Journey To The Top

In the heart of St. Louis a massive edifice reaches toward the heavens. Six hundred and thirty feet high, it has dominated the skyline since its completion some 40 years ago. With foundations buried 60 feet underground and clad in shining stainless steel, it is of course the Gateway Arch.

Seventh-day Adventists attending the church’s 58th business session in the Edward Jones Dome have, for the last week, been looking at a somewhat smaller replica of the arch, standing on the platform at the front of the auditorium. Bearing the words “58th Session of the General Conference of Seventh-day Adventists,” the arch forms a striking backdrop for photographers taking pictures of speakers on the podium.

Yesterday afternoon the Adventist delegates at the business session had their first, and only, free time slot. Making the most of this time, hundreds of them packed into the rather claustrophobic five-seater pods that make up the arch’s tram system, and took the “Journey to the Top.” Also on their visit they learned, through movies, guidebooks, and personal anecdotes, something of the history of this spectacular monument.

Back in 1947 there was a nationwide competition for a monument that would capture the spirit of the western pioneers. That competition was won by architect Eero Saarinen, whose radical and futuristic design is now familiar to millions. Construction of the arch began in 1963 and had cost a mere $15 million by the time of its completion two years later.

Despite its vertigo-inducing dimensions, no one died during the construction of the Gateway Arch. Sadly, however, it claimed a victim on Nov. 22, 1980, when Kenneth Swyers, from Overland, Missouri, attempted to land a parachute on the top. Although he landed safely, the wind caught his parachute, causing him to fall to his death.

Other reckless stunts include a pilot flying his plane under the arch on the night of Nov. 2, 1977. Apparently he flew at an altitude of just 50 feet, without lights, up Market Street, under the arch, and out over the river.

Early in the morning on Oct. 29, 1983, 21-year-old David Adcock, from Houston, Texas, attempted to climb the north leg of the arch wearing suction cups on his hands and feet. Fortunately he was talked down by a Ranger after he had climbed just 20 feet.

As the Adventists emerged from their pods, some of them on rather unsteady legs, they were naturally full of admiration for the technical and artistic achievement of the arch.

Some drew wry parallels between their experience of the arch, and that of the business meetings of the Adventist Church, less than a mile away. “This is one place where everyone makes it to the top!” said one, alluding to the church’s pyramid administrative structure. “Yes, and the journey up is slower than the journey down!” quipped another.

But others saw more serious parallels. Even in a strong wind the arch only sways a few inches from its steady state position. “If we build our church on the solid foundation of Jesus Christ, then we can stand just as firm,” said one. “You could also talk about the unsung heroes,” he continued. “One architect, but relying on a lot of dedicated workers to get the job done. That’s how the church should be.”

Perhaps the most insightful parallel concerned the way that the final section of the arch was put into place. As each leg was constructed, it began to lean, under the influence of gravity, toward the center. When the two legs were at their final stage of construction, the leaning meant that there was not enough room for the final section to slot in. Powerful jacks had to be used to prize the two apart while the final piece was put into place. When they were released the resultant tension fixed the center section in a vice-like grip, adding tremendous strength to the whole structure.

The parallel? There are inevitably tensions in the church. Handled correctly they actually strengthen the whole structure.