'Echoes of the voice of God': Carpenter Gothic churches rare in Northwest Florida
DeFUNIAK SPRINGS — Three Northwest Florida churches — St. Agatha's Episcopal in DeFuniak Springs, St. Mary's Episcopal in Milton and First Presbyterian in Lynn Haven — are the area's only remaining examples of an architectural style that, while integral to a spiritual sense of place, also presents challenges for preservation.
The Carpenter Gothic style in church construction traces its roots to the late 1700s and early 1800s as the Anglican Church moved from what had been an austere worship style — altars had been eliminated from churches, and communion was not celebrated — back to a more ritualized form of worship.
That movement coincided with a revival of Gothic architecture, a masonry-oriented approach which featured high walls, vaulted ceilings and delicate stonework as seen in grand cathedrals. Eventually, though, the style made its way to much smaller parish churches.
And in places like Florida, where timber was a more readily available material than stone and where craftsmen and laborers were more familiar with working in wood than stone, that style was replicated in wood. Over the years, though, those churches present significant challenges to their congregations — rotting or termite-infested wood have to be replaced, plaster cracks and falls, and worship spaces have to be modified as technology advances.
Across Florida, the proliferation of Carpenter Gothic churches can be traced to the Rev. John Freeman Young, who served as the state's Episcopal bishop from 1867 until his death in 1885.
(On a seasonal note, Young is better remembered as the person who, in 1859, translated the German Christmas carol "Silent Night" into English.)
While serving in New York, Young became acquainted with noted Gothic Revival architect Richard Upjohn, and by 1853, buoyed by his own knowledge of Gothic Revival architecture, he planned and coordinated construction of a Mississippi church designed by New York architect Frank Wills.
Church architecture was exceedingly important to Young, earning a place in his 1882 message on the consecration of St. John's Church in Jacksonville.
According to a report from the state Bureau of Historic Preservation, Young said at the time, "Wood and stone, and silver and gold, and silk and linen, and diverse colors, are but dead, mute things, which have neither speech nor language inherent in themselves, but under the hand of the cunning craftsman and skillful artificer their voices are heard among them, each one entering into the grand harmony of their utterance, being but a louder or a softer echo of the utterances of the voice of God."
Here is how the three Northwest Florida churches are keeping those echoes of Carpenter Gothic sounding today.
St. Mary's Episcopal Church/Milton
'The place where God is'
The aged timber, stained glass and plaster of St. Mary's Episcopal Church are so much a part of Mark Starr's life that he dreams about them, although not in the way that you might think.
"I have nightmares about a tree falling on this little church," Starr said on a recent morning inside the 145-year-old structure.
Sunshine coming through stained-glass windows, some of it through the shadows of two large trees flanking the front of the church, lit its varnished wood ceiling, floors and altar as Starr steered his thoughts in a happier direction.
"It's a beautiful place, and more important, the Holy Spirit's in it," said Starr, the church's senior warden.
Erected in 1875, for its first year or so the church had no windows, as finances were strained to secure leaded glass. In the interim, according to church lore, the ladies of St. Mary's covered the window openings with muslin fabric.
A still later addition to the church, a stained-glass altar window featuring Mary surrounded by a host of Christian religious symbols, was installed in 1880. Imported from Czechoslovakia, the window was paid for by the children of the church, who hired themselves out to neighbors to earn money. The window, irreplaceable today, cost $600, at the time "twice the yearly income for a working man in Santa Rosa County in 1880," according to a brief history of the church.
While the Holy Spirit is resident in St. Mary's, its congregation — until recently — has not been. The coronavirus pandemic forced the church to discontinue services in the tiny building, but earlier this month it reopened. With social distancing protocols in place, the church can accommodate 35 worshipers.
That's been particularly important for many of the church's older members, according to Starr.
"There are some of our congregation that feel like this is the place where God is," Starr said.
