A Chronicle colleague, when informed of this week’s subject,
put its impetus quite succinctly: “When I moved to Austin, I went walking
downtown with friends, and we said, `Wow, what a cool church.’ And then we
walked another block, and said, `Wow, there’s another.’ And then, `There’s
another’…”
Actually, there are at least a dozen cool, or at least semi-cool, churches
downtown, ranging from storefront sanctuaries to the grand palaces of the
Christian faith. The density of religious institutions in the northern half of
downtown Austin may be unique among Texas cities, while the business district
rivals West Campus and Hyde Park for churches per square foot. (See map and box
for the complete rundown of churches in the 78701 zip code.)
This religious community divides into three parts. There are small
congregations, like the Church of Christ Capitol City Congregation housed in a
Congress Avenue storefront, or the Unitarian fellowship that meets at Symphony
Square, or the Assembly of God street ministry at Seventh and Red River. (There
is also Town Lake Chapel, an almost-downtown fellowship that meets at the
Hyatt.) There are also churches like St. Elias Eastern Orthodox (on 11th
Street) or the First Church of Christ, Scientist (on Guadalupe), which are the
only homes for those denominations in Austin – while they respond to their
central-city neighbors, their location does not need to be a defining element
to their ministry.
And then there are the classic “downtown churches” – the senior congregations
which, despite their pride of place, now compete with congregations throughout
the city for the (usually mainline Protestant) worshipper. These comprise most
of the city’s oldest churches, though some of the actual locations have shifted
over time (such as with St. Martin’s Evangelical Lutheran, now on 15th Street,
which until the 1950s was located on today’s Capitol Extension grounds). Their
histories dovetail with those of both the city and the state. St. David’s, on
Seventh and San Jacinto, is the oldest Episcopal Church building west of the
Mississippi – consecrated on Easter Sunday, 1855. Its bell was originally cast
for the first Capitol. St. David’s near-neighbor, Central Presbyterian
(formerly First Southern), was founded on its current site in 1870; Abner Cook,
architect of much of downtown Austin, was among its elders, and O. Henry among
its choir members.
The downtown churches are also among Austin’s plushest; both the ancient (St.
David’s, St. Mary’s) and the modern (St. Martin’s, First Baptist) sprawl and
soar on a scale unmatched by most Austin houses of worship, enough so to
compete with their office-plaza neighbors. The interiors are likewise opulent,
sometimes surprisingly so, as with Central Presbyterian. While some downtown
revitalistas and master planners may object to their assertive presence, the
churches have done much to keep the business district architecturally eclectic,
and to visually reinforce that Austin is a historic town, not a steel-belted
New City sprung forth from the prairie.
(Whether or not you like the mod design stylings of First Baptist, with its
rust-colored cladding and theatre-style main entrance, it’s a welcome relief to
the parking garages that surround it.)
Their location and size have also made the downtown churches among Austin’s
busiest, both as places of worship and as central-city landmarks. Both St.
Mary’s and St. David’s have at least two worship services every day; St.
Martin’s, six each week; Central, four each week. More noticeable are the
activities happening outside the nave: church schools and day-cares, concerts,
Boy Scout meetings, you-name-it Anonymous meetings, outreach programs for the
homeless, for Girls in Trouble, and for people with AIDS. St. Martin’s calendar
is typical – in one week in mid-August, the church has 46 scheduled activities.
As this inventory implies, the downtown ministries have to function within a
double identity. On the one hand, since the business district doesn’t have
enough residents to support one major congregation, let alone a dozen, the
downtown churches draw attendees from throughout Austin and beyond, sometimes
far beyond. On the other hand, since the business district has plenty of people
who need child care, or a place to meet, or a place to get help, most of the
churches are providing an extensive array of services to non-members in the
downtown community – what one pastor refers to as “the shadow parish.”
As a whole, this duality seems to be a source of energy, rather than tension,
for the congregations. At Central Presbyterian – whose congregation, when the
present church building was erected in the 1950s, elected to remain downtown
rather than relocate – the church takes great pride in being “in the heart of
the city,” “maintaining a vital presence in the central city,” and believing
“that the entire city is our parish.” Indeed, the name “Central” was not taken
until 1983, to emphasize these commitments. The church’s brochure (which
contains all the above quotes) opens with a verse from Jeremiah – “Seek the
welfare of the city… for in its welfare, you will find your welfare.” (The
city in question is Babylon, which may be appropriate.)
At street level, this translates into offerings that meet the needs of
downtowners while complementing the ministry – child care and education being
the most prominent. All the churches that offer such programs identify them as
major attracttions for new members – people who work downtown, put their kids
in day care at the nearest church, then start showing up on Sundays (or at
lunchtime, or at St. David’s before-and after-work prayer services). In
addition, in the words of St. Martin’s associate pastor Rev. Anamae Storbeck,
“our convenience for child care ensures that we have a very diverse and
multicultural student body, which is itself a wonderful element of the
ministry.” (The same is true at other downtown church schools and kids’
programs.) Another common thread among the churches is an active music ministry
– concerts and choirs abound – possibly because the churches are large and
relatively well-off, and the downtown location is convenient for a wide
audience.
But one can see the more challenging side of downtown religion pretty easily –
go by Central Christian Church after hours, and an engraved sign directs people
in need of emergency assistance to the Salvation Army and Caritas. The
chiaroscuro strokes of urban life – homelessness, poverty, chemical dependency,
AIDS, and combinations thereof – occupy both the energies and the emotions of
the downtown ministries. “I can tell you a lot about downtown Austin, just from
the people sleeping on our steps,” says Storbeck. “People aren’t just falling
through cracks in the system in Austin; they’re falling through caverns in the
system.”
Austin’s downtown safety net is almost entirely rooted in the religious
community – the feeding, shelter, and financial assistance programs are all
functions of one or another ministry. (With the Seton/Brackenridge merger, even
the downtown emergency room – the only medical care available to many – will be
run, and in part supported, by a religious organization.) For people with needs
that go around or beyond the offerings of Caritas or the Salvation Army – both
of which receive substantial support from the downtown congregations – direct
appeal to the churches is the only option, and the ministries are in the
uncomfortable position of having to limit how, or how often, they can help the
disadvantaged. “It’s really frustrating, because you want to see people’s basic
needs being met,” says one pastor, noting that even bathroom privileges have to
be rationed. “I would like to see the churches and the city work together to
create a facility just for public toilets.”
With the space and resources at their disposal, the notion that the churches
could themselves provide additional facilities for social services, whether
individually or in concert, is an obvious one. But considering the tension that
already exists between downtown merchants and social caretaking facilities like
Caritas and the Salvation Army, expanded services for the poor and homeless
would hardly be popular with the revitalistas. “If the churches were to create
space,” says Storbeck, “it would certainly create tension between them and
their neighbors. It’s a sad reflection on the moral fabric of our culture.”
This article appears in August 11 • 1995 and August 11 • 1995 (Cover).