apr. 9, 1962 (II:399), Aug. 5, 1963 (II:452), Aug. 17, 1964 (II:489), Mar. 14, 1966 (III:37), and Apr. 4, 1966 (III:39); “South Bay Parish Plans New Permanent Church,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 8 May 1964: 7; “Catholics to Build Church in Beach City,” Los Angeles Times 10 May 1964: I6; Photo Captioned “To Open,” Los Angeles Times 18 Apr. 1965: I10; Photo Captioned “New Church,” Los Angeles Times 1 Aug. 1965: p. O8; “Church Buildings 1960- 1965” File, Archdiocesan Archives. 397 APPENDIX K CHARACTERISTIC FEATURES OF THE MINIMALIST MODERN COMMUNAL CHURCH The minimalist modern communal church has the following characteristic features: (1) A floor plan designed to maximize the visibility of the ritual action taking place in the sanctuary, and to place as many members of the congregation as possible as close to the sanctuary as possible; (2) Treatment of interior space as an integrated whole, with a minimum of segmentation; (3) A primary focus on the sanctuary and its furnishings -- altar, ambo, presider’s chair, baptismal font, and tabernacle – each of which commands its own share of attention; (4) A secondary focus on the assembly itself, with space and seating arranged in such a way that members of the congregation are visible to one another and conscious of their status as members of a single worshipping community; (5) Spaces designed to human scale, unobtrusive lighting, and functional acoustics; (6) Exterior elevations, often including a tower, of simple design, typically emphasizing the building’s basic structural elements and the inherent qualities of the materials used, and incorporating little, if any, extraneous ornamentation; 398 (7) Interior features and décor of simple design, typically emphasizing the building’s basic structural elements and the inherent qualities of the materials used, and incorporating little, if any, extraneous ornamentation; and (8) A limited collection of visual images, typically of modernist design, rendered in sculpture, stained glass, and painting, some of which may have identifiable connections to the local community or its members. 399 APPENDIX L REPRESENTATIVE EXAMPLES OF THE MINIMALIST MODERN COMMUNAL CHURCH St. Christopher, West Covina (J. George Szeptycki, 1960) The Church of St. Christopher, 1 with its distinctive T-shaped floor plan, is one of the earliest churches in the Archdiocese to exhibit evidence of the transition from the classic sacramental to the modern communal model. This parish was established in 1954 to serve 200 families in the rapidly growing San Gabriel Valley suburb of West Covina. By mid-1958, the parish had 1,900 families, and planning was underway for a new church. Architect J. George Szeptycki designed a 10,900 square foot, T-shaped floor plan with seating for 1,000 people – 600 in the nave, and 200 in each of two “transept chapels” opening directly into the sanctuary (Figure 7-1). One of the chapels was originally separated from the sanctuary by a glass wall, making it suitable for use as a mothers’ room and for daily Masses. Construction of the church was largely completed by the fall of 1960, but formal dedication did not take place until January 13, 1963. The appearance of the church, both exterior and interior, reflects the architect’s decision to utilize pre-stressed concrete frame construction with reinforced concrete tilt- up wall panels and precast roof panels. These panels, “ribbed inside and out,” were designed to “combine structural reinforcing, acoustical function, and ornamentation,” and to create strong vertical lines that would accent the qualities of height and spaciousness. This verticality is readily apparent on the church’s simple façade and side elevations, where the panels’ “ribbed” patterns are the chief source of visual interest (Figures 7-25 400 and L-1). The façade’s verticality is reinforced by a series of tall steel “fins” installed across the front of the large window situated above the four-door entrance portal. Two small wings, corresponding in height to the entrance portal, flank the façade; one served as the original baptistery. A simple open bell tower, composed of four soaring columns tied to one another at intervals and capped by a slightly curved roof, stands apart from the building (Figure L-2). Inside, the church’s 36 foot high nave is treated as a single space (Figure 7-2). The wall panels display the same patterns visible on the exterior. In the portion of the nave between the narthex and the transepts, these panels are interspersed with floor-to- ceiling stained glass windows (Figure L-3). The ceiling panels, alternating with exposed trusses, exhibit a different, but equally eye-catching, pattern (Figure L-4). The nave and sanctuary meet without the intervention of a proscenium arch or other framing device. Twelve circular skylights, together with a pair of windows “concealed” by walls flanking the reredos, flood the sanctuary with natural light. The intersection of the nave with each transept is marked by a relatively low cornice supported by columns (Figure7-3). The south transept, originally separated from the sanctuary by a glass wall, is now separated by removable opaque panels which, when closed, obscure the transept (Figure L-5). Although the opening between the nave and each transept is low, the transepts themselves have 16 foot high ceilings patterned like those of the nave. Thus the view of the sanctuary from the pews in each transept, while unobstructed by columns, is nonetheless framed by the clerestory walls of the nave (Figure 7-4). Access between the nave and each transept is facilitated by the presence of a small triangular transitional narthex. 401 Figure L-1 St. Christopher: Transept Entrance Figure L-2 St. Christopher: Tower Figure L-3 St. Christopher: Nave Wall 402 Figure L-4 St. Christopher: Ceiling Detail Figure L-5 St. Christopher: Entry into South Transept Figure L-6 St. Christopher: Sanctuary and Transept 403 According to a contemporary newspaper account, the church’s T-shaped plan “brings the majority of the congregation close to the altar.” In this regard, St. Christopher’s is a successful prototype for a modern communal church. By using a relatively short nave and two transepts, the architect is able to position many more congregants much closer to the sanctuary than would be possible in a more traditional seating configuration in which all of the pews in both nave and transepts share the same forward-facing orientation. Moreover, the integration of the sanctuary and the nave into a single space, and the direct access of the transepts to the sanctuary (Figures L-6 and L-7), help to eliminate differentiation of those spaces reserved for the clergy and those reserved for the congregation. This particular floor plan, however, has little to offer in terms of developing an awareness of congregational unity. The nave and the transepts are treated as three separate, self-contained spaces. While all three spaces share visual access to the sanctuary, they lack visual access to one another. Thus, instead of creating a sense of a single congregation “gathered in and around” the altar, the plan creates the impression that the congregation is divided into three separate groups. In terms of spatial dynamics and centering focus, then, St. Christopher’s exhibits elements of both the classic sacramental and the modern communal models. Viewed separately, the nave has a strong longitudinal orientation. When considered together with the transepts – a relationship that is not immediately visually apparent when standing at the rear of the nave -- that orientation is softened. Moreover, each transept has its own entrance (Figure L-1), making it functionally independent of the nave. Viewed from the nave, the altar is clearly the church’s centering focus, reinforced by the simple reredos with its large crucifix. The side view of the sanctuary visible from the transepts, 404 Figure L-7 St. Christopher: View of Sanctuary from Transept Figure L-8 St. Christopher: Façade Window Figure L-9 St. Christopher: St. Dominic Savio Window 405 however, reveals the multiple foci of altar, ambo, and presider’s chair typical of a modern communal church (Figure L-7). The tabernacle has been relocated to the south transept, which now functions as Eucharistic reservation chapel in addition to a mothers’ room and location for daily Masses. Overall, the church’s aesthetic impact is more typical of a classic sacramental church than a modern communal one, with its high ceilings, extensive use of stained glass, and reverberant acoustics. Its level of symbolic resonance is also quite high, with multiple sculptural images arranged throughout the church, including a depiction of the Holy Family by Hollywood sculptor G.G. Roccisano. The façade window incorporates multiple symbolic images of the Eucharist (Figure L-8), and among the saints depicted in the nave windows are the popular mid-century role models, St. Dominic Savio for boys (Figure L-9), and St. Maria Goretti for girls. A marble image of the church’s patron saint is prominently displayed on the grounds. St. Joseph, La Puente (Barker & Ott, 1964) The Church of St. Joseph 2 in La Puente, which incorporates an arrow-shaped floor plan, is another example of the transition from the classic sacramental to the modern communal model. Established in 1919 to serve the San Gabriel Valley agricultural community of La Puente, by 1962 this parish had grown to 2,000 families and was hosting eleven Masses each Sunday in its 38 year-old church and its parish hall. A new church, designed in “contemporary” style by Barker and Ott, was formally dedicated on May 24, 1964. Constructed of concrete and reinforced brick with a shingle tile roof, it 406 provides seating for 980. The church’s 12,300 square foot floor plan has been compared to an arrow, with the sanctuary at the “point,” the nave corresponding to the arrow’s shaft, and two flanking “transepts or side chapels” radiating from the sanctuary at forty- five degree angles to the nave (Figure 7-5). An octagonal baptistery projects from one of these transepts. The church’s unusual floor plan is not immediately evident from its exterior elevations. The simple façade, with its steeply pitched gable, is similar to that of many minimalist classic sacramental churches (Figure L-10). A sculptural relief of the church’s patron saint is centered in a brick-clad panel above the four-door entrance portal. An open, 68 foot tall bell tower of minimalist design adjoins the façade. The south transept, with its low flat roof and simple entrance, is relatively inconspicuous (Figure L-11). The north transept is similarly inconspicuous, in marked contrast to its adjoining eight-sided baptistery (Figure L-12). The latter’s eye-catching vertical lines are accentuated by tall, narrow windows, peaked cornices, and a striking “Space Age” roof ornament depicting a descending dove (Figure L-13). Viewed from the narthex, the nave’s high, open interior – defined by its steep- pitch gabled ceiling, and oriented to the sanctuary with its marble-clad reredos and massive gold crucifix -- appears typical of a minimalist classic sacramental church (Figure 7-6). As one’s eyes move along the nave walls, however, the partially hidden transepts come into view (Figure 7-7). These transepts, with their relatively low, flat ceilings, merge into the nave just as it meets the sanctuary. As one walks down the nave toward the sanctuary, the transepts gradually come into fuller