In the eyes of Ann Odom, who has been attending St. Mary's since 1972, the church's age is an integral part of its specialness as a place of worship. Among the things that make the church special for worshipers, she said, is its "gingerbread" trim — elaborately carved wooden features, both inside and out, not found in more modern construction.
"They walk in the door and they feel the spirit," she said.
The church, though, has changed during the decades. The coal-burning pot-bellied stove located in one corner of the sanctuary to keep members warm in winter is long gone, as is its chimney. The old coal storage room attached to the rear of the church remains, but is now used as a nursery.
A bell tower, an elaborate picket fence and a burial yard for cremated remains, complete with a sculpture of an angel, have been added to the church and its grounds, but always with an eye toward remaining faithful to the Carpenter Gothic style.
And while maintenance is an ongoing issue at St. Mary's — the sandy soil on which it is built means that it is slowly sinking, a termite infestation required the replacement of some of the wooden sill plates in its foundation, the roof needs work and the church "is in dire need of a paint job," according to Starr — the congregation is determined to keep it true to its architectural style.
"We're committed to it," Starr said.
St. Mary's Episcopal Church is currently pastored by the Rev. Dr. Margaret Shepard, who is serving there as the church awaits a permanent rector.
Preaching in the historic church is a special experience, she said, as its relatively unchanged nature provides "a sense of presence of people past" and of "thankfulness for the church founders."
"There's a real sense of historicity," she said.
Even as the church has been challenged in keeping its building true to its Carpenter Gothic roots, it also has been challenged in remaining open because of its small congregation.
But according to Odom, at least one of the "supply priests" that has served the church in recent years isn't worried about the future of St. Mary's because of its namesake saint.
"He said, 'Ain't nobody gonna mess with Jesus' mama,'" Odom smiled.
First Presbyterian Church/Lynn Haven
'People like the quaintness'
As Carpenter Gothic churches go, 105-year-old First Presbyterian Church in Lynn Haven has succeeded in maintaining its clear architectural identity throughout a series of accommodations for the worship experience.
In fact, First Presbyterian is the only church in Lynn Haven still operating out of its original building. And even Hurricane Michael, which laid waste to the city two years ago and caused extensive damage to First Presbyterian, couldn't touch its Carpenter Gothic character. The signature arch over the church's front door, while damaged, was not destroyed in the hurricane, marvels the Rev. Lisa Martin, First Presbyterian's pastor.
"The outside arch was fine, and that was just amazing," Martin said.
Renovations to the interior of the church began a little more than a decade after it was first occupied, as wings were added to either side of the original 42-foot by 34-foot worship space.
Those renovations also included reversing the sanctuary space, moving the altar to the western end of the church. The change no doubt came as a relief to some churchgoers, as the original plan had the entrance door immediately adjacent to the altar. That arrangement, Martin said, meant that "if you were late, you came into church in front of the pulpit." And, of course, in front of the congregation.
In addition, the early renovations included the construction of a brick fireplace in a northwest corner of the church, which remained in place for years. Its removal in the relatively recent past disappointed some church members.
Locks weren't placed on the church's exterior doors until 1944. It was air-conditioned in 1965. Stained-glass windows depicting scenes from the life of Christ were installed in 1973 after some of the old windows, comprising simple panes of colored glass, fell victim to the occasional gunshot, according to longtime church member Marti Willis. The original metal ceilings were covered with a suspended ceiling, and the church's original globe lights were replaced with chandeliers.
But through it all, the church has maintained the essential Carpenter Gothic ethos, according to Martin.
"It tends to allow for a more congregational feel," she said. "It is unique — people walk in and immediately feel at home.
"There's an intimate feel," Martin continued. From the pulpit, "I can see everybody, and that's what I love."
"I think most people who come here like the quaintness," Willis said.
And just as at St. Mary's Episcopal, the ongoing coronavirus has kept the congregation from gathering at the church — until a couple of weeks ago. That's when a socially distanced worship service began the liturgical season of Advent, the beginning of the Christian church year.
