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Fonts for Function and Meaning: Some Worthy Examples

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Once the theological rationale for the design of the font has been established, artists, architects, and craftspersons face the challenge of shaping a font that reflects those convictions. This article describes three thoughtful examples of recently constructed fonts.

How can baptismal fonts be designed so that they enable ritual fullness and signify sacramental richness? That is, how can fonts be designed for both functions (the immersion of adults and infants) and meaning (baptism as passage with Christ through death into life, as new birth, and as salvific washing)?

The church in the first three centuries did not need fonts; it used natural bodies of water for baptism. In the fourth through the sixth centuries, large baptismal pools were constructed, and the remains of many of them can still be visited in Europe and the Middle East. Today, however, we have inherited the minimalist fonts of the Middle Ages, and these often tiny fonts are neither adequate for the ritual actions of the baptismal liturgy nor appropriate for our renewed appreciation of baptism’s profound meaning.

Fortunately, in the past two decades in the United States, we have witnessed the design and construction of more adequate and ample fonts, and this article will highlight three of the best. These fonts share several very important characteristics. First, each is part of the space, not a furnishing in the space. Second, each is provided with running water in a quantity that enables the immersion of both infants and adults. Third, though the locations vary somewhat, in each case the location is related to the entrance, an important baptismal image. Fourth, each is freestanding, thus providing space for the baptismal party and congregation to gather around the font.

Indianapolis, Indiana

In his 1986 renovation of the Roman Catholic Cathedral of Saints Peter and Paul in downtown Indianapolis, architect Edward A. Sovik provided an octagonal above-ground immersion pool, 5 feet 6 inches in diameter, with water approximately 20 inches deep. In overall appearance, the pool resembles the ancient octagonal pools which can still be seen in northern Italy. The Sovik pool is located just inside the main entrance to the cathedral nave; a beautiful and imposing paschal candle stands beside it. The interior of the pool is polished granite, and some sections of marble arcade from the pre-renovation cathedral were used in the exterior sides. City water is used. The water does not recirculate, for reasons which, according to Sovik, are both practical (costs and pump noise) and symbolic (divine grace flows constantly). The water temperature and rate of flow can be controlled, and the pool can be drained for occasional cleaning. A removable stile facilitates entrance into and exit from the pool by adult and youth candidates for baptisms. The surrounding floor is terrazzo, so there is no damage from dripping water when neophytes go to the restrooms in the rear corner of the nave to change (a distance of about 40 feet).

Requested to provide a way to prevent children from climbing into the water, Sovik designed a brass wire “fishnet” that can be hooked into the interior of the pool about an inch below the water surface. It is easily removed when baptism is celebrated. Given the height of the pool, it seems unlikely, if not impossible, that a child could accidentally drown in it, but Sovik’s solution is certainly worthy.

At one side of the pool is an upper granite basin, circular on the inside (to symbolize the infinite, according to Sovik) and square (the finite) on the exterior. This upper basin is for infant baptism and is a source of water for making the sign of the cross when entering the worship space. The interior is 24 inches in diameter and about 5 inches deep. Water flows into the upper basin and then through a brass spout into the lower pool (although the lower pool itself can also be filled directly).

The font has several strengths. Its location is optimal, both liturgically and symbolically. Its appearance is beautiful in itself and in its setting within the renovated cathedral. Its octagonal shape “speaks” the eighth day, the new day of resurrection which we enter through our baptism. It holds a large amount of water—enough water to drown in or bathe in—and thus it is a fitting vessel for holy baptism. Its size accommodates the baptism of people of any age. The only criticism of this font regards the provision of the separate upper basin; it seems unnecessary. The lower pool itself, the top rim of which is 28×1

4 inches high, could easily accommodate baptizing infants by either immersion or affusion (pouring), and the water is easily accessible to hands for blessing oneself upon entrance to the nave. Double-level fonts are becoming common (and, as they go, this one is well designed and visually well connected to the main pool), but in this case, it is not necessary. In a society where theological debate continues about the merits of infant baptism, it would seem better for liturgical churches not to have multilevel fonts which may suggest that infant baptism is different from adult baptism.

Concord, California

The font at the new St. Francis of Assisi Roman Catholic Church in Concord (east of San Francisco) is a below-ground cruciform pool set within an octagon. Designed by architect Frank Mighetto, the building was completed in late 1986. The pool is approximately 6×12 feet across, with water about 2×12 feet deep. On two opposite sides of the cross are three steps into and out of the water—thus enabling descent into the waters as well as passage through the waters, both principal baptismal images. The interior of the pool is faced with attractive blue porcelain ceramic tile. The slightly raised slate tile octagon on which the pool is placed is symbolic of the eighth day. The paschal candle stand is placed on one side of the raised octagon.

At one side of the pool is a 30-inch raised stone font for infant baptism; it is a 9-inch deep octagonal basin within a square base. Water is pumped into the raised basin and then flows over one edge into the lower pool. The water is heated, recirculated for conservation, and filtered to inhibit algae.

The font is located within a narthex which, because of an ingeniously designed colonnade, creates the appearance of an octagonal baptistery at the main entrance to the nave. Just as the church itself resembles an early Christian basilica, the baptistery/narthex gives the visual hint of an ancient baptistery. Adjacent to the narthex are restrooms which may be used as changing rooms for adult baptism. The narthex floor is slate tile, so splashed or dripped water is no problem.

This is an impressive font, functional and powerful in its visual and symbolic impact. Mighetto has done well combining two principal motifs of baptism—death (cruciform pool) and resurrection (octagonal shape used for base, infant baptism, and baptistery area). Materials and colors are good.

Still, one wonders whether the location of the baptistery separate from the nave is the best idea. True, the entrance motif is clear. And true, the doors between this baptistery and nave are large. But perhaps it would have been better for liturgical reasons to locate the font within the nave itself or in such a way that it is clearly visible from every seat in the nave. A second possible criticism is the provision of a separate basin for infants, although here entrance blessing in the below-ground pool would be difficult (in contrast to Sovik’s raised pool in Indianapolis). Infant baptism in the lower pool would require the priest to enter the water. A third criticism relates to the placement of many plants around the entire perimeter of the pool. Presumably, it is to keep children from climbing into the water, but surely there are better solutions if, in fact, this is a problem (remember Sovik’s solution in Indianapolis). The near-jungle of plants greatly distracts from the font.

New York, New York

Saint Peter’s Lutheran Church in Manhattan, dedicated in 1977, has a large above-ground immersion pool at the entrance to the worship space. The font gives the impression of a square with 9×13-foot sides, although one corner is cut off for the steps down into it. The rim of the pool is 34 inches above the ground, and the water level at the bottom of the steps is 22 inches. The pool is constructed of granite, the same as the floor of the entranceway and nave. The architect was High A. Stubbins, Jr., with interior design by Vignelli Associates.

The water can be heated and recirculated. There is no purification system, and the pool is emptied weekly for cleaning and then refilled with fresh water.

The location of the font at the rear corner of the worship space is excellent both liturgically and symbolically. All persons entering the worship space must pass by the font, and they can easily dip their fingers in the water to trace on themselves the sign of the cross in remembrance of their baptism. Adults being baptized must descend into the water, a good baptismal image. Infants can be baptized by either immersion or affusion without the pastor entering the water.

