History

The Chapel of the Holy Apostles, Penn Wynne, derived its name from the famous old Church of the Holy Apostles, which stood for many years at 21st and Christian Streets, South Philadelphia. With the change in the neighborhood there and the movement of the congregation to West Philadelphia and the suburbs, it was decided in 1942 to sell the old property and merge the congregation and the endowment with the Chapel of the Mediator, 51st and Spruce Streets. The congregation stipulated, however, that the proceeds from the sale of the buildings should be used to stat a new church, and the Penn Wynne site was ultimately selected. Construction of the Parish House was begun in 1950 and completed in June, 1951. The congregation met first for services on Christmas Eve, 1950, in the half-finished Parish hall, and began regular services on the first Sunday in Lent, 1951, in the Penn Wynne Library, moving to the still incomplete Parish Hall on Easter Day, 1951.

The Voyage of the John Williams

written for the October, 2021, issue of “The Apostle” newsletter
by: The Rev. James R. Stambaugh, Rector

Our parish houses a unique historical treasure. You’ve surely seen it. Locked in the display case in the narthex is a wooden model ship. Perhaps you’ve even read the plaque that accompanies it. In case you haven’t, here is what it says:

About the year 1850, a member of St. Paul’s on 3rd Street, sailed for England, promising the Sunday School to bring a gift for Missionary Sunday. At the Foreign Missionary Society in London he asked for some suitable relic. The Missionary Ship, John Williams, named after the martyr missionary to the South Seas, happened to be in drydock for repairs, and he was given a beam from the ship. Upon his return, a vestryman of St. Paul’s, formerly a sea captain, made it into a full-rigged replica of the John Williams. On special occasions the ship would be carried down the aisle and her deck covered with special little bags of money offerings. When St. Paul’s disbanded, George C. Thomas brought the ship to Church of the Holy Apostles. For many years, it hung in the main Sunday School room, until moved, in 1944, to the Sunday School at 51st & Spruce Streets. 

This description is taken word for word from the Parish of the Holy Apostles History: The First Ninety Years: 1868-1958. This, of course, is a history of our mother parish, which was founded in 1868 at 21st and Christian Streets in Philadelphia. Layers of details in this description deserve more exploration. 

St. Paul’s on 3rd Street

St. Paul’s was one of the earliest Episcopal churches in Philadelphia (4th oldest, if you count Gloria Dei, a Swedish Lutheran church that became Episcopalian). St. Paul’s was formed by a somewhat acrimonious split of the congregation of Christ Church, Philadelphia in 1760-1. St. Paul’s was known as a leading evangelical and “low-church” parish led by its fiery rector, the Rev. William McClenachan. McClenachan was heavily influenced by the English Evangelist, George Whitefield, who himself caused quite a stir with his preaching in Philadelphia a few decades previous. In its heyday, St. Paul’s was a large, active, and affluent congregation that boasted the largest Sunday School in the diocese during the middle of the 19th century. The member who went to England around 1850 and brought back a piece of the ship’s beam may have been the Rector of the St. Paul’s at that time, the Rev. Dr. Richard Newton (1813-1887). Newton was born in Liverpool, England, and had many connections on that side of the Atlantic. After many years of service in the Episcopal church, Dr. Newton died in his home in Chestnut Hill and is buried at Laurel Hill cemetery. St. Paul’s declined in membership late in the 19th century as its members moved away from the area (3rd St. and Walnut). It closed in 1905. Today, the church building houses Episcopal Community Services.

The Foreign Missionary Society of London

This almost certainly refers to the London Missionary Society, an inter-denominational organization formed in 1795 to support missionaries to the South Pacific, Asia, Africa, and the Americas. The founder of the society was a Congregationalist, but there were also Presbyterians, Baptists, and Anglicans involved. The Society’s most famous missionary was Dr. David Livingstone, doctor, missionary to Africa, and anti-slavery advocate. Almost as famous—at least in the mid-19th century—was a missionary named John Williams. 

