St. Stanislaus Kostka Church marks 125 years with hope for future
Merger a concern at Strip District parish
Tom Szmed can remember his mother holding him in her arms during Mass at St. Stanislaus Kostka Church in the Strip District. That was about 75 years ago.
On Sunday, Mr. Szmed, 78, was once again in the pews of the soaring red brick church at Smallman and 21st streets. Although he and his wife, Audrey Szmed, 70, live in McCandless and attend daily Mass at their local church, they always go to the 9 a.m. Sunday Mass at the Polish Catholic church where Mr. Szmed grew up.
With its twin gold cupolas, St. Stanislaus Kostka, which opened in 1892, is a striking sight near the end of the historic produce terminal that spans seven blocks on one side of Smallman. Founded by Polish immigrants when the Strip was a working-class industrial area, the church has weathered the changes that have shaped the neighborhood, from the area’s postwar population decline to its recent revitalization.
But as the church celebrates the 125th anniversary of its consecration this week, its members, like those in other parishes, are well aware that the Roman Catholic Diocese of Pittsburgh is planning to downsize, which could result in mergers or closings. And although that raises concerns among Catholics, a draft plan calls for St. Stanislaus, which previously merged with St. Patrick, to be grouped with Our Lady of Angels and Immaculate Heart of Mary churches. But all four campuses would remain open under the draft plan.
Bishop David Zubik will announce final groupings next year after Easter, but no mergers are expected to take place until 2019.
“Everyone wonders how this will affect us next year,” said the Rev. Harry Nichols, who has been the pastor for 11 years.
However, unlike parishes across the city with dwindling congregations and deteriorating buildings, St. Stanislaus Kostka has seen a revival in the past decade, with a growing congregation that is getting younger.
With 1,600 parishioners, the congregation has nearly doubled since 2000, when Derris Jeffcoat of Spring Garden became a sacristan. About 300 people come to the 9 and 11 a.m. Sunday Masses, and 30 attend daily Masses, he said.
“To many it’s a surprise that the numbers have come back to the positive extent that they have,” Father Nichols said.
Those rising numbers reflect the resurgence of the Strip in recent years, as new housing developments, shops and restaurants attract people from across the area. Many people discover St.
Stanislaus Kostka while shopping or going out to eat, he said, and some of those visitors end up joining the congregation. Only a core group of parishioners live in the Strip or Lawrenceville, and most commute from the suburbs.
St. Stanislaus Kostka is the patron saint of youth, and fittingly, the congregation is on the “youthful side,” according to Father Nichols, with an average age of 47. Last year, baptisms outnumbered funerals nearly 4 to 1.
A decade ago, when one of the central chandeliers started smoking during communion, the congregation started raising close to $1.5 million for renovation projects, Mr. Jeffcoat said. The church was rewired, the floor replaced, and the rose window restored.
By many accounts, St. Stanislaus Kostka is thriving. But keeping pace with the changing demographics of the area has also meant that the church has strayed from its Polish roots. Mr. Jeffcoat estimates that only a third of the congregation is Polish. A single Polish hymn at Mass and the Polish inscriptions on the stations of the cross imagery are the most noticeable legacies of the church’s ethnic past.
“While that parish history is very appreciated and very real, the reality is that the parish includes everyone,” Father Nichols said. “Strictly speaking, it’s no longer considered a Polish parish.”
It’s a far different congregation from the one Mr. Szmed knew as a child in the 1940s, when sermons were still given in Polish. Back then, the congregation was made up of Poles who worked in the Strip’s warehouses, bread factories and steel mills, he said. Parishioners who wanted to sit in the main pews had to pay a dime at a turnstile; everyone else was relegated to the balconies. Mr. Szmed’s uncle, who worked at an ice house, brought blocks of ice to the church for special events, he said. At Christmastime, nearby produce warehouses donated evergreens.
“It was more of a community, more commercial,” Mr. Szmed said.
Railroad tracks used to run down Smallman Street right up to the church, Father Nichols said, and sometimes passing trains were so loud that the pastor would wait, mid-sermon, for them to go by.
The Strip has lost much of the bustling, industrial atmosphere that defined the church’s early years. The produce terminal, known formally as the Pennsylvania Railroad Fruit Auction and Sales Building, is empty except for a small florist selling roses. Coffee shops and upscale restaurants fill former warehouses and flowers hang from black steel awnings.
Although church clergy say that the Strip’s revitalization is helping the congregation survive, larger conversations within the diocese mean that the church’s future hangs in the balance, some congregants say.
“Every parish has concerns about their future,” Father Nichols said. “I think our parish will be pretty optimistic that our church will be a part of the future of the diocese.”
But for some parishioners, it’s hard to shake the feeling that the church’s survival is not guaranteed.
“We’ve gone through this for many months, and statistics seem to show that the younger people aren’t as dedicated,” Mrs. Szmed said. “It can be hard, if you’re two people trying to make ends meet, and life is busier than it was when my husband was a kid. But unfortunately, we are concerned about the building closing.”
Adapting to change and confronting setbacks, however, have been integral parts of St. Stanislaus Kostka’s long history.
In 1993, during an early round of diocese restructuring, St. Stanislaus Kostka merged with St. Patrick, a secluded sanctuary on the corner of Liberty Avenue and 17th Street. St. Patrick holds a single Mass each week, on Thursday at noon.
And in 1936, the church survived two major disasters. During the St. Patrick’s Day Flood of 1936, Mr. Jeffcoat said, water rose as high as the wainscoting, the pastor was stranded in the rectory, and nuns had to be rescued from the convent by boat. Later that year, a massive explosion in a nearby banana warehouse blew out 56 windows in the church’s school building and damaged the church’s cupolas, which had to be reduced by 40 feet. “It literally rained bananas in the Strip,” Mr. Jeffcoat said.
The church’s school and convent were both closed in the late 1950s, due to lack of attendance.
Thechurch will celebrate a special 125th anniversary Mass on Sunday. The service begins a season of celebration, with an all-night adoration later in the month, an organ concert and blessing of the bicycles in October, and the feast of its patron saint in mid-November.
Last Sunday, as Father Nichols gave his sermon from the white, goldtrimmed pulpit, framed by dark purple and gold columns, he reminded the congregation of the many worshippers who had come before them.
“They came here to have their burdens lifted and joys increased,” he said. “This is not just a celebration of the building, but a celebration of God’s people, the thousands of people, known and unknown to us.”
Later, as the congregation spilled out into the hubbub of the Strip, Mr. and Mrs. Szmed paused in the pews. Morning light filtered through the stained-glass windowsand votive candles flickered in the corners of the nave.
“They don’t make churches like this anymore,” said Mrs. Szmed, gazing up at the vivid paintings on the ceiling. “I know it’s materialistic, but there’s so much history and memory here. You come here and you just feel so close.”