The shape of the font, however, lacks the symbolic impact of those at Indianapolis and Concord. While it holds abundant water, the shape itself does not teach anything about the meaning of baptism. The other weakness of the space is the failure to provide nearby changing rooms.

Conclusion

While none of these fonts are perfect, they are all worthy examples of attempts to provide fonts that make an adequate statement about baptismal theology and which enable and encourage significant ritual action.

The Font as a Place for Burial, Birth, and Bath

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The sacrament of Christian baptism presents a variety of symbolic meanings. In one ritual act, the new Christian is buried with Christ in his death, is birthed to a new life with Christ, and is washed of sin and impurity. This article explains the relationship of these meanings and their implications for the design of baptismal fonts and the practice of baptism today.

Water creates and destroys, brings to life, and drowns. Without water people and animals and plants wither and die. Water extinguishes fires; it cleanses and refreshes. God created water for life and death and bathing. It is God’s instrument for salvation and destruction. As the waters of the flood brought death, so the waters of the Exodus—“swept by a strong east wind”—brought life.

Christian baptism is also water for life and death and bathing. Wherever abundant water flows, there is a setting for baptism: Jesus was baptized in the Jordan River (Mark 3:9–11), and Paul baptized Lydia in a river near Philippi (Acts 16:13–15). Rivers, lakes, and the sea continued to be the usual sites for baptism for two or three centuries. In the second century, however, because Christians were still under persecution, baptism may sometimes have occurred in the bathing rooms and courtyard fountains of private homes and in small public baths.

Early Baptisteries

In the third and fourth centuries, particularly after the emperor Constantine ended the persecutions in 313, special places for baptism were constructed or adapted. Baptisteries were buildings, or sometimes separate areas within buildings, which contained baptismal pools known as fonts. At that period in church history, adult baptism was the norm, and baptism generally occurred during the Easter vigil. To accommodate all the candidates for baptism and to provide privacy, the baptisteries in the West were usually detached or only loosely attached to churches.

Examples of such early baptisteries still exist in Italy in such places as Ravenna, Grado, Lomello, and Rome (San Giovanni in Laterano) and in Fréjus, France. In addition, excavations have revealed other important paleo-Christian baptisteries in Italy: San Tecla in Milan (the Ambrosian baptistery), Castel Seprio, Torcello, Concordia Sagitarria, Aquileia, and San Marcello in Rome. The form of these early baptisteries and their fonts varied by geographic area and related to the architectural origin, the sacramental mode, and the theological meaning of baptism.

The baptisteries seem to have at least two architectural antecedents. First, they have been influenced architecturally by martyria and mausolea, which were often quadrilateral, circular or octagonal. The fourth-century baptistery of San Giovanni alle Fonti at San Tecla in Milan, for example, was modeled after Maximian’s mausoleum at San Vittore. Moreover, its plan bears a striking resemblance to the extant chapel of San Aquilino, attached to San Lorenzo in Milan, which was originally built as a mausoleum and was also modeled after the San Vittore mausoleum. Also remarkable is the eleventh-century trefoil baptistery at Concordia Sagittaria, Italy, which exactly reproduced the nearby fourth-century trefoil martyrium; the martyrium itself, in fact, may have been transformed into a baptistery for a period of time.

A second architectural antecedent of baptisteries seems to have been the frigidarium, the cold section of Roman baths which was usually octagonal, circular, or quadrilateral. The baptistery of San Giovanni in Laterano in Rome is one example of a baptistery built over a preexistent bath. In the Constantinian era, its plan was very similar to two frigidaria in Pompeii.

Interpreting the Font

Fonts, more than the baptisteries in which they were located, deserve our particular attention since it now appears that separate or detached baptisteries would contradict an emerging ecumenical consensus regarding baptismal theology and practice. According to this consensus, baptism is a part of corporate worship, to be celebrated in the congregation’s presence and with their involvement.

The oldest font known to us dates from the early third century. Found in a house church in Dura-Europos (in what is now Syria), this font had the rectangular shape of a coffin. In Italy from the fourth century on, hexagonal and octagonal fonts became common. Round fonts were also found in many areas in the early church including the earliest font at the Lateral baptistery in Rome. Cruciform fonts (square, like the Greek cross) existed in Greece, Asia Minor, Syria, and Egypt.

The shapes of fonts have been interpreted according to differing theological emphases, especially burial, birth, and bathing. Paul stressed the paschal nature of baptism in his letter to the Romans:

Do you not know that all of us who have been baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death? We were buried therefore with him by baptism into death so that as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, we too might walk in newness of life. (Rom. 6:3–4, RSV)

This paschal motif was central in the baptismal theology of Ambrose, Cyril of Jerusalem, John Chrysostom, and Theodore of Mopsuestia (Hugh M. Riley, Christian Initiation: A Comparative Study of the Interpretation of the Baptismal Liturgy in the Mystagogical Writings of Cyril of Jerusalem, John Chrysostom, Theodore of Mopsuestia, and Ambrose of Milan [Washington, D.C.: The Catholic University of America Press, 1974]), and it is a common theme in patristic writings about baptismal fonts. In the late third century, Origen referred to the font as a sepulcher (In Romanos 5:8). A century later Chrysostom wrote that “it is as in a tomb that we immerse our heads in the water” (In Joannem 25:2) Ambrose of Milan, also in the late fourth century, described the font as being like a grave and a tomb (De sacramentis 2:20 and 3:1).

It is not surprising that baptism was usually celebrated at the Easter vigil, or that many early fonts were interpreted as symbolizing this understanding of baptism as death and resurrection with Christ. Octagonal fonts, which probably originated in the Ambrosian baptistery in Milan and can still be seen in excavations there, symbolized the eighth day, the day of resurrection, the eschatological dawning of the new age. The fifth-century Lateran font, which can no longer be seen, was also octagonal.

Hexagonal fonts suggested the sixth day as the day of Christ’s death. Such paschal symbolism was particularly powerful when a hexagonal font was in an octagonal baptistery—an arrangement which can still be seen in Italy in Aquileia, Grado, and Lomello—because when the candidate for baptism “entered the hexagonal font, he knew he was to die with Christ, but as he left the font and stood once more in the eight-sided room he also knew that he was to walk in newness of life” (J. G. Davies, The Architectural Setting of Baptism [London: Barrier and Rockliff, 1962], 21). Another shape, the cruciform font, symbolized the victory of Christ’s resurrection.

A second major theological emphasis connects baptism with birth as in this text from the fourth gospel: “Truly, truly, I say to you, unless one is born anew, he cannot see the kingdom of God.” Nicodemus said to him, “How can a man be born when he is old? Can he enter a second time into his mother’s womb and be born?” Jesus answered, “Truly, truly, I say to you, unless one is born of water and the Spirit, he cannot enter the kingdom of God.” (John 3:3–5; RSV)

Theologically, the font was seen as a womb or a mother. Clement of Alexandria wrote in the early third century that God “begot us from the womb of the water” (Stromata 4:25). Almost two centuries later, Augustine described the font as “the womb of the church” (Sermones 56, De oratione dominica ad competentes). The fifth-century Latin inscription which can still be seen on the architraves in the Lateral baptistery includes many phrases interpreting baptism as birth. Leo the Great, who may have composed the Lateral inscription, also preached about the parallelism between baptismal water and the womb. Round fonts have also been interpreted as suggesting this birth imagery.

