Still tuned to Heaven

Inside, the brick walls burn quietly with royal purple and blood-red stained glass work that is without equal in Lansing and perhaps all of mid-Michigan.

If the landmark building has barely changed since it was built in 1914, the life inside it is another story. The changes of the past century popped out in bold relief Sunday when the Rev. Karen Lewis, priest-in-charge, led a one-shot centennial service using the1892 Book of Common Prayer, the same book the congregation used 100 years ago.

The people in the pews, following along with their booklets, found a shocker on the first page. The old prayer book directed the minister to scan the church for any "open and notorious evil livers," call them out and bar them from Holy Communion.

To the relief of some, perhaps, Lewis didn´t do that.

At a potluck supper after the service, Lewis explained that there´s been a "theological shift" since the fire and brimstone days of 1914. The service is less of a flogging now and more of a celebration of God´s love.

"There used to be a lot in there about ´wretched sinners´ and so on," Lewis explained. "Trust me, we don´t say ´wretched sinners´ any more."

As the service went on, many eyes darted toward the sumptuous stained glass and elaborate woodwork around them. The church was designed by its rector. Henry J. Simpson, who was also an artist and engineer, at a cost of $35,000. It replaced an older church, an overgrown cottage next to the present one, which was built in 1873. Before that, Lansing´s first Episcopal services were held in the Senate Chamber of the old State Capitol, beginning in the early 1850s.

As Lewis soldiered through reading after reading Sunday, Don Lawrence found himself kneeling a lot more than usual.

"This is hard on the knees," said Lawrence.

Lawrence called the old service "priestcentric."

"The lay people had little opportunity to say anything besides ´Amen,´" he said.

The most obvious change in the past century is the presence of Lewis herself at the altar. Women weren´t ordained in the Episcopalian church until 1976.

Pam Irwin and her husband, John, both 80 years old, were married at St. Paul´s 58 years ago. Pam Irwin said the service reminded her of those she attended in her youth.

"I wouldn´t want to do it all the time, but I loved it," Pam Irwin said.

The only wriggle room Lewis had to shorten the service was in her sermon, which she kept to a lively 10 minutes.

She "read" a letter from an imaginary church member from a century ago, addressed to the congregation of the future. The letter was packed with period details like scratchy crinoline skirts and World War I Zeppelin attacks.

It was also full of dry humor.

"Are the sermons still full of words of damnation, hell and our state of sinfulness?" she asked, in the voice of the fictitious letter writer. "Do you struggle with inviting those who are different from us into the service? I wonder sometimes whether the church will catch up to the changes in the world."

"After the service, several people asked me who wrote that letter," Lewis said later with arched brow. "Are you kidding?"

Bradley Deacon, a member of the church and avid participant in its choir since 1995, thought Lewis´ letter "tied everything together."

"This church isn´t a museum piece, it´s a living community," Deacon said.

Deacon couldn´t resist dropping a hint about the building.

"Did you see the raccoon window?" he whispered.

Just inside the Ottawa Street entrance, a stained glass window renders St. Francis, patron saint of animals, in the company of a very robust raccoon, a deer and other native Michigan fauna.

Sunday´s service was enhanced by an unexpected discovery. A few weeks ago, while rummaging in a side room, church member Barbara Lindquist found two large, bulbous brass vases, tarnished and dented.

They were gifts to St. Paul´s from George Ranney, the Civil War hero, leading Lansing physician, land giver, tree planter and namesake of Ranney Park. The vases honored two children Ranney and his wife, Isabella, outlived: Ralph, who died in 1893 at age 20, and Florence, who died in 1891 at age 10.

Linquist cleaned them up and put one at each end of the altar for Sunday´s service.

"This is about the oldest thing we have that was used in these services 100 years ago," Lindquist said.