How Romney's Mormonism Will Affect His Presidency

Mitt Romney is poised to become America's first Mormon president. His debate performances have won over a number of independents, evangelicals have gone from saying they'd never vote for a Mormon to openly campaigning for him, and he is running against a man with as dismal a record as any modern president. While the election is too close to call, it is certainly close enough to consider exactly how Romney would govern as a Mormon in the White House.

Americans tend to hold to separation of church and state and our presidents are not to be theocrats, but there is no doubt that they bring their religious convictions into the Oval Office. Barack Obama may be the least religious president of them all, but his own brand of Christianity - black liberation theology – was certainly in line with his policy choices. We should expect that Mitt Romney’s Mormon conviction will guide his presidency. After all, he is not only a Mormon, but a deeply committed Mormon. He is, as opposed to the likes of fellow Mormon Harry Reid, a true believer.

 Now many might be saying, "So what? Mormonism is just a branch of Christianity, so what's the big deal?" I can see where one might think that. High profile meetings with Billy Graham and the tide of evangelicals supporting Romney without carefully delineating how Mormonism is not a branch of Christianity can lead to that confusion. In some ways, Mormonism has become mainstream. In other ways, it is receiving more scrutiny.

 What I want to try to answer is how Romney's Mormonism will shape his presidency. I think it will in three ways. First, Mormons have a peculiar relationship with the American experience, for better and for worse, and that will underscore Romney's vision for America and his relationship to the Constitution. Second, Romney is a utopian, and that will shape his policy goals. Third, Mormonism is a works-based religion, so Romney will want to succeed.

 The first issue is the largest, most ambiguous, and most complex. Without retelling the entire story, let's just say that Mormonism is a distinctly American religion (or religious cult) and it has thrived because of America's grand history of religious freedom. Its beliefs are pretty unusual and non-Christian in almost every respect. But their story bleeds American. The Book of Mormon (albeit inaccurately) speaks of American places and Jewish tribes who traveled to America. In Mormon folklore, America is the Promised Land. Their holy books reference America. Americans don't have to just imagine Jesus in Israel. Their own prophets ended up right here in the US of A! How could a Mormon not love this place? And how different that is from a president whose liberation theology has led him to conclude America is a source for evil? (Trust me, that is what liberation theology teaches. Jeremiah Wright is just the tip of the iceberg.)

 Mormonism's experience in America has not always been happy, though. They were persecuted, or at least rightly pursued on many occasions by U.S. law enforcement. They ended up in Salt Lake because Utah was not yet a state and they were free to practice their faith, including polygamy. Only after intense pressure when Utah sought to become a state did Mormons give up polygamy. Joseph Smith was assassinated and that persecution is part of what has historically bound this group together.

 This is the paradox of Mormonism and their relationship to America: they are free to be Mormon for the most part, but at times, they experienced legal rebukes to end their more extreme prophecies. In the end, it seems that Mormons have moved on from those persecutions and have decided to make a go of it. They now say that they are Christian, whereas in the past, they said they were not. They work on conversion, not on starting militias. And there are even those strange prophecies that speak to a Mormon president saving the American Constitution, which hangs by a thread. Some persecution aside, Mormons know that the Constitution protects their right to belief (false) prophecy. So whereas Mr. Obama sees the constitution as incomplete and/or inadequate, Mormons want to see it protected. That will certainly shape Mr. Romney's presidency.

 The second area is, at least for conservatives, far more problematic. Mormons are utopians because they deny original sin. While they say they affirm the Protestant (Pauline) doctrine of "justification by grace alone," they operate on a works-based theology. Good works earns favor in the eyes of their god (who was once a man). This means that they believe men are capable of building a better world. If you hang out in Salt Lake City, you might tend to agree. If you are in control of your eternal destiny and your good works earn you special dispensation in that eternity, you are a utopian.

 This will benefit you if you have Mormon neighbors. But its not a good guide for government policy. Utopians are stubbornly optimistic and hope for the best in people. This is why he will never be as conservative as many conservatives hope for. He will defend the Constitution, but he won't be bashful about social programs with good intentions. The core of conservatism is a fundamental belief in original sin, and therefore the need to limit government and protect man from man. A utopian who believes in human/social progress will want to help men along rather than stop them in their tracks. This optimism will almost certainly be a blind spot for Mr. Romney.

 Finally, there is a flip side to this works righteous heresy. Mr. Romney will bust his butt trying to be a successful president. For a mind like his, there is no sting worse than failure, and, for better or worse, he will not want to leave a legacy of failure. He will want unemployment to go down, the economy to improve and the debt situation to improve as well. Unlike Mr. Obama, whose liberation theology teaches that America's lack of success is itself a success, Romney will be more motivated than most to see to it that he is a successful president. He believes he answers to a higher power with special dispensation towards America. If America is the Promised Land in your religion and you are her leader, you definitely don't want to blow your opportunity to succeed.

 To a degree, Romney's own personality will shape his presidency. He is a frugal, detail-oriented, managerial tightwad. After four years of detached, professorial cool, I’m perfectly okay with that. For the first time in years, we will not have a lazy president or one so rigidly ideological that they let their stubbornness impede progress. I can't believe I'm saying this as I certainly did not support him in the primaries, but I think that Romney has a rare combination of skills and motivation to have as consequential and successful a presidency as Ronald Reagan.

 It is only the Mormon factor, particularly his stubborn optimism, that will slow him down. It will keep him from seeing the full truth of a broken humanity. But in the end, it could propel to him to a consequential presidency. Two things are for sure: first, Mormons are not Christians; second, a deeply committed Mormon like Mr. Romney will absolutely take that into the White House and it will guide almost everything he does.

Of Taste and Transactions: Explaining the quality of construction in the United States

Among the younger set in my profession, there emerges a bitter realisation on the difference in architectural quality between what they produce on the job and what gets published in the official peer magazines. It's similar to the gap between the kind of work they were doing at school and the mundane jobs they find themselves in at the office. The question must certainly arise--"how come everything I work on seems to boil down to conventional materials, systems, and forms that seem to have been done over and over since time immemorial, and yet there are architects half-way around the world who seem to come up with a building that's so wizbang?"