A third theological understanding is of baptism as a bath for cleansing us from sin. Paul wrote to the Corinthians: “You were washed, you were sanctified, you were justified in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ and in the Spirit of our God” (1 Cor. 6:11; rsv). In the second century, Justin Martyr described baptism as a washing. In the next century, Cyprian of Carthage wrote frequently of baptism as washing and cleansing. It is interesting that some early baptisteries were located near or constructed over Roman baths; whether this was done for symbolic reasons or simply to connect Christians to a source of water is a matter of debate.

Despite their varying shapes, early fonts—literally pools—were always large and held abundant water. The Lateran baptismal pool was twenty-eight feet in diameter—easily accommodating the two most common modes of baptism. Immersion involved dipping the candidate’s head in the water; affusion involved pouring the water over the candidate’s head. In both cases, however, the candidates were standing in the water when they were baptized. Affusion, as well as immersion, suggested burial; water was poured over the candidate just as the earth was cast on a corpse. Submersion (completely plunging the candidate underwater) does not seem to have been practiced in most places in the early church because the fonts were relatively shallow.

From the sixth to the eighth centuries, adult baptisms declined in number—probably due to the high infant mortality rate and parental fears resulting from Augustine’s doctrine of original sin. When fonts no longer needed to be large enough for the immersion of adults or to be located in detached baptisteries to ensure privacy, they were placed inside churches, usually near the main entrance. They were still relatively large—to accommodate the immersion of infants—and traditional in shape, either octagonal (suggesting resurrection), hexagonal (death with Christ), rectangular (tomb), or round (birth).

The Loss of Primary Symbols

From the Middle Ages until the present time, baptismal space has deteriorated both functionally and symbolically. As affusion (pouring) and aspersion (sprinkling) became widespread, the fonts became smaller and smaller. What was originally a river and then a pool eventually became a shallow “birdbath” and finally a small bowl. In addition, in the thirteenth century, when people began stealing the consecrated water in the font to use for witchcraft, locked covers were placed over the fonts. The covers soon became elaborate and decorative, and eventually the covers—not the water itself—became the primary visual symbol, until it was no longer possible to interpret the font with its water as either womb or tomb or even as a bathtub.

As a result, today’s popular understanding of baptism is often trivial. Baptism is seen as a nice little ceremony, rather than as a consequential event of death and life. Few of us perceive baptism as the profound event that Cyril of Jerusalem described in a sermon to newly-baptized Christians in the fourth century: “You died and were born at the same time. The water of salvation became for you both a tomb and a mother” (Mystagogical Catecheses 2:4). Indeed, so little water is commonly used for baptism today that even the washing or cleansing motif is impossible to perceive.

Baptismal Space Today

The trivialization of fonts through the centuries resulted largely from deteriorating baptismal practices. Now, these practices are changing for the better. New and revised baptismal rites across the ecumenical spectrum have attempted to let the rite itself—its texts and actions and setting—demonstrate its profound meanings. Because we learn the meaning of the sacraments from what we do and what we see, the poor baptismal practices of centuries have taught us a poor baptismal theology.

One of the most important changes in baptismal practice today is the growing ecumenical awareness of the sign value of water, and thus the use of more abundant water in the rite. The Roman Catholic Bishops’ Committee on the Liturgy has written: “To speak of symbols and of sacramental signification is to indicate that immersion is the fuller and more appropriate symbolic action in baptism” (Environment and Art in Catholic Worship [Washington, D.C.: United States Catholic Conference, 1978], 39). The remarkable ecumenical document, Baptism, Eucharist, and Ministry, agrees: In the celebration of baptism the symbolic dimension of water should be taken seriously and not minimalized. The act of immersion can vividly express the reality that in baptism the Christian participates in the death, burial and resurrection of Christ. (Faith and Order Paper 111:Baptism V 18 [Geneva: World Council of Churches])

Four centuries ago, in 1519, Martin Luther also affirmed the practice of immersion. He wrote that it is demanded by the significance of baptism itself. For baptism … signifies that the old man and the sinful birth of flesh and blood are to be wholly drowned by the grace of God. We should therefore do justice to its meaning and make baptism a true and complete sign of the thing it signifies. (“The Holy and Blessed Sacrament of Baptism,” Luther’s Works, ed. E. Theodore Bachman, vol. 35 [Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1960], 29)

Immersion and even affusion—if the pouring is done with an abundant amount of water—more fully convey the meaning of baptism than mere sprinkling. The point is not how much water is necessary for baptism to be efficacious, but rather how much water it takes for us to realize the radical nature of baptism. A few drops cannot communicate the rich biblical meanings of baptism.

Renewing Our Baptismal Spaces

Baptismal space in a church building will encourage or inhibit a congregation’s development of mature baptismal practices and understandings. An insignificant font kept in a corner for occasional use does not signify the permanent baptismal foundation for the Christian life. A font in any location, if it holds only a minimal amount of water, does not teach us to understand baptism as burial or birth or bath. A small bowl of water placed on the altar for baptism does not reflect the centrality of baptism in the life of the church.

Form follows function and meaning. If baptismal practices are to be renewed to make clear the meaning of baptism, then our baptismal spaces must also be renewed to enable those practices and that meaning. Water is the central symbol of baptism:

All the things suggested by water—washing, life sustenance, refreshment, drowning, birth, creation, flood, Exodus, Jordan—support and enrich the proclamation of incorporation. The first five of these meanings connect with people’s experience of water outside of liturgy, and they communicate in a supraconceptual way. For example, one cannot really explain the refreshment a shower brings after a strenuous game. The latter four meanings are conditioned or learned, and they depend upon one’s knowledge of biblical history. It is water signaling on all these levels which gives depth and breadth to what is proclaimed about incorporation into Christ. Baptism is not solely a verbal event; it is a total experience. (Eugene L. Brand and S. Anita Stauffer, By Water and the Spirit: Pastor’s Guide [Philadelphia: Parish Life Press, 1979], 25)

The most important factor about the font is the amount of water it can hold. The Lutheran Book of Worship (1978) suggested in its rubrics that “a font of ample proportions for the Sacrament of Holy Baptism should be part of the furnishings of the church” (Minister’s Edition, p. 30). In the same year, Environment and Art in Catholic Worship advocated the same principle. A font should be large enough to accommodate at least the immersion of an infant, or ideally, the immersion of an adult. (A good example of the former is the font at St. John the Evangelist Roman Catholic Church in Hopkins, Minnesota; and of the latter, at St. Peter’s Lutheran Church in Manhattan.) Even if immersion is not now practiced in a parish, the profusion of water will help people recognize the biblical water images used in the baptismal liturgy.

To communicate central baptismal imagery, a font should contain enough water that one could bathe or even drown in it. If possible, the water should be running and heated. Also, in our era when good stewardship of the earth certainly involves water conservation, the water in a font should probably be recirculated.

What, then, should be the shape of a font? The ancient octagonal and hexagonal shapes still have much to commend them. With good pastoral teaching, the shape of the font can help convey the meaning of baptism as burial and resurrection with Christ. Such emphasis seems especially important in our culture in which the denial of death is pervasive and the scandal of the cross less appealing than cheap grace.

