At their most practical level, doors are used to regulate temperature, noise, and access – functions that they have served for millennia.

They are a ubiquitous part of buildings, and seldom receive much in the way of specific attention. However, for churches, doors can also fulfil a variety of additional material, symbolic, and theological purposes. This article explores aspects of the various roles that church doors can play – both from historical and contemporary perspectives – and looks at how the doors of a selection of Auckland churches are at least suggestive of some of these functions.

Biblical References to Doors

Doors are mentioned throughout the Bible, and in several contexts. In the Old Testament, their reference is principally in an architectural sense. There is mention in 1 Kings, for example, of the entrance to the inner sanctuary having doors made of elaborately carved olive wood (6:31–32).[1] This sort of literal description is commonplace. At times, though, there are allusions to a more symbolic function for doors, particularly relating to the notion of the separation of the sacred from the secular. In 1 Chronicles, Berekiah and Elkanah are named as doorkeepers for the ark, alluding to separation between danger and sanctuary (1 Chron 15:23). When Job curses the day of his birth, doors are referred to metaphorically, in the phrase “the doors of the womb” (Job 3:10). However, on the whole, such non-literal uses are comparatively rare in the Old Testament.

By contrast, in the New Testament, the metaphorical and symbolic references to doors are more widespread. In Matthew 2:7, Jesus issues the injunction, “Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you,” and later in that Gospel, when addressing the seven woes, he says, “Woe to you, teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites! You shut the door of the kingdom of heaven in people’s faces. You yourselves do not enter, nor will you let those enter who are trying to” (3:13). This does not signify a literal door so much as a symbol of separation between one realm and another, but with strong dependence on the specific imagery to make the point.

In a few instances in the New Testament, doors are employed as a metaphor to signify a location of transition. In Luke 13:22–25, for example, when Jesus was asked were there only a few people who were going to be saved, he responded, “Make every effort to enter through the narrow door, because many, I tell you, will try to enter and will not be able to. Once the owner of the house gets up and closes the door, you will stand outside knocking and pleading, ‘Sir, open the door for us.’” In a similar vein, in Acts 14:27, Luke writes, “On arriving there, they gathered the church together and reported all that God had done through them and how he had opened a door of faith to the Gentiles.” The deployment of the metaphor of a door is used in these instances to denote a sense of transition, but also transformation – symbolically depicting either faith entering into the world of the Gentiles, or faith as a destination towards which the Gentiles are heading.

Paul echoes this use of the metaphor in 2 Corinthians 2:12, where he writes, “I went to Troas to preach the gospel of Christ and found that the Lord had opened a door for me.” However, the metaphor is inflected slightly. In addition to portraying an opening to something new, it also carries a suggestion of an invitation, as opposed to a potential barrier or obstacle. In 1 Corinthians 16:9, Paul likewise drew on this imagery of an invitation, explaining that “I will stay on at Ephesus until Pentecost, because a great door for effective work has opened to me,” and similarly, in Colossians 4:3, the idea of an invitation or opportunity was conveyed through a door: “And pray for us, too, that God may open a door for our message, so that we may proclaim the mystery of Christ, for which I am in chains.” In this extract, the door is juxtaposed with the mention of chains. The latter is representative of imprisonment, while the door is suggestive of freedom. There are also several options for who or what is going through the door. It could include Paul, his work, or the Gospel.

Doors also feature in a miracle in the New Testament. When the disciples were in a house with Thomas, it is recorded in Acts 20:26 that, “Though the doors were locked, Jesus came and stood among them and said, ‘Peace be with you!’” This particular application of doors is rare, and largely incidental to the miracle, but nonetheless contributes to the broad diversity of use of doors – literally, and as metaphors and symbols – in the New Testament.

Of course, the most significant miracle in the New Testament involving a door is the removal of the stone that covered the entrance to the tomb in which Christ was laid to rest after the crucifixion.[2] The literal stone has an echo in metaphors relating to barriers, overcoming obstacles, and a passage from one state to another, which could include a transition from death to life, or from death to a new humanity. There is almost something transactional about the imagery of doors in such contexts. Rather than an unimpeded path, doors can imply an action that needs to be undertaken or a barrier that needs to be overcome in order to progress to somewhere else.

