Churches

I love looking at churches. I sort of knew this about me on trips before but on this trip it has become very evident. I go for the historical ones. It doesn’t matter what denomination – what matters is the look, the architecture, and the history. I like trying to guess what denomination a Christian Church is before I see the sign. I am right most of the time.

Now there is a reason in part for my fascination. I am a minister by education and part of my work life, so being around churches has filled me with meaning and a connection with a higher power. There is a comfort and safety I experience often in a church building.

The first church I saw on this trip was the mission church of Santa Clara in California. It was part of the trail of missions built in the early 1800’s. Thick adobe walls and shining tile floors made for a cool dark interior that was restful and peaceful. The next church I remember seeing was the Cathedral of the Rock, a Catholic Church built into the Red Rocks near Sedona, AZ. The son of Frank Lloyd Wright designed it. It is modern and organically connected to the environment, with huge glass windows so the outside was part of the inside. Amazing

In Tombstone, AZ I saw the outside of the historic church that stood there when the shootout at the OK Corral happened and in Bisbee, AZ I went to Easter Sunday services at the historic Episcopal Church, a small warm and friendly place that welcomed me well.

In Texas I saw three of the famous ‘Painted Churches” between Austinand Houston. Immigrants from Eastern Europe built them and painted them very vivid colors on the inside. The buildings were country gothic and way out in the country. In Galveston I saw the historic Catholic Church, all white stucco and very imposing. It was in the only part of town that survived the hurricane that wiped out Galveston 100 years ago.

I saw the church that has meant the most to me the day after I visited with my friend near New Orleans. I headed east on Interstate 10 and took the Gulfport, MS exit. Twenty-eight years ago I had driven route 90 along the Gulf coast on my way to visit that same friend and had loved Biloxi, MS. Now I knew that Hurricane Katrina and Rita had destroyed much. I didn’t want to see it but I knew I needed to.

The image that will forever stay with me was about a church. I drove the road and to my right I would see beautiful white beach, sparkling water and calm winds. To my left I saw what I first thought must be ancient ruins. As I looked closer I could see that they were steps going up to – a concrete slab – the slab that a huge building had been on but now was gone. At the back of the slab, in the corner of the slab, stood a steeple, the only thing left of the church. It was white clapboard and badly in need of repair and paint but it was in one piece. The steeple – the symbol of the church had survived. Next to the property was a sign for the church, which proclaimed that it would be rebuilt.

Faith is a powerful thing. Destruction of property cannot destroy the faith and hope of the people. That church was a symbol of the community that the hurricane would not have the last word. While I love the buildings, it is the community that makes the church.