Midtown Churches
New York City I see many old churches in New York City some big some small nevertheless all magnificent and exquisite in appearance and must have been dominating in the area they were in at the time they were built. But now they're dwarfs compared to the steel-and-glass office towers that surround them sometimes flanking them to the immediate left and right. There are building codes I'm sure but none I would think address complementing your neighboring building. In comparison, In Washington DC, I'm told that skyscrapers are not allowed perhaps the excuse being security but the real reason being that they will dwarf Capitol and the White House and lose the imposing presence of government. In New York City, as far as building codes for skyscrapers is concerned, anything goes.

When I started taking pictures of old churches in midtown Manhattan I only meant to take exterior shots. I wanted to capture how the once towering churches of a century or more ago are now being swallowed by the modern high-rise buildings lining the avenues of Manhattan. There must have been a time when climbing up the churches' steeples let you see as far as the eye can see. But do that today and all you'll see are office workers inside the neighboring and much, much taller buildings' windows. As far as physical height is concerned, the old New York City churches' glory days are gone.

But taking pictures of old church exteriors led me to other things, too. Signs of "The sanctuary is open" and "This is God's house -- All are welcome" plastered in big bold letters on those massive oak double doors draw the faithful and the curious to go inside -- including me.

And once inside, the churches made me imagine a very different New York. The intricately carved stone and wood furnishings, the musty smell of old wood and the fragrance of incense, and the blaring sound of pipe organ playing music of great joy or sorrow depending on one's state of being remind me of a time when things take long, slow turns to build in a New York when horse-drawn carriages instead of yellow taxicabs plied the streets and the smell of horse dung instead of carbon monoxide fumes permeated the air. Simply walking inside these old and solemn buildings to step away from the rat race pace that I've grown accustomed to just outside literally transformed the world for me between two opposites.

One's eyes are instantly transfixed onto the altar up front -- and rightfully so because even if one forgets holiness it is the most Byzantine part of the church in architectural splendor. But one should not forget the other parts of the church, too -- the gallery at the rear mezannine where the pipe organ is usually located, the transepts on each side where a mini chapel offers the devout to pray undisturbed, the narthex at the entrance where those not wishing to enter -- non-members of the congregation, mostly -- may stay within the church's warmth and away from the freezing cold outside, and the rose window where glass art lets in a kaleidoscope of colored sunbeams into the mostly dark cavern.

Indeed, even today, many old churches are very darkly lit. One gets the same feeling as walking inside a cinema when one's eyes needed time to adjust in the darkness. It gives one all the more the feeling of what it was like to live in a time when electricity and the light bulb weren't yet invented. One may live in a big castle but to find your way around, you will have to navigate by candlelight.

Whether or not God sits at the altar, the old churches are manmade and I'm under no delusions to think otherwise. But they do humble and awe those who enter. And if the old sages and mystics are right -- that awe and humility are perhaps requisite first steps towards self enlightenment -- then the old churches of New York are there to offer reprieve, solace, and a place of rest.

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