Architectures of Oppression and Architecture of Love

The Fracturing of Society, and the Unity of the New Jerusalem

There’s an apartment complex in Iowa City that reminds me of a prison. The apartments run in a rectangle around the edge of the property line, leaving a large quadrangle in the middle. There’s no flowers, no trees, no landscaping. Just unkempt grass. Standing in the grass, one’s vision is obstructed in all four directions by double-decker apartments facing inward with open-air walkways, cold iron railings, and exposed metal buttresses. All that’s missing are bars on the doors.

Architecture is one of the ways a society says out loud what it finds important. Rather than pitying those living in the prison-like complex, I decided to get curious about my own home’s architecture. And I realized that it might be just as oppressive as the prison-apartments, just in a different way.

I have no front porch.

What lacks architecturally my wife has made up for in excellent landscaping.

Well, I do. But it’s so tiny it doesn’t really count. And when the spring-loaded plexiglass door is open, it takes up most of the square footage. If I’m carrying anything I have to stand at the very edge of the porch (and sometimes step off of it) in order to enter.

I might be able to fit a single chair on my front porch, but only one. Porches are for sitting with other people anyway, which would make it all but pointless. It gets worse: my porch is set back into the architecture of the building such that to one side is the wall of my garage, and to the other is a metal fence that runs the perimeter of my back yard. So if I were to sit on my front porch by myself, the likelihood that I’d be able to interact with a neighbor is next to zero.

Every house on my street is built in a similar fashion: small, recessed porches with giant opaque garage doors filling one’s sight. Middle America knows exactly what I’m talking about. The reason I find this style architecture oppressive is really simple: as a Christian, I’m to love my neighbor, but my home and my neighbors’ homes discourage interaction, let alone love. Having a friendly conversation, keeping an eye on our kids as they bike the cul-de-sac, and having a general sense of community is sabotaged from the outset.

The prison quadrangle apartment complex actually has something on my neighborhood. At least when the residents open their doors, they can greet each other and fellowship in a common space without obstruction.

It drives me nuts that there’s nowhere architecturally to conceal the trash cans. They’re such an eyesore.

A few years ago I invited a cohort of pan-African entrepreneurs who were part of the Mandela-Washington fellowship at the University of Iowa to my house for tea and cake. They were remarking how emphatically un-racist America seemed to them. Just then, we entered my neighborhood, and I told them that while I was pleased that they didn’t feel discrimination for the color of their skin or national origin, I didn’t want to present them with an overly-rosy picture of what life in America is like. I pointed out the architecture of my neighborhood and said, “See? We may only appear not to discriminate on skin color because we discriminate regardless of skin color.” I told them how the very way in which we have built our homes is both a symptom and a cause of the total fracturing of American society. We don’t love our neighbors. We’re suspicious of them, and want to avoid them as a general rule. One might not experience racism, but one also likely won’t experience community.

Pastorally, I point this out because the church needs to find ways of overcoming architecture. Have you ever taken a moment to consider what the architecture of your church says about your community? Churches used to be constructed in the shape of a cross when seen from above. We’ve gotten away from that.

Not all churches choose their architecture, so it’s worth asking the question more mildly: Have you considered the ways in which the architecture of your church affects your communal life? And what must be done to compensate if it’s prohibiting the love of God and the love of neighbor?

Peterborough Cathedral, from dreamstime.com

The Bible concludes with a vision of the New Jerusalem, which is the bride of Christ, coming down from heaven. The author of Revelation pays special attention to the architecture of the city. It lies foursquare; its length and width are equal. The walls are precisely 144 cubits. The foundation of the walls is of twelve different precious jewels. And the twelve gates are pearls through which the nations bring glory and honor (Revelation 21).

The Bible cares about architecture, and the New Jerusalem is blueprinted by the Master Architect. It’ll be beautiful, pleasing to the eye in every way, as buildings should be. And it will be entirely functional. The twelve gates mean easy access and quick entry. There, we will be gathered into the final community where love pours forth into love.