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A report on ad orientem in a local parish

I have been following Covenant’s dueling blog posts about the ad orientem debate with interest (see here, here, and here), since we have the issue before us in the parish I am serving.

I am the rector of St. Luke’s Episcopal Church in Catskill, New York, a historic Hudson Valley church. It is a beautiful stone building with a massive stone tower topped by a steeple. The nave is held up by beautifully worked timbers and filled with wonderful stained glass from the Lamb Studios and one window from Tiffany.

The cornerstone for the church was laid in 1893. At this time the full weight of the Oxford revival was being felt in the Hudson Valley. The nave is long, with a deep choir and a raised, high altar of marble against the (liturgical) east wall, over which a striking rose window was placed in memory of the famous American artist Thomas Cole, a member of the parish. Originally there was a rood screen in front of the choir, and the communion rail was at the foot of the altar steps.

The presentation of the Cross as tabernacle and temple in the Book of Hebrews provided a theological rationale for this architecture. Because of Christ’s sacrifice we may go boldly into the holy of holies, to the throne of grace, there to receive the body and blood of the Lord and be made one with him. The building’s original architecture allowed this dramatic movement to be enacted in the liturgy, by passing through the Cross into the inner sanctum for the administration of communion.

Subsequently the rood screen has been removed, and now decorates a parish hall across the river in Hudson. About ten years ago, St. Luke’s received a grant from the United Thank Offering to refurbish the choir area for a substantial, freestanding altar. It was done exceptionally well and gives a capacious liturgical space for celebrating versus populum. The communion rail is now in the nave and the freestanding altar sits just under the arch where the choir begins.

All of these changes were made with the hope that bringing the people and priest closer together, both spatially and theologically, would reverse numerical decline and be more user-friendly for contemporary people. It would clarify that the Eucharist was the action of the whole people of God, according to each person’s order.

A significant portion of the parish really likes the freestanding altar and the entire liturgical ethos that goes with it. Another portion, probably a majority of the parish, has a great attachment to the high altar. (The divisions are not generational.) While the change to versus populum brought about various gains and losses in the parish’s liturgical and spiritual life, they have not slowed the numerical decline typical of mainline churches in small-town America.

Perhaps 20 years ago I participated in a sophisticated parish leadership simulation game. By a throw of the dice, you received cards involving a set of leadership decisions. One involved leading an imaginary parish through the process of changing from an Eastward-facing to a freestanding altar. Follow-on decisions related to the level of education to be offered and whether to hire liturgical consultants for the redesign.

In the wisdom of the game’s designers this turned out to be a losing card. You did better in the simulation if you took a pass and kept instead the card that read “Emphasize small group Bible studies.” Some canny parish observers came to recognize that liturgical remodeling promised more than it delivered.

I received my theological education and training in liturgy under the assurance that versus populum celebration was the most ancient and liturgically correct option. All else was accursed medievalism. For most of my 35 years of ministry, I have celebrated happily at freestanding altars, only occasionally flummoxed by celebrating ad orientem due to immovable architecture in a church where I was a guest.

As a seminary teacher I had the opportunity to visit a great many churches as a guest preacher. Some were beautifully made for a freestanding altar; others had refits that really worked; but in many, many churches the refit just didn’t work very well.

Something happened to me over these years. I became more and more sensitive to the architectural violence done to so many sanctuaries in refitting them for a freestanding altar. Usually the high altar is still there against the wall, abandoned but looming in the background, while the Eucharist is celebrated at a table that often looks too small and shoehorned into the space. I wonder now about the iconoclasm perpetrated in the name of the liturgical movement.

IMG_6331A former parishioner of mine is a Harvard-trained landscape architect. She is a wonderful person with a limited interest in Christian doctrine who enthusiastically defines herself as an Episco-Buddhist. She is sensitive to design, but with little background in theology and no axe to grind in this debate. She asked me once why the altar has been abandoned in so many of our churches. There was more theology in her observation than she knew.

In most refitted liturgical spaces that one encounters, the message of iconoclasm and abandonment is unavoidable. I have come to find this visual message a poignant embarrassment. What drove my elders’ compulsion to disturb and distort liturgical spaces that were based upon a completely coherent and orthodox theological rationale? Why the drive to fight the original design and turn one thing done well into a poor copy of the other?

Certainly liturgical spaces specifically designed for versus populum have their own completely coherent and orthodox theological rationale, and I don’t think there was a plot to abandon the themes of cross and sacrifice. But we are communicating visually more than we know.

Priests always assured the faithful that the changes returned sanctuaries designed for ad orientem to the most ancient and theologically correct scheme. The certainty of these scholarly judgments looks overstated now. C.S. Lewis said somewhere that most laity are more interested in whether something is meat or poison than in its original position on the menu. In Letters to Malcolm, he noted that the clergy had changed Feed my sheep into Experiment on my rats. “It lays one’s devotion waste.”

