Peters Chapel

“A church built on land once called ‘Rome’,” I begin, a mischievous glint in my eye. “Can you imagine?” We stand before Peters Chapel, an unassuming structure perhaps, but one steeped in a history richer than many realize. Peters Chapel, originally part of a 400-acre tract whimsically named “Rome” by its owner, Francis Pope, stands as a testament to the enduring power of faith. Established in 1820, Peters Chapel served a burgeoning Catholic community east of the Capitol. Before its construction, parishioners faced a long trek to St. Patrick’s, the District’s first Catholic church. The journey was particularly arduous for those living across the Anacostia River, relying on the “Old Burnt Bridge” before the 11th Street Bridge was built. The church’s early days were marked by the complexities of “trusteeism,” where financial contributors held sway over parish funds. This system, while intended to connect priest and congregation, often led to disputes, as evidenced by the plight of Father Lucas, the first pastor. He struggled against the trustees, who resisted allocating funds for his support, forcing him to deplete his savings and even sell his possessions. Eventually, prominent parishioners intervened, leading to the church’s deed being transferred to the Archbishop, resolving the trustee issue. The original Peters Chapel was a simple structure, built of red brick with a shingle roof. Inside, “colored” parishioners were seated in the upper gallery. The first rectory, a modest dwelling beside the church, was so small that Father Lucas slept on a cot, while his assistant occupied the tiny attic. Over the years, Peters Chapel evolved. A new church, built of Maryland granite and marble, replaced the original structure in 1890. This grander building, with its 140-foot spire and French glass windows, tragically fell victim to a five-alarm fire in 1940. Undeterred, the community rallied, and a fireproof Peters Chapel rose from the ashes in 1941. Today, Peters Chapel stands as a symbol of resilience and community, a quiet sentinel witnessing the ebb and flow of history on Capitol Hill.