Even as I count myself fortunate enough to have worked on the "wizbang" variety of projects throughout my career, it becomes hard not to ponder on this very question when I sit through weekly lunch-hour product presentations. A convenient means of fulfilling required continuing education credits, they are for the most part sales pitches by companies to convince us to specify their product on a current or future project (this happens in virtually any of the licensed professions). Often the products are very innovative and cutting-edge (i.e. expensive) and they proudly show images of their product applied on built projects just featured in the most recent issue of our cherished design magazines. Not only are the sample projects presented are largely European in origin, the products and the companies that make them are often European as well. When it comes to products having to do exterior finishes, synthetics, finely detailed cladding systems or high-tech mechanical systems, the narrative at these presentations seems to go: "this product has been around in Europe for over thirty years, but only in the last five years has it become available to the U.S. market…"

While one can come up with even more technical explanations on why European construction seems so much more sophisticated, what is on the minds of many of my colleagues is this message:

American architects need to get with the program and raise their design quality up several notches, or they will be left behind when competing against other more sophisticated firms on a global scale. Framing buildings with two-by-fours and covering them with wood siding and asphalt shingles might pay the bills in the place where you practice, but you will never be able to say that it meets the global standard in construction methods. What may seem a practical way to build given cost and resources is considered by many outside the U.S. as backward, disposable and cheap.

While I and many others would argue on the merits of traditional American construction, I've come to the realization that the above message isn't really about such technical issues. Instead, it's sort of an underhanded cultural critique- Americans don't invest much care and attention to buildings. And it has little do with actual know-how.  It has more to do with buildings' place in a culture. To put it crudely, the making of buildings is perceived less as an act of culture here in the U.S. than it is elsewhere. Granted, all building can be valued with a spectrum that ranges from a purely economic and utilitarian endeavor at one end to a strictly cultural, even ego-driven, undertaking on the other. Each and every construction market consist of projects inspired by a mixture of both economic and cultural motives. Based on my own professional experience, American developers and owners seem to view buildings as part of a larger financial transaction, an instrument towards a more important goal: acquiring or conserving wealth.

Foreign clients are not averse to this view, but they are willing to place varying levels of importance on a project's cultural impact, even if it’s the result satisfying their personal ego or seeking a political advantage. The advantage of people treating buildings as economic instruments is that it results in a more robust construction environment, hiring more architects in general to oversee a wealth of mundane, budget conscious projects. In places where making money matters much less because making a cultural statement is the goal, overall construction activity is anemic, requiring fewer architects to work on a dearth of ambitious, often dazzling yet expensive projects. A transactional view of architecture compels firms to calibrate their designs in line with a client's goal in making a profit, being more competitive in the marketplace, and rewarding technical specialization. In contrast, the cultural view reinforces a building's capacity to express a sense of place, its people, the epoch, its technology and the prevailing socio-political order. Practicing architecture in this context favors a more academic approach and encourages an avant-garde to help define a project within a particular point in history.

To accept, for the sake of argument, the idea that Americans are more driven by profit than by culture naturally implies that they are shallow. Many people outside the U.S. seem to agree, but this is because they misunderstand the role that culture plays in the lives many Americans. At the core of an American's identity is that you are an autonomous, unencumbered individual. Cultural inheritance from family and upbringing plays a small part compared to the importance of being able refashion oneself according to whatever values that feel most true or authentic to him or her. In America, you can choose your culture, you can choose your tribe, and you can change these things over the course of your life as circumstances change. If there is anything constant about Americans throughout history, it's that they move around a lot, and have adapted their cultural identity as something that they take along with them--portable. At the same time, they easily embrace new cultural identities as a means to fill holes in meaning that were left behind in their old places of origin. For example one of the best ways to understand many American's lifelong loyalty to the college they once attended is to view it at as means of establishing a kind of tribal identity that didn't exist strongly enough elsewhere in their lives. Culture becomes a commodity that can be bought, worn, exchanged, and disposed of at will. From this perspective , it isn't a surprise to see inherited culture, even ethnicity, as an oppressive force that obstructs a person to truly realize oneself. There is an inevitable aspect of rootlessness to it all, which to many people would see it as more alienating than liberating. It's a great environment for outsiders since they are given plenty of space to thrive.

In much of the rest of the world by contrast, inherited culture is at the core of one's identity and informs the general sense of social life. Culture is rooted in every sense, from the land where it sprung, to the way it has been inhabited over a long history and the language that evolved within a defined territory. One is born into an inescapable cultural reality that is the product of a long history, even prevailing genetic patterns on a society that has stayed put during all that time. Tradition holds considerable sway in most of these nations, offering a secure sense of identity to people, a set of accepted values and a clear life purpose. People tend to stay at or pretty near the place of their birth, establishing a strong emotional connection to a place unknown to most Americans. Many who uproot themselves to live in the larger city find it difficult to belong in their new environment and are steadfast in maintaining connections to their native towns and villages. Inevitably, a thick layer of social conformity affects daily life in such places, as a means of enforcing social cohesion and assuring continuity.

Even in other nations with long histories where outward examples of tradition have been jettisoned in favor of a secular modernist culture such as in Europe, there is still a high degree of cultural conformism that informs the "proper way of doing things". Though stripped of their historical underpinnings, secular modernism (of which progressivism is synonymous) pushes for a values and ideals that are perceived as inevitable and the embodied will of the people, not that of individuals. Outsiders tend to suffer in this environment, and it's not surprising that rooted cultures have trouble assimilating newcomers. Ideas that react against this conformity can't prosper and frequently causes the people who don't want to conform to leave for places where their ideas are more tolerated.

Whether culture is rooted and permanent or not goes a long way into explaining the qualities that influence how we build. As much as we think the cost is the biggest factor in how we design and what gets built, where cultural authority resides in a society is just as important. If this authority lies in tradition or deferred to elite cultural producers or tastemakers, an individual will build according the dictates of the prevailing culture that surrounds him at that point in time. However, when cultural authority resides in individuals, based on one's personal taste, or an authentic understanding on who that person believes to be, buildings become a manifestation of the individual and results in a constructed landscape that lacks stylistic coherence or harmony. In the U.S., people build to express their own personalities, from what they like to what they imagine themselves to be. In my experiences in Europe, people build according to a kind of established stylistic template that expresses a person's acceptance of prevailing cultural norms of the times, a kind of self-effacing architecture. Even as the new clashes with the old within the same block, all the buildings within are alike in consistently representing the spirit of their times. Both the old and the new convey an exquisite attention to detail, as if they are being judged by how well they embody prevailing cultural ideas, not in how they allow the owners within to express themselves and their particular needs.

There's an inherent discipline at work where culture is rooted, as rules governing verbal and artistic expression have had time to become refined and quite sophisticated. Often these rules aren't openly published, but instead are absorbed and reintroduced as 'taste'. Cultures that are either defined by tradition at one end or modern sophistication at the other enforce a standard that judges a work to be acceptable in the form of taste. They therefore do not tolerate tastelessness and are deeply suspicious of iconoclastic or self-centered individuals. Taste enforces a consistent rigor, aesthetic harmony, and a comforting order to the visual environment. To assert oneself in open rejection to prevailing taste is to earn public opprobrium by being called 'tacky'. As much as I personally champion individual freedom, it comes with a responsibility that arises from personal virtue--taste--developed through serious study and reflection, is definitely a part.

