CHAPTER 29
Church Architecture Worldwide since 1800

David R. Bains

Church architecture encompasses Christian worship spaces of all descriptions from colossal cathedrals to simple shelters to living rooms in which house churches meet. In creating church architecture, Christians seek to create three things, signs of their presence, symbols of their faith, and environments for worship. How they think these things should be created varies widely. As signs, symbols, and environments, church buildings aim to shape the relationships among Christians, between Christians and their societies, and between Christians and God. Thus the erection of each space for worship involves a judgment about the goals of worship, the nature of God, and the place of the Christian community in its world.

For these reasons, church architecture has varied dramatically around the world over the past two centuries. As the Christian faith has taken root in new environments, Christians have wrestled with contextualization, that is whether and how church buildings should appropriate local architectural forms, particularly those associated with other religions. As various movements have changed worship practices, they have challenged customary spatial arrangements. As modern building technologies and architectural styles evolved, Christians in all regions have been forced to revisit the question of contextualization, asking themselves again what is the proper appearance of a church. To explore these issues, this essay first considers fundamental approaches to understanding church architecture, second it reviews major movements that have reshaped Christian worship, and lastly it surveys how church buildings have responded to these developments and to the varied contexts in which Christians live.

Temple and Meetinghouse

Christians commonly appeal to two biblical models in thinking about the space for worship. The first is the house of God or the temple. The Jerusalem Temple described in the Bible is a model for holy places designed and set apart to awaken in worshippers a sense of awe, wonder, and reverence. They, like the biblical temple, are often understood to be a place in which God is uniquely present, whether in the Blessed Sacrament, the praise of the community, or the architecture itself. To reflect this idea in the Eastern Orthodox tradition “temple,” rather than “church,” is a preferred term for a house of worship. According to the New Testament, early Christian meetings, however, often took place in everyday places, most commonly homes. These houses simply served as convenient spaces for the gathering of the community. Therefore a “house for the people of God,” or a “meetinghouse” is another common model. Such spaces are erected and arranged pragmatically as best suits the activities of the community. Sometimes proponents of the meetinghouse explicitly reject the idea that there is anything special about the space. God cannot be localized, he is found equally everywhere.

As part of its Restorationist faith, the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints (LDS) erects both temples and meetinghouses. LDS meetinghouses are places of weekly worship that are numerous and usually of only modest architectural distinction. Non-church members may freely attend them. LDS temples, however, are dedicated holy places, restricted to church members in good standing for engaging in special rites by which they commune with God. They are always more richly decorated than meetinghouses and make a greater claim on the landscape, often dramatically so as with the six spires of the Washington, DC (1974), and Johannesburg, South Africa (1985), temples.

In approaching most other traditions, however, the concepts of temple and meetinghouse are useful not as hard distinctions, but as ideal types. For most Christians churches are in part places for Christians to meet together for instruction, prayer, and praise, and places which they find to some degree to be “special” or even “holy.” The Roman Catholic and Eastern Orthodox churches have traditionally embraced the idea that the church and its furnishings function as holy signs of God. Many Protestants on the other hand, have often explicitly rejected such ideas even as they have taken care to see that the worship space is a beautiful one, that will both attract worshippers and show respect for God.

In contrast, many Christian groups own no property used only for worship. They worship in provisional spaces, including rented theaters and halls, restaurants, homes, fields, forests, and workplaces. Often this is out of necessity because of limited financial resources or due to governmental or social restriction as with some house churches in China. Other times, it is because of a self-conscious choice to follow the example of New Testament churches in order to maintain close communal bonds, authenticity, and mission mindedness. Whatever the motivation, in such cases the degree of informality and intimacy among worshippers is often greater than in purpose-built churches. Circular arrangements of worshippers in homes often encourage this sense of community. Yet, more hierarchical or oriented arrangements also occur in these settings.

Provisional or simple worship spaces play a pivotal role in Christianity (see Figure 29.1). One such place is Pondok Kemuliaan, the “Glory Hut” in Hawaii, and Papua, on the island of New Guinea in Indonesia. The form of this house of worship is similar to the indigenous huts of the surrounding region, only larger. The floor is dirt, the walls are defined by palm leaves that extend about five feet above the ground, but then are open to a corrugated metal roof that spans an area for 600 worshippers. A platform at the front of the church provides a place for worship leaders. Like many simple or provisional spaces, the architecture of the Glory Hut is valued for its openness and accessibility. The congregation frequently worships in other settings as well, including parks, dirt lots, and open fields (Farhadian 2007: 179–180).

