California fires aftermath: Finding a place for faith when the buildings are gone

PACIFIC PALISADES, Calif. — The Rev. Matthew Hardin had been to the site of his burned-down Pacific Palisades Presbyterian Church in Los Angeles at least a dozen times before, but in late May, he had the chance to step into what was previously his office.

This time, the Rev. Hardin walked a familiar path, no longer needing to sift through the debris or potentially toxic substances.

The reverend knew the layout of his office like the back of his hand and “could diagram everything exactly where it was” — but in front of him, “it was all ash.”

“It was heartbreaking,” the Rev. Hardin told the Deseret News about his visit to the site where his church once stood.

He found the remains of what looked like a stapler and his rolling chair.

At the time of the evacuations, the pastor didn’t think to take with him all the things he’d accumulated as a faith leader for more than two decades, “gifts and cards and books, my preaching robe and my stoles — I didn’t grab any of it,” the Rev. Hardin said.

High winds picked up in L.A. the day of the fires in the first week of January, reaching 60 to 70 miles per hour, fanning the flames across the valley. Rev. Hardin knew of the winds, but the reality of the situation hit when the Presbyterian Church preschool director stepped into his office and said, “I need you immediately. We need to evacuate.”

The fire also damaged the Calvary Church, Pastor Justin Anderson told the Deseret News last month.

Pastor Anderson was brand new in his position at the church when the fires started. He was hired on Dec. 17, and delivered his first sermon on Jan. 5.

Two days later, in the middle of a staff meeting on his first official day in the office, he received an evacuation alert.

A third of Pastor Anderson’s church burned down — the sprinklers and the rain helped save parts of the sanctuary and all of their school.

“About 200 of our families lost their homes,” Pastor Anderson added.

Anderson didn’t have time to make the Calvary Church his home before the fires, but now he’s helping rebuild what was lost.

Like Hardin and Anderson, other faith leaders are also looking to rebuild after the devastating fires— when thousands of structures across more than 40,000 acres burned to the ground over the course of two weeks.

The Palisades and Eaton Fires, two of the most destructive, resisted being contained for several days.

At least 29 people died, some of whom lost their lives trying to prevent their homes from catching fire. A report by UCLA researchers says more than 16,000 structures were claimed and more than 55,000 acres were consumed by the fires.

The report estimates property and capital losses of up to $131 billion.

These unprecedented fires called for an extra dose of hope and community, things that places of worship are usually able to supply.

But what happens when the places where people of faith gather to worship also catch fire?

At least 14 churches, synagogues, mosques and temples were destroyed and many others sustained damage in the fire.

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Faith leaders and their congregants are all looking for a way forward.

‘A slice of paradise’

The fires that swept across Los Angeles County in January hit Pacific Palisades particularly hard.

Down the street from where Hardin’s church stood, at the local fire station, firefighter Kelly Harland, who was on duty in the Palisades in January amid the fires, told the Deseret News the area used to look “like a slice of paradise.”

But after the fires, he said, “It looks like a bomb dropped right over this neighborhood.”

Aside from a lucky few, nearly all the plots of land now sit empty within a mile radius of the fire station.

“We were used to usually being pretty good at our jobs ... and for us to lose this much was a big gut punch,” the firefighter said.

Some homes still have standing metal doors, others, their chimneys.

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In some ways, Pacific Palisades is frozen in time.

Half a block north of the fire station, months after the fire, partly burned Christmas decorations were strewn across the paver stone walkway of what used to be the front porch of a Spanish-style home, evident from the remnants of a clay tile roof, an arched doorway and wrought iron gates.

A forgotten ballot box from the 2024 election was still on the main street and further down, the newspaper in the Palisadian-Post newspaper stand read “2024: Year in Review.” (The paper still publishes.)

Faith leaders look for ways to connect

Life is slowly but steadily getting back to normal. All eight affected schools were able to resume instruction and the California water board restored drinking water systems.

The first phase of the two-step clean-up process is also complete.

The U.S. Environmental Protection Agency scrubbed private lots of household hazardous waste and now, the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers is more than halfway through clearing the remaining structural debris.

After the fires, many longtime residents were forced to leave their homes behind and find a new place to live.

“For many of our older members, this was their opportunity to move back closer to their children and grandchildren,” and avoid Los Angeles’ tough housing market.

“So, we’re really all over the place geographically,” Hardin said.