John Williams the Missionary

Not to be confused with the composer of the same name, John Williams was an English Congregationalist minister (Congregationalists are heirs to the Puritans who broke away from the Anglican church in 17th century). He was commissioned by the London Missionary Society in 1816 and he and his wife were sent to the South Pacific Islands. John travelled to a number of islands, especially, in what is now French Polynesia (think, Tahiti).  He spent a lot of time on a missionary ship named, Messenger of Peace, which he had built for the purpose of skipping from island to island preaching and teaching. Williams was generally well respected by the indigenous populations in which he served. The Williamses returned to England in 1834, where John oversaw the translation of the New Testament in the Rarotongan language. In 1839, he joined a missionary expedition to what is now the Republic of Vanuatu. When he and his colleagues landed on the island of Erromango, they interrupted a ceremony that was taking place on the shore, and were killed by the local population. John Williams quickly became well-known as the “Martyr of the South Seas” and his death spurred an increase in English missionary attention to the south Pacific islands. 

John Williams the Ship

To honor Williams, the London Missionary Society raised funds from Sunday Schools all over England (and possibly in places like Philadelphia, USA as well) to build a new missionary ship, a barque named after John Williams. The ship was launched in 1844 from Harwich in England and embarked on a three-year voyage to—you guessed it—the South Pacific. As the plaque tells us, when the member of St. Paul’s Philadelphia visited, the ship was in drydock undergoing repairs and a piece of the ship’s beam that was apparently being replaced was given as a gift to the Sunday School of St. Paul’s. Fourteen years later, the John Williams drifted into a coral reef near Pukapuka, a small atoll that is part of the Cook Islands. At the time, Pukapuka was called Danger Island by English sailors. The passengers and crew were rescued, but the John Williams eventually sank to the bottom of the sea. The London Missionary Society built or purchased six more ships named the John Williams, two of which also sank in the South Pacific. The last missionary ship John Williams was decommissioned in 1968. 

George C. Thomas

Thomas was a very prominent Philadelphia banker and business partner of J.P. Morgan. He was baptized and raised as a member of St. Paul’s Church, 3rd street, where he attended the Sunday School and later taught there. Thomas was one of the original lay leaders involved in the founding of Church of the Holy Apostles. He started the Sunday School there, originally intending to return to his home parish after the school was established. Instead, Thomas stayed at Holy Apostles and became an energetic lay leader and its most generous benefactor, contributing hundreds of thousands of dollars and leading the Sunday School for 41 years. Thomas remained friends with his old priest at St. Paul’s, Dr. Richard Newton, and when Newton died in the 1890s, Thomas dedicated one (of several!) of the Sunday School buildings he built for Holy Apostles to Newton. I am pretty sure that through this connection, Thomas was able to acquire the model of the John Williams when St. Paul’s closed in 1905. Thomas himself, died in 1909, and the current building of Holy Apostles and Mediator was built by his family in his honor. It should also be mentioned that Thomas was the benefactor behind much of the furniture of the original Holy Apostles, which was eventually passed to us. Our altar, reredos (the ornamental screen covering the wall at the back of the altar), and baptismal font were probably all paid for by George C. Thomas.                   

 HAM & CHA 

The model ship, created by an unknown sea captain and vestry member of St. Paul’s, was moved first to the Sunday School of Holy Apostles, and then to Holy Apostles and the Mediator in 1944 once the Parish was consolidated. The Chapel of the Mediator was, like us at the beginning of our history, a mission chapel supported by the Parish of the Holy Apostles, which consolidated to become Holy Apostles and the Mediator (HAM). I’ve written about the history of HAM and CHA before, but I’ve done more research in the last year and I would like to present that now. Our congregation was founded in 1950 as many of the White members of HAM left West Philadelphia for suburbs like Penn Wynne. As a dependent Chapel of HAM, Holy Apostles, Penn Wynne was supported by HAM in a number of ways. Our parish hall (1950) was built using endowment funds compounded from original contributions by George Thomas and others. The vicar (what we called our priest before we became a parish) was paid by HAM.  The mortgage on the new church building (1959) was paid jointly by the two congregations, and CHA received an interest free loan from HAM to build out the classrooms in the undercroft of the building (these are the classrooms used by Little Friends Daycare today).