Round, cruciform, quadrilateral, and other shapes of fonts are also possible; a remarkable new cruciform font for the immersion of adults has been constructed at St. Charles Church in London. Care should be taken, however, to avoid “cute” shapes such as shells.

Before determining the shape for a new font, a careful study of symbolism should be undertaken by the planning committee—to be followed by a program of thorough and ongoing catechesis with the entire congregation and prospective members when the new font is completed. The shape of the font is less important than its size, however, and this, too, is a matter for good catechesis.

It is not necessary for the font to be adorned with symbols. The water it holds is the central symbol, and the font itself—its size, shape, and location—is also a symbol. Other symbols on the font may detract. This is not to disparage art, but only to suggest that symbols on symbols are not necessary. Likewise, it is no longer meaningful to put covers on fonts. In our culture, baptismal water is not considered supernatural (though it is used for a holy purpose) or magical, and there is no need to prevent people from stealing it as they did in medieval times. It is far better to let the water be visible and tangible.

The location of the font is a matter of symbolism and of good liturgy. First, the Word of God, the Eucharist, and baptism are three separate ecclesial acts. As there are three worship acts, so there should be three worship spaces, the pulpit, the altar, and the font. Placing the font in the chancel obscures this distinction. In addition, as it minimizes the amount of movement in the liturgy, it reduces everyone’s participation in passive roles.

Second, what is symbolized and enabled by the location of the font? The most appropriate location seems to be inside the main entrance to the worship space, with adequate space around it. Such a location symbolizes baptism as entrance into the family of God, the church. It is good for the font to be located so that the people must walk around it as they enter the nave, and thus be reminded each Sunday of their baptism. When baptism is celebrated, the baptismal party (and perhaps others in the congregation, especially children) gather around the font; the rest of the congregation turns to face it (even as it turns to face a bride when she enters for a wedding).

The area around the font is known as the baptistery. The paschal candle may be placed near the font (except during the weeks of Easter, when it is located near the altar) as a reminder of the primary connection between baptism and Easter. A small shelf or table is also useful in the baptistery, to hold items needed for baptisms, such as oil for anointing, a towel, the baptismal garment, and the small baptismal candle.

Proclaiming the Profound

Baptism is a profound and radical act—profound because it draws us deeply into Christ and the paschal mystery, and radical because it grafts us onto the very roots of the Christian faith and into the body of Christ. Baptism is a cosmic and individual act because it makes each of us a part of salvation history. It is also a profoundly personal act with radical corporate consequences because it makes each of us a child of God and simultaneously incorporates us into the communion of saints.

Baptism is an act of termination and a new beginning, a time of transitus—the most important passage of our lives. The words of Ash Wednesday remind us abruptly of the reality of life on earth: “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” All too soon we, too, will be but skeletons disintegrating into dust, like the remains that stare out at us from the burial niches of the catacombs. Born from the wombs of our mothers, we move inexorably toward tombs in the earth.

But there is another reality of life in Christ: reborn in the font, the direction we move in is reversed, for the font is both a watery womb and a life-giving tomb. In baptism, we move from death to new birth, from burial to resurrection, from darkness to light, from the stain of sin to the cleansing power of grace, from ourselves into the family of God. We are never the same again because the chaos and self-centeredness of our lives are washed away, and we are joined to Jesus Christ. The waters that drown us are also the waters that give us life.

Baptism is a profound and radical act of burial, of birth, and bath. The sacrament is not a trivial event, but it is trivialized by insignificant fonts and small amounts of water. Baptism is not time for minimalism; it is, rather, a time for signs and actions consistent with its radical and profound meaning. Only large fonts holding abundant water can proclaim and enable baptism’s wonderful consequences: death and life and salvific cleansing.

Pulpit, Font, and Table

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The following article examines every aspect of the worship space, reflecting the unique perspectives of the Reformed tradition. With regard to many concerns, the similarity of the Reformed view with other views expressed in this chapter is quite striking—a reflection of how much various worship traditions have learned from each other. One point of contrast among traditions concerns the understanding of the sacraments and how that understanding is reflected in the design of the worship environment.

Church buildings are really quite unnecessary! In fact, early in its history, the church did not have buildings. If the church were again to be without buildings, it certainly would be hampered, but it would not lose anything essential to its life. All that is needed is some space, a Bible, some water, a loaf of bread, and a bottle of wine. This is true because it is the community that the building houses that is primary. The community of God’s people gives the building its meaning, purpose, and dignity. The building has little meaning apart from the community that gathers in it.

However, buildings are important. They are important because of their function. They accommodate the gathering of people and provide a place where the Word can be preached and the sacraments celebrated. It is not easy to maintain the community apart from someplace to meet. Furthermore, the building either helps or hinders the church in understanding its true God-given nature. Whenever a congregation builds or renovates its space for worship it ought to ask itself, “How can the space for worship best serve to build up the community in Christ?”

Form Follows Function

Modern architecture works from the premise that form follows function. This means that buildings are designed from the inside out. Worship space is, therefore, to be built to serve the liturgy in the best possible way. Care needs to be taken to ensure that our buildings do not get in the way of the liturgical actions. Worship should never be shaped by the architecture; worship should always shape the architecture. Peter Hammond wrote, “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” (Peter Hammond, Liturgy and Architecture [New York: Columbia University Press, 1961], 9).

When planning space for worship, we need to consider first the nature and needs of the worshiping community and seek to answer questions such as, “What is the church, … its purpose, … its mission?” “What is the meaning of worship, … of the sacraments, … of preaching?” “How can space for worship help us understand worship?” “What are the actions and movements of the liturgy, and how can the building best accommodate them?” Only by beginning with this kind of a functional analysis can the resulting space adequately serve its purpose. A congregation should never ask an architect to start plans until it has come to understand the nature and function of its life together as a community of faith. It is the responsibility of the congregation to articulate this self-understanding to the architect so that it may shape the design.

The importance of starting with a definition of function becomes clear when one realizes that the reverse of the principle “form follows function” is in some sense also true. A building always tends to shape what takes place in it. John A. T. Robinson made this point:

The church building is a primary aid, or a primary 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. (John A. T. Robinson, “Preface,” in Making the Building Serve the Liturgy, ed. by Gilbert Cope [London: A. R. Mowbray & Co. Ltd., 1962], 5)

It is important to so shape the building for worship that, when it is used, it will shape us in accordance with the best insights of our faith.

Space for Corporate Worship

Space for worship should help a congregation understand that Christian worship is basically communal. Many church buildings encourage an individualistic view of worship and contribute little to a corporate sense. A building designed for corporate worship should somehow seem incomplete until the people gather together in it.

It is important to consider how the expression of worship’s corporate nature should shape the form and location of each of the liturgical spaces:

A.     the place occupied by the congregation;
B.     the area for the choir;
C.     the space for baptism;
D.     the space for proclamation;
E.     the space for the Lord’s Supper; and
F.     the space required for processions and the movement of the people.

For example, the location of the people will either suggest a group of individuals in a spectator role or a community participating in the action.

A single unified space, rather than the two-room chancel/nave, best underscores the unity of God’s people by including both ministers and laity. The single space also helps eliminate the implication that God is more real in the area screened off from the people where the ministers conduct worship.