This proposed office tower in Texas is an excellent example
of how communities' attempts to raise the quality design
are often afflicted by their shallow understanding of traditional
design and an inability to avoid tackiness. This seven-
story tower is wrapped in a half dozen distinct facades, so
as to give the illusion of a village built over time. The effect
is naturally superficial, and will instantly date the building
and cheapen its value over the long term.

Alas, much of what we see in places where culture is not rooted, such as the U.S., is indeed tasteless. Individual satisfaction has become so paramount that taste has become an entirely personal matter. To declare something to be "in poor taste" is to be accused of being a snob. A couple of American developers I have worked with proudly proclaim that there is no such building that is truly ugly, as long as the owner is happy with it--it's all relative in the end. Just as there is proud strain of anti-academicism in mainstream American life, which can harbor both a healthy skepticism of elite ideas and an unhealthy aversion deep philosophical thought, an accompanying elevation of the casual over fine art has engendered art forms that are highly infectious and accessible yet shallow and disposable. Conversely, the less stylistic refinement due to taste matters, the more a construction project is driven towards reducing cost and making a profit. A project's transactional value comes and goes relatively quickly in the life of a building, and often influences whether a building is built to last or will become obsolete in a few decades. If making money is the main goal and taste doesn't matter, why bother wasting money on looks?

Because building is more than anything else a public act, and it therefore comes with an additional responsibility towards the culture in which it exists. For as much as taking the financial risk benefits the investors and all associated designers, engineers and contract labor, it must benefit the public's self-regard. After all the payments have been processed and all the certificates are handed over, the question still begs an answer: What does this building say about who we are, where we are from and where we stand as a community? In highly rooted cultures, this question is answered pretty early in the design process either by following tradition or adopting a style that enjoys a dominant consensus. In un-rooted cultures such as in the U.S., this question is answered often too late, if at all, since they often question the very existence of any kind of communal identity.

But does ignoring something as subjective and as intangible as a new building's cultural value come at any cost? I would argue that in the long run, there is certainly a major cost to avoiding some level of cultural responsibility. It distinguishes communities that exhibit sophistication, permanence and integrity from those saddled with crudeness, transience, and waste. Building with an eye for taste and quality may not result in apparent short term benefits such as expense and profit, but it often yields longer term benefits such as resiliency, lower life-cycle costs, and a shared preference for preservation and restoration, as opposed to costly demolition. This is not to argue that aesthetic taste and quality should override fundamental transactional considerations. A building's primary value is worth the cost that the owner is willing to risk, that its construction makes him better off because it functions well and successfully carries out his expectations. Still, applying design sophistication to a building adds intangible value that reveals itself in through time such as prestige, beauty, fostering a sentimental attachment to the community.

Still, young communities will usually want to grow and prosper, and there must be an unrelenting openness to attracting business and the accompanying development that it brings. Industries take root, infrastructure expands and services arise and deepen according to the needs of the a community's growing population. Aesthetic sensibility will find its way in projects where owners value it, but it in this early phase, it should never get in the way of growth. Official restrictions that favor of aesthetics too strongly will risking snuffing out potential and critical development, but too much of a free-for-all in what is allowed to be built risks saddling the community the withering detritus of cheap development. There is an ironic bright side to the wood-based platform construction that characterizes much of the construction in the U.S.--it makes buildings essentially temporary, easy to change or tear down depending on whatever the local economic needs of the site are at a point in time.

There comes a point where the expansionary phase winds down, as growth changes from quantitative to qualitative in nature. Thanks to industries and businesses that have created a relatively stable and highly productive economic base for the community, its population now demands quality to match its affluent lifestyle. They start building homes that specify higher quality construction, or renovate exiting homes with either 'good bones' or sophisticated detailing and ornament. They want structures that exhibit craftsmanship, some artistry, and durable materials. They also want higher quality retail and restaurants, and find that luring them into their community requires spaces that provide costly amenities and a signature architecture that contains "character" and a "sense of place". When popular chains that cater to the middle to lower classes move in, they are instructed to adopt a nicer architectural envelope or at least change their prototype or risk refusal by the council. Undeveloped land becomes rare and commands a premium, both in price as well as in expectations by its residents. These residents are more aggressive in using zoning towards raising the value of property both monetarily and aesthetically in the form of development codes, which prohibit the use of certain materials due to their cheap and thin appearance while mandating masonry, and regulating the massing of new structures so as to not appear too "boxy" or "bunker-like".

Typical strip center in the U.S. that illustrates a developer's
minimal interest in a quality design. The envelope mostly
consists of foam with a thin coat of stucco (EIFS), which
tends to fail at the slightest impact.  The stone at the bottom
is likely the result of a city zoning code demanding a
minimum use of a natural material so that the building doesn't
look deliberately too cheap. The awnings above are also
 like the for the same reason. If the developer had his way,
all of it would be EIFS or painted concrete, the decorative cornices
would be gone, and there would be fewer awnings. So long
as he's managed to lease it at a desired rate, he's accomplished
his goal.

As the community prospers a shift from a transactional view to a more cultural view of buildings occurs among its residents. And yet they often don't know what this change should look like. Though they are very clear in expressing what they don't want, very rarely do I sense that these residents can specifically describe what they do want. They lack the ability to articulate what a culturally confident, more appropriate architecture is supposed to look like. In newer towns and cities where there is little to no built historic fabric to draw from, forming an enduring architectural identity is daunting, since there is almost nothing to anchor the community's place in history. In addition, contemporary communities, especially those uprooted from tradition and having devalued art appreciation as part of one's education, often cannot confidently impose a system of taste that could steer the future aesthetic direction of their built environment. They grab the thin straws of historicism, hoping that past styles could inform the design of new buildings without having any kind of rigorous or in-depth knowledge of those styles. For example they adopt for an "Italian" style for a new development, and achieve this by applying it in the most superficial, often abstracted way. They ignore proper classical orders, the judiciously applied materials and the craftsmanship involved in the making o f their most cherished monuments and townscapes in old Europe and America. Having no real experience or understanding from which to make sound aesthetic judgments, and lacking builders who know how to convincingly recreate the charms of past construction, they go on to approve watered-down kitsch designs that instantly undermine their desire to appear refined. These buildings tend to age badly, since the timeless aspects of the historic architecture they borrowed have been ignored. The chance to raise a community's cultural profile is wasted, and the lingering tastelessness is once again there for all to see.