Scholarly Approaches to Church Architecture

Studies of meetinghouses are not common because church buildings that are closer to the temple ideal have tended to receive more scholarly attention from both architectural historians and liturgical scholars. Architectural historians focus on how churches fit into broader movements of architecture and on the manner in which architects use available material to shape space, particularly in creating a temple-like spiritual atmosphere. They are especially attentive to monumental or path breaking buildings that are often far from typical. Often the inventive churches that receive the most attention are not for regular congregations, but instead are cathedrals or chapels for schools, retreat centers, monastic communities, or a scenic location. Scholars of religion are more likely to be interested in representative structures, but they have frequently focused on those Christian groups, such as Catholics and Anglicans, that explicitly see worship space as important, usually for its temple-like functions. This trend, however, is gradually changing (Buggeln 2003; Kilde 2002; Yates 2009).

To understand the different ways that church buildings function for Christians it is useful to use the four-fold scheme of Richard Kieckhefer (2004). Since a church is built to facilitate the activity of worship, he suggests that it should be considered in terms of its centering focus and its spatial dynamics, that is, the configuration of its various spaces and how they are used in worship. Since church architecture creates a suggestive atmosphere, it also must be considered in terms of its immediate aesthetic impact on worshippers, and lastly in terms of its symbolic resonance, that is the gradual accumulations of impressions that a church develops in worshippers over time. All of these categories, but particularly the latter two, are shaped by individuals’ frames of reference. While universal features of human experience may give certain spatial features common associations for all people, much depends on the social structures, customs, and cultures of particular communities, as well as on the individual’s experience.

In terms of the basic spatial dynamics and centering focuses of churches, three basic arrangements existed after the Reformation. In Orthodox churches, an icon screen, frequently in the form of a high wall separated the altar area from the congregational area, though clergy moved through the congregation several times during the liturgy. In Roman Catholic churches, the longitudinal arrangement of the ancient basilica endured as a central aisle leading worshippers forward to the altar with its reredos and tabernacle. This focal point was always ornate by local standards and clearly visible to the congregation, making the church well understood as God’s throne room. Pulpits were often high and prominent, but clearly subordinate to the altar (White 2003). In Protestant churches the focus was a high pulpit that emphasized the authority of the minister and assisted in the audibility of the sermon. Prior to the nineteenth century, the altar was rarely more prominent than the pulpit, even in Anglican churches.

Reform Movements in Christian Worship

In the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, three widespread movements substantially reshaped the spatial arrangement of churches. First, the Gothic revival brought a new internal arrangement to Anglican churches and soon to many Protestant and Catholic ones as well. Inspired by medieval churches, especially cathedrals, the altar was the centering focus of these churches, but was set further back from the congregation than in early modern Catholic ones. Choirs and clergy were seated between the nave and the altar. Pulpit and lectern flanked the steps up into the choir, creating a more complex internal space than characteristic of either Protestant or Catholic churches of the early modern period (Yates 1991; 2008). By the end of the century, this arrangement would come to be found in churches of many styles and denominations from the Gothic Scottish Presbyterian St. Andrew’s Kirk in Buenos Aires, Argentina (1896), to the Ganghwa Anglican Church in Korea (1890).

Also in the nineteenth century, the evangelical emphasis on communal worship, personal witness, congregational equality, and emotional preaching led many Protestants to reject high pulpits and longitudinal spaces and build instead central-plan auditorium churches that arranged the congregation in a semicircle around an open platform from which various speakers and signers could be heard. This enabled worshippers to see one another, breaking down hierarchical order and increasing a sense of social equality and responsibility. The emphasis on technological innovation, artistic quality, and comfort in such churches also reflected evangelical emphasis on evangelism and upward economic mobility (Kilde 2002).

In the twentieth century, the Liturgical Movement brought a third logic to the reordering of Catholic, Protestant, and even Orthodox space. The movement focused on the Greek roots of the word “liturgy,” namely “work” and “people,” to emphasize that Christian public worship, particularly the celebration of the eucharist, was not the action of the clergy alone, but, rather, a joint activity in which clergy and people both took an active part. Spatially, this suggested that the altar table needed to be central and that the hierarchical separation between clergy and people characteristic of both early modern and Gothic revival arrangements needed to be abandoned. This movement had significant influence in a few places among both Catholics and Protestants prior to the Second Vatican Council (1962–1965). Worshippers were arranged on three or more sides of the altar, for example, in the Catholic parish church at Ringenberg, Germany (1935–1936), the Chapel of the Holy Sacrifice at the University of the Philippines, Quezon City (1955), and the Abbey Church at St. John’s University in Minnesota (1958–1961) (Torgerson 2007: 105–110, 121–124).