Doors also form part of the ‘anatomy’ of churches, based on the application of New Testament metaphors. The apostles and prophets were part of “God’s household,” which was “built on the foundation” of their work. Christ is the “cornerstone,” and the body of believers grows into a “holy temple” (Eph. 2:19–22). An alternative word used for cornerstone is a capstone, which similarly contains connotations of being the head, but also the structural element on which the entire edifice depends. Elsewhere, Christ is depicted as the “living stone,” and the church as a “spiritual house” (1 Pet 2:4–5, cf. 2 Cor 5:1). Such imagery is “charged with theological meaning,” but has also resonated for centuries in various Christian perceptions of what a church building is in a practical as well as symbolic sense.[3]

The Evolution of Doors in Church Architecture

The constraints of space in an article prevent any detailed survey of the history of doors in church architecture, but there are a few salient points that are worth mentioning. The first of these is that in almost all cases, doors, along with other aspects of church architecture, have reflected to considerable extent the surrounding culture in which the buildings were constructed. At the same time, though, because church buildings served a purpose that was distinct from other parts of the built environment, it follows that aspects of their design differed from what appeared elsewhere in the community (a church is defined, in this context, as a building constructed specifically for Christian worship). In addition, although the purpose of most church doors has been practical and aesthetic throughout history, at certain times, traces of other functions have emerged.

What is also evident in the various uses of doors in church architecture is how the focus in most instances seems to have been more on temporal functions (such as controlling movement, keeping out noise, and protecting congregations), or aesthetic ambitions, rather than reflecting on and then embodying some of the theological notions of doors that appear in the Bible. To paraphrase the guiding axiom of the Bauhaus movement, church doors have generally tended to adhere to the principle of theology following function. That is, some of the biblical notions of doors as symbolising spiritual transition, or entry to a different realm, generally have been secondary considerations to the practical and design values of church doors.

Most of the earliest purpose-built churches were located in the Middle East, North Africa, Western Asia, and parts of Europe (although it was common in this period for congregations to move into and adapt existing buildings). In the majority of cases, these buildings were larger than the surrounding houses. This was mainly to accommodate bigger congregations, but also in an effort to reflect in architectural grandeur the importance of the faith.[4] From around the fifth century, a principle had been settled on in which churches had their main altar at the eastern end of the building.[5] The orientation of churches to face east in this way meant that the entrance of churches was typically through the west door (until the Reformation, when such rules began to be abandoned). The authority for the eastern-facing altar came from a handful of biblical verses, such as that from the Apocrypha “O Jerusalem, look about thee toward the east, and behold the joy that cometh unto thee from God” (Bar 4:36), and “For as lightning that comes from the east is visible even in the west, so will be the coming of the Son of Man” (Matt 24:47). However, by the eighteenth century, Protestant churches in Europe had largely discarded this east-west orientation,[6] attributing it to Catholic superstition, and instead adopted the orientation of church buildings primarily on practical bases.

In the succeeding centuries, the design of church doors changed, but much of this evolution was due to secular influences – mainly the architectural preferences in the locations where the churches were built. One of the most obvious trends was the move towards greater ornamentation. The earliest church doors were made of plain wood and served a primarily functional purpose. By the mediaeval era, though, church doors had become both decorative and informative.[7] In addition, other materials began to feature more prominently in church doors – particularly, bronze.[8] Relief sculptures or carvings on these doors often depicted scenes from the Bible, with a trend in some countries of Old Testament stories appearing on the left, and accounts from the New Testament on the right of doors.[9] In the majority of church buildings prior to the Reformation, the main entrance door had hinges on either side and opened in the middle, effectively acting as two doors (with the left-hand door sometimes known as the “door of death” because if was through that side that coffins were taken in and out of the church).[10]

During the mediaeval era, an additional trend emerged: the personification of churches (and buildings more generally). This tendency to see church buildings is a form of “embodiment” spread quickly, and eventually entered several European languages. The term “façade,” for example, which applies to the outside of a building, originates from the Latin faccia (face), and the word for door (ostium, Lat.) derives from os (mouth).[11] These were among the numerous considerations that went into church design particularly from the medieval period, and whose legacy is still a contested part of some church architecture, albeit in a greatly diminished form.