view, and eventually the visual connection among the three spaces becomes complete (Figure L-14). This visual 407 Figure L-10 St. Joseph, La Puente: Facade Figure L-11 St. Joseph, La Puente: Exterior of South Transept Figure L-12 St. Joseph, La Puente: Baptistery 408 Figure L-13 St. Joseph, La Puente: Baptistery Detail Figure L-14 St. Joseph, La Puente: View into South Transept Figure L-15 St. Joseph, La Puente: Convergence of Nave and Transept 409 connection is especially apparent when one looks across the nave from one transept to the other (Figure 7-8). An additional visual connection between each transept and the nave is created by the insertion of a transitional space, roughly triangular in shape, behind the column that marks the point of convergence of the transept with the nave (Figure L-15). According to contemporary newspaper accounts, the church’s arrow-shaped plan offers two advantages: it “bring[s] the entire congregation close to the altar,” and it “makes the altar, at the point of the arrow, the focal point.” Like the T-shaped plan at St. Christopher, this plan positions more of the congregation closer to the sanctuary than would be possible in a more traditional seating configuration. Unlike St. Christopher, however, there is a high degree of visual communication among the three spaces, and the angled configuration of the transepts here creates the sense of being “gathered in and around” the sanctuary that is characteristic of a modern communal church. The focus on the altar and sanctuary at St. Joseph is particularly strong, partly as a result of its arrow- shaped plan, but also due to the height and grandeur of its striking reredos (Figure 7-17). Like the other transitional churches considered here, St. Joseph’s aesthetic impact is more typical of a classic sacramental church than a modern communal one. That impact is relatively muted, however, as is the church’s symbolic resonance, by the employment of plain plaster walls, unadorned wooden wainscoting, single-color tinted glass windows, and simple, traditional sculpted images. 410 Our Lady of Grace, Encino (Barker & Ott, 1962) The Church of Our Lady of Grace, 3 with its unusual diamond-shaped floor plan, is another example of a transitional church design, incorporating elements of both the classic sacramental and the modern communal traditions. This parish was established in 1945 to serve the San Fernando Valley suburb of Encino. Ground was broken for a new church on December 8, 1959, with formal dedication taking place on May 27, 1962. By that time the parish served 2,700 families, and included, in the words of its pastor, people “of every type: a lot of professional people, some money on the hill, working people, and some very poor people.” The new church, of “contemporary design” and constructed of reinforced concrete and brick with a tile roof, was designed by the firm of Barker and Ott. Its 15,856 square foot diamond-shaped floor plan accommodates seating for 1,248. The church’s low pitch gabled façade is set at an angle relative to the street corner so that it faces into the intersection of Ventura Boulevard and White Oak Avenue (Figure 7-26). It features a large tripartite window above a curved cantilevered portico sheltering the four entry doors. A sculpture of Our Lady of Grace stands above the portico. The façade is flanked by a pair of square towers set at forty-five degree angles to the façade. One tower rises to a height of 100 feet, while the other is roughly even with the height of the façade. The exterior elevation facing White Oak Avenue, which corresponds to the east wall of the left transept, includes its own secondary entrance (Figure L-16), while the exterior elevation facing Ventura Boulevard, which corresponds to the north wall of the right transept, features a secondary entrance accessed by a private semi-circular driveway 411 Figure L-16 Our Lady of Grace: East Elevation Figure L-17 Our Lady of Grace: North Elevation Figure L-18 Our Lady of Grace: Rear Elevation 412 permitting leisurely “drop off” and “pick up” of congregants (Figure L-17). The rear elevation exhibits the varied massing of the nave, transepts, and sacristy (Figure L-18). The church’s floor plan has been described in terms of a diamond, or of a square set on radial axes (Figure 7-9). It is, in essence, a rectangle set diagonally within a square. The rectangle corresponds to a nave with 36 foot high ceilings, with the sanctuary placed at one end and the main entrance at the other (Figure 7-10). The triangular halves of the square that flank the rectangle correspond to transepts with lower ceilings that open into the nave along its entire length (Figures 7-11 and L-19). The pews in the nave are arranged in parallel rows facing the sanctuary, while those in the transepts are arranged at a forty-five degree angle relative to the nave so that they, too, are facing the sanctuary (Figure 7-12). Each transept includes a mothers’ room. The right transept features a shrine of the Sacred Heart, while the left transept adjoins a separate baptistery. At the time of its dedication, the church’s interior was described as a “broad expanse of space” that “brings the people physically close to the altar, with aisles patterned radially in 180 degrees,” but without any columns or other visual obstacles to mar the “panoramic sweep.” Indeed, the church’s diamond-shaped plan provides good visibility from every pew; a greater percentage of the seats are closer to the sanctuary than they would be under a more traditional plan; and even those seats that are furthest from the sanctuary “feel” closer than they actually are. Because the varied angles of the pews allow members of the congregation to see one another, and because the nave and transepts are unified along their entire length, there is a stronger sense of the assembly’s status as a single community than is permitted by a cruciform or T-shaped plan. At the 413 Figure L-19 Our Lady of Grace: Nave and Right Transept Figure L-20 Our Lady of Grace: Left Transept Figure L-21 Our Lady of Grace: Shrine of the Sacred Heart 414 same time, the interior space is not entirely integrated. The differences in ceiling height between the nave and the transepts define the latter as distinct spaces (Figure L-20), making the integration incomplete. While the spatial dynamics at Our Lady of Grace are clearly those of a modern communal church, its centering focus, aesthetic impact, and symbolic resonance are more typical of a classic sacramental church. Attention is drawn to the sanctuary, not only by the church’s floor plan, but also by the lavish use of matched “book end” marble panels in the floor-to-ceiling reredos and in the wainscoting. Sculpted images are rendered in rich variegated colored marble (Figure L-21). A profusion of stained glass windows depict figures from the Old Testament, scenes from the life of Jesus, and the “Mysteries of the Rosary” (Figure L-22). St. Joseph, Carpinteria (Brown & Avila, 1966) The Church of St. Joseph 4 in Carpinteria is a simple, straightforward example of a modern communal church that utilizes a fan-shaped floor plan (Figure 7-13). This parish was established in the small beach town of Carpinteria in 1933. By the mid-1960s, the town was developing into a suburb of Santa Barbara, located ten miles to the north, and a new church was needed to accommodate the parish’s 710 families. The 10,800 square foot church, designed by Brown & Avila, provides seating for 814 people. Formally dedicated on January 8, 1967, it is of wood frame and stucco construction, with brick veneer wainscoting and composite-rock roofing. The gabled façade is symmetrical, with the semicircular baptistery at the center flanked on either side by recessed entryways 415 Figure L-22 Our Lady of Grace: Façade Window Figure L-23 St. Joseph, Carpinteria: Interior View from Narthex Figure L-24 St. Joseph, Carpinteria: Interior View from Sanctuary 416 (Figure 7-27). Although a planned tower has yet to be built, a lantern-like steeple rises over the sanctuary. The interior space of the church is treated as an integrated whole (Figures and L- 23 and L-24). The narthex, with the choir loft above, is open to the nave (Figure L-25). The ceiling rises from a height of 15 feet at the narthex to a height of 28 feet above the sanctuary, creating a sense of expanding space as one moves from the former to the latter (Figure 7-14). A proscenium arch resting on thin pillars frames the sky lit sanctuary, creating two short aisles that provide access to a glass walled mothers’ room to the west and a sacristy to the east. Four banks of eighteen pews each, arranged in the form of a partially opened fan, become progressively narrower as they approach the sanctuary. According to a contemporary newspaper account, this design “allows the entire congregation to be seated near the altar”; indeed, the longest distance from a back pew to the edge of the sanctuary is only 57 feet. The expanding space above, created by the rising ceiling, and the contracting space at floor level, created by the narrowing pew footprint, produce a sense of the congregation being “gathered into and around” the sanctuary. The church’s centering focus is its broad sanctuary (Figure 7-14). The altar stands at the center, with the ambo and presidential chair flanking it on either side. A wrought aluminum sculptural depiction of the Last Supper and a large antique crucifix are affixed to the sanctuary’s back wall. An original proposal that the tabernacle be placed on the back wall was rejected by the Archdiocesan Building Committee, which insisted on its traditional placement on the altar. At the same time, the tabernacle was designed to be relatively low so the altar could be “used for Mass on both sides”; in other 417 Figure L-25 St. Joseph, Carpinteria: Interior View Toward Narthex and Choir Loft Figure L-26 St. Joseph, Carpinteria: Shrine in Former Baptistery Figure L-27 St. Joseph, Carpinteria: Stations of the Cross 418 words, the design anticipated that the priest would one day face the congregation while celebrating Mass. The tabernacle was eventually removed from the altar and placed in an alcove along a side wall of the nave. The baptismal font has been removed from the baptistery and placed where the narthex and the center aisle meet; the former baptistery is now a shrine (Figure L-26). The original communion rail has been removed. The church’s aesthetic impact is typical of a modern communal church. Ceiling height and interior spatial volumes have been used to create a sense of “gathering in,” rather than a sense of the “interplay of transcendence and immanence.” Although light is filtered through stained glass, the overall effect is bright rather than mysterious. When reviewing the church’s plans, the Building Committee made a point of investigating whether the proposed floor plan would create good acoustics, an indicator of the emphasis then being placed on congregational participation. As is typical of a modern communal church, images and artwork are used rather sparingly. The parish’s patron saint is commemorated in a shrine, a window from the original church, and such symbols as a carpenter’s square with lilies and the monogram “SJ” incorporated into the new windows. For the most part, the new windows are abstract rather than figurative in design, although local emblems, including the coat of arms of the Archdiocese and a lemon tree representing Carpinteria’s most famous agricultural product, are included. A mosaic of the Holy Family, consistent with the family-orientation of the times, was designed by Mila Mina. The striking Stations of the Cross, rendered in outline form from wrought aluminum, were designed by Karl Gratz (Figure L-27). 