Their sister church in Brentwood, a nearby neighborhood, opened its doors to the Pacific Palisades Presbyterian Church’s congregation.

Jan Gong is one such displaced congregant after losing her home of nearly 47 years. She moved to the other side of town and it’s nearly a 50-minute commute to see her “second family” at the church.

“It’s almost like a reunion sometimes when you see everyone,” she said. But conversations during coffee hour after the service are far from light-hearted. They are more so about pain, loss and grief.

At the Sunday afternoon service on June 15, Gong found out about an elderly congregant who lost her husband during the fire evacuations. “The hurt is still there,” she said.

Rev. Hardin’s biggest challenge over the past few months has been helping his parishioners retain a “sense of community.”

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Rev. Hardin, who managed to secure some office space for himself and his staff in Brentwood, leads worship at 2:30 p.m. every Sunday.

“We’re doing our best to get people there,” he said. Some folks drive two hours to attend the Sunday service, others tune in on the live stream.

It’s nice to be around people who share a common grief and understand the challenges of losing everything, the Rev. Hardin said.

“Even if it’s not related to worship or education,” he added.

For those who seek a safe space to lament and pray, the church also offers Wednesday night prayer gatherings over Zoom.

Although the Rev. Hardin said the immediate numbness many felt in the aftermath of the fires has dissipated, he still sees people facing elevated burdens right now, whether it’s never-ending conversations with insurance companies or the uncertainty over the loss of income.

This is the next phase of the marathon, the reverend said. “Lots of cramps and injuries ... come up on Mile 16 and Mile 18 and Mile 20 that are still painful, that we’re still navigating,” he said.

And while the worst is over, the uncertainty lingers. “We don’t know the future of the church,” he said. That’s something his congregation still has to piece together.

“The town is still years and years away from being rebuilt. What does it look like to rebuild a church in a town that you can’t even go into unless you’re a resident, contractor or in the media?” the Rev. Hardin asks.

Nearly 160 days after the fires, Pacific Palisades finally cleared the roadblocks and lifted traffic restrictions in the area.

Saving symbols of faith

For the members of the Army Corps of Engineers clearing the debris, commercial and municipal parcels of land don’t fall under their jurisdiction, nor do houses of worship.

Community Organized Relief Effort, a Los Angeles nonprofit, stepped in to clear the Presbyterian Church’s lot of toxic substances and debris.

The nonprofit conducted tests on the site, remediated asbestos concerns and cleared the ruins should the church start any temporary or permanent rebuilding efforts, said Tracy Reines, CORE’s disaster response team lead.

CORE plans to stay put and help rebuild lives and neighborhoods, one day at a time, Reines said.

Her team recovered a cross that hung on the church’s bell tower.

Rev. Hardin said he plans to incorporate it into the church’s future, whatever it may be.

In the early days of cleaning the rubble, the Rev. Hardin said they also recovered a cross that adorned the church’s communion table.

“It’s completely burned and charred, but it’s intact,” said the Rev. Hardin. “We put it out for every worship service, and that’s kind of our symbol of hope and resilience and faith.”

“I found a few things in my office, some pottery, the original architectural plans of the church, which were kind of buried in the basement,” he added.

Another staffer from the Presbyterian Church found her Bible buried under the rubble, completely intact, he added.

Rescuing the Torahs

The Pasadena Jewish Temple and Center also burned down in the wildfires.

Melissa Levy, the temple’s executive director, told the Deseret News she too acted quickly and evacuated the area when she received a notice, as did other staff members.

As she drove to a place of refuge with her husband and children, Levy and others realized someone needed to rescue the synagogue’s 13 Torahs, the heart of the Jewish temple.

There was no way Levy could go back and rescue the Sephardic scrolls donated by a congregant who had fled from Iran.

Sitting on the edge of her seat during her drive, she listened in as Cantor Ruth Berman Harris and other Synagogue leaders attempted to formulate a rescue mission.

Little did they know, Robert Brown III, already had a plan set in motion.

“He’s not Jewish but he knew he had to save the Torahs,” Levy said during a video call in mid-May.

Brown, the Synagogue’s facilities custodian, wasn’t scheduled to go to work the day the fires started, but he decided to anyway to feel better prepared for the next day.

He reached the temple around 6:15 p.m. and saw the blaze in the mountains.

Brown couldn’t help but think of a strange coincidence as he set out to save the Torahs.

