Advertisement Yet, as sometimes happens with old buildings, the church seems more popular in death than in life.
The story has its unique elements, yet one part is not surprising, said Jim Draeger, an architectural historian with the Wisconsin Historical Society. Depopulation of rural areas, coupled with the ease of modern transportation and a decline in some mainline denominations has left an increasing number of churches without congregations, he said.
People are rushing to save these structures for both sentimental and larger reasons, Draeger said.
“People are passionate about churches because they’re the social heart of many communities, and they really say something about the lives of the people who live in that area,” he said. “When that building is threatened, it threatens a certain sense of who they are and their place in the community.”
A tough vote
When the Pulaski congregation voted 12-4 to dissolve, Philip Schwabe was among the holdouts.
Walking through the church recently, the 72-year-old dairy farmer teared up. His German ancestors helped build the structure; he does not want it abandoned on his watch.
“Unthinkable,” said Schwabe, who wants to be buried in the church cemetery.
The church, 6767 Highway P, is in the Iowa County town of Pulaski, four miles southeast of Muscoda and about 65 miles west of Madison.
As plans were being put in place to close the church seven years ago, the regional governing body of the Presbyterian Church in America, called the John Knox Presbytery, convened a special commission to dispose of the building and land. The commission voted to give the church to the group maintaining the cemetery, including Schwabe.
But before the paperwork was finalized, the presbytery learned of the claim of an adjacent landowner, cattle farmer Donald Craig.
Craig maintains he owns part of the church’s front yard, the part needed for vehicle access to the church. That’s because decades ago, the county moved the road that runs in front of the church, enlarging the church’s front yard and including within it a strip of property Craig says he pays property taxes on.
The church supporters contest this point, saying they have a land survey and other documentation showing Craig and the church each own half of the abandoned roadway in the front yard. Schwabe, on behalf of the church, sued Craig, but a judge dismissed the suit, saying Schwabe didn’t have legal standing.
When the church was still holding services, Craig said he did not object to people using his land to get to it. But now, post-lawsuit, “I’m not going to let people come and go,” he said. “You don’t take people to court and try to take their property away without causing hard feelings.”
He has barricaded the church driveway with large, round hay bales.
A change of mind
With access to the church in dispute, the presbytery couldn’t deed a landlocked property, said the Rev. Ken Meunier, who heads the presbytery, based in Richland Center. So it rethought its position and decided the best resolution would be to give the church to Craig and the cemetery to the cemetery association.
“We’re not out to destroy the building, which many of the passionate people have been saying,” Meunier said. “What we want to do is faithfully deed the property to someone who will care for the property. Whether that means saving a building or not, we’re not into that.”
Meunier said he hopes the denomination’s faith is “bigger than buildings.”
The cemetery association has now sued the presbytery, arguing the presbytery should not be allowed to change its mind on who gets the church. The next court date is in February. Church backers are armed with a new ruling by Iowa County’s highway commissioner saying the existing road access to the church can continue to be used by the public based on historic usage.
Craig said he did not attend services at the church and has no sentimental attachment to it. He doesn’t necessarily want to own the church building, but he definitely doesn’t want the church group to have it. His house is about 300 feet behind the church.
“They’ve given me too much trouble over the last six years for me to help them,” he said. “I don’t want them anywhere near me.”
If he ends up owning the building, Craig said he’ll maintain it to a point, for instance, by giving it a new coat of paint. But if the church’s backers really want to save it, they should move it, he said.
Bonnie Prohaska, a member of the group hoping to save the church, said moving it would be cost-prohibitive and ruin its historic value. She envisions the church being on the National Register of Historic Places someday. Weddings, reunions and occasional services could be held there, she said. She does not think Craig would be a good caretaker.
“He wants to tear it down and build a gazebo there,” she said. “That’s what he’s told neighbors.”
Craig said he told a friend that once, but only out of anger.
Getting personal
The feud between Craig and the church backers has turned personal, with both sides claiming harassment. The presbytery is stuck in the middle, Meunier said.
“I’ve offered to try to come up with some kind of mediation or solution to this, but I’m dealing with two sides who want all or nothing,” he said.
Draeger, the architectural historian, said the Wisconsin Historical Society would like to see the church saved.
“These churches were once very commonplace, but the examples that are historically intact are relatively rare,” he said. “This is a good example of one that has been well taken care of.”
Every few months, the historical society gets a call about another church closing, Draeger said. Even outside the communities of these churches, there is nostalgia for saving them, he said.
“They are representative of a more agrarian past in Wisconsin,” he said. “They give us all a sense of our roots.”
