This article first appeared in the St. Louis Beacon: July 21, 2008 - Imagine that lightning struck your 135-year-old home last year, and it sustained heavy fire damage. Then imagine that you learned that because of unexpected complications, the extensive reconstruction could take up to two years.
How would you feel?
You are not likely to be as patient as the Rev. Matthew S. Bonk, a Redemptorist priest, does about St. Alphonsus Liguori "Rock" Catholic Church.
"I take it one day at a time. Rock Church is still a very happy and joyful place," Bonk said about the prominent midtown house of worship that burned 11 months ago, during the first days of his job.
The steeple of the church, which has landmark status, pierces the St. Louis sky. Since the fire, the building has had scaffolding over its damaged mid-section, juxtaposing pristine beige limestone walls with a dark tower. From a distance, onlookers may confuse the reconstruction with the erection of a modern building in midtown.
Most parishioners, though, praise the Rock church's vivacity, music, and camaraderie before even mentioning its celebrated spires. Now, worship occurs in the gym. While Bonk admits that he is "sick of being in the gym," the music plays on, proving that the community bonds are stronger than its lofty dwelling.
The Fire
On Aug. 16, 2007, at 6:30 p.m., lightning struck St. Alphonsus Rock's roof and resulted in a billowing fire. The blaze slowed traffic, attracted many spectators and, thankfully, injured no one.
But the fire gutted the building, which sustained damage from above and from below. From the nave, one could gaze beyond where the roof had been to the heavens. Four feet of water flooded the structure. Still, the marble altar and some artwork were spared.
Many firefighters labored to save the church, and some were doubtful that it could be salvaged. But ever the optimist, Bonk promised that services would be held. After consulting with the archdiocese, he announced that services would be held in the gym that Sunday.
The Pastor
At the time of the fire, Bonk was new to St. Louis, having recently arrived from Michigan. In a funny coincidence that tightens Bonk's bond to the Rock church, a gold-plated chalice his mother gave him matches precisely with one in the church's makeshift sacristy, which was a kitchen before the fire.
Watching the flames recede from his home, Bonk thought he wanted to leave. "But here I am, 11 months later."
Now, about twice a week, Bonk wears a green hardhat featuring the logo of his alma mater, Michigan State University. Mark Kamp, who's president of Wachter Inc. and oversees the construction, is also a parishioner and brought the helmet for his priest. Humorous touches, such as the hat and posters that jokingly characterize two priests as the Muppet critics Waldorf and Astor, lighten the atmosphere.
Overall, parishioners say they enjoy Bonk's guidance. "It's been a real strain on a pastor who was a new pastor," said Suzanne Lago-Marcino, a long-time congregant. "We went to his induction, and it was held at the new Catholic high school. That had to be so devastating, such a hard way to begin."
Usually, rebuilding a charred edifice is not in a priest's job description. "This year has taught me both that I'm a little stronger than I thought I was and a little weaker than I thought I was," Bonk said.
"It's kind of overwhelming," Bonk added. "There are days when I wake up in the morning when I say, 'You know God, you should pick someone better than me because I'm not doing all that well.' There are days when I ask God what he was thinking when he sent me here, and, on the other hand, there are days when I'm very grateful and very happy and want to spend more time here."
Describing his growth during the first phrase of his new job, Bonk said, "It's an ongoing struggle of stretching and becoming the person you're supposed to be."
The Restoration
Walking through the hard-hat zone in the sanctuary, Bonk gestures upward. Scaffolding is layered in stories, and workers scamper directly above his head. The roof, once gone, has been restored and painted its original blue.
Construction has proceeded from top down while workers fix the ground-floor damage. There are no pews. The floor's tile pattern is charred and hardly visible. Spots spared from harm, such as the marble altar and artwork, are covered by wood as hardhats work carefully on surrounding areas. The pipe organ, symbolic of the congregation's special appreciation for music, is notably missing. It was taken apart, but will be reconstructed.
Bonk said the restoration will return the architecture closer to its 1800s roots while updating its electrical system and bringing the building up to date with city codes. For example, a steeple that was added to the church in the '60s will not be rebuilt.
In some respects, the delays were inevitable. "Once they got in ... other things happened," Bonk said. "We're old -- our electrical system had to be redone. They found ... a little bit of asbestos. Almost all of our paint is lead-based. It actually has required considerably more time than we planned. It was hoped that we could get into the church this fall, and it's looking more like it can be summer of '09 rather than fall of '08."
Kamp -- whom Bonk calls his "guardian angel" -- says that as a parishioner, "I'm excited to get back in," and as a contractor, "we're through the surprise stages now." The roof, previously the most visible blemish, is completely closed.
Bonk said that while insurance will foot most of the bill, and many congregants and organizations have already pitched in, St. Alphonsus could be left to pay thousands of the $6 million to $7 million job. "It's been a blessing for us, but I'm not naive. I do know that eventually there are a few areas that will be passed onto us," Bonk said, adding that the church will fundraise vigorously and perhaps commence a capital campaign.
Keeping the Faith
The gym in the former school accommodates 300 worshipers. But it hardly looks like an ordinary gym, with its juxtaposition of basketball hoops and metal seats with a large cross, tabernacle, African cloth, shrine, choir seats, flowers, and musical instruments.
"The gym functions OK for us as a worship space -- it's not as comfortable or beautiful, it doesn't have quite the same feel," Bonk said. "There has been some work that needs to be done just in helping people with the whole aspect of being patient over time."
Jasmine Kirksey, who recently joined the church, said that the smaller space in the gym closes the distance between congregants. "The music is much louder now because it's a more confined space," Kirksey said. "There's never really enough space to actually hold a normal mass, but it doesn't matter because we're all together. It's all that counts that we're still together."
Bonk admits that, due to the discomfort of the gym's metal chairs, some churchgoers have turned elsewhere for worship. Attendance numbers are down by several dozen. But Bonk believes they'll return to St. Rock because they stop him in grocery stores to tell him so.
Bonk periodically shows the church's progress to his congregants, which infuses their prayers with hope.
"That makes people feel a lot better about the situation," Bonk said. "When I look at the community, I'm just amazed by their resilience, the fact that they can deal so well with adversity. Not being of the African-American culture myself, I think that some of the history of African Americans in this country would demonstrate the fact that they had to be resilient to make it through certain trials. It's been an inspiration to see that week after week we're trying to get us as close together as we can be. This community has come together and has been really supportive."
Joy Resmovits and Rachel Heidenry are college students and interns at the Beacon.