There has never been a time that threatening dangers—mythological or real—have not beset the ways of seagoing men. The same old “uncharted rocks, shoals and other hazards” that Jason encountered when he took the good ship Argo to sea await the daring navigators of today in their voyaging along new routes, to higher ceilings, and to greater deeps.
The Navy of the United States shall be governed by the following Articles:
Commanders of all fleets, squadrons, naval stations, and vessels belonging to the Navy are required to show in themselves a good example of virtue, honor, patriotism, and subordination. . . .
Could anything be clearer, or more suggestive of the rugged strength and beauty of biblical language?
There is a paragraph, however, that is possessed of a personality different from the rest; an exhortation, let us say, one in its ultimate purpose equally imperative with the injunction that has gone before:
The Commanders of vessels and naval stations to which chaplains are attached shall cause Divine Services to be performed on Sundays, whenever the weather and other circumstances allow it to be done; and it is earnestly recommended to all officers, seamen, and others in the naval service diligently to attend at every performance of the worship of Almighty God.
What better text than the above for the inspirational note of this church story? Quite properly will it serve, if we but add, even as the chaplain does for purpose of identification: “Words taken from the Laws of the Navy, and he that is wise will observe them, going down to the sea in his ship.”
There in the midst of an eucalyptus grove it stands—this navy chapel-church. Apart, and yet so near to the houses round about it; so near to the shops, the ships, the barracks of the men. Its great rose window mirrors back the light of setting sun; its steeple lies half-hidden in the wind-swayed branches of the trees, the steeple cross-crowned, its summoning bell indicates it as a harbor of refuge for those who come in from the sea, an anchorage, good holding ground, a place where weary men may rest before they go back to the sea—St. Peter’s Chapel, Navy Yard, Mare Island, California.
If there be anything in a name, or in name association, calculated to beget high inspiration then indeed is this little chapel-church singularly fortunate in its appellation—Peter the Apostle; Peter called Simon, or as it’s written in the Book, “Simon called Peter,” a toiler of the sea. He and his brother Andrew were fishers, so the story is told, and were wont to cast their nets into the Sea of Galilee, until that day when the Master said: “Follow me and I will make you fishers of men.” Ships and the sea and fishers of men . . . “And when He was entered into a ship his disciples followed Him; and behold there arose a great tempest in the sea, insomuch that the ship was covered with waves. . . .”
It’s just possible that the sponsors, the godparents, of this chapel, seafaring people themselves, were mindful of the instability and treachery of shifting sands, and found a strengthening reassurance in the name, Peter—“Thou art Peter and upon this rock I will build my church and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it.”
On the other hand it is equally possible that the sponsors had nothing to do with the selection of the chapel’s name. One surmise leads to but another—why follow into the realms of conjecture? The chapel has its name, so what matters it after all how it got it, or why?
Undoubtedly many a visitor to the navy yard has wondered about the actuating purpose that prompted the building of this place of worship on a navy island that geographically is so much apart, so much alone. At best there could have been but a small and transient congregation to be administered to; assuredly an all too great a diversity of creeds was there to be found. How could one chapel serve both the few and all? In its very conception, to those who do not know the intimacies of navy life, it will always remain an anomaly—a church without cardinal, bishop, or synod. Blame them not, these casual ones from civil life, for our Mahan in his intimate knowledge of seagoing folks has very aptly said “Those who go down to sea in ships are little known and less understood;” we are indeed a race apart, in many things.
Mare Island in the old days was quite a bit inaccessible, self-centered, and self-contained; at times even forgotten. It was difficult for the island resident to get over the river to the mainland where the Vallejo churches were; it was an all-day trip to go to San Francisco. There were differences of belief and opinion on the island, then, even as now; and lastly there must have been the acceptance of the fact that it was more to the point to bring a chapel to the island people than to undertake to ferry them to the churches across the river or to send them down the bay. It will be well within the metes and bounds of accuracy, and in no sense irreverent, if we account for the building of this chapel- church by simply saying that it was built as a navy church, for navy folks, and let it go at that; a seaman’s shelter, a nomad’s resting place on the shore side.