Every place, regardless of function or history, belongs to some sort of cultural landscape. Some places are filled with buildings, streets and landmarks that overwhelmingly cry out their noble cultural heritage. Others are little more than clusters of simple sheds, from the more functional ones dedicated to industry, to the more 'decorated' ones for retail, leisure and worship. If they convey any cultural meaning, it's that the transaction and function matters over everything else, with attention to the short-term financial bottom line leaving little to no room for artistic flourish. Cultural signifiers on building is understood to be a surface application, as opposed to incorporating it at every phase. Responding to those who criticize the quality of construction in the U.S., the problem isn't a lack of technical competence among its designers, engineers and builders. They have repeatedly demonstrated their ability to innovate and compete in the global arena. Instead, the challenge is a lack of serious cultural inertia on the part of owners who don't attach themselves strongly to any strong cultural identity in the first place. If their personal attachment to a place is that thin, why invest in making a structure permanent within it?

One can endlessly berate this state of affairs in American construction, but it won't change anything. Once people can fully benefit from the commodification and improvement of land, anything else that doesn't add short-term monetary value will not get much attention. In an individualistic society, what one's culture is and its importance becomes an individual choice, and whether to instill in a building some architectural flourish is part of that choice. Imposing some kind of directive for higher quality design from above is out of the question, particularly in a society that is innately antagonistic to elite opinion. However it can come from the ground up, much as it did not to long ago in the U.S., especially before the middle of the twentieth century. There is an abundance of very straight-forward, functional and modest structures in countless towns and cities throughout the country that exhibit a pretty high level of stylistic refinement, often clustered in what are now endearingly called "historic districts". A group of brick warehouses, tall storefronts fronting Main Street, train depots, school buildings, detached homes--all were embellished with ornament, or composed according to stylistic templates popular at the time. Even as there was much less capital to build back then, it mattered a lot to owners for their structure to contribute to the establishment of their community as a kind of cultural bulwark in an largely untamed land.

We can view this cynically as a sentimental notion, but a lot of average Americans back then believed such a thing as taste, and lived with the expectation from their peers that they would know how to separate the beautiful from the dull. To be educated was not only knowing to read, write, and count, but it was also to acquire some notion of culture and to respect it with sensible judgment. At the same time, property ownership and development was a lot more laissez-faire than it is today, with little zoning or form-based codes to be found, and municipal masterplans a rarity. They didn't seem necessary, since there was a sense of rootedness among people back then, even it consisted of their own cultural inheritance or was imported form the cosmopolitan or foreign influences. Whatever the source, it mattered, and it demanded that an 'educated' person have some minimum level of knowledge of culture and how it applies to one's life. Our problem today is that we have either thrown away our heritage or have a very shallow understanding of it, and rather than subscribing to an overarching standard of taste, we ourselves become our own unrestrained (and uninformed) arbiters of what's great.

I'm not suggesting that we should defer to our taste-makers at once and hang onto every word they say. I'll be the first to admit that the public intellectuals of our time have failed us, not only because they deny the very notion that something can be actually good or beautiful, but because they are contemptuous of those who still believe and want to maintain some kind of broadly shared standard at all. If taste-makers apply any standard, it often has to do with his own personal values and achieving certain social and political goals, while beauty takes a back seat. Creative types such as students and young architects absorb the styles depicted in magazines books that select works based on a specific agenda of the editors (self-anointed tastemakers), then begin their careers unprepared in confronting clients with completely different expectations in what they regard as beautiful.

We therefore shouldn't rely on acquiring a sophisticated level of taste from on high. Instead, we should nurture it from within. We should be disciplined, make a genuine effort in learning about what we like, why we like it, what it truly takes to make the things we like. We should also dig deeper into what influenced the things we like, what cultural values inform these things, and whether we closely identify with these values. And finally, we should hold ourselves responsible to what we like, to be able to defend what we like on multiple levels, and that in making something for the public to experience (such as a building, or even just an interior renovation), we are true to ourselves and manifest our beliefs as faithfully as possible. To pursue building exclusively for financial gain betrays not only a more visually enriching environment, it betrays a primal need to see an important part of ourselves in the way we give shape to our lives.

Maybe America Isn't So Great, After All

Like most normal, red-blooded American boys, I grew up with an understanding that this nation was a city on a hill, a supreme nation whose history and people separated it from all others. As I became more politically aware in my 20s, suffering several political defeats along the way (the continued growth of the welfare state, the curtailing of liberty, the moral decay) I held in the back of my mind a future turning point when things would get better. Just as an example, I remember writing President Clinton as a 13-year-old about the abuses of food stamps at my local grocery store in Natchitoches, Louisiana. Surely by now, such abuses would have come to an end. They have nearly doubled. 

Still, with the decay in the moral life, the cultural life, and the political life, there was always a stubborn insistence in my mind that the American will and persona would "take back the country." After yesterday's decision by the Supreme Court, that naivete is quickly disappearing. I am training my mind for a new reality, a reality in which there isn't a turning point in the future. True, I am probably overreacting to one man's strange judicial mind. And yes, the pundits remind me of particular silver linings. And yes, there are still political opportunities in 2012 and beyond. 

But there are far deeper problems that the sane person cannot ignore about our nation any longer. This particular law and Supreme Court decision have brought them to the fore. Highlighted now is our nation's desire to be acted upon, to become passive where we were once actors.

The nation we live in is one of increasingly weak minds and weak wills; "men without chests," C.S. Lewis said. Somehow, weakness has become acceptable to us. I always understand American to be a nation of strength; strong men and women, independent men and women, people who could accomplish and succeed on their own. Moreover, men and women who wanted to accomplish and succeed on their own. 

The American is active, not passive. The American seeks to do things on his own, without compulsion from others. He decides, he creates, he produces. He succeeds or fails on his own merits. He trades the promise of utopia for the risk of failure. Or he used to.

The American is also virtuous, defined by thrift and modesty. Religious life, now in a slow retreat, was once hugely defining for Americans. Will it continue to be so? Americans are charitable and compassionate. Americans are prudent, content to let the wisdom of experience guide their minds. 

These are the qualities that I assumed would come roaring back one day in enough numbers to turn the tide of our nation and to restore the city on the hill. The strong men - not the lazy ideologues who impose - would decide they prefer the risk of liberty. They would sacrifice to be free. While these traits are visible in many, especially our military, they are too easily being given up. Instead, other sins have won out. 

It begins with greed. We are a nation that consumes more than we produce. To be sure, capitalism is moral. But the consumerism we have embraced - defined by everything from sex-selective abortion to living beyond our means - is evil. We have gotten too lazy to distinguish between the two. Conservatives have lost the courage to defend capitalism and decry consumerism.

It continues with sloth. While many Americans, of course, continue to work hard, too many have become too lazy, relying instead on largess and unearned income. While a social "safety net" may be compassionate, sloth is immoral in any century, in any nation. 