419 St. Jane Frances de Chantal, North Hollywood (J. George Szeptycki, 1967) The Church of St. Jane Frances de Chantal 5 is a relatively early example of a modern communal church incorporating a floor plan that eventually became common throughout the Archdiocese -- a rectangular footprint, “wider than it is deep,” with a roughly fan-shaped seating configuration. This parish was established in 1948 to serve the rapidly suburbanizing San Fernando Valley community of North Hollywood. In 1964, the Carmelite friars commissioned J. George Szeptycki to design a new church, which was completed in 1967. Szeptycki’s plans provoked some consternation on the part of the Archdiocesan Building Committee, whose October 1964 minutes state: “This is a new concept in church building with the altar facing the people. This is so new a project that we hesitate to approve it as presented . . . . We defer this to His Eminence.” The architect’s design, which he labeled “contemporary” in style, takes full advantage of recent construction technology, including the use of tilt-up concrete panel walls and steel girder roof supports. The “unusually wide” rectangular footprint – 105 feet wide by 62 feet deep -- was designed to accommodate seating for 1,030 people. With the exception of a simple cross, the plain, low, symmetrical façade displays no traditional indicators of the building’s ecclesiastical purpose (Figure L-28). Instead, the church’s status is signaled by a free-standing, needle-like tower that soars 82 feet into the sky (Figure 7-29). The interior of the church is treated as single unified space. The ceiling rises from a height of 15 feet at the narthex to a height of 30 feet above the sanctuary, a feature that 420 Figure L-28 St. Jane Frances de Chantal: Facade Figure L-29 St. Jane Frances de Chantal: Side Elevation Figure L-30 St. Jane Frances de Chantal: New Sanctuary Configuration 421 is plainly revealed by the building’s side and rear elevations (Figure L-29). As previously noted, the church’s front and back walls are considerably longer than its side walls, resulting in a sanctuary that appears unusually wide and shallow. Originally, the sanctuary was flanked by a mothers’ room on one side and a screened space for the choir on the other side – a highly unusual arrangement that was a matter of some concern to the Building Committee. The original fan-shaped seating configuration permitted even those pews that were furthest away from the altar to be relatively close to the sanctuary. The church’s original floor plan has since been reconfigured, however, to create a roughly circular arrangement (Figures 7-19, L-30, L-31, and L-32). The altar has been relocated almost to the center of the nave, with banks of pews arranged around it. The ambo and presider’s chair have been placed at the edge of the original sanctuary, and rows of individual chairs – oriented toward the altar -- have been placed within the original sanctuary to accommodate the choir and part of the congregation. The original mothers’ room has been converted into a Eucharistic reservation chapel, and the original screened choir space has been incorporated into the sacristy. The baptismal font has been relocated from the narthex into the nave, adjacent to the central door. The overall effect of this new arrangement is to make the assembled congregation itself a key focal point of the church, while according due prominence to the altar, ambo, presider’s chair, and font. Members of the congregation cannot help but be aware of one another, contributing to a sense of community. At the same time, everyone is located in close proximity to the ritual action of the liturgy. Kieckhefer’s aesthetic of “hospitality and celebration” is very much in evidence at the reconfigured St. Jane Frances. And although the narthex and alcove shrines along the 422 Figure L-31 St. Jane Frances de Chantal: Circular Pew Configuration Figure L-32 St. Jane Frances de Chantal: Circular Pew Configuration Figure L-33 St. Bede the Venerable: Rear and Side Elevation 423 side walls house a collection of images, the only prominent image is that of the Risen Christ in the sanctuary. The richly colored faceted stained glass windows are abstract in design. Thus, while not devoid of traditional symbols and images, the key symbol in this church is the clearly the assembled congregation. St. Bede the Venerable, La Canada (J. George Szeptycki, 1967) The Church of St. Bede the Venerable 6 incorporates an interesting variation on the floor plan employed at St. Jane Frances and several other churches considered in this study. This parish was founded in 1951 to serve the foothill community of La Canada. The parish’s second church, designed by J. George Szeptycki, was completed in 1967. It is built of reinforced brick; the roof is supported by a combination of steel girders and wooden joists. Its 12,332 square foot plan provides seating for 872 people. The nave, which is essentially square, blends seamlessly into a semicircular apse, which is occupied by the sanctuary. This design creates exterior elevations with interesting geometrical qualities (Figure L-33). The façade is simply composed, the chief visual interest being created by faceted stained glass panels that extend from the ground to the cornice (Figure L-34). A proposed tower has yet to be built; its construction may have been postponed because the adjacent “temporary” church has its own tower, a quite unusual feature. Although the interior space of the nave is basically square, its floor is slightly raked, and the four banks of pews are set at a slight angle to one another, so there is a sense of being “gathered in and around” the sanctuary (Figures L-35). The sanctuary itself flows into the nave, the only mark of differentiation being a massive cross-beam 424 Figure L-34 St. Bede the Venerable: Facade Figure L-35 St. Bede the Venerable: Pew Configuration Figure L-36 St. Bede the Venerable: Reservation Chapel 425 that intersects the trusses spanning the church from front to back, thereby separating the semicircular apse from the square nave (Figure 7-22). A sculptural relief of Christ and the Holy Spirit by Enrique de la Vega is affixed at the center of the apse wall, flanked on either side by narrow floor-to-ceiling stained glass windows. Dark mahogany wainscoting functions as a reredos, providing a stark contrast to interior walls which are otherwise clad in white brick (Figure 7-18). The altar, offset by the ambo, presider’s chair, and font, is easily visible from any seat in the church. A low ceilinged chapel designed for daily Masses and reservation of the Eucharist adjoins the nave to the west, separated from it by a glass wall and grill (Figure L-36). The strongest element of the church’s aesthetic impact is light, which is effectively used to create a warm and inviting interior atmosphere. Strong sunlight is filtered into the church through full-length faceted stained glass panels set into the south facing wall (Figures L-35 and 7-20). At the same time, the upper side walls are composed of clear glass shaded by vertical louver blinds, providing glimpses of sky and trees outside (Figure 7-21). The colorful faceted glass panels in the sanctuary complete a virtual “circle of light” around the congregation (Figure 7-22). The level of symbolic resonance in the church is characteristically understated. The faceted stained glass windows are abstract in design. The Stations of the Cross, set against a mosaic band located beneath the clerestory windows, are unobtrusive. Although a variety of images are enshrined in the narthex, in an alcove off the nave, and in the Eucharistic chapel, the only truly prominent images are those in the sanctuary – the central image of Christ, and a pair of tapestries depicting St. Bede and the Holy Family (Figure L-37). Perhaps the most striking images, small in scale and having an almost 426 Figure L-37 St. Bede the Venerable: St. Bede Tapestry Figure L-38 St. Cyprian: Tower Figure L-39 St. Cyprian: Nave Windows 427 primitive quality, are provided by a set of holy water fonts carved from black stone (Figures 7-33 and 7-34). St. Cyprian, Long Beach (J. Earl Trudeau, 1970) The Church of St. Cyprian 7 embodies many of the features that, by the end of the 1960s, had become standard in minimalist modern communal churches in the Archdiocese. This parish was founded in 1944 to serve 137 families living in north Long Beach and the soon-to-be iconic postwar boomtown of Lakewood. Twenty-six years later, when the dedication of this church on December 20, 1970, marked the completion of the parish building program, the parish membership had grown to 1,500 families. Designed by J. Earl Trudeau, the church is constructed of rough-surfaced concrete block, extensively visible both inside and out. Its 10,580 square foot rectangular footprint accommodates seating for 800 people. The eaves of the medium pitch gabled roof project forward to form a point over the central feature of the façade, a floor-to-ceiling semi-circular baptistery clad in stained glass (Figure 7-28). Doors flanking the baptistery give access to the narthex, which is separated from the nave by a curving wall. A 75 foot tall tower of simple cruciform design, the upper third of which is open, stands apart from the church (Figure L-38). The nave is “wider than it is deep,” being 127 feet wide and 84 feet deep. The floor is slightly raked. There are four banks of eighteen pews each, each bank of pews being set at a slight angle so all pews are oriented toward the altar in the sanctuary (Figure 7-15). The gabled ceiling is relatively low, rising from 18 feet at the plate line to 428 30 feet at the ridgeline. The sanctuary, located in a trapezoid-shaped apse, merges seamlessly into the nave, the only line of demarcation being a roof truss (Figure 7-23). The sanctuary is simply arranged, with the altar flanked by the ambo and presider’s chair, and a new baptismal font located off to one side. A sculpted Crucifixion scene and a tabernacle are incorporated into the lace-like reredos screen; smaller versions of this screen flank the sanctuary and provide backdrops for images of the Sacred Heart and the Blessed Virgin Mary. As in many other modern communal churches, light is effectively used to draw attention to the sanctuary. A large clear skylight floods the apse. Floor-to-ceiling stained glass lancet windows line the nave, creating patterns of filtered light without detracting from the sanctuary (Figure L-39). The symbolic resonance of the church is characteristically modest. The windows are of generally abstract design, symbolically depicting the Holy Spirit in the baptistery and the articles of the Apostle’s Creed in the nave. The only sculptural image other than those in the sanctuary area is a statue of the church’s patron saint in the narthex. St. John of God, Norwalk (Chaix & Johnson, 1970) The Church of St. John of God 8 is one of the largest and simplest minimalist modern communal churches in the Archdiocese. This parish was established in 1950 to serve the rapidly growing suburb of Norwalk. The parish’s second church, designed by Chaix & Johnson, was dedicated on October 25, 1970. Its basically rectangular footprint, 429 “wider than it is deep” at 151 feet