The various houses of
worship I have seen throughout the world have all impressed me in
some way, with their assortment of characters, aesthetics, and
iconography. From the Buddhist prayer flags of Myanmar to the
cavorting Hindu gods of Sri Lanka. The studious silence of the
synagogue in Jerusalem to the studious silence of the mosques in
Malaysia. (It's amazing how much we humans have in common.)
I have also enjoyed time
in the cavernous cathedrals of Europe, though their proximity to my
own cultural foundation leaves them more vulnerable to critique, and
I have trouble looking at expanses of gold without imagining how much
blood was spilled to put it there. But there is a unique sense of
reverence in their stony sanctity and stained glass.
But I ain't never seen a
church like this one.
My corner of Oakland
is an easy place to hibernate, which would be a waste in a city this
diverse and vivacious, so last night I mounted my trusty green
bicycle to explore beyond the boundaries of my neighborhood. I ate
savory lamb samosas in Vik's Chaat Corner then headed downtown, where I found a spaceship sitting opposite Lake
Merritt.
The website of Oakland's Cathedral of Christ the Light tells of the demise of the previous church (a more conventional
building) after the 1989 Loma Prieta Earthquake. But the juicier
story I heard was that after the old church was destroyed, the
insurance company refused to pay up.
The Mausoleum, where contestants begin and end |
The community came together and raised
the massive amount of money necessary to build a new and improved
cathedral, but then the insurance company kicked in after all. Now
the builders had twice their required budget. The result sits on
Harrison Street like an extraterrestrial cocoon, has a mausoleum
underneath that could host The Hunger Games, and the actual worship
area was like none I have ever seen, watched over by a towering, yet
relatively subtle, image of Jesus more easily seen during the
day, when sunlight pours through the holes of the screen. Jesus Ra?
But the most stunning aspect for me was
the acoustics. In between the snippets of hymns from choir practice I
could hear every softly spoken word the choir master said as if he'd
been standing behind me, instead of way on the other side of the nave
(if that's even the correct term for a space like this). When they
finished singing, the music continued for several seconds in the
stunningly designed space. I thought Davies Symphony Hall was
incredible, but this transcends even that acoustic marvel.
A little hard to see the Jesus image on the big white thing at night, but I'm assured that during the day it's stunning |
All that listening had made me hungry.
Luckily Oakland is one helluva multicultural town, so a few blocks
away I took a table near the window where ducks hung behind Chinese
characters. To my left four old ladies debated something serious in
Mandarin, behind me eight African American men knew the menu inside
and out, and to my right three men conversed in the fricatives of
Arabic.
Authentic Indian street food, a nice
ride past Farmers Markets closing up shop, a tour of epic
architecture, and now succulent duck and barbecue pork?
Yeah, I can live in Oakland.
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