Lebanon
“Just picture your mind back to the 1860s,” the Rev. Rick Pinilla addressed the crowd. He had no microphone, but the veteran pastor was used to projecting his voice, even as traffic passed back and forth along School Street, in sight of Colburn Park.
“Some man got called by God to preach,” Pinilla continued, referring occasionally to scribbled notes on a sheaf of loose yellow paper. “And felt called by God to go to this weird place up here in this corner of the United States, in northern New Hampshire. And then they built the building. And we have been here serving Christ for over 100 years, and that’s all due to the faithfulness of Jesus Christ.”
But behind the pile of dirt, there was no building, just a backhoe sitting in a huge hole in the ground.
That’s because, in December 2016, nearly 150 years after the church was first built, it burned to the ground. Earlier this year, a judge sentenced 29-year-old Anthony Boisvert to prison for the crime, which Boisvert committed because he was “mad at God for making him a pedophile,” according to police.
“It was shocking,” said John Hawks, a 10-year member of the church. “The way that we lost it was shocking.”
Before being ordered to serve at least 25 years in prison for a series of crimes that included stabbing two people and lighting fire to an occupied apartment building, Boisvert apologized to the church community and said he “wasn’t in the right state of mind.”
And on Sunday morning, though the First Baptist faithful are still reeling, building committee Chairman Steve Girdwood said the conflagration was an opportunity for the congregation to demonstrate forgiveness, a “first step” in the healing process.
Girdwood played an acoustic guitar, and led the crowd in song.
“You give and take away,” they sang. “You give and take away. My heart will choose to say, Lord, blessed be your name.”
Church leaders initially hoped an insurance check would cover a replacement building, but ballooning construction costs in the growing economy pushed the budget from $2.3 million to an estimated $3.5 million.
They initially worked from plans being developed by the Pennsylvania-based Althouse, Jaffe & Associates architectural firm, but by March, the process was stalling, said Frank “Jay” Barrett, a local architect with long ties to the area. Barrett said Friday that there was a growing sense of urgency, both because the church’s normal functions were impaired by operating out of temporary community spaces (like the Upper Valley Senior Center and the Lebanon Middle School) and because building code exceptions grandfathered in under the old structure were set to expire in December 2018.
“Things needed to happen, and I was asked if I would be a part of it,” said Barrett. “By April, they had me on board.”
Barrett reworked the floor plan, the geometry of the roof, and the massing, and also allowed for a phased approach to reflect the reality of the budget gap. While a building envelope will be completed by this winter, the steel-reinforced tower and steeple may come in later phases.
“The key thing was the importance of having a church that aesthetically and historically looks like it belongs there,” said Barrett, who said the new structure will echo the Gothic revival style of the old building.
“Losing the church is one of the saddest things I’ve ever had happen,” said Lucille Fillebrown, a retired bookkeeper who was baptized in the church just a few years ago. “But God is good. The design might change, but everything will be OK.”
There have been many “irksome tasks” and disadvantages associated with the loss of space, said Pinilla. Volunteer organizers spend about 90 minutes before and after each service to set up, and break down the chairs and needed materials. And the lack of a visible central structure has all but eliminated the flow of walk-ins that represent opportunities for both ministry and membership growth.
An abundance of willing hands often made light work, said members.
“It’s been a spark for the congregation,” said Girdwood, a church member since 1991. “I don’t know when in my years with this community, I’ve seen this kind of unanimity in any kind of process.”
Hawks recounted the mounting maintenance problems that had faced the old structure.
“We got to the point, the year before the fire, we said ‘something has got to be done,’ ” he said. “We were doing what we could, shoring up the floor of the sanctuary.”
A few days into October, construction manager Michael Schmidt, of Iowa-based GC3 Builders, anticipated the need for the groundbreaking ceremony. He angled the fence to make room alongside the sidewalk, and had workers use a dump truck to carry up the load of soil that the crowd faced during the event.
It was a detail the church leaders hadn’t known to ask for. That Schmidt was there to guide them was a stroke of good fortune that they would have called providence. So, too, was the site’s quick-draining soil — poor for growing plants, but perfect for growing a church.
The soil has also been informally hallowed — beneath the foundation of the old church, it served as the medium for the vibrations of 146 years of songs and sermons, joys and sorrows of baptisms, weddings, services and funerals.
And, after the Sunday morning round of singing and praying, a load of that soil sat on the ground, formless save for the impressions of a few stray sneakers and raindrops from above.
One by one, the church’s leaders and building committee members grasped the shovel, and lofted a load of soil, away from the crowd and into the yawning excavation site.
Then the members joined in, gray-haired men and little children all taking turns to move chunks of dirt, with the crowd laughing and whooping for particularly well-hefted shovelfuls.
In a short while, much of the pile was gone, but not a member of the congregation had broken a sweat — willing hands in a tight-knit community had, once again, made light work.
Matt Hongoltz-Hetling can be reached at mhonghet@vnews.com or 603-727-3211.