Eucharistic Faith and the Design of Churches

by Randall B. Smith, appearing in Volume 45

Some readers may have noticed that the Catholic Church has been striving the past few years to restore belief in the real presence of Christ in the Eucharist. This catechetical effort arose because a 2019 Pew survey suggested that only a third of Catholics believe (or understand) what the Church teaches about the Eucharist: namely, that Christ is “really present” in the Eucharist—as present as he was to Mary and Joseph at his birth, and as present as he was to the eleven in the upper room after he rose from the dead, when they touched him and ate with him.

The results of the Pew survey spurred the bishops of the United States to launch a three-year National Eucharistic Revival. Readers may have seen—some may have even participated in—one or more of the Eucharistic processions that have become more frequent. There have also been numerous catechetical efforts to teach or reacquaint the faithful with what the Church believes is true of the Eucharist. This, to my mind, is all to the good.

But I would like to make another modest suggestion. There are few ways of imparting the faith better than a good liturgy, done well, in a well-designed church. For many Eastern rite Catholics, the liturgy is their main source of religious instruction. And when it comes to the Eucharist, we might say the same thing about it that people would say about the difference between reading a book about pottery versus actually making a pot on a potter’s wheel. It is one thing to read a book or an article about the Eucharist, but it is another thing altogether to see it, be present to it, and actually participate in the celebration. If the pottery analogy doesn’t quite bring the difference home to you, change it this way: It is one thing to read about dinosaurs; it would be another thing altogether to see one, be in its presence, and have it eyeing you hungrily.

The Christian faith is fundamentally incarnational, which means it is fundamentally sacramental. On this view, all of creation is meant to be understood as an embodiment and instrument of God’s grace and God’s love. Liturgy is a gift, a special embodiment and expression of God’s loving sacrifice in Christ in which we are allowed to participate. And thus, as everyone who studies liturgy will tell you, the bodily elements are important: the sights, the sounds, the way your body is oriented. All these elements are, or are meant to be, significant. They teach. They are, or should be, meaningful embodiments of the sacrificial act in which we are privileged to participate.

So, what about the Eucharist? Well, the first bit of advice would be, if we want the faithful to appreciate the Eucharist, we need celebrate the Mass reverently and well. No one will believe that the Eucharist is the actual body and blood of Christ if the priest carries it around like he was carrying a glass of wine or a plate of cheese cubes at an evening cocktail party.

But there is something else one might recommend, something more concrete: namely, a return to the use of the altar rail. I have had several priests tell me that they observe much more respect toward the Eucharist when they give people the Eucharist kneeling at an altar rail as opposed to standing in front of them as the next person in line. Those of us who write and think about theology can say: “But shouldn’t it be the same?” When you talk to people who actually do it, you find that it is not. This really should be no surprise. How we orient ourselves at Mass makes a difference. When the faithful kneel at the altar rail as though they were kneeling before the altar itself, it teaches them something about what the Eucharist is: namely, their participation in Christ’s loving sacrifice on the cross. When they receive it standing in line like they were waiting to get their hand stamped to go into the bar—Body of Christ, next; Body of Christ, next—then it communicates something very different. One thing it communicates is a lack of seriousness.

I am an adult convert, so I have rarely had the pleasure of taking communion at an altar rail until recently. But when I have that privilege, I always find it peaceful. When I got married, my wife had also not been Catholic for long, and in those early days, we went to a beautiful Anglican Use Catholic parish in Houston, Texas, called Our Lady of Walsingham, where there is a lovely altar rail with beautiful kneeler cushions handstitched by members of the congregation. On one of these early days, my wife came back from communion, knelt down next to me in the pew, and whispered: “That altar rail thing; that’s a really good idea. They should let other churches know about that!”

What to say? I whispered back, “Well, all Catholic churches used to have them, but they took them out.” “What? Why?” she gasped. “They thought it would be better,” I murmured. Remember, this was during communion, so I was trying to be quiet and concise. “But it’s not better,” said my wife, somewhat perturbed in that way people are when they hear something that makes no sense. “It’s a lot worse.”

Yes, well, how do you “explain” the madness that tears out a perfectly good thing that works perfectly well and is perfectly lovely in order to replace it with the here-you-go-now-step-over-there automatic Eucharist machine? It is like tearing out a lovely wood-paneled dining room to replace it with a wall of those grab-n-go metallic food dispensers. “Here’s your piece of cherry pie in cellophane, now please step aside so the next person can get their chicken salad.”

I am aware of the potential drawback with altar rails; or at least, it is a problem people say will occur with altar rails. What about the elderly and those who have trouble kneeling? In every parish I have attended in which they use the altar rail, this was never a problem. Those who could not kneel simply stood in the center and were given the Eucharist standing. Those who couldn’t make their way up front were given the Eucharist in their pew, which is no different from the way this has been done for generations.

The complaint that there would be a problem for the elderly is a false problem used to mask what is essentially a liturgical ideology: the belief that kneeling is too—what?—subservient, submissive, obsequious. I never have that sense when I kneel at the altar rail to receive communion. Instead, I am grateful for the time to rest and pray for a moment and prepare myself before the priest comes down the line to me. It provides several moments of peace in what can seem like a rush to get finished with the whole “giving out communion” business. I have no more desire to lengthen Mass than anyone else. But allowing people a few extra moments to compose themselves before receiving communion is not the thing that makes Mass too long.

I don’t know better than anyone else what magic formula to use to inspire a new respect for and faith in the real presence of Christ in the Eucharist. But I am a fan of that old saying, “You can’t keep doing the same thing and expect different results.”

Here is my modest proposal: ever since churches tore out their altar rails, white-washed their walls, and dumbed down their liturgies, the understanding of the faith has diminished and faith in the real presence in the Eucharist has disappeared. Why not try this? Put the altar rails back, re-beautify the churches, and make sure the liturgy is done reverently. And then just see whether some of that lost sense of the Eucharist returns.

As a person who writes about theology, my tendency is always to use more words. But even I know that sometimes, a lot of times, it is what is communicated non-verbally that is most important. My experience has been in both universities and churches that people will act in ways suggested to them by their surroundings. Put them in a glass booth that looks like a modern office conference room, and their attention wanes just like the attention of most people does in office conferences. Put them in a beautiful wood-paneled room reminiscent of an Oxford University hall, and they perk up. They live up to their surroundings because their surroundings communicate to them how they should act.

Put a congregation in a building that looks like a shopping mall or a modern theater with art that looks like it was done by children or for children, and it will communicate to them that what happens at Mass is for children. Just don’t be surprised if the adults walk away, which they have been doing, in droves.

People who haven’t been to Mass in years will visit Saint Peter’s in Rome, Chartres Cathedral in France, or Sagrada Família in Barcelona. They are drawn to the beauty. Even devoted atheists will visit such places. It is hard to imagine a more secularist culture than the one in France. And yet the country, and people around the world, wept when the Cathedral of Notre- Dame burned and were willing to send millions to see it restored to its former beauty. Proposals to “modernize” its exterior look were firmly and widely rejected.

What can we say? When it comes to churches, try beauty—again. It worked for generations. It might just work now. There is no “silver bullet” that will solve the problem. But perhaps in addition to all the talk and all the writing and all the internet and social media outreach, we might just try this one concrete change. If, as a bishop, you want to revivify Eucharistic piety and impart to people once again how important the Church’s Eucharistic faith is, a simple first step might be to consider restoring some well-designed, beautiful altar rails in churches. Tearing them out wasn’t such a great idea. Putting them back can’t hurt.