in width and 92 feet in depth, encompasses 15,790 square feet and provides seating for 1,200 people. The church’s exterior elevations, composed chiefly of 24 foot high brick walls, are extremely simple (Figure L-40). The building’s façade, with a projecting narthex containing the original baptistery, has no readily distinguishable ecclesiastical features, and could easily be mistaken for a school or civic auditorium. The sole architectural feature that distinguishes the building as a church, however, is a dramatic one – a 70 foot tall bell tower reminiscent of the famous “bell banner” at St. John’s Abbey in Minnesota (Figures 7-30 and L-41). The interior of the church fits the familiar pattern of four banks of pews set at a slight angle to provide an overall orientation toward the altar (Figure L-42). Although the interior space is treated as a single unit, the central section of the ceiling is higher than the two flanking sections (Figure L-43). Unlike the lower ceiling sections, the central section displays criss-crossed beams and trusses, and becomes gradually higher as it reaches the sanctuary (Figure L-44), where it is pierced by a large square skylight (Figure L-45). Large sections of the interior side walls, framed by narrow lancet and clerestory windows fitted with amber glass, appear at first glance to be unrelieved expanses of brick. Upon closer inspection, however, they are seen as smaller overlapping wall sections set an angle to one another, each such wall being one wythe thick (Figures L-46 and 7-24). The sanctuary features a common arrangement of furnishings, with the altar flanked by an ambo and a lectern, and the presider’s chair located behind the altar. The sanctuary itself is flanked on one side by a new baptismal font and a place for the choir, 430 Figure L-40 St. John of God: Side Elevation Figure L-41 St. John of God: Tower Detail Figure L-42 St. John of God: Pew Configuration 431 Figure L-43 St. John of God: Sanctuary and Ceiling Figure L-44 St. John of God: Ceiling Detail Figure L-45 St. John of God: Skylight 432 Figure L-46 St. John of God: Interior Side Wall Figure L-47 St. Louise de Marillac: Façade and Tower Figure L-48 St. Louise de Marillac: Side Elevation 433 and on the other side by a shrine for the tabernacle. The curved rear wall of the sanctuary displays an image of the Risen Christ set against a wood and cloth paneled screen. The overall impression of the church’s interior is one of brightness and spacious, and thus conducive to a “hospitable setting for celebration,” to use Kieckhefer’s phrase. The symbolic resonance factor is low: there are no figurative stained glass windows and relatively few images. The latter are displayed in alcoves along the north nave wall, and in the narthex, where an image of the parish’s patron saint has been relocated to the former baptistery. The chief work of art in the church is a shrine for the tabernacle (Figure 7-32), which was formerly located adjacent to the altar at the center of the sanctuary where the presider’s chair is now placed. Sculpted of fiberglass by Stephen Zakian and Ernest Shelton, it displays a large crucifix surrounded by scenes from the Gospels. St. Louise de Marillac, Covina (O’Leary/Terasawa, 1975) The Church of St. Louise de Marillac 9 illustrates how the basic elements of the minimalist modern communal church remained relatively static for at least a decade after these churches first began to appear. This parish was established in 1963 to serve the San Gabriel Valley suburb of West Covina. A new church seating 900 people, designed by O’Leary/Terasawa Architects, was dedicated on April 27, 1975. Constructed of molded aggregate concrete blocks, the exterior walls display vertical ridged patterns that 434 create visual interest (Figures L-47 and L-48). The façade, tower, and exterior elevations evidence a conception of the church as a collection of geometrical volumes (Figure 7-31). The interior of the church is a unified rectangular space, wider than it is deep. The four banks of pews are set at a slight angle to one another, establishing the characteristic orientation toward the altar (Figure L-49). The outer banks are set beneath sloped dropped ceilings, which apparently conceal the HVAC system and improve the acoustics while creating a more enclosed, intimate atmosphere. The side walls of the nave are designed as a series of panels, with the panels moving progressively inward as they reach the sanctuary (Figures 7-16 and L-48). The gaps between the panels are filled with floor to ceiling stained glass. Large portions of the rear walls of the church are also composed of stained glass. The sanctuary is wide and shallow, bathed in bright natural light from a skylight (Figures L-50 and L-51). The altar and other furnishings are typically arranged, with the presider’s chair placed behind the altar. The sanctuary wall, composed of the same molded concrete blocks as the exterior, bears as Crucifixion scene. The altar displays a dramatic relief of the Last Supper. Flanking the altar is a shrine to the Blessed Virgin Mary on one side and a shrine for the tabernacle on the other. The walls at these locations are clad with abstract sculpted reliefs executed in wood (Figure L-52). Additional images, of St. Joseph and of the church’s patron saint, are located at the rear of the nave. 435 Figure L-49 St. Louise de Marillac: Interior View from Sanctuary Figure L-50 St. Louise de Marillac: Sanctuary Figure L-51 St. Louise de Marillac: Sculpted Wood Relief 436 APPENDIX L ENDNOTES 1 Building Committee Minutes dated Jun. 16, 1958 (II:238), Nov. 17, 1958 (II:254), Dec. 15, 1958 (II:256), Feb. 29, 1960 (II:301), Apr. 4, 1960 (II:309), Aug. 1, 1960 (II:326), Sept. 12, 1960 (II:331), Sept. 19, 1960 (II:333), and Oct. 27, 1969 (III:81); “Parish in West Covina to Build New Church,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 17 Apr. 1959: 7; “Cardinal to Dedicate St. Christopher Church,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 11 Jan. 1963: 9; “Altar to Be Dedicated at St. Christopher Church,” Tidings 3 May 1963: 11; “New Church Bell Tower Installed,” Los Angeles Times 9 Nov. 1969: J24; “Church Buildings 1960-1965” File, Archdiocesan Archives. 2 Building Committee Minutes dated Nov. 6, 1961 (II:380), Nov. 27, 1961 (II:382), Dec. 4, 1961 (II:384), and Dec. 15, 1969 (III:83); “New La Puente Church to Rise,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 27 July 1962: 9; “New St. Joseph’s Church [,] La Puente, Is Rooted in Ranchero Age,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 22 May 1964: 6; “Church Buildings 1960-1965” File, Archdiocesan Archives. 3 Building Committee Minutes dated May 25, 1959 (II:275), June 1, 1959 (II:277), Aug. 18, 1960 (II:329), and Oct. 11, 1960 (II:334); “New Church for Encino,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 11 Dec. 1959: 5; “Church Built by Faith, Steel, and Good Works,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 25 May 1962: 7; “Church Buildings 1960- 1965” File, Archdiocesan Archives. 4 Building Committee Minutes dated May 23, 1960 (II:315), Feb. 3, 1964 (II:471), Mar. 2, 1964 (II:474), Nov. 9, 1964 (II:495), and Dec. 7, 1964 (II:497); “Church in Carpinteria to be Dedicated Sunday,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 6 Jan. 1967: 5; “Church Buildings 1960-1965” File, Archdiocesan Archives. 5 Building Committee Minutes dated Oct. 19, 1964 (II:494), Mar. 15, 1965 (III:9), Nov. 15, 1965 (III:28), and Dec. 19, 1966 (III:50); “Valley Parish to Break Ground for New Church,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 7 Jan. 1966: 9. 6 Building Committee Minutes dated July 12, 1965 (III:19), July 26, 1965 (III:20), and Jan. 16, 1967 (III:51); Photo Captioned “Church Planners,” Los Angeles Times 17 July 1966: N6; St. Bede the Venerable 1951 – 2001: Celebrating 50 Years of Faith [Booklet], 2001. 7 Building Committee Minutes dated Oct. 9, 1967 (III:59) and Mar. 16, 1968 (III:65); “Plans Approved for $300,000 Sanctuary” Los Angeles Times 10 Mar. 1968: I12; “First Lakewood Parish to Dedicate Church,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 18 Dec. 1970: 6. 8 Building Committee Minutes dated May 16, 1966 (III:42), Aug. 22, 1966 (III:46), and Jan. 29, 1968 (III:63); “Norwalk Parish to Build Church,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 12 May 1967: 6; “New Church in Norwalk to be Blessed Sunday,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 23 Oct. 1970: 5. 9 “Cardinal to Dedicate Covina Church,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 25 Apr. 1975: 7; “St. Louise de Marillac Covina” File, Archdiocesan Archives; “Arthur F. O’Leary: Architectural Law Expert.” Los Angeles Times 12 Apr. 2009: A36. 437 APPENDIX M CHARACTERISTIC FEATURES OF THE EXPRESSIONIST MODERN COMMUNAL CHURCH The expressionist modern communal church has the following characteristic features: (1) A floor plan designed to maximize the visibility of the ritual action taking place in the sanctuary, and to place as many members of the congregation as possible as close to the sanctuary as possible; (2) Treatment of interior space as an integrated whole, with a minimum of segmentation; (3) A primary focus on the sanctuary and its furnishings -- altar, ambo, presider’s chair, baptismal font, and tabernacle – each of which commands its own share of attention; (4) A secondary focus on the assembly itself, with space and seating arranged in such a way that members of the congregation are visible to one another and conscious of their status as members of a single worshiping community; (5) Spaces designed to human scale, unobtrusive lighting, and functional acoustics; (6) Exterior elevations, sometimes including a tower, which incorporate unusual shapes or forms while preserving simplicity of design, an emphasis on the building’s basic structural elements and the inherent qualities of the materials used, and freedom from extraneous ornamentation; 438 (7) Interior features and décor which mirror and capitalize upon the unusual shapes or forms present in the exterior elevations, while preserving simplicity of design, an emphasis on the building’s basic structural elements and the inherent qualities of the materials used, and freedom from extraneous ornamentation; and (8) A limited collection of visual images, typically of modernist design, rendered in sculpture, stained glass, and painting, some of which have identifiable connections to the local community or its members. 