Some Construction

I am currently house-sitting in a glorious apartment overlooking Washington Square Park in "Society Hill."

Society Hill. Such a snotty name for a neighborhood, especially since there is not a hill in sight. This city is as flat as a pancake. The houses in the area are grand, brick colonials woven into this historical district by small cobblestone streets and the occasional cemetery. It is full of charm and the neighbors are friendly. Philadelphia has taken religious freedom very seriously since its inception and the neighborhood reflects this. There are dozens of churches and synagogues of all variety in the area and it makes for a fascinating place to take a walk.

It has been nice to be away from the haunted manse. Construction has taken over the 3rd floor where I live and while I am grateful we will finally have a kitchen (yes, that is 7 months without a functional kitchen), I am glad to have a break. These last couple of weekends I have had time to explore the city and I am fascinated by the dozens of abandoned churches that seem to crop up everywhere you turn.


Philadelphia built its infrastructure to cater to roughly 2 million people when its population peaked in 1950, but the city is currently only home to 1.5 million. There was a sharp decrease in the population due to “white flight” during the Civil Rights movement, so thriving neighborhoods gave way to large abandoned city blocks. This is likely one of the reasons there are abandoned churches all over the place.

Some people take pictures of the bones of old castles. Lately I find myself taking pictures of old churches.




But the story is more complicated and I find it rather soothing to go and stand in front of these dilapidated, old buildings and contemplate some of the larger issues at hand. Statistics suggest that people in the United States value church less and less these days. As I took these photos my back was to a filthy set of buildings home to a doughnut shop, laundromat, check-cashing joint, and an army recruitment office. I plucked up some purple irises that refused to give way despite the massive chunks of marble and stone that had fallen into the flowerbed. I plunked down on the steps next to some beer cans and cigarette butts and found myself at home, pondering the salience of this whole enterprise. You know what I mean—the church, my unrelentingly unique job, all the goodness of a faith community, all the shameful ways religious people behave, etc etc. It's an interesting season of life. We shall see what will come of it, fistful of purple miracles notwithstanding.