Edward A. Sovik suggests that we might see the entire worship space as a chancel rather than a remote part of the space. The liturgical centers—pulpit, font, and Table—would be dispersed throughout the space rather than placed together in a single area. Perhaps people then would more readily recognize that they are part of the liturgical action and not mere spectators. Sovik describes the concept:

It can be helpful if we will allow the space to have many foci so that the congregation can sometimes feel itself to be the center, and sometimes the pulpit, and sometimes the Table, and sometimes the choir, and sometimes the prayer desk, and sometimes the reading desk, and sometimes the baptismal font. And so we would allow the focus to move to wherever the action of the liturgy naturally takes it. This, it seems to me, could make liturgy and architecture companions in a much more effective way than they usually are. (Edward A. Sovik, “Fundamentals for Church Builders,” Your Church 7 [July–Sept. 1961]: 33)

Certainly the long, narrow nave, with people lined up row upon row in military fashion facing a distant chancel, does not contribute to a sense of community or participation. On the other hand, the semicircular arrangement does contribute to a sense of community, for it is the natural way people group themselves, as may be seen when a crowd gathers about a speaker in a public park. The semicircular arrangement helps us be aware of others and assists a group in being a community rather than a faceless crowd.

Even so, while worship’s corporate aspect is fundamental, we must not lose the sense of the holy in our zeal to recover a communal sense. To replace the former otherworldliness with mere sociability would be to move from one extreme to another. The church is a community, but it is a community bound together with its Lord. It is the body of Christ. There needs to be a balance between the sense of community and the sense of the holy.

Hospitality—Simplicity—Flexibility

A church building should express a true hospitality. It is a place for people. This is in keeping with the concept that the church is a household, the family of God. It should therefore convey warmth and not be cold or pompous. On the other hand, it must avoid an atmosphere of “clubiness” or living-room coziness in which God is thoroughly domesticated.

Contemporary liturgical architecture will also express a simplicity. Superfluous elements will be eliminated. The focus will be clearly upon the essentials. Churches are so often cluttered with nonessentials that the primary things are not readily recognized.

Contemporary liturgical architecture also demands a flexibility unknown in the past. The space for worship should accommodate different kinds of services in varying circumstances and occasions. Flexible seating and movable furnishings greatly aid this. Flexible space will also provide the extra benefit of accommodating other congregational activities, thereby enabling the congregation to more adequately fulfill its servant role. When the space for worship is also used in ways that support its mission to the community, the relationship of worship and service come into clearer focus.

In speaking of the need for simplicity and flexibility, one should not conclude that what is being described is the typical multipurpose hall, which is often erected as the first stage of a congregation’s activities. On the contrary, many of these buildings, designed to serve every function, end up serving none well and most poorly. A variety of functions are possible and desirable, but those functions need clear definition, and the space designed accordingly. Furthermore, there are numerous alternatives to the steel folding chairs once characteristic of first units. Seating is now available that is attractive, comfortable, interlocking, and stackable. (The desirability of flexible space is convincingly presented in Edward A. Sovik, Architecture for Worship [Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1973].)

A common problem with the minimal worship space of the typical first unit is that it does not help persons be sensitive to the numinous, to the mystery and majesty of God. Being devoid of the artistic and aesthetic qualities, they fail to point us beyond ourselves. Art mediates a sense of the numinous, because there is a kind of mystery in it which is truly beautiful. It transcends our rational ways of thinking and often moves us to wonder and awe. Beauty as well as truth and goodness are ingredients of our faith and are important to our being fully human.

Therefore, space that is ordinary, banal, or ugly fails to serve the Christian community adequately. We cannot afford to build spaces that dwarf the human spirit. The space for worship with its liturgical centers, together with the objects used in that space (e.g., the vessels used in the sacraments, the Bible itself, vestments, paraments), needs to be planned with artistic sensitivity. Care needs to be taken to avoid what is cheap, tasteless, or sentimental, for such fails to point us to God. Neither is there a place for elaborate ostentation. Simplicity and good taste should prevail. When worship space is artistically designed, embodies a proper balance of space and light, and speaks with theological and liturgical clarity, it will help lift us beyond ourselves.

Particularly important in liturgical space is the character of the liturgical centers—pulpit, font, and Table. These furnishings provide for the material objects that are essential to Christian worship.

Around these three centers the community of faith organizes its life of prayer and praise. These three centers not only fulfill their utilitarian purposes, but also symbolize the actions that are central to the life of the community. Even when they are not in use, they communicate something of the meaning of the actions they enable. Care should be taken therefore to ensure that each center clearly and unambiguously expresses the true nature of the action identified with it.

The Pulpit

Even though the proclamation of the Word is not dependent upon a pulpit, the pulpit is likely to remain as the principal place from which the Scriptures are read and the sermon is delivered. The presence of this liturgical center further symbolizes the centrality and authority of the Scripture in the life of the community of faith. As such, it should clearly express the authority of God.

Where should the pulpit be placed? In early Christian churches, the preacher delivered the sermon while seated on a throne behind the Table. During the late Middle Ages, a recovery of preaching by the mendicant friars resulted in pulpits being placed on the wall on the side of the nave. For much of post-Reformation history, in the Protestant tradition, the pulpit has dominated the space in front of the people, virtually eclipsing the Table and font.

Acoustics are the main consideration for the location of the pulpit. It is helpful when a wall is located immediately behind the pulpit to help amplify the voice. It is not such a great problem in a small building, but a wall at a considerable distance behind the preacher results in the sound of the voice being blurred. A pulpit placed too far forward may result in acoustical problems.

Perhaps the best location is against the wall, but off-center. It has been pointed out that a pulpit located off-center is about as effective acoustically as a central pulpit against the wall, provided the path of reflected sound is not over sixty feet longer than the path of direct sound (Ade Bethune and Thomas A. Drain, “Some Plans on Renovating the Sanctuary for the Renewed Liturgy,” Liturgical Arts 33 [Aug. 1965]: 108). Therefore, the acoustical advantages of a pulpit against the wall are not lost by moving it off-center away from the Table, thus freeing each liturgical center to possess its own space. Care should always be taken to avoid remoteness from the people.

At the same time, it is important in fan-shaped seating that the people are in front of the preacher rather than at the extreme left or right, and certainly not behind the preacher. Unless the people are in front of the preacher, they will not feel they are being addressed. A fan-shaped seating rather than a full horseshoe shape is preferable therefore since it avoids too sharp an angle at the sides of the preacher or celebrant at the Table. The preacher can comfortably address the entire congregation without undue awkwardness turning from side to side. Since the choir is also part of the congregation, it should not sit behind the preacher any more than any other portion of the congregation.

An attempt should be made to have the best acoustics possible, with the ideal being to eliminate the need for a public-address system. A public-address system detracts and makes rapport between preacher and congregation more difficult to achieve. If a public-address system is necessary, it should reinforce the voice without distorting it, with the microphones hidden from the view of the congregation.

The problem of acoustics goes beyond considerations about the pulpit. It is equally important to be able to hear those officiating at the Table and font. By giving proper attention to the acoustics of the entire space, a public-address system may not be needed except in the largest buildings. In an acoustically live building, voice, song, and musical instruments are stimulating.