439 APPENDIX N REPRESENTATIVE EXAMPLES OF THE EXPRESSIONIST MODERN COMMUAL CHURCH Corpus Christi, Pacific Palisades (Albert C. Martin & Associates, 1964) The Church of Corpus Christi 1 is an outstanding example of an expressionist merging of symbolic form and practical function. This parish was established in 1950 to serve 210 families in Pacific Palisades, a district on the west side of Los Angeles that overlooks the Pacific Ocean. By February of 1963, when ground was broken for a new church, the parish had grown to 1,150 families. The new church opened in September of 1964, and was formally dedicated on January 30, 1966. Designed by Albert C. Martin & Associates, the church’s 15,000 square foot, paraboloid-shaped floor plan accommodates seating for 850 (Figure 7-35). When plans were first presented to the Archdiocesan Building Committee in December of 1961, the members were polled “as to their thoughts on the form of the church”; the decision was made to bring the plans back later “for another view.” The plans were, in fact, brought back to the Committee at least six more times before final approval was secured. The church has been described as a “paraboloid framed by a free-standing brick wall 28 feet high” (Figures 7-36, N-1, N-2, and N-3). The open ends of the paraboloid intersect with a curving, aluminum-framed glass wall 30 feet high and 125 feet wide (Figures N-4 and N-5). According to the project architect, Joseph L. Amestoy, “this transparent wall allows the brick parabolic wall to reach out to infinity, without closing in on itself, thus symbolizing the reaching out of Christ to all men.” The lower part of the 440 Figure N-1 Corpus Christi: Side Elevation Figure N-2 Corpus Christi: Front and Side Elevation Figure N-3 Corpus Christi: Side Elevation 441 Figure N-4 Corpus Christi: Glass Wall Facade Figure N-5 Corpus Christi: Glass Wall Façade Detail Figure N-6 Corpus Christi: Façade Screens Detail 442 glass wall is protected by a series of nine foot tall aluminum screens of varied design (Figure N-6). Original plans to decorate the upper portions of the glass wall with appliquéd figures, or to replace the gray tinted glass with stained glass, have yet to be realized. Nor has a planned 80 foot tall tower of tubular steel, parabolic in form, with a glass walled baptistery in its base, been built in the church’s forecourt. The interior of the church constitutes a single, integrated space. The sanctuary is situated in the curve of the paraboloid, opposite the glass wall (Figure 7-37). The flat, steel framed roof is supported by seven 30 foot tall, star-shaped, textured concrete columns, leaving a two-foot tall gap between the top of the 28 foot high brick wall and the wooden ceiling (Figures N-7 and N-8). This gap is glazed with clear glass, creating the impression that the ceiling is “floating” above the interior space (Figures N-9 and N- 10). Natural light enters through the glass wall, the narrow, horizontal band of clerestory windows, and a crown-shaped skylight above the sanctuary (Figures 7-50 and N-11). A freestanding structure located adjacent to the glass wall serves as a choir loft and houses the prominently displayed organ (Figures 7-38 and N-12). The space located between this structure and the wall functions as an unenclosed narthex (Figure N-13). Beyond its symbolic associations, Corpus Christi’s parabolic shape was designed to “subconsciously” draw the congregation’s attention to the altar situated at the paraboloid’s geometric focus point, and to “bring a greater proportion of worshipers closer to the altar than in conventional churches.” The church’s fan-shaped seating arrangement provides excellent visibility and a strong sense of proximity for congregants. And while the sanctuary is the primary centering focus, given the nature of the parabolic form, the space occupied by assembly is also accorded due prominence. Perhaps the 443 Figure N-7 Corpus Christi: Interior Figure N-8 Corpus Christi: Interior Figure N-9 Corpus Christi: Ceiling and Window Detail 444 Figure N-10 Corpus Christi: Column, Window, and Ceiling Detail Figure N-11 Corpus Christi: Skylight Exterior Detail Figure N-12 Corpus Christi: Choir Loft Detail 445 Figure N-13 Corpus Christi: Narthex Space Figure N-14 Corpus Christi: Baldachino Figure N-15 Corpus Christi: Stations of the Cross 446 design’s greatest success is its ability to convey a sense that the congregants, gathered together in a single, simply defined, unbroken space, comprise one united community. In terms of aesthetic impact and symbolic resonance, Corpus Christi is typical of a modern communal church. There is a heavy reliance on the inherent aesthetic qualities of brick, glass, metal, and wood. Sculpted images are few and simply rendered. The most prominent decorative features are a simple metal baldachino above the altar (Figure N-14), and a set of Stations of the Cross executed in faceted glass by French artist Gabriel Loire (Figure N-15). St. Jerome, Westchester (Prescott, Whalley & Weit, 1966) The Church of St. Jerome 2 is one of most distinctive parish churches in the Archdiocese of Los Angeles in terms of its plan and appearance. The parish was established in 1949 to serve the burgeoning Westside suburb of Westchester. By 1965, the number of member families had grown from 192 to 2,200, and the firm of Prescott, Whalley & Weit was commissioned to design a new church. An initial proposal, calling for a 22,617 square foot building seating 1,248 people at a total cost of over $775,000.00, was rejected by Cardinal McIntyre and the Archdiocesan Building Commission as too expensive, and the architect was directed to reduce the church’s size, seating capacity, and cost. After first attempting to scale down the original proposal, the architect later returned with an entirely new concept -- a circular, “tent type” building encompassing 15,650 square feet with seating for 950, at an estimated cost of $482,000.00. This plan was eventually approved with some modifications. 447 The basic structure of the church is formed by sixteen steel columns arranged in a circle, each supporting a steel roof beam which projects to the center of the circle, where the beams meet to form an oculus topped with a lantern and spire (Figures 7-56 and 7- 41). 3 Thus, in essence, the building has sixteen sides, which are grouped into pairs to form eight gabled bays (Figures 7-57 and 7-39). One of these bays projects outward to form a narthex (Figure N-16), and another bay projects outward to form a sacristy (Figure N-17). Each of the six remaining bays consists of an inner section, composed of poured concreted clad in travertine marble, and a surrounding outer section, composed of glass panels; in most cases, the lowest panel consists of a door. Thus, there are eleven entrances into the church spaced around the building’s perimeter. The folded plate roof corresponds to the lines created by the gabled bays (Figure 7-56); the roof of the lantern, and the spire itself, mirror the “folds” in the roof (Figure N-18). 4 The interior of the church is treated as a single unified space, sheltered beneath the ceiling with its central skylight and tent-like folds (Figures 7-41 and N-19). One of the bays – the one adjoining the sacristy – forms the backdrop for the sanctuary, which projects into the essentially circular interior space (Figure 7-45). Several banks of pews, set at varying angles (Figure N-20), converge on the sanctuary. The most distant pews are no further than 70 feet from the sanctuary. The bay directly opposite the sanctuary – the one adjoining the narthex – contains a choir loft (Figure N-21). The bays flanking the sanctuary form backdrops for shrines of the Blessed Virgin Mary and St. Joseph (Figure N-22), and the four remaining bays hold confessionals (Figures 7-39 and N-23). Architect Raymond Whalley stated that St. Jerome was “designed to express the latest idea of liturgical worship and the unity of the congregation with the celebrant at 448 Figure N-16 St. Jerome: Projecting Narthex Figure N-17 St. Jerome: Projecting Sacristy Figure N-18 St. Jerome: Steeple 449 Figure N-19 St. Jerome: Ceiling Detail Figure N-20 St. Jerome: Pew Configuration Figure N-21 St. Jerome: Choir Loft 450 Figure N-22 St. Jerome: Sanctuary and Adjoining Shrine Figure N-23 St. Jerome: Confessional Figure N-24 St. Jerome: Sanctuary 451 Mass.” Indeed, the church exemplifies many of the characteristics of the modern communal tradition of church building. Although the sanctuary, with its gold mosaic and green marble reredos, provides an obvious centering focus for the space (Figure N-24), the assembled congregation, arranged around the sanctuary, is accorded at least equal prominence. The sense of “gathering in” and “sending forth” is accentuated not only by the spacious narthex with its baptistery (Figures N-16, N-25, and N-26), but also by the fact that congregants can enter and exit the church at multiple points around its perimeter, thus accommodating persons coming from, and heading toward, virtually any direction. Although there are relatively few images (which include a larger than life size sculpture of the church’s patron saint at the main entrance), the use of multi-colored marbles, mosaic, and stainless steel (especially in the cylindrical lighting fixtures) creates visual interest wholly dependent upon these materials’ inherent qualities. The key “materials” used, however, are space and light, which must be experienced in person to be fully appreciated. Originally, the use of stained glass in the church was limited to the narthex; all of the glass within the church itself was clear, creating a sense of connection between indoors and outdoors and making the church’s interior relatively bright. The stained glass now found in the clerestory windows above the sanctuary and in the transoms above the doors was added in 1991 and 1993, respectively. Whether these additions enhance, or detract from, the architect’s original concept is a matter of personal taste. 452 Figure N-25 St. Jerome: Interior of Narthex Figure N-26 St. Jerome: Baptismal Font Figure N-27 St. Anthony of Padua: Façade 453 St. Anthony of Padua, Gardena (Verge & Clatsworthy, 1966) The Church of St. Anthony of Padua 5 manifests yet another approach to using new technology to create a unified interior space. The parish was established in 1910 in the small agricultural community of Gardena. By 1966, the parish served 3,000 suburban families, and ground was broken for a new church on March 11 of that year. Designed by Verge & Clatsworthy in a “modern” style, the church is built of reinforced brick with a concrete roof. Its 14,000 square foot footprint is essentially cruciform in shape, and provides seating for 1,200. Four of the five basic components of the church’s plan – the nave, the two transepts, and the apse -- are roughly equal in size, thus forming a “Greek” rather than a “Latin” cross. Each of these components is gable roofed. The exterior elevations display this four-part segmentation clearly. The façade features a central projecting baptistery clad is stained glass, flanked by the main entry doors (Figures N-27 and N-28). The two side elevations are composed of flat planes with central doors and flanking banks of windows (Figure N-29), while the apse mirrors the projecting shape of the façade (Figure N-30). The façade is tied to each of the transepts by a colonnade (Figure N-31). The most notable feature of the exterior, however, is the roof. Instead of the cross-gabled roof which the four gabled exterior elevations would appear to mandate, the exterior elevations are tied together by an undulating roof of hyperbolic paraboloid design that appears to be simply “draped” over the building (Figures 7-58, N-32, and N-33). This roof design has a dramatic effect on the church’s interior. The gable roofed forms of the exterior walls are readily evident in the sanctuary (Figure 7-42), transepts 454 Figure N-28 St. Anthony of Padua: Side View of Facade Figure N-29 St. Anthony of Padua: Side Elevation Figure N-30 St. Anthony of Padua: Side View of Apse 455 Figure N-31 St. Anthony of Padua: Colonnade Figure N-32 St. Anthony of Padua: Roof Detail Figure N-33 St. Anthony of Padua: Roof Detail 456 (Figure N-34), and nave, where a choir loft is located above the narthex (Figure 7-43). But as each of these sections is relatively shallow, most of the church consists of the “crossing” where these four sections meet to form the fifth, and largest, component of the