A light from above: How one Pennsylvania church put its faith in solar energy

In a town known more for Bucknell University and its rustic charm than clean energy innovation, St. Andrew’s is leading a quiet but significant shift toward sustainability. Shapiro’s Lightning Plan is about to make it easier for more folks to get onboard.

When Maggie Chappen drives past St. Andrew’s Episcopal Church on Route 15 in Lewisburg, she can’t help but smile.

“I actually detour now just to go past the church and look at the solar panels,” Chappen, a parishioner, said. “They look great. I think they’re beautiful.”

But the panels are more than just decoration for the church. They’ve become an opportunity for the church to continue spreading their mission.

In a town known more for Bucknell University and its rustic charm than clean energy innovation, St. Andrew’s is leading a quiet but significant shift toward sustainability. And it was Chappen—a physician, senior warden with the church, and someone with experience in solar energy—who led the charge on installing the panels.

More than a mission of faith

St. Andrew’s didn’t leap into solar energy because the congregation were proponents of clean energy. In fact, it started out as a matter of survival.

“We were looking for ways to conserve costs but also care for creation,” Chappen said. 

The church’s energy bills were becoming so high, they were forced to use resources from its community outreach programs—programs like the local after-school center and the food bank.

“We would have to take our donations and cut them in half just to keep the lights on,” Chappen said.

The solar solution wasn’t an easy sell to the congregation at first. Some feared the aesthetics. Others doubted the payoff. 

“My husband, for example, always said, ‘I don’t mind being on the cutting edge—I just don’t want to be on the bleeding edge,’” Chappen said.

But Chappen had an advantage few others did: her own home had been solar-powered since 2013. She knew the risks, the fears, and the reality. Like, for instance, the time when squirrels chewed through her wiring.

“That was a nightmare,” she said.

But after she learned more about managing the panels, the system worked for her home. She hoped it would work for her church as well. 

“Healthy patients need a healthy planet,” said Chappen, who’s a physician. “It was worth it.”

Eventually, with some research and an anonymous donor willing to fund the upfront costs—$65,000 for 52 rooftop panels—the church started its clean energy journey. 

“It was zero cost to the congregation,” Chappen said. “That’s what made everyone get on board.”

Now that the panels are live, St. Andrew’s electric bill has dropped by at least $200 a month. They even got a surprise overage payment this May—$150 back for producing more power than they used.

But the savings, Chappen said, are only half the story. The panels have started conversations far beyond their church’s congregation. 

“People in the local neighborhood know,” Chappen said. “I was 10 miles down the river getting a plaque engraved when someone said, ‘Oh, that’s the church with the solar panels.’”

Chappen admits Lewisburg isn’t exactly ground zero for clean energy initiatives. She describes her region as “a little blue dot in a red area.” But what she finds interesting is that some of the biggest solar installations in the region belong to farmers with “Trump 2024” signs still in their yards. 

“They’re not climate change advocates, but they understand a good financial deal when they see one,” Chappen said. 

Busting solar myths

Chappen said there are still some folks who have questions, or preconceptions about clean energy.

“People worry: What if it snows? Do I have to climb up and clean them off?” Chappen said. “No. They’re slanted enough that the snow just melts off. And no, you don’t need to clean them otherwise.”

Another fear: damage to the roof. But Chappen said that the panels may actually protect the roof underneath from sun damage. The only unexpected expense was that the church had to replace part of its 20-year-old shingles—an extra cost not covered by energy rebates. But that, she says, is just part of smart planning.

Eyes on the future

St. Andrew’s clean energy future doesn’t have to stop at cost savings, Chappen said. The church could become a “climate resilience center”—a place with battery storage to provide power during outages or storms. But storage batteries are expensive and difficult to fund for religious organizations, thanks to state rules about public dollars going to faith-based groups.

One possibility to reach this next stage is the Lightning Plan—a series of bills aimed at revamping the commonwealth’s energy sector. It was introduced by Gov. Josh Shapiro earlier this year. The plan would help organizations like churches, libraries, and community centers install battery storage systems. It would also offer low-interest loans, technical assistance, and bulk purchasing options to make backup energy storage more affordable. 

“It would let us store solar power for emergencies—keeping the lights on for community meals or warming shelters during storms,” Chappen said. “It’s something we’d love to pursue if the funding lines up.”

Shapiro’s administration has said the plan will create nearly 15,000 energy jobs and attract over $11 billion in clean energy investments. It will also save energy customers in the state $252 million in the first five years and $664 million by 2040.

If you ask Chappen, there are no real downsides to the solar project—just opportunities to dispel myths. Aesthetic concerns proved unfounded. Energy production has exceeded expectations. Even community reputation has improved. 

“It’s had a ripple effect that surprised us,” Chappen said.

But perhaps the biggest impact is intangible: showing that clean energy isn’t scary, or political, or far-fetched. It’s practical. It’s economical. And in St. Andrew’s case, it’s faithful.

“It’s good stewardship. Of our money, our resources, and the planet,” Chappen said.