It was during a sunny morning in mid spring of 1977, I had climbed the few rungs of the wooden ladder leaning on the plum tree in the back yard for its yearly pruning, as my father had thought me, when I heard a deep, but soft voice talking with my mother. From within the branches partlycovered with new growth I looked down and saw a stranger a few years older than me. He wore a red sweater, the colour of young wine, a white shirt,black trousers and sandals no socks. We sat down on the concrete block stoop and said: “I am Ermanno Bulfon, the pastor of St.Peter’s communityin Woodbridge.” As we shook hands, I noticed that his was rough and thick. A priest with calloused hands and a voice that wasmoreattuned to folkloristic songs. How odd, I thought.
Hisround joyful visage with an aquiline nose and piercing eyes was topped by a curly black bush. “I have come ot ask you a favour.” I replied:“How can I help you?’ He continued: “I have been told that you will be travelling to Friuli soon. It would be appreciated if you could bring withyoua small package, a gift to the priest at Sant Andratdel Judrio.” Not knowing where the place was, but sensing his location I responded: “Ofcourse I will.” He added: “When you are there Father Agostino will give you a tour of the new church. It is a new church and as a young architectyou will surely like it.” He reached into his leather briefcase and puled out a small package the size of a book wrapped in manila paper. The name of the priest and the address in blue ink was clearly legible. He stood up to take his leave shook my hand and said: “When you return from my Friuli come and seeme.”
A few days later I flew to Trieste and from the airport drove to Udine where I spent a week at Bernardis office finalizing the contract documents for the construction of 200 single family houses and 2 seniors/community centres, in five villages that suffered the earthquake of 1976. Once the tasks at hand were completed, I drove to Sant Andrat.
I knocked at the wooden door of the rectory and a man in a ‘cleric uniform’ opened it and said: “You must be Ermanno’s friend, theCanadian Architect. I am Don Agostino, please come in.” He led me into the kitchen, the noon sunshine streaming in through the window. We stopped by an old wooden table, and he motioned for me to sit down. From my canvas bag I pulled out Ermanno’s package and handed to Don Agostino. He took it smiling and placed it on the sideboard and said: “May I offer you a glass of Vin Santo. Let us drink to the health of the many Canadians for theirsolidarity towards the people of Friuli. We still tremble because of the earthquake, but with the help from around the worldouranguish and trepidation are turning into hope and encouragement to move on.” I accepted his offering and took a few sips of the holiest of wines accompanied by tidbits of various cheeses, sausages, a variety of nuts and the tasty and fragrant ‘pan di sore (a corn bread).
By the time the sunshine had retreated from the window, the bottle of wine was empty,and DonAgostino took me for a tour of thechurch.The symmetrical space was enclosed bya low perimeter wall supporting the tentlike ceiling sloping upward ending atcentral lantern spire with four triangular windows. The lowrays of the setting sun, streamed infrom twowindows, formed a surrealistic glowthatrendered the upper portion of the ceiling invisible.
I sat on one of the wooden pews and made a few notes and sketches. In the meantime,Don Agostino havingexcusedhimself, returned after a few minutes with a decanterof the holy nectar and twoglasses.The ceiling slowly reappeared as thedecanter emptied. It was a sign to leave and driveback to Udine, but not before Don Agostinogave mea small package to bring back toErmannoand a bottle of Vin Santo for me.
A few days later I flew back to Toronto and shortly thereafter I went to see Ermanno.
After the niceties he asked me if I could do him a favour. I knew that itwouldhave been impossible to refuse his effusive grin and sonorousvoice. I nodded consent and he said: “I need a sketch, an ideogram,of achurch that will be included in the church’s bulletin that will bedistributed ot the congregation after Sunday’s masses.” Hefurther added: “…and in the meantime help me turn a room in the lower levelofmy house into a chapel.” I thought: a “favour in two acts.”