The Vatican Council’s Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy (1963) marked a major turning point for the influence of the movement among both Catholics and other Christians. In the constitution or the directives that implemented it, priests were instructed to celebrate mass facing the people over a freestanding altar. The idea of the congregation being arranged around the altar was generally encouraged. Equally importantly, the tabernacle containing the consecrated host was removed from the eucharistic altar to a separate location. The council’s teaching that Christ is present at the mass not only in the sacrament, but in the word proclaimed, the priest, and the people led to more multifocal worship spaces. Moreover, the emphasis on lay participation in the liturgy led to the near universal use of vernacular languages in Catholic worship and a general emphasis on inculturation, the adaption of worship including architecture, to local cultures.

Classical Tradition

Prior to 1800, this contextualization of church architecture outside of Europe had happened only to a limited degree. The history of Christian architecture in the preceding three centuries was shaped by various forms of classical architecture that had developed from the Renaissance. Roman Catholic churches in Latin America, India, the Philippines, as well as in Europe adopted and transformed Classical and Baroque idioms. Local building materials and techniques were often used, but the basic form and aesthetic impact usually aspired to be the same. In some areas, including Goa and Mexico, interactions with local cultures produced distinct architectural styles that later became a source of pride and regional identity (Gomes 2011). Among Protestants neo-Classical designs were most popular. James Gibbs’s Church of St. Martin-in-the-Fields in London, England (1722–1724), became a prototype for many Protestant churches throughout the British Empire including St. Andrew’s Church of Scotland in Kolkata (Calcutta), India (1815–1888). The central feature of these Protestant churches was typically a high central pulpit, though many were later altered to reflect the influence of the auditorium church or the Liturgical Movement.

Gothic Revival

In the early nineteenth-century, the Gothic Revival emerged as a significant challenge to the classical tradition. In contrast to classicalism, it emphasized tradition, organic development, and mystery. The Catholic architect A. W. N. Pugin and the high church Anglicans associated with the Ecclesiological Society insisted that medieval forms were the only legitimate sources for church buildings. They regarded proper church architecture as a witness for the Christian faith, a missionary style of architecture that impressed the Christian faith directly on the heart of the observer. Fundamental to these Gothicists’ vision was truth in architecture. The outward structure of the building should reveal its various internal spaces, such as nave and sanctuary. Likewise the structure should be revealed, it may be adorned by decoration, but never hidden by it. The church building itself was regarded as playing a sacramental role. True architecture, along with spires and pointed arches as symbols of aspiration and the resurrection, was a beacon of true religion and of a harmonious, well-ordered society. Most importantly Gothic was a sign of a denomination’s claim to be a true form of the church of Christ, in continuity with the ancient past. Anglicans erected Gothic revival cathedrals with deep altar-centered chancels throughout the British Empire and beyond as signs of their apostolicity, their legitimacy as the true church, independent of the state and of the church of Rome. This did not always mean the slavish imitation of buildings designed for northern Europe in other climates (see Figure 29.2). For All Saints’ Cathedral (1870–87) in Allahabad, India, architect William Emerson used small windows, deep eaves, and thick walls to create a church that remains cool in its hot climate (Bremner 2013: 139–141).

Image described by surrounding text. — **Figure 29.2** All Saints’ Cathedral Allahabad..

*Source:* © awesomeaki/Getty Images

Catholics did not embrace Gothic as exclusively, but spurred in part by the effort to complete the medieval Cologne Cathedral (1842–1880) in Germany, they erected many Gothic churches of their own around the world including San Sebastian in Manila, Philippines (1888–1891), and San Ildefonso in Buenos Aires, Argentina (1892–1893). Protestant congregations also employed Gothic styles for many liturgical arrangements including auditorium churches such as First Congregational Church, Portland, Oregon (1889–1895).

