In its first half century, the parish had been a spiritual and cultural hub for the Italian immigrant community, officially witnessing some 2,918 marriages and 13,125 baptisms
And the landmark sanctuary — with its deep, round-arched windows and its trio of golden-colored domes — stood as a point of pride for the neighborhood.
4 comments:
This article did a great job including the views of clergymen, businessmen, and casual nondenominational neighbors on what could be an emotional topic. "Silent sanctuaries" are the results of hundreds of dedicated members, membership to a larger religious organization, member migration, and unlucky conditions. Together the conclusion was reached that churches aren't dying and decaying with every new economic collapse or decline in Christians, but rather they have life cycles. Truly these churches represent more than the prevalence of religion, but as monuments of our ancestors, examples of beautiful architecture, and pleasant reminders of calamity and community. The article did a great job of highlighting the benefits of maintaining (or at least not destroying) these institutions whether they are in practice or not and romantically illustrated the romantic nature of these silent spaces. But as soon as a pipe breaks or termites take over the buildings are bound to come down.
For some reason, I find the idea of an empty or abandoned church really appealing. There is a certain, unique peace and serenity in empty large spaces that are normally full of people. I experience in empty churches, or train stations at odd hours of the night, or especially theatres when no one is working. One of my favorite places to sit and take a moment for myself is the Chosky theatre when absolutely no one else is in there. That being said, the images of the church pews filled with trash bags is sad. As someone with no religious affiliation and a pretty strong distaste for some of the consequences of organized religion, the beautiful architecture that religion has inspired is one of its few saving graces in my opinion. But as number of people with strong religious beliefs who actively go to church continues to decline in our society, these building will continue to fall into disuse. I have heard of some old church buildings being repurposed for other uses, an idea which I am totally in favor of because it will preserve the beauty of the building without propagating the existence of organized religion. I hope that these building will be given new life somehow, if not as a church.
In 1971 a woman named Ruth Denney was chosen as the founding director of a forming new arts high school in the Houston Independent School District. The decision to form the school came at a time when the board was divided ideologically, but Ms. Denney persevered. She was given three choices for the site of the new school, and after considering her options, she chose the former Temple Beth Israel building - a synagogue left behind by its congregation. The building was not perfect - it had not been made for classrooms or performances. The school's first dance concerts were held on stages made of milk crates and wooden palettes, with male band students standing offstage to catch dancers when they leapt off. Students and teachers alike had to make due with what they could, and struggled to figure out what direction their establishment was going. Still, despite obstacles, Ruth Denney was able to establish an institution based on acceptance and tolerance, where students of any racial, economic, or educational background could come to pursue an education in the fine arts. Their school survived, and when I was fourteen their history became mine as I arrived at The High School for the Performing and Visual Arts. Our teachers never let us forget the story of that little dream begun in an old synagogue, of that community that blossomed in a place given to gathering and togetherness. In that story there is a holiness, a love, and a spirituality that would not have existed if not for Ms. Denney's fateful choice of location. Her story reminds me that places made to bring people together do not lose this quality, even when they must move on to the next community of gatherers. Though it may not be as simple as I would like, I still think there is opportunity in Pittsburgh's abandoned temples, churches, and synagogues for new communities, new gatherings, new lives. I would love to see up and coming institutions take advantage of the existing architecture for its sense of togetherness and belonging, and hope that perhaps in doing so they can establish histories as rich as Ruth Denney did when she started her little school in a synagogue.
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