When I came to St. Luke’s Church with its well-done, freestanding altar, I was still struck by the feeling of turning my back on and abandoning the monumental high altar. As I looked through the parish paraments, I found exquisite and expensive frontals for it, including a striking red set. I thought it would be wonderful to use these at the high altar for my institution as rector. The idea was well received in the parish, and we moved the freestanding altar out of the way and had the celebration for my institution at the high altar. There was such good feedback about the service that we did the same thing for Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve. It has become our custom now to use the high altar for Christmas, Easter, and other high feasts. Several have requested it for funerals. Many people comment on the feeling of solemnity and transcendence that they feel with the celebration at the high altar. Those who serve at it are often surprised by the power of the experience.

Lately, the men of the parish — who do the heavy lifting involved in moving the freestanding altar back and forth — have asked how often this is really necessary. We need to decide as a parish whether we will continue to use both altars and, if so, what the pattern will be.

It is a teachable moment, and we are looking at the theological rationale for both the original architecture and for the contemporary reforms. Both have integrity and are orthodox and coherent. We probably will use some combination of the two. I doubt I can sell anyone on the idea that only one of these positions is the correct and proper one.

It also seems obvious that something important, precious, and once lost has been recovered.

13 COMMENTS

  1. This is an excellent article Leander. I would add one thought of my own to consider: I wonder if the versus populum strength is in emphasisizing the imminence of God? That seems, in some ways, to have been accomplished over the last few decades. My concern is that we have moved so far to that side of the aisle we have lost the sense of the transcendence of God. Returning to the ad orientum position may, in my opinion, aid in giving the congregation the sense that they are in the presence of the Almighty God. Through Christ we have entered into the Holy of Holies after all.

    • Surely the Christian message doesn’t involve us saying that orientation of architecture can impact your closeness to God? Whether it’s theologically symbolic or not.

      • We are an incarnational people so, yes, the physical world, including the sacred space in which we worship, does impact our relationship with God. That is one of the primary goals of church architecture. That is why, for instance, when we enter a great gothic church, the space itself seems to draw us up to the presence of God. When I enter a church and see the wood and brass lovingly cared for it is like I am being embraced by the faith of many generations of altar guilds. It is why when hearing a particular piece of music sung by a choir, which is a physical experience, I am transported to be with Peter, James, and John on the Mount of Transfiguration, or at the foot of the cross with Jesus.

      • I don’t know…perhaps it does involve saying that.
        Not in the sense of saying, “This arrangement actually causes or effects this ‘change’ on our closeness to God,” but more in the sense of recognizing that we are embodied and affective creatures, and that our lived environment does indeed impact our perceptions and conceptions. Closeness to God is relational rather than local, because God is infinite. A corollary of this would seem to be that things that affect our disposition towards God have some impact on our closeness to him.

  2. The idea that ‘we’ are an incarnational people is one which probably has popped up in various guises throughout Church history but is misleading in many ways. Jesus the Word became incarnate but that was for a very particular purpose. If you are a disciple of him it doesn’t make you incarnational. A witness you should be but not incarnate or incarnational surely? A human being made in the image of God also doesn’t suggest such an idea. A disciple is called to be ‘Christlike’ not a little Christ

  3. I have been following the conversations regarding ad orientum vs versus populum with great interest. One overarching concept is that this conversation is anthropocentric–no judgement attached, just fact. God does not exist in our space or time. God is not oriented in any geographic coordinate system…so the question becomes how do we as worshipping communities experience the mystery of God in a way most meaningful to our particular context (cultural, spiritual, theological). Some folks experience this in the solemnity of east facing services. Some experience God when the eucharistic community perceives itself to be in fuller communion with the celebrant at a free standing altar.

    Interestingly enough, studies conducted about how boys and girls learn and communicate differently might show that there is a gender factor involved. Girls tend to communicate and learn in environments that allow for maximum eye contact. Theraputic group work with girls is maximized in circles. Boys on the other hand communicate better when everyone faces forward. In our culture direct eye contact be perceived as aggressive or challenging. Guys often communicate better sitting at a bar, or in the front seat of a pickup. Women communicate over lunch.

    As the dean of a cathedral I can sell it both ways. As an Anglican I have the prerogative to do just that. Three cheers for via media. We use our historic high altar during Advent and Lent. The freestanding altar in between these seasons. I have received overwhelming supportive feedback regarding this practice.

    Personally, I find spiritual fulfillment in both practices. But, I have to admit that as the pastor of the congregation I enjoy versus populum more. When am standing and looking out at the congregation I know their stories. I know their joys and sorrows and get precious insights into the narrative of their lives. And when we face each other I feel like we are offering up all our lives to God in a single, more interwoven action.

    But, then again, unlike God, I do exist in a geographic coordinate system. Please keep you the conversations.