Next comes narcissism. Read the works of Jean Twenge for a more comprehensive and damning summary. http://www.generationme.org/. One anecdote says a lot. An international study that compared academic test scores and self-esteem found that Americans scored terribly on the tests, but had the highest self-esteem. South Koreans meanwhile scored much higher on the academic tests, but had lower self-esteem. A majority of young Americans are at best delusional about their abilities and their goodness. Nothing is more despicable to God than a proud sinner, a narcissist who lives by their own terms.

Most pernicious and pervasive of all is the sin of coveting. Where we once were content to earn what was ours and respect what others had, we have become a society that envies. Envy is at the root of our passive acceptance of sloth and the moral depravity of the vapid and lifeless celebrity culture. Our wealth has led us to believe that there is something desirable in material acquisition. That is a lie. 

Marketing, television, the celebrity culture and, of course, the politics of class warfare all have at their root the damnable sin of coveting. One cannot blame the marketers, the television producers, the celebrity or the politicians. They are complicit. But it is the American who covets. We own that sin. Until America becomes a nation of men who are content with their lot in life, we we continue to be a sick nation indeed. The material world is not, in and of itself sinful. But coveting is, and it is the root that must be destroyed if we will ever be a great nation again. 

What of religion? Aren't Americans still a religious people. Americans may be religious, but in so many ways, it is often the mere form of religion that passes for Christianity. Many Christian charities are largely government-funded. Megachurches and charismatics preach a false gospel. We have turned religious faith into a consumerist model like everything else. Even the Catholic Church contributed greatly in justifying the welfare state. Their efforts to fight it now are almost certainly too little too late.

Is it still possible that America can change? Of course. But it will require a majority of people willing to live lives of risk and independence. That corner may always be turned. But it seems naive and probably even ignorant to see it anytime soon. And not because a particular law has been upheld. But because that law represents a nation handing over something as fundamental as their health to others. That is profoundly un-American. Or at least, it used to be.

A Vapid Unbearable Lightness: Why Modern Architecture Struggles to Inspire Catholics

La Tourette Monastery by Le Corbusier  in
Eveux, France

Inspired by a recent visit to a Le Corbusier-designed Dominican monastery near the French city of Lyon, I've been thinking a lot about the interaction between Catholicism and modernist aesthetics.   It has little to do with whether the Church affects what designers create beyond filling the program.   Instead, I've tried to examine the architect's religion influences the Church's own self-image.  I've concluded that the Church, an institution that has been the guardian tradition and the patron artistic and architectural development in the West for almost two millennia, never could reconcile itself comfortably with Modernism. 

I was reminded of this when I shared with my brother news on the opening of a new convent and Visitor Center buried into the hill on which sits Le Corbusier's famous Notre Dame-du-Haut Chapel at Ronchamp.  The convent was but the latest creation of the contemporary master Renzo Piano, featuring architect's trademark manipulation of natural light, spatial simplicity, open views of nature and elegant detailing.  My brother seemed to shrug at these qualities, writing

 "Seems more like a fish tank with Ikea finishes than a cloister. I know natural light, rectangles, and windows are nice, but its openness and simplicity feel like some vapid unbearable lightness than a place of spiritual reflection. Zen monks might appreciate it more."

I replied that he seemed to have a very narrow idea of what constitutes a proper place for spiritual reflection, and that lightness and simplicity had a place Catholic doctrine.  I referred to him to a series of pictures  I had taken of Le Corbusier's monastery, wondering what he thought of his more 'Brutal' approach.  My brother elaborated:

"Ugh, these architects have no god. That thing (by Corbu) is hideous. Look, meditation takes place in the mind, but more in the soul. Christianity places the priority on man's soul transcending his surroundings, not blending with it (a la Zen). Man is large, not small. Churches should be ornamented and highly symbolic, teeming with life, not stark and barren. It all has to do with Being not Nonbeing. The church is a foundation, it's heavy, it imitates the eternal. It's not some flimsy plates of glass and concrete garnished with random primary colors here and there." 

Bedroom of Convent by Renzo Piano Workshop at
Ronchamp, France

Though there are indeed gaps in his argument that can be exploited, I think his overall opinion is respectable and shared by many of the Catholic faithful who possess a sophisticated understanding of their beliefs and how to translate them into sacred art.  Often such views completely contrast from many members of the clergy, who have more of an interest in revitalizing the church by embracing contemporary artistic trends than by responding to wishes of their flock.  The Dominican monastic order prizes scholasticism above all else, and finds it fully consistent to hire a leader at the forefront of architectural progress like Le Corbusier.  The nuns were probably thinking along the same lines, wondering less about how sacred life can transform architecture, but rather how architecture can transform sacred life.  Architecture in both instances is a stream of development independent of religion, part of an ongoing dialog on the nature of form, space and order.

Outside a few rare examples such as Ronchamp,  I sense that Modernism has failed to deliver an architecture  that connects with most Catholics and other traditional Christians.  Much of this has to do with fact that Modernism as a cultural movement is inherently atheistic as it is based on a secular materialist philosophy.  Even Renzo Piano admits as much, describing his client from the convent: "She has a profound love of architecture, of landscape, of sacred space – and even of people without religion, like me.  She wanted a place of silence and prayer. I said: 'I can't help you with prayer, but perhaps I can help with silence and a little joy."

Chapel at Convent by Renzo Piano Workshop,
Ronchamp, France 

And therein lies the crux of the problem: When one has done away with symbols, theology, and the act of worship, there's little else to inspire a credible work of sacred art or architecture.  Piano, like any committed Modernist, is left with little more than a preference for abstraction, technology  and  some vague nostrums about nature and  space.  For a Modernist, the point of architecture is to convey an image of maximum clarity, in which all elements are related by function and little else.  As long as a space is adequately sheltered and functions for the use of its occupants, there is no need for decorative flourish.  Piano is reduced to checking off boxes for the client's wish list, from the number of rooms, to furnishings, and to achieving a quality of 'silence'.  There's nothing all that particular about an architecture of silence--maybe  a dark room secluded from more socially active spaces.  Given the right palette of materials and details, any space can be turned into something contemplative.  But can this generic approach to design evoke much meaning beyond mere emotional states such as peace?

Sacred spaces achieve much of its effect by emphasizing mystery. This is at the core of any religion, in which divine truth is revealed beyond any logical or rational framework.  As is often said, God is revealed in mysterious ways, and the purpose of any sacred space is to embody this reality.  It is inherent that a secular space is completely  counter to this and thus adopts an architectural language devoid of mystery or even ambiguity.   Secular spaces instead embrace the language of the engineer, someone who works outside the world of art, poetry, and indeed of mystery, by solving problems with the most rational tools of math and science.  There is a lot of work that goes into making successful setting for secular activities, much of it having to do with the science of building, such as lighting, acoustics, and visibility.  There is also a tendency for generating phenomenological effect through technology, such as making walls highly transparent or reflective, surfaces either smooth or deliberately rough.  To the Modernist who puts its faith in technological progress, the more an effect can exceed what can be done by the human hand, the better.