As church buildings grew in scale in the Middle Ages, culminating in the emergence of cathedrals, so too did the size of church doors increase. One of the corollaries of this augmented scale was the imposing effect of some of these doors. Just as churches during the period were regarded as the sole guardians of religious truth, there was a trend for church doors to embody a protective function for that truth.[12] Thick wooden panels made up the basis of the doors, which were secured with iron or wood bracing. In many instances, this bracing became a dominant visual feature of the door, implying strength and security. Church doors this time also tended to be enhanced by their immediate surrounds. Elaborately carved stone lintels dominated the space directly above them, while on either side, jambs frequently appeared in the form of carved pillars, again emphasising strength and authority.

By the nineteenth century, the Gothic-revival movement in many Western countries[13] not only invigorated some of these earlier approaches to church-door design, but in drawing on the appearances of doors from an earlier architectural era, conveyed some of the images of strength that originally accompanied gothic churches. However, this aesthetic fashion quickly faded in the early twentieth century, when throughout the Western world, new influences bore down on church design. These included not only architectural trends, but also interconnected changes in demographics, the rise of cars as a mode of transport, shifts in urban development, and new patterns both in church attendance and the format of worship. Of course, not all changes were uniform, and a range of factors ensured that aesthetic variations between churches became even more pronounced than they had previously been.

Some Modern Functions of Church Doors

Most modern churches have inherited some of the principles of their predecessors when it comes to the various functions of doors. These can include keeping out the elements, controlling movement, establishing a symbolic separation between sacred and secular spaces, acting as a metaphor of transition from one state to another, and securing property within the building. There are some newer purposes, though, which doors also fulfil. Larger church buildings, for example, require noise to be controlled in ways that were not so necessary several centuries ago. This relates both to outside noises and to sounds made in different areas within the church building. For the latter category, internal doors shut out sound to maintain the sanctity of silence in certain parts of the building, while also enabling other parts to serve different functions simultaneously. Prior to the Second World War in many Western countries, including New Zealand, this multiplicity of uses for a church at the same time was partially resolved by constructing a hall next to the main church building. In more recent decades, however, the trend instead has been to encompass various activities related to the church service within one single building, for which walls and doors obviously play a key enabling role.

Also since the Second World War, new materials have allowed for doors to be perceived and designed in radically different ways. The most obvious example of this is the emergence of glass as a major material in doors, culminating in some cases with doors that are entirely transparent. The symbolism of a glass door is something that had not previously existed in nearly two millennia of church architecture. While glass doors serve the same practical functions as those made from any other material, the fundamental difference is that they allow those outside to see within the church, and to that extent, break down the former barrier between secular and sacred space that church doors once helped identify. The perception of the door as a controlled boundary regulating the distinction between inside and outside spaces becomes less resolute through the use of glass.

Glass doors also dissolve the former function of church doors as symbols of strength and authority. Those inside no longer have their gaze confined to the church interior. In addition, glass doors have the potential to make the inside space appear more inviting to outsiders, although one possible trade-off for this is that the increase in perceived “normality” of the inside space can be inversely proportional to its sense of sanctity.[14]

However, church doors cannot be considered in isolation. There are several variables which can affect how they are perceived. Two important ones are the nature of the immediate surrounds, and whether the doors are street-facing. When it comes to surrounds, one possibility is to have a solid door but with windows on either side or above it. this can allow the interior to be better lit by natural light, while at the same time having a door that clearly delineates sacred and secular spaces. Another possibility is having a transparent door, but one which has some form of portico, or other means of pronounced surrounds, which have the potential to signify a transitional space from outside to inside, thus echoing the symbolism of a journey through a door, which is a feature in some biblical metaphors, and earlier church architecture.

Doors in Contemporary Auckland Churches

Most of the earliest churches constructed in New Zealand were based very strongly on European (and particularly English) church designs and mimicked the architectural features that were then in fashion in the northern hemisphere. However, in more recent decades, church architecture in New Zealand has become increasingly liberated from those aesthetic influences, and along with numerous other changes, the appearance and purpose of doors has altered accordingly.

This section reviews a sample of Auckland churches built since the end of the Second World War. The intention is to consider how their main doors either embody or eschew some of the various functions that church doors have fulfilled over the centuries. It also offers an impressionistic series of assessments about what these doors may signify to those in the surrounding community who do not attend church. The purpose here is not to offer a prescriptive set of rules regarding church-door design, but to draw attention to the role that church doors have in how a church building is perceived overall. The following observations are divided into subsections based on categories of doors and their positioning in church buildings.