The visibility is another consideration for the location of the pulpit. It should therefore be elevated sufficiently, so that the minister may be seen by everyone. However, it should not be so high that the minister is isolated from the people. Vertical separation is even more difficult to overcome than horizontal separation since it results in an awkward head angle for those seated near the pulpit.

The design of the pulpit should express a balance of intimacy between the preacher and people, on one hand, and the authority of the Word, on the other. If too large and dominant, the pulpit will convey a sense of hierarchical structure and undue austerity. Preaching then tends to become oratory, formal, and impersonal. On the other hand, an insignificant pulpit magnifies the preacher rather than the preacher’s role as minister of the Word. James A. Whyte points out that an insignificant pulpit tends to “destroy the sense of the rule of the word in the midst of the people” (James A. Whyte, “The Theological Basis of Church Architecture,” in Towards a Church Architecture, ed. by Peter Hammond [London: The Architectural Press, 1962], 108).

Practicality would require spaciousness in the area surrounding the pulpit to enable ample freedom of movement on the part of those participating in the liturgy. A movable pulpit is a distinct advantage to meet the needs of varying situations. Preaching is not the same for every worship occasion.

Care should be taken in the lighting of the pulpit. It is better to have some well-placed lights in the ceiling, illuminating the pulpit area as naturally as possible, than to have a small desk light to light up the manuscript (and the preacher’s stomach), a practice that often leaves the face in the dark. Often, pulpit lamps create glare and are never appealing visually. The light should not be so strong that the preacher cannot see the congregation. The preacher should not be in the spotlight as an actor on a stage. Establishing rapport requires that both congregation and minister see each other. Overhead lighting creates distorting shadows and should be avoided.

A clock built into the pulpit, visible only to the preacher, is a good feature. A small shelf out of view of the congregation to hold hymnal, service book, and papers is a convenience.

The pulpit should be designed so that the Bible is visible at all times during worship. The pulpit Bible, when not being read, can be placed in a niche or front panel on the face of the pulpit. Thus it has its own place of honor. A pulpit designed so that the Bible is its dominant feature will express the relationship between sermon and Scripture. This eliminates the preacher’s manuscript being shuffled on top of the opened Bible or closing the Bible and tucking it away on a shelf in the pulpit. In recommending that the Bible have a place of honor, Theodor Filthaut, a Roman Catholic, writes that the place provided

ought always to manifest that love and veneration which are paid to the book as the instrument of God’s word. Then too, the cabinet or shelf ought to be constructed in such a way that the book (which like the receptacle ought to possess artistic value) can be seen by the faithful. This book does not serve for the perusal of casual visitors. It should be looked upon as a sign of the presence of God’s word in the church. This would give clear expression to the fact that the church is not only a church of the sacrament, but also of the word. (Theodor Filthaut, Church Architecture and Liturgical Reform [Baltimore: Helicon Press, 1968], 65.)

The Bible itself, the quality of its binding, its size, and visual appeal, should say that this book is of great significance for Christians. It is through the sacred Scriptures that we hear the Word of God. The Bible shapes our faith and the way we live. No small hand Bible or paperback edition can visually communicate the centrality that the Scriptures have in Christian worship. We tend to respond causally to whatever is treated casually. We could learn a great deal from the respect Jews give to the scrolls and the way they are used in synagogue worship.

As is common in Scotland, the Bible might be brought into the assembly during an entrance or processional hymn, and then enthroned in its place of honor. It is important that the Bible carried in procession or enthroned in a place of honor be the same Bible whose pages are opened and from which the lessons of the day read.

A pulpit of significance is located in First Presbyterian Church, Lawrence, Kansas. It is approximately seven feet wide with a book rest of approximately six feet in length. Behind the pulpit is a sounding board in the form of a plain wall that extends upward toward the ceiling for about twenty feet. It is about nine feet wide and is painted white. In the upper right corner of the sounding board is a single-column speaker for amplification. It has a pleasing appearance against the dark brick color of the interior of the room. The sounding board is used as a projection screen. Space is provided in the pulpit for an overhead projector, which is sealed from view when not in use. This space for proclamation thus provides for a variety of forms of proclamation.

Whereas a pulpit has a clear and important function, a lectern is not essential to worship. When a lectern is used for reading the Scripture and the preaching is from a pulpit, a division between the reading and preaching is suggested. In ordering worship, preaching and the reading of the lessons should not be separated. Preaching is to immediately follow the readings, thereby underscoring the interdependent relationship of one with the other. Just as this is true in ordering worship, it is equally true for the spatial arrangements. The reading of Scripture and preaching should be from a single-center, the pulpit.

Although a lectern is unnecessary, there are occasions when a speaker’s stand other than the pulpit is desirable. A portable lectern, attractive in design and made to harmonize with the other furnishings, could be provided for such occasions and can be placed when and where needed.

In building or renovating worship space, it is important to anticipate the space needed for a variety of appropriate proclamation forms such as the dialogue sermon, drama, dance, and audiovisual presentations. Although nothing can fully replace a pastor who lovingly interprets the Word to the people, proclamation need not always be in the form of monologue.

Unencumbered space is required for movement and drama. Movable furniture is also desirable, so that it may be relocated as the need emerges. If movable seating is utilized, the entire space can be adapted, as the need requires, to accommodate the varied forms of proclamation. Nevertheless, it is desirable that the space around the Table and the pulpit in its usual arrangement be open and spacious, unencumbered and uncrowded. Thus, other forms may be easily provided for without the need to move the pulpit and Table.

Lighting is again an important consideration in planning for other forms of proclamation. A theatrical appearance should be avoided. An audiovisual room might be located nearby to enable simultaneous projections and to provide for ease in using tapes and recordings. Where a room is not possible, convenient and adequate electrical outlets need to be provided for both power and sound. The projectors may be hidden from view of the congregation by well-placed banners. A white wall surface is desirable, which would eliminate the need for setting up portable screens, which are always intrusive. Speakers need to be built in at appropriate places for the best acoustical effects. The use of audiovisuals may require that some windows be neatly and easily darkened. The space needs to be radiant with light, symbolizing resurrection joy, but should also have the ability to control the light easily and to direct it where it is wanted.

Those responsible for planning the space need to anticipate the various forms that are to be accommodated and build flexibility into the structure that will free the space for use in a variety of ways.

The Font

The space for baptism is too often the neglected liturgical center. Many churches have no visible evidence that baptism is practiced. It is central to Christian worship because it is through a washing with water in the name of the Trinity that one is initiated into the Christian community. This sacrament is a clear sign of God’s grace, of our cleansing from sin, of our dying and rising with Christ, of our incorporation into the body of Christ, and of the gift of the Holy Spirit. All that the gospel means is focused on this sacrament. The font with its surrounding space, the baptistry, should therefore serve more than the utilitarian function of accommodating the ritual washing. It should be the ever-present symbol of Christian initiation.

Given the centrality of this sacrament, where should the place of baptism be located? What should the font be like in order to give baptism the prominence it merits?

In early centuries, Christians built separate buildings to accommodate baptism. Later, fonts were placed in alcoves at the entrance to the nave. Since the Reformation, Protestants have usually baptized persons before the congregation with fonts located near the pulpit and Table.