    • I very much appreciate these thoughtful comments. I should, I suppose, share my stake in this conversation as I was the Interim Rector at St Luke’s when the sacred space was redesigned to more naturally incorporate a free-standing altar in a space whose designers never envisioned a free-standing altar. It was done very well and significantly adds to the worship of the congregation. I, certainly, amnot saying that one position of the altar and celebrant is right and the other wrong, rather that each position brings something different to our worship. In determining when to celebrate facing the people and when to face east, we should be aware of the spiritual needs of the congregation.

      As an aside, I may not have been clear when I referred to us as “incarnational people”. I was not using the word “incarnational” in a theological sense, but to acknowledge that we are physical beings, we have bodies that are an essential part of who we are and how we relate to the world around us, and not just containers for our minds or our souls as, I confess, I used to think in my younger days.

    • I agree that “incarnational” may not be the best word. Sacramental is more like it. God instituted particular sacraments to grace us in partocular ways. And he uses other created matter to reveal himself, to grace us, to draw us to himself in sometimes surprising, sometimes not so surprising, sacramental ways, including the gift of human creativity fuelled by divine inspiration to create sacred, inspiring spaces, liturgies, actions, etc that instill in us a profound sense of his immanence, majesty, love, whatever. And these means can be every bit as effective as the best teaching of godly parents, devoted teachers and gifted preachers, and sometimes more so.

      • I would imagine Ian that this might be where our beliefs diverge somewhat. I think the whole discussion gets very ambiguous when we start going into the logistics of sacramentalism etc. I would have a different viewpoint entirely from the Bible on what God tells us is sacramental. I would contend Jesus only instituted two sacraments and the whole idea of them ‘gracing’ us is prone to great error. True to say that God’s creation, including humanity, ‘reveals’ much about God as psalm 19 demonstrates so marvellously but it also goes on to point out the special place reserved for God’s written word which reveals the living word Jesus Christ. I don’t disagree with the idea that our creational talents and giftings can instil a sense of God’s immanence but to parallel this with the teaching of godly parents, preachers etc is an example I think of experientialism running wild. Effective for what? After all, godly parents, preachers etc are (or at least should be) referring primarily to God’s word for their instruction

    • Kevin, thanks for jumping in to this discussion. First, I want to say that Fr Harding’s essay was marvelous, simply wonderful. I’m so grateful, Leander, that you put this down in such a subtle and sensitive manner. Thank you.

      Dean Carrol: You are quite right about what you said about the proper distinction between God and us (we exist in time, itself a created reality, etc.). But where I disagree is the next step you take. You write: “So the question becomes how do we as worshipping communities experience the mystery of God in a way most meaningful to our particular context (cultural, spiritual, theological).” This assumes that the answer to the question, “how should we orient our bodies” only has a contextual answer because God isn’t going to count it a sin or reject us if we do it the “wrong” way. I want to suggest that this is a category confusion. Ritual and ceremonial questions are not purely contextual because God won’t reject us if we don’t wear a chasuble or choose to elevate the Bread and Wine during the Institution Narrative.

      Answering ritual/ceremonial questions from a contextual standpoint is very shaky ground. The most basic reason is that our context can be mis-shaped. Our theology might be wrong; or natural instincts might be mistaken; our spiritual formation sub-par; our culture bound up in sinful tendencies, etc. It also allows for a rather facile move that is often made: God isn’t going to reject us or get mad if we do this “incorrectly;’ ergo, it doesn’t really matter ‘how’ we celebrate the liturgy. But this, against, is a category confusion. And it leads to being sloppy in the liturgy, or possibly indifference, both of which are spiritually dangerous and also impede our ability to worship. It does matter, but for different reasons.

      The proper place, rather, to begin to answer these question is the place that Bishop Martin’s pointed us in his article that began the latest series of articles on orientation in worship (both here, on Facebook, and over at PrayTell). The question is this: “What is the Eucharist?” From the proper answer to that question flows the means to answer ritual/ceremonial questions. When we understand in a full way what the Eucharist IS, we can then ask the next question: What ritual/ceremony best “speaks” in the deepest conformity with the the nature of the Eucharist. This is a difficult. But the reason the “how” matter is because, a) Jesus told us to do “this” (i.e. the Eucharist); b) we must be clear about that “this” is (I’ve spent time answer this question in previous posts, so I won’t rehash here); c) then, we ask what sort of actions are in the deepest conformity with the nature of this Eucharist, what “speaks” it nature and truth most clearly, what actions help conform the People of God most deeply to this mystery.

      Kevin right: this isn’t for God. At least in the sense that God does not “need” any of this. It is for “our” sake. After the Judgment and we are made like unto Christ in his beautiful and glorious Body, and we see God as God is, THEN there will be no mediation (which is what sacraments are; they “mediate” God, which creates cannot encounter directly in this state and this life). But until then, the liturgy and sacraments are for OUR sake.