La Tourette Monastery by Le Corbusier, Eveux, France

Such attention to a material's effects point to Modernism's essentially materialist philosophy on architecture. In sacred architecture, the building and the spaces within serve  to connect users to a deeper reality that transcends its walls. They function as a gateway from the material world to a spiritual realm--the focus is on the eternal, not the object that portends to represent it.  In a secular context like Modernism, the object is the thing itself, and all meaning is tied directly to that object.   Walking into a exemplary Modernist space, one is supposed to marvel at its lightness, smoothness and simplicity, attributes that are commonly summarized as 'machine-like'.  If one desires a more 'humanist' look and feel, the designer can instill a quality of 'roughness' by texturizing concrete, oxidizing steel,  and inserting warmth by using  natural materials such as wood and stone.  Industrialization gives us that much more control to generate a precise effect, and empowers the designers unlimited opportunities in experimenting.  At the same time, it diminishes the role of the craftsman, who throughout most of human history was the guardian in generating material effects, and in  many ways assumed the role of architectural detailing.  Machines take the human factor out of the art of making, thus producing something devoid of passion, feeling that imbues every man-made object.

Piano singles himself better than most of his contemporaries by his ability to reinsert the human touch in his design process. His architectural details are truly works of art and are usually the result of a distinct craftsman-like approach in generating them.  The name of his firm, The Renzo Piano Workshop, harkens back to the time when architecture was realized by stone masons, who would accumulate specialized design knowledge in the development of style details and templates.  Where Piano departs is the end result of his craftsman-like approach: highly refined, ultra-precise, machine-polished building systems and parts.  The structural connections in his projects are beautiful  and poetic pieces of engineering, much like Apple products, but like most industrial artifacts, they cannot express the ancient, primordial aspects of our humanity.  Is that necessary to fully immerse oneself the Catholic experience?

I believe so.  A fundamental assumption in Catholicism is that history is linear and that God was incarnated in the human form of Jesus Christ at a precise point in history to the point that the period before and after this event are neatly divided (BC vs. AD).  Its doctrines and liturgy are part of an evolutionary process that have taken place in the world for two thousand years, and followers actively partake in this history by participating in the mass.  For most Catholics, weekly mass is the only time that they are reminded that they are tied to humanity in throughout the ages, both in the past and the future.  This goes against 'modernity', or the idea that the times are so new and different that prior truths or solutions are irrelevant.  In Christianity, Truth is eternal, and the problems that afflict humanity are no different during the time of Christ than they do now. There is no 'new and improved'. Rather, the ideal was was established two-thousand years ago (the life of Christ) and no amount of social or technological advance (or regression) can change this. 

View of Crypt inside the La Tourette Monastery
by Le Corbusier

In addition, Christianity relies on communicating its ideas through allegories conveyed verbally in the Bible, musically in its music and visually illustrated in its art and architecture.  These are designed to make the message accessible to all people, as opposed to keeping revelations close to a self-selected elite.  The message has to be clear, the context must be provided and the characters believable.  Visually, this requires the use of lines and recognizable figures placed in a narrative relationship. These demands don't lend themselves well to abstraction, the modus operandi of the Modernist.   Abstraction is by nature open to individual interpretation; Christian revelation is not.  Abstraction is deliberately exercised by an individual, driven by their own desire to create original content; Christian subjects and themes are the content, with the artist sharing his visceral imaginings of truths he does not question (like most European art before the 19th Century).

This probably explains why many Catholics feel a certain frustration with the role played by modern music, art and design in today's church.  The music uses irregular folk beats, vulgar melodies and harmonies, and seem composed to bring attention to the songs themselves rather than acquainting singers to a more transcendent reality.  In contemporary Christian art, Christ is portrayed as a non-descript figure, and often times and rendered in an abstracted archaic style that is flat and lacks feeling.  The cross is abstracted to emphasize its iconic nature as a symbol, detached from any literal representation of what actually happened on the cross.  In most modern churches, seating is arranged as a theater in the round, focusing the parishioners' attention to the the priest, or the choir, rather than to God as manifested in an elaborately decorated apse wall or a ceiling pointed to heaven. This was vividly brought to my attention when watching the broadcast of Christmas mass from the Vatican--most of the camera shots showed details of the sanctuary's glorious interior and symbolic art, with the occasional view of the Pope.  Catholic worship is not about the mere men (priests) who help conduct its rituals but is instead is about how God is revealed in them by means of humanity's most outward expression of what lies within its soul: Art. When there is nothing meaningful or moving to look at, one is resigned to paying attention to a charismatic individual standing on a stage, tanscendent beauty is loss, and the Christian message takes on a banal delivery.

Chapelle Notre Dame du Haut by Le Corbusier,
Ronchamp, France

 Architects, a growing number of whom fall into agnosticism and atheism, often seem to forget this when visiting sacred yet Modern masterpieces.  Just because Le Corbusier's Ronchamp chapel makes some of my colleagues cry doesn't mean it fulfills its ecclesiastical responsibilities particularly well.  They are likely overwhelmed by the chapel's poetic mastery of form and light and how it provokes a profound yet undefinable emotional response.  I succumbed to this response myself when I went to Ronchamp as well when I toured  Le Corbusier's monastery of La Tourette.  I was taken aback by his buildings' abstract forms, its play with light, its vivid use of color, its sophisticated relationship to its site.  In the end, I didn't develop a more profound appreciation of Christian revelation, but a greater respect for mathematical proportion, abstract formal metaphors, primary colors and geometries--transcendent things nonetheless, but a bit too esoteric for most people.  La Tourette was clearly a more regulated composition compared to Ronchamp, which is probably why is probably why the latter provokes a more emotional response.  In  a sense, the chapel is Le Corbusier at his least 'modern' and more archaic, while his monastery is likely intended to feel more academicized due to that typology's tradition of being repositories for knowledge. Ronchamp's form sweeps up to heaven, its dark sanctuary enclosed in thick walls reminds one of a cave evocative of early Christianity, while its rounded towers mimick Mary in her veil, sheltering the church below. Though these moves aren't literal, there is just enough reference to the symbols and ideas of Catholic church that make this more approachable to average followers.

