In contrast to his futuristic Transportation Hub design, Santiago Calatrava’s luminous St. Nicholas National Shrine mines the distant past for its forms and inspiration. Located just outside the World Trade Center site proper, on the eastern end of Liberty Park, the diminutive Greek Orthodox church offers what the architect describes as a “human-scaled presence in an ensemble of giants.” As an urban church, its hospitality includes and welcomes the stranger. The only religious structure at the site, it has a voice in the ongoing debate about the role of religion at Ground Zero.

Wisely, Calatrava did not seek to compete with the Trade Center’s other signature structures, including his own Transportation Hub, all of them virtuosic displays of technology. Instead, the church is distinguished by its simplicity. His design—a circular domed building bracketed by four towers—combines elements of two landmark churches in Istanbul: the Hagia Sophia, which was the cathedral of the Ecumenical Patriarchate of Constantinople for nearly one thousand years, and the Church of St. Saviour in Chora, also known by its Turkish name, Kariye Camii, which is considered a cultural treasure second only to the Hagia Sophia. St. Nicholas synthesizes the structural, historical, and theological bases of these earlier churches, melding eastern and western symbols. Appropriately, the new church sits on the elevated plinth that links the east and west sides of lower Manhattan.

St. Nicholas’s structure is a double-wall construction. The exterior concrete walls are sheathed in glass panels that contain thin sheets of white Pentelic marble. At night, illuminated by LEDs, the marble becomes translucent and glows. During the day, the church appears to have been cut from solid stone. Just over 48 feet (14.6 m) in diameter, the dome is scalloped with forty ribs. It is supported by the corner towers, which also house ventilation and mechanical systems for the church and lower garage. Fabricated of stone with horizontal bands of subtly contrasting color, the towers recall the striations that are a hallmark of the Chora church. Forty clerestory windows, echoing those at the Hagia Sophia, bring sunlight inside. Clear glass windows on the eastern and western sides invite in additional light. There are no windows on the south side, or on the north side, which overlooks the memorial plaza. The design encourages the act of turning inward, rather than outward, for solace and strength. At night, the church shines like a beacon, its image mirrored and multiplied in the reflective glass skyscrapers that surround it.

Liberty Park’s designers masterfully choreographed the park’s staircases and pathways with the church’s structure and circular forecourt. Its setting, at the end of a vista of flowering trees and meandering paths, reinforces the impression of arriving at a holy place. Climbing the Liberty Street staircase on the west side, one rises to approach the church, a satisfying metaphor for the soul’s lifting. Directly in front of the church on Greenwich Street, a cascading staircase offers seating, respite, and a gentle way to be close to a holy place without going inside.