Saving History

Christmas eve at the United Methodist Church in Dorchester was always a favorite.  We sometimes took part in the children's Christmas program, singing Christmas carols, and watching the Pastor and a select few re-enact a manger scene.  I'd look out into the dimly lit congregation to find my grandma and grandpa Potter smiling.  Then, we'd march along the end aisles with our little white candles, retake our seats and share our flame with friends and family.  I loved the old wooden church in Dorchester.  I was sad when the elders decided it was time to tear it down and rebuild.  I wanted to buy it and move it to the farm.  Grandpa thought I was nuts.  Sadly, someone did buy it, but did nothing with it and forced this former proud and prominent structure to it's demise.  I'd rather they would have burned it and let her go with dignity.

This past Monday there was a fire at the United Methodist Church in Friend.  The church is my neighbor.  It's a grand brick structure that boasts majesty that's more than a century old. My mom was the church secretary for many years, and I spent a good amount of time visiting her and "poking around" the church.  The interior was modest, but beautiful.  Elegant curved wooden beams and spindles adorned the ceiling.  I felt sick knowing that all of that smoke was undoubtedly from those beams, burning slowly.  They were solid.  Not new-fangled construction that would go up with a "poof".  I just knew that ceiling was fighting back, but it was losing.  As I stood and watched the smoke billowing from the eaves, I prayed that the Crete arial truck would get there quickly.  Our local firefighters were doing their very best, and were joined by Exeter and Dorchester volunteers as they battled against the flames.  I listened to the glass cracking and watched the leaded glass melting to pools of waste.  At last, Crete arrived!

When it was all said and done, and quiet overtook the neighborhood again, she was still standing.  The bricks were bruised with soot all along the roofline.  Once grand leaded glass windows were charred and empty holes.  The fire had been extinguished hours before, but the smell lingered.  I thought of the weddings I'd been to, the funerals, and my afternoons with my mom in that church.  No fire could take my memories.  Or anyone elses.  I prayed that it wouldn't take my neighbor.  She's the pillar of our "hood".

The next day I saw the infamous Danielson's van arrive bright and early.  "There is hope!" I  thought.  And again, the day after... more hope each time the van arrived.  I'm told that tomorrow, one week after the tragedy, that a decision will be made.  And I have hope.  Hope that this historic structure, who fought as diligently as those volunteers, can be saved and rebuilt.  New churches are not all they're cracked up to be.  Just like new court houses or even wine tasting rooms, they're lovely, efficient and compliant.  But they have little character, little ambiance and no history.  That is what makes old buildings unique.  It's the history of more than 100 years of joy and saddness in that church that makes it special.  Yes, it's the house of our Lord... and the worship place of its parishoners, but it's also a pillar of our community.  One that brings continues to bring hope to those of use who pray it can be saved.  I thank every volunteer who helped, in any way.  I also thank the committee from the Church who is working to make the best decision.  You've been described to me as "a committee of savers".  Amen and thank God.  I have hope that tomorrow goes well for all of us, including that grand old lady who is my neighbor.

From D. O'Neel's posts. Burned tresses in the ceiling.  Still beautiful!