      That said, we must also take with a grain of salt what people say “works” for them.It requires some real and substantive formation to know and understand the Eucharist. And it is also a serious thing to be “formed” into the life of Christ. Thus, just because someone says that this or that ceremony or orientation “works” for me…well, that may tell us some things but it may not tell us anything about what is most in union with the nature of the Eucharist.

      The descriptions that you provide, Kevin, are interesting. In you description of all gathered around the altar, you mention how men can perceive direct eye contact as aggressive. But I would hope in a “versus populum” orientation, the priest is never looking at the people, except when speaking directly to them. To look at the people, especially intentionally, when addressing God (most particularly in the Eucharistic Prayer) is extremely confusing and misleading to the congregation. The priest’s eyes should be on the missal, the elements, or a cross (if one is placed on the altar). I think the point is that a great deal of the time when the priest is at the altar facing the people and speaking, he is addressing God. And if so, there isn’t really a need to look directly at the people. And I wonder at how much to make of the supposed differences between men and women that you describe. There are certainly differences in communications styles. But, for instance, I didn’t see myself in the description of men in that short summary. This goes back to the danger of contextualizing too much and then drawing ritual conclusions. I think it’s essential that the ritual/ceremonial must flow from the nature of the sacrament or ritual itself.

      Just a few random thoughts; thanks for engaging in this discussion, Kevin (and the rest of you). We’re grateful.

  4. I have read with interest the several articles linked within Fr. Leander Harding’s contribution to the discussions about the ad orientem debate, and particularly note his comment near the end: “we are looking at the theological rationale for both the original architecture and for the contemporary reforms.” My emphasis on “original architecture.”

    In the last several years I have focused upon a deep study of the patristic mystical tradition, with an emphasis on Gregory of Nyssa, Evagrius, Dionysius the Areopagite, and Maximus the Confessor. One of my discoveries was that of the close correlation to the anthropological understanding of the human being (body, mind, spirit, soul) with the traditional architecture and liturgy of the church itself. Of course my ‘discovery’ was only new to me, and as I delved further into this ancient tradition, realized that although some of the ancient mystical teaching had become hidden in the Western Church (or even lost!), the core of it remained accessible to the faithful through the means of prayer, liturgy, and the very stones of our church buildings. I will quote myself:

    “In brief, our physical body correlates to the exterior and the walls of the church; as Catechumens, we are instructed within the Narthex before being brought into the Body of Christ through the water of the Baptismal Font, and our passions are purified and transformed within the Nave; our Reason is taught and refined by the readings of scripture and the homilies given at Pulpit and Lectern; our Intuitive apprehension of the divine is engaged, purified, and transfigured in the contemplations of the Choir (traditionally the seat of the monastics); and our Heart, the dwelling place of the image and likeness of God within us, comes into union with God at the Altar.
    “Further, the traditional path of purification, illumination, and union is revealed in both our physical movement from narthex and font to the altar, and in our inward spiritual progression from exclusive focus on the body and the five senses, through our personality and emotions, our rational intellect, our intuitive spirit, and at last to the heart. This is the dwelling place of God, the Holy of Holies.” (DeepLight: A Memoir of the Soul © The Rev’d. Susan Creighton, 2016, not yet published.)

    My conclusion from these studies and the prayer they have informed is that when we celebrate facing the people, versus populum, and move the altar away from the East wall (and sometimes right down into the nave itself), we lose a critical awareness not only of the transcendence of God, but also of our own path to holiness. If I am correct in these correlations, moving the altar into the nave has the effect of moving the “holy of holies” right down into the midst of our human passions. That, to me, seems more a reflection of our modern obsessions with physical pleasures than it does of teaching us how to purify and transform our passions into the virtues to which we as Christians are called.

    One other thought: I highly recommend the writing of Margaret Barker, especially her “Temple Theology: An Introduction” and “The Great High Priest: The Temple Roots of Christian Liturgy.” Her writing is dense, but accessible, and her scholarship is broad.

    • I remember one day at an ad orientem Eucharist suddenly having a flash of insight as we faced the same direction of the priest. We are all there facing God, priest and laity alike, participating in diverse ways in one solemn action. The action is not about the priest only, but all of us together.

      The first and only time I saw a woman preside there, and it was ad orientem, I realized too that this posture de-emphasized her role such that I could scarcely have any notable reaction to a woman presiding verses a man.

      I always heard that the ad orientem posture makes the eucharist all about the priest. But once I experienced it I could say that nothing could be further from the truth. Unlike the verses populum position in which I am aware of the priest’s mannerisms and characteristics, in the ad orientem stance the presider’s personality becomes with us subsumed in one action in a transformative self-offering with and in Christ, the veil ripped in twain.

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