You’re stuck shoulder to shoulder with a somewhat familiar face from your orientation group while a voice echoes from the ambo, barely audible over the droning roar of circular fans. The sharp crack of a small rock dropped on the marble floor jolts your mind from the stifling stupor of the late summer heat, if only for a moment. A bead of sweat journeys down your forehead as the grumbling of your stomach recalls the promise of food ere long. Convocation – perhaps, the first time you’ve truly sat in St. Joseph’s Chapel.
This first time formally gathered with your entire class may not have instantly screamed beauty, though it was undoubtedly a charming event. Too often are we caught unaware of the beauty that St. Joseph’s chapel holds. However, I must say, the chapel, although far from the pinnacle of church architecture, maintains a standard of beauty unsurpassed by any other structure on campus – a standard of beauty sacrosanct with the beauty of the Mass celebrated within its walls. A beauty too often buried by apathy. In reality, Church design far surpasses everyday beauty and encompasses a realm of symbolism that encapsulates the whole of salvation history. I invite you to simply observe. If you’re able, take this article and read it in the chapel so you may observe any details I highlight. Let me take you on a tour.
St. Germanus of Constantinople prescribes the standard of a Christian church in his work “Ecclesiastical History and Mystical Contemplation,” pronouncing “The Church is an earthly heaven in which the supercelestial God dwells and walk about.” And we as Catholics know this to be true. Does not our God truly dwell in the tabernacle? Does He not walk about in each of us when we receive His true Body and Blood? Surely, He does. So the Church must then look the part. This is why we see Gold ornamentation a plenty. This is why the predella is constructed from marble. This is why the ceilings lift high as though to somehow mimic the vast glory of Heaven. What houses the glorious must be glorious, if only a mere shred of the glory of the former. The earthly beauty helps our weak mortal minds to conceptualize the incalculable majesty of God – a God truly present in the Church.
Perhaps my favorite feature upon the predella is the ciborium. The four columns support a grand golden canopy, under which is the tabernacle of Christ (though St. Joseph’s Chapel houses the true presence of our Lord off to the left side, a decision I will not discuss here). This ciborium not only supports the majesty of what dwells beneath, but as St. Germanus connects, harkens to the Holy of Holies – the dwelling place of God in the Old Testament, which housed the Ark of the Covenant. This similarity deepens once we recognize that, as the Ark housed the sign of the Mosaic covenant, the tabernacle under the ciborium houses the sign of God’s final covenant, Christ Himself.
The columns, which support this grand canopy hold weight, yet hold a vastly greater host of symbolism. In 1 Kings 6:16 Solomon adorns the temple with “palm trees and open flowers.” Upon closer glance, we see that St. Joseph’s Chapel is similarly adorned: the Corinthian column, with their capitals of foliage rise like the palm trees. Rosettes comprise the backdrop of the stained-glass windows and carved flowers adorn the edges of the octagonal segments on the ceiling. These are not exclusive to St Joseph’s Chapel but adorn most any church, though the symbolism runs deeper than mere decorative similarity. Church tradition holds that this design of churches, and Solomon’s temple reference the Garden of Eden, before the fall. As places of Heaven on Earth, they recall the time when man was closest to God. This perfect, unblemished state of man is paralleled by the neat, orderly rows of the columns, the consistency of the foliage from capital to capital, the seemingly perfect placement of every floral detail. The Church itself strives to be perfect as was the garden before man ate of the forbidden fruit.
Still, there is more to learn from the columns. Notice how the columns are Corinthian, not Ionic like those of Dinand. This differentiates the house of God from merely a house of study. There are two other places on campus, to my knowledge, where Corinthian columns can also be found. They can be found in Fenwick, for instance, but even more importantly, they can be seen in the interior of Kimball. Why do these similar architectural choices appear in both locations? Well, think — what do Kimball and the chapel have in common? Two things, for me, come to mind – they are both houses of feasts and of celebration. In Kimball we hold banquets and common meals – we eat and are sustained. In the chapel we consume the Body and Blood of Christ – we eat and are sustained. In Kimball we celebrate holidays and events, and in the chapel, we celebrate the most magnificent moment in history: our salvation.
So far, I’ve elucidated some deeper symbolism and ancient significance of the Chapel, however one particular detail, a personal favorite of mine, speaks to more recent church History. If you venture up the steps of the predella and look closely at the marble floors, you’ll notice something peculiar – a thin rectangular strip of marble, a slightly different color from the marble surrounding it. A quick glance, left or right, will tell you why the floor was patched. On either flank are the remnants of the altar rail, a relic from the Church pre-Vatican II. The rail once separated the lay from the priest, maintaining a higher degree of sanctity about the altar. It was a place where only those performing the sacrifice might dare to step. Now, we’ve lost that symbol of deep sanctity, though the altar remains as holy as ever. It’s these little details that go unnoticed, and that many in the Church want to go unnoticed, that speak to the true sanctity of the place, as well as the historical operations of the church.
As the altar rail (or the remnant thereof) tells us, the congregation of the Church stands removed from the altar. The altar is the place of God, the pews are the place of people. What great reminders of this are the beautiful stained-glass windows that flank the walls depicting Confessors on one side and Martyrs on the other. We stand, not only amid those other people present with us at Church in the moment, but with the entire congregation of the Church in Heaven as well. What great company to dwell with us! Yet, they are, like us, nowhere near the greatness of our Lord.
I would now like to return this tour to you. You’ve heard my spiel on some symbolism. You’ve heard my interpretation, that of the traditions of the church, and of St. Germanus. But take some time to view the chapel with your own eyes. What catches your glance? What enraptures you? What lifts your mind and heart to God?
There is so much beauty within this chapel, a beauty common to many Catholic churches across the globe. We are lucky to have such a rich history of architecture – of architecture with meaning. So let us not forget the importance of the Church. Quoting St. Germanus once more, “…it is glorified more than the tabernacle of the witness of Moses, in which are the mercy-seat and the Holy of Holies. It is prefigured in the patriarchs, foretold by the prophets, founded in the apostles, adorned by the hierarchs, and fulfilled in the martyrs.” It is the house of our truly present God.