On the size of altars

Altar at Egmanton, Nottinghamshire (Sir Ninian Comper). Source.

"As the altar is the church, as the altar is the reason for the existence of the wonderful
fabric that has gradually developed into the most complex and highly-organized of the
buildings of men [...]. To it, all things are tributary, and whether you say the church
flows from it as from the center of life, or that the visible organism develops from it
cell-by-cell [...], the result is the same."
--Ralph Adams Cram, Church Building
It is a peculiar thing indeed that while the quite laudable trend after the Council has
been to encourage all to communicate with hosts consecrated at that particular mass,
that there has been no perceptible increase in the size of our altars to accomodate all
those extra ciboria. The even more complex logistics and liturgical gymnastics that have
accompanied the concession of the chalice to the laity have accompanied, similarly, no
enlargement of the mensa, but instead it appears our altars have shrunk noticeably. (I
will refrain from commenting on whether the practice of communion under both kinds
has actually brought about any of the benefits it was assumed would accompany it; or
whether it has unfortunately created significant liturgical traffic and sacramental
disposal issues.) Admitted, the shelf-like nature of many older, pre-conciliar altars was a
common complaint among the rubricists of the twentieth-century Liturgical Movement;
the contemporary problem has less to do with depth than length.

Even a large, deep altar can fail to impress itself on an interior without sufficient breadth or a proper
setting, whether it be a footpace, baldachin or even wall treatments to highlight it.Source.
The problem can be attributable to several things. First, the move towards a movable
table-like altar form, that often accompanied dubious theological musings of the sort
that made Edward A. Sovik a household word in the 1970s, was often rather on the puny
side, a liturgical coffee-table rather than something reflective of the banquet of the
Lamb. The ad-hoc and often rather haphazard nature of many of the quick-fix
renovations of the period, which saw altar tables plopped in plano at the level of the
sanctuary, also tended to result in rather smallish altars, perhaps because it was easier
to get hold of furniture of a domestic nature than commission a full-fledged movable
altar of wood or metal.
Even a traditionally-ornamented altar can appear overpowered by its surroundings when too small or
when devoid of candlesticks and other ornamentation. Source.

This, coupled with the reformist tendency to avoid cluttering up the altar with extra
candlesticks and the crucifix--all of which often added considerable dignity and
verticality to the otherwise rather barren spectacle of a "naked" altar--resulted in the
smallish, often movable altars one finds in churches today. Even when a freestanding
altar is built, in an ostensibly traditional style and decorated with beautiful or
incongruous odds and ends salvaged from the communion rail, they are often a bit small
for the space in which they have been placed. Admitted, this may be because there
wasn't much room in the sanctuary to begin with--which might be solved by going back
to the old wall-altar arrangement, which required considerably less circulation space--
but the results are often a bit underwhelming.

A few places where concelebration is common have tried to square this particular circle
by erecting enormous square altars with massive table-tops as an exercise in Flintstones
faux-primitivism--the cathedral in Los Angeles comes to mind. One would assume such
highly interesting objects would serve well as the focus of the church's interior.
However, given that these are often at the lowest point in a church with a sloping nave
or theatrical seating, they can look rather dumpy and mushroom-like in that context,
and a square's usable space for ciboria and chalices does not increase as the area is
increased, given there is often a large unreachable region in the center beyond arm's
length. There is good reason for the basic rectangular shape of our altars as they have
developed over the ages.
 A handsome altar in a modern Georgian style from the
period directly before the council; seating on three sides. Such altars can serve as fruitful precedents but
allowances must be made for additional circulation space under the baldachin. Source.

Given the excellent desire to place a crucifix and candlesticks on new altars, as well as
the fact a growing number of churches now offer both forms of the mass, the current,
faddish altar form requires careful re-examination. It is best to turn to the pre-conciliar
authorities here as a starting-point, and then consider what further positive
developments--such as the use of multiple ciboria--ought to be taken into account.

1. Shape: An altar should be rectangular, never round or octagonal, and only square
where space constraints require it. I have seen one round altar in my life, a obje done
recently in an otherwise fairly competent classical style, though wholly inappropriate
rubrically and theologically. Scripture speaks of the "horns"--the corners--of the altar,
and the round altar carries a whiff of the occult to it. The octagon is appropriate to
baptisteries, not chancels. The Old Covenant's altars were rectilinear, and as the altar
represents Christ, Christ calls Himself the cornerstone.

Cram's altar-like communion table at East Liberty Presbyterian Church, Pittsburgh. Cram once
commented all the interior required was six candlesticks and a crucifix to be ready for a pontifical
liturgy. Note its extreme length. Source.

