This Catholic landmark in New York City was established in 1866, when Irish immigrants were coming to America in droves.

But how many Manhattanites and daily commuters know the Church of the Holy Innocents was originally the property of the Episcopal Church?

The church is named, of course, for the baby boys slaughtered by King Herod after the Magi told him of a great king having been born in his territory. The Archdiocese of New York purchased property from the local Episcopal Church. The property included their Church of the Holy Innocents. The archdiocese decided to retain the name.

The Episcopal facility was used for Catholic worship for two years until a new Catholic church — the present sanctuary — was completed nearby in 1870. (The Episcopal church, which was located on Broadway close to 35th Street, was subsequently demolished.)

During the two-year construction project, Father John Larkin lived in the rectory of the church of neighboring St. Stephen's. It was then that Father Larkin came in contact with Constantino Brumidi, an artist in the classical tradition who, at the time, was painting a monumental picture of the Crucifixion in the sanctuary of St. Stephen's.

Father Larkin would hire the artist to paint a Crucifixion scene in the new Church of the Holy Innocents. Brumidi's moving oilon-concrete mural has been a point of conversion and comfort to the untold thousands who've visited Holy Innocents ever since it went up.

Given its patrons, this church seems a fitting place to pray for mothers come May 9, Mother's Day. For it's a sorrowful fact that we live in an age whose own innocents are endangered in far greater number than King Herod had in mind 2,000 years ago.

Holy Innocents, pray for an end to abortion!

Tranquility Amid Tumult

The Church of the Holy Innocents stands tall in one of the busiest commercial districts in the world, even though many of its neighboring buildings literally scrape the sky.

Its present pastor, Msgr. Donald Sakano, calculates that more than 1 million souls pass through the neighborhood daily. This estimate, no doubt, takes into account the vast nexus of subways that runs beneath the church.

The church is located in one of this stressed-out city's most stressful locations. The Times Square air is boisterous, frenetic and highly competitive. “The noise is more than physical,” Msgr. Sakano says. “It is a noise that reverberates into one's soul.” Not too infrequently, he notes, individuals come into the church just to soak in its relative silence.

In appearance, the church has remained loyal to its original, traditional Catholic design. It is a church that looks like a church. Statues of the saints keep watch over the goings-on as they unfold under arched, neo-Gothic apses and large, stained-glass windows.

Walking through the doors after traipsing along the humming street, the feeling is of entering a different world. It's not just a matter of moving from a place of clamor to one of calm, either; the sensation is of breathing in an entirely different atmosphere. You exhale utter worldliness and inhale authentic sanctity. The presence of God is palpable.

In the rear of the church is a shrine dedicated to children who have died unborn. Here statues of the Holy Family surround a casement that contains a bound volume known as The Book of Life. Parents or other grieving loved ones are invited to submit the names of children who have died unborn. Naming a deceased unborn child, I learned, can provide a sense of closure for mothers (and others) who have lost a son or daughter through stillbirth, miscarriage or abortion. If the sex of the child is unknown, the term “child of” is simply used.

This Book of Life ministry is conducted by the Sisters of Life, who receive the calls, letters and e-mails and enter the babies' names into the book. On the last Friday of each month, a 12:15 p.m. Mass is celebrated in their memory.

Return to Me

In the church's northwest corner is a large crucifix known as the Return Crucifix. It's so named because an artist, Bussemer Chambers, observed a French soldier kneeling before it at the beginning of World War I. He later went on to paint the scene; the finished work hangs alongside the crucifix.

A duplicate of the painting also hangs in the rectory, and the church sells greeting cards featuring the image. As for the Return Crucifix itself, the feet of the corpus have been rubbed clear of their paint as a result of the uncounted kisses of adorers through the years. Viewing the adored feet, anyone who saw The Passion of the Christ will be mindful of the scene in which Mary kisses her Son's blood-soaked feet.

Until his recent accident, Franciscan Friar of the Renewal Father Benedict Groeschel conducted a monthly afternoon of reflection here. He is recovering from his injuries but has suspended his normal travel and preaching schedule indefinitely.

The church continues to host its popular concert series, though, and it offers theology lessons and even a “Bible for Dummies” course Wednesday nights. Periodically performing are the High-bridge Voices, a choir developed by the pastor and composed of children from the Highbridge Section of the Bronx.

The Church of the Holy Innocents is connected with two famous literary names. Renowned playwright Eugene O'Neill was baptized here and popular poet Joyce Kilmer (“Poems are made by fools like me / But only God can make a tree”) frequented the church. In fact, Kilmer said it was while praying before the Return Crucifix that he received the inspiration to become a Catholic.

You can receive that kind of inspiration here, too — even if you're already Catholic.

Joseph Albino writes from Syracuse, New York.