Sunday, March 14, 1999
Treasures in our attic
BY PETER BRONSON
The Cincinnati Enquirer
Archaeologists say there must be hundreds of undiscovered tombs in Egypt's Valley of the Kings, and any one of them could be more spectacular than the gold-plated mausoleum where high priests jarred up the remains of a boy-Pharaoh named Tut.
I picture those sealed rooms sleeping in silent darkness for thousands of years, patiently waiting for the groan of shifting stones and the blinding shaft of dust-sparkled sunlight that will signal the first returning footsteps of human life.
Sort of like Cincinnati's downtown after 7 p.m., when all the slaves who toil in our skyline pyramids lay down their ropes, whips and pry-poles, stop pushing huge stone blocks over each other and flee to surrounding villages until the sun rises again.
On a Sunday morning, downtown's valley of business kings does a pretty good impression of Egypt: Towering tombs of banking, insurance, government and industry sit sphinxlike in geometric shadows, looking down imperiously at puny mortals, asking an unanswerable riddle:
What mark will this civilization leave in 4,000 years?
When they brush the dust away from buried keyboards, fax machines and cell phones, will they say we worshiped treasure or trash?
Fortunately, we don't have to wait that long to find jewels left behind by previous generations who have built and rebuilt our city.
I found one the other day on Elm Street, just a few blocks from the Enquirer's pyramid. Just north of Seventh Street, behind gray stone walls and wooden doors arched like a bishop's hat, is a symphony of stained glass, scarlet velvet and carved walnut called Covenant-First Presbyterian Church. Its roots reach deep into Cincinnati soil, as part of six churches that date back to 1790. The black-coffee pews on Elm Street were first filled on April 11, 1875.
And here's a secret:
Each Wednesday at noon, the round, plum-shaped song of a 1,700-pound tower bell cast by Paul Revere invites anyone who is passing by to join a short lunchtime service. The slow, solemn chant of the bell somehow manages to sound near and far at the same time, like the world outside the heavy church doors.
It seems to speak the prayer written on the “Inspiration at Noon” bulletin:
“Come now, little man! Flee for awhile from your tasks, hide yourself for a little space from the turmoil of your thoughts. For a little while, give yourself to God, and rest in Him for a little.” — St. Anselm, 1033-1109 A.D.
When the church bell's final echoes fade, the deep-throated, two-story pillars of a golden pipe organ fill the cavernous sanctuary as if giving voice to the sunlight spilling through deep ruby, yellow, royal blue and green stained glass.
Pastor Theodore Kalsbeek leads a call to worship. A hymn is sung. A soloist performs. A speaker shares brief remarks.
Bread for the soul, food for thought, nourishment for the spirit — all in just 30 minutes, with time left for lunch ($3 for soup, sandwich and a slice of delicious homemade pie).
I was invited to stand in the pulpit at Covenant-First Presbyterian Church last Wednesday. The view was inspiring. Breathtaking. A spiritual battery boost.
Standing there, I wondered what sermons had flashed from that same pulpit like thunderbolts on a dark prairie, what prayers had been sent in silent hope and desperation to the beamed ceiling high above, what tears of joy and grief had fallen like dew on the red carpet.
Compared to that, my remarks were “just add hot water” instant cup-a-soup.
I suppose there are other churches downtown that are just as beautiful, with similar programs to minister to downtown workers.
After almost seven years of strolling the streets, I've hardly begun to explore unopened trunks in the downtown attic.
I've seen hotel rooms that fit a detective's description from a Raymond Chandler novel — splashy floral curtains, art-deco elevators, claw-footed tubs and leaded mirrors that look back at you from 1940 and make a man feel undressed without a fedora.
There are peaceful spots on the riverbank where Huck and Jim could sit chewing stalks of grass and watch the Ohio slide downstream like time itself.
There must be hundreds of undiscovered treasures in the valleys of downtown Cincinnati. And when archaeologists dig them up thousands of years from now, I hope they judge us by Covenant-First Presbyterian, as well as our monuments to worldly wealth.
Peter Bronson is editorial page editor of The Enquirer. If you have questions or comments, call 768-8301, or write to 312 Elm Street, Cincinnati, Ohio 45202.
Peter Bronson is editorial page editor of The Enquirer. If you have questions or comments, call 768-8301, or write to 312 Elm Street, Cincinnati, Ohio 45202.
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