Admittedly ’tis essential, in the writing of what purports to be, in part at least, a descriptive article, that we make some reference to the recorded, even though perchance more prosaic, descriptive facts. St. Peter’s of Mare Island, as the bronze legend plate on the wall in its entrance-way proclaims, was: “Erected by the Congress a.d., 1901. Through the efforts of the Honorable George C. Perkins, United States Senator, and the Reverend A. A. McAlister, Chaplain, United States Navy. Albert Sutton, Architect.” Brief indeed and to the point.
The authorization for the erection of this chapel and the requisite appropriation of funds wherewith to construct it were contained in the Naval Appropriation Act for the Fiscal Year 1900—“A chapel, $5,000.”
On Sunday October 13, 1901, which in the church calendar for that year, was the nineteenth Sunday after Trinity, the chapel being then completed, it was with formal ceremony dedicated to the service and worship of Almighty God
. . . setting it apart forever from all unhallowed, ordinary, and common uses, to be henceforth known as St. Peter’s Chapel, Mare Island, and to be used for the holy offices, services, and sacraments of the Christian Religion. . . .
The Mare Island Chapel shares with the chapel at the Naval Academy, Annapolis, the exceptional distinction of being one of but two places to be erected by the government on a naval reservation and designed primarily and essentially for use in religious worship.
In style of architecture St. Peter’s of Mare Island is an adaptation of the Gothic; a modified Gothic type, constructed of unpainted California redwood. Time and the changing seasons, the sun and the wind and the rains have so softened the coloring of the wood-shingled roof and side walls as to give them the appearance of age thus enhancing the exterior appearance of the building with the blended soft color values of a venerable antique.
As viewed from the outside, or as seen under the moving shades and shadows of the trees, St. Peter’s has all the outward signs of being comfortably small, hospitably inviting rather than austere, warm rather than cold—in short a precious stone not too ornately set. If this chapel were located in close juxtaposition to other buildings, or upon a city street, it would appear insignificant, neglected, choked down, and crowded in, but fortunately this condition does not prevail. It stands alone, the center spot.
The greatest beauty of the chapel is to be found inside its doors. The temptation is to describe its interior simply as one of “atmosphere,” a “religious atmosphere,” to be exact, one produced by a soothing peace, by quiet, by dim lights that seep rather than flow through stained glass windows, by vagrant organ notes, parts of some lost chord still clinging to the rafters, by the smoke tang of candles that had burnt at evening song, and by the perfumed aftermath of flowers and incense smoke. All these are there; and one can almost see—so great is the creative power of suggestion an intangible, vague congregation, heads bowed in silent prayer; and out through the great rose window—a pathway leading onward, upward, through the blue to the infinite Beyond—to Over There!
From such a “first impression” it is a bit difficult to descend to a phrasing couched in the technical language of the plans and specifications; even though such phrasing be more accurately descriptive of that which has been materially wrought. The natural wood finish of the interior, enhanced only by the application of clear oils and varnish; arched rafters exposed to view in all their strength and symmetry; the ceiling panels, studded here and there with deep carved medallions—memorials to the navy leaders of those other days— lest we of this generation should forget their deeds and names. All these, as you see them, are suggestive of poetry rather than of prose description—the center aisle, the row on row of pews, prayer benches, soft padded for unworn, tender knees. Side walls pierced by windows wherein are mounted likenesses in stained glass of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John; of Zephiel, Uriel, Gabriel; archangels, and saints, too many to be enumerated; Saint Joseph and Our Lady—Faith, Hope, Truth, and Charity; Sir Galahad, a goodly company of the blessed!