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His mind instantly went to his late father, also named Robert Brown. The younger Brown worked had under his father at the Temple.

Like a historic echo, the senior Brown rescued the very same Torahs during the Foothill fires back in 1993.

“I grew up hearing about it from congregants,” the younger Brown told the Deseret News over the phone.

The scrolls are heavy and Brown couldn’t save all thirteen of them at once so he carried all the Torahs from the main sanctuary and the chapel to the lobby, one by one.

He worked without hesitation or fear, since there was no time to feel either, he said.

When Harris and others reached the parking lot, which was “lit with ash,” all they had to do was load the Torahs up, Levy said.

By this point, Brown was wearing two masks to protect himself from the smoke. “I felt very tired, very nauseous. It was difficult to see. ... And the wind didn’t help.”

“The last Torah was in the car when the electricity finally cut out,” he said. The skies turned pitch black as embers floated in the strong winds, Brown recalled.

Everyone began making their way to the evacuation zone.

But Levy’s heart dropped a few moments later.

“I got a text message from my board president (Jack Singer) about five minutes (after the conference call), saying the synagogue is on fire.”

Levy was evacuated to another staff member’s home in Southern Pasadena. On the television, news channels showed images of her Synagogue burning but still standing at the time.

Levy could only watch for about 15 seconds before turning away and jumping into action.

She took advantage of the full house with three families and converted the dining room into a crisis management hub from where she and other synagogue leaders orchestrated the community’s response.

Levy first created a spreadsheet and asked volunteers to reach out to members of the congregation and fill out their contact information, including where they were staying, whether it was a hotel, a rental or the Pasadena Convention Center, set up for evacuees.

Since then, the congregation has expanded its communication with congregants through its website and email.

The art of giving

The Jewish community in this part of Los Angeles dates back to the early 1900s. This budding congregation purchased a mission revival-style building on North Altadena Drive that had come to be known as the Pasadena Jewish Temple and Center.

This synagogue is the reason why Levy uprooted her life in upstate New York and moved to Pasadena with her husband 14 years ago.

Now, she and other leaders were tasked with publishing the news that this historic house of worship went up in flames.

Once the tragic announcement went public, the phone calls and emails and donations of support began rolling in from across the world, Levy said.

“One of the first donations was from a congregant from the Tree of Life Synagogue,” she noted.

The Tree of Life Synagogue in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, faced a devastating attack in 2018, when a gunman killed 11 people and injured six more. As per The Washington Post, it was “the deadliest attack on Jews in U.S. history.”

The message attached to the donation said, “We know what it’s like to be homeless,” Levy recalled.

These moments serve as reminders that religion holds communities together even in the absence of a place to worship, she said.

The U.S. Department of Health and Human Services conducted a study on faith-based relief and recovery efforts after hurricanes Katrina and Rita, which caused widespread damage in Louisiana and Mississippi.

It found that faith organizations faced challenges in the aftermath of the storms, but 70% of them managed to offer rapid relief services on scale, including food, medical care, laundry, grief counseling or transportation. About two-thirds of these organizations shared resources organically.

Similarly, the leaders of the California synagogue also worked to distribute aid.

Many families declined to accept help even if they were clearly in need, Levy said. “They would say, ‘That’s for somebody else. We’ll be OK,” she added.

Anderson from the Calvary Church, too, compiled a list of his most vulnerable congregants and began raising money for the congregation.

The church raised well over half a million dollars for them, but Anderson ran into a few problems.

Many congregants didn’t know or hadn’t yet met Pastor Anderson, the man signing their aid checks.

When he’d hear about a person in need, he would get their contact information and send them a text saying, “Hey, this is Pastor Justin. I’m the new guy. We haven’t met yet but I’d love to send you money,” or “Hey, I’m not a scammer. If you’ll give me your bank account (information), I will send you money.”

Again, many told him they didn’t want the financial help even though they needed it, while others promised to pay it back or forward somehow.

“I had to keep going, like, ‘No, no. This is grace. This is a gift. People love you and want to help you,’” Anderson said.

For those in need, donated money was the most helpful compared to unsolicited donated goods, like clothing and canned food.

Drew Hanna, who has led relief efforts after wildfires in California and Hawaii through Team Rubicon, a nonprofit, told the LAist he saw “pallets of clothing just left outside in a parking lot for months after some disasters because there’s no place to put it, people don’t have resources to sort it.”

