At dinner on Thursday evening, I spoke with a photographer who often shoots weddings here in this sanctuary. Without any prompting, he said, "I love your sanctuary. It is such a great space." Truth to tell, I often pause and gaze when I enter our sanctuary, especially when it is empty -- the salmon colored walls and the cool blue above, the height of the ceiling, the three palladian windows on either side, the chandelier, the airiness, the integrity of design.

On March 2, 1824, a meeting of the parishioners of South Church was held to approve the construction of what came to be known as The Great Stone Church. The 180th Anniversary of that courageous and remarkable decision is three and half weeks away. The vote stipulated these requirements: That the proposed building shall be erected on the lot of land between Broad Street (now State Street), Church Lane and Jeffrey Street, and shall front on Broad Street; That the building shall be built of brick or stone; That it shall have a portico in front; That its dimensions shall be in length not more than 100 feet nor less than 85, and its width not more than 75 feet, nor less than 65; That it shall be one story in height, and without side galleries; That it shall contain not more than 108, nor less than 85 pews.

We worship in the sixth building, count em – six, constructed by either Unitarians or Universalists in Portsmouth before the year 1826. We date our beginnings in this town to 1623, for we are heir to the first religious society in Portsmouth. In colonial days, before the separation of Church and State was written into the federal constitution, there was both Parish and Church. The Parish was the more inclusive and wider community. They paid the congregation’s bills with town taxes, including the minister’s salary. The Church, by contrast, was a tighter circle. It admitted persons to communion and held its members’ feet to the fire. Both the Church and the Parish had to agree on whom to call as a minister and either could veto the other. In 1713, the town split into South Parish and North Parish for reasons which are complicated and in retrospect, somewhat amusing. The reasons were, on the surface, theological, but there was also a healthy dose of social snobbery, and political and economic jockeying. The site of the original parish church, at the mosquito-infested fork in the road where New Castle Avenue and South Street begin at South Mill Pond, had been chosen in 1655 by the Massachusetts General Assembly in deference to the nearby residents of New Castle who at the time could not support a church of their own. My, how things change! Capt. John Pickering and his family ran the South End. They owned the dam and a mill adjacent to the parish church, as well as a hotel and a lot of land. The elder Pickering was Moderator of the town, had served in the assembly for twelve years and was speaker for nine. There was a fractious town meeting in which Pickering and his forces tried to force the town to accept the original site as the location of the town meetinghouse in perpetuity. There was brawling, arrests and general pandemonium, and in the end, the Parish split, north and south. South Parish, which had diligently opposed change, became, in time, the liberal congregation. North Parish, which had been equally as committed to break with tradition and move to higher ground, closer to the center of the new town, became, in time, the bulwark of tradition and resistance to change. North Parish went off, taking minister, church records and silver, and built on its current site in Market Square. South Parish stayed put. The building at Pickering’s dam was wooden, forty feet square with walls sixteen feet high. The roof was flat and there was a tower at one end. The description makes it seem most unattractive. Outside was a cage 12 feet square and 7 feet high with a pair of stocks inside. For some reason, that feature was not included in the design of successor buildings, though I think it would have been well used on occasion.

In 1731, South Parish had outgrown its original building and decided to build anew on Meetinghouse Hill, the current site of the Children’s Museum. The congregation worshiped there until this Church was built a little less than 100 years later. Once again, they had outgrown the space. The original building on Meetinghouse Hill was 55 feet long and was lengthened to 79 feet in 1767. If you look at your order of service, you will see nine windows on the side. What happened in 1767 is that they cut the building in half, cross-wise, moved the eastern end twenty feet, and then filled in the gap. The lonely window in the middle of the outside wall is the center of that twenty foot addition. The congregation continued to grow and in time, even the addition was not sufficient. In 1824, the members voted to build our building. South Parish was Unitarian. Shortly after the South Meetinghouse was expanded by 20 feet, a Universalist Church was formed in Portsmouth. In 1773, John Murray, the founder of Universalism, preached in Portsmouth. In 1777, his followers began meeting on Brimstone Hill, then built a Church in 1784 on Vaughan Street, then another in 1807 on Pleasant Street. So, this is the third Unitarian building and by the time this building was constructed, the Universalists were in their third building. This is a remarkable space for worship. Incredible light that pours through these windows is one reason. Light connects the discontinuity of inside and outside, a sense made more marked by the heavy, massive and masculine granite blocks which form the exterior and an interior that is feminine and cozy and open. Another reason is the scale, the broad arch that curves over our heads without benefit of a supporting pillar. There is a sense of mystery here born of light and scale and discontinuity. Beyond the ineffable quality of this space, independent of history, this space has also taken on meaning by virtue of its history. There is a Japanese aphorism that sways, "The integrity of a vessel is the space it encloses." Or a more contemporary version, when the Tuleikis family gathers, someone bakes the Tuleikis family traditional raisin spice cake and we all eat it, but it is sharing the love that is the real family tradition.

