tim anderson | ivory in the desert
A number of years ago I spent a Christmas in Palm Springs, California. A hundred yards from the cool waters of our complex's swimming pool, my wife and I walked through the scrubby desert. To the south, rough red mountains loomed above us. To the north lay grids of concrete and plastic. Water gathered from mountain ranges a thousand miles away trickled warm onto perfect lawns. We went to a Lutheran church on Christmas Eve. What were Lutherans doing in Palm Springs? Didn't Lutherans belong in northern climes, where Christmas Eve was candlelit and dark, where they sat on rude, hand-hewn pews with ruddy faces, idly humming Ein Fest Berg Ist Unser Gott? But indeed, there were Palm Springs Lutherans. They worshipped in a church shaped as close to a pyramid as one can build without transgressing Scripture. It rose into the pale sky, its clean walls the color of purest ivory. We drove our rental car into the bare, dry parking lot at sunset. Our fellow worshippers filed in wi...