church’s floor plan. The ceiling here is “draped” over the space below, and despite the articulation of the cross-beams, has no defined ridges or folds (Figures N-35 and N-36). This ceiling design ties together the four other sections of the plan, creating a sense of space that is surprisingly unified. This unity is reinforced by the arrangement of pews in banks that radiate outward from the sanctuary at five different angles (Figure N-37). The sanctuary here, which projects into the crossing and is dominated by an image of the Risen Christ superimposed against a cross (Figure 7-42), is clearly the church’s centering focus. Yet the seating configuration emphasizes the importance of the assembly, which is gathered “in and around” the sanctuary. The placement of prominent entry doors in each of the transepts, as well as in the main façade, reinforces the sense of “gathering in” and “sending forth.” Images are used sparingly, but in dramatic fashion. Sculptured images of the Risen Christ in the sanctuary, and of the church’s patron saint in the former baptistery (Figure N-38), are impressive works of high quality. St. Columban, Garden Grove (M.L. Barker & G.L. Ott, 1968) The design of the Church of St. Columban 6 combines aspects of the classic sacramental and modern communal traditions to remarkable effect. This parish was established in 1953 to serve 600 families in the developing Orange County suburb of 457 Figure N-34 St. Anthony of Padua: View Toward West Transept Figure N-35 St. Anthony of Padua: Ceiling Figure N-36 St. Anthony of Padua: Ceiling Detail 458 Figure N-37 St. Anthony of Padua: Pew Configuration Figure N-38 St. Anthony of Padua: Shrine of St. Anthony Figure N-39 St. Columban: Nave and Sanctuary 459 Garden Grove. By the time its new church was dedicated on April 1, 1968, the parish had 3,000 member families. Barker and Ott developed a remarkably ambitious design for the church: almost 25,000 square feet, with seating for 1,422 people, at an estimated cost of $575,000.00 (apparently excluding furnishings and stained glass). The proposed building was to be 212 feet wide by 152 feet long, with 35 foot ceilings and nine aisles. This proposal did not receive a warm reception at a Building Committee meeting attended by Cardinal McIntyre and Bishops Ward and Manning. The meeting’s minutes relate: It is entirely extravagant in space and His Eminence objected to the type of church (fan shaped) as presented. . . . The plan is to be presented to the consultors for decision, after another scheme (cruciform in style) has been presented to the Building Committee. There does not appear to be any record of what happened next, but the church as actually built – the largest in Orange County, then and now – appears to conform substantially to the initial plan presented by the architects. Seventeen months after the design was first proposed, the Building Committee was asked to approve a budget of $160,232.00 for furnishings and stained glass. Cardinal McIntyre and members of the committee weighed in with a number of comments on the proposed reredos, statuary, and baptistery. The final consensus was that the Cardinal and the pastor would work together to “decide what items can be delayed” in order to cut the budgeted figures by $75,000.00. The church’s plan is similar to that developed by the same architects for Our Lady of Grace, completed six years earlier: essentially, a rectangle set diagonally within a square. The rectangle corresponds to a nave with 42 foot high ceilings, with the sanctuary placed at one end and the main entrance at the other (Figure N-39). The 460 triangular halves of the square that flank the rectangle correspond to transepts with 23 foot tall ceilings that open into the nave along its entire length (Figure N-40). The façade of the church (Figure 7-61) combines elements of a minimalist classic sacramental church – symmetry, brick framing elements, cast stone reliefs – with those of a modern communal church – a stained glass window extending from ground to roofline (corresponding to the baptistery located within), flanked on either side by the main entry doors. The side elevations are considerably more complex, however, and the 110 foot tall tower is located at the apex of one of the triangular transepts (Figure 7-62). The roofline mirrors the folded plate ceiling of the nave. Despite the 19 foot difference in the ceiling heights of the nave and the transepts, the interior space has a remarkably unified feel. This is particularly apparent when one stands in one of the transepts and looks across the nave into the other transept (Figure 7- 44). The nave is nevertheless an impressive space, with its tall clerestory windows and folded plate ceiling (Figures N-41 and N-42). This effect is enhanced by the mosaic reredos at one end of the nave (Figure N-39), and the massive stained glass window depicting the Risen Christ above the choir loft at the other end (Figure N-42). The church’s seating arrangement, which “facilitates the active participation of the congregation in the liturgy,” is unusually complex; the banks of pews radiating from the sanctuary encompass nine aisles. No one in the congregation is more than 100 feet from the altar. As with other modern communal plans, while the sanctuary and its furnishings are clearly the church’s centering focus, the role of the assembly is given due prominence. The church’s plan accommodates two entrances into each of the transepts, as well as three entrances from the narthex, making seven portals through which the 461 Figure N-40 St. Columban: Transept Figure N-41 St. Columban: Nave Ceiling and Clerestory Windows Figure N-42 St. Columban: Nave Ceiling and Façade Window 462 congregation is “gathered in” and “sent forth.” Each transept also includes a mothers’ room. The church’s level of symbolic resonance is more typical of a classic sacramental church than a modern communal church. In addition to the crucifix placed against the reredos wall, there are images and shrines scattered around the periphery of the church (Figure N-43). The transepts feature both stained glass bearing scriptural quotations and mosaic murals depicting the Stations of the Cross (Figure N-44). The clerestory windows depict the “Mysteries of the Rosary.” The façade even bears the coat of arms of Cardinal McIntyre (Figure N-45), who apparently overcame his initial misgivings to eventually approve the design of this remarkable church. St. Cornelius, Long Beach (Chaix & Johnson, 1968) The Church of St. Cornelius 7 illustrates another approach to use of form and space. This parish was established in 1951 to serve newly developed suburban neighborhoods in north Long Beach. A “permanent” church, described as “distinctive” and “modern,” was formally dedicated on May 26, 1968. Designed by Chaix and Johnson, the church provides seating for 850 within its 11,898 square foot rectangular footprint. It is built of concrete and reinforced brick, with a wooden roof. The church’s overall design is best understood from the inside out. Like several of the churches considered in this study, the church is “wider than it is deep,” at 111 feet in width and 75 feet in depth. This rectangular space is divided into three sections: 463 Figure N-43 St. Columban: Shrine of Our Lady of Perpetual Help and St. Columban Figure N-44 St. Columban: Stations of the Cross Figure N-45 St. Columban: Coat of Arms of Cardinal McIntyre 464 a central, high ceilinged nave – with the sanctuary at one end and the narthex at the other – and two flanking transepts that open into the nave along its entire length (Figures N-46, N-47, and N-48). The ceiling of the nave rises as it spans the space between the narthex and the sanctuary (Figure 7-47), culminating in a skylight directly over the altar. The nave ceiling, with its exposed trusses, beams, and rafters (Figure N-49), is itself divided into three sections: a flat central section, and two flanking sections that slope upward from the clerestory walls to the central section. The ceilings of the transepts also rise as they span the space between the side walls and the clerestory walls (Figure N-50). The church’s exterior elevations plainly display its interior plan. The façade, with its high central section and lower flanking sections, mirror the height and configuration of the interior ceilings (Figure 7-59). The sloped ceiling of the nave and the skylight are prominently visible from every elevation (Figures N-51 and N-52). The center of the façade is marked by four 70 foot tall flat columns that serve as both an entry portal and a bell tower. Above the tripartite entry is a three-part mosaic mural designed by Isabel and Edith Piczek depicting Christ’s delegation of power to the Church to teach, guide, and judge (Figure N-53). The tower above the mural is open (Figure 7-60). The centering focus of the church is the dramatically sky lit sanctuary (Figure N-54), which projects into the nave. Its rear wall is surfaced with “cut stones embedded in plaster.” The four banks of pews are arranged in the shape of a fan, with those in the transepts set at an angle to reinforce the overall orientation to the sanctuary. This orientation is subtly reinforced by the ceilings above, which slope upward from the side walls to the clerestory walls, from the clerestory walls to the center section of the nave 465 Figure N-46 St. Cornelius: Nave and Sanctuary Figure N-47 St. Cornelius: Transept Figure N-48 St. Cornelius: View Toward Narthex From Transept 466 Figure N-49 St. Cornelius: Ceiling Detail Figure N-50 St. Cornelius: Ceiling Detail Figure N-51 St. Cornelius: Roofline Detail 467 Figure N-52 St. Cornelius: Rear Elevation Figure N-53 St. Cornelius: Façade Mural Figure N-54 St. Cornelius: Sanctuary 468 ceiling, and from the back of the church to the front. This suggests a subtle dynamic by which the congregation is being “gathered in and around” the sanctuary. The church’s level of symbolic resonance is typical of that of a modern communal church. The number of images, which include one of the church’s patron saint, are limited; there are only two interior murals, depicting the Baptism of Jesus and a flying dove representing the Holy Spirit; and there is no stained glass. Even the crucifix above the altar, framed with sheaves of wheat and clusters of grapes representing the Eucharist, is understated in size and appearance. Sacred Heart, Ventura (John Bartlett, 1968) The Church of the Sacred Heart 8 is another example of the way in which an innovative floor plan can translate into dramatic exterior forms. The parish was established in 1966 to serve new suburban residential neighborhoods in Saticoy, an agricultural district east of Ventura. A new church, completed in 1968 but not formally dedicated until June 6, 1976, replaced a wood frame country chapel that had served the area since 1915. Designed by John Bartlett, the 10,400 square foot church is constructed primarily of concrete block and precast molded panels of rough aggregate concrete. Here again, the church’s overall design is best understood from the inside out. The plan has been described as “roughly in the form of an arrow or of a tunic with spread sleeves.” The sanctuary, with a curved back wall, is located at the tip of the arrow or the neck of the tunic, depending upon which metaphor is adopted. The square nave, which ends in a narthex with a choir loft above it, corresponds to the body of the tunic. A pair 469 of transepts, “pivoted from the main altar,” correspond