A stained glass triptych window dominates the front—“The calling of Peter.” In it the fishermen by the Sea of Galilee are letting down their nets, and in their midst is Simon called Peter. This three-part window is a memorial to those sturdy naval pioneers of early California days, Sloat, who took possession of California with a naval force, July 7, 1846, Stockton, who in command of naval and land forces completed the conquest, 1846-47, and Farragut, who was the first commandant of the Mare Island Navy Yard, 1854-58.
Separated from the body of the chapel proper, both by a higher floor level and by hand-wrought railings, are the chancel, sanctuary, and altar. Dominating these settings, flanked on each side by gilded organ pipes, centered above the altar, transcendent in its simple beauty and its impelling force, is a rose window—“The Ascension,” a memorial to the officers and enlisted men of the United States Navy and Marine Corps who served on the Pacific Ocean.
This rose window, and the other stained glass windows in the chapel are gift memorials. In the detailed study of the chapel, it will be noted that the memorials, whether they be stained glass windows, bronze commemorative plaques, or carved medallions, are, with but one striking exception, memorials to officers and men of the Navy and Marine Corps, or to their foreign associates in arms. The exception, as it should be, is a handsome stained glass window dedicated to the women of the service.
On July 2, 1930, as an outward expression of affectionate appreciation and esteem, the officers and men of the Mare Island station, in collaboration with their associates serving on the ships that are based on the Mare Island Navy Yard, caused to be placed in St. Peter’s Chapel a stained glass window, which they dedicated “To the Women of the Navy and the Marine Corps.”
The simple inscription that the window bears was adopted as being both generic and selective; comprehensive and individual. It is to the service women of yesterday, today, tomorrow!
In its fullest, most composite sense this new window is to serve as a testimonial and a memorial—either or both, depending on the prompting thought. It is to mothers, if one so elects; or to sweethearts and wives; to sisters who may have played a helping part; to daughters growing up; to the ministering nurses of the Medical Corps; to the women who came into service with us, in answer to war’s call—to any one of them, to each of them, to all of them—to our women! and this being a church story we may add, in all sincerity and respect, “God bless them.”
The motif of the window is a representation of the Madonna and Child. It may be more definitely described as an adaptation of the picture “The Madonna of the Olive Branch” painted by Baribino. In its color scheme the deep blue of the sea, and the yellow gold of the California poppy dominate. As a comparable work of art it is a fitting and harmonious companion piece to the other stained glass windows that have heretofore been placed in the chapel; it enjoys, however, this added distinction—it is the only known window—anywhere, dedicated to the service women.
The inclination is to include a partial detail reference to the other memorial windows that are in the chapel; their number, however, precludes such an undertaking. There are, all told, twenty-nine of them—each one an artistic creation, each one a separate and distinct memorial subject in itself. Many of these windows have been in place for years, some of them since 1906; they have been seen repeatedly, and are in no need of what might quite properly be considered a belated and incomplete description at this time. The chapel doors are never locked.
In these final paragraphs, there remains but to account for the “atmosphere” with which this phantasy was to be surrounded. It comes in no small part, as has already been told, from the chapel itself. For good measure recourse may be had to what in nautical language is called the “chapel log”—an intensely interesting human book: therein will be found recorded, in the progressive story of the years, the religious high lights of Mare Island life: records of baptisms, communion services, confirmations, marriage rites, Sunday services, celebrations, last long voyages begun. These are the things human, heart happenings, hopes and happiness, sorrow and fears, that in the course of the years have been enacted within the walls of this navy chapel-church: these are the things that have made it what it is—these the components that have contributed to its religious atmosphere.
In the fullest sense of the words, St. Peter’s is a place where all officers, seamen, and others in the naval service may diligently attend the performance of the worship of Almighty God, even as it is recommended.
With charity for all, intolerance for none, it is a navy chapel-church. Within its walls both the “Gloria” and the “Hallelujah” have been sung.
Go, the phantasy is done!
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They (officers) should fortify themselves in the sentiments of honor.—Knox.