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Sidewalks in the Kingdom: New Urbanism and the Christian Faith
by Eric O. Jacobsen
Brazos Press
190 pp.; $16.99, paper

When the Kings Come Marching In: Isaiah 60 and the New Jerusalem
by Richard J. Mouw
Eerdmans, rev. ed.
131 pp.; $14, paper

Whatever happened to sidewalks? Like the roads of the Roman Empire, these seemingly unremarkable paths are in fact vital arteries of civilization. They foster fellowship and recreation; they serve as an extended public square where children riding bikes, people walking dogs, mail carriers toting letters, and couples holding hands share a common experience. But sidewalks are vanishing across the country, notably absent from sprouting subdivisions as sprawl swallows the land beyond our cities. Without these channels of commonality, we have no choice but to drive everywhere, confining ourselves to that holy of holies of privacy—the automobile.

It takes an innovative Christian thinker to convincingly frame these issues of city planning as fundamental to Christian discipleship, and Eric Jacobsen pulls it off in Sidewalks in the Kingdom: New Urbanism and the Christian Faith. He delicately but firmly makes the case that the New Urbanism movement, with its advocacy of public spaces and variety in neighborhoods, is of urgent importance to the Church and needs its support.

Jacobsen anticipates the question of why Christians should care about sidewalks when we're supposed to worry about salvation. To begin with, the characteristics of our urban environments determine how we are able to spread the gospel; it's easier to reach out to pedestrians in public places than to car-bound citizens cruising from their gated community to a Costco.

The ministry of Christ thrived, Jacobsen says, on "incidental contact"—such as the healing of the woman who bumped into Christ in a crowd and touched his robe. Today Christ couldn't stride alongside the two men on the road to Emmaus—he would have to materialize in the backseat of their SUV while they sped along the interstate. More subtly, shared public space shapes how we learn the virtues of civility, hospitality, and authenticity—and lack of the former tends to translate into a lack of the latter. Jacobsen goes as far as to say we should pray for more sidewalks and other public works projects that seek to discourage American habits of isolation.

Jacobsen's book is a useful introduction to the New Urbanism movement, but it is Richard Mouw, president of Fuller Seminary and a member of Books & Culture's editorial board, who provides a firmer foundation for our conception of cities in his recently reissued When the Kings Come Marching In: Isaiah 60 and the New Jerusalem.

A profound work of Christian vision that should be required reading for church leaders, the book develops a theology of the city from Isaiah's vision of the New Jerusalem. Isaiah, Mouw says, sees a vital cultural center—a busy place of commerce, politics, and the arts—as the setting for eternal life. It is a fitting resolution to the creation narrative, as Mouw sums it up: God commissioned humans in the Garden of Eden to "fill the earth" to his glory; instead we filled it with waste and with monuments to our own pride. But Isaiah's vision suggests God will reconcile not only our souls but also this filling of the earth in order to dwell among us in the New Jerusalem.

Jacobsen seems to see cities as evil developments that were basically dumped in God's lap to redeem; Mouw sees them as integral parts of God's plan for history and as the setting of our eternal life. Ironically, while it is Jacobsen who goes into detail about zoning and other intricacies of urban planning while too vaguely articulating the theology of doing so, it is Mouw who, while speaking much more generally, passionately justifies Christian witness to the nooks and crannies Jacobsen identifies.

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June (Web-only) 2003, Vol. 47