Redefining churches

Taiwan’s oldest surviving church building is the Wanjin Basilica (1870) in the southern county of Pingtung. Reminiscent of a Spanish castle, this white-walled edifice remains eye-catchingly unique. Churches built by the Japanese during the colonial period were modeled on Western architecture, but utilized locally produced red bricks and terrazzo, ushering in a new age of church architecture in Taiwan.

The period after World War II saw the completion of Tunghai University’s Luce Memorial Chapel in 1963. Designed by Ieoh Ming Pei and Chen Chi-kwan, the chapel is known for its avant-garde style. The late architect Han Pao-teh described it as “an excellent work born of the encounter of Chinese culture and the West.” Jingliao Holy Cross Church, located in Tainan’s Houbi District, was designed by the German architect Gottfried Böhm. Its pyramidal spire constitutes a prominent landmark on the Jianan Plain. On the East Coast, we find the Chapel of St. Joseph Technical Senior High School, which the Bethlehem Mission Society (SMB) commissioned the Swiss architect Justus Dahinden to design. There are also more than 40 small churches designed by Brother Julius Felder of the SMB; they evoke a distinctly modernist sensibility, breathing new life into Taiwan’s church architecture.

The 21st century has witnessed a change in the social impact of religion. As Chiu Hao Hsiu, an associate ­professor in the Department of Architecture at Tunghai University, says in an article on church buildings in Taiwan over the past century, churches are endeavoring to integrate themselves into their urban environments and local communities, and to embrace versatility and diversity.

Contemporaneous with these developments, Taiwanese architects have played a role in designing local church buildings. Architects like Liao Wei-li find themselves pondering this question: What should Taiwanese churches look like? In attempting to come up with their own answers, they, too, have contributed to the process of redefining churches.

We are guided by light through long passageways and staircases. The elongated spaces enable us to gather our thoughts before we enter into communion with God.

The main worship space of Jiaoxi Presbyterian Church in Yilan has a “double skin” design, comprising a domed structure built of laminated wood inside the building’s outer shell. Light penetrates it, putting us in mind of biblical references to prayer and worship in woods and wildernesses.

Responding to local environments

“Very importantly, architecture explores the relationship between people and land.” This is a favorite mantra of Liao Wei-li’s, and connections can indeed be traced between his church designs and the places where these buildings are situated.

Light of Christ Salvation Church in Taichung’s North District is located in a place where residential properties mix with commercial premises. The first four levels of this church have a facade of unpretentious béton brut. Above, a cantilevered passageway protrudes from the main building, providing a link to an ark-shaped structure. Clad in dark-gray titanium–zinc sheets, this upper part of the building may remind us of the illegal rooftop structures common in Taiwan, but it is in fact where worship takes place. Referring to his design, Liao tells us that for him Taichung is a city that lacks context, and he has taken up the challenge of helping a building show its identity in a modern city like this. Situated at a road junction, the church gives expression to the architect’s experimental thinking: If we look at it from a distance, we will notice that the main worship space, which has the appearance of an added rooftop structure, actually blends in perfectly with the vibrant, if somewhat cluttered, streetscape, even while it displays its own character. The architecture attests to the “identity” that Liao wishes to bring out.

Jiaoxi Presbyterian Church in Yilan also illuminates how a building can resonate with its local environment. “For me, Jiaoxi is a hybrid town, which means it looks both urban and rural,” Liao says. The site faces the four-lane Provincial Highway 9, but at its rear are the narrow, winding lanes that are characteristic of ­Jiaoxi. Rejecting the ponderous rigidity of a single ­cubic building, the architect has used four smaller structures—­apparently randomly placed on the ground—to support the main worship space on the second floor. The space between these first-floor structures opens up the site to locals who live in the back lanes.

Looking at Deguang Presbyterian Church in Tainan’s East District from an adjacent lane, we’re likely to be attracted by its aura, which recalls the old-world gentility of local literati. Liao explains that he borrowed the concept of the tabernacle from the Old Testament to design this church. The building is screened by colorful grillwork. From a distance, you would think it is wrapped in thin muslin. “This ‘double skin’ design,” Liao tells us, “is a response to the scorching weather and the blazing sun in Tainan, assisting the movement of air between the outside and the inside of the building.” Liao has also introduced Tainan’s characteristic back-lane atmosphere into this church. By using the grillwork to create semi-open corridors, he is able to balance outdoor and indoor temperatures. Graced with light and breezes, the building seems to be integrated into nature.

