The little chapel that could

Christian Century, Oct 17, 2001

Directly across the street from what was the World Trade Center complex in lower Manhattan still stands--against all odds--St. Paul's Chapel. Not only did the historic Episcopal chapel survive the collapse of two burning 110-story buildings--without so much as a broken window--the small building served as a godsend refreshment stand for police, firefighters and volunteers on the site.

"The portico of the chapel has two huge charcoal grills where Episcopal volunteers stand flipping hamburgers and hand them out to workers for whom a hot meal is the ultimate luxury," wrote Mary Donovan for Episcopal News Service in an account dated September 28. She had visited the devastation scene with husband-bishop Herbert Donovan.

"The front of the churchyard is a solid line of port-a-potties," she said. "At one large open space at the end, a welcome sign urges workers to enter the church [to] eat, rest and pray." Inside the church, lit for a couple of weeks mainly by candlelight before electricity was restored, were medical supplies, extra face masks, toiletries and clean socks, among other items. Pews offered workers a spot to rest or sleep.

The chapel, which was completed in 1766 and is a part of the Trinity Church parish, is the oldest public building in continuous use in Manhattan. It was where President George Washington said his prayers after he was inaugurated in New York City.

Lyndon Harris, the chapel's vicar, said that he thought the trees in the graveyard, which back into the street closest to the WTC complex, saved the church from the effects of the explosions and collapse. One giant sycamore tree that was uprooted may have shielded the chapel with its branches and leaves, he said.

The remarkable survival of the chapel was not fully realized in the first few days after the September 11 terrorist attacks on the twin towers. Daniel Patti Matthews, rector of Trinity Church, asked engineers who operate the wealthy parish's church and office buildings it they could ring the bells of St. Paul's at noon on September 14, designated a national day of prayer. Engineer Mike Borrero told Matthews, "I'm sorry, we can't possibly do that. You can't imagine what it's like down here."

About an hour later, Matthews recounted in a sermon two Sundays after the tragedy, the engineer called back and said: "Guess what? We got into the church. Crawling up the wooden bell tower, I saw an iron bar. I picked it up and crawled up to that bell, and beat the hell out of it--12 times--while Jim held the flashlight so I could see. When I got back down, they told me that all the police officers, all the firemen and all the volunteers heard that bell, and when they did they took their hats off."

Matthews wondered aloud to parishioners, who met in the Shrine of St. Elizabeth Seton until city authorities allowed them to return to their church, how many people even knew there was a bell in that tower. "Now, God willing," he continued, "we hope to ring it at 12 noon every day as long as we exist, remembering to announce to the world, `God reigns.'"

--Episcopal News Service