TULSA — If you drive down South Lewis Avenue today, those three gold-tinted towers still dominate the skyline. They look like something out of a 1980s sci-fi film or perhaps a billionaire’s fever dream. Honestly, they were exactly that. The City of Faith Medical and Research Center wasn’t just a hospital; it was an audacious, some say reckless, attempt by evangelist Oral Roberts to marry the worlds of modern medicine and charismatic faith healing.
It failed.
Well, it failed as a hospital, anyway. Today, the complex is known as CityPlex Towers, a massive office park that houses everything from call centers to local businesses. But the story of how a 60-story clinic—the tallest in the world at the time—went from a "divine vision" to a financial catastrophe is a wild ride through 20th-century religious history, legal battles, and the brutal reality of healthcare economics.
The 900-Foot Vision
Oral Roberts claimed God told him to build it. That’s the baseline. In 1977, he announced he’d seen a vision of a 900-foot-tall Jesus who told him to build a medical center that would combine the "prayers of the faithful with the skills of the physician."
People forget how massive this project was. We aren't talking about a small prayer clinic. The plan called for three towers: a 60-story clinic, a 30-story hospital, and a 20-story research center. It was designed to have 777 beds. If you know anything about biblical numerology, that number isn't a coincidence.
The medical community in Tulsa was, predictably, livid.
🔗 Read more: No Alcohol 6 Weeks: The Brutally Honest Truth About What Actually Changes
They didn't see a divine mandate. They saw a surplus of hospital beds in a city that already had plenty. The Oklahoma Health Planning Commission actually denied Roberts the initial permit, arguing that the City of Faith Hospital would bankrupt existing facilities by siphoning off patients and staff. Roberts fought back with a grassroots campaign, urging his followers to lobby the state. Eventually, the courts cleared the way. But the victory was pyrrhic.
Why the City of Faith Hospital Struggled to Stay Alive
The doors opened in 1981. It was beautiful. It was high-tech. It had "prayer partners" stationed on every floor to pray with patients alongside their doctors. But the beds stayed empty.
Actually, empty is an understatement. At its peak, the hospital rarely saw more than 130 patients at a time. You can’t run a 30-story hospital with the lights on and the staff paid if only a fraction of the rooms are occupied. The overhead was astronomical. Roberts was essentially subsidizing a massive medical loss leader through his ministry's donations.
Then came the infamous "death threat" from God.
In 1987, Roberts went on television and told his audience that if he didn't raise $8 million by March, God would "call him home." It was a PR disaster. While he did raise the money—thanks in part to a large donation from a Florida dog-track owner—the reputation of the City of Faith Hospital took a massive hit. It looked less like a beacon of healing and more like a hostage situation.
💡 You might also like: The Human Heart: Why We Get So Much Wrong About How It Works
The Medical Research That Actually Happened
Despite the drama, the City of Faith Hospital did some real work. They focused heavily on cancer research and aging. Dr. James Winslow, who served as the center’s chief executive, pushed for legitimate scientific inquiry. They weren't just "praying away" diseases; they were using state-of-the-art diagnostic equipment.
The tragedy, if you want to call it that, is that the integration of faith and medicine is now a common topic in palliative care and holistic health. Roberts was just forty years too early and about $200 million too ambitious. He wanted a Mayo Clinic with a Pentecostal soul, but the insurance companies and the general public weren't ready for the "whole man" healing concept on such a scale.
The Final Shutdown in 1989
By 1989, the debt was insurmountable. The hospital was losing roughly $2 million every month. On September 14, 1989, Roberts announced the City of Faith Hospital would close its doors. The medical school followed shortly after.
It’s easy to mock the failure, but the closure left a lot of people in the lurch. Employees lost jobs. Students had to scramble to find new medical schools. Patients who genuinely believed in the mission felt abandoned. The gold towers became a symbol of "edifice complex"—the idea that a ministry's success is measured by the height of its buildings rather than the depth of its impact.
What the Towers Tell Us Today
If you visit the site now, you'll see a bustling office complex. It's no longer a hospital, but the City of Faith Hospital legacy lives on in the way we talk about spiritual care in medicine.
📖 Related: Ankle Stretches for Runners: What Most People Get Wrong About Mobility
Modern hospitals now routinely have chapels, meditation rooms, and "spiritual care" departments. The idea that a patient’s belief system affects their recovery isn't "fringe" anymore; it's evidence-based medicine. Roberts' mistake wasn't necessarily the idea—it was the execution. He built for a demand that didn't exist in a way that the market couldn't support.
Lessons from the Tulsa Gold Towers
- Market saturation matters. Even if you have a "vision," the numbers have to work. Tulsa didn't need 777 more beds.
- Reputation is fragile. The 1987 fundraising scandal overshadowed the genuine medical work being done in the research tower.
- Real estate pivots. The fact that the buildings are still standing and occupied shows that the physical infrastructure was top-notch, even if the business model was flawed.
The City of Faith Hospital remains a landmark of the "Prosperity Gospel" era. It represents the peak of 1980s televangelism—a time of big hair, big suits, and even bigger construction projects. It’s a cautionary tale for any organization that thinks it can bypass the laws of economics through sheer force of will.
If you are researching the history of the complex for a visit or out of historical interest, pay attention to the architecture. The triangular shapes and the "hands in prayer" statue out front are iconic. They serve as a reminder that while the hospital failed, the desire to find a bridge between science and spirit is still very much alive.
To understand the full impact, one should look into the archives of the Tulsa World, which covered the legal battles extensively from 1977 to 1981. You'll find a community deeply divided between those who saw a miracle and those who saw a tax-exempt threat to the local economy.
When you look at the towers today, you aren't just looking at an office park. You're looking at the remnants of one of the most expensive and public experiments in American religious history. It's a gold-tinted monument to the fact that faith can move mountains, but it sometimes struggles to pay the utility bill on a 60-story skyscraper.
Actionable Insights for History and Architecture Buffs
- Visit the Grounds: You can walk through the lobby of the CityPlex Towers today. It is open to the public during business hours. The scale of the atrium alone gives you a sense of what Roberts was trying to achieve.
- Study the Legal Precedent: The "Certificate of Need" battles fought by the City of Faith Hospital are still cited in medical law regarding how new hospitals are approved in saturated markets.
- Check the ORU Museum: Located on the nearby campus of Oral Roberts University, the museum contains artifacts and photos from the hospital’s heyday, providing a more sympathetic view of the mission.
- Observe the Engineering: Notice the bronze glass. It was designed to be highly energy-efficient, a forward-thinking move in the late 70s that has helped the buildings remain viable as commercial office spaces today.
The story is finished, but the buildings remain—a permanent part of the Tulsa horizon.