I was in Denver last Friday when my husband texted me that First Baptist Church in Downtown Dallas was on fire.
Wait. Which building?
Unfortunately, the answer was one I know a lot of architects in Dallas didn’t like. The Victorian-style chapel built in 1890 was now part of a four-alarm fire. I cannot count the number of times I’ve driven past that structure. Amid this very altered and modernized downtown – including First Baptist’s $130 million addition that looks like a toilet bowl from above – the chapel sat as a constant reminder of the city’s past.
Except what is left now is a shell that the City has given permission to try and save.
From an architect’s perspective, the destruction of the chapel is a tragic event. To see a structure on fire that has long been a landmark of Dallas and a Texas Historical Landmark was heartbreaking. Not quite the fire at Notre Dame, but for church members, longtime residents, and local architects, a significant event nonetheless.
On the other hand, from a queer perspective, I found this deep well of sarcasm bubbling to the surface: “It couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy.”
Most people connect memories to buildings. Whether that’s the house we grew up in, the place where we had our first real job, or the space where we married our spouse. Buildings have meaning, and from that perspective, the queer community isn’t any different.
When I think of First Baptist, my first thought isn’t about the history or the architecture or a special memory. Instead, I associate the church with Robert Jeffress, who has been leading and building the congregation since 2007. Except unless you are an evangelical Christian, he has no place for you. Unless you are straight, he has no place for you. As for immigrants, he’s quoted as saying America is not a church where everyone should be welcomed regardless of race and background. While I am not a religious individual, I can’t imagine that’s what Jesus had in mind.
Jeffress has made it clear that Mormons, Catholics, Muslims, Jews, Hindus, and queers are going to Hell. Because God sends good people to Hell. He’s gone so far as to refer to Mormonism and Catholicism as cults and Islam as evil, and what homosexuals do as filthy and degrading. You mean my trip to Starbucks this morning? Meeting with clients? Having lunch with a friend?
Yet he’s been willing to overlook Trump’s misogyny, racism, and narcissism and support him in his runs for president. Because whether or not he slept with a porn star is irrelevant to evangelicals supporting him. Whether he’s incited a riot or mocked disabled individuals is irrelevant. But what is relevant is Jeffress’s opportunities to go on Fox News as a political commentator and tout Trump’s greatness.
I have no doubt that First Baptist will rebuild. Between firms that focus on church design, firms that focus on historic preservation, and donations from their members, First Baptist should have plenty of options for resurrecting the original chapel. However, what would be great is for Jeffress and the church’s 16,000 members to see the rebuilding of the historic chapel as an opportunity to turn towards a God and a version of Christianity that is loving and inclusive.
Except Jeffress and other church leaders will have to accept that those design firms may have queers, Mormons, Catholics, Muslims, and others who Jeffress has deemed as Hell-bound. To accept that being inclusive means loving thy neighbor as thyself. Were I one of those firm owners, I would be tempted to stack the project team with as many non-straight, non-evangelical, and non-Christian staff members as possible.
On the other hand, if his willingness to toss any sense of morality overboard to be close to Trump is any indication, he will have no issue turning the other cheek. He will overlook what he needs to as long as that gets him what he wants. Whether that’s a new chapel or more time in the spotlight on Fox.