Fully Solid vs Transparent Doors

It is especially significant that at least in the last half-century, there appears to be no churches that have been built in Auckland that have fully solid doors (that is, doors made out of a solid, non-transparent material, with no windows or glass surrounds).[15] The reason for this significance is both that it represents a departure of a design feature of churches that has been present for almost the entire history of churches, and because it emphasises what can loosely be termed as a preference for a less definitive boundary between what are perceived to be sacred and secular spaces. Another possible contributory factor is that modern building materials allow for purposes such as soundproofing and protection from the weather to be achieved without the need for the sort of solid (usually wooden) doors that were depended on by churches in previous centuries.[16]

Glass doors now are the single most common form of church door in Auckland for those churches constructed since the Second World War. In addition, the majority of church doors in this category used clear rather than opaque glass. Among much else, this has sometimes created a perception of a diminished distinction between the inside and outside of the church. While this may have the effect of reducing the sense of sanctity of a church interior, such perceptions might be offset by the increased sense of accessibility and familiarity that seeing into the church from outside offers, particularly when people are visible inside the building.[17]

A related issue to the material that the doors are made of is the scale of church doors. The relatively narrow doors common to pre-war churches had the effect of marshalling people into a narrow line when leading them into or out of the church, thus almost choreographing a form of a procession. An example of an alternative to this are the large doors of Holy Trinity Cathedral in Parnell. Entry to these doors is via an expansive forecourt, and when the doors are fully opened, they allow for variable paces and places of entry into the church interior. Such doors to an extent “democratise” movement into a church. Rather than the architecture dictating the form of movement, it is people who have a greater role in deciding on the ways they move into and out of a church. The institution thus succumbs more to the individual’s preference for how and where they move.

This aspect of some modern churches – large doors with substantial courtyards – tends to be accompanied by a correspondingly capacious interior area adjoining the doors. One effect of such an architectural approach is to diminish many of the traditional functions of doors, almost to the point where they are tacitly acknowledged as a barrier which, through scale, materials, and the use of space, can have some of those traits of a barrier mitigated. In the process of church architecture evolving in this manner, there are a series of other considerations that come into play. For example, by diminishing the role of doors as barriers and delineators of space, the functions of the foyer, fellowship space, vestibule, and even the worship space itself are potentially altered – at the very least in a perceptual sense, but also potentially architecturally as well when it comes to the design of new churches. Such changes also raise questions regarding the church’s missiological approach, and the way in which people perceive the building as being place that includes the community, or that to some degree sets itself apart from the world. These are obviously theological as much as ecclesiological considerations, for which the deployment of particular styles, forms and scale of doors can exercise some influence.

Street-facing Doors

This category is concerned not so much with the design of the door but its placement in the church. Massey Methodist Church, Holy Cross Anglican Church Albany, Milford Baptist Church, and St Martin’s Presbyterian Church are examples in Auckland where there is no main entrance facing the street. Instead, the church’s primary doors are on the side of the buildings, making them more accessible to the car park. Conversely, St Patrick’s Catholic Church in Panmure, North Shore New Life Church, Holy Cross Catholic Church in Henderson, and St Michael and All Angels Anglican Church, also in Henderson, have street-facing entrances. While doors on the side of the building might offer more convenient access, some architects have suggested that street-facing entrances contribute to a “positive appearance” for buildings,[18] and create a sense among passers-by of the building being a “safe” place.[19] An entrance which directly faces the street can also serve as a form of implicit invitation, encouraging a degree of interaction between people and buildings, although several other design features can either contribute to or militate against such effects.[20] Of course, the fact that in probably most cases in Auckland, the majority of congregants drive rather than walk to church means that the street-facing entrance serves more as a symbol of welcome, and that it is directed at passers-by rather than those who already attend the church.

Street-facing doors might initially seem to be the obvious response to making a new church seem more inclusive to the surrounding community. It signifies the most direct route between the community and the building. However, the case could also be made that in having the church’s main doors away from the street, a subtle emphasis is placed on the separation between the ordinary and the extraordinary – that is, between what happens outside the church and the activities that occur within. Taking this line of thought a step further, accessing a church whose entrance is away from the street can even serve as a miniature form of pilgrimage, with members of the congregation taking a specific route into the church, which over time accumulates various ritualistic dimensions, including places where the churchgoers may seek shelter, places where they may talk with others, and set places where they park their cars. All this becomes part of a habitual routine that accompany the process of reaching and then going through the church’s doors. Again, despite the very small scale of such a “pilgrimage,” it can nonetheless serve similar functions, representing metaphorically a microcosm of all the nations gathering together, and a ritualised passage from one state to another.[21] It also includes the sense that the church is a place where some effort (however marginal) is required to enter into, something bordering on a symbolic form of penance.[22]