I had just moved into my first studio and was able to recover a fewwooden beams of Douglas fir from the disposal bin at the rear of the Old Carpet factory. I thought that they could be used in some way in the chapel to be. The wood beams were used in a cross formation and the ciborium was located at the intersection. A simple lectern, altar and a few pews completed the furnishing of the room. A chapel was born. We sat in silence admiring the result and suddenly Ermanno began talking like a gurgling fountain about his idea of a church that one day the community would be regaled with.
Ermanno began to regale, while in the small chapel, his thoughts for a church which would be raised one day by the community of Woodbridge. His words spilled out like a gurgling fountain ni a flowering garden, and I captured a few and stored them in my memory. He spoke about theburdensome condition of his congregation working in construction and him being with them. He worked like they did, and their sorrow, pain and aches became his. To alleviate the heavy, repetitive work he would sing the ‘ritornell’ from southern Italy and his beloved Friuli as the labourers joined in. He brought the church to the people and one day the people will build the church and when that day comes, he said: “You will be its architect.” And here was Act I.
By this time, I had resigned from the Friuli project due to an incongruous situation as to how the houses were to be assigned and in daring to have an opinion as to how some of the committee members used the project to advance their own interests. Ermanno and I stayed in touch from time to time and he baptized my first two born. However, I felt that I would not be part of act three, since he was the confessor of many who were involved with the project of the reconstruction in Friuli, and I doubted that I would ever be called to design the church.
Then one day in early 1984 Ermanno called. He wanted to meet with me and asked if I could go and see him. He told me that the time had arrived for St. Peter to have an appropriate place. The archdiocese had selected the site and that he could start the process of organizing its implementation. He announced solemnly: “The church needs an architect, a few years ago I made a promise to you, the design of St. Peter’s Church is yours.”
He further informed me he had formed a building committee made up of parishioners and that the people a few members of the disbanded Friuli Committee. A few of them were in the development and construction industry and they had committed ot raise funds and partake in the buildingof the church. Ermanno was aware on how I was treated during the Friuli project and assured me that they would not encumber his decision to retain me as the architect.
Irecalled Ermannos’ poetic and imaginative description of anon-physical church that he envisioned for the nascent community and to itsdedicated pastor. The dedicated pastor with the callous hands kept his promise to me, and I accepted with the hope that my design would result in a harmonious relationship.
I began to sketch a few ideas partially derived from the experience gained in adapting an existing building into a place of worship: S.t FidelisChurch. The generator of the design of a place of worship is immaterial form akin to the spirit of architecture. The elements of this immaterial form derive from dualities: essence and belief; temporal and eternal; sacred and profane; and by the elusive duality of: God and Man. I knew something of the latter and less of the former. To paraphrase Louis Khan: “What God (the mind) brings si unmeasurable, andwhat Man (the brain) can do can become measurable.”
The image that seemed to embody this concept of duality was Michelangelo’s portrayal of Adam’s and God’s fingers almost touching one anotherin the Sistine Chapel. Adam poised ot receive life hence rationality from the bearded man, hence all-encompassing. From this I extrapolated two geometric forms: the square for the Man, and the circle for God together they became the parti of the design for St Peter’s Church.
The circle signified the ‘sacred’ space, and the square represented the ‘secular.’ The circle with twelve radii was half enclosed by a tent likestructure and the other half defined by native trees. Curved walls became the embracing background for the sanctuary, the ciborium, and the baptismal pool areas. The interior surfaces of these walls would be flooded with natural light ever changing due to the curvature. Stained glass was proposed between the blue structural steel beams, resting on the concrete ‘silo’ supporting the tent like roof. The seating wasaccommodated ni five sections of twelve rows of pews in the round representing grace and the disciples. The theatre-like nave was slightly sloped towards the ‘schola cantorum,’ that in between place, its semicircular space flowed from the baptismal font ot the ciborium. The altar with a base of two solid pieces of granite separated with a diagonal space signified flow of movement. Each aisle symbolically initiated at the middle of the sanctuary and radiated out ot other elements of the plan.