2. Proportions: Ralph Adams Cram, the great churchbuilder, is our best authority on
this point, and in his book Churchbuilding makes much the same point about the rather
underwhealming communion table which was at the time installed in the vast open
chancel of Trinity Church, Boston, describing the empty sanctuary as "dead," the "black
walnut table of small size" overshadowed in one photograph of the period by rather silly
floral arrangements placed around the eagle lectern, itself infelicitously placed at the
center of the chancel steps. Cram suggests that the church's principal altar should have a
width of around one-third that of the nave; he suggests somewhere between 8 and 12
feet, the higher end of the scale being determined by the upper limit of altar height (3
feet 4 inches, in Cram's mind, a fairly comfortable number; J.B. O'Connell, about forty
to fifty years later, suggests 3 feet 5 inches). These are not necessarily ritual
requirements, but that of "art; which is also a question of religion, since art in the
service of the Church, is simply art as an incentive to religious emotion." One may
rightly question if it is only that, but Cram's point is well-taken.

A large altar set in a suitably spacious sanctuary; it could be improved slightly by the addition of
candlesticks and perhaps even a hanging rood. Source.

3. Dimensions: Cram is, above, speaking primarily of altars intended as part of a

larger composition including a reredos, which itself acts as something of a magnifier for
an altar in a large church; his rule of thumb is a good one, but probably should be
adjusted by sight for a freestanding altar with tester or baldachin. I am sure I have also
seen reredoses with engaged altars that are longer than 8 feet, though perhaps the
inevitable elongation is, as Cram points out, not particularly suitable. Probably about 12
feet would be the upper limit in most older churches. Most rubrical sources suggest that
a bare minimum of 6 feet should be the starting point for length, if only because that
length recalls the tomblike symbolism of altar's relic sepulchre. As a practical matter one
could probably celebrate the old mass on a mensa of 3'-10" in width but it would have to
be a very low (or narrow) mass indeed. I would be inclined to think that 6 feet be the
bare minimum length, and seems rather small to me.

Preconciliar sources (such as J.B. O'Connell's Church Building and Furnishing suggest
the mensa depth (not including a tabernacle or gradine) ought to be between 1'-9" to 1'-
11" with a large altar, and four feet if one has a tabernacle with altar cross placed behind
it. Cram suggests 2 feet even. Both of these seem to me rather impractical in a modern
context. Most freestanding altars today will not (sadly) include a tabernacle directly on
the mensa, but ought to be designed with space for a row of candlesticks and crucifix, so
at least three to four feet seems like a safe starting-point. Given that it is easy for an altar
to become overcrowded with ciboria at large masses, I would think one could perhaps
even push it to five feet in depth if the sanctuary was large enough. A logical rule of
thumb is to ensure that objects placed in the center can be comfortably moved without
access to a stepstool from one or the other side of the altar, which would preclude
anything over five-and-a-half or six feet in depth. Mocking up the altar first might be the
most sensible option.

4. Placement: Most altars today are placed well forward of where they might have
been located fifty or sixty years ago. This may well be a positive development in theory,
but it has not been one in practice. The almost total abandonment of altar steps has also
been exceedingly unfortunate, though that is a topic for another time. O'Connell
suggests circulation space of at least 2'-6" between the back of an altar and the wall if it
is to be consecrated (following the rubrics then in force in 1955) and that dimension is a
useful one to consider when trying to determine the bare minimum of circulation space
around an altar. Considering this probably does not even take into account assisting
deacons, altar boys, and the rest, there should probably be considerably more space
than that before one gets to the walls, sedilia, or other impediments. The space in front
of the altar, beyond its raised steps also ought to be particularly deep if possible.

As I have said repeatedly in the past, most altars today are placed in sanctuaries not
designed for them. The modern altar placed at the level of the chancel is occupying
space originally intended for the graceful movements of the sacred ministers at high
mass. Given that most freestanding altars will probably be used from both sides at some
point in their lifetime, probably the space around it needs to be twice as deep as it
usually is, and somewhat broader, given older altars usually did not require circulation
space on the short (north and south) ends. Most sanctuaries today go the opposite route
and seem to shorten the depth and widen the breadth to almost shelf-like proportions.

A good example to study are churches built in the era immediately before the Council,
where some experimentation had begun with freestanding altars and versus populum
liturgy but it had not become normative. Some churches placed the altar at the crossing
(often an architecturally messy proposition) but still ensured there was enough space
around it on the raised sanctuary platform to avoid it turning into a catwalk. On the
whole, an enclosed sanctuary, even if it may not be as visible from the transepts, may
result in a more satisfactory architectural solution.
The ciborium magnum of the National Shrine in Washington, D.C., gives a good impression of the
amount of space required to properly accommodate a large baldachin. Source.

Another important matter to consider is whether there is to be a ciborium magnum or

baldachin, which, when placed in a smaller sanctuary, can cause acute circulation
problems both around the altar and around the entire structure. If there is not ample
space around it, one might consider thinning down the baldachin's members--there are
quite a few handsome examples of delicate metalwork ciboria--or simply adopting a
hanging tester or canopy instead.

The altar, as Cram says in the quote above, is the font of the life of the church structure,
and its apex and summation. It is not enough to simply apply some traditionalizing
edging to a liturgical coffee table, but we instead must ensure that this cornerstone must
fit with perfection into its surroundings as the noble site of our bloodless participation
in Christ's sacrifice.