Lakewood Cemetery, situated between Lake Calhoun and Lake Harriet in South Minneapolis, is a place of big lawns and grand monuments. It is one of the city’s fanciest and most meticulously maintained community spaces. Indeed, it holds the graves of some of our state’s most prestigious former citizens, including Hubert Horatio Humphrey, Paul and Sheila Wellstone, Les Kouba, and Tiny Tim, among a whole lot of Washburns, Pillsburys, and others.
But it’s also the site of a little-known though equally inspiring local treasure: the domed and tiled Lakewood Memorial Chapel. Completed in 1910, it is described by some as the “most perfect example of Byzantine mosaic art in the United States.”
Now, a person can’t just trot up the steps and sashay inside. That would be rather too casual for Lakewood. Instead, visitors must stop by the office near the cemetery’s front gates and ask permission. A member of the staff, friendlier and more obliging than you might expect, then calls over to the crematory, located beneath the chapel, and somebody trudges up the stairs to unlock the door and flip on the lights. And there you are, alone in one of the most gorgeous interiors in Minneapolis.
The walls and ceilings appear to be made of light and color. Every square inch of them. And they are, in fact, adorned with more than ten million fingernail-sized tesserae: shards of marble, colored stone, and glass fused with gold and silver. This is the kind of place that once made people fall to their knees, mistaking beauty for God. Except that here, the symbolism is more earthy and less partisan than you’d find in a church, synagogue, or mosque. Moses, Jesus, and Mohammed make no appearances.
One alcove features a row of olive trees, known for their legendary healing properties; differently hued leaves represent the various stages of life. In each corner of the chapel’s largest room, female figures represent each of the four virtues—Love, Hope, Faith, and Memory. Even the shadows of their flowing robes are intricately rendered in tiles, as are their mood-appropriate expressions; Love looks straight ahead, Hope gazes upward, Faith looks off to the side, and Memory peers downward, hand to cheek. She seems a bit forlorn, as Memory should.
The chapel was planned at the turn of the century by Minnesota architect Harry Wild Jones and New York designer Charles R. Lamb, in order that Lakewood, founded in 1871, should have a suitable site for funerals. The exterior is modeled on the Haghia Sophia, the domed church built in the sixth century by Emperor Justinian in what is now Istanbul. The interior is inspired by Venice’s ornate San Marco Cathedral. In fact, when it came time to create the mosaics, Lamb traveled to Rome and hired six of Italy’s finest tile artists—they’d just completed a project in the Vatican. In Venice, they crafted the tesserae by hand, attached them to gummed cloth, and shipped them to Minneapolis. Then, in 1909, the artists arrived in person to assemble the chapel’s interior mosaics.
As you sit on one of the dozen or so wooden benches, your eye is drawn upward, into the dome. Here, your deepest and most churlish thoughts are captured by the butterfly wings of twelve gilded angels who wear brilliantly colored garlands, gowns, and halos. The intricacy of the ceiling makes it seem infinite; it reminds me of trying to count stars on a black country night. Encircling the dome are twenty-four stained-glass windows, which throw a soft glow on the angels. They also serve as a sundial, telling astute observers not only the time, but also the time of year.
It is a remarkable feat, an ingenious creation that mingles layers of meaning with stunning visual appeal. It leaves one feeling both contemplative and inspired, but not the least bit oppressed. Yet, strangely, sadly, hardly anybody ever sees this chapel, except at funerals for the city’s favored sons and daughters. “If this chapel were somewhere in Europe, thousands of Americans would visit it each year,” wrote a rhapsodic journalist in 1931. “Never have we seen anything to equal it in this country.”—Jennifer Vogel
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