The communal dimensions of baptism would rule out a separate building for us. It would also rule out an enclosed space in the narthex. In neither location could baptism be celebrated in the presence of the congregation, nor could the people participate.

Nevertheless, when baptism is celebrated at or near the entrance of the nave, it becomes a strong symbol of entry into the body of Christ. There are ways of locating the place of baptism at the entrance without sacrificing the presence and participation of the congregation. The limitations can be overcome if there is no wall separating the baptismal space from the worship room. The removal of the wall would be an economic advantage in making the space serve double duty as an entry and as an open space to accommodate people gathered around the font for the baptism.

Another possibility would be to provide a space for baptism between the narthex and the worship room. Worshipers would pass through the baptismal space as they enter to worship. Any drawbacks hindering a communal celebration of baptism would be reduced if the walls between the baptistry and the worship room were quite open in design.

Perhaps a better alternative would be to locate the place of baptism within the worship room itself. We are quite familiar with the provision of space near the Table and pulpit. The advantage of this location is that people can see, hear, and participate in the sacrament. However, even though the Reformers chose this location to emphasize incorporation into the community, it does not clearly convey this. Nor is the relationship of baptism to the Eucharist and the Word read and preached conveyed simply by placing the font in close proximity to the pulpit and Table. Furthermore, clustering the liturgical centers together results in little movement in worship and contributes to confusing focal points.

There is great symbolic strength in restoring the baptistry to a position at the major entrance into the nave, but preferably inside the worship room. It can be located at the side of the entrance, although a clearer symbolism is conveyed when the font is placed in a space between the door and the seating space, where worshipers must pass around it as they enter. The Christians of the community may be reminded repeatedly of their own baptism through which they entered the Christian community.

The importance of the sacrament is emphasized if sufficient space is provided around the font, enabling part of the congregation to move in procession to it for the baptism. The rest of the congregation could still see, hear, and participate by standing and turning to face the baptistry. Movable seating would be a distinct advantage so that space could be opened up as needed. A baptistry located in this position does not compete with the pulpit and Table. It has its own appropriate space and is able to maintain its own distinct integrity. The relationship of baptism to the Eucharist and the reading and interpreting of Scripture is clearly seen. Baptism is recognized as the way we enter into that community where the Scripture and Eucharist mark the continuing style of the Christian life.

Some efforts have been made to locate the font in the center of the main aisle in the midst of the seating space. This may also symbolize entry into the community, but such an arrangement tends to be crowded and may unduly separate the seating areas. It also can accommodate only a few people at the font, unless movable seating can provide flexibility for baptismal occasions.

There have also been attempts to symbolize the entrance motif of the sacrament in front of the congregation. In these buildings, the font is the first liturgical center seen upon entering, even though the font is actually located in front of the people.

In one such building, the font is located near the pulpit and Table but is on an outside aisle leading from the entrance. It is directly visible as one enters the door from the narthex, since the doors open at the corner of the room. A small room above the aisle lowers the ceiling between the entrance and the baptistry, thereby leading one’s eye directly through an area of reduced light to the font which is bathed in light from a glass wall on the side of the nave. Neither the Lord’s Table nor the pulpit is visible from the entrance. They come into view as one enters the seating space. (This church, St. George, Rugby, England, is described, together with the plan, in J. G. Davies, The Architectural Setting of Baptism [London: Barrie Rockliff, 1962], 155. This book is particularly valuable in tracing the history of baptismal space and the ways the contemporary church is providing for baptism. It is well illustrated.)

Another example combines both the symbolism of entrance with baptism before the people by having an indirect path into the nave. “Along the route one passes a pair of glass doors which open on the baptismal font and allow a glimpse of the chancel area and worship space beyond the font.” (“An Inner City Mission Church,” Faith and Form 1, Special Issue, p. 19. It is a description of Emmanuel Presbyterian Church, Chicago, Illinois.) The font is associated thereby with the entrance, while still being located before the assembled congregation.

Together with the baptistry being located in an open space between the major door and the pews or at the entrance to the space occupied by the worshipers, these examples successfully combine the symbolism of entrance, while still providing an opportunity for the congregation to hear, see, and participate. If the font is to be located in relation to the pulpit and Table in a manner similar to these examples, it should not compete with the Lord’s Table and the pulpit. Each will have its own distinct space. The greater advantage may still be to locate the font away from the pulpit and Table releasing each liturgical center for its own unique action.

There is something to be said in favor of a baptistry in which one must step down into the font area. Stepping down symbolizes identification with Christ’s death and burial. Stepping upward after baptism symbolizes rising with Christ to newness of life. Where this is done, some sort of railing is needed for safety reasons. A paschal candle located in relationship to the baptistry is a reminder of baptismal resurrection. It is appropriate that the baptismal space have artistic beauty. Light streaming through colored glass could further symbolize new birth and new life. Provision for kneeling should be made for the baptism of older children and adults.

The font, set within its own unique space, should be of significant prominence, of ample size and visibility, denoting the importance of baptism. It should not resemble a Victorian birdbath in which the font is insignificant, and especially the kind in which a small glass dish is used in the rite.

The font should be made of stone, marble, ceramic, cement, or some other durable material that is not damaged by water drippings. Because wood is damaged by water, wooden fonts should be avoided. Carvings, relief design, mosaic, or other artistic expression may depict various aspects of the sacrament’s meaning.

The font should be convenient to use for adults, children, or infants. The basin portion should be a minimum of two feet in diameter, which will facilitate easily the pouring of water into it, the scooping of a generous amount of water out of it, and the dipping of an infant into it. (A noteworthy example is the font in St. Richard Church, Jackson, Mississippi, pictured in Frank Kacmarcik, “The Berakah Award for 1981,” Worship 55 [1981]: 377.)

An effective provision for baptism in one church is a large ceramic basin about two feet in diameter. The basin and a matching pitcher are placed on a table at the entrance to the worship space. There they remind the faithful of their own baptism as they enter. This arrangement provides flexibility in use, enabling a variety of locations for the baptismal action. The basin can be moved to the midst of the people for baptism, and then placed once more at the main door. The baptismal vessels should be prominent, in the direct path into the worship space, and thereby obvious to all who enter.

Since immersion is the most dramatic use of water in baptism, forcefully portraying our dying and rising with Christ, some congregations may want a font that is large enough for the immersion of an adult. It is important to keep in mind that a large font can accommodate a variety of modes of baptism, whereas a small font will allow only limited use of water and will be unduly confining.

The font should speak clearly that it is a receptacle for water. Water is clearly the important feature of large fonts and in fonts that are designed so that water recirculates. In this last font, water is seen and heard when entering worship, since it always contains live, running water symbolizing new life. To see and hear the baptismal water when one enters to worship is a reminder of our own baptism and all the meanings associated with it. (A fine example of such a font is in the United Methodist Church, St. Charles, Iowa, pictured in E. A. Sovik, Architecture for Worship, 94.) In small fonts, the font itself as a furnishing tends to become the focus rather than the water in it.