Connecting with local lives

Liao, who has completed many church designs, often thinks of his hometown of Tongxiao in Miaoli County. Children used to play, watch theatrical performances, or listen to stories on the square in front of Tongxiao’s Cihui Temple. “There, you often felt that humans were very close to the gods.” It was this experience that led Liao to contemplate the physical appearance of churches. “My church designs do not draw a clear-cut line between the sacred and the secular. Rather, I allow them to inter­mingle.” Liao says that in 21st-century Taiwan, “churches are, for me, not merely churches, but community centers. They are a sort of 7-Eleven for people’s spiritual needs.”

With this in mind, at Light of Christ Salvation Church the first floor and the basement are designed as public spaces that offer community care. The green area outside the building is also a place where local residents like to meet up and chat, and where concerts are frequently held in the evening.

The design of Jiaoxi Presbyterian Church comprises four apparently randomly placed structures that together constitute the first floor of the church. Locals are able to thread their way through the open spaces between these red-brick structures. The site has become, as it were, a living room for the neighborhood, connecting local houses and lanes and bringing together the daily lives of local residents.

Churches are places where humans commune with God. 

Guiding light

Light of Christ Salvation Church, Jiaoxi Presbyterian Church, and Deguang Presbyterian Church all embody the idea that “the temple of God is to be built in a high place.” In each of these churches, worship takes place at the highest point of the building.

“Churches are where humans come into contact with God.” In the process of redefining church architecture, Liao has created exceptionally long passageways and staircases. By stretching the space, he stretches time as well: Visitors have to spend more time passing through the internal spaces. This helps them gather their thoughts before entering into communion with God.

Liao strongly recommends that we ascend the stairs slowly and carefully. We are guided by light while walking through these long passageways and staircases. “Of all things in the physical world, light is closest to the Godhead,” Liao says. In the case of Deguang Presbyterian Church, natural light shines upon a cross made of steel bars—it greets you as soon as you come into the building. This church also features irregular openings in the walls, and even gaps between segments of the walls, through which sunlight enters, evoking different moods at different times of the day and in different seasons. “I want us to be able to encounter the Godhead in every corner of the place,” Liao explains.

Guided by light into the main worship space, you’ll be startled by the atmosphere. In Jiaoxi Presbyterian Church, this is located on the second floor. The structure here again has a double skin design, comprising a light steel frame on the outside, which is a common sight in Taiwan, and a domed interior space made of laminated wood. This oval inner structure has irregularly spaced windows through which light streams in, reminding us of biblical references to prayer and worship in woods and wildernesses.

Of all things in the physical world, light is the closest to the Godhead. Liao wants visitors to be able to encounter divinity in every corner of his churches.

The worship space in Taichung’s Light of Christ Salvation Church recalls the rooftop structures that are common in Taiwan. The building blends in with the vibrant if somewhat cluttered streetscape, even while displaying its own character.

Mixed forests

In 2002 Liao introduced his discourse of “mixed forests.” Formed by the collision of the Eurasian and Philippine Sea tectonic plates, Taiwan boasts a rich ­variety of trees and other plants. Its biodiversity contrasts sharply with the relative homogeneity that characterizes forests in temperate and polar climates. In terms of its human population, Taiwan is also a vibrant country that continues to welcome immigrants of all ethnicities and to pride itself on social harmony.

Applying the diversity and heterogeneity of “mixed forests” to architecture, Liao hopes that the layout of his buildings will not be too obvious, so that “when we enter a space, it’s OK for us to lose our way, to explore, to feel.”

As for building materials, Liao says he doesn’t rely solely on any particular material, and this is another insight gained from mixed forests. “My choice of materials hinges on what kind of structure a building calls for.” Traditional Taiwanese red bricks, light-reflecting bare concrete, the sheet metal that is often used for rooftop structures, different varieties of laminated wood, glass panes that bring the outside world into the interior—these materials have all fed into the character of Liao’s architectural projects.

Jiaoxi Presbyterian Church has more than 100 years of history. The building we see there now is its third incarnation on that site. Liao has installed remnants of its predecessor inside the new church. “In shedding light on its historical contexts, architecture teaches lessons about inheritance and legacy.”

And then there is the subtropical sun, and the winds that change with the seasons. Sitting inside the main worship space in Deguang Presbyterian Church, or at the entrance to Jiaoxi Presbyterian Church, you will feel that the architect has built these natural blessings into the very fabric of the churches.

We ask Liao Wei-li how architecture may help us think about Taiwan. He says that any kind of symbolism has its limits, that every era will pass, and that nostalgia is the only thing that will remain. Yet Taiwan’s mixed forests reflect the unique character of the island’s geography and culture. Ours is a vibrant environment where differences coexist, an energetic and varied folk culture that cherishes individual voices. These are all distinctly Taiwanese traits. 

Deguang Presbyterian Church in Tainan has an aura that recalls the old-world gentility of local literati.