Church on the Water by Tadao Ando, Tomamu, Japan

This isn't to suggest that modern architecture can't achieve successful spaces for spriritual contemplation. Tadao Ando's Church by the Water is especially powerful, manipulating natural light and framing views that heightens the senses and fuses nature into the act of worship. The church is stripped of traditional Christian decoration, illustrations of bibical stories or saints, or any other reference to the history of the church. It works for those who wish to understand God through nature's primal elements and how they change through the passage of time. There is a sense of ignoring the human presence altogether, as it invites one to blend into the natural surrounding (as my brother's comment on zen indicates), which may work in more minimalist strains of Christianity and even Catholicism, but will leave many believers hungering for a place rich in narrative objects and a more fully enclosed communal response among people.   There is no altar to focus on, only a highly abstracted cross standing in a reflecting pond, which could have all sorts of meanings, but not one that concentrates the mind of the believer on Christ and his passion.

A truly inspiring space that uses a modern architectural language for catholic worship is extremely difficult to find.  While many architects simply choose to employ a historicist style for even newest churches, it is possible to address the particular characteristics of a catholic church while maintaining a modernist sensibility.  I submit a Cistercian chapel located not far from where I live in Irving outside of Dallas designed by Gary Cunningham. Long an admired designer in the area, Cunningham's work can be characterized as simple, straight-forward, and sensitive to materials. His award-winning residences follow a rather conventional contemporary style but he also is very accomplished in the art of adaptive reuse, in which he repurposes an existing building by carefully juxtaposing old and new elements.  This consciousness of how time plays a role in the way a building expresses itself is strongly manifested in the Cistercian chapel.  The space is enclosed in rough quaried limestone, cut in massive blocks and stacked in traditional running bond, which instantly strikes any visitor as reminiscent of the Catholic church's earliest Romanesque sanctuaries with their thick walls and small windows. Its wood roof floating above the nave takes the shape of a traditional ceilings found in these churches, while also resembling the underside of a ship (which is where the word 'nave' comes from). Spans are short, further emphasizing the weight of the stone, even as they maintain familiar rhythm suggestive of the old ambulatory aisles with the repetitive row of vertical windows.  It follows more of a classic basilica typology than the popular theatre-in-the round, which indicates a desire to focus on the liturgy as opposed to the priest. But more than merely echoing the churches of the past, this chapel appears as a direct architectural metaphor for the creation of the church itself: "And I say also unto thee, That thou art Peter, and upon this rock I will build my church...(Matthew 16:18)"  While obviously an abstract design, Cunningham manages to endow the chapel with an important phrase from the Gospel and thus Christian revelation.  Sleek details and delicate connections between the roof and walls betray its contemporary origins, but the way it highlights the split-faced texture of the rock wed the chapel to the church's long institutional history, and the countless number of people who dedicated their lives in building structures fitting to God's glory.

Cistercian Chapel by Gary Cunningham, Irving, Texas

And that, to me, is what is necessary for a compelling Catholic worship space--a connection not only with the divine, but just as importantly with an institution comprised of people throughout the ages. Its walls should reveal human intent, either through a man-made texture or through an ornament that is the work of genuine human input. Machine-smooth de-personalizes this experience.  As any human institution that is an essential part of catholic identity, it carries a rich artistic and architectural heritage that brings with it a kind of unassailable authority not found in Protestantism, which devalues the human institution in favor of interpreting directly from the Bible.  The result of of relying on scripture, however justifiable from a theological standpoint, seems to lead towards a breaking down of a rich visual language and an embrace for abstraction.  A small cultural vacuum subsequently takes root, which grows to consume what's left of symbols, music, and eventually the walls.  The ultimate result is either a television studio black-box with no windows preferred by evangelicals or a zen-like meditation space with no walls and a subtle symbolic indication that it's even Christian (such as Ando's church).

I'm sure that Piano's and Le Corbusier's clerical clients were pleased with the result, and fans of high-design with no opinion on proper Catholic aesthetics are moved by their examples, too.  But I wonder if these exercises in abstraction, lightness, and trying to stay relevant in fast-changing contemporary culture win much in the way of converts. People who seek the church want their souls nourished by the church's message in as many forms as possible. When many of these forms are abstracted or simplified to an incomprehensible level, it leaves such people feeling unfulfilled, and causes many of them to leave the church for a place that offer a richer, more visually arresting environment of the older historic sanctuaries.  At least these modern ecclesiastical masterpieces continue to open their arms to the perennial pilgrimage of people most interested in them: architecture students.

I'm Glad Newt is a Catholic Convert and Not A Recommitted Protestant

I'm no huge fan of Newt Gingrich for all the reasons that have been said time and again in the last month. He has lots of baggage, both politically and personally, and it is hard to nail him down on exactly where he stands. It seems that he far prefers and excels at the role of the underdog, but has no idea how to succeed once he is the victor. For committed political conservatives, that's worrisome, and it explains why he has achieved so much with so modest expectations as a candidate, but could destroy his own presidency once he wins.

He may very well flame out in the coming weeks or days (so I better type fast!). But if he doesn't and if I feel compelled to vote for him in my Texas primary, I will take some heart that he is a Catholic convert and not a recommitted Protestant. I say that as a mainline Protestant, all too aware of the failings of both the mainline branch and the evangelical branch of my side of the aisle. The weaknesses of the Protestant movement do not help men like Mr. Gingrich: restless, intelligent and ambitious men who, in the end, find it hard to have much respect for Protestantism.

Protestantism, especially the American version of it, rarely offers a coherent understanding of man's bondage to sin, his need for forgiveness, and the Church’s role in proclaiming that forgiveness objectively. Therefore, Protestants often find themselves alone with their sin, with little framework and no real teaching authority shy of their pastor. Emotional highs and lows have become the norm for American evangelicals, and for men who are chronically undisciplined, the emotional high of recommitment fades quickly.

For men like Gingrich I suspect, there is also little respect for the historical and intellectual foundations of Protestantism. Sure, it has its giants like Luther, Calvin, Barth, Bonhoeffer, and on and on. But a book of America's Protestant heroes would be thin reading indeed. Even John Wesley was a failed American preacher before returning to England where he would found Methodism. Our history is more often filled with heretics or lone ranger types who stir up crowds, men who create discontent and leave no legacy of vale behind.

This American history finds its triumphant apex in today's Church Growth Movement, as the thin gruel of Joel Osteen and his many, many competitors can turn the most open-minded of men into the most hardened of cynics. “If this is Christianity,” they might say, “it must be for those incapable of complex thought. This is clearly a self-fulfilling, financially motivated operation that has virtually nothing in common with historical Christianity.” They would be right. At some point, I keep waiting for the veneer of this thinly veiled Christianity to wear off. Sadly for those who believe themselves to be in the fold of traditional Christianity, it remains a power.