to the tunic’s sleeves. The sanctuary is clearly visible from all three sections of the church (Figures N-55 and 7-44), and all of the pews are in relatively close proximity to the altar. The seating capacity is almost evenly divided among the three sections, with 300 in the nave and 250 in each of the transepts. In order to open up a connection between the nave and each transept, a roughly triangular space has been left open behind the concrete column that marks the point of convergence of the nave and each transept (Figure N-56). One of these triangular spaces serves as a baptistery, and the other houses a confessional; the outside wall of the former is composed of stained glass panels from floor to ceiling. Contrary to the usual configuration, the ceiling of the nave is highest at the church’s façade, and slants downward towards the sanctuary; in contrast, the ceilings of each of the transepts slant upward toward the sanctuary. The space above the sanctuary itself is open to admit light from an unusually tall, triangular skylight paneled with stained glass (Figure 7-45). The exterior elevations of the church conform to the plan and spaces within. The symmetrical façade is a remarkably simple composition, distinguished chiefly by its projecting cantilevered eave (Figure N-57). A freestanding wall, pierced by a wide tripartite portico at the façade and otherwise by stained glass panels at regular intervals (Figure N-58), encompasses the front half of the church and creates a courtyard-like space around this portion of the building. This wall also, from a front-facing perspective, screens the transepts from view. As one begins to walk around the church, the great variety of the exterior elevations comes into view (Figures N-59 and 7-54), dominated by the gently sloping roof of the nave and the tall triangular skylight, which serves the visual function of a steeple. The rear section of the skylight blends into the curve of the 470 Figure N-55 Sacred Heart: View from Nave Figure N-56 Sacred Heart: Baptistery Figure N-57 Sacred Heart: Facade 471 Figure N-58 Sacred Heart: Perimeter Wall Figure N-59 Sacred Heart: Side Elevation Figure N-60 Sacred Heart: Exterior of Baptistery 472 sanctuary wall (Figure 7-55), and the outside walls of the triangular spaces at the juncture of the nave and transepts (Figure N-60) add further visual interest. The church’s plan well illustrates the “gathering in” and “sending forth” spatial dynamics of a modern communal church. Entrances are located at the end of the nave and of each transept, and upon entering congregants find themselves “gathered around” the sanctuary. With its dramatic natural lighting and colorful mosaic reredos, the sanctuary and its furnishings are clearly the church’s centering focus. The building’s symbolic resonance is characteristically moderate; there are a variety of images rendered both in sculpture and stained glass. The most prominent image is that of Jesus displaying his Sacred Heart, depicting in images both outside (Figure N-57) and inside (Figure N- 61) the church, and in stained glass (Figure N-62). There are also a variety of images of everyday Christians engaged in acts of prayer and charity (Figures N-63). St. Rita, Sierra Madre (John Gougeon, 1970) The Church of St. Rita 9 is perhaps the most dramatic of the Archdiocese’s expressionist modern communal churches. This parish was founded in 1908 to serve the small San Gabriel foothill community of Sierra Madre. The parish had only 300 families in 1951, but by the time its fourth church was dedicated on January 4, 1970, this number had climbed to 1,100. Built into a sloping hillside, the building encompasses a 10,200 square foot church on the upper floor and a 6,000 square foot social hall on the lower floor. The church features a bell-shaped floor plan, with the sanctuary located at the 473 Figure N-61 Sacred Heart: Shrine of the Sacred Heart Figure N-62 Sacred Heart: Sacred Heart Window Figure N-63 Sacred Heart: Window Depicting Teacher and Students 474 “top” of the bell, and 19 rows of pews, radiating from the sanctuary in a fan-shaped pattern, providing seating for 840. The church was designed by parishioner John A. Gougeon at the invitation of St. Rita’s pastor, Msgr. Thomas O’Malley. Gougeon’s plan for “a piece of spiritual sculpture” was first presented to the Archdiocesan Building Committee in November of 1965, receiving mixed reviews. According to Gougeon, Cardinal McIntyre did not understand how a 33 year old architect could possibly possess sufficient experience to design a church. Msgr. O’Malley insisted on Gougeon’s design, saying that “he would turn in his badge if this version of the church wasn’t built.” It was. Gougeon later went on to build a number of churches throughout Southern California; perhaps the best known is Pasadena Presbyterian on Colorado Boulevard. A contemporary newspaper account describes St. Rita’s as “giving contemporary expression to old Spanish and Aztec influences in the architecture of the Great Southwest.” It is also a tour de force of expressionist modern design. Highly sculptural in every dimension, “almost nothing is vertical here,” to use the architect’s own words. The church qualifies as a textbook illustration of the versatility of concrete, some portions of it having been poured in place, others precast elsewhere, others fabricated using the tilt-up method, and still others formed using the gunnite process. The 72 foot tall tower was constructed over a continuous 55 hour period using a newly introduced Swedish “slip-forming” process. The church’s asymmetrical exterior elevations, which defy any systematic verbal description, display a series of remarkable juxtapositions of straight and curved lines. One must take a walk around the entire church in order to fully appreciate the rich variety 475 of forms that contribute to the overall composition (Figures 7-51, N-64, N-65, 7-52, N- 66, 7-53, and N-67). Among the recurring motifs is a “teardrop” shape incorporated into windows and doors (Figure N-68). The church’s tower, which has been described as “a stark concrete structure with convex and concave walls tapering upward,” contains the original baptistery in its base (Figure N-69). Inside, the dramatically sky lit sanctuary commands the visitor’s immediate attention (Figure 7-48), which then shifts upward to the massive wooden trusses framing the open beam ceiling (Figure N-70). The walls of the nave then invite visual inspection, with their teardrop shaped lancet windows, deep projecting cornices, and transparent glass clerestory galleries (Figures 7-49). Finally, the cantilevered choir loft and glass walled narthex attract the visitor’s notice (Figures N-71). The church’s spatial dynamics and centering focus are typical of a modern communal church, with its bell-shaped plan insuring both the visibility and the proximity of the liturgical action to the members of the congregation. Also characteristic is the church’s moderate level of symbolic resonance, evident in the metallic sculpture of the Risen Christ in the sanctuary (Figure N-72), stained glass Stations of the Cross (Figure N-73), and incorporation of statuary from earlier parish churches. What is most striking about St. Rita’s, however, is its aesthetic impact -- the way in which its design embodies the qualities of hospitality and comfort that Kieckhefer’s identifies as hallmarks of the modern communal model. The interior’s relatively intimate scale, extensive use of wood, harmonious combination of earth tones, and skillful incorporation of natural light create a space that “just feels right.” The architect utilizes both filtered light in the nave (Figure N-73) and indirect light above the sanctuary (Figure N-74) to fine effect. The most 476 Figure N-64 St. Rita: West and North Elevations Figure N-65 St. Rita: East Elevation with Social Hall Entrance Figure N-66 St. Rita: East Elevation 477 Figure N-67 St. Rita: South Elevation Figure N-68 St. Rita: North Elevation Windows Figure N-69 St. Rita: Tower 478 Figure N-70 St. Rita: Ceiling Detail Figure N-71 St. Rita: Choir Loft and Narthex Figure N-72 St. Rita: Risen Christ Sculpture 479 Figure N-73 St. Rita: Nave Windows with Stations of the Cross Figure N-74 St. Rita: Sanctuary Skylight Figure N-75 St. Rita: Clerestory Gallery 480 remarkable effect, however, is created by the glass walled clerestory galleries which, in the words of a contemporary newspaper account, make the “roof seem to float above the sloping walls of the nave” (Figures 7-49, N-75, and N-76). Hidden from direct view, but reflected in the galleries’ transparent glass, are bands of horizontal windows – shaded from direct sunlight (Figures N-77 and N-78) -- that admit light, promote cross- ventilation, and permit the release of heated air. 481 Figure N-76 St. Rita: Clerestory Gallery Detail Figure N-77 St. Rita: Clerestory Window Shade Figure N-78 St. Rita: Clerestory Window Shade 482 APPENDIX N ENDNOTES 1 Building Committee Minutes dated Dec. 4, 1961 (II:384), Jan. 22, 1962 (III:390), Mar. 12, 1962 (II:395), Aug. 13, 1962 (II:411), Aug. 26, 1963 (II:455), Sept. 23, 1963 (II:458), and Feb. 3, 1964 (II:472); “Groundbreaking Planned for Palisades Church,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 15 Feb. 1963: 5; “Modern Palisades Church to Be Dedicated Sunday,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 28 Jan. 1966: 7; “Church Buildings 1960-1965” File, Archdiocesan Archives. 2 Building Committee Minutes dated Aug. 24, 1964 (II:491), Sept. 14, 1964 (II:492), Mar. 22, 1965 (III:10), and Nov. 15, 1965 (III:29); “St. Jerome to Break Ground for New Church,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 24 Dec. 1965: 9. 3 Because the church is located on a filled and compacted building pad, it rests on a series of concrete caissons extending up to 20 feet into the ground. 4 The employment of neoprene to seal the roof was a subject of some discussion by the Building Committee, which eventually approved its use. 5 Building Committee Minutes dated May 10, 1965 (III:14) and Mar. 9, 1971 (III:90); “St. Anthony’s, Gardena, to Build New Church,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 11 Mar. 1966: 11. 6 Building Committee Minutes dated July 12, 1965 (III:19), Aug. 9, 1965 (III:22), Dec. 5, 1966 (III:49), and Dec. 19, 1966 (III:50); “Third St. Columban’s Church to Be Dedicated,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 19 Apr. 1968: 6. 7 Building Committee Minutes dated Apr. 12, 1965 (III:14), Oct. 10, 1966 (III:47), and Mar. 20, 1967 (III:54); “Cardinal to Dedicate Long Beach Church,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 24 May 1968: 5. 8 Building Committee Minutes dated Oct. 25, 1965 (III:27) and Jan. 24, 1966 (III:34); “Ventura Saticoy Parish to Break Ground Sunday,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 28 Apr. 1967: 6; “Cardinal to Bless New Church,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 4 June 1976: 11; “John Bartlett, Noted Church and Seminary Architect, Dies at 78,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 11 Feb. 2005: 7. 9 Building Committee Minutes dated Nov. 15, 1965 (III:28), May 16, 1966 (III:42), and Dec. 16, 1968 (III:73); “Cardinal to Dedicate New St. Rita’s Church,” Tidings [Los Angeles] 2 Jan. 1970: 5; “When Architecture Becomes Sculpture and Landmark: Architect Gougeon Speaks on St. Rita Church Design,” Mountain Views – Observer [Sierra Madre, CA] 29 Aug. 2008: 13; Gebhard and Winter 448.

