Yea, Sure this is a fair country.

This is copied from the Washington Post.

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Full Up, Fed Up On God's Avenue

Along Crowded 16th St., Residents And Congregations Turn a Cold Shoulder To Mormons' Plans For a Church With A 105-Foot Steeple

By Paul Schwartzman

Washington Post Staff Writer
Saturday, May 24, 2008; Page B01

If 16th Street is famous for leading straight to the White House, it is also God's Boulevard, with at least 45 congregations lining the seven-mile stretch between Lafayette Square and Silver Spring.

But love thy neighbor? Not this time.

The Mormon church's plan to build another house of worship, one with a steeple-topped tower that will rise 105 feet, is inspiring less-than-holy thoughts among residents who recoil at the prospect of a new flock traversing their streets.

It's not just the traffic and parking congestion that they predict the Mormons will bring to 16th Street Heights, their lush residential neighborhood north of Mount Pleasant. And never mind that the area already has a dozen or so congregations, not to mention a host of other institutions such as schools and day-care centers.

But a tower that's the equivalent of 10 stories high?

"What are they trying to prove?" said Stuart Peacock, a lawyer who resides around the corner, his narrowing eyes punctuating his disgust. "It's too much."

Gloria Eblan, a software engineer who lives across from the property, at 16th and Emerson streets NW, envisions the kind of raucousness associated with a throbbing nightclub, not a church. She insists that a jackhammer-thumping construction project, followed by a weekly parade of chattering congregants will disturb her ever-precious peace.

"I don't want to come off as the anti-Christ, because I'm not. I just have my apprehensions," said Eblan, a crucifix around her neck. "The noise is going to drive me crazy. We're just trying to live our lives."

Dozens of homeowners have expressed opposition to the new church with lawn signs that read, "Too Big, Too Much, Too Many." And the Mormons are finding little support from the neighborhood's clergy, including one pastor who said his objection is rooted not in architecture, but theology.

"They don't accept Jesus as the Messiah; they accept him as the prophet," said Edward Wilson, pastor at Church of Christ, a block from the Mormon site. "It's wrong, I disagree with it, and I wouldn't want them in the neighborhood."

Mormon leaders have been surprised by the opposition, in part because so many churches are located there. But they said they're confident that their reception will improve once they build their two-story brick church, which will host two Sunday services and seat 240. The church will offer underground and aboveground parking, which the Mormons promise will minimize the congregation's affect on the neighborhood.

As for the steeple's height, they said it is a stylistic flourish necessary for an attractive church. "If you take out the steeple, it looks like a big home," said Jeffrey Holmstead, an environmental lawyer who serves as first counselor for the Mormons' Washington stake. "We want something that will be a credit to our church and the community."

The Mormon's tower would dwarf the neighborhood's detached homes, many of which are two and three stories, as well as nearby congregations, although the Sixth Presbyterian Church, a few blocks north, rises to about 90 feet.

Yet the Mormon's tower would be shorter than other congregations, such as the 160-foot All Souls Church, a mile south at 16th and Harvard streets NW. There are several soaring steeples at that broad intersection, which is also home to several apartment buildings. And the Mormons' design is a veritable afterthought compared with their Silver Spring temple, which is 288 feet tall, or the National Cathedral, which reaches 301 feet.

Lawrence Cook, a Falls Church architect who designs churches, said a common guideline is that steeples or towers should be up to twice the height of the building's roofline. By that standard, he said, the Mormons' tower is more than appropriate. In fact, he said after seeing a rendering, "It's too low. It looks like it sunk into the ground a bit.''

Congregations have migrated to 16th Street since the early 1800s, when St. John's Church opened on Lafayette Square, across from the White House, and became known as the "Church of the Presidents."

As the city evolved, and wealthy homeowners gravitated to the 16th Street corridor for its proximity to power, an eclectic mix of congregations followed, from Baptists to Episcopalians, from Jews to Buddhists, a roster that reaches 75 if adjoining streets are included. Some denominations have built national headquarters along 16th Street to enhance their stature, including the D.C. Baptist Convention and the National Church of the Nazarene.

"The congregations are like anything else, they're competing for membership," said David Maloney, the District's state historic preservation officer. "The logical place to locate was 16th Street."

But 16th Street has also been a decidedly residential strip, and homeowners over the years have railed about the encroachment of not only churches but organizations such as day-care centers and schools, particularly those that take over properties once occupied by families.

Just north of where the Mormons are moving, a civic association in 1994 protested the migration of such institutions. District officials responded by adding a bureaucratic hurdle, requiring a special permit for groups using a property for anything but a residence along 16th Street, between Colorado and Military roads.

"If you left your house on a Sunday morning to get bagels, when you came back there would be no parking," said Ellen McCarthy, a consultant to the community group, who was also the District's planning director. "The expectation is that one can enjoy the neighborhood without people coming and going to dances, without loud conversations on the street, without Bible studies or AA meetings."

No such protections exist in the Mormons' new neighborhood, which they said they chose after searching for more than eight years. The Mormons paid $4 million for a 1.5-acre corner site, which had been occupied by a convent.

"It was hard to find something in the city, because there's so much development," said Gordon Daines, the project manager. "Every time we'd go look at something, someone else would get it."

At first residents paid little attention, assuming that the Mormons would move into the nuns' building. But then a demolition team showed up and cleared the property. "Everyone was in shock," said Doreen Thompson, an attorney for the District's Taxicab Commission, who lives across the street. "Can you imagine the trucks just rolling in?"

After the Mormons unveiled their plans, the neighbors organized a coalition, started a Web site, and printed 250 lawn signs, most of which they say they have distributed. Mayor Adrian M. Fenty (D), who lives a block from the site, has not put up a sign, though he has listened to the opponents' concerns.

Residents are lobbying the District to extend the protections granted to the neighborhood to the north. Without the city's intervention, however, their capacity for stopping the church is limited because the Mormons do not need a zoning variance. Still, said Thompson, "We would hope that a church would be sensitive to us."

The Mormons, Holmstead said, are happy to talk about the building's design, including the tower's height. But he questioned whether a revision would "get us any good will with the neighbors."

The Mormons are not without support in the neighborhood, at least from one pastor who says residents opposed his church when it moved into a sanctuary on Colorado Road in 1986. "They tried to run me out but I pressed on," said Bishop Harvey Lewis, of the Star of Bethlehem Church of God in Christ. "I exercised my rights and my desires to move my church there, and the other brother has the same right."

True enough, acknowledged Barbara Flowers, a retired public school principal, sitting on her stoop a few blocks from the site. But her priority, she said, is far less lofty. When she drives to her church, Zion Baptist, around the corner from the Mormon property, will there be enough street parking?

Flowers shrugged and glanced at her husband, Hamilton, as she tried to summon biblical wisdom.

"If we can't agree . . .' What is that saying?" she asked.

"We will bless each other," Mr. Flowers said, "and go on our merry way."

Staff researcher Meg Smith contributed to this report.