At the middle of everything was an eight-sided, six-story corporate cathedral called the Worship Center, which sat six thousand people. Mall-size parking lots circled the campus on Sundays, it looked like a car dealership, and during the week it looked like a fortress, surrounded by an asphalt moat. There was a dried-out field with bleachers and, next to it, a sprawling playground during the school year, the rutting rhythm of football practice bled into the cacophony of recess through a porous border of mossy oaks. There was also a school, a restaurant, a bookstore, three basketball courts, an exercise center, and a cavernous mirrored atrium. A circular drive with a fountain in the middle led up to a bone-white sanctuary that sat eight hundred next to it was a small chapel, modest and humble, with pale-blue walls. It was not a single structure but a thirty-four-million-dollar campus, built in the nineteen-eighties and spread across forty-two acres in a leafy, white neighborhood ten miles west of downtown Houston. New Yorker: " Losing Religion and Finding Ecstasy in Houston" - "The church I grew up in was so big we called it the Repentagon. ( From The Reading ListĮxcerpt from "Trick Mirror" by Jia Tolentino Former deputy editor at Jezebel and a contributing editor at the Hairpin. Jia Tolentino, author of " Trick Mirror: Reflections On Self-Delusion." Staff writer at The New Yorker. New Yorker writer Jia Tolentino explores modern culture through her experience as a millennial, and how social media shapes identity. (Elena Mudd) This article is more than 3 years old. New Yorker writer and author Jia Tolentino.
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