Accessibility

One of the distinctions that marks out modern church doors from their predecessors is the much greater degree of accessibility they allow, particularly to those for whom traditional doors presented a physical challenge to enter. This reveals a greater awareness on behalf of designers of the needs of the less-abled, and in doing so, allows access to the church – the body of Christ (1 Cor 12:27) – to those who otherwise might struggle to enter the church building. However, it is unclear whether such considerations derive in the first instance from biblical commitments by those responsible for designing churches, or whether they originate from the need to comply with regulatory access requirements (which can include the need to evacuate the building quickly in case of a disaster) – requirements which then coincide with theological ideas about no-one being excluded from the body of Christ. The fact that many Auckland churches from the pre-war era have had to have their entrances modified to allow for access by less-abled people suggests that more recent regulatory requirements have preceded theological considerations for doorway design.

Locked or Unlocked

All external church doors are capable of being locked. There are obvious security reasons for this, but while every church can lock its doors, some deliberately choose not to. Prior to the Covid pandemic, the Anglican Church of the Good Shepherd in Massey, West Auckland, kept its main (street-facing) doors open for periods during weekdays to allow for those who felt the need to have a place to pray quietly. Although this exposed the church to the risk of potential vandalism or theft, it also signalled that the church’s doors were not a barrier to the community, and that they could serve to block out the ‘outside world’ for those who sought solace in this space. Thus, the church doors went from protecting an empty building from outsiders to shielding those inside the church from outside distractions.

Conclusion

It might be easy to dismiss doors in modern churches as a purely functional part of the building, and they certainly fulfil that role. However, doors also have several other purposes which not only help define the appearance of the building, but also the way the particular church is perceived by those both inside and outside (and by extension, those affiliated and unconnected with it).

Some post-war church doors in Auckland still appear to act as a symbolic portal for transitioning from a secular to a sacred space, but more explicitly, this can be seen as having evolved into a more sensory function – separating calm from chaos, and outside noise from those sounds within the church – although this does not necessarily negate assertions of the sanctity of some church interiors (claims for which are perhaps more likely to be denominationally-influenced). There are certainly none of the superstitious purposes attached to modern church doors, though, of the sort that were common in the Middle Ages, when there was a prevailing belief that doors protected the church interiors (and those congregating inside) from evil.[23]

Aesthetically, one of the most consistent trends in post-war Auckland churches is the near absence of any decoration on them. Of the forty-five churches from this era in the city surveyed for this work, not one had any significant ornamentation on their main door. Partially allied to this feature is the predominance of glass as the primary material for modern church doors. This has a number of symbolic functions, including the abandonment of one of the medieval purposes of doors: to enclose and protect knowledge within the church, and enhance the sense of mystery of church interiors. Glass doors project the reverse: a sharing of knowledge to the outside world (although without removing completely the spatial tension between inside and outside areas).[24]

This article has aimed to explore some of the evolving symbolic roles that doors serve in modern Auckland churches. The need to control sound, light, temperature, movement, and climate, are functions that all exterior doors fulfil. However, in church architecture, considerations extend to aesthetic purposes, and also to symbolic notions of space and sanctity, some of which are built on biblical metaphors, while others are the inheritance of particular architectural and cultural traditions. As congregations, communities, and design preferences are constantly evolving, this will provide opportunities for further assessments of the shapes, orientations, functions, and symbolism of church doors in the future.

Paul Moon is Professor of History at Auckland University of Technology, and specialised in colonial theory.

[1] All verses quoted are from New International Version unless otherwise stated.

[2] Vaughan Hart, “Sigurd Lewerentz and the ‘Half-Open Door,’” Architectural History 39 (1996): 186.

[3] Daniel Jütte, “Living stones: The House as Actor in Early Modern Europe,” Journal of Urban History 42:4 (2016): 661.

[4] Charles Murray, “Art and the Early Church,” The Journal of Theological Studies 28:2 (1977): 303–345; John Pinto, “An Early Design by Nicola Michetti: The Sacripante Chapel in the Roman Church of S. Ignazio,” Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians 38:4 (1979): 375–81.