Aids for administering the sacrament would include an ewer, or pitcher, for pouring water into the font (if water is not in the font at all times) and a baptismal shell for use when pouring water over the head of the candidate. The ewer can also be used to pour water over the head of the candidate leaning over the font. The water, as it is poured, falls over the head and into the basin of the font. A generous amount of water should be used, so that it may be seen and heard. This sacrament calls for more than just a dampening of the forehead. The generous use of water will more clearly indicate that baptism is a washing. As a part of the baptistry, a ledge is desirable to accommodate the service book, ewer, shell, and towels.

Drama is heightened when parents, family, and friends form a procession to the font for the baptism and stand with the ones being baptized. If water is not in the font at all times, it may be poured into the font during the rite, immediately prior to the prayer preceding the actual baptism. (Suggestions for baptismal practice are developed in Harold M. Daniels, “Celebrating Baptism,” in Worship in the Community of Faith, ed. by Harold M. Daniels [Louisville: The Joint Office of Worship, 1982].)

The importance of baptism will be more readily recognized when it has its own space with a font of significant proportion and design is celebrated in a liturgy that is sensory in character and unfolds baptism’s manifold meanings.

The Lord’s Table

The Lord’s Table, set in the midst of the assembled congregation, visually symbolizes week by week the presence of Christ in the midst of the faith community. This symbol of Christ’s presence also speaks of the community that Christ inaugurated, which gathers around the Table on each Lord’s day. E. A. Sovik points out that the Communion table is the symbol of the family of Christians, just as the dining table is our strongest symbol of being one when we are gathered at mealtime at home. The meal we have together around the Communion table provides us with our strongest sense of unity as the family of the Lord. (E. A. Sovik, “A Portfolio of Reflections on the Design of Northfield Methodist Church,” Your Church 13 [Sept.–Oct., 1967]: 53-54.)

The Table should be free-standing, enabling the celebrant to officiate from behind it. Reformed Christians have insisted upon the fact that the Communion table is a table and not an altar. It should, therefore, look like a table, preferably with central support and with a top that extends well over the edges of the support to assure the graceful draping of the linen. The top needs to provide adequate space for all of the Communion vessels and the service book. The length and width ought to be in proportion to the area in which it is located. Six to eight feet long is probably ample; the standard height is from 36 to 42 inches. It should be constructed as perfectly as possible from the finest materials.

It is desirable for the Table to be movable. This would make possible varying placements of the Table in celebrating the Lord’s Supper and would be adaptable to different circumstances and occasions.

Art used in the Table and in its environs should enhance the sacramental action, ensuring that the artistry does not detract from the action. Artistic Communion vessels can convey the importance to the occasion and enhance a sense of the holy. The Table and its setting should foster a joyous, festive spirit, for the Eucharist is “the joyous feast of the people of God.”

The Table needs to stand in equal prominence to the pulpit. When constructed of the same material and design as the pulpit, it will imply the unity of the Word in Scripture with the Word in the sacrament. If placed in the center of light concentration, it will help focus the attention of the people. However, the lighting should not isolate the Table from the congregation.

The Table should be fully visible to the congregation at all times. In many churches built about the turn of the twentieth century, the Communion table lacks prominence. When the Table is placed on the floor in front of the pulpit, one is aware of it only when walking down the center aisle. Too often it is the place to put flowers and offering plates, obscuring its purpose.

When raised on a low platform, the Communion table can be seen over the heads of the congregation. One step ordinarily suffices, especially if the congregation is seated in a semicircular configuration around the Table, rather than in a long narrow nave. Certainly, no more than three steps are needed, not raising it to a point that it is isolated from the people, thereby making it a “holy island.” If more than one step is used, they should be broad, inviting easy access. If the design features the pulpit, Table, and font across the front of the room, the steps ought to extend from wall to wall. If the Table is extended into the midst of the people, the steps should surround the platform on three sides.

It should be self-evident that the Table is the Table of the congregation. It must be accessible with no rail separating it from the people. The Table should not appear to be set on a stage but impress the congregation by standing in its midst. Obviously, identification with the Table is much more readily achieved if it is central, with the congregation sitting around it. This conveys a sense of involvement in the action of the Supper. The pastor celebrating from behind the Table is a reminder that the Lord is in the midst of the congregation. Generous space around the Table will facilitate freedom of movement on all sides. The people must be so related to the Table that there is a rapport with the celebrant, but not so close that the space about it becomes crowded.

It is preferable that the people receive the sacrament at the Table rather than merely being in its presence. To receive the sacrament at the Table involves one’s choosing to take the bread and wine, rather than being passively served. In standing around the Table people more readily sense their place within the family of God.

The manner in which the Lord’s Table is used should clearly speak of the character of the sacrament. Therefore, only those articles used in the eucharistic liturgy—the Communion vessels with the bread and wine, and the service book—should be placed on the Table. Whenever such things as flowers, a cross, and a large, open Bible are placed on the Table, making it a shrine to focus the attention of the congregation, the primacy of the Supper is dissipated. Candles may be set on stands around the Table. Flowers may be placed elsewhere in stands. A cross may be located on the wall behind the Table or suspended above the Table. The Bible should be associated with the pulpit where it is read and interpreted.

Offering plates should have their own place apart from the Table. To place them on the Table confuses the nature of the sacrament. The sacrament should speak clearly that God’s grace is prior to our response, that it is God who takes the initiative. It is therefore preferable that another place other than the Table be provided for the offering, such as a credence Table or a shelf near the Table.

It is appropriate that the Lord’s Table be used for all portions of the service, except the reading and interpretation of Scripture. This was Calvin’s practice. The Table is a more appropriate place for prayer than the pulpit, the place of proclamation. An alternate possibility is to lead the confession of sin and the prayers of the people in the midst of the congregation. Such practice clearly conveys that these are the people’s prayers.

The Lord’s Table should be treated with the respect entitled it. Although we do not make it a fetish or place it under a taboo, we do expect that the Table be respected. It ought not be a place for coats or piles of music during choir rehearsal, a convenience to Sunday School teachers for their lesson materials, a countertop for ushers to count the offering, or a station for tellers to count ballots. It is true that it is only a table, but it is the appointed place to set forth the clear sign of God’s grace-filled acts. Respect for the place of sacramental activity naturally flows from a deep appreciation of the significance of the sacrament itself, for which it is the sign. The Lord’s Table will stand in our midst as a clear sign of God’s presence only when it is allowed to express simply, clearly, and without ambiguity the Supper, which is central to the life of worship.

Summary

The reading and interpretation of Scripture, baptism, and the Lord’s Supper are the indispensable actions of Christian liturgy. Around these three actions, the church orders its prayer and praise. Since each action is central to the church’s life, the pulpit, font, and Table are to be given prominence. In order for the essential character of Christian worship to be clearly seen, without distortion or ambiguity, each center is to be designed with great care. Each needs its own separate and uncrowded space. No single center should dominate, deny, or distort the significance of the others. The locations ought to express both the distinctiveness of each as well as their unity and interdependence. The space for worship should clearly say that it is through baptism that one enters the community, which is continuously nourished by Scripture and Eucharist.

More than anything else about a building, these three liturgical centers aid in our growth in Christ and help root us in the essentials of the faith. As parts of the actions they enable, these centers can assist us to understand the meaning of the gospel, to shape us into a Christian community, and to keep before us the essential character of Christian worship. They can do this only when they are carefully designed, shaped by the liturgical action, informed by solid theology, and in continuity with historical tradition.