Gothic was far from the only revival style used to connect churches to a historic past. Its most prominent rival was the Romanesque or Rundbogenstil (“round-arch style”). Based on early medieval or late antique buildings, the style was understood by some as representing a universal non-sectarian Christian ideal that would transcend the division between Protestants and Catholics. Among its promoters was Heinrich Hübsch whose Church of St. Cyriakus at Bulach, Germany (1834–1837), was an early manifestation of the movement (Curran 2003). For others the style simply offered non-Gothic medieval associations that were useful in differentiating a congregation from the Catholic or Anglican identity with which the Gothic was associated in many areas. Also, as H.H. Richardson showed with his Trinity Church (Episcopal), Boston, Massachusetts (1872–1877), the round-arch form was adaptable to the central plan churches often favored by Protestants for their word-centered services. The Roman Catholic Jeondong Cathedral in Jeonju, Korea (1908–1914), is a striking example of the style’s monumental presence outside of the West (see Figure 29.3).

While in most ways the Gothic revival ended with World War II, Gothic arches and details continue to function as signs of a commanding Christian presence. In contemporary China, many churches incorporate Gothic elements. The Xianjiang Church and the Mayu Church in Ruian City both incorporate pointed Gothic windows and small spires with a central multi-level domed tower that suggests a Chinese pagoda (Takenaka 1995). In Wenzhou, touted by local Christian entrepreneurs as “China’s Jerusalem,” evangelical congregations competing with each other to erect large prominent churches have often patterned their exteriors on European Gothic churches. Their towering auditorium churches incorporating Gothic elements and giant red crosses are landmarks in the city (Cao 2010).

The Gothic, in its various forms, often served as a marker of national and imperial identity, yet because of the influence of Gothicists on organic development, national styles, truthful architecture, and the use of local materials, the Gothic also paved the ways for efforts to incorporate local architectural forms into churches. One striking aspect of this in the nineteenth century were the whare karakia, or “houses of prayer” erected by Maori in New Zealand. These Anglican churches were fashioned by Maori craftsmen in the form of the traditional whare or house where a massive ridge pole was supported by two or more poles along the central axis of the building. In addition to simple pointed Gothic windows, some whare karakia were richly decorated with Maori carvings. While Anglicans missionaries did not allow figure forms recognized as humans or animals, they did permit the more abstract mania, a traditional device which had spiritual significance among the Maori (Sundt 2010: 140–143).

Intentional Contextualization

Intentional efforts to contextualize Christian architecture through the adoption of indigenous forms of architecture often involved complex debates about the identity of Christians and of nations. Perhaps nowhere were the dilemmas of inculturation more evident than in India. The British Raj built many monumental churches in the classical and medieval traditions of Europe which were clear symbols of empire. The utilization of indigenous styles of architecture seemed to many to be a necessary response, especially given the importance of place, space, and visual culture in South Asian spiritualties. Yet the existence of the caste system within traditional Hinduism meant that many traditional temple forms were signs of exclusion or domination to dalit and tribal peoples. For these reasons, inculturation was both an imperative and, at first glance, almost an impossibility.

One early intentional effort by Indian Christians to express their faith in architecture was the Anglican Cathedral of the Epiphany erected at Dornakal, Andhra Pradesh, by Bishop Vedanayagam Samuel Azariah in 1939. He mixed Islamic and Hindu motifs to assert that conversion to Christianity did not mean the loss of Indian identity (Sahi 1998: 142–144). In several other cases, a common form of a South Indian Hindu temple was adapted for Christian worship. One of the first of these was the jeyabalam, or prayer hall, at the Christukula Ashram at Triupattur in Tamil Nadu (1925–1933). The worship space was an open colonnaded hall, with gopruams, or monumental towers, marking both its entrance and the alcove that served as its centering focus. This alcove was reminiscent of the womb-house found in the inner sanctum of a Hindu temple, but rather than containing an image, it was empty. This basic approach was employed by Joseph John, a Church of South India pastor in several churches he commissioned in the 1950s and 1960s. Working after Vatican II, the Belgian priest James Tombeur also employed the same basic approach but with a more nuanced approach to regional styles in the churches he commissioned in the Kotar diocese. In most of these Catholic structures, the womb-house served as the place for the sacrament house, while in similar Protestant ones the womb-house or niche was empty and sometimes quite small (Takenaka 1995: 38–39; Collins 2007: 124–128). The use of the towering gopruam connects to Hindu understandings of the temple as the mountain of God, an understanding with strong parallels in the Bible if not in Christian liturgical practice.

While these churches could be seen as impressive achievements in inculturation, Dalit peoples have historically been denied access to the Hindu temples that serve as their prototypes. Sometimes Dalits have accepted these attempts at inculturation as symbols of the divisions that do not exist in Christianity. In other cases, however, these efforts are now rejected by Adivasi and Dalit peoples who look to other structures that draw on traditional tribal structures or incorporate imagery from biblical stories of liberation like the exodus (Sahi 1998: 159–178).

