Thoughts Have Hands

Three Bricks Thick

On the afternoon of April 16, 1998, between 3-3:30 pm Nashville stared into a whirlwind. A number of tornadoes whipped across town and into East Nashville.  The Historic Nave at St Ann Episcopal church was wiped off the map.  

Just after the storm passed, I arrived on foot as our rector, Lisa Hunt, and her children along with staff and a visitor walked out of Martin and Howe Hall. They had huddled in the basement and their faces wore gratitude to be alive.  But also a look that teetered between bewilderment and amazement.  After exchanging hugs, a few tears, and nervous laughter we surveyed the damage.

The Tornado lifted our 1882 Nave from its foundation and dropped it like pick up sticks across the foundation. Stained glass windows including the classic St Paul door lay shattered in slivers of colored glass under tons of wood and brick. The Carnegie Donated Organ decimated leaving assorted metal sticking up from rubble. The remnants of the Nave spilled haphazardly into the parking lot. It looked like the aftermath of an explosion.

As the sun set I remember our deacon (Charlie Burdeshaw) crawling over the wreckage to reach the altar and retrieve the cross and candle sticks that stood forlornly beside Easter Lilies unharmed on the exposed altar.  The wall bearing our altar and the stained glass triptych was all that remained standing.

We decided to stay the night in Martin Hall. Our deacon, Charlie Burdeshaw, Lisa Hunt and I wondered over fast food where we would go from here. The church we loved was gone.  We were mourning the death of a beloved grandmother.  Would the community survive? Ironically St. Ann’s had just begun developing a master plan for expansion with the help of our newly hired architect, Martin Shofner. Now there was no Nave to expand. So much historic architecture disappeared in the rubble that day. We spent the night thinking about protective measures. For me and some others we fantasized about putting it all back together again- just like it was. In reality we feared this might be the end of St Ann’s. We were all in a daze. 

We left about 3:30 am to check on family, rest, with plans to return early the next day.  I slept fitfully for a couple of hours and walked back to the church about 5:30 in the morning. The sun still slept behind the horizon. I found a broom and started sweeping the parking lot to make a safe place for cars and tried to cordon off the area.  A pitiful effort against the huge mess before us, now that I think about it. Fellow parishioner Todd Love arrived and together we patrolled the outskirts of the Nave shaking our heads. As the sun began to highlight the wreckage we noticed a framed piece laying precariously on top of brick and debris at the entrance to the fallen Nave.  Could anything have survived this destruction?  We scrambled up the bricks to see.  What we found astounded us. The antique turtle stained glass window lay unharmed on top, glistening in the morning light.  At first we hesitated to move it; we thought it to fragile. But we made a stretcher and carried the treasure to safety.  It was quite a find. One piece of history survived the ravages of the storm.

About the time we got the turtle glass safely to the ground outside Howe Hall, other parishioners and friends began to arrive. What happened then was the real story.  People from St Ann’s poured into the parking lot to mourn but even more to work to preserve what we could.  As daylight allowed teams began scouring the site, digging through rubble, uncovering old windows a few surprisingly salvageable.  We wondered what would become of our congregation.  But the pitch in attitude and love demonstrated that day and in the weeks to follow made it clear we were not going to be blown away.  

We welcomed helpers from across the city.  We became a focal point for the East Nashville recovery effort. We began an archaeological dig, cleaned brick and stacked it on pallets for future use.  It was an intense salvage operation.  The foundation wall was in good shape.  The brick walls of the nave were a jumble.  As we worked to exhaustion, we learned a little about nineteenth century building techniques.  The walls were three bricks thick.  Softer brick on the interior was protected by harder brick on the exterior.  It became a mantra for St Ann.  As a Parrish we were three bricks thick.  Most of the community engaged in brick therapy as it came to be known.  We meditated on the journey we were about to engage in the years to come.  Two dramatic moments anchored our struggle. 

First, we recovered the old marble baptismal fount from under mounds of debris. We have a picture of it strapped and safely lifted by a crane out of the wreckage.  It was in one piece and unscathed. Second, was the day we watched as a big dozer loaned by Hardaway construction, knock down the only remaining wall of the nave.  It was heart rendering to see the Altar wall and stained glass triptych pushed down. This sacred space where for over a hundred years worshippers had knelt for communion consigned as it were to the dustbin of history. 

Over the next few weeks, we worshipped together, ate together, stacked bricks together and explored how we could resurrect our church together. This was a season about being together, holding each other when the pain was to real, talking and listening to stories and discussing our way forward, as well as recovering from what was lost. Someone remarked we had created brick therapy but it was really about being a loving community.

Our priest told a news caster, “God was not in the Tornado but in our response.”  As it turned out, this was prophetic for all of East Nashville, as well as St. Ann’s.  We were a microcosm of volunteerism throughout the neighborhood. It was the beginning of a resurrection of a rediscovered of East Nashville. 

As the people of Nashville know, we decided to stay. We knew it would be a long haul but we had something special to preserve and important to us all. Nashville was in the news for weeks.  My step daughter, a college student in Ohio at the time, called remarking every day that her friends would report seeing her stepfather on TV.  “Tom sitings” she teased. I was interviewed by television and radio stations here and across the nation about what happened and what was happening.  What would we do and what it was like. I reported the simple truth.  We were struggling but persistent and faithful.  This community was tough. We were three bricks thick and while we might be down we would rebuild.

I took leave from work for about two weeks to work at St. Ann’s in the recovery effort.  Many others from across our fair city did far more. After months of sacrifice of time and energy, a plan was developed.  Swept by the Spirit and Still on the corner became our mission statement.  The people of St Ann’s held hands and renovated our Parish home. We had help from friends and other churches. I will never forget watching the Reverend Don Johnson push a huge wheelbarrow full of brick across the yard. Later he became the Bishop of West Tennessee.  

Holy Name Catholic Church offered to share their space during the two year recovery period. Finally we moved back in with the millennium- a kind of delayed Pentecost. We preserved what we could.  We built something of our own out of the destruction. Today, you can see the Turtle glass window above our new entrance off the labyrinth which was the site of the nave.  We named this part of the renovation All Saints Hall. And if you come inside you will find the baptismal fount in the new worship space which was previously Sunday school and community room space known as Martin Hall.

Today you will find a new congregation worshiping, struggling, hoping together to bring justice and peace to East Nashville and the world beyond.  Life in a loving community changes as people move on in this world and out of it. But the spirit of the grandmother of Jesus, St Ann continues to be a beacon of hope and light for east Nashville.

Thanks be to God. You are welcome to join us. 

THH