The Miracle of Changing Your Mind

In times like these, I wish I knew more about the history of the prophets and the disciples and those earliest martyrs to be canonized as saints.



In times like these, I can understand why people turn to religion.



As bad as these times seem, they most certainly had it worse.



Take, for instance, Saint Norbert, the namesake of St. Norbert Church in Orange, CA (whose Piczek-designed stained glass windows drew me in).



Descended from the Holy Roman Empire and born in an ancient area of what's now Germany...



...this 12th century holy man rejected a path of nobility after a near-death lightning strike at the foot of his horse, which threw him, knocking him unconscious.



He pursued a life of penance and asceticism after that, becoming a roving preacher throughout western Germany and into Belgium and the Netherlands.



Miracles that he performed led to his canonization in 1582, four centuries after his death. But perhaps more remarkable are those who chose to follow him in his path, known as "Norbertines."



These were just regular people who chose a life of faith over power, politics, wealth, or greed.



Principles were more important than the poverty they endured. They chose to believe in something rather than embracing doubt and suspicion.



St. Norbert inspired leagues of people to follow the message he'd received in his heart upon his conversion: "Turn from evil and do good. Seek peace and pursue it."



He himself had turned away from a spoiled youth—and his subsequent ministry of abstinence and celibacy caused some to cry hypocrisy.



But the thing is, it's never too late to change our minds.



You've never gone too far to reverse the course.



Sure, if you're going through hell, keep going, as they say.



But if you're putting someone else through hell, you can stop.



If you see someone putting someone else through hell, you can stop them.



You don't have to take the path of least (or no) resistance.



You don't have to pick a fight, per se...



...but you don't have to avoid one altogether, either.



Some things are worth fighting for.



Some people need someone to speak up for them; some are so bad off that they need someone to show them the light—any light.



Choosing a better path may not make you a saint...



...but it might make you someone's angel.



And whether or not you believe in celestial beings—the patron saints of whatever, the divine messengers, the cherubim and seraphim—surely you believe in the possibility of being a better human.



We may be "only" human.



But plenty of humans have shown how much our species can accomplish...



...with or without divine intervention.



Of St. Norbert, Catholics have said, "A different world cannot be built by indifferent people."



Of course, the Catholic Church would have you devote fervently, unswervingly, and loyally to the figures, rituals, and icons of its particular brand of wisdom.



But I have a more pragmatic perspective for the God-fearing, the God-questioning, and the godless.



Be interested in the world around you. Listen. Form a well-researched bias. Embrace empathy.

And then, act accordingly.

If everyone did that, it would surely be a miracle.

[Ed: Additional stained glass window by Roger Darricarrere]

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Photo Essay: The Locked Chapels of Rose Hills

At 1,400 acres, Rose Hills in Whittier, CA is not only the largest cemetery in North America, but also the largest memorial park in the world.



But for those of us who merely drive past it, with no one to mourn within its perimeter, it's simply the cemetery with the red neon sign.



Founded in 1914, Rose Hills didn't go all "Hollywood" with the 20-foot letters that spell out its name until the 1940s. The sign was briefly switched off during the 1970s energy crisis—but it only stayed dark until the FAA requested it be turned back on as a beacon for the pilots who'd often used it for reference while in flight.



But this particular sign hasn't been in this particular place in Rose Hills the whole time since the '40s: The original sign got moved around a few times, and the original wooden letters eventually warped and broke the neon. Metal letters and new glass tubes replaced the old ones back in 1990.



The neon sign is just what people see from the outside of this "memorial park." On the inside, its landscape is dotted by mausolea and chapels of many different architectural styles—and yet still, it reportedly has "excellent" Feng Shui.



The most striking standout—architecturally, anyway—at Rose Hills is the Memorial Chapel, with its three spires seemingly stabbing the sky at 90 feet high in the air.



Built in 1964, this is a Mid-Century Modern masterpiece by A.C. Martin and Associates, also known for their work on LA's City Hall, the  LADWP headquarters, the Wilshire May Company building, and the in-progress Wilshire Grand (though Martin himself passed away in 1960).