In an age of irony, of cynicism, of skepticism, of relativism, this space stands as a reminder that ideas matter, that history matters, that what we do here is the real meaning, that the confluence of ideas and history can reward space with significance. There are at least three categories of meaning that we associate with built space. First are those associated with death, such as the Vietnam Veteran’s Memorial in Washington, D.C., Ground Zero in New York, Dachau in Nazi Germany. Second are those associated with life: Grand Central Station, The Capitol in Washington, D.C., Fenway Park in Boston. And third are places that are associated with important people and events: Mount Vernon, which would be just a typical southern plantation house except for the fact that it was the home of George Washington, Hull House in Chicago, the location of Jane Addams’ social work, the home of Sarah Orne Jewett, which would be undistinguishable except for the resident, in South Berwick. What is so remarkable about this space is not just its ineffable quality, independent of history. This place is a locus of meaning because of its history. Here we have acknowledged death and celebrated life. Here, the important people in our lives have laughed and wept, found affection and found solace. We have memorialized loved ones, friends, colleagues, ministers: Buck Robinson, a beloved member, in December, 2003; Lee Ballard, a beloved member, in July, 2000; Robert Karnan, a beloved minister, in July, 1995; and many, many more. Here we have named and welcomed children. Here, thousands of couples have pledged themselves to each other. Here, a kind word has been heard, an insight gained and a new life begun. Here, hundreds of women have found their voice and made a joyful song. Here, words of inspiration and grace and challenge and comfort have been heard by untold numbers of persons. Not just bell ropes have been pulled here, but hearts have been pulled here. Hearts have been torn and hearts have been mended. This sanctuary is dense with genius loci, a spirit of place. Its layers are many and thick. This building has changed, a basement added, the wall to my rear extended seventeen feet, three different organs installed, a kitchen added, and much more, but our core values have not changed. We have been and are today devoted to a critical search for meaning, integrity in human relationships, the worth and dignity of all persons, care for each other and the larger community, justice in the wider world, wholeness, even holiness, in daily living. The recipe changes, as each generation makes its own version of the Tuleikis family traditional raisin spice cake. But it is still the Tuleikis family traditional raisin spice cake. Would our forebears have spoken of marriage of gay couples? Probably not. Their expression of worth and dignity was to baptize African-Americans and worship together as one people. We celebrate not just the glory of this pile of Rockport granite, the light and the scale and the discontinuity between outside and inside, but the spirit we have given to it by our living and our dying, our singing and our praying, our silence and our laughter. The integrity of a vessel is the space it encloses. The cake we bake and eat together has changed, a little less of this and a little more of that, but it remains our cake, and we eat it together. We give this space its integrity by living our mission, together. Designers and architects and builders form things. Our task is to move beyond formation to transformation. I have no idea what went through the minds and hearts of those courageous and remarkable men and women who voted on March 2, 1824, to devote their human and financial resources to build a Great Stone Church on this lot of land between Broad Street, Church Lane and Jeffrey Street. But what imagination, what faith! And think of what has been done, over 180 years to hallow this place. The recipe and the cake are ours. May our cake nurture our spirits, affirm our values and inspire us to build a just world. AMEN

© 2004 Rev. Will Saunders