[5] Tom Devonshire Jones, ed., The Oxford Dictionary of Christian Art and Architecture (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013), 117; Slobodan Ćurc̆ić, “Architectural Significance of Subsidiary Chapels in Middle Byzantine Churches,” Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians 36:2 (1977): 94–110; Sarah F. Porter, “A Church and Its Charms: Space, Affect, and Affiliation in Late Fourth-Century Antioch,” Studies in Late Antiquity 5:4 (2021): 639–77.

[6] As a (small) representative sample in Britain, see Christ Church, Gipsy Hill, London; Alderley Edge Methodist Church, Cheshire; Ebenezer Strict Baptist Chapel, Richmond; St John’s Church, Barmouth, Wales; Hanwell Methodist Church, London; All Souls Langham Place, London; St John of Jerusalem Church, Hackney, London; the New Testament Church of God, Hackney, London; Emmanuel Church, West Hamstead, London; Mayand Park chapel, London; Mitcham Lane Baptist Church, London; St James West Streatham Church, London; Trinity Baptist Church, Croydon, London; and St Michael’s Church, Tilehurst, Reading.

[7] Karen Ruben Azatyan, Ruben Shmavon Azatyan, and Arpine Aram Yolyan, “The Impact of the Constructive Solution on the Formation of the Portal in the Architecture of Armenian Churches of 4th–7th Centuries,” Journal of Architectural and Engineering Research 1:2 (2021): 16–31; Richard Krautheimer, “Introduction to an “Iconography of Mediaeval Architecture,” Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 5:1 (1942): 1–33.

[8] Pamela Kladzyk, “The Message of Faith and Symbol. European Medieval Bronze Church Doors,” The Polish Review 47:4 (2002): 439; Cecil Hewett, “The Jointing of Doors During the Norman Period,” Archaeological Journal 145:1 (1988): 374–377.

[9] Wolfgang Mabry, “New Life in Church Sculpture since Vatican II: Opening Doors,” Sculpture Review 62:4 (2013): 28.

[10] Mabry, “New Life,” 30.

[11] Mabry, “New Life,” 662.

[12] Peter H. Ditchfield, “Norman Church Doors and Doorways,” Quiver 49:7 (1914): 676–82.

[13] Susan Lang, “The Principles of the Gothic Revival in England,” Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians 25:4 (1966): 240–67.

[14] Howard Harris and Alan Lipman, “Social Symbolism and Space Usage in Daily Life,” The Sociological Review 28:2 (1980): 415–28.

[15] There may be an exception to this, and the author would happily revise this work if such an exception can be found.

[16] Paula Kane, “Is That a Beer Vat under the Baldochino? From Antimodernism to Postmodernism in Catholic Church Architecture,” US Catholic Historian 15:1 (1997): 1–32.

[17] Dvora Yanow, “Built Space as Story: The Policy Stories that Buildings Tell,” Policy Studies Journal 23:3 (1995): 408.

[18] Marco De Nadai et al., “Are Safer Looking Neighborhoods More Lively? A Multimodal Investigation into Urban Life,” in Proceedings of the 24th ACM International Conference on Multimedia (Amsterdam, 2016), 1127.

[19] Rob I. Mawby, “Defensible Space: A Theoretical and Empirical Appraisal,” Urban Studies 14:2 (1977): 171; Jane Jacobs, The Death and Life of Great American Cities (New York: Random House, 1961), 35, 95.

[20] Işın Can and Tim Heath, “In-between Spaces and Social Interaction: a Morphological Analysis of Izmir Using Space Syntax,” Journal of Housing and the Built Environment 31:1 (2016): 31–49.

[21] Andrew Lincoln, “Pilgrimage and the New Testament,” in Craig Bartholomew, Fred Hughes eds., Explorations in a Christian Theology of Pilgrimage (London: Routledge, 2004), 29–30.

[22] Dave Postles, “Penance and the Market Place: A Reformation Dialogue with the Medieval Church (c. 1250–c. 1600),” The Journal of Ecclesiastical History 54:3 (2003): 441–68.

[23] Daniel Jütte, “Entering a City: On a Lost Early Modern Practice,” Urban History 41:2 (2014): 214.

[24] Alireza Shahlaei and Marzieh Mohajeri, “In-Between Space, Dialectic of Inside and Outside in Architecture,” International Journal of Architecture and Urban Development 5:3 (2015): 73–80.