The entire structure is still blindingly white, the spires reflecting off the pools from which they arise.



On a clear day, you can see Downtown LA from here (or maybe even forever).



This chapel is technically only one story high, but it feels much larger, thanks to the roof that curves up into one of the spires.



Everything about the Memorial Chapel soars—but if you only look up, you'll miss what's underneath that curved roof...



...which is a panel of stained glass in the dalle-de-verre style...



...like that of French craftsman Roger Darricarrere (though I've yet to verify whether this particular piece is actually his or not).



Unlike most churches that you can just walk into pretty much at any time you want, this chapel is far more elusive. On my visit, I asked a worker who was polishing the hardware on the door, "It's not open?" and he shook his head no.



When I asked when it would be open, he shrugged and said, "I don't know, maybe tomorrow?"



By the year 1959, Rose Hills had expanded from 31 acres to 2600 acres in just 30 years—and that was largely thanks to the efforts of John Gregg, son of Rose Hills' founder Augustus Gregg.



John Gregg was also the one to commission the neon sign back in the 1940s.



This chapel was erected as a tribute to him.



Up the hill from the Gardens of Affection, Benediction, Contentment, Remembrance, and Solace, another chapel was built of wood, stone, and glass in 1997: "SkyRose."



Sounding something like a James Bond lair, it rises up 90 feet and three stories high, with the top floor serving as a custom-built loft for an organ by Quimby Pipe Organs in Missouri.



Although the organ itself is considered new (also circa 1997), several historical reed ranks built by the Skinner and Aeolian-Skinner Organ Companies of Boston, Massachusetts can be found in the Solo division played from the fourth manual.



The organ has a total of four manuals, 65 ranks, and 3,937 pipes. But the trick is getting to the chapel on a day when it's unlocked—and on a day when there's someone there who can play the instrument.



It's such a shame to be locked out of yet another chapel, this one having come out of a partnership between two Arkansas architects, Fay Jones and Maurice Jennings.



Prior to Jones being awarded the AIA Gold Medal in 1990 and becoming a Fellow of the AIA in 1979, he was a Taliesin-trained apprentice of Frank Lloyd Wright, whose influence on his work is clear.



Jones has been quoted as saying that the SkyRose Chapel would “nourish and express that all-important intangible of the human condition at its spiritual best.” Intangible, yes—and impenetrable.

Although it's his largest, the SkyRose Chapel isn't Jones' most famous work—that honor being held by the Thorncrown Chapel in the Arkansas Ozark Mountains. In fact, Jones is credited for having created the "Ozark" style of architecture, though it certainly seems to fit here in Southern California (especially amidst other likeminded houses of worship like the Wayfarer's Chapel).



Back down the hill, the diamond-shaped Hillside Chapel—completed in 1956—makes for a fitting neighbor to the SkyRose Chapel, with its angled roof, stone-clad walls, and 22-foot high windows. It's one of two chapels designed by A.C. Martin that year, but it's the only one to have survived. (The Sky Church was demolished after sustaining heavy damage in the wake of the 1987 Whittier earthquake, and the Memorial Chapel came eight years later.)



The interior is said to have perfect acoustics—but that can only be proven by actually going inside, which is just as much of a challenge here as it is at the Memorial and SkyRose chapels. All you're left to do is peer in through the rose-tinted windows, which were designed to give the appearance of an eternal sunrise (as seen, of course, from inside).



Each of these chapels, in their own unique way, embrace the natural world that surrounds them—and that includes, of course, the roses of Rose Hills. So, by being locked out of these many chapels, you're forced to embrace the outer landscape, the experience of which these architects tried so hard to bring into their structures.

That is, being outside of the chapels shouldn't, by nature, be that different than being inside of them.

But something tells me it is.

Related Posts:
A Wayfarer's Visit to a Chapel
Photo Essay: The Storybook Wedding Chapel of Forest Lawn Cemetery
Photo Essay: Overlooking Old Hollywoodland from the Letters That Once Spelled It
Photo Essay: The Decorations, Wishes, and Faces of Chinese New Year