Over the past few months, scaffolding has grown and ladders sprouted around the spire of Natick’s First Congregational Church. 

Members of a work crew can be seen circling the tiled spike upon their platforms, laboring at tasks unseen by observers far below. Supplies are hoisted up to the crews via a system of ropes and coordination with workers at ground level, where ample space has been roped off for safety. 

The work is part of the church’s renovation, some much-needed cosmetic and structural attention for a building of such age. 

The church’s predecessor was destroyed in the fire of 1874, and construction began the following year on the newone that still stands today. Nearly 150 years is a long time in the lifespan of a building, and age and elements have taken their toll. The original church organization was founded in 1651, the same year as the town’s birthday.

Natick resident Doug Hanna is the co-chairman of the church’s building and grounds committee, and has taken part in coordinating the renovations. An architectural firm was brought in to assess the old building, make recommendations for its preservation and continued longevity.

The church’s iconic spire was an area identified as in need of attention. Specifically, its tiles of slate that have been exposed to harsh summers and winters, the sun and storms of so many decades. These shield the more vulnerable wooden bones of the building, those thick beams and ribs that comprise its skeleton and have enabled it to withstand so many years of New England weather.

“It lasts and lasts and lasts,” said Hanna of the slate. “Eventually, it starts to go.”

These tiles are about a quarter-inch thick, sliced from granite and cut to form hexagon shapes when layered upon the roof. The tiles are not painted, but owe their earthy stone and rust color to the hues of the original material from which they were cleaved. Those colors display astonishing resilience, as the old tiles show very little evidence of fading even after so many years in the sun.

Their faces looked down upon generations of parishioners and passersby, saw Woodrow Wilson enter the church to lobby for inclusion among its ranks. They housed the two-and-a-half ton church bell donated by Leonard Morse, saw the town through unimaginable transformation, a Great Depression, pandemics, and too many wars to enumerate.

Yet the church has not been immune or resistant to the changing world around it. It has, in fact, shown a willingness to experiment, be resourceful in order to stay viable and keep pace with the times.    

In a sort of reversal of the premise of a popular 80’s film, technology has been hidden within a century-old structure. “Ghostbusters” featured a New York skyscraper, whose original architects designed it as a portal through which various mythological beasties could be summoned. This conduit of communication was hidden, camouflaged within the girders and concrete of the ancient building, invisible to the tenants who lived there.

Now, secreted within the uppermost spire of Natick’s First Congregational Church, is modern technology meant to boost communication (cell service) for miles around. The spire’s height makes it an ideal candidate for the job, and several name-brand communication carriers have been renting space within the high structure for years, with several more companies slated to become tenants in coming months.

But while its height is a premium perk for such work, the slate surrounding the original roof is not. Observers will notice the tiles on the uppermost part of the spire have remained untouched during the current renovation.

Those shingles are relatively new additions in the church’s lifespan, made of fiberglass fashioned to blend in with their slate cousins just below. Turns out those erstwhile and authentic slate tiles hamper the signal of the communications equipment inside the spire, and so were replaced with synthetic versions of their former selves after the cell boosters were installed.

Renovations like the currentspire work are very costly, and thus are being scheduled to coincide with other needed upgrades and repairs in order to stretch those dollars. The almond-hued lattice work tapering up into gothic arches is made of metal, though its paint is peeling. 

Four clocks housed in the spire’s tower are in need of attention as well, a condition that’s complicated by the fact that they are owned not by the church, but by the town of Natick. In the before-times, prior to the widespread adoption of personal timepieces, a central clock was seen as a public necessity for citizens to go about their lives in a timely manner.

The church’s centrality and history ensure it remains an integral part of community culture. Its green space facing the Common has been called “Natick’s Town Porch,” and hosts many events and displays of the congregation’s values - often delving into spheres moral and political.

“That church is iconic,” said Hanna. “We really feel that we are at the heart of the Natick community.”                

It seemed an excavation of sorts as he led the way up into the spire’s base - as if ascending was synonymous with delving backward through the years, decades, centuries. The most accessible and utilized parts of the old church were naturally the most tended to, the first slated for renovation. Yet out of sight, out of mind, and the degree of wear and tear grew as we climbed.  

The ground level and basement, with modernized heating and facility appliances, seemed mostly to belong to our current century. But as Hanna brought us up, synthetic tile and plastics gave way to finished wood, then unfinished. Creaking stairs led into exposed reddish brick walls and January’s chill. 

Now in the base of the spire, steps became more like something one might find in a fort built by middle-school friends, a meeting place assembled away from the watchful eyes of the world, fashioned from what scraps they could salvage around town.

Old beams and planks were sheltered from the direct elements, but not from the humidity and particulates that found their way in through vents and screens. And the further we ascended, the more the place seemed to age. Daylight shone in through ancient stained-glass windows, each portal a bright, multicolored votive candle against the surrounding dark wood.

Graffiti dating back to Nixon’s final days in office was impeccably preserved on a wall within the lower spire, as we passed two strands of taut rope running up into the unseen heights of the structure. These are pulled from below on occasion to sound the church’s bell.

The stairs ended, and Hanna climbed an aluminum work ladder up from there through a portal in the ceiling, twisting and bending to navigate the tight and awkward space.

We could go no further, wary of the height and interfering with the work crew’s labor.  It’s possible to navigate with care around the great and greening bell that hangs unseen behind those perforated windows, and peering out through gaps in the metalwork offers a southwest, bird’s-eye view of the town. Attached to the bell is a massive wheel - a pulley ready to be rocked to and fro by its rope from below.

Hammer blows and voices against background music resonated through the ancient bell tower, the sounds belonging to the work crew above us. They went about their tasks in much the same way the original builders had - upon ladders and scaffolds, afforded a rare and enviable view of the horizon on all sides, a snapshot in time of the town’s lifespan and history, and playing some role in it.   

“We’re into multiple centuries,” said Hanna. “The bones in the structure are in very good shape. We’re getting the roof in good shape for another one-hundred years.”