Cathedral Graces the Freeway-Bound With an Inspiring Presence

It rests on a shoulder of the city like the advisory angel that many of us hope we carry, whose whispered suggestions keep us at least in merging distance of the path of righteousness. But though our personal guardians tend to be invisible, Our Lady of the Angels, L.A.’s not-quite-finished new cathedral on Temple Street and Grand Avenue, has distinct shape and form. Which is, of course, the point.

A cathedral has many callings, not the least of which is to provide a distinguished and easily recognized landmark in the hopes that it will remind passersby of God’s eternal omniscience and unceasing love and protection. In cities older than ours, which means most cities, the cathedral is among the largest and grandest buildings in town. Often it is in the center of the city, on a slight hill, and visible for miles: Walking in the cool shadows of the medieval streets of European cities, it’s impossible to go many feet without glimpsing a dome or bell tower, a flying buttress or two. That is pretty much what church leaders had in mind--glorify God and keep a high profile.

And so it is here, except for the walking part. Yes, people walk in L.A., just not that many, and even fewer downtown. Mayors and select civic leaders may be able to say “Grand Avenue corridor” with the same casual reverence one reserves for “Fifth Avenue” or “the Left Bank,” but most Angelenos couldn’t find Grand on a bet. So it is fortunate, and not coincidental, that our new cathedral has a fairly fabulous freeway presence.

Commuters praying for patience, or divine intervention, as they inch their way north on the Hollywood Freeway, under the Broadway and Hill Street overpasses, need only lift their eyes for one of the best views of architect Jose Rafael Moneo’s Modernist vision. With its tawny smooth solidity, the beacon of its multi-paned cross-shaped alabaster windows, the endless apron of its walled plaza, it is a cathedral for a new century and a mobile city. Our Lady of the 101.

Those going south have a fuller, if less dramatic view. Past Echo Park Boulevard, the cathedral is an immediate and radiant portion of the skyline, its back and left side so connected in form and hue to its bell tower that at first they seem one. Offset by the steely gray, blue and white of the city behind it, the golden adobe all but glows, an effect that, when the lighting within and without is installed, will be quite literal at night.

Off the freeway, traveling south on Sunset Boulevard through the hills of Echo Park before dipping into downtown--for several blocks the blending of new and old skyline is even more organic, with the added benefit of stoplights. On Sunset, admiring motorists can slow down, or even stop, to get a long look; one would not recommend this on the freeway, although there is something liturgically inspirational about a chorus of horns. Even car horns.

From other surface streets, it is a bit more difficult to get as inspiring a view. Although civic leaders consider it an architectural, if not spiritual, anchor of Grand and Temple, all you see is a fortress of walls from either of these streets. The cathedral backs on to Grand, and approaching it from either direction, it’s difficult to know exactly what you’re looking at.

West on Temple it’s even worse; although you are at the front of the plaza, it’s almost impossible to see how one gets in; the main entrance is, fittingly enough, from an underground garage on Hill.

If you’re visiting the L.A. Unified School District offices on Fort Moore Place off Grand, you’ll get a dandy view framed in trees. But the most picturesque image might be seen heading south on Hill as it passes over the 101. Viewed from the middle of the bridge, the cross-shaped window, the plaza, tower and glorious golden heft of it all hangs on the hill like a painting, or a portal to another city where angels are visible and do not whisper but sing. And miraculously, Hill Street even has a sidewalk.