But is Rome any better? Doesn't it offer the same thing, just with more formality? Certainly, one could quibble with Rome. Protestants and Catholics continue to have theological disagreements, and even Rome's cherished Magisterium (the teaching authority of the Church) doesn't always get it right. (That is, if you ask a Protestant.) Indeed, I find myself frequently disappointed that Rome doesn't actually exercise its Magisterium on a more regular basis! So I am not saying that Rome is perfect, or that any expression of the Faith is capable of perfection

But Newt's conversion to Catholicism tells me more about him than it does about Rome. For a man as bright as Newt to consider such a conversion tells me that he did not merely recommit to the Christian principles he already knew he had to live by. It tells me he was willing to place himself under the authority of Rome. For the restless intellectual, Newt and countless men before him finally found his match, an institution he could deeply respect, an institution he was actually willing to repent to belong to. It tells me that for all of his bravado and his ego (which remains healthy), he is a man capable of some maturity, introspection and humility. He is not perfect by any means, but he has found an expression of the Faith that will speak to him in a way Protestantism never did, and never could. It simply didn't have the clout.

To see where a recommitted Protestant may end up, one may only need to look at Mr. Gingrich's former sparring partner, President Clinton. President Clinton no doubt recommitted to his Christian faith many times in the wake of his adulterous affairs. But there is little evidence any such commitment stuck. I suspect it is because there is little real fear of the Baptist Church among men as intelligent as President Clinton. They know its history and theology and techniques are thin, even as in every expression of Christianity resides very bright stars. But for some men like Mr. Gingrich and President Clinton, they will only listen to the authority of Rome. Newt seems to have placed himself under that authority, and for that, I can more easily support him.

The Tyranny of the Story

Below is a sermon preached to a congregation December 4, 2011. Usually, I don't publish sermons, but this had enough commentary on society's embrace of subjective stories that I thought it would work in this medium as well. The picture is actually from a congregation, New Life Church in Colorado Springs, CO.

It seems that nothing is complete today without someone adding their personal story to it. Nothing has any value at all unless someone’s story accompanies it to give it that personal touch, a story that brings an event or an occasion down the personal level. So prevalent is the demand for personal stories, I am starting to see this demand as a kind of tyranny, a fruit of our relativistic age that tells us that nothing has intrinsic value unless someone feels that it has value.

I was watching a competitive cooking show the other day, and the challenge was not only to cook a great dish, but to connect the dish to a story. The chefs, who are masters of their trade, were judged on their ability to connect a story to their dish as much as the dish itself. This wasn’t the first time I’ve noticed this. Indeed, the Food Network is constantly coaching its talent to partner their life story with their food. Somehow, they believe that if we know a TV cook learned a lasagna recipe sitting at the feet of Aunt Maria during summer vacations to Naples, the food will taste better.

Maybe it will. But in the end, the food should speak for itself. I don’t care what long-lost relative concocted the recipe…I just want to know if it’s tasty or not. So interested are we in the personal story, though, that the media demands the personal touch. News reporting is no better. An event is reported on, then a microphone is placed in the face of a bystander and they’re asked how they feel about the event.

And yet, perhaps no institution has become as corrupted by the tyranny of the story as the church. Starting as an American phenomenon in the mid-1800s, the testimonial came to be the way the Church validated its ministry. After all, what good is the Gospel or the Bible or even the Law if human beings don’t experience a changed life and live to tell the tale? The testimonial became the personal story that proved the good news of Jesus to be true. Never mind that the faith had been preserved for almost two millennia on the facts of Jesus’ ministry, death, resurrection and ascension. No, in America, we also had to have personal stories validate Jesus, or else, the Church would just be seen as another tired institution with nothing new or interesting to say.

Now I’m not saying that stories are bad! Stories are wonderful, they are truly the language of the human race. Stories help us make sense of the world, they entertain us, and they separate us from every other of God’s creatures. God has gifted us with the ability to tell stories, and that is a good thing. But stories have their limits, and in our narcissistic time and place, they can easily become a cheap substitute for the truth. The demand for stories to validate the truth cripples the church’s proclamation of the Gospel, because instead of proclaiming what is, we end up arguing who has the better story: you or the atheist, you or the secularist, you or the naturalist, you or the Buddhist.

That’s the difference between news and a story. News happens, whether we like it or not. News is not particularly personal, and news is equally true for all people. Stories are personal, and they may be true or false. News is objective; how we feel about it can’t make it untrue. Stories are often subjective, and they are often intended to change the way we feel.

We need to appreciate the difference between news and stories, so we can fully appreciate what Mark is saying the first sentence of his gospel. He writes, “The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.” The Gospel, according to Mark is not a story, but news of an event. The stories found in Mark or any other gospel reveal the Gospel. It is not the purpose of the Gospel to reveal a story.

The word Gospel actually derives from the Old English words, “good spell” or “glad tidings.” These are both literal translations from the Greek Word euangelion, from which we get also get the words “evangel” or “evangelism.” The Greek understanding of euangelion was good news, mostly in the wake of military battles. If a general or a king arrived home after being away in battle with euangelion, that meant the enemy had been defeated.

So when Mark begins his gospel by saying, “The beginning of the euangelion of Jesus Christ,” he is not only using military language, he is declaring victory from the outset. And he is saying that it is true, it is done, and we live in the wake of the news. It’s like hearing a paper boy on the street on August 15, 1945, when victory in World War II had become official. You hear the news, you rejoice, and you can’t change the news or lessen it. You can’t become the news or live the news. You can only hear it, rejoice in it, and retell it. The same is true of the Gospel of Jesus Christ. You can’t “live the Gospel or “be the Gospel”. It simply is. You can only hear it, rejoice in it, and retell it.

What Jesus Christ did on the cross, when he bore the sins of the world, and died, and was buried only to be raised from the dead…that’s good news. Too much teaching and preaching today is built around trying to connect that news to our personal stories. But that is a trap. What happens when our stories don’t turn out so well? What happens when we can’t live up to the standard of perfection that God’s demands?

Our personal stories, far from being heroic, are usually shameful or embarrassing. We selfishly act in our own interests instead of the interests of others. We idolize other men and women. We encourage and participate in a culture that is obsessed with sexuality and the superficial. We love to tell stories about ourselves that place us in a great light. But the truth is that the stories we don’t tell usually are not very impressive. Indeed, they are convicting of our constant falling short of God’s standards.

But the good news of Jesus Christ, that news is good, no matter the shortcomings of our own stories. And that is truly what makes it good! God intervened in our lives, not to partner in our own amazing stories, but to save us from our sins. While we are trying to figure out where our story fits into God’s story, Mark comes to us with news that transcends our stories, surpasses our stories, and exceeds our stories.

And that news is that in the person of Jesus Christ, God has come to you in the flesh. He has died for your sins. And he has been raised from the dead. And in your baptisms, your sin has been defeated, and you are given the promise that you too will be raised from the dead. The good news is true: Christ is the victorious king with euangelion, the savior who has won for you the war against sin, death and the devil. Amen.