Mary M. Gilvarry Oct. 3l, 2002
Here in Los Angeles there is a new Cathedral,
with an impressive price tag of 200 million. However, there are some strange
things at the Cathedral of our Lady of the Angels. Out Lady aint anywhere in
the worship space. Then, too, there are no angels to be seen in any
prominent spot. Now there might be an angel or two hidden on the pedestal
below the altar, which is a huge flat slab of horizontal marble, but I didn’t
see a one flying around up near the ceiling or settled in full view on any
protuberance.
Now, it’s not as though I am seriously disappointed. I’m not.
Personally, my father had named me in honor of the Lady and on several
occasions insisted that I adopt her as a role model rather than follow the
other kids on the street where we lived. I just never completely got with my
Father’s program. In fact Mary was an unreal figure to me. Outside of
having a child in an undesirable place, Our Lady has little place in the
Gospels and she said even less, if that is possible. This paradigm of doing
little and saying even less never made sense to me as a little girl in
Harlem, unless possibly I were a beautiful girl. It worked for the Blessed
Mother but I doubted that any angels would possibly visit me if I adopted a
"nothing" operating plan. From an early age I favored a
"feminist" outlook rather than my father’s version of a Madonna
outlook.
Nonetheless, when Our Lady gets a Cathedral, it doesn’t seem right that
someone should steal the edifice from her. Maybe the villain here is the
Spanish architect who drew up the plans. Maybe he didn’t even realize in
his version of cultural heritage that he might be operating from macho
designs. This may be a completely spurious stab at what actually transpired.
One thing seems certain to me: this Cathedral belongs to a crucified Christ.
Mind you, not a resurrected Christ. I found no sighting of the empty tomb on
an Easter morning. What I did perceive is that nearly every sightline
possible converged on the crucified figure of Christ above the altar.
Wherever you sit in that edifice it is probable you have an unobstructed
viewing of that altar slab and the Christ figure, and even the flooring is
sloping downward in that direction. The twenty or so well-known saints on
the sides of the cathedral are even parading through the Cathedral, as well
as history, to the altar.
Christ and his suffering are the center of attention in this Cathedral. I
understand that outside of formal services, everyone is invited to walk up
to the crucifix and touch the legs, which have been molded to show
circulatory swellings as the result of the nailing to the cross. I also
understand that the sculptor is a Jew. Through empathy, regardless of
personal experience, he strove to show the cruelty of the crucifixion. As a
Jew, he is surely aware of a heritage of suffering and the embracing of
suffering by the saints of Catholicism, inevitably including Our Lady. Maybe
everyone gets to know suffering, so that the metal on the legs is already
shining through the dark staining of the crucifix. The
Cathedral has been open only a couple of months.
Isn’t this a break with tradition and the cultural heritage for
Catholics. Don’t they usually have colorful statues of the Blessed Mother
and the angels high on the altar piece or some prominent spots. God himself
has shown up on high ceilings or other high places as well as stained glass
windows. Here, instead there is a minimalist approach with no glorified
figures in paintings or in statuary. There is no glorious color or heart
warming vistas. The massive walls, the translucent apertures, the satiny
hunks of benches demand serious attention to reality and suffering in life.
The emphasis is on the down and gross, if often ordinary, if not nasty.
This Cathedral feels downright Protestant to me – upstanding and
realistic. We check into reality. We do not need intermediaries in our
connecting with God and reality in this Cathedral, whether they be priests
or Our Lady. The feminist or what is more comprehensive is not here. There
is no fuzzy, wuzzy invitation to the imagination and no soothing of the
pangs that pulse in minds and hearts. There is no epitome of flawless figure
or facial beauty and then no intimation of ecstasy and eternal happiness in
this world.
This is a minimalist and massive Cathedral. It can lay claim to primacy
in many areas for the country, if not the world. It is definitely a
pluralistic blending of many cultures into an integrated composite that
transcends the ordinary and the banal through its very engineering. The
sound is marvelous so that one is enveloped by whatever is said or sung from
the altar area. The lighting is like that of a stopping of a sunny day in
the park. The massive walls cocoon in a variety of multidimensional devices
a protected people during a service. There is a community here during the
service that is also very Catholic in the sense of being diverse. Finally,
there is a small, simple Madonna at the entrance with an aperture in her
halo so that the sun will illuminate her face at most settings of the sun.
May she accept and possibly approve? Should she continue to heed an old
song:
Mother dear, remember me
Whilst far from heaven and thee.
