I stepped out of the school today during my prep period in order to get something to eat. As I rounded the corner, I noticed the crowd of people blocking the sidewalk. Across the street, another crowd stood parallel to them. Old women in lawnchairs, people with cameras, moms with small children.

Something silver and massive was on the ground, hooked to a mechanical arm that was to lift it high into the heavens. It was the steeple of a church. A new one for an old church. It's been under construction since I started working.

It was refreshing to see so many people take time out of their day to oversee the addition. I don't think they were all necessarily church-goers, though they probably all admit that the church is a landmark of the block. It's been around since the Renaissance and the civil rights movement and the crack and now, what we are told is the incipient boom.

There was the church, there was the steeple, out on the streets stood all the people.

By the time I walked away with lunch, the steeple had been mounted. It happened so quickly. The community was more beautiful; Harlem stood taller. People were taking pictures and talking. I was the only white person - the only person who doesn't live in the neighborhood - around, walking in the sea of pride and togetherness. Somehow, I didn't feel disconnected. The rejuvenation was my experience, too. It felt like a new kind of history.