Levy found it useful to give gift cards to different types of stores and add them to Shabbat kits, delivered every Friday for five weeks.

Andrea Mark, now retired, received several of these kits. The home she and her husband Brian built burned down in the Eaton Fires.

They stayed at a hotel at first before moving into a two-bedroom apartment in Old Town Pasadena.

“How did they know where we were?” she asked about the temple staff leadership’s generous deliveries. “They did it for weeks and weeks, and then there were all these monetary donations that just blew me away.”

She said she felt “cocooned” by her support system.

“I’ve always been a strong woman, but my inner strength is fortified immensely by the love for our community and our faith,” Mark said.

Congregants with spacious dining rooms and kitchens also hosted Shabbat dinners in those early weeks after the fires.

On a Friday in mid-June, Mark opened her doors for one such Shabbat dinner. Peter and Roberta Braun attended as guests. Their home wasn’t affected by the fires but they housed six people, a dog and a cat in their house for two weeks during the critical evacuation period.

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Mark knows how to cook well, as everyone at the dinner could attest.

She described the menu to the Deseret News over the phone while stuck in typically dense L.A. traffic the weekend following her Shabbat dinner.

A traditional chicken roast, ground in buttermilk the night before, an arugula salad with her homemade mustard and lemon juice dressing, mashed red potatoes, and roasted carrots served with ginger maple syrup. For dessert, diced mangoes, blueberries and lemon juice.

After dinner, they walked nearly a mile to the United Methodist Church, where their temple currently hosts Shabbat services. That’s also where the Pasadena Temple’s temporary offices are.

The Mayfield Senior School of Holy Child Jesus, a Catholic high school, offers its space to the burned-down synagogue’s religious school and even hosted Shabbat service days after the fire started.

“It gave a sense of normalcy and reason to get out of whatever hotel room you were in since people were really shaken and isolated,” Levy said.

A chance at starting over

Despite the recent mountain of challenges, Andrea Mark is adamant that they are “so lucky,” she said.

“It sounds weird to say that we’re lucky but we are,” she said. That very day, she had recovered something that was lost.

“Today, I contacted the University of Wisconsin, where Brian earned his Ph.D. in 1972. I wanted to get a copy of his dissertation because I don’t have it anymore,” she said.

For Mark, the glass is always half full.

In February, nearly a month after the fires, she went back to her home, or what was left of it.

In her backyard, she found a tangible piece of hope.

The tomato plants from her vegetable garden somehow weathered the fires. Little yellow buds sprouted from the lanky stems.

“Of course, these tomatoes are not edible. ... But Mother Nature is so strong that it overcame all of this,” Mark said. “It’s encouraging to see that life goes on, right?”

Everyone copes with grief differently. Unlike Mark and Rev. Hardin from Pacific Palisades Presbyterian Church, Levy avoided going back to the site of the burned-down synagogue.

“I haven’t been able to do it,” she said. “In fact, I had a dentist appointment just around the corner from the synagogue and I canceled it. I’m not ready,”

She said she promised herself to visit the site after it is cleared. The hope is to rebuild the synagogue over the next five years.

“I’ve seen the news, I’ve seen the pictures but there’s certainly something different when you’re actually there.”

The Calvary Church also has a long road ahead and needs to raise an additional $5 million or more to rebuild.

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“The bigger question is going to be, what does the Palisades look like when this thing’s all over? Because people ... are predicting maybe as much as a 50% turnover,” Pastor Anderson added.

New construction is expected to be expensive but it’s unclear how expensive.

Marisela Arechiga, the co-founder of an L.A.-based construction company New Generation, told Realtor.com that builders neither know how long construction will take nor how much it will cost. This is partly because the affected areas are still being cleared. After that, the power and gas lines would need repair.

In addition to these delays is the costly permitting and inspection process in L.A. that could force some homeowners to dish out more than $20,000 prior to any construction.

“This is Los Angeles’ Katrina,” Arechiga said. “Katrina has come through, but it came through by way of fire instead of water.”

Five years from now, Palisades will look much different than it did before the wildfires, with new people, homes and businesses. All of these changes have a “trickle-down effect on the Church,” Anderson said.

“The rebuilding of the buildings ... it’s expensive but it’s straightforward,” he said. “Rebuilding a community is much more difficult.”

Still, he views this moment as a rare chance. Thousands of new families may move in, “and that feels like a real opportunity for the gospel.”

Additional reporting by Tess Crowley.

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