"There was a level of pressure" from the congregation to get back into the church, Martin said, just one more indication of "the love for this building."
St. Agatha's Episcopal Church/DeFuniak Springs
'Into their own hands'
The history of St. Agatha's Episcopal Church begins in the mid-1880s, as the Rt. Rev. Edwin G. Weed, then the Episcopal bishop of Florida, was traveling by railroad to establish churches across Northwest Florida. At the time, there were a handful of Episcopal families in DeFuniak Springs, meeting in private homes and later in the county courthouse.
By the end of the decade, a priest had been assigned to the community, and in 1895 construction of the church began. The name "St. Agatha" was chosen because it was the name of a beloved grandmother of the Landrum family, one of the families that founded the church.
As the only Episcopal church in North America dedicated to St. Agatha, patron saint of nursing mothers, professional nurses and sexual abuse victims, it is perhaps fitting that women played a pivotal role in the beginnings of the DeFuniak Springs landmark.
By Easter of 1896, the church stood only partially completed, but the women of St. Agatha's wanted to hold Easter services in the structure.
Here's how things unfolded from there, as briefly related in a history of the church:
"The men refused, protesting that Bishop Weed had not consecrated the building nor licensed lay readers. The women took matters into their own hands and decorated the lath (installed and ready for plaster) with magnolia, dogwood and azalea blooms. They read Morning Prayer on Easter morning."
When Weed, whose duties included visiting Episcopal parishes in the state, heard about the persistence of the women of St. Agatha's, he wrote a letter asking that they "cease and desist," according to the history.
"They politely responded that he need not bother to return if he felt that way," the history continues.
And with a bit of editorial license, the history offers the conjecture that "perhaps this was the first effort of women to assert their rights in what was then a male-dominated church."
And indeed, while it apparently took a few years, Weed eventually made peace with the women of St. Agatha's. Sometime about 1900, according to the best guesses from photographic evidence, Weed sent the church the "Passion Flower" stained glass window that still filters sunlight above the altar.
To this day, that window imparts the spiritual nature of the structure to at least one of its members. Melinda Henderson, who has been closely involved with efforts to restore and maintain the 125-year-old church, said that at certain times of the year during evening services, "sunlight comes right through the top jewel (of a crown depicted in the window), and you just feel this is a holy place," she said.
As with other Carpenter Gothic churches, upgrades and ongoing maintenance needs have been a part of the life of St. Agatha's for years. In the 1950s it was re-roofed, and the stained wood ceiling, wainscoting and other woodwork was painted. In subsequent years, a pot-bellied stove was replaced by gas stoves for heating, and Plexiglas covers were placed over the stained-glass windows to protect them from hurricane winds — and, as with First Presbyterian in Lynn Haven, the occasional bullet.
In more recent years, as the foundations of the sanctuary and other buildings on the St. Agatha's campus required leveling, some of the interior plaster, already cracked and showing signs of leakage, began to fall to the floor. Subsequently, rotted and termite-ridden exterior boards had to be replaced.
Some of the work has been funded with grants from the state, which in many cases have required matching funds. That's something of a reach for a congregation that, at best, numbers just a few dozen, but the larger community has been stepping up to help, according to Henderson.
From overpaying for items offered at church-sponsored garage sales to leaving generous tips at church pancake breakfasts, the community beyond the church has consistently shown its interest in preserving St. Agatha's, she noted gratefully.
Henderson's involvement in restoration efforts, from doing actual work on the buildings to seeking grants for needed repairs, has made her keenly aware of the physical aspects of the sanctuary and the two other buildings. It's something she has to watch, she said, lest she forget about deeper connections with the structure.
"You sit in the sanctuary and you can feel the presence of the saints," she explained, noting that she meant not only actual saints venerated by the church, but members who have passed away in the faith.
"I have to caution myself about thinking about St. Agatha as a place," she said.
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