Zane Williams
Reinforced concrete inside and out made St. Paul’s an exemplar of 1960s modernism, but the style hasn’t aged well. The chapel will be replaced by a more traditional building.
On Jan. 3, the last Mass will be said at the chapel at St. Paul’s University Catholic Center, before its scheduled demolition in February. Now considered outdated, the gray concrete 1968 modernist re-do of the original 1909 church will be replaced by a larger, more “traditional”-looking building. It’s an icon of a bygone era.
I remember when St. Paul’s was new.
Back in 1970, my parents and some of their friends made the bold move to switch parishes, moving their families from Immaculate Heart of Mary in Monona to St. Paul’s at 723 State St. After years of frustration with the internal politics of the suburban parish, my parents were on a quest for a more positive message, and wanted to be served by a clergy that cared more about people. We found all of that at St. Paul’s. And my world was forever changed.
It was certainly a different time, with rapid change occurring in both American society and the Church, all played out against the backdrop of the Vietnam War. St. Paul’s in 1970 was the epitome of change, resulting from the Second Vatican Council (aka Vatican II), and that was the draw for people like my parents.
You could hardly classify my parents and their friends as radicals. My folks were fiscally conservative members of the World War II generation. But having lived to middle age under the pre-Vatican II church, they were ready for change. When the reforms came (no more Latin Mass, greater openness toward other religions, loosening the strictures on music and prayer, for instance), they embraced them. Of course no parish was left out of Vatican II, but some took on the spirit of the reforms more than others. And St. Paul’s was such a parish.
Physically, it was different from any other church building I had ever visited. Some people dislike those concrete buildings, dismissing them as unstylish bunkers. But I was able to see the beauty there.
Back then, I didn’t know it was designed by Madison architect Kenton Peters, but looking closely at its interior, I could tell somebody had put some thought into it. I can still smell the earthy concrete and the burlap scent of the gray carpet, which covered the seats of the concrete pews.
Those smells went well with the earthenware chalice, the whole-wheat communion wafers and the 1970s-style floor-to-ceiling tapestries (minimalist imagery writ large, like stalks of wheat, or a single dove).
St. Paul’s was the first Catholic Church where I received Communion in my hand, saw a priest with a beard or attended a “folk Mass” with music played by real folk musicians. Music director Jerry Phillips (bearded, of course) and his wife, Mary, led the choir with wonderfully arranged ’70s music, and songs from Godspell and Jesus Christ Superstar.
The clergy, led by Father Henry G. McMurrough, was outstanding. A charismatic speaker, Father Mac was considered a voice of reason during those turbulent days of campus unrest, delivering enlightening homilies in his calm and soothing voice. St. Paul’s even had a female chaplain performing the duties of a deacon. That would never happen today. Our catechism classes were led by university students, like the married student couple who taught my fourth-grade class. We’d take a break by heading to the Memorial Union or the Elvehjem Museum to view an exhibit on the Dead Sea Scrolls, or meet at their campus apartment and include their friends from different religions and cultures.
St. Paul’s spot on lower State Street put it at the forefront of the anti-war demonstrations in the late ’60s and early ’70s. Forums and debates about war, nonviolence, and social justice were held. Father Mac participated with clergy of all faiths in the local peace movement.
Looking back on it now, St. Paul’s must have been doing something right. The church was never empty during Mass. Sure, the pews were partially filled with suburban refugees like my family, but there were plenty of university students filling them as well. For a kid like me, that made the place even more cool.
The war ended, things quieted down, and Father Mac left St. Paul’s in June 1975, after eight years as pastor. He’d weathered some tough times and needed a break. He took a sabbatical and traveled out west to Montana. Tragically, he drowned in a canoeing accident on the Blackfoot River in May 1980. He had just turned 54 years old.
Things are so different now. The Church swung back to conservative ways in the 1980s. A succession of bishops changed practices at St. Paul’s, with little resistance. Even the music is back to traditional hymns.
Much like the Church itself, the old building hasn’t weathered time too well. I hate to see St. Paul’s razed. But why not? The St. Paul’s I knew hasn’t existed there for years.
Thankfully they scaled down the design of the new church building from the ivory-tower-in-the-sky imagery of their original design. Maybe that new pope has more influence than I thought.
