1 W Hamilton St
Baltimore, Maryland 21201
410.685.2330
www.firstunitarian.net
Today, I woke up and asked myself, “What’s the most
patriotic thing I can think of?” The obvious answer was church architecture, so
I got out of bed and Google-mapped my second church. Recognizing that most
institutions are closed on the Fourth of July, I called three churches to see
if they were open before setting off to the First Unitarian Church of
Baltimore.
The church stands a block or two south of Mount Vernon Place
United Methodist Church. In its vicinity are various bus stops, storefronts,
and small franchise buildings that begin to resemble twenty-first century
Baltimore more than historic Mount Vernon Place. However, the Unitarian church
stands as a benchmark of Baltimore history, and like the Methodist Church, is
listed on the National Historic Register.
The church is a dome-topped cube with wall lengths of 53
feet and 6 inches, the same dimension as the dome’s diameter. Though you can’t see the dome in these photos, the cubic
rigidity of the building is glaringly apparent. Built in 1818 by Maximilian Godefroy, it follows the proportional canons of nineteenth century neoclassicism. At the same time, the building
manifests a bold departure from typical examples of neoclassicism by boasting a
relatively plain exterior. The structure’s main visible element, the cube, is emphasized
by its lack of ornamentation. Its decoration is limited to a portico and a structural
element that juts out approximately two-thirds of the way up, as well as at its
top. Incorporating four, arch-supporting columns, the portico bears a pediment.
Standing proudly in the middle of the pediment is a terra cotta relief
sculpture known as the Angel of Truth, which was designed by Antonio Capellano.
Considering its function as a Unitarian Universalist church,
the commission of a neoclassical design was appropriate for this building.
Neoclassicism intrinsically recalls traditions of democracy and universality in
classical buildings such as the Pantheon, which served as a temple to all of
the gods. By choosing this style instead of neo-Gothicism, the church builders
forewent a traditionally Christian symbol for one that was more equivocal.
I entered the church through its office entrance, which was donated
in 1879 by Enoch Pratt, a Baltimore philanthropist for whom the Enoch Pratt library,
located in the church’s vicinity, was named after. In fact, the building is
made from bricks taken from townhouses that were demolished to make room for
the library. When I rang the doorbell, a young boy greeted me, and I asked if I
could come in to take a look around. His face said that the answer was no (I found
out later that though I had called earlier, the church was in fact closed for
the holiday), but he was too polite to say so and welcomed me inside. He
introduced me to an older man who told me that the church offered docent-led
tours every first and third Sunday of the month. Luckily for me the boy chimed
in that Valerie, one of the docents, was there and that she could tell me about
the church. I gratefully followed him into the church, where Valerie was
talking to some other guests. As she finished up her conversation, I took in
the church’s interior.
Though my decision to visit this particular church was
entirely arbitrary, it seems like a fitting choice given today’s role as a
commemoration of the Declaration of Independence. The church stands as a
tribute to truth and universality, visually communicating the idea penned in
the 1776 document that all men are created equal. Happy Independence Day!
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