As at Triupattur in India, often the most extensive efforts at inculturation before Vatican II took place in special situations such as colleges, retreat centers, or as part of an estate or planned community overseen by idealistic patrons. This last was the case on the island of Java in Indonesia where in 1924 Joseph Janz Schmutzer commissioned for his sugar plantation in Ganjuran a church in the form of a traditional Javanese house with a high roof, an open colonnade for walls, and traditional carvings throughout. He followed this in 1930 with a chapel in the form of a Hindu temple enshrining a statue of the Sacred Heart of Jesus (Küster, Steenbrink, and Sudhiarsa 2008: 927–930).

Protestant churches in Indonesia were initially more resistant to contextualization, but today there are several churches that follow similar patterns. One is the church at Blimbingsari on Bali (1976–1981). Built of wood and concrete, the worship space has a high roof and is open on all sides like a traditional Balinese structure. Worshipers face the pulpit and communion table but look beyond it to a spring and tropical garden. The raised site of the church and its high roof evokes a mountain, a traditional site of holiness on Bali, as in the Bible. The open walls of the church and the garden beyond it are far more suggestive of reverence, spirituality, and Balinese culture than the stone and wood structure that preceded it. Worshipers approach this church through a split gate such as is common at Balinese Hindu temples. This split gate has become common in many Christian churches on the island (Takenaka 1995: 102–103).

Early efforts at contextualization in East Asia include the 1893 Kanghwa Anglican Church in Korea which borrows the form of a Confucian temple, the Jeushi Christian Church in Shantou, China, which incorporates elements of an ancient Chinese palace, and the 1930 Episcopal Christ Church in Nara, Japan, which incorporates traditional Japanese roof lines and wooden paneling. Such efforts were not always the product of eager contextualization– a Gothic proposal for the Nara church was rejected by Japanese officials, while another proposal was rejected by missionaries as too Japanese (Fleming 1937; Takenaka 1995).

In Africa, some of the most significant efforts at the contextualization of worship space have not involved buildings, but other special spaces. For example, among many Zionist groups in southern Africa worship takes place outside, perhaps under a tree. No shelter is built, but the worship space is sometimes set apart by boundary stones, and worshippers, often dressed in ceremonial attire, must pass by prophets who form the “gates” into the holy area and encourage worshippers to confess their sins (Daneel 2007: 50–53). Similarly in Madgascar, Catholic priests found it necessary to alter the usual practice of having young altar boys sit with them. In this culture elders sit on the opposite side of the room from boys, accordingly the priest seemed foolish in the eyes of the community leaders if he sat with young boys. So instead elders were seated with the priest (Giraudo 1994).

Other significant efforts at contextualization in Africa involve various forms of the traditional hut. Mityana Catholic Cathedral in Uganda (1972) designed by Swiss architect Justus Dahinden replaces the traditional bell tower with a drum tower and evokes a traditional Bantu structure with its three spherical segments that honor three Ugandan martyrs (Heathcote and Spens 1997: 91–93). Dahinden’s Uganda Martyrs’ Shrine in Namugongo (1973) is a conical building evoking an African hut with an exposed copper structure but an interior paneled in wood and glass. The round church with the altar in the center reflects both the ideology of the liturgical movement and traditional African practice.

Modernism and Contextualization

As Dahinden’s Ugandan churches suggest, contextualization is not unrelated to architectural modernism, especially in modernism’s more expressionist manifestations. Architecturally, modernists sought to dispense with adherence to historic styles and instead craft spaces shaped by the structural materials being used: frequently modern ones such as steel, concrete, glass, and laminated wood. A key dictum of modernism, was Louis Sullivan’s “form ever follows function.” The question before modernist church architects, however, was what is the function of a church. Is it creating a spiritual emotion, communicating a sense of the divine, claiming a prominent place for the church in the landscape, or serving the action of communal Christian worship? Some modernists taking the liturgy as their guide insisted with German architect Rudolf Schwartz that architecture was solely generated from the liturgy. He termed this “sacred objectivity.” It was through this emphasis on eucharistic action, as well as an orientation to what the council fathers later called the “noble simplicity” of the liturgy that the liturgical movement became closely allied to modernism. Buildings such as Schwartz’s Corpus Christi Church in Aachen (1930) spurned ornament in order to reveal the action of the eucharist. While this and other modernist churches made substantial claims on the landscape, other architects and theologians such as E. A. Sövik sided firmly with the meetinghouse tradition in erecting buildings that were “non-churches” because they existed solely to serve the liturgy, not to enshrine God or to claim civic space for the church (Torgerson 2007).