The geometric forms are clearly recognizable on the exterior. The two come together at the entrance/narthex not before the congregants transverse a forecourt. The portico connects the front entrance of the church to the entrance of the rectory. A landscaped contemplative courtyard was defined by the portico and the interior hallway. A campanile was incorporated in the design. Only its foundations were constructed in the hope that the future congregants would raise it.
During the design phase Fr. Ermanno came often to my second studio to review and be part of the process. During one of those visits, he sat on the floor reviewing the plans and after giving his approval to what was presented to him, he said: “Rocco, my health is failing me. I have been diagnosed with cancer. I will not be able to be as active with the congregation and hence with the progress of your work. I will make sure that the committee will assist you.” From that day I saw Ermannoinfrequently and then no more, until that Sunday, May 12th, 1985, I brought the approved drawings to the school’s gym where Fr. Vito wascelebrating mass and during the offertory, I went up ot thesanctuary and offered the approved plans of St. Peter’s Church.
When mass was over, I passed by Fr. Ermanno’s house to give him the good news. His mother welcomed me in and led me to the ‘family room’that had been turned into a ‘hospital’ room. There in the middle, slightly propped up on pillows was Ermanno. I saw the ghost of when I first met him. His curly bush was completely gone, but his gentle smile lighted up his face. With his hand he motioned me to approach him and faintly asked: “Has the Bishop approved the project?” I said: “Yes and here is the evidence” as I unrolled a roll of the plans and showed him that Bishop Walls’ signature on the stamp of his coat of arms. With his weak hand he made the sign of the cross and with a weak voice said, “Rocco makes sure that our church is built as I have imagined it and as you have designed it.” With those words he extended his right hand and held mine. His was no longer rough and calloused, but soft and limp. I thought about Adams’ limp finger receiving life from God, whereas Ermanno’s weak fingers announced that God was taking back his life.
I was about to take my leave when he asked me to bring him a book that was on the small desk by the window. Ibrought it to him, and he handed it back saying: “This is for you. I meant to bring it to your office, but never got around to it.” I looked at the title ‘Un Friul vivut in Canada,’ opened and read the dedication. In his handwritingit said: “To Rocco, as a sign of fraternal friendship in an ever more beautifultomorrow.”
All I could do at that moment was to lean over and give him a fraternal embrace, and he said: “You know me always asking for favours, I need one more.” “Ok Ermanno” I said smiling. I sat down and he told me that the year before, when Jonn Paul II visited Toronto, Ermanno already quite ill was taken to St. Michael’s cathedral where His Holiness celebrated mass and gave communion to the infirm. When it came to exchange the sign of peace, JohnPaulstopped in front of Ermanno, blessing him and said a few words of encouragement. Ermanno responded bytelling His Holiness about a church dedicated to St. Peter andthat it was his wish to have the white cross raised at the Downsview, to be relocated to the new church.He concluded: “See that this my last favour, Act IV, is done.” Five days later, his brother Lorenzocalled and told me that Ermanno had passed on and that he had left instruction as to hispallbearers. I was to be one of them.
The shepherd was no longer with his sheep and the sheep became lost. The members of the committee who had committed to his dream scattered like the apostles of that fateful day and my firm shouldered Ermanno’s last request.
Inrecognition of his dedication to the community, I had his name, as the pastor, etched on a massive block of stone inserted inthebrick wall like a diamond. Below his I added my name as the architect to keep the promise I made to my father. After his tragic death, at the moment of his internment, silently I committed that the name Maragna would no longer only be etched on headstones. The church was finally completed when the white cross became part of the landscape on the west side of the structure as a reminder of the encounter of Pope John Paul II and Fr. Ermanno Bulfon.
Rocco Maragna describes to Justin Stephenson the starting idea for the creation of the church.
From ‘City Sonatina’ a film by Justin Stephenson, for CBC.