As the neighborhood surrounding HAM changed in the 1950s and ‘60s, Holy Apostles and the Mediator became a predominantly Black church. When the longtime rector of HAM retired at the end of 1966, there was an unfortunate power struggle between members of the Chapel (CHA) and the Parish (HAM) about who would become the next Rector. The leadership of CHA made it clear that if the Vicar of the Chapel, the Rev. John Kolb, was not made Rector of the Parish, then the Chapel would seek independence. I’ve examined the documentary evidence that I could find from this time including signed and dated meeting notes. Several concerns were driving this disagreement. Money was tight at the Chapel and members of CHA felt like HAM was not supporting them enough. Kolb was very popular and the leadership of CHA thought he was better qualified to lead HAM than the other candidate, the Assistant Rector of HAM, David Hyatt. There was also an explicit and troubling expression of concern by leaders of CHA over the fact that HAM was becoming predominantly Black. The frankly racist undertone of these statements was that the predominately White congregation of CHA was better equipped to handle finances than the changing demographic of HAM. 

Ultimately, the Rev. David Hyatt was elected to become Rector of HAM and CHA moved to become an independent parish, which  became a reality in 1968. As part of the settlement, HAM paid off half of CHA’s existing mortgage, and completely forgave the loan. They also agreed to help pay the salary of CHA’s priest for 5 years. In addition, Bill Oberhuber donated a significant amount of money to CHA as an endowment for music. Relations soured between the two parishes, and I cannot help but suspect that in part this was because of the racial dynamic between the two congregations. This last point grieves me quite a bit. I do not mean to demonize any of our predecessors at CHA, but neither can we ignore the sinful specter of racism that lurks in our history.  

In 2018, HAM reached out to us and invited us to join in the 150th anniversary of Holy Apostles in all its many configurations. That service began a burgeoning relationship between our two parishes and over the course of the past two and half years we have held three joint services together. 

The Model Ship

No one that I’ve spoken to at CHA remembers when or how the model of the John Williams came to reside here.  It is not mentioned in any of our memorial gift records. I hope one day to track down some documentation of how it came to be in our possession. I do have some idea, however. In the Fall of 2019, members of HAM joined us for a Sunday Eucharist. It was a joyous and beautiful time. Several of the matriarchs of that congregation who were in attendance, approached me quietly during coffee hour. They asked about the ship. They remembered the John Williams from their time as young people in Sunday School. They wanted to know if we still had it, and if they could see it. They were overjoyed to be given the opportunity to see it again. It emerged that, while they did not know the details of how it came here, the consensus among members of HAM who were there at the time is that the ship was not a gift given to us in joy, but rather a thing that was borrowed at some point (perhaps before the unpleasantness of the late 60s) and never returned. 

The ship needs work. Several pieces are loose or broken, and the rigging is in especially bad shape. An anonymous doner has promised an initial donation of $500 toward potential restoration work. I have reached out to the Philadelphia Ship Model Society for advice about what could be done to restore and protect this unique treasure, but have not yet received a cost estimate.

Model ships in churches have a long, venerable history. All over Europe, but especially in England and Scandinavian countries, model ships were made and given to churches as a token of thanksgiving for God’s safety felt by sailors while on voyage. The Parish of Gloria Dei in Philadelphia has several such votive ships hanging in the Nave. An Episcopal Church in Brooklyn has commissioned a brand new votive ship model in thanksgiving for their on-going navigation of the COVID pandemic with God’s help. The John Williams has an added dimension as a missionary ship model. In the past, the model ship “voyaged” down the church aisle and was used to collect offerings that went toward supporting missionaries and other mission projects. I do not know exactly where our voyage will take us, and I do not know what is in store for the wonderful little ship model, the John Williams, that is in our care. However, I firmly believe that if we continue to listen to the voice of God’s Spirit ever calling us even in the midst of the storm, our voyage—and maybe the ongoing voyage of the John Williams—will take us toward adventures of grace and safe harbors of mercy that we cannot yet imagine.