Others such as Le Corbusier embraced an expressionist approach where the architecture was a form of sculpture suggesting ideas and explicitly seeking to create a certain atmosphere (Heathcote and Spens 1997: 46). Architectural forms could even themselves use modern building techniques to make themselves into intricate symbols. The chapel of the Trinity Theological College in Singapore (1969), for example, features a sharply rising roofline that at first glance looks like a postmodern tribute to Gothic because of its asymmetrical character and open top. It is intended, however, as the two strokes of the Chinese character for human (ren). Yet, unlike the character, the strokes do not meet but are intersected by the cross, emphasizing the continuing search for God and the centrality of the gospel (Takenaka 1995, 98–99). Such symbolic sculpture-shaped buildings were common in the 1960s, but rarely so tied to language and allegory.

Japanese churches by architect Tadao Ando point to the fact that contextualization does not always mean the embrace of traditional forms, but, rather, of the sense of sacred space characteristic of a culture. The Church of the Light in Ibaraki (1989) and the Church on the Water in Hokkaido (1988) both use simple modern forms to create a strikingly serene spiritual space, though through different means. Like many traditional Japanese structures, these churches have clearly defined boundaries, they are not open to the world, yet through simple forms they draw out the essential nature of a space and connect to the environment. The concrete structure of the Church of the Light orients the congregation toward a thin window cross that completely cuts through the wall, making the natural light that comes through this most universal of Christian symbols a primary source of illumination for the church. The Church on the Water is part of a resort that caters to weddings. It orients worshippers to a glass wall through which they see a cross emerging from the water in front of a scenic landscape. Often the most striking church buildings are for such scenic chapels where the architect has free rein to create an environment without the limitations imposed by the location and needs of a regular congregation. The Church of the Light, however, serves a local congregation on a tight urban site. (Heathcote and Spens 1997: 128–137).

Contrasting to Ando’s chapels, but perhaps equally successful in contextualizing Christianity in the contemporary landscape are triumphal cathedrals on large urban sites such as Oscar Niemeyer’s Cathedral for Brazil’s planned capital city, Brasilia (1958–1970). Beneath its soaring crown of architectural ribs, it creates a large circular space. While the altar is not in the center of the circle, it nonetheless seeks to break down division between clergy and people, by placing the altar platform on the edge of the circle and assembling the congregation under the vast canopy of colored glass. A similar arrangement is used in the Cathedral of Christ the Light in Oakland, California (2005–2008), though the Gothic arch which frames the entrance and the mammoth traditional image of Christ over the altar gesture in a more traditional direction.

Monumental Mega-Churches

Less architecturally celebrated, but no less important for the development of Christianity are the mega-churches of contemporary metropolises. The Yoido Full Gospel Church claims substantial civic space for Christianity in South Korea with a 26,000-seat church immediately adjacent to the Korean national legislature. The exterior of the massive building is distinguished from a secular arena simply by the cross that surmounts it and the large relief of Jesus over the entrance. Inside, it employs a standard arrangement for a modern auditorium church. Giant video screens on either side of the platform provide worshippers with a better view of the leaders. The Brazilian-based denomination, the Universal Church of the Kingdom of God, has similarly built many large houses of worship, which it calls temples. In 2010, however, it began a so-called replica of the Temple of Solomon on a site in Säo Paulo. When complete the Temple will house a 10,000-seat worship space in addition to many other facilities. While the Pentecostal and evangelical theology of these churches would seem to favor the meetinghouse tradition, they eagerly erect temples that promise God’s presence, mark the landscape for Christianity, and seek to represent Christian commitment and success in the metropolis.

Today, churches pursue dramatically different approaches to architecture depending on their environment, theology, and liturgical tradition. In many parts of the Catholic Church, modernist buildings and the informal communal character of many churches erected after Vatican II are strongly criticized. There is a resurgence of interest in buildings that follow traditional classical and Gothic models, rather than contemporary forms. Still other groups emphasize the fact that early Christians met in homes and that church buildings, if necessary at all, should be everyday seemingly secular spaces equipped for the work of the church. In many contexts, efforts continue to be made to erect churches that relate to the people and culture of the land, though the momentum for such churches is less than a few decades ago.

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