Outside, it was a post-Christmas, rush-hour frenzy, throngs crowding near the revolving doors and the holiday windows of Macy’s or walking speedily to Penn Station. Inside St. Francis of Assisi Roman Catholic Church in New York in the midst of all of this, you’d never know it. Two men were slowly and carefully placing flowers and plant stalks into large arrangements on each side of the altar. A couple of dozen people sat or knelt and prayed silently in the pews.

One could listen to the silence and hear nothing of the cranking, honking, shouting, whirring, and loud talking just beyond the doors on the streets of Midtown Manhattan. In so many ways, this church space felt like the essence of peace. Each person seemed to have his or her own space.

In these spiritual places in the midst of a city of 8 million people, individual souls find moments of serenity and silence. St. Francis of Assisi Church, located on West 31^st Street between the Avenue of the Americas and Seventh Avenue, is one such oasis. New Yorkers love their churches, synagogues, mosques, meetinghouses, temples, and other sacred spaces, and the peace they offer is one major reason.

Stopping in St. Francis of Assisi Church for a visit during an afternoon of post-holiday errands, I contemplated its beauty and the larger messages of its peacefulness. I had always wanted to come to this church but had never done so even while passing nearby dozens of times. After all the holiday jostling on Manhattan’s streets, there was an immediate comfort in simply sitting and watching the two men near the altar lovingly placing evergreens among the calla lilies and other flowers in the two large arrangements.

Built in 1892, the church is Romanesque-style with golden-yellow brick and terra cotta trim. It reminds me of some of the churches European immigrants built in my native Western Pennsylvania. Its interior also feels very Old World with highly decorated capitals on its columns, vaulted ceiling, and many shrines and mosaics. The space for worship feels vast in some ways, with an entire dark wood-paneled Lower Church one level below, one that has a separate altar and a crèche displayed throughout the year. Also, the church has an oasis within the oasis – a small, oblong adjacent courtyard filled with hundreds of candles.

Although the church has many shrines and nooks where parishioners and frequent visitors undoubtedly choose their favorite places, one feature draws the eyes quickly when you enter: a huge mosaic filling the apse behind and above the altar. The mosaic was the largest in the United States when the church installed it in 1925, according to The Spiritual Traveler: New York City. It is a feast of color and feeling. Designed in Austria, the mosaic shows Mary holding the Infant Jesus. She is surrounded by the figures of saints from the Franciscan order as well as other important people in Franciscan history. Angels are in a circle above Mary.

Though the remainder of a busy day lay ahead, I felt like I could have spent hours meditating and looking closely at this mosaic, its facial expressions, its gold stars in a mixed blue-purple sky, the rich golden face of the sun beyond a hill.

Thoughts of the World Outside

I’m not a regular church-goer, but I seek and welcome the solitude of many sacred spaces (from trees and mountains to cathedrals and temples), and the design and architecture of those created by mankind have always fascinated me. In St. Francis of Assisi Church on this afternoon, I paused to appreciate the beauty and I offered New Year’s prayers for peace in our world. When we pray or meditate for peace we are connected in that moment to those suffering through wars around the globe.

On this January day, I especially prayed for peace between Israel and the Palestinians, at a time when hostilities are killing more and more civilians in Gaza and we see photos of children dying and houses destroyed. Both sides are blaming the other. The militants of Hamas work to gain the upper hand among the Palestinians. War will not end war, and thoughts of Gaza and Israel make the prayers for peace feel particularly deep on this visit. Looking around St. Francis of Assisi Church, I marvel at how people of different backgrounds have come to this space to pray peacefully and how those of varied faiths mix and live together in New York, for the most part. It is a blessing never to be taken for granted.

In this church, one also can’t help but think of Father Mychal Judge, the Franciscan priest and former associate pastor of St. Francis. Then-chaplain of the New York City Fire Department and a man who devoted his life to ministering to AIDS patients, recovering addicts, the poor, and others, he lost his life when he was hit with debris during the September 11^th World Trade Center attacks. A memorial in the church honors Father Judge and a parishioner who was also killed in the attack. Its charred metal from the World Trade Center is a grim reminder of the horror and the sculpted tulip atop it a symbol of the hope and peace that can overcome war.

Year In, Year Out

St. Francis of Assisi Church has welcomed and served the multitudes of New York City for more than a century and a half. The parish has been in existence since 1844. The Franciscan Friars have long sought to have a city-oriented parish that could serve an often-changing neighborhood and respond to tough social problems from generation to generation. As the church’s history notes, one of its first innovations was the “Nightworker’s Mass,” scheduled for employees working the night shift, actors, travelers and commuters arriving at or going to Penn Station, and others. The church’s Breadline for the Poor, started in 1929, has provided food to hundreds of thousands of men and women daily, and the church has a counseling center, immigration center, Filipino and Korean ministries, and many other programs.

It’s obvious that St. Francis of Assisi has been a welcome home and retreat for New Yorkers, commuters, and visitors alike for a very long time. As I head toward the West 32^nd Street entrance, a man bounds in through the gate, touches the foot of the St. Francis statue, and heads into the church. Raised Catholic, I relate to (and still practice) some of those rituals and am influenced by my upbringing. Off the church corridor linking West 31^st and 32^nd streets, the small courtyard offers an opportunity for a last minute or two of quiet contemplation before heading out to Midtown’s rush. The light of its hundreds of candles shimmer as the dusk of a late winter afternoon arrives, perhaps more powerful in their way than all of the neon beyond.