The end of First Christian Church came last month with a whimper and a lot of bangs. The beautiful 1928-viintage Broadway landmark fell to the slow, steady assault of the wrecking ball, one section at a time, just because nobody wanted to pay for seismic repairs. It was sad, and I still believe it was preventable.
Those interested in ironic statements might note that the 2001 "Nisqually" earthquake took place on the morning of Ash Wednesday, that traditional start to Lent with its rites of atonement and self-denial, and that the first major public building in Seattle to be demolished as a direct result of the quake's damage is a church. But I have other feelings about this minor tragedy, which had been in the works for nearly three years with nobody trying very hard to stop it.
The First Christian congregation decided back in 2002 to merge resources with Pilgrim Congregational Church a little farther north on Broadway, to create what's now known as All Pilgrims Church, rather than spend the money to fix up the First Christian building. That was good for the members of the now-combined church organization, who could cut their costs and strengthen their programs.
But it was bad for the neighborhood. Terra Cotta masterpieces from the 1920s just aren't coming back; we need to keep all the ones we've got. We shouldn't just trash 'em, especially not for mere parking lots.
The stately former space of the Capitol Hill United Methodist Church was preserved for commercial offices. Even Bethel Temple in Belltown, when it sold out to real estate developers, had its terra cotta facade preserved as a front for a condo tower.
There are always people in need of shelter, and nonprofits, arts groups, and others in need of office rooms and gathering spaces.
To name just one example, there are the former Union Garage theater tenants, evicted after the fire codes were re-interpreted, making that building suddenly unusable.
For a second example, there's a new group out on the Hill, the Cascadia Alternative Spirituality Association. It's trying to either build or find a permanent building where gaians, neopagans, and other practitioners could meet, so they can cease having to meet in members' basements or in hotel banquet rooms. An historic church building, particularly one formerly operated by a progressive, diversity-conscious congregation as First Christian had been, would've made an ideal solution.
A neighborhood that had its community-planning act together would've had the organizational skills - and found the money - to keep the First Christian building up, to fix up the structure and make it available.
At the least, such a neighborhood action group could have studied the idea, double checked the building and the retrofit cost estimates, and then decided to agree with the church that the building couldn't be economically saved.
Instead, the church's initial decision to abandon the building seemed to have been greeted in the larger community with a sense of fatalism. If there were any big hues and cries to at least try to save it, I never heard them. Some preservationists are trying to stop First United Methodist from selling its downtown lot for an office tower, but even they seemed auspiciously silent about First Christian.
It was as if the whole community had collectively sighed a sigh of "Oh well, time to move on. Old urban churches are a relic of an earlier time, anyway, what with all the churchgoing families moving to the suburbs and those giant megachurches out there. Besides, we could really use more parking spaces if we're going to revive Broadway shopping."
I'm not criticizing the congregation's leaders for choosing not to pay to fix the building. I'm criticizing the rest of Capitol Hill for not taking up the task.
They could have at least shown a little faith.
Freelancer writer Clark Humphrey's column appears on the first week of each month. His long-running website on popluar culture can be found at www.misc media.com.
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