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Creator Gibson, Michael Joseph (author)

Core Title Creating sacred spaces in the suburbs: Roman Catholic church architecture in postwar Southern California

School School of Architecture

Degree Master of Historic Preservation

Degree Program Historic Preservation

Publication Date 07/30/2010

Defense Date 06/22/2009

Publisher University of Southern California (original), University of Southern California. Libraries (digital)

Tag California,Catholic,Church Architecture,Los Angeles,OAI-PMH Harvest,postwar,Suburbs

Place Name Los Angeles (city or populated place)

Language English

Contributor Electronically uploaded by the author (provenance)

Advisor Breisch, Kenneth A. (committee chair), Sandmeier, Trudi (committee member), Starr, Kevin (committee member)

Creator Email mgibson@gfwlaw.com,mjgibson@usc.edu

Permanent Link (DOI) https://doi.org/10.25549/usctheses-m2432

Unique identifier UC1495042

Identifier etd-Gibson-3026 (filename),usctheses-m40 (legacy collection record id),usctheses-c127-578269 (legacy record id),usctheses-m2432 (legacy record id)

Legacy Identifier etd-Gibson-3026.pdf

Dmrecord 578269

Document Type Thesis

Rights Gibson, Michael Joseph

Type texts

Source University of Southern California (contributing entity), University of Southern California Dissertations and Theses (collection)

Repository Name Libraries, University of Southern California

Repository Location Los Angeles, California

Repository Email cisadmin@lib.usc.edu