God at Work
Rasha Lama
→MLA LDAR 2026
Image taken by the author.
But where is this Spirit that now speaks? I no longer know. What I was is now in pieces, displaying my mortality to all those who once looked up to me. I falsely permitted myself an eternal grace to my being, and now I belong neither to the realm of Father, Son, nor Spirit. In my final state of revealed truth, I repent to you, my Lord.
In 1853, I was built block by block by the hands of granite masons. The devotion of stained glass blowers and the prayers of the original congregation held me up. I became the manifestation of united dedication that grew a meagre land plot into the revered First Church of Christ in New London, Connecticut. I boasted in gathering souls in prayer for a hundred and seventy years. I have gathered believers far and wide, from Boston to New York. In our city, I commanded attention: my long, granite steps paraded on State Street, my steeple’s shadow reminding its patrons of the eyes above. My structure was the spectacle that drew travellers into our great New London, from our Thames to our rails. One could rise with the day and set with the sun, whose rest was found beyond my roof’s horizon.
Throughout my lifetime, for more than a century, I kept secret of my weakness that I permitted none to know: that my earthly father, architect Leopold Eidlitz, knew of the grave errors the contractors committed on my steeple’s structure. Upon my first hearing of this tragedy, confessional whispers started to echo throughout my unfinished interior and I feared the day this fate would reveal itself. Thus, I swore to save face and show none of my weaknesses. I repent to you, my Lord, of my weakness in the face of the structural truth.
But what treachery have I committed? To turn my fate into destiny? I desired immortality in the promise of preserving the Spirit in me. Alas, I now see that I was just a fool to imagine desire without evil. A steeple with a body so meagre, not even a cast shadow remains. I am but a ghost that haunts what memories they keep. I am now a reduction of my greatness that never was of your Greatness. My spirit is in pieces of granite torn out of the earth and sky. I no longer am what I preached to be, but a fool who took the whispers, gasps, and songs in me as falsified proof of what greatness I thought lay in me.
I confess to you, oh Father, of all my sins that have brought me to my knees. I beg of you, Heavenly Father, for the strength I have stolen was powered by my fears. Forgive me, Lord, for I am not worthy for you to come under my roof. But speak the word only, and my soul shall be healed.
Amen.
This story originated from an urban systems studio focused on New London, CT. The intention was to orate an event, person, or feature of the city that could provide context towards one of the various narratives embedded within a place’s urban life. Immediately, it was the story of the collapsed church that drew my attention for its collapse was sudden (in January 2024), yet expected since its erection (completed in 1853). As a place for gathering, reflection, and prayer for 170+ years, the First Church of Christ in New London is now an omission from the city skyline and the frontage of the historic main artery, State Street. How might we reimagine historical structures, the built environment, and the inevitable end-of-life timeline that is expected in all things?
At the time of publication, the church’s remains remain on site, barricaded by fences and caution tapes noting “GOD AT WORK.”
Rasha Lama wants to see people through her window.