September 7 1998

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All church buildings tell stories about the people who build them and about their understanding of how God meets his gathered people. To understand the stories new church buildings tell, I started with an old one—Hollywood Presbyterian, built in 1924.

That's not very old as buildings go, but it is old on a human horizon. Our grandparents built such places. Hollywood Presbyterian is a Southern California evangelical monument, where Henrietta Mears inspired future leaders like Campus Crusade's Bill Bright.

You have seen buildings just like this on a hundred urban streets—a neo-gothic brick pile shoe-horned onto a corner, just inside the sidewalk. With its soaring tower, it "looks like a church," but it doesn't make much of an impression on its environment. Step into the grand old sanctuary, however, and a hush comes over the world. In the sacred darkness, stained-glass windows, ornate wooden trusses, stone arches, and a high pulpit unmistakably communicate "holy place." Dominating the chancel are five ornamented thrones, the center one designated for the preacher to sit in until the moment he ascends the pulpit, ten feet above the congregation. If Moses appeared lugging the Ten Commandments, he would fit right in. This is a church that makes you want to sing "A Mighty Fortress." This is what our grandparents meant when they said "sanctuary."

Now take, by contrast, Saddleback Community Church, the "Purpose-Driven Church" that pastor Rick Warren leads in south Orange County, California. This gigantic Southern Baptist "seeker-sensitive" congregation is hardly obsessed with buildings—they met in a tent for years. When it came time to build a 3,000-seat worship center, Saddleback deliberately chose an architectural ...