Reading the Architecture

I graduated from college with a Bachelor’s degree in Political Science. To do so required heavy classroom doses of philosophy, history, and rhetoric. “Argumentation and Parliamentary Procedure” was one of my favorite classes—the class met three times a week and we all argued every day, just for fun.

But, honestly, one of my most memorable undergraduate classes wasn’t even related to my major; it was an architecture class in the art department. I spent months studying church architecture and completed a term project that compared and contrasted ten Seattle church buildings. Architecture reflects more than just what we can afford, it also expresses who we are and what we value most.

St. Demetrios Greek Orthodox Church in Seattle’s Montlake neighborhood is a stunning blend of ancient and modern styles, for instance, elegantly captured in a series of sweeping curves, mosaics, and gilded Byzantine icons. St. Demetrios clearly works hard to preserve the ethnic heritage of its congregation and honors a mysterious and sobering sense of who God is.

Prince of Peace Lutheran Church on Northeast 145th Street represents the classic Scandanavian penchant for minimalist design, incorporating sharp angles, pale, neutral hues, and the very effective use of natural light to accentuate elemental religious symbols. No ruffles and flourishes here, but a very quiet, thoughtful, reflective space in which the devout can set themselves apart from the hustle and bustle outside.

First Presbyterian downtown commands a fortress-like perch above the business district, drawing a sharp line between the sacred and the secular. Once the largest Presbyterian congregation in the world, First Pres has always been famed for its orthodoxy and devotion to absolutes. Its building affirms that history, well, absolutely.

The interior of the St. James Cathedral on Capitol Hill is all dark, papal green, with rich woods, polished marble, and deeply stained glass. Its twin towers and exterior terracotta unmistakably proclaim it is an outpost of that larger basilica in Rome, St. Peter’s. Hushed reverence is the theme,gates and doors and passageways throughout speak metaphorically of the Catholic faith journey.

Seattle’s First Methodist is an historic landmark and, until recently, the home of the city’s oldest congregation. Built in the late 19th century, it bears all the hallmarks of the “tabernacle and temple” style popular at the time—vast domed ceiling, curved wooden pews and balcony designed to create intimacy, albeit with a pipe organ to remember. Equity, accessibility, and modesty were Wesleyan principles that gave rise to Methodism; First Methodist, for all of its size, still represents these truths well.

Church design does say something about the people that meet inside. And, what does our new building at Madison Park say about us? Hmmmm. I suppose there might be as many different answers to the question as there are people walking through the doors. But, here’s what I think, for what it’s worth; this is how I see it—er uh, us—anyway.

First of all: Madison Park is about relationships. The building works wonderfully to facilitate relationships—with God and each other. That’s an important part of our theology. We are an experiential people. God should not just be recognized, He should be experienced. Jesus isn’t just an historic figure, He’s a living presence. Relationships are the currency of the Kingdom. Madison Park, from the Commons to the broad hallways to the meeting rooms, to the Holy Grounds, to the sloped auditorium in which every seat faces the cross, is about relationships.

Second: yes, there is a cross in the auditorium. It is simple, straightforward, and inescapable. That’s because we believe there is no healthy relationship with God or with each other apart from the cross. And, even though many folks who do not embrace Jesus may be hosted in our building, no one will be confused about where we stand. We stand at the foot of the cross. That’s important, I think.

Third: Madison Park is a community resource. It wasn’t designed just for us. It is our meeting house, of course—and it is a sanctuary from the broken world. But, it also welcomes the community beyond our church family. It provides opportunities that no one else in Madison County does. We have the largest catering capacity in the county, we have the largest performing stage in the county, we have more parking places than any other venue in the county, and we are the only performance space adjacent to I-69 in the county. We have three stages, all equipped to serve groups of various sizes. From the Boy Scouts Citizen of the Year Banquet, to a meeting of 200 pastors last week from coast-to-coast, to Mark Lowry, to the much acclaimed Song of Solomon conference (coming to the Indy metro for the first time in February, at Madison Park), ours is a unique meeting place at the intersection of this county’s future. We are a people committed to being salt and light, engaging the world around us so that it can be blessed and redeemed. I think our new building says that.

Fourth: Madison Park is about life. New life. Abundant life. Eternal life. Changed life. The light that floods into the Commons each morning and the light that shines out from the Commons each evening both speak of the life God has breathed into us. As I stood handing out candy to the gazillion (okay, I’m not sure how many—but it seemed like a gazillion) kids and parents who walked by our trunk for treats last week on Halloween, as I listened to the laughter and had the chance to visit with so many old and new friends and faces, I marveled at just how much life Madison Park has already seen.

Nobody is going to confuse Madison Park with a cathedral. But, hopefully all will see Madison Park for what it is: the Church of God, a congregation of folks surrendered to Jesus and loving the world for His sake. May they see it always as welcoming and filled with grace. That’s how I see it. I hope you do, to. Thanks for being a part!