St. George Church

I have always felt a connection to the coal regions of central Pennsylvania. There is something in the air that is hard to describe; something lonely, something sad, lingers there. The town of Shenandoah is no different. In fact, the sadness may be worse, especially on this day.

I stumbled into Shenandoah by chance while looking for a fresh take on the region. I have taken many pictures nearby in Centralia and wanted a new subject. I was following roads that lead to side roads and wound up traveling down a steep hill on State Route 4036 which lead into Shenandoah. I parked the car and started my walk. It wasn't long before I noticed how the faces of passersby looked distraught, and the more I walked the smaller the crowds got as if the people were avoiding something. Just a few blocks later I saw the demolition of a church. I looked in marvel at the half torn down the church. It looked so surreal.

I could see in the faces of the demolition crew that something wasn’t right. They walked slumped over as if ashamed by the massacre left from their hands. The scene was eerie, foggy and humid. I got a little nosey, took some pictures, poked around and struck up a conversation with a local. I learned that the church in question was the St. George Church of the Lithuanian Parish. It was the first and oldest Lithuanian parish in the United States and the demolition was quite controversial. It seems the church was renovated in the late 80s and in its time, its beauty rivaled the worlds finest. Sadly, the church did not invest in the foundation on which it sat.

As I spoke with a local woman the details of the demolition were fuzzy. From what I gathered, the diocese of Allentown did not want to raise money to cover the structural repairs of the church and were allegedly giving other reasons for the church's destruction. This upset the community so much due to the historic value of the church that the police not only patrolled the area but sat parked across the street during the working of the demolition crew.

After hearing this, watching the destruction became hard. Here was something that was the oldest, the first, in our nation and it was being destroyed. I finished up my pictures and vowed to come back to cover more of the church's story. In the next few days, the winter weather hit. And by the time of my next visit some two weeks later, the church was in rubble. After a few months had passed it began to sink in that I was probably the last person to photograph the church and most likely the last person that photographed it professionally. This has since weighed heavily on me.

Today will be the first time the pictures are viewed by eyes other than my own.